It was a stark video — a starkness matched only by its unprecedented nature. It was the next-to-last day of the 2025 session, and as Oklahoma Governor Kevin Stitt departed from a meeting with House Speaker Kyle Hilbert and the small handful of legislators who hold most of the meaningful power in the Legislature, he threw down the gauntlet.
Those dastardly legislators were preparing to override too many of his vetoes, and Stitt made his message clear: if the lemming legislators once again fell in line with their powerful overlords to overturn his vetoes, there would be consequences.
To be clear, upon reviewing Stitt’s vetoes, one could hardly be faulted for suspecting that, for the first time in history, each bill had been filtered through steady, stable criteria of conservatism. It was almost as if some sort of conservative-trained AI had been deployed by the Governor and was helping identify bad bills and maybe even writing the veto messages. Those messages made for great reading to those inclined to do so — inspirational, even — and if that were the case, it would have marked a historic moment: the use of AI demonstrating its ability to capture many of the Legislature’s betrayals of the conservative values they profess during election season and abandon thereafter.
In fact, if Stitt’s vetoes were to be graded — along with the numerous times he simply refused to sign legislation, allowing it to go into law without his signature — he would have ranked right up near the top among the best-voting conservative lawmakers.
Stitt, however — who should rightly go down in history as one of the state’s worst strategic tacticians in terms of interfacing with the Legislature — should have vetoed all of those many bills that he refused to sign but nevertheless allowed to go into law without his signature.
That’s because, practically speaking, Stitt has managed to maintain a support base of, well, practically zero legislators — at least in the view of this writer. With so little support inside the Legislature, his only realistic play to preserve the effectiveness of his vetoes would have been to flood and overwhelm the legislative calendar with override votes.
The goal would have been to force legislators to set aside more than a single day to process them, putting leadership — which in the House has already gone to great lengths to avoid deliberative floor process in the name of “streamlining the calendar” — into the difficult position of scheduling dozens upon dozens of override votes. Some of those overrides would inevitably fail, not because legislators suddenly felt an affinity for Stitt, but because he is not wrong about much of the logic behind many of his vetoes.
But on that day last May, as Stitt delivered his threat, it backfired. It gave the legislative leadership what they needed to play their trump card: legislative tribalism.
Legislative tribalism works like every other form of tribalism. Dull-witted lemming legislators are easily manipulated and whipped into a fury with an us-versus-them mentality, and clear-thinking, policy-minded voting goes out the window. Even those who normally know up from down in terms of policy are so under pressure from their frenzied, emotional, tribal-minded colleagues that many of them also cave and join the mob.
So if Stitt was going to take on the risk of sending the legislators into a tribal-minded vote-override fury, what exactly was he seeking to achieve? What was the benefit in the risk–benefit analysis of that action — assuming there was such an analysis?
Well, that was the stick in Stitt’s threat: he heavily suggested that he would be active in their 2026 races and would seek to replace those who joined in with the override votes.
Indeed, Stitt seemed to take credit for the effort that defeated powerful Senate Pro Tem-to-be Greg McCortney in the 2024 Republican primaries — an incredible political upset of the type rarely seen in Oklahoma primary politics.
So why didn’t Stitt’s threat work?
Why did his gambit fail?
Simply put, Stitt’s stick carried little weight.
Legislators: They simply weren’t afraid of him.
There’s no shared brand and no common base of political support to which those legislators must account when deciding whether to override a Stitt veto; to do so carries no political risk.
And,
They don’t have an affinity to him.
Unlike his predecessors Keating, Henry, and maybe even Fallin to some extent, Stitt hasn’t built a common bond with the legislators who share his point of view on issues in a manner that would lead one to develop personal loyalty or extend the benefit of the doubt. And while personal loyalties are extremely problematic in the political world — because they cause a legislator to vote on criteria that are not policy, and thus must be accounted for by the conscientious legislator — masterful politicians, of which Stitt is not, know how to use them to their advantage.
Stitt’s lack of having a big stick to wield can be tied to two facts.
All of the credit that Stitt built up with the people of Oklahoma, with his outsider status, and mostly strong stand for individual liberties during the insanity of the COVID era, has long been spent — burned off in a series of inexplicable public statements and actions that have time and again seeded an intense and deep sense of betrayal among those who were Stitt’s most loyal supporters, who had voted him in instead of an array of establishment politicians because they believed he, Stitt, was a man from the real world, with real-world values.
By May of 2025, Stitt’s inability to step back, think about things, then take action in accordance with a general strategy that kept his brand consistent and a base foundation of enthusiastic supporters intact had taken its toll.
Stitt had been an ADD governor, racing from impulse action to impulse action, appearing to try to replicate a poor man’s version of the Donald Trump formula, but without the marketing genius or charisma of Trump — an array of fascinating factors that only work for Trump — to ironically include joining with Jon Echols and a set of House legislators in endorsing against Trump at a time when, though perhaps for the data of a certain pollster who now works for Charles McCall, any wise-minded observer knew that it was the worst possible time to join in the D.C. establishment coup against the Republican frontrunner, essentially a bet on the success of the deep state in politicizing the justice system to jail Trump.
But it was exactly that type of bad judgment that was the hallmark of Stitt’s brand-destroying impulsiveness.
Stitt’s shotgun, ADD approach has had implications in every area of his governorship — from his inability to manage his own OMES office, an office designed to give him the power to right-size government, eliminating inefficiency and streamlining services, to his appointments, to, in recent weeks, perhaps his biggest mistake: his 180-degree pivot on education, walking away from the God-first, pedophile-punishing, innocence-defending, last-ditch-attempt strategy to save public education from the corruption of the woke, radical left.
In short, his ability to stay focused and deliver a consistent philosophy and approach was only there so long as circumstances dictated that it be so.
And that circumstance was the three-year insanity of the COVID era, which Stitt — though he never duplicated the magic of top-tier Republican policymakers such as Florida’s Ron DeSantis — did mostly hold his own, building his brand and a base of support that was enthusiastic and strong enough to translate into endorsement strength throughout the 2020 and 2022 election cycles.
And here’s where Stitt made perhaps his worst strategic error.
He frequently utilized, spent, and even wasted that endorsement strength for the very establishment politicians who continually bit him on the hand. And by the time he appears to have realized his error in May of 2025, it was far too late. He had misused and abused his endorsement so frequently, in district after district all across the state, delivering for the establishment politicians, until his magic, his grassroots, regular-person appeal, was beyond rehabilitation, leaving those of us who were so very grateful for his strength during COVID and who generally supported him throughout his first term, and well into his second, completely unable to put forward a credible defense on his behalf.
From day one, Stitt never got the art of building a veto-proof majority in the House in an environment that’s dominated by establishment — where legalized corruption dominates those legislative chambers — supermajorities.
The Democrats hated him, and Stitt, the candidate who defeated the establishment politicians, wasn’t ever going to easily fit within establishment powerbroker circles whether Republican or Democrat.
Stitt had two paths: he could work with legislative leadership in a way that neutered his veto threat — basically agreeing to many of their requests and playing the game, including the endorsement game — or he could attempt to build a veto-sustaining minority of conservative-minded legislators with whom he shared the same grassroots, regular-people, non-institutionalist support base: the state’s single largest voting block.
To be fair, due to the establishment’s 2018 purge of conservatives from the Legislature — using a dastardly dark-money attack-from-the-right, establishment-candidate-to-the-left strategy — Stitt simply didn’t have a lot to work with.
But that said, Stitt didn’t appear to realize that he needed at least a semblance of a loyal legislative base — legislators who share his values and his brand and who would have a strong, passionate affinity for a consistent philosophy of conservative government, which would translate into a personal loyalty and respect for Stitt himself, giving him the benefit of the doubt on even the deep-policy vetoes that are hard to understand.
Indeed, as Stitt’s understanding of free-market, economic conservatism seemed relatively shallow, he became the governor who became known for bringing the era of corporate welfare on steroids to the Legislature, desperately chasing large, DEI-touting international corporations with hundreds of millions of taxpayer giveaways — an effort that was only marginally successful and arguably didn’t offset the liabilities of McGirt and the negative impact of the state’s persistent and everlasting state income tax, as big companies continued to leave the state.
Sure, you can attempt to bribe international corporations to come to town, but if the C-suiters are going to have to pay that pesky state income tax, and if McGirt is going to cause long-term uncertainty on everything from public safety to tax policy, then no amount of corporate welfare giveaways is going to offset the negative implications of those two factors.
Worse, Stitt’s giveaway policy alienated him from conservatives and meant that there simply wasn’t any base of significance within the Legislature holding an affinity for his policies, thus leaving him hostage to the ever-changing whims of a directionless, minute-by-minute strategy of the ruthless establishment legislators, jumping from initiative to initiative without any particular ideological culture or predictable concept of consistent values.
In fact, in one year, those legislators went so far as to abuse the special session authority to simply lock Stitt out of the budget process altogether.
But Stitt, all the way through the 2024 elections, kept playing the game by endorsing those same arrogant, establishment legislators against their grassroots challengers, even though they kept overriding his vetoes and basically putting him on the sidelines — a mere figurehead on some of the most meaningful items of policy.
And this made a big difference. During the 2022 elections, there was a growing sense that the dark money had finally lost its power. Grassroots challengers — driven by the energy of a rising movement responding to the tyranny of the COVID era — began threatening establishment legislators who had sided with the institutions that trampled the rights and liberties of the people.
As those challengers brought the heat, however, Stitt sided with the establishment politicians. He endorsed incumbents who would almost immediately bite the hand that fed them in the very next legislative session. In several races, he even spent what little credibility he had left, helping make the difference in electing his own future adversaries — politicians who, in some cases, had been on the verge of embarrassing defeat at the hands of lightly funded grassroots challengers.
The great irony? Had it not been for those endorsements, there would have likely been more grassroots legislators in the room to uphold Stitt’s righteous vetoes at the end of the 2025 session.
By 2024, Stitt’s endorsement, like the dark money, had lost its power.
In fact, as candidates ask, “If Stitt endorses me, should I even use it?” I have to answer honestly, “Only in very limited circumstances, and only to a very targeted audience.”
Not only did Stitt’s endorsement of House Appropriations Chairman and big-pork-dispensing Kevin Wallace not save one of the state’s most powerful politicians from defeat, but the matter was really brought home when Stitt endorsed his local incumbent county commissioner — an unprecedented action in the modern-day history of that county, a governor endorsing all the way down to the county commissioner level — only to watch that incumbent commissioner go down to defeat.
If Stitt can’t elect his incumbent county commissioner, why would legislators fear his opposition? Stitt already gave them what they needed — his endorsement — when it had value, in 2022 and before. Now they have the power. He doesn’t. Neither does his endorsement.
It’s the perfect real-world illustration of the snake story often told by Donald Trump. Stitt fed the snake that is the legislative establishment while they together tried to give away the farm to the big international corporates, and now that snake has turned on him, doing what poisonous snakes do, and Stitt has few remaining options.
And so now, as Stitt enters his final session, instead of learning these lessons, he’s simply immolating any remaining chance of relevance.
Last week he responded to the widespread and quite righteous indignation regarding his ill-advised comments diminishing the clear and transparent actions of America’s left to seize power through the means of illegal immigration. His response strategy? Attacking the conservative members of the Legislature, known as The Freedom caucus, who, for obvious and very understandable, predictable reasons, had a visceral reaction to his comments.
It’s a bad judgment that simply couldn’t better illustrate the ADD style of Stitt’s government: attack those who are most inclined to defend Stitt’s vetoes in a session where the lame-duck Stitt is very, very weak.
Again, Stitt’s 2025 veto strategy was mostly sound, vetoing many problematic, government-expanding, free-market-mandating, exemption-granting proposals that offended conservative thought and policy.
If he is to deploy a similar strategy in 2026, it’s the conservatives who will uphold those vetoes.
Likewise, it’s the conservative lawmaker
The Cautionary Tale of Kevin Stitt: How His Attack on The Freedom Caucus Puts Him in a Weak Position for His Last Session
Click the title to read the full report at Jason Murphey Blog
March 9, 2026 at 10:01PM - J Murphey

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