It’s a curious oversight how often people invoke To Kill a Mockingbird to champion Atticus Finch as a paragon of moral restraint and justice, yet conveniently gloss over the moment he decisively shoots a rabid dog in the street to protect the town. This act wasn’t just a footnote—it was a deliberate display of resolve, showing that even a man of principle doesn’t hesitate when a clear threat emerges. The parallel to sinking a cartel boat in international waters is striking: both are acts of decisive intervention against a danger that can’t be reasoned away. Atticus didn’t negotiate with the dog, just as one wouldn’t negotiate with a cartel vessel trafficking harm on a massive scale. The selective memory of those citing the novel often ignores this, missing the point that justice sometimes demands action, not just words.

The comparison grows sharper when you consider the broader implications of such decisive acts. Sinking a cartel boat disrupts a financial artery pumping money into the “swamp”—that murky nexus of corruption and dark projects that thrive on unchecked power. Atticus’ shot wasn’t just about a dog; it was about protecting a community from chaos. Similarly, targeting a cartel’s operations in international waters isn’t just about one boat—it’s about choking off the resources that fuel systemic corruption. The irony is that those who romanticize Atticus as a passive moral beacon fail to see his pragmatic side, much like critics of aggressive anti-cartel measures might miss the necessity of cutting off the swamp’s lifeblood. Rand Paul, with his libertarian streak, might appreciate this nuance if he’s read the book closely, but his public stances don’t explicitly suggest he’s connected these dots.

Meanwhile, the silence around Obama’s drone strikes, which eliminated far more people than a single cartel boat sinking ever could, underscores a peculiar double standard. Thousands of drone strikes, often with collateral damage, barely raised an eyebrow in mainstream discourse, yet disrupting a cartel’s financial pipeline sparks outrage or debate. Why? Perhaps because the drone program was cloaked in national security rhetoric, while a boat sinking feels too raw, too visible. The “massive financial faucet” feeding the swamp—cartel money, illicit trade, dark projects—thrives in the shadows, and disrupting it threatens entrenched interests. Atticus’ rifle and a navy’s cannon share a common thread: both confront threats head-on, yet the latter invites scrutiny the former never did. If Rand Paul missed this in Mockingbird, he’s not alone—many seem to forget that protecting the good sometimes means shooting the rabid dog.