You’ve just spent several months in jail after pleading guilty to perjury. You have been removed from public office in disgrace and owe a million dollars in restitution after costing your city $12 million. Upon release, what would you do? How would you act? What would you say?
If you are Kwame Kilpatrick you exit prison surrounded by body guards, board a private jet and tell a reporter, when asked what you would change if you could go back in time, ‘nothing.’ Meanwhile, his mother, an elected (barely) official still in office says that she was proud to arrange for the Lear jet, which cost $13,500.
For the former mayor, his words and actions continue to scream: “Me, me, me”—It’s all been a cleansing experience—for HIM; HE’S grown; HE’S got a job interview. Not one word about the individuals and city he has hurt and must repay; the public trust he lost; no, ‘If I could go back, I would have, at all times, acted in the best interests of all those who placed in me their faith and trust.’
Everyone deserves to move on; everyone should have the opportunity to get their life back. In this instance, Kilpatrick will never get there from here if he continues on his path most traveled which, for all intents and purposes, was his road to ruin.