Let’s discuss impeachment.

First, a little background: According to historians I haven’t bothered to consult, impeachment was invented in colonial Georgia, when irate citizens, fed up with corruption, pelted misbehaving government bureaucrats with peaches. So successful was this approach in punishing official malfeasance that the practice quickly spread to other colonies, although the lack of soft fruits forced non-Georgian reformers to improvise. In Delaware, they used mud for ammunition. In Vermont, it was moose turds. And in Massachusetts, the aroused populace employed deflated footballs, a tradition that has endured in a somewhat revised form until recent times.

Here in Maine, impeachment has been a rarity, probably because fishermen traditionally don’t want to waste lobsters by hurling them at politicians. And as weapons of recrimination, blueberries are on the small side, although they do leave a nasty stain. Consequently, no governor has ever been impeached, although there was talk of doing so in 1975 (“We could use clams – or sea urchins. Those things would sting”), when independent James “El Wacko” Longley resided in the Blaine House.

In recent months, however, the prospect of impeachment has again been circulating (“We could throw potatoes, maybe hot French-fried ones”) in regard to Paul LePage, incumbent Republican governor and humanoid spruce-budworm infestation. LePage’s critics say he’s guilty of high crimes and misdemeanors for, among other fits of pique, contriving to force the Good Will-Hinckley school in Fairfield to rescind its offer to hire Democratic Speaker of the House Mark Eves as its new president. LePage freely admitted he warned the school he would withhold state financial aid if it went through with the Eves appointment, saying it was reasonable for him to do so because Good Will-Hinckley runs a charter school, and Eves is a longtime opponent of such institutions.

Whether LePage’s use of his office to damage the career of a political enemy is an abuse of power is a matter of legal interpretation. What’s far clearer is that there’s ample precedent for what he did. For more than half a century, Maine governors (and other powerful officials, such as speakers of the House and Senate presidents) have routinely engaged in similar practices. The only difference between the vengeful leaders of the past and LePage is that his predecessors had the political common sense to exercise their authority in ways that weren’t obvious to the public.

Their victims knew what happened and who was responsible. Other contentious politicians were also made aware of the consequences they might face. But voters remained blissfully ignorant of these unsavory, behind-the-scenes manipulations, so there were no protesters carrying signs calling for the impeachment of, among others, Ed Muskie, Joe Brennan or John McKernan. LePage’s nasty little plot differs from their machinations only because he’s never attempted to hide what he was doing.

Which makes him stupider than those guys – but more honest.

During the legislative session that begins in January, there’s a remote chance a move to impeach LePage could pass in the Maine House, where Democrats hold a narrow majority. But that would merely result in his indictment for whatever crime can be contrived from his cloddish behavior. It’s the Republican-controlled state Senate that would try the governor and decide on his culpability. Even taking into consideration the battered condition of relations between LePage and many powerful GOP senators, there’s virtually no chance he’d be found guilty.

Nevertheless, the results of such a proceeding would be disastrous for all involved. Proponents of impeachment seem unaware or unconcerned that pushing their agenda would bring an end to any pretense of cooperation between Republicans and Democrats. That rejection of bipartisanship wouldn’t be a short-term inconvenience. It would be the new normal and could be expected to endure long after LePage’s term ends in 2018. Maine would experience a political rift the likes of which hasn’t been seen here in modern times.

If reducing state government to rubble seems like an acceptable trade-off for attempting to do little more than embarrass a governor who has repeatedly demonstrated his immunity to embarrassment, then order up a supply of locally produced projectiles (“We could hit him with craft-beer cans. Full ones”).

Just don’t expect the results to be peachy.

Pine cones? Black flies? Rejected Medicaid applications? Suggestions for ammo can be emailed to aldiamon@herniahill.net.