Galluccio’s enablers on the Hill

Some Massachusetts lawmakers still try.

When state Senator Anthony Galluccio fled the scene of a recent car crash, he was hoping he could get away with his latest mistake. The institution he represents still seems open to letting him try.

Galluccio, a Cambridge Democrat with a checkered driving history, hit the rear end of a van containing a family of four with such force that he left behind an imprint of his license plate. No one was seriously injured and police ultimately tracked him down. Galluccio said he panicked because of his past driving record and apologized for poor judgment. He refused to answers questions about whether he was drinking before the accident.

Galluccio was convicted of drunk driving in 1984 and 1997. He received a pardon for the earlier offense. In December 2005, he triggered a four-car accident at a downtown Boston intersection at 2 a.m. No sobriety test was administered and a clerk-magistrate ruled that while he had been drinking, there wasn’t enough evidence for a charge of driving under the influence of alcohol.

After this latest incident, Galluccio faced his colleagues in a closed-door caucus. “We think that public officials should be a little bit beyond what normal people are expected to be,’’ Senate President Therese Murray said afterward. “Nobody should leave the scene of an accident, especially an elected official.’’

But, expecting elected officials to obey the law is not expecting them to be “a little bit beyond what normal people are expected to do.’’ It is expecting them to do exactly what “normal people are expected to do.’’

Until elected officials stop thinking of themselves as something other than ordinary citizens, bound by the same laws and consequences as everyone else, Beacon Hill’s shield of arrogance remains unscathed. Can anything pierce it?

After all, this Senate is filled with lawmakers who watched two members, who are now former members, stand accused of serious criminal charges over the past year. Dianne Wilkerson, a Roxbury Democrat, is facing corruption charges after federal agents photographed her allegedly stuffing bribe money into her bra. James Marzilli, an Arlington Democrat, was indicted on charges of accosting four women in Lowell. Both resigned last year, under pressure from a public that held their elected officials to a higher standard than their colleagues did.

The speaker of the House also resigned this year, and is under indictment on corruption charges involving the awarding of state software contracts.

The year of scandals forced lawmakers to tighten ethics regulations. But no law can legislate humility. No law can zap arrogance. No law can supplant fear of getting caught with conscience, or replace the basic instinct for self-preservation with the higher principle of personal responsibility.

And, no law - not even one they personally write - can make lawmakers stop thinking of themselves as a protected class, one that can use the power of position and connections to soften the consequences of their own behavior.

Galluccio has no plans to resign his seat or step down from a prominent post as Senate chairman of the Joint Committee on Higher Education. A citation was issued to him for leaving the scene after causing property damage and personal injury. If he is found to have left the scene, he could have his driver’s license revoked for 60 days.

Asked whether the Senate would take any action to reprimand him, Murray said, “Well, first we have to see what the charges are.’’

Whatever the charges, Galluccio knows the answer to the question: was he drinking before he slammed his black Infiniti into a van carrying a father, mother, their two children, and the family dog?

His colleagues should not forget about conscience and personal responsibility, but they should also think about self-preservation - their own.

If Galluccio does drink and drive, he has the potential to cause more harm than Wilkerson, Marzilli, or DiMasi.

If he drinks and drives, the public, not just the public trust, is at risk. Who wants to enable that big a mistake?

Joan Vennochi can be reached at vennochi@globe.com.