Felon's Gun Rampage: A Wake-Up Call for Lax Justice

On a quiet September night in 2024, Devin Wade Wyaco, a 34-year-old Zuni Pueblo man, turned a petty spat into a near-fatal showdown. Armed with a handgun and a rap sheet that includes cocaine trafficking and fleeing cops, Wyaco fired at an unsuspecting bicyclist, John Doe, striking him in the abdomen. The victim survived, barely, thanks to quick medical attention at Zuni Hospital and later the University of New Mexico Hospital. Wyaco’s girlfriend, who owned the car he shot from, spilled the beans to investigators, sealing his fate. This wasn’t just a crime; it was a glaring red flag of a justice system stretched too thin.

Here’s the ugly truth: Wyaco’s guilty plea to assault with a deadly weapon, illegal firearm use in a violent crime, and felon-in-possession charges isn’t a win to celebrate. It’s a wake-up call. A convicted felon with a history of violence had no business near a gun, yet there he was, pulling the trigger without hesitation. Facing at least 10 years and up to life in prison, Wyaco’s case demands we ask: why does it take a near-murder for the law to finally clamp down? America’s safety hinges on keeping dangerous repeat offenders like him locked up, not coddled.

Federal law doesn’t mess around when it comes to felons and firearms. Title 18 Section 922(g) slaps a lifetime ban on gun possession for anyone with a felony record, and for good reason. Wyaco’s prior convictions - drug dealing and evading police - painted him as a ticking time bomb. His latest stunt proves it. The feds hit him with a minimum 10-year sentence, but with enhancements for violence, he could rot behind bars for life. That’s not harsh; that’s justice. New Mexico’s own Senate Bill 253, passed in 2025, doubles down, mandating nine to twelve years for felons caught with guns, no early release. States are stepping up because Washington’s resources can’t keep pace.

Opponents whine that these laws are too rigid, that non-violent felons deserve a second chance with a gun. Tell that to John Doe, bleeding out from Wyaco’s rage-fueled bullet. The data backs this up: New Mexico’s gun homicide rate spiked 35% from 2019 to 2023, with 530 firearm deaths in 2023 alone. That’s 25.3 per 100,000 people, 84% above the national average. When felons like Wyaco slip through the cracks, innocent lives pay the price. Restoring gun rights for ex-cons sounds noble until you realize the body count it risks.

This isn’t just a New Mexico problem; it’s an American tragedy, especially on tribal lands. Native American communities face murder rates ten times the national average, with homicide ranking among the top killers of Native women. The FBI’s Indian Country program juggles over 4,300 open cases as of early 2025, including 900 deaths. Wyaco’s rampage on Zuni Pueblo soil fits a grim pattern. Tribal police, stretched thin across vast jurisdictions, teamed up with the FBI’s Gallup Resident Agency to nail him. Their coordination under the Major Crimes Act is a rare bright spot in a system riddled with gaps.

Yet the bleeding hearts cry for leniency, blaming poverty or jurisdictional chaos for crimes like Wyaco’s. That’s a cop-out. Personal responsibility matters, and Wyaco chose to shoot. Historical failures - underfunded tribal cops, tangled federal oversight - don’t excuse pulling the trigger. Operation Not Forgotten has solved over 500 cases since it kicked off, proving tough enforcement works. Pouring permanent resources into tribal law enforcement, not sob stories, is the answer to this carnage.

Wyaco’s sentencing isn’t just about one thug; it’s a line in the sand. New Mexico’s homicide rate has soared 96% over the past decade, even as prison rolls for violent offenders dropped 36%. That math doesn’t add up. Gun violence costs the state $6.2 billion yearly, and kids - ages 1 to 17 - are dying from bullets more than anything else. Meanwhile, the feds and tribal cops scramble to plug a leaking dam. Harsh penalties like Wyaco’s 10-years-to-life send a message: break the law, wield a gun, and you’re done.

Some argue for softer approaches - gun buybacks, therapy sessions. Fine, try them. But when a felon’s bullet rips through a bicyclist’s gut, feel-good fixes ring hollow. Historical sentencing guidelines show repeat offenders rack up harsher punishments for a reason: they don’t learn. Wyaco’s cocaine days and car chases didn’t reform him; why bet on hugs now? Lock him up, throw away the key, and let law-abiding citizens sleep easier.