The Future of the Senate
by Chris Boundy
Over the last year or so, the Senate has lost three of its most well regarded and longest serving members: Senator Ted Stevens of Alaska, Senator Robert Byrd of West Virginia, and of course our own Senator Kennedy. At the same time, some of those seeking membership to Congress’ upper chamber are openly disdainful of the deliberative nature and the bipartisanship that are the sine qua non of the Senate. What does this change mean for the bodies future?
The influence of any three men in a body of a hundred should not be overestimated. But included in these three are the longest serving Senator in history, the fourth longest serving Senator in history, and the longest serving Republican Senator in history. Together they represented nearly a hundred and forty years of legislative knowledge and experience.
More important than simple longevity, however, is that each man had a deep love for the Senate as an institution. Each understood its history and, indeed, had been a member long enough to shape a large part of that history. Each had an impressive knowledge of parliamentary procedure, gained over decades of experience, and was fiercely protective of his home states’ interests. And, perhaps most importantly, over a long career each had the opportunity to work with colleagues from the opposing party and to understand the importance of maintaining working relations with people they might work with for years to come.
None of these men were saints. From Chappaquiddick to the Bridge to Nowhere to a youthful membership in the Klu Klux Klan, each man suffered personal and professional travails. But they each shared a common, vital idea of what the Senate was and the role it should play in American society.
We often forget, but the Senate is something of an oddity in our democratic system. What, after all, is the explanation for giving a state with the population of Delaware the same representation as a state the size of California? At the Founding, smaller states argued that they needed protection against larger states. If this argument once had some validity, it is difficult to argue any survives. States interests align along many axes—business interests, populations, geographic region---but size qua size is not one of them.
The true benefit of the Senate lies not in each state having an equal number of representatives, but in the Senate being a smaller chamber. Whereas Representatives in the House have only two-year terms and over four hundred colleagues, Senators, over the course of their six years, have ample time to get to know their less than a hundred colleagues. When disagreements arise, Senators are in a better position to understand and discuss issues with the opposition.
Indeed, the filibuster, a uniquely Senatorial creation, is a perfect example of this difference. The rule was originally meant to allow full and free debate. Although the lower house might impose time restrictions, it was thought that in the Senate each member should have enough time to fully speak his views. While allowing a Senator to speak at length incidentally impeded Senate business, this was believed to be an acceptable trade off for allowing Senators whatever time they might need to argue issues of national import.
In more modern times, the situation has exactly reversed and the filibuster has become a means to stifle debate. Accordingly, a movement has begun to abolish it. But, as proponents of the rule correctly point out, the problem is not in the rule itself, but in how it is used. Any tool can be a weapon if you hold it right, and there is not shortage of parliamentary maneuvers for blocking Senate business. The larger problem is the discord within the Senate itself.
And that discord is a problem that seems unlikely to abate anytime soon. To the contrary, a group of conservative Senate candidates, including members of the Tea Party, have made disdain for the collegiality and deliberative nature of the Senate part of their campaigns. Of course, it remains to be seen how successful these conservative candidates will be in the general elections in November. Regardless, collegiality and deliberation are central to what the Senate is, and the United States has little use for an upper body that is equally rancorous, but otherwise only a smaller and less democratic version of the House. And that is something that Senators Kennedy, Stevens, and Byrd each understood only too well.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
What Can Democrats Learn From Frank Skeffington?
“What Can Democrats Learn From Frank Skeffington?”
by Chris Boundy
In Edwin O’Connor’s classic tale of city politics, The Last Hurrah, a mayoral campaign is fought in a large city (often identified as Boston) in the early 20th century. The incumbent, Frank Skeffington, has experience, a strong intuitive sense for politics, and an astounding charisma on his side. His opponent, Kevin McCluskey, is a handsome young war veteran with no political experience but who enjoys the support of a powerful group of newspapermen and financial backers. In the shocking conclusion Skeffington loses the election to McCluskey in a landslide.
In the end, Skeffington is undone through no fault of his own. Time has simply passed him by. A younger generation of voters now holds sway, and they are used to relying on the federal, not local, government for their needs. They are also more comfortable with television, a medium that Skeffington uses, but does not prefer, but that McCluskey excels at. In fact, the bulk of McCluskey’s campaign is tightly choreographed commercials that showcase his attractive family and home life. McCluskey’s backers recognize early that this new medium can showcase their candidate’s strengths while minimizing his weaknesses. In the end this awareness makes all the difference.
In our own day television hardly remains a novel medium. Still, technology has continued to evolve and politicians continue to learn, eventually, how to harness it to their needs. For instance, two and a half million people currently “like” Sarah Palin on Facebook, and she has more than three hundred thousand followers on Twitter. In the age of smart phones, that means that Palin’s thoughts can potentially reach millions of supporters instantly, no matter where they are or what they are doing. Moreover, both mediums encourage the kind of brief, catchy statements that Palin excels at, while discouraging longer more developed analysis that, at least according to her critics, Palin is less capable of.
The implications of her mastery of these new mediums often goes unappreciated. As Palin prepares for what most people assume is a presidential run there has been much talk about how she has failed to lay the proper groundwork for her campaign, either by not building relationships with party officials and media in early primary states, by not raising sufficient funds, or by not yet organizing her supporters effectively for a national campaign. But if Palin’s post-gubernatorial career has taught the world anything it’s that if she continues to keep in touch with and broaden her base, the necessary doors will open for her. Why cultivate relationships with the politicians and newspapers in Iowa and New Hampshire? If she builds her base sufficiently than both will come to her. As for raising money and organizing, it was, ironically enough, President Obama’s 2008 campaign that truly demonstrated the power of the Internet to do both. Given Palin’s success using the Internet so far, she might well feel confident about her ability to copy, and potentially improve, President Obama’s previous successes in these areas.
Undoubtedly, if asked, the Palin Campaign would claim that they identified the political potential for Twitter and Facebook early on and planned from the beginning to use them as an engine to power their political activities. Personally, I think it’s more likely that following several calamitous interactions with traditional media outlets, the Palin Campaign simply identified the avenues available to them and, by chance, those avenues had developed to the point where they could be used effectively as political tools. Whichever way the direction of causation runs, however, the end results are the same.
At the end of The Last Hurrah, O’Connor is carefully agnostic about whether McCluskey’s election will have a positive or negative impact on the city. McCluskey has shown precious little ability to assert his own views when faced with pressure from his backers. Skeffington, on the other hand, while likeable, is a bit of a rogue and has never been opposed to a little, or a lot, of graft. What is clear is that politics in the city are forever changed and that future campaign will need to take account of these changed realities if the wish to be successful. Failing to do so invites the kind of landslide that was the end of Frank Skeffington.
by Chris Boundy
In Edwin O’Connor’s classic tale of city politics, The Last Hurrah, a mayoral campaign is fought in a large city (often identified as Boston) in the early 20th century. The incumbent, Frank Skeffington, has experience, a strong intuitive sense for politics, and an astounding charisma on his side. His opponent, Kevin McCluskey, is a handsome young war veteran with no political experience but who enjoys the support of a powerful group of newspapermen and financial backers. In the shocking conclusion Skeffington loses the election to McCluskey in a landslide.
In the end, Skeffington is undone through no fault of his own. Time has simply passed him by. A younger generation of voters now holds sway, and they are used to relying on the federal, not local, government for their needs. They are also more comfortable with television, a medium that Skeffington uses, but does not prefer, but that McCluskey excels at. In fact, the bulk of McCluskey’s campaign is tightly choreographed commercials that showcase his attractive family and home life. McCluskey’s backers recognize early that this new medium can showcase their candidate’s strengths while minimizing his weaknesses. In the end this awareness makes all the difference.
In our own day television hardly remains a novel medium. Still, technology has continued to evolve and politicians continue to learn, eventually, how to harness it to their needs. For instance, two and a half million people currently “like” Sarah Palin on Facebook, and she has more than three hundred thousand followers on Twitter. In the age of smart phones, that means that Palin’s thoughts can potentially reach millions of supporters instantly, no matter where they are or what they are doing. Moreover, both mediums encourage the kind of brief, catchy statements that Palin excels at, while discouraging longer more developed analysis that, at least according to her critics, Palin is less capable of.
The implications of her mastery of these new mediums often goes unappreciated. As Palin prepares for what most people assume is a presidential run there has been much talk about how she has failed to lay the proper groundwork for her campaign, either by not building relationships with party officials and media in early primary states, by not raising sufficient funds, or by not yet organizing her supporters effectively for a national campaign. But if Palin’s post-gubernatorial career has taught the world anything it’s that if she continues to keep in touch with and broaden her base, the necessary doors will open for her. Why cultivate relationships with the politicians and newspapers in Iowa and New Hampshire? If she builds her base sufficiently than both will come to her. As for raising money and organizing, it was, ironically enough, President Obama’s 2008 campaign that truly demonstrated the power of the Internet to do both. Given Palin’s success using the Internet so far, she might well feel confident about her ability to copy, and potentially improve, President Obama’s previous successes in these areas.
Undoubtedly, if asked, the Palin Campaign would claim that they identified the political potential for Twitter and Facebook early on and planned from the beginning to use them as an engine to power their political activities. Personally, I think it’s more likely that following several calamitous interactions with traditional media outlets, the Palin Campaign simply identified the avenues available to them and, by chance, those avenues had developed to the point where they could be used effectively as political tools. Whichever way the direction of causation runs, however, the end results are the same.
At the end of The Last Hurrah, O’Connor is carefully agnostic about whether McCluskey’s election will have a positive or negative impact on the city. McCluskey has shown precious little ability to assert his own views when faced with pressure from his backers. Skeffington, on the other hand, while likeable, is a bit of a rogue and has never been opposed to a little, or a lot, of graft. What is clear is that politics in the city are forever changed and that future campaign will need to take account of these changed realities if the wish to be successful. Failing to do so invites the kind of landslide that was the end of Frank Skeffington.
The Aftermath
“The Aftermath”
by Christopher Boundy
January 10, 2011
In the reporting that followed the shootings in Tucson, Arizona many state and federal legislators who knew Representative Gabrielle Giffords were interviewed. One common theme that emerged, besides a heartfelt admiration for Rep. Giffords and sympathy for the victims of the attacks, was that each of Giffords’ colleagues had received violent threats in the past. These threats came without regard to whether the individual worked at the state or federal level, and without regard to party affiliation or ideology. It was a sober reminder of the dangers that all our elected officials face in the performance of their duties.
Given this reminder of the courage our legislators regularly display, it was disappointing to see how quickly the partisan jockeying began following the shootings. Liberals and various news commentators quickly began drawing a connection between the sharp rhetoric currently permeating our national politics and the violence that occurred on January 8th. It did not take long for Sarah Palin’s famous poster, identifying vulnerable Congressional districts with crosshairs, to be unearthed and spread across the Internet. Although Palin herself has remained notably silent, other conservatives quickly mounted a defense and began countercharging that the shootings, a national tragedy, were not the kind of things that should be politicized to push an ideological agenda. The fact that Jared Lee Loughner listed the Communist Manifesto as a favorite novel was duly noted.
What the shooters motivations actually were is unclear and probably will remain so for some time. Those motivations will undoubtedly be the subject of intense investigation over the coming months by federal and local law enforcement officials. But, right now, it’s unclear whether Loughner followed national politics at all, or if he even knows who Sarah Palin is.
In a way, that makes Loughner’s actions even more frightening. They were the arbitrary actions of a young man who is either completely delusional or deeply evil. But the very fact that Loughner’s actions were so despicable casts a revealing light on the current level of partisanship in our capital. Republicans, Democrats and their backers may consider their opponents to be enemies. They may consider them to be wrongheaded, dishonest, and foolish. Even devious. But the overheated rhetoric and inflamed tempers in Washington pale next to the example of hatred that took place in Tucson only days ago. Similarly, while it is surely premature to blame sharp political rhetoric for Loughner’s actions, the attacks themselves underscore why such comments have no place in modern political conversation. It’s difficult to now think of a candidate for office suggesting that their supporters “reload” when confronting political opposition.
In the end, Loughner’s attack on Rep. Giffords was an attack on democracy itself. The attack directly threatened the face-to-face interaction that is necessary to a representative democracy and both legislators and their constituents will be tempted to avoid exposing themselves to similar dangers in the future in the future. But there is no hiding from some threats. And that fact should drive us together, not pull us apart.
by Christopher Boundy
January 10, 2011
In the reporting that followed the shootings in Tucson, Arizona many state and federal legislators who knew Representative Gabrielle Giffords were interviewed. One common theme that emerged, besides a heartfelt admiration for Rep. Giffords and sympathy for the victims of the attacks, was that each of Giffords’ colleagues had received violent threats in the past. These threats came without regard to whether the individual worked at the state or federal level, and without regard to party affiliation or ideology. It was a sober reminder of the dangers that all our elected officials face in the performance of their duties.
Given this reminder of the courage our legislators regularly display, it was disappointing to see how quickly the partisan jockeying began following the shootings. Liberals and various news commentators quickly began drawing a connection between the sharp rhetoric currently permeating our national politics and the violence that occurred on January 8th. It did not take long for Sarah Palin’s famous poster, identifying vulnerable Congressional districts with crosshairs, to be unearthed and spread across the Internet. Although Palin herself has remained notably silent, other conservatives quickly mounted a defense and began countercharging that the shootings, a national tragedy, were not the kind of things that should be politicized to push an ideological agenda. The fact that Jared Lee Loughner listed the Communist Manifesto as a favorite novel was duly noted.
What the shooters motivations actually were is unclear and probably will remain so for some time. Those motivations will undoubtedly be the subject of intense investigation over the coming months by federal and local law enforcement officials. But, right now, it’s unclear whether Loughner followed national politics at all, or if he even knows who Sarah Palin is.
In a way, that makes Loughner’s actions even more frightening. They were the arbitrary actions of a young man who is either completely delusional or deeply evil. But the very fact that Loughner’s actions were so despicable casts a revealing light on the current level of partisanship in our capital. Republicans, Democrats and their backers may consider their opponents to be enemies. They may consider them to be wrongheaded, dishonest, and foolish. Even devious. But the overheated rhetoric and inflamed tempers in Washington pale next to the example of hatred that took place in Tucson only days ago. Similarly, while it is surely premature to blame sharp political rhetoric for Loughner’s actions, the attacks themselves underscore why such comments have no place in modern political conversation. It’s difficult to now think of a candidate for office suggesting that their supporters “reload” when confronting political opposition.
In the end, Loughner’s attack on Rep. Giffords was an attack on democracy itself. The attack directly threatened the face-to-face interaction that is necessary to a representative democracy and both legislators and their constituents will be tempted to avoid exposing themselves to similar dangers in the future in the future. But there is no hiding from some threats. And that fact should drive us together, not pull us apart.
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