Foolish behavior on the Hill
By C.W. GUSEWELLE
We like to imagine that ours is a mature republic. “Yes,” as Jake said to Lady Brett on the last page of
The Sun Also Rises. “Isn’t it pretty to think so?”
But as the broadcast of the State of the Union address played on the TV this past Monday, I had the odd sensation I was watching a cartoon.
I’m not speaking here of President Bush’s remarks. His text was what it was, and there was ample dissection of that by pundits in the hours after the event.
It’s the behavior of his audience I refer to.
An observer witnessing the spectacle without context — not knowing it was taking place in a hallowed chamber of the most august political entity on the planet — might well imagine he was watching some kind of childish theater.
Or maybe just a lighthearted offering from “Saturday Night Live” or Comedy Central.
I wished afterward that I had kept a running tally of how many times the members on one side of the aisle bounded to their feet, whooping and clapping, provoked to raucous display by the utterance of some altogether unexceptional phrase — a declaration of dubious principle or a vow of patriotic zeal.
It had to be 20 or 30 times at a minimum.
Meanwhile, of course, the members on the opposite side sat resolutely on their hands, or might be seen to clap once or twice in a furtive way, out of fear they might be thought un-American. Some would start to rise, then think better of it and slump down again, abashed.
Ah, the cruel choices of a political life: to stand or not; to put hands together or not. You could see them wrestling with the decisions.
Some in the president’s camp would make a point of being first on their feet, in the obvious hope that their vigorous display of loyalty would be noticed and, in the year remaining, be somehow rewarded.
Others, ruled by caution, were slower to decide, looking about to judge the intent of their fellow lemmings before making a move.
These comments may not fairly describe the deportment of all the senators and representatives present — only some I could see. Besides being brief, the camera’s views did not include the whole chamber.
And it is possible the behavior was untypical, skewed by the subtext of the fierce political campaign in progress.
I once had the privilege of sitting in the House gallery to hear a president speak before a joint session of Congress. The occasion was not a State of the Union address. It was an event of much different character.
For it was on that March evening, a month short of 43 years ago, that President Lyndon Johnson, in words of eloquence and passion, declared that two centuries of injustice must be redressed by the passage of landmark civil rights legislation.
I do not recall any partisan outbursts, any raucous celebration or objection, any repeated interruptions of the speech. Instead, there was a sense that all present understood they were witnessing a watershed moment in the history of our country.
Look up the text. You can find it on the Internet or in any library. It is as moving today as it was four decades ago.
Reading it, you will understand why, instead of acting out, the peoples’ representatives were content to listen — and risk letting their hearts be changed.
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