Although any of them who have looked at the portrait on a US ten-dollar bill have seen Alexander Hamilton, international readers of this Web log may not have heard of Aaron Burr. We Americans, on the other hand, relish a good fight, and every single intelligent, educated, literate, well-informed one of us who recognizes the paramount importance for the citizens of a great superpower to possess both a knowledge and an understanding of history – which is to say, about one in fifty or so (many of whom read this blog, of course), has heard the story of Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr.
By most accounts, that pair of extraordinary gentlemen got along okay during the American Revolution – the idea of throwing the British off their land appealed to both of them, apparently. But after we won – with a little help from the French – the two of them fell out over a number of political, social and economic issues.
Now, dear blog reader, I ask that you imagine Joe Biden, Vice President of the United States, squaring off with Henry Paulson, former Secretary of the Treasury, in some sylvan glade, armed with .44 magnums and engaged in a confrontation of honor over various disagreements concerning things one of them might have said about the other. Imagine the Vice President and a former Secretary of the Treasury being so offended, they would want to kill one another about what various attack ads, funded by this or that political action committee or 501(c)(4) organization, had alleged on TV or the radio. Totally absurd, no?
Well, it was not such a ridiculous idea in 1804, when Aaron Burr, Vice President of the United States, squared off with Alexander Hamilton, former Secretary of the Treasury, in a sylvan glade located in Weehawken, New Jersey, both of them armed with a nice pair of .65 caliber dueling pistols, to settle their differences about what the early nineteenth century equivalents of PACs and the media – that being a bunch of guys drinking in taverns expressing themselves with quaint old-fashioned broadsheet newspapers and pamphlets – had said about them.
Those guns Burr and Hamilton used, though ancient by our standards, could do some pretty serious damage to your adversary if you were a decent shot, and by all accounts Burr was a superb marksman. Hamilton, a former aide to General George Washington during the Revolutionary War, certainly knew his way around firearms himself, but alas, for whatever reason, that particular day his aim was off. Consequently, Hamilton died and Burr escaped the encounter unscathed.
Even back in 1804, though, dueling was going out of fashion. In fact, the reason Burr and Hamilton chose to take their umbrage-fueled potshots at one another in New Jersey was that dueling was illegal in nearby New York, where both men actually lived. Consequently, Burr got into a lot of trouble, being charged by the State of New York, among other things, with murder.
Therefore, in 1805, Burr returned to the United States Senate, where, as Vice President, his principal job was presiding over it, and resigned. His farewell remarks, however, proved as fateful for our republic as his pistol had been for Secretary Hamilton. Because Burr told the Senate that, despite the fact they were really, really smart and very, very wise, the rules for operation of their great legislative body were in sore need of correction and improvement. To make his point, he went through all the Senate rules, one by one, and offered a considered critique of each. Since Burr was an extremely effective and convincing public speaker, this Parthian shot made quite an impression, and the Senate took a number of his suggestions to heart, including the deletion of something called the Previous Question Motion from the rule book.
It has been said that when a moron leaves the Senate for a seat in the United States House of Representatives, the collective I.Q. of both bodies increases. But it looks like the guys in the early US Senate were not actually as clever as many historians would have us believe, because it took until 1837 for one of them to realize that, by deleting the Previous Question Motion Rule and failing to make any compensating changes, the United States Senate had inadvertently deprived itself of any capability to end what is known among parliamentarians as dilatory debate. And it was that realization which gave rise to the very first US Senate filibuster.
The subject was the Obamacare of the 1830’s – a move by President Andrew Jackson to eliminate something called The Second Bank of the United States. Senators opposing Jackson “…fortified themselves, with an ample supply in a nearby room, of cold hams, turkeys, beef, pickles, wines and hot coffee,” and proceeded to stand upon the Senate floor and talk their damn fool heads off. Unfortunately for their cause, though, when the provisions ran out, their spirits flagged, the Senate got back to its business, and the Second Bank of the United States became… well, history. Nevertheless, their efforts had undoubtedly installed the filibuster as a feasible, if not entirely legitimate senatorial tool, and it was not until 1917, when a group of senators in favor of peace and opposed to US involvement in World War I got on President Woodrow Wilson’s nerves, that the idea of gagging filibustering senatorial windbags came to its eventual fruition with the concept of cloture. Cloture, however, was not implemented as a simple majority vote in the Senate, because that would have taken all the fun out of it, would it not? Oh, no, the first cloture requirement was for a super majority of two-thirds of the Senate, a portion which, today, would be 67 votes. Later, in the 1940’s, that was reduced to a fraction of three-fifths, or, thanks to Alaska and Hawaii, 60 votes, which was where it remained until Thursday of this week.
Then Harry Reid, Senate Majority Leader, and his Democratic colleagues, changed the rules. Now, only Supreme Court nominations and actual legislation remain vulnerable to the filibuster. So as of three days ago, if President Barack Hussein Obama wants to nominate one of his conniving cronies, designing camp followers, scheming fellow travelers, slathering yes-men, simpering suck-ups or flattering sycophants for executive branch jobs, or, in fact, nominate them for any of the federal courts lower than the Supreme Court itself, agreement and approval by a simple majority of 51 Senate votes will suffice.
Given that the Republican minority in the Senate has spent nearly the last five years shamelessly prostituting the powers of the filibuster to stymie President Obama’s every move, this is hardly a surprising development to anyone with the common sense the Lord God Almighty would have endowed upon a picnic ant. Such a classification apparently omits quite a few Republicans, it seems, including many Republican members of the United States Senate. Since Thursday, their cries of outrage have reverberated across Washington like the ululations of enraged banshees. And such anguished noises fully filled the room at the Round Robin Bar this Friday when I stopped by for a drink after work.
“Utter tyranny!” thundered Wentworth, a member of Senator Mitch McConnell’s staff, pounding the table for emphasis. “Another perfect example of the creeping inroads agains freedom being made by this Democrat socialist dictatorship!”
“Inexcusable!” yelled Matherson, who works for John McCain, as he vehemently agreed, slamming his drink down next to Wentworth’s fist.
“Nothing short of criminal, that’s what it is!” Quiggley, who is a major player in Rand Paul’s organization, loudly declared, as he stood up, waving his cocktail in the air, “it’s a… a… conspiracy… that’s what… a criminal conspiracy at the highest levels… a Democrat conspiracy of unlimited evil to destroy everything America stands for!”
“Just like Rush Limbaugh said,” Wentworth elaborated, “this is exactly like Harry Reid condoning gang rape!”
“Exactly!” Quiggley agreed, resuming his seat and signaling the waiter for another drink. “Those [expletive] Democrats! If a guy gets lucky and nails some horny [expletive] who’s taking birth control pills and asking for it by wearing a dress up to here – that he meets at a bar on M Street, and she wakes up the next day with a case of Drunken Liberal Slut’s Remorse, the Democrats want that guy put away for life! But the rape of Lady Liberty – that’s [expletive] nothing to them!”
“Oh, hi, Tom,” Wentworth offered as I walked by. “What are you up to?”
“Not much,” I averred.
“Come on, sit down,” Wentworth suggested.
“Sure,” I replied, “why not? You fellows are upset about the 52 to 48 vote on the Nuclear Option yesterday, I take it?”
“It was a total abuse of power!” Matherson proclaimed with an air of righteous indignation. “What’s more, if the Democrats want bipartisanship, this is one [expletive] hell of a way for them to [expletive] show it!”
“Oh come on now,” I chided. “Did Wentworth’s boss ever make it a secret that his goal during the first four years of Obama’s presidency was to destroy it and deny Obama a second term?”
“Sure,” Wentworth shrugged, “and everybody knows it, too. That’s politics. Big deal. The people of Kentucky sent us to Washington to win, no matter what the cost.”
“They did?” I asked, as the waiter, responding to Quiggley’s beckoning, arrived and took our drink orders. “That’s odd – it seems to me that I heard somewhere or another that the people of your state sent you to Washington, DC in order to participate in the governance of our nation in accordance with the structure of the United States Constitution and the ideals of the Declaration of Independence.”
After the uproarious laughter subsided, Wentworth shot back. “Jesus [expletive] Christ on a [expletive] crutch, Collins! Where the [expletive] do you think you heard that pathetic, stinking pile of [expletive]? High school civics class, maybe?”
“Actually,” I informed him, “it’s something my mother told me.”
“Oh… uh… well…” Wentworth blushed. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend… your… mother, of course. But damn, Collins, we do all know better than that, now don’t we?”
“That’s right!” Matherson interjected. “This town’s about hardball politics – it always has been, no matter what they say in [expletive] Sunday school!”
“They teach politics,” I interrupted, “in Sunday school where you come from?”
“Listen, Collins,” Matherson affirmed, “in the great state of Arizona, they teach politics – conservative Republican politics – in public school, in Sunday school, in charm school, and in [expletive] reform school, and make no [expletive] mistake about it! And we conservative Republicans aren’t about to let the [expletive] liberal Democrats get away with this, no sir! They’re gonna pay for this, I swear it, because the next time there’s a Republican majority in the United States Senate, we’re gonna shove it to the [expletive] Democrats and we ain’t gonna use no [expletive] Vaseline, either!”
“Hey, wait a minute,” I reasoned as the waiter delivered our drinks, “you guys are sitting here complaining that by modifying its cloture rules, Harry Reid has destroyed the venerated processes, time-tested methods, and hallowed traditions of the United States Senate, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Matherson agreed, “that’s exactly what we’re saying. And your point is?”
“And my point is,” I continued, “if you actually believe that, then when there is, at last, a Republican majority in the United States Senate, wouldn’t the most rational, consistent and logical course of action for the Republicans be to restore the 60 vote requirement for cloture?”
“Are you [expletive] nuts?” Quiggley shouted. “Of course not! No [expletive] way! The [expletive] Democrats did this [expletive] to us, and someday, when it’s our turn, we’re going to make them [expletive] pay for it!”
“Even if doing so isn’t in the best interest of the United States of America?” I pressed.
“What the [expletive] are you talking about?” Quiggley screamed. “What’s good for the Tea Party is good for America! That’s all there [expletive] is to it! Period!”
“Not the Republican Party?” I needled with meaningful glances at Wentworth and Matherson.
“We know what he means,” Matherson assured me, “even if you don’t.”
“That’s right,” Wentworth echoed confidently, “even if you don’t. ‘Cause what it means, Collins, is we don’t want a bunch of atheist, humanist, environmentalist, evolutionist, socialist, [expletive]-loving, homo-kissing, baby-killing liberals on our federal courts or running our federal agencies!”
“Well,” I reminded them, “the circumstances being what they are, it looks like you’re going to have to put up with a few of them – for the time being, at least. But have you considered how this situation isn’t… completely bad for you?”
My three drinking companions all leaned over the table in my direction, exceedingly curious expressions now pasted on their faces. “What the [expletive] are you [expletive] talking about?” Matherson whispered.
“Just that, well, you guys all know what happens when Obama nominates some atheist, humanist, environmentalist, evolutionist, socialist, [expletive]-loving, homo-kissing, baby-killing liberal to some federal executive position or a place on the federal bench.”
“Yeah,” Quiggley confirmed, “we all have to get together and dig up the dirt about that scumbag and prepare the background material for the filibuster against them so our guy can tell the world what we found out about that atheist, humanist, environmentalist, evolutionist, socialist, [expletive]-loving, homo-kissing, baby-killing liberal!”
“Not that your guy ever has to actually do that,” I noted.
“No,” Quiggley admitted, “he doesn’t – not physically, not actually standing up on the Senate floor and presenting his case against the person, but the Democrats know that we know that they know whether or not we actually have what it would take to filibuster, so we have to bust our [expletive] preparing for a filibuster anyway.”
“And what you find, invariably,” I observed, “is what?”
“That they’re an atheist, humanist, environmentalist, evolutionist, socialist, [expletive]-loving, homo-kissing, baby-killing liberal!” Wentworth exclaimed. “What the [expletive] do you [expletive] expect? [Expletive] Barack Hussein Obama and his atheist, humanist, environmentalist, evolutionist, socialist, [expletive]-loving, homo-kissing, baby-killing liberal buddies nominate these mother-[expletive], don’t they?”
“And how much of your time,” I sought to verify, “do you fellows spend meticulously researching and verifying that the administration’s nominees for federal executive and federal court bench positions are, in fact, each and every one, an atheist, humanist, environmentalist, evolutionist, socialist, [expletive]-loving, homo-kissing, baby-killing liberal?”
“[Expletive]!” Wentworth erupted. “How about sixty [expletive] hours of my one-hundred-and-ten-hour [expletive] weeks?”
“Me, too!” Matherson snapped.
“Make that seventy hours of a one-hundred-and-thirty-hour week!” Quiggley wailed. “Protecting honest, God-fearing, virtuous Americans from evil hordes of atheist, humanist, environmentalist, evolutionist, socialist, [expletive]-loving, homo-kissing, baby-killing liberals is time-consuming, exhausting work!”
“And who makes you do that?” I inquired, “your bosses?”
“Only indirectly,” Wentworth sighed. “They’re only reacting to the pressure groups. Every time Obama nominates somebody to something, we get calls, emails, texts and tweets from all over about that person, demanding our senator mount a filibuster against them.”
“And now,” I pointed out, “you won’t have to do that. You will be perfectly justified in saying, ‘Sorry, that would be pointless. Thanks to the atheist, humanist, environmentalist, evolutionist, socialist, [expletive]-loving, homo-kissing, baby-killing liberal Democrats like Harry Reid, we can’t filibuster this kind of nomination anymore.’ Aren’t there some – benefits and advantages to that situation?”
A pregnant period of silence ensued. At last, Matherson spoke. “You know, Collins, if you’re right about this, maybe I can talk my wife out of that divorce she’s been yelling at me about.”
“I wonder,” Wentworth mused, “what it would be like to see my family again.”
“What!” Quiggley exploded, “this is impossible! Don’t listen to him! What are you up to, Collins? Who sent you, [expletive] Harry Reid?”
“Nobody sent me,” I replied, finishing my drink and throwing more than enough cash for it on the table, “and, as a matter of fact, I was just about to leave.”