This column originally appeared in the Williston Observer on November 25, 2009.
It's Time to Kill the Filibuster
A few weeks ago in these pages, I took issue with those who insist we live in a democracy, explaining that a democracy is not an ideal system for a population of any significant size. Our system of representative democracy, where we hire, or elect, people to represent us, is a much better way of running a government.
Along with this indirect form of representation, we have protections in our system to ensure that the majority does not act as a tyrant. Our constitutions, for example, protect the freedoms of all, especially those of the minority.
Given all this, I feel the time is right to rail against one of my least favorite "features" of our legislative process — the filibuster.
The word derives from a Dutch term for a type of pirate. The term was first applied to American adventurers who sought to overthrow Central American governments in the 19th century, and was transferred to Senators who attempt to do the same to legislation.
The filibuster has a long history. At their inception, both houses of Congress allowed for unlimited debate — which is a fancy way of saying that a member of Congress could talk for as long as they wished, on any subject. While the member spoke, no other business could be conducted. If you could get two-like minded members to team up, that house of Congress would grind to a halt.
This is the exact opposite of a democratic principle, a tyranny of one.
The House long ago did away with this practice, as the number of Representatives rose. The Senate, however, retains the practice. For over 100 years, there was no way to stop debate. In 1917, the Senate created the cloture rule. Under the cloture rule, if enough Senators vote to stop debate, it stops. Originally, the number needed to invoke cloture was two-thirds, or 67 Senators in today's Senate. In 1975, the number needed to invoke cloture was reduced to three-fifths, or 60 Senators.
There have been several famous filibusters through history. Some are the stuff of legend — Huey Long, Democrat of Louisiana, filibustered the Senate multiple times in the 1930s, as he railed against legislation he felt gave too much to America's upper class. He entertained the nation by reading the phone book, Shakespeare, and the Bible into the public record.
Some filibusters had nothing short of evil intent. Strom Thurmond, Democrat (and Republican) of South Carolina, filibustered for over 24 hours to stop civil rights legislation in 1957. Other anti-civil rights filibusters were the norm until 1964, when the Senate was finally able to move the issue forward.
We have made some progress from the tyranny of one, to the tyranny of the third, to the tyranny of the two-fifths. I am a proponent for the protection of the minority, but the main protection for the minority is the Constitution, not an arcane Senate rule. It is time, has been time for a long time, to remove this technical procedure altogether.
Lest you think that this is just some sour grapes, the result of the recent close vote on cloture to allow the Senate's version of the health care bill to come to the floor, I admit that's part of it. It isn't like I sit around mulling over the filibuster and cloture every day.
But the recent vote only brought the issue to the foreground. I've disliked the filibuster and cloture for as long as I can remember. I would support doing away with it when the Senate is controlled by Republicans, too.
Not only is the filibuster anti-democratic, it is also ripe for abuse. Recent reports that Louisiana Senator Mary Landrieu's vote for cloture was bought with a $100 million gift to Louisiana is just another side of the problem — to get to cloture, the majority party might be willing to buy votes.
Whether that happened here or not is not relevant — what is relevant is that it can happen, that it has happened before, that it will happen again.
I'm thankful that the Senate voted to allow the health care bill to come to the floor for debate. It is a good step in the right direction. Once we have this important piece of legislation properly vetted, debated, amended, and passed, hopefully the Senate will take a close look at its rules, and decide that the time of the filibuster has long since gone.
Note: The orginally published text said "tyrrany of the quarter" — this text corrects that to "tyranny of the third."
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Remembering All of Our Honored Veterans
This column originally appeared in the Williston Observer on November 12, 2009.
Remembering All of Our Honored Veterans
I was having a relaxed lunch with my grandmother the other day, when the subject of Veterans Day came up. The day, set aside to honor all military veterans, is a state and national holiday, but not a day off for most businesses or schools. GE, where I work, does give all of its American employees Veterans Day off, which prompted the turn of conversation.
She spoke of my grandfather's time away during World War 2, but more specifically of what she was doing during those times. While he was off serving in Italy, she was trying to make ends meet back in Massachusetts, with a new-born daughter to take care of.
She told of finding a place to live and work, taking care of the children of a school headmaster; of the friendships my mother, as a toddler, made with his children; of the family dinners they were welcomed at and the dinners where she was expected to help serve the guests.
She told of my grandfather's homecoming, and how he was expected home in the afternoon, but surprised them by arriving in the morning instead. She told of his meeting his daughter for the first time.
As I listened to these stories of "home," a specific feeling began to tug at me — I'll get to that feeling in a moment.
Technically, I am one of the veterans whom we honored yesterday. I served in the National Guard for five years in the early nineties. I feel embarrassed to be included in the category, though. I never saw any combat, never even left the country. I and my comrades watched the invasion of Iraq in Desert Storm from the comfort of our living rooms in Vermont, from the comfort of our armory in Swanton.
I feel like I sacrificed nothing more than a few summers in Kentucky, one weekend a month in exotic locales like Jericho, or a few weeks away at far-off Fort Drum. Compared to those veterans who spent years away from home, with those who endured gunfire and artillery, my service was a walk in the park.
My children ask me, from time to time, about what I did in the Army. I have fond memories of my Southern drill sergeants, of the young men from Vermont and New Hampshire that I trained with, of driving tanks through the backwoods of Camp Johnson, of firing shells at plywood cutouts in the hills of the Ethan Allen Firing Range, of waving to the cheering crowds from a perch atop my tank as we drove down the street during a Fourth of July parade.
I tell them that I served in the Guard because I felt it was the least I could do. That I hoped because of what I did and what countless others before me and since had done, that they might never have to put on a uniform. But if they did, that they would join a proud American tradition of military service.
Which brings me back to that feeling — the feeling that while we honor our veterans, we should also honor those they left behind. The spouses who raised the children while the soldier was away. The parents who wished for some news, but not the wrong kind of news. The civilians who endured the shortages and rationing. These people are also veterans of a different sort, and as we honor those who served, I feel that we should also honor those who supported those who served.
In June of this year, according to the Department of Defense, U.S. military personnel were serving in 150 countries across the world, from Afghanistan to Zimbabwe, from the single soldier in Guyana to 171,000 personnel in Iraq. Significant numbers are also serving in Korea, Japan, Germany, Italy, Spain, the UK, Djibouti, Belgium, Turkey, and Bahrain.
These men and women currently serving join an estimated 43 million other veterans who have served the United States since the Revolutionary War. Hopefully you were able to take a few moments yesterday to remember all of these people, and to remember those who supported them back at home.
For it is because of "home" that they serve at all.
Remembering All of Our Honored Veterans
I was having a relaxed lunch with my grandmother the other day, when the subject of Veterans Day came up. The day, set aside to honor all military veterans, is a state and national holiday, but not a day off for most businesses or schools. GE, where I work, does give all of its American employees Veterans Day off, which prompted the turn of conversation.
She spoke of my grandfather's time away during World War 2, but more specifically of what she was doing during those times. While he was off serving in Italy, she was trying to make ends meet back in Massachusetts, with a new-born daughter to take care of.
She told of finding a place to live and work, taking care of the children of a school headmaster; of the friendships my mother, as a toddler, made with his children; of the family dinners they were welcomed at and the dinners where she was expected to help serve the guests.
She told of my grandfather's homecoming, and how he was expected home in the afternoon, but surprised them by arriving in the morning instead. She told of his meeting his daughter for the first time.
As I listened to these stories of "home," a specific feeling began to tug at me — I'll get to that feeling in a moment.
Technically, I am one of the veterans whom we honored yesterday. I served in the National Guard for five years in the early nineties. I feel embarrassed to be included in the category, though. I never saw any combat, never even left the country. I and my comrades watched the invasion of Iraq in Desert Storm from the comfort of our living rooms in Vermont, from the comfort of our armory in Swanton.
I feel like I sacrificed nothing more than a few summers in Kentucky, one weekend a month in exotic locales like Jericho, or a few weeks away at far-off Fort Drum. Compared to those veterans who spent years away from home, with those who endured gunfire and artillery, my service was a walk in the park.
My children ask me, from time to time, about what I did in the Army. I have fond memories of my Southern drill sergeants, of the young men from Vermont and New Hampshire that I trained with, of driving tanks through the backwoods of Camp Johnson, of firing shells at plywood cutouts in the hills of the Ethan Allen Firing Range, of waving to the cheering crowds from a perch atop my tank as we drove down the street during a Fourth of July parade.
I tell them that I served in the Guard because I felt it was the least I could do. That I hoped because of what I did and what countless others before me and since had done, that they might never have to put on a uniform. But if they did, that they would join a proud American tradition of military service.
Which brings me back to that feeling — the feeling that while we honor our veterans, we should also honor those they left behind. The spouses who raised the children while the soldier was away. The parents who wished for some news, but not the wrong kind of news. The civilians who endured the shortages and rationing. These people are also veterans of a different sort, and as we honor those who served, I feel that we should also honor those who supported those who served.
In June of this year, according to the Department of Defense, U.S. military personnel were serving in 150 countries across the world, from Afghanistan to Zimbabwe, from the single soldier in Guyana to 171,000 personnel in Iraq. Significant numbers are also serving in Korea, Japan, Germany, Italy, Spain, the UK, Djibouti, Belgium, Turkey, and Bahrain.
These men and women currently serving join an estimated 43 million other veterans who have served the United States since the Revolutionary War. Hopefully you were able to take a few moments yesterday to remember all of these people, and to remember those who supported them back at home.
For it is because of "home" that they serve at all.
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