DURING THE FIRST weeks–or, in Pelosi time, 100 hours–of the 110th Congress, the word “comity” spewed from Capitol Hill like the ash that came out of Krakatoa in 1883. But old ways remain. Consider the continued role of “fact-checking squads” in the House of Representatives. Both the Democrats’ “30-Something Working Group” and the Republicans’ unofficial “Official Truth Squad” take to the House floor late at night, though never at the same time, to denounce the policies of the other party during sporadic “special orders” sessions. But they do not “dialogue” with each other; rather, they address only themselves–and the insomniacs and junkies who watch C-SPAN at 11pm.
The “30-Something Working Group” consists of the youngest House Democrats, led by Reps. Debbie Wasserman Shultz, Kendrick Meek, and Tim Ryan. In the last congress, the 30-Somethings use stat-filled charts (on the minimum wage, for example), props (bobble-head dolls and giant inflatable rubber stamps), and whimsical discussions (references to Alice in Wonderland and Star Trek) to mock the “Rubber Stamp Republican Majority,” which, like a bunch of bobble-heads, nodded yes to every request from the president, thereby leading us into war, sending spending out of orbit, and, in general, screwing up the country. What’s more, the 30-Somethings said they could prove all of their claims thanks to what they termed “third-party validators”–frequently, articles in the New York Times.
Striving to be cool in their anger, the 30-Somethings bring an august American tradition to the House floor: the rhetoric of the infomercial. One member feigns incredulity at the idea being sold; another then explains the details, and, lo, they all come to see the light. “Mr. Ryan, I think I have figured it out,” Wasserman Schultz said one night as she recited a top ten list after calling herself “Danielle Letterman.” “You have broken the code. The Republicans are the party of the cavernous abyss. They don’t mind sending people right off the cliff into it, whether it is expanding poverty, sinking job growth, increasing the number of uninsured by millions each year.”
But now, with the Democrats in the majority, the 30-Somethings are careful to couch their arguments in the framework of civility–noting, as Rep. Meek has, that it’s not Republicans who are bad, only their leadership. In January, the 30-Something website posted a YouTube video of interviews during which Meek asked Capitol visitors what should be done with their no-longer needed prop, the giant rubber stamp, while Boyz II Men’s “It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye” provided the soundtrack. Most folks recommend that the stamp be kept as a reminder of the dark days of GOP dominance, a memento mori of what could happen without a Democratic majority.
On the right, the Official Truth Squad, led by Georgia Rep. Tom Price, M.D., is not as official as its Pelosi-sanctioned counterpart; unlike the 30-Somethings, they do not end every session with a paean of praise to their party’s leadership. And they’re not as hip. A prominent member, North Carolina’s Patrick McHenry is indeed young, only 31, but he is gray like the rest of them–though his hair has gotten a bit darker recently. Fellow Tarheel Virginia Foxx, one of the squad’s core fighters, grabbed the president after the State of the Union speech, and, after several failed tries, finally plopped a nice wet one on his cheek. But what they lack in youth, poise, and technology (as yet they have no website or YouTube video productions), they make up for with political acumen and dedication.
During “Official Truth Squad hours” over the past two years, Foxx, McHenry, Price, and another Georgia doctor, Phil Gingrey, “fact-check” Democratic proposals. On January 17, for example, Price, highlighting absurdities in Pelosi’s 100-hour campaign, noted that “if you have the desire to deceive the American people and turn the clock on and off whenever you want to, then you get to about 33 hours, which is what the Democrat clock tells us they have taken” three weeks into the new Congress. And whereas the 30-Somethings admiringly quote former Republican Speaker Newt Gingrich, members of the Official Truth Squad cite the late Democrat Daniel Patrick Moynihan, who, according to Dr. Price, “kind of crystallized what is a real concern here in Washington, because everybody throws around their own opinions. But his quote was, ‘Everyone is entitled to their own opinion but not their own facts.”’
McHenry, no-Nancy boy, scored a relatively major victory for the truth-squad cause when, during an amusing exchange with Speaker pro tempore Barney Frank about the nature of a “parliamentary inquiry,” he drew attention to a loophole in the Democrats’ minimum wage bill that exempted the U.S. territory of American Samoa. A Pelosi spokesman explained that Samoa had been excepted because Eni Faleomavaega, the territory’s delegate to the House, said it would devastate their tuna canning industry, and thus, their economy (presumably, this economic principle only holds true in the South Pacific). It turns out that one of the island chain’s two tuna firms, Star-Kist, is owned by Del Monte, which is based in San Francisco, which is the district that sends Pelosi to Washington. As a result of the publicity, Pelosi announced that all U.S. territories would be included in the House bill (to which the Senate has now added $8.3 billion in tax breaks-a revision that has not pleased House Democrats, who will likely refuse the upper house’s alterations).
McHenry’s salvo was met by 30-Something return-fire. The youthful Democrats invited the 64-year old Faleomavaega to appear as a special guest on Jan. 12. The Samoan offered this reply to McHenry: “In a response to recent comments made by our colleague, the gentleman from North Carolina, saying to the effect that something is fishy about this proposed legislation, I would suggest that before he starts spouting off his mouth, perhaps he should get the facts first before expressing an opinion to this issue.” The delegate, in the silly tradition of 30-Something late-night rhetoric, added that “rather than being called a banana republic, I am a tuna republic.” (the Official Truth Squad members can make puns, too: “This may be tuna, but it smells like pork,” McHenry said of the bill.) Plenty of jabs were exchanged, but there was no debate.
The minimum wage episode suggests that the truth cops can be effective–especially when it comes to the relatively easy task of pointing out blatant contradictions in their opponents’ words and actions. But how these squads, never speaking directly to one another, contribute to civil dialectic is another question. In two recent articles in Roll Call, American Enterprise Institute scholar Norman Ornstein renewed his oft-repeated call for prime-time, “formal, Oxford-style” debates in Congress. And in a recent Supreme Court dissenting opinion, Antonin Scalia, expressing general frustration with Congressional discourse, wrote that it is a fantasy that “floor speeches are attended (like the Philippics of Demosthenes) by throngs of eager listeners.” Rather, in real life, floor speeches, despite props, puns, and top-ten lists, are “delivered (like Demosthenes’ practice sessions on the beach) alone into a vast emptiness,” or, as Wasserman Schultz might call it, a “cavernous abyss”–a far cry from comity.
Joseph Lindsley is an editorial assistant at THE WEEKLY STANDARD.
