Parallels: Violence against members of Congress and a country divided

Our country was ripping apart over slavery in the 1850s. As Abraham Lincoln would later say, “A house divided against itself cannot stand.” By 1856, that house was wobbly. What happened next made it downright unstable.

The Senate was debating whether slavery would be extended into new territories or contained to its current location.

In May, Sen. Charles Sumner of Massachusetts delivered a blistering two-day anti-slavery speech. He was the classic Boston Brahmin: elegant, erudite, and at times unbearably haughty.

But Sumner’s remarks went too far. He specifically called out Sen. Andrew Butler of South Carolina, saying he had “…chosen a mistress to whom he has made his vows, and who, though ugly to others, is always lovely to him; though polluted in the sight of the world, is chaste in his sight — I mean the harlot, slavery.”

If you missed Sunday School as a child, harlot is a biblical term for a whore. Sumner committed two huge no-no’s. He attacked a fellow senator by name on the Senate floor, and he mentioned a sexual topic in the presence of women watching from the Senate gallery. It’s hard to imagine today, but this was seriously explosive stuff in 1856. With emotions stretched to the breaking point, people wondered if Sumner was inviting trouble.

Three days later, the answer came.

Sumner was sitting at his desk in the Senate, quietly attending to paperwork. A man limped up. He was Preston Brooks, South Carolina congressman and Butler’s second cousin. A bellicose hothead, he’d been kicked out of college for waving a gun at cops. An earlier duel ended with Brooks being shot in the hip, forcing him to walk with a cane. He viewed Sumner’s speech as offensive to the South generally and his family personally.

He calmly said, “Mr. Sumner, I have read your speech twice over carefully. It is a libel on South Carolina and Mr. Butler, who is a relative of mine.” As Sumner tried to stand, Brooks lifted his cane and struck the senator as hard as he could. He hit again and again so savagely, Brooks cut himself during his flaying.

Summer rolled under his desk. The blows were so powerful, the desk came unbolted from the floor. Sumner was bleeding so badly, he was blinded. One of Brooks’ fellow congressman kept senators who tried to help Sumner at bay with a pistol.

Brooks finally stopped beating when his cane broke in two. He quietly walked away, leaving Sumner a bleeding pile on the floor.

The nation was horrified. Senators and congressman started carrying guns for protection.

Brooks was charged with assault, found guilty, and fined $300. He was also flooded with dozens of canes from admiring Southerners; one was inscribed, “Good job.” A motion to expel Brooks from the House failed. He then resigned his seat and was re-elected in a special election, proving the folks back home condoned his actions. He unexpectedly died of croup the following March.

Summer took three years recovering, his seat ominously empty the entire time. Although he lived another 18 years, he suffered deep physical pain and suffered what we know today as PTSD. He was also idolized by admirers across the North.

If you visit the Old Senate Chamber in the Capitol, guides point out where the attack happened.

Did Sumner’s caning cause the Civil War? Hardly. But there’s no denying it was yet another stepping stone on the path that ultimately got the country there.

Is the attack on Scalise an omen of things to come? Let us hope Clarence Darrow’s observation about history repeating itself proves spectacularly wrong in this instance.

J. Mark Powell (@JMarkPowell) is a contributor to the Washington Examiner’s Beltway Confidential blog. He is a former broadcast journalist and government communicator. His weekly offbeat look at our forgotten past, “Holy Cow! History,” can be read at jmarkpowell.com.

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