Daly: When ‘Having’ a Job in Congress Matters Most
No, Greenland will not be a wake-up call for the Republican Congress.
During the Obama years, Republican congressman Paul Ryan put a lot of work into trying to address our country’s most dire fiscal challenges — most notably our broken entitlement programs. Entitlement spending had been driving our national debt through the roof for some time, and Ryan repeatedly put forth serious legislation to deal with the matter.
His biggest obstacle, of course, was public sentiment — mainly among older Americans who instinctively believed that any reforms to these programs would inevitably lead to fewer benefits for them; thus they wanted no part of it. Those fears were happily stoked by a Democratic leaders, including President Obama, who were more than happy to lie about Ryan’s reforms, demagogue the issue, and keep kicking it down the road for future generations to deal with — all for short-sighted political advantage.
When asked, at the time, about the political headwinds he was facing on the issue (often referred to as "the third rail of American politics"), Ryan candidly argued that with matters of such national and institutional importance, you can’t be good at your job unless you’re willing to lose your job. In our system of representative government, doing what’s right or what’s needed for the country isn’t always going to be rewarded or appreciated in the moment. And that’s a risk, Ryan contended, that elected leaders should be willing to take with their constituents.
I thought it was a bold and impressive statement. I’ve heard Ryan use it in other political contexts since then, and as time goes by, I think the perspective has only further proven its merit. After all, the difference between a pure democracy and a democratic republic is an important one. An elected representative in our system of government isn’t supposed to be a populist weather vane, submissively switching views and positions with the changing political winds. They are elected to use their best judgment on behalf of those they represent. They also take an oath to support and defend the Constitution while faithfully fulfilling their legislative duties.
Case in point, I will always admire the handful of Republican members of Congress who dissented from their party’s leadership and base in 2021, and voted to impeach and convict Donald Trump. It was the obvious, correct, and patriotic response to a president who tried to overturn the results of an election to stay in power, and provoked an insurrection at the U.S. Capitol. Those courageous enough to make that decision knew they would pay a heavy political price within their own party, and pay they did. Of the ten House members who voted for impeachment, only two are still in office, and one of them is retiring later this year. Of the seven senators who voted to convict, just three remain. And two of them haven’t been on a ballot since before Trump’s impeachment.
One of those senators is Bill Cassidy of Louisiana. When he voted to convict Trump five years ago, he probably figured (like many did at the time) that our 45th president’s political career was over. But Cassidy was still well aware that his decision would make him a political target. Trump loyalists never forget those who defy Dear Leader, unless Trump grants them permission to. Thus, having already crossed the Rubicon, one may have expected Cassidy to conduct the rest of his senate term, after Trump returned to office last year, similarly to Mitt Romney: take principled positions, do the job, and speak your mind (regardless of what Trump, his supporters, and his opponents think about it).
But that’s not what happened. Unlike Romney, Cassidy planned to run for reelection (this year), and he reached the conclusion that if he were to stand any chance of being nominated again by his party, he had to make nice with Donald Trump. And as we’ve seen many times, the only way of doing that is to surrender your principles and dignity to him. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what Cassidy did.
It wasn’t just through his rhetorical transformation into a Trump sycophant (which has been difficult enough to watch). Cassidy, a highly-respected physician, had expressed deep-seated concerns over Trump’s nominee for Secretary of Health and Human Services, Robert F. Kennedy Jr. What Cassidy especially found troubling was Kennedy’s long history of nutty vaccine-skepticism (which Kennedy had a financial stake in), and his favoring of wild speculation and rhetorical anecdotes over proven health science. It was quit obvious during the confirmation hearings that Cassidy knew Kennedy was not only grossly unfit for the job, but could even be dangerous with that level of public power.
The correct decision, therefore, would have been to vote no on RFK Jr., compel Trump to nominate someone else (as was done with his Attorney General nominee), and deal with whatever political consequences came with it. But again, Cassidy had his reelection to consider. He caved to pressure from the White House, and became the deciding vote to confirm Kennedy. Publicly, Cassidy rationalized his decision by saying that Kennedy had offered him assurances that he would never dismantle our country’s vaccine safety systems or remove government guidance for vaccines.
Months later, as HHS Secretary, Kennedy did both. And to further humiliate Cassidy, President Trump, after all the senator’s moral and ethical capitulations, just endorsed a Republican primary challenger to his seat. Cassidy will likely lose that contest as a result.
Talk about a cautionary tale. I’m guessing Cassidy already wishes he’d gone the Romney route, and could at least leave Congress with his head held high. But that’s not how most politicians think. For far too many, becoming and remaining a public servant is much more important than dutifully serving the public. Hardly any of today’s representatives are willing to risk their job to effectively do their job.
It’s the reason Trump was never held accountable for his actions after the 2020 election. It’s the reason Congress still hasn’t taken back its tariff authority from the executive branch, and put an end to this economically and geopolitically disastrous trade war. It’s the reason I can only laugh at some of the political commentary I’ve been hearing lately, suggesting that Trump’s perverse saber-rattling on Greenland, and its potential to end the NATO alliance, may be what finally compels the Republican Congress to stand up to him.
Folks, if it hasn’t happened by now, it’s not going to happen.
Congress is the most powerful branch of our federal government. They can put a quick end to all kinds of executive overreach and abuses. Unfortunately, with few exceptions, these people are more worried about their job security than they are the welfare of our nation. Thus, they continue to sit on their hands, even these unprecedented times.
“Congress does nothing to preserve American honor,” conservative writer Jonah Goldberg complained the other day, “and then when Trump (and other presidents to a lesser degree) debases it further they’re like ‘these are the times we live in.’ Yes, because of you. History will have nothing but contempt for your cowardice, certainly as an institution but for many of you as individuals.”
He’s right. Congress knows it, and so does Donald Trump. That’s why our president shows such little respect or regard for Congress — institutionally, electorally, and even just as human beings.
Why anyone’s expecting the situation to suddenly change, in response to some new egregious action from our president, is beyond me.