The iCongressman, page 2
part #2 of The Michael Bennit Series Series
“Yeah, I’m nothing if not predictable. At least until the Capitol Police let me on the roof. Heard from the boss yet?”
“No, you?”
I glance down at my phone, as if expecting the damn thing to ring on command, which it doesn’t. “No, but I don’t expect him to make any progress.”
There are a myriad of issues facing America, and Congressman Michael Bennit tried to take them all on. Unfortunately, very few members of Congress take him seriously. He’s an Independent who is primed to be defeated seven months from now, so neither side is eager to include him in any debate or discussion. This latest meeting about the looming government shutdown is much of the same, I’m sure.
“You sound defeated already.”
“History is on my side in reaching that conclusion,” I reply, despondent. “We’ve been stuck in neutral since the moment we got here. I don’t think today will be any different. So much for our grand plan.”
“I’m sure it’s harder for him. Remember, Chels, the congressman gave up everything for this. We only gave up frolicking in college,” Vince reflects, “and spending the prime of our lives with no real responsibilities. We’d be going to parties, playing video games, hooking up with hot girls happy to be away from their parents for the first time …” he trails off, lost in the land of wishful thinking. We?
“Something tells me you aren’t having a problem picking up chicks in Georgetown, Vince,” I say, more than a little envious over him having a personal life. I sure don’t.
“You sound jealous. I didn’t realize you were into girls, too,” Vince says to me with a smile that implies so much more. Yeah, keep dreaming, buddy. I don’t think he’s serious about his lesbian fantasy, or at least one involving me. Over the past year, we’ve become closer than most siblings are to each other.
“You regret giving school up to do this?”
Vince exhales deeply and smiles, enjoying the view of the sun setting over the Mall. “Nah. I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything. College will always be an option,” he almost convincingly expresses. Easy for him to say. I gave up a full ride to Yale, Harvard, or a dozen other schools for this.
“Even if we haven’t accomplished anything in the year we’ve been here?” I ply, hoping he is as miserable as I am.
“You know better than anyone that most members of Congress leave office without ever having put their personal imprint on a significant piece of legislation. Lawmaking isn’t the principal preoccupation of the people who work in the building behind us—politics is.”
“For a media relations guy, you didn’t bother putting much spin on that,” I muse.
“Eh. Different audience,” Vince observes. “After having to deal with two reprimands and a censure over stupid stuff, it’s not hard to draw my conclusion.”
He’s right. Congressman Bennit has been in office a year and is already the most oft-disciplined member ever to serve. The reprimands were a joke, but the censure was more serious. Derived long ago from the need to punish the behavior of legislators, it’s a formal condemnation Congress can hand out to the president or their own members. The usual result of a censure is the forfeit of any committee chairs held, but not a loss of the elected position itself.
Since the congressman isn’t even on a committee, let alone chairing one, the gesture was symbolic and meant to hurt us in the next campaign. It was a purely political move on behalf of the House leadership, but not a completely unwarranted one. I guess that’s what we get for having a leader who doesn’t like to play by the rules.
“The Speaker wants him gone,” I state definitively.
“Hell, Chels, everyone wants him gone. He’s a threat to both parties and the system they established around them.”
The inner workings of Congress are hard to grasp, and even more difficult to explain. This lack of understanding is a primary source of angst between politicians and the citizenry that voted them into office. The House and Senate developed rules and customs to help them to operate, and most of them are blatantly undemocratic. It took me months to get used to how the system functions, and I work here full time.
Every two years, newly elected representatives and senators promise to clean up the mess created by those before them. This time, however, we weren’t one of them. We never claimed to try to clean up Washington, only to serve the people of the district and the country the best we could. Unfortunately, we learned the hard way that the two are not mutually exclusive. If fulfilling a campaign promise to fix Congress pegs the success needle at impossible, then our promising to be a better representative for the people ranks one notch down at next to impossible.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Vince is not one for long pep talks designed to raise spirits. I feel worse now than I did before I came out here.
“C’mon, let’s get over to the office,” he says, standing up. “The boss should be back with Vanessa by now.”
I rise, taking a moment to brush off and straighten my navy blue pantsuit. I look back out towards the Mall and the orange ball now dipping below the horizon. I can’t shake the vibe that it’s an omen for things to come. In November, the sun will likely be setting on our time here as well.
-TWO-
SPEAKER ALBRIGHT
“Are you going to stare out that window all night, Johnston?” my colleague asks from the other side of the spacious room.
“You’re not going to let me enjoy one of my favorite trappings of this office, are you, Harv?” I ask the House majority leader without looking back at him.
My picturesque view overlooks the National Mall to the Washington Monument. Admiring the sunset from this spot became a tradition of mine when I took over this job. Office space in the Capitol itself is restricted to the leadership, and as Speaker of the United States House of Representatives, I’m awarded a stunning space to entertain and meet with constituents, allies, and the occasional adversary. This evening, the guest of honor is House Majority Leader Harvey Stepanik, a longtime friend and distinguished congressman from Ohio.
“Normally I wouldn’t care, but I have a meeting with the automotive lobby tonight,” my ally declares, giving his watch an impatient glance.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you from that,” I say with a gruff laugh. As a representative from Ohio, Harvey’s meeting with the automotive lobby would take precedence over a meeting with the Almighty Himself. The industry accounts for over four percent of the state’s gross domestic product, and Ohio is second only to Michigan in automotive production. Success in wooing them means fat campaign contributions, and in an election year, money is everything. “Now that I know this isn’t a social call, what’s on your mind?”
“Michael Bennit.”
“Jesus, Harv, not again,” I reply, tired of hearing this character’s name. “Every time this guy even meets with other members you come running into my office screaming ‘the sky is falling’ louder than Chicken Little.”
“You underestimate what he’s capable of,” he replies as I pour us a drink.
“Really? He’s been here a year now and do you know what he’s managed to accomplish? Absolutely nothing. He’s on the outside looking in, and that’s never going to change. Keeping him frozen out of anything important is about the only thing we agree with the Democrats on these days. We marginalized him to the point where House clerks exert more political clout than he does, so what are you worried about?”
Harvey swirls his amber eighteen-year-old Macallan around the tulip-shaped glass tumbler. I find scotch drinkers tend to be more worldly and mature, and the forty-four-year-old Harvey Stepanik is about as refined an individual you will ever see come out of industrial Ohio. He plays the political game with gusto, savors new challenges, and doesn’t settle for anything below his standards. That includes both the company he keeps and the single-malt scotch whisky in his glass.
“Bennit has two things most people in this chamber don’t,” he replies, a serious look in his otherwise soft and appealing green eyes. No wonder the voters love this guy. With his brown hair, strong features, and athletic build, he was built for politics in a television age like John F. Kennedy was. “An enviable social media following measured in millions, not thousands, and a mandate from the people in his district to be here.” Harvey actually held up his fingers and counted the two things off on them like I needed the visual cues to get his point.
“I think you are overestimating the danger of social media in the political process,” I say, taking a sip from my own glass of scotch. “Bennit benefited from a ridiculous amount of mass media coverage in his campaign against Beaumont and still lost. He spent more time on TV than the Kardashians during that race, so winning after the resignation was predictable.”
“And I disagree. I don’t think we are taking it serious enough. An ‘icandidate’ has won both special elections held since this beginning of this Congressional session. Bennit broke new ground last spring, and this farmhand from Texas followed suit last week. How exactly am I overestimating the threat?”
“Yeah, I forgot about him,” I add, conceding the point. Francisco Reyes is a Texan who won as an independent on the strength of the growing Latino vote in his district. He inspired and motivated them, using the same reliance on social media methods Bennit did. He landed almost seventy percent of the vote while spending almost no money on his campaign.
“Grassroots networks became an irresistible force of American politics, and we did nothing to stop it. Social media is now the new means where unqualified, independent candidates can reach these networks of people and get them engaged in political activity. If we continue to let this grow unabated, there will come a point where political parties will be powerless to beat them.”
Damn this guy knows how to plead a case, and being from a safe district, he can afford to be insistent with his opinions. I still don’t completely agree with his analysis, but there is no doubt why the party bosses sitting on the Republican National Committee are pushing for him to be the Speaker someday. He is wrong about one thing, though; we aren’t letting anything grow.
“We are forcing him out. I’ve already censured him once and have reprimanded him twice on the Floor,” I respond defensively. “He’s toast in the next election.”
“That’s not forcing him out, Johnston. Professional politicians view those types of rebukes as serious, but he views it like a five-year-old getting a ‘time-out.’ You can agree or disagree with me, but most of the Republicans in this chamber are scared as hell of the trend this guy’s started. I bet if we ask the Dems, they would say the same thing. We need to get rid of him permanently, before the election.”
“You think by cutting off the head you’ll kill the snake,” I conclude, eliciting a nod in agreement. Forcing Bennit out is a risky endeavor. I worry more about the party being viewed as playground bullies by the public if we push too hard on him.
Harvey swallows the last of his scotch and places the tumbler on my desk before rising out of his seat and buttoning his suit jacket.
“I need to get moving. I don’t want to keep the motor heads waiting. Thanks for your time, Mister Speaker.” He makes it halfway to the door before I stop him.
“Harvey,” I say, causing him to stop and turn around. “Tell the members of the caucus that I will do what I can to push Bennit off the ledge before the campaign season starts.” As much as I think it’s a pointless exercise, I also recognize the need to keep the Republican membership happy. Harvey is a friend, but he’s popular and eager to have this office. If I’m not careful, and don’t play my cards right, he could take over as Speaker next January even if we remain in the majority.
“I will. Thank you, Johnston.”
“One more thing to remember before you go, Harv. Sometimes the enemy you vanquish is the one that spells your doom. Just ask Winston Beaumont.”
-THREE-
SENATOR VIANO
I despise how the House of Representatives conducts business. Sitting here in the House visitor gallery for all of ten minutes, I understand why it’s considered the lower chamber. Too many people serve here, all of them wanting their opinions entered into the record so they have something to brag about back home. I guess that’s a pitfall of needing to get reelected every two years. I would rather suffer through menopause again rather than have to deal with this on a daily basis.
Following the daily prayer, the Pledge of Allegiance, and approval of the previous day’s Journal, the Speaker of the House has the prerogative to start the day with recognition of members for a series of one-minute speeches. To illustrate the gifted cleverness of the men and women of this chamber, these brief orations are commonly known as … “one minutes.” No creativity whatsoever in coming up with that moniker.
Since the issue du jour is our impending government-inspired financial meltdown, it’s the topic of choice for representatives asking for unanimous consent to address the House. Speaker Albright rarely makes an appearance to serve as Chair, but the fifty-two-year-old professional politician knows this will be a busy and important day. He is handsome in a lawyerly kind of way, with salt and pepper hair and a moderately expanding waistline. The constant scheming and political worry accompanying his position gives him the appearance of perpetual constipation though.
“I thought I saw you up here. How are you, Senator?” the balding gentleman says as he sits down in the seat next to me. I give a brief smile to the man who was once my right-hand man during the one and only term I served in the Senate. Gary Condrey was a superb chief of staff and shrewd political operator. I miss his counsel and company.
“Fine, Gary, thanks. Yourself?” I mumble, returning my attention back to my smartphone.
“I’m working for one of the dumbest men I have ever met, but otherwise okay. I know you hate this place, so what brings you to the House Chamber?” Gary inquires, knowing full well how unlikely it is I would ever just show up here.
“The continuing resolution.”
“Ah. You’ll never see it hit the Floor today because of the Hastert Rule.” Also known as the “majority of the majority” rule, it’s an informal governing principle used to limit the power of the minority party. Speakers of the House have been using it the since the mid-1990s to justify not bringing bills up for a vote. Yes, this is our republic in action. “I didn’t realize you missed politics so much, Marilyn.”
“I don’t. My husband is rich, so what else is there for me to do?” Of course, that’s a complete lie. For the better part of two decades, I groomed myself to make a run at an open Senate seat in Virginia. My predecessor was in office for so long, he practically had a room named for him in the Senate wing of the Capitol. When he finally died, I got my shot, and with Gary’s expert help, eked out a win against a tough Republican candidate.
My victory was a short-lived one, however. In the six years I served in the Senate, I was never able to raise enough campaign contributions to survive another hard-hitting fight. Virginia is considered a purple state, meaning its citizens will swing their votes to Republicans or Democrats depending on which way the political prevailing winds are blowing. When I was elected, we had it at our backs. Six years later, a stiff headwind caused me to lose in a landslide.
I have spent every moment since my concession speech devising a plan to reenter public life. Support within the Democratic Party for my resurgence as a possible candidate is lukewarm at best. I need something to make me an invaluable asset again, and I will not rest until I find it.
“The Chair recognizes the gentleman from Connecticut for one minute,” I hear Speaker Albright announce from his dais. A strapping young man approaches the podium set up in front of the rostrum with a swagger and confidence in his demeanor only gained through military service. With short brown hair and muscular build evident even under his suit jacket, he could moonlight as a bouncer in some hot Georgetown nightclub and the patrons would never guess he was a congressman.
“Is that the guy who ran his campaign on social media?” I ask, tapping my former chief of staff on his arm when it dawns on me who the man I’m admiring is.
“Huh? Uh, yeah, that’s Michael Bennit.”
Not exactly what I expected. I was too caught up in the struggle of my own campaign to pay much attention to the Bennit-Beaumont media circus. After my horrific loss, I fell into a self-imposed exile and didn’t follow the subsequent special election Bennit won a year ago to earn a seat. I always assumed the iCandidate was some homely guy who lived out of his parents’ basement. I was wrong. He doesn’t look like a politician, per se, but more reminiscent of a leader capable of inspiring people to travel through hell and back with him wearing smiles on their faces.
“When I taught history, the Constitutional Convention was always one of my favorite topics,” he begins. “The thought of fifty-five delegates from disparate backgrounds and colonies gathering at the Philadelphia State House every day during a sweltering summer to hammer out a new form of government is such a romantic idea.
“Two and a quarter centuries later, I stand here baffled how the body they labored to create has become so dysfunctional. We are on our fifth continuing resolution for the budget only because both sides are more interested in finding a way to blame each other than sitting down and negotiating. Not only are you adversely affecting the government’s ability to perform its function, but more importantly, the negative effects are being felt from Wall Street to Main Street. From volatility in the stock market created by uncertainty, to general unease in the economy, your inability to take action here is having an impact on every American.”
I am willing to bet Bennit’s class was an entertaining one. He knows what he’s doing, at least insofar as his oration is concerned. No wonder his students were quick to join his staff. The Speaker doesn’t seem to share my opinion as he sits there pining for the opportunity to shut him up.
