Gettin' Wonky Wit It

I'm in the midst of reading Matt Taibbi's recent book, Spanking the Donkey: Dispatches from the Dumb Season, a collection of articles and essays he wrote for the New York Press, the Nation and Rolling Stone while covering the 2004 presidential election. And it's definitely not your usual political season book. Yes, there's a bit of writing about what it's like to cover the whole process, but it's imbued with Taibbi's very counter-culture tendencies, from wearing gorilla or viking costumes to Kerry rallies (and trying as hard as he can not to acknowledge anything is out of the ordinary) to self-obsessed worry over his sanity and killing his career. He also has a great article on Dennis Kucinich--a politician who in the mainstream media's focus was a little out there (he's a vegan! he wants to create a peace department!) but who was truly following his core beliefs and principles, many of which form the core beliefs of this nation--that made me feel guilty for not supporting him more fully. He's a very fun writer to read (Mrs. F continually is wondering why I'm laughing out loud) and he takes chances that sometimes don't work out so hot, but the book's been a very good read overall.

Anyhoo, he's got a new article for Rolling Stone, Four Amendments & a Funeral, where he follows Vermont independent Senator Bernie Sanders as he tries to "game" the system by using amendments to larger bills in order to get some semblance of government oversight and control in a process gone mad. It gets very wonky, but I found the description of the process and the roadblocks to be quite fascinating. Here's a tidbit:

As he waits for his chance to address the Rules Committee, Sanders is actually armed with not one but two amendments. The measures are essentially the same, both using identical language to prohibit warrantless searches of libraries and bookstores. The only difference is, the amendment Sanders is trying to get past the committee would permanently outlaw such searches under the Patriot Act. The second amendment takes a more temporary approach, denying the Justice Department funding in next year's budget to conduct those types of searches. This kind of creative measure -- so-called limitation amendments -- are often the best chance for a minority member like Sanders to influence legislation. For one thing, it's easier to offer such amendments to appropriations bills than it is to amend bills like the Patriot Act. Therefore, Sanders often brings issues to a vote by attempting to limit the funds for certain government programs -- targeting a federal loan here, a bloated contract there. "It's just another way of getting at an issue," says Sanders. In this case, the tactic worked. A month earlier, on June 15th, the House passed Sanders' amendment to limit funding for library and bookstore searches by a vote of 238-187, with thirty-eight Republicans joining 199 Democrats. The move wasn't a cure-all; it was just a short-term fix. But it enabled Sanders to approach the Rules Committee holding more than his hat in his hand. With the June vote, he had concrete evidence to show the committee that if his amendment to permanently alter the Patriot Act were allowed to reach the floor, it would pass. Now, if Tom DeLay & Co. were going to disallow Sanders' amendment, they were going to have to openly defy a majority vote of the U.S. Congress to do so. Which, it turns out, isn't much of a stumbling block. [...] Members who cross DeLay & Co. invariably find themselves stripped of influence and/or important committee positions. When Rep. Chris Smith complained about Bush's policy toward veterans, he was relieved of his seat as the Veterans' Committee chairman. When Joel Hefley locked horns with Dennis Hastert during the Tom DeLay ethics flap, Hefley lost his spot as the House Ethics Committee chairman. In other words, these leaders don't mind screwing even their friends any chance they get. Take the kneecapping of Arizona Republican Jeff Flake, whose surrender on the Patriot Act issue paved the way for the trashing of the Sanders amendment. Flake, who sits on Sensenbrenner's Judiciary Committee, had been one of the leading Republican critics of the Patriot Act. He was particularly explicit in his support for sunset provisions in the law, which would prevent it from being made permanent. In April, for instance, a Flake spokesman told the Los Angeles Times, "Law enforcement officials would be more circumspect if they were faced with the prospect of having to come to Congress every couple of years and justify the provisions." When Sanders offered his amendment to deny funding for warrantless searches, Flake was right there by his side. But now, only a few weeks later, Flake suddenly offers his own amendment, aimed at the same provision of the Patriot Act as Sanders', but with one big difference: It surrenders on the issue of probable cause. The Flake amendment would require only that the FBI director approve any library and bookstore searches. It is hard to imagine a more toothless, pantywaist piece of legislation than Flake's measure. In essence, it is a decree from the legislative branch righteously demanding that the executive branch authorize its own behavior -- exactly the kind of comical "compromise" measure one would expect the leadership to propose as a replacement for the Sanders plan. Flake clearly had made a deal with the House leadership. It is not known what he got in return, but it appears that his overlords made him pay for it. Before the final vote on any bill, the opposition party has a chance to offer what is called a "motion to recommit," which gives Congress a last chance to re-examine a bill before voting on it. When the Democrats introduced this motion before the final vote, the House Republican leadership had to ask someone to stand up against it. They, naturally, turned to Flake, the chastened dissenter, to run the errand. Flake is a sunny-looking sort of guy with a slim build and blow-dried blond hair. He looks like a surfer or maybe the manager of a Guitar Center in Ventura or El Segundo: outwardly cheerful, happy and ill-suited, facially anyway, for the real nut-cutting politics of this sort. When it comes time for him to give his speech, Flake meanders to the podium like a man who has just had his head clanged between a pair of cymbals. The lump in his throat is the size of a casaba melon. He begins, "Mr. Speaker, I am probably the last person expected to speak on behalf of the committee or the leadership in genera . . . " When Flake mentions his own amendments, his voice drops as he tries to sound proud of them -- but the most he can say is, "They are good." Then he becomes downright philosophical: "Sometimes, as my hero in politics said once . . . Barry Goldwater said, 'Politics is nothing more than public business . . . You don't always get everything you want.' " It is a painful performance. Later, commenting on the Flake speech, Sanders shakes his head. "They made him walk the plank there," he says.