There are countless ways to while away the hours on YouTube, and if I were to suggest one, it might be to plug in the group Squeeze and spend a half hour or so proving they did other songs besides 'Tempted.' You know the tune, "tempted by the fruit of another, tempted but the truth is discovered." They were actually a great group.
But if you're looking for a YouTube exercise to keep you entertained and drive up your blood pressure, think congressional hearings. Because for all the wild celebrating associated with the victories last Tuesday, the realization that the United States Congress figures strongly in our body politic, no matter what the numerical breakdown, will dull your enthusiasm.
The degree to which congressional hearings sound like middle school playground arguments — "You're an idiot." "No, you're an idiot" — and the degree to which nothing seems to get accomplished except partisan yammering and personal theatrics is astonishing.
Look, politicians from opposing sides, and even the same sides, have always hated each other. John Adams of Massachusetts didn't like Benjamin Franklin of Pennsylvania. Washington didn't like Jefferson. John Adams didn't like Jefferson. A lot of people didn't like Jefferson. Hamilton and Burr fired guns at each other, for God's sake. But though there was bickering and true antipathy among those men, they got stuff done.
To be brief, here's what the Second Continental Congress accomplished: they formed the Continental Army, adopted the Declaration of Independence, began our system of currency, convinced France and other international powers to adopt our revolutionary cause, and drafted the Articles of Confederation, essentially our first Constitution. Granted, conditions were a little more dire back then, or were they? But could you imagine if we were trying to accomplish those things today?
We can't even decide on established facts. There are no established facts in a congressional hearing. For a while, every hearing I heard subscribed to a spectacle that was every bit as predictable as the to be or not to be scene in Hamlet. Democrats would ask, "Is Joe Biden the president? It's a yes or no question." Well, as soon as you hear it's a yes or no question, you know you won't get a yes or no answer. Republican respondents would invariably offer some sort of verbal obfuscation. "Joe Biden has been certified as president." "Joe Biden is currently occupying the White House." And then the Dem following the established script would reiterate, "It's a yes or no question."
My favorite (word used loosely) hearings invariably involve Senator John Kennedy from Louisiana. Kennedy has adopted a role as a corn pone hick who, dad gum it, just wants everybody to stop the highfalutin talk and get to the bottom of things. During virtually every hearing, he pauses dramatically, pretends to leaf through pages and pages of documents as if his staff has not circled exactly what he wants to talk about, and asks questions like, "Tell me, do you believe in the Easter Bunny? Do you think Jimmy Hoffa died of natural causes?" Kennedy is, in fact, an Oxford-trained lawyer who finished near the top of his class, but in congressional hearings, he transmogrifies into a version of Foghorn Leghorn.
It is in every respect performative, but he is not the only one. If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a Congress to create a circus.
To be fair, our ancient forefathers might have acted more flamboyantly, excessively, and self-servingly if they knew that social media would carry their performances wider than, say, the Pennsylvania Gazette. I will try to conjure up some degree of optimism going forward, but I'm not feeling it at the moment.
Tell me, does Congress make you feel optimistic about our country? Uh-uh-uh, it's a yes or no question.
