Spotlight On A Congress In Institutional Crisis

The page scandal that is currently shaking Congress is not just about sex, lies and cover-ups; it's also about institutional integrity.

Everywhere you turn in this latest congressional scandal, you find behaviors that have become all too familiar on Capitol Hill in the last several years: the elevation of political calculation and personal loyalty above other values; an overriding focus on winning the next election; the failure to investigate a serious matter with diligence; the dominance of a very small inner circle of congressional leaders and staff in handling key matters; the disappearance of safeguards and systems — in this case, a functioning ethics committee — that might have kept the House from running off the rails; the hypocrisy of those who expressed the importance of family values but tolerated former Congressman Mark Foley's behavior.

But the feature that has bothered me the most in this sordid mess is the disregard for the institutional integrity of the House of Representatives.

It is heartening that the ethics committee has finally stirred from its long torpor and has begun to investigate who knew about Foley's behavior yet swept it under the rug. But it is telling that even members of Congress, not to mention the public at large, are uncertain about the committee's ability to investigate fully and dispassionately, which is why some are also calling for an independent investigation.

The sharp decline in the ability of the House in recent years to police its own members has led to a widespread loss of faith in the institution's integrity.

The vast majority of members of Congress, I believe, are principled, yet they have tolerated an institution that has not demanded of its members that they abide by the primary ethical standard of the House code of conduct: that all members, at all times, act so as to reflect credit on the House. If this standard had been applied here, it would have meant, at a minimum, that any member with knowledge of Foley's activities would have tried to stop him immediately.

The emphasis on winning and retaining political power that has been so central to House leaders now gives all appearances of having led them to check their responsibilities — in the form of concern for the well-being of both House pages and the institution of the House — at the door. Foley might have been stopped as long as two years ago by a leadership with an appropriate sense of priorities and institutional responsibilities.

Instead, interested perhaps in preserving a congressional seat and avoiding bad headlines, the leadership chose not to delve into the e-mails that should have set alarm bells ringing.

The secretive manner in which concerns about Foley's behavior seem to have been treated is also part and parcel of a modus operandi that badly needs an overhaul. Even before this particular scandal hit the news, the American people were making it clear that they distrusted Congress, recently saying they disapproved of its work by a margin of 66 to 32 percent.

This is because, I believe, the public feels the disappearance of the transparency, check-and-balance procedures and watchdog structures that were put in place over many decades by members of Congress devoted to the institution.

The American people want and deserve a Congress that acts to protect its own integrity. If it does not, no one should be surprised if the public fails to hold it in high esteem.

A functioning ethics system would have spared the House not only this moment's shame, but also some, if not most, of the scandals that have brought it such disgrace in recent years. Americans long for people of strong principle to stand up and put a stop to such breaches; a robust ethics process is not simply a nicety, it's absolutely essential. One of the top priorities of the new Congress should be to rebuild a vigorous, robust, bipartisan ethics committee so that it can maintain the high standards of congressional conduct that are essential for safeguarding the public's trust and confidence.

Finally, to me the saddest aspect of the Foley affair is how starkly it shows the relaxed attitude toward the institutional standing of the House. What I would hope to see in the end is a Congress that takes seriously its constitutional role, in which members are not just adherents of a political party determined to continue control of the institution, but also are highly aware that they belong to a separate and co-equal branch of government whose untainted performance is vital to the functioning of representative democracy.

If, as a result of the uproar over this page scandal, members begin to show us that they are determined to protect the integrity and credibility of the House and to act always to reflect credit on the institution, then this whole, sad affair will have produced some good.

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How To Run For Congress

I love election season. My fondness for it may be stronger now that I don't actually have to be out campaigning or raising campaign funds, but as an American I find it immensely inspiring.

In towns and cities from one end of the country to the other, men and women at this moment are doing their best to grapple with the hard issues that confront us and to persuade their fellow citizens that their approach will help this nation grow stronger. We get to weigh what they say and do, and make our choice at the ballot box. This is the heartbeat of our democracy, and I never tire of listening to it.

Just as amazing is the fact that ordinary people — our friends and neighbors, our teachers and military veterans and farmers and shop owners — have decided to step forward and run for office. They know that the challenges of campaigning are enormous. Yet often, when I speak in public, a few listeners will come up to me afterward and ask my advice on running for Congress. Our hurried conversation always feels inadequate to me, so here's what I wish I had the time to tell them.

First, know why you're running, and be able to articulate it. "I want to serve my country" is not enough. In my experience, the vast majority of members of Congress are there because they want to make America a better place, but most Americans — if current surveys are to be believed — believe they're there to enrich themselves. Just as important, people aren't interested in hearing only about problems; they also want to hear about solutions. So know what you want to accomplish and be straightforward about it — Americans can spot phoniness amazingly quickly.

You should also be prepared to spend an enormous amount of energy. Campaigning is exhausting work. It begins early in the morning in front of plant gates, and ends late at night in neighborhood bowling alleys and American Legion halls and wherever else people congregate and might be willing to lend an ear.

That is why enjoying people is an enormous asset for a candidate. A campaign is an unrelenting parade of people; indeed, I know of no business that brings you in touch with a wider variety of people than politics. One night you're making the rounds in a popular watering hole, and the next morning you're in church; one day you're shaking hands and patting babies' heads at a county fair, and the next you're sitting around a table trading ideas with community leaders. In some ways, Americans look at Congress as a local office, and they want to be able to size you up, eyeball to eyeball.

Yet if you have to become good at getting yourself across, you also have to learn how to listen. People don't just want to hear what you have to say, they want you to know and to care about what they think; if you can't be troubled to pay attention and ask good questions, they won't trouble themselves to vote for you.

Moreover, as a politician, you need to be able to size up a crowd quickly; since every crowd is different, you need to be able to gauge whether they're pleased or reluctant to see you, and whether they're after a reasoned exchange of views or want a red-meat tub-thumper that will get them fired up to help you.

For the truth is, you can't run for Congress alone. You need a core of aides who can help you with advertising, polling, research, writing speeches, developing positions, scheduling your time, figuring out how to respond to your opponent's attacks, and organizing volunteers — the people who will stuff letters, answer the telephones and make calls on your behalf.

And you need to raise a lot of money. Running for Congress is expensive, and while it's true that you can still lose with a lot of money, you can't win without it.

Finally, you have to figure out how to enjoy yourself. Campaigning is such hard work that it's easy to burn out, to get short-tempered with staff or simply tune out the people you're meeting. Once you've developed your stump speech, you're going to be giving it over and over again, and if you can't make it sound fresh each time, your listeners will know right away. Your days will be filled with people whose help you need and who won't be shy about offering their advice or demanding favors.

Yet as great as the challenges might be, you'll also be on one of the most incredible adventures any American can have. Our system of government depends on ordinary Americans coming forward to run for office, and though the inconveniences may be great, the rewards of being part of our ongoing experiment in democracy are even greater.

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Congressional Hearings Are Too Often About Spin

Back in August, a House subcommittee chairman held a field hearing in Georgia — one of a series they were convening around the country — to inquire into the cost to American workers of illegal immigration. Hispanic groups noticed, however, that the only people testifying were immigration hard-liners. So they complained to the chairman. He was unsympathetic. "What I wanted," he said, "was witnesses who agree with me, not disagree with me."

For anyone who might have been tempted to follow the hearings in order to learn more about the issue, that comment pretty much summed up what they were about: public relations. They were held to advance a particular agenda and convince listeners of its correctness.

Unfortunately, this is now the norm in Congress, not the exception.

Sure, you can still find hearings on Capitol Hill that are designed to study an issue in all its complexity, seek a wide range of views, analyze possible approaches to solving national problems, and serve as the basis for crafting effective public policy. But you have to look pretty hard.

Instead, hearings are typically a vehicle for people with agendas to pursue them. Certainly, the witnesses do — they're usually there to advocate for a particular point of view. Members of Congress, especially the ones who put the hearings together, quite often come with their minds made up; what they're looking for are data or arguments that will either reinforce what they already believe or help them discredit their adversaries. Even the spectators, more often than not, are there because they have a special interest in the issue or in the outcome.

In other words, the congressional hearing has become a highly political exercise.

This isn't against the rules. Committee chairs are free to set up the hearings any way they want, as long as a majority of committee members are willing to go along. But no average citizen should allow himself or herself to be fooled: Such hearings are part of a battle for "hearts and minds," not a group of policy-makers openly and objectively delving into problems or seeking the best public policy solution to a difficult challenge.

Perhaps this shouldn't matter. Americans, after all, seem increasingly drawn to blogs, cable news channels, books, and magazines that reflect their own ideological leanings. Why shouldn't Congress?

Well, for one thing, the canned nature of congressional hearings makes them less useful to members themselves. As political scientists Thomas Mann and Norman Ornstein have noted, during the 1960s and 1970s the average Congress had some 5,400 hearings; in the 1980s and 1990s, the average dropped slightly to 4,800. After that, though, the number plummeted; in the last Congress, it was 2,100.

And attendance at these has also declined. Pressed with other business, in Washington for only a few days — or sometimes only a few hours — each week, members typically drift in and out of hearings, perhaps to ask a question or two, but rarely to understand an issue better or to gain new insights.

Turning committee hearings into exercises in spin also undercuts their purpose, weakening the entire committee system on which Congress rests by turning it into a public relations apparatus, not a means of searching for the facts needed to build legislation or understand policy options.

Small wonder that Congress has been shirking its crucial oversight role vis-à-vis the President and his administration; if the congressional hearing is all about PR, then it becomes impossible to scrutinize the performance of the White House and federal agencies with dispassion and an analytical frame of mind.

Perhaps the greatest cost has come in public distrust. I suppose it's inevitable that, when policy-making is seen as simply part of a long ideological campaign, then traditional mechanisms for generating sound policy — like congressional committee hearings — become part of that campaign, too.

But the American people don't seem very enthusiastic about this. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen a more cynical, angry, and disaffected citizenry.

There are a lot of reasons for Congress' low standing in the public opinion polls, but surely one of them is that Americans are tired of politicians who seem more interested in propagandizing than in listening and learning.

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