Term limits

Newt Gingrich included term limits as part of his “Contract with America” in ’94, and while many if not most of the members elected in that class are still in office (or at least didn’t leave willingly after 12 years), the idea of term limits has made a comeback recently as something of a panacea for the problems in our political culture.  And there are a lot of problems: the ruinous effect of money, the opposition-for-opposition-sake mentality of the political parties, and the fevered rhetoric used to describe the other side.   Term limits generated the loudest applause of any issue brought up at the Tax Day Tea Party rally I attended, and a few days later, the issue was brought up again at a meeting I ran about strategies to counter the Tea Party.  In an era in which no one trusts politicians, supporting term limits is an understandable temptation.

Understandable, but not the answer.

The pros and cons of Congressional term limits are available to anyone with a computer and enough interest to do a Google search for “arguments for and against term limits.” To touch on the basics, most of those sites will list the pros as:

-Senior legislators have too much power
-The longer a politician is in Washington, the more detached they become from “the people”
-Incumbency is a powerful advantage and often blocks out talented newcomers
-The longer a politician is in Washington, the more opportunities for corruption

And the cons:

-Term limits “disallow the reelection of popular politicians.”
-Experience matters in legislating
-Standing for re-election is a powerful incentive to serve the people.  “Lame duck” status is a disincentive.
-On major legislation that is worked on over generations, it is good to have some institutional continuity and patience.

I always find the “against” arguments lacking; the use of the term “experience,” when not fleshed out in this context, seems vaguely elitist – just a dismissive, “leave government to the professionals” kind of argument.  But the simple fact is (and its more humbling than presumptuous), nobody starts out as a good legislator.  Some may first enter the chamber with more seriousness, more of a willingness to do the work, and more awe of the institution than others, but making laws is much more of a skill acquired than a talent realized.

There is recognition of this fact in the distribution of Senate committee assignments, which are awarded (almost always) on seniority, and not merit.  Appeals to merit, it is understood, can sometimes be influenced by personal marketability, grandstanding, alliance-building, and so on.  Or, as Robert Byrd put it in a 1972 Meet the Press interview when asked why committee assignments, unlike leadership posts are determined by seniority:

if we’re going to have a political campaign in each of these 110 subcommittees and each of the 17 standing committees and each of the five select and special committees, we’re going to get nothing
done except log rolling and interference by the White House and lobbyists and special interest groups in, in the interest of their own favorites.

And while it’s true that term limits would not necessarily impact the “clout” of seniority, it’s also fair to say that, put together, the two practices seem a bit schizophrenic.  With one, the Old Warhorse (and while that term has a male connotation, I don’t mean it to… there should be more female “warhorses”) is celebrated, granted favored committee assignments.  In the other practice, we take said Warhorse, and throw them out of office.  If twelve years of experience makes one worthy of leadership, why would 24 years – or 30 or 40 – make them corrupt?

Another widely used argument in favor of term limits is that time spent in Washington isolates politicians from the needs of their constituents.  One of the unfortunate facts of today’s politics is that responsiveness to citizens too often means – in practice – responsiveness to the forces who do not want the legislative process to work: talk radio, netroots activists.

This is always a point I feel a great deal of internal dissonance.  The populist-majoritarian in me wants politicians to be selected from the people (as opposed to elite schools and professions) and responsive to the people.  But I’m also a not-so-closeted admirer of the old political machines that got things done, and I have romantic notions of the institutions themselves.  Last year, Peggy Noonan wrote in a column that:

Congressmen hear choirs sing patriotic songs all the time and grow used to it. The rest of us do not and are stirred. Tourists walk through the Rotunda and think to themselves that they’d die for the signs and symbols of this place. Lawmakers experience the Rotunda as a connecting point between House and Senate that’s too often clogged by overweight tourists in shorts from Bayonne. We need term limits. When the music no longer moves you, you should leave. When you cannot leave, you should be pushed

I think Noonan has it backward.  I think those most “stirred by the music” and in awe of the national symbols are those who have served the longest, whose personal memories are tangled up in national history, who have been mentored by giants before them and have undertaken a few mentoring projects of their own.  On the day health care passed the House, which Congressman absorbed the moment more fully – John Dingell or Alan Grayson?

It was no coincidence that on the day Robert Byrd became the longest serving member of Congress in history, the only Republican present in the chamber to hear him deliver his speech was Orrin Hatch – the longest-serving Republican member.

Contrary to Noonan’s observation, I think it’s the newer members who are more in love with their ideas than the reality of the place.  Reality  – learning the limits of the process – is humbling, and humility is something I would gladly see more of in today’s political leaders.

So there’s that.  There’s also the development of relationships over time that are already changing – and not for the better – and would be even further damaged by mandatory term limits.  In an interview earlier this year (the week Evan Bayh announced he would not seek re-election), Chris Dodd reflected on what he saw as the differences in the Senate:

I don’t remember a night growing up – cause my father served in the Senate – and I don’t remember a night when someone wasn’t stopping off at our home, on the way home, either have a cocktail with my parents, maybe stay for dinner if their spouse wasn’t in town.  You knew each other better.

His suggestion?  Fewer trips home.

In the past, you got one or two trips home during a year paid for by the government.  Today, you can go home every day if you want, paid for by the government, as long as you’re doing business back in your congressional district or your state.

I’ll do him one better, and I’m only half-joking.  We should build Congressional dorms and encourage members – at least freshman legislators – to live in them (they could have family accommodations.)  Henry Clay, the Great Compromiser, was a successful legislator, not because he had any unique brilliance, but because he stayed with, played cards with, and drank with his colleagues.

Or in more recent history, LBJ built his entire career on the establishment of personal relationships, particularly seeking out powerful Senator Richard Russell as his mentor:

I made sure there was always one companion, one senator, who worked as hard and as long as he, and that was me, Lyndon Johnson… On Sundays the House and Senate were empty, quiet and still, the streets outside were bare.  It’s a tough day for a politician, especially if, like Russell, he’s all alone.  I knew how he felt, for I too, counted the hours till Monday would come again, and, knowing that, I made sure to invite Russell over for breakfast, lunch, brunch, or just to read the Sunday papers.  He was my mentor and I wanted to take care of him.*

Despite those populist-majoritarian leanings, stories like this (and the fact that I believe they’re more than just a nostalgic myth) make me see the need for an actual political class; not of the best and the brightest, but of those who love the process, love the institutions, and have the patience to do the work of governing.

*Hardball, Chris Matthews, 28-29

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