Embracing Convention

The Proposal

Gentle visitors, the thought occurred to us a few months ago, from the pit of disconsolation delved by the current sad state of civic affairs, that, notwithstanding the manifestation of the seven deadly sins among our elected representatives, we may have one means of climbing out.

The proposal is simple:  to call a constitutional convention to amend the U.S. Constitution to limit elected officials to two, consecutive terms, and to apply the amendment to sitting members of Congress.

Yes, our Constitution, nurturing mother of the Republic -- albeit, a bit creaky here and there, owing to her advanced age and battered service; but, on the whole, sound, battle-tested, and sea-worthy, much like her namesake, Old Ironsides.

How quickly we forget that we, ourselves, determine the course of the country -- heaving the misdirected skipper and the drunken, querulous sailors from time to time that the ship might be righted and her timbers set straight.  Yet, what if the captain and crew conspired in mutiny or piracy or simple idiocy against the fare-paying passengers, bound them, and pitched them into the hold? What then?

Why then, we would revolt -- ironic that: the masters revolting against the servants -- using anything we might find laying about that could be used as a weapon.   One of these weapons, gentle visitors, is a cudgel rarely used:  Article V of the Constitution, which grants the legislators of the several states the power to demand a convention to propose amendments to the Constitution.

Would we thus be changing or even damaging the Grand Old Girl?  No. Changing only to the extent of replacing a few planks, scraping barnacles, and sewing up sails.  Damaging? Hardly: rather strengthening and refitting her for further voyage.

We will explore the hows & whys in coming posts.

The Means Therefor

Gentle visitors, in our prior post, with recourse to nautical metaphors, we set forth one proposal to address our pressing political problems:  namely, to call a constitutional convention to amend the U.S. Constitution to limit elected officials to two, consecutive terms, and to apply the amendment to sitting members of Congress.

Now, your humble proponent makes no pretense that he is an august scholar of constitutional law, no augur or shaman of that glorious Tribe who might examine the parchment's fibrous entrails and reveal its hidden meaning. No, we rather simply and, perhaps, presumptively, take up the slender volume of the Constitution and see what it has to say.

Article V of the same reads, in pertinent part:

The Congress, whenever two thirds of both houses shall deem it necessary, shall propose amendments to this Constitution, or, on the application of the legislatures of two thirds of the several states, shall call a convention for proposing amendments, which, in either case, shall be valid to all intents and purposes, as part of this Constitution, when ratified by the legislatures of three fourths of the several states, or by conventions in three fourths thereof, as the one or the other mode of ratification may be proposed by the Congress....

Of course, it warms the heart of any student of the law to read such a single sentence with so many subordinate clauses, since it allows an opening for the able advocate to bend and twist the language upon itself, like an abstract artist working in pliable metals.  Yet, despite its multiplicity of parts, and sub-parts, when properly diagrammed, the article appears to set forth two means of amending the Constitution: one initiated by the Congress, and the other by the states. 

To be sure, our bicameral federal legislative body has successfully proposed to amend the parchment on twenty-seven occasions -- once amending it's prior amendment to the great relief of distillers and distillees all about the country and those who had otherwise resolved to amend their ways.

But, to date, the several States have not undertaken the proposing, as opposed to the disposing, of even the most innocent of amendments.  We might attribute this inaction to a diffused deference to the higher and nobler body or, more likely, to the intransigence of the haughtier and knavisher body -- no matter, it has not yet happened.

And, yet, the humble reader can see by the text itself -- no emanation from a penumbra here -- that the Congress "shall" call a convention upon two-thirds of the states so applying.

Gentle visitors, many would insist that nothing in law or politics could be so simple. But, for now, let us assume that it is so.

The Reasons Therefor

Gentle visitors, lest you worry that your humble proponent has set forth a means without an end, let us put an end to such worries.

The reasons for fixing limits to number of terms of members of Congress might be divided, taxonomically, into two classes: structural and substantial.

Structurally, things have changed in Congress from its early days, when the ink was still dry on the parchment.  Your humble proponent would know, since, as a young lad, he heralded the broadsheets of the Federalist Papers, earning a penny here and there.   In those days, the House numbered 64 wig-clad legislators, and each member represented just 30,000 citizens.  These days, while the House has opened its doors to another 371, who now generally prefer hair plugs and comb-overs, each member represents about 700,000 -- like the difference between a small city and a metropolis.

For the first century or so, every ten years, with the enumeration of the census, the House grew more or less proportionally to the increasing population.  Sadly, all the additions and the double-dorming and the ensuing pajama parties ended in 1929, when the House capped its own number at 435 (making some room later for guests sledding or surfing in from Alaska and Hawaii, respectively).  Perhaps not coincidentally, since that time the average tenure of a representative has doubled from five years to ten and the rate of incumbency has increased to above 90%.  Odd this, since the approval rating for Congress hovers at 15%.

But, the point, dear visitors, is that, back in the day, a representative lighting on his mule and plodding toward the Capital could expect to serve four years there, then return to distilling whiskey, curing tobacco, or fashioning firearms, or some similar noble profession.  These days, he might expect to grow old in his new-found home.

Has our success in propagating ourselves led us to a wilderness where we can no longer refuse a return to the very personages we disapprove?

More anon.

Further Reasons Therefor

Gentle visitors, we last considered the structural reasons for reform of Congress by limiting our senators and representatives to two terms.  Let us now consider the substantial reasons.

In this case, the substance truly flows from the structure.  The link between representatives, in particular, and their constituents has become so attenuated, that they cannot possibly represent (their engagement, as it were) except in the grossest and general of ways.  That is, whereas our earliest representatives spoke up for approximately 30,000 persons, our lastest purport to speak for 700,000.  How can even these great ones harmonize the cacophony of three-quarter 'a million voices? 

Moreover, the Congress now controls a vastly more immense warehouse than the Framers of the Constitution could have imagined -- gleened, or perhaps more aptly, purloined, from the meager stores of their employers. 

One result of this disproportion (and the quotidian flaws of human nature) is that members of Congress are far more likely to rely upon great scoops from the federal larder flung toward their official domicile in lieu of some wholesome home cooking.  And, the same unctuous fare is generally ladeled on the plates of chieftans in the faraway district, to secure their favor and win their influence, that our dear Public Servant might, in time, return to them for an generous offering and, therefore, be returned to the capital for another term, while we -- the titular masters -- are left to lap the greasy leavings and, perhaps, attend the dedication of a new library or highway or nature preserve named in our dear Public Servant's living honor.

But, more than this, our congressman seek a relatively permanent home and career in Washington -- in many cases, in place of an actual career.  Accordingly, they outfit their new House comfortably, with every manner of benefit and perquisite.   And, yet, would we -- those still on the farm and in the village -- not prefer to send a man or woman of our own ilk, who's likely to retain his or her connection to the the old homeplace and, before too long, return.

Sadly, gentle visitors, these results are perversions of the Framers' vision.  Consider these observations of one we will call "Publius" on the House of Representatives:

Who are to be the electors of the federal representatives? Not the rich, more than the poor; not the learned, more than the ignorant; not the haughty heirs of distinguished names, more than the humble sons of obscurity and unpropitious fortune. The electors are to be the great body of the people of the United States. They are to be the same who exercise the right in every State of electing the corresponding branch of the legislature of the State.

Who are to be the objects of popular choice? Every citizen whose merit may recommend him to the esteem and confidence of his country. No qualification of wealth, of birth, of religious faith, or of civil profession is permitted to fetter the judgement or disappoint the inclination of the people.

If we consider the situation of the men on whom the free suffrages of their fellow-citizens may confer the representative trust, we shall find it involving every security which can be devised or desired for their fidelity to their constituents.

In the first place, as they will have been distinguished by the preference of their fellow-citizens, we are to presume that in general they will be somewhat distinguished also by those qualities which entitle them to it, and which promise a sincere and scrupulous regard to the nature of their engagements.

In the second place, they will enter into the public service under circumstances which cannot fail to produce a temporary affection at least to their constituents. There is in every breast a sensibility to marks of honor, of favor, of esteem, and of confidence, which, apart from all considerations of interest, is some pledge for grateful and benevolent returns. Ingratitude is a common topic of declamation against human nature; and it must be confessed that instances of it are but too frequent and flagrant, both in public and in private life. But the universal and extreme indignation which it inspires is itself a proof of the energy and prevalence of the contrary sentiment.

In the third place, those ties which bind the representative to his constituents are strengthened by motives of a more selfish nature. His pride and vanity attach him to a form of government which favors his pretensions and gives him a share in its honors and distinctions. Whatever hopes or projects might be entertained by a few aspiring characters, it must generally happen that a great proportion of the men deriving their advancement from their influence with the people, would have more to hope from a preservation of the favor, than from innovations in the government subversive of the authority of the people.

The Federalist, No. 57.

Goodness, how times have changed.