miércoles, 5 de enero de 2011

La cultura política de Estados Unidos (The Atlantic)

Meet the First Filibusters: The 16th and 17th Century Pirates of the Caribbean

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The filibuster may be unconstitutional, creating as it does a mechanism for a Senatorial veto.
One thing's for sure: Filibusters are also pre-constitutional. They are even pre-colonial.
The original filibusters were pirates of the Caribbean, and the contemporary Senate procedure continues to bear traces of the word's origins in the disruptive and lawless practices of the privateers who boosted the goods of ships traveling under Spanish sail. Later, the word came to describe an American movement with a base in the pre-Civil War South to seize Spanish West Indian and Central American lands and goods in the name of Manifest Destiny.
The word derives from a Dutch term for pirate and began to be applied to efforts "to hold the Senate floor in order to prevent a vote on a bill" in the in the 1850s, according to the Senate Historical Office. It is believed to derive from the Dutch word vrijbuiter, which means "to plunder," with vrij meaning "free" and buit meaning "booty."
And booty, according to Michael Sheen, a retired Chicago English teacher who writes the WordMall blog, means "collective plunder or spoils" such as "household goods seized and carried off" by armies.
These "freebooters" or "filibusters" traveled under no nation's sail -- they used various iterations of the Jolly Roger, instead -- and often sought to "privateer" goods and gold being transported by Spanish ships in the Caribbean, from slaves to gold. The word to describe them was first recorded in English in the late 16th century, according to the Oxford English Dictionary.
Filibustering first took on a political meaning in the early 19th century when it was transferred from pirates who seized goods to individuals who sought to seize goods, land -- and states.
According to PBS's The History Detectives:
In the 1800s, the term took on new meaning, referring to a group of adventurers who, without the consent of the American government, tried to assume power in a number of Latin American and Caribbean countries. Filibusters were intent on overpowering the 'lesser peoples' despite neutrality laws that forbid Americans from privately engaging in warfare with other countries. Cuba, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica and Mexico were all victims of filibusters from 1830 to 1860.
Famous filibusters were larger than life characters such as Narciso Lopez, a Venezuelan-born soldier who, aided by sympathetic Southern money, liberated Venezuela from Spanish rule. He then attempted three times to free Cuba.
William Walker, a southerner from Tennessee, annexed parts of Mexico and named himself president. In his proclamation of control over Lower California (then part of Mexico), Walker explains why the territory was rightfully his, an explanation that neatly sums up the filibuster movement.
Thus abandoning the peninsula, and leaving it as it was "a waif on the waters," Mexico cannot complain if others take it and make it valuable. On such considerations have I and my companions-in-arms acted in the course we have pursued. And, for the success of our enterprise, we put our trust in Him who controls the destinies of nations, and guides them in the ways of improvement and progress.
Despite the vehement objections of the Mexican government and the anger of the U.S. authorities, many Americans thought this was a triumph for filibustering. However, Walker eventually gave up, finding it too difficult. He was tried by the U.S. and acquitted.
Perhaps it is appropriate given the history of the filibuster movement that the longest filibuster in U.S. history came from a Southern senator, the late Strom Thurmond of South Carolina, who held out for 24 hours and 18 minutes in opposition to the Civil Rights Act of 1957. After all, according to PBS, "The filibuster cause was successful largely thanks to a strong support base in the South" where "parades were held in their honor, songs written and their adventures glorified."
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Garance Franke-Ruta - Garance Franke-Ruta is a senior editor at The Atlantic and oversees politics coverage for TheAtlantic.com. Follow her on Twitter at @thegarance.


Meet the New Boss

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Updated 4:27 p.m.

The deal is done: With a wave of his huge wooden gavel, John Boehner took control of the House of Representatives.

The gavel is an outsized block of wood that looks like the sawed-off top of a sledgehammer, far bigger than the medium-sized one Boehner handed to Pelosi four years ago. Boehner's gavel was made by one of his constituents in western Ohio and given to the new speaker as a gift. The symbol of Boehner's new power fits well with his straightforward, old-boy demeanor, a facet of his persona that the outgoing speaker praised as she introduced him.

The House of Representatives was abuzz today, sort of like the first day of high school. Members patted shoulders and shook hands congenially; little kids scurried around behind their lawmaker parents, outside the House chamber and in it. After a quorum call around noon, members all filed in to sit or stand less in reverence than in friendly anticipation, waiting for power to change hands officially.

Lawmakers milled about the floor, talking to one another, finding seats in short supply as members' children (toddlers and teenagers alike, sitting in chairs and laps) accompanied them to see their parents sworn in. Members stood behind the last row of seats, leaning on the banister, spilling into the aisles.

A cheer erupted as Boehner and Pelosi stepped up to the dais in the front of the room. As Pelosi began her speech, a little girl in the visitor's gallery started to cry.

"It is a high honor to welcome all the members of Congress and their families to the House of Representatives," Pelosi said. And with a cheer, the ceremony began.

Pelosi spoke about bipartisanship and a "shared commitment to the way forward" but eventually steered into more controversial territory, listing the achievements of the Democratic Congress, to Democratic clapping and Republican silence, a la a State of the Union address.

"Patients can no longer be thrown off their insurance," Pelosi declared. "Taxpayers will be saved $1.3 trillion." She mentioned the Lily Ledbetter Fair Pay Act, and the recent repeal of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell." And for a few minutes, as Democrats clapped and Republicans shot stony glances at their former tormentor, congeniality was sucked out of the room.

Pelosi saved some kind words for Boehner, calling him "a man of conviction, a public servant," who has "earned the confidence of his conference." She thanked her colleagues for making her the first woman speaker, which everyone, Democrat and Republican alike, applauded.

And then the enormous gavel was handed over. "It's larger than most gavels here, but [it's] the gavel of choice for Speaker Boehner." The chamber laughed.

BoehnerPostArt.png Boehner took the gavel from Pelosi with a hug, looking ready to wield this immense wooden thing. Republicans whistled and cheered; Democrats stood to clap along with them. Bipartisanship was back, if only for a minute or two. Boehner took the gavel in both hands, twisting it slightly, feeling its weight, and promptly teared up—a signature move of his—wiping his nose with a handkerchief as the Republican whooping got even louder. When he banged it, grins widened on all the Republican faces, seated in the left half of the room.

As Boehner stepped up to the podium and began speaking, another child started crying. That was something of a theme for the day.

"We gather here today at a time of great challenges. Nearly one in ten of our neighbors are looking for work. Health-care costs are still rising for families and small businesses. Our spending has caught up with us, and our debt will soon eclipse the size of our entire economy. Hard work and tough decisions will be required of the 112th Congress," Boehner said. "No longer can we fall short. No longer can we kick the can down the road. The people voted to end business as usual, and today we begin carrying out their instructions."

Republicans stood and clapped. Democrats did not.

As all this was happening, Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell, an architect of GOP obstructionism in the Obama era, sat still in the very middle of the House chamber. Apparently there alone, and the only senator in the room that I could notice, McConnell wore a deep red tie and fixed his eyes steadily on Boehner the entire time, his arms folded, clapping reservedly when the time was right. McConnell has been Boehner's Senate counterpart over the last four years, and while Boehner is genial and easy to like, McConnell is careful and disciplined. His mastery of the GOP Senate caucus and steadfast opposition to Democrats put a stop to aggressive bills Pelosi was able to pass, turning the Senate into a morass for Democratic ambitions since the beginning of 2009. McConnell's resistance and helping Boehner get where he is today. Almost everything, from the Kentucky senator's vantage, had gone to plan.

A child, seated with a lawmaker in the front row of the chamber, started throwing a silent tantrum. He stood up and waved his arms up and down, then stormed down the aisle, eventually escorted out by his sister. Boehner remained unfazed.

Keeping his hands folded neatly on the podium, raising his left index finger to make points, Boehner pledged a "renewed focus on our Constitution" and, amidst this big moment, injected some humility by reciting the God's curse on Adam: "Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

"The American people have humbled us. They have refreshed our memories as to just how temporary the privilege to serve is. They have reminded us that everything here is on loan from them. That includes this gavel, which I accept cheerfully and gratefully, knowing I am but its caretaker. After all, this is the people's House. This is their Congress. It's about them, not us," Boehner said. "What they want is a government that is honest, accountable and responsive to their needs. A government that respects individual liberty, honors our heritage, and bows before the public it serves."

"A great deal of scar tissue has built up on both sides of the aisle: We cannot ignore that, nor should we.My belief has always been, we can disagree without being disagreeable," Boehner said.

In the most bipartisan moment of the day, Boehner was sworn in by the oldest and longest-serving member of the House, the 84-year old John Dingell, a Democrat from Michigan (who was the only member not to stand when Pelosi and Boehner took the podium). Dingell ambled up to a small lectern and read the oath of office to Boehner.

And with Boehner's affirmation, the 112th Congress had begun.

Afterward, members gladhanded and made their way out of the chamber. Republicans were celebratory, but restrained. "We have to avoid celebrating too much when so many people are out of work," New York's Peter King, one of the biggest Republican firebrands on national security issues in particular, told me after Boehner's speech.

"It's always nice to go back in the majority, certainly nothing compares to the first time, 10 years ago, but this is a close second I guess," said a smiling Jeff Flake, when I asked him how this stacks up to other moments in his political career.

On his way out of the Speaker's Lobby that sits adjacent to the House floor, Dana Rohrabacher, the 12-term congressman from outside L.A., gave a shoulder pat to a new member, the Tea-Party-backed Allen West of Ft. Lauderdale.

"Sir, it's gonna be great," Rohrabacher told West. "We're gonna shake things up here."

"We got to. The people are counting on us," West replied.

"You got it."

And with so many handshakes, the transaction was complete.

Illustration credit: Alex Hoyt (with iPad Brushes)




Strict Obstructionist

Mitch McConnell is a master manipulator and strategist—the unheralded architect of the Republican resurgence. Now that his relentless tactics have made his party victorious, he is poised to take down the president and win the Senate majority he covets—if he can fend off the Tea Party and keep his own caucus together.
By Joshua Green

Stephen Voss
If you were to look for the very last moment when the Democrats might have avoided, or at least mitigated, the wave that swept over them in November, it may have come on Tuesday, September 14, just after lunchtime. That’s when Mitch McConnell, the Republican Senate leader from Kentucky, emerged from a weekly caucus meeting to address reporters gathered beneath the Ohio Clock in the U.S. Capitol and take care of an important piece of business. Two days earlier, on the CBS show Face the Nation, McConnell’s counterpart in the House of Representatives, John Boehner of Ohio, had blundered in answering a hypothetical question by suggesting he would consider something short of a full extension of the Bush-era tax cuts. The White House intended to frame the election as a choice between the party of the middle class (Democrats) and the party of the rich (Republicans) by splitting the extension into two votes: one tax cut for the middle class, and another for the rich. Republicans had steadfastly refused—until Boehner flinched. The next day’s New York Times headline was “Boehner Shifts on Tax-Cut Bill Backed by Democrats.” Sensing controversy and a change in momentum, the media were eager to pounce. Boehner had wisely vanished, leaving McConnell to repair the damage.
Flanked by his leadership team, McConnell stepped to the microphone and proceeded to extinguish any hope of a compromise. In his curt southern manner, he declared that Republicans were united in wanting to extend all the tax cuts; that several Democrats had voiced unease about the White House strategy; and that he would relish the chance to talk about the Bush tax cuts, whose expiration, he warned, would “throw a wet blanket over the recovery.”
McConnell, 68, is owlish, phlegmatic, and gray, and often looks bothered, as though lunch isn’t agreeing with him. He has been described as having “the natural charisma of an oyster.” Yet you sense that this is not so much a burden as a choice, that he has pared away any qualities extraneous to his political advancement. McConnell has the relentless drive and ambition you frequently encounter in Washington. But unlike so many others, he longs to be not president but majority leader of the Senate—a position conferred by his peers and not voters, so geniality and popularity with the press don’t interest him. “Every answer he ever gives is geared toward strategy within the Senate,” says his friend Senator Robert Bennett of Utah, meaning this as a compliment.
McConnell nevertheless manipulates the press masterfully, using methods that are head-smackingly obvious and yet still elude most politicians. He knows exactly what he wants to say, repeats it with emphasis, then stops. He will not be drawn out, and has no compunction about refusing questions. He would never make Boehner’s mistake, because he won’t entertain hypotheticals. “We don’t issue a whole lot of currency,” his spokesman says. What McConnell does say makes news.
At the press conference, reporters jockeyed to throw him off message and extract some further bit that might drive the story forward. His unvarying reply when asked about Boehner was: “It does not make sense to raise taxes in a recession,” a phrase he uttered nine times in barely as many minutes. The effect was like watching a swarm of mosquitoes encounter a bug zapper. After he wrapped up the proceedings, the reporters broke their huddle and scurried to button­hole individual senators. McConnell ignored them and walked off. The story soon dried up. No vote took place. And the elections were, as McConnell intended them to be, an unadulterated referendum on President Obama.