Democracy in the House, east and west

Kirk Ericson | Jan 12, 20230

This is a tale of two Houses: One in Washington, D.C., the other in Olympia.

Let’s start with the frat House. On the evening of Jan. 6, I sat with Mary Young, my 95-year-old mother-in-law, watching Republicans’ 14th effort to appoint a speaker of the U.S. House. Mary and I watched the spectacle on C-SPAN — the news channel for people with library cards — so our own opinions could fill in the silent stretches.

Mary and I have similar political opinions, though hers tend to be wiser and more charitable than mine.

“I’m only concerned about my country,” she said at one point when C-SPAN was focused on the freebooter from Florida, Rep. Matt Gaetz. “I don’t hate Matt Gaetz.”

We also split on the very lonely George Santos, the Long Island, New York, man elected before his many lies about his life and times were known. The C-SPAN camera would linger on him, sitting alone — with him so clearly and painfully aware that he was alone. He was so visibly lonely, like the school kid sitting solitary at lunch hour. I felt his loneliness. Still, this fellow should probably check himself into a remedial class on telling the truth.

It wasn’t the best face for the People’s House to present, what with the yelling, finger-jabbing, neck-grabbing and the pawning of dignities left and right. But, as is usually the case, many of us were told that what we saw wasn’t what we saw. What we really saw, allegedly, was “what democracy looks like.” Accordingly, many of our fellow Americans repeat the line “what democracy looks like” dutifully, dully and repeatedly.

Some GOP members even hooted when the House chaplain, a retired rear admiral no less, gave a prayer that apparently wasn’t pro-anger enough. Booing a prayer? Who didn’t raise these people?

Let’s move west. On Tuesday, I sat in the House Gallery, which overlooks our Capitol’s House of Representatives. The occasion was the governor’s State of the State speech, the first in-person one in two years, and the first one I’ve attended. Senators and representatives sat together, although some partisan physical separation remained. Appearances must be maintained.

No decisions were to be made during the noontime gathering, so no arm-twisting was required, but the event felt cleansing, like we were all washing the scum off from the U.S. House experience of the previous week.

The governor’s speech was anodyne, it didn’t break much news, but the whole affair had several poignant moments. I was sitting a few seats away from a mother and child who Gov. Inslee acknowledged in his speech as finding shelter under a state program. The girl, with a blue ribbon of yarn threaded through her hair, looked up shyly from her graphic novel while her mom squeezed her tight and smiled wide enough for both of them.

Father Andriy Matlak of Seattle’s Ukrainian Orthodox Church thanked our country for helping his country. The Tacoma Refugee Choir performed the Star-Spangled Banner, and Washington’s Poet Laureate Rena Priest delivered a poem about our state that drew a reverential and practical picture of our state’s aspirations and gifts, threading it through its past, present and future.

Lt. Gov. Denny Heck, running the show at the podium, set up one of the most heartfelt standing ovations I’ve witnessed while introducing members of the Consular Association of Washington. “I’ll ask them to individually stand, but I’ll ask for all of you to hold your applause until we come to the end, please,” Heck said. That proved impossible.

When Heck got to Valeriy Goloborodko, a slim young man who is the honorary consul of Ukraine in Seattle, everyone in the gallery and on the floor rose instantly. There was none of that looking around and wondering whether to stand and clap. The applause lasted far longer than any other during the noon gathering.

Let’s wrap it up with the conclusion of Poet Laureate Priest’s poem, “These Abundant and Generous Homelands”:

“These sacred homelands in which the call of eagles resounded resplendent from the tops of towering cedars, where none went hungry when salmon were running in clear cool waters.

“These abundant and generous homelands were given in exchange for a promise of a world we could live in, a world that would keep giving to all in common for as long as the rivers run.”