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UNDER CONSTRUCTION - MOVED TO MIDDLEBORO REVIEW AND SO ON https://middlebororeviewandsoon.blogspot.com/
After a despicable right-wing disinformation campaign against her, Gigi Sohn, President Biden’s extremely qualified nominee to the FCC, has withdrawn her nomination.
The Senate refused to act on her nomination for sixteen months – while dark money groups built up a smear campaign against her in right-wing media echo chambers, turning to homophobia and bigotry to leave the FCC under capacity and deadlocked in a 2-2 partisan split.
I’m disgusted by the attacks we’ve seen over the past two years – but we can’t give in to Big Money bullying now. President Biden must immediately nominate a replacement who will serve the public – not corporate interest.
We’ve seen what happens when people can’t afford to get online. Students can’t log on to their virtual classrooms, patients can’t access healthcare through telemedicine, and families are unable to meet their daily needs.
But for over a year, the Senate gave in to dark money groups and far-right opposition, refusing to confirm Gigi Sohn to the FCC despite her career fighting for the public interest and support from over 400 organizations and individuals across the political spectrum. [1]
We can’t afford inaction when we’re all so heavily dependent on reliable Internet access. And every day that the fifth FCC commissioner seat remains open – the Trump FCC’s legacy of decision-making that puts profits over people remains in place.
Until a fifth commissioner is appointed and confirmed, the agency won’t be able to deliver reliable communications services to those who need them. That’s why I’m urgently asking you to speak out today.
The smear campaign against Gigi Sohn – and the Senate’s inaction on her confirmation – sets a dangerous precedent for the treatment of future public interest champions who are asked to serve in government. As we continue this work, I’m glad to have you with us.
Thanks for all you do,
Yosef Getachew, Media & Democracy Program Director
and the team at Common Cause
[1] freepress.net/policy-library/400-groups-and-individuals-express-support-gigi-sohn
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My coaches helped me cram for the Senate confirmation hearing. (They were the three lawyers who investigated me before Clinton sent my name to the Hill along with five Democratic staffers from the Senate Judiciary Committee and the Education and Labor Committee.)
The cramming was intense. I felt like a prizefighter getting ready for the big one.
We did a mock run. My coaches played the parts of Senators on the committee. I sat facing them. They tried to be as difficult and nasty as possible.
“Mr. Reich, you’ve had absolutely no experience managing a big organization, have you?”
“Mr. Reich, do you believe that employers should have the right to permanently replace striking workers?”
“Mr. Reich, are you a socialist?”
“Mr. Reich, have you ever had to meet a payroll?”
“Mr. Reich, do you believe that defined-benefit pension plans are underfunded, and if so, what should be done about the problem?”
I groped for words. I babbled. I got angry. On the rare occasions when I actually had something intelligent to say, I gave long and complicated answers.
“Time out,” said my chief interrogator, a rotund, middle-aged Hill staffer with graying red hair and decade of experience at this sort of thing. “Let’s stop here and critique your performance so far.” I wished he wouldn’t.
“You gotta understand …” he said, stepping out from behind the table that served as a mock committee rostrum. “This hearing isn’t designed to test your knowledge. It’s designed to test your respect. For them.”
I was confused and hurt. I felt like I’d failed an exam. He sensed it.
“You don’t have to come up with the right answer,” he continued, pacing around the room. “I hope you don’t take offense but you’ve got a big handicap, professor. Your whole life you’ve been trying to show people how smart you are. That’s not what you should do before the committee. You try to show them how smart you are, you’re in big trouble.”
“But I have to answer their questions, don’t I?”
“Yes and no. You have to respond to their questions. But you don’t have to answer them. You shouldn’t answer them. You’re not expected to answer them.”
The others laughed. I was bewildered. “What’s the difference between answering and responding?” I asked, feeling stupid for even asking.
“Respect! Respect!” my chief interrogator nearly shouted.
He walked over to me and leaned down so his face was close to mine. “This is all about respect. Your respect for them. The President’s respect for them. The executive branch of government’s respect for the legislative branch. Look: The President has nominated you to be a cabinet secretary. The senators have to consent to the nomination. The Democrats are in control of the Senate, so barring an unforeseen scandal, they will. But first you have to genuflect.” He got down on his knees, grabbed my hand and kissed it. The others roared. “You have to let them know you respect their power and you’ll continue to do so for as long as you hold office.”
I joined in the laugh but was still confused. “What does this have to do with the difference between answering their questions and responding to their questions?”
He sat down again. He lowered his voice. The others in the room enjoyed the spectacle. “If you lecture them, they won’t feel you respect them. But if you respond to their questions with utter humility, they will feel you do.”
“Utter humility?”
“Have you ever in your life admitted you don’t know something?” he grinned, relishing the moment.
“Sure.”
“But have you ever admitted you didn’t know when you knew just enough to bullshit your way through?”
I paused. “Not often.”
He was up again, pacing. “So when you’re sitting there in front of the committee and one of the senators asks you a question that you’re not absolutely sure of the answer to, I want you to say simply, ‘I don’t know, Senator.’”
“Okay.”
He stopped and pointed his finger at me. “Practice saying it. I … don’t … know …, Senator.”
“I don’t know, Senator.”
“Good! Again!”
“I don’t know, Senator.”
“Again!”
“I don’t know, Senator.” The others applauded.
“Fine.” He looked toward the group. “I think he’s catching on.”
Laughter.
Then back to me again. “And even when you’re absolutely sure, and you have it all worked out in your head, I want you to give a simple answer. One sentence. Two at most. Simple and general. No specifics. Don’t show off what you know.”
This was going to be hard.
“And” — he brought his face closer and looked me dead in the eye — “as often as you can say it without it sounding contrived, I want you to tell them how much you look forward to working with them. I look forward to working with you on that, Senator.”
“I look forward to working with you on that, Senator.”
“I don’t know, Senator. But I look forward to working with you on it.”
“I don’t know, Senator, but I look forward to working with you on it,” I repeated.
“G-o-o-o-o-d.” He smiled and was up and pacing again. “And whenever you can do so without sounding like your nose is completely up their asshole, I want you to compliment them. Praise their leadership on this issue. Tell them you’ll need their help and guidance. Mention their years of diligence and hard work.”
I rehearsed. “Senator, you know far more about that issue than I do, and I look forward to hearing your views in the months and hears to come.”
“Wonderful!” he beamed, and pointed at me. “And remember, if they ask anything personal — about your writings, your political views, even your friendship with the President, whatever — don’t take it personally. They are not interested in an answer. They’re interested in how you respond.”
“How I respond?”
“Deferentially. Good-naturedly. If they are nasty, don’t be nasty back. If they’re sarcastic, refrain from sarcasm. Never get angry. Never lose your balance. Never take the bait.”
I felt like a child learning how to ride a bike. It looked so easy. It wasn’t.
My interrogator put an arm around my shoulder and addressed the others. “He’ll do just fine, won’t he?”
They all said encouraging things, but they weren’t convinced.
The session ended. We’d try again tomorrow. I wished the hearing were two weeks away instead of two days.
Finally, the big day arrived. I walked as confidently as I could into the large room in the Senate office building where my confirmation hearing was to begin. I hadn’t counted on all the cameras and reporters bunched up in front of the witness table. C-Span. CNN. Reporters on their knees, taking notes. It would be hard enough to fight the impulse to show the senators how smart I was. Could I resist the temptation to show all of America? After introductions, Senator Ted Kennedy, the committee chairman, served me some easy questions about school-to-work apprenticeships and worker training. Then Kansas Republican Senator Nancy Kassebaum wanted to draw me into a discussion of government waste and inefficiency. Rhode Island Democratic Senator Claiborne Pell digressed on the subject of worker membership on corporate boards. Minnesota Republican Senator David Durenberger wanted me to talk about changes in the workplace. Ohio Democratic Senator Howard Metzenbaum tweaked me about the North American Free Trade Act. Connecticut Democratic Senator Chris Dodd wanted my views on the pending Family and Medical Leave Act. Senator Strom Thurmond asked me about unions. I fought off all temptation. I remembered the rules: It wasn’t about my answers. It was about demonstrating respect. “I agree, Senator.” “I don’t know, Senator.” “I look forward to working with you on that, Senator.” “I look forward to reading that report, Senator.” “No decision has been made about that, Senator, and I’m eager to have your views.” “I will look into that, Senator.” “Thank you for your leadership on the issue, Senator.” It was a game of tennis. I was swatting the balls back as gently as I could, no matter how hard they came at me. Then an unexpected question from Indiana Republican Senator Dan Coats: “Mr. Reich, I enjoyed reading your recent book, The Work of Nations,” he said, smiling slyly and holding up a copy. “I was interested in some of your proposed recommendations and solutions to the challenge which you outlined in Chapter 20. … I figured if I read that, I could skip the first 19 chapters.” (This prompted laughter in the room.) “The first response you suggest is to make the income tax much more progressive and closing what you call some gaping tax loopholes, and in doing so, you reference Woodrow Wilson's proposal to Congress to enact a steeply progressive tax code with the top rate of an individual as 83 percent. Is this the kind of proposal you're going to be advocating to the Clinton economic team relative to how to deal with this basic challenge that we face? Don’t defend yourself. Don’t lecture. Don’t take the bait. “No,” I said, without elaboration. His smile broadened. “I’m happy to hear that.” But further words welled up inside my throat and then out my mouth. “The President-elect's set of economic proposals include an increase in the marginal tax rate on families with an adjusted gross incomes of $200,000, up to 36 percent.” Coats said 36 percent sounded good compared to 83 percent, snarking “It's a tried and tested political technique to offer a high number and have everybody say, ‘Wow, it's only going to be 36 percent.’” He continued, a snake slowly coiling around its victim, referring to another chapter of my book where I argued against making sharp cuts in the federal budget deficit. “Why is that so wrong, when the President-elect has made it one of his top priorities?” C-Span and CNN were broadcasting this. The world was watching. Now was my chance to give the lecture of my life: If it weren’t for twelve years of Republican supply-side economic bullshit, no one would be worrying about the budget deficit to begin with. Besides, if public investments like education and job training and infrastructure are deducted from government spending, and if the remaining amount is expressed as a percentage of the whole economy, it’s not nearly as large a problem as it might seem. And if we cut defense spending as we should — now that the Cold War has ended — and taxed the very wealthy at the rate they were taxed as recently as the 1970s, we could both lower the deficit and have a large pot of money to help all Americans get the skills they need for higher wages. Instead, I took a deep breath and told myself not say any of this. Remember the rules! “President-elect Clinton is committed to reducing the budget deficit.” I paused, amazed and relieved at my self-control. Yet I couldn’t resist making a tiny provocative point: “The objective … is to move from too much public and private consumption to a greater degree of public and private investment. That's what will get our country back on the right economic track.” Shit. I’ve invited a debate. Coats saw his opening and rushed in. “Would entitlement spending on Medicare and Medicaid be investment or consumption?” Coats and I both knew that Medicare and Medicaid costs were soaring and that no one had any idea how to slow them. Clinton still hadn’t figured out an approach. I had to be very careful. “Well, again, that's an issue that I want to leave for -- for the -- for the President-elect.” Stop here, I told myself. But my mouth kept going. “At this very moment, he and some of his advisers are working, developing the package which members here will be -- have an opportunity to examine and be involved with, so I don't want to -- I don't want to spill the beans, I don't want to get out ahead of him.” The voice in my head told me to cease, but I couldn’t. “The criterion for separating consumption and investment is to determine what spending is merely enhancing the well- being of people here today and what is building the future productivity of the nation?” Don’t say another word! Coats lunged at the opportunity to expose the contradiction at the heart of Clinton’s economic policy: “It seems to me just on the face of it that we have some incompatible goals here: A pledge by the President-elect to halve the budget deficit while indicating substantially more investment … I can't see how you can accomplish that without a very substantial reduction in entitlement spending.” Ted Kennedy interjected, the chairman’s prerogative. “As you know, 85 percent of the increase in entitlement spending is on health care, and that's only a quarter of the federal budget. You could cap it today and all you'll do is shift the costs onto the private sector … We all understand these issues are complex. …” Kennedy signaled Coats’s turn was over. He wasn’t getting another try. “Senator Simon?” I could have drowned. Kennedy saved my life. The hearing ended a half hour later. I survived. Flashbulbs exploded all around. I could see my burly chief interrogator across the hearing room. He was beaming. I couldn’t reach him in the crowd, but our eyes met. He pointed his thumb straight upward. |
Friends, I hope your holiday week is suitably relaxing. Today I thought you might enjoy my reminisces from almost exactly thirty years ago when I was tapped for a cabinet position. Lessons learned then might prove useful to others in the coming months because typically a few cabinet members depart after the first two years of an administration (the jobs can be overwhelming), and new ones must be confirmed by the Senate. Even when the President’s party controls the Senate, getting confirmed to a cabinet job can be tricky. In late December 1992 I received a phone call from a lawyer who’d been retained by the Clinton campaign who said he’d been asked to investigate me in case Bill Clinton wanted to appoint me to high office. He was a bit vague about who made the request, but said it was urgent we meet as soon as possible. When I arrived at his law office, he and two colleagues (all in gleaming starch-white shirts and dark suits) sat me down on a large couch. His two colleagues settled in armchairs on either side. He sat behind a large mahogany desk. He was friendly but firm. “Our purpose is to discover any embarrassing item that might turn up in a confirmation hearing,” he said. Confirmation? So Clinton is considering me for a cabinet job that needs Senate confirmation? Holy shit. “Anything I can do to help,” I chirped, trying not to reveal my sudden excitement. “Nothing to hide here.” Third grade. Ronny Elliott and I have sawed almost clear through the large maple that holds Richard Merrick’s tree house. Three fathers – mine, Ronny’s, and Richard’s – sit somberly in our living room. I’ve been grounded for a week. “I expect this will be pretty routine,” he said. “We’ve already done a preliminary check and you’re fine.” Kindergarten. I’ve paid Holly Knox a nickel to do a somersault on the jungle gym so I can get a good peek at her underwear. She promises not to tell a soul, but she rats. Mrs. Scofield sends a note home, suggesting counseling. “You’re pretty boring, as these things go,” said another member of the trio. They chuckled. My host looked at me intently. “We’re on your side,” he said. “We’re on your team. If you can think of anything that, if revealed, might taint your confirmation, you probably should share it with us now.” Miss Bouton’s Nursery School. I’m terrified of the old biddy. I refuse to eat the bowl of mysterious mush she serves up for lunch. She asks me why. I tell her I’m not feeling well but her food is delicious. She flies into a rage, telling me I’m a sarcastic little brat, and expels me on the spot. My mother is devastated. “Can’t think of anything,” I said. “The late nineteen-sixties? That’s a tricky period for some people. Anything you might be, er, ashamed of?” I’m elected president of my class at my all-male college by promising to procure bus-loads of young women from every woman’s college in the vicinity. As class president I’m also part of the student court, which receives a complaint from the parents of one such young woman that a classmate engaged in consensual sex with her, a violation of the college rules against “fornication” and grounds for expulsion. I vote with the majority for expulsion. He is then drafted and sent to Vietnam. “Ashamed?” I asked with sudden nervousness. “Nothing immediately comes to mind.” “If it does, give a call,” said my host, with a smile. “In the meantime, we need to discuss this.” He reached under his desk and handed me a large black three-ring binder. “We did a search of all the negative things critics have written about your books over the years.” The binder contained at least two hundred pages, single-spaced, indexed by year, cross-indexed by topic. I hadn’t intended my books to be particularly provocative but they turned out that way. Orthodox economists, committed to their beliefs, had been upset by them. Conservative theorists, bowing to their own gods, were even less enthusiastic. Fortunately, Clinton was a fan. Much of my most recent book had found its way into his campaign book. But that made me an even bigger target. My host gently took the binder out of my hands and placed it on the desk. “Quite a collection,” he said, still smiling. “You’ll need to be ready to respond.” His two colleagues looked at the volume, then up at me again, smiling politely and nodding in agreement. “No problem,” I said, as gloom descending on me. My host leaned toward me. “You’ll have your work cut out for you.” He pointed to the label on the side of the black binder: Critics of Reich, Volume I. |
Throwing Fundraising Messages at a Brick Wall
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FOCUS: Bob Bauer and Jack Goldsmith | How to Reform the Presidency After the Wreckage of Trump
Bob Bauer and Jack Goldsmith, The New York Times
Excerpt: "Our post-Watergate laws and practices for the presidency need revamping."
ow that Donald Trump’s time in the White House is ending, an urgent task is the reform of the presidency that for four years he sought to shape in his image and to run in his personal and political self-interest. What those years have shown is that the array of laws and norms that arose after Watergate and Vietnam requires an overhaul.
Any program for reform of the presidency must give precedence to our health and economic crises. It must also acknowledge political realities. Some reforms can be carried out by the executive branch, but others require legislation. Those must attract at least modest bipartisan support in the Senate.
With these constraints in mind, an agenda for reform of the presidency could realistically reflect the following priorities.
The strength of a presidency is measured by its capacity for effective executive leadership. Mr. Trump’s record of feckless leadership was closely related to his unrelenting efforts to defy or destroy constraining institutions. The reforms proposed here would enhance the institutional constraints that legitimate the president’s vast powers.
They would thus serve the twin aims of ensuring that the “energy in the executive” that Alexander Hamilton defined as “a leading character in the definition of good government” is nonetheless embedded, as the historian Arthur Schlesinger Jr. rightly insisted, in a “system of accountability that checks the abuse of executive power.”
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