“One more state to go to a Constitutional convention.” So proclaimed Republican Council Member Max Morano’s latest tweet.
Having read it, Gavin Kane, his Democratic counterpart, summoned his chief of staff, Tina Millette. “What’s he getting at here?” Gavin turned his smartphone toward her.
Taking a guest chair, she said, “Republicans control thirty-three state legislatures. If they get control of one more state, they’ll have the numbers needed to call a Constitutional convention.”
“Meaning they could rewrite the whole thing?” Gavin relied on Tina for the expertise he projected.
“Well, definitely add new amendments,” she said. “I think there are some restrictions on what they can do with the basic document, like they can’t reduce the number of senators each state sends to Congress.”
“Could they pass that balanced budget amendment they keep harping on about?”
“I’m sure that’s on their agenda.”
“And ban abortion? They’d lose the next election,” Gavin said.
“But think of what a Constitutional convention would gain for them.” Tina shrugged and left.
Time to call on Libby. Gavin pulled out his wallet-sized electronic talking United States Constitution with the image of Lady Liberty at the top.
“Libby, what’s this about Republicans hijacking the Constitution?”
The device lit up. “What do you expect? You Democrats have been spending taxpayer money like drunken sailors.”
“So you’re a Republican after all.”
“I’m neither one nor the other. That’s the point. I’m neutral.”
“‘Neutral’ means ‘couldn’t care less’ in my book,” Gavin said.
Predictably, the screen dimmed. Done it again, he thought. Why am I such a hothead?
“Okay, Libby, I apologize.”
The screen stayed dimmed.
“Libby, I mean it. I realize you’re saying your job is to keep everything checked and balanced. Except the budget, I hope.”
She didn’t return.
Gavin stopped everything in order to think. On the one hand, he could ignore Morano’s tweet about an upcoming Constitutional convention. If he, Gavin, hadn’t understood its significance, most other people wouldn’t either. On the other hand, shouldn’t people know the danger ahead if Republicans continued with their string of successes at the state level? If Republicans brought off their convention plot, the US Constitution would make America a Christian country, ban all abortions, and bar that life blood of America, immigrants. And that balanced budget amendment.
He typed: “Constitutional convention? End of social safety net.”
* * *
Max Morano had worried his tweet would fail to engage beanpole Kane, whom he figured had no notion of just how close Republicans were to being able to hold a Constitutional convention, never mind what it could mean. So he was gleeful when the response arrived.
On his smartphone, he tapped: “Republicans ready to end Democrat plan to bankrupt America.”
Figuring it would take Kane a while to come up with something, Max strolled out of his storefront office to enjoy a moment in a lovely spring day and to buy a souvlaki sandwich from the corner street vendor.
When his turn came to order, he asked the souvlaki man, “Know who I am?”
“Yeah. The customer who comes out only on nice days.”
“I’m Max Morano. Know the name?”
“Can’t say I do.”
“The council member who represents your district.”
“You represent Silverton?”
“Well, no. I mean here, downtown.”
“Just because I work here don’t mean I live here. What’ll it be today?”
Walking back to his district office, Max felt depressed. This process of getting your name out was filled with indignities. He hated feeling like an idiot, the way Kane must feel every minute of the day.
Back at his desk, he checked his smartphone. Sure enough, Kane had replied.
“Watch out for the next Great Depression, only ten times worse. Time to end Republican reign for the rich.”
Max couldn’t resist: “Gavin Kane, hero of class warfare, can’t get past envy.”
* * *
Meanwhile, Gavin Kane had also been inspired to venture out to buy his lunch. Most of the time he had one of the interns go get it for him, unless he was having lunch with colleagues or backers. A young woman with piercings all over her face and two-toned hair was trying to get passers-by to sign a petition. Seeing the tall man headed toward her, she called, “Help make the city fight opioid addiction.”
Looking her in the eye, Gavin said, “A good cause. I’ll be voting in favor.”
“This isn’t a ballot. We’re getting signatures so that the City Council will take this problem seriously at last.”
“Oh, but we do.”
“I’m sure you do, sir. So why not just sign here?”
“I’m not sure I should. I mean, it would look like I’m padding the score.”
“Huh?”
“Well, don’t you see? Republicans like that thug Max Morano would find my signature here and get on their high horse about how Democrats are always trying to tip the scales.”
The woman gave him a look, then turned her attention to another pedestrian. Gavin wondered what he’d said to offend her. It was as if she hadn’t recognized him.
Back at his desk, he found Morano’s response waiting for him. “Me, envy that cretin?” he said aloud.
At that moment, Tina was opening the door. “Which cretin?”
“Morano. He claims that my objection to balanced budgets means I’m envious.”
“Come on now, you wouldn’t mind being rich. I could point to one or two off-the-books items—”
“Let’s not go there, Tina.”
“Then let’s go to this opioid treatment bill that’s before the Council.”
“I know about that one.”
“You do? Well, we’re getting a lot of calls, emails and good old-fashioned faxes.”
“In favor, I hope.”
“You’d better believe it. I thought you should take a look.” She dumped a pile of paper on his desk.
When she’d gone, Gavin turned to his keyboard. “Morano wants to balance the budget on the backs of society’s most vulnerable. Watch him vote against funding for opioid treatment.”
* * *
“What’s this about opioids?” Max Morano asked his chief of staff, Irma Jansen when she responded to his summons.
“I assume Kane is referring to legislation that City Council Democrats are pushing. It’s getting a lot of media coverage.”
“Why can’t people just say no to drugs?”
“Well,” Irma said patiently, “we tried that thirty years ago.”
“Under Reagan—Nancy. I remember.”
“Like I said, thirty years ago.”
“You’re saying it didn’t work.”
“Look around.”
Max looked around, but Irma was the only other person in the room, and she was too strait-laced and too on top of things to be drug-addled. “I see no addicts here.”
“Cast your mind to the street.”
“The homeless, you mean?”
“Sure, we know lots of homeless people have a drug dependency. Also the crazy shouters and the people who get in your face. Then again, we probably don’t see the really hardcore addicts.”
“What’s the cost of this program?” When she told him, he said, “Where’s the money coming from?”
She shrugged.
“Well, thanks for keeping me informed,” he said to her, by way of ending their meeting.
When she’d gone, he tweeted, “We can’t coddle everyone who goes astray.”
* * *
“Coddling,” Gavin repeated to himself. In Morano’s ideal world, life would be one long boot camp.
He typed: “Republican Morano should have been an accountant.”
Morano replied, “I am. I’m a proud CPA. Hence my respect for finances.”
Gavin cursed himself for his impetuosity. Not only had he given an opening to Morano, but he’d also surely offended a few hundred accountants, a/k/a voters.
Hoping to redeem himself, he tweeted back: “The cost of doing nothing will be nothing compared to addressing the problem in the future.”
Morano’s retort was lame. “Once again Democrat Kane shows he knows nothing about finance.”
His moment of contrition already behind him, Gavin pounced. “Accountancy is to economics what solitaire is to contract bridge.”
He thought it was a knockout blow, but Morano came back with a line that made even him laugh: “Democrat Kane likes to gamble. Watch out, America!”
But if Gavin was laughing, others were laughing at his expense. He took a walk around the room—a constitutional, so to speak—though it wasn’t large enough to get up a head of steam. Then, bracing himself against more of her ire, he brought out Libby again.
“You gotta help.”
“I do?”
“These Republicans are one state from holding their Constitutional convention. Don’t you have some other safety valve?”
“Read Article V—‘V’ as in 5.”
Gavin wanted to insist she just tell him, but insisting would only get her to close down again. In the device’s search field, he tapped “Article V.” To his surprise, the text that came up was short—just one paragraph. Initially, it confirmed the worst: only two-thirds of the states could force a Constitutional convention. But then he came to the clause: “…when ratified by the legislatures of three fourths of the several states, or by conventions in three fourths thereof…”
“Isn’t this a little redundant?” he said aloud, though not meaning to.
“Are you criticizing my writing style?” Libby said.
“No, no, just trying to figure this out. So, even if Republicans get their convention, they still need to get three out of every four states to sign on.”
“I didn’t realize you were such an astute reader.”
Ignoring the insult, Gavin continued musing. “Which means we need only—what?—thirteen states to tell the rest to get lost. Right away, I come up with twelve that would vote against it, and I’m sure a thirteenth can be brought on board.”
“A mathematician, too,” Libby sneered. She shut down without Gavin even noticing.
Gavin tweeted: “Morano cheers on Republican plan to change the Constitution to their own ends. Hey Max, read Article V. Never in your lifetime.”
Apparently Morano did read the article, or more likely had his chief of staff do so for him. He tweeted: “Kane needs to change party label to ‘Antidemocrat.’ If Kane has his way, minorities will rule.””
* * *
But back at Republican Council Member Morano’s HQ, Max was preoccupied with his thoughts about charities. Drug addicts were charity cases. That was what charities were for and why they got tax breaks. Then why, he wondered, were Democrats so eager to bankrupt the country in a cause for which government wasn’t suited? It called for an amendment to add at the upcoming Constitutional convention: something like, Government shall not pre-empt charitable work.
Apparently Kane couldn’t face that question, considering he’d tried to deflect the issue by attacking him, Max, for being an accountant. Who will he attack next? Lawyers? Well, they were used to it. Doctors? Plumbers? Hair stylists?
Max tweeted: “We the people want to be solvent for ourselves and for the sake of all generations of Americans to come.”
Kane’s predictable response wasn’t long in coming: “Babies born addicts. It’s got to stop. For us, our children and our children’s children’s children.”
Sure it’s got to stop, Max thought. Let’s give charities all the support they need.
But he was bored with the day’s Twitter war. He couldn’t let Kane’s current tweet be the last word. How bring it to a close? He had an idea that he acted on without a second’s thought:
“Democrat Kane short-sighted, but at least he sees to the next generations. Progress.”
How he wished he’d given it that extra second’s thought. Right after he touched send, he knew he’d started a whole new Twitter war. He should never tweet when he was this tired.
Kane shot back: “Shame on Republican Morano for mocking our sight-challenged neighbors.”
Without any help from Kane, Max had walked all by himself right into that minefield. Another amendment to propose at the convention: something like, The protections of free speech shall not extend to political correctness.
He was in no shape to pursue the argument any further. All he’d do was wander into the next minefield. He turned off his smartphone and set off home.
Update: The Republican hold on state legislatures has somewhat eased since 2016, just before this post first appeared.
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