It is all too easy for us to think of the doings of Congress, even important work like the Impeachment Hearings, as Someone Else’s Problem — that’s what we elected folks to take care of, right? The professional media covers all that stuff, so we can follow along from the comfort of our homes and daily lives.
Yet these are indeed Public Hearings, and that means that we have not just the right but the responsibility to show up and provide the accountability that makes the system work. And every time we show up and respectfully observe and look your representatives in the eye, that makes it less likely that wackos will get in and disrupt the process (let alone Rudy putting his foot in mouth once again, making it clear how he sabotaged Ambassador Yavonovitch). And along the way, you can get to meet some incredible people who just may help restore your faith in our system of governance.
Here’s my story of how I got in “the room here it happens,” with some tips on how you can, too.
I hope this little bit of sharing inspires some more of you to join me tonight at an Impeach & Remove event near you, and to show up and represent at a future public hearing.
(warning: photo-rich, including several wide panoramas)
In case you don’t recognize it, the diary title is a reference to a song in Hamilton: The Room Where it Happens:
I like to challenge my friends on Facebook with a little game: “Where’s Raines?” I post pictures in my travels and invite them to guess or deduce where I might be, offering little clues in the background that provide some context. It helps that I frequently wear an iconic top-hat not unlike the playing piece in Monopoly games, making it a recognizable symbol.
I was in the DC area for a family wedding, planning to participate in Jane Fonda’s Fire Drill Fridays protests and weekly arrests outside the Capitol. I had already been part of the support for members of Elders Climate Action getting arrested there and doing flash-mob singing around town as part of Grandparents Climate Action Day and Citizens Climate Lobby visits to Congress, so I knew the drill.
But my visit just happened to coincide with public Impeachment hearings held by the House Intelligence Committee, I was staying at a cohousing neighborhood right on the DC Metro, so I took it as as a sign of where I could and should be.
The hearings that day were in the Longworth House Office Building, a lovely edifice just South of the Capitol itself. I knew from prior visits that I wouldn’t be allowed to bring in bulky luggage, food, signs, sticks, knuckle-duster umbrella handles, or drinks through the airport-style security, so I woke up super early to prepare. I pre-frisked, measured, and slimmed down my backpack, charged my batteries, checked my bags at the train station, picked up a Capital Bikeshare bicycle, and bopped on over.
When I arrived shortly after the building’s 7:30 AM opening, I found around 100 folks already in line to get into the hearing room. Perhaps some of them were professional place-holders, support teams for the credentialed media (who had their own separate line), or staffers or spies, or who knows what.
What may be the most meaningful and powerful piece of every Congressional visit is something I experienced as I entered the building: Nobody asked my name. I didn’t have to show any ID.
It didn’t matter who I was, what I did, whose campaign or PAC I supported or funded, how well-connected I was, what my views were. This is our House, and we have the constitutional right to petition our government. Each time I visit, I inevitably spend a moment reflecting on what a privilege it is to have that opportunity, and how many are denied the chance.
Some friends and family asked: “Were you on some special list of influencers or representing some group? Did you need to get a pass from your Representative?” Nope, I just showed up and stood in line.
And stood in line.
And stood in line. For over 5 hours. On a hard floor with echo-ey hard surfaces all around. With sitting not allowed (so as not to block the hallway). Yes, we could take breaks and have our line-neighbors hold our spot, to visit the restroom or cafeteria. But as we neared the front of the line, this got riskier, as openings could occur at any time, if several folks left the hearing room at once, and we might lose our spot altogether if our section of the line suddenly got whisked into the room.
But here we were, The Public, all lined up, so a number of camera crews and reporters worked the line, interviewing folks to try to get quotes for their stories.
My hat sparked some curiosity, and I spoke with some reporters from The Atlantic and other media outlets, but my remarks were far too reasonable, and to this date none of my pithy quotes seems to have made it into any stories on the event.
It was nice to see some local college students attending and getting interviewed as well — I’d rather see some more underrepresented perspectives get some airtime and exposure.
The most incredible part for me was getting to know some of the folks in line near me, joining their conversations, and sharing our monitoring of live feeds and reports once the sessions began for the day.
Everybody was tuned to different webcasts, so even though we were all listening to or watching the same event, taking place just a few feet away from us, the net result was a kind of tower of babel, a chorus of similar but not-quite-alike utterances and reports all blending together.
I mostly followed along on dkos, through all of your diaries as you watched, and the liveblog posts (1,2,3,4) summarized by Jen Hayden, Laura Clawson and Walter Einenkel.
I got to meet some incredible retired foreign service professionals, showing up in solidarity to support Ambassador Yovanovitch. And I came to a deeper appreciation of the work they do to keep our whole diplomatic system functioning, and how much Trump throwing sand in the gears makes it harder and diminishes our standing in the world.
In particular, they reminded me: there are a lot of countries that don’t share the protections of our Constitution, our Bill of Rights, our impeachment process. People all over the world are looking to us for inspiration and guidance, as they work hard to overcome dictatorships and ruling dynasties. Our ability to uphold the rule of law and the very concept that nobody is above it is so important to so many.
Once folks get into the hearing room, they get to stay. As long as they like, or can. But once they get up and leave their seat, they can’t get back in. So the only things creating vacancies that could move the line forward and make room for us are:
- Full bladders
- Hunger
- Thirst
- Boredom
- Prior engagements, or work duties
Alas, with Ambassador Yovanovitch’s captivating testimony, boredom was rarely found in the room. However, the GOP committee members mucking up the process and running out the clock led more folks to bail, and halts in the hearing for floor votes, plus other breaks, stretched things out enough that vacancies did pop up, and the line crept forward.
And then, suddenly, boom, I’m in, pointed toward a seat in the front row of the public section, right behind the working-press tables.
As lovely as the room may be, from the “cheap seats” you don’t get to see the face of the witness and their counsel, just the not-always-easy-to-gaze-upon mugs of the committee members and their staff. And a very close-up view of the press at work. These are the hard-working print and web media writers, not anchors, correspondents, or on-air personalities.
In several ways, it’s harder to follow the proceedings in the room than on TV. There’s no captions, the place-tags are pretty small at that distance, you can’t always tell who’s talking, and (at least from my seat) there weren’t clear lines of sight to the entire committee. I couldn’t jockey too far up or lean out of my seat without disrupting others’ views. I could glance at my phone, but it would be hard to do much live-blogging or research without disrupting others’ experience. Plus, there’s the awareness that we are visible and becoming part of the story just by being there — more on that later. And who would want to look away from the reality in front of us?
(sidenote: to answer a frequently-asked question from my friends as I shared accounts of the day: yes, I removed my hat while the hearing was in session.)
This particular day of hearings had the additional excitement of President Trump himself live-tweeting during the event, and his Tweet being introduced into the proceedings later in the day, as an example of witness intimidation. It didn’t help that Trump also, as is his wont, sent fundraising emails during the hearing, specifically referencing the proceedings with calls for “due process” and the much-maligned “transcript,” at the same time as he and his attorneys were actively resisting and sabotaging the process.
To me, all this was the perfect illustration of why it is so important to go forward with the process, even if we are (today) certain that the Senate will not vote to remove Trump or prevent him from running again: This level of scrutiny and pressure will provide plenty of opportunities for him to “self-impeach,” getting more people to become more aware of his true nature. This is a key part of how the process will bring accountability to Senate Republicans, who have been lurking in the darkness of “safe seats,” standing in the way of the functioning of our Democracy.
It was particularly amusing to me to see the GOP contingent’s props, now a familiar part of the background to regular viewers of the proceedings: signs bringing up particular out-of-context quotes and distracting “facts” that they seem to think excuse their inaction, ignorance, and resistance. I did pay attention to what they had to say, trying to find any deeper meaning in it, but it was pretty clear that bluster was the only tool left for them. As became clear of the course of the various committees’ hearings, they remained in a bubble of their own “alternative facts,” gesticulating and posturing for an audience for different from the one in the room. While you have to admire their consistency, I remain optimistic that at some point that bubble must burst, and there will be consequences for their inaction.
Some of the most unique views you get from a seat in the room are of the professional photographers, who perch down below the panelists, to get their classic shots of the witnesses as they testify. When they suddenly popped up during a break, it put me in mind of camouflaged animals suddenly emerging from a forest to visit a watering hole.
I took advantage of a break to capture a spherical panoramic photo (below) before I had to step out. In the process of doing so, I stood and pointed my phone camera in all directions, connecting the dots in Google Street View to capture a fully immersive image of the scene, a challenging activity with people moving around me as I took photos, and then the Capitol Police starting to clear us out of the room before I was done, so the hearing could resume; moving while capturing a panorama can result in odd visual effects, ghosts and doubling and a general sense of abstraction.
With all the bustling activity around me in the room, I didn’t think I was particularly visible, but a woman came up to me, FaceTime video-chatting with someone, and exclaimed, “my son in California wants to meet the guy in the hat on TV.” I hadn’t done any video interviews in line outside, so was mildly surprised to discover that, standing up, I was in the line of the CNN room camera in its resting position during the break, so I got my blissfully brief moment in the media.
I had to leave before the end to catch a train to a wedding, so I missed the unprecedented standing ovation that the Ambassador earned after the close, but having spent time with some of the folks who delivered it, I left with my confidence in our nation restored, and a feeling that eventually justice will be served.
Here’s some more bonus photos, and you’ll find more in the comments.