The television is on in John’s office across the hall. The sound is indistinct, like the droning of insects in summer, but from the rise and fall of voices, the endless droning of confident voices, I can tell speeches are being made, some great issue is being weighed, so I walk over to listen.
It’s the House of Representatives debate, live, on military aid to the contras. The press has been reporting for days that the bill has no chance of being passed. Yet despite the virtually certain outcome and the ponderously familiar arguments, I stand there, watching. I’m even moved as House Speaker Tip O’Neill dramatically urges his colleagues to lay aside politics and vote their conscience, though I know Tip O’Neill could no sooner lay aside politics than I could stop breathing. But, for the moment, that doesn’t matter. Standing there, absorbed in the debate, I want to feel moved, to feel aroused and indignant, to be lifted by a stirring speech and — when the votes are counted — to know my side has won.
