In the 1939 movie “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington,” Sen. Jefferson Smith, played by actor James Stewart, shows staggering political courage in an exhausting, heroic 23-hour filibuster on the floor of the U.S. Senate.
In the end – after he ends up, literally, on the floor of the U.S. Senate, collapsed – he forces the bad guys to do the right thing. It’s a movie, after all.
In real life, filibusters aren’t so noble.
Colorado doesn’t provide for filibustering in its legislature. It’s another way state government is different from what happens in Washington.
There have been attempted filibusters. The most notable recent attempt was in the closing days of the 2003 session of the Colorado General Assembly. Outraged Democrats tried to delay a vote on a Republican redistricting plan by insisting that bills and journals be read at length.
The rules were against them. And probably just as well.
The filibuster is not a pretty thing. It’s an ethically questionable way to battle for a lost cause, even when the position being filibustered against is just as objectionable, if not worse.
It’s like using mud to fight off an invasion of sleaze.
In Washington, some angry liberals demanded that Democrats filibuster so that the Senate wouldn’t have a chance to vote on President Bush’s nomination of Judge Samuel Alito to the U.S. Supreme Court. That would be the noble thing to do, they said.
But to others, a filibuster represents the worst of politics – partisan intransigence and petulance, pointless posturing, argumentative and unproductive; a high-tone tantrum.
The Congressional Quarterly’s online Encyclopedia of American Government defines a filibuster as “the deliberate use of prolonged debate and procedural delaying tactics to block action supported by a majority of members.”
It adds: “Editorial writers have condemned them, cartoonists have ridiculed them, and satirists have caricatured them. But filibusters also have admirers, who view them as a defense against hasty or ill-advised legislation and as a guarantee that minority views will be heard.”
The longest filibuster on record is the late Sen. Strom Thurmond’s 24-hour-plus rant against the Civil Rights Act of 1957. Forty or 50 years ago, there was a lot of filibustering against civil rights legislation, justifying the low regard for the tactic.
Yet filibusters can be effective, by delaying a vote indefinitely.
Republicans successfully filibustered against a campaign finance bill in 1987-88. The Senate’s Democratic majority fought back with several tactics, including round-the-clock floor sessions. The bill finally was pulled after the failure of eight straight votes to end debate.
That’s called cloture, and it requires the votes of 60 of the Senate’s 100 members. It had been two-thirds of a quorum, but the rule was changed in 1975.
In Colorado, the rules effectively ban filibusters in several ways:
A vote to limit debate requires only a simple majority, not 60 percent. It doesn’t bring debate to a screeching halt, however; “debate may be closed at a time not less than one hour from the adoption of a motion to that effect … .” In other words, the hot air gets at least an hour to cool off.
There’s a way to end debate more quickly: calling the previous question. The rules say once the motion is made to “put” the “main question,” debate stops until a vote is taken on that. If a majority says, “Let’s do it,” there’s an immediate vote on the main question, which is what the honorables were debating before.
There’s more. Both House and Senate require members to confine their remarks to the bill or other question on the floor, such as an amendment or procedural motion. No personal attacks, and no reading from the phone book.
So the rules make filibustering next to impossible. There’s even a specific Senate rule that says, bluntly, “No Senator shall speak longer than one hour at any one time without the consent of the Senate.”
Pretty good rules, if you ask me.
Fred Brown, retired Capitol Bureau chief for The Denver Post, is also a political analyst for 9News.
