MY FAVORITE MOMENT during the impeachment
hearings came when a leading mouth of the "non-partisan" Democrat
left—I’m speaking here of Congresswoman Maxine Waters—took one of her five
minute allotments that was reserved for questioning witnesses, and used it to deliver a
written personal attack on the chairman of the committee. Straining her voice to keep up
the level of indignation, she had to crane her neck to point the words towards her target.
The chairman sat high on the dais behind her and the hearing room seats of the committee
had been purposely and permanently arranged to direct members’ attention in the
opposite direction, towards the witnesses, just in case they forgot the reason they were
there. As the venom poured from the congresswoman’s lips, a tremor of discomfort
passed through the room. It was an audible wincing at her calculated breach of collegial
etiquette, the severing of one of those fragile ties that bind us as a community when all
the other bonds fail. A shudder was even detectable in the ranks of the opposition
Democrats, who sensed that Maxine might have gone a scorched earth too far. Waters herself
seemed to hesitate a moment with the same awareness, although it didn’t arrest the
momentum of her attack. And attack she did.
Even after her allotted time had elapsed, she had not vented the full quotient of her
wrath when the chair’s gavel signaled that her moment of abuse had run out. There was
expectancy in the air as the entire room waited to hear whether and how the chair might
respond. And then, Henry Hyde, whose dignified composure during the entire spectacle had
never altered for a moment said: "Would the gentle lady from California like an
extension of her time to continue her attack on me?"
And of course she would. And continued her assault until the next gaveling shut her up.
It seemed to me a summary moment of the predicament in which we find ourselves as a
culture and a nation, and one of the reasons why Henry Hyde is a hero to us.
We live in a time of boundless personal cynicism, ideological partisanship, and public
savagery, a time as Yeats’ famously put it when things fall apart and the center
cannot hold, when the ceremony of innocence is drowned and the best lack all conviction,
and the worst are full of passionate intensity.
In the midst of this, our cultural disorder, Henry Hyde stands among us as a Gibraltar
of conviction, an avatar of grace, a leader able in his very carriage as a man to rekindle
in us the flame of reverence for a nation and a culture, which ever since the 1960s have
seemed to be under permanent siege.
In preparing these remarks, I called Henry’s congressional office to obtain the
text of the first speech I ever heard him give. Its central image had made a profound
impression on me at the time because of the way in which it expressed this power. A young
staffer whom I spoke to in his office recognized the speech from my description as one
Henry had given many times. But he told me there was no such text, that Henry had crafted
it as he spoke it. The staffer, too, had been touched by the same passage, and been
touched so deeply that he offered to reconstruct it from memory. This is his
reconstruction:
"In 1972, the Chinese leader Deng Shao Bing visited the United States. It was the
first ever visit by a leader from the People’s Republic of China. The Illinois
delegation was asked to serve as honor guard at the Lincoln Memorial when Deng, ‘the
leader of the greatest slave state in history’ placed a wreath at the tomb of the
greatest emancipator.
"I looked at this little man," Henry Hyde recalled, "the leader of a
nation of a billion people with 6,000 years of culture as his legacy, and I asked myself:
What does the leader of this ancient nation want from little up-start America, that was
founded only two-hundred years ago, that lacks the homogeneity of China and its culture,
that is made up of Englishmen and Greeks, Asians and Hispanics, Christians, Muslims, and
Jews. What he wants, I realized, is recognition. From us. What he wants is
technology. What he wants is access to the greatest universities in the world. What he
wants is economic aid from the greatest industrial power on earth. He wants little
up-start America to drag his ancient country into the modern age. And you wonder:—Why
is it that ‘little up-start America,’ which is a mere 200 years old, which is a
polyglot nation made up of all these different peoples and languages and cultures—why
is it that we have it, and they don’t? Looking at him I realized it is that we
have freedom. We have freedom that attracts human talent and intelligence from all over
the world. We have freedom that gives opportunity to the human imagination and the human
spirit to flourish. We have freedom to grow and to prosper and to create."
I can’t tell how close that is to Henry’s actual speech. I’m sure it is
less felicitous of phrase, and less elegant in tone, but it makes the point. Here is a man
who can reach down into the depths of his soul and come up with the image of who we are,
and why that is worth cherishing and defending. Who can recall us to ourselves and inspire
us to be worthy of our heritage. It is exactly what we need to hear at this troubled
crossroads of our national journey.
The greatest sin of human beings, the origin of all others, is the taking of things and
persons for granted, of not appreciating who we are and what we have been given. This lack
of appreciation was really the sin of our fore-parents in the Garden of Eden. Paradise
wasn’t enough for them. They wanted more. And that was the beginning of all our
trials. America’s trials are from a similar source. We do not live in paradise, but
we have been blessed in our inheritance. There are improvements to be made, and we will
work to see that they are. But what makes us conservatives is our appreciation for what we
already have in this great nation and, therefore, for what we can lose. And no
conservative articulates this truth, or exemplifies it, better than Henry Hyde.
The Elizabethans had the idea that there was a Great Chain of Being, and that man was
poised at the very center of the chain. That through the exercise of our free will we can
descend down the chain to the level of beasts or worse, or that we can ascend upwards to
the realm of angels. Ascent is made possible through the manners, morals, and orders that
civilize and humanize us. The American founders created their own framework of
constitutional order that was designed to bring out the better angels of our political
nature. We live in a time of open assault on that constitutional order, and on all the
orders—moral, religious, and social—that can move us up the Great Chain of
Being.
In these difficult times, Henry Hyde is an ascendant force among us, defending and
embodying those orders, lifting us towards civilization and grace. And that is why we love
him as we do.
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