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My Experience in the Gallery during the Health Care Vote

I have been very lucky in my life, but it was an amazing confluence of coincidences that let me to the upstairs gallery of the U.S. House of Representatives, during the final hours of debate before the vote on Health Care Reform.

We were there after Saturday’s racial and sexual slurs were hurled, before the “baby-killer” remark was thrown at Bart Stupak. While my beat has not been political, I’ve never shied away from participating in what issues engaged me personally. Still,  I never planned to find myself sitting next to a group of  Tea Baggers, right near where the First Lady sits during Presidential State of the Nation speeches. I’ll leave it to others to analyze the economics, social and moral impact of the Bill; I’ll report here on what I saw, heard and felt.

Security, of course, has been tightened considerably all over Washington since the 9/11 attacks. During the open session on Sunday, the long line of visitors went through numerous checkpoints. One man, concerned about his possessions, asked a guard if his cell phone would be safe. “Honey,” she said, “You’re in the U.S. Capitol. Of course, it will be safe.”

We arrived just as votes were being  discussed and taken on one of the many procedural issues. Don’t ask me which one: I was far more interested in watching the players. Minutes of “discussion” were allotted in individual members, who addressed the crowd with remarks they then handed in for recording in the Quarterly.  The Congress men and women, staffers and the like, roamed from aisle to aisle, sitting and chatting, standing and chatting. Jesse Jackson, Jr., presiding over it all, kept banging his gavel, insisting on quiet. The only ones who paid attention to him were the spectators. After one in our group applauded during a particularly pointed comment from one of the Republicans, and was rebuked with a warning he’d be thrown out, we all knew we’d better keep a lid on it. More than once, when members began to yell at one another, we all gasped. Had those outbursts gone on any longer, it would have been very hard to keep any of us from bursting out ourselves. The tension was pretty contagious in that room.

Michelle Bachman, sleek in a pink suit and pumps, talked intently with one man on the floor. When he walked away, I watched as she roamed the Right side of the room (no one wandered into the “other” territory on Sunday). Alone, she eventually sat down at the end of what was an empty aisle. Charles Rangel walked to the front of the Democratic group, looked at those congregated and left. Barney Frank, fresh from having a protestor make loud note of his sexuality, gazed up at those of us in the gallery. His eyes grew more and more focused on the group, scanning each area, one by one. The always camera ready John Boehner, off camera, walked slowly through the assembled Republicans, gently clapping their shoulders. As he walked toward the door, his normally aligned posture slumped.

C-Span may allow us an eye on the People’s Business; what we don’t get to see is what happens to the people who conduct it, when they are not in camera range. We observers were allowed to stay for the fastest 40 or so minutes of my life.

Not everyone was as compelled as I. After having had to “hold it in” for so long, several of the protestors burst into emotion after we left the room. “There goes America”, one man said as we entered the elevator. “That was disgusting”, chimed in another.

In the ladies’ room, where as a rule, most women usually at least nod to one another, there was no eye contact whatsoever. A group of three blondes took solace in the fact that Saturday’s protestors did not leave tremendous amounts of garbage behind. “Yeah, not like the Inauguration. There were tons of garbage left by those people. They say we’re prejudiced. I’m not. I’m an American who has now lost my individual freedoms”.

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         Joanna@themovieminute.com