A familiar pattern is emerging in Washington. As domestic concerns momentarily ease, a certain political faction is reaching for a well-worn weapon: impeachment. It’s a spectacle, a performance, and increasingly, it feels less about governance and more about a craving for dramatic conflict.
The latest to join the chorus is Representative Dan Goldman, facing a challenge from his left. He’s offering his constituents a tantalizing promise – renewed impeachment proceedings against a former president, this time centered on a controversial operation involving a foreign leader. The implication is clear: a thrilling legal battle awaits.
This isn’t a new argument. The very same individuals who once championed “snap impeachments” are now suggesting grounds for removal based on actions previously deemed lawful by the courts. The operation in question, they claim, constitutes an undeclared war, a transgression worthy of the ultimate political penalty.
The outrage feels…selective. There was no similar uproar when previous administrations, Democratic and Republican alike, engaged in comparable actions. Bosnia under Clinton, Libya under Obama – these interventions drew little call for impeachment, despite lacking congressional authorization.
The historical amnesia is striking. Senator Tim Kaine recently asserted on national television that the Constitution doesn’t grant the president the authority to initiate military action. This is demonstrably false. While the power to *declare* war rests with Congress, the president has long held the authority to *use* military force.
Consider the precedent. President Obama authorized a drone strike that killed an American citizen abroad, without charge or trial. Yet, the outcry was minimal. The double standard is glaring, a testament to the shifting sands of political expediency.
Legal challenges to such unilateral actions have consistently failed. The capture and prosecution of Manuel Noriega, the former Panamanian dictator, involved a full-scale military operation and subsequent regime change. Noriega’s legal team raised similar arguments, and lost, all the way to the Supreme Court.
Even the current claims of international law violations are shaky. Roughly fifty countries refused to recognize the legitimacy of the Venezuelan leader in question after a disputed election. His claim to the presidency is tenuous, to say the least.
Genuine concerns about the legality of military interventions exist, and could be raised by nations like China or Russia to justify their own actions. However, the ultimate resolution will be determined not by international opinion, but by the U.S. Constitution.
Ultimately, the push for impeachment transcends legal or historical arguments. It’s a performance, a calculated appeal to a base eager for conflict. Like the Emperor Commodus in “Gladiator,” some politicians seem to care little for accuracy or principle.
Commodus famously dismissed historical inaccuracies in his gladiatorial games, declaring, “I rather enjoy surprises.” The same sentiment seems to drive the current impeachment fervor. It’s not about good governance; it’s about entertainment.
For politicians like Goldman, facing a tough reelection, a dramatic impeachment push is a call to the mob, a distraction from substantive issues. It’s a conjuring trick, designed to captivate and control, echoing the words of a character in “Gladiator”: “The beating heart of Rome is not the marble of the Senate, it’s the sand of the Colosseum.”
Impeachment, in this context, isn’t a pursuit of justice. It’s a spectacle, and the audience is expected to love it.
