Congress is a Dying Institution

Congress has been ceding ground to the executive since Wilson. Now, it’s holding a fire sale on its own authority.

I stumbled upon this tweet from John Cornyn, offering his justification for why he intends to vote for Tulsi Gabbard's nomination: “Art. II, Section 2, clause 2 provides that the President shall appoint officers with the advice and consent of the Senate. Having won the election decisively, I believe President Trump has earned the right to appoint his own cabinet, absent extraordinary circumstances.”

The tweet stopped me in my tracks, not just for its substance but for what it reveals about the wholesale transformation of constitutional conservatism. Here was a senior senator, citing the Appointments Clause while simultaneously stripping it of its fundamental purpose. The Founders didn't include Senate confirmation as a reward for electoral victory—they designed it as a crucial countermajoritarian check on executive power.

What makes this position particularly stunning is that it comes from someone who has spent decades positioning himself as a defender of constitutional principles. These are the same voices who once lectured endlessly about originalist interpretation and the vital importance of maintaining checks and balances. Yet when confronted with their actual constitutional duty to provide independent oversight, they now frame their role as merely validating electoral outcomes.

This isn't just about one nomination or one senator's position. It represents a fundamental breach of faith with the constitutional order itself.

Let's be clear about what Cornyn is actually suggesting here. Tulsi Gabbard, a figure whose qualifications for high office have raised serious concerns across the political spectrum, should be confirmed simply because Trump won the election. This position strains all credulity. If electoral victory alone justifies any presidential appointment, then why does the Appointments Clause even exist? Why did the Founders bother to include Senate confirmation in the Constitution at all?

The answer, of course, is that the Founders understood something Cornyn is now pretending not to understand: that popular election doesn't grant unlimited authority to the executive. The Senate's advice and consent role wasn't designed as a mere formality to rubber-stamp presidential choices. It was specifically intended to prevent unqualified or concerning appointments from taking power, regardless of who won the election.

This is precisely why the Constitution requires Senate confirmation for senior officials. The Founders, having recently freed themselves from a monarchy, were deeply concerned about concentrated executive power. They understood that even popularly elected presidents might attempt to install unqualified loyalists or individuals whose interests conflicted with the public good. The Senate's role was designed specifically to prevent such appointments.

When Cornyn suggests that Trump's electoral victory should override these concerns, he's not just abdicating his constitutional responsibility—he's actively undermining the very principles of republican government. The Senate's duty isn't to validate whatever the president wants; it's to provide independent judgment about the fitness of nominees for public office.

When members of Congress voluntarily surrender their constitutional obligations, when they actively work to diminish their own branch's role in our system of checks and balances, we're witnessing something more than just political cowardice. We're watching the deliberate dismantling of constitutional governance from within.

This abdication of congressional responsibility isn't happening in isolation. It represents the culmination of a decades-long process where Congress has gradually surrendered its constitutional role, piece by piece. When Cornyn suggests that winning an election grants the president unlimited appointment power “absent extraordinary circumstances,” he's not just making a statement about one nomination—he's articulating a view of Congress as fundamentally subordinate to executive authority.

Consider what's been lost here. The Founders designed Congress as the first branch of government, with Article I deliberately placed before Article II in the Constitution. They envisioned a legislature that would jealously guard its prerogatives, that would serve as a crucial check on executive overreach, that would exercise independent judgment about appointments and policy. Instead, we have senators openly declaring that their role is merely to validate whatever the president wants.

The implications of this position are staggering. If electoral victory alone justifies any presidential appointment, then what's to prevent the installation of completely unqualified loyalists throughout the government? What's to stop the executive branch from being staffed entirely with individuals chosen for their personal allegiance rather than their competence or commitment to public service? This is exactly the kind of situation the Founders sought to prevent through the requirement of Senate confirmation.

This transformation of Congress from an independent branch into a mere auxiliary of executive power has profound implications for democratic governance.

This is precisely what George Washington warned against in his Farewell Address. When he cautioned against the “spirit of party” replacing constitutional duty, he wasn't just making an abstract point about political factions. He understood, with remarkable foresight, how partisan loyalty could eventually overwhelm institutional responsibility.

Consider Washington's specific warning about how “party spirit serves always to distract the public councils and enfeeble the public administration. It agitates the community with ill-founded jealousies and false alarms, kindles the animosity of one part against another.” What better description could there be of our current moment, where senators like Cornyn openly subordinate their constitutional obligations to partisan loyalty?

Washington understood something fundamental that today's Congress seems to have forgotten: that institutional independence isn't just about formal powers—it's about the willingness to exercise those powers even when doing so creates political discomfort. When he warned about the dangers of 'party,' he wasn't just talking about political disagreements. He was warning about exactly this kind of situation, where elected officials would abandon their constitutional duties in service of partisan allegiance.

The irony is particularly bitter when we consider that many of these same senators who now advocate for unlimited presidential appointment power have spent years positioning themselves as originalists and defenders of constitutional principles. They've lectured endlessly about the wisdom of the Founders, yet here they are, actively undermining one of the most fundamental checks the Founders created.

Cornyn's position represents more than just another data point in congressional decline—he has become the living embodiment of exactly what Washington feared would destroy the republic. When Washington warned that party loyalty would eventually overcome constitutional duty, he was describing precisely this moment: a senior senator explicitly arguing that electoral victory nullifies the need for meaningful congressional oversight.

These past few weeks have managed to exceed even my most pessimistic expectations about the danger our republic faces. The convergence of events reveals something profound about how quickly democratic institutions can unravel when their defenders abandon them. We're watching the systematic dismantling of multiple democratic safeguards simultaneously: Congress surrendering its oversight role, the wholesale firing of independent inspectors general, and now an unprecedented effort to replace the professional civil service with political loyalists.

But even these developments pale in comparison to what we've just learned about Elon Musk's Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE). What started as a supposedly external advisory body on government spending has morphed into something far more dangerous: a direct seizure of control over the internal mechanics of government agencies. Musk's associates are reportedly demanding access to sensitive payment systems that control trillions in federal spending, locking career civil servants out of computer systems containing millions of Americans' personal data, and subjecting government tech workers to ideological scrutiny.

This represents an unprecedented fusion of private and public power. When the same person who controls major government contractors and a crucial communications platform can simultaneously reach into the operational heart of federal agencies—while Congress actively surrenders its oversight role—we're witnessing something that exceeds even the Founders' worst fears about concentrated power.

The professional civil service wasn't created by accident—it emerged from hard-learned lessons about the dangers of a purely political bureaucracy. When we see systematic efforts to replace career officials with loyalists, while simultaneously removing independent oversight through the purging of inspectors general, combined with Congress's abdication of its oversight role, we're watching the dissolution of two centuries of institutional development designed to prevent exactly this kind of power concentration.

The situation has moved from concerning to alarming with Trump's unilateral announcement of sweeping 25% tariffs on Canada and Mexico. Consider the breathtaking scope of this action: with no congressional consultation, the executive branch is single-handedly imposing massive tariffs on our closest trading partners, affecting hundreds of billions in annual trade. This is precisely the kind of unilateral executive action that the Founders sought to prevent by explicitly giving Congress the power to regulate foreign commerce.

What makes this particularly dangerous is how it fits into a broader pattern of undermining America's alliance system and international security architecture. From threatening Denmark over his desire to purchase Greenland to declaring intentions to seize control of the Panama Canal, Trump is systematically attacking the foundations of American global influence—all while Congress watches passively. These aren't just impulsive actions; they represent a fundamental assault on the international order that American power helped build and maintain.

The justification is particularly revealing: these tariffs are being imposed not for any coherent trade policy, but supposedly to combat fentanyl trafficking—using trade policy as a bludgeon for unrelated policy goals, while Congress stands idly by. When the White House press secretary frames this as “promises made, promises kept,” she's inadvertently highlighting how thoroughly Congress has surrendered its constitutional role. The promise being kept isn't to the American people or their elected representatives—it's to a vision of unchecked executive power that would have been unthinkable to previous generations.

This is how the imperial presidency exceeds even Woodrow Wilson's expansive vision: it's not just about the scope of executive power, but about the complete absence of meaningful congressional resistance to its exercise. When Cornyn suggests that electoral victory grants the president unlimited appointment power, he's expressing the same fundamental abdication that allows the executive branch to reshape global alliances through simple proclamation.

The willingness to casually damage relationships with our closest allies—whether through arbitrary tariffs, territorial demands, or threats of abandonment—represents more than just diplomatic recklessness. It demonstrates how thoroughly Congress has abandoned its role in shaping America's international posture. The constitutional design intended foreign policy to emerge from an interplay between executive action and congressional oversight. Instead, we have a president unilaterally restructuring America's global relationships while Congress remains silent.

This breakdown has particular significance for our alliance system. The post-war international order wasn't built through executive orders—it was constructed through treaties, trade agreements, and legislative frameworks that required congressional involvement. When Congress surrenders its oversight role, it doesn't just enable executive overreach; it undermines the very foundations of how American power has historically operated in the world.

Consider the implications: A president can now threaten Denmark over Greenland, announce intentions to seize the Panama Canal, and impose punitive tariffs on Canada—all without any meaningful congressional response. Each of these actions would have once prompted serious legislative pushback, not just because they're unwise, but because they infringe on congressional prerogatives. The fact that they now pass with barely a murmur from Capitol Hill reveals how thoroughly Congress has internalized its own irrelevance.

This congressional surrender creates compounding dangers. When allies can't rely on the stabilizing effect of congressional oversight, when they see American commitments subject to executive whim rather than institutional durability, they naturally begin hedging their bets. The long-term damage to American influence could far exceed any immediate policy impacts.

The implications extend far beyond immediate diplomatic tensions. Our entire alliance system rests on the belief that American commitments are institutional rather than personal—that they represent the considered judgment of a constitutional republic rather than the whims of any individual leader. When Congress abandons its role in foreign affairs, it undermines this crucial distinction. Our allies are left wondering whether agreements made with the United States will last beyond the next election, or even the next presidential tweet.

This institutional erosion creates a dangerous feedback loop in international relations. As Congress cedes more authority to the executive branch, other nations increasingly focus their diplomacy on cultivating personal relationships with the president rather than building institutional ties. This shift makes American foreign policy more erratic and less reliable, which in turn makes Congress seem even less relevant to international affairs, accelerating its own irrelevance.

The danger becomes particularly acute when we consider how this affects America's competitive position globally. While we dismantle our own institutional frameworks for exercising power—with Congress voluntarily surrendering its constitutional role in trade, treaties, and international agreements—our strategic competitors maintain long-term planning capabilities. The ability to threaten Denmark or impose sudden tariffs on Canada might create an illusion of strength, but it actually represents a profound weakening of American power by making it more personalized and less institutionally grounded.

This transformation of how American power operates internationally mirrors the domestic erosion of constitutional checks and balances. Just as Cornyn's position on appointments reflects Congress's surrender of its domestic oversight role, the silence over these international actions reveals how thoroughly legislative authority has collapsed in foreign affairs.

This parallel collapse of congressional authority in both domestic and international affairs represents something unprecedented in American history. Previous expansions of executive power—whether under Wilson, FDR, or during the Cold War—at least maintained the pretense of congressional consultation and institutional process. What we're witnessing now is different: a wholesale abandonment of constitutional responsibility combined with active participation in dismantling institutional safeguards.

The consequences of this abdication are already becoming visible. Domestically, we see Musk's DOGE gaining unprecedented control over the internal mechanics of government agencies. Internationally, we watch as decades-old alliances are casually threatened and trade relationships disrupted through tweet and proclamation. In both spheres, Congress isn't just failing to check executive overreach—it's actively enabling the erosion of its own constitutional authority.

What makes this moment particularly dangerous is how these domestic and international vulnerabilities reinforce each other. When Congress surrenders its oversight of executive appointments, it weakens the institutional capacity needed to maintain coherent foreign policy. When it abandons its role in international affairs, it diminishes its domestic authority to check executive power. Each surrender makes the next one easier, creating a downward spiral of institutional decay.

The Founders understood something that today's Congress seems to have forgotten: that maintaining a republic requires active defense of institutional prerogatives. When Madison designed the Constitution's system of checks and balances, he assumed each branch would jealously guard its authority. Instead, we're watching Congress willingly participate in its own institutional death—surrendering its powers domestically while abandoning its responsibilities internationally.

The danger of this transformation becomes clearer when we consider what it means for democratic accountability. When Congress abandons its oversight role, it doesn't just weaken itself—it breaks a crucial link in the chain of democratic responsibility. The Founders designed Congress as the branch most directly accountable to the people, with the power to check executive overreach precisely because of this close connection to popular sovereignty. When Congress surrenders this role, it doesn't just diminish its own power—it severs the primary mechanism through which citizens can influence their government's actions.

What we're witnessing isn't just institutional decay—it's the active dismantling of constitutional governance itself. When Cornyn suggests that electoral victory grants unlimited appointment power, when Congress remains silent as allies are threatened and tariffs imposed by proclamation, when it watches passively as private interests seize control of government functions, it's not just failing to do its job. It's participating in the transformation of American government from a constitutional republic into something more dangerous and unstable.

The historical parallel that comes to mind isn't the imperial presidency of Wilson or even the emergency powers of FDR—it's the late Roman Republic, where institutional protections gradually gave way to personal power and factional loyalty.

This willingness to surrender institutional authority reflects a profound transformation in how members of Congress understand their constitutional role. They no longer see themselves as representatives of an independent branch of government charged with checking executive power. Instead, they've become mere partisan functionaries, more concerned with facilitating their party's agenda than maintaining the institutional prerogatives that make democratic governance possible.

The danger of this transformation becomes clearer when we consider what it means for democratic accountability. When Congress abandons its oversight role, it doesn't just weaken itself—it breaks a crucial link in the chain of democratic responsibility. The Founders designed Congress as the branch most directly accountable to the people, with the power to check executive overreach precisely because of this close connection to popular sovereignty. When Congress surrenders this role, it doesn't just diminish its own power—it severs the primary mechanism through which citizens can influence their government's actions.

What we're witnessing isn't just institutional decay—it's the active dismantling of constitutional governance itself. When Cornyn suggests that electoral victory grants unlimited appointment power, when Congress remains silent as allies are threatened and tariffs imposed by proclamation, when it watches passively as private interests seize control of government functions, it's not just failing to do its job. It's participating in the transformation of American government from a constitutional republic into something more dangerous and unstable.

I want to acknowledge something that feels both personally and professionally significant: I never thought I would find myself making comparisons between America's current situation and the fall of the Roman Republic. Even a year ago, I would have dismissed such parallels as hyperbolic or alarmist. As someone who studies political institutions, I've always been skeptical of historical analogies that reach too far.

But watching Congress actively participate in its own institutional death—seeing senators explicitly argue that electoral victory nullifies the need for constitutional checks, observing the casual dismantling of alliance systems built over generations, witnessing the merger of private and public power through entities like DOGE—I find myself unable to avoid the parallel. The specific mechanisms may be different, but the pattern is disturbingly familiar: the gradual then sudden collapse of institutional authority, the replacement of constitutional process with personal power, the transformation of public office into instruments of private interest.

What makes this comparison particularly sobering is that the Romans, like us, had a long tradition of constitutional governance. Their republic didn't fall because people stopped believing in republican government in the abstract. It fell because, step by step, those charged with defending republican institutions found it easier to surrender their authority than to maintain it. They convinced themselves that each individual surrender was necessary or expedient, never fully recognizing how these accumulated abandonments would transform their system of government.

When I see Congress voluntarily surrendering its constitutional prerogatives, when I watch senators like Cornyn actively argue against their own institutional authority, I'm reminded that the death of republics rarely comes through direct assault. It comes through the gradual surrender of institutional authority by those charged with maintaining it.

What makes this parallel particularly uncomfortable is how it illuminates the role of institutional actors in their own demise. The Roman senators who enabled Caesar's rise weren't necessarily plotting to end the Republic—many genuinely believed they were acting in defense of order and stability. Similarly, when today's Congress surrenders its authority to check executive power, its members likely tell themselves they're serving some greater good: party unity, governmental efficiency, or national security.

But this is precisely how republican institutions die. Not through conscious betrayal, but through a thousand small surrenders justified by immediate necessity. When Cornyn argues that electoral victory grants unlimited appointment power, he's not trying to end constitutional governance—he's just trying to be a good party member. When Congress remains silent as traditional allies are threatened and longstanding agreements abandoned, its members aren't plotting against democracy—they're just avoiding conflict with their party's leader.

The accumulation of these surrenders creates its own momentum. Each abdication of responsibility makes the next one easier, each surrender of authority makes resistance to future demands seem more futile. The Roman senators who voted to grant emergency powers to Caesar didn't intend to end the Republic, just as today's Congress doesn't intend to end constitutional governance. But intent matters less than effect.

This is what makes our current moment so dangerous. The transformation of Congress from an independent branch of government into a mere facilitator of executive will isn't happening through constitutional amendment or public debate. It's happening through the quiet acquiescence of the very people charged with defending institutional independence. And like their Roman counterparts, they may not recognize the full implications of their surrender until it's too late.

What particularly concerns me is how this institutional surrender combines with our broader transformation of political authority. When Congress abandons its oversight role just as private interests like DOGE gain unprecedented control over government functions, we're not just seeing parallel developments—we're watching the emergence of a new form of governance that would have been unrecognizable to the Founders.

The Romans at least maintained the formal structures of republican government long after they had been hollowed out of meaningful content. What we're witnessing now is more direct: the explicit argument that electoral victory negates the need for constitutional checks, combined with the overt transfer of government functions to private control. When Musk's associates can demand access to trillion-dollar payment systems while Congress actively surrenders its oversight authority, we're seeing something that exceeds even late Roman analogies.

This transformation becomes even more dangerous when we consider its international implications. The Roman Republic's decline was primarily an internal affair—Rome remained militarily dominant throughout its constitutional crisis. America's institutional collapse, by contrast, is occurring precisely when we face serious geopolitical competition. When Congress abandons its role in shaping foreign policy, when longstanding alliances become subject to presidential whim, we're not just weakening our constitutional order—we're actively undermining our global strategic position.

The speed of this transformation is what I find most alarming. A year ago, making these comparisons would have seemed hyperbolic. Now, watching Congress eagerly participate in its own institutional death while private interests seize direct control of government functions, it seems like we might be underestimating the gravity of our situation.

The convergence of these developments—Congress abandoning its constitutional role, private interests seizing direct control of government functions, and our alliance system being casually dismantled—creates dangers that compound faster than our political culture can process them. We don't even have time to fully understand the implications of one institutional surrender before the next one occurs.

I find myself thinking about future historians trying to identify the moment when American constitutional governance effectively ended. I’ll spare you my speculating on that for now.

I need to acknowledge something personally unsettling. In November, just weeks after the election, I wrote about the dangers facing American democracy, particularly the threat to civil service protections and institutional independence. I argued then that the real danger wasn't immediate dictatorship, but a systematic weakening of democratic guardrails over four years. I was trying to be measured, to avoid hyperbole, to give our institutions the benefit of the doubt.

Now, barely two weeks into this administration, I find my attempts at measured analysis overwhelmed by the speed and scope of institutional collapse. What I expected to unfold gradually over years is happening in days. When I wrote about the dangers of dismantling civil service protections, I never imagined we'd see Musk's DOGE demanding direct control over trillion-dollar payment systems and locking career civil servants out of their own computer systems within the first month. When I discussed the risks to democratic governance, I didn't expect to see a senior senator openly declaring that electoral victory negates the need for constitutional checks quite so quickly.

The convergence of these threats—Congress actively surrendering its oversight role, private interests seizing direct control of government functions, our alliance system being casually dismantled—is happening faster than our political culture can process. Each day brings new evidence that the institutional guardrails are not just being tested but systematically dismantled, with an urgency that suggests their destroyers understand exactly what they're doing.

What makes this particularly alarming is how the speed of these changes prevents the kind of institutional resistance that might normally develop. When democratic decay happens gradually, opposition has time to organize, defenders of democratic norms can rally public support, constitutional safeguards can be mobilized. But when multiple systems of democratic accountability fail simultaneously, when Congress actively participates in surrendering its own authority, our capacity to resist these changes becomes severely compromised.

The reality we must now confront is stark: we have entered an era of acute democratic emergency in the United States. This isn't hyperbole or partisan alarmism—it's an objective assessment based on the unprecedented speed and scope of institutional collapse we're witnessing. What makes this emergency particularly dangerous is the broad failure to recognize it as such.

The Democratic Party appears moribund, trapped in outdated frameworks that leave it unable to speak to these fundamental structural challenges. Their responses remain focused on traditional policy disputes while the very foundations of democratic governance are being dismantled. Meanwhile, most Americans seem content to take a “wait and see” approach, as if we have the luxury of time to observe how these transformations play out.

Perhaps most concerning is the cynical convergence of “none-of-the-above” conservatives and progressives, who tell themselves that the pre-Trump status quo wasn't worth defending anyway. This false equivalence between imperfect democratic institutions and their wholesale dismantling provides intellectual cover for authoritarian transformation. When they argue that our institutions were already corrupted, they enable the very forces cutting through remaining democratic safeguards like a hot knife through butter.

What these positions share is a fundamental failure to understand what's at stake. This isn't about policy preferences or partisan advantage—it's about the systematic dismantling of the constitutional framework that makes democratic governance possible. When Congress actively surrenders its oversight role, when private interests seize direct control of government functions, when alliance systems are casually threatened, we're watching the real-time collapse of democratic accountability itself.

If we continue to treat this as politics as usual, if we maintain this wait-and-see approach while institutions are actively dismantled, we may find ourselves waiting until there's nothing left to see.

This failure to recognize acute democratic emergency for what it is stems partly from how we've been conditioned to think about democratic decline. We've been taught to look for dramatic moments—military coups, suspended elections, declared martial law. But real democratic collapse, as we're now witnessing, often happens through the systematic dismantling of institutional safeguards while maintaining the facade of normal governance.

The comfortable assumption that “it can't happen here” is being proven wrong with stunning speed. Those who counsel patience, who suggest we should wait to see how these changes play out, misunderstand the fundamental nature of institutional collapse. By the time the consequences become undeniable, the mechanisms for reversing course may no longer exist.

We are watching, in real time, the transformation of American governance from a constitutional republic into something more dangerous and unstable. The speed of this transformation isn't accidental—it's strategic. Those dismantling democratic institutions understand that rapid changes can overwhelm normal resistance before it has time to organize.

"The accumulation of all powers, legislative, executive, and judiciary, in the same hands, whether of one, a few, or many, and whether hereditary, self-appointed, or elective, may justly be pronounced the very definition of tyranny." — James Madison.