About the author: Casey Burgat is the director of the Legislative Affairs program at George Washington University’s Graduate School of Political Management.
After weeks of congressional drama earlier this fall, the House of Representatives has been mercifully quiet lately. Don’t get used to it. Congress has kicked the can down the road so far it’s hit a dead end, and the most likely outcome—for real this time—is a messy government shutdown.
On Nov. 14, following weeks of failed internal negotiations with his own Republican conference, newly elected Speaker Mike Johnson (R., La.) finally accepted he had only two bad options to choose from: shut the government down and take the political blowback or compromise with Democrats and keep it open. Johnson chose the latter—a stopgap continuing resolution that funded the government until after the holidays.
We’ve seen this movie plenty of times before—a short term solution framed as an opportunity for lawmakers to work out a bigger compromise. What was interesting however, was that the funding deal Johnson reluctantly struck was the same one that got his predecessor, former Speaker Kevin McCarthy (R., Calif.), removed from his post. Actually, Johnson’s deal was worse for Republicans—on both policy and process—than the one that sealed McCarthy’s fate back in September.
Johnson’s agreement, for example, contained no spending cuts, a foundational demand for Republicans who vowed to never support a funding bill if it didn’t also slash government spending. It contained no language to strengthen border security or make changes to existing immigration and asylum laws, a key issue for Republicans who have hammered Democrats on the issue.
Even the legislative vehicle Johnson used and the way it was considered on the floor was anathema to the anti-McCarthy Republicans who had promised to change how the House should consider funding bills. Instead of debating and passing singular appropriations bills, Johnson relied on a short term continuing resolution that simply extended previously agreed upon funding levels. He also put it on the floor under a fast-track procedure—known as suspension of the rules—that limits debate to only 40 minutes, prevents any members from offering amendments, and requires a minimum of two-thirds of members to support it. This procedure, by definition, meant that Republicans needed a big assist from Democrats to pass it. Only two Democrats voted against the deal, along with 93 Republicans.
And yet, no lawmaker—not even from the far right flank—threatened Johnson’s job security for what just the month before proved to be grounds to remove the speaker. Johnson was essentially given a pass. Publicly, the same members who led McCarthy’s ouster said that his successor deserved a chance to get his bearings, especially since he had no experience within leadership prior to his election and was learning on the fly.
The truth is much more political. The contrast between Speaker Johnson’s success and McCarthy’s downfall lies not in the method or the details of the agreement, but in the timing and context of the funding fight itself. Johnson’s ability to avert McCarthy’s fate despite agreeing to a similar deal rested heavily on the exhaustion that permeated Republican ranks after an embarrassing three weeks without a Speaker.
What’s more, even the most hardcore conservatives eventually accepted that after Johnson, there was no one left in the GOP ranks who was acceptable to all factions within the conference. The most powerful and popular Republicans—from Minority Leader Steve Scalise (R., La.) to rabble-rouser extraordinaire Jim Jordan (R., Ohio)—made runs for the speakership but came up short.
That high-profile dysfunction, coupled with the strong likelihood that Republicans would be blamed for a government shutdown, were sufficient for pragmatism to prevail over partisanship, at least temporarily. The right flank was able to avoid the taboo of shutting down the government over the holiday, while setting itself up for another opportunity to extract its preferred concessions when the next set of deadlines begins to take effect in January.
The pass Johnson was granted, though, should not be mistaken for a resolution to the deeper issues at play. The fallout from McCarthy’s removal continues to cast a long shadow over the Republican Party. The wounds inflicted during that tumultuous period have not fully healed, and the scars serve as a stark reminder of the consequences of internal discord within a majority party responsible for governing.
To see the fragility of Johnson’s position, look at the ongoing struggle to pass individual appropriations bills. The conference has refused to provide the votes to pass some individual appropriations bills, prompting Johnson to pull them. Such a move is a clear sign of weakness for a speaker whose strength stems from observers knowing that his members will back his plays.
All of this points to an even messier fight in January and February when the laddered deadlines from the previous agreement come up. There have been no signs of good faith negotiations—let alone an agreement—between House Republicans or the House, Senate, and White House. Time is quickly running out. The calendar will soon flip over to 2024, and the election-year environment will sap any remaining willingness to sacrifice principles or give the other side a political win.
Could Johnson get another pass? Anything’s possible. Members could spin a grand bargain as a reason they deserve to stay in the majority. But the history of Congress, and this Congress in particular, has given very little reason to expect such a holiday miracle.
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