It is a poor spectacle, indeed, when the grand theatre of American democracy takes on the tawdry air of a third-rate melodrama, and the players, in their zeal to “govern,” cease altogether to be gentlemen and begin to act the part of common ruffians. Such is the current production featuring the esteemed Speaker of the House, one Mr. Mike Johnson, and a certain duly elected—though conspicuously unseated—lady from the desert lands of Arizona, the Congresswoman-elect Adelita Grijalva

Adelita Grijalva

The facts, as they have been presented to this humble chronicler, are as plain as a bootlegging operation in broad daylight. The good people of Arizona’s 7th District, exercising that sacred right of the franchise, cast their votes and sent the lady Grijalva to Washington with a margin so wide it could swallow a prairie schooner whole. She won a special election—a feat of democracy not unlike the birth of a mule—on September 23rd, and one would presume that a government of the people, for the people, and all that, would rush to give her the oath before the ink was dry upon the certificate.

The Speaker, a man whose principles are as flexible as a willow branch in a hurricane, has taken to dilly-dallying. He insists that the House must be “in session” for such a solemn ceremony. This is a claim so utterly preposterous that a child of eight would sneer at it. Why, only a few short months ago, two gentlemen of his own political persuasion, elected in like manner, were sworn in quicker than a hungry dog can devour a sausage—and during a “pro forma” session, to boot! The Speaker’s memory, it seems, has developed a remarkable selectivity, recalling precedents only when they are clad in the proper party uniform.

in session

Thus, the Speaker, in a maneuver that would make a riverboat gambler blush with shame, is holding the will of the Arizona voters hostage to a political expediency. He is delaying her ascension to office to prevent the revelation of secrets that might prove… inconvenient to certain powerful personages. It is a spectacle of a democracy held at bay by a single procedural stall, all to protect the reputations of those who might be named in the “Dreaded Dossier.”

The lady Grijalva is, therefore, not just an unseated Congresswoman; she is a political Lazarus, kept entombed until the grave-digger’s work is done. Arizona’s Attorney General, Kris Mayes, a person who clearly possesses a healthy appreciation for the absurdity of the situation, has even threatened to summon the Courts to settle this matter—a legal artillery barrage aimed at a simple oath.