Throughout my third week in the office, impeachment continued to be at the forefront of
everyone’s minds. The calls from constituents, the pundits on television, absolutely everyone had their eyes on the Senate. Yet business continued to go on. The Senator and his staffers continued to meet with constituents as time allowed. So too did staffers work to coordinate memos and policy agendas in line with regular Senate behavior. Though impeachment presented a bump in the typical road of Senate business, the work of the nation rode forth on the backs of some of its most dedicated. Like many other processes throughout one’s existence, despite crisis, life goes on. In my case, the week was filled with tour trainings, sitting in on meetings, a conference at the Heritage Foundation, and time talking with constituents on the phone. Learning more and more with each passing day, I found myself at once increasingly bewildered with the responsibilities, institutional knowledge, and tools available to staff while surprising myself in my increasing comfortability with these same things. In my tour training, I was amazed to learn more about the Capitol Rotunda, dumbstruck at the amount of history contained within a single fresco. Though I was similarly struck by how much I already knew about the history before me. The terrible conquests of De Soto in the mid-16 th century. The history of the Wright Brothers in Dayton and Kitty Hawk. It was as if two halves of my development were being presented before me. The first, a blatant curiosity. Outsized wonder at the breadth and depth of policy and politics continuously laid out before me. The second, a tangible grasp of the seemingly unending existential processes governing the actions and responses of those around me. A natural reflexive tendency to adapt when prompted, a type of hands-on learning not possible in a classroom or simple lecture. Continuing forward, I realized and still am realizing the ways in which learning occurs in both of these ways. Curiosity, the ambition towards wisdom and enlightenment. And struggle, the type of practice based learning which exonerates fear and instils discipline among patience. Humility, I learned in this process, is forever forthcoming. So too, I hope as I move forward, is opportunity.
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Back in D.C. and getting adjusted to all of the responsibilities surrounding my position within Sen. Sullivan’s office, I began to start to settle into a groove of sorts. While there were some trying and embarrassing times in which I got lost in the three Senate office buildings, yelled at by frustrated constituents, and confused on the meaning of certain prompts given by my supervisor, I began to feel more comfortable in the office and with the patterns surrounding its inner workings. Leaving work each day after 6, exhausted as I was heading to Tenelytown to my evening night block classes, I couldn’t help but to be excited for my next day of work. The next chance to sit in on a meeting. The next opportunity to run something to “the cage”. The next chance to pick up a phone and talk to a constituent from back home.
While I was not yet familiar with everyone’s names, I was taken to their character. Taken to staffers whose dedication was shone through their punctuality, diplomacy through their dialogue, and diligence through their work ethic. Immediately I wanted to mirror their tactfulness, intensity, heart and perseverance. Representing the state we all love and the serving the nation we all admire, the chaotic rhythm of each day hardly served to disrupt the focus held by all to make life better for Alaskans and Americans alike. However, as soon as articles of impeachment were announced to be presented to the Senate on Wednesday, everything changed-or rather, paused. Though it was known that the articles of impeachment would be delivered to the Senate at one time or another, it was generally unknown when such a time would be, hence driving on one’s schedule more or less functioning as usual. With a defined date of delivery, however, schedules changed. Events were moved or indefinitely postponed, meetings altered or canceled, and the Alaskan of the Week recognition put on hold. Personally, the disruption meant confusion. Still learning how to transfer a call properly, the larger ramifications of the impeachment trial’s initiation were lost on me. Taken like a bobber amidst rapids, I was swept along under the promise of being able to see history unfold around me; my view like those of a child’s in the middle of a grand parade, unsure of the final destination. In the midst of this hubbub I asked, and was thankful to receive the go-ahead for, the chance to sit among staffers and constituents alike in the Senate Gallery. Eagerly with a couple of other interns, I went over from the Senate office building to the Capitol itself, passing through security line after security line to get a seat above the vaunted Senate floor. Watching the men and women I admired for years on television and in the media standing before me, I couldn’t help but to feel in awe of the moment I was in. Each time a member came through I was aghast, amazed in the moment that I had the opportunity to be so close to so many whose actions had directly inspired me towards a career in government, law, and politics. When the doors opened and the House impeachment managers walked in, solemnity met awe once more as everyone seated strained to take in every moment of the proceedings unfolding before us. Precedent presided as the House managers presented the articles to the Senate, and Sen. Majority leader Mitch McConnell began to present motions to the floor. All the while, my peers and I watched with rapt attention, silently elated to be in the room during a moment of history. I remember thinking back as I left the gallery on my family’s history, wondering what my ancestors would think of my position, my ability to see in real life what millions of others could only see through their televisions. Thinking back to my great grandfather, the son of a Belgian immigrant in Illinois. My grandfathers, both veterans of the Vietnam era, one raised in rural Alaska and the other on the Navajo Nation reservation in Arizona. My mother, who survived the gang filled neighborhoods of Stockton, California to make it to Stanford University. A woman who raised two children while working full time and simultaneously receiving both her masters and doctorate degrees. A woman who not only raised me up, but taught me the full weight of what it meant to be connected to my heritage and my people, diverse as I am and we are. I thought of my father, my best friend. A man who helped raise his four younger sisters alongside his single mother as he put himself through Stanford. Later, putting his family above his professional advancement to spend time with me, teaching me what honor meant in an increasingly dishonorable world. His parables behind values of work ethic, teamwork, responsibility, trustworthiness, and respect stick with me to this day. I thought of my grandmothers, women who helped anchor their families through faith, resolute in their mission to support environments in which their children might be able to prosper, despite anything the world might wish to throw their way. Their spirit, tenacity, brazenness, and straightforward view of the world around them still inspires me. And finally, I thought of my younger sister. One of the most brilliant people I have ever known, whose forthcoming possibilities outshine my own. A woman whose wit and steadiness can only be matched by her willingness to explore the world around her. Thinking in the protective way most older brothers do, I couldn’t help but to think of the example I wished to set for her. Proving to her that no matter who you are or where you come from, the possibilities in this world are endless for anyone with ambition, drive, trustworthiness, and a whole lot of faith. Leaving the office, I found myself lost in thought. Excited at the present business and possibilities ahead for myself and my peers, tempered through the advice and wisdom of my mentors and elders, and fully, utterly, blissfully, exhausted. Washington D.C. in winter is a peculiar thing. When asked what it’s like whenever I’m back home, my reply is always that it’s never cold, it just gets windy. Not the type of wind that cuts through you, but rather the type of brisk wind that slowly ebbs away your energy until all you want to do is curl up under a blanket and take a nap. Before coming to Washington, I thought Congress worked in much the same manner. At various points of my life, in town halls and in classrooms, waiting rooms and office areas, I heard various pithy comments bemoaning particular members of Congress and the institution itself. Gripes against politicians, policies, and popular reactions to each.
Even in Washington, where in 2018 I began my studies at American University, I heard sentiments from students and lecturers alike decrying the hostile way in which Congress received any nationwide call to action. Nonetheless, the popular narrative surrounding me before I was chosen by the First Alaskans Institute to be the spring 2020 Al Adams Young Political Leader Fellow in Sen. Sullivan’s D.C. office was not one supportive of Congress. Yet from my very first day in the office, I was welcomed into an environment full of energy and dynamism. Learning more about my position and the duties supported by those around me, I learned that while final products might be rare, the work going into those success stories represents the culmination of months and often years of work. Work assisted by constituents, experienced interest groups, informed research, and some of the most dedicated staff members I have ever known. I was able to see a prime example of this firsthand on one of my very first days in office through the passage of the Save Our Seas 2.0 Act, which I was tasked with running to the floor. Told to run, and given little other direction, it was only later that I discovered the true weight of the papers I was carrying. As noted by Sen. Sullivan himself on the Senate floor, together with the original Save Our Seas Act passed into law in 2018, S. 1982 the Save Our Seas (SOS) 2.0 Act helps towards “improving America’s ability to respond to marine debris events and clean up waste, working toward international cooperation and agreements with nations responsible for the majority of trash entering the oceans, and exploring new, innovative ways to manage and even reuse plastic waste”[1]. Passing the Senate and heading to the House, the bill represents possibly the most holistic attempt by the United States Senate toward addressing an issue faced by far too many Alaskans. Protecting our coasts, waterways, oceans, and sea life is central to many of our ways of life, from commercial fishermen in Bristol Bay to the weekend hikers taking in the majesty of our Southeastern fjords. Looking back on the stressful sprint from the office to the floor, I can only count myself grateful for being able to take part in something so potentially monumental for all Americans whose ties keep them anchored to the coasts of our nation. [1] “Sullivan's Save Our Seas 2.0 Act Passes Senate Unanimously: U.S. Senator Dan Sullivan of Alaska.” Press Release | Press Releases | Newsroom | U.S. Senator Dan Sullivan of Alaska, 10 Jan. 2020, www.sullivan.senate.gov/newsroom/press-releases/sullivans-save-our-seas-20-act-passes-senate-unanimously. |
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Photo used under Creative Commons from Mike Juvrud