Design Flaws: The Road from Delegation to Tyranny

The old constitutional framework has passed its expiration date. The alternatives range from a constitutional convention to radical devolution.

By Greg Guma

The US Constitution contained many brilliant ideas. But it outlined the new nation’s structure and system of laws almost 250 years ago, just eight after the Articles of Confederation — the first Constitution — were adopted. It’s time to ask serious questions about whether it still works.

The Articles were called a voluntary “league of friendship.” But the basic framework — largely independent states and a limited central government — was vulnerable to commercial schemes and corruption, conflicts between small and large states, and difficulties regulating new territories. State legislatures and communities often refused to support actions proposed by the Council of State, which managed general affairs. The national government couldn’t tax the states or exert authority over individuals. 

America soon faced a serious fiscal crisis. As George Washington put it, what the country needed was “a power that will pervade the whole nation.” At first, he and others claimed that the Articles simply could be amended. But that was just a pretext for what became a Constitutional Convention. And instead of adopting amendments, they abandoned the Articles, started from scratch, and ended up replacing state and local control with federal supremacy. 

Now we know that they failed to resolve many of the underlying problems.

The group of men who developed the plan principly gave Congress power over the new government. That was no surprise, since the Articles had created weak legislative and executive branches. The tyranny of the British Crown remained a vivid memory. So the framers searched for a middle way, something new between an ineffectual central government and a voracious dictatorship.

To that end, Article I of the new US Constitution stated clearly that law-making was in the hands of Congress, a power that couldn’t be abdicated or transferred to another branch of government. But nothing prohibited the delegation of power. Instead, the authority of Congress rested on three principles — separation of powers between three branches of government, the idea that delegated powers cannot themselves be delegated, and due process of law. The third of these implied that the regulatory powers of Congress couldn’t be given to private individuals. If that happened, people would be denied due process — exactly what is happening with Donald Trump and Elon Musk in charge.

In 2020, near the end of his first term, Trump made his view crystal clear: “When somebody’s president of the United States, the authority is total.”

For a long time after the constitutional system was created, the Supreme Court interpreted delegation liberally. For example, in an 1825 case, Wayman v. Southard, it said that Congress could delegate power to federal courts, but basically for the purpose of “filling in the details” of laws. Even in an 1892 case, Field v. Clark, which authorized the President to suspend a tariff, the chief executive wasn’t granted authority to make laws. In this and other Court cases, it reiterated the rule that Congress couldn’t delegate its basic functions. 

But as the nation became more complex and industrial, Congress was forced to turn over more power to administrators. Today they’re called bureaucrats, and sometimes the “deep state.” Members of Congress weren’t elected because of their technical skills, and couldn’t keep up with all the changes. Neither could the Courts, which could only act in response to a specific case or controversy. Over time, more functions were performed by presidents and an ever-expanding number of executive agencies. 

By the time Franklin Roosevelt’s “new deal” administration began, Congress was delegating power whenever it felt necessary — with little concern about Court disapproval. Of course, “unfettered” power (whatever that means) would be unconstitutional. But until 1935, the Supreme Court didn’t rule that any specific delegation was too much. 

Then, in Panama Refining v. Ryan, concerning the National Industrial Recovery Act, passed to end the Depression and restore prosperity, the Court ruled that Congressional delegation of power to the President was unconstitutional. Related cases reinforced restrictions on the executive branch.

After that, though, the Court upheld every delegation of power that came its way. 

Why the opposition to “New Deal” delegations? Some say that some Roosevelt era laws were sloppily or hastily written. More likely, several Justices were conservatives who used the Court to kill laws that were inconsistent with their minimal government beliefs. When the cases involved international matters, they almost always refused to restrict legislative delegation of power. 

The President’s power today couldn’t have been imagined by the authors of the Constitution. In fact, they weren’t very clear about what the executive branch should look like. They did fear executive tyranny and have faith in legislative bodies. But they had experienced a weak central government. Thus, Article II was supposed to give the President enough authority to deal effectively with national problems — without overwhelming the other two branches.

Unfortunately, the Article II language was vague. It said that the President should “faithfully execute” laws. But it made the executive commander-in chief of the military, and empowered the President to appoint numerous officials, grant pardons and reprieves, make treaties, and perform many duties connected with Congressional functions. What it did not do was define clear limits, which opened the door to a vast expansion of presidential power. It all depended on the character of the person who won the job. Whoever that was, however, the assumption was that they would share power with the other two branches. 

  Yet here we are, with a neutered Congress, hoping that courts can still impose some limits. The problem is that the Supreme Court has done more to expand than limit presidential power. In fact, it has granted powers to the President that aren’t conferred by laws or even mentioned in the Constitution. In a few cases, it has restrained executive power. But mostly it has rationalized presidential pretensions — especially during “emergencies.” At such times, the Court has been reluctant to interfere, except in cases of extreme abuse of authority. Many legal scholars say that is happening, but the Supreme Court recently ruled that the President is immune from prosecution for any official acts.

In Mississippi v. Johnson, a case emerging during a post-Civil War struggle between President Johnson and Congress about reconstruction, the Court clearly stated that the judiciary could not control the acts of the President. Johnson favored moderation while Radical Republicans wanted strict military control of rebel states. The Court’s decision was a compromise, sidestepping a potential constitutional crisis. 

Article II gave the President enormous influence over domestic affairs through the power to appoint public officials. But questions about removal were left unanswered. In 1926, the Supreme Court did weigh in, apparently giving the President unlimited power to remove government personnel — except for federal judges. Still, it provided no definition of who is a purely executive official, which allowed the Court to decide about removal on a case-by-case basis. 

The case, Myers v. United States, was controversial. Despite the main thrust, it indicated that executive power — even in an emergency — could still be subject to judicial control. Unless, of course, the President decided to defy the third branch of government. Recent statements by the President, Vice President, and various officials raise that prospect. 

For example, a US district court judge recently issued an injunction stopping Elon Musk’s “department of government efficiency” (Doge) from accessing the Treasury Department’s central payment system in search of alleged corruption and waste. In response, Vice President J.D. Vance, a Yale Law School grad, said that judges who issue rulings that attempt to block some of Donald Trump’s executive orders “aren’t allowed” to control the president’s “legitimate power.” A showdown in the Supreme Court is likely.

In foreign affairs, primarily the responsibility of the President and Department of State, some power is nevertheless supposed to be shared with Congress. Treaty ratification requires approval by two-thirds of the Senate. A simple majority is enough for appointment of diplomats. But the growth of presidential authority over war and foreign relations was inevitable. 

In connection with the Korean and Vietnam wars, Congress delegated much of its power, despite doubts that this was constitutional. And Presidents have used executive agreements rather than treaties to make international deals. These don’t require Senate approval, and the Supreme Court has said that they have the same legal effect.

Two centuries after the US constitutional system was created, it has gradually unraveled under the explosive force of the imperial presidency. The framers, though they could not predict the global dominance of the US, were certainly aware of the danger — a drift toward monarchy. Unfortunately, their 18th century solution no longer makes sense.

A different approach is needed again. Even if Trump’s monarchical power grab fails, Presidents will continue to seek more power until clear limits are imposed and public pressure reverses the long-term trend. In the end, the US may need another Constitutional Convention. Given the way things are going, any risks may turn out to be preferable to the inexorable drift toward tyranny.

But a Convention may not be practical at the moment. On the other hand, states did empower the federal government and ratify the current constitutional system. It’s time now for them and regional pacts to act, asserting their sovereignty by challenging or nullifying illegitimate presidential actions. What America needs is a radical devolution, a grassroots movement that restores the balance between federal, state and local power. 

As Thomas Jefferson explained in reaction to the repressive Sedition Act, federal power isn’t unlimited. When it goes too far, he argued, it need not be obeyed. States have the right to decide how to handle federal overreach. In fact, they are obligated, as Jefferson wrote, to stop the “progress of evil” and maintain their “authorities, rights and liberties.” 

Let the devolution begin.

Succession Depression: Life After Trump?

Eating Pies and Telling Lies  (Based on a true story)

Possibly. But it feels like we’ve been here before.

The Republicans ate roast beef. That was one of the facts I hoped to verify, along with this vital tidbit: The new President wore mismatched socks. According to sources close to his feet, he picked them out himself.

When I finally discovered the truth he was sitting just above me, tucked behind the dais in a university gym. He’d flown in to honor a retiring senator, one of many these days. The commander-in-chief ate his beef and vegetables in silent tribute.

I was crumpled with my phone beneath his table, only inches from his blue and green socks. Mission accomplished, I suppose. Anyway, about midway through the meal I pulled on his leg. He passed a baked potato and continued chatting with the other Republicans. I tugged again and he leaned down, ostensibly to retie a lace.

“Is Ukraine really your Watergate?” I teased.

“You’re lucky I’m still a friend of the press,” he replied. “Bless your heart.”

A few hours earlier, I’d watched Secret Service men manhandle journalists at the airport. The concrete walkway near the planes had become a frisking ground hours before the arrival of Air Force One. As one photographer reassembled his equipment, the blond agent who did the frisk leaned over him, rechecking every item. He looked like an Ivy leaguer who had joined the mob.

Flashing an outdated press card I edged past them. Then a rock-hard voice froze me in place: “PLEASE. MOVE. BEHIND. THAT. FENCE.”

The face connected to the warning looked like tooled leather left out in a storm. I smiled, shrugged, then began to focus my camera on the gaggle of government studs.

Leather Face immediately turned friendly. As much as he wanted to help, he lamented, he simply couldn’t let me through without the special pass I might obtain at the gym. But there I discovered that only ten reporters would be allowed to actually see the president. And all of them were cleared a week earlier. Of course, financial contributions provided almost guaranteed clearance.

After dinner, tonight’s guest of honor rambled on for the stuffed contributors. “This is the largest group who ever ate apple pie together,” he proclaimed. Right, a patriot’s Cochella.

Personally, I was still brooding over my rejection from the press pool. Yet I’d managed to slip into the gym within a bunch of tipsy politicos singing “Hail to the Chief.” Before dinner I ducked beneath the dais and crawled to the front of the hall.

When a pair of legs invaded my hideout I peeked up. Wings of karma! The man known to millions as the nation’s top un-indicted co-conspirator. A light cuff tug let him know I was there. No threat intended, I explained. My paper, Metesky’s* Monthly, was just looking for a personal angle.

While the Big Guy ate pie I reviewed my previous encounter with the SS. Pretty tight on the reins, I complained. “Whatever happened to openness and candor?”

He beckoned me closer with an index finger just below the table cloth. But as I edged forward he silently smeared the remains of his pie into my face with a smile and snapped, “Pass interception.”

Apparently, “openness and candor” had turned into “fun and games.” That said, the pie was tasty.

It had been quite a night already, beginning on the dying lawn of a Ramada Inn. Cop cars zipping back and forth nearby on the commercial strip. A circle of chilled resistors stamping across the grass, carrying signs, chanting to bemused tourists and assorted local gawkers. 

The center of dissent was about two dozen cloaked actors/activists who had come to speak and act out about war and amnesty (for immigrants, not officials) and the general state of emergency that the new boss had declared. Their leader was a gangly apparition, grey hair streaming to his shoulders. Other members of the troupe wore black and too much makeup. In a monotone they chanted, “Pence, Pence, it’s too late, Ukraine is your Watergate.”

But something was missing. Call it real conviction. Tear gas or helmet-headed shock troops might have provided the necessary adrenalin rush. As it was, the performance delivered dramatic tableaus. But not much actual drama. Snake-lining beneath red dragon fabric they eventually formed a totem pole frieze, then shouted truisms about fascism, capitalism and other isms that ought to be abolished. Not many watching took up the chants. 

Another old slogan popped into my mind. If only they had included “Two, four, six, eight, organize and smash the state.” But it did feel outdated in the age of tranquility. 

The performance ended after dusk. But the picket group core continued until a black limo carrying the Commander-in-Chief whizzed into the parking lot. Then the crowd surged forward. Eventually herded back to the front, they regrouped and restarted the chants. But the point was getting obscure. Why protest this accidental President? What did he represent, except possibly moral bankruptcy in its terminal form.

As if to echo the thought, one marcher asked, “How can you hate a banana?” That sounded right. Our new thief of state was indeed a strange political fruit, one with a pale, slippery skin that probably concealed a deeply rotten interior.

When Senator Magoo finally surrendered the podium the president leapt to his feet. It would probably be my last shot at an exclusive, so I yelled, “sir, what America is asking itself, does all that smiling hurt your face?”

Realizing he didn’t plan to answer I grabbed a leg, which sent his shoe skittering across the floor. An SS man lept from the front table and splayed himself over the footwear.

“Good save,” cheered the Prez. Then an aside, “You get used to this sort of thing.”

During his speech I did learn a few things. Very few. Here are two takeaways. When politicians talk the warm up is often as long as the speech. And, to be effective make a connection with the place being visited — even if you have to lie.

The new guy certainly had a way with words. I’m being ironic, but he did praise the “breadth and depth and greatness” of the honoree. He also explained that here was the only man he ever knew who could “go into a store with one dollar for four pounds of sugar and come back with change.”

“I am not a crook,” the old senator protested. After a while taking notes felt more like doodling than journalism.

Outside hundreds of people were hearing from several angry vets. The millions currently living underground were not likely to go along with the limited amnesty being offered, they explained. And pardoning the previous president, as well as his cronies? That was also a crime, one violating just about everyone’s sense of fair play. It felt like we had all been here before.

Despite the cold weather and dark sense of deja vu the resistance was optimistic. They were building a broad people’s movement, after all. And the president seemed to agree. But for him all this alternative political energy was a threat. “The politics of America is bound up in the two party system,” he warned. Exactly, bound and gagged.

“We fell into the pattern of the two party system,” he continued. And a lucky thing we did, since in countries with more than two there’s chaos, instability, and lack of direction. The choice is clear, he concluded with civics class simplicity. Loss of freedom with one party, or chaos with many.

After their book went to #1, Trump quit,
 made his escape, and bought part of North Korea.   

I couldn’t write down any more of this. My cheeks were streaked with tears. But I did finally understand. He was declaring war on independence in the name of stability and order. Thus, he called on stalwarts from both parties to join together and crush the threat of diversity. After all, how could congress function with more than two aisles, or more than two answers to any question? 

“Strengthen the twin pillars of democracy,” he urged. And what would that require? Sacrifice. Not again. I could feel a howl of pain spread across the nation. Haven’t we suffered enough? How about amnesty for the rest of us? Or maybe the Russian method. When dealing with “troubled” patients, just put them to sleep for a few weeks.

These days we’re all troubled patients, I thought. Maybe a sleep cure is just what we need. At least we’d save on gas. And many people would prefer a brief coma to another dose of sacrifice and responsibility.

But the Big Guy wasn’t listening. Instead, he was winding up with some nostalgia about the Continental Congress. After one early session, Benjamin Franklin reportedly told a spectator, “We have given you a Republic, if you can keep it.” 

All it took, added The Man, was sacrifice and vision. With an involuntary spasm, I bit my camera. The audience rose to cheer as I rolled out onto the floor. Seconds later the nearest SS man was hovering above. Grabbing both legs he began pulling me out of view. 

The cheers and standing ovation had meanwhile brought tears to the president’s eyes. Turning philosophical, he winked and said, “We have given you another Republican. But will you keep me?”

“Wait, check my credentials,” I protested, “I have references, good intentions. I’m registered to vote!” They dragged me out anyway. “Okay, okay, but just put me to sleep. Honestly, I came for the pie,” I pled hoarsely before blacking out. “But the main course in this place has made me sick.”

* George Peter Metesky, (1903-1994), electrician and mechanic, anger and resentment icon, also known as the Mad Bomber.

Blaming Outsiders: An American Tradition Since 1800

This isn't the first time that the US has faced a potential constitutional crisis or charges that the presidential race was rigged with the aid of a foreign power.

Rumors of conspiracy and war were also rampant at the end of the eighteenth century. The "enemy" then was France. Some warned ominously that Napoleon's troops were moving on Florida and Louisiana. By April 1798 Congress had voted funds to arm merchant ships and fortify the harbors. In May it instructed US warships to capture any French vessel caught in American waters.

Public fears were on the rise and the pressure for action was intense. John Adams' wife Abigail supported a declaration of war and criticized Congress for acting too slowly. But the President and Congress decided instead to focus on enemies at home.

As the summer temperature soared past 90 degrees in Philadelphia, lawmakers went further than even Adams hoped, passing the notorious Alien and Sedition Acts. Adams called them emergency wartime measures. After all, there were more than 25,000 French immigrants in the country! And most of them were survivors of the slave uprising in Haiti on the island of Santo Domingo. Obvious security threats, right?

As historian David McCullough notes, there were French newspapers in Philadelphia as well as French schools, booksellers, boardinghouses and restaurants. “The French, it seemed, were everywhere,” he writes, “and who was to measure the threat they posed in the event of war with France?”

The Alien Act was a Trumpian initiative aimed directly at immigrants, increasing the period of residency to qualify for citizenship and giving the President the power to deport any foreigner he considered dangerous. But the more consequential law turned out to be the Sedition Act, which made it a crime to stir people up or write anything critical of the government, Congress, or the President.  Editor Noah Webster backed the idea, declaring it time to stop other newspaper editors from libeling public figures. Even George Washington commented privately that some publications deserved punishment for their attacks. War was the pretext, but a little censorship sounded reasonable to many leaders. We've heard similar calls from Trump.

Officially, the purpose of the Sedition Act was to crack down on illegal actions that tended to cause the disruption or overthrow of the government. Rather than a foreign spy, however, the first target was Benjamin Franklin’s grandson, Benjamin Franklin Bache, an opposition editor in Philadelphia arrested for libeling Adams. In daily attacks he had belittled Adams as “President by three votes,” mocking his weight and describing him as a British tool. But Bache was never convicted, instead dying of yellow fever before he could stand trial.

Vermont Congressman Matthew Lyon was equally high on Adams’ list. After the debate over the Alien and Sedition Acts, he had demanded a roll call vote to see “who are friends and enemies of the Constitution.” Jefferson agreed, calling the repressive new laws an unconstitutional “reign of terror.” But what triggered President Adams into action was a letter to the editor. Responding to an attack in the Federalist Vermont Journal, Lyon wrote the US should stay out of war with France. The Adams administration, he went on, had forgotten the welfare of the people “in an unbounded thirst for ridiculous pomp, foolish adulation and selfish avarice.”

There was also a comment about Lyon’s foot and the seat of the president’s pants.
 
That was enough for Adams and his allies. Lyon was placed on trial, in Vermont, in front of a judge who had run against him for Congress, convicted of bringing the President and government into contempt, fined $1,000, sentenced to four months, and marched in chains through the streets of Vergennes to jail. The sentence was imposed in October 1799, just a month before he was up for re-election.

But Adams and the Federalists had made a tactical error. They had targeted a hero, a popular figure who had come to the colonies as an indentured servant, fought the British with Ethan Allen, and married one of Allen’s cousins. As a result Vermont voters defied the President and re-elected him anyway. Despite Lyon’s occasionally extreme behavior the arrest had made him even more popular, an early example of the state’s outspoken, contrarian, and sometimes defiantly independent streak.

The next year, for the only time in US history, the President - John Adams - ran against the Vice President - Thomas Jefferson. Since Matthew Lyon’s trial for sedition, eleven more people had been convicted under Adams' law. But that didn’t stop the Anti-Federalist press from calling him a monarchist, an old man too impressed with the British. Some claimed he was insane.
 
The attacks on Jefferson were equally harsh, from weakling and French intriguer to libertine and unrepentant atheist who mocked Christian faith. But the criticism of Adams came from both Anti-Federalist republicans, who considered him a warmonger, and Federalists, who said he was too cowardly to confront the French.
 
The race turned out to be closer than anyone expected. Adams did well enough in New England, but lost in New York, the West and South. The outcome in New York was largely the result of Aaron Burr’s influence in New York City. Counting up electoral votes from the nation’s 16 states, Jefferson had 73 to 65 for Adams and 63 for Charles Pinckney, a Federalist stalwart from South Carolina. But Burr also had 73 votes, which created a tie. That meant the choice went to the House of Representatives.

Burr’s refusal to step aside and clear the way for Jefferson fueled suspicions that he was privately bargaining with the Federalists. Alexander Hamilton distrusted both men but opted for the current Vice President. “Mr. Burr loves nothing but himself,” he charged, “thinks of nothing but his own aggrandizement…Jefferson is in my view less dangerous than Burr.”

In the end, the tie-breaking vote was cast by Lyon, the same person whom Adams had targeted with sedition charges. Lyon respected Burr as a New York power broker, but he was philosophically allied with Jefferson. It thus surprised few when he picked the Virginian over Boston’s first citizen to be the next president. Burr became vice president and Adams became a one-term President

In 1801, the former president was still bitter -- and still blaming immigrants. “Is there no pride in American bosoms?" Adams wrote. "Can their hearts endure that (James) Callendar, (William) Duane, (Thomas) Cooper and Lyon should be the most influential men in the country, all foreigners and all degraded characters?” All four had been charged with sedition.

Adams called them “foreign liars." He also charged, a bit oddly at the time, that there were “no Americans in America.” It all sounds too familiar.

Pragmatic Populism: Making Things Happen

Progressive Eclipse - Chapter Nine

January 1999

WE MET AT the start of a mind-boggling week. President Bill Clinton was two days from launching a new round of Iraq bombings – on the eve of his own impeachment. As Vermont’s sole representative in the US House, Bernie Sanders had already made up his mind about Clinton: yes to censure, no to removal from office or resignation. But he was equivocating on the subject of intervention.

A critic of high defense spending who had voted against the first Gulf war, Sanders nevertheless thought that military action was sometimes appropriate, in Yugoslavia or to oust a dictator like Saddam Hussein. “I do not want to see a man like this develop biological or chemical weapons,” he explained. “So, it’s not an easy situation.”



President Clinton's impeachment photo op; Bernie Sanders stands behind Hillary Clinton

The real trouble wasn’t militarism. he asserted; it was education and public opinion. Unlike the broad opposition that emerged to the Vietnam War, Sanders explained, about “80 percent of the American people” were currently willing to support just about any decision to use force. “That makes it difficult for people in Congress to oppose it,” even though “the tactic often backfires.”

 

More sobering, he didn’t expect that situation to change in the near future, “until tens of millions of people say no.” And he didn’t think most peace activists were on the right track. “Winning credibility is the first step to building a broad-based movement,” he counseled, and the way to do that is to take on bread and butter issues. “I don’t think you can just look at the issue of war and peace,” Sanders said. “People have got to know you are on their side.”

“I have long been concerned that some ‘progressive activists’ do not stand up and fight effectively or pay enough attention to the needs of ordinary Americans,” he explained. “Right now, one of the issues I am terribly concerned about is what is being proposed for social security, which I think would be a disaster. It affects senior citizens today. It affects future generations. How much discussion is there of that issue among activists and intellectuals, who should understand it? I’ve heard very little.”

Before arriving in Congress, Sanders himself had little idea of how the legislative branch really operated. The same was true during his early days as Burlington mayor, when he learned hard lessons about dealing with an unsympathetic city council and entrenched bureaucracy. Being a congressman change his perspective; years later, he knew how the game was played. But it still galled him that “what we read in the textbooks about how a bill becomes a law just ain’t the case.”

As an example he pointed to conference committees, which are supposed to iron out legislative differences. “How many people know that when you have the House and Senate agreeing on a position, the ten people in that room can junk it completely – even when there is agreement?”

It was the kind of rhetorical question that peppered his speech, this one conveying an angry belief that the public is kept in the dark about routine abuses of power and corruption of democratic processes. “I get outraged at both the television and newspapers about their refusal to educate people about how the process works,” he complained.

A key lesson of his early years in Congress was that winning often involved working with people whose stands on other issues you abhorred. In fact, much of his legislative success came through forging deals with strange ideological bedfellows. An amendment to bar spending in support of defense contractor mergers, for example, was pushed through with the aid of Chris Smith, a prominent opponent of abortion. John Kasich, whose views of welfare, the minimum wage and foreign policy could hardly be more divergent from Sanders’, helped him phase out risk insurance for foreign investments. And a “left-right coalition” led by Sanders helped to derail “fast track” legislation on international agreements pushed by Bill Clinton.

Now at the mid-point of his US House career, Sanders had become skeptical about the urge to “moralize and be virtuous and not talk to anybody.” While acknowledging that it felt odd at times having ultra-conservatives as political allies, “the job is to pass legislation– and I say that in a positive sense – so you seize the opportunity to make things happen."

Still, closer to his heart was another role – provocateur. “I respect people who are in the political process,” he put it with a smile. He also obviously enjoyed flushing out political elites. “Issues affecting billions of people with the world not knowing what’s going on,” he complained. “I think, as a result of the role I and other have played, there may be more transparency. But obviously the issue goes beyond that.”

We were getting to the root of his worldview: international financial groups protecting the interests of speculators and banks, at the expense of the poor and working people behind a veil of secrecy. Governments reduced to the status of figureheads under international capitalist management. Both major political parties kowtowing to big money flaks. Media myopia fueling public ignorance. And himself, a truth-teller whose message changes history.

His task, Sanders had long ago decided, was to raise political consciousness and expose the real agendas of the powerful. 

Yet when I asked whether he would consider a run for president he laughed. It would be fun, he admitted, and predicted that “we’d get a good response.” At that point, however, before his election to the Senate, the calculation was that staying in Congress gave him more influence than running an “educational” campaign.

Sanders said he considered it “imperative that people keep working on what is a very difficult task; that is, creating a third party in America.” But he had no plans to help develop one, in Vermont or elsewhere. “I am very much preoccupied and work very hard being Vermont’s congressman,” he pointed out, deflecting such a responsibility with customary bluntness: “I am not going to play an active role in building a third party.”

This sounded like a contradiction, but also reflected his experience and political predicament. He endorsed the idea of building a third party – in principle. But he had maintained an arms-length relationship with political parties since his races in the late 1970s. He seemed sincere when expressing the hope that the Progressive organization he’d helped to build would expand beyond Burlington – and he sometimes endorsed Progressive candidates. But he also backed Democrats, and sometimes discouraged Progressives from running, while generally avoiding involvement in party-building – especially since that could lead to calls to support Progressive candidates against Democrats.

Over time Sanders had made peace with the Democratic leadership. And he had never been embarrassed about playing to win. After all, he was making history, as he pointed out more than once. If the choice was between a “virtuous protest” and “popular appeal” he naturally went with the path to success – as long as it didn’t violate any core beliefs.

Meanwhile, he could justifiably claim that there were “not very many members of Congress who hold my views. The President does not hold my views. The corporate media does not hold my views. That is the reality I have to deal with every single day.” His job, as he had defined it, was to understand the constraints of politics and “do the best you can with the powers you have. You don’t just stand on a street corner giving a speech.”

The remark sounded almost ironic. After all, giving a speech – pretty much the same one – is what Sanders does best. Over the years it had already taken him from third party obscurity to the most private club in the world. And after the 2008 financial meltdown and election of Barack Obama, it was only a matter of time until his pungent mix of middle-class outrage and “flexible” populism went from C-SPAN to prime time.

NEXT: The Lockheed Conundrum