Oh yes, this session is special
Well, you can’t blame legislative leaders for trying to pass some bills.
First of all, it’s an election year, and since March 12, when the Capitol closed up like a gold-domed clam, lawmakers have been champing at the bit to display public relevance. Plus, the minority Republicans have to differentiate themselves from Washington, amid the potential for another Connecticut blue wave.
Gov. Ned Lamont, a multi-millionaire who I couldn’t blame if he were only a single-term leader because of the coronavirus multiplier, has been the solo star of state government in the cascade of executive orders to change behavior, flatten the curve and plot Connecticut’s return to ...
And for a Capitol complex that’s semi-notorious for long, overnight debates of attrition with lawmakers on both sides of the aisle annually ground down by leaders to a fine paste of boredom over many consecutive idle hours in the House and Senate before the eventual, inevitable debates and roll call votes, the long day’s journey into Friday’s morning rush hour wasn’t that bad, really.
I mean, the House clash over the death penalty in 2012 was nine hours and the police oversight bill didn’t even go eight. Granted, it started at 1:30 a.m. Friday, straddling a couple of days that started around 11 a.m. Thursday.
After the hand-wringing, the loose-fitting Patriots and Red Sox face masks, the bluffing poker moves over killer amendments, the cacophony of Zoom caucuses and the stark near-emptiness of the ornate House chamber, after the use of the word “robust,” on both sides (Drink!), to describe the police accountability bill, the legislation passed intact and heads to an equally, if not more-uncertain fate in the Senate.
Sure there was name calling (“Vote them out”) by the hundreds of off-duty cops who marched around the Capitol, with the intriguing, unseen subtext of competing law enforcement bargaining units known for poaching members of other groups. This guerrilla theater crew and their supporters — half of whom were neither masked nor socially distanced, because, you know, the governor’s orders apparently don’t apply to those who benefit from the transfer of extra military surplus — would have made more of a hit inside the gilded clam box, but, you know, the ’Rona.
The day was historic for many reasons, not the least of which was the 22 hours of self-quarantining that rank-and-file lawmakers observed in their Capitol and Legislative Office Building offices during the debate on four bills and uncounted Zoom caucuses before they were sprung for their own private walks of shame to their vehicles, in which they decamped back to the provinces.
Imagine being on a Zoom call with 90 people? Are their faces the size of your little fingernail? How do you stop them all from chattering at the same time? It’s a coronavirus nightmare and likely one of the reasons that Speaker of the House Joe Aresimowicz and Majority Leader Matt Ritter didn’t know how the police accountability bill was going to shake out after the Thursday night thunderstorms and their heartto-heart meeting in Minority Leader Themis Klarides’ office.
While the day might be remembered in some quarters for the technology glitches that resulted in audio crashes and delays of as long as 90 minutes, I think it was actually a triumph of the Capitol’s pro operations staff, who figured out a way for House members to vote from their far-flung offices.
House members could not only vote from outside the chamber, but they could signal their desire to speak on the various bills that, if passed by the Senate, would cap insulin costs at $25 a month, mandate insurance coverage for telemedicine visits, allow noexcuse absentee balloting on Nov. 3 and change the way cops are policed for bad behavior.
In a chamber used to 151 lawmakers and maybe as many staffers and guests during a usual session day, it was eerie in the House when Rep. Steve Stafstrom, D-Bridgeport, co-chairman of the Judiciary Committee, finally stood to introduce the police bill at 1:20 Friday morning.
After an hour of standing around, listening to pols from both sides quietly spin strategy scenarios during yet another stoppage, there were maybe 25 people in the chamber, mostly leaders and committee chairmen, I took a seat on a padded bench in front of the speaker’s podium and the industrious House clerks, now perched behind high panes of coronavirus-era Plexiglas.
One of the good things about being a reporter is that I appreciate virtually everyone and understand their perspectives for the towns they represent. I’m also not a cynic because I have no contempt for people’s motives, as long as, these days, they wear face masks.
The day was historic for many reasons, not the least of which was the 22 hours of self-quarantining that rank-and-file lawmakers observed in their Capitol and Legislative Office Building offices during the debate on four bills and uncounted Zoom caucuses before they were sprung for their own private walks of shame to their vehicles, in which they decamped back to the provinces.