A
good many people recently have been using the word impeach as if it meant to oust someone (guess who) because of
misconduct. The Merriam-Webster College Dictionary (eleventh edition) even
allows this meaning (“remove from office”)--as a third alternate to the primary
definition (“bring an accusation against”). This ambiguity of meaning can be
confusing these days when people talk (some gleefully and some indignantly)
about impeaching the President.
Impeach stems from the
Anglo-French empecher, meaning
“hinder, stop, impede, or capture,” which derives from the Latin impedicare (“fetter, entangle”). The
basic Latin roots are pes (“foot”)
and impedīre (ensnaring the foot in a trap”). By late 14th
century, “impeach” was used to mean “accuse,” especially to accuse the King in
the House of Commons of treason or other high crimes. The shift in meaning was
no doubt due to confusion of impedicare
with the Latin impetere, which means
“attack or accuse.”
Now for a little civics lesson (pay attention, so you
may appear erudite at your next cocktail party or barroom brawl): As used in
the United States Constitution, impeach
means to make an accusation that an offense has been committed. The nature of the offense is, perhaps
purposely, left vague. The Constitution merely says, “The President, Vice President and all civil Officers of the
United States, shall be removed from Office on Impeachment for, and Conviction
of, Treason, Bribery, or other high Crimes and Misdemeanors.“ (Article II,
Section 4)
Elsewhere
the Constitution specifies that the House of Represenatives has the “sole
powert of Impeachment” and that the Senate has the “sole Power to try all
Impeachments, with conviction requiring the “Concurrence of two thirds of the
Members present.”
The
punishment for conviction is limited to “removal
from Office, and disqualification to hold and enjoy any Office of honor, Trust
or Profit under the United States,” although the possibility of subsequent criminal
indictment and trial for the same offense is suggested.
Impeachment,
then, can be regarded as equivalent to indictment in criminal law, followed by
a trial that will determine whether the accused is guilty or not guilty.
Two
previous United States Presidents have been impeached, and neither was found guilty.
(Here comes the history lesson.)
In
1868 Andrew Johnson, a Democrat, was impeached on eleven charges (“articles of
impeachment”), all having to do with his firing Secretary of War Edwin M.
Stanton, a violation of the Tenure of Office Act, which required Senate
approval of any firing of an official for whom Senate approval was required for
the appointment.
On
strict party lines, the House voted 126-47 for impeachment, with 17
abstentions. The Senate vote on the first four articles failed by one vote to
reach the two-thirds majority, and other seven articles were never voted on.
There were 35 votes, all Republicans, for conviction, and 19 against, comprising
10 Republicans and 9 Democrats. Democrats, of course, were underrepresented in
Congress since the delegates from the seceded Confederate states had not yet
been readmitted.
In
1998, Bill Clinton was impeached on two counts, lying under oath and
obstructing justice about sexual relations with two women, one of whom was a
White House intern. The House vote to impeach was largely on party lines: 223
Republicans and 5 Democrats for impeachment on the first charge, with 201 Democrats
and 5 Republicans against; and 216 Republicans and 5 Democrats for impeachment
on the second charge, with 200 Democrats and 12 Republicans against.
The
Senate vote fell far short of the two-thirds requirement, with 45 Republicans
voting for conviction on the first charge, and 45 Democrats plus 10 Republicans
voting against. The second charge was closer, with 50 Republicans for and 45
Democrats and 5 Republicans opposed to conviction.
The
Bard of Buffalo, who, surprisingly, has never been impeached, has been in hibernation
for a good long while, fortified by several cases of Chardonnay. Now he seems
to have run low on supplies, since he is back, versifying for his vino, with
this deplorable result:
There’s
a big debate on impeachment,
With
many a partisan preachment,
And
much purple prose
About
quid pro quos
And
what the President’s speech meant.
On
the one hand we have Jerry Nadler,
On
this issue he’s nobody’s straddler,
Then
there’s Collins and Gaetz,
Jordan,
Gohmert, and mates--
Which
of them is the chief fiddle-faddler?
Nadler
said, “Listen, you chumps,
Let’s
not sit around on our rumps,
We
can settle this claim
With
a speedy bridge game,
And
the winning bid is no trumps.”
