There’s a particular sound a broken machine makes. The gears still turn, the belts still hum, but nothing useful comes out the other side. You get motion without output. Noise without purpose. That’s what Congress feels like today.
For much of the 20th century, Congress produced legislation that reshaped American life: the Civil Rights Act, Medicare and Medicaid, the Clean Air Act, the Americans with Disabilities Act. These weren’t symbolic votes or partisan showpieces. They were structural laws that still govern daily life.
Today, the machinery looks busy, but little comes off the assembly line.
A clear example is the looming expiration of the enhanced ACA premium subsidies. Without action, millions of Americans will face higher health-insurance costs. The issue is neither new nor complex, yet it barely registers unless it can be turned into a partisan talking point or a cable-news moment. A decade ago, a bipartisan fix would have been routine. Now the cameras roll—and governing stops.
That is the core problem: Congress has become a stage instead of a legislature.
It wasn’t always this way. The old Congress was far from perfect, but its incentives rewarded outcomes over outrage. Ideological overlap forced negotiation. Compromise wasn’t betrayal—it was the job.
When President Lyndon Johnson needed Republican votes for the Civil Rights Act, he didn’t sprint to a microphone. He went to Everett Dirksen, the GOP leader, and made the case for statesmanship. Dirksen delivered the votes. That kind of coalition once defined the institution.
Committees also held real authority. Chairs built expertise and relationships and worked legislation largely outside the glare of television. Politics was still local. Members were judged less by national headlines than by tangible results for their districts. Constituents expected outcomes, not performances.
Over time, the incentives flipped.
First, everything became national. A House race in Nebraska now hinges on the same issues as a Senate race in Arizona. Members fear national donors and activists more than local coalitions. A sensible compromise that helps constituents can still anger a national audience—and that audience now holds more power.
Second, gerrymandering and safe districts shifted the real contest to the primary. When the decisive voters are the most ideologically motivated. Crossing the aisle becomes politically dangerous, even when compromise would clearly benefit the public.
Third, the “Hastert Rule” prevents bipartisan majorities from governing. Under this unwritten rule, House leadership won’t bring a bill to the floor unless a majority of the majority party supports it—even when the votes exist to pass it. Many landmark laws of the 20th century would never survive that constraint.
Fourth, Congress has become a content studio. Hearings that once gathered information now generate viral clips. Members question witnesses not to learn, but to perform. A dramatic confrontation can raise more money than a year of legislative work. The incentives are obvious.
But there is a quieter form of dysfunction that rarely makes headlines and is just as corrosive.
Increasingly, Congress avoids decision-making through procedure rather than debate. Nominations stall indefinitely through anonymous holds. Committee calendars quietly bury legislation. Traditions like blue slips—once tools of consultation—now function as silent vetoes, stopping nominees before a single question is asked or concern publicly raised.
The result is obstruction without accountability. No hearings. No votes. No public explanation. The Senate, in particular, undermines its own constitutional duty to advise and consent by allowing individual members to halt the process entirely while shielding themselves from scrutiny.
This procedural sabotage allows lawmakers to appear busy and principled without ever being responsible for outcomes. It is governance by avoidance—perfectly suited to an institution that prefers performance to resolution.
There is also a social shift that compounds the problem. Members no longer live in Washington. Families stay home; lawmakers fly in and out. The relationships that once softened conflict—shared neighborhoods, schools, and meals—are gone. It is far easier to accuse a colleague of bad faith when you’ve never shared a dinner table.
This dysfunction isn’t entirely new. Congress has seen division and crisis before. What’s different now is the absence of resolution. We move from shutdown threats to leadership battles to performative hearings while major issues—immigration, healthcare stability, debt sustainability—remain largely untouched.
The machinery still moves. It simply doesn’t produce anything.
If we want a functioning Congress again, the solution isn’t moral exhortation. It’s structural reform.
We need open or ranked-choice primaries that broaden the decisive electorate. Independent redistricting commissions that encourage competition. A restoration of committee authority so policy work outweighs performance. A reconsideration of the Hastert Rule so bipartisan majorities can legislate. Greater transparency around procedural blocks that allow obstruction without accountability. And yes, it would help if lawmakers lived in Washington again, rebuilding the trust that makes compromise possible.
Congress didn’t stop working because its members became worse people. It stopped working because the institution now rewards the wrong things. When outrage pays better than outcomes, we get a Congress that performs more than it legislates.
The cameras are still on. The noise is still loud. But the work—the real work—will only return when we stop treating Congress like a stage and start rewarding it for governing again.
Joe Palaggi is a writer and historian based in New York. He writes about the intersection of faith, culture, and public policy
