Much like President Bush’s aides discovered a decade earlier when pushing for prisoner reentry programs, House Republicans wanted nothing to do with immigration reform because they felt it was not relevant to their constituents. “We did a little test whip with our members,” Cantor says, “and it went nowhere.”
The same was true of legislation affecting another cultural flashpoint in the spring of 2013: guns.
In the wake of the previous December’s massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, which claimed the lives of twenty grade-school children and six teachers—and which came after at least three other mass shootings during Obama’s presidency, while predating at least half a dozen others—Congress attempted to act. Addressing the lowest common denominator, West Virginia Democrat Joe Manchin and Pennsylvania Republican Pat Toomey sought to expand background checks on commercial purchases.
But despite the modest aims, and the senators’ lifelong “A” ratings from the National Rifle Association, their effort went nowhere. Facing an avalanche of hyperbolic (and often downright false) attacks from the NRA, the bill died in the Senate.9 Even if it passed, it would have gone nowhere in the House, and for the same reason: The issue was too easily demagogued among Republican voters. The self-preserving instincts of lawmakers were not conducive to any such legislation.
THE HOUSE REPUBLICAN LEADERSHIP WAS BOXED IN.
When it came to immigration, Boehner personally liked the Senate bill and would happily have supported a qualified path to citizenship for both minors and adults. But he had to be careful. The Speaker had survived one attempt on his political life that year; he couldn’t afford to invite another by flouting the sentiments of his majority.
Cantor, meanwhile, was no longer in the catbird seat. His recently announced support for the principles of the DREAM Act, which would extend citizenship to illegal youths brought to the country through no fault of their own, had angered many of the Tea Party types who had long preferred him to Boehner. “They were told in our conference, ‘If you try this, you’re going to be gone,” Labrador recalls, referencing a potential vote on comprehensive immigration reform. “And they listened. Boehner was worried about his speakership, and Cantor was worried about not being able to become the Speaker.”
As the Senate bill hurtled toward passage, and members’ attitudes ranged from uneasy to outright threatening, Boehner and Cantor settled on a passive approach: They would sit back and let the debate unfold freely, not committing to anything one way or the other.
The early returns were actually quite encouraging. On June 5, the RSC and its 170-some members hosted a panel of senators for a huge, bicameral “family meeting” on immigration. The headliners were Rubio and Flake in favor of the Senate bill and Sessions and Cruz opposed. Rubio kicked off the summit by acknowledging the disdain for his bill within the House GOP. But he then pivoted to emphasize the many other areas of agreement across the party’s ideological spectrum, urging his brethren not to ignore the major concessions they would receive in exchange doing what was reasonable: pulling people out of the shadows, making them pay taxes, and putting them on a thirteen-year path to citizenship.
As Rubio spoke, intercepting subsequent questions to press his argument, heads in the room nodded. One incident aside—Texas congressman Michael Burgess made a crack about “undocumented Democrats,” drawing a glare from Rubio—Republicans left the summit sounding downright bullish on passing an immigration bill. Rubio had done it again. Boehner and Cantor couldn’t believe their ears.
And neither could Steve King. The Iowa congressman was known as the House’s fiercest immigration hawk—and its most racially polarizing force. King’s collection of greatest hits included comparing illegal immigrants to livestock; calling Obama “very, very urban”;10 saying the president “favors the black person”;11 and mentioning that Obama’s middle name, Hussein, held a “special meaning”12 for the Islamic radicals cheering on his presidential run. (To mention King’s fixation on Obama’s birthplace feels superfluous.)
Leaving the immigration summit that day, King looked deeply unsettled. Comparing himself to Rip Van Winkle, he said, “I went to sleep last year before the election believing that all my colleagues believed in the rule of law and opposed amnesty and understood the impact of amnesty. And then I woke up the morning after the election, and they believed something different.” As for Rubio’s path to citizenship, and the converts he was attracting, King believed, “There is no upside to it. I can’t track their rationale or their logic. I’m flabbergasted that so many otherwise-smart people can come to conclusions that aren’t based on any kind of data.”
As King walked away shaking his head, Rubio held court with reporters nearby. Noticing at one point that Sessions had emerged from the room behind him, he moved over, inviting his colleague from Alabama to address the media alongside him. But Sessions declined. Politicians are experts in appearances, and Sessions knew better than to be photographed holding a press conference with the champion for amnesty.
IF VEGAS WERE PLACING ODDS ON FINAL APPROVAL OF COMPREHENSIVE immigration reform, no single event in the twenty-first century would have sparked as much action as that RSC summit with Rubio. For the first time, in the hours thereafter, advocates felt real hope and opponents felt real fear.
Neither lasted long.
That night, Labrador abruptly quit a bipartisan House group that was working on a proposal to mirror the Senate’s. Labrador was viewed internally as the “Rubio of the House,” a Tea Party favorite whose bilingualism and expertise on the issue made him uniquely capable of moving votes. Yet he was farther right than Rubio on the legislative details, most notably arguing for granting legal status instead of citizenship. Labrador believed he could convince many conservatives to agree to legalization, but Democrats in both the House and Senate made clear that their support hinged on citizenship. “Without a path to citizenship, there is not going to be a bill,” Schumer told reporters that summer. “There can’t be a bill.”
Labrador also wasn’t sold on the security provisions. Senators were promising to double the number of border agents to forty thousand, stationing one along every thousand feet of the Mexican boundary. But this ignored an underlying problem: The American “catch and release” policy, which allowed migrants to be freed upon their apprehension, had become a bad joke in the law enforcement community. Lots of the illegals caught crossing would skip their court date, disappear into the country, and never be heard from again. Unlike most of his fellow conservatives who cowered at the immigration debate, refusing to engage on a federal issue because there was no political upside to straying from the status quo, Labrador was serious about dealing in substance. His exit from the House group, then, signaled a symbolic blow to the reform push just hours after it appeared to have legs.
The next two weeks were instructive for House Republicans. Their office phones shrieked with angry constituent calls. Their consultants warned of dire consequences if they deviated from the simple phrase “rule of law.” Meanwhile, their leaders were nowhere to be found. Watching quietly, determined not to get over their skis on the issue, Boehner and Cantor forfeited whatever moment existed to reaffirm the reluctant members.