Voices

A dose of reality and disillusionment

February 28, 2008


If I had to pinpoint the problem with the United States government, my answer would be simple. Me.

I can say this because I am now a part of it, at the lowest possible level. I am the unpaid intern. The laminated ID badge I wear, which provides me with daily access to the Capitol building, clearly indicates in bold red letters my status as “INTERN.” It took me about a day and a half to realize that this signals to Hilltop staffers that I am the one they can ask to get them a bacon and cheese sandwich or retrieve a cosmetic bag from the trunk of a Senate staff member’s car.

Admittedly, I had been warned about the tediousness of fetching office supplies and the humiliation of being on call for twenty-somethings who treat the legislative branch of government like a glorified sorority. I was prepared to do this in the name of getting a glimpse of how the American government works and feeling like I was a part of the political scene in Washington (and maybe getting a letter of recommendation from my Congresswoman). What I came to realize, though, is that the duties expected of the lowly intern position include not only these menial tasks; the intern also serves as a constituent’s first and sometimes only point of contact with the office.

Within the first few minutes of being in the Congressional office, I was told that one of my main duties would be answering the telephones and that I should memorize the phrase, “Thank you for calling. I will be sure to pass along your message to the Congresswoman.” I have worked there for a little over a month and I still feel like a complete liar when I repeat this line. What I am really thinking when a constituent calls is, “I will put your name in the computer. I will send you a form letter. Maybe I will pass along your message to the Congresswoman when I actually meet her. Your phone call just disrupted my Gmail chatting.” The people of Illinois’ 8th district deserve better than this.

I understand that it would be impossible for a representative to listen to the concerns of every constituent. I myself spent 40 minutes on the phone with an irate man who wanted to make sure that the economic stimulus bonus would not be extended to Hollywood filmmakers, specifically George Lucas and Steven Speilberg, because they did not need any more money. So I entered his name into the computer, just like I did with a woman who had legitimate concerns about the extension of the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act. For the past week, I have been pretending to know what this means when constituents call. I feel like a sham. I am tricking people into thinking their opinions are taken into account.

Maybe I should just quit, but I know it wouldn’t solve anything. I would be replaced within a week with another dime-a-dozen intern who would learn very quickly how to say “thank your for your phone call” and how to abandon any idealistic notions about how the American government works.



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