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In three weeks, I’ll finish my 21st orbit around the sun. That means I’ve, thus far, experienced 41 springings-forward or turnings-back of the clock. True, I’ve been conscious of fewer. Yet I trust I’ve known enough by now to form some sensible opinions on the imperiled tradition. (On July 14, the U.S. House of Representatives voted overwhelmingly in favor of ending biannual clock changes for the 48 states that perform them.)
My deepest-rooted opinion is that moving the hour hand forward and backward is good.
It’s good in the way that the seasons are. Whether four or two, the seasons oblige such stubborn, rapacious creatures as ourselves to accept as a natural law that all things pass. This is good because it lets the manifold beauty of being, which God alone possesses in its unity, manifest in time and among finite beings.
And so, there are two days unlike any others, when time itself shifts. These brief reprieves from monotony border on being mystical. This conviction, however, estranges me from my peers. A ritual of students and educators alike is to bemoan the lost hour of sleep in spring. Eighty-eight percent of Americans oppose the current clock-resetting system, and nearly three-fourths of the House voted to end it.
That number includes Indiana’s entire delegation. I’m unsure why. Under permanent daylight saving, the sun wouldn’t rise over Indianapolis or Bloomington during the thick of winter until past 9 a.m., instead of just after 8 a.m. In northwest Indiana, which observes Central Time, the sunrise would fall past 8 a.m. rather than 7 a.m.
So long, then, to “early to bed, early to rise.” If the sun sleeps in, why shouldn’t I? That was the reason — which no politician seems to recall — that the United States’ first foray into permanent daylight saving time flopped so hard.
President Richard Nixon signed the law that locked the clock in January 1974. In October, President Gerald Ford signed another law which repealed that one. The most notable takeaway is that this means, in the interval, less than nine months, the House legislated with record-setting speed to undo the same move it hopes to repeat.
But this time, we can do better, rationalists bleat, itching to fix unbroken things. To which any sensible observer ought to reply, “Nonsense.” We are no different now.
Even so, grant for argument’s sake that we can contrive a better implementation. And grant that locking the clock is healthier. (Though the benefits of permanent standard time may prove superior.) Isn’t it the virtue of our federal system that it allows some states to experiment while others can carry on tried methods? At least until they deem other states’ innovations successful?
In 1967, Arizona observed daylight saving time for the last time. The practice prolonged the desert state’s hot summer days and spiked air conditioning costs. Therefore since 1968, the state has, with the exception of the Navajo Nation, remained on standard time..
So, Arizona provides an example to other states to follow, if they choose. But many states face opposite problems. Without winding back the clock, sunshine is meager: for students, especially 8 a.m. class-stricken freshmen and bus-stop-posted young children, for morning commuters and for some religious groups.
Apparently, the House of Representatives doesn’t realize this. Or worse, it’s oblivious to the competence of local governments. To spare us from the House’s tyranny, the Founding Fathers, with adroit foresight, left us the Senate. Its purpose is to stall and block every law the House wants to burden us with.
Hence, the sacred rite of the Senate is the filibuster. With its observance, the Senate hallowed its chambers in the beginning.
The Virginia delegation “[talked] away the time, so that we could not get the bill passed,” Sen. William Maclay of Pennsylvania wrote in his diary on Sept. 22, 1789, during the Senate's first session.
The power of the filibuster is so immense that simply invoking its name is a prayer sufficient to thwart the designs of the House or compel compromise. Senators have ended or rewritten bills that otherwise had majority support by threatening to filibuster.
Isn’t this an undemocratic attitude? Absolutely.
The best of our democracy isn’t meant to take place so far from our neighborhoods. The remoter a lawmaking body is from our homes, businesses and schools, and the vaster the swath of people it impacts, the wiser it is to build in kill switches that prevent the easy legislation of new harms.
Thus, the filibuster “safeguards the spirit of the Constitution’s anticonsolidation objective,” as former Sen. Ben Sasse, a Republican from Nebraska — and former president of the University of Florida — wrote in the Wall Street Journal last week.
Granted, the filibuster’s tremendous power has also been wielded to hinder the correcting of existing harms, such as repressive, racist policies. Yet, this semiquincentennial year is a time to remember that progress toward realizing the American dream more fully is never truly halted. And part of that dream is the insulation of one’s life, liberty and pursuit of happiness from the tinkering of a distant government.
So, if you, like me, possess some odd affinity for biannual clock changes or oppose the repetition of national mistakes and the House’s consolidating the power to make them, you too can count on a group of at least 41 senators to steer the country clear of such blunders.
Eric Cannon (he/him) is a junior studying philosophy and political science and currently serves as a member of IU Student Government. Strictly speaking, he admits, the constitutionally-prescribed purpose of the Senate is not to block the House.
