When Andrew Johnson was sworn in as President of the United States shortly after the assassination of Abraham Lincoln, many northerners rejoiced, believing Johnson would be strict on southern states during their return to the Union.
When Johnson's philosophy changed, he became the first president to be impeached, escaping conviction by a single vote in the Senate and leaving his administration crawling through its only term.
Many important lessons shine through this era of deep division and subsequent governmental impotence, but perhaps most important is the danger of misusing the Constitution for dubious political motives.
Johnson's impeachment culminated from his alleged violation of the Tenure of Office Act. This infant and untested law could not have been the true motivation behind the impeachment of the President, which the Constitution says shall be done for "treason, bribery, or other high crimes and misdemeanors."
Instead, it was simply the will of a populist faction that intended to misuse its constitutional powers. There are several concerning implications of this scenario, but with regard only to impeachment powers, there is the threat that presidents will be inhibited from decisively taking on a controversial issue for fear of a Congress sensitive to whimsical clamor, a dilemma lived out by Johnson's successors.
As usual, the American citizens paid the price, as the suffering caused by monopolistic business practices was unmitigated by a federal government that neither rode the tiger, nor tried to steal its food. One of the strengths of republican government, as James Madison articulated, is that by guarding leaders against the immediate feelings of the public, it allows them to make prudent, far-sighted decisions, a chief reason for the Constitution's original prescription for senators to be elected by the state legislatures, which the 17th Amendment later changed.
The unabated suffering of the people of the late 19th century is a testament to the effects of forgetting this principle. The other troubling prospect stemming from Johnson's indictment is its implications for other Constitutional matters. If legislators are capable of imposing themselves on the executive branch unjustly, will they hesitate to impose themselves on the citizenry?
By all accounts, the answer is no, especially if they face an accepting or apathetic populous. The apathy effect is easy to understand and see present in modern times; the notion of accepting government force, however, is broader than the word implies. This consent principle can be borne out either by strong support or widespread fear.
The nation may support strong actions as with Johnson's impeachment, or it may fear the consequences of opposing the government, such as in the 2001 passing of the USA Patriot Act, or the previous and current administrations' takeover of General Motors, advanced through economic anxieties.
Just as monopolies capitalized on the executive branch's fear of Congress, Congress has now capitalized on the fears of the citizenry. And once again, it is the same citizenry whose fear fuels the tyrants, which bears out the cost.
As constitutional attorney John Whitehead notes, fear can be a large factor in public opinion and is, no doubt, a great threat to liberty. This means that should the government ever be given the opportunity-either by apathy or fear-we could be facing rulers who disparage our civil liberties under the auspices of responding to grievances.