Members of the Republican House Freedom Caucus seem to be feeling a little fragile this week. In a contentious meeting on Tuesday, Representative Liz Cheney drew fire for making the sensible recommendation that people follow the advice of Dr. Anthony Fauci over that of Donald Trump, who has consistently downplayed the coronavirus pandemic. And on Wednesday, Representative Ted Yoho issued a non-apology on the House floor after allegedly calling Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez a “f–king bitch” after she expressed the rather conventional view that increasing unemployment and poverty rates contribute to a rise in crime. (Yoho has denied using those exact words.)
We only learned of Yoho’s outburst against Ocasio-Cortez because a reporter overheard it. But women who challenge norms and power structures, both with what they say and what their ascension represents, endure these kinds of attacks with frequency, including from the president, who reserves his most vicious comments for women. As Ocasio-Cortez herself has acknowledged, she is a particularly challenging figure to some on Capitol Hill. Her very existence makes her “a symbol of someone who should not be there and a threat to the way power is organized.” In response to Yoho, AOC does what she does best: she absorbed the blow. She sent out a tweet ending with, “‘b*tches’ get stuff done.” And she posted a story to Instagram that shows her fully masked, blowing a kiss in front of the Capitol building as Doja Cat’s “Boss Bitch” plays in the background (lyrics: “I’m a bitch, I’m a boss / I’m a bitch and a boss, I’ma shine like gloss”).
Yoho’s haranguing recalled another angry man under threat: as Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh’s enraged testimony in September 2018 made clear, he believed his confirmation was doomed because of the sexual assault allegations Christine Blasey Ford leveled against him—he was afraid of being denied something he felt he was owed. Fear and frustration seemed to be new emotions for Kavanaugh, and he was not good at controlling them. For anyone struggling to succeed in professions traditionally dominated by men, however, they are achingly familiar. As such, people who aren’t men are often more able to control them, channeling them in a direction that will ultimately reap benefits.
Ocasio-Cortez is particularly good at this. She seems to have internalized more lessons on how to be effective in Congress in her 18 months there than her mentor Bernie Sanders has in 30 years. In an interview with the New York Times last fall, she discussed balancing her activist nature with leading in Congress, saying, “It forces you to grow…[it] requires an assessment for a capacity of growth and how you navigate a space like this.” She is a longtime advocate for “Medicare for All,” but also warned the bill’s supporters this February that even if Sanders won the presidency, they would likely have to cave on some of their demands. “The worst-case scenario? We compromise deeply and we end up getting a public option,” she said. “Is that a nightmare? I don’t think so.”
Another politician may have gotten the cold shoulder from Sanders supporters for that suggestion. But Ocasio-Cortez has credibility with Sanders’s cohort and works hard to protect it, even as she occasionally adopts a strategically more moderate tone. In short, she is an incredibly effective communicator and an able politician. In her tour de force moments during congressional hearings, she breaks down complicated policy and presents it in terms everyone can relate to. Even as she destroys a witness’s arguments, she maintains a friendly and approachable demeanor. Her male colleagues might not feel the same obligation to stay upbeat during their hearing appearances, but then again, their aptitude for questioning has not turned them into breakout political stars.