Too often have I asserted the plenary power of Congress with arguments that have never been answered, to feel it necessary now to occupy time on this head. The case may be proved in so many ways that it is difficult to know which to select. Whether the power is derived from the necessity of the case, because the Rebel States were without governments, which is the reason assigned by Chief Justice Marshall for the jurisdiction of Congress over the Territories,—or from the universal rights of war, following the subjection of belligerents on land,—or from the obligation of the United States to guaranty a republican government to each State,—or from the Constitutional Amendment abolishing Slavery, with its supplementary clause conferring upon Congress power to enforce this abolition,—whether the power is derived from one or all of these bountiful sources, it is clear that it exists. As well say that the power over the Territories, the war power, the guaranty power, and the power to enforce the abolition of Slavery, do not exist; as well say that the Constitution itself does not exist.
If any confirmation of this irresistible conclusion were needed, it might be found in the practical admissions of Andrew Johnson, who, while perversely usurping the power of Reconstruction, did it in the name of the Nation. In the prosecution of this usurpation, he summoned conventions of delegates made eligible by his proclamation, and chosen by electors invested by him with the right of suffrage; and through these conventions, to which he gave the law by telegraphic wire, he assumed to institute local governments. Thus has Andrew Johnson testified to the power of the Nation over Reconstruction, while, with an absurdity of pretension which history will condemn even more than any contemporary judgment, he assumed that he was the Nation. His usurpation has been overthrown, but his testimony to the power of the Nation remains. When the Nation speaks, it is by Congress,—as the Roman Republic spoke by its Senate and people, Senatus Populusque Romanus, in whose name went forth those great decrees which ruled the world.
In considering the constitutionality of the Reconstruction Acts, there is a distinction, recognized by repeated judgments of the Supreme Court, which has not been sufficiently regarded, even by our friends. The Rebel Party, especially in their platform at New York, forget it entirely. They tell us that the Reconstruction Acts are “unconstitutional, revolutionary, and void,” and Wade Hampton boasts that he prompted this declaration. I have already exhibited the power of Congress in four different sources; but beyond these is the principle, that Congress, in the exercise of political powers, cannot be questioned. So says the Supreme Court. Thus it has been decided, in general terms, “that the action of the political branches of the Government in a matter that belongs to them is conclusive.”[270] And in the famous case of Luther v. Borden, it is announced, that, where the National Government interferes with the domestic concerns of a State, “the Constitution of the United States, as far as it has provided for an emergency of this kind, has treated the subject as political in its nature, and placed the power in the hands of that department”; and it is further added, that “its decision is binding on every other department of Government, and could not be questioned in a judicial tribunal.”[271] In the face of these peremptory words, it is difficult to see what headway can be made in contesting the validity of the Reconstruction Acts, except by arms. If ever a question was political, it is this. It is political in every aspect, whether regarded as springing from the necessity of the case, from the rights of war, from the obligation to guaranty a republican government, or from the power to enforce the abolition of Slavery. Never before was any question presented so completely political. Reconstruction is as political as the war, or as any of the means for its conduct. It is political from beginning to end. It is nothing, if not political. Therefore, by unassailable precedents under the Constitution, are these Acts fixed and secured so that no court can touch them,—nothing but the war which Mr. Blair has menaced.
The Equal Rights conferred upon the freedman are all placed under this safeguard. Congress has done this great act of justice, and, thank God, it cannot be undone. It has already taken its place in the immortal covenants of history, and become a part of the harmonies of the universe. As well attempt to undo the Declaration of Independence, or suspend the law of gravitation. This cannot be. The bloody horrors of San Domingo, where France undertook to cancel Emancipation, testify with a voice of wail that a race once lifted from Slavery cannot be again degraded. Human Rights, when at last obtained, cannot be wrested back without a conflict in which God will rage against the oppressor.
But I do not content myself with showing the essential stability of this measure of Reconstruction. I defend it in all respects,—not only as an act of essential justice, without which our Nation would be a deformity, but as an irresistible necessity, for the sake of that security without which peace is impossible. It is enough that justice commanded it; but the public exigency left no opportunity for any fine-spun system, with educational or pecuniary conditions, even if this were consistent with the fundamental principle that “all just government stands only on the consent of the governed.” As the strong arms of this despised race had been needed for the safety of the Republic, so were their votes needed now. The cause was the same. Without them loyal governments would fail. They could not be organized. To enfranchise those only who could read and write or pay a certain tax was not enough. They were too few. All the loyal are needed at the ballot-box to counterbalance the disloyal.
It was at this time, and under this pressure, that conditions, educational or pecuniary, were seen to be inadmissible; and many, considering the question in the light of principle, were led to ask, if, under any circumstances, such conditions are just. Surely an unlettered Unionist is better than a Rebel, however learned or wise, and on all practical questions will vote more nearly right. If there is to be exclusion, let it be of the disloyal, and not of the loyal. Nobody can place the value of education too high; but is it just to make it the prerequisite to any right of citizenship? There are many, whose only school has been the rough world, in whom character is developed to a rare degree. There are freedmen unable to read or write who are excellent in all respects. If willing to reject such persons as allies, can you justly exclude them from participation in the Government? Can you justly exclude any good citizen from such participation?