[Congressional Record Volume 141, Number 161 (Wednesday, October 18, 1995)]
[Senate]
[Pages S15267-S15268]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                         SECURITY--AT ANY COST?

  Mr. GRAMS. Mr. President, I want to talk a little this afternoon not 
so much about taxes but taxpayers' money and about security.
  Mr. President, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is certainly the most famous 
residential street address in America. It is, of course, the address of 
the White House--the crown jewel in a city that attracts 15 million 
visitors every year.
  Part of the excitement for White House guests is discovering that 
their President lives right alongside a busy street, just like many of 
them do, that his house has an address, just like theirs does. The mail 
carrier really does deliver letters each day to 1600 Pennsylvania 
Avenue, just exactly as it happens at every other home, in every other 
town in America.
  The White House is called the People's House because of its close 
relationship with the American people. It is a familiar place where 
visitors instantly feel at home.
  The city has certainly grown around them, but Pennsylvania Avenue and 
the White House have actually changed little since 1791, when George 
Washington gave his approval to Pierre L'Enfant's magnificent city 
plan. The bold stretch of Pennsylvania Avenue that shoots from the 
Capitol to the White House links the executive branch to the 
Legislative, physically and metaphorically.
   By the early 1800's, Pennsylvania Avenue had become a busy 
thoroughfare, bringing people closer to the White House, and closer to 
their Government.
   Pennsylvania Avenue in front of the White House was a natural place 
to hold the official ceremonies of a young nation. From there, 
President Lincoln reviewed troops heading off to battle in 1861. Later, 
dignitaries would gather on the avenue for inaugural parades.
   People who were lost and looking for directions used to pull their 
carriages up to the front door of the White House to ask for help. By 
the middle of this century, it was station wagons and tour buses that 
made their way past the Executive Mansion. Families on vacation, eager 
for a close-up look at the home of the President, would travel the same 
route their ancestors might have traveled.
   When ordinary citizens could drive past the White House or walk past 
its gate, well, that said something special about the unique openness 
that exists between the people and their President.
   By 1995, Pennsylvania Avenue--the Main Street of America--had grown 
up. Over 80 feet wide, the modern, seven-lane thoroughfare was being 
used by more than 26,000 vehicles every day in the three-block stretch 
fronting the White House That is, until May 20 of this year, when all 
traffic on Pennsylvania Avenue in front of the White House came to a 
halt. In the wake of the tragic bombing in Oklahoma City, and citing a 
security risk for the President, the Treasury Department shut down 
three blocks of Pennsylvania Avenue. For the first time in the 195-
year-history of the Executive Mansion, the people are no longer allowed 
to drive past the people's house.
   The Secret Service says the street is not actually closed in front 
of the White House. In the Washington-speak that infects so many here, 
the roadway is merely restricted to vehicular traffic. Even the 
President, when he gave the order to close Pennsylvania Avenue, said 
the decision would not change very much except the traffic patterns in 
Washington. But a great deal more than that has changed. If you want to 
experience intense security, try driving to the White House--even as an 
invited guest, with permission to park on the grounds. A bunker 
mentality has taken hold.
   Massive concrete barriers block Pennsylvania Avenue, keeping out 
unwanted traffic. The fortress-like effect is compounded by dozens of 
concrete posts inset into the White House sidewalk.
   Police cruisers patrol every intersection.
   Vans--engines running, manned by officers with dogs--wait in the 
parking areas.
   Uniformed Secret Service officers guard their new security stations, 
circulate among the tourists and patrol the White House lawn.
   Motorcycle officers and even officers on bicycles are there, too.
   If you look carefully, you will see figures on the White House roof 
itself, binoculars in hand.
   Drive into a parking area and you are stopped by armed officers who 
ask if anyone has given you explosives to carry.
   You are told to pull forward, where you are met by another officer, 
who asks to check your trunk as he puts his bomb-sniffing dog through 
its paces.
   Mr. President, I think it is safe to say that very few visitors feel 
at home these days at the White House. The openness is gone. The 
closeness is gone. It has all been replaced with intimidation and fear. 
The place is secure now--secure as a fortress--but what have we 
sacrificed for that security?
   The cost of trading security for freedom cannot be calculated 
mathematically, but the cost can indeed be measured in three ways.
   First, the knee-jerk closing of a major artery such as Pennsylvania 
Avenue has had a devastating financial cost for the District of 
Columbia and its businesses, its commuters, its tourists, its 
residents. With the avenue closed for three blocks, and several 
surrounding streets blocked off as well, the people who live, work, and 
visit here and give life to this city are beginning to feel choked off 
from it. Nearby businesses and offices are no longer as accessible to 
employees and clients. Traffic hassles compound the problem. A great 
deal of parking space has been eliminated. And most troubling is the 
fact that the President ordered the closing of Pennsylvania Avenue, and 
the Treasury Department carried it out, without any consultation with 
the District, without any direct public input from the people this 
action would most disrupt. Add up the lost parking revenue, the cost of 
changing street signs and signals, higher Metrobus subsidizes, and 
police overtime, and as of June 30 of this year, the District estimated 
that closing Pennsylvania Avenue in front of the White House had cost 
nearly $750,000. No one is willing to guess how high that figure might 
be today.

  And that does not begin to take into account the other indirect costs 
of the closing. How has this affected tour bus operators? They can no 
longer drive their customers--many of whom are strapped for time, or 
unable to walk the extra three or four blocks--to drive past the White 
House.
  How has this affected the public bus system? In order to provide the 
same services it offered before the Pennsylvania Avenue shutdown, 
transit officials estimate they will have to spend up to $200,000 more 
every year by adding new buses and new drivers.
  How has this affected local businesses and the customers who park 
nearby? That impact has yet to be calculated.
  Mr. President, the people who depend on open access to Pennsylvania 
Avenue for their livelihoods say they have accepted the present 
closure, but they are not going along with the idea that the avenue 
must be blockaded forever. That case has simply not been made, they 
say. I agree.
  The second measure of the cost of this closing is the direct hit it 
means for the taxpayers. The Federal Government has since repaid the 
District for some of the $750,000 in costs but, of course, that means 
the taxpayers have once again been handed the bill. And there are more 
bills to come.
  At an open house today at the White House Visitor Center, the 
National Park Service is soliciting public input into the future of 
this vital stretch of Pennsylvania Avenue. They have devised what they 
call an ``interim beautification plan'' for the 1,600-foot strip of the 
avenue between Lafayette Park and the White House. It involves 
replacing large sections of the asphalt with grass, replacing the 
police cruisers at each end of the avenue with guard booths equipped 
with steel barricades, and replacing the old concrete barriers with new 
concrete barriers disguised as planters.
  ``Beautification,'' if that is what you want to call it, does not 
come cheaply. Implementing this plan will cost the taxpayers an 
additional $1.3 million, and it is only temporary. The proposed 

[[Page S 15268]]
permanent, and certainly more expensive, plan for the site will be put 
in place just a couple of years from now.
  Most Americans will not have the opportunity to visit the White House 
Visitor Center today to offer their comments. Most will not even know 
that the future of Pennsylvania Avenue is under discussion. But if they 
were here, I know they would have strong feelings they would want to 
share about the Government's plans to limit public access to the White 
House.
  And that is the third way to measure the price we pay when we trade 
security for freedom: by calculating the high cost of Washington's 
paranoia on the national psyche.
  Mr. President, all Americans are deeply concerned about the safety of 
their President. The security measures used to protect him must be well 
thought out, appropriate, and thorough. I do not question the desire to 
afford him every ounce of security we can muster, but I do question 
whether we can satisfy that desire without sacrificing the people's 
freedoms. The balance between security and freedom has been tipped too 
far in favor of security.
  Mr. Mark McCurry, the President's spokesman, says the American people 
``will have greater access to the front of the White House as a result 
of some of the changes they want to make.'' But that just is not so. 
How can we cut off traffic from a historic stretch of Pennsylvania 
Avenue and claim we are improving access?
  Once the ball starts rolling, where does it stop? Already, the 
drastic security measures undertaken on Pennsylvania Avenue have set a 
precedent and are being mirrored here on Capitol Hill. Access to two 
streets on the Senate side of the Capitol have been shut off. Parking 
has been eliminated or restricted in many places. Security at the 
Capitol itself has been tightened dramatically. Officials in other 
Federal buildings are asking that parking meters be removed from their 
sidewalks, too.
  Where does it end? How much of Washington, DC, are we going to have 
to rope off before the public figures out we simply do not want them 
here? As tragic as it sounds, that is the message we are sending to 
America.
  Mr. President, on behalf of the American people who are not here to 
stand up for themselves, I ask my colleagues to join me in denouncing 
the assault on our freedoms being undertaken on Pennsylvania Avenue. 
President Clinton has gone too far, but it is not too late to halt his 
efforts to close off the people's house on America's Main Street from 
the people themselves.
  I urge that we take action now, before a single spadeful of earth is 
turned.
  In Le Roy, MN, population 900, the town's weekly newspaper reflected 
recently on Washington's current obsession with security. I would like 
to read some of it:

  ``We also wonder about the cost of the security around the Nation's 
capitol and if this much security is truly needed,'' wrote Al Evans in 
                        the Le Roy Independent.

       ``We are sure any midwesterner visiting there would 
     question this. Perhaps we in this area of the country are too 
     trusting, but there are limits to security measures.

  The folks in Le Roy, MN, understand that closed streets do not equate 
with an open democracy. Why do not the Washington bureaucrats and 
politicians get it?
  For 195 years, the address 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue has been a symbol 
of a government accessible to the people. Yet our government of the 
people, by the people, and for the people is slowly becoming a 
government just a little farther away from the people, too.
  It is time we stood up and said ``that is enough.''
  I yield the floor.

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