[Congressional Record Volume 171, Number 208 (Wednesday, December 10, 2025)]
[Senate]
[Pages S8602-S8605]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]



                             Maiden Speech

  Mr. SCHIFF. Mr. President, almost 6 years ago, I stood here on the 
Senate floor--I was not yet a Member of this body--and spoke as a House 
Member leading President Trump's first impeachment. ``We are not 
enemies,'' I said, quoting Lincoln, ``but friends. We must not be 
enemies.''
  ``If Lincoln could speak those words during the Civil War,'' I 
observed, ``surely we could say them and mean them now.''
  In the 6 years since that impeachment, our country has only become 
further divided. It has become even more challenging for Americans to 
speak with each other, with our neighbors, even with members of our own 
families who have been alienated from one another.
  How we begin to heal our present wounds and bring about a sense of 
common purpose that has been lost is difficult to say, as the causes of 
our division are many. But I suspect, if there was a common denominator 
to what must be done, it begins with a renewed effort to better 
understand each other, who we are, where we come from, what drives us.
  In that spirit, let me tell you a little bit about who I am that may 
differ from the version that many Americans see on FOX or in the 
President's social media feed and what I have done to introduce myself 
to my 40 million new constituents because I intend to be a Senator for 
all Californians in the red areas and the blue and everywhere else in 
between.
  That is one reason I sought to join the Senate Agriculture 
Committee--the first time in more than 30 years that our Nation's 
largest agriculture-producing State has had a seat at that table.
  I have traveled the State on planes, trains, automobiles, even boats, 
visiting nearly half of California's 58

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counties, including some of the most conservative parts of our State. I 
have toured almond orchards, cilantro fields, health clinics, food 
banks, and affordable housing developments. I even took part in an ill-
advised game of dice at a bar in Los Banos while drinking a bitter 
Dutch liqueur, which I will not be repeating.
  Wherever I go, I ask Californians the same question: How can I help?
  It is certainly true, depending on where I am in the Golden State, 
that sometimes I have to break through caricatures of me on rightwing 
media. That can be a challenge, but it is one I very much enjoy. There 
is nothing more fun in politics than upsetting people's expectations.
  I knew, for example, I was making progress when a farmer in 
conservative Butte County told me after an hour-long meeting:

       I don't know why the President calls you ``watermelon 
     head.'' You have a perfectly normal size head.

  And that comes from a farmer who knows a thing or two about melons.
  Traveling across California has only underscored that it is the honor 
of a lifetime to serve the State I so deeply love in the Senate.
  I am especially humbled to serve alongside my friend and colleague 
Alex Padilla and to follow in the footsteps of trailblazing giants who 
have gone before us--Dianne Feinstein, Barbara Boxer, and our own Madam 
Vice President, Kamala Harris, in whose Hart office I now sit.
  I am grateful beyond measure to my staff--the smartest, hardest 
working, best looking bunch of public servants in America--whose 
dedication to the people of California inspires me every day.
  Of course, I am deeply grateful to my family--my strong, loving, 
daring, and caring wife Eve--yes, we are Adam and Eve; my children Lexi 
and Eli, of whom I am immensely proud; my late parents Ed and Sherrill, 
who taught me everything important; and my brothers Daniel and David.
  Like so many Americans, I owe who I am to my family. My family owes 
who we have become to the opportunities this country has afforded us.
  My parents Ed and Sherrill were the grandchildren of immigrants of 
Eastern Europe, from Lithuania and Poland; and as my parents used to 
say with pride: From the ``shtetl'' to the Congress in three 
generations--only in America.
  My father Ed left high school early to join the military at the end 
of World War II. He tried to enlist in the Marine Corps but failed the 
physical--flat feet and bad eyes. Two weeks later, he went to enlist in 
the Army, thinking there might be a different physical standard or at 
least a different examining physician. As it turned out, it was the 
same standard and the same damn physician.
  ``Wait, weren't you here 2 weeks ago?'' the doctor asked.
  My father said, ``Yes.''
  ``You really want to get in that bad?''
  My father said, ``Yes.''
  Just like that, Ed Schiff was in the U.S. Army.
  After he left the service, my father went to college on the GI Bill. 
He later dropped out--one of the few decisions in life he came to 
regret--and went into the ``schmatta'' business--that is Yiddish for 
``clothing'' or ``rags''--and sold ``schmatta'' up and down New 
England.
  Eventually, he got promoted and moved our family from Framingham, MA, 
to Scottsdale, AZ, and finally to Alamo, CA. We went from working class 
to middle class, my father eventually getting out of the clothing 
business and buying a lumber yard.
  I grew up, like so many other kids in that era, with Little League 
and Cub Scouts and lemonade stands; my mother ringing a cow bell to let 
us know when it was dinner time; the sonorous, authoritative voice of 
Walter Cronkite on TV; and summers spent working in restaurants or 
hauling sacks of concrete and roofing materials.
  We lived the booms and busts of the 1970s and 1980s. At times, my 
father would tell us that the business was growing so fast, it was 
scary. Other times, he would tell us that we all needed to tighten our 
belts to make it through the next few years.
  But because this is America, because my family settled in the Golden 
State in the 1970s, I was able to attend some of the finest K-through-
12 public schools in the country. That has made everything possible. I 
was able to become a prosecutor with the U.S. Attorney's Office in L.A. 
and take on everything from drug trafficking, to corruption, to Russian 
spies. That included prosecuting Richard Miller, the first FBI agent 
ever indicted for espionage, and my first introduction into the 
insidious influence of the Russian Government.
  I was able to win elective office--not on my first try, not even on 
my second. The third time is the charm. And for three decades now, I 
have had the privilege to serve the people of California in the State 
senate, in the U.S. House, and now in this august Chamber.
  So many of us who grew up in the postwar era share a common 
experience. We entered a dynamic, growing economy, one that had its ups 
and downs, winners and losers, but still an economy that allowed 
millions to climb into and stay in the middle class. We benefited from 
vibrant democratic institutions that, despite their many flaws and 
blind spots, upheld the rule of law and steadily improved the quality 
of people's lives.
  In so many ways, California embodies that limitless future: Exciting. 
Entrepreneurial. Home to Silicon Valley and aerospace and Hollywood, to 
Disneyland and redwoods reaching the skies, the shores to the 
mountains. I can still remember the wonder in my friend's eyes when I 
announced that we were moving to the Golden State.
  Yet that California, that America that made my story and so many 
others' possible, is today under grave threat. What was once a sturdy 
ladder into middle class now feels more like splintered wood.
  My parents bought our first home for $18,000--what my father earned 
in a single year as a clothing salesman. These days, in most of 
California, that wouldn't cover 6 months of rent. The notion of buying 
a place for a year's salary is a fantasy for all but a tiny handful of 
the most wealthy Americans.
  When my brother Dan entered UC Berkley in 1976, tuition cost 
practically nothing--a couple hundred bucks in registration fees, 
another couple hundred for books, maybe a thousand for room and board. 
That was the cost to attend what even I--a graduate of Cal's rival from 
across the bay--must grudgingly admit is one of the best universities 
in the world. Today, attending that same institution will cost you 
upwards of $50,000 a year.
  I hear from Californians every day who are struggling, one health 
problem or car problem away from failure; the exhaustion; the 
desperation; the pride they take in their work and the despair that it 
never seems to be enough.
  The man in San Diego who wrote me, telling me he will have to spend 
thousands of dollars more a year just to keep his health coverage or 
may have to drop it completely.
  The young woman in the North State who did everything right--got a 
good education and has a mountain of debt to show for it--and who told 
me in tears how she is deathly afraid of getting sick because she can't 
afford it, how she has nothing set aside for retirement and nothing to 
set aside.
  The farmworkers in the Central Valley who are afraid to go to work 
and attend church lest ICE detain them, citizens and noncitizens alike.
  Is it any wonder that so many Americans believe that the system no 
longer works for them and that hard work is no longer a guarantee of a 
good life?
  That sense for the first time in our history and for millions of 
Americans that their parents' lives were better, that their children's 
future is in doubt, is a powerful and destabilizing force because when 
our economy stops working, our democracy stops working. We have seen 
this movie before, over and over again.
  In college, I traveled behind the Iron Curtain. As a young Department 
of Justice lawyer assigned to work in Czechoslovakia, I saw up close 
how an autocrat could exploit profound economic dislocation and 
inequality to divide and dominate. As a Member of Congress, I witnessed 
civil society activists fighting oppressive regimes around the world 
which impoverished their own people even as they enriched themselves.

[[Page S8604]]

  When the political system that is supposed to address economic 
challenges proves itself incapable or indifferent, too many people 
become susceptible to the siren song of any demagogue who insists that 
they alone can fix it.
  So we come to this perilous moment when so many of our expectations 
have been proven incorrect--we who watched walls coming down, new 
democracies being born, more people able to practice their faith, 
associate with whom they would, and able to speak their piece. We came 
to believe that freedom would be forever on the march, that it was 
inevitable, inexorable, irrevocable. We were wrong.
  There is nothing inexorable about democracy. The moral arc of the 
universe is long, and it bends toward justice, but not on its own, not 
without effort, not without sacrifice, and not at the present moment.
  If we are to preserve this great, this improbable experiment in self-
governance, our press must remain free from coercion; our universities 
must be free to teach, our law firms to take on unpopular clients, our 
Justice Department to do impartial justice, our companies to hire the 
best talent, our legislators to vote their conscience without fear of 
violence or reprisal.
  The health of our democracy and the strength of our economy are 
deeply entwined. We cannot have a strong economy without a strong 
democracy, and we cannot have a strong democracy if we cannot answer in 
the affirmative the most basic, the most vital, the most central 
question facing American families, and that question is this: If you 
are working hard in America, can you still earn a good living for 
yourself and your family?
  To answer that question ``yes'' means putting a relentless focus on 
the basic needs of our constituents--food, housing, healthcare, a good 
job, and the dignity that comes with work. It means acknowledging our 
own failures of leadership and governance and calling out corruption 
where we see it. It means placing a renewed focus on getting stuff 
done.
  As it so often has, I believe that California is again showing the 
way in the resurgence of San Francisco under a mayor who has 
prioritized results over ideology; in Los Angeles, where communities 
are coming together to rebuild from the ashes; in San Jose's data-
driven governance; in Sacramento and Oakland and San Diego taking real 
action on homelessness, transit, and housing; in the Central Valley, 
the Imperial Valley, and the North State in growing the food that 
nourishes us and pressing on despite the hardship of not enough water 
and too many tariffs. Each of us, I am sure, can point to places in our 
States and our cities that are addressing real challenges with the 
seriousness, creativity, and urgency that they deserve.
  So here in Washington, let us take our cue from the communities we 
are privileged to represent.
  Let's act anew to jump-start the next housing boom in America, just 
as we did for returning GIs after World War II, as legislation I have 
just introduced would do, so that every family can afford a roof over 
their heads.
  Let's find ways to bring down costs on groceries, on electricity, and 
on childcare so that a living wage means something again in America.
  Let's educate and prepare Americans to thrive in a world of AI and 
automation while continuing to advance America's technological edge.
  Let's put forward a real vision for a fair and humane immigration 
system that attracts the world's hardest workers, brightest minds, and 
best hearts--and retains them rather than kicks them out.
  Let's act not just to prevent the closure of rural hospitals and 
labor and delivery rooms but to expand access to affordable, quality 
healthcare for all.
  In so doing, let us demonstrate to the American people that Congress 
need not be the opposite of progress; that redtape and bureaucracy need 
not be the reason that vital housing goes unbuilt and small businesses 
go under; that whether an American lives on the coasts or in the 
heartland--in places that voted for us or against us--we see and hear 
them and that their voices carry more weight than a lobbyist's 
checkbook.
  I am a proud Democrat, but I am also willing to work with anyone to 
advance those efforts, including that guy at the other end of 
Pennsylvania Avenue, who doesn't care for me very much and whom I am 
not particularly fond of either, because life is too short and the 
problems are too great not to seize every opportunity to make progress.
  Believe it or not, I was born bipartisan. On my dad's side, I am the 
son of Roosevelt Democrats. On my mom's side, I am the grandson of a 
Republican county chair who really did like Ike.
  Long before I became one of the Democrats that Republicans love to 
hate, I chaired the Judiciary Committee in the California State Senate. 
As chairman, I encouraged members to sit not by party. We considered 
every bill referred to committee whether it was introduced by a 
Democrat or a Republican. We voted alphabetically, not by seniority. We 
tried, in other words, to put problem-solving above partisanship.
  As a House Member, I quickly learned this wasn't the way in 
Washington. The first time I voted at odds with my party in committee, 
the ranking member positively levitated out of his seat before storming 
over and screaming at me in the middle of the hearing room.
  I told constituents after that experience that the quickest way to 
power and influence on the Hill was to eat right, exercise, and outlive 
the bastards.
  (Laughter.)
  But it doesn't have to be that way.
  When I joined this Chamber, I was gratified that a number of my 
Republican colleagues reached out to reassure me that they would help 
California receive the aid we need to recover from this year's 
devastating wildfires. In fact, the very first bill I introduced in the 
Senate was alongside Senator Sheehy, who knows a little bit about 
fighting fires, to provide tax credits so that folks can protect their 
homes against wildfires and other disasters. I have been proud to 
champion legislation alongside so many of my Republican colleagues.

  So, yes, you may have first met me standing on this floor as an 
impeachment manager. And when this President transgresses the 
Constitution or puts forward nominees I consider beyond the pale, uses 
the military to kill survivors at sea, or tries to rip away Medicaid 
from our most vulnerable, you will find me right here, standing up to 
him and standing up for the values I cherish and the people I was 
elected to serve.
  But to anyone serious about solving real problems, no matter what 
side of the aisle, you will find me a willing partner. After all, isn't 
that why we chose public service? Isn't that why we were sent here--to 
make life better for the people we represent?
  My purpose was summed up for me decades before I entered public 
life--not by Jefferson or Lincoln, not by Shakespeare or Tocqueville, 
but by a 5-year-old boy. Earlier, I mentioned my gratitude for my 
brother David, and he is my brother not by blood but by choice.
  David and I met through the Big Brothers program in Greater Los 
Angeles almost 40 years ago. It has been one of the great joys of my 
life to watch him grow up and be a part of his life--to go from 
splashing through the surf on Venice Beach together, to seeing him 
graduate from Yale and USC film school, to becoming a talented 
screenwriter and producer and a big brother himself.
  What first struck me about David was his application to the program, 
which asked little brothers what three things they wished for. As you 
can imagine, most typically wished for the things kids crave: a bike, a 
skateboard, a room of their own. David asked for a big brother, a 
puppy, and ``a beautiful world.'' What 5-year-old dedicates one of 
their three precious wishes to something so selfless and intangible as 
a beautiful world? But that was who he was then, and it is who he is 
now.
  And my wish is the same as his wish. It is the wish that drives my 
hopes for what can be achieved in this body and through the maddening, 
messy work of politics.
  My colleagues, within weeks of my swearing-in, California was 
burning. Entire neighborhoods were wiped away in minutes, and families 
were sifting through ash where homes once stood. Yet, after every fire 
I have ever witnessed, one truth endures: When the

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smoke clears and the embers fade to nothing, people come back to 
rebuild their lives not because it is easy but because it is necessary 
and because they believe in their neighborhood, their community, and in 
one another.
  Right now, our Nation is passing through a different kind of fire--an 
inferno of division, of fear, of dreading the rent check on the first 
of the month, and watching institutional guardrails topple one by one 
by one. But we are not powerless--not us here in this body, not those 
in America who have the most important title in a democracy, that of 
``citizen.'' We are not condemned to live in the ashes. We can rebuild 
a country where every child has a fair shot and hard work leads to a 
good life; where people, no matter their background, are free from want 
and fear, free to succeed; where government is accountable and 
responsive to the people; and, yes, where right and truth and decency 
matter.
  It is the country my parents believed in when they brought our family 
to California, and it is the America I still believe in with every 
fiber of my being. If we fight for it, if we refuse to give in to 
cynicism or fear, that beautiful country, that beautiful world, is 
still within reach. That is the future I am committed to seeing. That 
is the future I ask your help to bring about. And from the bottom of my 
heart, I thank the people of California for sending me here to take up 
that charge.
  (Applause.)
  I yield the floor.
  The PRESIDING OFFICER. The Senator from California.