On a day two weeks ago when I should have been substitute teaching at my kids' elementary school or baking a cake for my husband's birthday, I spent the day sitting on the floor in the hallway outside of Senator Kerry's office in Springfield. For months Kerry had told us that his own experience in Vietnam would keep him from voting to lead our nation into another misguided war. He had chided the Bush administration for their weak arguments and insufficient evidence that a war in Iraq was even warranted. And he had repeatedly assured the thousand of constituents who contacted him that he was squarely against this war.

With less than two days to go before the vote, Senator Kerry suddenly changed his mind and announced that he would now vote to give George W. Bush the authority to declare war on Iraq. When a group of veterans and members of religious organizations came to talk to Senator's Kerry staff about it, we found his office closed. When we returned again the next morning, we found the door to his office locked. A very courteous aide opened the door a crack and told us we were not welcome inside. And as the debate wore on in Washington, a debate in which innocent lives and the very definition of our nation hung in the balance, a debate in which Senator Kerry was supposedly representing us, we were literally and figuratively locked out of it.

By way of explanation to the Senator's sudden 180 degree turnaround on the issue, we were told to refer to the speech that he had given on the floor during the debate. But that speech, in which he derides the administration's handling of the situation and pokes holes in their reasoning, left me even more confused. In it he said that Iraq today does not pose a grave and imminent threat to the United States; in it he said he will not support a unilateral war against Iraq; in it he said that the administration is only now just beginning to answer the questions that must be fully answered before we commit to war. And yet Senator Kerry voted to give George W. Bush the sole authority commit us to war. 

So I sat there with my fellow confused constituents, hoping for some better understanding of what motivated our Senator to so radically disagree with our wishes and with his own stated arguments. And as I sat there in the hallway looking through the glass door proudly emblazoned with the seal of the United States Senate, I could see empty chairs in Senator's Kerry's waiting room. But we had been told by the Senator's aide that those chairs were not intended for us. As I watched the Senator's staff conducting business as usual behind locked doors, I couldn't help but wonder who those chairs were for.

If we had been well-connected lobbyists, or if we represented Raytheon, General Dynamics or Wal-Mart — would those chairs have been for us?

If we had been wealthy and generous donors, or if we had powerful names — like Bush or Clinton — would those chairs have been for us?
If we had favors to bestow; chips to call in; or if we could help the Senator in his bid for the presidency - would those chairs have been for us? 

I don't usually spend so much of my time thinking about empty chairs while sitting in hallways. But these are unusual times. And I realize now that those chairs and my situation are symbolic of the way too many of our elected officials conduct business these days. Someone is influencing policy. Someone is getting to sit in those chair in the offices of our congress people, of our senators, of the president. Someone has their ears. 

But it sure isn't us. 

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