The Day the Senate Remembered Itself

In a rare flash of conscience, the Senate remembered it still has a spine—and perhaps, buried beneath the politics and fear, a flicker of moral instinct.ichae

Guest article by Michael Cohen. Follow him on Substack for more by clicking here.

Image of Paul Ingrassia along with some of his texts

It’s not often I use the words “Senate” and “morality” in the same sentence without irony. But here we are. Maybe, just maybe, the United States Senate—that exhausted, self-protecting club of career politicians and opportunists—remembered that its job isn’t to rubber-stamp the President’s every whim. Because this week, in a rare flicker of conscience, Senate Majority Leader John Thune and his colleagues made it clear that Paul Ingrassia, the 30-year-old wunderkind who once bragged about having a “Nazi streak,” would not be confirmed as the new head of the Office of Special Counsel. And so, just like that, Ingrassia withdrew his nomination before the hearing ever began.

Now, let’s not start handing out medals. This wasn’t a moment of moral heroism; it was a moment of political survival. But in Trump’s Washington, where sycophancy is a currency and integrity is an antique, even the faintest act of resistance feels almost revolutionary.

POLITICO broke the story that Ingrassia—already under investigation for alleged sexual harassment—had exchanged text messages with fellow Republicans describing himself as having a “Nazi streak” and making other offensive remarks. His lawyer tried the usual dance, claiming the texts were “manipulated” or “lacking context,” but the damage was done. Within hours, Thune and other top Senate Republicans distanced themselves. The numbers weren’t there. By sundown, Ingrassia was out.

He posted his surrender on Truth Social and X, whining that he “did not have enough Republican votes at this time.” Translation: the same senators who have tolerated chaos, corruption, and criminality for years suddenly discovered that open flirtation with Nazism was a bridge too far. Not far enough to condemn it entirely, mind you—just far enough to avoid political blowback.

Still, credit where it’s due. The Senate—this 119th Congress, which has spent nine months acting like an annex of the West Wing—finally pushed back. This is the same chamber that greenlit Robert F. Kennedy Jr. at Health and Human Services and Pete Hegseth at Defense, both appointments that made career staffers consider early retirement. Yet somehow, Ingrassia was a step too far.

What makes this moment interesting isn’t that the Senate did the right thing; it’s that it remembered it could. A coequal branch of government is supposed to act as a check on presidential overreach. For years, that principle has been as dead as decency itself in Washington. But Ingrassia’s collapse shows there are still limits, however faint, to what Congress will stomach. When a nominee becomes too toxic even for Trump’s enablers, it’s worth pausing to acknowledge the significance.

Of course, this wasn’t an act of moral clarity from the White House. Quite the opposite. Ingrassia still holds a position as liaison to the Department of Homeland Security. That’s right—the guy who joked about his “Nazi streak” remains in a government role tied to immigration enforcement. Think about that for a second. The Senate decided he was unfit to lead the Office of Special Counsel, but the administration apparently thinks he’s perfectly suited to liaise with DHS. That’s not oversight; that’s negligence dressed up as loyalty.

Even the Wall Street Journal editorial board—not exactly a bastion of liberal outrage—urged Trump to “make clear that this kind of garbage isn’t wanted in his MAGA political movement.” But let’s be honest: Trump’s movement has long been defined by its tolerance for garbage. The louder the outrage, the tighter the embrace. From Charlottesville to January 6th to “very fine people on both sides,” this isn’t a bug; it’s a feature.

And then there’s the deeper sickness. The Ingrassia scandal wasn’t an isolated blip; it was the second GOP “Nazi text” controversy this month. The language of hate, once whispered on message boards, now circulates freely in group chats among staffers and officials. The fringe has become the feed. The virus isn’t just ideological; it’s cultural. These are people raised on trolling, desensitized by irony, and convinced that cruelty is just another form of authenticity.

But here’s where this story turns from pathetic to profound: even in this political climate, some line was finally crossed. Maybe it was the word “Nazi.” Maybe it was the timing. Maybe Thune—a man who’s built his career on calculated restraint—decided he wasn’t going to be remembered as the Senate leader who confirmed the guy with the Nazi jokes. Whatever the reason, the machine blinked. The rubber stamp hesitated. The Senate—that hollowed-out institution we thought was incapable of shame—found just enough of it to matter.

Ingrassia’s withdrawal won’t cleanse Washington’s conscience. But for one brief, flickering moment, morality wasn’t a punchline; it was policy. And in this era, that’s progress.

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