When the House speaker, Kevin McCarthy, announced an impeachment inquiry into President Biden on Tuesday, he subverted the normal procedures for doing so. Typically, the House would have to vote on whether to open an informal impeachment investigation: McCarthy just announced it, unilaterally, calling a press conference to say he was “instructing” the House to open such an inquiry.
Maybe the procedures don’t matter, as the optics, more than the substance, seem to be the point of the impeachment. Faced with electoral prospects that have been deeply compromised by the massive political backlash following the reversal of Roe v Wade and the almost comically superlative corruption of the likely Republican presidential candidate, Donald Trump – who has now been criminally indicted four times – Republicans need to create a stench around Biden comparable to the one that follows Trump, and increasingly all the other candidates who appear with an R next to their names on the ballot. The impeachment inquiry, then, can be understood as congressional Republicans’ effort, ahead of the 2024 election, to throw a stink bomb.
Another appropriate metaphor might be herding cats. McCarthy’s announcement of an impeachment inquiry came as far-right members of his coalition in the so-called House freedom caucus – most visibly Matt Gaetz of Florida, the congressman who was investigated for sex trafficking of minors but ultimately not charged – have increasingly made it clear that such an inquiry will be a precondition of their cooperation in upcoming budget negotiations that threaten to shut down the federal government at the end of the month.
With the cooperation and guidance of Trump, these members have held the budget hostage in order to demand an inquiry – and, thanks to rule changes that McCarthy had to make in order to secure the speakership after a humiliating 15 rounds of leadership votes, the far right is able to threaten his own position, too. The impeachment inquiry, then, is the result of a weak speaker who cannot control his caucus, presiding over a deeply divided party that is in thrall to a vindictive and chaotic right flank. McCarthy looks a bit like a circus monkey, dancing on command: it’s the only way he can keep his job.
But what exactly do House Republicans intend to impeach Joe Biden for? It’s not clear. House investigations into Biden have been ongoing for the past nine months, since Republicans took a narrow majority in the chamber, and so far they have not uncovered any notable misconduct by the president.
The accusations against Biden are imprecise: it is noted that his son Hunter had some business dealings that seem unsavory, and that Biden may have been merged on to a call regarding one of these, though it’s not clear exactly what Republicans accuse him of doing on the call. Hunter Biden had a laptop with embarrassing material on it, and this is also supposed to indicate corruption on the part of the president, though Republicans never point to what the laptop specifically revealed about Biden himself.
When pressed, sometimes Republicans will say that it is their own inquiries which have been targeted with wrongdoing, accusing Biden of interfering in investigations of his son. But this claim, too, has been discredited.
At the press conference designed to maximize attention to the inquiry, McCarthy said that the House’s investigations, though they had turned up no evidence of wrongdoing by Biden himself, had “painted a picture of a culture of corruption” around the Biden family. This is what the House’s new impeachment inquiry into Biden amounts to: not an actual accusation of malfeasance by the president so much as a supposedly very serious investigation of a bad vibe.
Biden’s great crime, if he can be said to have committed one, is in having fathered a sleazeball. Hunter Biden has long been beset by addictions and self-destructive behaviors that he has not been willing or able to confront. He is accused of misdemeanor tax violations; once, when filling out a background check form to buy a handgun, he was asked whether he did drugs, and said no when the answer was yes. He fathered a child in Arkansas with a woman he then denied knowing, and sought to keep from having to acknowledge paternity; a DNA test proved the little girl was his daughter. His laptop was filled with pictures of him doing drugs and having sex, images which the right has gleefully published in acts of politically motivated revenge porn.
Like a lot of famous men’s sons, Hunter seems content to make money by trading on his family name rather than cultivating his own talents. None of this reflects well on him. But none of it is particularly unique, either. Much of Hunter Biden’s poor character could also fairly be attributed to other children of privilege, other scions of the idle rich – including not a few Republican members of Congress.
But it is Joe Biden, not Hunter, who is running for president, and it is Biden, not Hunter, whom the Republicans are truly eager to hurt. The new impeachment inquiry will give House Republicans subpoena power and an excuse to pursue their political agenda against Biden without any need for a pretext of legislative business.
It will be a cudgel used to try and create the false impression that Biden’s misdeeds, if any, are equal to Trump’s, something like a re-do of the tedious and ultimately disastrous Hillary Clinton email server faux-controversy. Both federal law enforcement and the political media fell for that trick hook, line and sinker in 2016, allowing their desire to appear impartial to supersede their obligation to tell the truth.
We don’t have to do that this time. This time, we can say the facts as they are plain: that Donald Trump is a singularly corrupt figure, that the Republican party is controlled by extremists, and that this new impeachment effort is an inquiry in search of a subject, a pretext and a fishing expedition. There simply is no equivalence between the ways that Trump routinely abuses his power and the misdeeds of any other politician. No number of press conferences will change that.
Moira Donegan is a Guardian US columnist
