America’s constitution gives Congress the power of the purse. It says less about what happens when a president simply pockets the cash. Last week Donald Trump cancelled close to $1 billion that Congress had already appropriated—a so-called “pocket rescission” of $810 million in education and health programmes—and, as the New Republic reported on September 28th, the move met “zero pushback” from Republicans on Capitol Hill.
The Office of Management and Budget (OMB) described the slashed funds as “the most harmful government spending”. Most came from the Department of Health and Human Services’ Office of Refugee Resettlement, which helps refugees and unaccompanied immigrant minors; the administration claims the money is no longer necessary. Other clawed-back spending included health research, an education programme for immigrant students, a minority-entrepreneurship initiative and housing-counselling services.
The procedure matters as much as the substance. In theory a president may ask Congress to cancel funds, giving it 45 days to respond. Mr Trump offered no such window: the fiscal year ends within a week, and the House is out of session until after November’s midterm elections. Cut late enough, and unspent money simply lapses—the pocket in “pocket rescission” is the calendar’s. The manoeuvre, the New Republic notes, is likely unconstitutional.
One senior Republican did object. Susan Collins of Maine, who chairs the Senate Appropriations Committee, said in a statement on Friday that the move came without warning and pledged to address “these illegal actions” with her colleagues. “Not only is the delay itself an impoundment that was not reported to Congress, but also it is a usurpation of Congress’s appropriations powers,” she said. “[The Office of Management and Budget] is an agency of the executive branch. It does not get to decide which programs are worth funding.”
Her party’s leader took a more relaxed view. John Thune, the Senate majority leader, declined to push back, telling Punchbowl News that “it’s something I’m sure will be litigated.” Of Ms Collins, he said: “As an appropriator she feels strongly that these are decisions made by appropriators and that the administration doesn’t have this authority.” Then he offered a shrug dressed as jurisprudence: “Whether you agree in substance or not with what they did, you can argue that they be good stewards, and some of these things may be things many of us agree with, but the process by which they did it is gonna be, I assume, subject to a lot of discussion and probably some litigation.”
Democrats were less measured. “This is theft from the American people, plain and simple,” said Patty Murray of Washington, the top Democrat on the appropriations committee. “These are funds Congress has delivered on a bipartisan basis and should be helping people—not cut off by a president more focused on building a ballroom than investing in families. Every Republican who voted for these bills should be furious because [OMB Director Russell Vought] is saying their votes don’t count.”
That last line is the heart of it. Every Republican who voted for these appropriations has now been told the votes do not count, and almost none of them minds. The cost-benefit analysis is not mysterious: challenging Mr Trump carries a price before the midterms; acquiescence costs only institutional self-respect, a depreciating asset. Litigation may eventually vindicate Congress. But courts move slowly, and the fiscal year ends within days—by the time a judge rules, the money will be gone either way.
Each successful impoundment lowers the bar for the next. If appropriations become advisory, Congress will have rewritten the constitution not by amendment but by indifference—a branch of government quietly resigning its most important power, $810m at a time.