Hyde seeks his own kind of conservatism - Illinois Representative Henry Hyde

Insight on the News, Jan 31, 1994 by Evan Gahr

Summary: As the author of a controversial amendment that bars most women from getting federally funded abortions, Henry Hyde has been in the middle of a legislative maelstrom. But the 69-year-old Illinois congressman has an abiding faith in Congress.

Newspaper copydesks are unlikely sites for conversions. But that is where Rep. Henry Hyde of Illinois began his journey from liberal Democrat to conservative Republican more than 45 years ago.

As a Loyola University Law School student in the late 1940s, Hyde was working part-time for the Chicago Sun-Times proofreading Eleanor Roosevelt's columns. As he scoured the pieces for routine grammar and spelling errors, Hyde found himself increasingly distressed by what the first lady of the universe, as she was known, had to say.

One column in particular galled him. A former communist, Elizabeth Bentley, had identified William Remington in the Commerce Department as a fellow traveler; Remington was a friend of Eleanor Roosevelt, who defended him in print. Hyde can still tick off her words as if he read them in the morning paper: "This is another fantastic story from this evidently neurotic lady."

It turned out Remington had been a communist; he later was convicted of perjury and died in prison, stabbed to death by another inmate. "But Eleanor was content to call Elizabeth Bentley, who was a very brave person and had turned against her earlier communist affiliations and was helping this country - by naming people in high places who were communists - neurotic. That wasn't my idea of what the first lady of the universe should be doing."

These days, the same mix of indignation and moralism that provoked his aversion to Eleanor Roosevelt still pervades Hyde's politics.

Best known for the antiabortion amendment that bears his name, Hyde is a House Republican leader and a fierce sarcastic debater who has been known to fling off-color barbs at his liberal opponents. Yet for all his conservative bluster, Hyde and liberals sometimes are allies. Recently, for example, he crossed party lines to support the Family and Medical Leave Act, which guarantees workers three months' unpaid leave to care for newborns or ailing relatives. Hardly the sins of a political pariah, but Hyde's stand on such issues puts him at odds with many of his Republican colleagues.

"Family leave was opposed by many Republicans and most conservatives as an unwarranted intrusion into the decisions of the contract between labor and management, and I can understand that," says Hyde. "On the other hand, I'm one who insists that women not have abortions. [Given that] the law is a great teacher, I thought it would be helpful if our economic system recognized that childbirth is pretty darn important - so important that if a woman who is working gets pregnant and wants to have her child she should not have to forfeit her job.

"Moreover, I have experienced in my life a very serious illness in my family," says Hyde, whose wife of 45 years died in 1992 after a long bout with cancer. "I thank God that I was able to be by my wife's bedside during her last days."

Across the political spectrum, Hyde is admired for his eloquence and open mind. "He's a conservative, but a thoughtful conservative," says Ralph Neas, executive director of the Leadership Conference on Civil Rights, a coalition of liberal groups. "Every once in a while we get a chance to work together. He is a wonderful ally and formidable opponent."

It's rare these days for a bona fide conservative to find common cause with liberals so often. But Hyde is in many ways an anomaly among politicians. A hulking figure with an ample girth, he is a far cry from the blow-dried, telegenic legislators who increasingly prowl Capitol Hill. What's more, Hyde is a churchgoing Catholic who makes no bones about the fact that his religious beliefs influence his politics - in sharp contrast to New York Gov. Mario Cuomo and New York City Mayor Rudolph Giuliani, who say they accept Catholic teaching on abortion but do not wish to impose it on others.

Religion aside, some liberal politicians denounce Hyde's foray into the abortion debate. This white male, goes the oft-repeated argument, has no business telling women what to do with their bodies, much less denying federal aid to poor women who can't afford abortions. Rep. Cynthia McKinney, a Democrat from Georgia, has called the Hyde amendment "nothing but a discriminatory policy against women who happen to be disproportionately black."

That opinion may be widely accepted, but in Hyde's view it flies in the face of an equally popular credo. "If women can be senators and congresswomen, it certainly implies they can represent everyone in the district regardless of gender or color or ethnicity," he says. "That's all true and I accept that. We're all citizens and human beings. The question of life and death, and whose life is worthy and whose isn't, is not exclusively a female issue. It's a human issue."

And it's definitely Hyde's. Marshall Wittmann, director of legislative affairs for the Christian Coalition, says Hyde "brings power and eloquence to the debate unmatched by any member of the House," except perhaps by New Jersey Republican Christopher H. Smith, House pro-life caucus chairman. "Hyde is able to frame the issue in a way that carries a certain human touch that transcends daily rhetoric."