In the grand theater of American politics, there exists a unique breed of bureaucrats, the unsung heroes (or perhaps the lightly sung anti-heroes) of democracy: the subcommittees. You may have heard of them, you may have ignored them during your ninth Zoom meeting of the day, or you may have even glanced at their official photographs hung haphazardly in the halls of Congress. But none quite capture the imagination like the now-defunct Subcommittee on Civil Rights and Civil Liberties. Ah, yes, the subcommittee that oversaw nothing! Imagine, if you will, a band of merry bureaucrats equipped with nothing but clipboards and the vague sense of urgency that comes from reading the first three paragraphs of a report on civil rights. They are like the Fellowship of the Ring but without the epic quest—unless your idea of an epic is to correct typos in reports or to discuss the existential crisis of the comma in a congressional context. One can only wonder if their motto was “To boldly go where no one cares to follow.” Picture this leadership team reading the instructions on their nameplate: “Subcommittee on Civil Rights and Civil Liberties: We’re Here to Oversight” while actually supervising the silent cinematic drama of a single dusty potted plant in the corner of Room 202. “Is it alive or simply a relic of the last oversight meeting?” one member might ponder. And thus ensued hours of fruitful discussion on the plant's well-being—soliciting testimonies from both botany experts and the janitorial staff, of course. What *did* they oversee, you ask? Absolutely nothing! Their greatest accomplishment was their uncanny ability to rake in endless hours of deliberation over issues so thrillingly mundane that they could have given dry paint a run for its money. Picture them huddled in a cramped government office, sipping cold cups of coffee, discussing the malleability of the word "liberty"—perhaps around bingo enthusiasts at a local retirement home, where they enthusiastically debated “What is freedom?” while passing around a plate of stale cookies. Every once in a while, the light of urgency would illuminate their otherwise monochromatic discussions. They called it “Oversight Day”—the annual event where they collectively decided they would oversee at least one thing. For one campaign season, they resolutely agreed to address the crisis of “the missing pens”—the terrible tragedy of inadequate stationery supplies in the House of Representatives. After an exhaustive review, filled with teary testimonies about the pain of writing with outdated ballpoint pens, they declared, “The pen is mightier than the sword, but only if it works.” And just like that, they set the legislative world ablaze, or at least made it mildly warm, just like a lukewarm cup of coffee. In terms of actual oversight, we can only imagine what might have happened had they focused on anything of merit. Founded with the ambition of protecting civil liberties, one might think they would tackle the impacts of voter suppression, police reform, or even the inexplicable number of television shows canceled after one season—high stakes indeed! But alas, no session of “critical” thought was ever dedicated to these hot-button issues. Instead, they opted for the well-trodden and thrilling path of “Will the budget for staplers go up this year?” After a few years of hiding under the majestic shadow of “the greater good,” the subcommittee faced the everyday villain: the new political regime. The horrific sound of Republican control swooped in like a superhero to rid the world of these diligent overseers—and just like that, the Subcommittee on Civil Rights and Civil Liberties was dissolved. One can almost hear the echoing cries of: “Who will oversee the overseers of nothing?!” And so concluded the untold adventures of those dedicated souls who embarked on a thrilling journey to… nowhere. With the flick of a pen, they ceased to exist, leaving behind only fond, bewildered memories of a subcommittee that oversaw nothing and yet somehow oversaw the absurdity of it all. Game over. Or at least, until the next committee conundrum emerges.