Wirls is a professor of politics at the University of California, Santa Cruz.
For most of the nation’s history, members of the U.S. House of Representatives have been addressed as “Congressman” or “Congresswoman.” By contrast, a senator is referred to as, well, “Senator.”
These gendered terms for House members dominate in journalism, everyday conversation and among members of Congress.
The name Congress refers to the entire national legislature, composed of the House of Representatives and the Senate. Gender identity aside, congressman and congresswoman are fundamentally inaccurate terms.
In the Constitution, Congress refers to the legislative branch as a whole. When discussing the membership of Congress, the Constitution uses “Representatives” and “Senators,” but also “Members” in reference to both. “Congressman” is nowhere in that founding document.
One of the foremost scholars of Congress, the late Richard Fenno, wrote, “a House member’s designation, as prescribed in the U.S. Constitution, is not Congressman, it is Representative.”
As a scholar of Congress and particularly the Senate, I am interested in the differences between the two chambers and how that affects American politics. In my investigation of the origins and evolution of congressman and congresswoman, I combed the records of colonial and state legislatures, as well as records related to the country’s founding and newspapers from the end of the 1700s to the mid-1900s.
Even if the current era were not one of justified sensitivity to gender neutrality and diversity, these two terms for House members are not just dated, they are wrong. Representative is the correct but rarely used term.
Historical use
How did this terminological oddity come to be?
Congressman was used as early as 1780 in a poem by a British loyalist to refer to members, formally known as delegates, of the single-chamber and Senate-like national legislatures that preceded the Constitution’s establishment of a two-chamber legislature.
From 1788 onward, the gendered term was sometimes applied to members of Congress in general but increasingly to representatives in particular.
The central linguistic logic at work in early 19th century use of the term congressman stemmed from the reporting of election results. Newspapers reported the choices for governor, lieutenant governor, assemblymen, congressmen and senators. The only elections to Congress, however, were for members of the House, in contrast to senators, who were selected by state legislatures.
So, senators referred not to the occupants of the U.S. Senate but to the state senate. U.S. senators would not be directly elected by citizens for more than a century. In this and similar reporting, it was unambiguous to refer to the election of “congressmen.”
The common usage, which was firmly in place by the end of the 19th century, was bolstered by the arrival of congresswomen, starting with Jeannette Rankin in 1917. That political breakthrough ironically reinforced the gendered terminology associated with this office. The few early congresswomen were eventually joined by the first elected female senator, who was referred to as Senator.
Indeed, senators are invariably referred to by their gender-neutral and constitutional title.
Few parallels elsewhere
The use of titles that are both unnecessarily gendered and inaccurate is almost restricted to the United States Congress. There are surprisingly few parallels and no true equals at the state or international levels.
The gender-neutral term designated in the Constitution already exists. The title Representative is used in certain formal but limited circumstances by journalists and others. For example, the widely used Associated Press style guide for journalists instructs that “Rep. and U.S. Rep. are the preferred first-reference forms when a formal title is used before the name of a U.S. House member.” But the style guide also advises that “congressman and congresswoman are acceptable,” and those terms dominate in most circumstances in print and television journalism.
And the use of congressman and congresswoman dominates even among representatives and senators themselves. Some members even seem to go out of their way to avoid the constitutional term, including Sen. Mitt Romney. Romney recently referred to former President Donald Trump’s communications with “Republican senators and congresspeople.”
And the use of congressman and congresswoman is at odds with other contemporary adjustments to circumvent or replace sexist or binary language, including personal pronouns. The application of gender neutrality through the constitutional title evades neologisms like congressperson, which is as clumsy as it is unnecessary.
Reminder of civic virtue
Even as the Senate has lost some of its prestige and luster, the House is seen as a lower rung on the ladder of U.S. politics. Perhaps the inferiority complex that attaches to membership in the House versus the Senate also encourages the use of congressman. Being a member of Congress – and therefore a congressman or congresswoman – may seem more prestigious in its focus on the institution as a whole.
But it doesn’t have to be that way; the House could instead embrace its official title.
Richard Fenno, quoted earlier, can finish his point: “Whereas ‘congressman’ or ‘congresswoman’ tends to call our attention to a House member’s Capitol Hill activities and to his or her relationship with colleagues,” Fenno wrote, “‘representative’ points us toward a House member’s activities in his or her home district and to relationships with constituents.”
Members relish their connections to their districts, their constituents and the democratic virtues that role conveys. And part of this is the implicit contrast with the Senate, with its undemocratic origins and enduring elitist pretensions.
As well as being gender-neutral and institutionally accurate, the original title is a powerful reminder of the civic virtue and founding purpose of the House of Representatives. It’s not just politically correct, it’s constitutional.![]()
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.




















A golden tray sits on the Resolute Desk as President Donald Trump speaks during an announcement on American nuclear innovation in the Oval Office at the White House on July 24, 2026, in Washington, D.C. Trump is signing multiple executive orders targeting the nuclear energy sector and easing rules for new reactors and nuclear fuel supply chains.
Trump’s hubris rivals the fallen heroes of ancient Greek mythology
In January, the New York Times asked President Donald Trump if there were any limits on his global powers.
“Yeah,” the president responded, “there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.”
That was eight months ago, but fortunately Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster adaptation of “The Odyssey” has made ancient Greek literature newly relevant. Before that window closes, I’d like to talk about hubris.
Today, the term mostly means excessive pride or arrogance. That’s part of what the Greeks meant by it too, but the meaning was a bit richer and more specific. Hubris was an insolent or outrageous act that offended the gods, often because the transgressor was claiming abilities or authorities that solely belonged to supreme beings.
Nolan renamed and slightly modified the concept of xenia for the film, calling it “Zeus’ law.” In the director’s telling, mortals should follow the rules laid out by the gods, specifically the requirement to treat strangers with respect lest they be gods in disguise.
In a sense, hubris is the opposite, or at least the rejection, of xenia. The hubris of the suitors, and at times Odysseus himself, invites punishment by the gods and their mortal instruments.
Which brings me back to Donald Trump. His claim that there are no constraints on his personal power to dictate events on the global stage was one of the greatest expressions of hubris ever uttered by a political leader.
Trump’s claim was obviously false when he made it.
He vowed that he could end the Russia-Ukraine war in 24 hours. He’s proved powerless to make that happen. If he had divine powers to work his will, why would he have balked at implementing his tariffs so often that Wall Street adopted the “TACO trade” term for his deals? “TACO” stands for “Trump always chickens out.”
And why would Trump have made so many embarrassing concessions to China — from rescinding tariffs on Chinese goods to allowing them to buy crucial and incredibly valuable computer chips?
But Trump saw his success at capturing Venezuelan strongman Nicolas Maduro as proof of his ability to launch missiles to the same effect as Zeus’ lightning bolts. Trump believed he was the most powerful man who ever lived.
This is no exaggeration. In March, when the Iran invasion seemed successful, Trump gave a document penned by“Presidential Historian David King” to New York Times reporters Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan purporting to prove that Trump was “the most powerful person to have EVER walked this planet.” King was, in fact, a businessman and occasional caddy for legendary golfer Gary Player.
King compared Trump favorably to many of history’s most powerful, and often heinous, figures: Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, William the Conqueror, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin, Genghis Khan, Mao Tse Tung, Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Lenin. Many of these men thought they were the most powerful person in the world, too. And many were defeated precisely because they believed it.
At least Napoleon and Hitler had a string of truly impressive victories before they learned the folly of hubris. The limits on Trump’s power have been exposed by far less august forces than the combined might of the allies in World War II or the fearsome Russian winter.
Iran is a comparatively middling power. But the regime’s ability to absorb punishment while imposing its will on the Strait of Hormuz has proved to be a greater constraint on Trump’s power than his morality or mind. We should note that, at least rhetorically, his morality has not proved much of a constraint. He has repeatedly promised to destroy Iranian “civilization” if the regime refuses to capitulate.
But they haven’t — and won’t anytime soon — because the regime’s tolerance for pain far outstrips Trump’s. The combined fear of skyrocketing oil prices, outrage of Gulf state potentates, diminishing weapon supplies and domestic unpopularity is doing the work that international law, congressional oversight and the collective opinion of foreign policy experts can’t or won’t do.
If I considered Trump more heroic than reason and facts could allow, I would say his Sisyphean predicament has the whiff of Greek tragedy to it. Trump is vexed by the fact that the Iranians won’t honor deals or ratify his countless premature claims of victory — giving new meaning to his vow that his presidency would make people tired of winning. It’s almost like they’re out-Trumping Trump.
Things might have gone better if he’d heeded that great Greek tragedian Sophocles: “For Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue.”
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Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.