The Federalist Society’s reactionary 6-3 majority gets ready to deliver on some of their radical ideologically-driven promises, after demonstrating their zeal a few times already when they had a 5-4 majority (see examples below). Taking no chances on any of these jurists being “compromisers” of their deeply held, often religiously fervent, beliefs, the 6-3 majority was carefully vetted to avoid what happened when some Republican appointees wound up being amenable to compromise in recent decades. As Ruth Marcus wrote in the Washington Post the other day (all quotes are from that essay, linked below):
. . .[O]ver time, and under the tutelage of the conservative Federalist Society, Republican presidents, beginning with George W. Bush and intensifying with Trump, became better at picking reliably conservative justices. There were to be no more David Souters, who turned out to be a solid liberal vote; no more Sandra Day O’Connors, whose background as an Arizona state legislator often inclined her to compromise; no more Anthony M. Kennedys, the pale-pastel conservative named to the court after Ronald Reagan’s first choice, Robert H. Bork, was resoundingly defeated.
Future justices would have judicial paper trails to provide assurance of their conservative bona fides on everything from explosive social issues to government regulation, a topic important to legal conservatives and their financial backers. And so the post-Rehnquist years produced the Roberts court, adding not only the chief justice but also Samuel A. Alito Jr. and, with Trump’s election and Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell’s (R-Ky.) stage-managing, three new conservative justices: Neil M. Gorsuch, Brett M. Kavanaugh and Barrett.
Even Before McConnell audaciously rammed through a sixth hardcore conservative, a member of a Christian religious cult, for good measure, (a Harvard law professor cited in the article correctly refers to these hardcore “conservatives” as reactionaries, partisan resisters of social change intent on turning the clock back at any price):
The conservative majority notched steady victories. It let federal executions resume for the first time in 17 years. And its decisions dramatically moved the law on religion, simultaneously carving out greater protections for religious freedom and lowering the barrier of separation between church and state. Religious institutions received exemptions from having to comply with anti-discrimination laws, even as states were required to provide equal benefits to religious and secular private schools. In other words, churches could discriminate but could not be discriminated against.
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The Biden administration, after McConnell orchestrated the reactionary 6-3 majority (and recall, the blocked Merrick Garland nomination would have made the court 5-4 the other way), meanwhile waits for a team of legal experts, appointed in April, to issue a report confirming that it is constitutionally permissible to add justices to the Supreme Court (though apparently Biden has no will to do that [1]). The U.S. Constitution gives no set number and there have been different numbers of justices at different times in our history.
Ruth Marcus gives detailed examples of the “nonpartisan” court in action, from an excellent and chilling essay called The Rule of Six: A newly radicalized Supreme Court is poised to reshape the nation recently published in the Washington Post (graciously gifted to you by the supremely generous Jeff Bezos) about what these highly partisan culture warriors are preparing to do, in this term and for as long as they live.
My only problem with Marcus’s essay is her conclusion that rebalancing the court by adding nonpartisan justices is a “remedy worse than the disease.” Her position is that the left (one could say representative democracy itself) has simply been outplayed by canny partisans like Mitch McConnell and Leonard Leo (longtime VP of the Federalist Society who led the well-funded campaigns to support the Supreme Court nominations of John Roberts, Samuel Alito, Neil Gorsuch, Brett Kavanaugh, and Amy Coney Barrett) who have delivered a solid, carefully vetted, ideologically-driven 6-3 reactionary majority that is now immune to the compromise that rules a 5-4 court.
Marcus seems to urge us all to resignedly strap in for the next thirty years or so as this band of zealous partisans rewrites the Constitution, brazenly, sometimes wildly, for a few generations of unchallengeable right-wing rule. We who are not enthusiastic Trumpists will have to content ourselves with excoriating dissents from the three judge’s powerless to alter any decisions, no matter how wrongly decided.
Here are a few examples from from a long essay, analyzing several grievous decisions by this new 6-3 court, well worth reading.
Months later, with Joe Biden in office, the partisan tinge to the majority’s decision-making became clearer. Having stepped in time and again on behalf of the Trump administration, the court rebuffed a Biden administration request that seemed at least as worthy of emergency intervention. It involved the Trump administration’s Migrant Protection Protocols, better known as the “Remain in Mexico” policy, under which tens of thousands of asylum-seekers had been required to wait across the border, often in squalid and dangerous conditions, as they awaited hearings.
The policy had been put on hold during the pandemic; the Biden administration, on taking office, suspended and ultimately terminated the program. In August, a Trump-appointed district judge in Texas took the extraordinary step of ordering the administration to start it back up. The appeals court declined to intervene. So Biden’s acting solicitor general, Brian H. Fletcher, turned to the justices with an urgent request, arguing that the injunction “imposes a severe and unwarranted burden on Executive authority over immigration policy and foreign affairs.”
The justices had seen this issue before, actually. When immigration rights groups challenged the legality of the Remain in Mexico policy and a different district court judge blocked it from taking effect, the Trump administration raced to the high court seeking a stay. Then, the court, over Sotomayor’s objection, granted the request.
Somehow, when the Biden administration asked for a similar accommodation, none was forthcoming. The trial court order remained in place, over the objections of the three liberal justices. If anything, the interference with presidential prerogative and international relations — ordering a new administration to resume its predecessor’s policy — seemed more severe than when the Trump administration won its stay. It was hard to see what was different here, except that one petitioner was named Trump and the other Biden.
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Here’s another unsettlingly juicy paragraph from the same essay:
The other conservative justices fumed about what they viewed as the court’s disregard for religious rights [during the pandemic], and over the following months their anger only grew, expressed in acerbic dissents. Then Barrett arrived — and with her, a dramatic change in the law, on Nov. 25, 2020, just a month after the Senate voted to confirm her. At issue this time was an executive order issued by New York Gov. Andrew M. Cuomo, imposing strict limits on attendance at religious services in areas of high covid spread.
Now, the conservatives had a new justice on their team and little patience for deference to state officials who seemed to favor acupuncture clinics and laundromats over churches and synagogues. “Even in a pandemic, the Constitution cannot be put away and forgotten,” the five-justice majority wrote in an unsigned opinion. “The restrictions at issue here, by effectively barring many from attending religious services, strike at the very heart of the First Amendment’s guarantee of religious liberty.”
The case was striking for the public display of hostilities between Gorsuch and Roberts, an unusual glimpse into the tensions that simmered within the conservative camp as well as the internal sniping about Gorsuch, who had arrived at the court without the deferential demeanor of a junior justice.
In a sneering concurring opinion, Gorsuch took aim at the chief justice’s concurrence in the California case a few months before. “Mistaken from the start,” Gorsuch wrote, and it got uglier from there. The “judicial impulse to stay out of the way in times of crisis … may be understandable or even admirable,” he lectured, but “we may not shelter in place when the Constitution is under attack. Things never go well when we do.”
The chief’s response was subtler but no less acidic, remarkable to those accustomed to Roberts’s generally even, above-the-fray temperament. Gorsuch had taken Roberts to task for having “reached back 100 years” to find a supportive precedent, the court’s 1905 decision in Jacobson v. Massachusetts upholding fines for failing to obtain smallpox vaccine.
In reply, Roberts wrote that Gorsuch was the one who was overreacting to a perfectly logical citation. “While Jacobson occupies three pages of today’s concurrence, it warranted exactly one sentence” in the California case, Roberts wrote. “What did that one sentence say? Only that ‘[o]ur Constitution principally entrusts [t]he safety and the health of the people to the politically accountable officials of the States to guard and protect.’ It is not clear which part of this lone quotation today’s concurrence finds so discomfiting.” This was the judicial equivalent of asking, “What’s your problem, dude?”
Even more than the tensions between the two men, however, the case underscored two new realities on the court. First, Roberts was no longer the pivotal player. He had been outvoted.
Second, this new majority wasn’t about to let prudence get in the way of exercising power. Roberts had voted to leave the New York restrictions in place even though, he said, they “do seem unduly restrictive.” Cuomo had redrawn the affected areas, he noted, so that the churches and synagogues that brought the caseweren’t any longer subject to attendance caps. Therefore, Roberts reasoned, the court had no need to issue “an order telling the Governor not to do what he’s not doing.”
The new majority wasn’t buying it. “The applicants remain under a constant threat,” they said. After all, why put off deciding something until tomorrow if you’ve got the votes today?
And one last, especially chilling and consequential ruling about facially discriminatory state election laws that are “merely” partisan and not provably, intentionally racist (foreshadowing the fate of anything that Congress might theoretically achieve, Manchin, Sinema and 9 Republicans permitting, with the stalled Freedom To Vote Act and the John Lewis Voting Rights Advancement Act):
But if one case from the 2020 term epitomized the brazenness of the new majority, and signaled more to come, it was Brnovich v. Democratic National Committee, decided on the last day of the term. This time, in a case about voting rights, the conservatives were united, with Roberts fully on board.
Since his service as a young lawyer in the Reagan administration, Roberts had been a long-time antagonist of a broad reading of the 1965 Voting Rights Act, which he saw as an affront to states’ rights and an unnecessary artifact of what he views as a bygone era of explicit discrimination.
In 2013, Roberts wrote the 5-to-4 majority opinion in Shelby County v. Holdereviscerating Section 5 of the Voting Rights Act, the critical mechanism that required jurisdictions with a history of voting discrimination to obtain advance approval for voting changes — known as “pre-clearance” — from the Justice Department. For decades, this provision safeguarded the votes of millions of minorities — and drove Republicans in the South and other covered areas to distraction. In Shelby County, Roberts led the charge to neuter the law.
“Our country has changed” since the Voting Rights Act was passed, Roberts proclaimed, with arguably excessive optimism. In any event, he assured anyone who might be concerned, “Our decision in no way affects the permanent, nationwide ban on racial discrimination in voting found in” Section 2.
That would wait for Brnovich. Section 2 allows after-the-fact challenges to changes in voting procedures. In a 1980 decision,the court held that Section 2 applied only to intentional discrimination, not to practices that have the effect of disadvantaging minority voters.
In the aftermath of the 1980 ruling, Congress — yes, it was a different era — passed a new, strengthened version of Section 2 designed to make clear the law barred practices with discriminatory effects, whatever the motive. The new Section 2 prohibited any voting practice that “results in a denial or abridgment of the right … to vote on account of race or color.”
For years, that provision had taken a back seat to Section 5, because pre-clearance wassuch a powerful tool. But in the grim aftermath of Shelby County, voting rights advocates sought to expand the use of Section 2.Advertisement
Brnovich was the high court’s first take on this effort — and it did not go well. The case involved two Arizona voting rules: The first was a state policy that disqualified an entire ballot that wascast in the wrong precinct — even if some parts of the ballot, say for candidates for statewide or federal office, were still valid. The second was a law that made it a crime for most third parties to collect and deliver ballots to election officials — what Republicans pejoratively term “ballot harvesting.”
It was easy to see — if you cared to look — how both rules had a discriminatory impact on minority voters, in particular on Arizona’s population of Native American voters. As Kagan outlined in a scorching dissent, Arizona is a national leader in tossing otherwise valid votes cast in the wrong precinct; in 2012, it accounted for almost 1 in 3 of such discarded ballots, 11 times the rate of the nearest contender, Washington state.
And the Arizona rule clearly operates to disadvantage minority voters. In 2016, Hispanic, Black and Native American voters were twice as likely as Whites to have their ballots discarded. Alito’s majority opinion sniffed that this was no big deal — only a sliver of minority voters’ ballots (around 1 percent) was affected. Kagan: “A rule that throws out, each and every election, thousands of votes cast by minority citizens is a rule that can affect election outcomes. If you were a minority vote suppressor in Arizona or elsewhere, you would want that rule in your bag of tricks.”
The ballot collection rule was even more discriminatory. Most Arizonans vote by mail. But access to mail is severely limited for the state’s Native American voters. Just 18 percent of Native Americans in rural counties have home delivery, compared with 86 percent of White voters in those same counties. Getting to a mailbox or post office can mean a drive of up to two hours. Between a quarter and half of Native American households in these communities lack a car, according to evidence before the court. So relying on third parties to collect and deliver ballots was a regular practice for Native American voters — until Arizona, seizing on the opportunities created by Shelby County and the end of pre-clearance review — made it illegal to do so. Never mind the absence of evidence that the practice resulted in fraudulent votes.
In his opinion for the six-justice majority, Alito grappled with almost none of this. As Kagan pointed out, “Except in a pair of footnotes responding to this dissent, the term ‘Native American’ appears once (count it, once) in the majority’s five-page discussion of Arizona’s ballot-collection ban.”
Yet what was particularly astonishing was the majority’s disregard of its own supposed principles, such as careful adherence to statutory text. Alito didn’t merely ignore Section 2 — he engaged in a total rewrite. He invented new tests, all designed to shrink the reach of the law — a law Congress had already revised to make clear its intent to provide broad coverage crystal clear.
How big was “the burden imposed by a challenged voting rule”? Did the state’s “entire system of voting” provide enough other opportunities to cast a ballot? What about “the strong and entirely legitimate state interest in preventing election fraud”? None of this was in the law.Advertisement
Kagan’s dissent pulsated with fury, justifiably so, over the majority’s blithe abandonment of its professed commitment to textualism. “The language of Section 2 is as broad as broad can be,” she noted.“But the majority today lessens the law — cuts Section 2 down to its own preferred size. … No matter what Congress wanted, the majority has other ideas. This Court has no right to remake Section 2.”
No right, perhaps, but all the power. Not a single conservative justice put a limiting construction on Alito’s destructive interpretation of Section 2. The only concurrence came from an even more conservative direction: Gorsuch, joined by Thomas, wrote to say it wasn’t even clear there was any right for private parties to sue under Section 2 at all.
In the uproar over Alito’s majority opinion, the Gorsuch/Thomas concurrence received little attention, but it was an especially dishonest piece of work. To support its unfounded assertion that “lower courts have treated this as an open question,” the concurrence cited a single appeals court case that merely raised the issue in passing. The case was from 1981, the yearbefore Congress rewrote the law, and in doing so made clear that it allowed private lawsuits. “It is intended that citizens have a private cause of action to enforce their rights under Section 2,” the House report on the law stated.
None of this stopped Gorsuch and Thomas. Theirs was no idle observation — it was a bring-it-on invitation for future mischief-making, part of the broader conservative drive to close off access to the federal courts. The offer was eagerly taken up by Texas not many months later, when private plaintiffs sued to challenge the state’s new voting law.
[1] Ruth Marcus, on Biden’s judicial advisory commission:
{Republican] anxiety was evident as summer turned to fall. As the first Monday in October approached, a remarkable number of justices felt compelled to speak publicly in defense of the institution. Perhaps they were rattled by the Biden administration’s commission on the Supreme Court — even though that panel wasn’t intended to do much more than head off demands from the left for radical changes such as expanding the size of the court. Perhaps the polls got to the justices as well. In July 2020, the court’s approval rating stood at 58 percent in a Gallup poll, the highest in a decade; by the end of September 2021, that had dropped to 40 percent, the lowest since Gallup started testing the question in 2000.
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