Can the US Supreme Court be replaced with something honest?

elephantThe US Supreme Court has been much in the news lately, due to allegations of violence by its newest member against girls and women he knew in his youth.

Certainly Mr Kavanaugh is not someone I would like to see in a position of authority. But he is far from the only problem. Supreme Court Justices are accountable only to each other; the federal Code of Judicial Conduct does not apply to them, and Congress has never exercised its power to impeach and remove a Supreme Court Justice. Since they are a group of only nine people, who are thrown together for life, and their professional goal is to secure the agreement of a majority of their colleagues, it is hardly surprising that they are cozily tolerant of every kind of bad behavior on each others’ parts. The last time the New York Times checked, every Justice had taken fancy vacations paid for by private organizations. Those organizations, in their turn, were often funded by individuals and corporations with business before the Court. Justices also collect speaker’s fees that are sometimes out of proportion to the audiences they draw, and author’s fees that are sometimes out of proportion to the number of copies their books sell.

The beneficiaries of this largess include Justices associated with both political parties. Admirers of bipartisanship wax sentimental about the friendship between liberal Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg and her late colleague, far-rightist Antonin Scalia. There is even a comic opera called Scalia/ Ginsburg.  Their friendship is often commemorated in the media with a 1994 photograph of the two of them riding an elephant on a trip to India. Lost in all the gush is the still-unanswered question of who paid for that trip and what they received in return. And why should the Justices feel obligated to answer such questions? No Republican member of Congress would dream of bringing articles of impeachment against their party’s idol Scalia, and no Democratic member of Congress would dream of bringing articles against their party’s hero, “the notorious RBG.” With no prospect of punishment, in time it becomes impossible for the Justices even to see that what they are doing is corrupt.

Even if the Justices weren’t all on the take, the Supreme Court would still be a catastrophically ill-designed institution. Jedidiah Purdy alluded to a few of its flaws some months back:

What would be better? I would suggest looking to the ancient Athenians for a model around which to design a replacement. Instead of nine people who serve for life, I would suggest a pool of 6000 people. Unlike the Athenian Council of 500, which had a one year term, each of our 6000 would have to remain in the pool for twenty years. They would need some measure of expertise in constitutional law and other topics of jurisprudence, and there simply are not that many people with such qualifications.  Indeed, it might only be with the creation of this system that the number of lawyers who would demonstrate such qualifications would rise to the figures necessary.

Each state would have a number of slots to fill proportionate to its share of the population. So, with 12.1% of the US population, California would fill 12.1% of the slots in the pool (726/6000); with 0.18% of the population, Wyoming would fill 0.18% of the slots in the pool (11/6000); and so on. The twenty-year terms for these slots would end on a staggered schedule, so that every year 300 seats would be filled. We would fill them as the Athenians filled slots on their councils and commissions, by a process of “selection from the elected.” The lawyers in each state would nominate, let’s say, half and again the number of people that the state was allotted slots for that year. So if, in a given year, California had 36 slots to fill, the names of 54 Californian lawyers would be sent forward by that state’s bar association. A random drawing would decide which 36 of these would be entered in the pool.

At the beginning of each year, 600 would be chosen by lot from the pool of 6000. These 600 would be divided by lot into twelve groups of 50 each.  At the beginning of each month, there would be a drawing of lots to determine which group of 50 would provide that month’s Supreme Court Justices. Once their month is over, the 50 will be discharged for the year. Throughout their month, the 50 would be sequestered at a campus where one of the buildings would house the Supreme Court. At the beginning of each week, the names of nine of the 50 would be chosen. For that week, these nine would sit as the Supreme Court. No one could serve on the Supreme Court more than twice in a lifetime.

Federal appeals courts could be staffed from the same pool of 6000, again with restrictions to ensure that no one person sits as a judge on any one court for more than two weeks in a lifetime. Trial courts are a different matter; trials often last for long periods, so that the judge cannot have a term of less than a year. In situations like that, the Athenians resorted to a method proper to oligarchy, but which democracy could tolerate if not indulged to excess: they had popular elections. So I suppose, if we can’t have a truly democratic way of staffing the federal district courts, we will just have to elect those judges.

We see the people we look at, we look at the people we’ve seen

In the latest issue of The Nation, Alexander Cockburn argues that the reason Wisconsin’s Democratic US Senator Russ Feingold lost his seat in this month’s election was that too many voters associated him with the Obama administration and its habit of appeasing the Republican Party.  How can the senator regain his reputation?  Cockburn recommends that he challenge Mr O for reelection, presenting himself as an independent candidate in 2012.  Cockburn does not claim that US voters in general are looking for a populist candidate who will call Wall Street to account; rather he says that exit polls show that the public at large has no definite idea as to what it would like to see next.  But more respondents in those polls blamed Wall Street for the country’s economic woes than any other force, and Feingold’s record makes him a plausible champion of real reform.  Perhaps if someone like him made a case for curbing the power of the financial elite, public opinion would start to move in that direction.  Perhaps the existence of a populist candidate might give rise to a populist movement, which might in turn reshape the public’s perceptions of what is possible in US politics.

Barry Schwabsky’s  essay about painter Nancy Spero (1926-2009) is occasioned by a new book about her visual work, the reissue of her book on The Torture of Women, and an exhibition at the Centre Pompidou.  Schwabsky focuses at length on Spero’s decision to exclude male figures from her work.  Schwabsky points out that many critics who ceaselessly attacked Spero for her supposedly narrow range saw nothing narrow about the decision many of her contemporaries made to renounce representational art altogether. For Schwabsky, these critics missed the fact that Spero was, “after Matisse, the great painter of the dance.”  He enlarges on the comparison: “Matisse, speaking of his chapel in Vence, explained, “This lightness arouses feelings of release, of obstacles cleared, so that my chapel is not ‘Brothers, we must die.’ It is rather ‘Brothers, we must live!'” Spero’s late work embodies this same sense of release. “Sisters, we must live!” could be its motto.”   Even Spero’s protest, as in The Torture of Women, is never merely angry, never a counsel of despair; rather, she always affirms that life is still to be lived, “that judgment has yet to be rendered.”

Benjamin Barber looks at the US political scene and worries that Americans are losing their grip on reality.  More precisely, he fears that in our public life we no longer make much distinction between facts and opinions.  This development, Barber argues, is lethal to democracy:

The trouble is that when we merely feel and opine, persuaded that there is no possible way our opinion can be controverted or challenged, having an opinion is the same as being “right.” Being right quickly comes to trump being creditable and provable, and we lose the core democratic faculty of admitting that we might be wrong, and that our views must be judged by some criterion other than how deeply we hold them. Our polarized antidemocratic politics of personal prejudice is all about the certainty that we are right paired with the conviction that nothing can change our mind. Yet democracy is wholly contrary to such subjective certainty. To secure our liberty in a world of collectivity, we must remain endlessly sensitive to the possibility that we might be wrong. And hence to our reciprocal willingness to subject our opinions to corroboration—and to falsification. We teach evolution not because it is “true” in some absolute sense but because it is susceptible to falsification. Creationism is not, which is why evolution is science while creationism is subjective opinion—a fit candidate for belief but inappropriate to schooling.

Barber has spent a great deal of time replying to the so-called “Public Ignorance Objection” to direct democracy, arguing that if the public does not have the knowledge needed to govern itself, that is likely because it has had no occasion to gain that knowledge.  Let the people govern, and they will have an incentive to acquire not only the information that statecraft requires, but a set of habits that can translate that information into workable policy.  It’s a bit of a disappointment he didn’t have space to develop that theme here, but could only describe the problem.

Designed to fail

Jeffrey Reiman

The June 2010 issue of the ultra-conservative Chronicles magazine contains this paragraph, in a column by Philip Jenkins:

The concept of “designed to fail” was formulated back in 1979 in an influential study by leftist scholar Jeffrey Reiman entitled The Rich Get Richer and the Poor Get Prison.  Following Marxist theory, Reiman argued that the goal of the criminal-justice system was not to suppress crime but to promote and sustain acceptable levels of social misbehavior, with the aim of enhancing the power and resources of official agencies.  Crime, in short, is useful, even essential, for the preservation of state power.  Reiman was not postulating a conspiracy theory but exploring the dynamics of agencies charged with tasks that were literally impossible.  Yet rather than being discredited or disheartened by their failures, agencies stood to benefit mightily from them and actively sought out still more absurdly quioxotic challenges.  They were in a no-lose situation. 

This description reminds me of an idea I’ve sometimes tried to express.  In a representative democracy, political power is in the hands of the electorate, yet the electorate consists almost entirely of people who are in no position to know what the state is doing.  If the government undertakes a program meant to discourage certain crimes, the most the majority will now about this program is that it represents a campaign to fight crime.  Even if this program is an absolute success in rational terms, and entirely eliminates the crimes it was aimed at discouraging, the public will observe that other crimes still go unchecked.  The electorate, therefore, will count the program as a failure.  

Because of these disparate perceptions, advocates of increased state power find themselves in a position to appeal simultaneously to political insiders and to the public at large.  Insiders may respond to the fact that the program succeeded in its actual goals, and support future programs to pursue other goals.  The public at large will focus on the program’s imagined failures, and demand a more aggressive program to make good on promises that they suppose the first program to have made.  As a result, the degree of police authority and other sorts of bureaucratic domination tends to ratchet ever upward as a representative democracy develops.  When this idea first popped into my head a while back, I thought of labeling it “the authoritarian spiral.”  I was disappointed to find that political scientist Ian Loader had already coined the phrase “authoritarian spiral,” with another meaning, a few years before.  So I started calling it “the authoritarian ratchet effect,” which is admit not at all catchy.   

To prevent this ratchet effect from transforming a representative democracy into a despotism, I call for a revival of direct democracy.  People who are actively involved in drafting, approving, and carrying out particular laws are likelier to have an idea what can reasonably be expected of those laws than are people whose only involvement in that process is the right to cast one vote out of 100,000,000.

Acilius being long-winded

filibuster-1

Printouts of my recent comments

I (Acilius) am a frequent commenter on Alison Bechdel’s Dykes to Watch Out For blog.  As regular readers of Los Thunderlads are all too well aware, I can get pretty long-winded, so I try to restrain myself.  I was doing pretty well on the current thread, until I broke down completely and left a multi-screen essay about The Nature of Democracy.  After the jump, an explanation of how I came to display such poor manners.

(more…)

The Nation, 13 April 2009

nation-13-april-09Tony Kushner and Alisa Solomon review Caryl Churchill‘s new play, Tell Her the Truth, which tells the history of the Arab-Israeli conflict in ten minutes.  “Why is the play so short?  Probably because Churchill means to slap us out of our rehearsed arguments to look at the immediate human crisis.”  Churchill cares about what human beings are doing to each other and how they justify what they have done to themselves and to each other, especially in the justifications parents give their children.  Tell Her the Truth consists of a series of lines giving the parents of seven unseen Jewish children advice as to what they should tell those children about various historical acts of violence, some committed against Jews in the name of antisemitism, some committed by Jews in the name of Zionism. 

Tell Her the Truth, like every publication critical of Israeli policy, has attracted charges of antisemitism; much of the case against it apparently hinges on a line that does not appear in the play.  Some have claimed that the play raises the spectre of “blood libel,” the old idea that Jews ritually murder Gentile children.  “Those who level the blood-libel accusation insist that Churchill has written “tell her I’m happy when I see their children covered in blood.””  What she actually wrote was quite different: “tell her I look at one of their children covered in blood and what do I feel? tell her all I feel is happy it’s not her.”  Kushner and Solomon interpret the real line thusly: “The last line of the monologue is clearly a warning: you can’t protect your children by being indifferent to the children of others.”

(more…)