The Supreme Court justices’ responses
last Thursday to the oral arguments over Donald Trump’s disqualification under
Section 3 of the Fourteenth Amendment were worse than an embarrassment—they
were a disgrace. With the partial exception of Justice Sonia Sotomayor, the
members of the Court appeared woefully ignorant of the historical and
constitutional issues before them.
They took up in detail the
ramifications of an eccentric 1869 circuit court ruling by Chief Justice Salmon
P. Chase, In re Griffin, that Section 3 could not be enforced
without congressional approval, overlooking, except briefly and in passing,
that in that case Chase flatly contradicted what he had ruled in another trial
a year earlier.
They fretted over whether the
section’s disqualifications applied to the presidency and vice-presidency as
offices “under the United States,” ignoring the explicit evidence from the
Senate debates over the amendment in 1866, expressed most directly by Senator
Lot Morrill of Maine, that they plainly did.
Over the course of more than two hours
of presentations and disputations, gradually it became evident that the
justices seem to have no intention of ruling on the meaning of Section 3 and
whether it disqualifies Trump. Instead they appear to be casting about for a
rationale not to do so.
One possibility, which would appeal to
the justices across the ideological spectrum, would be to argue that
disqualifying Trump would be seen as an act of usurpation, the worst sort of
judicial activism, damaging if not ruining the Court’s standing as an
independent branch of government. The trouble is that, as I have argued in these pages,
both the amendment, interpreted on originalist grounds, and the facts of the
case could not be clearer in demanding Trump’s disqualification.
The justices cannot avoid reaching
that conclusion without appealing to some fictive, extraconstitutional
principle. In an effort to preserve the Court’s legitimacy, they seem ready to
render it illegitimate. Worse still, they may be hastening the constitutional
crisis they think they are heading off.
Trump’s able attorney, Jonathan
Mitchell, relied heavily on Chase’s ruling but shrewdly backed off from other
strong claims made by Trump’s defenders and even by Trump’s own briefs. At one
point, for example, he corrected Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson by pointing out
that there was indeed evidence that the framers of the amendment had the
presidency in mind.
Even as he stuck to Chase’s reasoning,
he took pains to remind the Court that it did contradict Chase’s ruling from
the previous year. But in these efforts to establish his own integrity,
Mitchell also underscored how unfamiliar nearly all of the justices seem to be
with the basic questions raised by the case.
Had they mastered the relevant
history, the justices would have understood that these seemingly evenhanded
concessions exposed the groundlessness of Trump’s claims. They would have
recognized, above all, that what turned out to be the basis of Mitchell’s
argument—Chase’s eccentric, one-off judgement—is not only extraconstitutional
but essentially worthless, as the leading experts in the field have concluded, in part
because of Chase’s earlier opinion.
Instead, for the most part they persisted in treating In re Griffin as a significant precedent, even though, since Chase made the decision from a circuit court, they have no obligation to do so. Justice Brett Kavanaugh clung to Griffin especially closely as “highly probative” of Section 3’s “original public meaning.”
Justice
Sotomayor, for her part, pushed back strongly against Mitchell’s reliance on
the Griffin case: “a non-precedential decision that relies on
policy, doesn’t look at the language, doesn’t look at the history, doesn’t
analyze anything than the disruption that such a suit would bring, you want us
to credit as precedential?”
*
The Court seems likeliest to find an
escape hatch in a point made by several of the justices, including Amy Coney
Barrett and Samuel Alito. Justice Elena Kagan stated it most starkly to Jason
Murray, the attorney representing the Colorado voters: “I think that the
question that you have to confront is why a single state should decide who gets
to be president.” Put that way, the question stands to reason; allowing a
single state to dictate a presidential election sounds absurd. But the question
is both irrelevant and evasive.
Under Article II of the Constitution,
the states have the power to decide how electors for the presidency are to be
chosen. Candidates for the presidency must meet any number of state-dictated
requirements before earning a spot on the ballot.
These include whether the candidate is
actually qualified to hold the office under the state and federal
constitutions. Individual states clearly, then, have the authority to bar any
unqualified candidate, including, under the terms of the Fourteenth Amendment,
an insurrectionist who previously swore an oath to support the Constitution.
To deny the states that authority
would be an extraordinary imposition of federal power. In the words of
one amicus brief submitted
by, among others, the Republican Party’s longtime chief legal counsel, Benjamin
Ginsberg, if the Court were to rule “that Colorado was powerless to make a
judicially-reviewable, pre-election decision concerning Mr. Trump’s
disqualification under Section 3,” it “would turn our federalist election
system upside down.”
The phrase “judicially reviewable” is
central to the Court’s evasion. Any state supreme court’s decision to
disqualify a presidential candidate can, of course, be reviewed by the US
Supreme Court.
Ever since the John Marshall Court’s
landmark ruling in Martin v. Hunter’s Lessee in
1816, the Court has assumed that its authority under the Constitution extends
to adjudicating state rulings on federal law. Once it agreed to hear Trump’s
appeal on the Colorado ruling, the Court was fully empowered to decide whether
that ruling should stand, above and beyond affirming the state’s authority over
elections—that is, to decide the meaning of Section 3 of the Fourteenth
Amendment.
Murray made the point explicitly in
reply to Justice Kagan’s skepticism about whether a single state should decide
the presidency: “No, your honor, because ultimately it’s this Court that’s
going to decide [the] question of federal constitutional eligibility and settle
the issue for the nation.”
It appears, however, that this is
precisely what the justices have decided not to do. The Court may wish not to
be thrust into the middle of a presidential election for the second time in a
quarter-century, after the debacle of Bush v. Gore,
but the prospect is staring the justices in the face. To decline to meet that
responsibility, no matter the fallout, would be a historic abdication.
It would also be an invitation to
constitutional chaos. To be sure, public discord would certainly ensue if the
Court were to rule before the election that Trump, as an insurrectionist, is
disqualified for a second term.
But that unrest would in all
likelihood be mild compared to what would follow if Trump were disqualified
after being elected. The amicus brief spells out several possible scenarios.
Were Trump to win the election, it is almost certain that members of Congress
would try to have him declared unfit to serve under the Fourteenth Amendment.
Since bipartisan majorities in the
House and Senate voted in 2021 to, respectively, impeach and remove Trump over
the insurrection, it is possible that such an effort might succeed. But even if
it failed, the effort would invite serious political instability and turmoil
between Election Day and Inauguration Day. By failing to rule now, the Court
could lay the groundwork for future catastrophe.
Sean Wilentz is the George Henry Davis 1886 Professor of American
History at Princeton. His books include No Property in Man: Slavery and
Antislavery at the Nation’s Founding. (February 2024)
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