'Lawless': Will SCOTUS chief draw a constitutional red line?

As President Donald Trump sweeps the law aside, indiscriminately firing government employees, closing agencies and departments, pressuring law firms and universities, and seizing people residing lawfully in the country without due process, the nation’s eyes have turned to John Roberts. Surely, the chief justice of the Supreme Court, guardian of institutional legitimacy, will draw a constitutional red line, writes George Thomas in a book review for the Washington Monthly. 

Yet Trump has thus far governed on the opposite assumption—that the Roberts Court won’t stop him—and he has good reason to believe as much. Nowhere is this clearer than in Trump v. United States, the presidential immunity case decided last year. Roberts overlooked what was in front of his nose, the January 6 assault on the Capitol, and instead penned an opinion that on its face immunized presidents against legal responsibility if they were engaged in “official acts.” Roberts insisted that this was necessary, lest presidents be afraid to make the tough decisions that often fall to them. For a Court that so frequently turns to history, one had to wonder just what history the Court was looking at. Presidents in the second half of the 20th century, even after Watergate, have not exactly been shy about claiming sweeping official power. 

Trump seems to have taken the ruling’s central lessons to heart: By way of executive order, clothing his action with the veneer of an “official act,” he has asked the Justice Department to open an investigation into Christopher Krebs, his former director of cybersecurity, for telling the truth to the American people. As Trump was lying about the 2020 election results, and falsely claiming election fraud and interference, Krebs, doing his job, insisted that, according to the evidence, the 2020 election was free and fair. For this, Trump is attempting to use the power of his presidency to punish Krebs. 

Should the chief justice be surprised? Is he surprised that Trump might ignore the Supreme Court and disregard the niceties of the Constitution? What will the Court decide with regard to the president’s blunderbuss tariffs, his shipping of people out of the country without due process, and his firing the heads of independent regulatory agencies without cause? 

Leah Litman gives us good reason to doubt that the Roberts Court will hem Trump in. Indeed, her new book, Lawless, seeks to demonstrate that this Court was constructed to advance a Republican agenda. When Justice Antonin Scalia passed away at the beginning of an election year, then Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell refused to hold a confirmation vote for Barack Obama’s Supreme Court appointee. Yet when Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg died with early voting already underway in the 2020 election, McConnell muscled Justice Amy Coney Barrett’s confirmation through the Senate. Politics over rules. If Litman is right, there is little hope that the Court will tame a lawless administration; because it is driven by “conservative grievance,” not law. 

A professor of law at the University of Michigan, former clerk to Justice Anthony Kennedy, and cohost of the hit podcast Strict Scrutiny, Litman is writing for fans, not to persuade perplexed Court observers. Each chapter is contrived around pop culture references, like “The Ken-Surrection of the Courts” and “The American Psychos on the Supreme Court”—the former referring to the Barbie movie and the Court’s rollback of women’s reproductive rights, and the latter referring to Christian Bale’s character in American Psycho and the Court’s “murder” of the administrative state. Lawless is filled with casual snark: “Okay, but that’s just like your opinion, bro(s)”; “Come on!”; “Maybe that is true … On Mars”; “Duh!”; and “O RLY?” Litman fans—and there are many—will love it. As an occasional listener to Strict Scrutiny, which is both insightful and entertaining, I found the snark somewhat distracting and juvenile. 

It’s too bad. Litman has a serious argument here: We should understand the Supreme Court as part of the Republican coalition, undoing wide swaths of law to advance the party’s political agenda. She is at her most compelling when illuminating how the Court’s opinions are part of this larger political and constitutional project, not isolated instances of constitutional interpretation. Consider the Court’s Dobbs decision, which overturned Roe v. Wade. There are long-standing jurisprudential criticisms of Roe, some of which can even trace their lineage back to Justice Ginsburg. Yet what Litman illustrates is that overturning Roe was part of a conservative vision that goes beyond reproductive rights. Abortion rights, as Litman argues, symbolized “feminism and feminists,” and Republicans sought to roll back advances in gender equality, which many saw as an attack on the family. William Rehnquist, as a young lawyer in the Nixon administration, insisted that outlawing sex discrimination would lead to the “dissolution of the family.” Samuel Alito similarly opposed changes that would bring women to Princeton, criticized the availability of birth control, and, as a young lawyer in the Reagan administration, argued for overturning Roe. Alito got his wish three decades later when he authored Dobbs. 

Dobbs is not disembodied jurisprudence that exists outside of politics. For Litman, it is part of a larger political effort to reject gender equality. This attitude—grievance, as Litman has it—is manifest in J. D. Vance’s quip about “childless cat women” or that women who do not have children are “sociopathic” and “shouldn’t get nearly the same voice” in politics as people with children. Dobbs is the opening salvo: Birth control, giving women the ability to make fundamental choices about family and careers, has come under attack in Republican-controlled states. Litman observes similar moves regarding LGBTQ rights, and highlights the Republican Party’s 2016 platform, which called for justices who would overrule not just Roe but Obergefell—the 2015 decision finding state laws that prohibited same-sex marriage unconstitutional—as well. 

Even the Supreme Court’s jurisprudential approach, relying on history and tradition, neglects gender. As Litman writes, 

Originalism supports a political project of taking away rights from groups that were not always included in American politics and society. It effectively maintains that a group possesses rights today only if the group possessed those rights in laws that were enacted in the 1700s or 1800s.

When the Fourteenth Amendment was ratified in 1868, women had few legal rights even within marriage, did not have the vote, and were prohibited from professions like law simply because they were women. As the Court put it in 1873, 

The natural and proper timidity and delicacy which belongs to the female sex evidently unfits it for many of the occupations of civil life. The constitution of the family organization, which is founded in the divine ordinance, as well as in the nature of things, indicates the domestic sphere as that which properly belongs to the domain and functions of womanhood.

Conservatives, some of whom have called for a “manly originalism,” as Litman helpfully reminds us, would undo gender equality as we know it. We are already witnessing tragic instances of women dying because abortion restrictions prohibit them from getting the medical care they need. 

Litman has a similarly powerful argument when it comes to the Court’s voting rights decisions. As a young lawyer in the Reagan administration, Roberts “produced memo after memo outlining objections to expanding the VRA,” drawing on opinions written by Rehnquist, for whom he had clerked, to narrow the reach of the act. When Roberts was situated in the center chair himself, his Shelby County opinion began a rollback of federal voting rights enforcement. Under Section 4 of the Voting Rights Amendment, states that had engaged in racially discriminatory practices in the past had to get federal approval before changing their voting rights laws. Roberts found this unconstitutional because it rested on outdated information. But the result was telling: States that were once part of the confederacy began altering their election laws in ways that disproportionately made it more difficult for racial minorities, particularly Black people, to vote. We do not have to think that this is Jim Crow II to find the pattern deeply disturbing. 

Yet past Supreme Courts—the New Deal and Warren Courts—also have roots as part of political coalitions. And these courts also instituted profound changes to constitutional law, setting aside precedents and offering novel constitutional understandings. Is the Roberts Court different on this front? 

At times, yes. Most notably, given Litman’s argument, the New Deal Court was in line with a large governing majority, and even the Warren Court, which is viewed too often as an anomaly, was embedded within the coalition of Kennedy-Johnson liberalism as it brought the white South into line with the rest of the country. Partly in contrast, the Roberts Court is supported at best by a slim plurality in a deeply divided country, and its decisions—overturning Roe, for instance—are often out of line with democratic sentiment. Plus, the current Court relies heavily on text and history but does so in a highly selective manner. On gun control and abortion rights, for instance, the Court has embraced a view of history that confines our understanding of the Fourteenth Amendment to the middle years of the 19th century. Yet confronted with whether Donald Trump had disqualified himself for office under Section 3 of the Fourteenth Amendment by instigating January 6 and the events around it that tried to keep him in power, the Court had little interest in history or original meaning. It would have been momentous to remove a presidential candidate from the ballot, and there was at least some reason to doubt that Trump had engaged in an insurrection under Section 3’s terms, but the Court simply neglected these foundational questions.

The Roberts Court is sweeping away well-established law based on a theory of the separation of powers that finds little grounding in constitutional text, history, or precedent.

Supreme Court opinions always raise contingencies and qualifications, but Litman demonstrates how the current Court too often leans into Republican causes. And they do so even if it requires dismantling the jurisprudential legacy of their judicial icon—Justice Scalia—on issues like the free exercise of religion. Here the Court has begun to insist not only that the establishment clause allows the states to directly fund religious institutions, but also that the free exercise clause commands it. Such an understanding finds little grounding in history or original meaning, and would have baffled James Madison, but it has become part of a conservative insistence that Christianity is prone to persecution in contemporary politics. 

Litman also chronicles how the Court has acted on long-standing Republican goals to limit the power of administrative agencies: overturning precedent which held that courts should defer to an agency’s reasonable interpretation of a statute when it was ambiguous; demanding that agencies show clear intent on the part of Congress if their regulations engage “major questions”; and questioning whether Congress is even allowed to delegate its power to agencies in the first place. These developments have limited the reach and power of executive branch agencies, placing that power instead in the hands of courts. Litman goes so far as to say the Supreme Court has “murdered” the administrative state. More compellingly, she insists that the Court is sweeping away well-established law based on a theory of the separation of powers that finds little grounding in constitutional text, history, or precedent. This is particularly true of the idea of non-delegation—that Congress cannot delegate its power to administrative agencies housed in the executive branch. The Court seems determined to revisit this issue, which could dismantle the administrative state and, notably, lead to widespread deregulation, which accords with the desires of leading Republican donors. 

If the Court has hemmed in administrative power, it is set to unleash the power of the president by way of “unitary” executive theory. The idea of the unitary executive is that the president gets complete control over the executive branch, including the power to remove government officers for any reason he sees fit. Does this mean that the president has control over all administrative agencies, including independent regulatory agencies like the Federal Reserve? Founding-era history does not even begin to support such claims. The first great discussion about removal, the Removal Debate of 1789, found arguments on all sides. Indeed, Alexander Hamilton, deemed the father of the unitary executive, insisted in Federalist 77 that the president needed Senate approval to remove officers as well as to appoint them. If we have settled on the precedent that presidents can remove political officers, we have also settled on the fact that Congress can insulate some officers that head independent agencies from presidential control. 

Trump wants to overturn this settlement. The White House has fired an extraordinary number of government employees, including lawyers who resisted Trump’s edicts in the name of the law. In Trump v. Wilcox, the president has asked the Court to endorse his constitutional authority to remove the heads of independent agencies at will. If the Roberts Court agrees, it would sweep away nearly a century of constitutional law and vest the president with kingly power to go along with the kingly immunity it has already bequeathed him. It remains to be seen whether the putative institutionalist John Roberts can assemble his Court to preserve institutions against this constitutional assault. Litman gives us reasons to be skeptical, and she is right to remind us that preserving constitutional institutions depends on political movements that work over the course of years. That is the struggle we find ourselves in today.

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