Elena Kagan once referred to Jonathan Mitchell sarcastically as “some genius”. That was in oral arguments surrounding SB8, the bounty-hunter abortion ban that Texas succeeded in passing before the overturn of Roe v Wade, which Mitchell wrote, pioneering a cockamamie scheme for evading judicial review.
Mitchell, a far-right lawyer currently vying for a spot in the second Trump administration, is a fan of this kind of bald, legal bad faith: you can’t quite call him duplicitous, because he never quite pretends that the law really leads him to the conclusions he’d like to reach. He’s more about coming up with novel legal schemes to get to his desired outcome and trusting that the federal judiciary, captured as it is by Federalist Society acolytes and wingnut cranks, will go along with him because they share his political proclivities.
That’s what worked for him with SB8: the supreme court allowed Texas’s abortion ban to go into effect long before Dobbs: not because Mitchell made a convincing argument, but because he offered them an opportunity to do what they wanted to do anyway.
Something similar happened in Thursday’s oral arguments in Trump v Anderson, a question about whether Donald Trump is disqualified from holding federal office under section three of the 14th amendment.
The case reached the supreme court after a Colorado court found that Trump’s actions on January 6 disqualified him. The court wanted to disagree and was desperate to find a way to restore Trump to the Colorado ballot without addressing the underlying question of whether Trump committed an insurrection or not. Mitchell, Trump’s lawyer, gave them very little help: he gave a shoulder-shrugging argument to the justices, after filing a bizarre and strained brief that primarily focused on the absurd claim that the president is not an “officer.” Left to their own devices, the justices went fishing, looking for an argument that could plausibly allow them to exit the case, since Mitchell did not provide them one.
The winning entry came from Justice Samuel Alito, who first offered the suggestion that a state like Colorado did not have the authority to enforce section three of the 14th amendment without congressional permission. The rest of the justices seemed to like the sound of that and were soon all asking questions about the scope of state authority over the administration of federal elections.
It was a bit of an odd argument: the court recently came close to embracing a much more wide-reaching vision of the authority of state legislatures to govern federal elections in their borders, in its address of a rightwing legal curiosity called the “independent state legislature theory”. And the notion that section three of the 14th amendment requires congressional action to go into effect is on its own peculiar: no other section of the amendment has been found to require such instigating legislation from Congress, and the language of the amendment itself suggests that the disqualification of onetime insurrectionists is something that Congress has to act to turn off, but not to turn on.
It is strange, too, that the court, which in past years has made dramatic and ruinous changes to American life out of its professed loyalty to our nation’s “history and traditions”, chose to more or less completely ignore the suggestions of history here. The 14th amendment’s section three has seldom been enforced – in part because of the rarity of insurrections – and so there are few impediments to the court’s self-styled originalists delving headfirst into the history of the amendment’s intention and context.
But instead the justices chose to dismiss the considerable evidence that the framers of the 14th amendment intended section three to be used precisely to protect the republic from a figure like Trump. They attend themselves instead not to the lessons of the past, but to the incentives of the present.
By the end of the arguments, it was clear: what the justices will write will be a 9-0 or 8-1 decision (only Sonia Sotomayor voiced much dissent) saying that section three is not self-enacting, or at any rate that the states cannot enact it themselves. They will have arrived at this conclusion not because the argument was made persuasively or at all by Trump attorney Mitchell – it wasn’t – and not because it is the place where the text compels them to arrive – it isn’t. They will instead have fabricated this reasoning out of whole cloth, because it gets them out of an inconvenient question: the question of whether the constitution’s substantive protections for democracy can withstand the stress Trump applies to them.
One point that several of the justices touched on, and which has been taken up by those skeptical of the Colorado case and similar efforts to disqualify Trump from office on 14th amendment grounds, is the notion that his disqualification would be somehow anti-democratic, disenfranchising the people who would like to vote for him and would not get a chance to.
But democracy means more than the simple ability to vote; it requires a commitment to constitutional principles – to the limits of an office, to the rights of the minority, to the separation of private and public interests among those in power and to the willingness to place the dignity of the country before the petty preferences of the man who leads it.
Trump has no intention of upholding these principles. We know: he tells us all the time. To disqualify him would not be to undermine democracy but to protect it, by averting the seizure of the republic by the man who has been quite frank about his intention to destroy it.
Meanwhile, section three of the 14th amendment now seems set to be orphaned – denied its status as self-effecting, curtailed in its enforcement by the states. If section three is still the law, and if insurrectionists are still barred from taking federal office, then how can this law be enforced? And that’s where the court, in its apparent effort to avoid having to take much of a stand on the issue, seems to have planted a loaded gun. Because if states can’t enforce the ban on insurrectionists in office, then only Congress can. And where would Congress do that? At the certification of the electoral votes – on 6 January 2025.
Moira Donegan is a Guardian US columnist
