“What if the Internet interprets Silicon Valley as damage and routes around it?” – Glenn Reynolds
New! – Your Sunday Evening Under the Radar Haiku April Surprise
Libertarians:
Great ideas, principles;
Socially clueless.
—-
Vegetarians:
Like atheists and swingers,
Tend narcissistic.
Should Law Yield to a Judge’s Personal Beliefs?
Linda Greenhouse, writing about the late federal judge Stephen Reinhardt, also mentions Supreme Court justice William Brennan, and says “Doctrinal purity mattered less to him than extracting even the most gossamer claim to a favorable result.” She evidently sees this as a good thing.
I’m reminded of something written by Sebastian Haffner, who at the time of the Nazi takeover of Germany was a young lawyer working at the Prussian Supreme Court, the Kammergericht:
It was strange to sit in the Kammergericht again, the same courtroom, the same seats, acting as if nothing had happened. The same ushers stood at the doors and ensured, as ever, that the dignity of the court was not disturbed. Even the judges were for the most part the same people. Of course, the Jewish judge was no longer there. He had not even been dismissed. He was an old gentleman and had served under the Kaiser, so he had been moved to an administrative position at some Amtsgericht (lower court). His position on the senate was taken by an open-faced, blond young Amtsgerichtsrat, with glowing cheeks, who did not seem to belong among the grave Kammergerichtsrats…It was whispered that in private the newcomer was something high up in the SS.
The new judge didn’t seem to know much about law, but asserted his points in a “fresh, confident voice.”
We Refendars, who had just passed our exams, exchanged looks while he expounded. At last the president of the senate remarked with perfect politeness, ‘Colleague, could it be that you have overlooked paragraph 816 of the Civil Code?’ At which the new high court judge looked embarrassed…leafed through his copy of the code and then admitted lightly, ‘Oh, yes. Well, then it’s just the other way around.’ Those were the triumphs of the older law.
There were, however, other casescases in which the newcomer did not back down…stating that here the paragraph of the law must yield precedence; he would instruct his co-judges that the meaning was more important than the letter of the law…Then, with the gesture of a romantic stage hero, he would insist on some untenable decision. It was piteous to observe the faces of the older Kammergerichtsrats as this went on. They looked at their notes with an expression of indescribable dejection, while their fingers nervously twisted a paper-clip or a piece of blotting paper. They were used to failing candidates for the Assessor examination for spouting the kind of nonsense that was now being presented as the pinnacle of wisdom; but now this nonsense was backed by the full power of the state, by the threat of dismissal for lack of national reliability, loss of livelihood, the concentration camp…They begged for a little understanding for the Civil Code and tried to save what they could.
“The meaning was more important than the letter of the law”…Linda Greenhouse’s approving gloss on Brennan’s judicial strategy is in my view uncomfortably close to the methodology of this newly-assigned Kammergerichtrat. I am not saying, of course, that Greenhouse is a Nazi; I am, however, saying that the judicial interpretation approach that she prefers is highly dangerous.
(I discussed Haffner’s experiences at the Kammergericht, and their relevance to American today, in 2013 at Chicago Boyz, where an interesting comment thread developed)
Also highly dangerous: the attitudes and behavior of those CUNY law students…law students, mind you…who recently tried to shout down a talk being given by law professor Josh Blackman. See also Blackman’s own article about his experience at CUNY.
The mainstream of the Democratic Party and its supporting media has gone very far in the directions of legislation by the judiciary, and is moving rapidly toward the approval of politics by mob action. The prospect of Democratic control of Congress and/or the Presidency…even of Democratic dominance following a crippling of the Trump presidency…should be absolutely terrifying to all who value American institutions.
Haffner’s memoir is an important and well-written document; I reviewed it here.
(The above was also posted at Ricochet, in slightly different form; so far, it is only on the Member feed)
The Privileged and the Ruling Class
One of my internet guilty pleasures is perusing the website of the UK’s Daily Mail newspaper, both the US and UK sides. I know in the grand scheme of things, the Daily Mail is about one half-step up from a tabloid. The captions and headlines often give evidence of being written by middle-school students innocent of any knowledge of conventional grammar or spelling, they employ the execrable Piers Morgan, editorially despise Donald Trump, and have this inexplicable and unholy fascination with all things Kardashian. In my early blogging days, I favored the rather more high-class Times of London, and the Telegraph, but they went all pay-wall and frankly, hard to read. In any case and against the above-listed foibles and more, the Daily Mail is a free and straightforward read. Start at the top and scroll down; no hopscotching around to the various menu headings, hoping to get lucky and find something interesting. They nearly always do provide some daily amusement, or horror, depending on tastes. And they cover American news without fear or favor although, as noted, they have no abiding affection for The Donald. They didn’t have for The Barack, either, so I’ll take what I can get, for easy AM reading.
This week’s headline bruhaha made the American conservative side of the blogosphere develop that kind of nervous eyelid twitch demonstrated by Inspector Clouseau’s boss in the classic Pink Panther series: an elderly retiree in a distant London suburb surprised a pair of burglars who had broken into his house in the middle of the night with the intent of robbery and god knows what other kind of criminal mayhem. This being England, land of hope and glory and strict gun control, the thirty-something burglar (who had a comprehensive record as an honest-work-shy professional criminal) was armed with an assault screwdriver, with which he menaced the home-owner. Much to everyone’s surprise including, no doubt, the professional burglar and his faithful sidekick the elderly retiree succeeded in defending himself against a pair of younger and presumably bigger men. Indeed, one of the felonious pair was stabbed fatally with his own screwdriver, collapsing in the street outside, whereupon his faithful sidekick abandoned him, gunned their escape vehicle, and vanished in a cloud of exhaust. (The police are searching for him, at last result, although they have located the burned-out escape vehicle. So much for honor among thieves, and the ability of the London police force.) The assault screwdriver-wielding professional career criminal was found, bloodied and dying in the street, taken to a hospital, wherein he expired. Well, they always said that crime doesn’t pay, even though for him it seemed that the eventual bill was a long time coming.
Whither Social Media?
Damned if I know, as my educated guess as a long-time milblogger is probably about as good as yours. I never had a Myspace account too busy with the original milblog, I guess, to be aware of or want to participate in any of the original or prototype Facebook iterations. Never got into Twitter, although I do have a barely-used, and all but neglected account, which I am camping on, since there is another author Celia Hayes out there, who likely would scoop it up, as soon as I vacated that account. (Yes, I am, spiteful that way. That other Celia apparently never did a google-search, upon deciding to publish her contemporary rom-coms. There is such a thing as due diligence…)
See I am a long-form blogger. There are those of us whose skill is witty epigrams, or slashingly vicious put-downs on a daily basis. Mine is not; I prefer to open up a document, meander at my own pace, and then hit “publish.” Tedious, I know, for those readers with the attention-span of a gnat, but my most intense literary influences where those of the Victorians, who wrote complicated sentences, some of them lasting for at least a quarter of a page, if not for longer. My sense of humor (as well as my tastes in architecture) was set in stone by the influence of a book in the parental collection: Osbert Lancaster’s Here of All Places, who was at least as good as a cartoonist as he was a wordsmith, if slightly ponderous and wonderfully dry.