Opinion | When the Law Is Not a Trump Card

The multiplying indictments of Donald Trump, I argued a couple of weeks ago, are putting an end to all attempts to simply practice normal politics in 2024. For both his Republican primary opponents and eventually President Biden, the ongoing efforts to put a former president in prison will shape and warp and shadow every effort to make more prosaic political arguments against a Trump restoration.

But there is a corollary to this point, brought home by the conjunction of this week’s Georgia indictment and an argument from two conservative legal scholars that the 14th Amendment’s third article, aimed at excluding Confederates who had betrayed oaths to the Union from political office, should apply to Trump after the events of Jan 6. If the legal challenges against Trump have the power to shape the democratic politics of 2024, the shaping power also works the other way. As extraordinary judicial proceedings alter democratic politics, the legal arena is inevitably politicized as well, undermining its claim to standing some distance outside and above democratic realities.

This isn’t a judgment on the legal merits of any of the Trump indictments. It doesn’t matter how scrupulous the prosecutor, how fair-minded the judge; to try a man, four times over, whom a sizable minority of Americans believe should be the next president, is an inherently political act. And it is an especially political act when the crimes themselves are intimately connected to the political process, as they are in the two most recent indictments.

The prosecutions seek to demonstrate that not even a president is above the law. But if Trump is indeed the Republican nominee, the proceedings against him will potentially end by subjecting the judicial to the political, the law to raw politics, because millions of Americans can effectively veto the findings of the juries by simply putting Trump in the White House once again. And even if they do not make that choice (I think they probably won’t), even if the polls currently overestimate Trump’s strength (I think they probably do), the entire election will still be an object lesson in the supremacy of the political, because everyone will see that the court rulings aren’t actually final, that political combat is stronger than mere law.

You can see all that and still support Trump’s prosecutions as a calculated but necessary risk — in the hopes that having him lose twice, in the courts and at the ballot box, will re-establish a political taboo against his kind of postelection behavior and on the theory that this outcome is worth the risk that the whole strategy will fail completely if he wins.

If you see things that way, good; you see clearly, you are acting reasonably. My concern is that not enough people do clearly see what’s risked in these kinds of proceedings, that many of Trump’s opponents still regard some form of legal action as a trump card — that with the right mix of statutory interpretation and moral righteousness, you can simply bend political reality to your will.

Certainly that’s my feeling reading the argument that the 14th Amendment already disqualifies Trump from the presidency and that indeed no further legal proceedings — no trial for rebellion or treason, no finding of guilt — are necessary for state officials to simply exclude him from their ballots.

The authors of this notable argument, William Baude and Michael Stokes Paulsen, are serious conservative legal scholars of the originalist persuasion, and their claims are couched in close attention to the text of the amendment and its history. Since I am not a legal scholar, the fact that I do not find these arguments remotely plausible can be partially discounted, so I would direct you first to two different critiques: one from a conservative scholar and friend of the authors, Stanford’s Michael McConnell, and one from a critic of originalism, Georgia State’s Eric Segall.

McConnell suggests that to avoid giving the 14th Amendment’s provisions a dangerously anti-democratic breadth, such that all manner of normal democratic dissent and rabble-rousing could be deemed disqualifying, we should assume that they refer to a large-scale insurrection, military rebellion or explicit civil war. Applying them to a political protest-turned-riot, even a riot that disrupted the transfer of presidential power, risks a serious abuse of power — “depriving voters of the ability to elect candidates of their choice” — without adequate limitations on its use.

Meanwhile, Segall questions the authors’ claim that the amendment’s provisions are “self-executing,” that they can be applied to Trump or any other supposed insurrectionist immediately. He points out that this interpretation was already rejected in 1869 by Salmon Chase, then the chief justice of the United States, one year after the amendment’s ratification in the only ruling we have on this question. This is acknowledged by Baude and Paulsen, to be sure, who argue at length that Chase was wrong. But they are still in the dubious position of claiming that theirs is the true “original” reading of the amendment, seeking some way to deal with the problem of Donald Trump a century and a half later, rather than the reading offered at the time of ratification that has stood unchallenged since.

Then here is the point that I, a non-scholar, want to make (though I should note that Segall makes it as well): Even if Baude and Paulsen were deemed correct on some pure empyrean level of constitutional debate, and Salmon Chase or anyone else deemed completely wrong, their correctness would be unavailing in reality, and their prescription as a political matter would be so disastrous and toxic and self-defeating that no responsible jurist or official should consider it.

The idea that the best way to deal with a demagogic populist whose entire appeal is already based on disillusionment with the established order is for state officials — in practice, state officials of the opposing political party — to begin unilaterally excluding him from their ballots on the basis of their own private judgment of crimes that he has not been successfully prosecuted for … I’m sorry, the mind reels. It should not happen, it would not work if it did happen, John Roberts and four more justices would not uphold it, and it would license political chaos to no good purpose whatsoever. And if the legal theorist’s response is that this isn’t the “best” way to deal with Trump, it’s just the way that the Constitution requires, then so much the worse for their theory of the Constitution.

There is an irony here, which is that a similar kind of legal mentality influenced Trump’s campaign to overturn the results of the 2020 election. John Eastman’s argument that Mike Pence could interpose himself between the official results of the election and Joe Biden’s inauguration was a much more fanciful constitutional argument than the one that Baude and Paulsen make. But it was similar in imagining a particular interpretation of the Constitution as something that can just be deemed correct and then imposed by a particular actor — the vice president in the Eastman case, state election officials in theirs — without regard to anything that would naturally follow in the realm of the political.

What would have probably followed from the Pence maneuver, as his own lawyer advised him, would have been either a swift smackdown from the courts or the vice president standing alone against both houses of the legislative branch. (This seems like one reason Eastman’s crackbrained proposal was not a rebellion under 14th Amendment definitions; if Confederate secession could have been defeated through a quick appeal to the Supreme Court, it would not have been much of a rebellion either.)

But imagine, if you will, a world where Eastman had uncovered, days before Jan. 6, some piece of historical evidence that raised his theory’s status from “desperate Trumpist motivated reasoning” to “an idea that merits some academic debate.” Suppose even that a few liberal legal scholars had been forced to concede a little ground to his position. Would this in any way have changed the total political folly of the Pence maneuver, the impossibility of levering a presidential outcome from the vice president’s supervisory position, the purposeless destabilization that such a gambit would entail?

I say that it would not, that where legal theory touches politics in this way it must necessarily deal with political considerations, that appeals to law and legal text alone are not enough to settle matters if political realities are against you. That is the cold knowledge that all of us watching Trump’s extraordinary indictments converge with his extraordinary campaign need to carry into 2024.