One of the unspoken rules of the US supreme court is that the justices will never admit that they were wrong, and no one else is allowed to admit it, either.
Last week, in oral arguments in United States v Rahimi – which asks whether it is constitutional to take guns away from men who are subject to domestic violence restraining orders – the solicitor general, Elizabeth Prelogar, had to dance around this rule very delicately as she represented the federal government. The federal law disarming abusers had been thrown into question by a ludicrous and dangerous test for all gun restrictions that the supreme court instituted in its 2022 Bruen decision, one which makes it difficult to impose new gun laws if those laws aren’t sufficiently similar to ones on the books from either the revolutionary or civil war eras.
It’s a ridiculous test, one that is self-evidently not workable. But Prelogar couldn’t say that; instead, she said that lower courts had simply misinterpreted the court’s perfect test, making mistakes of methodology; that the prospect that domestic abusers could be rearmed, leading to the murders of thousands of American women, was not a result of the court’s reckless, short-sighted and self-interested decision making, but a result of other people’s mistakes. She asked them not to clean up their mess, but to “clarify” their thinking.
Something similar to Prelogar’s solicitous fiction about the justices’ infallibility was evident in the justices’ own missive, issued on Monday, declaring that the court would adopt a code of conduct. On the surface, this looked like a positive step. The supreme court has come under fire in recent months for its justices’ flagrant abuses of their station: their familiarity with billionaires who shower them with gifts and vacations; their lavish lifestyles and magically disappearing debts; their willingness to appear at fundraisers for political groups, and reluctance to recuse themselves from cases involving their family members, friends or financial interests.
But none of this was a real problem, the justices assured us. These concerns, they claim in a statement accompanying their new code of conduct, were not legitimate, and certainly not the product of any actual mistakes or nefariousness on the justices’ part. Rather, they were merely the result of the failure of the silly, misinformed and stupid public to understand that the court, in its mighty wisdom, is already perfectly ethical.
“The absence of a Code,” the justices wrote, “has led in recent years to the misunderstanding that the Justices of this Court, unlike all other jurists in this country, regard themselves as unrestricted by any ethics rules.” However did Americans get that impression?
It is meaningful that the justices issued this code of conduct; it means that the public pressure on the court – which has been the subject of outrage and disgust since its 2022 Dobbs decision eliminating the constitutional right to an abortion, and which has subsequently come under increased scrutiny for its indifference to either the appearance or the reality of conflicts of interests – is working.
The justices often make it clear that they read their own press, but they do not often deign to make any changes to their actual behavior, or to try to discipline their own institution. More often than not, they suggest that such gestures would be beneath them. Not so with the code of conduct, which signals that the justices admit that there is at least some obligation they have to the American people. As the legal commentator Chris Geidner put it, “They have acknowledged that the public rightfully has expectations that they will behave in an ethical way.” It’s better than nothing.
But not much better. The new code of conduct, the justices assure us, is merely a formalization of guidelines to which they already adhered, a claim which on its own raises doubts about the code’s sufficiency. The code is based on a binding code of conduct that is applied to judges on the lower courts – but significantly weakened in its application to the supreme court justices.
The commanding word “shall” that characterizes the lower courts’ code of conduct is softened throughout, in the supreme court version, to “should”. Prohibitions on corruption are dotted with exonerating qualifiers, like Swiss cheese. Where the lower courts’ code says judges shall not “lend the prestige of the judicial office to advance the private interests of the Justice or others” or “convey or permit others to convey that they are in a special position to influence the Justice”, the supreme court modifies this influence-peddling prohibition with a loophole big enough to drive Clarence Thomas’s RV through: the modifier “knowingly”.
This kind of softening edit appears throughout the code: its strained language and convoluted application of exceptions seems like the product of vociferous intra-court infighting, or the lobbying of certain justices to ensure that their own questionable ongoing conduct can be excepted from the code. This might be the code’s one silver lining: its language seems evidence of chaos, disagreement and discord on the court, reminding us that even though we are stuck with this conservative supermajority, they are also stuck with each other.
Even this weakened and exception-ridden code, it should be noted, has no enforcement mechanism. There is no way to investigate whether a justice has broken the code, no way to adjudicate the question of his or her wrongdoing, and no way to discipline him or her for any violation. The question of how to interpret the code, how to abide by it, and what to do in the event that it is broken is left entirely to the justices themselves – just like all their ethical questions were before.
This response to questions about the court’s ethics with a defiant insistence that they will only ever police themselves is consistent with the way the justices have responded in the past. This is, after all, the same court that has refused to cooperate with congressional oversight of its own ethical misdeeds and appearance of corruption just this year, with the chief justice, John Roberts, issuing a contemptuous refusal to appear before the Senate judiciary committee in April. Justice Samuel Alito, meanwhile, opined to the Wall Street Journal this summer that Congress had no right to impose oversight or regulation on the court – that the justices and their power are immune from the principles of checks and balances.
A belief that the court is its own sole and highest authority was also evident the last time the justices tried to explain away their own misconduct, when they issued a “Statement of Ethics Principles and Practices”. Like this code of conduct, that statement, published just this past April, also had no enforcement mechanism; like this one, it seemed more designed to quell public outrage about the court than to meaningfully circumscribe the justices’ behavior. No one fell for it that time, either.
Moira Donegan is a Guardian US columnist
