The Supreme Court hears arguments in a square room under a square ceiling divided into 16, maybe 32, smaller, decorated squares. The ceiling gives way to Rome-inspired carved entablatures supported by 24 marble pillars with heavy red curtains in between. Aside from a few features, the room feels wholly isolated from the outside Capitol. The silent, gilded clock centered above the Chief Justice has an ever-moving second hand. The quietly hidden windows on the right wall give a little sunlight to the room. Between the pillars, stiff wood chairs face the wall of Justices, seating as many spectators as possible once the rows of pews, which are often reserved for prestigious lawyers and press, are filled.
The Court Chamber, fittingly, has a thick air of supremacy. Walking in, ushered by serious and well-suited staff members, you feel like you’re breaking the rules just by being there. You’ve just stepped behind the curtain into the Holy of Holies, and you’re a gentile. This space wasn’t made for your eyes. This carpet (which is also decorated with squares) isn’t for your feet. These pews aren’t padded for your ass. This ornamented room houses the most powerful court in the world — some of the most powerful people in the world. You can try to belittle the Supreme Court with scandal and skeptical loathing, but it still stands as completely bigger than you. Sure, the pompous references to ancient architecture throughout the building are imitations, but they’re not cheap ones. If any building in America has the authority to carve up marble (with images of Moses, Confucius, and other famous lawgivers) like we’re worshipping a culture-inclusive Greek pantheon, it’s this one.
Since 5 a.m., we had stood in a line outside the Supreme Court Building to watch the 9:30 a.m. oral arguments of Relentless, Inc. v Dept. of Commerce. Within two hours of waiting, the 20-degree morning had thoroughly frozen and fatigued our feet. We paced in place as the sky went from black to navy to orange to blue. We watched the city workers salt the sidewalk snow, and the joggers stomp by to keep footing in the black ice. By 9 a.m., our place in line had become the neck of an ever-growing group of sixtyish. When the Court Building opened, a security guard counted off the first 20 people in line and led us through a side door to security. The middle-aged men waiting directly behind us, who had fought the cold since 5:05 a.m., didn’t make the cut. I met eyes with one as I walked away toward the building, watched him sink into the rejected posture of a boy who wasn’t picked to play in the same group as his friends during first-grade recess. Taking the early-morning Uber to the Court Building had been a smart move.
I had a good view of the nine Justices from my place in the back of the Court Chamber. It’s surreal. When you see famous, historical people walk into a room, everyone else around you becomes part of a blurry background. Like in a cartoon when the illustrator doesn’t bother to fully animate the background faces. I had Blue skidoo-ed my way right into my con law textbook. The arguments started. As each Justice spoke, I felt a heavy duty to listen to and weigh every word (which wasn’t easy; their mics were quiet).
For four hours, I watched them discuss and debate fundamental democratic questions about our government — something they do all day, every day, their whole life. I watched Roberts quietly listen from his center seat, Kagan dish out prepared arguments against the plaintiffs, Jackson keep an impressive posture and question both sides intently. I watched Thomas hold his head in his hands while he seemed to fight sleep. Intermittently he’d turn around and ask a young, tired-eyed clerk to bring him another leather-bound book. I watched square-faced Gorsuch giggle during the plaintiff’s argument, whisper and laugh with Thomas behind serious Soto-Mayor’s back, and scribble a note to Barrett on his right, who quietly smiled at whatever was on the paper. From my angle, I could clearly see how far each Justice was leaning back in their swivel chairs. Except for Alito and Roberts, the Justices seemed much more inclined to recline depending on their degree of conservativism.
One of my friends unsubtly fell asleep halfway through the arguments. Head fully hunched over, slightly snoring. “Exciting tourism” is subjective. The security guards glared at him as they roamed back and forth between the pews.
“Who is this kid?”
Even the world’s most powerful court can’t stand against sleep deprivation and a long morning of freezing in a line. Not with modern attention spans anyway. I like to think that Thomas, sitting behind the mahogany Bench across the room, blanketed in his long black robe, noticed my friend napping. He might’ve been jealous.
