Language and Courts Shield
Language and Courts Shield
Language and Courts Shield
Courts shield
Keith E. Whittington 5, Cromwell Professor of Politics Princeton
University, Interpose Your Friendly Hand: Political Supports for the Exercise
of Judicial Review by the United States Supreme Court, American Political
Science Review, 99(4), November, p. 585, 591-592
Political leaders in such a situation will have reason to support or, at
minimum, tolerate the active exercise of judicial review. In the American
context, the presidency is a particularly useful site for locating such behavior.
The Constitution gives the president a powerful role in selecting and speaking
to federal judges. As national party leaders, presidents and presidential
candidates are both conscious of the fragmented nature of American political
parties and sensitive to policy goals that will not be shared by all of the
presidents putative partisan allies in Congress. We would expect political
support for judicial review to make itself apparent in any of four fields of
activity: (1) in the selection of activist judges, (2) in the encouragement of
specific judicial action consistent with the political needs of coalition leaders,
(3) in the congenial reception of judicial action after it has been taken, and
(4) in the public expression of generalized support for judicial supremacy in
the articulation of constitutional commitments. Although it might sometimes
be the case that judges and elected officials act in more-or-less explicit
concert to shift the politically appropriate decisions into the judicial arena for
resolution, it is also the case that judges might act independently of elected
officials but nonetheless in ways that elected officials find congenial to their
own interests and are willing and able to accommodate. Although Attorney
General Richard Olney and perhaps President Grover Cleveland thought the
1894 federal income tax was politically unwise and socially unjust, they did
not necessarily therefore think judicial intervention was appropriate in the
case considered in more detail later (Eggert 1974, 101 14). If a majority of
the justices and Cleveland-allies in and around the administration had more
serious doubts about the constitutionality of the tax, however, the White
House would hardly feel aggrieved. We should be equally interested in how
judges might exploit the political space open to them to render controversial
decisions and in how elected officials might anticipate the utility of future
acts of judicial review to their own interests. [CONTINUES] There are some
issues that politicians cannot easily handle. For individual legislators, their
constituents may be sharply divided on a given issue or overwhelmingly
hostile to a policy that the legislator would nonetheless like to see adopted.
Party leaders, including presidents and legislative leaders, must similarly
sometimes manage deeply divided or cross-pressured coalitions. When faced
with such issues, elected officials may actively seek to turn over controversial
political questions to the courts so as to circumvent a paralyzed legislature
and avoid the political fallout that would come with taking direct action
themselves. As Mark Graber (1993) has detailed in cases such as slavery and
abortion, elected officials may prefer judicial resolution of disruptive political
issues to direct legislative action, especially when the courts are believed to
be sympathetic to the politicians own substantive preferences but even
when the attitude of the courts is uncertain or unfavorable (see also, Lovell
2003). Even when politicians do not invite judicial intervention, strategically
minded courts will take into account not only the policy preferences of wellpositioned policymakers but also the willingness of those potential
policymakers to act if doing so means that they must assume responsibility
for policy outcomes. For cross-pressured politicians and coalition leaders,
shifting blame for controversial decisions to the Court and obscuring their
own relationship to those decisions may preserve electoral support and
coalition unity without threatening active judicial review (Arnold 1990; Fiorina
1986; Weaver 1986). The conditions for the exercise of judicial review may be
relatively favorable when judicial invalidations of legislative policy can be
managed to the electoral benefit of most legislators. In the cases considered
previously, fractious coalitions produced legislation that presidents and party
leaders deplored but were unwilling to block. Divisions within the governing
coalition can also prevent legislative action that political leaders want taken,
as illustrated in the following case.
Language
AT: Languistics
underlies any attempt to explain the possibility of translation. Chomsky suggests that the common basis of
all languages is universal phonetics and semantics, with the result that "certain objects of human thoughts
and mentality are essentially invariable across languages." (13) To the best of my knowledge Chomsky did
not develop this idea in the direction of explaining the possibility of translation. In contrast, linguist Eugene
Nida insists that outside experience is the common basis of all languages when he writes that "each
language is different from all other languages in the ways in which the sets of verbal symbol classify the
various elements of experience." (14) ida did not provide the philosophical basis of the view that the
external world is the common source of all languages. Such a basis can be found in the philosophy of
Objectivism, originated by Ayn Rand. Objectivism, as its name implies, upholds the objectivity of reality.
This means that
Rand defines
language as "a code of visual-auditory symbols that denote concepts." (15) These symbols are the written
or spoken words of any language. Concepts are defined as the "mental integration of two or more units
possessing the same distinguishing characteristic(s), with their particular measurements omitted." (16)
This means that concepts are abstractions of units perceived in reality. Since words denote concepts,
words are the symbols of such abstractions; words are the means of representing concepts in a language .
Since reality provides the data from which we abstract and form
concepts, reality is the source of all words--and of all languages. The very
existence of translation demonstrates this fact. If there was no
objective reality, there could be no similar concepts expressed in
different verbal symbols . There could be no similarity between the
content of different languages , and so, no translation .
I am calling these presuppositions "Machiavellian" in less than a philosophical and more than a
metaphorical sense. In the first instance, the limitations of a purely legal/juridical approach to politics are
anticipated in Machiavelli's beastly advice in The Prince concerning the "two methods of fighting, the one
by law, the other by force." The former, Machiavelli observes, "is often insufficient," hence one must "have
recourse to the second." Then follow his famous remarks upon the lion and the fox (Machiavelli 1950, 64).
In the second instance, Machiavelli anticipates the limitations of a concept of political speech as a practice
of redeeming validity claims (especially with regard to sincerity), when he advises the prince that politics
requires both the appearance of such qualities as sincerity, but also a "mind so disposed that when it is
a
truly virtuous prince-as-political-actor must not only be always ready
to intend to deceive others, but also able to resist attempts by
others to "redeem" the (sincere) intention behind the speech-act
that deceives. In light of these Machiavellian insights, we might also bear in mind Foucault's
observation that even the "best" theories and philosophies do not
constitute very effective protection against disastrous political
choices. We should reckon with the fact that there is an extremely tenuous link
between a philosophical conception of (political) language as
communication, or a philosophically grounded account of political principles on the one hand,
and the concrete speech dynamics of strategic political actors who
needful to be otherwise you may be able to change to the opposite qualities" (1950, 65). In short,
conflict, racism, poverty, and injustice. In short, as Clarke (1991) asserts, postmodern emphasis on new
subjects conceals the old subjects, those who have limited access to good jobs, food, housing, health care,
and transportation, as well as to the media that depict them. Merod (1987) decries this situation as one
which leaves no vision, will, or commitment to activism. He notes that academic lip service to the
oppositional is underscored by the absence of focused collective or politically active intellectual
communities. Provoked by the academic manifestations of this problem Di Leonardo (1990) echoes Merod
and laments: Has there ever been a historical era characterized by as little radical analysis or activism and
as much radical-chic writing as ours? Maundering on about Otherness: phallocentrism or Eurocentric tropes
has become a lazy academic substitute for actual engagement with the detailed histories and
contemporary realities of Western racial minorities, white women, or any Third World population. (p. 530)
Clarke's assessment of the postmodern elevation of language to the "sine qua non" of critical discussion is
an even stronger indictment against the trend. Clarke examines Lyotard's (1984) The Postmodern
Condition in which Lyotard maintains that virtually all social relations are linguistic, and, therefore, it is
through the coercion that threatens speech that we enter the "realm of terror" and society falls apart. To
this assertion, Clarke replies:
Although the material conditions that create the situation of marginality escape the purview of the
postmodernist, the situation and its consequences are not overlooked by scholars from marginalized
groups. Robinson (1990) for example, argues that "the justice that working people deserve is economic,
not just textual" (p. 571). Lopez (1992) states that "the starting point for organizing the program content of
education or political action must be the present existential, concrete situation" (p. 299). West (1988)
asserts that borrowing French post-structuralist discourses about "Otherness" blinds us to realities of
American difference going on in front of us (p. 170). Unlike postmodern "textual
radicals" who
Rabinow (1986) acknowledges are "fuzzy about power
and the realities of socioeconomic constraints" (p. 255), most writers from marginalized groups
are clear about how discourse interweaves with the concrete circumstances that create lived
told they are living in a world in which there are no more real subjects. Ideas have
consequences. Emphasizing the discursive self when a person is hungry and homeless represents both a
cultural and humane failure. The need to look beyond texts to the perception and attainment of concrete
social goals keeps writers from marginalized groups ever-mindful of the specifics of how power works
through political agendas, institutions, agencies, and the budgets.
Virginia Tech, The patterned mess of history and the writing of critical
geopolitics: a reply to Dalby, Political Geography 15:6/7, p 661-5)
While theoretical debates at academic conferences are important to academics, the discourse
and concerns of foreign-policy decisionmakers are quite different, so
different that they constitute a distinctive problemsolving, theoryaverse, policy-making subculture. There is a danger that academics assume that the
discourses they engage are more significant in the practice of foreign policy and the exercise of power
than they really are. This is not, however, to minimize the obvious importance of academia as a general
institutional structure among many that sustain certain epistemic communities in particular states. In
general, I do not disagree with Dalbys fourth point about politics and discourse except to note that his
statement-Precisely because reality could be represented in particular ways political decisions could be
taken, troops and material moved and war fought-evades the important question of agency that I noted in
representational practices. Both here and earlier, Dalbys reasoning inclines towards a form of idealism. In
response to Dalbys fifth point (with its three subpoints), it is worth noting, first, that his book is about the
CPD, not the Reagan administration. He analyzes certain CPD discourses, root the geographical reasoning
practices of the Reagan administration nor its public-policy reasoning on national security. Dalbys book is
narrowly textual; the general contextuality of the Reagan administration is not dealt with. Second, let me
simply note that I find that the distinction between critical theorists and poststructuralists is a little too
rigidly and heroically drawn by Dalby and others. Third, Dalbys interpretation of the reconceptualization of
national security in Moscow as heavily influenced by dissident peace researchers in Europe is highly
idealist, an interpretation that ignores the structural and ideological crises facing the Soviet elite at that
time. Gorbachevs reforms and his new security discourse were also strongly selfinterested, an ultimately
futile attempt to save the Communist Party and a discredited regime of power from disintegration. The
issues raised by Simon Dalby in his comment are important ones for all those interested in the practice of
critical geopolitics. While I agree with Dalby that questions of discourse are extremely important ones for
human history.