A thought experiment. The Nameless One and his thugs, routed and convicted, are confined to their cells, awaiting sentence. Good guys (our side) are in charge. What now? Their theft, we all agree, was not just a nation but a notion: of an America that aspired to be good. Gloating, prancing like drunken demons, they rejoiced in the death of decency. What they stole can never be recovered: we the people are forever grimed with self-disgust.
No law applies, for they broke the back of the law, mocking it as a joke. Law was not sacred during their reign, but a weapon to oppress. The law is now what we say. So what punishment fits the crime?
To my surprise, I’ve never thought much about justice. I relied on our laws to define it, the state to administer it. One could debate features of our system – capital punishment, say, pro or con – but we could be sure of justice’s intent: to preserve the rights of the individual and the order of the community. These fiends mocked such naivete. So now what?
Justice as a manipulative tool – their idea – can’t be right. Justice then means the whim of the tyrant, no responsibility. Neither can justice mean tit for tat – an eye for an eye – human thought has outgrown such Hammurabic simplicity. Nor, experience has shown, can justice aim for reformation, because many souls remain beyond repair. (Imagine the Nameless One in a rehabilitation program.)
Justice must be a dependable disciplinary tool. Spare the rod and spoil the citizen. We owe our neighbor a standard of behavior, which statutes define, otherwise we live in chaos. In a democracy, where all are supposedly equal before the law, that standard must be uniformly maintained, or else the law is a pious fraud. The Nameless One believed in one law for him and his, another for the rest of us – the aspiration of tyrants.
Justice must also satisfy our need for revenge. Here’s where things get tricky. How should we deal with these ghouls who stole not just our state but our state of mind? In Shakespeare’s day, malefactors were drawn and quartered, hung, beheaded, their heads impaled on stakes in the public square. Such vengeance, while decisive, upsets our contemporary sense of self. We insist we’ve outgrown such barbarity (though the past century proves we haven’t).
The justice we seek is not reasonable, but visceral. For me, the loss of America is as grievous as the murder of a child. I can never forgive. To execute this mob I account both too vivid and speedy a removal. I want them to suffer. They stole my pride in America, let a revived America steal theirs. Reduce their net worth to, say, a measly million dollars each and force them to live like ordinary citizens for the remainder of their days. No more Mar-a-Lago or Epstein’s island. If pussies are grabbed or lies sprayed, let the laws for everyone apply. Let their accounts be audited. Let their ludicrous monuments be leveled or, better yet, rededicated as memorials to their defeat. Let the famous family shudder to appear in public for shame. Forbid Melania divorce.
I’d also settle for exile. They don’t deserve America (though, I fear, America deserved them). What a relief to resettle them in a dacha outside Moscow where they can post their screeds on what’s left of Truth Social to their hearts’ content – a pustulence excised. Out of sight, out of mind – though never alas out of memory.
Wishful thinking? You bet. It is wholesome to hope.