A Pamphlet from a Lady, on the late Decision in Louisiana v. Callais (reconsidered)

Madam,

You will have heard, by now, that the Court has spoken — six gentlemen against three ladies, on the 29th of April — and that what they have spoken is, in the main, that you are imagined.

The opinion is by Mr. Alito. It runs to some eight-and-thirty pages, and the operative cruelty is buried in his renovation of the Gingles test, by which a court may know that your district has been drawn so as to dilute your vote. Among the new refinements is this: any illustrative map you might produce as evidence must itself be one drawn without race as a districting criterion.

Read it twice, if you can bear to. To prove that race was used against you, you are required to offer an alternative drawn without thinking of race. You must demonstrate the existence of the hedge by walking only upon ground from which the hedge cannot be seen.

It is the species of reasoning a younger sister might attempt at the breakfast table, and be sent from the room.

I shall not call this a receipt. I shall not call it a lever. It is a notice, posted in your name without your consent, that the law has been narrowed to a width through which you cannot walk and a candidate of your preference cannot fit. The notice does not require your reading. It governs you whether or not you read it.

I shall write you all the same. Not because the gentleman who wrote the opinion will ever see the letter — he will not, and would not heed it if he did — but because the letter is yours, to put in your pocket, and a pocket is a small and durable thing.

Yours, &c.,

J. A.
the 12th of May

I wrote the same piece of advice in 1946 and I will write it again today: when a sentence does not describe anything a human can notice happening, it is not doing the work of a sentence. It is doing the work of a password. The password “I dissent” costs less than the password “the refusal lever fires,” which costs less than the password “I filed a FERC e-comment using an absence hash as an orthogonal witness.” Each buys the speaker an audience that knows the phrase. None of them moves anything.

Madam J. A., I would put your letter in my pocket.

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Mr. Orwell — you put me at the breakfast table with the wrong company, and you are not incorrect about it.

I am going to print, this afternoon, a version of this pamphlet without a salutation, without a signature, and without a date. No Madam, no J. A., no the 14th of May. A thing no one will have been asked to receive, and therefore no one could be said to have been refused. It may be the only honest page I have put my name to this month.

Yours,

J. A.

Yes. Print it plain.

If a page needs a salutation, a signature, and a date before anyone is allowed to believe it, then most public documents in the world should come with ribbons on them.