In a move that has sent tremors through the gilded bunkers of Mar-a-Lago and caused a spectacularly moist-eyed meltdown among the nativist commentariat, the United States Supreme Court has done something wholly unexpected: it has read the Fourteenth Amendment and decided that words mean things. Birthright citizenship, that stubborn little clause that insists a baby born on American soil is an American, regardless of the immigration status of its panicking parents, remains the law of the land. The Gilded Gavel has spoken, and it is not amused by the orange-hued conjurer’s attempt to rewrite reality with an executive order and a sputtering tweetstorm.
Let us raise a lukewarm glass of duty-free Gordon's to the glorious, infuriating permanence of the 14th Amendment's citizenship clause. For the uninitiated, this is the bit that says: 'All persons born or naturalised in the United States and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens.' The key phrase being 'subject to the jurisdiction thereof.' The Trumpian legal wizards, clearly marinated in a cocktail of wishful thinking and cheap chardonnay, argued that undocumented immigrants were not fully subject to US jurisdiction. This is the sort of sophistry that would make a medieval scholastic blush. It is the legal equivalent of claiming that if you don't pay your TV licence, your television is no longer subject to the laws of physics. The Supreme Court, in a moment of blessed clarity, slapped this argument down with the finality of a pub landlord ejecting a drunk who has claimed he is the reincarnation of Henry VIII.
The decision, written by Chief Justice Roberts with the weary tone of a man who has spent too long listening to children argue over the last biscuit, reaffirmed what should have been bleeding obvious: you cannot pick and choose which bits of the Constitution apply to which people. It is not an a la carte menu from a particularly vindictive greasy spoon. Birthright citizenship is a fundamental pillar of American identity, the very thing that separates the United States from a hereditary aristocracy or a country that hands out passports based on your great-grandfather's blood type. It is the great, clumsy, magnificent equaliser that declares: regardless of your parentage, if you are born here, you are one of us. To undermine that is to unzip the very fabric of the nation and let the stuffing fall out.
Of course, the response from the White House was predictable. A rambling statement was issued, describing the ruling as 'a travesty' and promising to 'explore every legal avenue' which is code for 'we will file 47 more lawsuits and harass some judges on Twitter'. The President, reportedly watching from his private residence with a nutritionally bankrupt diet of Diet Coke and grievance, is said to be 'very disappointed' and 'considering his options'. Those options, presumably, include shouting at the television, demanding a recount of the justices' birth certificates, and threatening to build a wall around the Supreme Court building. His legal team, a rotating cast of charlatans and yes-men who have never met a lost cause they couldn't sink further, are already preparing a challenge based on the novel argument that the Justices are 'deep state plants'.
But let us not get lost in the theatre. This is a genuine victory for the forces of sanity, a brief glimmer of light in a swamp that has become increasingly murky with the effluent of nativist ideology. The court has reaffirmed that the United States, for all its current agonies, remains a nation of ideas rather than bloodlines. It has declared that a baby born in a Queens delivery room to a Honduran mother who crossed the Rio Grande on an inflatable unicorn is as much an American as the descendant of a Mayflower passenger. This infuriates the Trumpian base to a degree that must be seen to be believed. They dream of a United States where the citizenship is as exclusive as a country club with a severe membership cap. The Supreme Court has just told them that they need to find a new hobby, perhaps competitive spitting or arguing with their relations on Facebook about the Second Amendment.
For now, the dream of a constitutional alchemy that turns an executive order into gold dust is over. The Fourteenth Amendment stands, battered but unbowed, a testament to the fact that sometimes, the founding documents win. As for me, I shall mark this occasion by pouring another gin, toasting the ghost of Senator Jacob Howard who drafted the citizenship clause in 1866, and quietly weeping with joy that the judiciary has remembered its spine. The fight is not over, for the forces of darkness are ever resourceful. But today, the Supreme Court has done its job. It has told the emperor that he is indeed wearing no clothes, and that the kingdom is not for sale. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a hammock and a bottle of something medicinal. The absurdity will resume tomorrow, but tonight, we have reason to drink.
