zaterdag 25 juni 2022

How the Christian right took over the judiciary and changed America

 


    

How the Christian right took over the judiciary and changed America

An anti-abortion protester holding a cross in front of the U.S. Supreme Court as it hears arguments in December 2021, in a case seeking to overturn Roe v Wade. (AP Photo/Jose Luis Magana)

An anti-abortion protester in front of the supreme court as it hears arguments in case seeking to overturn Roe v Wade in December. Photograph: José Luis Magaña/AP
Sat 25 Jun 2022 08.00 BST

Leaders of the movement understood very well that if you can capture the courts, you can change society

T

he supreme court decision in Dobbs v Jackson Women’s Health Organization, which reverses the constitutional abortion rights that American women have enjoyed over the past 50 years, has come as a surprise to many voters. A majority, after all, support reproductive rights and regard their abolition as regressive and barbaric.

Understood in the context of the movement that created the supreme court in its current incarnation, however, there is nothing surprising about it. In fact, it marks the beginning rather than the endpoint of the agenda this movement has in mind.

At the core of the Dobbs decision lies the conviction that the power of government can and should be used to impose a certain moral and religious vision – a supposedly biblical and regressive understanding of the Christian religion – on the population at large.

How did this conviction come to have such influence in the courts, given America’s longstanding principle of church-state separation? To understand why this is happening now, it’s important to know something about the Christian nationalist movement’s history, how its leaders chose the issue of abortion as a means of creating single-issue voters, and how they united conservatives across denominational barriers by, in effect, inventing a new form of intensely political religion.

Christian nationalists often claim their movement got its start as a grassroots reaction to Roe v Wade in 1973. But the movement actually gelled several years later with a crucial assist from a group calling itself the “New Right”.

Phyllis Schlafly leads a crowd demonstrating against the equal rights amendment, which would guarantee equal legal rights for all American citizens regardless of sex, in 1976 (Photo by Bettmann Archive/Getty Images)
Phyllis Schlafly leads a crowd demonstrating against the equal rights amendment in 1976. Photograph: Bettmann Archive

Paul Weyrich, Howard Phillips, Phyllis Schlafly and other leaders of this movement were dissatisfied with the direction of the Republican party and the culture at large. “We are radicals who want to change the existing power structure. We are not conservatives in the sense that conservative means accepting the status quo,” Paul Weyrich said. “We want change – we are the forces of change.”

They were angry at liberals, who they believed threatened to undermine national security with their softness on communism. They were angry at establishment conservatives – the “Rockefeller Republicans” – for siding with the liberals; they were angry about the rising tide of feminism, which they saw as a menace to the social order, and about the civil rights movement and the danger it posed to segregation. One thing that they were not particularly angry about, at least initially, was the matter of abortion rights.

New Right leaders formed common cause with a handful of conservative Catholics, including George Weigel and Richard John Neuhaus, who shared their concerns, and drew in powerful conservative preachers such as Jerry Falwell and Bob Jones Sr. They were determined to ignite a hyper-conservative counter-revolution. All they needed now was an issue that could be used to unify its disparate elements and draw in the rank and file.

Among their core concerns was the fear that the supreme court might end tax exemptions for segregated Christian schools. Jerry Falwell and many of his fellow southern, white, conservative pastors were closely involved with segregated schools and universities – Jones went so far as to call segregation “God’s established order” and referred to desegregationists as “Satanic propagandists” who were “leading colored Christians astray”. As far as these pastors were concerned, they had the right not just to separate people on the basis of race but to also receive federal money for the purpose.

Paul Weyrich
Paul Weyrich, a central figure who was dissatisfied with the direction of the Republican party. Photograph: John Preito/Denver Post/Getty Images

They knew, however, that “Stop the tax on segregation!” wasn’t going to be an effective rallying cry for their new movement. As the historian and author Randall Balmer wrote, “It wasn’t until 1979 – a full six years after Roe – that evangelical leaders, at the behest of conservative activist Paul Weyrich, seized on abortion not for moral reasons, but as a rallying-cry to deny President Jimmy Carter a second term. Why? Because the anti-abortion crusade was more palatable than the religious right’s real motive: protecting segregated schools.”

In many respects abortion was an unlikely choice, because when the Roe v Wade decision was issued, most Protestant Republicans supported it. The Southern Baptist Convention passed resolutions in 1971 and 1974 expressing support for the liberalization of abortion law, and an editorial in their wire service hailed the passage of Roe v Wade, declaring that “religious liberty, human equality and justice are advanced by the Supreme Court abortion decision.” As governor of California, Ronald Reagan passed the most liberal abortion law in the country in 1967. Conservative icon Barry Goldwater supported abortion law liberalization too, at least early in his career, and his wife Peggy was a cofounder of Planned Parenthood in Arizona.

Yet abortion turned out to be the critical unifying issue for two fundamentally political reasons. First, it brought together conservative Catholics who supplied much of the intellectual leadership of the movement with conservative Protestants and evangelicals. Second, by tying abortion to the perceived social ills of the age – the sexual revolution, the civil rights movement, and women’s liberation – the issue became a focal point for the anxieties about social change welling up from the base.

Over time, pro-choice voices were purged from the Republican party. In her 2016 book, How the Republican Party Became Pro-Life, Phyllis Schlafly details the considerable effort it took, over several decades, to force the Republican party to change its views on the issue. What her book and the history shows is that the “pro-life religion” that we see today, which cuts across denominational boundaries on the political right, is a modern creation.

American religious leader Reverend Jerry Falwell speaks at Higher Ground Baptist Church in Kingsport, Tennessee (Photo by Kenneth Murray/Photo Researchers History/Getty Images)
Jerry Falwell speaks at Higher Ground Baptist church in Kingsport, Tennessee, in 1984. Photograph: Getty Images

In recent decades, the religious right has invested many hundreds of millions of dollars developing a complex and coordinated infrastructure, whose features include rightwing policy groups, networking organizations, data initiatives and media. A critical component of this infrastructure is its sophisticated legal sphere.

Movement leaders understood very well that if you can capture the courts, you can change society. Leading organizations include the Alliance Defending Freedom, which is involved in many of the recent cases intended to degrade the principle of church-state separation; First Liberty; Becket, formerly known as the Becket Fund for Religious Liberty; and the Federalist Society, a networking and support organization for rightwing jurists and their allies whose leader, Leonard Leo, has directed hundreds of millions of dollars to a network of affiliated organizations. This infrastructure has created a pipeline to funnel ideologues to important judicial positions at the national and federal level. Nearly 90% of Trump’s appellate court nominees were or are Federalist Society members, according to Senator Sheldon Whitehouse, and all six conservative justices on the supreme court are current or former members.

The rightwing legal movement has spent several decades establishing a new regime in which “religious liberty” is reframed as an exemption from the law, one enjoyed by a certain preferred category of religion. LGBT advocacy groups are concerned that the supreme court’s willingness, in the next session, to hear the case of a Colorado website designer who wishes to refuse services to same-sex couples is a critical step to overturning a broad range of anti-discrimination laws that protect LGBT Americans along with women, members of religious minority groups and others.

Abortion rights supporters at a rally in New York in May.
Abortion rights supporters at a rally in New York in May. Photograph: Stephanie Keith/Getty Images

The legal powerhouses of the Christian right have also recognized that their efforts can be turned into a gravy train of public money. That is one of the reasons a recent supreme court decision, which ruled Maine must fund religious schools as part of a state tuition program, was predicted by observers of this movement. This decision forces the state to fund religious schools no matter how discriminatory their practices and sectarian their teachings. “This court continues to dismantle the wall of separation between church and state,” Justice Sonia Sotomayor wrote in her dissent.

This supreme court has already made clear how swiftly our Christian nationalist judiciary will change the law to suit this vision of a society ruled by a reactionary elite, a society with a preferred religion and a prescribed code of sexual behavior, all backed by the coercive power of the state. The idea that they will stop with overturning Roe v Wade is a delusion.

zondag 19 juni 2022

Arron Banks almost crushed me in court. Instead, my quest for the facts was vindicated



Arron Banks almost crushed me in court. Instead, my quest for the facts was vindicated

The libel claim brought by the Brexit campaigner took its toll. But the judgment offered personal relief and hope for public interest journalism
Carole Cadwalladr and her legal team outside the royal courts of justice.
Carole Cadwalladr and her legal team outside the royal courts of justice. Photograph: Antonio Olmos/The Observer

L

ast week, after a nearly six-month wait, I learned that I’d won the libel claim brought against me by Arron Banks, the main funder of the Leave.EU campaign. It has been a long, brutal haul and the stress over the three years since it began has been extreme. I’m not so much relieved as completely numb.

I had been braced to lose and I knew exactly what would happen if I had. The headlines I would face, the accusation that I was – what my detractors have always claimed – a “conspiracist”, the social media shitstorm that would ensue. I had no doubt about how devastating it would be because every step of this litigation has felt as if it was aimed at trying to crush me. In large part, it’s succeeded.

The lawsuit was directed at 24 words I used in a Ted Talk in 2019 but my history with Banks goes back much further. The entire investigation that would uncover the Facebook-Cambridge Analytica scandal began in 2016 with a series of denials from the firm about its relationship with Leave.EU.

That investigation led not just to record fines against Facebook and Mark Zuckerberg being dragged before Congress, but to findings that Banks’s Leave.EU campaign had broken both electoral and data laws. But it was our revelations in this paper about his relationship with the Russian government that hit a nerve. Banks reported me to the police. He accused me of computer hacking and then blackmail.

And then a year later, he sued.

Over these words that I told the audience at Ted’s main conference in Vancouver: “… and I’m not even going to get into the lies that Arron Banks told about his covert relationship with the Russian government”.

I thought the meaning of these words was blindingly obvious. That he’d told lies about his covert relationship with the Russian government! I was wrong. In November 2019, as part of the hearing to determine the “legal” meaning of the words I had used, Mr Justice Saini came up with his formulation, not the one I thought the words had meant; not even the one Banks had advanced. He contended that I’d said he’d had “a secret relationship with the Russian government in relation to acceptance of foreign funding of electoral campaigns in breach of the law”.

It felt like I’d stepped into the pages of a Kafka novel. The judge’s ruling meant that I was going to be put on trial to defend the truth of a statement I’d never actually said or meant.

When news broke that I’d withdrawn the truth defence and would instead be defending it only on public interest, it sent the rightwing media system into meltdown. A tsunami of abusive articles, tweets, pronouncements from commentators and MPs, the low point of which was when the director of the Orwell prize rang me to say that of course they wouldn’t be asking for my prize back as the Spectator was demanding, but they’d taken it sufficiently seriously to take legal advice.

I don’t know if it was because these smears against me stuck or if our entire press had been rendered mute in the face of Banks’s legal threats, but the near total silence around this case has been one of its most extraordinary aspects. 

One month before Russia invaded Ukraine, as part of the legal action, documents disclosed by both me and Banks provided new insight about the relationship between the biggest funder of the Brexit campaign and the Kremlin in a multimillion pound trial against a journalist that 19 press freedom organisations said they believed was an abuse of law. Much of this went wholly unreported. Save for the Guardian, not a single mainstream news outlet covered any of it.

I’m writing this today because the law must change. We cannot and must not allow another journalist to go through this. Not for the sake of their sanity but for the health of our democracy. Because this is not democracy. It’s oligarchy. And Banks v Cadwalladr needs to be the last time these obscene laws are used against a journalist in this way.

What this case proves is that no journalist is safe. The judge, Mrs Justice Steyn, said that Banks’s case against me was not a “Slapp” suit, that is a strategic lawsuit against public participation. She said his attempt to seek vindication through the proceedings against me was legitimate. She is correct because it couldn’t be. There is no definition of a Slapp suit in UK law, which is why none of what I believe to be the abusive aspects of this case were entered into evidence. They formed no part of my defence, one of the things I found most upsetting after the trial.

However, the judge clearly states in her judgment that the Observer had previously published a report containing “essentially the same allegations, and a very similar meaning”. But Banks didn’t sue the Observer and he didn’t sue Ted, he sued me. He presumably thought I was the weakest link. He was wrong. But only because an incredible sea of people rose up to support me. I relied on the generosity of my legal team and the kindness of strangers: 28,887 people who contributed the astonishing sum of £819,835 to my two crowdfunders. Even writing that makes me tear up.

It would have been utterly impossible for me to defend myself without this support. It was only barely possible even with it. But if I hadn’t done so, some key facts about the political moment that changed our country forever – Brexit – could have been rewritten.

The ability to report on the Kremlin’s involvement with leading individuals in the Brexit campaign would have been stifled forever. The record could have been changed.

This is because what the coverage of the case last week missed, and what lay readers of the judgment probably won’t understand, is what an extraordinary document it is. Not just for what it means for all UK news outlets in terms of a public interest defence succeeding, but for a forensic examination of the facts of Banks’s relationship with the Russian government that is on the record forever.

I was blown away reading it. Mrs Justice Steyn painstakingly undertook her own examination of the accuracy of Banks’s claim that his “sole involvement with the Russians was a boozy six-hour lunch”. That is what he claimed after the Electoral Commission announced it would investigate the “true source” of his £8m donation to the Brexit campaign. And this is what she found. That statement was, she said, “wholly inaccurate”.

She examined all the underlying documentation, including evidence newly revealed in the case, and concluded “he had at least four meetings, including three lunches”. She added: “It would be wrong to expect a journalist to refrain from identifying such an inaccurate statement… as a lie.”

But it doesn’t end there. She noted: “The four meetings on 6 November 2015, 17 November 2015, 19 August 2016 and 18 November 2016 were probably not the full extent [of] Mr Banks’s meetings with Russian officials.” There were reasonable grounds to believe numerous other meetings occurred. She regards Banks’s words in an email on 19 January 2016 that he intended “to pop in and see the ambassador as well” were “suggestive of a relationship in which he could visit the Russian ambassador with ease”.

She said the statement by Andy Wigmore, spokesman for the Leave.EU campaign and Banks’s business partner, about why he retracted his claim that Banks was in Moscow in early 2016 as “not credible”. Nor was Banks’s claim that he received a document entitled “Russian gold sector consolidation play” from a British associate, not a Russian oligarch.

Boris Johnson’s government came to power on the coat-tails of Brexit. It has refused to investigate Russia’s continuing attacks on western democracy and our information systems. Johnson personally intervened to delay publication of the Intelligence and Security Committee’s Russia report. He continues to refuse its demand for an inquiry.

The only information we have about Russia’s efforts has come from US investigators and a handful of journalists. And now this judgment.

The personal, physical, psychological and professional toll of fighting this case has been profound. But it’s not my win, it belongs to the legal team and the 28,887 people who stood alongside me. Banks could still decide to appeal against Mrs Justice Steyn’s interpretation of the law. But not the facts.

Whatever happens next, we have these now. We held the line. There were at least four meetings between the main funder of the Brexit campaign and the Russian government. There are reasonable grounds to believe there were many more. Fact.

https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/commentisfree/2022/jun/19/arron-banks-set-out-to-crush-me-in-court-instead-my-quest-for-the-facts-was-vindicated