Posted on

The One-Way Drop: Why a Drop of White Blood Never Made Anyone White

American race law rests on a piece of arithmetic no mathematician would sign: one drop of Black blood makes a person Black, and a flood of white blood makes nobody white. The formula runs in a single direction, and it has run that way for more than three centuries. Ask why the obverse rule never existed, why no statute, no census, no courtroom ever held that a drop of white blood confers whiteness, and you have asked the question that unlocks the whole machinery, because a rule that only works one way was never measuring what it claimed to measure.

Continue reading → The One-Way Drop: Why a Drop of White Blood Never Made Anyone White

Posted on

No One Dies Lying

On the twenty-second of May, 1929, at Fort Riley, Kansas, a woman named Zenana Shepard sent her nurse to a closet for a bottle of bootleg whiskey. She said the liquor had a strange smell and a strange taste, and she asked whether enough remained in the bottle to test it for poison. Then she said the sentence that would outlive her by four years and travel all the way to the Supreme Court of the United States: “Dr. Shepard has poisoned me.” The doctor was her husband, Charles A. Shepard, a major in the Army medical corps, and the government would later argue he had salted that whiskey with bichloride of mercury because he loved a woman named Grace Brandon and his wife declined to divorce him. Zenana Shepard died on the fifteenth of June. Her husband was convicted of her murder, and her sentence, the spoken one, did much of the convicting.

Continue reading → No One Dies Lying

Posted on

Getting the Flock Out of Ord, Nebraska

The county seat of my boyhood summers just voted, five to nothing, to pull its surveillance cameras off the poles, the first town in Nebraska to do it. The reasons cut deeper than the invoice. Ord, Nebraska sits eleven miles up the North Loup River valley from the village of North Loup, where I spent the summers of my boyhood on my grandfather’s place, and in the mental geography of a ten-year-old those eleven miles separated the known world from its capital. North Loup had a few hundred souls, a grain elevator, and Popcorn Days. Ord had the Valley County courthouse with a square built around it, implement lots, storefront commerce enough to dazzle a village kid, and a radio station whose call letters spell the valley itself: K-N-L-V, North Loup Valley, on the air at 1060 since 1965 with farm markets in the morning and high school ball at night. When my grandfather’s rooftop antenna strained for television it caught one signal, 10/11 out of Lincoln, and that was the extent of the visible world. Ord was “town.” You washed up a little before going.

Continue reading → Getting the Flock Out of Ord, Nebraska

Posted on

The Ball of Violence: Joe Kenda and the Killer Inside All of Us

Joe Kenda says extreme violence lives in everyone’s DNA, waiting for emotion to overrule judgment. My friend is a great detective and a shaky geneticist, and the difference matters. Janna and I have known Lt. Joe Kenda the way friendships form now, across screens and wires, built from years of mutual attention. It began when he found this blog more than a decade ago and, in the phrase that gave an old post its title, stayed followed. He has sent us gifts. He is, in the way that counts, a generous man, courteous to strangers who admire his work and himself in a business that rewards performance. So when he stood at CrimeCon and told a room full of true-crime devotees that every person in it carried a ball of violence encoded in their genes, I listened closely. Then I did the thing you owe a friend whose mind you respect. I checked whether it was true.

Continue reading → The Ball of Violence: Joe Kenda and the Killer Inside All of Us

Posted on

Voting for the Cage: How Fundamentalism Married Politics, Made Dissent a Sin, and Persuaded Citizens to Surrender Their Own Freedom

Democracy does not always die with soldiers at the doors of parliament. Sometimes it reports for duty on election day. The polls open on schedule. Ballots are counted honestly. The winner raises a sacred book, invokes an ancestral civilization, promises to protect the family, and begins deciding which families count. No voter writes “oppress me” on a ballot. The authoritarian vote is written in the future tense and addressed to somebody else. Silence them. Remove her choice. Keep him out. Close their school. Ban their book. Cancel their citizenship. Let the police decide which protest is patriotic, let the government determine which religion is authentic, which body is legitimate, which marriage is real, which history may be taught, and which citizen must forever prove a loyalty the majority receives at birth. People vote for a locked door because they are told they will keep the key.

Continue reading → Voting for the Cage: How Fundamentalism Married Politics, Made Dissent a Sin, and Persuaded Citizens to Surrender Their Own Freedom

Posted on

The Séance Court: Original Intent and the Fraud of Speaking for the Dead

Nine lawyers in black robes sit in a marble temple in Washington and commune with the dead. They ask James Madison, silent since 1836, how he feels about bump stocks. They ask a Virginia planter to rule on geofence warrants and a Boston merchant to weigh encrypted messaging, and they transcribe the answers with straight faces into the United States Reports. Every other corner of American life has a name for this ritual. When a widow pays for it in a candlelit parlor, we call it a séance and we call the medium a fraud. When five justices perform it in October Term, we call it originalism, and law schools award tenure for defending the candles.

Continue reading → The Séance Court: Original Intent and the Fraud of Speaking for the Dead

Posted on

The Oldest Ceremony in the World

On the morning of January 5, 1895, in the great courtyard of the École Militaire in Paris, an army stripped a man of everything it had given him. Alfred Dreyfus, a captain of artillery, stood at attention in the cold while a general read the sentence aloud. A drum roll opened the thing. Then an officer stepped forward and began to take him apart piece by piece, in front of the assembled regiments and a crowd of thousands pressed against the railings outside. The braid came off his sleeves. His buttons were cut from his coat. The red stripes were torn from his trousers, and the insignia of his rank was ripped away and thrown down into the mud of the parade ground. Last, the officer took Dreyfus’s sword, raised it, and broke it across his knee, and let the two halves fall at the man’s feet.

Continue reading → The Oldest Ceremony in the World