Rocking Chair Royalty

Photo of J-class at Supreme Court: Courtesy of Caroline Margaux

The amount of security required to protect just 9 individuals is obscene. Actually, 8, considering that Kagan wasn't even present, leaving the high-backed rocking chair furthest to the right entirely vacant.

Of the 350 staff at the Supreme Court, about one-half are security. They're incredibly on top of it too, not letting even the slightest of wardrobe infractions slide (our largely European class had a particularly difficult time adhering to the "no scarf" regulation). Finally though, after a good hour of making our way from one security checkpoint after another, our class filed into the courtroom in the middle of the proceeding trial.

The supreme courtroom is of almost comically epic proportions. The justices, upon which so much power is bestowed, appear strangely small in their over-sized chairs, seated beneath the grand high ceiling. The decor of the room is all in deep red and gold, with Greek statues and designs lining the towering walls and marble pillars.

Needless to say I myself felt very small, huddled between the masses of people who had come to watch a court case discussing (in painful depth) the differences between type 1 and type 2 automobile safety belts.

Once again, the oddity of the contrast between the grandeur of the room and the smallness of the people and proceedings did not escape me (though admittedly neither did it prove anywhere near enthralling enough to keep me from nodding off every 2 or so minutes).

The justices themselves even seemed to get a bit antsy towards the end of the trial - rocking way far back in their chairs, heads in hands, eyes half shut. Some of them even started to get a little rowdy (rowdy may be -- is most definitely, too strong of a word) - making jokes (the word "joke" here is used lightly), and interrupting the advocates more often with time.

Apparently, specific justices are more prone to quip than others, and sometimes the more seasoned advocates even take a stab at a humorous response themselves. I'd probably take a stab at comedy too if I were a lawyer, considering it's hard to go wrong when the standards for what's funny in such a painfully dry courtroom are encouragingly low.

I also liked how the lawyers continued to address each justice by his or her full name plus his or her title. I'd build up quite the ego hearing my prestigious identity repeated to me 10,000 times a day by quivering lawyers and staff. All I could think about was how, in modern times, we tend to look down upon ancient civilizations and their propensity to transform everyday citizens into "gods", elevating them to positions of terrifying power - worshiping at their feet.

Something about the Supreme Court seemed vaguely familiar.