We share in the excitement of the Senate confirming Judge Kentanji Brown Jackson to the Supreme Court in its 53-47 vote on Thursday. Since the hearings, we’ve had time to process and untangle all that happened. The grandstanding, the showboating, the self-serving behavior of some senators with higher political ambitions who used their time to try to not only discredit Jackson, but as their own made-for-reality-TV moments.
But this grilling is all fair game, while going for a seat on the high court.
During the sometimes cringy questioning, we learned better who Jackson is as she sidestepped the bait and defended her record in measured, thoughtful responses. More than these exchanges, though, more than her stellar resume and education, Jackson revealed a lot in understated, seemingly smaller moments, particularly when she talked about time spent as a federal public defender. This really stood out to us.
On March 22, Jackson said that many clients assigned to her had no clue what was going on in the courtroom. Not the procedures, not the lingo, not their places within the criminal justice system. The Sixth Amendment provides legal counsel to those who can’t afford it. But it doesn’t guarantee a crystal-clear understanding of what’s actually happening in the moment.
Jackson was deeply curious. She stood next to criminal defendants and recognized the significance of this time. She pinpointed when lives switched courses, when things became real. Fast. Jackson watched families of those convicted, indirectly, also pay for the crimes of their loved ones. Plunging deeper into poverty was most common.
She realized, too, that defendants who felt lost, who wondered what just happened, were more likely to behave like victims, rather than being accountable for their crimes. Offenders’ attitudes determined how they served their time, too, whether they mostly slept and watched TV or actively made meaningful personal changes.
When defendants saw themselves in the system, knew why they landed there and the “harm to society” they had done, they were more likely to rehabilitate, she said.
It’s telling that Jackson connected these dots.
“I decided that serving ‘in the trenches,’ so to speak, would be helpful,” she said.
It’s gritty work. And skills honed during Jackson’s public defender stint are invaluable. She’s able to really see people, see their circumstances. Jackson will bring sensibility, a practical understanding and razor-sharp communication skills to the bench.
Too bad some senators didn’t regard highly her experience. They bought into the bias of proximity to crime, as if the professionals become like the defendants.
Jackson was closer to the corrections system, too, and the diminished returns in lengthy sentences. While on the U.S. Sentencing Commission, which considered mass incarceration and its effects, she saw the brokenness.
In senators’ accusations of Jackson being soft on crime, criticizing sentences she handed down, she said, “It’s not a numbers game.” Again, she took seriously, all the factors. Most important, the harm done. Jackson was pragmatic.
Research shows lengthy sentences do not reduce crime. A 2021 analysis by economists Evan K. Rose of the University of Chicago and Yohan Shem-Tov of the University of California, Los Angeles stated “shortening sentences overall but sending a larger fraction of offenders to prison can generate meaningful reductions in recidivism.”
Working as a public defender, Jackson realized the worth and gravitas of her position. She took opportunities to say something that might stick, help offenders grow as human beings and exit the criminal justice system. She took action to alter the trajectories of lives. She will bring this distinction to the Supreme Court.
