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Although the Supreme Court has a long history of entertaining emergency appeals, emergency requests in high-profile cases proliferated during Trump’s first term and continue in his second.
In an unsigned two-page decision (Trump v. Wilcox) released on May 22, the U.S. Supreme Court upheld the Trump administration’s move to fire members of the National Labor Relations Board and the Merit Systems Protection Board without cause and in the middle of their designated terms. The decision reversed two separate judgments issued by two different D.C. District Court judges that had blocked the firings as unconstitutional.
The Supreme Court’s ruling was issued on an expedited basis as part of a rapidly expanding and highly controversial set of truncated decisions known as the “shadow docket,” a term coined by University of Chicago professor William Baude in a 2015 law review article to describe emergency appeals that come before the court outside of its standard “merits” docket and that are typically resolved without complete briefing, oral arguments, or detailed opinions. Although shadow-docket rulings are frequently used to lift, or “stay,” lower-court injunctions while further litigation continues, they often have the same practical effect as final decisions.
The two officials involved in the Wilcox case, Gwynne Wilcox of the NLRB and Cathy Harris of the MSPB, were nominated to their positions by President Joe Biden and were confirmed by the Senate. Before their dismissals, they were set to serve fixed terms, with Wilcox’s tenure expiring in 2028 and Harris’ in 2029.
Kagan is not alone in her critique that the shadow docket undermines precedent and lacks transparency.
The NLRB’s five-member governing board is charged with enforcing U.S. labor law and collective bargaining, and adjudicating alleged unfair labor practices. The MSPB has a three-member board and adjudicates federal employee challenges to adverse employment actions. Both agencies were established by Congress to operate as independent, nonpartisan overseers free from presidential interference.
President Donald Trump has long railed against agency independence. In a 2019 speech at Turning Point USA’s Teen Action Summit, he declared, “I have an Article 2, where I have the right to do whatever I want as president,” referring to the second article of the Constitution and the “unitary executive” theory, which contends that all executive power is concentrated in the president. Trump is also a proponent of the goal of “deconstructing the administrative state,” a phrase popularized by Steve Bannon and more recently promoted by Project 2025.
Sensing an opportunity to strike, Trump fired Wilcox, a career labor attorney, on January 27, a week after his second inauguration. Harris was sent packing a month later. The lower-court orders mandating their reinstatements were issued in March. But on April 9, Trump’s solicitor general and former criminal defense attorney D. John Sauer requested the Supreme Court to intervene and put the district-court judgments on hold, allowing the dismissals to take effect while returning the cases to the district courts and the Court of Appeals for additional hearings, a process that could easily take more than a year.
In his petition to the Supreme Court, Sauer implored the justices to disregard the court’s 1935 precedent decision in Humphrey’s Executor v. United States, which held that Congress has the constitutional power to enact laws limiting the president’s authority to fire executive officers of independent agencies that exercise quasi-legislative or quasi-judicial functions. Sauer asked the justices to put the lower-court reinstatement orders on hold or, alternatively, issue a final decision on the merits, endorsing the administration’s actions.
Although the firings of Wilcox and Harris clearly ran afoul of Humphrey’s, the Supreme Court granted a stay, and both women were sacked. Just as shocking, the court did so without hearing oral arguments, and without citing Humphrey’s a single time in its decision.
The three Democratic-appointees on the court dissented. Writing for herself and justices Sonia Sotomayor and Ketanji Brown Jackson, Justice Elena Kagan blasted her Republican colleagues for their bad faith and bias in favor of the president. “For 90 years,” she charged, “Humphrey’s Executor v. United States… has stood as a precedent of this Court. And not just any precedent. Humphrey’s undergirds a significant feature of American governance: bipartisan administrative bodies carrying out expertise-based functions with a measure of independence from presidential control.”
Quoting Alexander Hamilton, she continued, “To avoid an arbitrary discretion in the courts, it is indispensable that they should be bound down by strict rules and precedents.” Without mentioning the shadow docket by name, she castigated the majority for rushing to judgment, “unrestrained by the rules of briefing and argument—and the passage of time—needed to discipline our decision-making.”
Although the Supreme Court has a long history of entertaining emergency appeals—such as last-minute requests for stays of execution in death penalty cases—emergency requests in high-profile cases proliferated during Trump’s first term, earning the shadow-docket sobriquet. According to Georgetown University law professor and shadow-docket scholar Steve Vladeck, the first Trump administration sought emergency relief 41 times, with the Supreme Court granting relief in 28 of those cases. By comparison, the George W. Bush and Barack Obama administrations filed a combined total of eight emergency relief requests over a 16-year period.
In December 2017, the Supreme Court issued a shadow-docket ruling allowing the third and final version of Trump’s racist Muslim travel ban to move forward pending further appeals. The court ultimately approved the ban in a 2018 merits decision. Later in Trump’s first go-round, the court used the shadow docket to uphold Trump’s executive actions calling for the diversion of federal funds to construct the southern border wall, prohibiting transgender people from openly serving in the military, and restricting the ability of Central American refugees to seek political asylum.
During Biden’s presidency, the shadow docket shifted to emergency requests filed by red state governments and private parties, but the court maintained its rightward bias. Among other shadow-docket decisions, the court ended Biden’s Covid-19 eviction moratorium; permitted the new six-week Texas abortion ban to take effect (it would later approve the ban in a final decision that overturned Roe v. Wade); and reinstated a first-Trump-term policy that made it easier for companies to pursue projects that pollute U.S. waters.
Kagan is not alone in her critique that the shadow docket undermines precedent and lacks transparency. At times the criticism has become heated. In September 2021, Atlantic staff writer Adam Serwer triggered an open feud with Justice Samuel Alito, penning a column that accused the court’s right-wing majority of publishing its ruling on Texas’ abortion law in the middle of the night to minimize public outcry. In response, Alito excoriated the media during an hour-long live-streamed speech delivered at Notre Dame University for portraying the court’s majority as “a dangerous cabal that resorts to sneaky and improper methods to get its ways,” and for feeding “unprecedented efforts to intimidate the court or damage it as an independent institution.”
Fortunately, not every shadow-docket order has leaned in the direction of Trump and the MAGA movement. One notable exception was the court’s May 16 ruling that extended an earlier ban on the deportation of undocumented Venezuelan men in immigration custody in Texas under the Alien Enemies Act of 1798. But even that decision ended with a note of encouragement for Trump, advising that “The Government may remove the [men]… under other lawful authorities.” There was also an impassioned 14-page dissent written by Alito and joined by Justice Clarence Thomas.
On May 30, the court issued another pro-Trump shadow-docket order, allowing the Trump administration to revoke the temporary legal status of more than 500,000 immigrants from Cuba, Haiti, Nicaragua, and Venezuela that had been granted by the Biden administration. And in the coming weeks and months, the court can be expected to return to the shadow docket again in cases involving the deportation of undocumented migrants to South Sudan, the operations of the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE), and possibly the legality of Trump’s tariffs.
Given the court’s overall jurisprudence, there is scant reason to be optimistic that it will openly repudiate or substantially limit the president’s authority in these or other cases critical to the nation’s future. As Elizabeth Wydra, president of the liberal Constitutional Accountability Center, told Reuters in a 2021 interview, “What we are seeing are the consequences of a deeply conservative court, with the added travesties of the shadow docket.”
It's been a lawless few months, but there's some good news here. Through times like these, we can identify ways to make our democracy work better — and for the first time in our country’s history, make it work for everyone.
For nearly 250 years, the American system of government has been built to guard against an authoritarian leader. Our Constitution created a careful balance of powers among the branches of government to ward off tyranny. But just 100 days into President Donald Trump’s second term, we are seeing this system bend to the point of breaking under the weight of a willful disregard for the rule of law.
We must take this moment to finally install more concrete guardrails against corruption and abuse of power.
America’s system of checks and balances was never meant to depend on trust alone. It was designed to be tested and strengthened. We have relied on key tools to rein in executive overreach: a vigilant Congress, a strong judiciary, an engaged citizenry informed by public interest groups, an apolitical civil service, independent inspectors general, meaningful whistleblower protections, and ethics laws, to name several.
Some of these safeguards are holding. Right now, civil society is carrying much of the burden. Investigative journalists, watchdog groups, academic institutions, and advocacy organizations are doing the work that too many public officials have abandoned. They are shining lights into corners where the government prefers darkness, informing the public and pressuring institutions to act.
The problem isn’t just that guardrails are being destroyed; some have always been missing.
The courts, too, have shown signs of resilience. Despite last year’s Supreme Court ruling expanding presidential immunity, which chipped away at the judiciary’s role as a check on executive power, judges have issued rulings that uphold our basic constitutional principles. That said, recent moves from the judicial branch are alarming. They have done so even in the face of hostile rhetoric and open defiance.
These bright spots are important, but they are the exception, not the rule. We must confront a harsh reality: Many safeguards have proven extremely fragile. If we hope to emerge from this crisis with our democracy intact, we must also confront what has failed and what we must change.
Congressional oversight has become theatrical at best and nonexistent at worst. This is especially true when the president’s party holds power. And the legislative branch has let the executive branch encroach on its power of the purse and diminish its role in the policymaking process. That dynamic must change. Members of Congress need to remember they work for their constituents. That means scrutinizing the executive branch regardless of which party controls it, holding more hearings back in members’ districts, and creating more accessible public forums.
An apolitical and secure civil service has long been a stabilizing force in our government, ensuring that laws are implemented faithfully and without bias. But mass firings and politically motivated purges are dismantling this safeguard. When loyalty to the president is prized over competence or integrity, the system begins to collapse from within. To protect their essential work, we must strengthen legal safeguards for civil servants and insulate them from political retaliation.
Inspectors general — the independent watchdogs tasked with rooting out misconduct across federal agencies — have been fundamentally disempowered. President Trump has removed many of them without explanation or cause, threatening a critical line of oversight. Congress must not only rebuild but strengthen the independence of inspectors general. That may look like moving them to the legislative branch, where they could be protected from executive interference.
The work of everyone who cares about democracy... matters more than ever. Not just for today’s crisis, but also to ensure this doesn’t happen again.
Whistleblowers, another bedrock of internal accountability, are often our first and best defense against corruption. But their protections are increasingly toothless after the president illegally fired the head of the very office designed to uphold them. This move costs us the information we need to root out corruption and abuse.
The problem isn’t just that guardrails are being destroyed; some have always been missing. Ethics laws for the most powerful people in government are far too weak. Both the president and vice president are exempt from the conflict-of-interest rules that apply to the federal workforce. Members of Congress can buy and trade stocks even though their decisions often move markets. And Elon Musk’s role in the White House demonstrates how glaring financial conflicts can sow deep distrust in government actions. We need stronger laws at the highest levels so the public can be confident their government is working in their interest.
None of these failures exist in isolation. Each one enables the other. Without consequences, the last abuse of power is just practice for the next.
But here’s the good news: the reverse is also true. Strengthen any of these pillars, and you strengthen the whole system. That’s why our work — the work of everyone who cares about democracy — matters more than ever. Not just for today’s crisis, but also to ensure this doesn’t happen again.
We can make our democracy work — and for the first time in our country’s history, make it work for everyone. But only if we fight for it.
The federal government’s willingness to violate federal and international law with impunity didn’t begin with Trump.
In 2003, the Macedonian police arrested Khaled el-Masri, a German citizen vacationing in their country. They handed the unfortunate man over to the CIA, who shipped him off to one of their “black sites.” For those too young to remember (or who have quite understandably chosen to forget), “black sites” was the name given to clandestine CIA detention centers around the world, where that agency held incommunicado and tortured men captured in what was then known as the Global War on Terror. The black site in this case was the notorious Salt Pit in Afghanistan. There el-Masri was, among other things, beaten, anally raped, and threatened with a gun held to his head. After four months he was dumped on a rural road in Albania.
It seems that the CIA had finally realized that they had arrested the wrong man. They wanted some other Khalid el-Masri, thought to be an al-Qaeda associate, and not, as Amy Davidson wrote in the New Yorker, that “car salesman from Bavaria.”
El-Masri was not the only person that representatives of the administration of President George W. Bush and Vice President Dick Cheney mistakenly sent off to another country to be tortured. In an infamous case of mistaken arrest, a Canadian citizen named Maher Arar was detained by the FBI at JFK Airport in New York while on his way home from a vacation in Tunisia. He was then held in solitary confinement for two weeks in the United States, while being denied contact with a lawyer before ultimately being shipped off to Syria. There, he would be tortured for almost a year until the Canadian government finally secured his release.
An “Administrative Error”
I was reminded of such instances of “extraordinary rendition” in the Bush-Cheney era when I read about the Trump administration’s March 2025 deportation of Kilmar Armando Abrego García to a grim prison in El Salvador. Because of threats against him and his family from Barrio 18, a vicious Salvadoran gang, Abrego García had fled that country as a young teenager. He entered the U.S. without papers in 2011 to join his older brother, already a U.S. citizen.
He was arrested in 2019, while seeking work as a day laborer outside a Home Depot store and handed over to U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), which accused him of being a member of another Salvadoran gang, MS-13. This proved a false claim, as the immigration judge who heard his case agreed. While not granting Abrego García asylum, the judge assigned him a status — “withholding from removal” — which kept him safe in this country, because he faced the possibility of torture or other violence in his homeland. That status allowed him to work legally here. He married a U.S. citizen and they have three children who are also U.S. citizens.
Then, on March 12, 2025, on his way home from his job as a sheet-metal apprentice, he was suddenly stopped by ICE agents and arrested. They told him his status had been revoked (which wasn’t true) and promptly shipped him to various detention centers around the country. Ultimately, he was deported to El Salvador without benefit of legal assistance or a hearing before an immigration judge. As far as is known, he is now incarcerated at CECOT, the Center for the Confinement of Terrorists, a Salvadoran prison notorious for the ill treatment and torture of its inmates. While built for 40,000 prisoners, it now houses many more in perpetually illuminated cells, each crammed with more than 100 prisoners (leaving about 6.5 square feet of space for each man. It is considered “one of the most dangerous prisons in the Western Hemisphere” with “some of the most inhumane and squalid conditions known in any carceral system.” Furthermore, among the gangs reported to have a substantial presence at CECOT is Barrio 18, the very crew Abrego García fled El Salvador to escape so many years ago.
The Trump Justice Department has now admitted that they made an “administrative error” in deporting him but have so far refused to bring him home. Responding to a Supreme Court ruling demanding that the government facilitate his return, the Justice Department on April 12th finally acknowledged to the D.C. district court that he “is currently being held in the Terrorism Confinement Center in El Salvador.” Its statement continued: “He is alive and secure in that facility. He is detained pursuant to the sovereign, domestic authority of El Salvador.” On April 14, 2025, in contemptuous defiance of the supreme court, President Trump and his Salvadoran counterpart Nayib Bukele made it clear to reporters that Abrego García will not be returning to the United States.
Previously, the government’s spokesman, Michael G. Kozak, who identified himself in the filing as a “Senior Bureau Official” in the State Department’s Bureau of Western Hemisphere Affairs, had failed to comply with the rest of Judge Paula Xinis’s order: to identify what steps the administration is (or isn’t) taking to get him released. The judge has insisted that the department provide daily updates on its efforts to get him home, which it has failed to do. Its statement that Abrego García “is detained pursuant to the sovereign, domestic authority of El Salvador” suggests officials intend to argue that — despite paying the Salvadoran government a reported six million dollars for its prison services — the United States has no influence over Salvadoran actions. We can only hope that he really is still alive. The Trump administration’s truth-telling record is not exactly encouraging.
Extraordinary Rendition
The technical term for such detainee transfers is “extraordinary rendition.” “Rendition” involves sending a prisoner to another country to be interrogated, imprisoned, and even possibly tortured. Rendition becomes “extraordinary” when it occurs outside of normal legal strictures, as with the cases of el-Masri and Ahar decades ago,, and Abrego García today. Extraordinary rendition violates the United Nations Convention Against Torture, which explicitly prohibits sending someone to another country to be mistreated or tortured. It also violates U.S. anti-torture laws. As countless illegal Trump administration acts demonstrate, however, illegality is no longer a barrier of any sort to whatever its officials want to do.
Two other flights left for El Salvador on the day Abrego García was rendered. They contained almost 200 people accused of being members of a Venezuelan gang, Tren de Aragua, and were similarly deported under the Alien Enemies Act of 1798 without any hearings. Are they actually gang members? No one knows, although it seems likely that at least some of them aren’t. Jerce Reyes Barrios, for example, was a Venezuelan soccer coach who sought asylum in the U.S. and whose tattoo, celebrating the famous Spanish soccer team Royal Madrid, was claimed to be evidence enough of his gang membership and the excuse for his deportation.
Andry José Hernández Romero is another unlikely gang member. He’s a gay makeup artist who entered the United States last August to keep a pre-arranged asylum appointment. Instead, he was arrested and held in detention until the Tren de Aragua flights in March. The proof of his gang membership? His “Tres Reyes” or “Three Kings” tattoos that were common in his hometown in Venezuela.
In fact, all 200 or so deportees on those flights have been illegally rendered to El Salvador in blatant defiance of a judge’s court order to stop them or return those already in the air. None of those men received any sort of due process before being shipped off to a Salvadoran hellhole. In response, Salvadoran President Nayib Bukele tweeted, “Oopsie… Too late” with a laughing-face emoji.
Even U.S. citizens are at risk of incarceration at CECOT. After Secretary of State Marco Rubio met with President Bukele, the State Department’s website praised his “extraordinary gesture never before extended by any country,” an offer “to house in his jails dangerous American criminals, including U.S. citizens and legal residents.” Trumpreiterated his interest in shipping “homegrown criminals” to El Salvador during his press conference with Bukele. As former federal prosecutor Joyce Vance has observed, “If it can happen to Abrego Garcia, it can happen to any of us.”
It Didn’t Start with Trump
It’s tempting to think of Donald Trump’s second term as a sui generis reign of lawlessness. But sadly, the federal government’s willingness to violate federal and international law with impunity didn’t begin with Trump. If anything, the present incumbent is harvesting a crop of autocratic powers from seeds planted by President George W. Bush and Vice-President Dick Cheney in those war on terror years following the attacks of September 11, 2001. In their wake, the hastily-passed Patriot Act granted the federal government vast new detention and surveillance powers. The Homeland Security Act of 2002 established a new cabinet-level department, one whose existence we now take for granted.
As I wrote more than a decade ago, after September 11th, torture went “mainstream” in the United States. The Bush administration cultivated an understandable American fear of terrorism to justify abrogating what, until then, had been a settled consensus in this country: that torture is both wrong and illegal. In the face of a new enemy, al-Qaeda, the administration argued that the requirements for decent treatment of wartime detainees outlined in the Geneva Conventions had been rendered “quaint.” Apparently, wartime rights granted even to Nazi prisoners of war during World War II were too risky to extend to that new foe.
In those days of “enhanced interrogation,” I was already arguing that accepting such lawless behavior could well become an American habit. We might gradually learn, I suggested, to put up with any government measures as long as they theoretically kept us safe. And that indeed was the Bush administration’s promise: Let us do whatever we need to, over there on the “dark side,” and in return we promise to always keep you safe. In essence, the message was: there will be no more terrorist attacks if you allow us to torture people.
The very fact that they were willing to torture prisoners was proof that those people must deserve it — even though, as we now know, many of them had nothing whatsoever to do with al-Qaeda or the September 11th attacks. (And even if they had been involved, no one, not even a terrorist, deserves to be tortured.)
If you’re too young to remember (or have been lucky enough to forget), you can click here, or here, or here for the grisly details of what the war on terror did to its victims.
The constant thrill of what some have called security theater has kept us primed for new enemies and so set the stage for the second set of Trump years that we now find ourselves in. We still encounter this theater of the absurd every time we stand in line at an airport, unpacking our computers, removing our shoes, sorting our liquids into quart-sized baggies — all to reinforce the idea that we are in terrible danger and that the government will indeed protect us.
Sadly, all too many of us became inured to the idea that prisoners could be sent to that infamous offshore prison of injustice at Guantánamo Bay, Cuba, perhaps never to be released. (Indeed, as of January 2025, of the hundreds of people incarcerated there over the years, 15 war on terror prisoners still remain.) It should perhaps be no surprise, then, that the second time around, Donald Trump seized on Guantánamo as a possible place to house the immigrants he sought to deport from this country. After all, so many of us were already used to thinking of anybody sent there as the worst of the worst, as something other than human.
Dehumanizing the targets of institutionalized mistreatment and torture proved to be both the pretext for and a product of the process. Every torture regime develops a dehumanizing language for those it identifies as legitimate targets. For example, the torturers employed by the followers of Augusto Pinochet, who led Chile’s 1973 military coup, typically called their targets “humanoids” (to distinguish them from actual human beings).
For the same reason, the Israel Defense Forces now refer to just about anyone they kill in Gaza or on the West Bank as a “terrorist.” And the successful conflation of “Palestinian” with “terrorist” was all it took for some Americans to embrace Donald Trump’s suggestion that Gaza should be cleared of its people and turned into the “Riviera of the Middle East” for Israelis, Americans, and foreign tourists.
Trump’s representatives have used the same kind of language to describe people they are sending to that prison in El Salvador. His press secretary, Karoline Leavitt, referred to them as “heinous monsters,” which is in keeping with Trump’s own description of his political opponents as inhuman “vermin.” At a rally in New Hampshire in 2023, Trump told the crowd, “We pledge to you that we will root out the communists, Marxists, fascists, and the radical left thugs that live like vermin within the confines of our country.” Here he was talking not only about immigrants, but about U.S. citizens as well.
After years of security theater, all too many Americans seem ready to accept Trump’s pledge to root out the vermin.
It Can Happen to You
One difference between the Bush-Cheney years and the Trump ones is that the attacks of September 11, 2001, represented a genuine and horrific emergency. Trump’s version of such an emergency, on the other hand, is entirely Trumped-up. He posits nothing short of an immigration “invasion” — in effect, a permanent 9/11 — that “has caused widespread chaos and suffering in our country over the last 4 years.” Or so his executive order “Declaring a National Emergency at the Southern Border of the United States” insists. To justify illegally deporting alleged members of Tren de Aragua and, in the future (if he has his way), many others, he has invented a totally imaginary war so that he can invoke the 1798 Alien Enemies Act, which was last used during World War II to justify the otherwise unjustifiable internment of another group of dehumanized people in this country: Japanese-Americans.
Donald Trump has his very own “black site” now. Remember that El Salvador’s Nayib Bukele is perfectly willing to receive U.S. citizens, too, as prisoners in his country. Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor, joined by Justices Elena Kagan and Ketanji Jackson, made that point in a statement that accompanied that court’s recent order requiring the Trump administration to facilitate Kilmar Abrego García’s return to the United States. They wrote, “The Government’s argument, moreover, implies that it could deport and incarcerate any person, including U.S. citizens, without legal consequence, so long as it does so before a court can intervene.”
As the justices remind us, it can happen here. It can happen to you.