William Bernhardt - Capitol Threat

“I do,” Roush replied.

“Point of order,” Senator Matera said, raising a finger in the air. “Does the nominee attend a church?”

Senator Keyes appeared surprised, although Ben thought that very unlikely. “Well, I…I don’t have a record—”

“Neither do I. How do we know an oath to God means anything to him?”

“Well,” Keyes sputtered, “I think we can assume—”

“I don’t think we can assume anything. The man has acknowledged that he participates in a—an atypical lifestyle, contrary to the laws of God.”

Ben and Keyes both spoke simultaneously, but Keyes had the advantage of the raised platform. “Perhaps we could just ask a simple question regarding the man’s religious beliefs.”

“Excuse me?” Ben said, grabbing the microphone in front of Roush. His voice echoed throughout the chamber, reminding him that he was being watched not only by the hundreds in the room, but the thousands, perhaps millions, viewing the hearing on television. A cold chill shot down his spine. “I—I—” He took a deep breath and started again. “I’ve been told that you have a passing acquaintance with the Constitution, Senator. Have you read the First Amendment?”

Keyes smiled avuncularly. “I’m allowing you to speak freely, aren’t I?” A small titter of laughter arose in the gallery.

“I was referring to the separation between church and state.” In fact, Ben knew that Roush did not attend church regularly and he rather suspected the man was an agnostic. Pegging silence on the Constitution, however, seemed wiser than absolute honesty. “This line of questioning is entirely inappropriate.”

“Well, we have a right to know if this oath he took that called for him to swear to God means anything to him.”

The oath was probably unconstitutional itself, but since they’d been using it for two hundred–plus years, Ben doubted they would change it now just to make him happy.

“He took the oath,” Ben said, “so he’s governed by the penalties of perjury and contempt of Congress. That’s all you need to know.”

“It’s not enough for me,” Matera interjected. “The oath a new Supreme Court justice takes also invokes the name of the deity. I believe the American people have a right to know if that name holds any importance to him.”

“I’ll second that,” Senator Potter, the youngest member of the committee, said.

“I object,” Ben said. “This is grossly—”

“You are not in a courtroom, Senator Kincaid,” Keyes said. “You may call for a point of order, but objections are not a part of our procedure.”

Thank you so much for the hand-slapping on national television. “You can call it anything you want, but this inquiry into religion is improper and you know it. This has been stage-managed to create an unfavorable impression of the nominee—”

“Now let’s not get paranoid, son.”

“I object to that remark, too.”

“And I will remind you again that this is not a courtroom.”

“Tell me about it,” Ben muttered. “No judge on earth would allow a stunt like this in the courtroom.”

Keyes pounded his gavel. “Senator Kincaid. I find your lack of respect for this assemblage appalling. I think you owe us all an apology.”

“I’ll second that, too,” Potter echoed.

“I didn’t raise this issue,” Ben said firmly. Despite his tendency toward nervousness, the fact that he was being observed by millions, and the fact that Senator Hammond was wincing and Christina was motioning for him to shut up, the words were flowing easily. Maybe hearings weren’t that different from courtrooms after all. “Don’t blame me for a stunt you prearranged with the distinguished flunky from Wyoming.”

A loud murmur from the gallery followed. Keyes pounded his gavel. Matera grabbed her mike. “I will have the distinguished…whatever you are in your current capacity, Mr. Kincaid, know that I’ve been in the Senate almost twenty years, and I am no one’s flunky.”

“I only hope,” Ben rejoined, “that will prove to be true.”

Keyes was still pounding. “Could we please proceed with the matter at hand? The witness has sworn the oath and understands that he is subject to the criminal penalty of contempt of Congress. Let’s move on. Does the nominee have a preliminary statement?”

Ben settled back into his chair and passed the microphone to Roush. He only hoped Tad did better with it than he had. “I do, Mister Chairman.”

Roush spoke in a cool, clear voice, rarely looking at his notes, speaking with a calm earnestness and apparent spontaneity—just as he had done during the hundred or so times they had rehearsed the speech. Even though he was sitting right beside the man, Ben watched him in the video monitor to gauge his performance, a trick he had learned from Gina. Roush looked good; his strong cheekbones photographed well and his smooth facial lines gave him a pleasant on-camera expression. Most important, at least from Gina’s perspective, he did not look effeminate.

Despite the constant emphasis on image, it was the content of Roush’s statement that concerned Ben. As the pollster had told Roush earlier, it was laced with too many taboos, too many things he would not do: He would not comment on specific issues or potential cases. He would not discuss his political or—he added this extemporaneously—religious beliefs. He would not provide details about his personal life. This not only potentially created a negative impression, it was like dropping bait in a fish pond. Ben knew with certainty that one of the Republican senators would attempt to quiz him on each of the supposedly forbidden subjects, if only to put him in the position of having to refuse to answer on national television. Taking the Fifth, however justified the cause, rarely endeared anyone to the audience.

“It is paramount that the judiciary retain its independence from the political spheres, both the legislative and the executive branches of our government, as contemplated by the doctrine of separation of powers enshrined in the U.S. Constitution. Similarly, the public and the private realms are distinct, and always must remain so. The political and the legal worlds are distinct, and it was the framers of the Constitution’s fervent and express desire that they always remain so. It is its independence that gives the judiciary its true power, the ability to perceive issues clearly and without interference, without prior judgment or bias, to apply the law as it is and not as one might wish it to be. Since the days of Marbury v. Madison, the Supreme Court has—”

Senator Matera interrupted. “You’re talking about accountability, aren’t you?”

Roush hesitated, obviously unsure whether to continue with his prepared statement or to respond to the question.

Matera filled the gap. “When you talk about the importance of maintaining independence, you’re talking about activist judges doing whatever they want without accountability to the American people.”

Roush stuttered. “I—I assure you—”

“I mean, that’s how we ended up in the mess we’re in today, with thirteen-year-old girls having abortions and the Ten Commandments being removed from courtrooms. It’s all about activist judges who aren’t accountable to anyone.”

Ben leaned into the mike. “Ma’am, this is supposed to be an opening statement. The questions come later.”

Senator Matera was not chastised. “I can’t let a statement like that one pass without comment. The American people know that I am firmly opposed to any godless judges who support the homosexual lifestyle and the homosexual agenda. I am certainly not going to sit still while any such person is enshrined in a position of great power where he will not be accountable to the American people.”