Sotomayor’s Sharp Tongue Raises Issue of Temperament
What what what?
Judge Sonia Sotomayor, President Obama’s Supreme Court choice, has a blunt and even testy side, and it was on display in December during an argument before the federal appeals court in New York. The case concerned a Canadian man who said American officials had sent him to Syria to be tortured, and Judge Sotomayor peppered a government lawyer with skeptical questions.
“So the minute the executive raises the specter of foreign policy, national security,” Judge Sotomayor asked the lawyer, Jonathan F. Cohn, “it is the government’s position that that is a license to torture anyone?”
Mr. Cohn managed to get out two and a half words: “No, your hon- .”
Judge Sotomayor cut him off, then hit him with two more questions and a flat declaration of what she said was his position. The lawyer managed to say she was wrong, but could not clarify the point until the chief judge, Dennis G. Jacobs, stepped in, asking, “Why don’t we just get the position?”
This sounds really familiar, but I can’t fucking place it –
Other lawyers, though, are not so enamored. In the Almanac of the Federal Judiciary, which conducts anonymous interviews with lawyers to assess judges, she has gone from generally rave reviews to more tepid endorsements. Among the comments from lawyers was that she is a “terror on the bench” who “behaves in an out-of-control manner” and attacks “lawyers for making an argument she doesn’t like.”
Ringing a distant bell – so, so close –
“Some lawyers just don’t like to be questioned by a woman,” Judge Calabresi added. “It was sexist, plain and simple.”
I remember now! It was Mrs. Ornstein’s tenth grade English class.
Gentlemen, importune me no farther,
For how I firmly am resolved you know;
That is, not bestow my youngest daughter
Before I have a husband for the elder:
If either of you both love Katharina,
Because I know you well and love you well,
Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure.
[Aside] To cart her rather: she’s too rough for me.
There, There, Hortensio, will you any wife?
I pray you, sir, is it your will
To make a stale of me amongst these mates?
Mates, maid! how mean you that? no mates for you,
Unless you were of gentler, milder mould.
I’faith, sir, you shall never need to fear:
I wis it is not half way to her heart;
But if it were, doubt not her care should be
To comb your noddle with a three-legg’d stool
And paint your face and use you like a fool.
From all such devils, good Lord deliver us!
And me too, good Lord!
Hush, master! here’s some good pastime toward:
That wench is stark mad or wonderful froward.
Nothing’s as fresh as seventeenth-century sexism. Also: they suck as theater critics if they don’t know what play they’re seeing. The least the New York fucking Times could do is demand that these fuckers write their poison-pen OpEds that pass for reporting in iambic pentameter. Truly: that’s the least it could do.
Updated to reflect common understandings of sentence structure and moral sloth.