The Unforgivable Reticence: Silence in the Hour of the Wolf
By Earl Cotten for The Earl Angle
The former President, face florid, spittle forming at the corner of his mouth, demanding the impeachment of a federal judge. The name changes – Boasberg this week, someone else the next – but the incantation remains constant, a dark liturgy against the robes. The sound is off. One doesn’t need to hear the words; the intention vibrates through the screen, a low hum of menace. It is a performance designed for maximum erosion. And presiding over the highest court in this fractured land, a man known for the precision of his diction, chooses silence. It is this silence, this particular and devastating quiet emanating from One First Street, that draws the eye. It is a silence observed, dissected, and ultimately condemned by another man, a man whose pedigree within the conservative legal firmament is beyond reproach, whose disillusionment arrives not as a surprise, but as an indictment: Judge J. Michael Luttig.
Luttig. The name itself carries a certain weight, a specific gravity within the rarefied atmosphere of Republican jurisprudence. Not a celebrity, not a pundit, but an architect. One thinks of the quiet offices where such men operate, the smell of leather-bound reporters and stale coffee, the hushed conversations shaping destinies unseen by the public. He placed Clarence Thomas on the Supreme Court. He mentored the ambitious, the Ted Cruzes of the world, sharp young minds hungry for influence. His own name floated for decades on the shortlists of Republican presidents – Reagan, Bush, Bush again – a whispered possibility, a potential cornerstone. He sat for fifteen years on the Fourth Circuit, his opinions rendered with a meticulousness that made them required reading, not merely citations but blueprints. He is, in the most profound sense, of the institution. He helped pour its foundations. And now, he stands outside the temple he helped build, his voice tight, not with rage, but with a profound, weary disappointment directed squarely at his old friend, the Chief Justice of the United States, John Roberts. To hear Luttig speak now is to witness not just a critique, but a tectonic shift within the very bedrock of the conservative legal movement. It feels less like commentary and more like the measured pronouncement of a seismologist confirming the fault line has ruptured.
The relationship between Luttig and Roberts is not incidental. It is woven into the fabric of their careers, a shared history stretching back to the corridors of the Reagan White House Counsel’s office. Young men then, brilliant, ambitious, steeped in a vision of conservative legal order. They moved in the same tight orbit, that small constellation of future judges and justices, speaking a language of precedent and restraint, believing in the slow, deliberate turning of the legal wheel. When Luttig ascended to the bench, it was Roberts who stepped into his vacated role. There is a history there, of shared meals, shared arguments, shared aspirations for the institution they revered. Luttig has called Roberts “one of the smartest people I’ve ever met,” a man possessing a piercing self-awareness about the Court’s place in the long arc of history. This shared past, this intimate understanding of the man and the office he holds, is what makes Luttig’s public dissection so devastating. It is not the attack of an outsider, but the anguished correction of a fellow architect who sees the structure buckling. “There is nothing that John Roberts is not aware of,” Luttig has stated, a simple sentence freighted with unbearable weight. “That’s why I’ve been so disappointed in him.” The word "disappointed" hangs in the air, deliberate, precise. It is the vocabulary of personal betrayal, the sigh of a man who expected more, knew the capacity for more, and witnessed instead a retreat. It is the sound of history colliding with the present moment, and history finding the present wanting.
The assault itself unfolds with a grim predictability now, a ritual enacted whenever the legal process dares to impede the will of the former President. A ruling is handed down – blocking a deportation order, perhaps, or demanding the release of documents – something inconvenient, something that asserts the independence of a coordinate branch. The response is instantaneous, broadcast not through legal briefs but through the megaphone of social media: “IMPEACH THE JUDGE!” “CROOKED!” “OBAMA JUDGE!” The names of the jurists become targets, painted in the digital equivalent of scarlet. It matters little that impeachment, under the Constitution, is reserved for “Treason, Bribery, or other high Crimes and Misdemeanors” – acts of profound individual misconduct, not policy disagreements. The historical record is stark: in over two centuries, only 15 federal judges have faced Senate impeachment trials; only 8 were convicted, all for verifiable crimes – bribery, perjury, tax evasion. This weaponization is something else entirely. It is not an argument against a ruling; it is an assault on the very premise of judicial independence. It is the normalization of reprisal, the insidious suggestion that a judge’s tenure should be contingent on the approval of the executive whose actions they review. Luttig names it plainly: “a declared war on the rule of law.” The rhetoric is not abstract. One recalls the chilling case of Judge Esther Salas, whose husband was murdered and son grievously wounded by a disgruntled lawyer who had appeared before her. The shadow of violence, once unthinkable, now stretches long across the federal bench. Against this backdrop, the calls for impeachment are not mere political bluster; they are incitements whispered into an already volatile atmosphere.
Roberts, it must be acknowledged, has not been entirely mute. There have been utterances. In 2018, after the “Obama judge” eruption, a statement emerged: “We do not have Obama judges or Trump judges, Bush judges or Clinton judges. What we have is an extraordinary group of dedicated judges...” It was a sentiment, an aspiration. Again, in 2025, following the demand to impeach Boasberg, another statement: “Impeachment is not an appropriate response to disagreement.” Correct. Unimpeachably correct. And utterly anemic. The critical absence, the void that gives Luttig’s critique its sharpest edge, is the name. The Chief Justice speaks in the passive voice, in generalities, in platitudes that float above the specific, corrosive source of the poison. He speaks of “disagreement” as if it were a polite debate over tax policy, not a targeted campaign of intimidation and delegitimization.
Luttig sees this evasion for what it is: not institutional caution, but “unforgivable reticence.” He hears in Roberts’ broad pronouncements a cowardly equivocation, a desperate attempt to maintain a fraying illusion of neutrality by implying a false equivalence. “All of us. Obviously, the chief justice has said you, the Democrats, are every bit as responsible... That’s offensive,” Luttig counters, his voice tightening. The calculus is transparent, and Luttig names it: Roberts fears the firestorm that would erupt from directly naming Trump. He fears the MAGA fury descending upon the Court, the threats that might escalate beyond rhetoric, the further shredding of the Court’s already tattered legitimacy in the eyes of a significant portion of the populace. He chooses the path of least institutional friction in the moment, hoping the storm will pass, that history will record his gentle admonitions as sufficient. But this, Luttig argues, is the fatal misstep. By refusing to confront the specific malignancy, by failing to draw the bright line that separates legitimate criticism from an assault on the foundational principle of judicial independence, Roberts enables the erosion. He becomes, in Luttig’s stark assessment, the Chief Justice presiding over “the end of the rule of law,” prioritizing the ephemeral politics of the Court’s internal balance over the enduring principle it exists to uphold.
The critique resonates precisely because of Luttig’s provenance. Yet, it also raises uncomfortable ghosts, questions that hover like the marine layer outside. During an interview on the Legal AF platform, pointed queries came about the conservative legal project Luttig helped forge. Did he regret championing a movement that birthed Citizens United, unleashing torrents of corporate cash that distorted the political arena? Or decisions like Shelby County v. Holder, which crippled the Voting Rights Act, or Trump v. Hawaii, which granted extraordinary deference to executive power even in the face of overt religious animus? Decisions that concentrated power in the presidency and weakened the very institutional guardrails meant to constrain it? Luttig, ever the formalist, sidestepped. “The law’s the law,” he offered, retreating into the sanctuary of judicial positivism. It is a gaping hole in his otherwise searing critique. For Trump is not some alien aberration that landed upon a pristine constitutional order. He is, in many ways, the grotesque id unleashed by a conservative legal revolution that prioritized outcomes – deregulation, executive aggrandizement, corporate empowerment – over the health of the democratic ecosystem. The theories of unfettered executive authority Luttig and his cohort championed provided the intellectual scaffolding Trump now gleefully exploits. To rage against Roberts’ enabling silence is necessary; to ignore how the conservative legal project itself paved the road to this moment feels like a refusal to confront the full reflection in the glass.
Confronted with what he perceives as encroaching tyranny, Luttig reached for the foundational text. Not to cite precedent, but to rewrite it. He took his copy of the Declaration of Independence and began drafting a modern indictment. Jefferson’s litany of George III’s abuses – obstructing justice, imposing taxes without consent, dissolving legislatures – finds its echo in Luttig’s version:
Violating his oath by disregarding the Constitution
Declaring himself above the law
Obstructing justice to shield allies
Incitement of violence against political opponents
Weaponizing the DOJ for personal revenge The parallel is deliberate, profound. Luttig frames Trump’s actions not as mere political transgression, but as replicating the category of offenses that justified revolution. And Roberts? His silence casts him, in this bleak analogy, as the colonial judge who served at the king’s pleasure rather than the people’s law. It is a stark, almost desperate, framing: If this catalogue of assaults on the judiciary, on the rule of law itself, does not compel the Chief Justice to raise his voice in unambiguous defense, what possibly could? When does institutional caution shade into complicity? When does prudence become abdication?
Legacy. It is the currency of the Chief Justice, the thing Roberts, steeped in history, is presumed to covet. Luttig returns to it obsessively, a haunting refrain. Roberts, he insists, is choosing “the moment over history.” He knows the stakes. He reads the polls – the Court’s favorability languishing at 47%, a nadir reflecting profound distrust. He knows judges feel vulnerable, glancing over their shoulders. He understands the corrosive power of the attacks emanating from Mar-a-Lago. Yet, he calculates that direct confrontation would further politicize the Court, invite more fury, accelerate the decline. Better, he seems to reason, the gentle, nameless rebuke, the hope that the storm, if ignored, might expend its fury elsewhere. Luttig counters with the long view. Chief justices are remembered not for their cleverly balanced opinions in placid times, but for how they steered the institution through gales. Earl Warren embraced desegregation despite the violent backlash that tore at the nation’s fabric. John Marshall asserted the power of judicial review against the resistance of Thomas Jefferson himself. Roberts’ legacy, Luttig warns with chilling finality, will be that he presided over the demolition of judicial independence while murmuring platitudes about decorum. “He has made the decision between the moment and history already,” Luttig pronounces, “and he cannot recover that decision.” For a man like Roberts, a student of the Court’s narrative, there is no sharper cut.
The crossroads Luttig describes is not metaphorical. It is the tangible unease felt in federal courthouses across the land. When a former President, still commanding vast loyalty, systematically brands courts as “crooked” for ruling against him, demands impeachments without cause, and implicitly or explicitly encourages his followers to “fight,” the foundations do not merely crack; they groan under the strain. The question Judge Salas, and countless others on the bench, must now confront in the quiet of their chambers or the darkness of night is stark: Who protects us if the Chief Justice stays silent? The shield of the law feels thinner when the highest guardian of the judiciary averts his gaze.
The path forward is obscured, shrouded in the same haze that blankets the coast. Roberts could still act. He could step before the cameras, name Trump, condemn the intimidation in terms that leave no room for ambiguity, visit Judge Salas, stand visibly in solidarity with the threatened institution he leads. But Luttig, knowing the man and the institutionalist’s instinct, doubts it will happen. The concern for “internal court workings” – the fragile détente among justices, some of whom (a Clarence Thomas, an Alito) openly align with the forces Roberts might confront – will likely prevail. So the burden shifts. It falls to the lower court judges who uphold rulings despite the digital mob baying at their door. To the state courts resisting federal overreach. To the citizens who must finally grasp that the judiciary is not an abstract concept in a civics textbook, but the fragile, essential barrier against a leader who speaks of opponents as “vermin” and promises “retribution.” Luttig has sounded the alarm, a tocsin ringing from within the conservative citadel. His voice, honed by decades of legal rigor, carries a unique authority born of shared history and shattered faith. Whether it is heard above the din of grievance and the calculated silence emanating from the Marble Palace, before the rule of law fractures beyond repair, is the unanswered question. It hangs heavy, like the marine layer, refusing to lift. We wait. We watch. We note the silence. And we understand, as Luttig forces us to understand, the profound, unforgivable cost of reticence in the hour of the wolf.
Luttig Criticizes Roberts on Judicial Independence
By Katherine Mayfield for The Earl Angle
Key Takeaways
Judge J. Michael Luttig, a conservative legal icon, publicly criticized Chief Justice John Roberts for failing to confront Trump’s attacks on the judiciary .
Luttig called Roberts’ silence an “unforgivable reticence” that enables Trump’s erosion of judicial independence .
Trump’s repeated calls to impeach federal judges mark a constitutional crisis, amounting to a “declared war on the rule of law” .
Roberts issued limited rebukes but avoided directly naming Trump, drawing accusations of institutional cowardice .
Luttig argues Roberts is presiding over the “end of the rule of law” by balancing court politics over principle .
The Conservative Legal Titan Breaking Ranks
You know, Judge J. Michael Luttig ain’t just any retired jurist. His name carries serious weight in conservative circles—like, foundational weight. He helped shepherd Clarence Thomas onto the Supreme Court back in ’91, mentored folks like Ted Cruz, and was on Reagan’s and both Bushes’ shortlists for the high court himself . That’s the kinda resume that makes Republican legal folks sit up straight. So when someone like him starts calling out Trump and the Chief Justice of the United States? It’s not just news. It’s a political earthquake shaking the very pillars of the conservative legal movement he helped build.
Luttig’s been around the block. He sat on the Fourth Circuit Court of Appeals for 15 years, known for opinions so meticulously crafted they were studied like textbooks . But since retiring, he’s transformed. January 6th was a wake-up call. He testified to Congress about Trump’s role in the insurrection, calling it a "war on democracy" plain and simple. Now? He’s taking aim at his own friend—John Roberts—for not doing enough to stop the bleeding. Alot of folks in his position would stay quiet, keep those old networks intact. Not Luttig. His disillusionment isn’t performative; it’s a product of seeing the institutions he revered being dismantled .
A Friendship Tested: Luttig and Roberts’ Shared Past
Luttig and Roberts ain’t just passing acquaintances. They go way back—like, Reagan White House counsel days back . They moved in the same tight-knit circles of young conservative lawyers dreaming of reshaping the judiciary. Roberts even took over Luttig’s old job when Luttig left for the bench . There’s personal respect there. Luttig’s called Roberts “one of the smartest people I’ve ever met,” someone with piercing self-awareness about the Court’s place in history . Which is why his public critique cuts so deep.
In interviews, Luttig’s voice tightens when talking about Roberts. He’s “disappointed,” a word he uses deliberately . This isn’t anger; it’s the frustration of seeing someone you know understands the stakes choose silence anyway. They’ve shared meals, probably debated law late into the night. That closeness makes Luttig’s words hit harder: “There is nothing that John Roberts is not aware of... that’s why I’ve been so disappointed in him” . It’s the kind of thing you say about a brother who’s strayed, not some distant colleague. Personal history collides with professional duty here, and Luttig’s choosing duty.
Trump’s Relentless Assault on Judicial Independence
Trump’s approach to judges he dislikes? Pure bulldozer tactics. When District Judge James Boasberg blocked his deportation of Venezuelan gang members in 2025, Trump didn’t just disagree. He went straight to Truth Social screaming “IMPEACH THE JUDGE!” calling him an “Obama judge” and “troublemaker” . This wasn’t isolated. It’s a pattern: any ruling against him sparks personal attacks and threats of removal. Representative Brandon Gill (R-TX) even filed articles of impeachment against Boasberg within hours, citing no actual misconduct—just policy disagreement .
This is what Luttig means when he says Trump’s “declared war on the rule of law.” Impeachment’s meant for “gross misconduct”—bribery, perjury, treason. Not because a president’s mad he lost a case . Historically, only 15 federal judges faced Senate impeachment trials in over 200 years; just 8 were convicted, all for actual crimes . Trump’s turning it into a political cudgel, normalizing the idea that judges should fear reprisal for unpopular rulings. And that fear’s real. Remember Judge Esther Salas? Her husband was murdered, her son wounded by a lawyer targeting her over a case . Against this backdrop, Trump’s rhetoric ain’t just irresponsible; it’s dangerous incitement.
Trump's Attacks on the Judiciary: Key Examples
Roberts’ Tepid Defense: Institutionalist or Coward?
Roberts has pushed back against Trump. Just... quietly. In 2018, after Trump dismissed an unfavorable ruling by an “Obama judge,” Roberts issued a rare statement: “We do not have Obama judges or Trump judges... What we have is an extraordinary group of dedicated judges” . Again in 2025, after Trump demanded Boasberg’s impeachment, Roberts noted “impeachment is not an appropriate response to disagreement” . But crucially—he never mentioned Trump by name.
That omission speaks volumes to Luttig. He sees Roberts making “broad statements, meaningless statements” that lump everyone together: “All of us. Obviously, the chief justice has said you, the Democrats, are every bit as responsible... That’s offensive” . It’s classic Roberts—prioritizing the Court’s image of neutrality over confronting the source of the poison. Luttig argues this evasion is strategic cowardice. Roberts knows calling out Trump directly would explode their relationship, invite MAGA fury onto the Court, and maybe even endanger the justices. But by staying vague, Roberts implies both sides share blame when only one side’s inciting violence and delegitimizing courts .
The Unasked Questions: Corporate Power and Conservative Legacy
During his interview on the Legal AF YouTube channel, Luttig faced tough questions he didn’t fully answer . Does he regret championing a conservative legal revolution that birthed Citizens United—unleashing corporate cash into politics? Or decisions that made it harder to challenge corporate monopolies? Luttig sidestepped, clinging to formalism: the law’s the law . But it’s a gaping hole in his critique.
Because Trump ain’t some aberration. He’s the logical endpoint of a movement that prioritized deregulation and executive power over democratic guardrails. Roberts himself wrote rulings like Shelby County v. Holder, gutting the Voting Rights Act, and Trump v. Hawaii, greenlighting travel bans based on religion . These decisions concentrated power in the presidency and weakened institutions meant to check it. So when Luttig rages at Roberts for enabling Trump’s authoritarianism, he’s ignoring how the conservative legal project he helped build laid the bricks for this road. It’s easier to blame Trump’s vulgarity than admit their theories of unfettered executive authority made his reign possible .
Jefferson’s Ghost: Luttig Rewrites the Declaration for 2025
Facing what he sees as creeping tyranny, Luttig did something extraordinary. He pulled out his copy of the Declaration of Independence and started rewriting it . Not for fun—as a moral indictment. Jefferson listed George III’s abuses: obstructing justice, imposing taxes without consent, dissolving legislatures. Luttig’s modern version accuses Trump of:
Violating his oath by disregarding the Constitution
Declaring himself above the law
Obstructing justice to shield allies
Incitement of violence against political opponents
Weaponizing the DOJ for personal revenge
It’s a powerful framing. Luttig’s arguing Trump isn’t just bad; he’s committing the same category of offenses that sparked revolution in 1776. And Roberts? By staying silent, he’s like those colonial judges who served at the king’s pleasure rather than the people’s. Luttig’s essentially asking: If this isn’t worth the Chief Justice’s vocal defense, what would be? When does institutional caution become complicity in despotism? .
The Weight of History: Roberts’ Legacy at Stake
Luttig keeps returning to one haunting idea: Roberts is choosing “the moment over history” . He knows the stakes. He knows Trump’s rhetoric endangers judges. He knows his court’s legitimacy is crumbling—only 47% of Americans view SCOTUS favorably now . Yet he calculates that confronting Trump would politicize the Court further. Better to issue gentle, nameless rebukes and hope the storm passes.
But Luttig insists history won’t forgive this caution. Chief justices are remembered for how they steered the ship in storms—like Earl Warren embracing desegregation despite violent backlash, or John Marshall asserting judicial review against Jefferson’s resistance. Roberts’ legacy won’t be his cleverly balanced opinions. It’ll be presiding over the demolition of judicial independence while muttering vaguely about decorum. “He has made the decision between the moment and history already,” Luttig warns, “and he cannot recover that decision” . For a man as steeped in history as Roberts, that’s the sharpest cut of all.
A Nation at a Crossroads: What Comes Next?
Luttig’s warnings aren’t academic. He sees a constitutional emergency unfolding. When a president attacks courts as “crooked” for ruling against him, demands impeachments without cause, and hints violence might be justified, the system’s foundations crack . Federal judges are already nervous. After the attack on Judge Salas’ family, many wonder aloud: Who protects us if the Chief Justice stays silent? .
The path forward’s murky. Roberts could still speak out forcefully—naming Trump, condemning intimidation, visiting judges like Salas to show solidarity. But Luttig doubts he will. Too worried about “internal court workings”—likely meaning keeping peace among the justices, some of whom (like Thomas) openly align with Trump’s base . So the burden shifts. To lower court judges upholding rulings despite threats. To state courts resisting federal overreach. To voters realizing the judiciary isn’t some abstract concept—it’s the last shield against a president who calls opponents “vermin” and promises “retribution.” Luttig’s sounding the alarm. Whether enough hear it before the rule of law fractures? That’s the unanswered question keeping him up at night .
Frequently Asked Questions
Why does Judge Luttig’s criticism of Roberts matter so much?
Luttig isn’t some liberal activist; he’s a pillar of the conservative legal establishment with deep ties to Roberts and the Federalist Society. His public condemnation signals a profound fracture within the movement that enabled Trump’s rise, lending bipartisan weight to concerns about democratic backsliding .
Does Roberts realize the damage his silence causes?
According to Luttig, absolutely. He calls Roberts hyper-aware of the Court’s declining legitimacy and the threats judges face. Roberts’ inaction, Luttig argues, is a calculated choice to avoid political blowback—not ignorance .
Has Trump really “declared war” on the rule of law?
Luttig uses that term precisely. Trump’s calls to impeach judges over policy disagreements, his persistent smearing of courts as “crooked,” and his encouragement of violence (e.g., “you have to fight like hell”) cross from criticism into systemic assault. This erodes public trust that courts can check presidential power .
What specific action does Luttig want Roberts to take?
He wants Roberts to publicly and explicitly condemn Trump by name for intimidating judges, attend events with threatened jurists (like Esther Salas), and defend judicial independence without false “both sides” equivalences. Silence, to Luttig, is dereliction of duty .
How does Luttig view Trump in historical terms?
He frames Trump’s actions through the lens of the Declaration of Independence, comparing his abuses to those of King George III—undermining courts, inciting violence, placing personal power over law. His rewritten Declaration is a direct appeal to revolutionary principles .
Share this post