In the fall of 2024, a wide-eyed freshman named Harold Myers arrived on campus at Davidson College, eager to start his freshman year. Passionate about the law, he found himself enthralled by his Humanities course, which centered on justice. As he read John Rawls’ A Theory of Justice, Harold grew indignant that the American government—the institution society depended on to dispense justice—was neglecting truly just principles.
September 24 of that year was a day Harold would never forget. It was the day that the Supreme Court of the United States allowed the execution of Marcellus Williams despite compelling evidence of his potential innocence. Frustrated and shocked, Harold looked for answers in his Humes readings. But there, he found no such clarity. With every text he looked at, he seemed to find another conceptualization of justice violated by the justices.
Fed up at dinner with his lack of control over this unjust “justice system,” Harold wrote in Sharpie across the front cover of his Humes notebook, “I WILL BECOME A SUPREME COURT JUSTICE.”
From that day on, Harold was a man on a mission, determined to exert some level of control on the Supreme Court. He studied and worked harder than anyone else. He isolated himself socially, ignoring the students naive enough to seek to enact justice through any tool besides the gavel. He carried a gavel that said “Justice Myers” on it everywhere with him to remind him of his supreme goal.
The hard work paid off: in autumn 2028, he arrived on campus at Harvard Law School, alma mater of 22 of the men and women Harold hoped to call his predecessors on the top bench. As he touched down in Boston, he removed each of his fellow Davidson classmates from his phone’s contacts. Their approaches to justice—from social work to global health to human resources—bordered on pointless to him, rendering them unworthy of his time.
Four years to the day of Harold’s declaration to become a justice, another watershed moment in his life occurred. In a passing remark, his constitutional law professor mentioned that the path to the highest court in the land seemed far easier for conservatives. It was basic math: given fewer right-leaning lawyers, the pool for clerkships and appointments on the conservative side was simply less competitive.
Thus, an idea hatched in Harold’s brain: masquerade as a conservative, work his way up to the Supreme Court, and then use his position there to restore justice.
Without a second of hesitation, he jumped into action. He became President of the Harvard Federalist Society. He argued with professors he once would’ve applauded. He even published an article in Harvard Law Review lauding the Marcellus Williams execution as a highlight of the Roberts Court.
One night, arriving back at his apartment from a Harvard Law School Republicans meeting, Harold felt like a traitor to his legitimate ideological kin. Combing through his bookshelf, he found his Humes notebook. He stared at his message on the back cover for what felt like an hour, and then got back to work penning an article attacking antitrust enforcement attempts. Any sacrifice was worth it to fulfill the promise on that notebook.
Despite his moral misgivings, Harold’s work was rewarded handsomely. He worked three clerkships in as many years, spending the third in his sworn enemy Brett Kavanaugh’s chambers, where he wrote up opinions affirming the doctrines that once disgusted him. After that, he joined a conservative litigation firm, where, after five years of passionately arguing against his morals, he earned a seat on the DC Court of Appeals.
In this position, Harold faced a fundamental conflict. He could return to his progressive roots but sacrifice any hope of a Supreme Court nomination. Or, he could issue rulings he knew were despicable but could give him the chance to make a supreme difference. He opted for the latter.
From his post on the circuit court, Harold made many rulings he could not honestly deem moral — rulings he could only justify by pulling out the back cover of his Humes notebook and reminding himself he’d have a lifetime to right those wrongs once he held the Supreme gavel.
After seven long years of waiting for a Supreme Court vacancy to coincide with a Republican presidency, Harold finally got his wish. President Josh Hawley, a man Harold once referred to as “a scumbag,” nominated Harold to the Senate, where he was swiftly accepted.
He had done it! Harold finally had the gavel he craved, and with it, the ability to speak up for those violated by the past decades of law in the United States. Yet, something still felt wrong. Harold feared that even with a half century on the bench, he couldn’t reverse the damage he had done through his prior jurisprudence.
Early in his first year, a death penalty case came across his desk with facts eerily similar to the Marcellus Williams case. He proudly cast the deciding vote to save the man’s life. As anti-death penalty activists celebrated, Harold sat sullen in his chambers, trying to figure out why he wasn’t happier about this life-saving decision.
He got out his old Humes notebook, flipped past the “I WILL BECOME A SUPREME COURT JUSTICE” declaration, skimmed through his notes, and finally arrived at the back cover. He paused for minutes there, and contemplated both the destructive rhetoric and decisions he had already penned and the life he had saved. He leafed through his Davidson yearbook, looking at the younger faces of classmates who went on to careers promoting justice without a gavel or even a JD.
Finally, in the same black Sharpie as the one that adorned the front decades before, Harold wrote the question that had been weighing on his mind since the first time he picked up that fateful marker: “IS THIS JUSTICE?”