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Month: April 2025

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Is It Time to Reform the Canadian Prime Minister?

Election day may have come and gone, but Canadian democracy has weathered a number of alarming turns in recent months. And yet, of all the issues discussed during the campaign, Canada’s “democratic deficit” barely received a mention. Has Canadian democracy survived unscathed or does the threat remain?

One of the most concerning things about Canada’s constitution is the Office of the Prime Minister. Anyone looking for a description of the prime minister’s powers in Canada’s constitution will be disappointed. Canada’s unwritten constitution functions according to the conventions of Westminster-style parliamentary system (as used in the UK, Australia, New Zealand, India, Belize, and many more countries). The prime minister is appointed as the head of government (the head of the monarchs council of advisors) by the head of state (the monarch) on the basis that they have the confidence of a majority of MPs in the House of Commons. The powers and limitations of the office are mostly based on unwritten convention.

A 2001 book on the topic called Canada’s prime minister “the friendly dictatorship.” And in the decades since, Canadians occasionally wonder if the government has become too centralized in the Office of the Prime Minister. The prime minister has the power to appoint their cabinet, parliamentary secretaries, senators, judges (including the Supreme Court), ambassadors, civil servants, the governor general and the provincial lieutenant governors; they advise the monarch when parliament should sit (something only constitutionally mandated once per year), and they alone advise when elections should be called; all without any parliamentary oversight.

In addition, the prime minister is also usually (but not necessarily) the leader of the political party with the largest caucus of MPs in the House of Commons. Being a party leader provides other perks as the party constitution can shield a leader from accountability from their own caucus and the leader has almost unilateral powers to appoint or deny someone being a candidate for the party (even if the candidate was already selected by party members in their local constituency). Thus, a prime minister cannot only create many incentives to keep MPs quiet and make them toe the party line, but if they don’t the leader can simply prevent them from running again. This means that even those in the prime minister’s own party have little ability to hold their leaders accountable, as we saw late last year.

The relative lack of oversight and accountability for such an unusual amount of concentrated political power is concerning. The only real check on the prime minister is the House of Commons’ vote of non-confidence. Without more political tools, it’s difficult to reign in an incompetent or wayward prime minister. This was recently put to the test when former Prime Minister Trudeau, facing a 20% approval rating and the likelihood of electoral oblivion at the next election, faced increasing calls to step down, even from within his own party. It’s hard to argue that Trudeau’s government was known for its competence, but despite a clear consensus that Trudeau should probably go, Liberal MPs insisted that their party’s constitution did not permit them to replace a leader – despite the fact that a majority of Liberal MPs were eventually calling for Trudeau to quit.

By the end of last year, every other political party backing Trudeau’s minority government publicly stated that they had lost confidence in Trudeau and would seek to vote non-confidence at the first opportunity. So, while it was clear that not only could Trudeau not command the support of the House, and even his own caucus, one would think replacing him would be straightforward. It was not. With the Parliament in recess, there was no way to actually hold a vote of confidence, and without that one check on the powers of the prime minister, Trudeau was able to spend weeks “reflecting” before finally making a decision to resign (he could have waited months longer if he wanted to).

Regardless of how anyone may feel about Trudeau politically, his decaying premiership stands as an objective example of the dangers of a prime minister who refuses to go. Defenders of the state of Canadian democracy may take this as proof that the system works: Trudeau was removed. The truth is that Trudeau weakened the only check on the powers of a prime minister on his way out of office. Rather than resign immediately or simply have the Liberal caucus choose a new leader (as often happens in other parliamentary systems), Trudeau prorogued parliament, preventing a vote and giving the Liberal Party weeks to engage in a protracted leadership campaign while the country was staring down an economic crisis with the United States.

Prorogation – the parliamentary procedure to reset things and start a new session of parliament – isn’t normally controversial. However, twice in the past twenty years a (Liberal and Conservative) prime minister has used this mechanism to avoid an impending vote a non-confidence. Imagine, for example, a clear majority of Congress (including 2/3rds of senators) indicating publicly that they intend to impeach the president, but before a vote can be called, the president closes Congress and prevents it from sitting for months so that people can “cool off.”

This kind of concentrated power lends itself to abuse. Yet, according to constitutional convention, it is only the prime minister that can advise the monarch, and as far as the Canadian media and legal establishment is concerned, this power is almost absolute until a non-confidence vote can actually occur. In other words, any time a prime minister gets a whiff that they might face a non-confidence vote, they are entitled to seek prorogation. And, recall, Parliament only has to sit once per year.

This kind of power is difficult to defend. To escape political danger, a prime minister only has to ignore a minority parliament, claim that it is being dysfunctional, and call for a reset. But the courts of the United Kingdom have already recognized that a prime minister should not have a unilateral say. When Boris Johnson advised the monarch to prorogue Parliament during Brexit negotiations, the courts ruled that the advice was unlawful because it prevented Parliament from carrying out its constitutional function. So, when a prime minister is facing a revolt from roughly his entire caucus and deadlocks Parliament by refusing to hand over documents relevant to parliamentary oversight, it’s reasonable for people to see this as preventing Parliament from performing its duty.

This issue is bigger than Trudeau, it’s about the Office of the Prime Minister. The legitimacy of all executive power of the prime minister (and everyone they appoint) should not rest on interpretations of vague conventions only a select few constitutional scholars will understand. Clearly these unwritten conventions are ripe for abuse, and recent evidence strongly suggests that these problems will only get worse. Some kind of constitutional amendment governing the powers of the prime minister ought to be formalized. Unfortunately, the powers of the prime minister were barely discussed during the campaign (I doubt many even understand the problem). Canadians may have voted, but democracy has lost.

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Blood, Birth, and Bonds: Who Counts as a Parent?

For most of us, our relationship with our parents is relatively straightforward, at least from a genealogy perspective. Your mum is the person who gestated you and from whom half of your DNA originates; your father is the source of the other half of your DNA. Now, this isn’t always the case. Some people are adopted and have no direct genetic relationship with their parents. Others are born via surrogacy, so while they may share DNA with their parents, someone other than their mother gestated them. Or, it might be that you have one parent with whom you share DNA and another that you don’t. In short, while many have an uncomplicated relationship with their parents (from a lineage perspective), there are alternatives.

This is not a trifling matter, either. The importance of personal history, the environment in which we grow, and the genetic sources of the very building blocks of our bodies fundamentally shape who we have been, who we are, who we may become, and who we are in relation to others. We typically think of owing special duties and responsibilities to those we call family, as opposed to those outside that sphere. The motivation for such a special category is debated, with reciprocity, friendship, obligation, and assumed promises all potentially forming a bedrock. Regardless of the why, the concept of family is significant. This makes it even more crucial to examine what it means to have a family, who we count as kin, and what entitles them to such a title are so vital.

The reason that I’m thinking about this now is because of two separate accidents that have recently occurred at IVF clinics, one in Israel and the other in Australia. While the clinics are worlds apart, the incidents have some shocking similarities as, in both cases, the wrong embryo was implanted into a would-be mother, resulting in them gestating and giving birth to a child that, genetically speaking, they had no relationship with.

Starting with the Israel case, as reported by The Times of Israel, in 2022, an IVF mix-up at Assuta Medical Center in Rishon Lezion led to an embryo being implanted into the wrong woman. The woman became pregnant and later gave birth to a girl named Sophia, only discovering through genetic testing that the child was not biologically related to her or her partner. Investigations revealed that the embryo had been intended for a different couple, who were eventually identified as the girl’s genetic parents. The discovery set off a legal and emotional dispute over custody between the birth parents and the biological parents. At present, the courts have ruled that Sophia should remain with her birth parents, as this would be in her best interests. However, Sophia’s genetic parents can appeal this decision and take the matter to Israel’s Supreme Court. So, at this point, the outcome of the mix-up remains uncertain.

In a strangely similar incident, as reported by the BBC, an error at an IVF clinic in Brisbane, Australia, resulted in a woman being implanted with another woman’s embryo in 2023. Gestation occurred as expected, and a child who shared no genetic relationship with its gestator was born. Unlike in the Israel incident, there are no firm details about whether the genetic parents are seeking custody of the child. While the gestating parents have sought legal counsel, it is unclear whether they will act against the clinic for what could be a severe case of negligence.

Despite being in two very different jurisdictions, it is clear that legal and regulatory questions surrounding how such accidents could have happened, what could have been done to prevent them from happening again, and what repercussions those at fault should face abound. However, I’d like to consider the more philosophical question of who can claim parenthood of the children in these and other such cases.

Looking at surrogacy cases is probably helpful as a starting point. In such cases, prospective parents employ the services of someone capable of gestating an embryo to term. In some countries, like India, this can be a service for which the gestator receives payment. In other places, while people can’t be paid for their services, they can receive reasonable expenses, such as in the UK. And in different countries, surrogacy is not only unpaid but actively prohibited, such as in France. However, clear legal frameworks usually determine parental rights and who counts as a parent in those places where it occurs. So, it might be that in the Australian and Israeli cases, we must see what the law requires and follow its lead.

Yet, there is a crucial difference between surrogacy cases and those we’re concerned about. In both the Israel and Australian cases, not only did the biological parents want a child, but so did the gestating parent. The children did not come about as the result of a transactional agreement between someone wanting a child but unable to have one and someone able to have a child but not wanting one. Instead, both mix-up cases concern individuals wanting children and thus wanting a parental role. So, while the rules around surrogacy might prove helpful, I think there is a material difference between that and the cases we’re concerned about, which means such help is limited.

Who, then, counts as a parent in the embryo mix-up cases?  What’s (more) important: gestation, genetics, or care? Is there a hierarchy of lineage linkage in which one of these factors trumps another? Or does Sophia and the unnamed Australian child have four parents, all of whom have equal rights to the parent title? After all, they all wanted to be parents from the start.

Sadly, I don’t have an answer to this question. As noted, the Israeli court has decided that the gestating parents should hold custody of Sophia. But this was on appeal. The Court of First Instance ruled that the genetic parents should take custody. And if the courts can come to contrary rulings, I feel justified in admitting I don’t have an answer. But, as a tentative conclusion, I’m tempted to agree with the courts and say that the person who not only gestates but has also been caring for Sophia for the past two years should retain custody. Yet, I can’t help but return to a quote by one of Sophia’s genetic parents: “Not only are mistakes and injustices not corrected, but they are sanctioned and perpetuated under the cover of the state.” It seems, then, that all involved are victims of circumstance. From what we know, none deserve to be in this situation, and, unfortunately, it does seem that regardless of who ends up being Sophia’s parents, someone will lose out.

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Why Follow the Law?

On December 4th, 2024 Luigi Mangione allegedly shot and killed a UnitedHealthcare CEO, and that action received impressively high levels of approval. More recently, critics of Musk and DOGE have been torching and vandalizing Teslas as an act of political protest. Even the current U.S. administration has shown disdain for the legal process, asserting new claims to executive power and pushing back against court orders. This growing disregard for legal norms raises an important question: Why follow the law?

The most straightforward reasons to follow the law are what we might consider practical or instrumental reasons. Of these, the most obvious is the fear of punishment – one should follow the law because, if they don’t, they will face certain consequences. There might also be clear self-interest at play. For example, laws such as using seatbelts and not drinking and driving provide decisive safety benefits to their followers and others on the road. Tax laws secure government resources, which can then be fed back into communities. Is there more than self-interest, though? If the only reasons to obey the law are instrumental, practical reasons, then if someone is, say, shielded from the consequences of breaking the law or thinks their lawbreaking will not be found out, why should they follow the law? It’s worth noting that if the only reason to follow a law is the fear of punishment — if that law truly provides no other public benefits — then that is the sign of a bad law.

One approach to answering the question of “why follow the law” are what philosophers call “transactional” theories of legal authority. The idea is that there is a transaction at play — the government provides something and, in exchange, participants in a political community incur an obligation to follow the law. The idea is simple enough with something like club membership. If you want to join the chess club, then you agree to follow the chess club’s rules. However, it is much more opaque with something like the law. Almost no one has actually meaningfully consented to be part of a country, they were just born that way. Though perhaps they would have given the choice. Philosophers sometimes appeal to hypothetical consent or implied rationality to argue that there is something like an agreement or contract between a nation and its residents. We might also consider a tacit agreement to follow the law based on the idea that the law, and the nation, provides a public good (even if specific individuals may benefit personally from breaking the law from time to time).

It follows from transactional approaches that governments must keep their side of the bargain. A corrupt and unjust government, or one that achieved power through illegitimate means (e.g., election fraud), incurs no special obligation for its people to obey its edicts.

Alternatively, we may think the obligation to follow the law flows from what it means to be a citizen or resident. Just as there may be virtues and obligations associated with being a student, a parent, or a nurse, being part of a political community comes with its own set of obligations and this could include an obligation to follow the law.

If laws are moral or practical, it is easy to justify our obedience. But what about unjust or immoral laws, is there still an obligation to follow those? Philosophers generally differ depending on what they think the law is. For philosophers in the natural law tradition, where laws are anchored in rights and privileges we have simply in being the kind of creature we are, an unjust law is no true law at all and cannot bind us. Other philosophers contend that laws flow instead from a social process. Instead of being rooted in morality, our obligation to follow the law comes from our deference to the legitimate procedure that shaped it. Still, a general obligation to follow unjust laws is likely overridden by more powerful and specific moral obligations. Moreover, one should perhaps question the political legitimacy of a nation which has a large number of unjust or otherwise deeply flawed laws.

Notably, none of this really accounts for the reasoning involved in burning Teslas or shooting CEOs. Very, very few philosophers would consider laws against property damage or murder unjust laws. Perpetrators may very well claim that their actions represent an attempt to prioritize the greater good, but the ability of greatest-good-for-the-greatest-number approaches in ethics to justify intuitively immoral actions has always been one of their most controversial features. (For more, see The Prindle Post’s discussions of the CEO killing and political violence.)

We may follow the law out of practicality, for moral reasons, to be a good citizen, or because we owe some general legal obligation to a politically legitimate state. However, just as morality can dovetail with the law, it can also push against it. Ideally, political obligation should come naturally. Laws should be generally accepted. They should make sense. They should feel fair. They should be applied equally. They should align with generally accepted moral norms. But if the law becomes an obstacle to achieving a life well lived, a weapon to be wielded against one’s political opponents, or a tool of oppression, then it is time to question the guidance the law offers and push for change.

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A Time (and Place) for Everything

One day post-inauguration, The Rt. Rev. Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde shared a fifteen-minute sermon at the Washington National Cathedral. In her final three minutes, after commending to listeners the foundations of unity, she implored President Donald Trump — seated feet away — to have mercy on groups she identified as vulnerable.

Budde’s objectors suggest her “gratuitous criticisms ring hollow” and represent “the cause of America’s decline.” Others applaud the bishop’s “faith-filled witness” and for “nail[ing] her colours to the mast … But with a brave and gentle hammer.” Faithful America, a Christian social action community, raised over 55,000 signatures in a pro-Budde solidarity petition.

Such responses offer judgments of content, praise or condemnation of Budde’s message, rather than the style or context of its delivery.

But others remark on Budde without mention of her position. For instance, some call blasphemy on the legitimacy of her priesthood; knowledge that a woman delivered the sermon, without hearing it, suffices as evidence for opposition. Analogously, for religiously disinclined folk, perhaps any infusion of prayer into politics is itself objectionable. Consider, too, this impression: “[Budde] is courageous, I’ll agree. But sometimes truth needs not to be delivered in a sermon to a single man in the middle of church.”

Here are evaluations of form, approval or disapproval of (some facet of) Budde’s presentation of the message, rather than the message itself.

I have my own perspective on Budde’s sermon, finding commiseration and divergence with various published reactions to her message and its presentation. However, what I find unsettling — rather than merely unconvincing — is a different, furtive phenomenon lurking within the discourse: the act of concealing a critique of content behind a critique of form.

That is, it is unhelpful to bemoan the timing and context of Budde’s words when purportedly discussing the legitimacy of what they actually were. It is also off-topic to announce a perspective on her message when conversing about the timing and manner of her delivery. To grasp an honest view of form, imagine the speaker expressing a message of a different persuasion but in the exact same way. What message-focused opinions weaseled their way into judgment of presentation?

Let’s envision this more concretely. Imagine a large flag draped over the back of a vehicle. In response, if you scoff while suggesting, “No one should display a flag that big,” then you imply a disagreement with the flag-bearer’s choice in presentation, not message. The purest way to test the truth of your critique is imagining different flags — different content — in its place. If your opinion fails to hold, then you meant something else, perhaps as simple as: I don’t like that flag’s message.

But why do we hesitate to say what we actually mean?

Generalization — asserting a sweeping statement — grants the face-saving power to preserve true opinions, but doing so hurts an opportunity to accurately communicate with and dignify others. If you are overheard generalizing a hatred of flags by someone who, unbeknownst to you, displays a flag you actually don’t mind, then they understand displaying flags to be bad, rather than what you actually mean: I don’t approve of the message of that flag.

Our world is rife with analogous opportunities for muddling responses to content and form. Recall collective actions like essential worker strikes, mid-pandemic protests dissenting mask mandates, school walk-outs against gun violence, and college campus encampments urging divestment. At an individual scale, we see mid–concert political declarations, national anthem disengagement at sporting events, or public assertions of one’s unwanted presence.

In such cases, e.g., if you felt more or less connected to a artist because of a mid-concert political quip or a classmate complain about insufficient or excessive mask-wearing, then — rather than simply use this information for the singular end of labeling Person Z to be ‘good’ or ‘bad’ — identify what, exactly, lies behind your knee-jerk value judgment about that individual.

Because in misattributing an error, we concoct a moral and epistemological hazard. Suggesting, “Professional athletes should never be political” when you meant, “I don’t like that athlete’s political message” threatens healthy discourse. That is, by saying one thing and meaning another, we fail to move the conversation in its true direction, cementing the wall between ideological adversaries. In pursuit of appearing apolitical, we taint the rhetorically sacred.

Are you frustrated by the occasion for the opinion? Or what the opinion actually was?

Consider another example: last May, the news was flurried with commentary on the commencement address NFL Kicker Harrison Butker delivered at Benedictine College. Facing the graduates, he prescribed traditionalist intra- and interpersonal order as an antidote to the cultural disarray he indicated to be buttressed by then-President Biden.

Butker was praised for “saying things that ‘people are scared to say,’” and “guiding young minds towards paths of purpose and integrity.”  Simultaneously, over 260,000 petitioners called for his NFL dismissal, and Mount St. Scholastica’s Benedictine sisters suggest his “remarks do not ‘represent the Catholic, Benedictine, liberal arts college that [Benedictine College’s] founders envisioned.’”

It is entirely possible to disagree with Butker’s message yet believe him deserving of an opportunity to share it—or offer agreement and, at the same time, maintain graduation to be an inappropriate time for delivery. For instance, consider historian Evelyn Beatrice Hall’s precept: “I do not agree with what you say, but I defend to the death your right to say it.” Seeking to be ‘for’ or ‘against’ an entire moment, rather than its particular components, promotes sweeping conclusions. If we don’t get curious about the values motivating particular decisions, then we will misinterpret each other to be impenetrable bundles of nonsense.

So, in future matters of disagreement over public statements — because there will be more — I challenge us all (me included) to make more distinctions, to invoke more precision. Clarity invites opportunities for more accurate, intelligent, and charitable deliberation. Sweeping generalizations, though comforting, profitable, and entertaining, are inaccurate, dehumanizing, and curiosity-squashing. It is of existential, communal import to say precisely what we mean; we owe it to our neighbors to listen and speak not in competition but, instead, with compassionate candor.

Isn’t mutual understanding the whole point of speaking to each other at all?

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Calling Out Polarization

There is a great deal of discussion about the relationship between misinformation and polarization, or the relationship between AI and polarization, particularly the dangers of things like filter bubbles and collaborative filtering. Most people recognize that political polarization – the tendency for the public to divide sharply between left and right in ways that encourage radicalization, increase mistrust, and strengthen intolerance for people and ideas – is generally a bad thing for democracy. This is true not only because it makes it more difficult to identify our shared interests and values, but also because it makes people easier to manipulate. Yet, while many emphasize the need for regulatory reform, perhaps a more straightforward social solution is required: calling out and condemning such attitudes.

First, let’s consider why polarization presents a problem for democracies. In its most fundamental form, the concept of democracy assumes that the public is capable of self-governance. This requires that individuals be able to understand public issues that affect them and to advocate for their own interests. Without the ability to understand what is in your own good, voting power, by itself, is of little help. If something inhibits public communication and deliberation, it greatly restricts the public’s ability to deliberate. As Philosopher Thomas Christiano notes, “To the extent that the epistemic weaknesses generated by a particular environment contribute to many people being deprived of important tools for thinking about their interests or aims, and vulnerable to having their rational abilities subverted by others with different purposes and interests, we have a serious problem for democracy.”

In cases of extreme polarization, where each side essentially listens to their own news with its own isolated take on public issues, individuals are cut off from potentially learning about common issues and shared values that will allow them to weigh interests, debate, and compromise. Such conditions allow voters to be easily manipulated as they are unlikely to trust “the other side,” making it more likely that hatred and outrage will keep people’s attention and keep a larger public divided.

If we can call out people for expressing “fascist” sentiments, “authoritarian” sentiments, “woke” sentiments, or “socialist” sentiments then why is it that we don’t call out figures for expressing needlessly polarizing sentiments? While the idea of attempting to push back against polarization sounds good in theory, as noted people can disagree on the causes. Also, when groups are polarized against other groups, they often feel their condemnation and dismissal of their political opponents comes with good reason.

Given the power of misinformation in othering, it quickly becomes impossible to reach across the aisle and take the concerns of the other side seriously. If we fundamentally disagree on the facts, it will be difficult to carry on a conversation. And this is no less true if we fundamentally disagree over values. It may seem unreasonable or even unacceptable to associate people who champion values that are in direct conflict with our own.

But another essential piece of democratic dialogue is the advancement of one’s views and the criticism of alternative policy ideas. Attempting to avoid polarization by minimizing differences between different political groups comes with its own set of consequences and complications.

Still, if we are going to denounce polarizing behavior, we need to be clear what kind of behavior should qualify. Pointlessly focusing on past political battles, “trolling” the other side, engaging in guilt-by-association fallacies, dismissing the concerns of whole groups of people, engaging in whataboutism; all count as unhelpful, polarizing tactics.

We also know that we cannot resist outrageous content, so perhaps we need to be better at policing both those in the media who benefit from posting “click-batey” material and ourselves for being tempted to consume it. We know full well that such content will not provide a balanced take on an issue, and we are all too prone to assuming that the other side is operating in bad faith. Even a failure to appear sufficiently patriotic quickly devolves into public figures being branded as “traitors.” But such attitudes and discourse are detrimental to democratic dialogue.

Of course, none of this means that you have to believe what the other side believes or adopt the same values they do. What it does require is that you don’t respond in ways that dismiss or demonize. As philosopher Jane Addams argues, “We know instinctively that if we grow contemptuous of our fellows, and consciously limit our intercourse to certain kinds of people whom we have previously decided to respect, we not only tremendously circumscribe our range of life, but limit the scope of our ethics.” Addams believed that most political conflict is a result of unnecessary personal attitudes getting in the way and that the key to a well-functioning democracy is a sympathetic understanding of our fellow citizens. Instead of concluding that one’s political opponents are degenerates or fools for believing as they do, see the wide gap that is said to separate their misguided ways from your true beliefs as a symptom of a larger social problem. You may find that the values, priorities, and interests of the other side, even if disagreeable, are still very much intelligible.

This shared understanding may in turn reveal shared values hidden under the veneer of political rhetoric and venom. As Addams notes, democracy requires that “all must turn out for one another, and at least see the side of one another’s burdens” and that “diversified human experience” is “the foundation and guarantee of democracy.” We should unite against those who seek only to polarize, just like those who litter, for polluting social discourse and obscuring our perception of a common cause.

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Take Your Time: The Moral Importance of Due Process

On Saturday, March 15th, the White House announced that President Donald Trump invoked the Alien Enemies Act of 1798, (AEA) as he declared he would on the campaign trail. The AEA grants the president the authority to arrest, relocate, or imprison all male, over the age of 14 citizens of a nation with which the United States is at war. Specifically, President Trump stated he would target citizens of Venezuela currently in the U.S. who  are members of the Tren de Aragua gang (TdA).

In 2024, the Biden administration designated TdA as a transnational criminal organization and on February 20th, 2025, the Trump administration officially labeled the group as a terrorist organization. Within the U.S. members of TdA have been accused of drug smuggling and dealing, human trafficking and one member is currently facing trial in the shooting of two New York City police officers.

On the morning of March 15th, prior to the public invocation of the AEA, Judge James Boasberg, the chief judge of the U.S. District Court for the District of Columbia, issued a temporary restraining order to halt the imminent removal of five Venezuelan nationals accused of being TdA members. Later that evening, Boasberg verbally instructed representatives of the Justice department to halt the expulsion of Venezuelan nationals and return any airborne planes to the U.S. At the time, two planes had already departed the U.S., one bound for Honduras and one for El Salvador. The Honduras bound plane arrived ten minutes after Boasberg publicly released a written version of his order, while the El Salvador bound plane landed approximately half an hour afterwards.

Why were Venezuelan nationals sent to El Salvador? The Trump administration and El Salvador’s President Nayib Bukele reached a deal to house deportees from the U.S. in El Salvador’s Terrorism Confinement Center, its Spanish name abbreviated as CECOT. The prison is known for its extreme conditions. Detainees are held in cells of 60 to 70 prisoners, only leave the cells for 30 minutes a day and are not allowed outdoors. The lights remain on constantly. There is no visitation and no communication with attorneys. Most prisoners in CECOT have triple digit sentences, meaning they will never leave. As a result, there are no efforts to rehabilitate detainees or prepare them for reintegration into society.

As I write, the case is evolving. The court is currently investigating which members of the executive branch knew of Boasberg’s order, when they knew and whether they knowingly violated the order as a result. However, the administration has disrupted the fact-finding process by refusing to answer many of Boasberg’s questions, citing national security concerns. Boasberg now contends that the administration may have “acted in bad faith” and is considering whether to find members of the administration in contempt of court. On March 26th, an appeals court upheld Boasberg’s order and the administration has since filed an appeal with the Supreme Court. On April 7th, the Court overturned Boasberg’s stay halting removals under the AEA. However, they did not directly consider the merits of the case, instead arguing in a 5-4 ruling that the law should have been challenged in Texas, where the migrants were held initially, rather than in the DC Federal court.

In total, the Trump administration has removed 238 Venezuelan nationals from the U.S., including 17 alleged gang members on Sunday, March 30th. However, the administration has not publicly provided evidence for these allegations. This is especially troubling given that many appear to have been targeted due to having tattoos, some of which consist of the names of children, deceased family members and in one case, an autism awareness tattoo. According to a validation guide filed in court by the American Civil Liberties Union, Immigration and Customs Enforcement can validate an accused individual as a member of TdA with as little as a tattoo and clothing that the agent deems to be related to TdA.

There are multiple issues up for legal debate in this case. It is debatable whether the president can invoke this law, given that Congress has not declared war. Further, it is unclear that the U.S. could be at war with TdA since a gang is not a formal state. What the current cases deal with, however, is the matter of due process; the accused are not being formally charged with a crime, nor are they given a chance to defend themselves in court. The accusation is, in the eyes of this administration, sufficient for punishment. This is especially troubling given that, according to Reuters, at least 27 had pending asylum cases and thus were following the legal process necessary to stay in the U.S.

Although punishment is ubiquitous in human societies, finding the moral justification for these practices is a thorny matter. Most moral theories endorse some version of the harm principle, the idea that there is a moral presumption against harming others. But punishment harms the punished. So how can we morally justify it?

Many turn to a view called retributivism to justify punishment. On retributivism, punishment is about giving the wrong doer what they deserve. Those offenses where punishment seems appropriate, such as theft, assault, theft or recklessness, are those that harm innocents. So, the idea behind retributivism is that you deserve to be treated how you treat others, in this case, harmfully.

And with a justification of punishment in hand, we can see the moral importance of due process. Normally, offenses are investigated, evidence is gathered, suspects are formally charged and face trial as a precaution against getting things wrong. Why take these precautions? When our punishment institutions get things wrong, they harm innocents. In doing so, our institutions are no different from an offender who recklessly engaged in behavior that harmed innocents. Due process is thus a moral safeguard – to ensure that our institutions do not engage in the same behavior for which we think it appropriate to punish individuals.

Some might contend, though, that due process is inappropriate in some cases. You’ve likely heard someone muse that mass shooters or sex offenders ought to just be taken out back, so to speak, rather than going through all the bother of a trial. But to argue that due process is inappropriate for some offenses assumes what you are trying to prove. No matter how heinous the offense, due process is necessary for certainty.  For instance, the Trump administration recently acknowledged that they had mistakenly sent a man to CECOT due to an “administrative error.” The administration claims it lacks the power to force Bukele’s government to return him. A federal judge has since ordered that they must secure his return. However, the Supreme Court issued a stay on Monday afternoon, temporarily pausing the order while they consider the merits of the Administration’s arguments to outright block the order.

There are two additional concerns with addressing. First, some could argue that there could be exceptions to the need for due process. Perhaps an offender has been caught in the act or the evidence is just overwhelming. In cases like these, it would be more expedient to just punish the offender without a lengthy trial, or so the objection goes.

Setting aside that what may appear obvious at first glance is not always true, there is still an issue with this argument. Specifically, that obviousness is a matter of degree. In some cases, it will be screamingly obvious that the accused is the offender, while in others we may simply have reason to believe that the accused is the offender, with most cases residing in between. To draw a line somewhere and say “when it is this obvious that the accused has committed the offense, they do not deserve due process, but when it is less obvious than that, they deserve it,” is arbitrary. The rights of the accused, and the precautions that our institutions take, should not swing wildly on a slight difference of evidence. If due process is appropriate in one case then it is appropriate in every case.

Here this point intersects with another objection to the importance of due process. Others may view the potential harm to innocents as simply the cost of doing business, so to speak. Sure, some innocents or good people are caught up in these purges. But ultimately, only people who are not citizens, nor permanent residents, have been removed and sent to CECOT. They were either in the country illegally, or asylum seekers who were not yet accepted. So it may be cause for minor concern.

However, what this objection misses is that due process is necessary to protect citizens, lawful permanent residents and visa holders. If there truly is no due process, then even a natural born citizen would lack the guarantee to establish their legal right to reside in the U.S. before a court. If the federal government has the authority to send uniformed officers to grab someone off the streets, detain them, accuse them of membership in an international gang then ship them out of the country without substantiating their claims, anyone can potentially suffer this fate. Our concerns here should be magnified by the fact that the administration is currently arguing to the Supreme Court that negotiations with a foreign nation are outside the power of the judiciary and thus a judge cannot demand that the executive return someone they acknowledge was wrongly sent to CECOT. If we are to guarantee that our rights will be protected in any case, then we must guarantee that due process is secure in every case.

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Understanding the Right to Education

On March 25 2025, President Trump signed an executive order to close the United States Department of Education (DoE). According to Secretary of Education (and former professional wrestling promoter) Linda McMahon, this was done in order to both (1) eliminate costly bureaucracy; and (2) return the role of education to states “where it so rightly belongs.”

But just how good is this reasoning? Let’s consider each of these claims in turn.

The first – that the DoE is an example of “bloated federal bureaucracy” – is, perhaps, the easiest to assess. The fact of the matter is that, despite providing 13.6% of all funding for K-12 public schools, the Department manages to run on a surprisingly slim staff of 4,200. That’s about 0.2% of overall federal employment, or one DoE worker for every 13,000 students. What’s more, their budget (much of which comprises the funding distributed to public schools) only accounts for 4% of all Federal spending. That’s less than the Department of Veteran’s Affairs, and a mere third of what the United States spends on defense.

Perhaps, then, the stronger reason for this executive order can be found in the claim that education should be the prerogative of states and local communities. There’s certainly something to this argument. In fact, it cuts to the very reason for the U.S. having a federalist system in the first place. A single “unitary” government might work well for my homeland of New Zealand (which is, in both population and land mass, roughly the size of Colorado). But such a system seems less suitable for larger populations over larger areas. The differences in culture, geography, resources, and economy found across the U.S. provide a good case for localized state governments having the power to legislate for themselves – with only certain aspects of law-making being overseen by the centralized federal government. And this kind of reasoning makes sense. A land-locked state built on a logging economy will have very different concerns to a coastal state built on tourism – and a federalist system allows those states to legislate according to their respective concerns.

The current administration’s position seems to be that the same is true of education. But there’s a reason we might reject this notion: namely, that there is a widely accepted right to education. Such a right is enshrined in Article 26 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, but we could argue that a moral right to education exists regardless of whether any law (domestic or international) recognizes it.

Many of our rights – such as the right to freedom of expression, and the right to bodily autonomy – are negative rights, or rights to non-interference. These rights create corresponding negative duties on others: duties to not interfere. My negative right to freedom of movement, for example, creates a negative duty on you to not interfere by getting in my way. Similarly, my negative right to bodily autonomy creates a negative duty on you to not interfere with my body.

But not all rights are negative. Some are instead positive. These are rights to be provided with certain things. Examples might include rights to things like adequate nutrition, water, clean air, and healthcare. These rights create corresponding positive duties on certain other people: duties to provide me with those things. Consider, for example, how a child’s positive right to adequate nutrition creates a positive duty on his parents to feed him.

If there is a right to education, then it’s positive – that is, it’s a right to be provided with something (not merely a right to not be interfered with). The current administration’s argument is that states are best placed to decide what, precisely, this right requires, and that this might differ from state to state. But here’s why that’s concerning: The content of a right (that is, what is required in order to ensure that the right is satisfied) is usually taken to be objective. Consider, again, a child’s right to adequate nutrition. There is an objective fact of the matter about what, precisely, this child’s diet needs to include in order to satisfy this right. And that will remain the case regardless of whether or not his parents think they are feeding him well enough. This objective analysis is precisely what allows us to critique the behavior of neglectful parents.

The very same is true of education. There is an objective fact of the matter about what kind (and amount) of teaching is required in order to satisfy a child’s right to education. And while this might vary across different kinds of learners, it holds true for all learners of that kind. Precisely where in the country (or even the world) a child finds themselves should make no difference.

What this means, then, is that there is no good argument for allowing states, communities, or even parents to subjectively determine what they feel is sufficient for their child’s education. Instead, it should be objectively determined – and universally administered. And this is precisely what something like a federal Department of Education is intended to do. Now whether or not such a centralized Department is, in fact, performing this role is an important – and secondary – consideration. But decentralizing education is not the solution. Such an approach greatly enhances the risk of error – of a state simply getting it wrong when it comes to figuring out what a child’s education requires. The worst-case outcome of such a system (and an outcome that is now likely as a result of the president’s executive order) is that children may receive wildly different educational experiences based on the sheer dumb luck of where they’re born.