Tuesday, February 6, 2024

I’ve been thinking about how amazing it is to be an American citizen. Especially the unique opportunities citizenship in a democracy affords every one of us. By now you know that colleague Elizabeth and I went to SCOTUS recently, to report on the Chevron doctrine cases heard during oral arguments. Those cases are hugely relevant to our business, and we will continue our coverage through the issuance of the court’s opinion and beyond. But since we have some time before then, I wanted to share what it’s like to witness all the sights and sounds during a visit to the highest court in our land.

Regular readers already know how the process of application for a press pass works, and the feeling of combined euphoria, disbelief and nerves that immediately wash over a person when she reads that her request has been approved. In the coming days the excitement burns in, but never lessens. You can find yourself unable to describe exactly what you’re feeling or thinking about the event. Everyone who hears about your acceptance is incredibly excited for you and is curious about your take. Invariably you find yourself at a loss for words, just smiling and slow nodding in a, “yeah, I guess that’s really going to happen” way, which can sound a little disconnected. Because even though your brain knows it’s happening, it also feels … just surreal.

As the day approaches, you might catch yourself reviewing the visitors’ rules over and over again. Just to make sure you don’t blow it by committing a visitor faux pas that can get you booted out. You plan your travel carefully, to ensure you have plenty of buffer time in case of flight delays – which turned out to be quite warranted on this trip. You carefully select your clothes (there’s no casual day at SCOTUS even for visitors) and plan out the early morning of your visit day, allowing extra time for proper caffeine intake and the right mix of thinking time, getting ready time and arrive there plenty early time. You set your alarm for very early. But you don’t need it.

If you’re lucky enough to have a colleague to meet, who has been there before and knows the ropes, you agree to meet at a specific time in front of the court building, but you’re both there 15 minutes early. It was cold, but we didn’t mind much. My first ask was, “So how much sleep did you get?”

“Nearly none at all.”

“Same.”

You watch and listen to the other folks gathered around. Several are media, getting B roll shots of the building for a related story – in our case it was in advance of a large protest scheduled in DC later that week. It’s funny, the obviously American media do not appear amazed to be where they are. Somehow, they go about their jobs like surgeons, and I wonder how many visits does it take before this becomes rote or just another day at work? For the foreign press though, it’s different. They’re getting their work done, but they also often stop to stand and just quietly look up at the building.  That’s what Elizabeth and I keep finding ourselves doing too.

You watch SUVs pull up and groups of what look like they could be attorneys stridently move out of the cold and into the building together, talking little. You catch yourself wondering which side of the case they’ll be arguing. You wonder what’s on their mind, how they view the stakes and how they feel about their odds of their argument prevailing. You wonder if they needed an alarm this morning.

You watch as a line that formed well before your arrival for the general public wanting to get in for even just 10 minutes to catch a glimpse of court proceedings begins to stretch longer and farther away from the building. It makes you smile that people still line up for things like this.

We step past the protestors, avoiding eye-contact but trying nonchalantly to see what their issue is, as we approach the officers to ask where we should be going. I missed identifying the protestors’ cause, but the officers politely ask them to move away from the temporary barriers as it comes closer to the time for visitors to be allowed in. They did.

I’m hesitant to approach the officers, but absent visible way-finding signage we elect that as our best bet. Law enforcement officers in DC are also often unofficial ambassadors, informal information officers and co-stars of more than a few selfies. I’ve never encountered one who hasn’t been an absolute delight, provided you’re not causing a problem. It’s fun to watch them going about a normal day at work, and then some big-eyed Midwesterner such as myself asks them a question, and the visible awe at my surroundings makes them smile with pride every time. There is just a sort of unspoken “It’s so cool right? Yeah, I know” thing that passes between you. They are unofficial ambassadors who will churn and burn, taking care of business if necessary. I find I like that very much.

We sheepishly explain that we are press, just on a day pass, apologizing for our needing to know next steps. “Well, welcome! You’re press? Come right in and head right in that door over there.” They explain that someone will meet us there, check our IDs and we will go through airport-style security, after which arrive in the office of the court’s Public Information Officer. I must say, this is probably the most friendly, professional and welcoming office I have ever been hosted in, public or private. These people are efficiently taking care of business and are thoughtful enough to provide accommodation so that you can efficiently take care of your business, too. There are materials for your reference including a recap of the case(s), a Visitors Guide to Oral Argument, a hearing list for the week, Wi-Fi guest password, even a small card that references the seating chart for the bench with names of the justices.

The PIO staff know you’re excited to be there, and they seem happy to warmly welcome you. They chat with you, they smile, you tell them how appreciative you are to be in attendance today, they tell you they’re thrilled you are there and they’re excited for your day, and they gently urge you to enjoy the press waiting room. They say they’ll come to get you when it’s time.

And so we sit, we wait, we nervously try to busy ourselves so we don’t look like kindergartners who crashed the senior trip. I lock up my valuables and anything that can’t go in the courtroom; only a pad and pencil are allowed. Nothing else. And yes, they check. Now it’s just a matter of time until we move upstairs and it all begins.

More next week from inside the courtroom itself.

Until next time,

Mary Schuster
Chief Knowledge Officer
October Research, LLC