Thomas is an assistant professor of psychology at the University of Indianapolis and a public voices fellow through The OpEd Project.
Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson has made history as the first Black woman confirmed to the U.S. Supreme Court. Both her confirmation hearings and her history as a judge underscore a larger issue: Justice can’t exist without listening.
The hearings brought the brokenness of the proceedings to light, with many speaking over her and failing to listen. This reflects, in particular, a profound misunderstanding of the procedures necessary to uphold the legitimacy of the judicial system. Listening is an underemphasized pillar of justice. While many people might think of the judicial system as a mechanism of distributive justice (allocating rewards and punishments appropriately), procedural justice (fair process and treatment) can serve as a stronger motivator of law-abiding behavior in its citizens.
In her opening speech, Jackson said her nearly 600 written legal decisions tend to be lengthy because she is committed to transparency. She stated she wants “each litigant to know that the judge in their case has heard them, whether or not their arguments prevail in court.”
Yale law professor Tom Tyler has demonstrated through his scholarship that most people obey the law not because of perceived consequences, but because they believe the laws to be fair and legitimate.
When people feel fairly treated, through respectful processes and listening practices, they legitimize authorities. This legitimacy can happen even when people disagree with the distributive outcome as long as the process feels fair.
Transparency and voice are pillars of justice, and important predictors of legitimacy attributions in a wide range of studies.
The appointment of a justice who takes great care in providing transparency and procedural justice will strengthen the legitimacy of the courts at a time when the perception of the Supreme Court is at an all-time low. The appointment of a Black female, especially one who is committed to practices of transparency and procedural justice, has the potential to increase public legitimacy of the Supreme Court. A recent Gallup poll gave her the second highest approval rating, behind only Chief Justice John Roberts.
If the judicial sentence is distributed correctly, but if the process is botched, it will not feel like justice. And the perception of justice matters. Research shows that the perception of justice in one’s personal life drives motivation, well-being, feelings of safety and positive future orientation.
A disproportionate amount of hearing time was spent on browbeating the nominee over whether she is tough enough on crime. While this is arguably a flawed perspective shaded by race, it is also a short-term, fear-mongering focus that does not take into account the role that justice practices and adequate representation can play in legitimizing the system itself. When a system is deemed legitimate and people feel heard, they are more likely to abide by a social contract. The role of procedural justice in shaping legitimacy is critical at this point in American history.
Fostering a just society also means creating systems that are considered legitimate by the people who live under them. There is a popular narrative that tough sentencing deters crime. In short, it absolutely does not, likely because criminals don’t weigh their future in the same way policy writers do. Legitimizing legal authorities does improve compliance with the law. Thus, a system that practices listening increases people’s perception of the legitimacy of the system. Most importantly, it deters crime.
Through my years of studying justice perceptions in the family, school and legal authorities in Brazil, Kenya, and the United States, I have come to understand justice as a form of capital that is not equally distributed. Justice capital can be increased by authorities who listen and grant citizens a voice. When judges institute practices of listening, they are increasing one’s individual access to justice and strengthening the legitimacy of democratic judicial institutions.
Above all, listening grants humanity and a level of respect that will be the surest way to strengthen our justice system and ensure a stable, legitimate democracy because, as the old adage goes, people remember how they are treated. And they most certainly remember when they feel as if they have been heard.




















A golden tray sits on the Resolute Desk as President Donald Trump speaks during an announcement on American nuclear innovation in the Oval Office at the White House on July 24, 2026, in Washington, D.C. Trump is signing multiple executive orders targeting the nuclear energy sector and easing rules for new reactors and nuclear fuel supply chains.
Trump’s hubris rivals the fallen heroes of ancient Greek mythology
In January, the New York Times asked President Donald Trump if there were any limits on his global powers.
“Yeah,” the president responded, “there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.”
That was eight months ago, but fortunately Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster adaptation of “The Odyssey” has made ancient Greek literature newly relevant. Before that window closes, I’d like to talk about hubris.
Today, the term mostly means excessive pride or arrogance. That’s part of what the Greeks meant by it too, but the meaning was a bit richer and more specific. Hubris was an insolent or outrageous act that offended the gods, often because the transgressor was claiming abilities or authorities that solely belonged to supreme beings.
Nolan renamed and slightly modified the concept of xenia for the film, calling it “Zeus’ law.” In the director’s telling, mortals should follow the rules laid out by the gods, specifically the requirement to treat strangers with respect lest they be gods in disguise.
In a sense, hubris is the opposite, or at least the rejection, of xenia. The hubris of the suitors, and at times Odysseus himself, invites punishment by the gods and their mortal instruments.
Which brings me back to Donald Trump. His claim that there are no constraints on his personal power to dictate events on the global stage was one of the greatest expressions of hubris ever uttered by a political leader.
Trump’s claim was obviously false when he made it.
He vowed that he could end the Russia-Ukraine war in 24 hours. He’s proved powerless to make that happen. If he had divine powers to work his will, why would he have balked at implementing his tariffs so often that Wall Street adopted the “TACO trade” term for his deals? “TACO” stands for “Trump always chickens out.”
And why would Trump have made so many embarrassing concessions to China — from rescinding tariffs on Chinese goods to allowing them to buy crucial and incredibly valuable computer chips?
But Trump saw his success at capturing Venezuelan strongman Nicolas Maduro as proof of his ability to launch missiles to the same effect as Zeus’ lightning bolts. Trump believed he was the most powerful man who ever lived.
This is no exaggeration. In March, when the Iran invasion seemed successful, Trump gave a document penned by“Presidential Historian David King” to New York Times reporters Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan purporting to prove that Trump was “the most powerful person to have EVER walked this planet.” King was, in fact, a businessman and occasional caddy for legendary golfer Gary Player.
King compared Trump favorably to many of history’s most powerful, and often heinous, figures: Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, William the Conqueror, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin, Genghis Khan, Mao Tse Tung, Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Lenin. Many of these men thought they were the most powerful person in the world, too. And many were defeated precisely because they believed it.
At least Napoleon and Hitler had a string of truly impressive victories before they learned the folly of hubris. The limits on Trump’s power have been exposed by far less august forces than the combined might of the allies in World War II or the fearsome Russian winter.
Iran is a comparatively middling power. But the regime’s ability to absorb punishment while imposing its will on the Strait of Hormuz has proved to be a greater constraint on Trump’s power than his morality or mind. We should note that, at least rhetorically, his morality has not proved much of a constraint. He has repeatedly promised to destroy Iranian “civilization” if the regime refuses to capitulate.
But they haven’t — and won’t anytime soon — because the regime’s tolerance for pain far outstrips Trump’s. The combined fear of skyrocketing oil prices, outrage of Gulf state potentates, diminishing weapon supplies and domestic unpopularity is doing the work that international law, congressional oversight and the collective opinion of foreign policy experts can’t or won’t do.
If I considered Trump more heroic than reason and facts could allow, I would say his Sisyphean predicament has the whiff of Greek tragedy to it. Trump is vexed by the fact that the Iranians won’t honor deals or ratify his countless premature claims of victory — giving new meaning to his vow that his presidency would make people tired of winning. It’s almost like they’re out-Trumping Trump.
Things might have gone better if he’d heeded that great Greek tragedian Sophocles: “For Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue.”
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Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.