Olson is the Democracy & Bridgebuilding Program Manager with Interfaith America.
Heather and Jack instantly bonded over their shared blue hair, but besides a similar taste in hair dye, they had little else in common—other than their desire to avoid a jail sentence.
For over 45 years as a DC-based public defender, Heather Shaner has tirelessly protected vulnerable clients from judicial system abuse. “The older I get, the more I think that prisons should be torn down, and very few people should go to jail,” she reflects, underscoring her role to “stand between the overwhelming power of the United States of America and the individual.” Her career took an unexpected turn when she was asked to represent January 6th rioters—fervent Trump supporters like Jack Griffith. Shaner’s decision to defend these individuals, despite facing criticism, was an opportunity to show that empathy and accountability are not only compatible but essential for justice, even for those society might condemn.
When filmmaker Andrea Kalin first read about Shaner’s novel approach toward her January 6th defendants—sending them books to help them reflect on their motivations—she saw a story worth exploring. This encounter led to the creation of Public Defender, a documentary now streaming on The New Yorker, which follows Shaner as she represents two clients: Jack Griffith, a boisterous social media personality from Gallatin, Tennessee, known as “Liberty Dragon,” and Annie Howell, a single mother from Hanover Township, NJ.
Heather Shaner (left) shakes hands with her client and Jan. 6 defendant Jack Griffith (right) Spark Media
The documentary doesn’t offer easy answers, nor does it suggest that every participant in January 6th will experience a dramatic change of heart. From the beginning, Jack and Annie approach their involvement in the Capitol events with starkly different attitudes, though neither of them were physically violent or vandalized property. Jack remains firm in his beliefs in a stolen election, while Annie struggles with personal turmoil and a feeling of betrayal from disinformation. Shaner’s work with them leads to personal journeys that evolve as the film unfolds. The complexity of their responses reflects the broader challenge of addressing the divisions that still shake our country.
Shaner, an unabashed progressive (her home even displays a framed “F*** Trump” poster), has now taken on 42 clients charged for their actions on January 6th—many of whom sit on the far opposite end of the political spectrum than she. By radically listening to their story and acknowledging their hurt, skipping the preaching, and trusting them to grow— Shaner offers an encouraging example of how we can bridge intractable divides. These divides, left unaddressed, continue to threaten our democracy and national security.
At a recent screening at the Dialogue Film Festival in Milwaukee, I saw firsthand how Public Defender ’s fresh perspective resonated with the audience. Based solely on the film's subject matter, it would be easy to expect grim footage of the Capitol riot, fast-paced legal jargon, and disturbing rhetoric from the insurrectionists. Yet Kalin’s film takes a different route—centering relationships with sincerity and even moments of levity. It invites viewers to wrestle with their own capacity for contempt and the limits of their belief in redemption.
As Arthur Brooks wrote in Love Your Enemies, “If we want more unity and less contempt, however, we need to get out of our comfort zones, go where we are not welcome, and spend time talking and interacting with people with whom we disagree—not on lightweight stuff like sports and food, but on hard moral things” Kalin’s documentary challenges us to break the cycle of political hate and division, not by absolving wrongdoers, but by fostering understanding and rejecting the simplistic caricatures we often impose on those we disagree with.
In partnership with Interfaith America, Stone Soup Productions, is showing Public Defender in communities across the country, accompanied by regional book drives for prison libraries. These screenings, and the post-film Q&A, aim to spark dialogue about political radicalization, with new framing that every person who stormed the Capitol has a unique story. “If 2,500 people went in,” Shaner reflects, “that’s 2,500 stories.”
While faith isn’t the central theme of Public Defender, it subtly informs much of Shaner’s approach. In one intimate scene, as Shaner sits in her kitchen, the camera pans to a painted ceramic Hamsa hung on her wall as she quotes a Talmudic verse, almost as if humbly reassuring herself of her mission: "If you save one life, you’ve saved the world.” She continues by saying “You can only change one life at a time, so there's a lot of work to be done”.
Less than a month before election day, when our political climate feels eerily reminiscent of four years ago, Public Defender reminds us that America’s political divide requires more than just election victories and defeats to heal. Healing requires compassion, accountability, and a willingness to seek humanity in those with whom we fundamentally disagree. By focusing on the individual stories behind the political movement that perpetrated the Big Lie, there is hope to be found, even if it’s messy.
You can watch Public Defender on The New Yorker's YouTube channel:
- YouTubewww.youtube.com
Public Defender, a 40-minute documentary, is now streaming on The New Yorker. Stone Soup Productions is a Faith in Elections Playbook Grantee, an initiative co-created by Interfaith America and Protect Democracy to help communities bridge divides caused by polarization and protect free and fair elections.
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.