Pildes is a professor of constitutional law at New York University.
One of the most heavily contested voting-policy issues in the 2020 election, in both the courts and the political arena, was the deadline for returning absentee ballots.
The policy in a majority of states was that ballots had to be received by election night to be valid. Lawsuits seeking extensions were brought around the country for two reasons: a massive, pandemic-induced surge in mailed ballots, and concerns about the competence and integrity of the Postal Service, particularly after President Donald Trump appointed a major GOP donor as postmaster general.
The issue produced the Supreme Court's most controversial decision during the general election, prohibiting federal courts from extending ballot-receipt deadlines in state law.
Ample data is now available, providing perspective on what the actual effects of these deadlines turned out to be.
Perhaps surprisingly, the number of ballots that came in too late to be valid was extremely small — regardless of what deadline states used, or how much that deadline shifted. The numbers were nowhere close to what could have changed the outcome of any significant race.
Take Wisconsin and Minnesota, important states and sites of major court controversies on this topic. In both, voters might be predicted to be the most confused about the deadline for returning absentee ballots, because they kept changing.
Wisconsin law required absentee ballots to be returned by election night. A federal district court ordered that deadline extended six days. But the Supreme Court voted 5-3 to require the state's deadline to be respected.
Writing for the dissenters, Justice Elena Kagan invoked the district court's prediction that as many as 100,000 would lose their right to vote, through no fault of their own, if the normal deadline had to be followed. Commentators called this a "disastrous ruling" that "would likely disenfranchise tens of thousands" in this key state.
A post-election audit now provides perspective: Only 1,045 absentee ballots were rejected for failing to meet the deadline — 0.05 percent of the 1.9 million valid absentee votes cast, or 0.03 percent of the total vote. If we take it that President Biden won roughly 70 percent of the absentee vote nationwide, that means he would have added 418 to his margin of victory had these ballots been valid.
The fight in Minnesota was even more convoluted. If voters were going to be confused anywhere about these deadlines, with lots of ballots coming in too late as a result, it might have been expected there.
State law required ballots be returned by election night. But as a result of litigation, the secretary of state had agreed ballots would be valid if received up to seven days later. Just five days before the election, though, a federal court pulled the rug out from under Minnesota voters. It held the secretary of state had violated the Constitution and had no power to extend the deadline. The original deadline thus snapped back into effect at the very last minute.
But only 802 absentee ballots out of 1.9 million cast (0.04 percent) were rejected for coming in too late.
So, even though voting rights plaintiffs lost close to Election Day in both with the deadlines shifting back and forth, only a tiny number of ballots arrived too late.
But what about states that had a consistent policy throughout the run-up to the election that required ballots to be returned by election night? Among battlegrounds, Michigan provides an example. Only 3,328 ballots arrived after Election Day, too late to be counted, or 0.09 percent of the total.
Finally, in both Pennsylvania and North Carolina litigation did succeed in generating decisions that overrode state law and pushed ballot-receipt deadlines back.
These decisions provoked intense political firestorms in some quarters. The Pennsylvania Supreme Court's three-day extension became the primary justification that some Republican senators and representatives offered on Jan. 6 for objecting to counting the state's Electoral College votes.
But how many took advantage of these extensions? In North Carolina, according to information from the state Board of Elections, 2,484 ballots came in during the additional six days allowed — just 0.04 percent of the total valid votes.
The number was about 10,000 in Pennsylvania, out of 2.6 million absentee ballots — only 0.14 percent of the total there. These were not counted in the state's certified vote total. But had they been, Biden would likely have added around 5,000 votes to his winning margin, given that he won about three-quarters of the state's absentee vote.
These are not the numbers of ballots, of course, that would have come in late had the courts refused to extend the deadlines. They show the maximum number that arrived after Election Day, when voters had every right to return ballots this late. Even so, the totals are far lower than the 100,000 predicted in Wisconsin.
But had the statutory deadlines remained in place in Pennsylvania and North Carolina, there is no reason to think the number would have been much different from those in similar swing states like Michigan, where the statutory deadlines held and just 0.09 percent of ballots arrived too late.
These small numbers occurred despite a massive surge in absentee voting in nearly all states. What explains that?
Voters were highly engaged, as the turnout showed. They were particularly attuned to the risk of delays in the mail from seeing this problem occur in the primaries. Throughout the weeks before the election, voters were consistently returning absentee ballots at higher rates than in previous elections.
The communications efforts of the Biden campaign and the state Democratic parties, whose voters cast most of the absentee votes, got the message across about deadlines. Election officials did a good job of communicating these deadlines. In some states, drop boxes that permitted absentee ballots to be returned without using the mail might have helped minimize the number of late-arriving ballots, though we don't have any empirical analysis.
In a highly mobilized electorate, it turns out that specific ballot-return deadlines, and whether they shifted even late in the day, did not lead to large numbers of ballots coming in too late.
That's a tribute to voters, election officials, grassroots groups — and to the campaigns.
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Click here to read the original article.
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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.