The Supreme Court of the United States: Nine Robed Mammals Decide What Other Mammals Can Do

The Supreme Court of the United States is the highest judicial body in a political system that American humans insist is the “greatest democracy in the galaxy,” despite never having visited any other part of the galaxy to verify this claim.

It consists of nine individuals who wear matching black robes—not because they belong to a secretive religious order or an intergalactic death cult, but because apparently this makes their decisions seem more authoritative. The robes are purchased separately; there is no Supreme Court quartermaster, which occasionally leads to slight variations in sleeve length that legal scholars pretend not to notice.

The Selection Process

Supreme Court Justices are appointed for life, which is either a brilliant system ensuring independence or a terrible system ensuring that octogenarians with lifetime tenure make binding decisions about technologies they cannot operate. The nomination process works as follows:

1. A Justice dies or retires
2. The President nominates a replacement
3. The Senate holds confirmation hearings where Senators who have already decided how to vote pretend to be gathering information
4. The nominee avoids answering any interesting questions by claiming they cannot comment on hypothetical cases
5. The Senate votes along largely predictable lines
6. Everyone acts surprised by the outcome

The entire process bears a striking resemblance to the Ceremonial Dance of Predetermined Outcomes practiced by the Bureaucrats of Vogsphere, though with slightly less poetry and slightly more grandstanding.

What They Actually Do

The Court’s primary function is to interpret the Constitution—a document written by men in powdered wigs over two centuries ago—and apply it to modern situations those men could never have imagined, such as whether corporations count as people (answer: sometimes) and whether you can be arrested for what you post on social media (answer: it’s complicated).

The Justices hear approximately 80 cases per year out of roughly 7,000 requests, which is a rejection rate that would make a prestigious nightclub bouncer feel inferior. Cases are selected based on their constitutional significance, though cynical observers note they also tend to involve issues that will generate the maximum amount of television commentary.

Decisions are reached by majority vote. Five Justices agreeing on something makes it the law of the land, which seems like a remarkably small number of beings to determine the rules for 330 million others. For comparison, the Arcturan Council of Elders requires unanimous consent from all 47 members before changing the designated parking spots in their headquarters.

The Building

The Supreme Court meets in a large marble building in Washington, D.C., that was intentionally designed to look important and vaguely Greek. Above the entrance are carved the words “EQUAL JUSTICE UNDER LAW,” which serves as either an aspirational goal or an ironic joke, depending on whom you ask and their legal history.

Inside, the Justices sit on an elevated bench arranged in a wing-like formation, literally looking down upon the lawyers arguing before them. This architectural choice was supposedly made to convey the majesty of justice but also happens to be an excellent intimidation tactic.

Comparison to Other Galactic Judicial Bodies

The Supreme Court’s structure and function become considerably more interesting when viewed through a pan-galactic lens:

The High Council of Betelgeuse VII operates on similar principles but consists of 10,000 judges who vote telepathically and instantaneously. A typical case is resolved in 0.3 seconds. They consider the American system’s months-long deliberations to be evidence of either extreme thoroughness or catastrophic neurological slowness.

The Juridical Assembly of Santraginus V resolves all disputes through interpretive dance. While this seems absurd to humans, it has the advantage of never producing 5-4 decisions where the losing side claims the majority “got it wrong.” You cannot argue with a properly executed fouetté.

The Vogon High Court bears the closest resemblance to Earth’s Supreme Court: both involve lengthy proceedings, incomprehensible language, and outcomes that leave at least half the involved parties miserable. However, the Vogons have the decency to acknowledge that their legal system is designed to be unpleasant, whereas humans persist in calling theirs “justice.”

The Infinite Tribunal of Megadodo handles all legal disputes through a process they call “probability adjustment,” whereby they calculate which outcome creates the least amount of universal discord and then simply make that the verdict. They have offered to share this technology with Earth on multiple occasions but the communication keeps getting mistaken for a quasar.

The Galactic Court of Arbitration (which handles disputes between star systems) has observed human Supreme Court proceedings with academic interest. They were particularly puzzled by the concept of “dissenting opinions”—formal written documents where losing Justices explain in detail why they think their colleagues are wrong. In most civilized galaxies, if you lose a vote, you simply move on rather than publishing a lengthy essay about your disappointment. The practice has been compared to a losing team’s coach insisting that their post-game analysis be included in the official match record. As a side note, The Swamorpian Council of Jeravius in the far reaches of the Lebulon system simply obliterates the losing side in court cases, which has led to unanimous decisions for the past eight centuries. The Council calls this “harmony,” while the enslaved and starving citizens of Lebulon call it tyranny.

Cultural Significance

Americans treat Supreme Court decisions with a reverence typically reserved for religious texts or sports statistics. When the Court rules, citizens either celebrate the triumph of justice or lament the death of the republic, with virtually no middle ground. The Court itself remains serenely above such concerns, issuing decisions and then departing for summer recess like deities returning to Mount Olympus, if Mount Olympus had better air conditioning and dental coverage.