The Coalition, and a number of other plaintiffs, went to court to block Proposal 2. The Sixth Circuit Court of Appeals, in a bitterly contested en banc decision, said that Proposal 2 violated something called the “political process doctrine” (or the “Hunter-Seattle doctrine”) which it summarized as saying that “minority groups may meaningfully participate in the process of creating [the] laws and the majority may not manipulate the channels of change so as to place unique burdens on issues of importance to them.” The doctrine arises from cases during the Warren and Burger Courts that concerned popular votes, phrased in racial terms, that abolished programs to fight housing discrimination or promote school integration. The Court hasn’t struck down a law under the doctrine in nearly 30 years, but it hasn’t overturned the prior cases either.
But there’s the problem: Under current precedent, it’s impermissible to claim that higher-education admissions programs are “issues of importance” to minority groups in particular. From Board of Regents v. Bakke in 1977 to Grutter a quarter century later, the Court has insisted that the only interest these programs can serve is a general interest—the interest of all students in a diverse educational experience.
That’s what should have made Schuette an easy case. Here’s how a busy Court could have worded its opinion reversing the Sixth Circuit: “Were a public university to stake its defense of a race-based-admissions policy on the ground that it was designed to benefit primarily minorities (as opposed to all students, regardless of color, by enhancing diversity), we would hold the policy unconstitutional.” Whether you agree with the ideas behind it or not, that is an admirably clear and utterly correct statement of present law. It comes from the concurrence by Justice Antonin Scalia, joined by Justice Clarence Thomas.
The plurality never alluded to this problem. Instead, Justice Kennedy did what we might call “the full Kennedy,” complete with grand phrases and the mighty sweep of history. His opinion commands three votes—his own, Chief Justice John Roberts, and Justice Samuel Alito, making it a plurality. “[F]reedom,” he says, “does not stop with individual rights.” It “embraces, too, the right of citizens to . . . act in concert to try to shape the course of their own times and the course of a nation that must strive always to make freedom every greater and more secure.” Courts have no business second-guessing majority votes on racial matters: “It is demeaning to the democratic process to presume that the voters are not capable of deciding an issue of sensitivity on decent and rational grounds.”
The plurality then suggested that racial claims generally would be better in the political sphere than in the courts. Just as it was during my segregated childhood, race would again be a matter that it's better not to discuss. For one thing, if courts hear highly charged race cases, they would be forced to decide who belongs to a race. “[I]n a society in which those lines are becoming more blurred, the attempt to define race-based categories . . . raises serious questions of its own.” And courts would then have to decide which policies were in minorities’ best interest, which would create “incentives for those who support or oppose certain policies to cast the debate in terms of racial advantage or disadvantage.”
Instead, the opinion hinted, judges should stay away from race altogether. Or, as Justice Sonia Sotomayor wrote in an impassioned dissent (joined by Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg), “My colleagues are of the view that we should leave race out of the picture entirely and let the voters sort it out.”