With Donald Trump pardoning allies left and right, and Israel’s President now asked to pardon the Prime Minister, Shalzed wants to know why pardons are allowed at all. Doesn’t one person having the power to erase crimes undermine justice for everyone?
As I walked out the door I noticed Shalzed across the street from the school where I teach, waiting at the stop where I usually catch my bus. “Surprised to see you,” I said when I walked over.
“What’s a pardon?” he asked.
A woman, leaning on the side of the bus stop shelter as she waited, looked at him funny for a moment, then frowned.
“It’s something the President can do to let someone out of jail. Are you also getting on the bus?” I asked, gesturing towards one of the long, articulated city buses waiting at a traffic light and about to pull up as soon as it changed to green.
“Donald Trump pardoned the Jan. 6th defendants, along with many of his allies and supporters. He just pardoned the President of Honduras, who was convicted of drug trafficking, even as the U.S. Navy bombs suspected drug boats. Israel’s Prime Minister just requested a pardon in order to get his corruption trial cancelled. I don’t understand. Doesn’t one person having the power to erase crimes completely undermine justice?”
“Did you just hatch from an egg or something?” the woman asked Shalzed as she shuffled towards the curb.
“It’s just the way the system works,” I told Shalzed, having never thought about it too closely. I considered saying something to the woman, but she had already stepped away and was busy fishing for coins in her purse. The bus was midway through the intersection and almost at the stop. “Are you getting on with me?” I asked Shalzed. I couldn’t imagine him taking a bus when he had his mysterious ways of transportation.
And sure enough, suddenly I felt myself floating in the dark, with points of light all around. By now this had become just a little familiar. A moment later we were in Israel, just inside the gate of Beit Hanassi, the official residence of Israel’s president, Isaac Herzog. Herzog was walking down the steps towards a waiting black car. I wondered what the woman and the bus driver saw. Did we just disappear? I decided to ask Shalzed- even though he wouldn’t tell me how he transported us, maybe he would be willing to reveal what it looks like to outsiders. But he was already striding towards Herzog.
“Can you explain to me how it’s possible for you to give someone a pardon?” Shalzed asked.
Herzog gave Shalzed a funny look. “Pardons are part of my official duties,” he said.
“So if someone is guilty of a crime, you just let them go free? How is that justice?”
A man in a dark suit, carrying a walkie-talkie and wearing a plastic earpiece in his left ear, walked over. I thought Herzog would tell him to take us away, but instead he motioned for the security guard to stop. “There are lots of reasons why pardons are necessary,” Herzog said. His face seemed thoughtful, like he was genuinely intrigued. “Pardons can actually enable justice.”
“How can that be?” Shalzed demanded, putting his hands on his hips.
To my surprise, Herzog didn’t seem phased. “The classic example is when law says something is a crime, but morality says it’s not. Like Roswell Gilbert, who was sentenced to 25 years in prison because he killed his elderly wife, who was in terrible pain and had Alzeimer’s. Even though according to the law it was first degree murder, letting him go made sense.”
“But that’s nothing like what’s going on today in Israel and the U.S.,” Shalzed said.
The security guard looked at us. “How did you two get in here?” he asked. His English seemed okay, but he rolled the final ‘r’ like a true Israeli.
“Sometimes pardons are for the simple reason that prisons are overcrowded,” Herzog continued. “If there isn’t room to hold people, causing a violation of prisoners’ rights, then the humane thing to do is release some who are non-violent or close to the end of their sentence.”
The guy sitting in the driver’s seat started the black car, and the security guard near us looked at Herzog and pointed towards the gate. “Ozvim,” I said to the guard, meaning we were leaving. I hoped he would be reassured if he saw I spoke a little Hebrew.
“But letting people out of prison because there isn’t enough space is still a failure of justice,” Shalzed said.
“True,” Herzog replied. “But it can be the lesser of two evils. Another reason for pardons is they may be the only way to restore peace. Like when U.S. President Andrew Johnson pardoned all the Confederates who were guilty of treason after the Civil War. Or when Ford pardoned Nixon for Watergate.”
“And Israel just pardoned many convicted terrorists in order to secure the release of hostages,” I added, thinking that might be too delicate a matter for Herzog to bring up.
“Why should terrorists be exchanged for innocent hostages?” Shalzed asked, raising his palms.
Herzog shook his head, and I looked down. “I’m sorry, I’m on the way to New York,” Herzog told us. “I’m getting an honorary degree from Yeshiva University tomorrow.” He took another step towards the car as the security guard smiled.
“Isn’t one person having all this power prone to being abused?” Shalzed asked. “Why should Trump be allowed to grant pardons to his allies and donors?”
“He claims their prosecution was politically motivated,” Herzog said
“So that’s what Bibi says too,” I added.
Herzog gave me a look like I had said the very words which must not be uttered. The guard took a step towards me.
“But if prosecution was politically motivated, shouldn’t there be another trial, or impartial panel, to make that decision? How can it be up to the President? Pardons are obviously politically motivated too.”
“There is a process,” Herzog said. “For example, in Bibi’s case right now everything is being reviewed by Israel’s department of justice.”
“Holchim,” the guard said, putting an arm on Herzog’s shoulder, tugging him gently towards the car.
“So are you going to pardon Bibi?” I asked. I figured he probably wouldn’t answer, but it was worth a shot.
“As I make my decision, I will consider only the good of the country,” he said. “If you have an opinion you can send it via my official website.”
Herzog got into the car and it pulled out into the street. The guard held the gate open, staring at us.
“Todah,” I told him, nudging Shalzed to follow me out. As soon as the gate had closed behind us and locked securely, he got into the car. It sped away with its lights flashing. An Egged bus stopped next to where we were standing and some American tourists, speaking English and holding maps of Jerusalem, got out.
“How does Herzog expect people to believe his decision whether or not to pardon Bibi is solely for the good of the country?” Shalzed asked me. “There could be some political tradeoff, or other deal.”
I shrugged. “At least in the United States, there are suggestions for reform. One Congressman proposed a constitutional amendment to prohibit the President from pardoning himself, his family, campaign members, or administration officials. A senator introduced a bill to require the president to make public all documents related to pardons so there can at least be oversight.”
“Selicha,” a woman who had just gotten off the bus said to me. “Do you speak English?” I nodded. “We are looking for Beit Hanassi.”
“Right here,” I said, gesturing towards the stone compound behind us. “But you missed Isaac Herzog- he just left for New York.”
“Do you know if there is any way for us to take a tour?” the woman asked me.
“Ask him,” I said, pointing to Shalzed. “He knows how to get past the gate.”
The woman looked at Shalzed for a moment, considering. “Did you just take the tour?” she asked.
I was curious what Shalzed would say, but suddenly I was back in the black passage again. I looked at the lights trying to figure out whether or not I was moving, then a moment later Shalzed and I were outside the apartment building where I lived.
“But how. . .” I began.
“Sorry, I can’t explain,” Shalzed said.
“But that woman. And the bus driver. What did they see? What do they think happened?” I asked.
Shalzed shrugged. “Don’t worry, they’ll be fine.”
“Why won’t you tell me? For all the help I give you, I think I at least deserve some information.”
“I kindly suggest you stop asking,” Shalzed said firmly.
I swallowed. “Fine. Pardon me.”
He smiled. “Not without some sort of transparent process.”
I laughed and started up the stairs.
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Sources:
For an overview of legal issues concerning pardons in the U.S. from the Bar Association click here.
For an international overview of how pardons work in various countries around the world from the International Law Blog click here.