The Constitution has various checks and balances, yet there’s one power that stands apart: the presidential pardon. It’s complicated and beyond the reach of Congress or the courts, resembling authority typically found in monarchies rather than democracies.
The founders aimed to create a justice system that included compassion and humanity. The idea was that a president could show mercy to someone who had been wrongfully convicted or genuinely reformed, to heal rather than simply reward allies and supporters.
It seemed like a noble concept, but, sadly, it hasn’t always played out that way.
Take Gerald Ford, for instance. He pardoned Richard Nixon after the Watergate scandal, which, though contentious, was grounded in principle rather than self-interest.
Contrast this with Bill Clinton, who granted clemency to Mark Rich, a tax evader and a major donor to his campaign. This felt more like a political transaction than an act of mercy.
Then there’s Joe Biden, who chose his inaugural moment to pardon his son, Hunter, along with others. It’s hard to see that as justice; it feels more like protection.
And Donald Trump? Where do I even begin?
On his first day of a second term, he pardoned around 1,500 individuals linked to the January 6th Capitol riots, including someone who violently assaulted a police officer.
Next came numerous pardons for reality TV figures like Todd and Julie Chrisley, as well as former Congressman Michael Grimm, who had committed tax fraud. There was even a sheriff from Virginia convicted of bribery, a Nevada politician who misappropriated funds meant for a deceased officer’s family, and a nursing home operator who defrauded the IRS out of $10 million.
Trump also pardoned Rod Blagojevich, the former Illinois governor who tried to sell Barack Obama’s Senate seat. Interestingly, Blagojevich had been a contestant on Trump’s “Celebrity Apprentice.” Just think about that.
Trump’s lawyer for these pardons—in a rather telling summary—coined the phrase, “No magazines left.” It sounds catchy, but it’s not exactly a legal principle; it resembles more a loyalty program.
When a president begins to dish out pardons like party gifts to friends or backers, it runs contrary to the ideals held by the founders. It sends a concerning message: that some people are above the law, and connections matter more than actions. It undermines the concept of equal justice.
So, where does this leave us? When Biden grants clemency to his son and Trump to his allies, we witness a troubling arms race in pardons. This corrupts justice, turning a fundamental aspect of governance into a political tool.
Why should this matter to us? As constitutional ideals become tainted by political maneuvering—twisted and disregarded by those sworn to uphold them—the entire democratic experiment begins to falter.
The presidential pardon was designed to exemplify mercy, not mock the rule of law. But when wielded by leaders more focused on self-preservation than on the public good, it devolves into another means for corruption.
It’s not simply a situation of “they all do this.”
