“Law and order” means order. Not law.
Since the federal indictment of Donald Trump, I see a lot of political commenters beating their breasts about his hypocrisy, how he’s spouted the language of law and order while flagrantly breaking the law and acting as if he’s above it. And yes, it’s hypocritical as fuck.
But the concept of “law and order” has been around for a long time. And it has never, ever, actually meant that.
For decades, from Richard Nixon to Donald Trump, public figures espousing “law and order” have shown a deep indifference towards the law. They think it doesn’t apply to them. They think they can break it with impunity, in the name of “national security” or “traditional values.” If they don’t break the law themselves, they support and even glorify when law enforcement officers flagrantly, violently break it.
“Law and order” means order. Not law.
“Law and order” means order with the “right” people at the top, controlling things and making decisions for the rest of us. It means cops who act as judge, jury, and executioner. It means firehoses turned on protestors; break-ins at psychiatrist’s offices; children of asylum seekers locked in cages. It means order and safety for some people, unpredictable chaos and danger for others. It means the perpetuation of systems that keep powerful people in power.
They throw the word “law” in there because it gives “order” a cover story, a veneer of justice and fairness and accountability. Which, you know, sometimes “law” means that, and sometimes it doesn’t. But at least it means that sometimes. “Order” never means that. Not in this context.
Yes, Trump is a flaming hypocrite in sixteen thousand ways, and that includes his talk about law and order. But he’s part of a system, part of a history. The entire concept of “law and order,” as it’s been used for decades, is corrupt. Don’t buy into it.
In high school, I obsessively watched SVU because I yearned for a society that would take the sexual assault and rape that my classmates were suffering at the hands of predators seriously. It was therapeutic. And it was really compelling to see a tough guy with a strong sense for women and children team up with a woman like Det. Benson who wouldn’t accept an apology for standing up for victims. They always treated each other as equals, pushed each other, encouraged one other, respected each other’s boundaries, etc., which was helpful. Even bigger injustices against victims occur in real life than what was depicted in the film. Although almost none of my friends received justice in real life, it felt good to act as though they would.