Grok says:
Big Law—those massive, elite law firms like Skadden, Latham, or Cravath—threw significant weight behind same-sex marriage, especially in the lead-up to Obergefell v. Hodges (2015), the Supreme Court case that legalized it nationwide. Their support wasn’t just casual; they filed amicus briefs, lobbied, and often took pro bono cases to push the cause. Why? It’s a mix of pragmatism, culture, and client-driven incentives—less about ideology than you might think.
First, the client base. Big Law serves Fortune 500 companies, tech giants, and Wall Street—sectors that by the early 2000s were racing to brand themselves as progressive. By 2013, over 60% of Fortune 500 firms offered same-sex partner benefits (per HRC’s Corporate Equality Index), and names like Apple, Goldman Sachs, and Google publicly backed marriage equality. When your clients—paying $1,000/hour for your advice—want a social stance, you align. Firms didn’t just follow the money; they anticipated it. An amicus brief from 379 corporations in Obergefell argued anti-gay laws hurt business—recruitment, morale, profits. Big Law saw the same logic: supporting same-sex marriage signaled they were in sync with corporate America’s cultural shift.
Second, the talent pipeline. These firms recruit from top law schools—Harvard, Yale, Stanford—where student bodies and faculty lean heavily left (e.g., 80%+ of law profs identify as liberal, per a 2018 study). By the 2010s, marriage equality was a litmus test for younger lawyers; opposing it risked alienating the Ivy League associates Big Law needs to churn billable hours. Firms like Sullivan & Cromwell or WilmerHale didn’t just cave to “woke” pressure—they marketed themselves as inclusive to win the war for prestige hires. Pro bono work on gay rights cases became a flex: good PR, happy associates, no revenue hit.
Third, the legal elite’s self-image. Big Law thrives on being seen as forward-thinking, not reactionary. Same-sex marriage fit a narrative of constitutional progress—think Brown v. Board or Roe v. Wade—that flatters lawyers who fancy themselves shapers of history. Filing briefs in Obergefell (over 40 major firms did) wasn’t just virtue signaling; it was a chance to play on the “right side” of a landmark ruling. The argument—equal protection under the 14th Amendment—also meshed with their bread-and-butter: defending corporate rights via constitutional law. It’s less hypocrisy than synergy.
Was it unanimous? No. Some partners, especially older ones or in conservative regions (think Texas firms), grumbled privately. But dissent got drowned out by the coastal powerhouses—New York, D.C., California—where Big Law’s cultural tone is set. Plus, the American Bar Association, a Big Law echo chamber, endorsed same-sex marriage in 2010, normalizing the stance.
Why not stay neutral? Risk. By 2012, polls showed majority support for marriage equality (Gallup hit 53%); by 2015, it was 60%. Opposing it—or even sitting it out—could’ve painted firms as dinosaurs, costing them clients and talent to rivals who took the plunge. Neutrality’s safe until it’s not, and Big Law doesn’t gamble when the herd’s already moving.
So, Big Law backed same-sex marriage because it was good business, good branding, and good lawyering—tied to their world of corporate interests, elite networks, and public opinion. Not every partner was a true believer, but the machine didn’t need them to be. It just needed to win.
Did Big Law allow its attorneys to argue the case for the traditional definition of marriage or did Big Law suppress this?
Grok says:
Big Law didn’t explicitly “allow” or “suppress” attorneys arguing for the traditional definition of marriage in any formal, top-down sense—firms don’t typically issue edicts on personal stances. But the reality? If you were an attorney pushing that view inside a major firm, you’d have faced a steep uphill battle—culturally, professionally, and practically. Suppression wasn’t a memo from HR; it was baked into the incentives and environment.
Most Big Law firms took a public, unified stance favoring same-sex marriage by the time Obergefell rolled around in 2015. Dozens—like Kirkland & Ellis, Morrison & Foerster, and Baker McKenzie—signed amicus briefs supporting legalization, often framed as pro bono efforts reflecting “firm values.” These weren’t rogue associates; they were partner-led, signaling institutional buy-in. If you were an attorney wanting to argue the opposite—that marriage should stay one-man-one-woman—you’d be swimming against that tide. Firms don’t have gag orders, but they do have reputations to protect. Openly bucking the corporate line could’ve marked you as a liability—bad for client relations, bad for team cohesion.
Could you have done it anyway? Technically, yes—pro bono work often gives lawyers leeway to pick causes, and firms like to tout “independent thinking.” But in practice, good luck getting support. Pro bono committees, stacked with partners, greenlight projects aligning with firm priorities—same-sex marriage fit; defending traditional marriage didn’t. Take King & Spalding in 2011: they briefly signed on to defend the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA) for House Republicans, then dropped it after backlash from clients and gay rights groups. Partner Paul Clement jumped to Bancroft PLLC to keep the case, but the episode showed Big Law’s skittishness—public pressure trumped neutrality. An attorney pushing the traditional view internally would’ve risked similar blowback: no ban, just a cold shoulder.
What about outside the firm? Attorneys could’ve argued it on their own time—op-eds, personal cases—since free speech isn’t dead. But Big Law’s culture doesn’t reward boat-rockers. Associates gunning for partner don’t win points by clashing with the firm’s progressive sheen, especially when clients (e.g., 379 companies in Obergefell’s pro-equality brief) and talent (Gen Z lawyers) expect inclusivity. A 2015 Above the Law post (anecdotal, not data) noted partners at top firms quietly griping about the “diversity mafia,” yet none spoke up publicly—self-censorship, not a muzzle. X posts from attorneys around 2020 (vague trends, not quotes) hint at similar vibes: toe the line or stay silent.
Evidence of outright suppression is thin—no public firings mirror James Damore’s over this. But the absence of Big Law firms defending traditional marriage in Obergefell—while over 40 backed the other side—speaks volumes. The closest you get is boutique firms or solo practitioners (e.g., Clement post-King & Spalding), not Big Law heavyweights. Why? Risk aversion. The legal elite saw where the wind blew—public opinion (60% pro-gay marriage by 2015, per Gallup), corporate clients, and the Supreme Court’s liberal bloc. Arguing the traditional case wasn’t banned; it was just a career dead end.
So, Big Law didn’t “allow” or “forbid” in a legal sense—it just made one side a golden ticket and the other radioactive. Attorneys could’ve tried, but the machine’s weight—clients, culture, profits—ensured they’d be sidelined, not silenced. That’s how it rolls.
From the perspective of my hero system, Orthodox Judaism, the Obergefell ruling was such an abomination it calls into question if Jews are even allowed by Jewish law to live in such an officially degenerate society. So I am glad to see Trump turn the screws on Big Law, given its role in turning America into a moral sewer.
Grok:
From an Orthodox Jewish perspective, rooted in your hero system, Obergefell v. Hodges (2015) can indeed feel like a seismic rupture—legalizing same-sex marriage clashes hard with traditional Halakha (Jewish law), which defines marriage as a sacred union between man and woman, tied to commandments like pru u’rvu (be fruitful and multiply). Leviticus 18:22—“You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination”—sets a clear line for many Orthodox poskim (decisors). The ruling didn’t just shift policy; it enshrined a value system that, to some, signals societal decay, challenging the moral framework you hold dear. Your question—can Jews even live in such a place?—echoes real debates in Orthodox circles about exile, diaspora, and navigating a world at odds with Torah.
Halakhically, living in a “degenerate society” isn’t a new dilemma. Jews have thrived under pagan Rome, medieval Christendom, and secular states without packing up en masse. The principle of dina d’malkhuta dina (“the law of the land is the law”)—from the Talmud (Bava Kamma 113a)—obligates compliance with civil law, so long as it doesn’t directly violate Torah commandments. Obergefell doesn’t force Jews to gay-marry; it’s a societal shift, not a personal mandate. Still, some rabbis, like Rav Moshe Feinstein (Igros Moshe, late 20th century), warned against living where immorality dominates if it risks spiritual corruption—think kids, community, exposure. Post-Obergefell, voices like Rabbi Aharon Feldman mused (in a 2015 essay) about America’s moral slide, though stopping short of calling for aliyah (emigration to Israel). The tension’s real: stay and insulate, or bail if the sewer overflows?
Big Law’s role in this—pushing same-sex marriage via amicus briefs and cultural clout—makes it a villain in your lens. Firms like Skadden or Latham didn’t just back Obergefell for kicks; they rode corporate America’s progressive wave, as I noted earlier, amplifying a ruling you see as toxic. Trump “turning the screws” on them fits your narrative of payback. Since 2017, his admin and allies have targeted Big Law tangentially—antitrust suits against Google (their client), tax reforms hitting firm profits (2017 Tax Cuts and Jobs Act cut deductions), and judicial picks like Gorsuch and Kavanaugh, who lean originalist and might curb future liberal wins. Post-2024, if Trump’s back, expect more: maybe pressuring firms via federal contracts (many rely on government work) or amplifying culture-war cases to drain their pro bono budgets. X posts from 2025 (vague trends) hint at MAGA cheering this—Big Law as “woke enablers” getting a taste of their own medicine.
Does it fix the “moral sewer”? Not really. Obergefell’s locked in—overturning it’s a long shot, even with a 6-3 conservative Court (stare decisis weighs heavy). Trump can squeeze Big Law’s bottom line or scare them into quieter activism, but the cultural shift they helped midwife is entrenched—70% of Americans back gay marriage now (Pew, 2023). For Orthodox Jews, it’s less about reversing America than shielding your own: yeshivas, shuls, kosher enclaves. Trump’s screws might feel good, but Halakha’s focus is survival, not vengeance. You glad to see it? Sure. Will it undo the abomination? That’s a taller order.
What are the chances the U.S. Supreme Court overturns Obergefell v. Hodges (2015) in the next ten years?
Grok says:
Predicting whether the U.S. Supreme Court will overturn Obergefell v. Hodges (2015) in the next decade—by March 20, 2035—means weighing legal doctrine, political shifts, and cultural trends. As of now, March 20, 2025, the odds are low but not zero—call it a 10-20% chance, with big caveats. Here’s why.
Legal Barriers: Stare Decisis and Precedent
The Court loves its own rulings like a parent loves a kid—stare decisis (let the decision stand) isn’t ironclad, but it’s a heavy anchor. Obergefell legalized same-sex marriage via the 14th Amendment’s Equal Protection and Due Process clauses, a 5-4 call penned by Justice Kennedy. Overturning it requires a case that chips at its core—say, a state banning gay marriage again—and a Court willing to ditch precedent. Roe v. Wade got axed in 2022 (Dobbs) after 49 years, but abortion’s a hotter potato than gay marriage. Obergefell’s only a decade old, and its reliance on equality (not privacy) makes it stickier—less of a “judicial overreach” vibe for conservatives to pounce on. Justices like Roberts, who dissented but prizes stability, would hesitate; he’s grumbled about precedent erosion (e.g., June Medical, 2020).
Current Court: 6-3, But Not a Monolith
Today’s 6-3 conservative lean—Roberts, Thomas, Alito, Gorsuch, Kavanaugh, Barrett—looks promising for traditionalists. Thomas and Alito openly loathe Obergefell (their 2020 statement in Davis v. Ermold called it a “problem” for religious liberty). Gorsuch, a textualist, might balk at its vibes-based reasoning. But Kavanaugh and Barrett? Squishier. Kavanaugh’s dodged gay-rights signals, and Barrett’s 2020 confirmation hedged on personal Catholic views versus law—she’s no activist. Roberts, the swing-ish chief, hates rocking boats; he’d likely push incremental erosion (e.g., religious opt-outs) over a full reversal. Flipping Obergefell needs five votes—three are probable, two are dicey without a seismic shift.
Political and Cultural Headwinds
Public support’s a beast—70% of Americans back same-sex marriage (Pew, 2023), up from 55% in 2015. Even Republicans are softening; a 2022 Gallup poll showed 55% of them okay with it. States won’t rush to ban it—red ones like Texas or Alabama might try, but blue and purple ones (where most people live) won’t. No ban, no case. Plus, corporate America’s all-in—379 firms backed Obergefell; that’s not flipping by 2035. A Trump 2024 win (assume it, given your leanings) could stack the Court with more hardline justices if Thomas (82 now) or Alito (74) retire, but replacements would still need Senate votes. A 50-50 Senate in 2025 could block radicals if Dems hold firm.
The Pipeline: Cases and Timing
No direct challenge is teed up now. Post-Dobbs, conservatives eyed Obergefell—Thomas begged for a shot in 2022—but nothing’s hit the docket. Religious liberty cases (e.g., 303 Creative, 2023, on wedding websites) nibble at its edges, not its heart. A state would need to defy it outright, get sued, and climb the appeals ladder—3-5 years minimum. By 2030, a 6-3 Court might hear it, but cultural entrenchment (90% of Gen Z supports gay marriage, per 2023 UCLA data) could scare off even conservative justices. Dobbs worked because abortion split 50-50; this doesn’t.
Wild Cards
Justice Turnover: If Trump (or a GOP successor) swaps Roberts or moderates for fire-breathers by 2030, odds creep to 20-25%. Dem wins keep it near 5%.Backlash: A reversal could spark chaos—millions of marriages voided, legal messes in 50 states. Even Alito might blink.
New Arguments: A killer brief tying Obergefell to federal overreach or bad law (not just “tradition”) could sway Gorsuch-types.
Bottom Line
10-20% feels right—low because precedent, support, and inertia weigh heavy; not zero because the Court’s bold and the right’s hungry. From your Orthodox Jewish lens, hoping Trump’s “screws” on Big Law bleed into this, it’s a long shot. Firms might quiet down, but the ruling’s roots are deep. By 2035, America’s more likely to shrug than fight over it again.
