of civil wrongs—could be used to punish speakers whose words and actions would otherwise be protected by the First Amendment. The father of the fallen Marine claimed that Westboro’s words had caused severe emotional injury and deterioration in his health, ruined the memory of his son, and turned the funeral into “a media circus.” Could Westboro be found responsible for those damages? Could we be held liable for “intruding upon the seclusion” of the Marine’s family—even though we had been standing on public land that was far from the funeral and unseen by its attendees? And even if they had seen our signs, was their grief or offense enough to render our words punishable under the law?
In the legal arguments Margie would eventually make, the answer to these questions was a resounding “No.” She argued that even if the court considered the Snyder family to be private figures, Westboro’s speech could not give rise to a cause of action. Because the Marine’s father had repeatedly made public comments about the war in Iraq and published private details about the family, “a church or anybody has the right to answer that public comment.” In protesting the young man’s funeral, church members had only stated their religious opinions on matters of public interest, which falls under “the umbrella of protection under the First Amendment that this Court has established firmly.”
Or as Gramps put it succinctly: “If these cockeyed lawyers can use tort law to do an end run around the First Amendment, then there is no freedom of speech in this country!”
* * *
During the years of the Maryland case, my mother would often send me over to Margie’s office to assist her with anything she might need. It gave me the sense of being on loan from one boss to another, but the feeling was a joyful one. There was no higher calling than to be useful to the church, and I cherished the time with my darling aunt as fiercely as I had when I was a little girl running errands with her around Topeka. Now, though, our travels would have us marching toward the nation’s capital.
Westboro had lost at the trial court, and a Baltimore jury issued a stunning $10.9 million verdict against us for protesting the young marine’s funeral. The world had cheered at the idea that this judgment signaled the end of the church—that after two decades of violence and threats, unlawful police actions and impotent legal shenanigans of all kinds, America had finally, finally found a way to defeat Westboro and end our picketing forever. On its face, our loss seemed devastating and insurmountable—but still, the church adopted the sort of position we always took: one of exultation. We were utterly amazed at what the Lord was doing to our enemies. In allowing them to prevail at the trial court, He was lulling them into a false sense of hope. For two years, they reveled in their victory, throwing it in our faces, certain of their triumph. What fools! Did they not yet understand that God was with us? We knew that He would turn our apparent defeat into a victory—and their initial, illusory success would only cause them to rage all the more.
And thus it was. Margie filed our appeal, and the appellate court ultimately reversed the trial court’s decision. They set aside the multimillion-dollar judgment, declaring that Westboro’s speech was, indeed, protected by the First Amendment. No matter who was offended by our religious opinion, Maryland’s tort law could not be used to circumvent our right to free speech.
Now Snyder v. Phelps would come before the United States Supreme Court. The stakes were high, and the stage the most prestigious we’d ever had. We continued to ramp up our efforts with a constant stream of nationwide protests and endless interviews requested by major media outlets from around the world. We were racing to the finish line.
It was September 2010, and Margie and I were making our way to meet with folks from the Thomas Jefferson Center in Charlottesville, Virginia, where Margie would rehearse the tough cross-examination she expected from Justice Scalia and his colleagues. The oral arguments were just a few weeks out, and she was preparing for the most daunting challenge she’d ever confronted as a lawyer, the pinnacle of her legal career. On that Saturday in September, though, one that belonged more to summer than to fall, it was evident that her thoughts weren’t on the case. Instead, as Margie and I