When Due Process Becomes Conditional, the Constitution Is Already Lost

There is a quiet but dangerous belief spreading through our civic life—one that reveals itself every time we excuse the erosion of rights through our judgment of others.

We call it guilty until proven innocent.

Exactly what we claim to reject—yet repeatedly practice.

The true test of a society is how it treats those it has the power to punish.

It is the belief that constitutional rights are real—but not universal.

That there are those who deserve them, and those who do not.

That belief does not begin with the Constitution.

It begins earlier—at the moment we decide that not everyone is deserving of the same rights.

We say we believe that all men are created equal. We recite it, celebrate it, and wrap ourselves in it. But too often, we treat that principle as aspirational rather than binding. “All” becomes conditional—dependent on behavior, status, wealth, sobriety, popularity, or convenience. Once that happens, constitutional rights are no longer inherent. They become privileges—rationed by judgment rather than guaranteed by law, shaped by the preferences of the popular and powerful rather than by the rule of law itself.

This is not a misunderstanding of the Constitution.

It is a rejection of its moral foundation—and a defeat of its entire purpose.

The Constitution does not grant rights. It acknowledges that they already existed before it was written and exists to protect and enforce them. Due process exists not because people are good, but because power is dangerous and prone to abuse. Liberty has always depended on restraint placed upon authority. Due process exists precisely for moments when something other than justice—true justice as defined by law—is being pursued, whether intentionally or unintentionally.

The Constitution does not demand a perfect person. It assumes the opposite. It was written with a clear-eyed understanding that human beings are flawed, emotional, biased, and capable of error and cruelty. What it demands instead is something far more difficult: restraint. It demands disciplined, principled, and lawful governance over imperfect people—especially when those people are unpopular, accused, or despised. Due process exists precisely because men are imperfect, and power without restraint is dangerous.

When we say, “Yes, but…” we are no longer talking about law.

We are talking about worth.

And once a person is diminished—once they are quietly removed from “we hold these truths to be self-evident”—the Constitution is no longer functioning. A Constitution that applies only to the worthy is no Constitution at all. And neither is the country it was meant to govern.

What follows is predictable. Rights are narrowed. Process is rushed. Defense becomes a formality. Oversight becomes optional. Constitutional language remains on the books, but its application is quietly suspended for those deemed inconvenient, undesirable, or disposable.

This is conditional constitutionalism—the belief that rights apply only to those who meet an unspoken moral threshold.

The public plays a role in this. We normalize exceptions. We cheer efficiency over fairness. We accept shortcuts so long as they are taken against people we fear, dislike, or cannot see ourselves in. We reassure ourselves that the system is just because it is happening to someone else.

Institutions then formalize what the public has already excused.

Courts, prosecutors, agencies, and elected bodies did not invent this mindset—they adopt it. They translate public impatience into policy, budget decisions, and procedural norms. They call it pragmatism. They call it realism. They call it necessity.

But necessity has always been the language used to diminish rights.

The Constitution does not bend to convenience. It restrains it. The moment constitutional protections shrink based on who is standing in front of the system, we are no longer governed by law—we are governed by discretion untethered from principle.

That should concern everyone.

Because once rights are conditioned on character, compliance, or public approval, they are no longer rights at all. Rights that must be earned are not rights. They are permissions. And permissions can always be revoked.

This is not about defending bad behavior. It is about defending the idea that no one must earn the protections of the law before they apply.

The true measure of our constitutional commitment is not how we treat the admirable or the familiar. It is how we treat the accused, the unpopular, the poor, the struggling, and those we would rather not see reflected in ourselves—especially when the stakes are life, liberty, and the protections we insist on for ourselves.

If rights are inherent, they apply to all.

If they are unalienable, they are not contingent.

If due process matters, it matters even when emotion, vengeance, and retribution feel justified.

Anything less is not a flaw in the system.

It is a conscious decision to abandon the principles we claim to stand for.

The first and foremost duty of a free people is to ensure that no one is treated as greater or lesser than themselves under the law. That was the promise at the heart of this country. We are not defined by how we treat the most respected among us, but by how we treat the least protected.

Responsibility for maintaining that standard does not rest solely with government. It never has. A society that waits for institutions to correct moral failures has already surrendered its civic duty. In a constitutional republic, the obligation to demand restraint, fairness, and justice begins—and ends—with the people themselves.

If we are patriotic—if we are Americans—if we truly honor those who have served—then we must do more than speak about the Constitution. We must live it. We must not look at one another and say, “Look what they did.” We must stop and ask, “What if it were us?”

What if we were accused for leverage in a divorce?

In a custody dispute?

To force an eviction?

For political advantage?

For financial gain?

For career advancement?

Or simply because someone with power decided to use it?

Those are not hypotheticals. They play out in communities every day. And that is why defense must never be an afterthought. It must be a first principle—equal to, and in some cases greater than, every other part of the system.

It is not the government that matters most.

It is the citizen subjected to it.

That is the Constitution.

And that is America.