Courting the Republic: How Justice Was Built from Scratch

In 1776, Americans declared independence. By 1787, they had a constitution. But somewhere between parchment and practice, an uncomfortable question remained. How does a nation enforce justice without a crown? Before the Revolution, justice came through British common law. Colonial courts answered to governors appointed by the king. Judges wore robes, but their authority came from a monarch three thousand miles away.

Once that connection was cut, what remained was a vacuum. Each state had to answer the question for itself- what does law look like when sovereignty belongs to the people? The answer came slowly. Early courtrooms were improvised spaces, often taverns, barns, or town halls. Judges were sometimes veterans, merchants, or ministers, chosen more for their reputation than legal training. In some counties, the law was read aloud because the only copy was too valuable to circulate. Punishments ranged from fines and stocks to exile and public shaming.

Consistency was rare. Local interpretation was everything. What held it together, oddly enough, was the shared memory of disorder. After the war, communities feared the return of lawlessness more than they feared bad law. People wanted structure. They wanted rules to settle land disputes, handle debts, and ensure contracts meant something. They wanted courts that did not require loyalty oaths or royal seals. So they began building a new system. Piece by piece. In the mural, a small courtroom scene unfolds at the edge of a rural crossroads. A man stands before a desk that serves as a bench. A woman watches from the gallery with folded arms.

Behind the judge’s seat, there is no flag. Just a wall marked with hand-sketched scales of justice. It is not a grand depiction. It is a deliberate one. This is a nation beginning to believe in its own process. Justice in the early republic was personal. Sheriffs walked miles to deliver summonses. Juries were drawn from neighbors who might owe each other favors or carry grudges. Legal codes varied by region, and judges often traveled in circuits, bringing the law with them like a moving performance. These were not professional systems. They were civic ones. And yet, something larger began to emerge. The concept of due process. The expectation of trial by jury. The right to appeal.

These ideas were seeded not only in constitutions, but in conversations around kitchen tables and behind general stores. Justice was not only dispensed from above. It was shaped from below. But friction remained. Slavery was legal in many places. Women had limited rights. Native peoples were excluded entirely. The legal system reflected the contradictions of the nation itself- aspiring to equality while denying it in practice. And that tension became part of the legal tradition.

A system that could be challenged, changed, and sometimes resisted. The courts were not born as monuments. They were born as tools. They gave structure to promises that had been easy to make in revolution but harder to keep in peace. Over time, state codes began to align. Federal courts emerged. A Supreme Court convened and began issuing decisions. But in those first ten years, justice in America was held together by memory, belief, and a willingness to try. Not every verdict was fair. Not every law was just. But the idea that law itself could evolve- that it could reflect the voice of the people rather than the power of a king- became a foundation for the experiment to continue. Justice had to be imagined before it could be enacted. And in the early republic, imagination was one of the most powerful forces in the room.