Justin Marrus, an assistant district attorney and son of Brooklyn Supreme Court Justice Alan Marrus, is extremely sorry that Gothamist found inappropriate old photos on his (since-deleted) Facebook page. The caption for one 2006 snapshot, showing Marrus in fake dreads and blackface in an album called “holloween,” reads “what part of jamaica you from mon?” Other memories immortalized forever on the Internet include Marrus simulating prison rape and dressing up with friends as “white trash brothers” complete with Confederate flag tattoos. “He admits it was childish and inappropriate,” said a D.A. spokesman today, but the bigger crime might be leaving them online, and public, for all these years. District Attorney Charles Hynes, whose office has been unceremoniously popping up in the news much too often, reportedly accepts Marrus’s apology, and should just skip any office festivities this October.
Americans do not yet know what the report will share—or, indeed, whether Mueller’s findings will take the form of a published report, in the Starry sense of things, in the first place—but the chances of it offering conclusive findings about Individual 1 or his associates seem slimmer as time goes on. There have been subpoenas; there have been interviews; there have been arrests; there have been convictions. But the primary question—Did Donald Trump collude with Russia to win the presidency?—has not yet been answered, and it is unclear, as rumors insist that the report will soon be completed, whether it will be. The Mueller mystique lives on, however, both as a joke and as an earnest aspiration for what the report might ultimately achieve on behalf of American democracy. Alicia Barnett, of Kansas City, Kansas, explained her fandom to the Associated Press like this: “He gives me reassurance that all is not lost. I admire his mystique. I admire that I haven’t heard his voice. He is someone who can sift through all this mess and come up with a rationale that makes sense to everyone.”
Salvation and salve at the same time: Heroes, in times of tumult, offer reassurances of leadership, of order, of faith both earned and restored. Their very presence—the implied transcendence of their talents—soothes, and calms. All will be well, their myths assure. But even heroes, in an environment as partisan and divided as this one, have their limitations. Mueller’s determined reticence is, on top of everything else, ostensibly a matter of political strategy: an acknowledgment that whatever his team’s findings, a significant percentage of the American populace will simply refuse to believe those conclusions—on grounds of bias, and on grounds that one form of political faith trumps another. You could read the fan fictions that have been written about Mueller as attempts to inoculate him against those doubts: to insist that the hero, because he is not subject to the frailties that plague everyone else, also has unique access to truth. The “great man” theory of history, weaponized for the needs of the present moment.
In an America led by a man who has insisted that “I alone can fix it,” that makes for an uncomfortable argument. Mueller’s mythology treats him both as the embodiment of American democratic institutions and as someone who rises above them; it is a story whose center cannot hold.