A quiet but telling resignation inside the Justice Department has once again exposed how Washington’s procedural traditions can be weaponized for raw politics—often at the expense of competence, continuity, and the rule of law.
Julianne Murray, the acting U.S. Attorney for the District of Delaware appointed during President Donald Trump’s administration, abruptly stepped down last week after concluding that her continued service had become untenable under what she called a “highly politicized and flawed” Senate tradition known as the blue slip process.
Her resignation did not come amid scandal, misconduct, or professional failure. Instead, it followed a federal court ruling involving another Trump-aligned prosecutor and highlighted what Murray described as an entrenched system that allows senators to veto federal appointments without accountability, explanation, or even a formal vote.
A Resignation Rooted in Process, Not Performance
In a public statement explaining her decision, Murray emphasized that her departure had nothing to do with how she performed her duties as the state’s top federal prosecutor. She pointed out that at no point was her work questioned, criticized, or formally evaluated by the Senate Judiciary Committee.
Rather, she said, she was blocked outright—before any hearing could even occur.
“I naively believed that I would be judged on my performance and not politics,” Murray wrote. “Unfortunately, that was not the case.”
Her frustration centered on the Senate’s blue slip tradition, an informal practice that gives home-state senators the power to approve or stall judicial and U.S. attorney nominations simply by returning—or refusing to return—a literal blue piece of paper.
How the Blue Slip Became a Political Weapon
Originally, the blue slip was intended as a courtesy, allowing senators to weigh in on nominees from their home states. Over time, however, it has evolved into something far more powerful: an unofficial veto that can quietly kill nominations without debate, transparency, or recorded votes.
In Murray’s case, she says both of Delaware’s Democratic senators refused to return their blue slips—not because of any alleged misconduct or professional deficiency, but purely for political reasons.
“Senator Coons and Senator Blunt Rochester refused to return a blue slip for political reasons, not performance reasons,” Murray wrote. “This is not about advice and consent.”
Because the blue slips were withheld, Murray was never considered by the Judiciary Committee. There was no hearing. No questioning. No opportunity to defend her record. The process simply stopped.
The Ripple Effect of a Court Ruling
Murray’s resignation followed a separate court decision that found Alina Habba—another Trump-aligned attorney—was improperly serving as a federal prosecutor in New Jersey under similar appointment circumstances. While the two cases were not directly connected, Murray cited the ruling as a factor in her decision to step aside.
According to her statement, she believed remaining in office under a cloud of procedural uncertainty would risk undermining public confidence in the Justice Department.
In other words, she chose to leave not because she was forced out for wrongdoing, but because the appointment process itself had been thrown into legal and political doubt.
A Former Party Chair, Not a Political Operative
Critics have tried to frame Murray’s resignation as evidence of partisan entanglement, noting her past role as chairwoman of the Delaware Republican Party. Murray directly addressed that point, stressing that her conduct as U.S. Attorney was professional, apolitical, and rooted in law enforcement—not party politics.
She maintained that she never used the office to advance political interests and that no one had accused her of doing so.
Her argument was simple: if her record mattered, she should have been evaluated on it. Instead, she was blocked before the process even began.
A System That Rewards Obstruction
Murray’s departure highlights a broader issue that transcends any single administration: the ability of senators to freeze critical justice positions indefinitely without justification.
Unlike a formal Senate vote, the blue slip process requires no explanation. Senators are not required to articulate objections, defend their decisions publicly, or even engage with the nominee at all. Silence is enough.
That dynamic, critics argue, incentivizes obstruction rather than oversight.
Federal prosecutor positions are not symbolic roles. They oversee criminal prosecutions, public corruption cases, and federal law enforcement coordination. Leaving them in limbo—or staffed only by temporary appointees—can weaken institutional continuity and accountability.
What This Means Going Forward
Murray’s resignation is unlikely to be the last of its kind. As administrations change and partisan divisions deepen, procedural tools like the blue slip are increasingly being used as blunt instruments rather than safeguards.
For supporters of the tradition, the blue slip is a necessary check on executive overreach. For critics, it has become an opaque mechanism for partisan gatekeeping—one that undermines the very “advice and consent” role it is supposed to support.
Murray herself came down firmly on the latter view.
“This is not about advice and consent,” she wrote. “Because of this incredibly flawed tradition, I wasn’t even considered.”
The Larger Question
At its core, the episode raises a fundamental question about governance: should unelected procedural customs carry more weight than transparency, merit, and institutional stability?
Julianne Murray believed she would be evaluated on her work. Instead, she learned—by her own account—that performance mattered less than party alignment.
Her resignation may not dominate headlines, but it offers a
