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 Many of us have watched in horror as victim after victim testified at the sentencing hearing for Larry Nassar, the doctor who pleaded guilty to molesting US gymnasts under his care. Though Nassar had admitted to molesting seven victims, Judge Rosemarie Aquilina opened the courtroom in this phase to anyone wishing to speak, including victims of Nassar who were not part of the official case. 
 
 Ultimately, there were more than 160 witnesses, including numerous Olympic athletes, who gave gut-wrenching testimony about his effect on their lives. 
 
 On Wednesday, Judge Aquilina sentenced Nassar to 40 to 175 years in prison — a sentence she assured him means he will die in prison, since it will be served subsequent to a 60-year sentence in another case for possession of child pornography. “I have signed your death warrant,�? she announced. 
 
 Throughout the sentencing hearing, Aquilina was praised for her compassion towards victims, and her comments Wednesday drew further exultant commentary. But her words to Nassar should make us uncomfortable. That’s because, perhaps without realizing it, Aquilina overstepped her bounds as a judge and adopted the role of victim advocate. 
 
 She told Nassar, “It is my honor and privilege to sentence you,�? and observed, at one point: “Our Constitution does not allow for cruel and unusual punishment. If it did … I would allow some or many people to do to him what he did to others.�? 
 
 That is a human reaction, but it is one you’d expect to be expressed by a victim rather than a judge. (Many observers, including me, heard the “do to him what he did to others�? line as a not-so-coded expression of a hope that Nassar would be raped in prison.) 
 
 Our nation’s constitutional principles remain deliberately very distinct from biblical notions of “an eye for an eye,�? but her statement had a clear Old Testament flavor. As a public defender, I may be especially attuned to such line blurring. But it is simply unfitting for a judge to broadcast such personal contempt for a defendant in her court, no matter how awful his deeds. 
 
 Throughout the proceedings, which were televised, Aquilina essentially transformed herself into a champion for a movement. It is understandable to feel empathy for previously voiceless victims, especially ones whose testimony took such bravery. But there are crucial distinctions between judge and advocate, and she traversed those lines repeatedly. 
 
 She talked to victims as though she were their confidante, telling one, “The monster who took advantage of you is going to wither, much like the scene in The Wizard of Oz where the water gets poured on the witch and the witch withers away.�? 
 
 She passionately thanked victims and called them “superheroes.�? As a result, she has been profiled around the country — including in a New York Times piece titled, “Victims in Larry Nassar Abuse Case Find a Fierce Advocate: The Judge.�? 
 
 The movement to end sexual abuse is undeniably important, and it has fresh momentum as a result of the #MeToo movement. The judge’s comments may seem reasonable in light of Nassar’s actions — sexually abusing young girls as young as 6, abusing his power both as a doctor and as a representative of the Olympic team. He himself is hardly sympathetic, at one point suggesting his accusers were seeking press attention. (Although he later said, “There are no words that can describe the depth and breadth for how sorry I am for what has occurred.�?) 
 
 But no matter how good Aquilina’s intentions, for a judge to make herself the face of a social cause poses a threat to the fairness of our system. We rely on judges to ensure that people’s lives are decided by neutral, independent arbiters who impartially evaluate the evidence and apply the law. That’s the only way we can trust in a system that has such awesome power to take away people’s liberty. 
 
 To be clear, I am not challenging whether the sentence Aquilina imposed was the right call. The problem is not the lengthy sentence; it’s the way she positioned herself throughout the sentencing proceedings. 
 
 It may be hard to see why this matters. But, again, as a public defender, I am concerned when judges use individual cases to send broader social messages. 
 
 I fear this tendency creates ripple effects among judges around the country, causing them to avoid exercising discretion in sentencing because of fear of public wrath if their sentences are perceived as insufficiently harsh. And it’s clear that in general, long prison sentences — whether the result of judicial discretion or legislatively mandated minimum sentencing — end up disproportionately hurting the poor and underprivileged. 
 
 By aligning herself so closely with the victims and so clearly rooting against Nassar, Aquilina also reinforced the dangerous idea that judges can and should be in sync with public sentiment. 
 
 In some ways, this is an easy case for such an alignment, given the horror of Nassar’s acts. But easy cases get us in trouble; they lead us down a slippery slope. What happens the next time, when the evidence is less clear? What happens when there is doubt as to guilt but a judge allows empathy for victims to drive decisions? 
 
 And what happens even when there is not doubt about guilt but good reason for a judge to opt for a sentence less than the maximum? I worry about future defendants who shouldn’t get sentenced harshly but may face judges too swayed by their own emotional reaction to victims — or too eager to be lauded by the public as a “fierce advocate�? — to remember their role in the courtroom. 
 
 In our criminal justice system, victims don’t decide their perpetrators’ sentences, because victims (understandably) cannot be objective. Relatedly, the public shouldn’t get to decide which cases sufficiently offend us to warrant a judge abandoning impartiality. 
 
 Judges wear plain, unadorned robes. They don’t wear college insignia, sports emblems, or any other markers of allegiance. That’s by design, as judges represent absolute neutrality. We must hold judges to that standard in every case, not just some. That’s the only way we can ensure our system is fair. 
 
 That’s not for Larry Nassar’s benefit. It’s to protect everyone else. 
 
 Rachel Marshall is a public defender in Oakland, California, where she handles felony cases. She graduated from Brown University and Stanford Law School. 
 
 The Big Idea is Vox’s home for smart discussion of the most important issues and ideas in politics, science, and culture — typically by outside contributors. If you have an idea for a piece, pitch us at thebigidea@vox.com. 

 In 2001, I went to Xipamanine market, a huge open-air bazaar in Maputo, Mozambique, where you can buy everything from clothes to traditional medicine. A Mozambican friend told me how to keep safe from pickpockets. “If someone takes something from you, yell Ladrão! Ladrão!”—Thief! Thief!—“and point to him.” “What happens next?” I asked. “People will grab him,” she said, “and possibly beat him to death.” She said the ultimate punishment was reserved for habitual thieves, and that the hardware section would be especially dangerous for them, because so many heavy objects were available. I was learning Portuguese at the time. Ladrão is the only word in any language that I have ever wished I could unlearn. If a thief scampered away with my passport, my camera, and all my money, would I be able to resist yelling it out? I couldn’t be sure, but I knew I would regret it immediately, and possibly for the rest of my life, if I did yell ladrão, and knew there was a possibility of brutal punishment being carried out in my name. 
 
 I thought of this incident Wednesday when Rosemarie Aquilina, the judge in the case of serial sexual assailant Larry Nassar, delivered the disgraced U.S. Olympic doctor what she called his “death warrant,” after a week of extraordinary testimony by his victims. Nassar begged the judge earlier this week to be spared having to hear all his victims speak. Judge Aquilina observed that a few days of emotional discomfort for Nassar would barely begin to even the score between him and the over-150 women he molested. She sentenced him to a prison term that will probably consume the rest of his life. The dignity of the proceedings was diminished by a few words, though, that the judge offered by way of regret. If the U.S. Constitution didn’t forbid cruel and unusual punishment, she said, she “might allow what he did to all of these beautiful souls—these young women in their childhood—I would allow someone or many people to do to him what he did to others.” Subjecting Nassar to a lifetime of rape is not my idea of justice, and fantasizing about it is not my idea of judicial temperament. On social media, civil libertarians have piped up to protest her, and many who followed the trial have expressed outrage at the sympathy for Nassar that this sentiment supposedly reveals. Their outrage is outrageous, and itself reveals twisted sympathies that are, for supposed advocates of victims, unfortunate. 
 
 Does Nassar deserve to be raped 150 times? Quite possibly: To be honest, when crimes approach the magnitude of his, I stop trusting my ability to keep tabs on just deserts, except to say that what he deserves is—whether it’s a lifetime in a dark hole, or years-long gang rape—beyond my ability to fathom. But to admit that he deserves inconceivable punishment is not to defend the judge’s remarks. Some crimes are bad enough that no remedy exists for them in civilized society. I am reminded of C.S. Lewis’s famous line that some men are indeed fit only to be slaves, but none is fit to be a master. I don’t know what Nassar’s victims think about the judge’s comments. I have never been subjected to a crime as traumatic as theirs, but it isn’t at all obvious that they would smile on her thirst for violent revenge. Would it be comforting to know that a horrific act of abuse, one whose very mention would nauseate me in any other context, is being done to correct the wrong against me? Or that my testimony provoked people to fantasize about punitive rape? Would it comfort me to know that a judge had shared my pain enough to voice unjudge-like wrath on my behalf? I watched only three of the witness testimonies against Nassar, and it sickened me to hear how he had affected these women’s lives. It pleased me to know that Nassar was sickened, too, and indeed it settled my stomach a little to read his feeble, tortured plea to be spared more. I like to think the denial of that mercy to Nassar was the most delicious vengeance for his victims, since it required nothing of them but honesty and dignity. It did not require that heinous acts—the same heinous acts committed on them—be committed on their behalf. Sadly, it may have required them to relive their own abuse. That so many had the fortitude to bear that ongoing trauma was one of the reasons the court’s proceedings inspired and awed so many. That the judge would undermine this dignity at the last minute is regrettable. 

 Judge Rosemarie Aquilina reads a statement from Larry Nassar during the sentencing phase in Ingham County Circuit Court on Wednesday in Lansing, Michigan. Jeff Kowalsky/Getty Images 
 
 On Wednesday, Judge Rosemarie Aquilina sentenced Larry Nassar to between 40 to 175 years in a Michigan prison. Nassar, a former doctor to Olympic gymnasts, pleaded guilty to sexually abusing seven girls and has been accused of molesting many more, with victims as young as 6. He already pleaded guilty to child pornography charges in federal court. Nassar will die behind bars, and he deserves to. 
 
 Aquilina has received widespread and well-earned praise throughout the hearings, supporting Nassar’s more than 150 victims as they read their extraordinary victim impact statements. But Aquilina drew some criticism on Wednesday for her own remarks at Nassar’s sentencing. HuffPost’s Melissa Jeltsen‏ questioned the judge’s decision to tell Nassar, “I just signed your death warrant.” Jeltsen and others also expressed alarm at a troubling aside implying Nassar deserved to be raped in prison. “Even criminals do not deserve to be sexually assaulted,” Jeltsen‏ wrote. “I’d prefer my justice with a little less editorializing.” 
 
 Did Aquilina cross a line? Before answering that question, it’s important to remember the circumstances of her address to Nassar. Aquilina was not conducting a trial; there was no jury for her to influence unduly. She also wasn’t entertaining some motion that required her to play the role of neutral umpire. Nassar pleaded guilty. In the eyes of the law, he has admitted to his crimes, and the only question that remained on Wednesday was what punishment he should receive. 
 
 Yet even that was largely a theoretical issue. Nassar was convicted on federal child pornography charges in December; a judge sentenced him to 60 years in prison, which he will serve before doing time in Michigan. Thus, even if Aquilina had given Nassar a lighter penalty—he agreed to a sentence floor of 25 to 40 years in his plea deal—he still would have died in prison. 
 
 It is far from unusual for judges to express their personal opinions at sentencing. These reflections can cut both ways: Judges might proclaim disgust at the depravity of a crime or note with remorse that mandatory minimum laws require excessive sentences. Here, Aquilina devoted a significant portion of her statement to the question of rehabilitation and contrition—whether Nassar feels remorse and seeks to atone for his crimes. “I find that you don’t get it,” the judge told Nassar. “That you’re a danger. You remain a danger. I’m a judge who believes in life and rehabilitation when life and rehabilitation is possible. … I don’t find that’s possible with you.” 
 
 That sentiment sounds quite fair in light of a letter Nassar submitted to the court. In that astonishing document, Nassar asserted that he was “a good doctor,” claiming that his abuse was “medical, not sexual,” and complaining: “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. The media is sensationalizing this.” These are not the words of a remorseful man. 
 
 Unfortunately, Aquilina chose to supplement her reflections on Nassar’s monstrous lack of repentance with a statement indicating she hoped he would suffer like his victims did: 
 
 Our Constitution does not allow for cruel and unusual punishment. If it did, I have to say, I might allow what he did to all of these beautiful souls—these young women in their childhood—I would allow someone or many people to do to him what he did to others. 
 
 It is hugely inappropriate for a judge to suggest that a criminal defendant, no matter how heinous, be subjected to a grotesque and unconstitutional punishment. 
 
 Still, it’s easy to see what drove Aquilina to make this comment. Consider the events that preceded Wednesday’s hearing. Pursuant to Michigan law, Aquilina invited Nassar’s victims to read their remarkable statements one by one. She heard, in graphic detail, the horrors that he visited upon an unthinkable number of women. At sentencing, judges must apply the law without prejudice or favor, but Michigan law permits—indeed, encourages—them to consider the victims’ perspectives. Aquilina did precisely that. And, because she is only human, she said something she shouldn’t have said. 
 
 Aquilina’s courtroom wasn’t a dispassionate venue, and it shouldn’t have been. She was charged with conducting a public examination of sexual abuse victims’ pain, as well as an interrogation of a monster’s motives. We can never really know what drove Nassar to commit his odious crimes, just as we can never truly understand the agony of his victims. We are left, then, with what few tools the criminal justice system gives us to adjudicate an atrocity of this magnitude. Aquilina seized upon those tools to empower more than 150 women to confront their abuser, then used them herself to articulate the law’s contempt for Nassar’s offenses. The result was impassioned and imperfect. It was also what Larry Nassar deserved.
– Graeme Wood, writing about the sentencing of Larry Nassar for the Atlantic, shares an account by George Orwell of seeing a Jew abuse a Nazi following WWII, which the famed author found "pathetic and disgusting." Wood writes that Judge Rosemarie Aquilina likewise became pathetic and disgusting when she endorsed vengeance against the man accused of sexually assaulting more than 150 women and girls. After sentencing Nassar to up to 175 years in prison, Aquilina said she had signed his "death warrant" and "would allow someone or many people to do to him what he did to others" were it not for the Constitution prohibiting cruel and unusual punishment. Wood finds these comments "unjudge-like" and harmful to the "dignity of the proceedings." "Subjecting Nassar to a lifetime of rape is not my idea of justice, and fantasizing about it is not my idea of judicial temperament," he writes. That's not to say Nassar doesn't "deserve to be raped 150 times"—it's possible he does—but a judge shouldn't say it. Wood also says anyone who claims that criticism of Aquilina's choice of words is tantamount to sympathy for Nassar is revealing their own "twisted sympathies." Wood wonders if it would be comforting for Nassar's victims "to know that a horrific act of abuse ... is being done to correct the wrong against" them. Read the full piece here. (Wood isn't alone. Rachel Marshall at Vox also says Aquilina went too far as a victims advocate, betraying her role as a judge. But Mark Joseph Stern at Slate argues judges editorializing at sentencing is far from uncommon and Aquilina's desire for vengeance is understandable.)