On the 10-year mark since his death, this piece recalls Justice Antonin Scalia’s most memorable moments and lasting influence on American law and conservative thought.

Justice Scalia cut a distinct figure on the bench, mixing sharp legal reasoning with a biting sense of humor that landed in court transcripts and opinion pages alike. His style was confrontational but precise, and he never softened legal theory to fit political trends. For many, those traits are the core of what made his work so memorable.

Scalia was the face of textualism and originalism, insisting that statutes and the Constitution mean what the words convey to a reasonable reader at the time they were written. That approach upset a lot of conventional legal fashion but offered a clear alternative to more flexible interpretive methods. It also reshaped how conservative lawyers and judges thought about legal argument.

One unmistakable legal milestone tied to his legacy is District of Columbia v. Heller in 2008, where Scalia wrote the majority opinion recognizing an individual right to keep and bear arms. The decision reordered Second Amendment jurisprudence and energized debates about constitutional protections. Heller remains a frequent touchstone in courtrooms and commentaries.

Beyond single cases, Scalia’s dissents and concurrences read like essays—economical, pointed, and designed to be remembered. He tended to write with a knack for framing issues in ways that stuck, forcing future readers to grapple with the underlying questions he raised. Those passages are often mined by scholars and lower-court judges for years after publication.

His oral argument moments were another trademark: quick asides, a hard question that exposed shaky logic, or a one-liner that landed with law clerks and reporters. Scalia didn’t play to the gallery, but he did make the Court’s work compelling to watch. Those exchanges taught observers a lot about how a jurist thinks under pressure.

Scalia had friendships that surprised casual observers, most famously with Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, which underscored a different side of him. They dined together and spoke warmly about one another despite sharp ideological divides on the bench. Those relationships humanized the Court for many who otherwise saw it only as a battlefield.

Appointed by President Ronald Reagan and taking his seat in 1986, Scalia joined a Court that was in the middle of long legal debates about federal power and individual rights. His confirmation vote reflected broad Senate support, and he became a central figure in conservative legal circles. Over time, he helped train a generation of lawyers who would carry originalist ideas into clinics, classrooms, and appellate benches.

Scalia’s influence extended beyond opinions into a network of clerks, scholars, and advocacy groups who adopted and adapted his methods. His written work provided an intellectual toolkit for conservative jurists to contest liberal interpretations in courts across the country. That cascade effect explains much of why his presence is still felt years after his passing.

He also pushed back against what he saw as judicial overreach, calling out decisions that, in his view, strayed from text and original meaning. Those critiques were blunt and often framed in a way that made legal opponents uncomfortable. For conservatives, that resistance was not merely philosophy; it was a practical defense of institutional limits.

Scalia’s style created cultural ripples beyond law schools: books, debates, and podcasts still revisit his most vivid lines and courtroom moments. Students of the law are assigned his opinions as examples of argument economy and rhetorical force. The result is a steady stream of scholarship and commentary keeping his ideas in circulation.

The date of his death—February 13, 2016—marked a sharp inflection in the Court’s dynamics and in national conversations about judicial appointments. On the 10-year anniversary, many conservatives mark the moment by returning to his opinions and oral arguments. Those materials serve as both record and rallying point for constitutional conservatives.

Republican-minded observers continue to point to Scalia as a model of judicial restraint and textual fidelity, arguing that his approach kept the law tethered to democratic processes. For those who prioritize limited government and predictable legal rules, his work remains persuasive and energizing. His influence is both legal and political in that sense.

Even critics acknowledge that Scalia changed how courts argue about meaning and method, and that shift is visible in decisions and briefs today. Whether one agrees with him or not, his intellectual footprint is unmistakable across multiple areas of law. That enduring presence is the reason people still rewatch oral arguments and re-read his pages.

On anniversaries like this one, the point is not nostalgia for personality but attention to method and consequence—how one justice’s choices ripple through legal doctrine and public life. Revisiting his best moments reminds practitioners and citizens alike that judicial choices have long-term effects. Those moments keep being cited because they still matter to ongoing debates about interpretation and power.