Personal Jurisdiction Based on Intangible Harm

Alan M. Trammell & Derek E. Bambauer, Personal Jurisdiction and the “Interwebs,” 100 Cornell L. Rev. 1129 (2015).

Conduct channeled through cyberspace can cause harm in physical space. That leakage across a conceptually amorphous border has befuddled courts attempting to adapt personal jurisdiction doctrine to the Internet. At least two distinct problems have combined to produce an inconsistent and unstable jurisprudence. First, the Internet is a buffer between the defendant and the forum. This technological intermediary diffuses the defendant’s geographic reach, complicating analysis of the defendant’s contacts and purpose. Second, activity on the Internet often leads to intangible harm, such as a sullied reputation or devalued trademark. These intangible injuries can manifest in places that are difficult to predict ex ante and to identify ex post.

Accordingly, the Internet creates spatial indeterminacy in a legal context that reifies geographic boundaries. Many courts have reacted by trying to tame complexity with an ostensibly elegant tripartite framework for analyzing jurisdiction. The “Zippo test”—named after an influential yet often-criticized district court decision—posits that jurisdiction based on Internet contacts depends on pigeonholing websites into categories. A “passive” website that merely provides content is a weak basis for jurisdiction, while jurisdiction usually exists over websites that are commercial platforms for repeated transmission of files. Between these extremes are “interactive” sites that require a context-sensitive inquiry into the nature of the interactions.

Alan Trammell and Derek Bambauer’s recent article Personal Jurisdiction and the “Interwebs” eviscerates the Zippo test and similarly stilted efforts to apply personal jurisdiction doctrine to the Internet. Trammell and Bambauer focus on two pathologies that have undermined judicial reactions to suits arising from Internet activity: the tendency of novel technology to “bedazzle[] and bewitch[]” observers, and an emphasis on spatializing virtual conduct rather than addressing the broader problem raised by activity that causes intangible injuries. The result is a jurisdictional inquiry that appears “beautifully simple,” yet is both “superficial” and “indeterminate.”

The article addresses the first pathology by contending that Zippo allows complex technology to obscure the underlying purpose of constraints on personal jurisdiction. The Internet seems unique because it streamlines the transfer of information and facilitates new forms of interaction. Zippo’s tripartite framework reacts to this apparent novelty by fixating on the transmission of files and interaction between Internet users, thus appearing to adapt old doctrine to a new context. But as Trammell and Bambauer explain, the test is superfluous, misleading, and arbitrary. In cases involving extensive commercial activity over the Internet, Zippo is superfluous because prior doctrine addressing “purposeful availment” could adapt to commerce through novel technological means. In cases involving noncommercial activity, Zippo is misleading because it implies that Internet activity is often insufficient to warrant jurisdiction despite the fact that pre-Internet caselaw upheld jurisdiction in many noncommercial disputes. And in both commercial and noncommercial cases, an extensive inquiry into a website’s “interactivity” produces an arbitrary result unmoored from values that animate constitutional limits on state authority.

The Zippo test survives not because it is sensible, but because it provides a “false hope” of rigor for judges seeking to navigate a confusing technological landscape. Indeed, the authors make the interesting observation that the first federal court of appeals to reject Zippo—the Ninth Circuit, “the court with jurisdiction over Silicon Valley”—was likely the circuit with the least anxiety about confronting technological innovations.

The article addresses the second pathology by contending that courts mistakenly focus on aspects of the Internet that are unique rather than traits the Internet shares with other technologies. Courts analyzing jurisdiction in Internet cases devote inordinate effort to considering where conduct occurs. Trammell and Bambauer argue that this is a fruitless exercise because the Internet diffuses activity across geographic borders. Conduct clearly occurs at the location where a person creates content or files disseminated through the Internet, but identifying other locations as salient to jurisdiction seems arbitrary. A natural response to their argument is that one particular location is not arbitrary: the place where an injury occurs. But identifying the place of injury is difficult when the harm is intangible. When the location of injury is intangible, Internet cases are similar to non-Internet cases. For example, regardless of the technology used to defame a person or infringe a trademark, identifying the locus of a person’s reputation or intellectual property requires a theory of how intangible interests map onto physical space. Accordingly, the authors argue that Internet cases are difficult not because the Internet uniquely obscures the location of conduct, but because the Internet is the latest technology to raise the vexing question of where intangible injuries occur.

Having shifted the focus from the location of Internet activity to the location of intangible injuries, Trammell and Bambauer propose a new test. The test relies on what they identify as three “first principles” of personal jurisdiction doctrine: the exercise of state power should not be arbitrary, jurisdiction should be predictable, and the forum should be fair for the defendant. The authors also contend that jurisdictional rules should be “efficient.” From these principles, the authors derive a rule: “Internet-based contacts should rarely, if ever, suffice for personal jurisdiction.” For example, jurisdiction would not exist in the plaintiff’s home state based merely on the local availability of a website infringing a trademark. In contrast, if a seller uses the Internet to facilitate sales of tangible objects to a buyer in the forum, jurisdiction would exist because the physical delivery of goods to the forum would be a relevant contact even if the web-based sales platform is not.

The article makes an important contribution to the literature by pinpointing why the Internet raises difficult personal jurisdiction problems. Courts and commentators have struggled with Internet cases in part because the Internet is often a red herring. When a case involves physical injuries in the forum, the fact that the Internet facilitated the conduct leading to those injuries may be irrelevant because doctrine pre-dating the Internet is available to assess the nexus between conduct and physical harm. In contrast, when a case involves intangible harm, the difficult question is: where did the injury occur? If the harm cannot plausibly be localized, then the fact that the case involves Internet contacts highlights the defendant’s tenuous contact with the forum. In this scenario the use of the Internet does not create a new problem, but rather places an old problem into starker relief. Academic and judicial attention should therefore focus on the older problem by considering how personal jurisdiction doctrine should apply in cases involving intangible harm. That inquiry can, in turn, provide insights that make the newer problem about Internet contacts less confusing.

The authors’ proposals are carefully reasoned, but there is room for debate because the article’s rejection of jurisdiction based on Internet contacts rests on three contestable conclusions. First, the article assumes that localizing intangible harm is difficult. Yet one can imagine arguments that particular types of intangible harms are experienced most acutely in the place where a victim resides or is domiciled, as are many tangible harms. If so, then a distinction between tangible and intangible injuries should not be the basis for a blanket rule deemphasizing Internet-based contacts. Second, if an intangible harm can be localized, then jurisdiction would often be appropriate under precedent considering whether the defendant “aimed” at and caused “effects” in the forum. The authors briefly recommend overruling the effects test, which partially rests their critique of Internet-based jurisdiction on the viability of a broader critique of modern personal jurisdiction jurisprudence.

Finally, some theories of personal jurisdiction (including mine) do not emphasize predictability and efficiency as heavily as this article does, instead placing greater weight on the forum state’s interest in facilitating local adjudication. For example, the article suggests that if a hacker intentionally copies private data from a server in the forum, jurisdiction would not be appropriate because hackers are often “indifferent” to or may not know the server’s location. However, an alternative theory would posit that if a person intentionally hacks into servers without knowing or caring where they are located, he assumes the risk of being sued in the state where injury occurs. (For a non-Internet version of the assumption of risk scenario, imagine that the owner of a small pharmaceutical company sneaks into a competitor’s plant and intentionally adds poison to a bottle of cough syrup with the intent of killing a consumer, but without knowing or caring where the bottle will be sold. Should the poisoner’s geographic indifference immunize him from jurisdiction in the state where the victim purchases and consumes the poison?)

Trammell and Bambauer have developed a thoughtful critique of how current personal jurisdiction doctrine addresses the Internet. Further scholarship will benefit from their distinction between the location of Internet activity and the location of its intangible consequences.

Cite as: Allan Erbsen, Personal Jurisdiction Based on Intangible Harm, JOTWELL (November 16, 2015) (reviewing Alan M. Trammell & Derek E. Bambauer, Personal Jurisdiction and the “Interwebs,” 100 Cornell L. Rev. 1129 (2015)), http://courtslaw.jotwell.com/personal-jurisdiction-based-on-intangible-harm/.
 
 

Making Sense of Plurality Decisions

Ryan C. Williams, Questioning Marks: Plurality Decisions and Precedential Constraint (forthcoming).

In Questioning Marks, Ryan Williams tackles a piece of Supreme Court doctrine that many dismiss with the back of their hand: how to make precedential sense of the Court’s plurality opinions. Oh sure, we all begin with the statement in Marks v. United States that lower courts should ascribe precedential weight to the “holding” of the case, understood as “that position taken by those Members who concurred in the judgments on the narrowest grounds.” But that formulation obscures any number of difficulties. How does a lower court identify the narrowest grounds of the shared decision that produced a judgment that was supported by separate reasons that failed to offer clear guidance in future cases?

Williams first shows that lower courts have taken a range of different approaches to the problem of identifying the narrowest grounds. Some look for an implicit consensus among the five (or more) concurring Justices, others give pride of place to the notion that the Justice casting the fifth vote must have played a decisive role in the outcome and so treat the opinion accompanying that swing vote as controlling. Still others adopt an issue-by-issue approach, looking for the alignment of Justices who expressed agreement with a particular proposition that may be relevant in future litigation. Somewhat controversially, this issue-by-issue approach may also consider the views of dissenting Justices, a group seemingly omitted from the Marks reference to the members concurring in the judgment.

The way lower courts approach these matters may reflect their conception of the nature of a hierarchical judiciary and of their obligations as lower courts. For courts inclined to predict outcomes at the Supreme Court, a tendency to emphasize the fifth vote seems natural–that was the vote needed to nail down the judgment. Others with a bent towards prediction happily consider dissenting views, knowing as they do that the dissenters will likely weigh in on any future question along the lines they have articulated in earlier opinions.

But both approaches can produce real anomalies. Williams tells one dispiriting tale of the lower court reaction to Shady Grove Orthopedic Assocs. v. Allstate Insurance Co. There, as our gentle readers will recall, the Court divided on whether to apply Federal Rule of Civil Procedure 23 (and to displace the New York state prohibition on the aggregation of certain claims) or to defer to state law in a diversity case. A four-Justice plurality, led by Justice Scalia, held that Rule 23 applied and was valid under the Rules Enabling Test articulated in Sibbach v. Wilson & Co. A four-Justice dissent would have viewed Rule 23 as inapplicable, deferring to state law for a complex set of reasons reminiscent of those offered in Gasperini v. Center for Humanities. Justice Stevens cast the fifth-and-deciding vote, agreeing with Justice Scalia in part but arguing that Sibbach was misunderstood to uphold all “arguably procedural” rules. Only Justice Stevens gave voice to his limited conception of Sibbach. We do not know how widely shared his views were; we only know that he was alone in expressing them.

Yet the lower courts have seemingly given effect to Justice Stevens’ opinion on the theory that his was the fifth and deciding vote. This seems particularly wrongheaded, at least as to Justice Stevens’ views about Sibbach. While he may be right, he certainly did not speak for five Justices on that subject. So it is a bit dismaying to learn that his views have taken hold. Even more troubling, according to Williams, lower court decisions do not explore the issues, opting instead for a rather wooden invocation of the Stevens view as controlling by virtue of being the fifth vote.

Williams would solve the Marks problem by calling for a “shared agreement” approach, in which lower courts give precedential effect only to those matters on which a five-Justice majority reached a shared agreement. That approach might, for example, justify the lower courts in extending the Court’s fractured decision that citizens of the District of Columbia are properly regarded as citizens of a state for diversity purposes. While no rationale gained a majority, five Justices did agree on a result that might well apply to citizens of other territories (such as Puerto Rico), as the lower courts later held. But it certainly would not give effect to Justice Stevens’ lone view in Shady Grove.

I found much to like in the paper: a strong command of the cases, a rich theoretical framework in which to evaluate the issues at hand, and a calm and authoritative authorial voice that lets the reader know she is in good hands. I was especially pleased that Williams chose to tackle the problem because it seems most unlikely that the Supreme Court will provide further guidance. The Justices seem far more likely to address a particular lower court disagreement than to nail down a methodological approach to past plurality opinions that might ramify far beyond the particular case, unsettling some bodies of law and producing outcomes that current Justices can neither predict nor endorse. A tip of the hat to Williams for providing a solution that commends itself to courts and theoreticians alike.

Cite as: James E. Pfander, Making Sense of Plurality Decisions, JOTWELL (November 2, 2015) (reviewing Ryan C. Williams, Questioning Marks: Plurality Decisions and Precedential Constraint (forthcoming)), http://courtslaw.jotwell.com/making-sense-of-plurality-decisions/.
 
 

Class Action Mismatch: Securities Class Action Jurisprudence and High-Frequency Trading Manipulation

Tara E. Levens, Too Fast, Too Frequent? High-Frequency Trading and Securities Class Actions, 82 U. Chi. L. Rev. 1511 (2015).

For faculty members with retirement savings in TIAA-CREF or brokerage accounts, market events of summer 2015 might prompt the conclusion that August is the cruelest month of all. Along with millions of other small investors, academics throughout the United States could only watch helplessly as volatile markets took shareholders on a daily roller-coaster ride resulting in devalued accounts.

In the wake of the 2008 market crash, small investors have become increasingly educated about the structural and institutional drivers of extreme market volatility: automatic, computerized trading techniques over which the small, individual stakeholder has little knowledge or control. Most prominent among these market innovations has been the advent of computerized, high-frequency trading (HFT), driven by mathematical algorithms.

In her thoughtful and innovative comment, Too Fast, Too Frequent? High-Frequency Trading and Securities Class Actions, Tara E. Levens explores the interesting question whether the prevalence of HFT techniques resulting in massive financial losses to small-stake investors will open the door to new securities class actions. Her general conclusion is that current legal theories undergirding various types of securities law violations are mismatched with the harms induced by HFT. Consequently, Levens attempts to formulate a jurisprudence for new securities class actions based on the unique injuries resulting from HFT manipulation. In essence, Levens’ task is a riff on the theme of fitting new wine into old bottles.

Levens first describes the types of investor harms addressed under current securities laws, most notably liability for fraudulent misrepresentation under § 10(b) and Rule 10b-5 of the Securities and Exchange Act of 1934. She suggests that the harms induced by HFT are a poor fit for conventional securities fraud claims. Instead, she pivots to theories of open-market manipulation, which she believes better capture the factual basis for seeking relief.

She notes that plaintiffs may bring claims of open-market manipulation under § 10(b), although “such claims have received ‘curiously little attention’ from plaintiffs, prosecutors, and the courts.” (Pp. 1514–15.) She further suggests that plaintiffs might bring claims of open-market manipulation under § 9 of the Act, but such actions require a showing of specific intent. Because of the difficulty in pursuing relief under § 9, Levens indicates that plaintiffs and prosecutors rarely rely on this provision when bringing manipulation proceedings.

To provide context for her recommendations, Levens analyzes developments in securities class litigation, focusing on the Supreme Court’s elaboration of the fraud-on-the-market presumption that relieves plaintiffs of the necessity to show individual reliance in fraud cases. She suggests that the Court’s 2014 Halliburton decision changed the landscape of securities-fraud class litigation by enhancing the role of expert witness “impact studies” used to demonstrate the effect of an alleged fraud or misrepresentation on a stock’s price, which may determine whether the fraud-on-the-market presumption applies. However, she refrains from concluding whether the increased use of impact studies will benefit either plaintiffs or defendants, or result in more or fewer class certification approvals.

Against this doctrinal backdrop, Levens discusses in great technical detail what constitutes high frequency trading, a subset of algorithmic trading. She explains two types of HFT: market-making activities and more aggressive strategies such as statistical arbitrage. Levens’ article provides an intelligible, accessible account of HFT for less-knowledgeable readers. She concludes by surveying the heated debate over the effects of high frequency trading on market efficiency.

Levens highlights exactly how novel the problem of HFT is on the legal landscape. She notes that the SEC has yet to promulgate formal rules or regulations relating to HFT. According to Levens, the SEC increased its enforcement efforts after the Flash Crash of May 2010, but studies are inconclusive whether HFT or other factors triggered that market collapse. The SEC brought its first market manipulation case against an HFT firm only in October 2014. That action was pursued under Rule 10b-5 and the alleged perpetrator agreed to pay a fine and to cease and desist from further violations of the securities laws.

Levens believes that the spread of HFT and consequent market collapses has set the stage for a resurgence of the open-market manipulation theory. She suggests that plaintiffs who wish to bring claims against HFT firms might succeed by combining various theories of open-market manipulation with the fraud-on-the-market presumption; this hybrid strategy allows plaintiffs to avoid the more stringent intent requirements of § 9, while also availing themselves of the liberal fraud-on-the-market presumption to avoid potentially difficult reliance issues. Levens notes that the fraud-on-the market presumption generally has not been available to plaintiffs alleging market manipulation claims, but she contends that in some situations courts have held otherwise.

Finally, Levens addresses whether high-frequency traders ought to have a private right of action to redress their own injuries, something no commentator has addressed. While noting that traders do not represent the most sympathetic group of claimants, she indicates that traders also may suffer losses from HFT. Analyzing this problem, Levens concludes that HFT traders most likely will have a very difficult time satisfying the requirements for certifying a class action under Fed. R. Civ. P. 23, showing loss causation, or proving reliance.

As Levens correctly points out, HFT issues are likely to continue to surface in litigation, presenting litigants and courts with an array of novel legal problems. She concludes that “regardless of whether high-frequency traders come to court as plaintiffs or defendants, the advent of HFT marks a changed circumstance that the securities-litigation bar will have to wrestle with in the near future.” (P. 1557.)

Levens, the incoming Editor-in-Chief of the University of Chicago Law Review, has produced an impressively sophisticated piece. She has identified a set of emerging legal issues and grappled with existing doctrine as applied to new problems. Even if her hybrid approach proves unsound, she is to be commended for undertaking such an ambitious, challenging topic and, in the best tradition of young scholarship, thinking outside the box.

Cite as: Linda Mullenix, Class Action Mismatch: Securities Class Action Jurisprudence and High-Frequency Trading Manipulation, JOTWELL (October 19, 2015) (reviewing Tara E. Levens, Too Fast, Too Frequent? High-Frequency Trading and Securities Class Actions, 82 U. Chi. L. Rev. 1511 (2015)), http://courtslaw.jotwell.com/class-action-mismatch-securities-class-action-jurisprudence-and-high-frequency-trading-manipulation/.
 
 

Controversial Supreme Court Appointments – A Blockbuster in the Foreign Films Category?

Often we like scholarship lots because it reflects new or interesting perspectives on familiar subjects. Sometimes, though, the story itself is so thought-provoking that a good telling is all that is needed to make the article worth commending to Courts Law readers.

Such is the case with Hugo Cyr’s article, which chronicles the highly charged engagement between the Supreme Court of Canada and the Canadian Government (the Executive, comprised of members of the ruling political party) over the fundamental requirements for their respective legitimacy. Everyone seems to agree that the incidents recounted were “unfortunate” in that they provoked strong expressions of differences in what has historically been regarded as a relationship to be managed tactfully. Yet the events exposed many intriguing issues about how best to conduct this critical relationship to promote the continuity and flexibility needed to serve well the interests of the public.

It is hoped that this brief summary will, like the fast-paced trailers that preview a movie’s highlights, whet the appetites of JOTWELL readers to press “watch” in the link above and follow the entire story. But, first, a word or two of background – much like the lines that appear by way of explanation in the first scene of the movie:

Like the Supreme Court of the United States, the Supreme Court of Canada serves a range of important constitutional roles, including as arbiter of federal relations. Indeed, so trusted has it become in that role that its unusual jurisdiction to render advisory opinions on the constitutionality of proposed legislation has been invoked on a number of occasions in recent years to provide perspective on potentially controversial political initiatives.

The implications of the Court’s many sensitive roles for judicial appointments – both for who is selected and for the appointment process – will be obvious to U.S. readers. The academic discussion and political commentary on the judicial appointment process in Canada has developed more slowly than in the U.S.; it has become more prevalent with the advent and interpretation of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, although there is not yet any formal approval process.

Still, there has long been acknowledgement of the need for judges to be representative of Canada’s juridical diversity. The Supreme Court Act makes provision for three of its nine judges to be appointed from Québec. Customarily (i.e., not by law), the remaining six judges include three from Ontario, two from the provinces to the west and one from the provinces to the east. Since the Court is a court of general appellate jurisdiction, the inclusion of three members from Québec ensures that the Court, which may sit in panels of five, seven or nine, could arrange its sittings so that a majority of the panel deciding an appeal from Québec or having important implications for Québec-federal relations would be from that province.

As a practical matter, the Court operates in a much more collegial way than this would suggest. Many of the judges are functionally bilingual; they typically include young lawyers trained in Québec among their law clerks; and from time to time it even happens that Québec judges take the lead in writing majority or unanimous judgments on issues of the common law.

With the scene set, the drama begins with the need to appoint a successor for one of the retiring Québec judges. The incumbent Government, known for emphasizing expedience over politesse, conducted a process that did not ease these concerns by selecting a member, who was from Québec, of the Federal Court of Canada (a lower federal court).

Unfortunately, it is not clear that Supreme Court Act permits this. The provision for appointing judges from Québec sits within the larger context of the provision establishing the basic requirements for eligibility for appointment. To be eligible, a person must be either a current or former member of a superior court of a province, or a lawyer who has been a member of the profession for at least ten years. The language of the provision for appointing judges from Québec appears to add an additional requirement–that the appointee must be a current member of the Québec judiciary or the profession. Federal Court judges are neither. (Judges from Québec have been appointed without this qualification in the past, but not as one of the three Québec judges.)

Aware of the problem, the Government obtained advance opinions from well-respected past members of the Supreme Court and announced Marc Nadon’s appointment. In the course of the following week, he was interviewed by an ad hoc committee of parliamentarians to answer general questions about himself and his career and he was sworn in. His appointment was challenged immediately in the Federal Court, and the Supreme Court announced that he would not participate in matters for the time being. Later that month, the Québec National Assembly adopted a unanimous motion rejecting the appointment as deplorable unilateralism depriving Québec of its guaranteed “répresentation” on the Court.

These events are just the fast-paced opening scene of a fascinating story. The plot thickens as the Government attempts to sideline this opposition by introducing legislative amendments to correct the problem after the fact and by seeking an advisory opinion from the Supreme Court to bless its actions. There is considerable character development as the majority of the Supreme Court interprets its legislation as invalidating the Government’s appointment and goes on to pronounce the proposed legislation also constitutionally invalid. The drama continues as the Court offers the view that its composition and “essential features” are, or have become, entrenched and would require formal constitutional amendment to be modified. (In Canada, a constitutional amendment would be virtually impossible.)

The story’s ending necessarily remains open. But Professor Cyr astutely identifies the uneasy sense in which the Government’s bold action provoked a strong response from the Supreme Court that may have jeopardized the flexibility required to maintain good working relations between the Judiciary and the Executive. Such “cooperative federalism” has served Canada well in the past and may be much in demand to meet the challenges ahead in a changing world. Though the progress of this relationship is inevitably shaped by the specifics of Canadian law and politics, stories like this can be of larger comparative interest to those whose passion is Courts law.

Cite as: Janet Walker, Controversial Supreme Court Appointments – A Blockbuster in the Foreign Films Category?, JOTWELL (October 5, 2015) (reviewing Hugo Cyr, The Bungling of Justice Nadon’s Appointment to the Supreme Court of Canada, 67 Sup. Ct. L. Rev. 73 (2014)), http://courtslaw.jotwell.com/controversial-supreme-court-appointments-a-blockbuster-in-the-foreign-films-category/.
 
 

The Keepers of the Federal Courts Canon

Richard Fallon, John Manning, Daniel Meltzer, and David Shapiro, The Federal Courts and the Federal System (7th ed., 2015).

There are casebooks, and then there’s Hart and Wechsler’s The Federal Courts and the Federal System, the brand-new seventh edition of which arrived this summer. It may seem odd to focus so much attention on the latest edition of a casebook that has been around since before the Brooklyn Dodgers won their only World Series. But this newest iteration by Richard Fallon, John Manning, Daniel Meltzer, and David Shapiro is, for reasons I elaborate upon below, worthy of its own adoration—and should hopefully entice scholars who have long sought other teaching materials to return to the gold standard.

I

IMG_6614As Akhil Amar has explained, the first edition of “Hart and Wechsler,” published in 1953, “succeeded in defining the pedagogic canon of what has come to be one of the most important fields of public law in late twentieth-century America,” i.e., Federal Courts. And whereas most other legal disciplines preceded the casebooks that purported to define them, Hart and Wechsler all but created not just a curriculum for Federal Courts classes, but also a far deeper sense of why such a course was worth teaching—and taking.

In the process, Hart and Wechsler did not just define the Federal Courts canon; it also served as a bible for the then-nascent legal process school and its focus on “how substantive norms governing primary conduct shape, and are in turn shaped by, organizational structure and procedural rules.” Hart and Wechsler thus provoked generations of students and teachers alike to struggle with one of the most important questions in twentieth-century public law: why federal courts? With Brown (and the Warren Court) right around the corner, its timing could not have been better.

But there was a dark side. Modeled in part on Henry Hart’s landmark 1953 Harvard Law Review article that was itself dialectic, the book was wonderful for everything except teaching. It was maddeningly rhetorical, hyper-dense, and included far too much significant material in the footnotes and the notes after cases. It also gave incredibly short shrift to any number of vital doctrines and theories that were in tension with the views of Professors Hart and Wechsler themselves and to landmark Supreme Court decisions (Martin v. Hunter’s Lessee, most famously) that were difficult to reconcile with the book’s broader, state-court-oriented thesis. In the same space, then, Hart and Wechsler both defined the field and made it terribly difficult to teach. In a contemporaneous review of the first edition, Edward Barrett suggested that, “From his first using of the book this reviewer learned how little he really knew about the subject. After the tenth time through the book he expects still to be learning, still to be wondering what the answers are to many of the questions posed by the authors.” Barrett meant it as a compliment; generations of law students reacted somewhat less charitably.

The second and third editions, published (mostly coincidentally) at the close of the Warren and Burger Courts, respectively, brought with them remarkable substantive improvements even as the ground shifted under the Federal Courts terrain. As Amar wrote in his review of the third edition, “It is not easy to be both gracious and incisive, but the editors here pull off this combination with remarkable skill.” But that graciousness and incisiveness came at the expense of teachability. The treatise-like third edition checked in at nearly 1900 dense pages—packed with notes and footnotes to cover virtually every permutation that could arise from the issues covered in the primary cases. Hart and Wechsler had become unparalleled as a desk reference—as Chief Justice Roberts highlighted at his 2003 confirmation hearing to the D.C. Circuit—and unteachable to all but the most sado-masochistic law students. It was thus no surprise that the universe of Federal Courts casebooks began to expand at about the same time—from only a handful to over a dozen.

Perhaps because they were published more regularly (in 1996, 2003, and 2009), and perhaps because of the passing of the torch from Paul Bator and Paul Mishkin to Fallon, Meltzer, and Shapiro, the ensuing three editions paid successively more attention to teaching and teachability. Even as the canon grew to encompass novel legal questions raised by current events such as AEDPA and the government’s response to 9/11, the successive editions slowly both began (1) to shrink; and (2) to replace rhetorical questions with declaratory summations of doctrinal rules. It was progress, but it was slow.

II

Against that backdrop, the seventh edition is a remarkable achievement for what it both does and does not do. As the editors explain in the Preface,

we have worked hard to make this edition as user-friendly and teachable as possible. In a number of places, we have prefaced leading cases with brief introductory notes, to explain to students how cases and materials that they are about to read fit into an emerging historical or doctrinal picture. . . . In addition, users of prior editions will notice that although our Notes continue to probe the most challenging problems that lawyers, judges, and lawmakers confront, we have reduced the number of sentences that end in question marks. Where we think we have guidance to offer, we have more frequently stated our views explicitly. Many questions remain, but few are rhetorical or repetitive.

And lest there be any doubt, the book bears out the editors’ promise. A bevy of new introductory notes helps students (to say nothing of their teachers) connect the dots from one section to the next. The editors also have trimmed still more fat (the book is now down to 1466 pages), even while adding lengthy treatments of new principal cases, such as Stern v. Marshall, and updated notes for old chestnuts, from Erie to Lincoln Mills to Sabbatino.

But what makes the seventh edition’s greatly improved teachability so remarkable is that it has not come at the expense of continuity. Although the book asks fewer rhetorical questions than its predecessor editions, the same fundamental provocation—why federal courts—remains, alongside the same principled effort to challenge the assumptions of readers of any and all political, ideological, and/or philosophical persuasions. In an age in which judicial decisions are increasingly perceived as reflecting partisan, result-oriented reasoning, Hart and Wechsler offers a principled alternative—an enduring effort to suggest that there truly are neutral principles governing much, if not most, of the work of federal judges. One need not accept that view of the federal courts in practice to understand its normative attractiveness.

To be sure, there is still plenty of work to be done. And Meltzer’s untimely passing of on the eve of the seventh edition’s publication only adds to the challenge facing Fallon, Manning, and Shapiro. But perhaps the biggest challenge to the keepers of the Federal Courts canon is the underlying project: As Congress and the Supreme Court continue to constrain the scope of civil remedies available to state and federal prisoners and all others seeking to challenge alleged government misconduct, the question becomes whether Federal Courts as a project might eventually descend into nihilism—and Hart and Wechsler reduced to a work of history. All seven editions provide their own literal and figurative counterweight to that trend. One can only hope that the dramatic improvements to the latest iteration mean that more students and teachers—and, through them, more judges and policymakers—heed their lessons.

Cite as: Steve Vladeck, The Keepers of the Federal Courts Canon, JOTWELL (September 22, 2015) (reviewing Richard Fallon, John Manning, Daniel Meltzer, and David Shapiro, The Federal Courts and the Federal System (7th ed., 2015)), http://courtslaw.jotwell.com/the-keepers-of-the-federal-courts-canon/.
 
 

A Pragmatic Approach to Interpreting the Federal Rules

Elizabeth G. Porter, Pragmatism Rules, 101 Cornell L. Rev. (forthcoming, 2015), available at SSRN.

With seventeen decisions interpreting the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure in the last decade, the Roberts Court has doubled the number of cases decided by its predecessor, the Rehnquist Court, in the same amount of time. This record-breaking streak has given scholars a unique opportunity to examine the contours and direction of the modern civil litigation system. Elizabeth Porter has taken this opportunity to discern the interpretive methodologies used by the Roberts Court when deciding Rules cases. In doing so, she makes a unique contribution not only to the literature on civil process, but also to the study of interpretation, focusing it away from statutes and instead onto the Rules.

At a time when much is at flux in the procedural world, in Pragmatism Rules, Porter discerns two primary competing interpretative methodologies in the Roberts Court’s Rules opinions. On the one hand, the Roberts Court interprets the Rules using the familiar tools of statutory interpretation. This go-to mode, although imperfect, works to provide rational, clear, and predictable outcomes. To the extent that Rules are like statutes, the Court can rely on the familiar markers of text, structure, and purpose when deciding Rules cases. The Court justifies its reliance on this mode by reminding the lower courts and parties that rule changes must come from the rulemaking process, not judicial adjudication.

On the other hand, at times the Roberts Court has taken a more hands-on approach, actively managing the litigation as if it were a trial judge. This “managerial” mode breaks from the rule-statute analogy, allowing the Court to rely on precedent, specific application of the law to the facts, and public policy considerations. In this mode, Advisory Committee Notes give way to equity and the Court leans on common-law judicial power and pragmatism. Porter observes how managerial judging has “trickled up” the food chain, resulting in Wal-Mart’s heightened Rule 23(a)(2) commonality standard, Twombly and Iqbal’s more rigorous plausibility pleading, and Scott v. Harris’s usurpation of lower court and jury power in summary judgment determinations involving video evidence.

Scholars have criticized both interpretive modes. Traditional statutory interpretation has been criticized for being overly textualist, to the detriment of a Rule’s underlying purpose. Managerial interpretation has been criticized as overreaching and potentially abusive of judicial discretion. Porter carefully threads the needle by rejecting and embracing both. She concludes that both interpretive paradigms not only are here to stay, but are the result of tensions that exist in the very fabric of the Rules themselves and the rulemaking process. Although she identifies the importance of pragmatism to the Court—as reflected in the article’s title—she turns out to be a pragmatist, too.

Porter explores three tensions (what she calls “fault lines”) that characterize the Rules and rulemaking process. She takes a deep dive on characterizations often noticed, but not fully explored.

The first tension is structural. Porter puts her finger on a fundamental institutional tension in the Court’s relationship to civil process. The Court is both legislative rule maker and judicial adjudicator. Subject only to rarely-used congressional override, the Court is the architect of the Rules, enjoying veto power over the Standing and Advisory Committees below. Thanks to the Rules Enabling Act, the Court has more skin in the game than it would otherwise. But this makes the Court’s role all the more confusing, as it must now interpret its own creation.

The Court has recently been criticized for altering the Rules by judicial fiat in cases such as Wal-Mart, Twombly & Iqbal, and Scott. Such decisions, Porter contends, exhibit a lack of judicial restraint by the Roberts Court. Porter reminds us that the Court should not legislate from the bench. But does it do that already? Arguably. But as only one part of a seven-step process that includes significant public participation and transparency, the Court’s formal role in rulemaking may not be as robust as imagined.

Scholars have described the Court’s adjudicative power as akin to that of an administrative agency. The Court has both a unique relationship with the Rules and broad and inherent power to interpret texts, no matter what genre. And where the Advisory Committee comes up short (as in failing to amend the Rule 8 pleading standard), the Court is available to step into the breach. Porter ties these two competing perceptions of the Court – “rung on the technocratic ladder” and “adjudicator-in-chief” (P. 32.)—to the Court’s two modes of Rule interpretation, noting the Court’s nimble exploitation of each:

When it wants to declaim interpretive power, the Court interprets the Rules narrowly using traditional statutory interpretation tools, and urging dissatisfied parties to seek recourse through rulemaking. But when it is frustrated with the rulemaking process or otherwise wants to recalibrate litigation norms, the Court toggles seamlessly into the other paradigm—the paradigm of broad, almost unbounded, common law power. (P. 32.)

The second tension is linguistic. The language of the Rules themselves creates a schism in interpretation. The text is deliberately crafted to maximize the Court’s discretion and flexibility to achieve procedural due process. But the text may be so ambiguous—if not downright poetic—that the Court has too much play, thereby undermining a uniform interpretive theory.

Porter anchors her examination of the linguistic tension in Rule 1. Porter explains that the “master Rule” was drafted as “a statement of interpretive methodology” (P. 33.), designed to steer decisions away from procedural formalism and toward resolution on the merits. She bemoans the fact that the Rule seems to have lost its original moorings, and is instead used to sell cost-savings and systemic efficiency, all of which promote managerial Rule interpretation. Undervalued by scholars and courts, Rule 1 has been made more vulnerable to this pitch. Of course the Rule’s text itself (calling for “speedy and inexpensive” determinations) gives license to the managerial interpretive mode and, unsurprisingly, sends mixed messages.

Porter observes that the language of the Rules—with their roots in equity—often wax poetic, inviting rule interpretation that is highly discretionary, factually based, and purpose-driven. This freedom, invited by such poetic text, has been applied not only by the district courts—who are tethered to a factual record and live litigants—but by the Supreme Court, as well. Porter concludes that the Roberts Court has exploited this freedom, enabling it to disrespect the abuse-of-discretion standard of review and rebuke judicial restraint.

The third tension is epistemological. Porter explores how two unresolvable dichotomies mirror, if not create, the Court’s statutory and managerial interpretive modes. One dichotomy is between substance and procedure. When this divide is clean, it supports a statutory interpretation of the Rules. When messy, it invites a managerial interpretation. The other dichotomy is between Rule trans-substantivity and case- and fact-specific Rule application. When the Court uses statutory interpretation, trans-substantivity is clearly valued; but when the Court favors managerial interpretation, fidelity to trans-substantivity wanes.

Porter does a great job teeing up these three tensions or interpretive fault lines and exploring how they might explain, if imperfectly, the conflicting paradigms the Court uses when interpreting the Rules. But Porter doesn’t stop there. In addition to identifying the Court’s contradictory interpretative paradigms and fleshing out the underlying tensions in the Rules and rulemaking process that undergird and concretize such paradigms, she attempts to reconcile these uncomfortable contradictions with a proposal modeled on administrative law.

Because the Rules resemble agency regulations more than statutes, Porter draws from administrative law when crafting a way for the Court to properly employ both statutory and managerial interpretive modes. Porter proposes a framework that supports the Court’s reliance on statutory interpretation and de novo review for cases dealing with pure questions of law and managerial interpretation for cases dealing with the application of Rules to the facts. In the latter, if the Court is faced with a merits question, the Court should remand to the lower court to apply the Court’s new Rule interpretation. This Chevron-type deference scheme strives to preserve Court flexibility while checking overreaching and abuse of power. Porter makes the important and unique observation that the real problem may be that the Roberts Court fails to give proper deference to the lower courts, rather than to the rulemakers.

While recognizing the legitimacy and value of both the statutory and managerial interpretive modes, Porter concludes that this new theoretical framework is necessary to reign in the Roberts Court’s usurpation of the district courts’ managerial discretion. She contends that the Court has not only created new procedural standards through Rule interpretation, but aggressively inserted itself into merits determinations belonging squarely to the courts below. Thus, the problem is not one of Rule interpretation, but of proper deference. Porter contends that a Chevron-inspired framework would promote transparency that discourages merits-based overreach and return the Roberts Court to the minimalist procedural decisions of the Rehnquist Court.

Porter concludes by challenging us to remember the uniqueness of the Rules—as neither statutes nor agency regulations—and the concomitant value of creating an interpretive theory that recognizes both statutory and managerial Rule interpretation. Her proposal starts us down this important and groundbreaking path.

Cite as: Suzette M. Malveaux, A Pragmatic Approach to Interpreting the Federal Rules, JOTWELL (August 11, 2015) (reviewing Elizabeth G. Porter, Pragmatism Rules, 101 Cornell L. Rev. (forthcoming, 2015), available at SSRN), http://courtslaw.jotwell.com/a-pragmatic-approach-to-interpreting-the-federal-rules/.
 
 

Rationing Constitutional Justice

Aziz Huq, Judicial Independence and the Rationing of Constitutional Remedies, 65 Duke L. J. __ (forthcoming 2015), available at SSRN.

It is easy to forget sometimes that our hallowed federal courts are a collection of organizations and therefore subject to the mundane limitations that organizations face.The judges who compose those organizations must determine how to wade through hundreds of thousands of cases each year—a task that has become more challenging in the past few decades, as the ratio of cases to judges has increased. Judicial administration scholarship has long sought to understand how increases in caseload affect court procedure and practice. More recently, scholars have tried to assess how caseload can impact substantive law.

Against this background, Aziz Huq makes a significant contribution with his forthcoming article, Judicial Independence and the Rationing of Constitutional Remedies.

Huq begins with a stark observation: Article III adjudication is now a scarce good. He notes that in addition to a rising caseload, federal courts must contend with the fact that settled constitutional rules are broken on a daily basis. In particular, Huq argues, the constitutional criminal procedure rules developed by the Warren Court are consistently flouted. This constitutional problem quickly has become an organizational one, as the courts lack the ability to provide relief in all cases challenging violations of these rules, given their current resource constraints. Some rationing of constitutional remedies is an “inevitable” result. The question that follows is how courts have taken up that task.

Huq first argues that the Supreme Court has established a “gatekeeping” rule of fault for individualized constitutional remedies in a range of areas. That is, constitutional litigants must show not only that the Constitution was violated, but that a clear and unambiguously applicable constitutional rule was self-evidently violated. By adopting such a rule in different contexts, the Court has necessarily raised the threshold for success in constitutional litigation, meaning that fewer parties will be able to come to federal court and win relief. Huq does a wonderful job tracing how this litigation-limiting rule applies in a range of contexts, from constitutional torts to exclusion of evidence in criminal prosecutions to habeas corpus. The result is a comprehensive account of how the fault rule has thoroughly permeated, and restricted, constitutional remediation.

Huq next explores the reasons behind the doctrinal expansion of the fault rule. He notes that scholars focusing on the rise of the rule in the past have told a standard causal story in which the ideological interests of the Justices and various historical circumstances play the primary roles. Without disputing the importance of these factors, Huq provides a fuller account by adding a new, hitherto underapperciated factor—what he calls “judicial independence.” That is, the Court has developed doctrines at least partially to further its own institutional interests, notably a desire to decrease the workload of the federal judiciary while simultaneously increasing its prestige. The rise of the fault rule thus should be seen as directly tied to the rise in pressures on the federal courts in the late 1970s and 1980s.

The article makes several important contributions. In addition to providing a comprehensive account of the reach of the fault rule, Huq convincingly suggests a causal link between these doctrinal shifts and judicial self-interest. To be sure, the article cannot definitively prove causation, and Huq is clear on this point—he states that he can only provide circumstantial evidence to support the causal claim. That said, the evidence is strong and it carries a number of implications, whichuq briefly sketches at the close of the article.

Chief among the implications is that Huq’s account may shift our understanding of separation of powers. As he writes, one central component of separation-of-powers theory is that the autonomy of the judiciary is critical for vindicating individual constitutional rights. But if one accepts that the rise of the fault-based rule for limiting the availability of constitutional relief is due, at least in part, to the judiciary exercising its own autonomy to reduce workload pressures, then surely the traditional account should be questioned. Furthermore, read more aggressively, the evidence in Huq’s account suggests that the “successful institutionalization of judicial independence” can even undermine the “project of realizing constitutional rights.”

How judges do and should ration their own attention are questions of central importance. The answers to these questions define who gets what rights recognized and who gets what remedies. There is still a great deal of work to be done in this rich and important area at the intersection of constitutional law, judicial administration, civil and criminal procedure, and remedies. Huq’s article makes substantial contributions in this area and helps to set up other important work to come.

Cite as: Marin Levy, Rationing Constitutional Justice, JOTWELL (July 8, 2015) (reviewing Aziz Huq, Judicial Independence and the Rationing of Constitutional Remedies, 65 Duke L. J. __ (forthcoming 2015), available at SSRN), http://courtslaw.jotwell.com/rationing-constitutional-justice/.
 
 

Discovery and Self-Improvement

Joanna C. Schwartz, Introspection Through Litigation, 90 Notre Dame L. Rev. 1055 (2015).

Opponents of civil litigation portray it as one massive resource suck, focusing on its transaction costs and ignoring its social benefits–not only fair and accurate resolution of disputes, but also the potential for improved compliance with the laws governing civil society. Thus the current round of discovery rule amendments recite the usual claims about the expense of discovery, despite empirical research showing that discovery costs are actually quite modest in most cases. A number of civil procedure academics question the need for those new limits, even considering only costs.

Discovery’s benefits, while harder to measure, come in a number of forms. My last Jotwell essay highlighted the egalitarian information-sharing function of discovery. Steve Burbank’s forthcoming article, Proportionality and the Social Benefits of Discovery: Out of Sight and Out of Mind?, reminds us that lawsuits, including discovery, reflect the deliberate congressional policy choice of enforcing law through private litigation. And now Joanna Schwartz’s excellent article, Introspection Through Litigation, adds to the “benefits” side of the analysis. While Burbank focuses on benefits external to the litigants themselves, Schwartz calls our attention to a litigant-centered phenomenon: self-study, based on information unearthed and marshaled in the process of being sued.

Schwartz’s article locates introspection through litigation at the intersection of two concepts: “organizational introspection” and previously hidden information. The former recognizes that organizations must understand both their strengths and their weaknesses in order to improve their own performance. The latter recognizes that the dispersion of information within organizations means that critical knowledge about weaknesses may elude regulators and even the entity’s own executives. Viewed in this way, litigation can act as a kind of unsolicited audit by a highly motivated researcher: the plaintiff’s lawyer. As Schwartz explains:

Complaints may describe allegations of wrongdoing that employees never reported to their supervisors. During discovery, lawyers may unearth details about the plaintiff’s allegations that other investigators did not have the time or fortitude to seek out. And in complaints, summary judgment briefs, expert reports, pretrial orders, and trial itself, parties marshal the evidence – meaning they interpret, organize, and present information to support their claims – in ways that may prove illuminating. Each of these aspects of civil litigation can draw attention to previously unknown or underappreciated information and insights that organizations can use to identify and correct weaknesses in personnel, training, management, and policies (p. 1058)

Schwartz acknowledges that litigation-generated information can have flaws, and must be understood in light of the circumstances under which is was generated, but nevertheless argues that it is a powerful source of information that may otherwise fall between the cracks.

The most fascinating part of the article lies in Schwartz’s studies of two distinct types of entities – hospitals and police departments – and their very different behavior when it comes to learning from what litigation reveals. Hospitals, it turns out, almost always make some effort to learn systemic lessons from the lawsuits brought against them. Few police departments do so. In seeking to understand why some entities benefit from introspection while others do not, Schwartz posits three conditions needed for fruitful institutional self-analysis: 1) incentives to learn about errors and weaknesses in order to improve performance; 2) awareness that lawsuits can be a source of valuable information about organizational performance; and 3) infrastructure and personnel to gather and analyze lawsuit-generated information. The presence of the first two conditions gives an incentive to establish the third condition.

Applying these three variables, it is easy to see why hospitals and police departments differ so dramatically. Hospitals feel an immediate out-of-pocket cost from lawsuit judgments, while judgments against police more often are paid from general funds. The two types of institutions also tend to have quite different norms regarding the importance of detecting, understanding, and reducing the types of errors that lead to lawsuits. Influenced by a groundbreaking study published in 1999 titled To Err is Human, health care providers have been encouraged to think of systems and policies as both a source of medical risk and a way to increase patient safety. Unlike hospitals, police department are still more likely to see the problems identified by lawsuits as isolated incidents – “bad apples” rather than the results of systems or practices. Hospital risk managers and patient-safety advocates are tasked not only with handling individual cases but also with discerning patterns. Police departments, in contrast, rarely have personnel dedicated to collecting the kind of information that might detect and reduce systemic abuses.

How could we incentivize organizational defendants to act more like hospitals and less like police departments? The most direct tactic would be government regulation requiring the collection and analysis of closed claim (including lawsuit) information. But that would involve significant investment in the administrative state, something politically unlikely to happen in the United States. Perhaps ironically, it may be that private litigation is a motivational key. Substantive law provides a strong incentive for corporations to utilize litigation information introspectively, where it faces liability for failure to take steps to discover and deal with systemic risk. This norm is so well established in the hospital setting that it has created a standard of care. Current civil rights law, on the other hand, discourages police departments from identifying or correcting illegal behavior as part of a recurring practice that would subject them to municipal liability under Monell. There is actually a substantive law disincentive to an introspective search for patterns of individual misconduct.

Even with encouragement from substantive law, however, if procedural rules limit discovery, the material may not be unearthed or marshaled, even through the independence and energy of opposing counsel. Schwartz and others argue that introspection can improve future compliance and decrease future harm. And this is where the impact of discovery on individual litigants broadens to benefit society more generally, as Margo Schlanger has described.

The loss of that potential benefit takes us back to the pending discovery amendments. Two problems are evident. First, it appears that the Advisory Committee and the Supreme Court give little weight to the social value of discovery, particularly the benefit of introspection. Second, this is most prominent in the so-called “proportionality” element in the new definition of discoverability . In addition to being relevant, the new rule would only allow discovery that is:

proportional to the needs of the case, considering the importance of the issues at stake in the action, the amount in controversy, the parties’ relative access to relevant information, the parties’ resources, the importance of the discovery in resolving the issues, and whether the burden or expense of the proposed discovery outweighs its likely benefit.

Unless “importance of the issues at stake in the action” is interpreted to include the information’s potential impact on the defendant’s future actions, discovery’s ability to promote introspection will be missing from the scale, and even logically relevant information may be left undiscovered.

I hope that Schwartz’s important article prompts judges doing this inevitably normative balancing to include a richer array of benefits.

Cite as: Elizabeth G. Thornburg, Discovery and Self-Improvement, JOTWELL (June 9, 2015) (reviewing Joanna C. Schwartz, Introspection Through Litigation, 90 Notre Dame L. Rev. 1055 (2015)), http://courtslaw.jotwell.com/discovery-and-self-improvement/.
 
 

A Call for Providence in Class Action Reform

Maureen Carroll, Class Action Myopia, 65 Duke L. J. __ (forthcoming 2016).

Square pegs do not generally fit in round holes. When and if they do, the fit is certainly imperfect. Maureen Carroll calls on this adage to explain how courts and lawmakers are muddling the class action. In Class Action Myopia, Carroll argues that institutional actors’ singular focus on the Rule 23(b)(3) class action—what Carroll calls the aggregated-damages class action—negatively affects other types of class actions. Institutional actors fail to assess how perceived problems in the aggregated-damages context might not even exist in other class actions. Relatedly, actors do not anticipate how proposed solutions distinctively, and sometimes negatively, affect different class actions. This myopia, Carroll argues, must give way to providence.

Carroll begins by rehearsing the different types of class actions addressed by Rule 23: logical-indivisibility (Rule 23(b)(1)(A)), limited fund (Rule 23(b)(1)(B)), injunctive civil-rights (Rule 23(b)(2)), and aggregated-damages class actions (Rule 23(b)(3)). She argues that when Rule 23 was amended in 1966, the first three subtypes were designed to reflect common practice by courts and parties who were using some version of aggregate litigation to respond to specific litigation difficulties. For example, where a defendant wished to take water from a stream, it could not do so and only affect one downstream landowner and not others. But litigating disputes between the defendant and various landowners separately might lead to inconsistent judgments. Rule 23(b)(1)(A) thus provides that a class of potential claimants can combine their claims and seek one consistent judgment. Carroll explains how this same historical pedigree applied to limited-fund and injunctive civil-rights class actions—these subtypes were created to deal with existing complexities facing courts and largely codified best practices that had developed in response. Moreover, these subtypes were meant to address unfair outcomes produced by individual litigation in these specific contexts.

Rule 23(b)(3), Carroll argues, was different. It did not respond to existing concerns and did not use some version of aggregate litigation that courts were already employing. Instead, Rule 23(b)(3) was, as Benjamin Kaplan explained, an “innovation.” It was not put forward to address unfair outcomes, as with the other subtypes; it created a new litigation mechanism. By aggregating small damage awards among many plaintiffs against a common defendant, the Rule 23(b)(3) class action motivated claimants and their lawyers to bring new kinds of cases. Carroll reminds us that the 1966 rulemakers were cautious about when and how Rule 23(b)(3) was to be used. Yet decades later, the aggregated-damages class action is the most common class action; according to some studies, it represents a full two-thirds of the class actions filed.

Perhaps because of the sheer number of aggregated-damages class actions, courts and lawmakers have focused exclusively on perceived problems that arise within that subtype. Carroll argues, however, that the common concerns about, and criticisms of, aggregated-damages class actions do not apply to the other subtypes. The standard critiques—undue settlement pressure, attorney overcompensation, and delay and expense—are simply misplaced when considered in the context of other subtypes. For example, assuming the aggregated-damages class action actually creates undue settlement pressures, it does so because the stakes are raised when a claim morphs from an individual one to a class-based one. But, with logically indivisible relief, for example, the remedy is the same whether sought by one plaintiff or one hundred. This means that settlement pressure does not increase by virtue of the class-action device. Similarly, attorney overcompensation cannot apply to the civil-rights injunction subtype because there is no contingency fee involved where no monetary relief is sought.

Because the problems with class actions are not differentiated based on subtype, the solutions are similarly undifferentiated. For instance, the adoption of Rule 23(f), providing for interlocutory review of class certification decisions, has resulted in fewer class certifications. Yet this decrease applies to all subtypes, meaning that all class-action plaintiffs face a greater difficulty in certifying their proposed classes. Carroll argues that this is a sub-optimal result. For example, the civil-rights injunction class action generally requires a pro-bono attorney or other non-profit to take the case. But changes like Rule 23(f) create higher transaction costs for the case, lessening the likelihood that a lower-resourced individual will be able to find a lawyer willing to take on her civil-rights injunction case. To the extent there is value in these cases, the failure to differentiate in class action reform creates negative consequences. We lose the type of class action that society might value most.

After exploring the other undifferentiated ways in which class action reform has developed, an analysis that looks at changes ranging from class action arbitration waivers to Wal-Mart v. Dukes, Carroll discusses several case studies to demonstrate the impact these changes are having on other subtypes. Focusing on the injunctive civil-rights subtype, an area over which she has great expertise and passion, she shows that applying aggregated-damages solutions (and the consequential chilling of class actions) has thwarted attempts to obtain such class actions. Legitimate pursuit of civil-rights ends are delayed, the system is less efficient, and structural reform becomes much harder to achieve.

Carroll ultimately argues that this myopic focus on aggregated-damages class actions must stop. First, when considering reform, institutional actors must consider whether the problem they are addressing is unique to aggregated-damages class actions or whether it is applicable to all class action subtypes. Second, when denying class action treatment in a particular context, actors must consider whether that is the most effective response to the perceived problem, and if so, whether that change will have negative consequences for other class action subtypes. This may be easiest to achieve if the class action subtypes are divided not just by rule designation but also by the requirements that apply to each. Carroll suggests revising Rule 23 to establish differentiated standards for interlocutory appeal, evidentiary burdens, and ascertainability based on subtype. This is just a beginning, Caroll explains, but it is a beginning that at least takes account of important differences.

Carroll adeptly identifies a problem with class action reform, picking up on work such as Suja Thomas’s argument that atypical cases make for ill-conceived reform by the Court and federal civil rulemakers. Thomas discussed cases such as Wal-Mart and Twombly, as well as discovery reform movements by the federal rulemaking body. Fashioning reform when focused on atypical cases is problematic because the reform either does not fit the typical case or, worse, does harm to the typical case. Carroll’s argument elegantly applies this principle to the class action, except her argument is not that there is a typical class action, but that there are four types of class actions that serve four different purposes. By pointing out that institutional actors have taken a myopic view of class actions, Carroll’s work joins the burgeoning call for differentiation in civil litigation reform. Not all cases, let alone all class actions, are the same. Indeed, a square peg response in a world of both square pegs and round holes will not do.

Cite as: Brooke D. Coleman, A Call for Providence in Class Action Reform, JOTWELL (May 12, 2015) (reviewing Maureen Carroll, Class Action Myopia, 65 Duke L. J. __ (forthcoming 2016)), http://courtslaw.jotwell.com/a-call-for-providence-in-class-action-reform/.
 
 

Standing (in) for the Government

Seth Davis, Standing Doctrine’s State Action Problem, 91 Notre Dame L. Rev. __ (forthcoming 2015), available at SSRN.

Eugene Diamond, a pediatrician, took it upon himself to protect and uphold the constitutionality of Illinois’s Abortion Law of 1975, which, among other things, imposed criminal liability on doctors who performed certain abortions. Diamond himself was not affected by the law, as he did not perform abortions. Indeed, he wanted to prevent them.

In 1983, when the Northern District of Illinois enjoined enforcement of parts of the law as unconstitutional, the State of Illinois declined to defend the law any further, leaving only Diamond to defend the law on appeal. After losing the appeal, Diamond petitioned the Supreme Court to let him defend the constitutionality of the law, asserting his right to defend as “a doctor, a father, and a protector of the unborn.” But in Diamond v. Charles, the Supreme Court concluded that Diamond had no such right to defend, calling Diamond’s actions “simply an effort to compel the State to enact a code in accord with Diamond’s interests.”

In his excellent article, Standing Doctrine’s State Action Problem, Seth Davis addresses when a party such as Diamond can assert a state’s interest in a lawsuit under Article III of the Constitution, which limits lawsuits to “Cases” or “Controversies” between parties who meet requirements such as standing, ripeness and lack of mootness. The question of who can assert the state’s interests arose again recently in Hollingsworth v. Perry, which involved an amendment to the California Constitution, voted on by citizens of California directly through the state’s referendum system, banning same-sex marriage. As in Diamond, the proponents of the amendment sought to defend its constitutionality on appeal when the State of California declined to do so. The Supreme Court concluded that the proponents lacked standing. Relying upon principles of agency, the Court concluded that the proponents cannot stand in for the state because the state could not exercise control over the proponents’ actions. In dissent, Justice Kennedy noted the irony of insisting on state control of the proponents when the whole point of the California referendum system is to allow citizens to bypass state control of the legislative process and to propose laws directly to the people.

Davis’s key insight is that the issue of whether a private party has standing to assert a state or federal interest should not rest upon principles of agency. Instead, whether a person can assert a governmental interest should focus on “a principle of constitutional accountability concerned with ‘the arbitrary exercise of the powers of government.’” (P. 2.) Here, Davis agrees with the Supreme Court’s view that Article III justiciability limitations like standing are designed to protect separation of powers, insofar as they prevent the shielding of the co-equal branches from accountability.

But Davis goes further to argue that this principle of constitutional accountability implicates the Due Process Clauses, somewhere scholars have not looked. In Davis’s persuasive view, a primary concern where a party seeks to invoke a governmental interest is that the party will impair the interests of third parties not before the court. Due process provides the legal and conceptual framework to address the problem expressed in a case such as Diamond—that a private party invoking state interests may be seeking to “enact a code” for its own interests, to the detriment of others.

Davis builds on his insight to develop a framework for determining when a party may assert the interests of the state or the federal government, based on the type of state interest asserted (corporate, institutional, administrative, and substitute) and the protections available to prevent arbitrary or abusive lawsuits (constitutional, statutory, regulatory, and professional). He also distinguishes the interests of the United States from the interests of individual states, who have much more discretion in permitting parties to assert their interests. In contrast to the Court in Hollingsworth, Davis’s framework “does not require legislatures to limit the power of government standing to only traditional government employees and common law agents of the state.” (PP. 3, 25.) Instead, a party may assert the state interests “where there are sufficient protections . . . for the rights of defendants and third parties who may be harmed by arbitrary litigation on the government’s behalf.” (PP. 3, 34.)

Davis wisely limits his article to the issue of standing to assert governmental interests. But his insight—that state standing should be understood as a doctrine that implicates constitutional accountability—has far-reaching implications. As I have argued, as well as others, private suits for private remedies also raise due process concerns about the interests of third parties. Accordingly, in some situations an uninjured party, such as a class action attorney, should have standing to assert the interests of those injured when the injured parties cannot protect their own interests. That class action attorney is no different from the state when, asserting what Davis calls a “substitute” interest, it brings a parens patriae lawsuit to vindicate the rights of those injured. In fact, all lawsuits have this quality insofar as they implicate issues of law and fact that affect nonparties. Thus, the “interplay of the first three articles of the Constitution and the Due Process Clause” (P. 25), which Davis argues should inform government standing, arguably underlies the Article III standing concerns in all contexts, effectively turning every lawsuit into delegation of enforcement power which may raise due process concerns.

To his credit, Davis acknowledges this possibility in noting, for example, that “the link between the day-in-court right and standing are apparent.” But he points out that private and governmental contexts differ in important ways that should not be ignored. (P. 33 & n.224.)  For example, states can make law while private parties cannot, much to the chagrin of Eugene Diamond. Indeed, the brilliance of the article stems not only from Davis’s creative insight about due process, but from his meticulous attention to the important differences of seemingly similar situations.

These far-reaching implications demonstrate the force and insight of Davis’s article. Davis rather modestly notes that his framework does not “transform all hard standing cases into easy ones,” but only “makes it possible to have a sensible normative debate.” (P. 8.) But Davis gives short shrift to his contribution, which clarifies a notoriously difficult subject and allows one to see the issues implicated by government standing in the correct way. That is why I like this article lots.

Cite as: Sergio J. Campos, Standing (in) for the Government, JOTWELL (April 14, 2015) (reviewing Seth Davis, Standing Doctrine’s State Action Problem, 91 Notre Dame L. Rev. __ (forthcoming 2015), available at SSRN), http://courtslaw.jotwell.com/standing-in-for-the-government/.