Colorblind Constitutional Torts

Much of the recent conversation regarding law and police accountability has focused on eliminating or limiting qualified immunity as a defense for officers facing § 1983 lawsuits for using excessive force. Developed during Reconstruction as a way to protect formerly enslaved persons from new forms of racial terror, 42 U.S.C. § 1983 allows private individuals to bring suit against police officers when their use of force goes beyond what the Constitution permits. Qualified immunity provides a way for law enforcement to evade civil suits if officers can show that they did not infringe any constitutional right or they did not violate a clearly established law—concepts that are highly deferential to police. Implicit in the contemporary emphasis on reforming qualified immunity is the idea that but for this concept, § 1983 litigation could effectively fulfill its longstanding goal of holding police officers accountable through civil liability when they beat, maim, or kill without legal justification.

Qualified immunity certainly raises important issues, and reform in this area of law is needed. But deeper problems plague § 1983 claims. In this Article, we examine a key structural deficiency tied to legal doctrine that has largely escaped critique: how the Supreme Court’s 1989 decision in Graham v. Connor radically transformed § 1983 causes of action. Prior to the Graham decision, federal courts used diverse mechanisms, notably Fourteenth Amendment substantive due process, to determine “what counts” as an appropriate use of force. The Graham decision changed this area of law by holding that all claims of police excessive force must be judged against a Fourth Amendment reasonableness standard. This transformation has led to much discussion about what Graham means for understanding which police practices concerning the use of force are constitutionally permissible. However, there has been little conversation about what Graham has specifically meant for federal courts’ conception of civil enforcement mechanisms such as § 1983 that are designed to provide monetary relief when these constitutional rights are violated. 

In this Article, we engage in the first empirical assessment of Graham’s impact on federal courts’ understanding and application of this statute. We find that the Graham decision was not only constitutionally transformative in terms of how federal courts understand the legal standard for “what counts” as excessive force, but also correlates with changes in how federal courts think about the overall scope, purpose, and nature of § 1983. Our data analysis of two hundred federal court decisions shows that the Graham decision effectively divorced § 1983 from its anti-subordinative race conscious history and intent, recasting it in individualist terms. This has led to a regime of what we call colorblind constitutional torts in that the Graham decision doctrinally filtered § 1983 use of force claims down a structural path of minimal police accountability by diminishing the central roles of race and racism when federal courts review § 1983 cases. These findings and theoretical framing suggest that the contemporary emphasis on qualified immunity in police reform conversations misunderstand and significantly underestimate the doctrinal and structural depth of the police accountability problem. This Article provides a novel and useful explanation for how and why police use of force persists and offers a roadmap for change and greater police accountability.

Introduction

It is not uncommon for diabetics suffering from hypoglycemia (low blood sugar) to have their symptoms of disorientation and loss of consciousness misunderstood as being under the influence of drugs and alcohol, which can lead to mistreatment by the police.[1] This is what happened to Dethorne Graham one fall afternoon in 1984. Graham and his friend were pulled over by a police officer who thought Graham was “behaving suspiciously” when he quickly entered and exited a local convenience store in search of orange juice to offset his medical condition. The officer called for backup and, within a few short minutes, Graham was handcuffed face down on the sidewalk. When his friend tried to explain to the officers that Graham was a diabetic, one officer replied, “I’ve seen a lot of people with sugar diabetes that never acted like this. Ain’t nothing wrong with the [motherfucker] but drunk. Lock the [son of a bitch] up.”[2] Another neighborhood friend familiar with Graham’s condition saw the incident and brought orange juice to the scene. Graham begged Officer Matos, saying, “Please give me the orange juice.” She responded: “I’m not giving you shit.”[3] Graham was roughed up by the officers and thrown in the back of a squad car. Eventually, the officers drove him home, threw him on the ground in front of his house, and sped away.

During the altercation, Graham “sustained a broken foot, cuts on his wrists, a bruised forehead, and an injured shoulder . . . [along with developing] a loud ringing in his right ear.”[4] Graham brought a federal civil rights suit under 42 U.S.C. § 1983 against the Charlotte, North Carolina, Police Department, alleging that the police violated constitutional rights granted to him under the Fourteenth Amendment. Before this case, plaintiffs sought remedies for excessive use of force by the police through different legal mechanisms, including substantive due process, equal protection, the Fourth Amendment, and even § 1983 as a stand-alone source for making claims.[5] While the district and circuit courts ruled in favor of the officers, the United States Supreme Court made a surprising decision. The Court held that all claims regarding the constitutionality of police use of force should be analyzed under the Fourth Amendment through a standard of “objective reasonableness.”[6] Graham v. Connor (“Graham”) marks an important, though often underappreciated, moment of doctrinal transformation. It synthesized previously divergent strands of use-of-force case law and established a new constitutional standard for all cases that involve claims of police using excessive force in the context of an arrest or investigatory stop.[7] Rather than framing police use of force as a matter concerning equal protection or substantive due process, the Graham decision effectively forced all conversations concerning excessive force to federal courts’ Fourth Amendment jurisprudence.

Over the past three decades, legal scholars and practitioners have debated the impact that Graham has had on limiting issues concerning the constitutionality of police use of force to a vague and nebulous standard of “objective reasonableness” in light of the broad deference that society and the courts give to law enforcement.[8] This deference and tendency to see almost all police actions as “reasonable” explains, at least in part, how even the most egregious police behavior often goes without penalty—a concern that is at the heart of the contemporary social movement against police violence. But, despite this almost exclusive preoccupation with what Graham has meant for constitutional law, there are other meaningful doctrinal concerns that deserve exploration. Put differently, what other aspects of use-of-force inquiries have been impacted by the shift in constitutional standards brought by Graham?

There are at least two main components to § 1983 litigation concerning police use of force: the enforcement action, which is a statutory mechanism, and the constitutional standard that is being enforced (Fourth Amendment reasonableness, per Graham). The existing scholarship only examines the influence of Graham in regard to how it changed federal courts’ understanding of the constitutional standard for “what counts” as excessive force. But what has Graham meant for how federal courts understand the scope, context, and meaning of civil rights—particularly statutory enforcement mechanisms such as § 1983?

In this Article, we engage in the first empirical assessment that examines Graham’s impact on how federal courts understand the nature and purpose of § 1983. This issue concerning Graham’s impact on § 1983 litigation beyond shaping the constitutional standard for excessive force is important for several reasons. The statute emerged during Reconstruction pursuant to Congress’s Fourteenth Amendment section 5 powers to provide civil remedies such as money damages to claimants when state officials violate constitutional rights while working in their official capacities.[9] Thus, understanding Graham’s impact should not be limited to discursive and doctrinal meditations on reasonableness, which is where the bulk of the discussion on this decision lies. It is also important to explore Graham’s impact on a civil rights statute designed to enforce constitutional rights in terms of how, if at all, the decision affected the way that federal courts read and interpret the history, meaning, and application of § 1983—legislation meant to give claims concerning police excessive force purpose and effect. Clearly, § 1983 as an enforcement mechanism has a close relationship with Fourth Amendment standards on reasonableness in the police use of force context. This Article is an attempt to go beyond existing scholarship on how the Graham decision reshaped the constitutional standard to also understand how it may have impacted the way that federal courts conceptualize the reach and intent of the civil statute meant to enforce these rights.

This research is critically important in light of contemporary social movements and proposed legal reforms responding to growing public awareness of police brutality in marginalized communities. Following the killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis and subsequent global protests against anti-Black violence, the conversation on how law can compel greater accountability with regards to police use of force has focused heavily on qualified immunity. Qualified immunity is a judicially created concept that emerged in the 1960s to allow government officials facing constitutional tort actions to avoid civil suits and the possibility of paying money damages when they can show that they did not violate any constitutional right or that the law they were accused of breaking was not clearly established. Qualified immunity morphed over subsequent decades to largely become a mechanism to shield police officers from enduring § 1983 lawsuits in virtually all but the most egregious instances of force.[10] Federal courts’ deferential posture towards police facing constitutional tort actions has turned qualified immunity into an exculpatory tool for law enforcement who use excessive force. As such, the post-Floyd emphasis on eliminating qualified immunity or restricting its use has become a popular public rallying point. For example, at the federal level, Representatives Justin Amash and Ayanna Pressley introduced the Ending Qualified Immunity Act in the House of Representatives in June 2020,[11] which was followed shortly by a similar bill in the Senate proposed by Senators Edward Markey, Elizabeth Warren, and Bernie Sanders.[12] Other efforts have been pursued to address the use of qualified immunity in state-level legislation. Since George Floyd’s murder in May 2020, “at least 25 states have taken up the issue and considered some form of qualified immunity reform, including Colorado, New Mexico, Connecticut and Massachusetts, which have passed legislation to end or restrict the defense.”[13] The idea behind these and other efforts at ending qualified immunity is that making police officers open to civil lawsuits for using excessive force will increase accountability and prevent officers from engaging in violence that violates constitutional rights.

Without question, qualified immunity presents unjust and unjustifiable barriers to holding police accountable. But there are deeper structural limitations placed on this type of litigation—namely, Graham’s reframing and reorientation of the entire constitutional tort endeavor. The impact of Graham deserves as much or even greater attention to the extent that the reframing of police use of force through Fourth Amendment logics has dislodged constitutional tort litigation from its foundational purpose: protecting the Black community from state violence. Yet, conversations regarding the Graham decision, its transformative impact on policing, and its role in undermining police accountability are largely absent from legal and public discussions regarding police reform. This Article uses empirical evidence to draw attention to this problem and argues for a different focus in efforts to reduce police violence.

To understand the structural limitations on police accountability beyond qualified immunity that were ushered in by the Graham decision, Part I of this Article begins with providing a brief history of § 1983 and explores the constitutional and statutory evolutions that constitute contemporary use-of-force jurisprudence. Part I also shows that legal scholars have mostly discussed the problem of police accountability for using excessive force in terms of qualified immunity. Part II examines the research literature on Graham and how existing scholarship is largely silent on how this doctrinal evolution came to limit constitutional tort actions. The impact of Graham has been discussed in legal scholarship with very little, if any, attention to what the decision to exclusively assess the constitutionality of police use of force through Fourth Amendment frameworks has meant for federal courts’ posture towards civil remedies offered by statute (§ 1983) and sought by plaintiffs. Part III describes our empirical study examining shifts in how federal courts decided § 1983 cases after Graham. We look at two periods: (a) from Monroe v. Pape in 1961 (which marks the beginning of the modern era of § 1983 litigation) through the Graham decision in 1989 and then (b) just after Graham from 1990 to 2016. Part IV discusses the results from our study. We find that there are important changes in how federal courts understand and approach § 1983 that correlate with the Graham decision. In particular, (1) references to § 1983’s descriptive titles—Ku Klux Klan Act, Enforcement Act, etc.—that reflect the racial history tied to this civil rights statute declined substantially after Graham; (2) consistent with Graham’s holding, judicial recognition of § 1983’s tight doctrinal relationship to the Fourteenth Amendment as a more race-conscious constitutional standard for excessive force claims largely ended, diminishing the potential of § 1983 civil remedies by linking them to Fourth Amendment standards of “reasonableness” that largely defer to the police; and (3) mentions of the race of plaintiffs and officers meaningfully decreased after the Graham decision. In Part V, we draw upon these empirical findings to develop a theory of colorblind constitutional torts that can at least partially explain these results as well as the persistence of police violence despite the availability of legal mechanisms designed to prevent and remedy such abuses. We then briefly conclude with a discussion of how these empirical findings and new theoretical framework can help federal courts reimagine constitutional torts in a manner that can produce greater police accountability.

The findings from our research show how the accountability problem regarding police use of force is not simply connected to individual “bad apples” in law enforcement shielded by misguided common law arguments about qualified immunity. More to the point, there are important doctrinal barriers that emerged after the Graham decision’s imposition of a Fourth Amendment framework that infused constitutional tort actions with colorblind sensibilities that undercut the entire historical project of § 1983. The empirical evidence, doctrinal reframing, and theoretical argument provided by this Article open up important new opportunities for change.

The data provided by this study raise important questions about Graham’s significance beyond matters concerning constitutional law. Graham has also had tremendous implications on how federal courts interpret and understand federal civil right statutes, particularly § 1983. By instilling a discourse of colorblindness into excessive-force litigation, Graham disrupts, if not completely undermines the connection between § 1983 and the distinct history of state-sponsored racial terror giving rise to it. By bringing colorblindness through the backdoor into judicial interpretations of this federal statutory remedy, Graham not only fundamentally contradicts the social, political, and historical forces that give meaning to § 1983, but it also frustrates § 1983’s ability to address contemporary abuses under the color of law, such as excessive force by law enforcement.


          [1].      The American Diabetes Association offers resources on how to engage with police officers. It notes that this is a particular concern for people with this medical condition, as “[l]aw enforcement officers [can fail] to identify hypoglycemia emergencies, mistaking them for intoxication or noncompliance. This can lead to the individual being seriously injured during the arrest, or even passing away because the need for medical care was not recognized in time.” Discrimination: Law Enforcement, Am. Diabetes Ass’n, https://www.diabetes.org/tools-support/know-your-rights/discrimination/rights-with-law-enforcement [https://perma.cc/RE3M-BXXR].

          [2].      Graham v. Connor, 490 U.S. 386, 389 (1989). The quoted language was originally censored by the Court in its opinion, but it appears uncensored here.

          [3].      Direct Examination of DeThorn Graham, Graham v. Connor, No. 87-6571 (W.D.N.C. Oct. 13, 1988).

          [4].      Graham, 490 U.S. at 390.

          [5].      See generally Osagie K. Obasogie & Zachary Newman, The Futile Fourth Amendment: Understanding Police Excessive Force Doctrine Through an Empirical Assessment of Graham v. Connor, 112 Nw. U. L. Rev. 1465 (2018) (finding empirical support for that federal courts largely did not use the Fourth Amendment as a constitutional standard in § 1983 excessive-force cases prior to Graham.).

          [6].      Graham, 490 U.S. at 388.

          [7].      Graham notes that this Fourth Amendment analysis applies when the police intentionally engage in an arrest, investigatory stop, or seizure of a citizen. Instances after Graham where the police cause physical harm without this intent (such as with innocent passersby) may still be analyzed through other constitutional mechanisms. See County of Sacramento v. Lewis, 523 U.S. 833, 854 (1997). This Article only discusses excessive force that occurs in the context of an arrest or investigatory stop.

          [8].      For a discussion of how deference to law enforcement shapes the federal courts’ understanding of the constitutional boundaries of excessive force, see Osagie K. Obasogie & Zachary Newman, The Endogenous Fourth Amendment: An Empirical Assessment of How Police Understandings of Excessive Force Become Constitutional Law, 104 Cornell L. Rev. 1281, 1322 (2019). For a broader assessment of the history of judicial deference to police, see Anna Lvovsky, The Judicial Presumption of Police Expertise, 130 Harv. L. Rev. 1995, 2052 (2017).

          [9].      U.S. Const. amend. XIV, § 5 (“The Congress shall have power to enforce, by appropriate legislation, the provisions of this article.”). As background,

On April 20, 1871, the Forty-Second Congress enacted the third Civil Rights Act known as the Ku Klux Klan Act. The primary purpose of the Act was to enforce the provisions of the Fourteenth Amendment. Section 1 of the Act added civil remedies to the criminal sanctions contained in the Civil Rights Act of 1866 for the deprivation of rights by an officer “under color of law.” Thus, Section 1 of the Ku Klux Klan Act was the precursor of the present day 42 U.S.C. § 1983. . . . On June 22, 1874, the statute became § 1979 of Title 24 of the Revised Statutes of the United States, and upon adoption of the United States Code on June 30, 1926, the statute became § 43 of Title 8 of the United States Code. In 1952 the statute was transferred to § 1983 of Title 42 of the United States Code, where it remains today.

Richard H.W. Maloy, “Under Color of”—What Does It Mean?, 56 Mercer L. Rev. 565, 574 (2005) (citations omitted). Charles Abernathy notes that

we have long recognized that the resurrection of § 1983 converted the fourteenth amendment from a shield into a sword by providing a civil action for vindication of constitutional rights and, to the extent that damages have gradually become the authorized remedy for § 1983 violations, we have easily come to think of such actions as constitutional torts—civil damage remedies for violations of constitutionally defined rights.

Charles Abernathy, Section 1983 and Constitutional Torts, 77 Geo. L.J. 1441, 1441 (1989) (citations omitted).

        [10].      See generally Osagie K. Obasogie & Anna Zaret, Plainly Incompetent: How Qualified Immunity Became an Exculpatory Doctrine of Police Excessive Force, 170 U. Pa. L. Rev. 407 (2022).

        [11].      H.R. 7085, 116th Cong. (2020).

        [12].      S. 492, 117th Cong. (2021).

        [13].      Emma Tucker, States Tackling ‘Qualified Immunity’ for Police as Congress Squabbles over the Issue, CNN (Apr. 23, 2021), https://www.cnn.com/2021/04/23/politics/qualified-immunity-police-reform/index.html [https://perma.cc/G8HF-WD6H].

* Haas Distinguished Chair and Professor of Law, University of California, Berkeley School of Law (joint appointment with the Joint Medical Program and School of Public Health). B.A. Yale University; J.D. Columbia Law School; Ph.D. University of California, Berkeley. Many thanks to Richard Banks, Laura Gómez, Sonia Katyal, and Gerald López for reviewing early drafts. Comments from participants at the Stanford Law School Race and Law Workshop and UCLA Critical Race Theory Seminar and Workshop were extremely helpful. Sara Jaramillo provided excellent research assistance. 

†Senior Attorney, Legal Aid Association of California. B.A. University of California, Santa Cruz; J.D. University of California, Hastings College of the Law.

Transgender Rights & the Eighth Amendment

The past decades have witnessed a dramatic shift in the visibility, acceptance, and integration of transgender people across all aspects of culture and the law. The treatment of incarcerated transgender people is no exception. Historically, transgender people have been routinely denied access to medically necessary hormone therapy, surgery, and other gender-affirming procedures; subjected to cross-gender strip searches; and housed according to their birth sex. But these policies and practices have begun to change. State departments of corrections are now providing some, though by no means all, appropriate care to transgender people, culminating in the Ninth Circuit’s historic decision in Edmo v. Corizon, Inc. in 2019—the first circuit-level case to require a state to provide transition surgery to an incarcerated transgender person. Other state departments of corrections will surely follow, as they must under the Eighth Amendment. These momentous changes, which coincide with a broader cultural turn away from transphobia and toward a collective understanding of transgender people, have been neither swift nor easy. But they trend in one direction: toward a recognition of the rights and dignity of transgender people.

* Jennifer L. Levi, Professor of Law, Western New England University Law School.

† Kevin M. Barry, Professor of Law, Quinnipiac University School of Law. Thanks to Shannon Minter for thoughtful advice; to the Southern California Law Review staff for editorial assistance; and to Lexie Farkash for research assistance.

Designing Supreme Court Term Limits

Since the Founding, Supreme Court Justices have enjoyed life tenure. This helps insulate the Justices from political pressures, but it also results in unpredictable deaths and strategic retirements determining the timing of Court vacancies. In order to regularize the appointments process, a number of academics and policymakers have put forward detailed term-limits proposals. However, many of these proposals have been silent on several key design decisions, and there has been almost no empirical work assessing the impact that term limits would have on the composition of the Supreme Court.

This Article provides a framework for designing a complete term-limits proposal and develops an empirical strategy to assess the effects of instituting term limits. The framework we introduce outlines the key design features that any term-limits proposal must make, including frequently overlooked decisions like what the default would be if there is Senate inaction on a president’s nominee. The empirical strategy we develop uses simulations to assess how term-limits proposals would have shaped the Court if they had been in place over the last eighty years of American history. These simulations enable comparative assessments of term-limits proposals relative to each other and to the historical status quo of life tenure. Using these simulations, we are able to isolate the design features of existing proposals that produce significant differences in the composition of the Supreme Court. For instance, proposals that commence appointing term-limited Justices immediately could complete the transition in just sixteen years, but proposals that wait until after the sitting Justices leave the Court to appoint term-limited Justices would take an average of fifty-two years to complete the transition. Our results also reveal that term limits are likely to produce dramatic changes in the ideological composition of the Court. Most significantly, the Supreme Court had extreme ideological imbalance for sixty percent of the time since President Franklin Roosevelt’s effort to pack the Court, but any of the major term-limits proposals would have reduced the amount of time with extreme imbalance by almost half.

          *     Professor of Law, University of Chicago Law School. J.D. 2013, Ph.D. 2013, A.M. 2012, Harvard University. M.A., B.A. Yale University, 2007.

          †     Treiman Professor of Law, Washington University in St. Louis. J.D. Harvard University 2008, A.B. Duke University 2004.

          ‡     Associate Professor of Law, Washington University in St. Louis. Ph.D., 2015, Cornell University. J.D. 2011, Washington University. B.S.E. 2008, Grand Valley State University.                  

††         Professor of Public Policy, Harvard Kennedy School. Ph.D. 2012, A.M. 2011, A.B. 2000, Harvard University. J.D. 2004, Stanford University. For helpful conversations and comments, we are grateful to Gabe Roth and participants at workshops at the University of Chicago Law School, Washington University School of Law, NYU Law School, and the American Law & Economics Association Annual Meeting.

The Constitutional Right to Travel Under Quarantine

The constitutional right to travel has long been an enigma for courts and academics alike. Despite being widely recognized and regularly applied, relatively little has been written about the breadth or limits of this constitutional guarantee. This gap is particularly striking in the context of restrictive measures designed to curb the spread of a dangerous disease, like quarantines. Although travel rights are directly implicated by such regulations, the law of quarantines (to the limited extent that one has been developed) has almost entirely disregarded the constitutional right to travel. This Article seeks to close this gap by building a detailed model of the Constitution’s protections of movement and travel and then applying this model to quarantines and similar regulations aimed at controlling the spread of a contagious disease. In so doing, this Article makes contributions to the fields of constitutional law and health law, while providing a robust framework of immediate use to policymakers, courts, and litigants responding to the COVID-19 pandemic.

The Expressive Fourth Amendment

After the eight-minute and forty-six second video of George Floyd’s murder went viral, cities across the United States erupted in mass protests with people outraged by the death of yet another Black person at the hands of police. The streets were flooded for months with activists and community members of all racesmarching, screaming, and demonstrating against police brutality and for racial justice.Police—like warriors against enemy forces—confronted overwhelmingly peaceful protesters with militarized violence and force. Ultimately, racial justice protesters and members of the media brought lawsuits under section 1983 of the Civil Rights Act in the district courts of Minneapolis, Dallas, Oakland, Seattle, Portland, Denver, Chicago, Los Angeles, and Indianapolis, claiming extreme violence and unlawful and abusive use of less lethal weapons by police during protests. The first Part of this Article provides a recent history of this police brutality against racial justice activists in the George Floyd protests. The second Part of this Article reviews circuit court opinions in protest cases from the last three decades and district court injunctions from the George Floyd protest litigation to analyze how courts currently evaluate, in section 1983 Actions, the Fourth Amendment reasonableness of police force pursuant to Graham v. Connor. This Part demonstrates that in their Fourth Amendment reasonableness calculus, courts discount plaintiffs’ involvement in valuable politically expressive conduct. The third Part of this Article argues that the Fourth Amendment mandates courts evaluate the reasonableness of protest policing in light of freedom of expression which means they must positively weigh plaintiffs’ expressive protest activity. This reframing of reasonableness is supported by historical evidence of the Framers’ intent and Supreme Court jurisprudence on searches of books, papers, and other expressive materials when such items arguably deserve First Amendment protection. The fourth Part of this Article discusses the difference an expression-specific Fourth Amendment—the expressive Fourth Amendment—reasonableness test would have made in one of the circuit protest cases.

You’re fired: The Original meaning of Presidential Impeachment by ames C. Phillips* & John C. Yoo†

Article | Consitutional Law
You’re Fired: The Original Meaning of Presidential Impeachment
by James C. Phillips* & John C. Yoo†

From Vol. 94, No. 5 (2021)
94 S. Cal. L. Rev. 1191 (2021)

Keywords: Impeachment, Mueller Report, Federalist

 

In 2020, for just the third time in its history, the Senate conducted an impeachment trial of the President. While the 2020 case of President Donald Trump presented different facts than those of President Andrew Johnson in 1868 or President Bill Clinton in 1998, the Senate rendered the same verdict of acquittal. Initial investigations had probed whether President Trump or his campaign had coordinated with Russia to influence the 2016 elections, and then pursued the possibility of obstruction of the investigations themselves. But when the Justice Department decided that it could not indict a sitting President, Congress focused its inquiry on whether President Trump had withheld foreign aid from Ukraine until its leaders launched an investigation into his opponent in the 2020 election, then-former Vice President and current President Joseph Biden.

Whether Congress could constitutionally remove President Trump through impeachment raises questions as old as the Republic and facts as new as social media. The Constitution uses language to define the grounds for impeachment, such as “high Crimes and Misdemeanors,” that remains a mystery today. Does impeachment require a federal crime, or can it include abuses of power and obstruction of Congress? How would Congress define these “high Crimes and Misdemeanors” in a neutral way that would not deter future Presidents from invoking their legitimate authority or unduly place the executive under legislative control? Can Congress remove the President because of a good-faith disagreement over the scope of executive power or the meaning of the Constitution itself? Even if impeachment included noncriminal acts, does the Constitution require that the offenses rise to a level of seriousness that justify removal? President Trump’s case raised the further question whether Congress could remove the President for actions that had a plausible public interest, or whether the legislature need only find that the President had pursued personal interests as well. The 2020 trial finally asked whether impeachment provides the only remedy for presidential misconduct, or whether the Constitution provides other remedies.

This Article seeks to answer these questions by examining the original understanding of presidential impeachment. We undertake this analysis both because the Framers’ work formed the central basis for both the prosecution and defense cases during the President Trump’s first impeachment and because other guides to constitutional meaning are lacking. As the Supreme Court has decided that impeachment qualifies as a “political question” outside Article III’s case or controversy requirement,[1] these questions have no legal answers from traditional sources, such as judicial opinions. Practice also provides little help. The House of Representatives has impeached only two other Presidents in American history. In the wake of President Abraham Lincoln’s assassination, Republicans in Congress found their plans for a radical reconstruction of the South frustrated by the new President Andrew Johnson, a Southern Democrat who favored a more lenient peace.[2] In 1868, the House impeached President Andrew Johnson for conducting himself in office in a disgraceful, yet not illegal, manner. President Johnson broke prevalent norms by speaking directly to the people to lobby for legislation and attacking Congress as “traitors.” Congress responded by including an article of impeachment for his unacceptable rhetoric.[3] To strengthen their case, congressional Republicans made it a crime for the President to fire his cabinet officers without their consent—a law that the Supreme Court would later find an unconstitutional infringement of the President’s removal power.[4]

Exactly 130 years later, the House flexed its impeachment powers for only the second time in its history, but over the sordid and banal rather than the high and mighty. Rather than the reconstruction of the nation after a terrible Civil War, the impeachment of President Bill Clinton asked whether the President had committed perjury about his affair with a White House intern, Monica Lewinsky. The President had committed a crime, but the independent counsel, Kenneth Starr, concluded that the Justice Department could not indict a sitting President, much as it would almost two decades later. Instead, Starr referred the case to Congress to decide whether to take action. While the House impeached along a party-line vote, the Senate refused to convict, also on a close party-line vote. It seemed that President Clinton’s argument that he had only lied about sex and had not committed any harm to the nation on a par with treason or bribery, seemed to carry the day. But the partisan nature of the vote also suggested that impeachment and removal would become a test of party discipline, in that Presidents would likely survive so long as they could maintain the support of thirty-four Senators of their party.

A third President, Richard Nixon, likely would have faced impeachment and removal had he not resigned on August 9, 1974. Both a special counsel and the House had launched probes into a burglary of Democratic Party offices at the Watergate Hotel during the President’s reelection campaign. After the Supreme Court ordered President Nixon to obey a subpoena for White House tapes of meetings where the President had allegedly ordered the cover-up of the break-ins, the Judiciary Committee reported three articles of impeachment to the full House. President Nixon resigned before the House could vote but only after he had met with delegations of Republican congressmen who told him that he would likely lose the votes in Congress. While the committee had considered a wide variety of charges, such as bombing Cambodia without congressional authorization and tax cheating, in the end it recommended impeachment only for obstruction of the special counsel investigation, impeding the House’s probe, and for violating the individual rights of his political enemies through misuse of the CIA, FBI, and IRS. Unlike the Johnson and Clinton examples, however, President Nixon’s case never came to a vote in the House, not to mention a full trial in the Senate. It is difficult to conclude, therefore, that President Nixon’s resignation creates some kind of precedent in the way that the 1868 and 1998 examples might.

It is not even clear that the Nixon case or even the Johnson and Clinton impeachments should create any precedent, in a judicial sense, for Congress. In both the Johnson and Clinton cases, the Senate refused to convict. It could have found that the House had not “proved” its facts, though in both cases the facts seemed fairly clear. President Johnson had indeed fired his Secretary of War without the consent of Congress; President Clinton had lied to prosecutors in a deposition recorded on video. If the facts were proven, then the Senate must have acquitted because they did not amount to high crimes and misdemeanors as defined by the Constitution. But the Senate leaves behind no written opinion to explain its decision because it acts much as a jury in a criminal trial to solely determine conviction. Therefore, we can draw no firm legal precedents from these earlier impeachments.

A previous Senate, moreover, could not bind a future Senate to its interpretation of the constitutional standards on impeachment. One Congress generally cannot bind a future Congress; as with all three branches of government, Congress can simply undo any action by a past Congress by passing a repealing law or rule. The Senate that tried President Andrew Johnson may well have concluded that it should not remove a President for exercising the executive power to fire cabinet officers. It could have believed that the exercise of constitutional power could not qualify as a high crime or misdemeanor, or it could have thought the President had to actually violate federal criminal law. But the Reconstruction Senate never took a vote, issued an opinion, or enacted an internal rule that interpreted the standard for impeachment. Even if it had, a contemporary Senate could change any rule or opinion by majority vote, just as the Senate changed the filibuster rule to exclude judicial and cabinet appointments. Senators who wanted to follow the Johnson or Clinton impeachments as some sort of precedent would have to appeal to tradition, rather than any legal rule, to govern a Trump impeachment.

Without any legal precedents, or even any system of binding practice, the original understanding of the Constitution becomes magnified in importance. The Constitution does not provide for the trial or punishment of a sitting President by prosecutors or a regular court. Instead, the Impeachment Clause creates a means to remove “the President, Vice President, and all civil Officers of the United States.”[5] It vests the power to impeach in the House and specifies no vote requirement, so we have always assumed it occurs by majority vote. Impeachment amounts to an indictment in a criminal case, in which prosecutors decide they have enough evidence to bring a prosecution before a jury. Vesting the power in the House, rather than prosecutors or judges, could suggest that impeachment will not fall solely within the preserve of law, but will involve politics as well. Without any reading of the Impeachment Clauses based on legal authorities, Congress might allow politics to overwhelm law in its indictment and trial of Presidents. Then-House Minority Leader Gerald Ford, for example, defended the impeachment of Justice Douglas because “an impeachable offense is whatever a majority of the House of Representatives considers it to be at a given moment in history.”[6]

Our analysis reveals new sources of materials that make the first Trump impeachment more complex than presented in the trial, debates, and media commentary. Contrary to the claims of President Trump’s defense, we find that the Framers understood “high Crimes and Misdemeanors” to include conduct that went beyond the violation of federal criminal law. Such offenses could include abuse of power; but we also conclude that these acts had to inflict serious harm upon the nation. A President could commit a crime, but it would not impose sufficient injury upon the public to justify removal (as with the Clinton example). A President could also commit no crime, but his misconduct or negligence could so harm the nation as to justify removal from office. We also find that the Framers were so worried that Congress would turn impeachment toward partisan political purposes that they erected the two-thirds requirement for conviction to preserve executive independence. Instead of impeachment, the Framers expected that elections would provide the primary check on presidential misconduct.

This Article proceeds in three parts. Part I reviews the investigations into President Trump, his first impeachment and trial, and his acquittal. Part II uses both new and old techniques to recover the history of the drafting and ratification of the Constitution. We use computerized textual analysis—corpus linguistics—of British materials pre-dating the Constitution’s framing to analyze what those of the founding generation would have believed the phrase “high Crimes and Misdemeanors” meant. We then examine the drafting and ratification of the Constitution to understand how the Founders expected the Impeachment Clauses to work. Part III draws forth lessons from this history and applies them to the issues raised by the Trump impeachment.

 


        *        Assistant Professor of Law, Dale E. Fowler School of Law, Chapman University. We received helpful comments from Jesse Choper, who has now witnessed seventy-five percent of all presidential impeachments. The authors wish to thank Francis Adams, Min Soo Kim, Darwin Peng, David Song, and the research librarians at Chapman University’s Fowler School of Law for research assistance.

       †     Emanuel S. Heller Professor of Law, University of California at Berkeley Law School; Visiting Scholar, American Enterprise Institute; Visiting Fellow, Hoover Institution, Stanford University. Professor Yoo thanks the Thomas W. Smith Foundation for support.
         [1].     Nixon v. United States, 506 U.S. 224, 253 (1993).

         [2].     See Michael Les Benedict, The Impeachment and Trial of Andrew Johnson 87 (1973).

         [3].     Jeffrey K. Tulis, Impeachment in the Constitutional Order, in The Constitutional Presidency 229, 232 (Joseph M. Bessette & Jeffrey K. Tulis eds., 2009).

         [4].     Myers v. United States, 272 U.S. 52, 176 (1926).

          [5] U.S. Const. art. II, § 4.

         [6].      Kenneth C. Davis, The History of American Impeachment, Smithsonian Mag. (June 12, 2017), https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/what-you-need-know-about-impeachment-180963645 [https://perma.cc/56EW-YKLU].

 

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Time to Go Auer Separate Ways: Why the Bia Should not Say What the Law is by Tatum Rosenfeld

Note | Immigration Law
Time to Go Auer Separate Ways: Why the BIA Should Not Say What the Law is
by Tatum P. Rosenfeld*

From Vol. 94, No. 5 (2021)
94 S. Cal. L. Rev. 1279 (2021)

Keywords: Board of Immigration Appeals (“BIA”), Auer

Neither fully legislative nor fully judicial, federal administrative agencies are tasked with “policing the minutiae.”1 They codify and enforce the details of the regulatory scheme set out by Congress.2 Simply put, administrative agencies administer the law. Agency regulations, however, like other legal sources, can be ambiguous.3 Thus, interpretation is inevitably necessary either to confront a novel circumstance or to resolve an inherent semantic ambiguity. This then raises the question: Who should be called upon to resolve such ambiguities? The Supreme Court’s solution is to put agencies in charge. Auer deference says an agency’s interpretation of its own rule controls so long as it is not “plainly erroneous or inconsistent with the regulation.”4 In effect, after an agency promulgates a regulation, it then maintains the latitude to fill in the gaps by interpreting its own regulation.

The Court has offered no good reason why Auer, while reasonable in some situations, should be applied indiscriminately to all agencies. A multitude of federal agencies exist to effectuate policies touching on everything under the sun—including housing, education, social benefits, food, agriculture, commerce, health, and the environment—but there is one agency in particular whose special attributes suggest that it should not be treated the same as all the others. That is the agency in charge of immigration appeals. One might reasonably think deference, for example, to the Food and Drug Administration’s expert interpretation of what constitutes an “active moiety,” promotes a robust and efficient government necessary for modern complexities. It follows that such agencies deserve deference from a court that is less well versed in the expertise involved in rendering such a judgment. However, immigration presents an entirely different set of policy concerns. 

This is because deference to the Board of Immigration Appeals (“BIA”) under Auer risks political manipulation at the expense of immigrants’ liberty and freedom. Nested under the Department of Justice (“DOJ”), and more specifically the Executive Office of Immigration Review (“EOIR”), the BIA and lower immigration courts operate as quasi-judicial bodies, specifically “prone to political manipulation because of their unique combination of structure, history, and function.”A “clarifing” interpretation by the BIA can dictate the scheme by which people are welcomed into or rejected from the United States. The BIA is the unsuspecting gatekeeper, capable of molding the rules by interpretation to advance an anti-immigrant political agenda. Auer, therefore, acts as another tool in the political toolbox to restrict immigration in what is already a labyrinth of proceedings, paperwork, and fear.

This Note argues that Auer deference, even in light of the Supreme Court’s recent clarification of the doctrine, is an inappropriate approach for courts to take when they review the BIA’s rulings. Because the BIA lacks political accountability while simultaneously commingling government powers, deference to the BIA undermines key constitutional principles, such as separation of powers and democracy. Such principles must be enhanced, rather than undermined, more than ever when there is a heightened threat to
liberty. Therefore, a close look is needed to determine whether
Auer deference is warranted for an agency in which the very freedoms of immigrants are at stake. 
The problem actually goes even further. Even if federal courts decided to eschew deference to BIA interpretations, the courts’ own interpretations would still not be an adequate mechanism to protect immigrants from unjust results. With ever-growing caseloads, Article III judges are not equipped with the requisite resources, time, and experience with immigration laws to adjudicate thousands more life-altering decisions in a timely, just manner.Immigration matters deserve to be adjudicated with proper accountability and more formalistic separations of power than those that currently stand. To achieve this, immigration courts and the BIA should, as many others have suggested before, be reformulated as Article I legislative courts to best serve democratic and separation of powers purposes. Liberty for immigrants can be salvaged through fairer adjudications and independent interpretations that are more insulated from political manipulation and the polarized ideologies that waft in and out of power.

This Note proceeds as follows: Part I briefly details a background of the BIA, and a current understanding of Auer deference. This discussion includes Auer’s political implications, and how the Supreme Court chose not to overrule the doctrine in Kisor v. Wilkie. This Section then explores the relationship between Auer and the BIA, including why the BIA’s political vulnerability makes the agency particularly unfit for Auer deference. Certain appointees to this agency have been rewarded with a position as a board member by openly declaring their hostility to the very people who are the object of the agency’s mission, and whose fragile life prospects are in their hands. Ironically, this flips the partisan commitments normally seen in the world of administrative law as follows: Those who would classically support increasing agency discretion by according Auer deference should be worried about giving heightened power to the self-declared, anti-immigrant agenda pervading the BIA, while those who would classically resist excessive delegation and deference to agencies, because of their limited accountability, seek to endow the BIA with vast independence and partisan manipulation. Part II argues that even in the wake of Kisor v. Wilkie, deference to the BIA’s interpretations of immigration regulations presents a heightened threat to constitutional principles of separation of powers and democracy. Part III then provides a potential solution to the inadequacy of Auer deference and the judicial role in the realm of regulatory gap filling for immigration laws. 
 

* Executive Development Editor, Southern California Law Review, Volume 94; J.D. Candidate 2021, University of Southern California Gould School of Law; B.A., 2017, University of Michigan, Communications and Minor in Law, Justice & Social Change. I am so deeply grateful for my family and their unending support, especially my dad for always being my sounding board and biggest cheerleader. I want to thank Professor Rebecca L. Brown for her invaluable guidance and inspiring perspective in drafting this Note. And, thank you to the talented Southern California Law Review staff and editors for their thoughtful work throughout this publication process.

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Get Out the Vote (or Else): Testing the Constitutionality of Compulsory Voting

Note | Constitutional Law
Get Out the Vote (or Else): Testing the Constitutionality of Compulsory Voting
by Ryan Eason*

94 S. Cal. L. Rev. 963 (2021)

Keywords: Election Law, Voting, Constitutional Law

The Preamble to the United States Constitution envisions a nation governed by “We the People.”1 The United States has never been governed by the people, however. Instead, the United States is and always has been run by the voters. Voters are wealthier, more educated, older, and whiter than “the People.”2 These differences have consequences. Since voters hold the key to lawmakers’ job security, representatives are often more responsive to voters’ interests than nonvoters’ interests.3

The reason voters differ so much from the population4 as a whole is that voter turnout is consistently low in the United States. In federal midterm elections since the passage of the Voting Rights Act in 1965, voters have only constituted an average of 41.4% of the population.5 Even in presidential elections, in which voters usually do make up a majority of the population, the majority is usually bare.6 Consequently, the winners of those elections

are chosen by nowhere near a majority of the population. For example, President Donald Trump was elected by roughly 27% of the population in 2016.7 Even President Joe Biden, who won the largest number of votes for a presidential candidate in United States history, was elected by roughly 34% of the population in 2020.8 These low voter turnout figures set the United States apart from most of the developed world.9

Of course, low levels of voter turnout do not delegitimize elections in the United States. Other major democracies also do not achieve full voter turnout.10 Electoral legitimacy would be impossible to realize if it depended on full voter turnout in every election. However, many argue that low voter turnout in the United States is a serious problem.11 To the extent a country values majoritarianism,12 its elections arguably serve that purpose better

when the gap between its voters and its population is minimized. One day, Congress may agree with this argument. Therefore, this Note imagines a world in which Congress takes a decisive step to fix low voter turnout: compel every eligible American adult to vote.13

Congress is unlikely to pass such a transformative piece of legislation in the near future. However, it might enact compulsory voting someday. Far from being a fringe or radical idea, it has been implemented by several democracies,14 and it has been successful where actually enforced.15 Indeed, commentators often cite compulsory voting as a solution to the United States’ low voter turnout problem.16 Compulsory voting legislation has even been recently proposed at the statewide level in California.17

But if Congress decided to pass compulsory voting legislation, it would face a substantial and unanswered question: would it be constitutional? This Note intends to answer that question by analyzing how compulsory voting would fare in various constitutional challenges.18 Part I explores how compulsory voting might be structured in the United States if Congress based its legislation on Australia’s. Part II addresses the most likely constitutional challenges to compulsory voting. The structural argument addressed in Section II.A concerns whether Congress has the constitutional power to pass compulsory voting if it conflicted with state legislation. I conclude that it does because the Elections Clause gives Congress the power to supersede

state election regulations, even when states have not acted. The rights-based arguments addressed in Section II.B concern whether compulsory voting would violate the right not to speak or a potential right not to vote. I conclude that while the voting is expressive conduct, compulsory voting would not violate the First Amendment by compelling it. I also conclude that there is likely no such thing as a right not to vote. However, if there is a right not to vote, the interests served by compulsory voting would outweigh the light burden upon it. Finally, Section II.C argues that compulsory voting legislation could be legally justified as a tax.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

*.2021, University of Southern California Gould School of Law. This Note has benefited greatly from the guidance of Professor Sam Erman; the support from my fiancée, Katie Bayard; and the astute editing of my colleagues at the Southern California Law Review.

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