TTC - Law School For Everyone, Legislation and Regulation
TTC - Law School For Everyone, Legislation and Regulation
TTC - Law School For Everyone, Legislation and Regulation
Professional Law
Law School
for Everyone
Legislation and Regulation
Course Guidebook
Corporate Headquarters
P
eter J. Smith is the Arthur Selwyn
Miller Research Professor of
Law at The George Washington
University Law School in Washington
DC. He received his BA from Yale
University, where he graduated magna cum laude, and his JD from Harvard
Law School, where he graduated magna cum laude and received the Sears
Prize for highest academic performance.
Professor Biography I
Professor Smith has twice received the Distinguished Faculty Service Award
for outstanding teaching at GW Law. He has published dozens of scholarly
articles and is the coauthor of a popular casebook on constitutional law titled
Constitutional Law: A Contemporary Approach. His research focuses on
constitutional law, constitutional interpretation, and civil procedure.
Professor Smith also teaches the civil procedure section of the Great Course
Law School for Everyone. ■
Introduction
Professor Biography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I
Table of Contents . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . III
Course Scope . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
Lecture Guides
1• Making Sense of Legislation and Regulation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
Supplementary Material
Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103
Image Credits . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 108
I
n law school, a course on legislation and regulation is about the rules that
govern the enactment, interpretation, and implementation of statutes. Such
a course is different from other first-year courses in law school. Most of
the other courses taught in the first year of law school—on torts, property,
and contracts, for example—are common-law subjects. Under the common
law, courts devise rules to resolve the cases presented to them, and they write
careful opinions to explain the rules and justify the conclusions that they reach.
However, the main texts in a course on legislation and regulation are statutes
enacted by legislatures and regulations issued by agencies. Whereas judicial
opinions announce rules and reasons, statutes and regulations tend to
announce just rules. If judicial opinions are novels, then statutes are poems:
They are brief, yet packed with meaning. A course on legislation and regulation
is in large part about how to discern that meaning.
Course Scope 1
After an overview of the legislative process, we will turn to the complex world
of statutory interpretation. Important considerations arise: Should courts
enforce the plain meaning of statutes, the legislature’s intent or purpose, or
the judges’ sense of policy and fairness? We will address these questions by
considering the various touchstones of interpretation, with lectures focused
on the letter and spirit of the law, the canons of interpretation, and theories
of the courts’ role in statutory interpretation.
The course then turns to the administrative state. We will consider where
federal agencies get their power to regulate and how exactly they use it. We
will start by focusing on the nondelegation doctrine, which governs the limits
on Congress’s power to give away its policy-making power. Then, we will
consider political and judicial controls on agency power. The course ends with
a lecture on the distinctive questions about statutory interpretation that arise
in the administrative state. ■
MAKING SENSE OF
LEGISLATION AND
REGULATION
I
t is in areas of ambiguity that lawyers often make their greatest contributions.
Persuading a court that one’s interpretation of a statute or a regulation
is correct can have an enormous impact: It can heal a grave injustice, or
significantly change a governmental policy, or open an entire new realm of
opportunity for science or industry. And it all may turn on how lawyers and
judges parse a few words on a page.
Imagine that your 15-year-old son just got home. He is upset and angry
because a police officer stopped him while he was riding his bicycle
through the park. He was on the way home from school, and he
kept to the paved paths in the park. But the police officer gave him
a citation, saying that your son violated a town ordinance. The
ordinance states, “No vehicles shall be permitted in the park.”
But how are we supposed to know what the law prohibits? Sometimes this is
a challenge because we are simply unaware of the law. Even if ignorance was
not at play in our example, imagine there was a big sign posted outside the
park that clearly said, “No Vehicles Shall Be Permitted in the Park.” We still
need to interpret the law to figure out whether it bans bicycles.
Under the common-law system, which the United States inherited from
England, courts devise rules to resolve the cases presented to them, and they
look to the reasoning in opinions from previous cases for guidance on how
to decide new controversies. It is these judicial opinions that students of torts,
property, and contracts spend much of their time reading and discussing.
That does not mean it has any less authority, however. If you want to figure
out how to comply with a statute or a regulation, or challenge one, or help
a client do the same, you need to know how to make sense of them.
IS IT A VEHICLE?
Perhaps it is more useful answer the question about the law’s meaning by
referring to the word’s ordinary, commonsense meaning. For example, when
you hear the term vehicle, do you think of bicycles? Most people do not.
However, what if instead of your son, the citation was for an adult courier
who knocked a pedestrian down? It would not be as obvious, in that case, that
there had not been a violation of the ordinance.
The problem arises even with more mundane statutes that, at least at first
blush, appear to speak with clarity. For example, suppose a state law requires
drivers to turn on their headlights “after dark.” Does a driver violate the rule
by failing to turn on his lights at dusk? At some indefinable point, it transitions
from being light out to being dark out. How do we decide how the law applies
in the face of this sort of ambiguity?
Another complication arises when the plain terms of the law conflict with
its ostensible spirit.
Consider this example: Imagine that the town owns and operates the
local train station. A town ordinance provides, “Sleeping in the train
station is a misdemeanor punishable by a fine of not more than $500 or
imprisonment of no more than two days.” A frequent business traveler
arrives at the train station to learn that his train has been delayed an hour.
He sits down in the waiting area and, after a few minutes, he dozes off. Has
he violated the law?
The law likely was designed to prevent vagrants from living in the station,
and the facts of our case are sufficiently different from that targeted
activity that it would seem inconsistent with the spirit of the law to punish
him. Even with this reasoning, however, nailing down the spirit of a law can
be difficult.
This complication also raises questions about the role of judges. A simple
way to describe their role is that judges interpret laws. Laws come from
democratically elected representatives.
Suggested Reading
<< Dickerson, The Interpretation and Application
of Statutes.
Questions to Consider
ÞÞ How do we determine the meaning of a statute?
REGULATION BY STATUTE
AND BY COMMON LAW
D
iscussions about regulation carry all sorts of political baggage, but
the term regulate simply means to “control or supervise by means of
rules,” and regulation refers to a set of rules made and maintained by
some government authority. Yet, where regulation is involved, things are rarely
simple, as this lecture shows through how both the courts and Congress have
tackled particularly difficult questions.
ENVIRONMENTAL REGULATION
These questions do not have easy answers. Part of the difficulty has to do
with the limits on our ability to predict the effects of regulation. For example,
will strict fuel-efficiency standards lead
to innovation and clean air without
substantially raising the price of CRIMINAL LAW
cars? Alternatively, will they threaten
the solvency of car manufacturers Though much regulation is
and limit the ability of the poor and controversial, virtually all people
middle class to afford a crucial means can agree that the government
of transportation? properly prohibits murder and
theft, thereby controlling our
In some cases, it is likely that regulation behavior by means of rules.
is not justified. However, it is fair to say Criminal law, in other words, is
that at least sometimes, there will be a form of regulation.
a need for some form of government
regulation.
We might have trouble reaching a universal agreement about the need for
regulation to limit the use of coal, but there probably are not many people
who think that the government shouldn’t enforce contracts between private
parties. Courts enforce most contracts to ensure that parties are held to
promises that others have relied upon. As a consequence, contracting parties
generally conform their conduct to the rules that courts have announced as
a matter of contract law, and when they do not, they can be ordered by a court
to pay damages.
Tort law and contract law are classic common-law subjects. The common
law is a system in which courts devise rules to resolve the cases presented
to them. Under that system, when courts confront new issues, they consider
the rules and rationales that they announced in prior cases in deciding how the
rules should apply. Sometimes, the courts decide that new rules are appropriate.
COMMON-LAW REGULATION
This course deals with legislation and regulation, which suggests that it is about
a different kind of regulation—rules prescribed by legislatures, rather than
rules announced by courts. However, for centuries, the courts have applied
common-law tort and contract principles—and, for that matter, common-law
property principles—to regulate private behavior and choices. This raises
a question: What is distinctive about legislation as a form of regulation?
One way to consider that question is by looking at the virtues and drawbacks
of the common law as a means of achieving regulatory goals. Consider the
famous (and troubling) case of the Ford Pinto, an affordable subcompact car
that was popular in the 1970s.
In 1972, Lilly Gray’s Pinto stalled as she tried to merge onto a California
freeway. Another car traveling about 30 miles per hour rear-ended her.
The Pinto’s gas tank ruptured,
releasing vapors that spread
through the car.
Grimshaw and Gray’s estate filed suit against Ford, claiming that the Pinto’s
gas tank was defectively designed and that the car was unreasonably dangerous.
There was evidence that Ford had cut some corners in production; the
company had designed the Pinto and brought it to market in just 25 months,
considerably faster than the typical new car model, because the company
was worried about losing market share to low-cost options manufactured by
companies in Germany and Japan.
Internal company documents showed that Ford had performed more than
40 crash tests with the Pinto before it became available on the market, and
that the Pinto’s fuel tank had ruptured in every single test conducted at speeds
over 25 miles per hour. Ford engineers considered several low-cost design
fixes, but none made it into the car because the executive vice president
of Ford insisted that the car weigh less than 2,000 pounds and cost less
than $2,000.
After hearing this evidence, the jury in the suit awarded $2.5 million to
the Grimshaws and $500,000 to Gray’s estate to compensate them for their
injuries. In addition, the jury awarded punitive damages of $125 million,
concluding that Ford had knowingly endangered the lives of thousands of
Pinto owners. (An appellate court later reduced the punitive damages award
to $3.5 million.)
This example suggests several things about the common-law tort system
as a means of regulation in this case of potentially dangerous products. On
the one hand, by imposing significant liability on Ford, the system created
a powerful incentive for car manufacturers—and manufacturers of other
dangerous products—to take steps to make their products safe for their
intended uses.
Ford was not compelled by government regulation to install the cheap parts
that would have avoided death and injury to scores of Pinto drivers (not to
mention other drivers on the road unlucky enough to get into accidents with
Pintos). Instead, it sold its dangerous cars and then paid damages to people
who were injured by its design choices. Indeed, it simply viewed tort damages
as a cost of doing business.
ASBESTOS
In other words, both the tort system and legislative action have virtues as forms
of regulation. So when should legislatures act to displace the common-law
tort system in pursuit of regulatory goals?
But asbestos exposure is not like a car accident; there is not one definable
moment when the exposure has caused an injury, and many people who were
exposed didn’t even know it. In fact, there often was a long time between
exposure and the manifestation of the injury.
Under traditional tort doctrine, the amount of damages that a plaintiff receives
is the amount necessary to make the plaintiff whole. Given the severity of
the diseases caused by asbestos exposure, successful plaintiffs likely would
recover substantial amounts of money. There was a risk that the first wave
of plaintiffs who recovered damages from asbestos manufacturers would
bankrupt those companies, leaving nothing for the thousands of others who
developed asbestos-related diseases.
How should courts deal with these obstacles? One of the virtues of the
common-law approach to regulation is its flexibility. For example, courts
modified the typical approach to statutes of limitations by creating a discovery
rule, under which the statute of limitations would not start running until the
injured person discovered, or should have discovered, that the person had
been injured.
LEGISLATION
If the common-law tort system as applied by courts is not the right vehicle
for solving the problem, then what is? That brings this lecture to the topic
of legislation. Legislatures are not limited to a set of common-law rules that
govern unless there is some compelling reason to depart from them. They can
craft—subject only to constitutional limitations—whatever regulatory response
best accommodates the competing interests implicated by the problem that
they are addressing.
None of the bills ever became law. Many insurance companies lobbied against
the bill because, in light of the bankruptcy of the manufacturers of asbestos,
they would be on the hook for a large share of the contributions to the fund.
Some lawyers for plaintiffs objected that the limits that the bill would impose
on recovery were unfair. The problem of asbestos proved to be too much for
Congress, too.
Suggested Reading
<< Landes and Posner, The Economic Structure of
Tort Law.
Questions to Consider
T
he basic system of the American government involves three branches
of government: legislative, executive, and judicial. Put simply, the
legislature enacts the law, the executive enforces the law, and the
judiciary interprets the law, all as part of a system to promote the public
interest. In the real world, matters are more complicated. An understanding
of the legislative process and our regulatory system is crucial to understanding
how we resolve disputes over the meaning of the law and the scope of
government regulation.
THE LEGISLATIVE PROCESS
One way to understand the process for enacting law in the United States is to
compare it to the process in most other Western democracies. Many modern
democracies use a parliamentary system. In those systems, the executive—often
the prime minister—is from the same party that controls the legislature, and
she holds office precisely because her party won control of the legislature. That
means that when the majority in the legislature supports the enactment of a law,
the executive can be expected to support it, too. In addition, parliamentary
systems often have a unicameral—or one-house—legislature, and there
typically are very few opportunities for members of parliament who oppose
legislative proposals to derail those proposals.
The system in the United States is different. The president is elected separately,
which means that the president can be from a different political party than
the majority in Congress. The president’s assent is necessary for a bill to
become law, unless both houses of Congress can muster a super-majority
vote to override the president’s veto. Additionally, America has a bicameral
legislature, and a bill can become law only if both houses of Congress
approve it.
Each house follows rules that allow multiple opportunities for opponents to
kill proposed legislation. In other words, it is much more difficult to pass
legislation in the United States—at least at the federal level—than it is in
other countries.
To see how this is works in practice, this lecture now turns to the history
of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, the most significant piece of civil rights
legislation in American history. Almost 10 years after the Supreme Court
held in Brown v. Board of Education that official segregation violates the
Constitution, the promise of that decision had not yet been realized because
of official and private resistance to integration efforts.
The Democrats controlled both houses of Congress and the White House,
but the party was divided. A bloc of northern Democrats strongly supported
legislation to protect civil rights, particularly of African Americans, who had
been the victims of discrimination for well over a century. These legislators
wanted to prevent discrimination in many settings, including restaurants,
hotels, and the workplace.
The workplace protections were contained in Title VII of the statute. Title
VII prohibits workplace discrimination on the basis of race, sex, religion, or
national origin.
There was considerable debate about the content and scope of these provisions.
But there was also lots of procedural maneuvering. The process of crafting
legislation does not entail only debate and compromise over the substance of
the law; it also involves navigation of the complex procedural rules that the
two houses of Congress have adopted to govern the legislative process.
Several measures can obstruct the passage of a bill. To take just a handful
of examples, a bill can be killed by inaction by the committee charged with
formulating its details, during consideration on the floor, by a filibuster or
a poison-pill amendment designed to weaken its ultimate support, by the
failure of one house to act on the bill, in a conference committee between
the two houses, or by presidential veto. For example, southern senators
used the filibuster to slow down—and, they hoped, prevent passage of—the
Civil Rights Act.
Southern Democrats filibustered the civil rights bill in the Senate. To invoke
cloture and break the filibuster, supporters of the bill needed the votes of 67
Senators. The Democrats held 65 seats in the Senate in 1964, but because of
the ideological split between northern and southern Democrats, those who
favored the legislation needed Republican support to break the southern
Democrats’ filibuster.
The sponsors of the bill, for example, agreed to include a provision limiting
the power of the EEOC to issue rules governing the workplace, a provision
expanding the defenses available to employers facing claims of discrimination,
and a provision making clear that the law does not require affirmative action.
AFFIRMATIVE ACTION
The white applicants pointed to the plain language of Section 703(a), which
says that the refusal to hire a person because of his race, or otherwise
discriminate because of race, is unlawful. Notably, another section, 703(j),
is the provision that makes clear that employers are not required to adopt
affirmative action programs.
When the Supreme Court addressed this question in a 1979 case called
United Steelworkers of America v. Weber, it concluded that Title VII does
not prohibit private employers from using voluntary race-conscious
affirmative action in hiring. The court read the statute’s general prohibition
on discrimination on the basis of race in light of the overall purpose of the act,
which was to expand employment opportunities for historically disadvantaged
minority groups.
The court also noted that senators who were skeptical of the original bill
worried that the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC) would
interpret the law to require employers to grant preferential treatment to create
racially balanced workplaces. The Court cited statements from Republican
senators who argued that the law should prevent undue federal government
“interference with private businesses because of [the EEOC’s] ideas about”
racial balance.
In the court’s view, a prohibition against all voluntary affirmative action efforts
would undermine this goal. That is because it would “augment the powers of
the Federal Government and diminish traditional management prerogatives
while at the same time impeding attainment” of the law’s ultimate goals of
ending discrimination.
Consider again Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964. The statute also
prohibits workplace discrimination on the basis of sex. The original version
of the bill considered in the House of Representatives did not prohibit
discrimination on the basis of sex. Advocates of women’s rights lobbied
Congress to expand the bill’s protections, but the bill’s sponsors worried
that adding sex discrimination would erode the bill’s support. Some of the
bill’s sponsors also thought that sex discrimination was not a problem that
required a national solution.
However, when the original bill was debated on the House floor, Congressman
Howard Smith of Virginia, a prominent opponent of the bill, proposed an
amendment that would add sex to the list of prohibited grounds for workplace
discrimination. It is clear from Smith’s record that he was a supporter of
equal rights for women, but he also wanted the Civil Rights Act to fail. He
thought that by adding a provision banning sex discrimination, the bill was
less likely to pass.
Should the court, which had to decide whether the policy was “discrimination
on the basis of sex,” defer to the agency’s view about the statute’s meaning? Or
should the court simply engage in the same process identified earlier, simply
asking what Congress meant when it banned sex discrimination?
It turns out that the EEOC does not have power to issue binding rules to
implement Title VII. As a consequence, perhaps Congress did not want the
agency to have any unique power to issue conclusive interpretations of the
Civil Rights Act.
The FTC then brings an action against a funeral home that has violated the
rule to force it to comply and to impose fines for the violation of the rule.
The funeral home defends by arguing that the Federal Trade Commission
Act, one of the statutes that the FTC enforces, is not properly read to prohibit
this practice.
Should the commission’s interpretation of the statute bind the court? Even if
not, should the court defer to the Commission’s view, accepting it as long as
it’s a reasonable interpretation of the federal statute?
Suggested Reading
<< Oleszek, Congressional Procedures and the Policy
Process.
Questions to Consider
TOUCHSTONES OF
STATUTORY
INTERPRETATION
A
n essential skill for understanding legislation and regulation is
statutory interpretation. Statutes are written laws enacted by
a legislature. That means that at the heart of statutory interpretation
is the reading of text.
At the heart of interpretation are four touchstones methods that people apply:
One of the most famous statutory-interpretation cases of all time was Church
of the Holy Trinity v. United States, which the Supreme Court decided in 1892.
The church had entered a contract with Walpole Warren, a British minister,
to become the pastor of its congregation. Warren came to the United States
and began to work for the church. The United States then brought an action
to impose a penalty on the church for violating the Alien Contract Labor Law
of 1885. A lower court ruled against the church, invalidating the contract, and
the church appealed the decision to the US Supreme Court.
Sometimes when Congress enacts a law, it includes a title (or description) of the
law. The title provision of this law called it “An Act to prohibit the importation
and migration of foreigners and aliens under contract or agreement to perform
labor in the United States.”
Section 1 of the law stated that “it shall be unlawful for any person or
corporation to prepay the transportation, or in any way assist or encourage
the importation or migration of any alien into the United States, under
contract or agreement to perform labor or service of any kind in the United
States.” Section 5 of the statute said, “the provisions of this act shall not apply
to professional actors, artists, lecturers, or singers, nor to persons employed
strictly as personal or domestic servants.”
The court noted that the statute prohibits contracts to bring over aliens
who will perform labor or “service of any kind.” The court acknowledged
that Section 5 of the law contains “specific exceptions,” which “strengthens
the idea that every other kind of labor and service was intended to be reached
by the first section.” In other words, the Court began by noting that the plain
meaning of the words of the statute embraced the church’s contract with
the pastor.
However, the court nevertheless stated, “we cannot think Congress intended
to denounce with penalties a transaction like that in the present case.” The
court cited what it called a “familiar rule” that “a thing may be within the
letter of the statute and yet not within the statute, because not within its spirit,
nor within the intention of its makers.”
To support its claim that punishing the church for its contract with the pastor
would be contrary to the spirit of the statute or Congress’s intent, the court
cited three pieces of evidence. First, the Court pointed to the title of the act,
which referred only to contracts to “perform labor” (but not to contracts
for “service”).
In the court’s view, the phrase “perform labor” implied “only the work of
the manual laborer, as distinguished from that of the professional man” or
“any class whose toil is that of the brain.” The court said that the “common
understanding of the terms ‘labor’ and ‘laborers’ does not include preaching
and preachers,” and so the language of title provision suggested that ministers
were excluded from the ban.
Third, the court relied on the report of the Senate Committee on Education
and Labor recommending the passage of the bill. The report stated that, if not
for the press of time, the committee would have recommended an amendment
to the bill substituting the phrase “manual labor” or “manual service” for the
phrase “labor or service.”
The committee did not propose the amendment, according to the report, “in
the hope that” the bill would “become a law before the adjournment” of the
legislative session. In addition, the report stated the committee’s expectation
that the phrase “labor or service,” which it left unchanged, “will be construed
as including only those whose labor or service is manual in character.”
Just in case there was any doubt, the court also asserted that “no purpose
of action against religion” should “be imputed to any legislation” because
Americans are “a religious people.” The court asked the reader to imagine
what would have happened if a member of Congress had proposed a bill that
prohibited the Catholic Church from contracting to bring a cardinal to the
United States or a Jewish synagogue from seeking to bring an eminent rabbi to
the country. In the Court’s view, such a bill would not have received “a minute
of approving thought or a single vote.” As a consequence, it made no sense to
read the statute to permit such a result.
The court conceded that Section 5, which listed exempted professions, supports
the conclusion the ministers are covered by the plain meaning of Section 1
because Section 5 does not expressly exclude ministers from coverage. This
raises a question: Is it obvious that the omission of the word ministers from
Section 5 means that they are covered by the language in Section 1?
The court also touched on the act’s purpose. In focusing on the evil that the
law was designed to remedy, the court essentially reasoned that the statute’s
purpose was to exclude only a certain type of employee. Its provisions
should be read in light of that purpose, notwithstanding the law’s plain
language. Notably, this case was the first time that the Supreme Court relied
on legislative history to reach a conclusion at odds with the plain meaning
of a statute.
Suggested Reading
<< Chomsky, “Unlocking the Mysteries of Holy
Trinity.”
Questions to Consider
ÞÞ Do we use the same tools when we interpret a statute that
we use when we interpret any other text?
T
he previous lecture introduced the touchstones of interpretation—
the various indications of meaning that we consider when we try to
interpret a set of instructions. This lecture turns to specifically examine
purpose as a touchstone for meaning by looking at the opinions surrounding
Riggs v. Palmer.
RIGGS V. PALMER
The famous case of Riggs v. Palmer was decided in 1889. New York’s statute of
wills governed the disposition of property after a person’s death. The statute
specified the rules for making an enforceable will, such as the requirement that
it be in writing and that witnesses attest that the drafter signed it. The statute
also said that anyone named in a will as a beneficiary would inherit “except
in cases of fraud, duress, or incapacity” at the time the will was made.
In other words, a bequest in a will wouldn’t be enforceable if the beneficiary had
duped or forced the person into making the bequest. Additionally, a bequest
in a will would be unenforceable if the person who made the will was not of
sound mind. Otherwise, the statute stated quite clearly that the terms of the
will would govern.
Notice the question of statutory interpretation that the case raised for
the court. The statute itself was quite clear. It said that a person named
as a beneficiary in an otherwise valid will shall inherit, except in cases of
fraud, duress, or incapacity. No one contended in the case that any of those
exceptions applied.
The court explained that the purpose of the statute of wills was to enable people
with wills “to dispose of their estates to the objects of their bounty at death,
and to carry into effect their final wishes legally expressed.” In other words,
the legislature wanted to be sure that the wishes of people who follow the rules
in disposing of their estates would be honored upon their deaths.
The court said that it was clearly the legislature’s intention that, as a general
matter, people named in a will should get the property left to them by the
will. But, the court said, “it never could have been their intention that
a [beneficiary] who murdered the testator to make the will operative should
have any benefit under it.”
The court explained that it is not possible for a legislature to anticipate every
case that might arise and deal with it expressly in the statute. When faced with
a question like the one in Palmer’s case, the court said that we should imagine
that the lawmakers were present and that we could ask them: Did you mean
to let Elmer inherit under these circumstances?
The court in Riggs enforced the spirit of the law, not the letter of the
law. Because the literal text of the law required an unreasonable result in
tension with the law’s spirit, the court declined to give effect to the law’s
plain terms.
The New York court concluded that Elmer could not inherit because such
a result would be contrary to the spirit of the law. However, the New York
court was not the first court to confront this problem; sadly, the prospect
of inheritance had prompted people in other states to commit similar acts.
Virtually all of the other courts that had confronted this issue had concluded
that the plain terms of the will, and the plain terms of the statute of wills,
had to be given effect, notwithstanding the wrongdoing of the heir.
Why would they reach that conclusion? Consider the opinion of Justice Gray,
who dissented in Riggs v. Palmer. Though he, too, was troubled by Elmer’s
actions, he made two basic arguments about why the court should follow
the letter, rather than the spirit, of the law.
First, he asserted that the judge’s role is to follow the plain words of the law,
not to change the law when the judges think that the legislature’s judgments
seem misguided. Second, he asserted that there is virtue in preserving the
clarity of bright-line rules, even though in some cases they will produce
seemingly unfair results.
Justice Gray’s first objection had to do with the proper judicial role in
interpreting statutes: Legislatures make the law, the executive branch enforces
the law, and the courts interpret the law. If courts could ignore what the
legislature has said, then they would not be interpreting the law; they would
be making it.
Justice Gray’s second (and related) objection to the court’s approach had
to do with the potential virtue of clear rules and the problem of judicially
created exceptions to clear rules. Clear rules about who can inherit under
a will, and the circumstances under which wills are valid and enforceable, are
important because they let us plan with certainty, confident that our wishes
will be honored.
The court, in fact, was trying to give effect to Francis Palmer’s wishes; after
all, Francis surely would not have wanted his estate to pass to his grandson
if he had known that his grandson would kill him for the money. In light
of this, shouldn’t the court be permitted to craft an exception to the law to
effectuate its basic purpose, in spite of Justice Gray’s concern?
Justice Gray believed that, once we authorize judges to depart from the plain
meaning of enacted law to reach just results, there is no logical stopping point.
It begs the question: When judges do so, are they enforcing the legislature’s
will or their own views about what is just and appropriate?
CONCLUSION
The debate between the majority and Justice Gray in Riggs was not over the
object of statutory interpretation. They agreed that the goal of statutory
interpretation is to act as the faithful agent of the legislature.
This debate continues today. Some scholars and judges think that the best way
to implement the legislature’s wishes is for courts to discern the legislature’s
purpose and then to read the statute in light of that purpose. Others think
that confining the inquiry to the statute’s plain meaning is the only way to
ensure that judges do not stray across the line between interpretation and
policy making.
In practice, these two approaches tend to overlap. Judges who seek legislative
purpose look, first and foremost, to the statutory text to discern the legislature’s
purpose. Judges who rely on the letter of the law often consider the background
against which the statute was enacted to determine the plain meaning of the
words of the statute.
These two inquiries also often overlap in practice. In some cases, the best
evidence of the broader statutory purpose will be what individual members
of the legislature said about the types of cases that are likely to arise. In other
cases, a court will conclude that the legislature intended to resolve a specific
issue in part because of more general indications of legislative purpose.
In Riggs, for example, the court talked about the legislature’s “intentions,”
but it really sought to determine the legislature’s broader purpose—or, as the
court described it, its “spirit.”
Questions to Consider
WHEN IS STATUTORY
MEANING PLAIN?
T
his lecture considers just how robust our commitment to the plain
meaning of statutes should be. Should departures from the letter of the
law to enforce the spirit of the law be the rare exceptions, rather than the
rule? To delve into that question, this lecture examines the cases of Tennessee
Valley Authority v. Hill and West Virginia University Hospitals, Inc. v. Casey.
BACKGROUND ON
TENNESSEE VALLEY AUTHORITY V. HILL
The Endangered Species Act of 1973 states that all federal agencies shall “insure
that actions authorized, funded, or carried out by them do not jeopardize the
continued existence of such endangered species” or “result in the destruction
or modification of habitat of such species.”
Six years before Congress enacted that law, the Tennessee Valley Authority,
a federal agency, began construction on the Tellico Dam and Reservoir project.
The agency set out to build the dam on the Little Tennessee River, not far
from where the river’s waters meet the Big Tennessee River. Congress first
appropriated money for the project in 1967, and did so each year through
1976. By 1975, construction on the dam was almost complete, but it did
not open.
Although the trial court thought that the completion of the project would not
violate the Endangered Species Act, the court of appeals disagreed and halted
work on the project. The Supreme Court then decided to review the case. The
question was whether the Endangered Species Act prohibited the Tennessee
Valley Authority from continuing work on the project.
Another (albeit related) way to approach the question is to consider the spirit
of the law. On this view, the correct touchstone of interpretation is legislative
purpose. The appropriate question is: What was the broad, animating principle
that motivated Congress and what reading of the statute’s terms best advances
that purpose?
On this approach, it would not matter if Congress had not actually considered
how the Endangered Species Act would apply to the Tellico Dam project; it is
enough to note that Congress’s actions reflect a purpose to balance the interest
in environmental protection with rural economic development. Killing the
almost-completed dam project would surely be inconsistent with that purpose.
That was the dissent’s approach to the question in the case.
The Supreme Court concluded that the answer to the question presented by
the case was compelled by the plain language of the Endangered Species Act.
“One would be hard pressed to find,” the court said, “a statutory provision
whose terms were any plainer than those” in the act. The statute required all
agencies “to insure that actions authorized, funded, or carried out by them do
not jeopardize the continued existence” of any endangered species or “result
in the destruction or modification of habitat of such species.” The court said
that this language “admits of no exception.”
That, in sum, was the court’s reasoning for concluding that the dam project
had to cease, notwithstanding the tens of millions of taxpayer dollars that
had already been spent on it. Additionally, because two justices dissented,
asserting that Congress could not possibly have intended this result, the court
looked at the legislative history of the Endangered Species Act to confirm its
view of the text.
But after pressure from environmentalists, the House passed a bill that omitted
any qualification on the government’s obligation to protect endangered species.
The Conference Committee Report, issued after the two houses had reached
agreement on the final bill, explained that the new law “substantially amplifies
the obligation of federal agencies to take steps within their power to carry
out the purposes of this act.” To the justices in the majority, this legislative
history confirmed that Congress meant what it had said.
The court also made clear that, in the end, the judiciary’s responsibility is
simply to enforce the plain meaning of the words in the statute—and that it
only mentioned the legislative history because the dissenting justices focused
heavily on it.
The Tellico Dam was completed, and the snail darter’s habitat in the
Little Tennessee River was destroyed. However, a few years later, the
same scientist who discovered the snail
darter found that it actually
lived in four other rivers in
Tennessee. Although it is
still vulnerable, it is no longer
endangered.
The snail darter case raises an important question: Why would a judge rely
on the plain meaning of a statute when there are strong indications that the
legislature would have wanted a different resolution of the issue presented?
The federal statute at issue in the West Virginia hospitals case was one such
provision. It said that the winning party in a civil rights suit against the
government was entitled to recover “a reasonable attorney’s fee” from the
losing party. The hospital sued the governor of Pennsylvania, claiming that
the state’s Medicaid reimbursement rates were too low. The hospital won at
trial, and the trial court awarded it attorney’s fees, including over $100,000
to cover the costs of several experts—accountants and doctors—who assisted
the lawyers in the preparation of the suit and testified at trial.
The question for the Supreme Court was whether the statute’s authorization of
“attorney’s fees” for the winning party included fees for non-attorney experts.
The court, in an opinion by Justice Scalia, held that the statute authorized the
award of fees only for attorneys, not for experts.
Justice Scalia, who wrote the majority opinion, disagreed. He thought that
the words in the statute—“reasonable attorney’s fee”—did not embrace expert
fees. He reasoned that Congress had enacted many statutes specifically
authorizing the shifting of both attorney’s fees and expert fees, and that as
a consequence, the term “attorney’s fees” alone had a more limited meaning
in the law.
But given the many opportunities for opponents to obstruct legislation, the
proponents of a broad statute might have been forced to settle for something
less to persuade their reluctant colleagues to vote for the bill. The only real
evidence that we have of the actual compromise that they struck is the language
of the law itself.
The justices’ disagreement about the judicial role flowed naturally from their
disagreement about the appropriate way to understand the legislative process.
To Justice Scalia, departure from the plain language of the statute replaces the
actual compromise that the members of Congress reached with some idealized
law that Congress never could or would have passed.
Questions to Consider
ÞÞ Can you think of times when it would make sense to
depart from the letter of the law and instead to enforce
its spirit?
SEMANTIC AND
SUBSTANTIVE
INTERPRETIVE RULES
W
hen a legislature enacts a statute, it does so against the background
of certain conventions about how to understand language. We use
many of them in everyday communication. For example, we all
agree that words have distinctive meanings, and we all follow essential
rules of grammar to structure the way we express ideas. However, there
is an additional set of background understandings that courts rely on in
interpreting statutes. They are the canons of construction, and they are the
focus of this lecture.
BACKGROUND ON CANONS
JUSTICE HOLMES’S
CONCLUSION
However, perhaps because the phrase “any self-propelled vehicle not designed
for running on rails” arguably included planes, Justice Holmes relied on two
canons of statutory interpretation to support his conclusion. First, he noted that
the phrase in question appeared at the end of a list of more specific terms. The
specific terms, covering automobiles, automobile trucks, automobile wagons,
and motorcycles—indicated that “a vehicle running on land” is “the theme.”
In other words, Holmes argued that we should read the broad term at the
end of a list in light of the specific items that precede it. This is a classic
semantic canon of interpretation known as ejusdem generis, meaning “of the
same kind.” The idea is that words derive meaning from context, and that
we—and legislators—tend to group together words that share some common
characteristic.
SEMANTIC CANONS
Perhaps the most common semantic canons—and the ones that we most take
for granted—are the grammar canons. When a legislature enacts a law, it acts
against the background of grammatical conventions. One example is the rule
of last antecedent. For example, if a law states that commercial licenses “shall
not be required for boats, tractors, and trucks under three tons,” a court would
conclude that the phrase “under three tons” refers only to trucks—the item
that immediately precedes the modifying phrase.
NOSCITUR A SOCIIS
The court reasoned that, when viewed in light of the other two terms in the
statute—exploration and prospecting—it was clear that the word discovery
meant only “discovery of mineral resources.” This is an application of the
canon known as noscitur a sociis, which means, “it is known by its associates.”
SUBSTANTIVE CANONS
The substantive canon with the deepest pedigree is the rule of lenity, discussed
briefly earlier in the lecture. This canon requires courts to interpret laws
authorizing criminal punishment strictly; if the law does not clearly outlaw
some conduct, then a person cannot be penalized for it, even if conventional
approaches to statutory interpretation would suggest that the semantic meaning
of the law’s terms embraces that conduct.
Consider United States v. Kirby, which the Supreme Court decided in 1868.
A federal statute made it a crime knowingly and willfully to “obstruct or retard
the passage of the mail.” Kirby was a local sheriff who executed an arrest
warrant for murder against a mail carrier while he was delivering the mail.
Kirby was prosecuted under the statute, but the Supreme Court concluded
that the statute did not apply under these circumstances. The Court declared
that “general terms” in statutes “should be so limited in their application as
not to lead to absurd consequences.”
The problem is that there is no such thing as absurdity in the abstract; whether
a particular set of results would be absurd depends on our intuitions about
what the legislature had in mind in the first place. For example, in the case
United States v. Locke, at issue was a federal statute that required a person
who wanted to claim mining rights on federal land to file paperwork “prior
to December 31.”
The court concluded that the statute barred any claim filed on the last day of
the year, even though most people assumed that Congress made a mistake in
saying “prior to December 31” rather than “no later than December 31.” This
highlights the fact that it can be difficult to tell absurd results from ones that
simply seem unfair.
Returning to the Kirby case, an interesting fact is that the case arose in the
border state of Kentucky right after the end of the Civil War. The mail carrier
that Sheriff Kirby arrested, a man named Farris, had led Union forces against
Confederate guerillas during the war. The “murders” that Kirby arrested
Farris for were the killings of Confederate soldiers—including Kirby’s
brother-in-law—by Union soldiers under Farris’s command. A grand jury of
Confederate sympathizers handpicked by Kirby issued the arrest warrant, and
when Kirby arrested Farris, he was accompanied by an angry mob.
Does that change your view about whether application of the federal statute
to Kirby was absurd? Alternatively, does it simply tend to underscore that, at
bottom, we are making some kind of value judgment in deciding whether the
plain meaning of a statute produces absurd results? The takeaway point is that
even when we have canons of interpretation to guide us, the task of statutory
interpretation is still complicated—and fascinating.
Questions to Consider
ÞÞ Can you think of interpretive principles that you apply in
everyday life to give meaning to ambiguous phrases?
HOW DO COURTS
REALLY INTERPRET
STATUTES?
S
ometimes, the Supreme Court enforces the plain meaning of a statute’s
text, even though it leads to seemingly unfair results. Other times, the
Supreme Court implements the purpose of the statute notwithstanding
the plain meaning of the text. Still other times, the court does something
in between. This lecture tries to make sense of that by considering these
two questions: Is the enterprise of statutory interpretation hopelessly
incoherent and unpredictable? Is it possible to articulate a theory of statutory
interpretation that explains what courts actually do in cases involving disputes
over the meaning of statutes?
STANLEY MARSHALL
In the case of United States v. Marshall, Stanley Marshall was arrested and
charged with distributing LSD, a hallucinogenic drug. He was convicted for
distributing more than 10 grams of the drug and sentenced to 20 years in
prison. He challenged the length of his sentence.
Here is what the Controlled Substances Act says about crimes involving the
distribution of LSD: a person convicted of selling 1 gram or more of a “mixture
or substance containing a detectable amount” of LSD shall be sentenced to at
least 5 years in prison. A person convicted of selling 10 grams or more shall be
sentenced to at least 10 years. Marshall was convicted of distributing enough
LSD for almost 12,000 doses; by weight, it was over 100 grams. He obviously
was not very happy to be going to prison for so many years, but it would
appear on the surface that the amount that he was selling clearly triggered
that sentence.
MARSHALL’S CHALLENGE
The actual LSD in the 12,000 doses that Marshall was convicted of selling
weighed considerably less than 1 gram, not enough to trigger the 5-year
mandatory minimum sentence, let alone the 10-year one. However, he
sold the LSD, as do most dealers, on blotter paper. Although that paper is not
particularly heavy, the 12,000 doses of LSD on paper weighed over 113 grams—
more than 160 times the weight of the pure LSD alone.
Marshall said that he did not sell nearly enough LSD, by weight, to trigger the
mandatory-minimum-sentence provisions of the statute. If this were the right
way to read the statute, then Marshall’s sentence would have been reduced to
a fraction of the one he had received after trial.
The legal issue was whether, in calculating the sentence for a convicted
LSD dealer, a court should consider only the weight of the active drug
or instead should include the weight of the carrier medium for the drug,
too. The issue was important and complicated enough that the entire
United States Court of Appeals for the Seventh Circuit decided to review
Marshall’s conviction and sentence, rather than just the ordinary panel of
three judges.
Judge Easterbrook, a former law professor, wrote the opinion for the court,
upholding the defendant’s sentence. He concluded that it’s just “not possible
to construe the words” in the statute “to make the penalty turn on the net
weight of the drug rather than the gross weight of carrier and drug.” He
reasoned that the statute “speaks of a ‘mixture or substance containing
a detectable amount’ of a drug.” He said that the phrase “detectable amount”
is the opposite of “pure.”
After all, if a solution were pure LSD, it would by definition have more than just
a “detectable amount” of the drug. He said that the implication of the phrase
in the statute is that the “mixture” should not “be converted
to an equivalent amount of pure drug.”
Judge Easterbrook made two arguments based on the plain meaning of the
text of the statute. First, he said that the plain meaning of the phrase “mixture
or substance containing a detectable amount” of LSD suggests that something
more than the weight of the pure drug counts. Second, he said that the ordinary
meaning of the term mixture embraces LSD applied to blotter paper.
OTHER DRUGS
The defendants in the case were asking the court to read the phrase “mixture
or substance containing a detectable amount” of LSD to mean “pure drug”
for LSD, even though the exact same phrase evidently meant something
different for all of the other drugs on the list. Additionally, they were asking
the court to read the phrase to mean “pure drug” even though, for one of the
other drugs on the list, Congress had actually explicitly distinguished between
mixtures, on the one hand, and the pure drug, on the other. Judge Easterbrook
said that it would stretch the statute’s language past the breaking point to
read it this way.
THE DISSENTS
Judge Cummings dissented. He pointed out that, at the time of the decision,
Congress was in the process of considering a bill that would have amended
the mandatory-minimum-sentence provisions. The amendments would have
made clear that the weight of the carrier does not count for determining the
weight of the mixture or substance.
Among other arguments, Judge Posner also compared the scheme for LSD,
under the majority’s approach, to the scheme for other drugs under the
statute. Marshall had sold almost 12,000 doses of LSD. That is a lot, but Judge
Posner noted that to get a comparable sentence for selling heroin—a more
dangerous and socially destructive drug—you would have to sell 2 million
doses. The numbers were similar for cocaine.
TWO VIEWS
Judge Posner wondered what judges could do about this problem. He thought
that the answer “lies in the shadow of a jurisprudential disagreement.” The
disagreement was over the judges’ role in interpreting and applying the law.
One view, which he called the “severely positivistic view,” is that the “content
of law is exhausted in clear, explicit, and definite enactments by legislatures.”
That is the view that Judge Easterbrook implicitly advanced in the case.
On this view, the law is defined by the plain meaning of the text, and usually
nothing more.
The competing view, which Judge Posner called the “legal pragmatist’s view,”
is that the “practice of interpretation and the general terms of the law authorize
judges to enrich positive law with the moral values and practical concerns of
civilized society.” On this view, the judge does more than merely “interpret”
the meaning of the words in the statute; the judge acts as a partner of the
legislature to bring some rationality to the scheme. Judge Posner conceded
that “neither approach is entirely satisfactory.”
Judge Posner observed, “our legal system oscillates between the approaches.”
However, he thought that the right approach was clear. He said that “the
positivist view, applied unflinchingly to this case, commands the affirmance of
prison sentences that are exceptionally harsh by the standards of the modern
Western world, dictated by an accidental, unintended scheme of punishment
nevertheless implied by the words of the relevant enactments.”
Read this way, the punishment schedule for LSD would make perfectly good
sense and be consistent with the statutory design. Judge Posner reasoned that
Congress was probably just using weight as a proxy for doses of drugs. If so,
then it makes sense to base the punishment for the sale of LSD on the weight
of the pure drug after all.
CONCLUSION
Judge Posner said that judges should discard the fiction that they’re seeking
to discern the legislature’s actual purpose. Instead, he said, judges can and
should candidly act like equal participants in the process of creating law.
Suggested Reading
<< Calabresi, A Common Law for the Age of
Statutes.
FEDERAL AGENCIES
AS REGULATORY BODIES
M
uch of this course has been about legislation—that is, how laws are
made and how courts interpret them once they are enacted. However,
this is also a course about regulation. This lecture looks at how the
United States federal government regulates as well as the relationship between
legislation and regulation.
ENFORCING RULES
There are several different mechanisms for enforcing the rules that legislatures
create. First, statutes can be enforced in lawsuits between private parties.
Second, laws can be enforced in criminal prosecutions initiated by the
government against private parties.
This lecture focuses on the third principal means for enforcing the rules that
legislatures announce by statute: agency enforcement. Examples of agencies
include the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (or EEOC), the
Federal Trade Commission (or FTC), and the Department of the Interior,
to name a few.
Agencies also take actions that have binding legal effect. First, an agency
might act like a court, adjudicating a case involving an alleged violation of
the statute the agency is charged with administering. Agency adjudication
can be more informal, too. For example, a power plant might apply to the
Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) for a permit to use some industrial
process that produces pollution. The EPA will review the evidence submitted
by the plant and then decide whether to grant the permit.
Additionally, agencies often issue rules that carry the force of law. For example,
if the EPA concludes that a particular industrial process always releases an
unacceptable amount of pollution into the air, it can issue a rule that prohibits
the process. When agencies do this, they are acting like a legislature—making
policy and announcing binding rules.
The case involved a provision of the Clean Air Act, which Congress first
enacted in the 1960s and then revised in 1970. The section of the law at issue
required “national ambient air quality standards” for air pollutants. The rule
at issue in the case established those standards for particulate matter.
There was little doubt, under the modern understanding of federal power, that
Congress had authority to regulate the amount of pollution that industrial
processes or truck engines are permitted to emit into the air. As a consequence,
the plaintiffs in the case didn’t contend that Congress lacked power to regulate
air pollution.
The rule at issue in the case had been issued by the Environmental Protection
Agency, pursuant to authority that Congress had given to the agency in the
Clean Air Act. The law directed the agency to issue the air quality standards
for pollutants. The agency had promulgated the rule at issue in the case, about
particulate matter, pursuant to that authority.
However, it is not obvious that we should read the language of Article I to mean
that Congress cannot delegate the legislative power. After all, the Constitution
says something about the president and executive power that is very similar
to what it says about legislative power.
Article II of the Constitution begins by saying that the “Executive Power shall
be vested in a President of the United States.” Still, it is widely accepted that
the president can delegate authority to other officials, including members of
the cabinet.
The basic intuition of the nondelegation doctrine is this: Congress has the
exclusive power to make law, which means the power to make important
policy decisions. As a consequence, Congress cannot just give the power to
make policy to someone else.
In that case, the court explained that Congress can delegate some authority to
agencies as long as it doesn’t actually delegate the legislative power—that is, the
power that the Constitution gives exclusively to Congress. If Congress makes
the fundamental policy choices and then gives an agency some discretion
about how to enforce those choices, Congress hasn’t impermissibly delegated
the legislative power; instead, it has exercised it, leaving only executive power
for the agency.
The challenge is how to tell the difference between a delegation of the legislative
power on the one hand and a delegation of the mere discretion to enforce
the law on the other. Sometimes we have an intuition about the difference.
For example, when a prosecutor declines to prosecute someone who merely
possessed a small quantity of drugs, she is exercising discretion about how to
enforce the law, not making the law.
In Whitman, the court put it another way. The court said that when Congress
gives authority to an agency, it must announce an “intelligible principle” with
which the agency must conform. If Congress does so, the court will hold that
the agency’s exercise of the delegated power doesn’t constitute an exercise of
the legislative power.
In this view, Congress had made the difficult policy choice between public
health and cost to industry. The agency had to fill in the details, of course, but
no one seriously argued that Congress had to determine the exact permissible
exposure level for every conceivable pollutant. Congress made the fundamental
policy choice, and all it left for the agency was the implementation of the law.
Some questions remain: Why has the Court been unwilling to police
congressional delegations of policy-making power? Why doesn’t the
nondelegation doctrine have any teeth?
In the 1970s, a trade group for the petroleum industry challenged the agency’s
attempt to set exposure limits for benzene, which causes cancer at sufficiently
high doses. Was the standard in this statute a broader delegation of authority
than the one at issue in Whitman v. American Trucking Associations?
Assume that the statute, properly interpreted, meant that the agency had
discretion to decide whether to consider costs on employers in setting the
correct standards. In other words, imagine that Congress had given the
agency the power to decide whether to do cost-benefit analysis before setting
exposure limits. If that were the case, should a court strike the statute down
as an impermissible delegation of authority? Would that statute contain an
intelligible principle?
Third, and perhaps most important, the distinction between legislative and
executive power that serves as the basis for the nondelegation doctrine—that is,
the distinction between making the law and enforcing the law—in practice is
quite elusive. Faced with these sorts of questions, judges have recognized that
it is often not possible to differentiate in any principled way between making
the law and enforcing the law. As a result, the court won’t strike down a statute
under the nondelegation doctrine unless there is absolutely no intelligible
principle to guide the agency’s exercise of discretion.
Suggested Reading
<< Gailmard and Patty, Learning While
Governing.
Questions to Consider
ÞÞ Should we insist that Congress make all important policy
choices? Alternatively, should Congress be permitted to
delegate that power to executive agencies?
POLITICAL CONTROL
OF AGENCY DECISION
MAKING
T
he United States Congress often gives agencies very broad power to make
policy. However, members of Congress are still interested in what the
agencies do with that power. This lecture considers the forms of control
that Congress exercises over agency decision making. Other topics include the
president’s power over those agencies and how regulation by federal agencies
raises questions of constitutional importance.
INS V. CHADHA
In the Immigration and Nationality Act, Congress had provided a safe harbor
for aliens facing deportation. If the person could show that he had resided in
the country for at least seven years, was of good moral character, and would
face extreme hardship if deported, the government could decide to suspend
his deportation.
At the time, the INS was a division of the Department of the Justice,
so the attorney general had the final say over whether to suspend an
alien’s deportation. The attorney general decided that Chadha had met the
requirements under the statute and suspended Chadha’s deportation.
However, the House of Representatives passed a resolution disapproving the
suspension. Chadha challenged this decision. The Supreme Court concluded
that this so-called legislative veto was unconstitutional. As a consequence, the
House’s decision was invalid, and Chadha got to remain in the United States.
Congress had included the legislative veto provision in the statute—as it had
in hundreds of others—because it wanted to have some control over the way
that an agency exercised the power that Congress had given it. However, the
Constitution says that before a bill, resolution, order, or vote can become law,
it must be passed by both houses of Congress and then signed by the president.
Alternatively, if the president vetoes it, is must return to the Congress and
passed by two-thirds of each house.
The court reasoned that the legislative veto violated these requirements.
The veto had the effect of law because it changed Chadha’s legal rights. But
the Senate had not voted to disapprove the Attorney General’s decision, and the
House’s veto was not presented to the president. Accordingly, the court said,
it was unconstitutional.
Justice White dissented in the case. He thought it was strange that agencies
can make rules with the force of law while Congress, which explicitly enjoys
the legislative power, cannot exercise a veto to prevent those rules from
taking effect.
The second measure is that when Congress creates a new program, it can make
the law more specific, delegating less power to the agency to make important
decisions. Third, Congress can threaten to cut off funding from agencies that
make decisions Congress doesn’t like. Fourth, Congress can use the power of
oversight; it can summon the head of the offending agency before one of its
committees and rake that official over the coals.
Fifth, Congress can use its power over the appointment of agency officials.
Presidential nominations of important officers are subject to the advice and
consent of the Senate; the Senate can refuse to confirm officials who are likely
to interpret statutes contrary to congressional intent.
AGENCY INDEPENDENCE
That does not mean that those agencies are completely unaccountable to the
voters. The president plays an important role both in deciding who will serve
at the agencies and in dictating the policy agenda that those agencies will
pursue. If we disagree with something that an agency does, we can vote for
someone else for president. Of course, few voters decide which candidate to
vote for based on a rule the EPA issued. But plenty of people base their votes
on the candidates’ more general approach to regulation.
Some of the reasons are practical rather than legal. The federal government
is huge, and it is just not feasible for the president to exercise total, day-to-day
control over its activities. There are also some norms that are deeply entrenched
even if not constitutionally required, such as the norm that the president
should not interfere in decisions about whom to prosecute.
There are also legal constraints on the president’s power to control agency
decision-making. For example, even if Congress cannot exercise total control
over the agencies, it can still try to limit the president’s control. For instance, if
Congress wants to constrain the president’s ability to control policy-making,
it can limit the president’s power to fire the officials in charge of the
decision-making.
The Supreme Court didn’t confront the removal power until the 20th century.
In 1917, President Wilson appointed Frank Myers to serve as the postmaster
of Portland, Oregon. Less than three years later, Wilson decided to fire
Myers. But a federal statute enacted in 1876 provided that postmasters would
serve for four-year terms. It also said that postmasters “shall be appointed
and may be removed by the President with the advice and consent of the
Senate.” The Senate did not take any action. Myers grudgingly gave up his
office, but he sued to recover his salary for the portion of his four-year term
that he didn’t get to serve.
The Supreme Court concluded that Myers wasn’t entitled to his salary because
the law impermissibly interfered with the president’s power to remove him.
The court began by noting that the Constitution vests the executive power—
and thus the power to execute the laws—in the president.
The court reasoned that the president can’t meaningfully ensure that the law
is faithfully executed if he can’t control the officials who actually exercise
executive power. The court concluded that the president must have unfettered
authority to fire executive officials.
The case was a bit more complicated, however, because Myers was an “inferior
officer.” The Appointments Clause of the Constitution distinguishes between
officers and inferior officers. It says that Congress can let someone other than
the president appoint inferior officers, which means that they can be subject
to the direct control of someone other than the president. In another case, the
court had held that Congress can limit the president’s power to fire inferior
officers as a way to prevent undue political patronage in the civil service.
Only nine years later, the Supreme Court advanced a very different vision of
the president’s power in a case called Humphrey’s Executor v. United States.
President Hoover had appointed William Humphrey to serve a seven-year
term on the Federal Trade Commission, an agency charged with enforcing
the laws prohibiting unfair trade practices.
The debate over whether Congress can limit the president’s control over
officials charged with executing the law has been going on since the founding of
the country. For example, there are clauses in the Constitution that contemplate
officials exercising authority beyond the absolute control of the president.
For instance, the Opinion Clause in Article II says that “The President … may
require the Opinion, in writing, of the principal Officer in each of the executive
Departments, upon any Subject relating to the duties of their respective
Offices.” This clause would be redundant if all executive officers were subject
to the president’s unfettered control.
If the president can fire executive officials for any reason at all, let alone for
having a policy agenda that conflicts with the president’s, then of course
the president can require them to give him their opinions on issues relating
to their duties. This clause implies not only that Congress has authority to
determine the duties of executive officers, but also to vest them with power
exercised independent of presidential control.
INDEPENDENT PROSECUTORS
Nixon eventually relented under extreme political pressure and allowed the
appointment of a new special prosecutor. The new prosecutor pursued the
investigation, and Nixon ultimately resigned.
However, the episode revealed the conflict of interest inherent in our system.
The president controls the Department of Justice through his power to fire the
attorney general. If there is credible evidence to suggest that the president or
a high-ranking executive official has committed a crime, how do we ensure
that it’s investigated properly?
The court upheld the independent counsel provisions of the law. It read
the Myers and Humphrey cases together to mean that congress can limit
the president’s power to fire an officer as long as the limitation doesn’t
impermissibly interfere with the president’s ability to perform his
constitutional duties.
Suggested Reading
<< Aberbach, Keeping a Watchful Eye.
Questions to Consider
ÞÞ Should Congress be permitted to veto executive action
that it finds misguided?
JUDICIAL REVIEW
OF AGENCY RULINGS
F
ederal agencies have substantial power to make policy in the US political
system. Congress has given them authority to make rules about all sorts
of important matters—like environmental protection, traffic safety,
health care, and more. Yet agencies and the officials who run them are not
directly accountable to the voters. Instead, the principal mechanism in the
US system for keeping agencies in check is judicial control. Courts routinely
review the decisions of agencies to ensure that they are not exceeding the
authority that Congress has given them.
This lecture considers two basic forms of control that courts exercise over
agencies. First, courts review agency decisions to ensure that they are
procedurally sound. Second, courts review agency decisions to ensure that they
are well reasoned and based on relevant and appropriate considerations.
JUDICIAL REVIEW OF AGENCY PROCEDURES
Under this standard, the agency authorized funding for milk. In the mid-1970s,
the agency also started to allow the grants to be used to purchase flavored
milk (such as chocolate milk) as a substitute for regular, unflavored milk.
In 1978, Congress reauthorized funding for the program and modified the
agency’s responsibility under the statute. Congress said that the agency should
issue regulations specifying the foods that are available under the program,
and that in doing so, the agency should “assure that the fat, sugar, and salt
content of the prescribed foods is appropriate.”
The agency then gave notice that it was planning to issue a new rule about what
foods would be available under the program. The Administrative Procedure
Act, the statute that provides general rules of procedure for federal agencies to
follow whenever they act, requires an agency that wants to issue a rule to do
three principal things. First, the agency has to publish notice of the proposed
rulemaking. The notice has to provide either the terms of the proposed rule
or a description of the subjects and issues involved.
COMPETING INTERESTS
SPECIALTY FOODS
In the case involving the WIC program, the agency published notice of
a proposed rule to specify foods that are eligible for funding. The proposal
listed milk as one of those foods. The proposal also specifically preserved the
agency’s prior approach, which was to permit the substitution of flavored milk
for regular milk. The notice also explained that the agency was concerned
about high-sugar diets, and it specifically proposed a limit on sugar content
in eligible breakfast cereals.
Many of the comments that the agency received about the proposal
recommended that the agency remove flavored milk from the list of approved
foods because of concern over its high sugar content. The agency listened to
those suggestions, and the final rule excluded flavored milk from the list of
approved foods.
In issuing the rule, the agency acknowledged that it had previously funded
flavored milk, and that the notice hadn’t proposed any change to that approach.
The agency explained that “the comments and the Department’s policy on
sugar validate” changing the final rule to delete flavored milk from approved
food packages.
The agency responded to the lawsuit by arguing that the notice of the
rulemaking advised the public of its general concern about foods with high
sugar content, which should have given interested parties notice that it would
consider eliminating any food with such content. It also argued that the specific
inclusion of flavored milk in the proposed rule carried the implication that
flavored milk was a subject for consideration and debate.
However, the court concluded that the agency had not given sufficient notice
that it might delete flavored milk from the approved list. It invalidated the
rule, effectively instructing the agency to start the process from scratch.
The court in the chocolate milk case acknowledged that a final rule could
depart from a proposal to reflect comments received. But the court said that
the final rule cannot depart so much from the proposal that interested parties
are denied fair notice that their interests are implicated.
The court said that the final rule must be a “logical outgrowth” of the rule
proposed in the agency’s notice. The court concluded that a rule prohibiting
flavored milk is not a logical outgrowth of a proposal to permit the inclusion
of flavored milk, because the final rule was the exact opposite of the proposed
rule, at least with respect to milk.
The agency did all of those things in the chocolate milk case. Still, as that case
suggests, courts have interpreted these requirements to impose more onerous
obligations on agencies that want to issue rules.
Between 1969 and 1972, the agency issued a series of rules to require at least one
of these passive restraints on all cars. The requirement was to take effect with
all cars manufactured after August 1975. Cars manufactured in the interim
were required to feature either passive restraints or an ignition interlock, which
would prevent the driver from starting the car or sound a continuous buzzer
if the seatbelts were not fastened. Although the car manufacturers challenged
these rules in court, they lost, and the rules took effect.
Because it was cheaper, most car manufacturers chose to install the ignition
interlock system. This feature was incredibly unpopular, and Congress
responded by passing a law prohibiting the agency from requiring or even
permitting car manufacturers to use ignition interlocks or buzzers to indicate
that seatbelts were not in use.
The next year, the secretary restarted the process, issuing a new passive-
restraint rule to require the gradual phasing in of a requirement that all cars use
either airbags or automatic seatbelts. The evidence before the agency suggested
that the requirement would save around 9,000 lives per year. Although the car
manufacturers challenged this rule, too, the courts upheld it.
AIRBAGS AT ISSUE
State Farm Insurance Company and others sued, challenging the agency’s
rescission of the rule. They argued that the repeal was “arbitrary and
capricious,” and in violation of the Administrative Procedure Act. The
Supreme Court agreed with the challengers and invalidated the agency’s
decision to rescind the rule.
The Court began by saying that a reviewing court is not supposed to “substitute
its judgment for that of the agency.” However, it then said that when an agency
issues a rule, it has to “examine the relevant data” and provide a “satisfactory
explanation for its action,” including a “rational connection between the facts
found and the choice made.” In the court’s view, the agency’s repeal of the
rule failed to satisfy this standard.
The court said that the “logical response to the faults of detachable seatbelts
would be to require the installation of airbags,” rather than to repeal the rule
entirely. The court also concluded that the rescission of the rule was invalid
because the agency was “too quick to dismiss the safety benefits of automatic
seatbelts.” If nothing else, the court noted that a detachable belt requires some
affirmative action by the occupant of the car to detach it, whereas it takes no
action to ignore a traditional manual seatbelt.
Suggested Reading
<< Mashaw and Harfst, The Struggle for Auto
Safety.
Questions to Consider
WEIGHING AGENCY
INTERPRETATIONS
OF STATUTES
T
here are many federal agencies with significant authority to implement
complicated statutory regimes. In implementing and enforcing those
statutes, agencies inevitably make judgments about what those statutes
mean. As a consequence, when a dispute about the meaning of a statute arrives
at court, the judges often are not writing on a clean slate. This lecture looks at
what courts do with an agency’s interpretation.
The dispute was over what the phrase “stationary source” meant. If the
phrase referred to each device or machine that emitted pollution, then
a company could not get a permit to install or modify any machine in its
factory unless it could show that the machine was the cleanest type available.
But if the “stationary source” was the factory itself, then a company could
replace a machine with another one that did not comply with the newest air-
quality rules as long as the total pollution emitted by the factory remained
constant.
However, the Supreme Court said that when a court reviews an agency’s
interpretation of the statute that it administers, the court’s inquiry is different
from the typical case of statutory interpretation. If the court, applying
traditional tools of statutory interpretation, concludes that the statute resolves
the question at issue, then the court should enforce the statute in light of that
meaning. Neither the court nor the agency has authority to ignore Congress’s
clear directions.
The court then said that if Congress has not directly addressed the
precise question at issue, then the court shouldn’t “simply impose its own
construction on the statute, as would be necessary in the absence of an
administrative interpretation.” Instead, the court said, “if the statute is silent
or ambiguous with respect to the specific issue, the question for the court is
whether the agency’s answer” is based on a reasonable interpretation of the
statute.
The court asserted that the court has to uphold the agency’s interpretation
even if it was not the one “the court would have reached if the question initially
had arisen in a judicial proceeding.” Under this approach, the court upheld
the EPA’s rule about stationary sources.
This means that if a statute does not resolve the specific question at
issue in the case, then the court reviewing the agency’s interpretation does
not try to figure out the best, most faithful interpretation of the statute.
Instead, it defers to the agency’s view and upholds that view as long as it is
reasonable.
But in Chevron, the court said that judges are obligated to accept reasonable
agency interpretations of ambiguous statutes, even if there are compelling
alternative interpretations of the statute.
Second, the Chevron test is a two-step test. Courts are obligated to defer to
agency interpretations only if the statute is ambiguous with respect to the
question presented. When the statute resolves the question at issue, the court
does not defer.
The importance of Chevron turns to a large degree on how willing judges are
to find statutory ambiguity in the first place. Two other cases give a sense of
how courts approach statutory ambiguity in the wake of Chevron.
The court disagreed and struck down the rule in a 5-3 decision. The court’s
reasoning was that the word modify “has a connotation of increment or
limitation.” The court then cited several dictionaries that define modify as
“change moderately or in minor fashion.” Accordingly, the court said that
the statute did not give the agency the power to make fundamental changes
to the statutory scheme.
Another case relevant to the Chevron doctrine is FDA v. Brown & Williamson
Tobacco Corp., which involved the US Food and Drug Administration’s attempt
to regulate tobacco products. The Food, Drug, and Cosmetic Act gives the FDA
authority to regulate “drugs” and “devices.” The Act defines drug to include
“articles intended to affect the structure or any function of the body.” It defines
device as “an instrument, apparatus, implement, machine, or contrivance that’s
intended to affect the structure or any function of the body.”
The act also gives the FDA authority to regulate combination products, which
are a combination of a drug and a device. Finally, the statute prohibits the sale
of any drug or device that the manufacturer hasn’t demonstrated to be “safe”
and “effective” for its intended use.
The tobacco manufacturers challenged the rule, contending that the FDA lacks
authority to regulate tobacco products. They pointed out that Congress had
passed six pieces of legislation in the preceding 30 years addressing the use
of tobacco, but never sought to ban the sale of cigarettes, to minors or others.
The case presented a Chevron question: The agency had interpreted the statute
to give it power to regulate tobacco products, but the plaintiffs argued that
the statute did not extend to such products. However, the Supreme Court
struck down the agency’s rule and concluded that the FDA lacked power to
regulate tobacco.
The court advanced two principal rationales for this conclusion. First, the
court reasoned that if tobacco was in fact a drug or device within the meaning
of the statute, then the FDA would have no choice but to ban it because it is
not safe and effective for any therapeutic use. But Congress had made clear
in several other statutes that specifically regulated tobacco products that
it did not want a complete ban on tobacco. Therefore, the court concluded
that Congress must have decided not to give the FDA authority over tobacco
products in the first place.
But by concluding that Congress didn’t intend to give the agency this authority,
the court avoided the second part of the Chevron test, which only comes
into play when the statute is ambiguous. When it is ambiguous, the court
has to defer to the agency. The agency likely would have won if it had come
to that.
Questions to Consider
ÞÞ What role should an agency’s interpretation of the statute
that it is tasked with administering play in judicial
interpretation of the statute?
Bean, Michael, and Melanie Rowland. The Evolution of National Wildlife Law.
Westport: Environmental Defense Fund and World Wildlife Fund, 1997. This
book provides an overview of environmental regulation to protect wildlife
and is a helpful background for Tennessee Valley Authority v. Hill, a case
considered in Lecture 6.
Calabresi, Guido. A Common Law for the Age of Statutes. Cambridge: Harvard
University Press, 1982. This book, by the former dean of Yale Law School and
a judge on the United States Court of Appeals, develops a pragmatic approach
to statutory interpretation.
Bibliography 103
Dworkin, Ronald. Law’s Empire. Cambridge: Belknap Press, 1986. This
book, by a prominent scholar of jurisprudence, presents a moral theory of
the judge’s role.
Gailmard, Sean, and John Patty. Learning While Governing: Expertise and
Accountability in the Executive Branch. Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 2012. This book is about the tension between expertise and political
accountability in the administrative state.
Hart, Henry, Jr., and Albert Sacks. The Legal Process. St. Paul: Foundation
Press, 1994. This book provides the classic defense of an approach to statutory
interpretation that seeks legislative purpose.
Lessig, Lawrence, and Cass Sunstein. “The President and the Administration.”
Columbia Law Review 94 (1994): 1–119. This article focuses on the president’s
power to remove executive officials.
Manning, John, “The Absurdity Doctrine.” Harvard Law Review 116 (2003):
2,387–2,486. This article, by the future dean of Harvard Law School, is about
the absurdity doctrine of statutory interpretation.
Mashaw, Jerry & Harfst, David, The Struggle for Auto Safety. Cambridge:
Harvard University Press, 1990. This book is an account of the long quest to
adopt and implement vehicle-safety standards.
Oleszek, Walter. Congressional Procedures and the Policy Process. Los Angeles:
Sage, 2016. This book provides a detailed look at the legislative process.
Bibliography 105
Popkin, William. Statutes in Court: The History and Theory of Statutory
Interpretation. Durham: Duke University Press, 1999. This book provides an
overview of the various theories of statutory interpretation.
Radin, Max. “A Short Way with Statutes.” Harvard Law Review 56 (1942):
388–424. This article defends the approach of seeking legislative purpose in
statutory interpretation.
Scalia, Antonin, and Bryan Garner. Reading Law: The Interpretation of Legal
Texts. St. Paul: Thompson: West, 2012. This book, by a former Supreme
Court Justice and a scholar of legal language, provides a theory of statutory
interpretation.
Sharkey, Cathy. “State Farm ‘With Teeth’: Heightened Judicial Review in the
Absence of Executive Oversight.” New York University Law Review 89 (2014):
1589–1657. This article describes hard-look review, which is considered in
Lecture 11.
Whalen, Charles & Whalen, Barbara, The Longest Debate: A Legislative History
of the 1964 Civil Rights Act. Santa Ana: Seven Locks Press, 1985. This book
provides a detailed look at the path of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 through
a divided Congress.
Bibliography 107
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