Articles

This Article aims to reimagine impact litigation as movement law. It does so through a case study of Floyd v. City of New York, historic litigation which successfully challenged the New York Police Department’s aggressive stop and frisk policies. It documents a seminal period in the history of policing and community resistance by providing the first insider’s account of how a vibrant police accountability movement sought to leverage class action litigation to destabilize police narratives around Black criminality and significantly curtail the NYPD’s systemic program of discriminatory street encounters. It chronicles the multidimensional ways in which the litigation fed the movement and the movement fed the litigation, and how the movement ultimately utilized newfound political power to save the historic litigation outcomes from a hostile federal appellate court.

This Article proposes a theory of change in which a reimagined impact litigation can advance movement aims beyond the inherently vulnerable pursuit of judicial rights recognition in courts of law and makes an original contribution to the literature around movement lawyering by articulating concrete and replicable strategies and tactics through which the novel concept of “impact litigation as movement law” can both challenge the power of dominant political and social institutions and build the power of individuals and movements. The analysis is informed in great part through a process of oral history, drawing on interviews of numerous (but certainly not all) critical stakeholders in the Floyd process—lawyers and organizers alike—to bring the strategy, intensity, and high stakes of this fifteen-year struggle into the broader theoretical claims I seek to make.

Specifically, this Article documents how the Floyd legal team integrated community participation and expertise into the trial to further broader organizing campaigns. And it identifies five critical power-shifting strategies in the litigation that were transformational: the power of testifying; the power of watching; the power of evidence; the power of judgment; and the power of winning. Finally, this Article is a cautionary tale about the fragility of legal judgments, and a fresh and hopeful narrative about the power of mobilized movements and conscientious lawyers to achieve and protect successful litigation outcomes. Impact litigation as movement law offers a reimagined and replicable model for future efforts to challenge dominant power structures.

The recent failures of Silicon Valley Bank and First Republic have drawn attention to how rare it is for uninsured depositors at a failed bank to bear losses. In this paper, I show that ubiquitous rescues of uninsured depositors represent a recent phenomenon dating only to 2008. For many years prior to that, uninsured depositor losses were the norm. I also show that the rise of uninsured depositor rescues has coincided with a dramatic increase in FDIC costs of resolving failed banks, which I estimate resulted in at least $45 billion in additional resolution expenses over the past fifteen years. I estimate that only $4 billion of this rise in costs is attributable to transfers to uninsured depositors, with $41 billion attributable to new inefficiencies in the resolution process.

The rise in uninsured depositor rescues has resulted from a shift by the FDIC to almost always resolve failed banks by selling them as a whole (including both insured and uninsured deposits) to an acquirer, generally with a generous subsidy provided by the FDIC. This Article also presents evidence to suggest that, despite the FDIC’s statutory mandate to use the least-cost means of protecting insured depositors of a failed bank, these whole-bank sales are frequently not the most efficient means of resolving failed banks. Next, I present evidence for two probable causes of this shift. First, during the 2008 crisis, the FDIC may have initially been forced to sell whole banks to acquirers because it lacked capacity to handle the influx of failures through other means. This may have established an institutional inertia that has maintained the practice long after the exigencies that necessitated it have cleared. Second, I suggest that the FDIC may have experienced mission creep, taking it upon itself to rescue uninsured depositors whenever possible, even though U.S. law requires the FDIC to seek authorization from the U.S. President whenever it deems it necessary to deviate from least-cost resolution methods. I show that such mission creep has occurred twice in the past, and that Congress has successfully intervened to stop it in 1951 and 1991.

Copyright law is under attack. Scholars and activists have long argued that American copyright law is a shambolic mess—vague, unpredictable, and startlingly overbroad. But amidst the swirling chaos, one core principle has remained intact: the idea that copyright attaches only to intangible goods. In theory, copyright resides in an intangible work of authorship, not a physical artifact. It is the intellectual creation, rather than the material copy, that gives rise to copyright protection. Copyright law thus rests on a stark distinction between the intellectual property of authors and the personal property of consumers—in short, between the intangible work and the physical copy.

This Article argues that the conventional wisdom is radically blinkered. It shows that, contrary to popular belief, courts increasingly struggle to separate the intangible work from its physical form. In reality, the supposed divide between the work and the copy is far less rigid, and decidedly more contested, than scholars have recognized. Judges and commentators often confuse the physical object—a biological substance, a written-down recipe, a computer program, a physical building, a living garden, a copy of a work of visual art—for the intangible work itself. The result is a thickly tangled, sometimes messy, and deeply incoherent body of law.

This Article synthesizes history, theory, and current doctrine to critically analyze these trends. It traces the roots of the intangible/physical dichotomy. It explores how twentieth-century courts navigated this distinction and demonstrates that modern courts remain sharply divided over how to define the intangible work. These disagreements reflect confusion about the kinds of objects that could be eligible for copyright protection. In the end, I argue that this confusion raises fundamental questions about the limits of our copyright system. By grappling with these questions, this Article seeks to advance a new analytical paradigm for thinking about the trajectory, coherence, and breadth of copyright law.

Despite an increasing number of critiques from many commentators—abolitionists, social scientists, and fiscal conservatives among them—mass incarceration remains an ongoing crisis. Dealing with the wreckage of carceral overreach requires not just changing policies about what gets criminalized and how offenses are punished prospectively, but also unwinding the long sentences imposed during the past half- century and still being served. Among the mechanisms for decarcerating are second look acts, which a growing number of jurisdictions have passed or are considering.

Often these resentencing tools depend heavily on decisionmakers’ exercise of discretion. In rare instances, however, that discretion is constrained. Comparing two recent New York sentencing reforms, the Domestic Violence Survivors Justice Act and the 2004–2009 Drug Law Reform Acts—the former highly discretionary and the latter with a strong presumption in favor of resentencing—this Article notes the relative success rates of each statutory scheme, finding the less discretionary regime apparently more decarceratory. Critically, the exercise of discretion imposes a significant dignitary harm on applicants, who are required to prove their believability and moral worthiness to judges deciding whether to free them. As epistemic justice theory shows, those who are incarcerated and disproportionately members of marginalized identity groups face untenably difficult odds of doing so, as they are systematically discredited. In the process of inviting a judge to exercise discretion in their favor, these petitioners are often disbelieved, and the knowledge system is subsequently impoverished by discounting of petitioners’ experiences. Thus, if resentencings are going to begin to decarcerate at the rates necessary to bring the United States into line with comparable countries, and do minimal damage in the process, resentencing reforms should be categorical or presumptive rather than discretionary.

Intellectual property law has long been the law of creation, not creators. The dominant utilitarian framework (and alternate ones like Lockean and personhood justifications) consider the creator almost exclusively by reference to their creative outputs. These innovation-first, output-maximization frameworks have increased concentration among IP firms and deepened inequality in how IP’s economic rewards are distributed among creators. The existing frameworks simply do not have much to say about such pressing issues as authorial bargaining power, wage and economic inequality in the marketplace for creative works, and intensifying corporate concentration amongst dominant IP holders. Furthermore, the existing frameworks’ almost single-minded focus on outputs no longer holds up in the age of artificial intelligence, which renders creative output instantaneous and near-infinite—while threatening to reshape the landscape of creative labor as we know it.

This Article advocates for a new, alternate framework, one that highlights how IP, much like labor law, has long acted as an allocator of rights in property and capital between individuals and firms. If IP, in practice, has acted like labor law in facilitating the transfer of work from creative laborers to dominant IP firms, then IP theory, too, should do more than focus singularly on outputs—it should also address these input-based, supply-side harms. To the extent that there have been strains of more creator-focused theories throughout the IP doctrine and literature, they have, variously, argued for creation as either a solitary act of genius or collective, democratic meaning-making. This Article purposefully uses the word “labor” in opposition to such romanticized notions: It argues instead for a framework of creation as wage labor, as both the means by which large IP firms extract their value and also, potentially, as capital’s most potent resisting force.

The last decade has seen renewed debate, much of it between feminists, about workplace and school regulation of sexual conduct. Those debates proceed on the assumption that institutions distinguish permissible sex from impermissible sex based on whether it is consensual or, in civil rights parlance, “welcome.” The person at greatest risk of punishment by an employer or school, it would then appear, is the heterosexual man who seeks sex with women and who, allegedly, transgresses the bounds of their consent. This story, though, is incomplete. Workplaces and schools have long punished workers and students for having sex that is indisputably consensual but nonetheless undesirable to the institution. This sanctioned conduct includes premarital sex, commercial sex, “kinky” sex, sex with colleagues, and sex on work or school premises. And case law and public accounts suggest those punished for at least some of these offenses disproportionately include women, girls, and queer people, some of whom have filed sex discrimination lawsuits.

This Article argues that both litigants and critics would benefit from situating these modes of punishment within the broader regime of gendered sexual regulation by workplaces and schools. For litigants, that context may open new doctrinal pathways to challenge sanctions for consensual sex under sex discrimination laws. It illuminates, for example, that the reasons defendants give to defend the punishments they levy—essentially, that they object to plaintiffs’ conduct, in putative contrast to their protected characteristics—are sometimes themselves discriminatory. And for critics of institutional sexual regulation, consideration of these forms of punishment would serve a clarifying and corrective function, promoting a more accurate vision of gendered power and highlighting nuance in the relationship between sex equality and punishment.

This Article frames the problem of capital taxation as a dilemma of the middle of history. At the “beginning of history”—before any wealth inequality has emerged and before individuals have made any saving choices—the much-cited Atkinson-Stiglitz theorem teaches that the optimal capital tax is zero. At the “end of history”—after individuals have made all of their saving choices—the optimal capital tax is generally agreed to be 100%, since a capital tax today cannot distort decisions made in the past. Neither result tells us how to proceed in the “middle of history”—after significant wealth inequality has emerged but while the shadow of the future still looms large. Yet absent an imminent apocalypse, the “middle of history” is the temporal reality with which our tax policies must contend.

The central question for capital taxation in the middle of history is how governments today can respond to accumulated inequalities while credibly committing to future tax trajectories. This Article focuses on three factors—institutions, inequality, and ideas—that mediate the relationship between past and present policy and expectations of future policy. Exploring these three mediating factors in deep detail can enrich our positive understanding of capital taxation’s real-world effects while refining our normative views about optimal capital tax design. Economic reasoning proves useful to this inquiry, but the Article also emphasizes the importance of integrating perspectives from history, political science, sociology, and—not least—law into a holistic account of capital taxation and credible commitment.

The analytical payoffs from such an approach are far-reaching. For example, a middle-of-history perspective complicates the conventional wisdom regarding the relationship between capital taxation and investment incentives: Capital tax cuts—which are typically thought to incentivize investment—may have the reverse effect when they undermine public confidence in the political stability of a low-capital-tax regime. Beyond the implications for tax, a middle-of-history perspective can yield lessons for—and derive lessons from—fields ranging from criminal justice to intellectual property, which face credible commitment problems comparable to tax’s dilemma. The challenge of sustaining credible commitment when policymakers’ incentives are time inconsistent is not just a problem of capital taxation in the middle of history but a more general problem of law in the middle of history.

The American carceral state has grown exponentially over the last six decades, earning the United States a place of notoriety among the world’s leaders in incarceration. That unprecedented growth has been fueled by a cultural addiction to carceral logic and its tools—police, prosecution, jails, prisons, and punishment—as a one-size-fits- all response to the myriad vectors of socioeconomic disadvantage that drive people into the jaws of the criminal legal system. The system operates in the shadow of endemic racial inequality, feeding on the conflated amalgam of race, criminality, and dangerousness. For those who experience the worst of what the system has to offer, it is little more than a purveyor of harm and injustice, deepening the inequality that characterizes America.

The modern public defender was born before the rise of mass incarceration and criminalization and has evolved ever since, from helpmate to the criminal system to a zealous advocate for the accused. The last major evolutionary turn transformed public defenders into a bulwark against America’s penal impulses, defending people against the state while working holistically to address the range of legal and social needs that drive criminal legal system involvement. Recent years have witnessed a growing willingness to grapple with abolition as a strategy and vision, and with it an increasing recognition that being a bulwark—while an essential feature of public defense—is simply not enough to upend the status quo. In this Article, I contend that public defense can and should embrace an abolitionist ethic. I do so because I believe that an abolitionist ethic orients the work of public defenders more pointedly at the interlocking structural causes that lead people into the clutches of the criminal system, and it directs sustained energy at its oppressive nature, ultimately benefitting the people and the communities that public defenders serve.

What does an abolitionist ethic mean for a public defender? Fundamentally, it is a merger of retail-scale zealous criminal defense with wholesale structural change aimed at dismantling the criminal system. Beyond that, it means building a world in which police, jails, and prisons are obsolete. And it employs frameworks and advocacy tools that are accessible to public defense. A public defender’s abolitionist ethic combines a racial justice lens informed by Critical Race Theory to understand the forces that animate the criminal system; zealous holistic defense of individuals infused with the spirit of resistance lawyering; movement lawyering to support social justice advocacy aimed at reducing the size, scope, and scale of the system on the way to dismantling it; and organized efforts to render the carceral state dispensable.

Shifting the paradigm of public defense and the work of public defenders is no easy task. Indeed, it is laden with challenges. Inadequate funding, the skepticism that travels with abolition, the sheer difficulty of criminal defense work, and the seemingly intractable nature of the criminal system can make the turn to an abolitionist ethic seem like a fruitless pursuit. For the public defender, those challenges cannot be the end of the story. The lessons that flow from the centuries-long struggle for racial justice, where abolition was born, teach us that—as organizer and activist Mariame Kaba says—“hope is a discipline.” By nature, public defense work rests on that discipline. Defenders fight against long odds in an unforgiving system. They do so for a host of reasons, among them the hope that what they do will make a difference in the broader fight for the dignity and humanity of those they represent. Defenders must draw on that same sensibility in pursuit of the world that those whom they defend—and all of us—deserve.

A coming wave of general-purpose technologies, including artificial intelligence (“AI”), robotics, quantum computing, synthetic biology, energy expansion, and nanotechnology, is likely to fundamentally reshape the economy and erode the assumptions on which the antitrust order is predicated. First, AI-driven systems will vastly improve firms’ ability to detect (and even program) consumer preferences without the benefit of price signals, which will undermine the traditional information-producing benefit of competitive markets. Similarly, these systems will be able to determine comparative producer efficiency without relying on competitive signals. Second, AI systems will invert the salient characteristics of human managers, whose intentions are opaque but actions discernible. An AI’s “intentions”—its programmed objective functions—are easily discernible, but its actions or processing steps are a black box. Third, the near-infinite scalability of the technologies in the coming wave will likely result in extreme market concentration, with a few megafirms dominating. Finally, AI and related productive systems will be able to avoid traditional prohibitions on both collusion and exclusion, with the consequence that antitrust law’s core prohibitions will become ineffective. The cumulative effect of these tendencies of the coming wave likely will be to retire the economic order based on mandated competition. As in past cases of natural monopoly, some form of regulation will probably replace antitrust, but the forms of regulation are likely to look quite different. Rather than attempting to set a regulated firm’s prices by determining its costs and revenues, the regulatory future is more likely to involve direct regulation of an AI’s objective functions, for example by directing the AI to maximize social welfare and allocate the surplus created among different stakeholders of the firm.

Family law conventionally treats parenthood as binary: A child has two, and only two, parents. These two parents possess all parental rights and responsibilities, which cannot be shared with others. Their status as parents remains fixed throughout the child’s life.

Today, legislatures are explicitly challenging this view. Ten jurisdictions now have multiparent statutes, i.e., laws that authorize courts to recognize more than two legal parents. Commentators tend to view this development as a radical change in the law intended to accommodate radical new family forms produced by assisted reproduction, LGBTQ family formation, and polyamory. But the accuracy of these assumptions—about the ways in which these statutes represent a break from the past and the types of families they capture—has remained unexamined.

This Article is the first to do so through an empirical study. Analyzing all publicly available judicial decisions issued pursuant to multiparent statutes, we show that the families they accommodate are not novel and rare family arrangements involving planned and well-resourced LGBTQ parents, but instead more familiar and common ones, emerging out of re-partnering and caregiving by extended family members and often resulting from challenges related to poverty. We also show that extending parental rights to more than two people is a longstanding practice in family law. Drawing on a second dataset consisting of all publicly available judicial decisions applying a functional parent doctrine over four decades, we find that courts long have accommodated multiparent families. For decades, courts have authorized the sharing of parental rights and responsibilities across more than two individuals, often recognizing people who come into children’s lives long after their birth.

Our empirical study of multiparent recognition challenges conventional assumptions about the life and law of parenthood itself. Families commonly construct parent-child relationships in ways that are nonbinary—sharing parental rights with more than one other person and altering a child’s parental unit over time. For their part, courts too have resisted a view of parenthood as binary. They have recognized that many children have more than two parents; that parental rights and responsibilities can be unbundled and shared; and that a child’s parents may change over time.

Our empirical account also suggests that many of the concerns raised about multiparent recognition are inapposite or overstated. Imagining a planned multiparent family with three involved parents, commentators worry that laws allowing multiparent recognition will produce bitter custody litigation, complicated tri-custody orders, and ongoing conflict with three parents sharing legal rights and responsibilities. Yet, across both datasets, the children rarely have three parents assuming parental respon- sibilities. Legal recognition of more than two parents typically promotes security and stability for children, not by protecting relationships with multiple involved parents, but instead—and counterintuitively—by protecting children’s primary parental rela- tionship. Accordingly, our study leads us to be less concerned with too much multiparent recognition and instead to be more concerned with too little multiparent recognition.