Volume 100, Number 2

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.

The Eighth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution bans “cruel and unusual” punishment. Historically, the Amendment’s protection has limited the use of the death penalty, life without parole sentences for juveniles, and other extreme punishments. The Supreme Court’s Eighth Amendment jurisprudence has been both controversial and unpredictable. Fortunately, every state constitution has an Eighth Amendment analog, and state supreme courts have independent authority to interpret those provisions as they see fit. State constitutions are therefore an alternative avenue for defining what constitutes unconstitutional punishment, and this area of law is a uniquely suitable context for state constitutional decisions to exert influence over the development of federal constitutional doctrine. While state supreme courts have typically followed the Supreme Court’s say-so on cruel and unusual punishments, recent state constitutional decisions may indicate a shifting tide toward more robust development of state constitutional law in this area. This Note argues that the Supreme Court should strongly consider such state constitutional decisions in assessing “evolving standards of decency” under the Eighth Amendment.

Over the past few decades, the Supreme Court of the United States has adopted an exceedingly narrow view of tribal civil jurisdiction, establishing doctrines that restrict the circumstances in which Native Nations can exercise their regulatory and adjudicative powers. While most scholarship in federal Indian law has assessed this judicial trend towards tribal disempowerment by focusing on the Court’s treatment of tribal sovereignty, this Note centers the Court’s manipulation of tribal territory. It argues that the Court has constructed three territorial incongruities—non-Indian fee lands, public access, and loss of “Indian” character—to justify the disallowance of tribal authority over significant portions of tribal reservations. In so doing, the Court relies on a spatial imaginary of territorial sovereignty, or the notion that sovereign power must be commensurate with sovereign domain, to present certain spaces as falling outside of a Native Nation’s territory and, accordingly, as beyond the reach of its jurisdictional power.

By illuminating the spatial imagination of the Supreme Court, this Note identifies a key practice employed by the Court that is central to empires past and present— cartography. The Court superimposes its own imagined legal geography upon the preexisting system of territorial division, redrawing the jurisdictional boundaries that separate states and Native Nations. This practice of spatial manipulation is cartographic in that it allows the Court to determine and limit the territory of tribal rule; to expand the areal authority of state jurisdiction; and to project its particular vision of reservation lands—a vision defined by notions of ownership, accessibility, and character—upon Indian country. These cartographic tactics of territorial acquisition and control are in direct furtherance of the American colonial project. They fragment tribal regulatory regimes, reify Indigenous life, and transfer congressional power to the Court to diminish tribal reservations. These practices of fragmentation, reification, and de facto diminishment are continuations of the repudiated but never-undone federal policy of allotment, although the main perpetrator is now the Court rather than Congress.

By turning to critical legal geography and theories of space and power, this Note reveals a Supreme Court that is highly imaginative, overtly spatial, and problematically cartographic in nature, engaged in a project of colonial expansion across its tribal civil jurisdiction cases.