Volume 99, Number 6

Human trafficking and forced labor are serious crimes that violate the human rights of millions around the world. They also generate substantial profit for multinational corporations that purchase inputs at forced labor prices. This Note discusses how the Trafficking Victims Protection Reauthorization Act (TVPRA) can be used to establish civil liability for U.S. corporations benefiting from forced labor in their supply chains. Despite excitement in the human rights literature about the TVPRA, recent TVPRA claims involving international supply chains have failed to survive motions for dismissal and summary judgment. This article aims to provide insight into the recent decisions and to determine if they were correctly decided.

While civil liability could help combat global forced labor, recent TVPRA claims have failed because courts interpret the statute narrowly when adjudicating cases involving international supply chains. These restrictive interpretations are incorrect, especially because Congress intended the TVPRA to be a robust response to the global problems of trafficking and forced labor.

Legal scholars have long debated the President’s authority over administrative agencies. However, these narratives have ignored that Presidents have assumed directive control for decades—via the National Security Council. This Note fills that void in two ways. First, it provides a historical account. It reviews available national security directives and assesses their role in instigating administrative action. It reveals that, over time, Presidents have increasingly invoked these directives to mold domestic and economic policy. Second, this Note evaluates national security directives under three models of presidential authority: the unitary executive theory, Justice Elena Kagan’s notion of implied statutory authorization, and Professor Kevin Stack’s requirement of explicit statutory permission. It determines that all three theories sanction the President’s deployment of national security directives to control agencies and shape domestic affairs. This Note concludes that by providing a firm constitutional and statutory footing from which a President can dictate administrative action, national security directives are a powerful and expanding presidential tool.

In light of the Supreme Court retrenching on certain rights in recent years, more Americans are paying attention to state constitutions. This moment therefore offers an opportunity to explain why scholars, lawyers, and ordinary citizens should take state constitutions as seriously as they do the U.S. Constitution, and consider studying them an intellectually rewarding and important endeavor. In this essay, I attempt to do that. Earlier in our history, state constitutions helped define what it meant to be American. Through the process of drafting and interpreting constitutions, prior generations decided what popular sovereignty meant, who qualified as part of “the people,” and what “liberty” meant. The U.S. Constitution has proven resistant to change because of its difficult amendment process. But state constitutions are in the process of changing as we speak. Engaging with them gives us an opportunity to decide questions like what popular sovereignty and liberty mean in the twenty- first century. That is to say, studying state constitutions allows us to contribute to the ongoing discussion about what America means in the twenty-first century in a way no other area of law does. In this essay, I also argue that there are three practical benefits to approaching state constitutions from this perspective: (1) increasing respect for state constitutions; (2) ensuring constitutional stability and avoiding constitutional crisis; and (3) preserving American democracy.

Longstanding constitutional commitments appear to ensure rights to remedies for “every person.” Nonetheless, courts were once exclusionary institutions contributing to the maintenance of racialized status hierarchies. Twentieth-century civil rights movements pushed courts into recognizing the authority of diverse claimants to pursue their claims. These movements also succeeded in legislatures, which invested in making constitutional obligations real through statutory entitlements, jurisdictional grants, and funding for tens of hundreds of courthouses, judgeships, and staff.

Courts thus became icons of government commitments to legal remedies, as well as battlegrounds about the authority of government to regulate power, both public and private. In this essay, I explore how the federal courts became the source of “our common intellectual heritage,” why it is difficult to bring sustained attention to state courts, and why doing so has become pressing as economic inequalities in state and federal courts undermine adjudication’s legitimacy.

Many of the new rights-holders had limited resources. Asymmetries in dispute resolution make aspirations to provide fair and equal treatment difficult. Because courts are public sites, the disparities are patent—bringing to the fore the problems facing litigants and courts. For some, responses lie in augmenting the capacity of courts to make good on their promises as information-forcing, conflict-exposing, and information-disseminating institutions. For others, the goal is to limit access to courts and undercut the legitimacy of their processes and outcomes. Illustrative is “Judicial Hellholes,” which is the name of a yearly publication attacking jurisdictions in which plaintiffs succeed in obtaining remedies.

To clarify the normative stakes of conflicts over “rights to remedies” in “open” courts, I focus here on the infrastructure of state and of federal courts and data on users and needs. Filings in both federal and state courts have, in recent years, declined, while concerns about self-represented litigants and the inaccessibility of courts have risen. I argue that the legal academy needs to take on “class” (as in economic wherewithal) in courts and that Congress needs to provide fiscal support for both federal and state courts, on which enforcement of law depends, and I address the challenges of
doing so.

Recent scholarship persuasively argues that state constitutional law should be grounded in state-centered reasoning, not federal imitation. That approach, compelling at the 10,000-foot level, also requires development through examples closer to the ground. This symposium Article uses legislative vetoes—arrangements in which legislators can override executive action without passing new laws—to explore the practice and adjudication of state structural constitutionalism.

The first surprise about state legislative vetoes is that they exist at all. Legislative vetoes have been a dead letter at the federal level since the Supreme Court’s decision in INS v. Chadha forty years ago. State courts, it turns out, have also overwhelmingly rejected legislative vetoes. But the mechanisms live on in some states due to constitutional amendments, statutes that have not been litigated, and occasional evasion of court rulings. The resulting state legislative vetoes sometimes serve as powerful forces in state governance or entrenchment mechanisms for gerrymandered legislatures. They are also a variegated rather than monolithic category, involving different powers and actors across the country and over time. In all of these ways, legislative vetoes help us see the practice of state constitutional structure as negotiated, evolving, and complex.

Turning from practice to doctrine, the state case law shows the operation—and value— of a state-centered approach, even when state and federal constitutional provisions are superficially similar. State courts could simply lockstep with Chadha on the ground that state and federal constitutions alike make law through bicameralism and presentment and distribute power among three branches. But many state courts have made greater use of context and realism, extending their reasoning beyond formalist (or functionalist) horizontal classifications of power as legislative, executive, or judicial.

Building on that foundation, this Article argues that Chadha’s holding will often be correct at the state level, but for different reasons. Horizontal classifications alone do not capture when and why legislative vetoes are problematic. Review rooted in state constitutions’ commitment to democracy can complete the explanation of why state courts have rejected legislative vetoes, especially vetoes by mere legislative committees. Policymakers, advocates, and proponents of constitutional amendments can all participate in steering legislative oversight away from anti-democratic designs.

Of course, none of this—neither the nuances of practice nor the doctrinal distinctiveness—would be apparent if we think of legislative vetoes only through existing federal frames. Ultimately, the underappreciated story of state legislative vetoes underscores the importance of studying the states on their own terms.

In Moore v. Harper, the Supreme Court rejected the extreme proposition that state legislatures operate free from state constitutional constraints and judicial review when they regulate federal elections. The Court, however, left open the possibility that a state court might run afoul of the federal Constitution if, in striking down or construing state election law, it exceeds “the ordinary bounds of judicial review.” This Article explores the potential scope of that exception, and it proposes arguments and strategies to guard against undue and disruptive federal court intrusion on state election law. In particular, the Article relies on longstanding principles of federalism to develop substantive and procedural arguments that insist on federal court deference to state courts’ interpretation and application of their own law.

Less than two years after the Supreme Court in Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization overturned Roe v. Wade, the landmark decision recognizing a right to choose abortion, a campaign to reverse Dobbs and reestablish a new right to reproductive autonomy has taken shape. This emerging strategy deploys what this Article calls state constitutional incrementalism: an effort to chip away at a federal precedent by scoring wins in state supreme courts.

This Article explores the promises and perils of state constitutional incrementalism, using reproductive rights, both past and present, as a critical case study. It traces the history of antiabortion incrementalism, with special attention to state courts, and then explores how contemporary abortion-rights advocates have drawn on the lessons of the past (among others) to reverse engineer this campaign in the present day. Two incrementalist strategies have emerged in state court as a result: efforts to secure state constitutional protections for abortion and to highlight the inadequacy of exceptions to state abortion bans. These efforts are incremental in more than one sense. None of them directly challenge federal precedent. In the short term, however, both promise to change the reality on the ground, state by state. And both can set the stage for a later challenge to a federal precedent.

A complicated picture of the costs and benefits of state constitutional incrementalism emerges from this study. State constitutional incrementalism can offer powerful evidence of the internal contradictions and unworkability of state precedents that echo a federal decision or state laws that a federal precedent permits. State constitutional incrementalism also facilitates experimentation with different jurisprudential foundations for constitutional rights. These experiments can afford a rare glimpse of the real-world efficacy of different approaches to liberty and equality. And a critical mass of state constitutional decisions can provide evidence of an “evolving,” popular understanding of the constitutional protections that may also matter in the federal context.

At the same time, however, the success of state reproductive-rights incrementalism, much like the fight to reverse Roe, will depend a great deal on the responsiveness of state courts to popular mobilizations for constitutional change. History shows that the incrementalist campaign to undo Roe owed as much to gerrymandering, efforts to deregulate campaign spending, and strategies to limit access to the vote than it did to lower court victories or incrementalist litigation. A new effort to restore reproductive rights will have to attend as closely to the same kinds of structural change.