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Since the end of the Civil War, courts consistently misread and under-utilized the historical sources available when interpreting the scope and meaning of the Reconstruction Amendments. Even as historians updated their understandings of Reconstruction history, the courts lagged, shackling themselves to incorrect historical accounts and outdated precedents.

Entering the twenty-first century, the Supreme Court engaged in a more thorough historical review of Reconstruction, prompting historians to question whether the Court was beginning to finally utilize Reconstruction history correctly. Students for Fair Admissions answers this question: No. This Note describes the history of the Court’s limited review of Reconstruction sources, notes the perceived shift to increased historical review in more recent cases, and outlines Students for Fair Admissions and its uniquely extensive, yet still underwhelming, review of history. Finally, and most crucially, this Note points to sources that were easily accessible to and missing from the opinions in Students for Fair Admissions to argue that the Court continues to misinterpret the meaning of the Fourteenth Amendment through a flawed approach to Reconstruction history.

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.

Since the 1950s, the major American labor unions have pursued a strategy of cooperation rather than competition. Under Article XX of the AFL-CIO Constitution and similar “no-raid” agreements, unions may not encroach on one another’s established collective bargaining relationships. Some labor scholars have argued that these agreements likely harm unionized workers by diminishing union officials’ incentives to lower dues payments, innovate, or otherwise provide the best possible services for their members. To varying degrees, scholars have also blamed the long-term decline in private-sector union membership on a lack of competitive pressure.

This Note analyzes Article XX and similar agreements from an antitrust perspective, analogizing them to anticompetitive market-division agreements. Unlike prior antitrust analyses of labor unions—which focus on the welfare of end consumers—I view workers as consumers of labor unions’ services and consider only their welfare as relevant. Counterarguments based on union democracy and labor history have some merit, but the current status quo of zero antitrust enforcement seems difficult to justify when, in most industries, an agreement like Article XX could be considered illegal per se.

The federal antitrust agencies and classes of unionized workers might be able to challenge these agreements under the Sherman Act. Although labor’s statutory exemption from the antitrust laws is sometimes said to generally protect “self- interest[ed]” union activities, a preliminary reading of the text and legislative history shows that the exemption might not protect activities that demonstrably harm workers. Although courts have not directly confronted the issue, at least some of the case law is compatible with this interpretation. In such cases, courts should balance any evidence of anticompetitive harm against evidence of benefits to workers, including benefits that are not normally cognizable in antitrust such as increased union density.

This Note is not intended to downplay the uphill battle that unions currently face nor to argue that interunion rivalry is always desirable. Nonetheless, I am confident that targeted and careful application of the antitrust laws in specific markets could help increase the dynamism of organized labor and make unionization look like a better bet for unorganized workers.

Well before the Supreme Court’s decision in Loper Bright, the Solicitor General laid the groundwork for treating the outcome of the case as irrelevant for immigration law. In recent cases, the Solicitor General has argued that 8 U.S.C. § 1103(a)(1) provides a freestanding basis for deference by the judiciary due to a phrase that the Attorney General’s views are “controlling.” This Essay shows that the Solicitor General’s argument is deeply flawed. Building on textual critiques, this Essay shows that for one hundred years Congress has considered how to manage multiple executive departments administering immigration laws. From 1924 until 1952, Congress did not preclude intrabranch disagreements, and in at least one case such disagreements were presented to the Supreme Court. In 1952, Congress acted to have the executive speak with one voice and placed that power with the Attorney General in § 1103(a)(1). Until recently, the Solicitor General recognized that § 1103(a)(1) was nothing more than a method for resolving intrabranch conflicts. The Solicitor General’s new effort to turn § 1103(a)(1) into a separate basis for judicial deference to agency views has no basis in the text or history of the provision. The Solicitor General’s argument should be abandoned before it leads to a new wave of circuit conflicts about deference in immigration cases in the wake of the Supreme Court’s decision this Term overturning Chevron.

We like to think that courts are, and have always been, the primary and final interpreters of statutes. As the conventional separation-of-powers wisdom goes, legislatures “make” statutes while judges “interpret” them. In fact, however, legislatures across centuries of American history have thought of themselves as the primary interpreters. They blurred the line between “making” and “interpreting” by embracing a type of legislation that remains overlooked and little understood: “expository” legislation—enactments that specifically interpreted or construed previous enactments.

In the most exhaustive historical study of the subject to date, this Article—the first in a series of Articles—unearths and explains that lost tradition of legislative statutory interpretation from an institutional perspective. To do so, it draws on an original dataset of 2,497 pieces of expository legislation passed from 1665 to 2020 at the colonial, territorial, state, and federal levels—the first effort of its kind. It shows how expository legislation originated as a colonial-era British import that Americans came to rely on beyond the creation of new constitutions. Lawmakers used expository statutes to supervise administrative statutory interpretation and to negotiate interpretation in the shadows of courts. Judges accepted and even encouraged legislative statutory interpretation. In the mid-nineteenth century, judges increasingly fought back, emboldened by growing calls for judicial independence. Yet even as the backlash entered into treatises, and even as some lawmakers began to balk, legislatures and judges continued to accept and use legislative interpretations of statutes well into the nineteenth century.

Supreme Court opinions involving race and the jury invariably open with the Fourteenth Amendment, the Civil Rights Act of 1875, or landmark cases like Strauder v. West Virginia (1880). Legal scholars and historians unanimously report that free people of color did not serve as jurors, in either the North or South, until 1860. In fact, this Article shows that Black men served as jurors in antebellum America decades earlier than anyone has previously realized. While instances of early Black jury service were rare, campaigns insisting upon Black citizens’ admission to the jury-box were not. From the late 1830s onward, Black activists across the country organized to abolish the all-white jury. They faced, and occasionally overcame, staunch resistance. This Article uses jury lists, court records, convention minutes, diaries, bills of sale, tax rolls, and other overlooked primary sources to recover these forgotten efforts, led by activists who understood the jury-box to be both a marker and maker of citizenship.

This Article surveys how a growing rivalry between the United States and China is changing the American legal system. It argues that U.S.-China conflict is reproducing, in attenuated form, the same politics of threat that has driven wartime legal development for much of our history. The result is that American law is reprising familiar patterns and pathologies. There has been a diminishment in rights among groups with imputed ties to a geopolitical adversary. But there has also been a modest expansion in rights where advocates have linked desired reforms with geopolitical goals. Institutionally, the new global conflict has at times fostered executive overreach, interbranch agreement, and interparty consensus. Legal-culturally, it has in places evinced a decline in legal rationality. Although these developments do not rival the excesses of America’s wartime past, they evoke that past and may, over time, replay it. The Article provides a framework for understanding legal developments in this new era, contributes to our understanding of rights and structure in times of conflict, and reflects on what comes next in the new global conflict, and how best to shape it.

The United States pays half-a-trillion dollars to defense contractors every year. Although the U.S. military could not operate without profitable contractors, excessively profitable contracts reduce manufacturing output and can imperil soldier safety. Stretching back to the founding, there is a long history of the executive branch compelling ex post modifications of military contracts to a lower price than the parties agreed to at signing. Sometimes authorized by Congress (but not always), this executive practice of “downward revisions” has fallen into disuse. Nevertheless, at least one statute might authorize this practice today: Public Law 85-804. Commonly understood to provide higher payments to defense contractors, this Note argues that Public Law 85-804 should be interpreted in light of its text and history to authorize downward revisions to excessively profitable defense contracts. Such an interpretation could save soldiers’ lives and lower defense costs during today’s challenging fiscal and geopolitical times.

The military is one of the most powerful institutions to define membership in the American polity. Throughout this country’s history, noncitizens, immigrants, and outsiders have been called to serve in exchange for the privileges of citizenship and recognition. At its height, the idea that service constitutes citizenship—which this Note calls “constitutive service”—successfully transformed a group of “perpetual foreigners” to “citizens.” Until 1952, individuals of Asian descent were categorically excluded from the polity, a barrier that ultimately crumbled after Asian Americans rendered a long history of military service, beginning with the War of 1812, to the Civil War, then to the two World Wars. Yet, precisely because military service is so transformative, the United States over the past decade has imposed both formal and informal restrictions barring certain groups of people from serving, among them individuals who are gay, transgender, undocumented—and to a lesser extent—women and Muslim Americans. These restrictions are reminders that the United States continue to debate who is fit to be an “American,” and therefore, an “American soldier.”