For small businesses facing financial disarray, the federal bankruptcy system
offers a way to bounce back and get a second chance. However, not all mistakes
can be forgiven, and some debts must be paid. As Congress adapts and expands the
Bankruptcy Code, interpretive issues can arise, making it difficult for
creditors and debtors to understand their options and outlook. In 2019, Congress
attempted to create a more flexible and forgiving option for small businesses
when they enacted the Small Business Reorganization Act (“SBRA”), which created
Subchapter V of Chapter 11 of the Bankruptcy code. This subchapter has given
rise to dispute regarding the debts that can and cannot be discharged.
In the case In re 2 Monkey Trading, LLC, the United States Court of Appeals for
the Eleventh Circuit addressed the primary dispute arising from Subchapter V:
whether the limitations of 11 U.S.C. § 523(a) apply to corporate small business
debtors who file bankruptcy under Subchapter V. In a controversial ruling, the
Eleventh Circuit decided that the restraints imposed by § 523(a) do apply to
corporate small businesses. This decision deepens the circuit split on the
issue, provides creditors with greater protections and leverage in bankruptcy
proceedings, and has left many bankruptcy professionals with a bad taste in
their mouths.
“[No person shall be] deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due
process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just
compensation.” In just twelve words, the drafters of the Bill of Rights
guaranteed property owners a significant protection. The Fifth Amendment Takings
Clause is not an express ban on government takings. Rather, it guarantees that
when the government takes property from private citizens, it must provide just
compensation. Although this guarantee is generally well established, its
enforcement in federal court introduces unique and significant challenges.
Plaintiffs must have a cause of action to invoke the power of the federal courts
and seek the specific remedy they wish to recover. This remains true when
plaintiffs seek just compensation from local governments in federal court. For
nearly half a century, 42 U.S.C. § 1983 supplied the only federal cause of
action to vindicate this right. But this year, the United States Court of
Appeals for the Eleventh Circuit provided a novel alternative to the classic §
1983 framework. In Fulton v. Fulton County Board of Commissioners, the Eleventh
Circuit became the first federal appellate court to hold that plaintiffs can
invoke the text of the Takings Clause—via the Fourteenth Amendment —to bring a
direct cause of action against local governments.
Although the Eleventh Circuit emphasized its decision’s “limited” practical
effect, a direct cause of action might raise constitutional implications beyond
the scope of the court’s considerations. Specifically, the court’s decision may
frustrate the delicate balance of power between Congress and the Judiciary.
In recent years, tattoos have taken on a new and largely overlooked role in our
criminal trial system. Once viewed primarily as personal or cultural expression,
tattoos are now treated by law enforcement as biometric data which can be
analyzed, codified, and then searched by artificial intelligence (“AI”). Police
departments and prosecutorial offices have begun using tattoo recognition
software to identify suspects, assume gang membership, and establish guilt based
on imagery or symbols. Yet, despite the rapid growth of this technology, its use
in the courtroom has received almost no scholarly attention and even less
judicial scrutiny.
This Article seeks to examine the use of tattoo recognition tools in criminal
trials focusing on potentially serious, but largely unaddressed, evidentiary
concerns. Questions over the authenticity and reliability of source information
AI tools used to analyze this forensic evidence cast doubt on the admissibility
of this type of information. Most individuals have no idea that their tattoos
might be used against them in a legal context by an algorithm that is relatively
new and untested. In fact, the rules that govern these systems are often vague
or nonexistent, opening the door to arbitrary application and discriminatory
enforcement. Moreover, courts have not meaningfully addressed whether tattoo
recognition technology meets evidentiary standards under Daubert, or whether the
inferences it generates are grounded in anything close to scientific rigor.
This Article begins with a brief history of how tattoos have been used in
criminal trials, such as in gang enhancements and character evidence. It then
explores the emergence of tattoo recognition software and its growing role in
law enforcement. The Author then turns to the evidentiary implications of these
tools, focusing on evidentiary issues surrounding reliability, accuracy, and
admissibility. Finally, the Article offers a set of reforms designed to ensure
greater transparency, judicial oversight, and evidentiary limits on the use of
tattoo‑based AI in criminal prosecutions.
As biometric surveillance becomes more common place in policing, attorneys and
judges must confront the distinct risks that tattoo recognition poses to
fundamental fairness and the integrity of the judicial process. While societal
acceptance of tattoos may be less judgmental than in previous generations,
computerized law enforcement must also recognize the risks of relying on tattoos
as biometric markers, ensuring that their use does not perpetuate bias, unduly
influence jurors, or erode individual rights.
This Article advances a normative claim: U.S. financial regulators must move
beyond primarily adversarial, enforcement-driven models and adopt behavioral
supervisory tools—particularly elements of culture assessments—to proactively
help guide ethical firm conduct and mitigate systemic risk. Importantly, the
proposal here is incremental and resource-efficient. Many recommendations place
the onus on firms to assess and demonstrate their culture, while regulators set
expectations, review outputs, and selectively verify findings. The framework
proceeds in progressive stages—beginning with voluntary, partnership-based
initiatives, moving toward light-touch integration within existing examinations,
and scaling only where persistent governance weaknesses or systemic risks
warrant closer attention. This tiered approach reflects U.S. regulatory
principles of proportionality and risk-based supervision, ensuring that culture
oversight develops gradually rather than through sweeping structural change.
In this sense, culture supervision is feasible within existing statutory
authority and scalable to large, complex markets. It contributes to legal
scholarship on regulatory design, compliance, and corporate and behavioral
governance by offering a novel, legally grounded framework for incorporating
culture assessments into U.S. financial oversight. Crucially, it demonstrates
that culture-focused supervision is both legally grounded and essential to
address today’s regulatory challenges.
This argument also complements a rich body of legal scholarship examining how
organizational culture, governance failures, and incentive systems profoundly
shape ethical conduct within firms. Scholars have illuminated both the
importance of fostering ethical organizational cultures and the limitations of
traditional, rules-based compliance models. Yet while this work has deepened our
understanding of organizational culture and compliance risks, far less attention
has been paid to how financial regulators themselves can systematically evaluate
and strengthen organizational culture as part of routine supervision,
particularly within the distinctive legal and institutional environment of the
United States. This Article addresses that gap by offering a novel and
comprehensive legal framework to adapt global culture supervision practices to
U.S. financial oversight. In doing so, it provides a pragmatic, behaviorally
informed roadmap for enhancing regulatory effectiveness and remains firmly
grounded in the leading legal scholarship on compliance, governance, and
organizational culture.
This Article makes three principal contributions. First, it develops a novel,
behaviorally informed model of financial supervision that reimagines how
regulators can evaluate and influence organizational culture within existing
statutory authority, moving from reactive enforcement to preventive behavioral
oversight. Second, it grounds this model in comparative insights and fieldwork
from leading global regulators, translating those practices into a scalable and
legally feasible framework tailored to U.S. institutions and markets. Third, it
contributes to legal and compliance scholarship by reframing organizational
culture as an assessable dimension of regulatory effectiveness—one that links
corporate governance, behavioral science, and compliance theory within a
unified, culture-informed supervisory approach.
This Article proceeds in six Parts. Part II defines what culture assessments are
and are not, clarifying their differences from traditional audits and what they
aim to measure. Part III surveys global regulatory approaches to culture
supervision, including the tools and methodologies employed by leading financial
regulators in the Netherlands, U.K., Australia, and Canada. Part IV analyzes the
U.S. model of adversarial legalism, exploring its institutional limitations and
the structural barriers it poses to behavioral supervision. Part V addresses
common criticisms of culture assessments, including concerns about subjectivity,
enforceability, and overreach. Part VI proposes a series of pragmatic and
scalable reforms to integrate culture assessments into the U.S. financial
regulatory framework, tailored to the constraints and realities of the American
system. Part VII makes the case for culture assessments as a light-touch,
forward-looking strategy that aligns with U.S. regulatory values of flexibility,
transparency, and risk-based oversight. It further outlines the practical
benefits that such assessments can offer to regulators, firms, investors, and
the public.
The Conclusion situates this argument within broader conversations about the
law’s preventive and strategic functions, showing how culture supervision can
help build a more ethical, adaptive, and intelligent regulatory paradigm.
Some customs unions look like glorified trade deals, while other customs unions
look like nation‑states in the making. Since 1979, U.S. trade law has treated
both kinds of customs unions the same, but this state of affairs ignores the
variety of ways in which some (though not all) modern customs unions are
remarkably economically integrated. Presidents from both parties have treated
the European Union as a singular entity in regulating foreign trade with their
Section 232 authority, and more recently, the current presidential
administration has issued ad valorem tariffs against the European Union as a
bloc. But due to a statutory prohibition, similar treatment cannot be afforded
to the EU, or other similarly sophisticated customs unions, when it comes to
antidumping law. In this Article, I argue that in light of both increased
economic integration by customs unions around the world and the treatment of
some of those customs unions in other contexts, Congress should reconsider how
U.S. antidumping law treats countries which are parties to sophisticated customs
unions—that is, mansion markets. When a customs union has fully or nearly fully
removed barriers to trade, making distinctions between the countries inside that
union for trade law purposes would be like foreign countries making distinctions
between different U.S. states. While not all customs unions are created equal,
the purpose of some customs unions is to give products within those unions a
mansion market, and American antidumping law should be clarified to recognize
this distinction.
The use of Open Source Intelligence (“OSINT”) by the U.S. intelligence community
marks a paradigm shift in national security practices, leveraging vast troves of
publicly available and commercially acquired data. Yet this shift raises urgent
constitutional questions regarding the applicability of the Fourth Amendment’s
protections in the digital age. As OSINT practices increasingly rely on
sophisticated aggregation techniques and artificial intelligence tools, the line
between publicly available information and constitutionally protected privacy
interests begins to blur. This Article critically examines whether certain forms
of OSINT collection and analysis, particularly those that aggregate digital data
at scale or use predictive algorithms, may constitute an unreasonable search or
seizure under the Fourth Amendment.
Relying on an evolving body of caselaw, this Article argues that the
long‑standing Third Party Doctrine is increasingly ill‑suited for the realities
of the modern digital age. It explores how the aggregation of seemingly public
data can reveal deeply private patterns, behaviors, and insights, thereby
implicating a reasonable expectation of privacy under the Fourth Amendment. To
help courts, the intelligence community, and policymakers navigate this complex
legal terrain, this Article introduces a three‑part framework to assess when
OSINT practices risk constitutional infringement: (1) whether the government
obtains aggregated data, including commercially available information, of a type
and volume that implicates a reasonable expectation of privacy; (2) whether
advanced technologies are employed to extract digital information that would
otherwise be unknowable through conventional means; and (3) whether such
technologies are used to enhance insights into areas where courts have
recognized a reasonable expectation of privacy. This Article concludes by urging
a more balanced approach that reflects both the operational needs of the
intelligence community and civil liberties. As technology evolves and OSINT
capabilities grow courts, the intelligence community, and policymakers must act
to ensure that the Fourth Amendment remains a meaningful safeguard, not an
obsolete artifact, in the digital era.
Picture this: You are a plaintiffs’ lawyer representing a permanently injured
client in a high-stakes lawsuit. You think you can earn millions of dollars for
your client based on their injuries—but something is holding you back: your
client’s past medical bills. To date, she has only had to pay around $20,000.
You worry that this fact might make your request for several million dollars in
non-economic damages seem excessive to a jury. So, you make a plan: on the eve
of trial, you withdraw your request for economic damages and stick to only
requesting non-economic damages in the millions. There are no concrete bills
presented to the jurors at trial—not even a whisper of the $20,000 in medical
bills. In closings, you ask the jury for $20,000 less than you were initially
planning to request. And it works—the jury comes back and awards millions of
dollars to your client.
We have seen variations of this exact scenario play out in favor of plaintiffs
repeatedly in the last year. We work as trial consultants; we consult on new
civil cases every week and pick multiple juries for trials each month. Through
this work, we have observed a growing trend in high-stakes civil litigation:
plaintiff’s counsel is withdrawing their request for past economic damages on
the eve of trial, opting instead to only request non-economic damages. This has
happened in all kinds of personal injury cases; we have seen it done in medical
malpractice, vehicle accidents, and premises liability cases, to name a few. And
each time plaintiff’s counsel has withdrawn the request for economic damages,
the judge has swiftly declared that all evidence pertaining to past medical
bills is now irrelevant and therefore inadmissible, instructing the parties not
to speak a word about the bills at trial. And, more often than not, the
plaintiff finishes the trial with a large award.
This is no accident. Plaintiffs’ counsels are clearly dropping out low economic
damage requests because they believe it can drive up jury awards. But it is
counter-intuitive: how could asking for less money in damages result in a
significantly higher damage award? What is going on here?
In 1988, Georgia became the first state to prohibit the execution of individuals
with intellectual disability—a landmark reform spurred by the execution of
Jerome Bowden, a Black man with an IQ of 59. Yet, due to a drafting error, the
statute imposed an insurmountable burden: requiring defendants to prove their
intellectual disability beyond a reasonable doubt. For nearly four decades, that
fatal flaw rendered Georgia’s protection illusory. Not a single capital
defendant facing intentional murder charges prevailed. While nearly every other
jurisdiction adopted the far more workable “preponderance of the evidence”
standard, Georgia stood alone, out of step with both national consensus and the
Eighth Amendment mandate articulated in Atkins v. Virginia.
In 2025, Georgia finally corrected course. With the passage of House Bill 123,
the state reduced the burden of proof to a preponderance of the evidence and
restructured its procedures to prevent juries from deciding guilt and
intellectual disability simultaneously in trial stage cases. This Article
situates Georgia’s reform in historical, doctrinal, and policy context. It
argues that House Bill 123 marks a long overdue alignment of Georgia’s law with
constitutional and clinical norms, transforming Georgia from an outlier into a
jurisdiction that can meaningfully safeguard the lives of the intellectually
disabled moving forward. But it does so while leaving behind those already
condemned—a reminder that progress without remedial action is justice delayed
and justice denied.
A new wave of emerging companies developing foundation models has unleashed
fierce competition in generative artificial intelligence. These emergents have
significant innovation capabilities threatening incumbent tech companies. To
protect themselves, incumbents have responded by partnering with leading product
developers and subsuming smaller startups through quasi‑mergers.
To determine whether quasi‑mergers are cooptive acquisitions, this Article
scrutinizes the Google–Character, Microsoft–Inflection, and Amazon–Adept
transactions. These case studies describe the deployment of acquired assets
before and after the merger and explore their potential effects. However, the
analysis is plagued by the uncertainty inherent in nascent competition.
Consequently, through contextual comparisons of circumstantial evidence like
exclusive licensing agreements, price premiums, market product proximity and
product discontinuation, the Article assesses the relative risk of harm to
innovation.
Even if there is high probability of harm, the structure of a quasi‑merger
shields incumbents from government intervention because enforcement agencies
cannot use injunctive relief to restrict employee mobility. To avoid agency
inertia, the Article proposes potential remedies involving founders, their
employees, and enforcement agencies, without limiting the exit options of
startups.
Foreign ownership of U.S. agricultural land has risen significantly in recent
years. From 2014 to 2023, the share of agricultural acres owned by foreign
interests increased by 67%. Although the share of agricultural acres owned by
foreign countries and interests only amounts to just over 3% of the total U.S.
private farmland, the U.S. federal government and many states have passed laws
to prohibit, restrict, limit, regulate or create requirements for foreign
ownership of agricultural land and real property. As of 2025, twenty nine states
have passed laws to regulate such foreign ownership.
This Comment outlines the regulations on foreign investment in U.S. agricultural
land by foreign individuals and entities, including those totally or partially
owned by foreign individuals. It provides an overview of the federal regulations
and details the specific requirements imposed by each state that has enacted
laws restricting foreign ownership of U.S. agricultural land. Section II on
Federal Laws Regulating Foreign Ownership outlines the Agricultural Foreign
Investment Disclosure Act of 1978, the Committee on Foreign Investment in the
U.S. & the Foreign Investment Risk Review Modernization Act of 2018, the
International Investment and Trade in Services Act, and the Foreign Investment
in Real Property Tax Act of 1980. Section III on State Laws Restricting Foreign
Ownership examines the state laws regulating foreign ownership of U.S.
agricultural land in Alabama, Arizona, Arkansas, Florida, Georgia, Idaho,
Indiana, Iowa, Kentucky, Louisiana, Minnesota, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana,
Nebraska, North Dakota, Ohio, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, South
Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Virginia, West Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming.
This Comment organizes state laws regulating foreign ownership of U.S.
agricultural land into four categories: (A) Restrictions on Ownership based on
Proximity or Land Type, (B) Prohibition of Ownership by Foreign Adversaries or
by Designated Country, (C) Outright Prohibition on Foreign Ownership, and (D)
Acreage Limitations.
42 U.S.C. § 1983 was originally enacted in response to Ku Klux Klan violence
during the Reconstruction era that had gone largely unpunished in state courts.
The statute granted individuals an alternative means to enforce their “rights,
privileges, or immunities secured by the Constitution and laws” in federal
courts. What began as a lifeline for civil rights violations soon expanded to
allow enforcement of all rights secured by federal and constitutional law. This
broad interpretation of § 1983 language expanded the statute’s reach to include
private enforcement of federal spending statutes against the states. The
expansion ignited extensive debate over the division of power between state and
federal government. The central question was whether allowing private
enforcement of federal spending statute conditions risked intruding on state
sovereignty. The standards courts developed to determine when a spending statute
secures a right—and thus permits private suit—were largely designed to balance
the interests of individual beneficiaries against the need to preserve state
autonomy.
The Supreme Court of the United States has attempted to develop a standard for
determining when a spending statute grants a privately enforceable right several
times. The Court first attempted to address the standard in Pennhurst State
School & Hospital v. Halderman in 1981. In Pennhurst, the Court developed the
clear expression standard. Under this standard, a spending statute secured a
right only if the statute gave clear notice that noncompliance with its
conditions subjected the state to private suit. The Court then went through a
series of cases from the 1980s through the late 1990s where it seemed to apply a
different standard: a spending statute secured a right if the statute was
clearly intended to benefit the enforcer. In response to lower court confusion
over the two standards, the Court addressed the issue in Gonzaga University v.
Doe in 2002, and again in Health & Hospital Corp. v. Talevski in 2023. Both of
these cases faithfully applied the clear expression standard but failed to
explicitly overrule the benefits standard. Lower courts responded with various
applications of the two standards.
Against this backdrop, the Court granted a writ of certiorari in Medina v.
Planned Parenthood. In Medina, the Court affirmed the clear expression standard
applied in Gonzaga and Talevski. The Court went on to expressly overrule the
line of cases applying the more liberal benefits standard. The Court undoubtedly
identified the proper standard for private enforcement of a spending statute.
However, in abandoning the line of cases that gave Medicaid beneficiaries access
to the courts, the Supreme Court left those who rely on state compliance with
Medicaid stuck in the waiting room, both at the clinic and in the court.
“[No person shall be] deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due
process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just
compensation.” In just twelve words, the drafters of the Bill of Rights
guaranteed property owners a significant protection. The Fifth Amendment Takings
Clause is not an express ban on government takings. Rather, it guarantees that
when the government takes property from private citizens, it must provide just
compensation. Although this guarantee is generally well established, its
enforcement in federal court introduces unique and significant challenges.
Plaintiffs must have a cause of action to invoke the power of the federal courts
and seek the specific remedy they wish to recover. This remains true when
plaintiffs seek just compensation from local governments in federal court. For
nearly half a century, 42 U.S.C. § 1983 supplied the only federal cause of
action to vindicate this right. But this year, the United States Court of
Appeals for the Eleventh Circuit provided a novel alternative to the classic §
1983 framework. In Fulton v. Fulton County Board of Commissioners, the Eleventh
Circuit became the first federal appellate court to hold that plaintiffs can
invoke the text of the Takings Clause—via the Fourteenth Amendment —to bring a
direct cause of action against local governments.
Although the Eleventh Circuit emphasized its decision’s “limited” practical
effect, a direct cause of action might raise constitutional implications beyond
the scope of the court’s considerations. Specifically, the court’s decision may
frustrate the delicate balance of power between Congress and the Judiciary.
For small businesses facing financial disarray, the federal bankruptcy system
offers a way to bounce back and get a second chance. However, not all mistakes
can be forgiven, and some debts must be paid. As Congress adapts and expands the
Bankruptcy Code, interpretive issues can arise, making it difficult for
creditors and debtors to understand their options and outlook. In 2019, Congress
attempted to create a more flexible and forgiving option for small businesses
when they enacted the Small Business Reorganization Act (“SBRA”), which created
Subchapter V of Chapter 11 of the Bankruptcy code. This subchapter has given
rise to dispute regarding the debts that can and cannot be discharged.
In the case In re 2 Monkey Trading, LLC, the United States Court of Appeals for
the Eleventh Circuit addressed the primary dispute arising from Subchapter V:
whether the limitations of 11 U.S.C. § 523(a) apply to corporate small business
debtors who file bankruptcy under Subchapter V. In a controversial ruling, the
Eleventh Circuit decided that the restraints imposed by § 523(a) do apply to
corporate small businesses. This decision deepens the circuit split on the
issue, provides creditors with greater protections and leverage in bankruptcy
proceedings, and has left many bankruptcy professionals with a bad taste in
their mouths.
In Maryland v. Wilson, the United States Supreme Court held that a police
officer may order a passenger of a lawfully stepped car to exit the vehicle.
This "bright-line rule" allows these intrusions as a matter of course and does
not require case-by-case determination.
Four factors were influential in my decision to write this survey paper
summarizing what economists believe theoretically and have found empirically to
be the major economic (and noneconomic) effects of monopoly. First, in my work
as an expert witness in antitrust cases representing both private parties and
public bodies, I have found a glaring lacuna in the minds of some judges, a
number of lawyers and most jurors in the area of antitrust economics. Second,
this feeling has been fortified by my guest lectures in antitrust law courses;
while the students are bright and the teacher dedicated, an acceptable level of
competence in antitrust economics had successfully evaded its pursuers. Third,
my reading of several law journals has convinced me that there are a large
number of legally competent antitrust lawyers who are not very familiar with
antitrust economics.
Finally, I was motivated by the growing realization that people do not regard
antitrust violations as very serious. The July 1974 issue of SCIENCE DIGEST
reported a cross-section study of Baltimore residents in which the respondents
were asked to rate the seriousness of crimes from 9 (most serious) to 1 (least
serious). The highest mean score recorded was "planned killing of a policeman"
(8.474), and the lowest mean score was "being drunk in public places" (2.849).
Of the 140 crimes listed three were of an antitrust genus. "Fixing prices of a
consumer product like gasoline" ranked 126 from the top (4.629), "fixing prices
of machines sold to businesses" ranked 127 (4.619), and "false advertising of a
headache remedy" ranked 132 (4.083). Offenses such as "breaking a plate glass
window in a shop," "refusal to make essential repairs in rental property,"
"shoplifting a carton of cigarettes from a supermarket," "driving while license
is suspended," "lending money at illegal interest rates," "joining a riot," and
"using pep pills" are each regarded as more serious than the antitrust
violations!
In Part I we will explore in some detail the economic (and some noneconomic)
effects of monopoly. In Part II we will examine briefly public policies toward
monopoly.
Social media platforms have overturned the previously known system of public
communication. As predicted at the outset, the spread of the public Internet
that started three decades ago has resulted in a paradigm shift in this field.
Now, anyone can publish their opinion outside the legacy media, at no
significant cost, and can become known and be discussed by others. Due to the
technological characteristics of the Internet, it might also be expected that
this kind of mass expression, with such an abundance of content, would
necessitate the emergence of gatekeepers, similar in function to the ones that
existed earlier for conventional media. The newsagent, post office, and cable or
satellite services have been replaced by the Internet service provider, the
server (host) provider and the like. However, no one could have foreseen that
the new gatekeepers of online communication would not only be neutral
transmitters or repositories but also active shapers of the communication
process, deciding on which user content on the Internet they deemed undesirable
and deciding which content, out of all the theoretically accessible content, is
actually displayed to individual users. Content filtering, deleting, blocking,
suspending, and ranking are all types of active interference with the exercise
of users’ freedom of speech and practices which also affect the interests of
other users in obtaining information. All this became an even greater and more
difficult-to-manage issue when, in certain sub-markets of the Internet, certain
giant tech companies’ services gained a monopoly or came close to doing so. This
process has emerged in connection with gatekeepers of a specific type: the most
important online platforms (social media, video sharing, search engines, web
stores). In this way, a new, unexpected obstacle to the exercise of freedom of
speech appeared, with the result that the earlier constitutional doctrines could
no longer be applied without any change. The crux of the problem is that the
platforms are privately owned. In formal terms, they are simply market players
which are not bound by the guarantees of freedom of speech imposed on public
bodies and which may enjoy the protection of freedom of speech themselves.
The availability of assassination of foreign leaders as a means of achieving
United States foreign policy objectives is an issue that has proven in recent
years to be a recurring one. However, it does not arise in isolation; instead it
is almost always part of a larger political controversy over United States
foreign policy objectives and whether force of any kind should be used to pursue
them. Certainly this was true with regard to the controversies that surrounded
United States policy, including alleged involvement in assassination plots
toward Cuba, Vietnam, the Congo, and the Dominican Republic in the 1960s, and
toward Chile in the early 1970s. It is also true, though to a lesser degree, of
more recent debates concerning the United States air strike against Libya in
April 1986 and the role of the United States in Panama prior to the December
1989 invasion. In each case there was, or later developed, significant
disagreement over the appropriateness of United States policy toward the nation
involved and over the use of force to induce changes in the nature or activities
of its government.
Inevitably, such disagreements have tended to distract attention from the manner
in which force might be applied; if the chosen objective appears not to be a
legitimate one or if the use of force seems unjustified, the relative merit of
an -attack on a military installation, for example, as seriously or productively
considered. The recent war in the Persian Gulf has again revived the controversy
and provided a new opportunity for debate. This time, however, the issue
appeared more starkly framed than previously. Public doubt as to the legitimacy
of the immediate objective-the ejection of Iraq from Kuwait-was for the most
part absent, and although there was disagreement about the timing and amount of
coercion to be used, force was generally perceived as a legitimate option. The
American public perceived Iraqi President Saddam Hussein, hardly a sympathetic
image, as probably the least ambiguous villain of the second half of the
twentieth century. Unchallenged by any significant political opposition prior to
the war, he appeared as the sole instigator of Iraq's seizure of Kuwait, as well
as the cause of its intransigence in the face of international insistence that
it withdraw.
It is understandable that a reader may be puzzled by the title of this study.
American lawyers are undoubtedly familiar with the notion of "constitutional"
courts established under Article III of the Constitution.1 They also are likely
to recall another class of federal tribunals, created by virtue of the
legislative authority vested in Congress by Article I of the Constitution.'
However, few lawyers and scholars are aware that there exists a third class of
courts created by the Constitution. These are executive courts that, from time
to time in the Republic's history, have been formed to administer justice, in
times of war or civil unrest, over territories occupied by American armed
forces.
There is no question that these tribunals have been considered anomalous, as
aberrations of established constitutional order. Indeed, little intellectual
effort has been expended in examining the constitutional place of presidential
courts. In the midst of war or its aftermath, few were brave enough to criticize
the President's establishment of courts of law. Fewer still were prepared to
argue that his power should be limited by other provisions of the Constitution.
Instead, a pattern of judicial deference begun with the establishment of the
first such court in the Mexican War of 1846 has persisted to this day.
Exceptions to this trend have been noted, and it may even be apparent that a new
constitutional practice of Article II courts has evolved. Nonetheless, the
President's power in this field has gone virtually unchallenged.
This Article carefully examines the creation, operation, and jurisprudence of
executive courts. As a first step, however, it is essential to accurately define
what is meant when one refers to an Article II court. This inquiry places in
sharp focus the traditional constitutional dichotomy between Article III
"constitutional" courts and Article I legislative tribunals. Adding presidential
courts to this matrix does not upset the analysis used heretofore; it merely
places a greater premium on identifying the constitutional source of power for
creating the court in question.
Once this Article clarifies what is and what is not an executive court, it will
introduce the historical examples of this institution. I have identified twelve
tribunals that satisfy the definition propounded here. Although most date from
the Civil War and before, four of them operated in this century, and one of them
rendered a judgment no more than twelve years ago. Undoubtedly others exist that
my research has not revealed. Each of these courts shared one thing in common:
they were established by federal authorities occupying territory as a result of
armed conflict. The constitutional problems raised by belligerent occupation,
including the maintenance of law and order and the establishment of justice,
will be considered since this provided the practical imperative for the exercise
of the President's power to constitute judicial tribunals. How the President
exercised and delegated this power is also significant. More important, however,
is to understand how the power was limited, whether by the President's own
restraint, judicial review, or the passage of time and the termination of
hostilities.