Presidents Lack the Authority to Abolish or Diminish National Monuments

Introduction

By any measure, the Antiquities Act of 1906 has a remarkable legacy. Under the Antiquities Act, 16 presidents have proclaimed 157 national monuments, protecting a diverse range of historic, archaeological, cultural, and geologic resources.[1] Many of these monuments, including such iconic places as the Grand Canyon, Zion, Olympic, and Acadia, have been expanded and redesignated by Congress as national parks.

While the designation of national monuments is often celebrated, it has on occasion sparked local opposition, and led to calls for a President to abolish or shrink a national monument that a predecessor proclaimed.[2] This article examines the Antiquities Act and other statutes, concluding that the President lacks the legal authority to abolish or diminish national monuments. Instead, these powers are reserved to Congress.

I. The Authority to Abolish National Monuments

The Property Clause of the Constitution vests in Congress the “[p]ower to dispose of and make all needful Rules and Regulations respecting [public property].”[3] The U.S. Supreme Court has frequently reviewed this power in the context of public lands management and found it to be “without limitations.”[4] Congress can, however, delegate power to the President or other members of the executive branch so long as it sets out an intelligible principle to guide the exercise of executive discretion.[5]

Congress did exactly this when it enacted the Antiquities Act and delegated to the President the power to “declare by public proclamation” national monuments.[6] At the same time, Congress did not, in the Antiquities Act or otherwise, delegate to the President the authority to modify or revoke the designation of monuments. Further, the Federal Land Policy and Management Act of 1976 (“FLPMA”) makes it clear that the President does not have any implied authority to do so, but rather that Congress reserved for itself the power to modify or revoke monument designations.[7]

A. The Antiquities Act does not grant authority to revoke a monument designation

The United States owns about one third of our nation’s lands.[8] These lands, which exist throughout the country but are concentrated in the western United States, are managed by federal agencies for a wide range of purposes such as preservation, outdoor recreation, mineral and timber extraction, and ranching. Homestead, mining, and other laws transferred ownership rights over large areas of federal lands to private parties. At the same time, vast tracts of land remain in public ownership, and these lands contain a rich assortment of natural, historical, and cultural resources.

Over its long history, Congress has “withdrawn,” or exempted, some federal public lands from statutes that allow for resource extraction and development, and “reserved” them for particular uses, including for preservation and resource conservation.[9] Congress has also, in several instances, delegated to the executive branch the authority to set aside lands for particular types of protection. The Antiquities Act of 1906 is one such delegation.

The core of the Antiquities Act is both simple and narrow. It reads, in part:

[T]he President of the United States is hereby authorized, in his discretion, to declare by public proclamation historic landmarks, historic and prehistoric structures, and other objects of historic or scientific interest that are situated upon the lands owned or controlled by the Government of the United States to be national monuments, and may reserve as a part thereof parcels of land, the limits of which in all cases shall be confined to the smallest area compatible with the proper care and management of the objects to be protected . . . .[10]

The narrow authority granted to the President to reserve land[11] under the Antiquities Act stands in marked contrast to contemporaneous laws that delegated much broader executive authority to designate, repeal, or modify other types of federal reservations of public lands. For example, the Pickett Act of 1910 allowed the President to withdraw public lands from “settlement, location, sale, or entry” and reserve these lands for a wide range of specified purposes “until revoked by him or an Act of Congress.”[12] Likewise, the Forest Service Organic Act of 1897 authorized the President “to modify any Executive order that has been or may hereafter be made establishing any forest reserve, and by such modification may reduce the area or change the boundary lines of such reserve, or may vacate altogether any order creating such reserve.”[13]

Unlike the Pickett Act and the Forest Service Organic Administration Act, the Antiquities Act withholds authority from the President to change or revoke a national monument designation. That authority remains with Congress under the Property Clause.

This interpretation of the President’s authority finds support in the single authoritative executive branch source interpreting the scope of Presidential power to revoke monuments designated under the Antiquities Act: a 1938 opinion by Attorney General Homer Cummings.[14] President Franklin D. Roosevelt had specifically asked Cummings through the Secretary of the Interior whether the Antiquities Act authorized the President to revoke the Castle Pinckney National Monument. In his opinion, Cummings compared the language noted above from the Pickett Act and the Forest Service Organic Act with the language in the Antiquities Act, and concluded unequivocally that the Antiquities Act “does not authorize [the President] to abolish [national monuments] after they have been established.”[15]

B. FLPMA clarifies that only Congress can revoke or downsize a national monument

In 1976, Congress enacted FLPMA.[16] FLPMA governs the management of federal public lands lacking any specific designation as a national park, national forest, national wildlife refuge, or other specialized unit. The text, structure, and legislative history of FLPMA confirm the conclusion of Attorney General Cummings that the President does not possess the authority to revoke or downsize a monument designation.

FLPMA codified federal policy to retain—rather than dispose of—the remaining federal public lands,[17] provided for specific procedures for land-use planning on those lands, and consolidated the wide-ranging legal authorities relating to the uses of those lands.[18] Prior to FLPMA’s enactment, delegations of executive authority to withdraw public lands from development or resource extraction were dispersed among federal statutes, including the Pickett Act and the Forest Service Organic Act. Moreover, in United States v. Midwest Oil Co., the Supreme Court held that the President enjoyed an implied power to withdraw public lands as might be necessary to protect the public interest, at least in the absence of direct statutory authority or prohibition.[19]

FLPMA consolidated and streamlined the President’s withdrawal power. It repealed the Pickett Act, along with most other executive authority for withdrawing lands—with the notable exception of the Antiquities Act.[20] In place of these prior withdrawal authorities, FLPMA included a new provision—section 204—that authorizes the Secretary of the Interior “to make, modify, extend, or revoke withdrawals but only in accordance with the provisions and limitations of this section.”[21]

FLPMA left unchanged the President’s authority to create national monuments under the Antiquities Act, and included language confirming that Congress alone may modify or abolish monuments. Subsection 204(j) of FLPMA somewhat curiously states that “[t]he Secretary [of Interior] shall not . . . modify or revoke any withdrawal creating national monuments under [the Antiquities Act]. . . .”[22] Because only the President, and not the Secretary of the Interior, has authority to proclaim national monuments, Congress’s reference to the Secretary’s authority under the Antiquities Act is anomalous and, as explained further below, may be the result of a drafting error. Nonetheless, this language reinforces the most plausible reading of the text of the Antiquities Act: that it deliberately provides for one-way designation authority. The President may act to create a national monument, but only Congress can modify or revoke that action.

An examination of FLPMA’s legislative history removes any doubt that section 204(j) was intended to reserve to Congress the exclusive authority to modify or revoke national monuments. FLPMA’s restriction of executive withdrawal powers originated in the House version of the legislation.[23] Skepticism in the House towards executive withdrawal authority dated back to the 1970 report of the Public Lands Law Review Commission (PLLRC), a Congressionally-created special committee tasked with recommending a complete overhaul of the public land laws. The PLLRC report called on Congress to repeal all existing withdrawal powers, including the power to create national monuments under the Antiquities Act.[24] The Commission suggested replacing this authority with a comprehensive withdrawal process run by the Secretary of the Interior and closely supervised by Congress.[25]

The House Committee on Interior and Insular Affairs’ Subcommittee on Public Lands largely followed this recommendation by including Section 204 in its draft of FLPMA.[26] Complementing this section, the bill presented to and passed by the House included a provision—ultimately enacted as Section 704(a) of FLPMA—that repealed the Pickett Act and other extant laws allowing executive withdrawals, as well as the implied executive authority to withdraw public lands that the Supreme Court had recognized in Midwest Oil.[27]

Consistent with this approach, the Subcommittee on Public Lands drafted Section 204(j) in order to constrain executive branch discretion in the context of national monuments. The Subcommittee frequently discussed the issue during its detailed markup sessions in 1975 and early 1976 on its version of the bill that would eventually become FLPMA.[28]

At an early markup session in May 1975, some subcommittee members, under the mistaken impression that the Secretary of the Interior created national monuments, expressed concerns that some future Secretary might modify or revoke them.[29] The Subcommittee therefore began shaping the bill to eliminate any possibility of unilateral executive power to modify or revoke monuments, while maintaining the existing power to create monuments.[30]

Once the Subcommittee’s misunderstanding about Secretarial authority to designate monuments became apparent, the Subcommittee also proposed shifting the authority to create national monuments from the President to the Secretary, in the pattern of consolidating withdrawal authority in Section 204.[31] The first version of what later became Section 204(j) of FLPMA was drafted after this discussion, as was a provision that would have amended the Antiquities Act to transfer designation authority from the President to the Secretary of the Interior.[32] The Ford Administration appeared to object generally to constraining executive power to withdraw public lands.[33] As part of the subsequent changes to the draft legislation, the Subcommittee dropped the provision that would have transferred monument designation authority from the President to the Secretary.[34]

Nonetheless, the Subcommittee retained Section 204(j). Pairing Section 204(j) with the proposed transfer of monument designation power strongly suggests that the language of Section 204(j) was not an effort to constrain (non-existent) Secretarial authority to modify or revoke national monuments while retaining Presidential authority to do so. Instead, it was part of an overall plan to constrain and systematize all executive branch withdrawal power, and reserve to Congress the powers to modify or rescind monument designations.[35] The House Committee’s Report on the bill makes clear that this provision was designed to prevent any unilateral executive modification or revocation of national monuments. In describing Section 204 of the bill as it was presented for debate on the House floor, the Report explains:

With certain exceptions, [the bill] will repeal all existing law relating to executive authority to create, modify, and terminate withdrawals and reservations. It would reserve to the Congress the authority to create, modify, and terminate withdrawals for national parks, national forests, the Wilderness System, Indian reservations, certain defense withdrawals, and withdrawals for National Wild and Scenic Rivers, National Trails, and for other “national” recreation units, such as National Recreation Areas and National Seashores. It would also specifically reserve to the Congress the authority to modify and revoke withdrawals for national monuments created under the Antiquities Act and for modification and revocation of withdrawals adding lands to the National Wildlife Refuge System. These provisions will insure that the integrity of the great national resource management systems will remain under the control of the Congress.[36]

Thus, notwithstanding the anomalous reference to the Secretary in Section 204(j), Congress explicitly stated its intention to reserve for itself the authority to modify or revoke national monuments.[37] The plain language of this report, combined with other statements in the legislative history and the process by which Congress created Section 204(j), make clear that Congress’ intent was to constrain all executive branch power to modify or revoke national monuments, not just Secretarial authority.

In light of the text of the Antiquities Act, the contrasting language in other statutes at the turn of the 20th century, and the changes to federal land management law in FLPMA, the Antiquities Act must be construed to limit the President’s authority to proclaiming national monuments on federal lands. Only Congress can modify or revoke such proclamations.

II. Authority for Shrinking National Monuments or Removing Restrictive Terms

If the President cannot abolish a national monument because Congress did not delegate that authority to the President, it follows that the President also lacks the power to downsize or loosen the protections afforded to a monument. This conclusion is reinforced by the use of the phrase “modify and revoke” in Section 204(j) of FLPMA to describe prohibited actions.[38] Moreover, while the Antiquities Act limits national monuments to “the smallest area compatible with the proper care and management of the objects to be protected,”[39] that language does not grant the President the authority to second-guess the judgments made by previous Presidents regarding the area or level of protection needed to protect the objects identified in an Antiquities Act proclamation.

A. Presidents lack legal authority to shrink national monuments

Over the first several decades of the Antiquities Act’s existence, various Presidents reduced the size of various monuments that their predecessors had designated. Most of these actions were relatively minor, although the decision by President Woodrow Wilson to dramatically reduce the size of the Mount Olympus National Monument, which is described briefly below, was both significant and controversial.[40] Importantly though, no Presidential decision to reduce the size of a national monument has ever been tested in court, and so no court has ever ruled on the legality of such an action. Moreover, all such actions occurred before 1976 when FLPMA became law. As the language and legislative history of FLPMA make clear, Congress has quite intentionally reserved to itself “the authority to modify and revoke withdrawals for national monuments created under the Antiquities Act.”[41]

In his 1938 opinion, Attorney General Cummings acknowledged the history of modifications to national monuments, noting that “the President from time to time has diminished the area of national monuments established under the Antiquities Act by removing or excluding lands therefrom.”[42] The opinion, however, does not directly address whether these actions were legal, and does not analyze this issue, other than to reference the language from the Antiquities Act that limits monuments to “the smallest area compatible with the proper care and management of the objects to be protected.”[43]

The Interior Department’s Solicitors did review several presidential attempts to shrink monuments, but reached inconsistent conclusions. In 1915, the Solicitor examined President Woodrow Wilson’s proposal to shrink the Mount Olympus National Monument, which President Theodore Roosevelt had designated in 1909.[44] Without addressing the core legal issue of whether the President had authority to change the monument status of lands designated by a prior President, the Solicitor expressed the opinion that lands removed from the monument would revert to national forest (rather than unreserved public domain) because they had previously been national forest lands.[45]

In the end, President Wilson did downsize the Mount Olympus National Monument by more than 313,000 acres, nearly cutting it in half.[46] Despite an outcry from the conservation community, Wilson’s decision went unchallenged in court.[47]

In 1924, for the first time, the Solicitor squarely confronted the issue of whether a President has the authority to reduce the size of a national monument, concluding that the President lacked this authority. The Solicitor considered whether the President could reduce the size of the Gran Quivira[48] and Chaco Canyon National Monuments.[49] Relying on a 1921 Attorney General’s opinion involving “public land reserved for lighthouse purposes,” the Solicitor concluded that the President was not authorized to restore lands to the public domain that had been previously set aside as part of a national monument.[50] The Solicitor confirmed this position in a subsequent decision issued in 1932.[51]

Subsequently, in 1935, the Interior Solicitor reversed the agency’s position, but this time on somewhat narrow grounds.[52] This opinion relied heavily on the implied authority of the President to make and modify withdrawals that the U.S. Supreme Court upheld in United States v. Midwest Oil Co.[53] The argument that Midwest Oil imbues the President with implied authority to modify or abolish national monuments is problematic, however, for at least three reasons. First, as described previously, Congress enjoys plenary authority over our public lands under the Constitution, and the President’s authority to proclaim a national monument derives solely from the delegation of that power to the President under the Antiquities Act.[54] But the Antiquities Act grants the President only the power to reserve land, not to modify or revoke such reservations. Such actions, therefore, are beyond the scope of Congress’ delegation. Second, the Midwest Oil decision relied heavily on the perception that Presidential action was necessary to protect the public interest by preventing public lands from exploitation for private gain. Construing the law to allow a President to open lands to private exploitation protects no such interest. Finally, and as noted previously, Congress expressly overruled Midwest Oil when it enacted FLPMA in 1976.[55] Thus, even if those earlier, pre-FLPMA monument modifications might arguably have been supported by implied presidential authority, that implied authority is no longer available to justify the shrinking of national monuments following the passage of FLPMA.[56]

Some critics of national monument designations have argued that a President can downsize a national monument by demonstrating that the area reserved does not represent the “smallest area compatible” with the protection of the resources and sites identified in the monument proclamation.[57] But allowing a President to second-guess the judgment of a predecessor as to the amount of land needed to protect the objects identified in a proclamation is fraught with peril because it essentially denies the first President the power that Congress granted to proclaim monuments. If that were the law, then nothing would stop a President from deciding that the objects identified by a prior President were themselves not worthy of protection. Congress clearly intended the one-way power to reserve lands as national monuments to avoid this danger. Moreover, the fact that national monuments often encompass large landscapes, which are themselves denoted as the objects warranting protection, is not a cause for concern because the courts, including the U.S. Supreme Court, have consistently upheld the use of the Antiquities Act to protect such landscapes as “objects of historic or scientific interest.”[58] Courts have upheld two prominent examples of landscape level monuments under these broad interpretations: the Grand Canyon,[59] designated less than two years after the Antiquities Act’s passage; and the Giant Sequoia National Monument, created in 2000.[60]

It is conceivable, of course, that a revised proclamation might be needed to correct a mistake or to clarify a legal description in the original proclamation, as occurred very early on when President Taft proclaimed the Navajo National Monument and subsequently issued a second proclamation clarifying what had been an extremely ambiguous legal description.[61] But the clear restriction on modifying or revoking a national monument designation—cemented by FLPMA—indicates that a President cannot simply revisit a predecessor’s decision about how much public land should be protected.

B. Removing protections that apply on national monuments would be an unlawful modification

A related issue is whether a President can modify a national monument proclamation by removing some or all of the protections applied to the monument area, such as limitations on livestock grazing, mineral leasing, or mining claims location. Plainly, these are types of “modifications.” As discussed above, Congress’s use of the phrase “modify and revoke” to describe prohibited actions demonstrates that the same legal principles apply here as would apply to an attempt to abolish a monument.[62] More generally, if a President lacks the authority to abolish or downsize a monument, it would also suggest a lack of presidential authority to remove any restrictions imposed by a predecessor. Moreover, to the extent that a claim of presidential authority rests on an argument that the President can shrink a monument to conform to the “smallest area compatible” language of the Antiquities Act, that argument would be inapplicable to an effort to remove restrictive language from a predecessor’s national monument proclamation.[63]

Aside from these legal arguments, construing the Antiquities Act as providing one-way Presidential designation authority is consistent with the fundamental goal of the statute. Faced with a concern that historical, archaeological, and natural or scenic resources could be damaged or lost, Congress purposefully devised a delegation to the President to act quickly to ensure the preservation of objects of historic and scientific interest on public lands before they are looted or compromised by incompatible land uses, such as the location of mining claims. Once the President has determined that these objects are worthy of protection, no future President should be able to undermine that choice. That is a decision that Congress lawfully reserved for itself under the terms of the Antiquities Act, a point that Congress reinforced in the text and legislative history of FLPMA.

Conclusion

Our conclusion, based on analysis of the text of the Antiquities Act and other statutes, legislative history, and prior legal opinions, is that the President lacks the authority to abolish or downsize a monument, or otherwise weaken the protections afforded by a national monument proclamation declared by a predecessor. Moreover, while we believe this to be the correct reading of the law from the time of enactment of the Antiquities Act in 1906, the enactment of FLPMA in 1976 removes any doubt as to whether Congress intended to reserve for itself the power to revoke or modify national monument proclamations, because Congress stated so explicitly.

Presidents may retain some authority to clarify a proclamation that contains an ambiguous legal description or a mistake of fact.[64] Where expert opinions differ, however, courts should defer to the choices made by the President proclaiming the monument and the relevant objects designated for protection. Otherwise, a future President could undermine the one-way conservation authority afforded the President under the Antiquities Act and the congressional decision to reserve for itself the authority to abolish or modify national monuments.

The remarkable success of the Antiquities Act in preserving many of our nation’s most iconic places is perhaps best captured by the fact that Congress has never repealed any significant monument designation.[65] Instead, in many instances, Congress has expanded national monuments and redesignated them as national parks.[66] For more than 100 years, Presidents from Teddy Roosevelt to Barack Obama have used the Antiquities Act to protect our historical, scientific, and cultural heritage, often at the very moment when these resources were at risk of exploitation. That is the enduring legacy of this extraordinary law. And it remains our best hope for preserving our public land resources well into the future.

 


*Mark Squillace, Professor of Law, University of Colorado; Eric Biber, Professor of Law, University of California, Berkeley; Nicholas S. Bryner, Emmett/Frankel Fellow in Environmental Law and Policy, University of California, Los Angeles; Sean B. Hecht, Professor of Policy and Practice & Co-Executive Director, Emmett Institute on Climate Change and the Environment, University of California, Los Angeles. The authors express thanks to Emma Hamilton for research assistance.

[1]See Nat’l Parks Conservation Association, Monuments Protected Under the Antiquities Act (Jan. 13, 2017), https://www.npca.org/resources/2658-monuments-protected-under-the-antiquities-act.

[2]On April 26, 2017, President Trump issued an Executive Order calling for the Secretary of the Interior to review certain national monument designations made since 1996. Exec. Order No. 13,792, Review of Designations Under the Antiquities Act, 82 Fed. Reg. 20,429 (2017), https://perma.cc/CA3A-QEEQ. The Order encompasses Antiquities Act designations since 1996 over 100,000 acres in size or “where the Secretary determines that the designation or expansion was made without adequate public outreach and coordination with relevant stakeholders[.]” Id. at § 2(a). The Order asks the Secretary to make “recommendations for . . . Presidential actions, legislative proposals, or other actions consistent with law as the Secretary may consider appropriate to carry out the policy” described in the Order. Id. at § 2(d)-(e). The limits of presidential authority to abolish or diminish monuments has been the subject of prior analysis, including a report published by the Congressional Research Service in November 2016 and an analysis by the law firm Arnold & Porter Kaye Scholer. Alexandra M. Wyatt, Cong. Research Serv., R44687, Antiquities Act: Scope of Authority for Modification of National Monuments (2016), https://perma.cc/RCT9-UJ8N; Robert Rosenbaum et al., Arnold & Porter Kaye Scholer, The President Has No Power Unilaterally to Abolish or Materially Change a National Monument Designation Under the Antiquities Act of 1906 (May 3, 2017), https://www.npca.org/resources/3197-legal-analysis-of-presidential-ability-to-revoke-national-monuments.

[3]U.S. Const. art. IV, § 3, cl. 2.

[4]See Kleppe v. New Mexico, 426 U.S. 529, 539 (1976) (quoting United States v. San Francisco, 310 U.S. 16, 29 (1940)). See also Ivanhoe Irrigation Dist. v. McCracken, 357 U.S. 275, 294–295 (1958).

[5]J. W. Hampton, Jr. & Co. v. United States, 276 U.S. 394, 409 (1928). The Supreme Court has also made clear that any delegation of legislative power must be construed narrowly to avoid constitutional problems. Mistretta v. United States, 488 U.S. 361, 373 n.7 (1989).

[6]54 U.S.C. § 320301(a) (2012).

[7]See infra Section I.A.

[8]See Public Land Law Review Commission, One Third of the Nation’s Land 19 (1970).

[9]See, e.g., The Wilderness Act, 16 U.S.C. § 1133(d)(3) (2012) (“[E]ffective January 1, 1984, the minerals in lands designated. . . as wilderness are withdrawn from all forms of appropriation under the mining laws and from disposition under all laws pertaining to mineral leasing. . . .”); The Wild and Scenic Rivers Act, 16 U.S.C. § 1280(b) (2012) (“The minerals in any Federal lands which constitute the bed or bank or are situated within one-quarter mile of the bank of any river which is listed [for study as wild and scenic] are hereby withdrawn from all forms of appropriation under the mining laws. . . .”).

[10]Antiquities Act of 1906, 34 Stat. 225 (1906) (prior to 2014 amendment). The language of the Antiquities Act was edited and re-codified in 2014 at 54 U.S.C. § 320301(a)-(b) with the stated intent of “conform[ing] to the understood policy, intent, and purpose of Congress in the original enactments[.]” Pub. L. No. 113-287, §§ 2-3, 128 Stat. 3094, 3259 (2014) (codified at 54 U.S.C. § 320301(a)-(b)).

[11]In an opinion dated September 15, 2000, the Office of Legal Counsel in the Department of Justice found that the authority to reserve federal land under the Antiquities Act encompassed the authority to proclaim a national monument in the territorial sea—3-12 nautical miles from the shore—or the exclusive economic zone—12-200 nautical miles from the shore. Administration of Coral Reef Resources in the Northwest Hawaiian Islands, 24 Op. O.L.C. 183, 183–85 (Sept. 15, 2000), https://perma.cc/E8J8-EDL3.

[12]Pickett Act, Pub. L. No. 303, 36 Stat. 847 (1910) (repealed 1976) (emphasis added).

[13]Forest Service Organic Act of 1897, ch. 2, 30 Stat. 34 (1897) (codified as amended at 16 U.S.C. § 475 (2006)) (emphasis added).

[14]Proposed Abolishment of Castle Pinckney National Monument, 39 Op. Att’y Gen. 185 (1938).

[15]Id. at 185–86 (1938).

[16]Federal Land Policy and Management Act of 1976, Pub. L. No. 94-579, 90 Stat. 2743 (1976) (codified primarily at 43 U.S.C. §§ 1701–1782 (2012)) [hereinafter “FLPMA”].

[17]See 43 U.S.C. § 1701 (2012).

[18]Land use planning is specifically provided for under § 202 of FLPMA. Id. at § 1712. Additional public land use management authority is found at § 302 of FLPMA, which, among other things, requires the Secretary of the Interior to “take any action necessary to prevent the unnecessary or undue degradation of the lands.” Id. at § 1732(b).

[19]236 U.S. 459, 491 (1915). Midwest Oil involved withdrawals by President Taft of certain public lands from the operation of federal laws that allowed private parties to locate mining claims on public lands and thereby acquire vested rights to the minerals found there. The Secretary of the Interior recommended the withdrawals after receiving a report from the Director of the Geological Survey describing the alarming rate at which federal oil lands were being claimed by private parties. Noting the government’s own need for petroleum resources to support its military, the report lamented that “the Government will be obliged to repurchase the very oil that it has practically given away . . . .” Id. at 466–67 (quotation marks omitted).

[20]FLPMA, § 704(a), 90 Stat. 2792 (1976). The authority to create or modify forest reserves was repealed in 1907 for six specific states before its repeal was extended to all states in FLPMA Section 704(a). 34 Stat. 1269, 1271 (1907).

[21]43 U.S.C. § 1714(a) (2012) (emphasis added).

[22]Id. at § 1714(j). The provision reads in its entirety as follows, with emphasis on the part relating to the Antiquities Act:

The Secretary shall not make, modify, or revoke any withdrawal created by Act of Congress; make a withdrawal which can be made only by Act of Congress; modify or revoke any withdrawal creating national monuments under [the Antiquities Act]; or modify, or revoke any withdrawal which added lands to the National Wildlife Refuge System prior to October 21, 1976, or which thereafter adds lands to that System under the terms of this Act. Nothing in this Act is intended to modify or change any provision of the Act of February 27, 1976 (90 Stat. 199; 16 U.S.C. 668dd(a)).

Id. The reference in the first clause prohibiting the Secretary from “mak[ing]” a withdrawal “created by [an] Act of Congress” does not make sense because the Secretary cannot logically “make” a withdrawal already created by Congress. But it also is not relevant to the Antiquities Act since national monuments are created by the President, not Congress. Id. The second clause likewise addresses withdrawals made by Congress. The third clause is the only one that specifically addresses the Antiquities Act; it makes clear that the Secretary cannot modify or revoke national monuments. The final operative clause likewise prohibits the Secretary from revoking or modifying withdrawals, in that case involving National Wildlife Refuges.

[23]See H.R. 13777, 94th Cong. § 604(b) (1976). The Senate bill contained no restrictions on executive withdrawal power. See S. 577, 94th Cong. (1975).

[24]See Public Land Law Review Commission, supra note 8, at 2, 54–57.

[25]Id. at 56–57.

[26]H.R. 13777, 94th Cong. § 204 (1976).

[27]See id. at § 604(b) (1976). See also Midwest Oil, 236 U.S. at 491.

[28]The subcommittee’s hearings and markups focused on H.R. 5224, which eventually passed the full Committee in April 1976. An amended version was reintroduced as a clean bill, H.R. 13777, which was approved by the House and sent to the conference committee. See H.R. Rep. No. 94-1163, at 33 (1976), reprinted in 1976 U.S.C.C.A.N. 6175, 6207 (1976) (describing replacement of H.R. 5224 with H.R. 13777 by committee).

[29]See H.R. 5224, et al., Public Land Policy and Management Act of 1975: Hearing Before the Subcomm. on Pub. Lands of the H. Comm. on Interior and Insular Affairs, 94th Cong. 88–93 (May 6, 1975) [hereinafter May 6 Hearing]. Later statements by subcommittee members indicate that their understanding was that the Secretary had delegated authority to propose the creation of monuments, but that they were ultimately proclaimed by the President. H.R. 5224 & H.R. 5622: Hearing before the Subcomm. on Pub. Lands of the H. Comm. on Interior and Insular Affairs, 94th Cong. 184 (June 6, 1975) [hereinafter June 6 Hearing].

[30]May 6 Hearing, supra note 29, at 91 (statement of Rep. Melcher):

I would say that it would be better for us if, in presenting this bill to the House, for that matter in full committee, if we made it clear that the Secretary and perhaps also make it part of the bill somewhere, that he can not revoke a national monument.

See also id. at 93 (statement of committee staff member Irving Senzel: “So we could put in here that—we can put in the statement that he cannot revoke national monuments once created.”); H.R. 5224 & H.R. 5622: Hearing Before the Subcomm. on Pub. Lands of the H. Comm. on Interior and Insular Affairs, 94th Cong. 176 (June 6, 1975) (statement of committee staff member Irving Senzel: “In accordance with the decision made the last time, there is a section added in there that provides that no modification or revocation of national monuments can be made except by act of Congress.”).

[31]See June 6 Hearing, supra note 29, at 183–85.

[32]See Public Land Policy and Management Act of 1975 Print No. 2: Hearing Before the Subcomm. on Pub. Lands of the H. Comm. on Interior and Insular Affairs, 94th Cong. 23–24 (Sept. 8, 1975) (prohibiting the Secretary from modifying or revoking a national monument). Id. at 92 (amending the Antiquities Act by substituting “Secretary of the Interior” for “President of the United States”).

[33]See H.R. Rep. No. 94-1163, at 41–42, 52 (May 15, 1976). The comments from the Assistant Secretary of the Interior from November 21, 1975, on Subcommittee Print No. 2 listed the proposed changes to withdrawal authority as one of the reasons for the Administration’s opposition to that version of the bill, noting that under it, “the proposed . . . Act would be the only basis for withdrawal authority.” Id. at 52.

[34]See See Public Land Policy and Management Act of 1975 Print No. 4: Hearing Before the Subcomm. on Pub. Lands of the H. Comm. on Interior and Insular Affairs 94th Cong. (March 16, 1976).

[35]See id. at 30.

[36]H.R. Rep. No. 94-1163, at 9 (May 15, 1976) (emphasis added). Floor debates in the House do not contain any record of discussing this particular issue, and the Conference Report on FLPMA, later in 1976, did not specifically address it.

[37]The most plausible interpretation of the reference to the Secretary in the text is that there was a drafting error on the part of the Subcommittee in failing to update the reference in Section 204(j) when it dropped the parallel language transferring monument designation authority from the President to the Secretary. The only other plausible interpretation of Section 204(j) is that the provision was designed to make clear that Section 204(a), which authorizes the Secretary to modify or revoke withdrawals, was not intended to grant new authority to the Secretary over national monuments. Under this reading, the reference to the Secretary in Section 204(j) would not be anomalous but would serve the specific purpose of restricting the scope of Section 204(a). But whether the reference to the Secretary in Section 204(j) was a drafting error, or simply a clarification about the limits of the Secretary’s power under Section 204(a) does not really matter because either interpretation is consistent with the conclusion that Congress intended to reserve for itself the power to modify or revoke national monuments. FLPMA’s legislative history strongly reinforces this point. See supra notes 29–36.

[38]FLPMA, § 204(j), 90 Stat. 2743, 2754 (1976).

[39]54 U.S.C. § 320301(b).

[40]See Mark Squillace, The Monumental Legacy of the Antiquities Act of 1906, 37 Ga. L. Rev. 473, 561–64 (2003).

[41]H.R. Rep. 94-1163, at 9 (emphasis added). 43 U.S.C. 1714(j) (“The Secretary shall not. . . modify or revoke any withdrawal creating national monuments under [the Antiquities Act].”) (emphasis added).

[42]Proposed Abolishment of Castle Pinckney National Monument, 39 Op. Att’y Gen. 185, 188 (1938).

[43]Id. at 188 (quoting 54 U.S.C. § 320301(b)). See also Wyatt, supra note 2, at 5. Much like the Attorney General’s 1938 Opinion, the CRS report acknowledges that “there is precedent for Presidents to reduce the size of national monuments. . .”, and that “[s]uch actions are presumably based on the determination that the areas to be excluded represent the President’s judgment as to ‘the smallest area compatible with the proper care and management of the objects to be protected.’” Id. But also like the Attorney General’s Opinion, the report never actually analyzes the legal issue in depth and it does not address the particular question as to whether FLPMA might have resolved or clarified the issue against allowing presidential modifications. Id.

[44]Proclamation No. 869, 35 Stat. 2247 (1909) (creating Mount Olympus National Monument); see also Squillace, supra note 40, at 562–63 (discussing the review of President Wilson’s proposal).

[45]U.S. Dep’t of the Interior, Office of the Solicitor, Solicitor’s Opinion of April 20, 1915, at 4–6. The University of Colorado Law Library has established a permanent, online database that includes the four unpublished Solicitor’s Opinions cited in this article. That database is available at http://scholar.law.colorado.edu/research-data/4/.

[46]Proclamation No. 1293, 39 Stat. 1726 (1915); Squillace, supra note 40, at 562.

[47]See Squillace, supra note 40, at 563–64.

[48]Proclamation No. 959, 36 Stat. 2503 (1909) (creating Gran Quivira National Monument).

[49]Proclamation No. 740, 35 Stat. 2119 (1907) (creating Chaco Canyon National Monument).

[50]U.S. Dep’t of the Interior, Office of the Solicitor, Solicitor’s Opinion of June 3, 1924, M-12501 (citing 32 Op. Att’y Gen 438 (1921)). In language that anticipated the later 1938 opinion, this 1921 Attorney General’s opinion concluded that “[t]he power to thus reserve public lands and appropriate them . . . does not necessarily include the power to either restore them to the general public domain or transfer them to another department.” Disposition of Abandoned Lighthouse Sites, 32 Op. Att’y Gen. 488, 488–91 (1921) (quoting Camp Hancock–Transfer to Dept. of Agriculture, 28 Op. Att’y Gen. 143, 144 (1921)). The Solicitor’s 1924 opinion on Gran Quivara and Chaco Canyon might be distinguished from the 1915 opinion on Mount Olympus National Monument, on the grounds that the earlier opinion had specifically supported the modification of the monument because the lands would not be restored to the public domain, but would rather be reclassified as national forests. Solicitor’s Opinion of April 20, 1915, supra note 45, at 6. The legal argument against the modification of monument proclamations, however, has never rested on whether the lands would be restored to the public domain or revert to another reservation or designation.

[51]U.S. Dep’t of the Interior, Office of the Solicitor, Solicitor’s Opinion of May 16, 1932, M-27025 (opinion regarding Death Valley National Monument).

[52]U.S. Dep’t of the Interior, Office of the Solicitor, Solicitor’s Opinion of January 30, 1935, M-27657 (upholding the validity of the reduction of Mount Olympus National Monument since no interdepartmental transfer). See also National Monuments, 60 Interior Dec. 9, 9–10 (July 21, 1947) (solicitor opinion reaffirming the 1935 opinion).

[53]U.S. Dep’t of the Interior, Office of the Solicitor, Solicitor’s Opinion of January 30, 1935, M-27657; United States v. Midwest Oil Co., 236 U.S. 459, 483 (1915).

[54]See, supra Part I.

[55]FLPMA, § 704(a), 90 Stat. 2792 (1976). While the text of Section 704(a) specifically mentions the power of the President “to make withdrawals,” given the clear intent of Congress in FLPMA to reduce executive withdrawal power, the section is best understood as also repealing any inherent Presidential power recognized in Midwest Oil to modify or revoke withdrawals as well.

[56]This repeal removes any presumption of inherent Presidential authority to withdraw public lands or modify past withdrawals. As noted above, such authority, if any, must derive from an express delegation from the Congress. In this way, the power of the President or any executive branch agency over public lands is unlike the inherent power of the President to issue, amend, or repeal executive orders or the inherent power of the Congress to promulgate, amend or repeal laws. It is arguably akin to the power of administrative agencies to issue, amend, or repeal rules but, unlike the Antiquities Act, each of these powers has been expressly delegated to agencies by the Administrative Procedure Act. See 5 U.S.C. § 551(5) (2012) (definition of “rulemaking”).

[57]See, e.g., John Yoo & Todd Gaziano, Am. Enter. Inst., Presidential Authority to Revoke or Reduce National Monument Designations 14–18 (2017), https://perma.cc/PX7W-UD3E. The Interior Solicitor’s 1935 opinion, and a subsequent one in 1947, addressed this issue in reviewing and supporting the validity of the decision by Woodrow Wilson to shrink the Mt. Olympus National Monument. Squillace, supra note 40, at 560–64. According to that opinion, both the Interior and Agriculture Departments thought the area was “larger than necessary.” U.S. Dep’t of the Interior, Office of the Solicitor, Solicitor’s Opinion of Jan. 30, 1935, M-27657 (http://scholar.law.colorado.edu/research-data/4/.). However, there is no legal basis for concluding that the opinions of cabinet officials should overturn a prior presidential determination as to the scope and management requirements of a protected monument. Squillace, supra note 40, at 560–64.

[58]See Cameron v. United States, 252 U.S. 450, 455–56 (1920). The Court dismissed the plaintiff’s objection to the establishment of the 808,120 acre Grand Canyon National Monument with these words:

The Grand Canyon, as stated in [President Roosevelt’s] proclamation, “is an object of unusual scientific interest.” It is the greatest eroded canyon in the United States, if not in the world, is over a mile in depth, has attracted wide attention among explorers and scientists, affords an unexampled field for geologic study, is regarded as one of the great natural wonders, and annually draws to its borders thousands of visitors.

Id. at 455–56. See also, Tulare Cty. v. Bush, 306 F.3d 1138, 1140–41 (D.C. Cir. 2002) (discussing Giant Sequoia National Monument). Additional Supreme Court cases that address Antiquities Act designations support this broad interpretation of what may constitute an “object of historic or scientific interest.” See United States v. California, 436 U.S. 32, 34 (1978) (Channel Islands); Cappaert v. United States, 426 U.S. 128, 131–32, 142 (1976) (Devil’s Hole).

[59]Cameron, 252 U.S. at 455–56.

[60]Tulare Cty., 306 F.3d at 1140–41.

[61]Taft’s original proclamation for the Navajo National Monument in Arizona protected:

[A]ll prehistoric cliff dwellings, pueblo and other ruins and relics of prehistoric peoples, situated upon the Navajo Indian Reservation, Arizona between the parallels of latitude thirty-six degrees thirty minutes North, and thirty-seven degrees North, and between longitude one hundred and ten degrees West and one hundred and ten degrees forty-five minutes West . . . together with forty acres of land upon which each ruin is located, in square form, the side lines running north and south and east and west, equidistant from the respective centers of said ruins.

Proclamation No. 873, 36 Stat. 2491, 2491–92 (1909). The map accompanying the proclamation states that Navajo National Monument is “[e]mbracing all cliff-dwelling and pueblo ruins between the parallel of latitude 36°30’ North and 37 North and longitude 110° West and 110° 45’ West. . . with 40 acres of land in square form around each of said ruins.” Id. at 493 Thus, the original proclamation was ambiguous. It plainly was not intended to include all of the lands within the latitude and longitude description but only 40 acres around the ruins in that area. The map specifically identified at least 7 sites as “ruins” and appeared to denote a handful of other sites that might have been intended for protection under the original proclamation, although the map is a little unclear on this point. The revised proclamation issued three years later, also by Taft, clarified the ambiguous references in the original proclamation. It included a survey done after the original proclamation and protects two, 160-acre tracts of land and one, 40 acre tract. Proclamation No. 1186, 37 Stat. 1733, 1733–34, 1738 (1912).

[62]See supra Section II.A.

[63]In National Monuments, supra note 52, at 10, the Solicitor acknowledged that the Mineral Leasing Act does not apply to national monuments. Nonetheless, he held that “in the event of actual or threatened drainage of oil or gas under lands within the Jackson Hole National Monument by wells on non-federally-owned lands, the authority to take the necessary protective action, including the issuance of oil and gas leases, would impliedly exist.” Id. at 10–11. To be clear, however, the Solicitor was not sanctioning surface occupancy of national monument lands but only the issuance of leases that would allow the federal government and the lessee to share in the oil and gas production that was being extracted from a well on non-federal lands. For further discussion of this issue, see Squillace, supra note 40, at 566–68.

[64]See supra note 61 and accompanying text.

[65]About a dozen monuments have been abolished by the Congress. None of these were larger than 10,000 acres, and no monument established by a president has been de-designated by Congress without redesignating the land as part of another national monument or other protected area since 1956. See Squillace, supra note 40, at 550, 585–610 (appendix). See also National Park Service, Archeology Program: Frequently Asked Questions (May 31, 2017), https://perma.cc/BW3C-X52Z (noting no parks as “abolished” since 1956 except for Misty Fjords, which was subsequently made part of Tongass National Park).

[66]See e.g., Proclamation No. 277, 40 Stat. 1175 (1919)(expanding size of Grand Canyon park).

Copyright Owners’ Putative Interests in Privacy, Reputation, and Control: A Reply to Goold

Patrick Goold’s interesting new article, Unbundling the “Tort” of Copyright Infringement[1] (“Unbundling”) centers on a key lack of clarity that Professor Goold perceives in the cause of action for copyright infringement. The lack of clarity, he argues, afflicts threshold definitions of what constitutes actionable copying.

Under federal copyright law, to prove infringement the plaintiff copyright owner usually must first persuade the finder-of-fact that the plaintiff owns a valid copyright and that the defendant factually used the copyrighted work in one of the ways governed by statute.[2] Then the plaintiff must prove something more.[3] The copyright owner also bears what might be called a normative burden: The plaintiff must prove that the defendant has engaged in “improper appropriation”[4] by using the plaintiff’s copyrighted work to produce something “substantially similar”[5] to the plaintiff’s work of authorship.[6] Later, the copyright owner may also need to struggle with a normative claim by the defendant that her use of the plaintiff’s expression, even if “substantial,” should be permitted as “fair.”[7]

As Goold notes,[8] courts do not reliably define the normative part of the plaintiff’s cause of action in the same way. The terms “substantially similar” or “improper appropriation” receive somewhat varying interpretations. A related difficulty that Goold identifies typically arises on the defense side: He perceives inconsistency in how courts distinguish “fair” from “unfair” uses.[9] In Unbundling, Goold suggests that more clarity would result if the judiciary would follow his recommendations and identify within copyright infringement several individual, if currently inchoate, tort causes of action.[10]

Goold in previous work has made good use of tort doctrine to explore copyright law,[11] and his new project has intriguing possibilities. Today’s federal copyright statute runs for many pages that are often dense with complex language, yet its details nevertheless fail to resolve many cases. Sometimes fraying or uncertainty in core concepts is responsible for this failure. Similarly hoping to increase clarity, Pamela Samuelson is unpacking many of the ways that courts employ copyright’s “merger” doctrine.[12] She, along with other scholars, has begun unbundling and identifying several distinct defenses hiding behind the label “fair use.”[13] Given copyright’s many unsolved puzzles, determining whether the “substantial similarity” or “improper appropriation” aspect of infringement can be unbundled is a route that certainly has promise.

Unbundling argues that copyright infringement appears to be a unitary tort, but that it actually contains within itself five unarticulated subtorts. Goold suggests that if in fact we could unpack copyright into its component concerns, a “gallery of wrongs”[14] of the type other torts possess, there might well be a distinct-infringement test for each type of infringement.[15] Thus, he argues that discerning the different subtorts within the copyright-infringement bundle could help judges choose, and lawyers anticipate, the appropriate test for identifying infringing uses. This is an advance, so far as I know, over prior applications of the unbundling method in copyright scholarship.

He suggests that the standard copyright-owner interest in revenue be divided into two subtorts: protection from unauthorized consumer copying and protection from competitors diverting one’s potential customers. In addition, Goold suggests that within copyright lie three additional causes of action geared to protect copyright owners’ interests in privacy, in reputation, and in controlling “rivalrous”[16] uses.[17]

The five subtorts that Goold offers are: (1) consumer copying, which he identifies as the primary “wrong” with which copyright law is concerned,[18] followed by (2) diversion of customers by competitors,[19] (3) invasion of expressive privacy,[20] (4) injury to artistic reputation,[21] and (5) breach of creative control (by which he means interference with a rivalrous use).[22] For mainstream interpretations of copyright, Goold’s first two initial categories—customer copying and competitor/publisher diversion—are the standard concerns that copyright courts address. The other three are more controversial than the article indicates.

Of those three, a right to control rivalrous uses probably has the strongest claim to being based in the case law. Unfortunately, that right has probably inescapable definitional weaknesses that make it dangerously susceptible to expansion. The subtort to redress reputation injury flowing from misattribution of authorship has some intriguing possibilities, though its feasibility is also questionable (though for different reasons). As for the invasion of privacy subtort, it goes strongly against the grain of some recent copyright cases.

My own view is that Goold overstates the explanatory role of tort law.[23] But even were that not the case, the courts need to reach some kind of “settled” understanding on these various interests before a cause of action is created or definitively rejected, and that no such consensus on the three matters mentioned yet exists, whether they are viewed as forms of tort or otherwise. Goold’s work may nevertheless be an important step toward reaching closure on these and other open questions in copyright law.

Let us take the five categories of Goold’s subtorts in order.

I. Consumer Copying

Copyright’s familiar concerns lie with commercially significant copying by competitors and consumers. It is this commercial recompense that an author hopes for, and that serves as incentive for production. Goold takes an unconventional approach, though, dividing consumer from competitor copying.

Goold’s first major innovation is to put consumer copying as the copyright’s central tort within a tort, and to designate publisher diversion of consumers as a secondary concern of copyright law. This elevation of consumers as copiers is profoundly ahistorical. The United States borrowed its initial copyright scheme largely from the English Statute of Anne, which in turn evolved out of battles among publishers.[24] In the United States, the first federal Copyright Act prohibited only the unconsented “printing, reprinting, publishing and vending” of the copyrighted work.[25] As a physical matter in 1790, consumers could neither print nor reprint. Consumers might copy longhand, but that was unlikely to be commercially significant.

Copyright law’s focus on publisher behavior persisted well into the twentieth century, even after the start of modern home copying technology. For example, when in 1972 sound recordings were made federally copyrightable, Congress went out of its way to explain that home copyists could continue to safely use their tape recorders to make permanent copies of their favorite songs because (says the legislative history) copyright law only addresses commercial copying.[26] At least in 1972, Congress seemed to envisage no possible liability for private behavior, whether the private behavior was copying a work or performing or adapting it.[27] Only when the home product was physically replicated and sold commercially would copyright law take action.

Goold’s paper addresses a world greatly changed since 1972. The progress of home reprographic and distribution technology, in the form of computers, tape recorders, video recorders, internet linkages, and the rest, has been so rapid as to make a profound difference in consumer abilities to create, obtain, and transmit copyrighted material.

Goold implies the law has also greatly changed. Indeed, Congress has paid increasing attention to consumer copying and transmission. One example is copyright’s criminal provisions. In 1978, private copying for noncommercial purposes was essentially free from criminal sanction.[28] In recent years, however, amendments to the criminal law provisions have largely eliminated that safe haven.[29] Another change lies in Congress not only permitting copyright owners to physically encrypt their digital work, but also backing up the encryption with federal penalties for bypass.[30]

Yet Goold overstates by placing consumer copying at the center of 2017 copyright law. Congress made its last major overhaul of federal copyright law in 1976, and the vast majority of the 1976 provisions remain intact. Admittedly, there have been several high-profile suits concerning peer-to-peer networks, and the district courts have seen a flood of “idiosyncratic” suits[31] seeking to milk disproportionate statutory damages from downloaders.[32] But the latter suits, though numerous, are not a reliable focus for assessing copyright policy.[33] Putting them aside, the vast majority of copyright litigation addresses copying and adaptation by commercial companies and republishers, not copying by consumers. The shift of focus to consumer copying might be justified given the drastic increase in potential commercial significance that consumer behaviors now have, but Goold offers no sustained argument to that effect,[34] and no convincing evidence that consumer copying constitutes a more significant infringement than commercial copying does. If we are to ignore a doctrine’s historical roots, we expect some exploration of the costs and benefits of doing so.

It is hard to see what Goold gains by prioritizing consumer copying. He wants to solve problems in articulating the tests for infringement and fair use, but he exchanges those puzzles for one of the most debated questions in copyright today—whether and under what conditions a failure to pay a license fee should weigh against a private person’s claim to “fair use” treatment.[35] That hardly seems a profitable exchange. As set forth in Unbundling, this new subtort requires, among other things, “[a]pplying the basic incentive-access policy calculus,” under which a court decides whether “specific uses [are] of the type where wealth redistribution [is] necessary to ensure optimal incentives.”[36] And that is only one question in the infringement inquiry.

II. Competitor Diversion of Customers

For most of the copyright bar, Goold’s second proposed category—publisher diversion of customers—is the core of copyright law. So identifying this category is useful primarily in the context of a panoply of meaningful choices; its value depends on the value of how well its competing concepts are set out.

One correction needs to be made to Goold’s explanation of customer diversion by competitors. His article gives an example of this subtort using two lighthouses that steal each other’s customers.[37] The example might easily be misunderstood to suggest that copyright makes actionable any kind of commercial harm that involves competitors selling similar products or services, regardless of the presence or absence of borrowing. Goold should be wary of using an example that may lead readers to overlook the particular kind of causation that is essential to copyright.

A copyright plaintiff must prove that a defendant has somehow used the plaintiff’s work in a way that made a difference to the defendant[38]: Unless free riding on the plaintiff’s work was a “but-for cause” of what the defendant produced or did, no liability arises. There is a requirement that the defendant’s product borrow something from the plaintiff’s work.

This two-lighthouse example might be appropriate were Goold writing about patent law, which does empower suit against independent inventors who happen to provide a product identical to what is patented. By contrast, to make Goold’s example fit copyright law, one lighthouse would have to be taking advantage of the other’s efforts or resources in some way. But in Goold’s actual example, one lighthouse makes no use of anything owned by or produced by the other. In his example as constituted, the only causal link is one of harm. Harm is neither necessary nor sufficient to meet copyright’s causal link. What satisfies copyright’s “copying” element is not harm done to a plaintiff’s market, but rather some benefit the defendant has reaped that is causally due to his or her use of the plaintiff’s work. There is no free riding between the two lighthouses. And while proof of free riding is far from sufficient to prove copyright infringement, it remains an essential component of the prima-facie case.

III. Redress of Privacy Invasions

The third role Goold attributes to copyright is protection against privacy invasions.[39] This is particularly problematic. A myriad of cases reject privacy and other dignitary roles for federal copyright, as will be shown below. It is possible these cases are wrong, but Goold seeks to provide a descriptive account of copyright law.[40] Of particular relevance is the en banc decision of the Ninth Circuit that “the protection of privacy is not a function of the copyright law.”[41]

Until the 1976 Copyright Act became effective in 1978, private and otherwise unpublished manuscripts were largely handled by state rather than federal copyright. Only a few categories of unpublished material were even eligible for federal registration. 

Certainly, in 1978, federal copyright law expanded to embrace all unpublished works, so long as they were written down, tape-recorded, or otherwise “fixed.”[42] But this expansion of federal reach did not change federal policy. The key document, the House Report for the 1976 Copyright Act, gives a number of reasons for bringing unpublished works into federal copyright, most having to do with simplicity, administrability, and uniformity.[43] Nowhere is there a hint that federal copyright was meant to adopt any privacy or dignity concerns that states may have injected into their common law or statutory protections for local authors.[44] Further, when post-1978 courts began giving too much deference to the desires of authors to control the first publication of their words, Congress responded by dialing down the deference owed.[45]

Conceivably Goold can make privacy hay out of our country’s accession to the Berne Convention, which caused changes in federal copyright law[46] that arguably introduced personal and emotional concerns into certain subparts of federal law.[47] However, the Berne changes are in tension with America’s iconoclastic free speech tradition, so trying to make them the foundation for a privacy cause of action within copyright will be (or at least should be) an uphill battle.

Goold is right that some federal copyright cases hint that privacy is a legitimate copyright concern. But doctrinal development, demands of internal consistency, and copyright policy lean predominantly the other way. For example, consider the difficulty of inserting privacy concerns into copyright law in light of the historic distinction between ownable expression and unprotectable ideas and facts.[48] The Supreme Court has indicated that this freedom to copy facts may be essential to copyright’s constitutionality.[49] Therefore, no copyright cause of action would lie for uncomfortable facts gleaned from even the most private diary. In addition, a host of differences between copyright law and privacy rights would make it difficult to know how to shape a privacy claim in copyright law. Common law privacy rights are personal, so that, for example, they usually expire upon death,[50] whereas copyright not only survives an author’s death, but can be owned by someone other than the creator.

IV. Artistic Reputational Injury Occasioned by Misattribution of Altered Work

This may well be the most promising new sub-tort in Goold’s arsenal. Before discussing it, let us lay some groundwork.

Copyright is sometimes casually equated with plagiarism, but one of the distinctions between the two lies in the role that reputation plays. Plagiarism results from inaccurate attribution of authorship, usually by someone seeking an improper boost for his or her reputation (or grade) by making unacknowledged use of others’ language. Lack of attribution is the core of the wrong in plagiarism, and proper attribution is its cure.

In copyright, attribution has almost the opposite effect. Proper attribution tends to make copyright infringements more harmful rather than less, as identifying the true author of what an infringer is selling is likely simply to increase the infringer’s profit.

Say, for example, that someone without authorization mass-produces and sells a best-selling Stephen King novel. Sales of the infringing version without King’s name would be lower than the volume of sales that would result if the infringer accurately put King’s name on the cover. Similarly, if someone without authorization translates King’s novel into Spanish, this behavior too will infringe rights held by the copyright owner,[51] and again using King’s name would increase sales. Should the unauthorized translator name herself as sole author of the Spanish-language novel, sales are likely to be modest.

Goold does not fall into the trap of equating copyright with plagiarism. Goold’s article thus plays a valuable role by focusing on one narrow kind of reputational injury: that which flows from producing a degraded or distorted version of the plaintiff’s work and attributing it to plaintiff. An example might be the translator just mentioned: If she made drastic changes to Stephen King’s plot or characters, and nevertheless attributed the quite different work to King, his reputation as a skillful writer might suffer.

But even as to that fact pattern, the article leaves many issues unaddressed. Perhaps most obvious is the danger that the reputation inquiry will collapse into inquiries into whether the second work is truly of lesser quality than the copied work. There are many hazards, some of them sounding in the First Amendment, given that it may see judges involve themselves in deciding what counts as a ‘worthy’ or ‘unworthy’ adaptation of a work of art.[52]

Admittedly, joining the Berne Convention required the United States to adopt the so-called “moral rights” of attribution and integrity,[53] which involve reputation. Congress, however, has been leery of importing such inquiries into American law. The legislation implementing those rights, the Artists Visual Rights Act of 1990 (“VARA”),[54] is quite narrow. Among other limits, it does not give so-called rights of attribution or integrity to literary works or music, or to “any poster, map, globe, chart, technical drawing, diagram, model, applied art, motion picture or other audiovisual work, book, magazine, [or] newspaper.”[55] In this and other ways, Congress cabined the reputational and integrity rights within limits so strong as to make the rights almost useless.[56]

This narrowness should not surprise us. Fair use and the First Amendment are about searching for truth, not securing reputations against ridicule. In fact, in a major copyright opinion, the Supreme Court held that the very human desire to avoid being ridiculed is a reason that favors giving parodists a very free rein to quote and distort the copyrighted oeuvres they ridicule.[57]

VARA distinguishes ownership of integrity and moral rights from ownership of copyright.[58] Moreover, as Judge Frank Easterbrook has argued, the narrowness of VARA suggests Congress does not want broad moral rights inserted into copyright law generally.[59] Explicit limits should not be casually contravened by inserting a reputational right into the general infringement action “through the back door.”[60]

Goold needs to give greater attention to the practical consequences of embracing this sub-tort. The Supreme Court has refused to embrace attribution issues in federal trademark law[61] largely because of “serious practical problems.”[62] The Court rejected attribution inquiries despite plausible support for attribution questions in the statutory language of the trademark statute and despite the fact that giving consumers accurate information about source is a crucial concern of trademark law. One of the Court’s primary concerns was that a legal requirement of accurate attribution might require litigants and judges to engage in a fruitless “search for the source of the Nile and all its tributaries.”[63]

However suggestive it might be, the Supreme Court’s trademark opinion does not compel the exclusion of attribution issues from copyright law. In fact, the trademark dispute had focused on the labeling of a work in the public domain, and the Court opined that public-domain works were likely to present more difficult authorship issues than works whose copyrights are still valid.[64]

Nevertheless, given the accretive nature of culture, identifying the authors of works still in valid copyright can also be immensely difficult. Consider a child’s copyrighted stuffed toy, based on a copyrighted animated movie, which was based on a copyrighted story in English, which in turn was based on a copyrighted Russian-language version of a Ukrainian folk tale.

Conceivably there are ways to make explicit copyright recognition of the reputation/attribution issue somewhat feasible for literary works and other works not eligible for VARA (though VARA’s own limits raise doubts about doing so). For example, detailed rules might ameliorate some line-drawing problems, such as how to distinguish between authorial and non-authorial contributions to a work.[65] And Goold is correct that there have been hints in some copyright cases that courts will be particularly unsympathetic to defendants who not only make unauthorized changes to a work but also name the horrified copyright owner as its author. All told, of the three new sub-torts Goold advances (privacy, control, and reputation), this reputational sub-tort is the most normatively promising.

V. The Right of Creative Control

This last sub-tort on Goold’s list, involving creative control, is particularly controversial when it is asserted in a context where the alleged lack of control interferes with no identifiable commercial plan or activity of the copyright owner.[66] Yet the notion may have staying power. Some kinds of control—such as the right to be the sole maker of a movie or other derivative work, or the right of first publication—do have the commercial resonance that can matter to incentives.

Still, a ‘right of control’ per se would be intolerably expansive. To proffer it requires detailed specification of limits. For example, on a normative level, one can doubt whether copyright should curtail harmless and speech-related behavior simply because the sequence of words, sounds, images or symbols are being deployed in a way their author doesn’t like. On a descriptive level, I do not see strong support for a right to control harmless behavior in the cases or statute. Much of the evidence is to the contrary. For example, Goold draws support from an early piece by Register David Ladd,[67] but Ladd’s views were largely opposite to those the contemporaneous Supreme Court adopted.[68]

The Constitutional purpose of copyright is to provide economic incentives.[69] A ‘right of control’ sub-tort severed from economic harm has a weak connection to incentives.

Conclusion

Goold’s article clears some necessary territory. However, too much underbrush remains to justify the article making recommendations as to how courts should actually proceed.

One can understand scholars feeling pressure to find and announce solutions, particularly while “improper appropriation” in copyright law remains highly problematic. Over seventy years have passed since negligence law received from Judge Learned Hand a clear structure for its somewhat parallel category, “unreasonable behavior.”[70] (As if to rub it in, Judge Hand opined on a crucial distinction in copyright that “[n]obody has ever been able to fix that boundary, and nobody ever can.”[71]) And lack of conceptual clarity leads to some jarring results.[72] Yet most infringement litigation proceeds along unsurprising paths.

As for “fair use,” no emergency threatens there either. Scholarship has refined the doctrine’s contours, and recent caselaw has made fair use liberties available to a wide range of publicly valuable but unauthorized applications of copyrighted work. Thus, for example, Goold quotes Larry Lessig’s famous quip from 2004 that fair use amounts to a mere “right to hire a lawyer,”[73] though Goold concedes in the footnotes that not all share this view. Fair use has changed greatly since—so greatly that some commentators argue that the doctrine transitioned “from weak reed to powerful shield in a decade’s time[.]”[74]

Unbundling is a notable venture for a new scholar. It shows a range of knowledge and an independent cast of mind. Admittedly, I remain unpersuaded by its particular effort to make visible the hidden causes of action that lie within federal copyright, particularly when Goold argues for protecting reputation, privacy, and a broad right to control—three issues not directly concerned with commercial incentives. These three interests have some basis in the statute and caselaw, but their substantive support is sufficiently weak that I am puzzled by Goold’s choice to focus on them. Nevertheless, his basic method—investigating whether a variety of distinct interests are being protected by copyright law, and assessing whether their several natures might mandate specialized tests for infringement or assessing fair use—is one that many in the field could profitably emulate.

By disentangling various distinct interests that are often bundled together in a blurry and confusing way in copyright cases, Goold places an important set of questions on the agenda of copyright judges, legislators, and commentators: Are these interests that copyright law does or should serve? If not, how would unambiguously excluding them change current copyright practice? If, by contrast, copyright does or should explicitly embrace them, what changes could be triggered by unambiguously recognizing these interests, particularly regarding the infringement inquiry and weighing the fair use factors? Goold’s article gives urgency and clarity to this important set of inquiries.

 

 


*Copyright © by Wendy J. Gordon 2017. Wendy J. Gordon is William Fairfield Warren Distinguished Professor at Boston University and Professor of Law at the BU School of Law.

I thank my husband, Michael Zimmer, for his superb editorial eye; Oren Bracha for his perceptive comments; the University of Texas School of Law at Austin for its generous hospitality while I worked on this piece; and Alexander Piala (UT class of 2018) for his excellent research assistance. In addition, I am grateful to the wondrous resources of BU’s Pappas Law Library, particularly the good offices of Stefanie Weigmann and Shira Megerman.

[1]Patrick R. Goold, Unbundling the “Tort” of Copyright Infringement, 102 Va. L. Rev. 1833, 1833–34 (2016) [hereinafter Goold, Unbundling].

[2]Making use of the copyrighted work is usually known as “actual copying” or “copying in fact.” “Copying in fact” or “actual copying” are terms of art. They address whether someone has factually borrowed or used the copyrighted work in question. In this context, the opposite of “copying” is relying solely on other sources or on independent creation. (In this broad sense of “copying,” to read a copyrighted book chapter over the radio is to “copy” it. In some other contexts, however, to “copy” may literally mean “to reproduce.”) Although to “copy” (in the context of the plaintiff’s case in chief) means essentially “to use,” not all unauthorized uses of copyrighted work are unlawful. For example, the Copyright Act gives everyone the liberty to copy ideas. 17 U.S.C. § 102(b) (2012). For another example, while the Act gives copyright owners some rights over public performance, the Act does not reach private performance. Id. § 106(4). Thus reading a copyrighted book aloud in one’s living room cannot violate the performance right. Id. See also id. § 101 (definition of “publicly”).

[3]VMG Salsoul, LLC v. Ciccone, 824 F.3d 871, 877 (9th Cir. 2016) (noting that “proof of actual copying is insufficient to establish copyright infringement . . .”).

[4]For courts using this terminology, see, for example, Muller v. Anderson, 501 F. App’x 81, 83 (2d Cir. 2012) (“[T]he plaintiff must prove . . . improper appropriation.”); Walker v. Time Life Films, 784 F.2d 44, 48 (2d Cir. 1986) (“Walker must show . . . that his expression was ‘improperly appropriated’ . . . .” (quoting Hoehling v. Universal City Studios, 618 F.2d 972, 977 (2d. Cir. 1980)); Arnstein v. Porter, 154 F.2d 464, 468 (2d Cir. 1946) (noting the plaintiff must show that “the copying . . . went so far as to constitute improper appropriation”).

[5]For courts employing this terminology, see, for example, Almeda Mall, L.P. v. Shoe Show, 649 F.3d 389, 391 (5th Cir. 2011) (concluding that “the trade name SHOE SHOW is not substantially similar to THE SHOE DEPT. . . .”); Cavalier v. Random House, 297 F.3d 815, 822 (9th Cir. 2002) (“Copying may be established by showing that the infringer had access to plaintiff’s copyrighted work and that the works at issue are substantially similar in their protected elements.”); Warner Bros. v. Am. Broad. Cos., 720 F.2d 231, 239 (2d Cir. 1983) (“The basic issues concerning the copyright infringement claim are whether the Hero and Superman works are substantially similar so as to support an inference of copying . . . .”).

[6]Infringement can occur through producing an unauthorized physical reproduction, an unauthorized derivative work, or an unauthorized public performance. 17 U.S.C. § 106(1), (2), (4), (6). In addition, a defendant can infringe by distributing or publicly displaying an unlawfully made copy or even, under some circumstances, by distributing or publicly displaying a lawfully made copy the defendant does not own. See id. § 106(3) (distribution right) as modified by id. § 109(a) (first sale doctrine). See also id. § 106(5) (public display right) as modified by id. § 109(c). Additional causes of action exist under the statute, but they are best seen as paracopyright and distinct from copyright infringement per se. See, e.g., id. §§ 1201–04 (civil and criminal penalties applicable to, inter alia, unauthorized circumvention of physical copy-restraints such as encryption).

[7]Id. § 107 (“[T]he fair use of a copyrighted work . . . is not an infringement of copyright.”). See generally Wendy J. Gordon, Excuse and Justification in the Law of Fair Use: Transaction Costs Have Always Been Only Part of the Story, 50 J. Copyright Soc’y U.S.A. 149 (2003) (common law flavored introduction to the complex “fair use” doctrine).

[8]Goold, Unbundling, supra note 1, at 1836–37.

[9]Id. Fair use doctrine is a vehicle for evaluating whether a substantial borrowing might, in the context of a particular fact pattern, nevertheless be normatively entitled to go forward without permission and payment. The fair use doctrine can render even exact copies noninfringing. 17 U.S.C. § 107 (listing “multiple copies for classroom use” as a possible focus for fair use); Sony Corp. of Am. v. Universal City Studios, 464 U.S. 417, 449–51 (1984) (home videotaping of entire TV programs can be fair use when done for purposes of time-shifting).

Goold is quite right that ordinarily “fair use” arises in a defendant’s case, and that the defendant will usually bear some or all of the burden of persuasion. Goold, Unbundling, supra note 1, at 1836. However, the statute itself does not identify “fair use” as an affirmative defense. Rather, the Copyright Act’s key provision on fair use, 17 U.S.C. § 107 (2012), says only that fair uses are “not an infringement of copyright,” a phrase that could be legitimately interpreted to place a burden of proving unfair use on plaintiffs as part of their case in chief. In some cases, some portion of a burden to prove unfair use has indeed been placed on plaintiffs, whether implicitly or explicitly.

The right to make fair uses of others’ work is an important part of the public’s liberties to use others’ copyrighted expression. This set of liberties is sometimes identified with “users’ rights.” See CCH Canadian Ltd. v. Law Soc’y of Upper Can., [2004] 1 S.C.R. 339, 364 (Can.) (“User rights are not just loopholes.” (quoting David Vaver, Copyright Law 171 (2000)).

[10]Goold, Unbundling, supra note 1, at 1838, 1898.

[11]See Oren Bracha & Patrick R. Goold, Copyright Accidents, 96 B.U. L. Rev. 1025, 1027–1029 (2016). This article explores how copyright law should treat defendants who, after a good faith but fruitless attempt to locate and pay any copyright holders, take the risk of publishing, and then learn they have copied a substantial amount of copyrighted material. One might say such defendants have “accidentally” copied a copyrighted work, a metaphor that Bracha and Goold take seriously and deploy to good effect.

[12]Pamela Samuelson, Reconceptualizing Copyright’s Merger Doctrine, 63 J. Copyright Soc’y U.S.A. 417, 417–19 (2016).

[13]See, e.g., Pamela Samuelson, Unbundling Fair Uses, 77 Fordham L. Rev. 2537, 2539–41 (2009) (arguing that the success of fair use defense falls into common patterns); Lydia Pallas Loren, Redefining the Market Failure Approach to Fair Use in an Era of Copyright Permission Systems, 5 J. Intell. Prop. L. 1, 7–8, 16–18 (1997) (recognizing fair use rights as expansive and exploring how fair use doctrine impacted rights given to the copyright owner and user over time); Wendy J. Gordon, Fair Use as Market Failure: A Structural and Economic Analysis of the Betamax Case and its Predecessors, 82 Colum. L. Rev. 1600, 1627–35 (1982) (exploring fair use as a response to, inter alia, high transaction costs, external benefits, noncommercial uses, nonmonetizable values, and antidissemination motives).

[14]Goold argues that copyright infringement is oddly “singular,” as opposed to the multiple causes of action that characterize other areas of tort. Goold, Unbundling, supra note 1, at 1838–39. He also contends that copyright lacks the explicit “gallery of wrongs” structure found in many other areas of tort. Id. at 1855–56. These claims are puzzling.

First, much of the activity denominated “copyright infringement” is socially useful and not morally wrongful in itself; the “wrong” lies in disobeying the law which requires the purchase of a license. To label every breach of law a “wrong” is technically a correct usage, but the usage nevertheless dilutes the force of the word.

Second, copyright has a full (one might say over-full) gallery of distinct breaches, full of detailed differences. The Copyright Act sets out many subcategories of copyright infringement that it explicitly distinguishes, both in terms of types of works protected, 17 U.S.C. § 102(a), and in terms of the typology of rights that attach to owning a particular kind of work, id. §§ 106, 106A. The Act then makes each type of work and type of right subject to particularized exemptions and defenses. Id. §§ 108–122. A good illustration of the lines the statute draws can be seen by comparing the acts that can infringe copyright in a “sound recording” with the acts that can infringe copyright in a “musical work.” Id. §§ 102(a), 106, 114. The copyright statute thus certainly seems to display a “gallery” of causes of action.

Nevertheless, the importance of Goold’s point depends neither on whether copyright infringement is a ‘wrong’ in a meaningful sense, nor on the question of whether copyright infringement is unitary or internally diverse. All Goold needs to show is that making some additional distinctions among types of breach would be useful. That question his article skillfully raises.

[15]Goold, Unbundling, supra note 1, at 1838–39.

[16]Id. at 1870–71. Intangible patterns like works of authorship are usually considered nonrivalrous because, as Goold explains, “one person’s use does not affect the use of another.” Id. at 1870. Despite the possibility of infinitely replicating a book or song, physical inexhaustibility does not guarantee that one person’s use will not affect another person’s profit. Goold essentially tries to identify occasions on which the rivalrous aspect predominates. For further discussion of what might constitute a “rivalrous use,” and of the category’s ambiguities, see Part IV.

[17]I am glad Goold did not propose a subtort to vindicate publisher, as distinct from authorship, interests. In my view, publishers’ claims under copyright should be related to the publishers’ role in incentivizing creative expression, and no deference should be paid in copyright cases to supporting publishers’ noncreative activities. See Wendy J. Gordon, Authors, Publishers and Public Goods: Trading Gold for Dross, 36 Loy. L.A. L. Rev. 159, 197–198 (2002).

[18]Goold, Unbundling, supra note 1, at 1857.

[19]See id. at 1860.

[20]See id. at 1865.

[21]See id. at 1867.

[22]See id. at 1869.

[23]Copyright reflects the influence of a number of common law doctrines to which Goold gives little serious attention—for example, unjust enrichment law (also known as restitution) provides for recovery to volunteers who confer benefits without contract. Such cases provide significant insight into when and why the common law might be unwilling to require beneficiaries to pay for benefits others create. Yet Goold dismisses the relevance of restitution law, largely on the ground that giving it analogic significance “would potentially justify [copyright] owners claiming reward every time the work is enjoyed.” Id. at 1854. Goold’s position is deeply puzzling, given that unjust enrichment law gives recovery far more sparingly than does tort law. See, e.g., Wendy J. Gordon, Of Harms and Benefits: Torts, Restitution, and Intellectual Property, 21 J. Legal Stud. 449, 450 (1992) (discussing how duties “to guard against harm are far more common than duties to provide or pay for benefits”). Goold cites some of my work on this topic, but fails to explain adequately why he disagrees about the influence restitution law would have. Goold, Unbundling, supra note 1, at 1854 n.150.

[24]See Oren Bracha, Owning Ideas: The Intellectual Origins of American Intellectual Property, 1790–1909, 36–42, 58 (2016).

[25]Copyright Act of 1790, 1 Stat. 124 (1790) (repealed 1802).

[26]117 Cong. Rec. 34,748–49 (1971) (“Mr. KAZEN: Am I correct in assuming that the bill protects copyrighted material that is duplicated for commercial purposes only? Mr. KASTENMEIER: Yes.”).

[27]Jessica Litman, Campbell at 21/Sony at 31, 90 Wash. L. Rev. 651, 662 (2015).

[28]As initially enacted in 1976, Section 506 provided, in pertinent part, that criminal penalties applied to someone who “infringes a copyright willfully and for purposes of commercial advantage or private financial gain.” An Act for the General Revision of the Copyright Law, Pub. L. No. 94-553, § 506, 90 Stat. 2586 (1976).

[29]First, the original term, “private financial gain,” has recently been redefined to expand the reach of the criminal provisions. Today, 17 U.S.C. § 101 (2012) states, “The term ‘financial gain’ includes receipt, or expectation of receipt, of anything of value, including the receipt of other copyrighted works.”

Second, criminal liability under the copyright statute has been expanded to include, inter alia, behavior such as bypassing encryption. See id. §§ 1201, 1204. Third, Section 506 itself covers additional activity that consumers might well engage in, including “the reproduction or distribution, including by electronic means, during any 180–day period, of 1 or more copies or phonorecords of 1 or more copyrighted works, which have a total retail value of more than $1,000.” Id. § 506(a)(1)(B).

[30]See, e.g., id. § 1204 (creating criminal penalties for violation).

[31]Matthew Sag, IP Litigation in U.S. District Courts: 1994–2014, 101 Iowa L. Rev. 1065, 1077 (2016).

[32]Id. at 1075–80. The primary goal of these suits is “creating an independent litigation revenue stream that is unrelated to compensation for the harms of infringement and that is unconcerned with deterrence.” Id. at 1076. There also had been a wave of suits against end-users “to ‘educate’ the public about filesharing and to reinforce that education with deterrence.” Id. Those suits essentially ended in 2008. Id. at 1075[MD to edit this part]ucat”nce”,5–76olation)idn’is view.case)hat not available in the westlaw/lexis version].o analyzing the cla.

[33]Id. at 1077 (“[P]olicymakers should be cautious about extrapolating from current trends in this context. . . .”). In my view, Congress and the courts are more likely to pull back these suits, which essentially abuse the system, than to treat them as a model.

[34]Goold, supra note 1, at 1857–59.

[35]See, e.g., Wendy J. Gordon, The Concept of “Harm” in Copyright, in Intellectual Property and the Common Law 452, 477–80 (Shyamkrishna Balganesh ed., 2013) (discussing whether failure to pay license fees constitutes a harm under various theories); Loren, supra note 13, at 6 (discussing rejection of fair use claims where the copyright owners established licensing systems).

[36]Goold, supra note 1, at 1858. See also id. passim.

[37]Goold, supra note 1, at 1860. Aside from the problem of identifying “customers” who would pay for a non-excludable good such as a shining light, the hypothetical does not involve any copying, borrowing, free-riding, or other use of the first lighthouse’s resources by the newcomer lighthouse. This cannot be a copyright example, then, for copyright suits cannot proceed without proof that the defendant has gained something from the plaintiff’s work. See, e.g., Wendy J. Gordon, Copyright and Tort as Mirror Models: On Not Mistaking for the Right Hand What the Left Hand Is Doing, in Comparative Law and Economics 311, 323–25 (Theodore Eisenberg & Giovanni B. Ramello eds., 2016) (discussing “copying” element in cause of action as requiring evidence that defendant gained output, defined broadly as appearance, quantity and cost of production, after coming into contact with plaintiffs work). Goold places little emphasis on the example; he is simply doing a rhetorical turn on a classic public-goods illustration. But just a sentence or two before the example, he commits real error, in stating that the reason why copyright law allows suit against publishers has nothing to do with a desire to allow authors to “internalize” some of the benefits their efforts give others. Goold reserves that concern with internalizing only for consumer copying. Goold, supra note 1, at 1859–60.

[38]See Sheldon v. Metro-Goldwyn Pictures Corp., 81 F.2d 49, 53 (2d Cir. 1936) (“[I]t makes no difference how far the play was anticipated by works in the public demesne [public domain] which the plaintiffs did not use.”). In a now-classic formulation, the Second Circuit emphasized that the key factual question in copyright is “whether the defendants actually used” the copyrighted work. Id. at 53. The court notes that:

. . . [I]f by some magic a man who had never known it were to compose anew Keats’s Ode on a Grecian Urn, he would be an “author,” and, if he copyrighted it, others might not copy that poem, though they might of course copy Keats’s. . . . [J]ust as he is no less an ‘author’ because others have preceded him, so another who follows him, is not a tort-feasor unless he pirates his work . . . .

Id. at 54 (emphasis added) (citations omitted). A plaintiff cannot complain of copying by the defendant, so long as the copying is not from the plaintiff’s work. Id. at 54.

[39]Goold, Unbundling, supra note 1 at 1865.

[40]Id. at 1898–99.

[41]Garcia v. Google, Inc., 786 F.3d 733, 745 (9th Cir. 2015) (en banc) (quoting Bond v. Blum, 317 F.3d 385, 395 (4th Cir. 2003)). This statement about privacy is arguably dicta, but was nevertheless a matter to which the opinion gave serious consideration. The en banc court continues:

“To the contrary, the copyright law offers a limited monopoly to encourage ultimate public access to the creative work of the author.” Bond v. Blum, 317 F.3d 385, 395 (4th Cir. 2003); see also Monge v. Maya Magazines, Inc., 688 F.3d 1164, 1177 (9th Cir. 2012) (quoting Bond and “pointedly” noting copyright cases are analyzed “only under copyright principles, not privacy law”)

Likewise, authors cannot seek emotional distress damages under the Copyright Act, because such damages are unrelated to the value and marketability of their works.

Id. at 745.

[42]See 17 U.S.C § 301 (2012) (pre-empting state copyright law); id. § 102.

[43]See H.R. Rep. No. 94-1476, at 129–31 (1976).

[44]Id.

[45]In 1992, the fair use provision was amended to decrease the negative impact of a work’s being unpublished; the statute now states that “[t]he fact that a work is unpublished shall not itself bar a finding of fair use if such finding is made upon consideration of all the above factors.” 17 U.S.C § 107.

[46]See, e.g., Visual Artists Rights Act of 1990 (“VARA”), title VI of the Judicial Improvements Act of 1990, Pub. L. No. 101–650, § 603 (a), Dec. 1, 1990, 104 Stat. 5128 (1990) (primarily codified at 17 U.S.C. §§ 101 & 106A). These sections comprise the key portions of VARA, which was part of the US effort to implement its earlier accession to the Berne Convention.

[47]But see 17 U.S.C § 104(c) (discussing effect of accession to Berne Convention and noting that rights “shall not be expanded or reduced by virtue of, or in reliance upon, the provisions of the Berne Convention, or the adherence of the United States thereto.”).

[48]See id. § 102(b); Feist Publications.v. Rural Tel. Serv. Co., 499 U.S. 340, 356 (1991) (“Section 102(b) is universally understood to prohibit any copyright in facts.”).

[49]Eldred v. Ashcroft, 537 U.S. 186, 219–21 (2003).

[50]See, e.g., Hendrickson v. Cal. Newspapers, 48 Cal.App.3d 59, 62 (Cal. Ct. App. 1975) (“It is well settled that the right of privacy is purely a personal one . . . . the right does not survive but dies with the person”).

[51]The affected rights appear in: 17 U.S.C. § 106(1) (reproduction), § 106(2) (preparing derivative works), and § 106(3) (distribution to the public). See 17 U.S.C. § 106.

[52]The canonical caution to judges on this topic belongs to Justice Holmes: “It would be a dangerous undertaking for persons trained only to the law to constitute themselves final judges of the worth of pictorial illustrations, outside of the narrowest and most obvious limits.” Bleistein v. Donaldson Lithographing Co., 188 U.S. 239, 251 (1903).

[53]Berne Convention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Works, art. 6bis, ¶(1), Sept. 9, 1886.

[54]The Visual Artists Rights Act of 1990, title VI of the Judicial Improvements Act of 1990, Pub. L. No. 101–650, 104 Stat. 5089, 5123–33 (1990) (primarily codified at 17 U.S.C. §§101 & 106A).

[55]17 U.S.C. § 101 (definition of “work of visual art,” with an additional provision defining what “[a] work of visual art does not include”).

[56]See id. § 106A. See also the remarkably narrow definition of the type of work covered by the attribution and integrity right. Id. at § 101 (definition of “work of visual art”).

[57]Campbell v. Acuff-Rose Music, 510 U.S. 569, 592 (1994).

[58]17 U.S.C. §106A(b) & (e)(2).

[59]Lee v. A.R.T. Co., 125 F.3d 580, 582–83 (7th Cir. 1997) (“It would not be sound to use § 106(2) to provide artists with exclusive rights deliberately omitted from the Visual Artists Rights Act.”).

[60]Id. at 582 (criticizing a theory “about what counts as a derivative work,” because adopting the theory would imply that “the United States has established through the back door an extraordinarily broad version of authors’ moral rights, under which artists may block any modification of their works of which they disapprove”).

[61]Dastar Corp. v. Twentieth Century Fox Film Corp, 539 U.S. 23, 36–37 (2003) (refusing to allow plaintiffs to use the Lanham Act—the federal trademark statute—to try questions regarding proper attribution of authorship).

[62]Id at 35.

[63]Id. at 36.

[64]Id. at 35. (“Without a copyrighted work as the basepoint, the word ‘origin’ has no discernable limits.”) Yet difficulties in determining authorial origin can arise regardless of a work’s legal status; even copyrighted works often contain multiple sources. Also, Dastar has been generally applied to bar trademark claims of false authorial attribution in cases involving copyrighted works as well as those involving public-domain works. See, e.g., Antidote Int’l Films v. Bloomsbury Publ’g, PLC, 467 F. Supp. 2d 394, 398 (S.D.N.Y. 2006) (holding that Dastar bars false advertising claims concerning authorship).

[65]For example, Congress or the courts might spell out how much ‘new matter’ must be added before a claim of attribution is warranted, for example, or how to treat a copyright owner’s claim that involves misattribution when the actual creator is not the person who owns the copyright. However, Goold’s advice against formal recognition of the sub-torts could make it difficult to specify such rules. Goold, Unbundling, supra note 1, at 1895–98 (recommending against statutory implementation).

[66]Sony Corp. of Am. v. Universal City Studios, 464 U.S. 417, 451 (1984) (discussing how lack of commercial harm weighted heavily in giving fair use treatment to home copyists of television programs).

[67]David Ladd, The Harm of the Concept of Harm in Copyright: The Thirteenth Donald C. Brace Memorial Lecture (Apr. 13, 1983), in 30 J. Copyright Soc’y U.S.A. 421, 422 (1983).

[68]Sony, 464 U.S. at 451.

[69]The Constitution gives Congress power to grant to authors and inventors exclusive rights over their works in order to “promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts.” U.S. Const. art. I, § 8, cl. 8.

[70]United States v. Carroll Towing Co., 159 F.2d 169, 173 (2d Cir. 1947) (“[T]he owner’s duty, as in other similar situations, to provide against resulting injuries is a function of three variables: (1) The probability that [a boat tethered at a mooring] will break away; (2) the gravity of the resulting injury, if she does; (3) the burden of adequate precautions.”). Judge Hand’s BPL test (so named for his variables: burden, probability, and loss) may not answer all questions, but it has stayed at the center of negligence discussions for over a half-century.

[71]Nichols v. Universal Pictures Corp., 45 F.2d 119, 121 (2d Cir. 1930). The boundary in question divides ideas (which the law makes freely copyable) from expression (over which copyright owners have some legal rights of control). See 17 U.S.C. § 102(b) (2012). Part of the purpose of determining “substantial similarity” or “improper appropriation” is to decide if the defendant has copied only ideas (which is permitted and indeed encouraged) or if the defendant has also copied expression.

[72]See, e.g., Wendy J. Gordon, How Jury in the ‘Blurred Lines’ Case was Misled (March 17, 2015, 2:30 PM), http://www.newsweek.com/jury-blurred-lines-case-was-misled-314856 (exploring jury finding of infringement in the Blurred Lines case). Goold cites to rulings in the Blurred Lines case. Goold, Unbundling, supra note 1, at 1835 n.4 (citing Williams v. Bridgeport Music, No. LA CV13-06004 JAK, 2015 WL 4479500, at *1–2 (CD. Cal. July 14, 2015)) (determining, inter alia, that the defendants’ motion for a new trial should be denied)).

[73]Goold, Unbundling, supra note 1, at 1837 (quoting Lawrence Lessig, Free Culture: How Big Media Uses Technology and the Law to Lock Down Culture and Control Creativity 187 (2004)).

[74]Rebecca Tushnet, Content, Purpose, or Both?, 90 Wash. L. Rev. 869, 872–73 (2015) (discussing doctrinal improvements in the strength of fair use since Lessig wrote).

Reorganizing Organizational Standing

Introduction

On January 23, 2017, the Citizens for Responsibility and Ethics in Washington (“CREW”) sued President Trump, alleging Emoluments Clause[1] violations.[2] One of the most peculiar aspects of the case is standing: the organization alleges it has been injured by the violations because of its “mission of . . . ensuring the integrity of government officials” and because it “has expended a significant amount of time and resources since the election educating the public about the Foreign Emoluments Clause and” Trump’s alleged violations thereof.[3] Many commentators expressed instinctual skepticism about this injury,[4] but under lower court precedent CREW’s standing is bona fide. That is because the lower federal courts have disfigured one enigmatic Supreme Court case to effectively remove all Article III limitations for well-lawyered advocacy organizations.

Although it is well established that Article III both (A) prohibits individuals from litigating ideological injury[5] and (B) provides that organizations cannot get standing on easier terms,[6] the lower courts are permitting the latter to base injury on their “mission” and thus obtain “standing on terms that the Supreme Court has said individuals cannot.”[7] In particular, the lower courts have fashioned a two-pronged organizational standing test asking whether the group has (1) identified an activity that conflicts with its mission and (2) made volitional counter-expenditures in response.[8] The lower courts suppose the Supreme Court’s decision in Havens Realty v. Coleman compels this result in deed if not in word. For decades that view has prevailed. This essay explains this doctrine’s incompatibility with Article III, dispels the myth about Havens, and then evaluates CREW’s standing under a proper organizational test.

Part I catalogs organizational standing jurisprudence. Following the Supreme Court, the lower courts claim that organizations can get standing in only two ways. But a more useful taxonomy of their approach in fact recognizes three. An organization has standing to sue (1) on behalf of its members if one of them has standing, (2) when it possesses the kind of “direct stake” that would suffice for an individual, and (3) pursuant to the lower courts’ mission-based miscreation (hereinafter “mission advancement standing”). This final category is illegitimate.

Part II explains why. According weight to the first prong—mission conflict—violates the rule that “standing is not measured by the intensity of the litigant’s interest or the fervor of his advocacy.”[9] Regarding prong two—expenditures—a volitional outlay made without a preexisting viable harm is a noncognizable “self-inflicted injur[y].”[10] One wonders, then, how the lower courts became so lost. They cite one—and only one—Supreme Court case as authorization: Havens Realty v. Coleman.

Part III detaches Havens from the lower courts’ fabrication. Although Havens is an enigma it does not authorize this doctrine. Havens concerned an organization that operated a housing counseling service and identified suitable apartments for local, poor citizens. The case arose when a local apartment lied to one of the organization’s counselees regarding property vacancies on account of the man’s race, effectively unraveling the organization’s counseling. Essentially, “what [the organization] used its own resources, [and] information . . . to build up, [the apartment’s] racist lies tore down.”[11] Contra the lower courts’ doctrine, mission was irrelevant and volitional expenditures did not establish injury.

Part IV provides a path forward, identifying a constitutionally grounded inquiry to determine whether an organization may have standing irrespective its members. One hallmark unifies the inquiry: instead of asking, as the lower courts have, how the organization spent resources, the question is whether the organization was injured irrespective of these volitional expenditures. This Part closes by evaluating CREW’s standing under this test.

I. Organizational Standing Categories

It is a common refrain among the lower courts that organizational standing exists in two forms. While they pay homage to that notion they do not follow it. The Supreme Court has recognized two forms—permitting organizational suit “both [1] as a representative of its members if one of them has standing and [2] on its own behalf” pursuant to “the same inquiry as in the case of an individual”[12]—but this dichotomy fragments in the lower courts. Indeed, they let “organizations get standing on terms that the Supreme Court has said individuals cannot”[13]—plainly the two-category adage is incomplete. This Part presents three to enable greater analytical clarity.

A. The Constitutional Categories

The first category—so called representational standing—need not occupy us. That doctrine recognizes that an organization can bring suit as a representative of its members if at least one member has standing and some prudential considerations are met.[14] This category is immaterial to the problem addressed herein because the organization’s standing necessarily turns on evaluation of an individuals’ standing. A court conducting this inquiry may err, of course, but it will err within the constitutionally permissible framework.

In the second category, an organization may obtain standing pursuant to “the same inquiry as in the case of an individual.”[15] To distinguish more easily with the other categories, I call this category “direct stake” organizational standing.[16] It recognizes that an organization may suffer injury even if no individual member does. Some examples are necessary.

First consider the canonical Sierra Club v. Morton. There, the U.S. Forest Service sought to develop public land for a ski resort. The Sierra Club—an organization that alleged “a special interest in the conservation and the sound maintenance of the national parks”—sued to block the development.[17] It brought suit on its own behalf, supposing its “longstanding concern with and expertise in [environmental] matters were sufficient to give it standing.”[18] The Court found otherwise. Sierra Club had no special relation with the park, thereby lacking “individualized injury.”[19] The Court also reasoned that if Sierra Club’s theory sufficed, there would remain “no objective basis upon which to disallow a suit by any other bona fide ‘special interest’ organization.”[20] The Supreme Court closed with the admonishment that standing cannot be based on a mere “organizational interest in [a] problem.”[21]

The high court’s counter-example (and its only other meaningful foray into direct stake standing, save Havens) is Village of Arlington Heights v. Metropolitan Housing Development Corporation.[22] There, a religious order sought to develop its land for low income housing. It contracted with the plaintiff, Metropolitan Housing Development Corporation (“MHDC”), for the construction, executing a land-lease with MHDC and an accompanying sale agreement covering other property.[23] The latter was contingent upon MHDC’s success in convincing the Village of Arlington Heights to rezone the development land for multifamily housing.[24] At a town hearing on the rezoning, some locals expressed race-based disapproval, anticipating that the development would integrate the overwhelmingly white town.[25] Rezoning was denied and MHDC brought suit on its own behalf.

Because there was “little doubt” MHDC had standing, the Court’s discussion was brief.[26] But the Court’s direct stake organizational standing cases are few, so its analytical bases for standing merit emphasis. First, the Court held MHDC suffered cognizable “economic” injury. It did not unpack that harm, but its seems plain: MHDC lost money preparing the construction which the town prohibited, and it had a financial (that is, non-philanthropic) incentive (the contingent land sale agreement) for this construction in the first instance. But the Court also found a second type of injury: namely, it noted MHDC’s “interest in making suitable low-cost housing available in areas where such housing is scarce” could suffice—regardless of “economic” harm—and that this interest suffered cognizable harm because the Village blocked MDHC’s “specific project,” that is, the harm possessed “the essential dimension of specificity.”[27]

I return to this second injury shortly but for now three observations are critical. First, economic injury to an organization can suffice. Second, economic harm is not equivalent with spending money (otherwise, MHDC’s second injury would also have been economic)—instead, there must be a financial impetus for spending money (to MHDC, the contingent land sale agreement). Third, a blockade to an organization’s ability to pursue lawful, philanthropic activity can also suffice, but “specificity” is a critical consideration in this regard.

B. Mission Advancement Standing

Finally, the lower courts have fashioned a doctrine asking whether the defendant’s “allegedly unlawful activities injured the plaintiff’s interest in promoting its mission” and “whether the plaintiff used its resources to counteract that injury.”[28] One would think Sierra Club would warn the courts off this path. I submit that more sophisticated lawyering muddies the otherwise plain comparison. In any event, an illustration is necessary.

Consider the D.C. Circuit’s Abigail Alliance v. Von Eschenbach.[29] That case involved the FDA’s three-phase drug approval process. Drugs which pass phase one are “sufficiently safe for substantial human testing” albeit “not yet proven to be safe and effective to the satisfaction of the FDA” and therefore not yet marketable.[30] On average, completing the second and third phases takes six years.[31] The Abigail Alliance for Access to Development Drugs (“the Alliance”), requested that the FDA allow the terminally ill to purchase drugs that have only passed phase one. The FDA declined and the Alliance thereafter brought suit on its own behalf.

The Alliance’s injury claim was that it had a mission of assisting people in “accessing potentially life-saving drugs” and that FDA’s denial forced it to “divert significant time and resources” on addressing the agency’s “unduly burdensome requirements.”[32] The court accepted without scrutiny that the Alliance’s mission was “impeded” and that “this injury [wa]s directly attributable to FDA policies.”[33] And, notwithstanding its recognition that an organization is not injured “by expending resources to challenge [a] regulation itself,”[34] the court found standing based on the Alliance’s performing that very act.

It’s worth pausing here briefly to compare the Alliance to MHDC. First, the Alliance did not allege economic injury. Regarding philanthropic injury, the Alliance (unlike, perhaps, a sick individual) was—unlike MHDC—not blockaded from anything. And even if that were not true, there was plainly no specificity. Indeed, it is not plain how specificity could arise. It is not as if, contrary to logic, the organization itself was denied the right to imbibe unapproved drugs.

This essay is too brief to more comprehensively chronicle the lower courts’ misadventures, but mission advancement standing is indeed pervasive. For some of the most fascinating examples, see the cases below.[35]

II. Mission Advancement Standing’s Illegitimacy

Mission advancement’s standing has the principal feature of allowing organizations to enter the federal courts on terms “individuals cannot.”[36] It is ipso facto illegitimate because, for organizations, the Supreme Court has instructed lower courts to “conduct the same inquiry as in the case of an individual.”[37] This Part takes the analysis further, explaining that even absent that clear command, the lower courts’ doctrine is unconstitutional.

To establish cognizable injury the Supreme Court requires four conditions be satisfied. The plaintiff must establish (1) “invasion of a legally protected interest”—i.e., a legal violation—that is (2) “concrete,” (3) “particularized,” and (4) “actual or imminent.”[38] In the mission advancement context the mission conflict and expenditure prongs are, ostensibly, meant to fill in for the “concrete” and “particularized” requirements. But the defendants action must satisfy concreteness and particularization; actions fully within the plaintiff’s control, such as crafting a mission and spending money, cannot do that work.[39]

The lower courts’ elevation of prong one is particularly odd in light of Sierra Club. As noted earlier, sophisticated lawyering is likely responsible for the change; organizations now decorate their complaints with greater detail and precision; i.e., we protect animals and the government’s failure to do the same has forced us, against our wishes, to devise alternative animal welfare projects.[40] But standing is more than a pleading game.[41] And mission conflict’s irrelevance runs deeper than Sierra Club. Take, for instance, Diamond v. Charles, in which a physician—Dr. Diamond—sought to defend an abortion ban when the state declined to do so.[42] To establish injury Diamond claimed that as a physician he had a “special professional interest” in medical standards as applied to abortions.[43] But the Court recognized this was no more than a “cloaked” interest in seeing the law enforced and obeyed.[44] As such his suit was one to “vindicate value interests”[45]—an “abstract concern” insufficient for Article III.[46] And that jurisdictional bar, the Court explained, applies “with even greater force” when a private plaintiff attempts to compel a state to either “create” or “retain” a legal framework through which it makes enforcement decisions.[47]

That “greater force” no doubt applies in such a context because ideological challenges to government action strike at the core of Article III’s separation of powers foundation. The “case-or-controversy” requirement is a “fundamental limit[] on federal judicial power in our system of government.”[48] It prescribes a boundary on what might otherwise be a limitless ability to make or interpret law;[49] the judiciary may only exercise this awesome power in the context of a limited and concrete case. As a corollary, a plaintiff cannot enter federal court based on the supposed “injury” incurred by observing governmental conduct with which she simply disagrees.[50] But the mission conflict prong presupposes just the opposite, and the lion’s share of cases under this doctrine relate to government activity.

Once mission conflict is stripped away, all that remains in the lower courts’ test is naked resource expenditure. The Supreme Court has rejected injury on this basis as well, most recently in Clapper v. Amnesty International.[51] There the Court found the individual plaintiffs’ primary injury argument—that the NSA may be intercepting their electronic communications—too speculative for standing.[52] The plaintiffs argued alternatively that, even if the government’s alleged spying was uncertain, the plaintiffs’ money spent in fear of this non-injury created standing.[53] Along those lines the plaintiffs claimed “the threat of surveillance sometimes compels them to avoid certain e-mail and phone conversations, to talk in generalities rather than specifics, or to travel so that they can have in-person conversations.”[54] In other words, the non-injury forced expenditures. But the Court considered none truly forced.

Recognizing that the plaintiffs did not face a cognizable threat of impending surveillance, the costs they incurred to avoid the surveillance were wholly “self-inflicted.”[55] They could not
manufacture standing by choosing to make expenditures” based on an injury that was not in fact occurring.[56] “If the law were otherwise, an enterprising plaintiff would be able to secure a lower standard for Article III standing simply by making an expenditure based on” an alleged injury that was insufficient in the first place.[57]

Clapper is the most recent in a precedential line holding that “no action of the parties can confer subject matter jurisdiction upon a federal court.”[58] To that end, “feigned or collusive” suits are not viable;[59] a plaintiff cannot “sue himself,”[60] initiate suit at the defendant’s request,[61] or enlist his kin as defendant in a contrived suit.[62] Put simply, a party cannot create a “[c]ase” or “[c]ontroversy”[63] when, without their scheming, this constitutional prerequisite would be absent. But mission advancement standing invites such scheming in hyperdrive. Instead of authorizing collusive suits it permits an enterprising organization to create standing without a collaborator.[64] Instead of paying an ally to contrive a suit an organization can, upon identifying activity it finds distasteful, spend that money on almost anything.

III. Distinguishing Havens Realty

Havens Realty v. Coleman[65] is oft-cited as authorizing mission advancement standing. Havens is admittedly enigmatic, but the bottom line is that it is neither a mission advancement case nor an application of Village of Arlington Heights. The injury recognized falls between the two, but I submit that it represents “direct stake” organizational standing’s outer boundary and does not authorize the lower courts’ doctrine.

Havens presents three knots to untangle. First, I explain that the organizational plaintiff did not establish standing through volitional expenditures (nor a mission conflict—a feature the Court never mentioned). Although the Court mentioned “drain[ed]” resources,[66] that drain occurred as an effect of a viable injury. In other words, the lower courts have Havens absolutely backwards, basing injury on volitional expenditures whereas in Havens an injury drained resources. Second, given my claim that expenditures were not the injury, I explain what actually injured the organization. Third, I discuss why the Supreme Court nonetheless considered the resource drain relevant.

A. The Organization’s Expenditures Did Not Establish Injury

Havens concerned an apartment complex owned by defendant Havens Realty.[67] The plaintiff organization—Housing Opportunities Made Equal (“HOME”)—provided housing counseling services in Havens’ geographic area and investigated housing discrimination.[68] The case arose when Havens told a black HOME counselee—individual plaintiff Paul Coles—that it had no vacancies.[69] At around the same time HOME sent black and white “testers,”—employees disguised as prospective renters—to Havens to determine whether it was denying housing discriminatorily.[70] It was: only HOME’s white tester was apprised of openings.[71] HOME, Coles, and the testers all filed suit. To establish its standing HOME asserted the now infamous mischief-making line: “Havens had frustrated the organization’s counseling and referral services, with a consequent drain on resources.”[72]

The Court held that because Havens’ “steering practices have perceptibly impaired HOME’s ability to provide counseling and referral services for low- and moderate-income home-seekers, there can be no question that the organization has suffered injury in fact.”[73] That is, this nebulous (and clarified, below) “impairment” of HOME’s counseling and referral services established “concrete and demonstrable injury”[74] without regard to subsequent expenditures (much less mission). The Court’s following line is what has generated the confusion: “with the consequent drain on the organization’s resources” Havens’ act “constitute[d] far more than simply a setback to [HOME’s] abstract social interests.”[75]

What does that mean? That, although HOME suffered some indeterminate harm when Havens lied to Coles, it was only cognizably injured because it spent money afterwards? That interpretation, adopted by the lower courts, gets the chronology backwards. In this regard the Court’s use of “consequent” is critical. Webster’s defines the word to mean “something produced by a cause or necessarily following from a set of conditions.”[76] Any money spent after the harm would not be consequent because it did not necessarily follow from Havens’ lie. HOME’s own volition intervened. To have been the “consequence” of the lie their status as “drained” must have been set the instant Havens lied. The Court, then, was referring to pre-illegality expenditures.

This may seem counterintuitive: how could the illegality ‘drain’ resources already spent? The explanation turns on the distinction between “expenditure” and “drain.” “Expended” has a neutral connotation whereas “drained” is pejorative, indicating waste. The neutral act attains this negative connotation not through any choice of the organization, but through the actions the defendant visits upon it. Before the illegality, the expenditures were made consistent with HOME’s goals. But they were “drained” once Coles is lied to and denied housing—that is, illegally denied the counseling services’ object.

But, just as critically, the pre-illegality expenditures alone did not constitute injury. HOME’s activities were not impaired until Havens’ illegality effected (i.e., drained) them. The connection between the expenditure and the subsequent illegal act is critical; both conditions were necessary for HOME’s standing and neither in isolation would suffice. We know pre-illegality expenditures could not alone suffice because Havens involved a separate plaintiff who alleged injury on precisely those terms. HOME’s white tester—R. Kent Willis—expended time investigating Havens but was nonetheless denied standing in this capacity.[77] The reasons why are obvious: he was not lied to, and, because Coles was not his client, Havens’ illegality did not drain his resources.[78]

B. Diagnosing the Injury

With the expenditure issue properly conceptualized, isolating the injury’s genesis becomes tractable. The only distinction between HOME and Willis is that HOME counseled Coles, the object of the lie. But the question remains, why did the lie establish injury? This construction of the harm does not neatly align with Arlington Heights, wherein the plaintiff organization’s noneconomic injury was based on its total inability to undertake its desired project.[79] Even post-illegality, HOME remained free to counsel anyone—Coles included—to its fullest desire.

The Court was cryptic. It held that if Havens’ lie, “as broadly alleged . . . perceptibly impaired” HOME’s activities, HOME suffered injury.[80] This abstruse passage has thoroughly confounded the lower courts, and it is easy to see why. What relevance can we attribute to the allegations’ “breadth”? And what defines “impairment”? The only explanation, on Havens’ facts, is that Havens “tore down” what HOME used its resources to “build up.”[81] Havens’ lie “unraveled” the services HOME had performed for Coles, effectively telling the counselee that HOME’s counseling was wrong.[82] HOME’s work was sabotaged, its activity of “provid[ing] truthful counseling” was “directly interfered with” when Havens lied to its counselee.[83] The temporal progression is critical; HOME performed lawful, philanthropic activity and Havens’ subsequent illegality operated directly on the beneficiary of HOME’s activity and nullified the service provided. It would be as if the Sierra Club planted trees and the U.S. Forest Service subsequently uprooted then. The sequence was not that HOME identified a racist Richmond housing provider and then counseled clients to avoid the complex.[84] This is precisely the interpretation that has eluded lower courts.

C. The Expenditures’ Relevance

Thus far I have made two points about Havens: (1) HOME’s pre- and post-illegality expenditures were neither necessary nor sufficient to establish an injury and (2) the “unraveling” of HOME’s counseling constituted injury. But alone these conclusions do not explain the Court’s reference to the “consequent drain” on HOME’s resources.[85] The Court’s antecedent Arlington Heights decision helps solve this last mystery.

Recall that in Arlington Heights MHDC’s noneconomic injury was that it was blockaded from pursuing its discrete project.[86] It is tempting to conflate MHDC’s economic injury with HOME’s drained resources instead, but the Havens Court expressly rejected this equivalency. Indeed, the Havens Court closed its “resource drain” passage by citing Arlington Heights as support for noneconomic injury.[87] That is easily explained: no financial impetus motivated Havens’ philanthropic counseling.

 

 

Havens

Arlington Heights

Economic Injury

None

Lost Prepatory Expenses on Financially Beneficial Contract

Non-Economic Injury

Unraveling of Counseling Services

Prohibition on Conducting Desired Project

 

The relevance, then, of HOME’s resource drain was to ensure that its noneconomic injury (the unraveling) contained “the essential dimension of specificity” that Arlington Heights recognized requires special attention in noneconomic injury claims.[88] To apply the Court’s modern vernacular to the Havens facts, the dimension ensured that “the invasion of [HOME’s] legally protected interest” in having its counseling services unimpeded by illegal steering was sufficiently “concrete” and “particularized”; that is, it was not “abstract” and it “affect[ed] [HOME] in a personal and individual way.”[89] For MHDC concreteness and particularization were ensured because the organization was disallowed from continuing a specific project. It was not challenging a zoning ordinance in the abstract, the effects of which may (or may not) affect it (or some other entity) at some undetermined future date. Likewise with HOME’s resource drain.

IV. Evaluating Crew’s Standing

As the foregoing illustrates, “direct stake” organizational standing knows three variations. In other words, an organization seeking standing on its own behalf can show injury in three ways. First—and most obviously—an economic injury suffices. Because standing is so obvious under in this category it is seldom litigated.

Second, an organization might have standing regardless economic injury where it can show it was prohibited from engaging in lawful activity. That explains MHDC where, even removing the financial basis for the construction, the organization nonetheless suffered injury.

Third, an organization might have standing where it can show its activities were unraveled by illegal activity—where it has performed lawful activity which the defendant subsequently nullifies or at least partially unwinds. That explains Havens, where the defendants’ unlawful conduct cancelled the organization’s philanthropic counseling. In these latter, noneconomic, categories, the courts must be especially attuned to “specificity,”[90] that is, to concreteness and particularity.[91] For example, HOME could not have alleged that Havens simply harbored racial animus—that would not be concrete. Nor could some nonlocal advocacy group, upon discovering Havens is lying to individuals unconnected to the organization, bring suit. There would be no particularization; its services would not have been unraveled.[92] To establish unraveling, then, an organization must have the proper temporal relationship to the challenged conduct and its activity must bear a concrete, particularized harm by virtue of that conduct.

With this framework established, does CREW have standing? Having likely anticipated that such high profile litigation would illuminate this problem, CREW set forth a blunderbuss of supposed harms. But none are cognizable.

CREW first alleges that it is a nonprofit[93] with the mission of ensuring government integrity and informing the public thereof.[94] Neither allegation is relevant under a proper organizational standing inquiry, although in combination the two seem to telegraph that the organization is not alleging economic harm (indeed, it presents none). CREW then proceeds to broadly allege harms that largely fall in two categories: (1) costs it incurs responding to the President’s alleged conflicts and (2) diversion of resources from projects it would prefer to pursue more vigorously.

With regard to category one, CREW alleges it has been “interviewed by and quoted in the news media”[95] regarding the President, that it has “received hundreds of questions from the news media”[96] that it has “conducted legal research”[97] on the Emoluments clause, that it will continue to “monitor [Trump]’s business interests,”[98] and that it has “hired a new senior attorney” to strengthen these efforts.[99] All of these supposed harms are nonstarters. CREW has not been prohibited from anything, and no work CREW has performed has been unraveled—indeed, CREW instead alleges that, because of President Trump, it is volitionally doing more work. There is no legal compulsion to conduct this work and to the extent any of these items could be considered injuries they are fully self-inflicted.

In category two, CREW alleges it has diverted its time and resources from other, non–Trump-related projects.[100] For example, its Trump endeavors have diverted its resources from (1) other litigation,[101] (2) “a project related to campaign finance and ethics in the states,”[102] (3) drafting comments on agency rulemakings,[103] (4) “research[ing] and publish[ing] . . . blog posts,”[104] (5) reviewing “contributions to new members of Congress,”[105] and (6) writing about the “tax returns of nonprofit groups engaged in political activities.”[106] Each allegation is equally insufficient. Once again, there is no allegation of an unraveling of, or a prohibition on, organizational activities. CREW has simply alleged volitional rearrangement of its own priorities. Because CREW has no claim to injury from Trump’s conflicts notwithstanding expenditures, these diversions constitute an attempt to “manufacture standing by choosing to make expenditures.”[107]

CREW closes with two Hail Marys. First, that Trump’s conflicts will make it harder to “protect from corrupt and unethical manipulation” other “innocent and unaware third parties.”[108] This is a frivolous attempt at standing on behalf of others who themselves have in fact suffered no injury.[109] But finally, as its last effort, CREW stumbles on an injury perhaps cognizable, albeit not to CREW. It alleges that President Trump’s commercial competitors “also are injured.”[110] That may be true, but none are a party to CREW’s lawsuit and none can remedy CREW’s absent injury.

 

 


[1]U.S. Const. Art. I, § 9, cl. 8.

[2]Complaint at ¶¶ 25–50, Citizens for Responsibility and Ethics in Washington v. Trump, No. 17-cv-00458 Dkt No. 1 (S.D.N.Y. Jan. 23, 2017) (hereinafter CREW Complaint).

[3]CREW Complaint ¶¶ 52–53.

[4]See Jonathan H. Adler, Does the Emoluments Clause Lawsuit Against President Trump Stand a Chance?, Wash. Post (Jan. 23, 2017), https://perma.cc/9U9Y-QTAL (“CREW’s arguments for standing are a stretch.”); see also Karen Sloan, Law Profs Butt Heads Against Suit Filed Against Trump, The Nat’l L.J. (Jan. 23, 2017), https://perma.cc/AJZ3-HPNX (collecting opinions of law professors regarding CREW’s standing to bring suit).

[5]Valley Forge Christian Coll. v. Ams. United for Separation of Church and State, Inc., 454 U.S. 464, 486 (1982) (“standing is not measured by the intensity of the litigant’s interest or the fervor of his advocacy”).

[6]See Havens Realty Corp. v. Coleman, 455 U.S. 363, 378 (1982) (for organization’s standing court “conduct[s] the same inquiry as in the case of an individual”).

[7]See People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals v. U.S. Dep’t of Agric., 797 F.3d 1087, 1099 (D.C. Cir. 2015) (Millett, J., dubitante).

[8]See, e.g., Am. Soc. for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals v. Feld Entm’t, 659 F.3d 13, 25 (D.C. Cir. 2011) (asking first “whether the defendant’s allegedly unlawful activities injured the plaintiff’s interest in promoting its mission” and second “whether the plaintiff used its resources to counteract that injury”); see also, e.g., Arcia v. Fla. Sec’y of State, 772 F.3d 1335, 1341–42 (11th Cir. 2014) (reaching materially similar conclusion); Ass’n of Cmty. Orgs. for Reform Now v. Fowler, 178 F.3d 350, 360 (5th Cir. 1999) (same).

[9]Valley Forge, 454 U.S. at 486 (1982). See also Diamond v. Charles, 476 U.S. 54, 65–66 (1986).

[10]Clapper v. Amnesty Int’l, 133 S. Ct. 1138, 1152–53 (2013).

[11]People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, 797 F.3d at 1100 (Millett, J., dubitante).

[12]Havens Realty Corp. v. Coleman, 455 U.S. 363, 378 (1982).

[13]People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, 797 F.3d at 1099 (Millett, J., dubitante).

[14]Hunt v. Wash. State Apple Advert. Comm’n, 432 U.S. 333, 343–45 (1977); see also United Food & Commercial Workers v. Brown Grp., 517 U.S. 544, 556 n.6 (1996) (expressing that the representational standing requirement that the litigation not require an individual member’s participation is a prudential requirement); Int’l Union, United Auto., Aerospace, and Agric. Workers of Am. v. Brock, 477 U.S. 274, 286, 290 (1986) (expressing that representational standing’s germaneness requirement is, if anything, a due process consideration that is used to determine if an organization can bring a case).

[15]Havens Realty, 455 U.S. at 378.

[16]See Sierra Club v. Morton, 405 U.S. 727, 740 (1972) (using this term).

[17]Id. at 730.

[18]Id. at 736.

[19]Id.

[20]Id. at 739.

[21]Id. (quoting Envtl. Def. Fund v. Hardin, 428 F.2d 1093, 1097 (D.C. Cir. 1970)).

[22]429 U.S. 252 (1977).

[23]Id. at 256.

[24]Id.

[25]Id. at 255, 257–58.

[26]Id. at 261–263.

[27]Id. at 263 (quoting from Schlesinger v. Reservists to Stop the War, 418 U.S. 208, 221 (1974)) (emphasis added).

[28]Am. Soc. for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals v. Feld Entm’t, 659 F.3d 13, 25 (D.C. Cir. 2011).

[29]469 F.3d 129 (D.C. Cir. 2006) See also Abigail Alliance v. Von Eschenbach 445 F.3d 470, 473–74 (D.C. Cir. 2006) (prior opinion of the Court containing greater factual background).

[30]Abigail, 445 F.3d at 473 (quoting Oral Argument at 15:57–15:59, 445 F.3d 470).

[31]Id. at 474 (citing Complaint at ¶ 12, 445 F.3d 470).

[32]469 F.3d at 132–33.

[33]Id at 133.

[34]Id.

[35]Smith v. Pac. Props. and Dev. Corp., 358 F.3d 1097, 1105 (9th Cir. 2004); Ass’n of Cmty. Organizers for Reform Now v. Fowler, 178 F.3d 350, 361–62 (5th Cir. 1999); Humane Soc’y of U.S. v. U.S. Postal Serv., 609 F. Supp. 2d 85, 91 (D.D.C. 2009); Comm. for Immigrant Rights of Sonoma Cty. v. Cty. of Sonoma, 644 F. Supp. 2d 1177, 1195 (N.D. Cal. 2009).

[36]People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals v. U.S. Dep’t of Agric., 797 F.3d 1087, 1099 (D.C. Cir. 2015) (Millett, J., dubitante).

[37]See Havens Realty Corp. v. Coleman, 455 U.S. 363, 378 (1982) (when assessing an organization’s standing, courts “conduct the same inquiry as in the case of an individual”).

[38]Spokeo, Inc. v. Robins, 136 S. Ct. 1540, 1548 (2016) (quoting Lujan v. Defs. of Wildlife, 504 U.S. 555, 560 (1992)).

[39]See Ins. Corp. of Ir. v. Compagnie Des Bauxites, 456 U.S. 694, 702 (1982) (“[N]o action of the parties can confer subject-matter jurisdiction upon a federal court.”).

[40]See People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, 797 F.3d at 1095–96.

[41]See Lujan, 504 U.S. at 561 (standing is more than a “mere pleading requirement[]”); United States v. Students Challenging Regulatory Agency Procedures, 412 U.S. 669, 688 (1973) (establishing standing in pleadings is “more than an ingenious academic exercise”).

[42]476 U.S. 54, 57–58 (1986).

[43]Id. at 66.

[44]Id.

[45]Id. at 66–67.

[46]Simon v. E. Ky. Rights Org., 426 U.S. 26, 27 (1976).

[47]Diamond, 476 U.S. at 65 (emphasis added).

[48]Allen v. Wright, 468 U.S. 737, 750 (1984).

[49]See Warth v. Seldin, 422 U.S. 490, 498 (1975) (Article III is “founded in concern about the proper—and properly limited—role of courts in a democratic society.”).

[50]See Valley Forge Christian Coll. v. Ams. United for Separation of Church and State, 454 U.S. 464, 485 (1982) (“Although [plaintiffs] claim that the Constitution has been violated, they claim nothing else . . . . other than the psychological consequence presumably produced by observation of conduct with which one disagrees. That is not an injury sufficient to confer standing . . . .”).

[51]133 S. Ct. 1138 (2013).

[52]Id. at 1147–50.

[53]Id. at 1150–52.

[54]Id. at 1151 (quotations and alterations omitted).

[55]Id. at 1152.

[56]Id. at 1143 (emphasis added).

[57]Id. at 1151.

[58]Ins. Corp. of Ir. v. Compagnie Des Bauxites, 456 U.S. 694, 702 (1982).

[59]Flast v. Cohen, 392 U.S. 83, 100 (1968).

[60]United States v. Interstate Commerce Comm’n, 337 U.S. 426, 430 (1949).

[61]United States v. Johnson, 319 U.S. 302, 303–05 (1943).

[62]Lord v. Veazie, 49 U.S. (1 How.) 251, 254–55 (1850).

[63]U.S. Const. art. III, § 2, cl. 1.

[64]Although, naturally, few courts admit that they are doing so, some have remarkably conceded that they permit organizations to create their own injury. See We Are Am./Somos Am., Coal. of Ariz. v. Maricopa Cty. Bd. of Supervisors, 809 F. Supp. 2d 1084, 1096 (D. Ariz. 2011) (“The purportedly voluntary nature of the organizations’ activities here does not . . . undermine their allegations of standing.”).

[65]455 U.S. 363 (1982).     

[66]Id. at 379. (Discussing the “consequent drain on the organization’s resources” when finding standing).

[67]Id. at 368.

[68]Id.

[69]Id.; see also Brief of Respondents at 4, Havens Realty v. Coleman, 455 U.S. 363 (1982) (No. 80-988) (“Coles[] [was] a black homeseeker who had sought HOME’s counseling concerning rental housing.”) [hereinafter HOME’s Brief]; see also Complaint at ¶¶ 12, 13 reprinted in Joint Appendix 15–17, Havens Realty v. Coleman, 455 U.S. 363 (1982) (No. 80-988) (Sept. 9. 1981). Although only HOME’s brief (not its complaint) says explicitly that Coles was a HOME counselee, the Havens Court was reviewing dismissal wherein it must “accept as true all material allegations of the complaint, and must construe the complaint in favor of the complaining party.” Warth v. Seldin, 422 U.S. 490, 501 (1975). For that reason it seems beyond dispute that, at this stage of the litigation, Coles’ status as a HOME counselee was a given. The Court could either reasonably infer it from the complaint or simply accept the allegation in HOME’s brief. See HOME’s Brief at 4.

[70]Havens, 455 U.S. at 368 (reflecting that HOME sent testers in March and July of 1978).

[71]Id.

[72]Id. at 369.

[73]Id. at 379.

[74]Id.

[75]Id. (emphasis added).

[76]Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary 279 (1986) (emphasis added).

[77]Havens, 455 U.S. at 368, 374–75.

[78]One other scholar has made a similar observation, see Michael E. Rosman, Standing Alone: Standing Under the Fair Housing Act, 60 Mo. L. Rev. 547, 593 n.205 (1995) (“one fairly good piece of evidence that” HOME’s pre-illegality expenses were not its injury “is the Court’s denial of standing to the white tester”).

[79]Arlington Heights, 429 U.S. at 261–62.

[80]Havens, 455 U.S. at 379.

[81]People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals v. U.S. Dep’t of Agric., 797 F.3d 1087, 1100 (D.C. Cir. 2015) (Millett, J., dubitante).

[82]Id.

[83]Fair Elections Ohio v. Husted, 770 F.3d 456, 460 n.1 (6th Cir. 2014) (emphasis added).

[84]Some may contend that these descriptors seem overblown for the minor unraveling Havens performed on HOME’s efforts. This minor unraveling may not have sufficed for a challenge to government action, but standing in private suits is generally more permissive. See Spann v. Colonial Vill., Inc., 899 F.2d 24, 30 (D.C. Cir. 1990) (R.B. Ginsburg, J.); see also Spokeo, Inc., v. Robins, 136 S. Ct. 1540, 1551 (2016) (Thomas, J., concurring).

[85]Havens, 455 U.S. at 379.

[86]429 U.S. at 263.

[87]Havens, 455 U.S. at 379, n. 20 (“That the alleged injury results from the organization’s noneconomic interest in encouraging open housing does not effect the nature of the injury suffered” (citing Arlington Heights, 429 U.S. at 263)); see also Arlington Heights, 429 U.S. at 262–63 (“It has long been clear that economic injury is not the only kind of injury that can support a plaintiff’s standing.”).

[88]Arlington Heights, 429 U.S. at 263 (quoting from Schlesinger v. Reservists to Stop the War, 418 U.S. 208, 221 (1974); see also U.S. Parole Comm’n v. Geraghty, 445 U.S. 388, 410 (1980) (Powell, J., dissenting) (in “noneconomic injur[y]” cases, the courts must be particularly alert that plaintiff is not asserting “abstract concern with a subject—or with the rights of third parties”).

[89]Spokeo, Inc. v. Robins, 136 S. Ct. 1540, 1548 (2016) (quoting Lujan v. Defs. of Wildlife, 504 U.S. 555, 560 & n.1 (1992)). The term “specificity” is a dated one—the Court no longer uses it—but it rather clearly encompasses both the concrete and particularity requirements. As the Court noted in Spokeo, those requirements were often conflated as one single requirement.

[90]Arlington Heights, 429 U.S. at 263 (quoting from Schlesinger, 418 U.S. at 221 (1974); see also U.S. Parole Comm’n v. Geraghty, 445 U.S. 388, 410 (1980) (Powell, J., dissenting) (in “noneconomic injur[y]” cases, the courts must be particularly alert that plaintiff is not asserting “abstract concern with a subject—or with the rights of third parties”).

[91]Spokeo, 136 S. Ct. 1540, 1548 (2016) (quoting Lujan, 504 U.S. at 560 & n.1). Supra n. 89.

[92]I note here that these categories need not necessarily be exclusive. But no other noneconomic organizational injures have, to this point, been recognized by the Supreme Court. To the extent undiscovered situations exist, the guiding light must be the “same inquiry as [for an] individual,” not the mission advancement doctrine. See Havens, 455 U.S. at 378.

[93]CREW Complaint ¶ 51.

[94]Id. ¶ 52.

[95]Id. ¶ 53.

[96]Id. ¶ 54.

[97]Id. ¶ 56.

[98]Id. ¶ 59; see also id. ¶¶ 65, 67, 71 (noting past and prospective monitoring costs).

[99]Id. ¶ 58.

[100]Id. ¶¶ 60–62.

[101]Id.

[102]Id. ¶ 63.

[103]Id. ¶ 64.

[104]Id. ¶ 68.

[105]Id. ¶ 69.

[106]Id. ¶ 70.

[107]Clapper v. Amnesty Int’l, 133 S. Ct. 1138, 1143 (2013) (emphasis added).

[108]CREW Complaint ¶ 74.

[109]See Valley Forge Christian Coll. v. Ams. United for Separation of Church and State, 454 U.S. 464, 485–87 (1982) (“Although [plaintiffs] claim that the Constitution has been violated, they claim nothing else . . . . other than the psychological consequences presumably produced by observation of conduct with which one disagrees. That is not an injury sufficient to confer standing. . . .”).

[110]CREW Complaint ¶ 76.