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. 

Common Law vs. Statutory Bases of Patent Exhaustion

Abstract

The pending Supreme Court case Lexmark v. Impression Products reveals the full breadth of disagreement about the exhaustion doctrine in patent law. In practical terms, the doctrine could mean almost everything—a mandatory rule applicable to all domestic and international sales of patented goods—or almost nothing—an optional rule applicable only to domestic sales that patentees can easily avoid by contract. This essay shows that this breadth of disagreement arises from a more fundamental disagreement over the legal basis for the doctrine, with judges, lawyers and academics deeply divided over whether the doctrine is based on judicially fabricated common law or a specific statute. The essay reiterates and further clarifies our position, first advanced in our prior article, that the doctrine is based on statutory interpretation and is designed to avoid broad constructions of intellectual property rights that would interfere with the vast and complex body of common law rules and statutory provisions governing commercial transactions.  The essay also replies to two prior responses to our original article and concludes with a modest hope for what we think is a first necessary step toward clarity in this area: we hope that the Supreme Court will identify the legal basis for the exhaustion doctrine.

Introduction

            The pending Supreme Court case, Impression Products v. Lexmark (set for argument on March 21, 2017), poses two very important questions about the patent exhaustion doctrine: (1) whether the exhaustion doctrine is a mandatory restriction on patent rights that bars resort to infringement suits to enforce restrictions on use or resale imposed through a “conditional sale” of patented goods, and (2) whether foreign sales exhaust U.S. patent rights. Yet despite the significance of those questions, the most noteworthy feature of the litigation is that the parties, the amici, the government, and even the judges of the court below cannot agree on the most fundamental question about the doctrine: where does patent exhaustion come from? More specifically, is the doctrine a common law rule based on judicial assessments of good public policy, or is it based on an interpretation of a particular statute?

Identifying the legal basis for a doctrine seems like a natural first step in deciding disputes about the doctrine, and Impression Products presents the Supreme Court with a perfect opportunity to take that step. The en banc Federal Circuit clearly raised and addressed the issue whether patent exhaustion is based on judge-made common law or on statutory interpretation.[1] As our prior article makes clear,[2] we believe that the latter view is correct, as did the Federal Circuit. Unfortunately, as explained below, the Federal Circuit identified the wrong statutory basis for the doctrine and thus reached the wrong conclusions about its application.

In Part I of this short essay, we explain the issues in Impression Products and what’s at stake in the case. Part II addresses a response to our article written by Professors Katz, Perzanowski, and Rub (“the KPR essay”);[3] Part III replies to a separate response by Professor Hovenkamp.[4]

I.          Impression Products v. Lexmark: Theoretical Uncertainty in the Dock

Although the litigation in Impression Products v. Lexmark highlights an astounding degree of uncertainty about the legal foundation for patent exhaustion, the specific legal issues and facts of the case are quite straightforward.

The first issue in the case—the “conditional sale” issue—is whether exhaustion doctrine is a mandatory doctrine preventing patentees from using infringement actions to enforce restrictions placed on goods sold through so-called “conditional sales.”[5] Lexmark sells some of its patented ink cartridges as “Return Program Cartridges,” which sell for a discount of about 20% off the price of “Regular Cartridges” but are subject to two restrictions: the depleted cartridges (1) cannot be refilled or reused and (2) cannot be transferred to anyone but Lexmark (the purchaser can dispose of the cartridges or return them for recycling). Regular Cartridges are subject to no restrictions concerning reuse or resale. Lexmark and Impression stipulated, for purposes of litigation, that the reduced price of Return Program Cartridges “reflects the value of the property interest and use rights conveyed to the purchaser under the express terms of the conditional sale contract and conditional single-use license.”[6]

Impression Products purchases, refurbishes, and resells depleted Lexmark cartridges, including Return Program Cartridges. Because the restrictions imposed on those cartridges expressly prohibit resale, Lexmark sued Impression on the theory, supported by the Federal Circuit’s precedent Mallinckrodt, Inc. v. Medipart, Inc.,[7] that Impression’s resales are unauthorized and thus infringe Lexmark’s exclusive patent rights to control sales of its patented invention. In response, Impression argued that Lexmark’s original sales—even if conditioned— exhausted Lexmark’s patent rights and thus bar any patent infringement actions concerning subsequent uses or sales of the goods. Impression expressly concedes that “[l]ike all other market participants, patentees may use non-patent mechanisms to restrict resale or reuse of goods,”[8] so the issue in the case is only whether Lexmark can use patent infringement actions to enforce the restrictions placed on the original sales.

The second legal issue—the international exhaustion issue—is whether foreign sales exhaust U.S. patent rights. Lexmark sells its patented ink cartridges (both Return Program and Regular Cartridges) in foreign countries and has never authorized those foreign cartridges to be imported into, or sold in, the United States. Lexmark sued Impression on the theory, supported by the Federal Circuit’s precedent Jazz Photo Corp. v. International Trade Commission,[9] that Impression’s resales into the U.S. market of cartridges originally sold outside the United States were unauthorized acts of patent infringement. Impression argued that Lexmark’s foreign sales exhausted even the U.S. patent rights in the cartridges and thus subsequent importation, sales, and uses of the cartridges do not infringe Lexmark’s patent rights.

Adhering to its prior decisions in Mallinckrodt and Jazz Photo, the Federal Circuit sided with Lexmark on both issues.[10] The en banc court even extended the Mallinckrodt decision, which held infringement suits could be used to enforce restrictions on subsequent use imposed by conditional sales, so that restrictions on subsequent alienation could also be enforced by infringement actions.

As we previously stated in our article,[11] we believe that Mallinckrodt was decided incorrectly and Jazz Photo correctly, and thus, not surprisingly, we think the Supreme Court is likely to reverse the en banc court on the conditional sale issue and affirm on the international exhaustion issue. On one initial and crucial point, however, the Federal Circuit was completely correct.

Just a few pages into its legal analysis, the Federal Circuit directly addressed whether the exhaustion doctrine is based on statutory interpretation or judge-made common law. Merely raising and discussing the issue is, in our view, a hugely positive development. Modern scholarly discussions of the doctrine have tended to provide substantive policy reasons as the basis for the doctrine, with the assumption that federal judges can fabricate legal doctrine from substantive policies as a supplement to statutory law.[12] As the Federal Circuit recognized, that assumption seems wrong because, once Congress has legislated in an area, the task of the federal courts is generally “to interpret and apply statutory law, not to create common law.”[13] That general reluctance to fabricate judge-made common law in an area controlled by statute is based ultimately on separation-of-powers considerations.[14] Such a fundamental jurisprudential commitment should not be cavalierly disregarded, and patent law—an area comprehensively controlled by an entire title of the U.S. Code (Title 35)—seems like an exceptionally poor place for federal courts to begin asserting a new-found power to supplement (or even supplant) federal statutory law with judge-made common law.

That’s our compliment to the Federal Circuit—now some criticism. Although correct in holding that exhaustion must be a statutory doctrine, the court chose the wrong statute as the basis for the doctrine. It chose the statute defining patent infringement, 35 U.S.C. § 271, which generally imposes liability on anyone who “without authority makes, uses, offers to sell, or sells” or “imports into the United States” any patented invention.[15] To the Federal Circuit, the “exhaustion doctrine in the Patent Act must be understood as an interpretation of § 271(a)’s ‘without authority’ language” such that “some sales confer authority on the purchaser to take certain actions—such as selling or using the purchased article in the United States or importing it into the United States— that would otherwise be infringing acts.”[16] Because “without authority” means “without consent or permission” from the patentee, the Federal Circuit reasoned that sales made subject to conditions—for example, conditions forbidding refilling or reselling—could not be viewed as granting any kind of “authority,” “consent,” or “permission” to violate the conditions of the sale, for “a patentee does not grant authority by denying it.”[17]

 Yet Supreme Court case law never grounded the exhaustion doctrine in the phrase “without authority” but instead justified it as based on the limited domain or scope of the statutory grant of patent rights, which currently is in 35 U.S.C. § 154. Thus, in the highly important case of Keeler v. Standard Folding Bed Co., the Court clearly identified the statutory basis for its decision by quoting, in the first sentence of the opinion, Revised Statutes § 4884[18]—the predecessor statute of modern § 154. The Court’s holding was also directly based on the limited scope of the rights granted by § 4884, with the Court embracing the view that a patented product, once sold by the patentee, is “discharged of all the rights . . . attached to it, or impressed upon it, by the act of Congress under which the patent was granted.”[19]

Similarly, in the equally important case of Motion Picture Patents Co. v. Universal Film Manufacturing Co., the Court began its legal analysis by stating that the case:

requires that we shall determine the meaning of Congress when in Rev. Stats., § 4884, it provided that “Every patent shall contain . . . a grant to the patentee, his heirs or assigns, for the term of seventeen years, of the exclusive right to make, use, and vend the invention or discovery throughout the United States, and the Territories thereof.”[20]

 

The Motion Picture Patents Court repeatedly referred to its task as identifying the proper “meaning” of the statute granting exclusive patent rights.[21]

Despite this criticism of the Federal Circuit’s opinion, we have to commend the court for attempting to ground the exhaustion doctrine in statutory law, for the court’s effort will hopefully spur the Supreme Court into clarifying the exact statutory basis of the doctrine. As demonstrated by the briefing in the case, there is currently massive uncertainty on this point. The chart below[22] shows the set of possible bases for exhaustion advanced by various actors in the litigation and the effect that the legal basis has on the two issues in the case: (1) whether the doctrine is an optional or mandatory restriction on patent rights, and (2) whether foreign sales trigger the exhaustion of U.S patent rights.

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Not surprisingly, the legal basis for the exhaustion doctrine matters. Most obviously, if the doctrine is based on § 271(a) as the Federal Circuit held, then it would be hard to argue that sales with contractual restrictions provide the “authority” or permission necessary to violate the very restrictions imposed in the sale. In other words, the exhaustion doctrine would be just a default rule meaning almost nothing if patentees want it so.

Alternatively, if the doctrine (in whole or in part) is based on inferred limits on the scope of patent rights granted under § 154(a)(1), then it would be quite easy to hold (as the Supreme Court did in Keeler and Motion Picture Patents) that the enforcement of restrictions imposed during sales of patented goods is simply “outside” patent law. In other words, the doctrine (or at least those parts of doctrine based on § 154(a)(1)) should be mandatory, but it should not affect non-patent causes of action. Interestingly, the Respondent’s brief accepts that the Motion Picture Patents case is based on the limited scope of § 154 and that, with respect to that portion of the doctrine (the portion of the doctrine grounded in a statutory “delimit[ing]” of the patent rights granted “in § 154”), a patentee cannot opt out by withholding “authority” under § 271(a) because “the patentee cannot withhold ‘authority’ that it never had, like authority to set resale prices.”[23]

Finally, if the doctrine is pure federal common law, a variety of different results are possible depending on the Justices’ assessments of good public policy. For example, if the doctrine is based on an “affirmative policy” of federal patent law favoring “the free movement of all patented goods” (as some of Petitioner’s amici allege[24]), then the doctrine should not only be mandatory but might also render post-sale restrictions on use and resale unenforceable more generally, not merely unenforceable through infringement actions. On the other hand, the opposite result—a merely optional or “presumptive” doctrine (escapable through clear contractual language)—could be supported if the Justices agree with some of Respondent’s amici that the exhaustion doctrine serves “multiple policy objectives” including the policy of permitting patentees to “craft customized usage terms for downstream partners in the commercialization process” and to enforce those terms through infringement actions.[25] Or policy factors might point to the Solicitor General’s position, with a mandatory doctrine applied to U.S. sales but an optional or presumptive approach applied to foreign sales. The multitude of potential outcomes should, of course, be expected with a common law approach because everything turns on a judicial assessment of complex policy considerations.

            Such a huge range of possible legal bases for the doctrine does not, to put it mildly, contribute to doctrinal clarity, and if the Supreme Court fails to specify a single legal basis for the doctrine, uncertainty and litigation over the issue are likely to continue.

II. The KPR Essay: Mistakes about the Common Law and Exhaustion

Responding to the KPR essay is challenging because the essay is frequently incorrect in its presentation of our views. For example, at the very beginning of its first part, the essay poses an important question and then answers it incorrectly: “Did the common law play a role in the emergence of exhaustion? Duffy and Hynes vigorously argue it did not.”[26] The KPR essay provides no quote, paraphrase or citation to support that passage, and our article did not argue that position.

As we stated in the introduction to our article, our thesis is that “[t]he legal doctrine in the area pursues not common law policies disfavoring encumbrances or restraints on alienation, but instead the more nuanced goal of limiting the scope or domain of IP statutes to avoid displacing the law in other fields, such as general contract, property, and antitrust law.”[27] The exhaustion doctrine is not itself common law and does not itself pursue substantive common law policies. But that does not mean that the common law played no role in the development of exhaustion. The existence of common law (and later statutory law)—with intricate and variable rules concerning the enforceability of restraints on alienation and encumbrances on personal property—was important to the development of exhaustion. As we said, the “nuanced goal” of the exhaustion doctrine is to protect other areas of law, including “general contract, property, and antitrust law.”[28] And surely, the general law of contracts and property encompasses a great deal of common law.

The KPR essay does, however, afford us the welcome opportunity to explain some background about our thesis and thereby to clarify a crucial point about the relationship between the exhaustion doctrine and common law. An earlier draft of our article—indeed the version we presented in a workshop to the University of Virginia law faculty—was entitled “Common Law Conformity and the Commercial Law of Intellectual Property,” and it was expressly built around the idea that the exhaustion doctrine developed as an outgrowth of the much-maligned canon that statutes in derogation of the common law should be construed narrowly—the very canon cited by the KPR essay.[29] That version of our paper included the central insight that the exhaustion doctrine was trying to avoid displacing large swaths of commercial law, but it also suffered from three weaknesses that ultimately led us to rewrite the paper substantially.

The first and most important weakness is the ambiguity in a thesis tying the development of exhaustion to the common law. Such a thesis could mean that judges limited the scope of IP rights because they did not want to displace certain common law principles with overly broad interpretations of IP rights. But it could also mean that judges developed the exhaustion doctrine as federal common law to reach certain substantive goals, such as a supposed “affirmative policy” favoring the “free movement of all patented goods.”[30]

Both of those theses might be described as positing that exhaustion has common law origins. To us, however, they are quite different. The first thesis is close to our thesis (with the important caveat, discussed below, that judges might also be trying to avoid displacing vast bodies of statutory law too). The second thesis is quite clearly what we are rejecting. Indeed, we view the two theses as incompatible because, to the extent that exhaustion is trying to advance federal policies about the free movement of goods, it risks interfering with the common law of any state that would permit restrictions on the free movement of goods through complex contractual structures[31] or personal property encumbrances.[32] The KPR essay demonstrates the ambiguity about the different possible meanings of asserting that exhaustion has common law origins: the essay asserts both that exhaustion is based on the canon favoring preservation of the common law,[33] but also that exhaustion might sometimes “preempt” state law governing contracts and private property.[34]

A second problem is that the “common law” thesis in the earlier version of our paper did not fit especially well with what the foundational cases said. The Supreme Court cases framed their holdings as statutory interpretation but did not rely on the canon about construing narrowly statutes in derogation of the common law. Bobbs-Merrill Co. v. Straus said that the case presented “purely a question of statutory construction” and mentioned the common law only to emphasize that any common law rights to copyright were displaced by the federal copyright statute.[35] Keeler v. Standard Folding Bed Co. began its opinion by quoting in full the statutory text defining the scope of the patent grant, never mentioned the common law, and sharply distinguished between the law of contracts and “the inherent meaning and effect of the patent laws.”[36] Motion Picture Patents Co. v. Universal Film Manufacturing Co. also quoted the statutory text defining the scope of the patent grant, highlighted in italics certain words in that statute, and described its task as “interpreting this language of the statute.”[37] In sum, the more we carefully focused on the foundational cases rather than modern scholarship, the more statutory interpretation took center stage and the common law took on a lesser role.

The case law applying the exhaustion doctrine does sometimes refer to the common law’s hostility to restraints on the use or alienation of chattels, as our original article acknowledged.[38] Such passages do not pose a problem for our thesis because judges restricting the domain of a statute might be expected to discuss the bodies of law that are being preserved by interpreting the relevant statute narrowly. Thus, in FDA v. Brown & Williamson Tobacco Corp., the Supreme Court discussed the vast body of federal and state law regulating the distribution and sale of cigarettes.[39] The Court did so not to prove that the statute at issue there—the Food, Drug and Cosmetics Act—was a law regulating the sale of cigarettes, but to prove the contrary.

A third and perhaps obvious problem with justifying exhaustion as a doctrine for preserving the common law is that the doctrine also preserves the domains of state and federal statutory law regulating contracts, competition, personal property encumbrances, and insolvency. To focus on the common law is myopic. Thus, in the final version of our article, we scrupulously referred to the “general commercial law” as the body of law being protected by exhaustion. That phraseology was designed to be more comprehensive—to include both common law and statutory law. It was not designed to establish, as the KPR essay inaccurately states (again without supporting citations), a “stark dichotomy” between general commercial law and the common law.[40]

One final point: the KPR essay also accuses us of attacking straw men—that there are few if any (1) exhaustion skeptics arguing for “complete freedom to contract around exhaustion,” or (2) exhaustion proponents viewing “the doctrine as a ‘free ranging power’ to ‘allow or forbid a particular transaction.’”[41] Yet both Impression Products and the writings of the authors of the KPR essay demonstrate the reality of these positions and the degree of divergence between them.

As correctly recognized by the IP Professors’ brief filed in Impression Products (and signed by both Professors Katz and Perzanowski), the majority of the judges on the Federal Circuit held that the “exhaustion doctrine is merely a default arrangement that a patentee can change with contract terms.”[42] And it’s not just Federal Circuit judges. A group of scholars (including Professor Rub, the third author of the KPR essay) is urging the Supreme Court to affirm the Federal Circuit to “enable innovators and users to waive exhaustion by contract.”[43]

On the other side of the debate, scholars such as Professor Katz have expressly endorsed a “strong formulation” of the exhaustion doctrine under which “attempting to work around exhaustion rules” should be “invalidated in the absence of a compelling case-specific explanation as to why the work around should be upheld.”[44] Indeed, the KPR essay itself expressly acknowledges that “[e]xhaustion cannot be a doctrine that is purely designed to preserve other laws, such as contract and private property, if it might also preempt some of those other arrangements.”[45] That really is a key point of our disagreement with the KPR essay, for the exhaustion doctrine should not be preempting or invalidating non-IP legal mechanisms if, as the foundational Supreme Court cases assert, the doctrine is based on the idea that sold patented goods pass “outside” the scope of the federal statute.[46]

III. Hovenkamp and Federalism

Most of Professor Hovenkamp’s response is devoted to a “modest historical revision” of our thesis, arguing that “[the] exhaustion doctrine developed as a creature of federalism.”[47] We agree with Professor Hovenkamp that federalism played a part in the development of exhaustion doctrine in the United States. In early U.S. cases now viewed as cases on exhaustion, the courts spoke in terms of dividing areas governed by the federal law of patents and the state law of contracts and property. Even now, intellectual property law is primarily federal law, and commercial law is primarily state law. State law was even more dominant in commercial matters in the nineteenth century,[48] so any doctrine limiting the scope of federal IP rights to preserve commercial law would necessarily protect state law and thereby preserve interests in federalism.

To Hovenkamp’s modest historical revision, however, we add two modest caveats. First, even though the U.S. exhaustion doctrine developed primarily as protective of state law, the theory developed in the case law was more general—and was thus able to prevent intellectual property law from unduly encroaching not only on state law, but also on areas of federal law such as bankruptcy and antitrust.

For example, without any exhaustion doctrine, a patentee who sells goods on credit could substantially increase its rights in bankruptcy by supplementing a commercial law security interest with a non-transferable license to continue using the goods that is conditioned on the purchaser making the required payments. The Bankruptcy Code grants courts explicit powers to restructure secured loans,[49] changing the payment schedule, interest rate, and sometimes even the principal amount,[50] but it does not give courts a similar power to restructure executory contracts like patent licenses.[51] Worse still, not only would the now-bankrupt purchaser lack the power to assign the license so that another firm could use the goods, but most circuits that have examined the issue prohibit the bankrupt entity from assuming patent licenses without the patentee’s consent.[52] Thus, after bankruptcy occurs, perhaps no one—not even the original purchaser—could use the goods without the patentee’s consent. Although the license would not give the patentee the right to repossess the goods, the patentee would have quite a bit of leverage to control or prevent the normal restructuring of claims in bankruptcy because it could prevent anyone from using the goods unless the patentee receives payment in full.

Second, although federalism was important to the development of exhaustion in this country, exhaustion also developed (and still exists) in many countries that lack federalism.[53] Our original article provides a possible explanation: limiting the scope of a specialized statute is a sensible reaction to legislative specialization, for it “avoid[s] imposing substantive policies not resolved through the structured, democratic process that is the legislature.”[54] In short, the doctrine helps keep order, so that different areas of specialized law governing topics such as IP, security interests, bankruptcy, and antitrust remain distinct.

Conclusion

The KPR essay concludes that our thesis would “significantly narrow[] the perspective of what exhaustion is and what it should be.”[55] To this we plead: guilty. We believe that a narrower and more precise explanation of “what exhaustion is” would be a huge positive, for it would help the doctrine better perform its primary function of preventing IP rights from interfering with other complex areas of law.

By contrast, the KPR essay argues that, in determining “the socially desirable scope of IP exhaustion,” scholars (and possibly courts) “should explore the justifications for exhaustion, examine how strong and applicable they are nowadays and going forward, study the effects it has on initial and secondary markets for copyrighted goods, and yes—consider other legal (as well as non-legal) ways to regulate those markets.”[56] And on top of all those factors, the essay is also willing to blend together “common law and statutory interpretation”[57] without any clear framework of where one begins and the other ends. That approach seems hard to reconcile with the Supreme Court’s general jurisprudential approach to restricting the power of judges to fashion federal common law in areas controlled by federal statutes.[58] But perhaps even more importantly, it is a recipe for continued confusion in an area of law notorious for its incoherence.

As discussed in the beginning of this response, the Impression Products case is a poster child for that incoherence, and we hope that the Supreme Court takes the opportunity to provide a bit of theoretical clarity to the area. Specifically, we hope that the Supreme Court’s ultimate opinion includes a sentence stating something like: “The patent exhaustion doctrine is based on ______.” Of course, we would like to see that blank filled in with “an interpretation of the limited scope of the federal patent rights granted in 35 U.S.C. § 154(a)(1).” But our overarching point is that we really hope that the Supreme Court puts something in that blank.

 


[1] Lexmark Int’l, Inc. v. Impression Prods., Inc., 816 F.3d 721, 750–52 (Fed. Cir. 2016).

[2] John F. Duffy & Richard Hynes, Statutory Domain and the Commercial Law of Intellectual Property, 102 Va. L. Rev. 1 (2016).

[3] Ariel Katz, Aaron Perzanowski & Guy A. Rub, The Interaction of Exhaustion and the General Law: A Reply to Duffy And Hynes, 102 Va. L. Rev. Online 8 (2016) [hereinafter KPR Essay].

[4] Herbert Hovenkamp, Patent Exhaustion and Federalism: A Historical Note, 102 Va. L. Rev. Online 25 (2016).

[5] As we explain in our article, the phrase “conditional sale” described a forerunner of the modern security interest, and the Uniform Commercial Code now deems such a sale to be a sale subject to a security interest. See Duffy & Hynes, supra note 2, at 62–63; see also Lynn M. LoPucki et al., Commercial Transactions: A Systems Approach 837 (5th ed. 2012) (“The consequence [of a conditional sale] is that the buyer becomes the owner of the goods and the seller becomes a secured creditor for the price of the goods.”); Donald H. Partington, Note, Effect of the Uniform Commercial Code on Virginia Commercial Law: Conditional Sales and Article 9, 20 Wash. & Lee L. Rev. 286, 286 (1963) (“The conditional sale is one of several common law and statutory security devices merged into what is called a security interest under the secured transactions article of the Uniform Commercial Code.”).

[6] Lexmark Int’l, 816 F.3d at 727–728 (internal quotation marks omitted).

[7] 976 F.2d 700 (Fed. Cir. 1992).

[8] Brief for Petitioner at 11 n.2, Impression Prods., Inc v. Lexmark Int’l, Inc., No. 15-1189 (U.S. filed Jan. 17, 2017).

[9] 264 F.3d 1094 (Fed. Cir. 2001).

[10] Lexmark Int’l, 816 F.3d at 726–27.

[11] See Duffy & Hynes, supra note 2, at 55­–58, 47–53.

[12] See, e.g., KPR Essay, supra note 3, at 24 (listing a variety of policy factors by which the “scope [of exhaustion] should ideally be set”).

[13] Lexmark Int’l, 816 F.3d at 734 (quoting Nw. Airlines, Inc., v. Transp. Workers Union of Am., 451 U.S. 77, 95 n.34 (1981)).

[14] See City of Milwaukee v. Illinois, 451 U.S. 304, 315 (1981).

[15] 35 U.S.C. § 271(a) (2012).

[16] Lexmark Int’l, 816 F.3d at 734.

[17] Id. at 742.

[18] See 157 U.S. 659, 661 (1895) (quoting Rev. Stat. § 4884); see also 35 U.S.C. § 154 note (2012) (noting lineage from § 4884). A recent analysis of the historical origins of patent exhaustion identifies Keeler as important in the development of “[m]odern exhaustion.” Sean M. O’Connor, Origins of Patent Exhaustion: Jacksonian Politics, “Patent Farming,” and the Basis of the Bargain 44–47 (Mar. 7, 2017), https://perma.cc/WZ6C-QQY8.

[19] See Keeler, 157 U.S. at 661 (emphasis added) (internal quotation marks omitted).

[20] 243 U.S. 502, 509 (1917).

[21] See id. at 510, 513–14 (asserting that the “meaning [of the statutory words] would seem not to be doubtful if we can avoid reading into them that which they really do not contain” and asserting that the result in the case was based on the “plain meaning of the statute”).

[22] The briefs submitted in the case are located at American Bar Association, Preview of United States Supreme Court Cases, https://perma.cc/WE3M-UX4Unow permasizeded formatting to the online version] theased]we added 23 since better substantiated}. 

[23] Brief of Respondent at 14, Impression Prods., Inc. v. Lexmark Int’l, Inc., No. 15-1189 (U.S. filed Feb. 16, 2017) (emphasis omitted).

[24] See Brief of Amici Curiae Intellectual Property Professors and American Antitrust Institute in Support of Petitioner at 3, 6,  Impression Prods., Inc. v. Lexmark Int’l, Inc., No. 15-1189 (U.S. filed Jan. 24, 2017) [hereinafter IP and Antitrust Amici].

[25] See Brief of 44 Law, Economics and Business Professors as Amici Curiae in Support of Respondent at 3, Impression Prods., Inc. v. Lexmark Int’l, Inc., No. 15-1189 (U.S. Feb. 23, 2017) [hereinafter Law, Economics and Business Amici].

[26] KPR Essay, supra note 3, at 10.

[27] Duffy & Hynes, supra note 2, at 7.

[28] Id.

[29] KPR Essay, supra note 3, at 10–11.

[30] IP and Antitrust Amici, supra note 24, at 3, 6.

[31] As an example, our article cited Qualcomm’s contracting structures, which undoubtedly restrict the free movement of goods even if patent rights are exhausted after a first sale. Our article remained agnostic about whether such contracts would be enforceable under state contract law, legal under federal antitrust law, or sensible from a standpoint of economic efficiency. Prior scholarship, however, has set forth reasons why Qualcomm’s contracts may serve positive economic functions by controlling each step in the productive “value chain.” See Sean M. O’Connor, IP Transactions as Facilitators of the Globalized Innovation Economy, in Working Within the Boundaries of Intellectual Property: Innovation Policy for the Knowledge Society 203, 212–28 (Rochelle C. Dreyfuss et al. eds., 2010) (describing Qualcomm’s contracts as desirable “value chain licensing”).

[32] See Duffy & Hynes, supra note 2, at 60 (explaining that security interests under the Uniform Commercial Code can secure obligations generally and noting that the common law of some states might also permit so-called “personal property servitudes” to enforce obligations on subsequent purchasers).

[33] KPR Essay, supra note 3, at 10–11, 14–15.

[34] Id. at 22.

[35] 210 U.S. 339, 346–50 (1908) (discussing authors’ rights at common law but concluding that those “common-law rights are lost” upon publication).

[36] 157 U.S. 659, 666 Co.t 666.rd Folding Bed Co.ut aone a bit]  could is is the court’rtant to leave all three in in lieu of “h him on his research, (1895).

[37] 243 U.S. 502, 509–10 (1917) (emphasis added).

[38] Duffy & Hynes, supra note 2, at 51–52.

[39] 529 U.S. 120, 143–59 (2000).

[40] KPR Essay, supra note 3, at 21.

[41] Id. at 17 (citations omitted).

[42] IP and Antitrust Amici, supra note 24, at 2.

[43] Law, Economics and Business Amici, supra note 25, at 31–32; see also id. at 7 (arguing that exhaustion should be “generally” inapplicable to sales “made subject to conditions that are expressly communicated and otherwise lawful”).

[44] Ariel Katz, The First Sale Doctrine and the Economics of Post-Sale Restraints, 2014 BYU L. Rev. 55, 63 (2014); see also id. at 74, 101 (endorsing the “strong” version of the doctrine and arguing that contracting around the doctrine should be “presumptively invalid” and that courts should refuse to enforce contract terms limiting resales unless the IP owner “can demonstrate that the restraint is necessary and superior to other means to achieve efficiency”).

[45] KPR Essay, supra note 3, at 22.

[46] Keeler, 157 U.S. at 661; Bloomer v. McQuewan, 55 U.S. 539, 549 (1852).

[47] Hovenkamp, supra note 4, at 26.

[48] Today, federal law governs some commercial law issues such as security interests in maritime vessels (46 U.S.C. § 31301 et seq. (2012)) and aircraft (49 U.S.C.A. § 44108 (2015)). More significantly, federal bankruptcy law often alters commercial rights, but the United States did not have a lasting bankruptcy act until 1898. See David A. Skeel, Jr., Debt’s Dominion: A History of Bankruptcy Law in America 23 (2001); Charles Jordan Tabb, The History of the Bankruptcy Laws in the United States, 3 Am. Bankr. Inst. L. Rev. 5, 6, 23 (1995).

[49] See 11 U.S.C. § 1123(b)(5) (2012) (allowing the court to approve a plan of reorganization that modifies the rights of secured creditors).

[50] See id. § 506 (allowing the court to reduce the amount of a secured claim to the value of the underlying collateral); id. § 1129(b)(2)(A) (allowing a court to approve a plan based on a judicial valuation of the promised payments to the secured creditor).

[51] See id. § 365 (granting the trustee in bankruptcy, acting on behalf of the bankrupt entity, certain limited powers to assume or reject executory contracts but not granting any power to modify such contracts without the consent of the counterparty).

[52] See, e.g., N.C.P. Mktg. Grp., Inc. v. BG Star Prods., Inc., 556 U.S. 1145, 1146 (2009) (statement of Kennedy, J., respecting the denial of certiorari) (noting that most circuits will not allow the bankrupt entity to assume executory contracts that are not assignable).

[53] See Christopher Stothers, 16th Annual Conference on Intellectual Property Law and Policy of Fordham University School of Law, Patent Exhaustion: the UK Perspective (Mar. 27–28, 2008), https://perma.cc/7XMN-Q5ZP (noting that “[i]n most jurisdictions patent rights cannot be used to prevent genuine products which were put on the domestic market from being resold within that jurisdiction”).

[54] Duffy & Hynes, supra note 2, at 32.

[55] KPR Essay, supra note 3, at 24.

[56] Id.

[57] Id. at 10.

[58] See Lexmark Int’l, Inc. v. Impression Prods., Inc., 816 F.3d 721, 734 (Fed. Cir. 2016).

Crowdfunding and the Not-So-Safe SAFE

Introduction

On May 16, 2016, more than four years following the enactment of the Jumpstart Our Business Startups Act (the “JOBS Act”), the much-anticipated era of retail crowdfunding officially began in the United States.[1] On the very first day that the Securities and Exchange Commission’s (“SEC”) new Regulation Crowdfunding went into effect, seventeen companies launched crowdfunding campaigns on various online platforms—known as “funding portals”—that registered with the SEC to host offerings. Over the past several months, dozens of companies have solicited investments through these portals to finance the development of biodegradable toothbrushes,[2] custom-printed condoms,[3] and glow-in-the-dark vegetation,[4] among other projects.[5]

While it is far too early to pass judgment on the long-term prospects of the crowdfunding project more generally, it is possible at this juncture to assess how certain aspects of crowdfunding are developing and to identify potential pitfalls for the players in this new arena. In at least one area—the menu of financing instruments being offered to prospective retail investors—we believe that early market participants may be unintentionally sabotaging the crowdfunding experiment. Specifically, we believe that the forms of a relatively new startup-financing instrument, the simple agreement for future equity (“SAFE”), currently offered by crowdfunding portals such as WeFunder[6] and Republic,[7] contain terms that are likely to frustrate the ability of investors to share in the upside of successful crowdfunding companies. In other words, crowdfunding investors who purchase SAFEs may discover that these instruments are anything but.

To be clear, we do not argue here that the SAFE has no role to play in providing capital to early-stage companies. Outside of the crowdfunding context, there are situations in which the SAFE may be a sensible instrument for startups to use when fundraising. In the crowdfunding context, however, the vast majority of companies raising money are unlikely to ever raise institutional venture capital (“VC”). Since the SAFE was developed as a means of investing in startups that expect to raise such funding at a later date, it is not the right tool for channeling retail investment capital to crowdfunding companies. Even if the terms of the SAFEs currently offered by WeFunder and Republic were to be rewritten, the use of the SAFE in crowdfunding would still present a number of issues from the perspective of a retail investor. Accordingly, we argue that the most promising solution to the problems we identify in this Essay is for the funding portals to remove the SAFE from their menus of financing instruments.

This short Essay proceeds as follows. Part I surveys the types of securities available to crowdfunding companies via the new funding portals. Part II describes the origins of the SAFE. Part III describes the types of crowdfunding companies that have issued SAFEs to date and argues that many of these companies are unlikely to raise institutional VC. Part IV surveys and criticizes the terms of the SAFEs currently on offer by several funding portals. The Essay concludes by discussing several possible solutions to the problems identified herein.

I. Types of Crowdfunding Securities

The JOBS Act crowdfunding provisions did not include any explicit restrictions on the types of securities that issuers could sell in crowdfunding offerings.[8] The SEC considered regulating the types of crowdfunding securities, soliciting comments regarding whether it should, for instance, only permit crowdfunding issuers to offer plain-vanilla equity securities.[9] Based on feedback the SEC received during the comment period and its interpretation of congressional intent in Title III of the JOBS Act, the SEC decided to allow issuers to offer any type of security in a crowdfunding offering, so long as investors are given adequate disclosure about the structure and terms of the investment.[10] The SEC declined to narrow the list of instruments that companies could offer crowdfunding investors in order to give issuers some flexibility as this new market develops.[11]

As a result, startups looking to raise capital through crowdfunding have had free rein to choose whichever instruments they believe best fit their needs. They have offered crowdfunding investors a variety of securities thus far, including common and preferred equity, debt instruments (with rates of return and payment schedules that are either fixed or vary with the company’s revenues), and convertible securities (such as convertible notes and SAFEs).[12] Most of these instruments have longstanding roles in early-stage technology startup and small-business finance. For many years, early investors in tech startups received the same common stock that a startup’s founders received, until it became more common for those early-stage angel investors to purchase convertible notes.[13] Institutional VC investors have traditionally negotiated for preferred stock with liquidation preferences and other minority protections.[14] Debt instruments with fixed or variable repayment schedules have long been staples of financing for small businesses with revenue models that generate sufficient cash flow to service the debt and provide an adequately attractive risk-adjusted return to the lenders, be they community banks, the Small Business Administration, or high-net-worth individuals. Compared to these other instruments, the SAFE is the new kid on the block, having emerged at the end of 2013 and only more recently becoming widely used as a startup-financing tool.[15] To understand how this new instrument may have an adverse impact on the new crowdfunding ecosystem, it is first necessary to briefly discuss the origins of the SAFE.

II. The Simple Agreement for Future Equity (“SAFE”)

The SAFE was developed by Y Combinator, the well-known startup accelerator based in Silicon Valley, as a means of investing in startups that expected to raise institutional VC at a later date.[16] Although the SAFE resembles a classic seed-stage convertible note in most respects, the SAFE is not a debt instrument. It lacks the convertible note’s maturity date and does not accrue interest while it remains outstanding. The SAFE is also not an equity instrument, and its holders are owed no fiduciary duties until the instrument converts into equity. Moreover, the SAFE does not pay dividends and the SAFE holder has no right to vote on matters submitted to shareholders.[17] The SAFE is, in essence, a contractual derivative instrument. It is a deferred equity investment that will prove valuable to the holder if, and only if, the company that issues it raises a subsequent round of financing, is sold, or goes public.

The SAFE was originally created to facilitate early-stage investments in the companies participating in Y Combinator’s accelerator program. Startups that have been through the semi-annual Y Combinator program include several so-called “unicorns” (startups with private valuations of at least $1 billion), most notably Airbnb and Dropbox.[18] These technology companies aspire to follow a fairly well-defined growth trajectory: They raise significant sums of capital, spend it quickly to achieve as much growth as possible as quickly as possible, raising more money along the way to continue their expansion at breakneck pace until achieving a liquidity event—usually in the form of a sale of the company or, in fewer cases, an initial public offering.[19] Savvy startup investors typically view the outcomes of seed investments in these companies as essentially binary: The companies will either succeed or go bust, leaving the investors with either a lucrative multiple return on their investment or a loss of most, if not all, of their principal. Often, in the downside scenario, the founders and investors try to salvage as much of their investments (and reputations) as possible through a sale or acqui-hire, but modest, middling returns are not what most investors are seeking in the feast-or-famine world of seed-stage startup investing.[20]

In addition to receiving an investment from Y Combinator for participating in the accelerator program, in many cases the initial investments in Y Combinator portfolio companies via the SAFE come from a coterie of high-profile angels and VC investors who routinely fund the accelerator’s portfolio companies with relatively small amounts of seed capital.[21] Y Combinator has marketed the SAFE as being “simple,” in that it is a minimalistic contract of only a few pages, containing little legalese and contractual boilerplate as well as fewer terms than the convertible notes that these parties were already quite familiar with (and which these investors had been using for years to invest in Y Combinator companies). Switching from convertible notes to SAFEs had the added benefit—at least, from the founders’ perspective—of not requiring the additional legal work often needed to extend the maturity date of convertible notes if a subsequent financing had not occurred prior to maturity. Using SAFEs also allowed founders to avoid having difficult conversations with convertible noteholders at maturity if the company was not performing as expected or was having difficulty raising a subsequent round of financing. Effectively, the SAFE purported to improve upon a very specific concern (the maturity feature of convertible notes) encountered by a particular type of company (unfunded tech startups, specifically those participating in Y Combinator’s accelerator program) and a few specific groups of people (founders of hot startups and highly experienced startup investors competing for access to those companies) within the bubble of the Silicon Valley startup ecosystem. Given Y Combinator’s prominence as an influencer in the startup world, startups outside the Silicon Valley ecosystem have since increasingly adopted the SAFE as a seed-financing tool.

SAFEs can be suitable investment instruments for companies—like Y Combinator portfolio companies—that are strong candidates for future VC investment. It is important to bear in mind, however, that SAFEs are highly company-favorable securities—a product of the latest startup-financing frenzy—requiring investors who understand and accept the binary nature of investing in early-stage tech startups and who believe that the company will eventually be in a position to raise institutional VC so that the SAFEs will convert to equity as intended. In the context of crowdfunding, the use of SAFEs has the potential to result in some unexpected and unfavorable outcomes for the uninitiated.

Indeed, for companies and investors outside the clubby startup world of U.S. technology hubs like Silicon Valley, the nomenclature “SAFE” may actually be somewhat misleading. Retail investors, who presumably are used to investing in traditional asset classes, such as publicly traded stocks and bonds, are unlikely to be familiar with the convertible notes and SAFEs that more sophisticated accredited investors use to invest in tech startups. As a result, they are also unlikely to find the mechanics by which SAFEs convert to equity to be particularly “simple.”[22] The safety implied by the clever acronym “SAFE” actually points to the instrument’s safety for the issuing company—which is able to avoid the maturity dates associated with convertible notes—rather than any safety for the investor. A potential problem with using SAFEs in crowdfunding, therefore, is that inexperienced retail investors may mistakenly believe that they are receiving something simple and safe, a security that they believe all of the top startups and investors in Silicon Valley use, and make an investment without fully understanding the risks that they are assuming by purchasing those SAFEs.

III. Types of Crowdfunding Issuers Opting for SAFEs

Of the 96 issuers to launch crowdfunding offerings through August 31, 2016, 30 issuers (approximately 31%) chose to offer convertible securities (such as convertible notes, SAFEs, or similar instruments) to prospective crowdfunding investors. Ninety percent of the convertible securities used were SAFEs. The remaining convertible securities were convertible notes.

Two different types of issuers have opted to use SAFEs thus far in their crowdfunding offerings:

 

1. Tech startups with business models and growth trajectories that are potentially attractive to VC investors; and

2. Non-tech startups with business models that are less likely to attract VC investment.

 

Many tech startups using SAFEs in crowdfunding offerings to date hail from technology hubs—places like the San Francisco Bay Area, Boston, New York, and Southern California—where the influence of Y Combinator is strongest.[23] For some of these companies, using SAFEs with crowdfunding investors is not likely to cause any serious issues because the SAFE was designed for investing in these types of companies—tech startups that are likely to either raise institutional VC or fail. But even crowdfunding issuers that are tech startups and that have business models which, at first blush, would appear attractive to VC investors (and therefore suitable candidates for using SAFEs) may be less likely to raise future VC financing than the typical tech startup. Due to the additional costs and disclosures required of crowdfunding issuers, most startups that have access to traditional forms of startup fundraising will be loath to undertake a crowdfunding offering. As a result, many of the startups that choose to pursue crowdfunding as a means of raising capital do so because they have no other options, and they may still struggle to raise traditional venture financing down the road.[24] Additionally, some of the startups using SAFEs are not based in technology hubs, and may have turned to crowdfunding because they are outside of traditional angel and VC networks. These factors may mean the SAFE is an inappropriate instrument for these investments, since the SAFE is predicated on the expectation that the issuer will eventually raise a round of institutional VC and otherwise follow the traditional path of a high-tech venture-backed startup.

The second category of crowdfunding issuers using SAFEs—non-tech startups—presents even greater concerns. These are companies with business models and growth trajectories that often look quite different from tech startups. As a result, these companies are less likely to be candidates for VC investment and more likely to evolve into either lifestyle businesses for the founders—providing them with healthy salaries and the ability to distribute any profits to themselves in the form of dividends for the foreseeable future—or companies that rely on debt financing (such as bank loans) and reinvested profits to support additional growth. These companies, even if they are successful, may never raise additional equity capital, be sold, or go public, leaving SAFE holders with no way to receive returns on their investments.[25] The SAFE was simply not designed to be used to invest in this type of company.

IV. Funding Portals and Variations on a SAFE

Thus far, we have been discussing the conceptual concerns with different types of companies using SAFEs in crowdfunding, but there are also more specific issues raised by the forms of SAFEs that actual crowdfunding issuers have offered to prospective investors. These SAFEs have all been based on the forms made available to the issuers by the funding portals they chose to host their offerings. For instance, WeFunder, which has been the most popular funding portal to date thanks to its streamlined disclosure process and industry-low commission (at four percent of funds raised),[26] has a form of SAFE available on its website that every WeFunder company using SAFEs has adopted.[27] The WeFunder SAFE has a number of features that may exacerbate some of the problems we have described with the use of SAFEs in crowdfunding generally.

There are typically three scenarios in which SAFE investors receive cash back from their investment:

1. Post-Conversion Liquidity Event. In this scenario, the company sells priced equity securities following the SAFE financing, and the SAFEs convert into those equity securities based on the discount or valuation cap stated in the SAFE contract. At some point following the conversion, the company is sold or goes public, and the former SAFE holders receive proceeds from those liquidity events just like the other investors (such as VCs) holding those equity securities.

2. Pre-Conversion Liquidity Event. If the company is sold before it raises a subsequent round of priced equity capital (in which case the SAFEs would still be outstanding), the SAFE holders would elect to either (A) convert the SAFEs to equity and receive proceeds from the sale based on their pro rata equity ownership, or (B) receive a cash payout of their original investment amount (plus some pre-negotiated return, such as 1.5x2x) in connection with the sale.

3. Dissolution Event. If the company shuts down and liquidates prior to raising a subsequent round of priced equity financing, the SAFE holders would receive any residual assets up to the amount of their original investments.

One scenario is not anticipated in most SAFEs and is also not addressed in the WeFunder SAFE: a scenario in which a company never raises additional equity capital and never sells itself or goes public.[28] This scenario is not anticipated because it is a rare outcome for venture-backed tech startups. As we have discussed, however, crowdfunding offerings are not undertaken exclusively by tech startups. Imagine a non-tech company that raises capital in a crowdfunding offering using a SAFE. The company uses that capital to launch a product or service, which starts generating significant cash flow before the company needs additional capital. The company is able to use that cash flow to obtain bank financing and may even have profits to reinvest in growing the business. At some point, that company may also have sufficiently healthy profits to start distributing those profits to its owners (the founders). This business, following a path that is extremely common—perhaps the norm—for non-tech startups and small businesses, could continue in this fashion in perpetuity without ever needing additional equity capital or needing to sell. If that were to happen, the SAFE holders would continue to hold their securities, earning no interest, receiving no dividends and never seeing any return of their original investment. We call this the “dividend problem.”[29]

The WeFunder SAFE amplifies the dividend problem because a financing conversion only occurs under the contract when the issuer closes a bona fide preferred stock financing raising any amount at a fixed pre-money valuation. The SAFEs do not convert if the company raises equity capital by selling common stock.[30] The SAFE is often drafted this way because it presupposes that the next financing round will be a traditional VC investment and the typical VC investment is structured as preferred equity. However, crowdfunding issuers (which, as discussed above, could be tech or non-tech companies) raising subsequent equity capital from non-VC sources may choose to issue common stock instead of preferred stock. In that case, the SAFEs issued to crowdfunding investors using the WeFunder form would remain outstanding until the company is sold. Under the terms of the WeFunder SAFE, a company could theoretically raise unlimited amounts of private capital selling common stock and distribute profits to those investors and the founders via dividends without ever triggering a conversion of the SAFEs or allowing the SAFE holders to participate in those dividend payments.

The WeFunder SAFE contains yet another provision that may frustrate the ability of many SAFE holders to share in the upside of successful crowdfunding companies. The issuer can repurchase the SAFEs of non-accredited investors for the fair market value of the instrument, as determined by an independent appraiser of the company’s choosing, at any time prior to conversion. This means that the investors taking the greatest risk (the seed crowdfunding investors) can be prevented from seeing the bulk of the returns from the most successful companies they fund using the WeFunder SAFE. Even if the WeFunder SAFE converts to equity, moreover, the contract provides that the SAFE converts into a non-voting series of preferred stock, leaving the crowdfunding investors at the mercy of the founders and more sophisticated investors who negotiate special rights for themselves (although post-conversion, the former SAFE holders would at least be owed fiduciary duties by the company’s board of directors).[31]

WeFunder is not the only funding portal to create a form of SAFE that adds to the problems inherent in using SAFEs in crowdfunding offerings. Republic, a funding portal created by former employees of the well-known startup investment platform AngelList, created its own form called the Crowd SAFE. Like the WeFunder SAFE, the Crowd SAFE is based on Y Combinator’s version but modified in various ways for use in crowdfunding offerings.[32] The Crowd SAFE converts into stock in connection with any priced equity financing (preferred or common) raising proceeds of at least $1 million.[33] Republic added a new feature to the Crowd SAFE, however, allowing the company to postpone the conversion of the instrument until a liquidity event (in most cases, the sale of the company), while promising investors that they will receive the same economics (that is, the same conversion price) regardless of when they actually convert.[34] The Crowd SAFE effectively allows the company to raise any form of equity capital without triggering the conversion of the SAFEs, while also neglecting (like the WeFunder SAFE) to account for a scenario in which the stockholders of the company receive their return in the form of dividends and not in a liquidity event such as a sale or initial public offering.

Conclusion

The SEC has two competing missions in all of its regulatory endeavors: promoting capital formation and protecting investors. Regulation Crowdfunding has largely been viewed as heavily favoring investor protection over capital formation (particularly the disclosure requirements).[35] When it came to the types of securities available to crowdfunding issuers, however, the SEC took a laissez-faire approach. With many aspects of crowdfunding, such as policing individuals’ annual investment limits and screening prospective issuers for fraudulent schemes, the SEC chose to rely heavily on the funding portals to make crowdfunding as safe as possible for non-accredited investors. When the SEC declined to narrow the list of permissible securities, perhaps its expectation was that the funding portals would help keep issuers from offering retail investors inappropriate securities through their platforms. Unfortunately, this does not seem to be happening in practice.

There are several possible solutions to the problems identified in this Essay. First, the funding portals could seek to limit the use of SAFEs to the “right” sort of companies—those that are likely to raise future capital from institutional investors. Policing the types of securities offered by crowdfunding companies may sound like a lot to ask of the portals but many of them already market themselves as significantly curating the offerings they make available on their platforms. Accordingly, we do not see this additional curation as overstepping.[36] Second, the portals could amend the forms of SAFE currently on offer to address some of the specific issues we have raised. This would be a positive development, to be sure, but it would not address the deeper problems that flow from the fact that many of these crowdfunding issuers will never raise institutional VC. Third, the funding portals could remove the SAFE from their menu of financing instruments. We believe that this last approach represents the simplest and best solution. A crowdfunding company that wants to issue a SAFE-like security could instead issue a convertible note, which is similar to the SAFE in many respects but which accrues interest, has a maturity date, and offers retail investors other protections that are associated with debt instruments. Despite these additional investor protections, however, convertible notes are also less than ideal instruments for most companies in the crowdfunding context because, like SAFEs, they too are intended for use by companies that are likely to raise institutional VC in the near term. Alternatively, and we believe preferably, the company could issue debt, common equity, or preferred equity (the latter two providing investors with the full benefits of being shareholders of the company including, most importantly, the protection of fiduciary duties owed by the company’s board of directors). These alternatives are, in our view, more suitable vehicles for channeling capital to crowdfunding companies than the SAFE.

In closing, it should be emphasized that all of these instruments—SAFEs, convertible notes, common stock, preferred stock, etc.—are simply labels. It is not the name of the instrument that matters so much as the terms set forth within it, that is, the balance struck between issuer and investor. It is possible to issue “common stock” that contains terms commonly used in “preferred stock” financings. It is also possible to issue “SAFEs” that contain terms that make them virtually indistinguishable from “convertible notes.” In this respect, our recommendation that funding portals remove the SAFE from their menu of financing instruments might be criticized as emphasizing form over substance. To be clear, our quarrel is not with the SAFE qua SAFE. Our quarrel is with the terms contained within the SAFEs currently on offer in the retail crowdfunding space as well as the specific context in which these contracts are being used. Unless and until the terms of these instruments are revised to address the concerns outlined above, we do not believe that crowdfunding issuers should use them. The revisions that would be necessary to adequately address these concerns would effectively turn the SAFE into a different instrument (a convertible note, preferred stock, etc.) in all but name, making it better, in our view, to simply remove the SAFE from the menu of financing instruments and use existing instruments that are more fit for this purpose. The SAFE is a financing instrument that was developed to fund early-stage companies that expect to raise institutional VC. This expectation informs the terms set forth in the SAFE. The vast majority of crowdfunding companies are unlikely to raise institutional VC. Accordingly, for all the reasons we have discussed, we believe that SAFEs are not well suited to being used in crowdfunding transactions.

 


[1]Generally speaking, the term “crowdfunding” refers to the “practice of funding a project or venture by raising money from a large number of people, each of whom contributes a relatively small amount, typically via the Internet.” See Crowdfunding, Oxford English Dictionary Online (3d ed. 2015), http://www.oed.com/view/E‌ntry/429943‌?redirec‌tedF‌rom=cr‌owdfunding&  [https://perma.cc/LGH3-RUG5]. As used herein, the terms “crowdfunding” and “retail crowdfunding” refer to the process of raising capital from non-accredited investors through securities offerings under § 4(a)(6) of the Securities Act of 1933 (codified as amended at 15 U.S.C. § 77d(a)(6) (2012)), and the SEC’s Regulation Crowdfunding, 17 C.F.R. § 227 (2016), and are not meant to include other types of securities offerings or fundraising campaigns that are also often considered forms of crowdfunding, such as online securities offerings to accredited investors under Rule 506(b) or Rule 506(c) of Regulation D, 17 C.F.R. §§ 230.506(b)–(c) (2016), mini-public offerings under Regulation A (as amended by the JOBS Act and now commonly called Regulation A+), 80 Fed. Reg. 21,805 (June 19, 2015), or rewards-based fundraising campaigns on popular platforms such as Kickstarter and Indiegogo.

[2]See Do., LLC, Offering Statement (Form C) (May 16, 2016), https://www‌.s‌ec.g‌ov/Archives/edgar/data/1674379/000167025416000015/0001670254-16-000015-index.htm [https://perma.cc/G3B5-PV6L].

[3]See Graphic Armor, Inc., Offering Statement (Form C) (May 16, 2016), https://ww‌w.sec.gov/Archives/edgar/data/1674376/000166516016000067/xslC_X01/primary_doc.xml [https://perma.cc/B7T6-G23N].

[4]See TAXA Biotechnologies, Inc., Offering Statement (Form C) (May 16, 2016), https://www.sec.gov/Archives/edgar/data/1674082/000167025416000002/xslC_X01/primary_doc.xml [https://perma.cc/47EY-3NNT]. 

[5]See Jack Wroldsen, Crowdfunding Investment Contracts, 11 Va. L. & Bus. Rev. (forthcoming 2017) (discussing the wide variety of projects seeking funding from the crowd).

[6]WeFunder, Legal Primer for Founders, https://wefunder.com/faq/legal-primer [ht‌tps://perma.cc/J3VG-RJ5C]

[7]Republic, The Crowd Safe, https://republic.co/crowdsafe [https://perma.cc/DWF7-MH4D].

[8]See Securities Act of 1933, ch. 38, § 4(a)(6), 48 Stat. 74 (codified as amended at 15 U.S.C. § 77d(a)(6) (2012)).

[9]See Crowdfunding, 78 Fed. Reg. 66,428, 66,458 (proposed Nov. 5, 2013).

[10]See Crowdfunding, 80 Fed. Reg. 71,388, 71,427 (Nov. 16, 2015).

[11]See id. at 71,506.

[12]See Wroldsen, supra note 5.

[13]See John F. Coyle & Joseph M. Green, Contractual Innovation in Venture Capital, 66 Hastings L.J. 133, 146–48 (2014).

[14]Id. at 149–51.

[15]Id. at 168–69.

[16]Y Combinator’s form of SAFE is available at https://www.ycombinat‌or.co‌m/do‌cuments/#safe [https://perma.cc/82M4-R3JU].

[17]To be clear, the SAFE is not unique in this regard. Common and preferred stockholders of private companies in the tech sector rarely receive dividends, as these companies typically invest all available capital in future growth. Convertible notes also do not grant the holder the right to vote on matters submitted to the shareholders.

[18]Harold J. Krent & Dawn K. Young, Self-Interested Fiduciaries and the Incubator Movement, 66 Syracuse L. Rev. 611, 618 (2016).

[19]The fact that not all startups achieve this growth trajectory should not distract from the essential point that many, if not most, tech startups aspire to it. See Paul Graham, Startup = Growth, http://www.paulgraham.com/growth.html [https://perma.cc/UMF9-JAJD]; see also Victor Fleischer, The Missing Preferred Return, 31 J. Corp. L. 77, 90 (2005) (describing the “home run mentality” in the VC industry); Elizabeth Pollman, Information Issues on Wall Street 2.0, 161 U. Pa. L. Rev. 179, 237 n.303 (2012) (same).

[20]See John F. Coyle & Gregg D. Polsky, Acqui-hiring, 63 Duke L.J. 281, 283–84 (2013).

[21]Coyle & Green, supra note 13, at 170.

[22]The SAFE’s “simplicity” presupposes an investor’s familiarity with the terms and mechanics of a convertible note (the instrument on which the SAFE was modeled).

[23]A few crowdfunding issuers are even Y Combinator portfolio companies, so their decision to use SAFEs for their crowdfunding investors is understandable. In addition, the funding portal WeFunder, which has led the way when it comes to issuers employing the SAFE in crowdfunding offerings on its platform, is itself a Y Combinator portfolio company.  Ryan Lawler, Y Combinator-Backed WeFunder Launches to Bring Crowdfunding Startups to the Masses, TechCrunch (Mar. 19, 2013), https://techcrunch.com/2013/03/19/wefunder-launch/ [https://perma.cc/SH7H-NGR2].

[24]This adverse selection problem is sometimes described as a “market for lemons.” Darian M. Ibrahim, Equity Crowdfunding: A Market for Lemons?, 100 Minn. L. Rev. 561 (2015).

[25]Outside the context of crowdfunding, in the unlikely event that a startup that raises seed capital using SAFEs never raises a subsequent round of equity financing and instead turns into a lifestyle company, the personal relationship of the founders with angel investors and startup community norms may lead the founders to agree to convert the SAFEs to stock without being contractually required to do so. This type of extracontractual resolution to an unwelcome outcome not contemplated in the investment contract would seem less likely for companies that are not a part of that community, with investors that they do not know personally, as we would expect to be the case for crowdfunding issuers.

[26]WeFunder, Risks, https://wefunder.com/faq/common_questions#q24 [https://perma.cc/J‌3VG-RJ5C].

[27]For an overview of the WeFunder SAFE and the forms being used by WeFunder’s crowdfunding issuers, see WeFunder, Legal Primer for Founders, https://wefu‌nd‌er.com/faq/legal-primer [https://perma.cc/9GKQ-9JDA].

[28]WeFunder’s Legal Primer for Founders advises crowdfunding companies that SAFEs are “best for early stage startups – raising with Regulation Crowdfunding – expecting to get acquired or file for an IPO in the future.” Id. Many early-stage companies may think that these outcomes are much likelier than they are, particularly for non-tech businesses, and will end up neither selling the business nor going public but simply continuing to operate as a private concern.

[29]Among the typical seed-stage startup-financing instruments, the dividend problem is uniquely an issue with SAFEs. Investors who purchase the same common stock that a company’s founders hold can rest assured that any dividends declared by the company will be paid to all common stockholders on a pro rata basis. Preferred stockholders, at least in the venture-backed startup context, always ensure that they will receive any dividends paid to the common stockholders, and often negotiate for an additional preferred dividend (despite the fact that these are almost never actually paid). Convertible noteholders typically have the option at maturity to convert into common stock and receive dividends if the company has not yet raised a qualifying round of capital triggering the conversion of the notes into equity. Though it is exceedingly rare for tech startups to pay dividends, the SAFE is the only startup-financing instrument that does not at least account for the possibility and provide the investor with some modicum of protection in this regard.

[30]Twenty-seven of the first sixty crowdfunding issuers offered their investors common equity securities, highlighting the likelihood of these types of issuers opting to sell common stock instead of preferred stock (which was chosen by only six of the first sixty crowdfunding issuers). Practical Law, What’s Market: Federal Crowdfunding Offerings (last updated Sept. 16 2016), http://us.practicallaw.com/w-002-5319 [https://perma.cc/TM5F-3DTC].

[31]See, e.g., WeFunder, WeFunder SAFE—Valuation Cap, Delay Conversion until IPO/Acquisition, https://wefunder-production.s3.amazonaws.com/static/W‌efunderCr‌owdf‌undingSAFE_IPO.rtf [https://perma.cc/Z64Q-AALR].

[32]For an overview of the Crowd SAFE and the forms being used by Republic’s crowdfunding issuers, see The Crowd Safe, Republic, https://republic.co/crowdsafe [https://p‌er‌ma.cc/DWF7-MH4D].

[33]Including this type of de minimis threshold on a financing that triggers conversion as a protection for investors is common in convertible note deals.

[34]WeFunder now offers a form of SAFE that similarly allows companies to delay conversion of the SAFEs in this manner. WeFunder, WeFunder SAFE—Valuation Cap, Delay Conversion until IPO/Acquisition, https://wefunder-production.s3.amazonaw‌s.com/s‌tat‌ic/WefunderCrowdfundingSAFE_IPO.rtf [https://perma.cc/Z64Q-AALR].

[35]See, e.g., Abraham J.B. Cable, Mad Money: Rethinking Private Placement, 71 Wash. & Lee L. Rev. 2253, 2256–58 (2014) (discussing “investment caps” that limit to $25,000 the amount that any one individual can invest in crowdfunding offerings annually).

[36]If funding portals are unwilling to provide this type of curation on their own, perhaps the SEC and/or the Financial Industry Regulatory Authority (“FINRA”) should mandate it. Their approach in doing so could be modeled on what these regulators currently require of broker-dealers in the context of purchasing other types of derivative instruments akin to the SAFE. Retail brokerages—such as Fidelity, Vanguard et al.—are required to obtain certain information from customers seeking to purchase options or security futures through their brokerage accounts to enable the brokers to assess the suitability of these derivative instruments for those particular customers, given their financial position and investment experience. See FINRA Rule 2360(b)(16) (2014), http://finra.complinet.‌com/en/disp‌lay/display_m‌ain.html?rbid=2403&element_id=6306 [ https://perma.cc/NP8H-U7JQ]; FINRA Rule 2370(b)(16) (2011), http://finra.complinet.com/e‌n/display/display_main.htm‌l?rbid=2403&el‌ement_id=6309 [https://perma.cc/B5G8-MGZH]. The FINRA rules require the broker to determine whether the transaction is suitable for the customer based on the “customer’s investment objectives, financial situation and needs” and the broker’s judgment of whether “the customer has such knowledge and experience in financial matters that he may reasonably be expected to be capable of evaluating the risks of the recommended transaction, and is financially able to bear the risks of the recommended position.” See FINRA Rule 2360(b)(19) (2014), http://finra.complinet.com/en/d‌isplay/display_main.html?rbid=‌2403&e‌lement_id=6306 [https://perma.cc/NP8H-U7JQ]; FINRA Rule 2370(b)(19) (2011), http://fin‌ra.complinet.com/en/display/display_main.html?rbid=2403&element_id=6309 [https‌://p‌er‌ma.cc/B5G8-MGZH]. Since the SAFE is effectively a prepaid forward—the private company version of a future—perhaps the requirements placed on brokers allowing customers to trade security futures provide the best analogy (although the suitability assessment and required diligence are largely the same for options and futures under the FINRA rules).

    Unlike registered broker-dealers, funding portals are actually not permitted to “offer investment advice or recommendations” to the investors in crowdfunding offerings conducted through their platforms. See 17 C.F.R. § 227.402(a) (2015).  Funding portals are, however, allowed to “[d]etermine whether and under what terms to allow an issuer to offer and sell securities in reliance on section 4(a)(6) of the Securities Act (15 U.S.C. 77d(a)(6)) through its platform” within the SEC’s safe harbor from the broker-dealer registration requirements of § 3(a)(80) of the Securities Exchange Act of 1934, 48 Stat. 881 (codified as amended at 15 U.S.C. § 78(c)(a)(80) (2012). 17 C.F.R. § 227.402(b)(1) (2015).  Imposing a requirement on the funding portals similar to those already required of broker-dealers in the option and security future trading context—namely requiring the portals to pass on the suitability of financing instruments (and particularly derivative contracts like the SAFE) offered by issuers to retail crowdfunding investors through their platforms—could be an intermediate regulatory response to the issues we have raised in this Essay, short of an outright restriction on the types of securities available to crowdfunding issuers and investors to plain-vanilla equity and debt instruments.