Remaking Lawrence

It does not involve whether the government must give formal recognition to any relationship that homosexual persons seek to enter. The case does involve two adults who, with full and mutual consent from each other, engaged in sexual practices common to a homosexual lifestyle.

These sentences appeared in the Supreme Court’s decision Lawrence v. Texas, which struck down sodomy laws as violating liberty protections for private sexual conduct. The decision was a watershed moment for civil rights and civil liberties advocates. For gay rights activists, the decision represented a movement toward sexual equality: “when the history of our times is written, Lawrence may well be remembered as the Brown v. Board of gay and lesbian America.” For civil libertarians, Lawrence marked another victory for privacy rights, namely that consenting adults have the right to engage in relations free from government intrusion. One article aptly described the decision as the Court drawing “a thick constitutional curtain around the nation’s bedrooms.”

Fast forward ten years. Arguments for the freedom of sexual expression, intimate association, and individual liberty that successfully prevailed in one set of circumstances—the decriminalization of sodomy—have been put to use in legal challenges involving gay and lesbian adoption, military service, and same-sex marriage. While Lawrence is invoked quite frequently and almost reflexively, lower courts rarely cite it as controlling precedent, and some have scoffed at attorneys for drawing on the decision to make their case. In the instances in which Lawrence takes center stage in a decision, its meaning either has a different application than when it was decided in 2003, or it is used in large part to strike down morality-based laws.5 These developments raise an important question only Tina Turner could style: What’s Lawrence Got to Do With It?

Deferred Prosecution Agreements: A View From the Trenches and a Proposal for Reform

Deferred and nonprosecution agreements are the Department of Justice’s (“DOJ”) new weapons of choice for “reforming” corporations. Rather than risk the severe collateral consequences that accompany an indictment and conviction, companies now are offered the opportunity to cooperate, pay massive fines, commit to elaborate undertakings, and remain under probation-like supervision for some period of time in exchange for an ultimate dismissal of criminal charges. In this novel and rapidly evolving legal area, Professor Brandon Garrett has identified difficult, cutting-edge problems and posed thorny questions.

Some of Garrett’s observations are undoubtedly correct. He is right that judicial review of DPAs is a pipedream and will remain limited during the negotiation and performance stages of these agreements. This is so, of course, not only because DOJ will be reluctant to surrender its discretion to a neutral third party decisionmaker but also because these agreements are necessarily creatures of compromise, an area in which courts generally do not play with an active or heavy hand except when a breach is claimed. And by stressing that DOJ “has never defined how its prosecutors measure compliance” with the terms of DPAs, Garrett has highlighted an exceedingly critical piece of the problem.

But while Garrett proposes creative ways of thinking about DPAs and hints at some of the difficulties these agreements have spawned for companies, he fails to offer his own, specific, practical proposal for reform. This is a significant oversight, since the addition of DPAs to DOJ’s playbook has caused real and consequential economic, reputational, and (at times) life-changing harm to companies.

The Supreme Court, Original Habeas, and the Paradoxical Virtue of Obscurity

IN “Original Habeas Redux,” Professor Lee Kovarsky reminds us of the important—if elusive—role that the Supreme Court’s jurisdiction to issue “original” writs of habeas corpus can play in providing one last avenue of judicial review to those challenging their federal or state imprisonment. As Kovarsky notes, this is hardly a new idea: ever since Chief Justice Chase’s indirect allusion to such authority in Ex parte McCardle, the Court itself has recognized its original habeas jurisdiction as just this kind of backstop—an unorthodox but sometimes necessary means of exercising review in situations where other avenues for relief are either practically or formally unavailable. To that end, even though the Court has not issued an original writ in eighty-six years, continuing judicial invocations of thepossibility of such relief are perhaps the most oft-recurring manifestation of the “time-honored tradition for the Supreme Court . . . to find that Congress did not intend to preclude altogether judicial review of constitutional claims in light of the serious due process concerns that such preclusion would raise.”

Thus, just as was true in the Guantánamo litigation—where original habeas was invoked on several occasions when the jurisdiction of the lower federal courts was in doubt—Professor Kovarsky sees in original habeas the potential for increasing judicial consideration of certain arguments that, for a host of reasons, have been increasingly difficult to raise in the lower federal courts, especially claims based on “crime innocence” and “death ineligibility.”Marshaling an impressive set of data concerning the Court’s original habeas docket, Kovarsky suggests that circumstances have conspired to place an increasing amount of pressure on the Court’s original habeas jurisdiction over the past fifteen years—pressure that may eventually compel the Court to act. Moreover, as he notes, if we are to read anything from the tea leaves in the Troy Davis case, at least some of the Justices appear to agree. As Kovarsky concludes, “after almost a century-long period of virtual dormancy, the Supreme Court’s original habeas power may be on a revival’s precipice.” 

I have no quarrel whatsoever with Professor Kovarsky’s descriptive account or with his impressive construction of—and conclusions arising out of—the original habeas dataset at the heart of his article. Indeed, I do not think it is an exaggeration to suggest that his work is the most important account of “original habeas” in almost a half-century, since Dallin Oaks’s classic article on the subject in the 1962 Supreme Court Review. Instead, in the short response that follows, I offer two reflections on Kovarsky’s prescriptive thesis—that is, that the increasing pressure on the Court’s original habeas docket will eventually impel the Justices to act. First, using the post-World War II war crimes cases as an example, I suggest that the existence of atypical (and increasing) pressure on the Court to use its original habeas jurisdiction in no way ensures that the Court will so act—or at least it may not do so without some underlying consensus as to both the merits of the petitioners’ claims and the unavailability of alternative forums. Contrary to Kovarsky’s suggestions, the Supreme Court’s response to the upsurge in war related original habeas cases in the late 1940s was to punt the issue, and rather categorically, at that.

Second, even if the Court is eventually motivated to wield its exotic power under section 14 of the Judiciary Act of 1789, one might wonder whether, in the long term, such normalization of the original habeas “safety valve” could (paradoxically) undermine its utility, at least to the extent that such a result might precipitate legislation more directly circumscribing the Court’s authority. To be sure, any such statute could well raise serious constitutional questions, the answers to which are hardly obvious. But even then, increasing reliance on original habeas would thereby provoke fundamental constitutional questions that the Court has historically done everything within its power to avoid asking, let alone answering. Ultimately, the most useful feature of original habeas as a safety valve may be its obscurity, a status that would very much be jeopardized if Professor Kovarsky’s prediction comes true. In other words, original habeas is—and has been—more about protecting the Supreme Court’s role in the abstract than it has ever been about protecting individual litigants on the merits.