By: Lawrence G. Baxter*

Introduction

In early May 2012, a select group of America’s most powerful bankers was ushered into a meeting with the Governor most responsible for bank regulation at the Board of Governors of the Federal Reserve System (“Fed”).[1]  The bankers were there to express their concerns about far-reaching proposed regulations designed to promote financial stability and reduce their banking organizations’ exposure and potential for creating systemic risk.  Such meetings are ordinarily held in secret, but a notice and an agenda for this one were leaked to the media, apparently angering that most secretive of financial agencies.[2]

Few events could more perfectly illustrate the close relationship between the Fed and the nation’s leading bankers.  One commentator concluded in advance of the meeting that the purpose of this “unusual pow-wow” was, in short, “to protect these banks’ cushy bottom lines, consequences to the overall economy be damned.”[3]  This cynical conclusion added to a popular refrain that the Fed has been “captured” by the industry it regulates.[4]

Yet, reality seems to have been somewhat different.  In the first place, the bankers were permitted to express their views, but, under a long-standing Fed rule, neither the Governor nor Fed staff was permitted to respond.  The Fed made it clear that no responses specific to the bankers’ views would be given and that the bankers’ views “were just one perspective the Fed was considering.”[5]  The bankers certainly had much to fear from the proposed rules—enough to divert the time of their CEOs for half a day in efforts to dilute their regulatory impact.  Shortly before this meeting, the Governor conducting the meeting made a public speech[6] calling for regulatory reform; a similar speech by the Governor of the Fed’s British counterpart,[7] the Bank of England, had already caused anguish in the industry.[8]

Perhaps this whole affair could be dismissed as a charade, but if it was, the charade was extraordinarily elaborate.  It seems that something much more complicated than capture is at work, even in big bank regulation and even within the close relationship big bankers undoubtedly have with their regulators.[9]

The Wake Forest Law Review, in its Spring 2012 Symposium, invited participants to consider, among many fascinating questions relating to the problems of participation in the administrative process, whether “the domination of industry interests necessarily results in agency capture?”  This Article focuses specifically on the capture question as it might apply to financial regulation, and in this context the question is quite problematic.  It will be suggested that in the world of financial regulation, particularly “bank” regulation, the concept of “capture” loses much of its analytic power for two principal reasons.  First, no single regulator is involved, and those that are engaged have different, very important missions.  Their respective susceptibility to capture ought inevitably to vary.  Capture of all of them by any one group of financial interests, however large, seems implausible.  Second, the quasi-public role of banks—particularly, but not only, large banks—renders the supposed government/private enterprise distinction, upon which the notion of “capture” depends,[10] quite enigmatic and volatile.  As a result, exactly who can capture whom, and exactly what is to be captured, is very hard, and perhaps sometimes simply impossible, to discern.[11]

If these are accurate descriptions of the regulatory environment, then “capture” is a very unsteady concept for assessing whether the public interest is being served in financial regulation.  “Public participation” also becomes difficult to apply as a normative criterion because there are many “public participations” and many forums of participation.

There are two traditional normative approaches to combating perceived capture by one interest group of the regulatory regime for all the groups.  The first, a “pro-market” approach, is to avoid or reduce agency involvement as much as possible, on the expectation that regulatory agencies can be—and, in the view of many, are inevitably going to be—captured by the most powerful industry interests.  Such an approach would increase reliance on market discipline on the assumption that markets are, or could be, less susceptible to discreet industry dominance.  The second, a “pro-regulatory” approach, would increase rulemaking safeguards (such as transparency, independence from industry, and rigorous isolation of regulatory decisions), which are designed to prevent, or at least minimize, the opportunity for improper influence by particular groups.[12]  This Article builds on a view of the process of agency policy formation to conclude that avoidance of “capture” (or undue influence by one set of interests) should properly embrace both approaches.[13]

In place of an either/or approach, we should focus on attempting to strike the right balance of market discipline and agency processes.  In order to understand the overall process, Part I of this Article briefly characterizes financial policy formation as the outcome of contests between all the participants involved, all acting in their own interests as “agents” in a complex adaptive system.  Part II describes the multiple-part system of regulatory agencies involved in the formation of financial regulatory policy in the United States, a system that inevitably introduces a diversity of agency views and tends to inhibit the formation of a single regulatory view that might be captured.  Part III considers the “quasi-public” role played by banks, even small banks, that is usually overlooked in debates about agency capture, yet which greatly complicates any assessment of the role banks play in relation to government.  Put quite simply, they are not merely “private” market actors, and it is therefore often appropriate for them to engage very closely with government, sometimes even at the cost of appearing to “be in bed with their regulators.”  Part IV of the Article considers the ways in which undue sectoral influence might be averted in the process of policy formation and how a balanced overall result—one that takes into consideration the interests of all the stakeholders affected—might realistically be promoted.  These recommendations are not novel, but they retain their merit at a time when debates about financial regulatory policy have tended to become highly adversarial and, in the end, unconstructive.

I.  Public Policy Formation in the Contested Arena

As a working definition, “capture” is defined here as “the heavily disproportionate influence by one of the interest groups covered by a regulatory framework to the improper disadvantage, or exclusion, of other groups also intended to be embraced, restricted or protected by the regulatory regime.”[14]  Using this definition, if ever there were an apparent example of the appearance of massive industry capture of the government, the world of financial regulation would be it.  Yet, a complexity view of this world suggests an environment rather more nuanced than this “winners and losers” model invoked by traditional capture analysis.

The financial market provides a prime example of a complex adaptive system.[15]  Global and domestic financial systems consist of a wide diversity of participants (or “agents”) all interacting with each other in sophisticated networks, in large part without central direction, and evolving in a constant state of flux.  It is equally applicable to the process of financial policy formation, in which regulators (even legislatures and courts) are themselves agents interacting not only with the agents of industry, consumers, and other organizations but also with each other.[16]  In effect, public policy is developed in an arena of contest—through a process Professor Thomas McGarity has aptly described as a “blood sport.”[17]

In this view, finance comprises a complex ecology.  The policies generated by legislatures and agents are shaped by the contesting forces of many diverse players.  No matter how hard and firm the rules erected to structure and control financial markets might be, the policies shaping and implementing these rules are never static.  Instead they are dynamic, buffeted by and reacting in their interpretation to the actions and reactions of the agents impacted by them.  This is not to say that rules and agency decisions are ineffective; on the contrary, they are forces that themselves influence, with varying degrees of specificity (depending on how clear and simple they are), the actions of participants in the market.  But they compete with many other forces to produce outcomes.

An important conclusion to be drawn from this “complexity” view of financial regulation is that the policies resulting from this dynamic interaction are not linear.  They are themselves in flux and adaptive, for good or ill, and they are continually being shaped by a variety of forces.  In a suitably diverse and resilient financial ecology, improper influence by any one set of agents or interest groups would be ephemeral and perpetually subject to the dynamic forces of market competition, counterefforts by other interest groups, and contestation among agencies with differing interests and views of financial policy.[18]

This way of looking at the process does not mean that the danger of improper influence, or ultimate “capture,” is not real.  Indeed, it is likely to be the natural ambition of all the agents in the process.  But such a view helps us focus on the elements important to the continuing resilience, market efficiency, and democratic health of the financial system as a whole.

II.  The Regulatory Policy Matrix

A major factor complicating capture analysis, and perhaps even mitigating the dangers of capture in financial regulation, is the oft-criticized, highly matrixed financial regulatory structure.[19]  America still has a vibrant “dual banking” system.  Although the biggest banks tend to be federally chartered national banks, many thousands of banks are still chartered by state banking agencies.  The biggest differences in the relative powers of national and state-chartered banks have been considerably reduced over recent decades, but banks do still have a real choice, and they still make it.[20]  The ability to make the choice, not only between federal and state charters but, until recently, between different types of federal charters,[21] has given rise to the fear, empirically unsubstantiated,[22] of a “race to the bottom,” in terms of which states and the federal government compete for charters by granting wider powers to banks or relaxing regulatory standards.  So this dual system itself can affect the relevance of “capture.”  On the one hand, the dual system could increase the possibility of capture to the extent that state-chartered banks might be able to exercise influence over relatively weak state regulators, or national banks might be able to concentrate their influence on one federal regulator.  On the other, the differing constituencies and varying views of state and national chartering and supervisory authorities introduce a diversity of interests that would make it more difficult for any one sector of the industry to ensure that its preferences would dominate the regulator.

The dual system has also given rise to conflicting interests that help provide balance in the contest for influence.  Most small banks, for example, are state chartered, and their interests are represented vigorously through various organizations, including the Conference of State Bank Supervisors[23] and the Independent Community Bankers of America.[24]  In recent years, the interests of these organizations have clearly been at odds with those representing the very big banks.  These divergent interests have made a difference in both legislative and regulatory outcomes[25] and still function as  criteria for choosing a state charter over a federal one, or vice versa.[26]

Of course the sheer scale of modern banks and the fact that big banks are now regulated almost exclusively at the federal level[27] suggest that concerns with capture and deficiencies in public participation ought to focus on federal financial regulation.  Yet even at the federal level there is a complicated regulatory framework that can, and often does, work to prevent, or at least make it very difficult for, the strongest financial sectors to exercise undue influence.  The Fed has emerged as the central regulator for large financial conglomerates, including foreign financial organizations operating in the United States.[28]  At the same time, the primary regulator for national banks continues to be the Comptroller of the Currency,[29] whose Office (the “OCC”) is located within the Treasury Department but whose head is separately appointed by the President.[30]  And the interests of the Treasury Department and the Fed, while often seemingly unified, are in reality often at odds.[31]  Indeed, the OCC and the larger Treasury Department itself are not always in mutual agreement on matters of financial policy and regulation.[32]

Even more importantly, there is a third major regulator, the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (“FDIC”), with regulatory authority over almost all financial conglomerates that have banks or savings associations within their corporate combinations—and this means all banks of significance in the United States.[33]  The FDIC manages the deposit insurance fund and is the receiver or liquidator for all insured depository institutions (banks and savings associations)[34] and potentially all systemically important financial institutions, even if they are not banks.[35]  These roles often place the FDIC in stark opposition to the OCC or the Fed, and sometimes both.  The FDIC has an interest in preventing reckless bank activities that might endanger depositors and the deposit insurance fund, whereas the OCC, for example, has an interest in promoting and expanding the national banking industry, just as the state regulators have an interest in promoting the state banking system.  It is therefore not surprising that the OCC and the Fed, on the one hand, and the FDIC on the other, have clashed over what bank activities and investments should be permitted or prohibited.[36]  Similarly, the Fed and the FDIC have clashed over policy governing bank capital requirements because the Fed and the FDIC are not always in agreement over where the balance between safety and soundness, on the one hand, and credit expansion, on the other, should be struck.[37]

A new regulatory perspective has also been introduced as a result of the addition of the new Consumer Financial Protection Board (“CFPB”),[38] which adds a consumer protection focus to the investor protection and financial exchanges regulation traditionally provided by the Securities and Exchange Commission (“SEC”)[39] and Commodity Futures Trading Commission (“CFTC”).[40]  Together these agencies provide yet another center of divergent interest on matters of financial regulatory policy, and they, too, can and do differ, sometimes vehemently, on regulatory policy.[41]  They are focused on market conduct and, as such, perform something of the umpireal role that would make regulatory capture a particularly acute concern.  The CFPB has been fiercely opposed by the banking industry and other credit providers[42] because some in the industry have feared the additional regulatory burdens the new agency would bring.  In reality, however, it might be less the burden of new regulation that bankers fear and more the different center of interest and specialized enforcement focus that the new agency will represent.[43]

Finally, the international layer should not be overlooked.  The Basel Committee on Banking Supervision (“BCBS”),[44] the Financial Stability Board (“FSB”),[45]and to some extent even the International Monetary Fund (“IMF”),[46] all play a substantial role in influencing domestic regulatory policy.  Basel III[47] and the new Global-Systemically Important Financial Banks and Financial Institutions (“G-SIFIs”) surcharges,[48] emanating from the BCBS and the FSB, provide important examples of policy pressure that has helped shape, and has been shaped by, the views of the Fed and Treasury Department via a mechanism that has come to be described in international relations theory as a transnational regulatory network (“TRN”).[49]

This hodgepodge of regulatory structures is often criticized as being irrational and incomprehensive.[50]  There are certainly huge elements of the financial industry, including hedge funds and mutual funds among many others, that are tightly connected to the banking industry but are not fully covered by regulation in ways that would ensure against “leakage” and regulatory arbitrage.[51]  However, in the opinion of this author, the call for a single federal banking regulator has so far been resisted for good reason.  A divergence of regulatory opinion is probably far more valuable as an assurance against major regulatory mistakes than whatever benefits the real or imagined coherence of a single regulator might bring.  And this divergence of expressions of the public interest through the mechanism of multiple, powerful regulators might well constitute an important safeguard against excessive industry influence.

III.  Government & Financial Institutions: A Complicated Embrace

The Financial Crisis of 2008 (“Crisis”) certainly seems to have produced many potential illustrations of capture.  The phone logs of the then-President of the New York Federal Reserve Bank, Timothy Geithner, indicate that the captains of the financial industry talked regularly with him, on some occasions many times in a single day.[52]  Subsequent records, disclosed under sanction of Congress or through Freedom of Information Act (“FOIA”) lawsuits, indicate that the Federal Reserve System had itself arranged for huge, secret loans or other forms of emergency funding to be made available to domestic and foreign financial institutions on such terms that serious questions of political accountability were and continue to be raised.[53]  Recently, controversy has raged around whether it is appropriate that prominent bankers, such as Jamie Dimon of JPMorgan Chase & Co., should be members of the Federal Reserve banks that are supposed to regulate their institutions.[54]

Since that time, and even long before, the revolving door between government and the financial industry has spun around at a breathtaking pace.[55]  The volume of comment by industry representatives during the rulemaking process implementing the Dodd-Frank Act[56]—a massive legislative reform designed to address the causes of the Crisis—has been disproportionate to the substantive input by other stakeholders in the process.[57]  Finally, the raw political power of firms and agencies participating in the financial industry, from individual banks and their industry representatives to the giant government-sponsored enterprises (“GSEs”) Fannie Mae and Freddy Mac, seems evident from their vast collective spending on lobbying, both in Congress and to the financial regulatory agencies.[58]

With all these issues and events, the appearance of undue industry influence certainly seems great.  Yet, there are also many benign explanations for a good deal of industry influence peddling.  The financial industry, perhaps unlike any other (with the possible exception of public utilities), possesses some fundamentally distinct characteristics that make its level of influence both inevitable and, to a certain degree, essential.  It is not just that the financial business is exceptionally complicated; this can be said of many other businesses too, such as pharmaceutical development and manufacture and deep sea oil drilling.  It is because, since the founding of the Republic, we have maintained an assumption that banking is or should be a “private” activity,[59] when in fact it has always been critical for central banking and monetary policy purposes, both of which are core to the operation of modern government.[60]  Ironically, what was perceived as a mark of sophistication in American banking—the dominance of “private” banks—has obscured the critical “public” functions banks perform.[61]

Even before the creation of “central” banks, either in America or Britain, bankers were critically important to government funding.  Indeed, the Bank of England was created in part with the support of the goldsmiths of London to fend off robbing sovereigns, while also enabling the sovereign to bypass Parliament when raising finance.[62]  The creation of both the First and Second Banks of the United States, and even the subsequent establishment of a national banking system, was accompanied by political controversy at the level of the highest branches of government.[63]  Certainly the two Banks of the United States and even the seemingly “private” national banks were considered essential for the conduct of government.  The U.S. Supreme Court and various state courts recognized the Banks of the United States to be instrumentalities of government.[64]  National banks, chartered under the subsequent National Currency Act of 1863[65] and the National Bank Act of 1864,[66] were similarly recognized to enjoy the privileges of government agencies.[67]

This quasi-governmental function and status has continued to the modern day, blurring the divide between public and private—between government and private industry—in ways that confuse any simple analysis of either “capture” or “public interest.”  It often appears as if “capture” oscillates between government and the banks in a mutually codependent relationship that is sometimes coercive, sometimes supportive.

A.     Vehicles of Government Finance

The most visible role of banks as instrumentalities of government has been to provide the financial means for government to function.  Governments have felt a compelling need for either central banks or “private” banks (and, in practice, both) in order to fund wars or other more peaceful enterprises.  In the United States the national banking system itself was created for two reasons: to create a national system of legal tender and to provide a market and mechanisms for raising public finance.[68]  As the federal government found itself unable to fund itself effectively, and when the drains on its coffers during the Civil War proved overwhelming, a compromise in the form of the National Bank Act of 1864 led to the creation of a federal chartering system for private “national” banks.[69]  Thus from their inception, national banks had a public mission alongside their private banking functions.  Whereas they were restricted from the outset in the degree to which they could invest in and underwrite private debt, national banks have always been permitted, and even strongly encouraged, to invest in the debt of the U.S. government, states, and their political subdivisions.[70]

And this role has continued to escalate to the present day.  Now the investment and dealing in government debt is a major component of modern banking business; national banks and their affiliates within complex holding company structures deal in trillions of dollars of government debt.[71]  It is a role that has only escalated as modern government deficit spending itself has burgeoned.  In 1991 total outstanding U.S. public debt stood at under $4 trillion.[72]  This balance took nearly fifteen years to double.[73]  In 2012, six years later, it has almost doubled again, and outstanding debt is already nearly $16 trillion.[74]

B.     Conveyor Belts of Monetary Policy[75]

Closely related to their roles as market makers and investors in government debt, banks—particularly national banks (which comprise the overwhelming portion of the banking industry by assets)—are instruments for applying monetary policy.  They are, as has famously been put, the “transmission belts” [76] by which the Fed enlarges or contracts the money supply and stimulates or dampens the economy, whether through setting overnight interbank lending rates or buying securities from and selling them to banks.

It is of course true that other participants in the financial services industry are also engaged in these roles, but here banks are indeed “special.”  In any event the other participants are tightly interwoven with the banks, either as corporate affiliates or counterparties.  Like the tentacles of an octopus, banks form a quasi-governmental web in the ocean of public finance.

C.     Bailout Agents of the Government

Two lesser-known “quasi-governmental” functions of banks are just as important as those previously described.  The first is that they act as blotters on behalf of the government when other banks fail.  The second is that they are vehicles for the emergency restoration of liquidity in the aftermath of a significant bank failure or a widespread financial crash.

The first role is particularly true for very big banks: they are most needed when other very large financial institutions fail and are beyond the capacity of the government itself to resolve directly.  In such situations the government uses devices such as “purchase and assumption” (“P&A”) transactions so that the net public outlay is reduced as far as possible and disruptions to the economy are kept to a minimum.[77]

The role of banks as bailout agents for the government is particularly evident in the case of big banks.  One will recall the absorption by JPMorgan Chase & Co. of Bear Sterns and Washington Mutual, the catastrophic acquisitions by Bank of America Corp. of Countrywide and Merrill Lynch, and the snatching by Wells Fargo and Co. of our venerable Wachovia from the jaws of Citicorp at a frantic time when it was not always clear who was the savior and who was being saved.[78]

In the process of these dramatic government-triaged acquisitions, the big banks of course grew much bigger.  Indeed, even at a time when public objections to the size of our largest banks had become central to the debate on financial regulatory policy, the Financial Stability Oversight Council (“FSOC”),[79] which had been charged by Congress to conduct a study on whether the national deposit and debt caps imposed on bank mergers were adequate, concluded that banks should be exemptedfrom these caps when acquiring other distressed banks.[80]  This provides both a key to the persistence of the “too-big-to-fail” phenomenon and an indication of the national criticality, for good or ill, of the nation’s system of big banks.[81]

The second role is much more subtle, and it is by no means confined to large banks.  When a bank fails, and particularly when a series of banks fail, the economy served by that bank is placed under immediate distress.  Depositors do not have access to their savings, and employers cannot meet their payrolls.  Local and national economies instantly bear the impact of the failure because depositors and employees are not able to pay their bills or continue spending, and suppliers are, in turn, impacted.

In order to minimize these impacts, other banks must step in, not only to act as bailout agents in the manner described above but also to restore liquidity to local and national markets.[82]  While this function has been well noted in the aftermath of the Crisis, as attempts have been made to “get banks lending again,” it is often assumed that such a role is confined to large banks.  Indeed, it is seldom remembered that the same role was considered important for the creation of the federal deposit insurance system in 1933.[83]  And to this day the role of community banks as maintainers of liquidity remains important.[84]

In light of these economically critical functions, it is obvious that banks of all kinds play a quasi-governmental role that is qualitatively different from that of other financial institutions[85] and industries.[86]

IV.  Vehicles for Promoting and Sustaining the Public Interest

The situation just described would seem at first blush to be starkly antidemocratic.  The lobbying power of big banks, their powerful access to senior regulators, and their ongoing, codependent relationship with government all suggest the potential for, and probability of, capture in the extreme.  And this is not even to take into consideration the enormous power of the government-sponsored enterprises directly charged with implementing government housing and education policy.

It is therefore not surprising that the accusation of “capture” has been one of the most common charges leveled at banks, politicians representing their interests, and senior officials, particularly since the Crisis.[87]  Yet there are some mitigating elements, including increased publicity requirements, a raised public consciousness, and, perhaps least understood, the virtue of America’s “hodgepodge” financial regulatory system.  Furthermore, it is important to consider the reality that a good deal of the interaction between banks and the government is highly technical in nature and necessarily so.  This is not to excuse the lopsided nature of political influence that banks often enjoy, but one must address the different levels of interaction in order to start assessing whether and when the overall public interest is being smothered because regulators appear to be held captive by the industry.

A.     Expert v. Democratic Voices

When two very complicated elements of the Dodd-Frank reform legislation were being translated into enforceable regulations, namely the Volcker Rule[88] and the new system for exchange-traded derivatives,[89] the level of ex parte access enjoyed by the banks seemed astonishing.  Numerous form comments were filed by ordinary members of the public in the case of the Volcker Rule far outnumbering the formal comments filed by the financial institutions that were most likely to be affected.  But the substance of the industry comments was far more detailed.  Logs of meetings between representatives of the financial industry and regulators appear to tell a similar story.[90]  In a similar vein, many of the senior officials involved in implementing the reforms have been drawn directly from the very industry that was the object of reform.  Many of these officials have since returned to the same industry.[91]

Yet it seems unrealistic to expect a more “balanced” picture.  Regulating proprietary trading (Volcker Rule) and derivatives, or bank capital structures,[92] is an exceptionally technical matter.  While some public interest and consumer organizations might possess sufficient expertise, the ability of the lay public to offer meaningful input is likely to be very limited.  Even financial journalists often struggle to understand the issues and mechanisms involved.

Complicating matters still further, financial regulation involves the application of contested policies to these highly technical fundamentals.  While ex post empirical economic studies might sometimes validate the effectiveness of certain policies, trying to determine ex ante which policies should be applied, even when complex technical issues are well understood, is inherently a matter of ideology, narrative, and trope.  The long-running battles between Keynesians and Hayekians provide, of course, vivid examples.[93]  To this extent, financial regulation, perhaps less than other regulatory strategies addressing the natural environment,[94] inevitably renders policy formulation a political process that, in turn, not only requires effective policy participation to be highly expert but also becomes indeterminate in ways that encourage mutual suspicion between contesting participants.  It is this suspicion that can make capture rhetoric so pernicious because capture offers a spuriously “scientific” veneer to the analysis.

So it is in the world of complex financial regulation that our democratic norms supporting public participation and our desire to be sure that “technocrats” who really understand the industry they are trying to regulate come into direct conflict.  This does not mean that public representation cannot be made independent of the industry, which will naturally be looking out for its interests and not those of a wider public, but it does mean that a substantial amount of technical input will be necessary.  This input is most likely to derive from deep knowledge of the industry, and therefore to emanate in practice from the industry itself.  Indeed, in the case of rapidly evolving modern financial markets it is hard to imagine where else, other than very well-funded public interest groups, academia, retired regulators, and members of the industry, such input might come from.

B.     Traditional Balancing Mechanisms

To the extent that deep reliance on the industry is indispensible to meaningful financial regulation, it would seem that industry influence, though critical to realistic regulation, should be balanced by other well-informed forces in order to prevent the influence from becoming excessive to the point that it leads to regulatory outcomes that ignore or prejudice competing public considerations.  These balancing forces take a variety of forms, each designed to provide an offsetting mechanism.  Some are very traditional, some are internal to the regulatory process, and others are external checks and balances.  Some are still emerging.  Some rely on regulatory capability and expertise, others on objectivity, and others invoke processes of participation in order to bring a variety of views to bear in the deliberative process by which policy is decided.  All have received considerable attention in administrative law and will only be summarized here.

1.     Adequate Regulatory Capacity

An emerging literature has drawn attention to the difficulties in the United States, where regulators lack the status sometimes enjoyed by their foreign counterparts and where regulator salaries do not compete with those of their expert counterparts in the financial markets.[95]  In addition, regulators are subject to the sometimes-whimsical budgetary and legislative mandates of Congress.  It is difficult for them to match the power and resources of a well-funded array of industrial players, and it is difficult for regulators to hold on to their best performers when these individuals are faced with the temptations of private sector salaries while having to meet high living expenses.  When regulators are given jurisdiction, it is simply not enough to provide them with legal authority to act; they must also be able to discharge this legal authority.[96]

2.     Meaningful Transparency

In financial services, regulators tend to have a penchant for secrecy.  Yet this opacity makes meaningful policy input difficult unless one has inside access—a factor that often provides the basis for accusations of capture.[97]  The Fed is particularly notorious for avoiding publicity concerning its accusations and has had to be forced, by Congress[98] and through Freedom of Information Act lawsuits,[99] to divulge key information relating to its actions during the Crisis.  Yet it is a truism that transparency is a prerequisite not only for the proper functioning of markets[100] but also for the proper formulation and application of public policy in regulations—as much in financial regulation as anywhere else.[101]

3.     Meaningful Access by Stakeholders

The notice and comment model of administrative law is designed to facilitate access by all interested parties to the policy formulation process.  As has already been noted, however, access alone is not necessarily meaningful; the subject matter of financial regulation tends to be intensely specialized and beyond the abilities of ordinary members of the public.  Therefore meaningful access requires proponents of expert views, and this in turn introduces an additional requirement for comment on technical financial matters.[102]

4.     External Checks

These checks on the actions of regulators and policy outcomes are traditional and include Congress, congressional committees,[103] the Administration (including the Office of Information and Regulatory Affairs (“OIRA”)), the courts, inspectors general,[104] and specially created oversight committees such as the Congressional Oversight Panel[105] and the Financial Crisis Inquiry Commission.[106]

Rather than cover ground much more fully explored elsewhere, this Article will conclude with a consideration of some recent ideas and developments that are intended to create or develop institutions designed to enhance and promote non-industry-sponsored considerations of the public interest.

C.     Institutional Enhancement of Public Interest Representation

While it is true that technocratic regulation is not necessarily captured regulation, and that divergent, multiple regulators help generate the “democracy of ideas” so critical to balanced public policy, it is also true that all of these interests are likely to be biased in general toward the industry in one way or another.  In other words, the constant focus on the welfare of the industry, and the perpetual interaction with the industry at various levels, is likely to produce a distorted view of the overall interests of the public.  Taxpayers, for example, and laid off employees have borne the biggest brunt of industry mistakes, yet those interests seldom figure in any strong way when financial regulators make decisions.  The views of taxpayers and the general public are too dispersed to receive adequate representation in agency decisions.  They are a stakeholder who is not at the table even when their interests are likely to be genuinely affected.

The proposal of a public interest representative in such decisions would no doubt provoke angry rejection by the financial industry itself as yet another illegitimate intrusion by government into the realm of free enterprise.  In fact banking, and most of financial services, is not “free enterprise.”  On the contrary, it is a heavily subsidized industry that carries out major quasi-governmental functions and is fully dependent on government business and support for its current scale of operations.  In the author’s view this fact has been too often ignored or insufficiently understood.  Without taking this reality into account, the public will always be short changed and the “public interest” that emerges from the interaction of the regulators as earlier described will not likely be sufficiently balanced to avoid the charge of “capture” by the public at large.[107]

This would suggest the balance should be restored by additional, more formal representation of the public interest.  There are various ways such “tripartism”[108]might be enhanced.

1.     Formal Public Interest Representation

One way to intensify policy input from the “general public”—in other words, views not specifically represented by a discreet stakeholder—might be the introduction of formal mechanisms for promoting representation of “public interests” through institutions and procedural requirements.  At least three examples have been suggested.  One would be a mandated requirement for an independent third-party opinion or brief in the administrative process.  Elsewhere I have raised the example of the MITRE Corporation, which provides entirely independent, self-funding, and expert consulting on government decisions affecting the public interest yet besieged by strong commercial interests.[109]

The second method of promoting an independent view of the public interest comes from public utility regulation[110] and is illustrated by the recent decision of the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission (“FERC”) involving the proposed acquisition by Duke Energy of Progress Energy.[111]  The proposed merger had not yet satisfied the concerns of the Commission about its possible anticompetitive effects.[112]  The process for upholding public interest considerations is, as the Duke Energy decision illustrates, well supported by the standing of numerous collectivities, such as local authorities, who are properly organized to represent the general interests of their taxpayers.[113]

A broad proposal along similar lines has been made by Ross Levine, who advocates for—in terms of financial services regulation—the creation of an agency or “Sentinel.”[114]  This agency would have power to demand information, have expertise to evaluate this information and the financial policies being adopted by the agencies, and have the responsibility to report its views to Congress and the executive branch.[115]  With purview over the whole financial system, the Sentinel would bring a broader perspective to bear than might otherwise be held by the specific agency whose action is under review.  Being independently funded and situated, the Sentinel would also be in a position to offer impartial views as between the various financial agencies.

Another such broad proposal, made by Saule Omarova, is a “Public Interest Council” (“PIC”).[116]  The PIC would consist of an expert independent government agency appointed by Congress and located outside the executive branch, charged with participating in the regulatory process as the designated representative of “the public interest in preserving financial stability and minimizing systemic risk.”[117]  Like the Sentinel, the PIC would possess neither legislative nor executive powers; it would, however, have broad authority to collect information from both government agencies and private market participants, conduct investigations, publicize its findings, and advise Congress and regulators to take action “with respect to specific issues of public concern.”[118]

The difficulty with each of these ideas is that they are predicated on a substantive “public interest” that can be identified in some detached way by experts.  Yet it is unlikely that any of the agents in the process would acknowledge or even perceive that their positions were not in fact the best ones for the public interest, and it is has become naïve to expect otherwise.  As one critic of the Sentinel idea has put it, “[i]t is misleading to suggest that these [regulatory] judgments do not have a strong political dimension to them.  They cannot be put on autopilot, or entrusted to a group of disinterested ‘wise men.’”[119]  Proposing the addition of new layers to the regulatory process is also a questionable strategy, politically and financially.  The regulators tend to be underresourced as it is, and regulatory burden in financial services has become a rallying cry for the industry, sometimes with good reason.  Proposing to allocate even more funds to yet more external public agencies would have little prospect of success in today’s Congress.

2.     Private Public Interest Representation

A third option of expert representation by independent yet well-resourced private groups is now emerging in the field of financial regulation.  This is a cadre of privately funded and diverse expert organizations akin to the “shadow banking committee” that played a prominent role in critique of financial regulatory policy in the United States in the ‘80s and ‘90s.  The original shadow banking committee is now known as the Shadow Financial Regulatory Committee, an independent committee sponsored by the American Enterprise Institute.[120]  Additional examples are the Brookings Institution,[121] Center for Economic Policy Research,[122]PublicCitizen,[123] new deal 2.0,[124] Project on Government Oversight (“POGO”),[125] and Americans for Financial Reform.[126]  Similar institutions are developing in the United Kingdom and elsewhere.[127]  Important academic centers are also providing growing and deeply informed input to the public policy process,[128] and financial regulators are beginning to take advantage of seemingly independent advisory boards.[129]

Perhaps the most prominent and potentially influential example of independent expert public interest representation is the new “Systemic Risk Council,” recently formed by Sheila Bair, former chair of the FDIC, with support and sponsorship from the Chartered Financial Analyst (“CFA”) Institute and the Pew Charitable Trusts.[130]  The Council will comprise some of the leading and most senior former regulators,[131] at least two of whom took extraordinarily independent lines even while in government office.[132]

Bodies like these are independent of the industry itself and presumably reflect independent perspectives, accumulating financial expertise, and the potential for much needed expert input and balance on the complicated issues of financial regulation.

Conclusion

Despite appearances, it is too facile to assert that financial agencies are simply “captured.”  To be sure, the great power of large financial institutions strongly suggests that their interests will receive considerable attention—perhaps even unduly special consideration—and that they are sometimes inappropriately favored.  Yet, given the nature of the financial system and its operations, it is hard to envisage a more active interplay than the one between government and big banking.  The implicit safeguard of the complex regulatory matrix, however, can operate as a brake on the inclinations of one particular agency to lean too far in the direction of a favored sector of the industry.  At the same time, we are also seeing the growing organization and capability of powerful private groups that are providing expert voices to the policy formulation process.  While it is difficult to sustain the argument for a single “public interest” representative, the growing number of organized, “public interest” oriented and independent participants offers the promise of an important counterbalance to the influence of industry.

It is possible that the complicating considerations reviewed in this Article—matrixed regulation and multiple layers of regulators, on the one hand, and a blurred division between government and private market functions on the other—are entirely unique to the financial industry.  Yet it seems that some similarities in other regulated industries might also suggest that the charge of “capture” should often be taken with the proverbial pinch of salt, or at least with a healthy dose of detailed understanding of the complexities of the regulatory field under discussion.  Such an approach might not win a Nobel Prize, but it will be grounded in greater reality.


       *            Professor of the Practice of Law, Duke Law School.  Developed from a paper for the Wake Forest Law Review Spring Symposium, March 30, 2012, entitled The Asymmetry of Administrative Law: The Lack of Public Participation and the Public Interest.  I am grateful to the participants in the symposium for their helpful comments.

   [1].           The Governor was Daniel Tarullo, who has the lead role on regulatory policy among the Governors at the Fed.

   [2].           See Donna Borak, FAQ: The Story Behind the Tarullo-CEOs Meeting on Stress Tests, Am. Banker (May 1, 2012),http://www.americanbanker.com/issues/177_84/faq-tarullo-ceo-meeting-stress-tests-1048939-1.html.

   [3].           Akshat Tewary, Big Banks Version of May Day, Am. Banker (May 2, 2012), http://www.americanbanker.com/bankthink/Tarullo-meeting-Federal-Reserve-counterparty-limit-1048954-1.html.

   [4].           The claim has become very common in academic and popular literature.  It was perhaps most elegantly put by Simon Johnson, The Quiet Coup, Atlantic, May 2009, at 46, 48–50.  For a more recent example, see, for example, Lawrence G. Baxter, Capture in Financial Regulation: Can We Channel it Toward the Common Good?, 21 Cornell J.L. & Pub. Pol’y 175 (2011); Daron Acemoglu & Simon Johnson, Who Captured the Fed?, N.Y. Times Econ. Blog (Mar. 29, 2012),http://economix.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/03/29/who-captured-the-fed/.

   [5].           Zachary Goldfarb & Brady Dennis, Fed’s Tarullo Emerges as Banks’ Key Federal Foe on Regulating Risk, Wash. Post (May 18, 2012),http://www.washingtonpost.com/business/economy/feds-tarullo-emerges-as
-banks-key-federal-foe-on-regulating-risk/2012/05/18/gIQA9MhCYU_story.html; see also Dan Fitzpatrick et al., Well, That Was Awkward . . .  Bank Chiefs’ Regulatory Concerns Met With Official Silence, Wall St. J. (May 2, 2012), http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052702303877604577380492611498890.html.

   [6].           Daniel K. Tarullo, Member, Fed. Reserve Sys. Bd. of Governors, Regulatory Reform Since the Financial Crisis: Remarks to the Council on Foreign Relations 8 (May 2, 2012), available at http://www.federalreserve.gov/newsevents/speech/tarullo20120502a.pdf (insisting on “rigorous implementation” of a wide suite of reforms); see also Donna Borak, Fed’s Tarullo: Risk of ‘Too Big to Fail’ Rises Without Dodd-Frank, Am. Banker (May 2, 2012), http://www.americanbanker.com/issues/177_85
/tarullo-dodd-frank-too-big-to-fail-1048965-1.html (reporting on similar views expressed by Chairman Ben Bernanke the week before).

   [7].           See Sir Mervyn King, The Today Lecture 2012, BBC Today Programme (May 2, 2012),http://news.bbc.co.uk/today/hi/today/newsid_9718000/9718062.stm.

   [8].           See, e.g., Liam Halligan, Bankers’ Vitriol has Masked Sir Mervyn King’s Uncomfortable Message, Telegraph (May 5, 2012),http://www.telegraph.co.uk/finance/comment/liamhalligan/9248115/Bankers-vitriol-has-masked-Sir-Mervyn-Kings-uncomfortable-message.html (describing the angry reaction of bankers to King’s expression of regret that the Bank of England was not more severe on banks in the run up to the Financial Crisis of 2008 (“Crisis”)).  For the United States situation, see, for example, Goldfarb & Dennis, supra note 5.

   [9].           This is not to say that undue influence is never at work.  Sometimes laxity in supervision seems to leave one with no explanation other than either regulatory incompetence or undue favoritism.  See, e.g., Shahien Nasiripour, US Regulator Under Fire for JPMorgan Oversight, Fin. Times (May 21, 2012),http://www.ft.com/intl/cms/s/0/fcc68db4-9f7c-11e1-8b84-00144feabdc0.html
#axzz1vVZLSSwJ (discussing the failure by JPMorgan’s primary regulator, the Office of the Comptroller of the Currency (“OCC”), to catch the buildup of risk that led to a massive trading loss on the part of the bank, and quoting one commentator as saying that “[t]here’s some sort of cultural and ideological capture at the OCC”).

   [10].         See infra text accompanying notes 60–68.

   [11].         Capture theory is simplistic in other respects as well.  For example, it is unable to differentiate between excessive industry influence, on the one hand, and less conspiratorial explanations of agency performance such as incompetence or mere lack of resources.  An additional embarrassment for capture theorists is the role played by many obviously independent regulators who have earned public recognition for standing up to both industry and other regulators.  See infra text accompanying notes 31–43, 131.

   [12].         For sophisticated reviews of the various ways in which “capture” has been used, sometimes to further ideological ends, see, for example, Daniel Carpenter & David Moss, Introduction to Preventing Capture: Special Interest Influence In Regulation and How to Limit It (Daniel Carpenter & David Moss eds.) (forthcoming 2012); Stefano Pagliari, Introduction to The Making of Good Financial Regulation: Toward a Policy Response to Regulatory Capture (Stefano Pagliari ed., 2012), available at http://www.icffr.org/assets/pdfs/June-2012/ICFR-Regulatory-Capture-Book-25
-June—The-Making-.aspx; Jørgen Grønnegaard Christensen, Public Interest Regulation Reconsidered: From Capture to Credible Commitment (Jerusalem Papers in Regulation & Governance, Working Paper No. 19, Jul. 2010), available at http://regulation.upf.edu/dublin-10-papers/1J1.pdf (reviewing the logic of the three major theories underlying public interest regulation, namely public interest theory, capture theory, and credible commitment).

   [13].         Cf. Christensen, supra note 12 (advocating an approach to the formulation of public policy that takes the notion of “public interest” seriously but does not assume an objective “public interest”; rather, the important element in the process is to ensure a “wide inclusion of both regulated and third party interests”).

   [14].         Of course this definition begs many questions, such as what is meant by “disproportionate” or “improper.”  This Article, however, proceeds upon the assumption that answers to these questions are inherently contested and very seldom clearly determined by the legislature—which is precisely why we have processesfor reaching the outcome, delegation of details to the agencies, and the anticipation of ever-changing circumstances in the financial markets, which anticipation is embodied in the discretionary nature of the rulemaking and adjudication powers delegated to the regulators.

   [15].         Complex adaptive systems share a number of common characteristics.  They are not merely complicated; instead they are complex in the sense that they comprise a diverse variety of “agents” or actors all interacting with each other in a constantly evolving ecology that might or might not endure over time.  Those that do endure have the quality of resilience or robustness, but, even if robust, a complex adaptive system also has the danger of developing self-criticality or the potential for sudden collapse.  To be properly understood, the interactions of all the agents—in the case of financial markets, industry players, consumers, supporting utilities,and the regulators—must be taken into account through the application of a variety of disciplines ranging from game theory to network science.  For an introductory review of how complexity theory is being applied to the understanding of financial systems, see, for example, Lawrence G. Baxter, Betting Big: Value, Caution and Accountability in an Era of Large Banks and Complex Finance, 31 Rev. Banking & Fin. L. 765 (2011–12) (Part III and the references cited therein).  For a general introduction to the subject, see generally Melanie Mitchell, Complexity: A Guided Tour (2009).

   [16].         See Mark A. Chinen, Governing Complexity, in Globalization and Governance 55, 59–64 (Laurence Boulle ed. 2011) (discussing the application of complexity science to understanding public policy, and citing the leading works in the field); Robert Geyer, Beyond the Third Way: The Science of Complexity and the Politics of Choice, 5 Brit. J. Pol. & Int’l Rel. 237, 243 (2003) (outlining the characteristics of complex systems, including the rich interactions within them).  See generally Org. for Econ. Co-operation & Dev. Global Science Forum, Report on Applications of Complexity Science for Public Relations: New Tools for Finding Unanticipated Consequences And Unrealized Opportunities (2009).

   [17].         See generally Thomas O. McGarity, Administrative Law as a Blood Sport: Policy Erosion in a Highly Partisan Age, 61 Duke L.J. 1671 (2012) (describing how extreme partisanship has attracted high spending on the part of the players/stakeholders and has attracted new stakeholders to the process).  I would only differ from Professor McGarity in arguing that this contestation is inherent to the process and has only become more visible and more distasteful now because popular political division seems to have deepened dramatically.

   [18].         In the end, the objective should be to prevent the field of contest from becoming so tilted that a meaningful contest cannot take place.

   [19].         See Elizabeth F. Brown, E Pluribus Unum—Out of Many, One: Why the United States Needs a Single Financial Services Agency, 14 U. Miami Bus. L. Rev. 1, 5–6 (2005) (describing and criticizing the complicated structure of financial regulation in the United States, including the involvement of well over 115 federal and state regulators).  Numerous commentators and assessments have long blamed the multiplicity of regulators for the failure to anticipate the problems at specific institutions and the escalation of risk leading to the Crisis.  See, e.g., U.S. Gov’t Accountability Office, GAO-05-61, Financial Regulation: Industry Changes Prompt Need to Reconsider U.S. Regulatory Structure, at abstract (2004), available at http://www.gao.gov/new.items/d0561.pdf (describing numerous instances of disagreements among the financial regulatory agencies and attributing to this disagreement a failure to apply “consistent, comprehensive regulation”).

   [20].         See, e.g., Barbara Rehm, Natural Selection?  Questioning the Future of The Dual Banking System, Am. Banker (Dec. 1, 2011), http://www.americanbanker.com/magazine/121_12/dual-system-future-1044216
-1.html (discussing the evolution of the dual banking system in light of recent regulatory reforms).

   [21].         A financial institution wishing to engage in banking can choose either a bank charter or a savings and loan charter (“thrift” charter).  While the former is the more traditional form, a thrift charter has offered more attractive powers in some circumstances.  Banks are chartered by either a state banking commissioner or the Office of the Comptroller of the Currency (“OCC”).  Until recently, savings and loan associations were chartered by either a state regulator or the Office of Thrift Supervision (“OTS”), a separate agency within the United States Treasury.  The Dodd-Frank Act eliminated the OTS and transferred the federal chartering powers for thrifts to the OCC.  Dodd-Frank Wall Street Reform and Consumer Protection Act, §§ 311–313, 12 U.S.C. §§ 5411–5413 (Supp. IV 2010).

   [22].         See Dain C. Donelson & David Zaring, Requiem for a Regulator: The Office of Thrift Supervision’s Performance During the Financial Crisis, 89 N.C. L. Rev. 1777, 1796–1811 (2011) (evaluating the impact of competition for charters and finding no significant differences in returns between institutions that converted federal thrift charters to bank charters and vice versa).  The OTS was heavily criticized for being a weak regulator, perhaps even captured by the industry it regulated (savings and loan associations).  A number of the largest financial institutions (“FIs”) that collapsed or had to be bailed out during the Crisis, including American International Group (“AIG”), IndyMac, and Washington Mutual, were under OTS supervision.  Among the criticisms leveled at the OTS was the suggestion that lax OTS rules encouraged FIs to flip their charters in order to avoid more rigorous regulation and to gain the favor of a “captured” regulator.  Yet, as the authors show, the evidence that charter flips actually did produce advantages is mixed at best.  Id.

   [23].         See generally Conf. St. Bank Supervisors, http://www.csbs.org/Pages/default.aspx (last visited Sept. 4, 2012).

   [24].         See generally Indep. Community Bankers Am., http://www.icba.org/ (last visited Sept. 4, 2012).

   [25].         For example, smaller banks and their holding companies have been able to secure more lenient treatment in the case of certain kinds of regulation, such as slightly broader investment powers (trust-preferred securities), more lenient capital compliance requirements, enhanced systemic risk supervision (holding companies with consolidated assets of less than $50 billion), and oversight by the Consumer Financial Protection Board (“CFPB”) (banks with assets of less than $10 billion are not subject to direct oversight by the CFPB).  In light of the number of other new regulations introduced by Dodd-Frank, whether these exemptions confer net benefits is the subject of fierce debate.

   [26].         See Esther L. George, President and Chief Exec. Officer, Fed. Reserve Bank of Kan. City, Perspectives on 150 Years of Dual Banking, Speech to the Conference of State Bank Supervisors (May 22, 2012) available at http://www.kc.frb.org/publicat/speeches/2012-george-ga-csbs-05-22.pdf (explaining the resilience of the dual banking system and why it still offers real choices).

   [27].         Although seventy-four percent of banking charters (including thrifts) are issued at the state level, see Conference of State Bank Supervisors, 2011 Annual Report 14 (2012), available at http://www.csbs.org/news/presentations
/annualreports/Documents/2011FINALCSBSANNUALREPORT.pdf, nationally chartered banks (including thrifts) own seventy-six percent of all commercial banking assets in the United States.  See Office of the Comptroller of the Currency, 2011 Annual Report, at cover insert (2012), available athttp://www.occ.treas.gov/publications/publications-by-type/annual-reports/2011AnnualReport.pdf.

   [28].         The Fed has long had direct supervisory authority over state-chartered banks that became members of the Federal Reserve System; national banks were directly regulated by the Comptroller of the Currency and continue to be so regulated.  See infra.  Since the passage of the Bank Holding Company Act in 1956, the Fed has also had significant supervisory jurisdiction over the holding companies that might own one or more national banks.  Two major elements of the Dodd-Frank Act have now ensured that the Fed is positioned to become the primary regulator for banking conglomerates.  The first is the “enhanced” supervisory powers conferred on the Fed, Dodd-Frank Wall Street Reform and Consumer Protection Act §§ 115 & 165, 12 U.S.C. §§ 5325 & 5365 (Supp. IV 2010), over bank holding companies with consolidated assets of $50 billion or greater, and non-bank financial organizations designated as systemically important financial institutions (“SIFIs”) by the Financial Stability Oversight Council in terms of section 113.  The second is the Collins Amendment to the Dodd-Frank Act in section 171, in terms of which the Fed must apply very important capital and leverage ratios across the holding company structure (prior to Dodd-Frank such ratios were applied only to the depository institution subsidiaries of these conglomerates).

   [29].         National Bank Act, 12 U.S.C. §§ 1–16 (2006).

   [30].         Id. § 2.

   [31].         For one of many examples, see, for example, Donna Borak, OCC Joins Other Agencies in Fight Against Debit Interchange Limit, Am. Banker (Mar. 8, 2011), http://www.americanbanker.com/issues/176_46/occ-agencies-fight-debit

-interchg-limit-1034149-1.html (describing strong differences of opinion between the Fed, on the one hand, and the OCC, FDIC, and even the Fed Chairman, on the other, regarding the setting of debit card interchange fees).

   [32].         See, e.g., Letter from George W. Madison, Gen. Counsel, Dep’t of the Treasury, to John Walsh, Acting Comptroller of the Currency, Office of the Comptroller of the Currency (June 27, 2011), available at http://cdn.americanbanker.com/media/pdfs/TreasuryOCC_062811.pdf (criticizing the OCC’s proposed rulemaking relating to federal preemption of state consumer protection standards); see also Victoria McGrane, Treasury Assails OCC on Draft Rule, Wall St. J. (June 29, 2011), http://online.wsj.com
/article/SB10001424052702303627104576414191405604726.html.

   [33].         The FDIC insures over 7000 depository institutions.  See FDIC, 2011 Annual Report 4 (2012), available athttp://www.fdic.gov/about/strategic/report/2011annualreport/AR11final.pdf.  FDIC insurance covers almost eighty percent of all insured deposits in the United States.  Id. at 130.

   [34].         Credit unions are separately insured by the National Credit Union Share Insurance Fund, and if they fail, the National Credit Union Administration acts as receiver.  While not insignificant in national financial policy, credit unions are not covered in the discussion in this article.

   [35].         See Dodd-Frank Wall Street Reform and Consumer Protection Act § 204(b), 12 U.S.C. § 5384(b) (Supp. IV 2010) (noting that the FDIC is appointed as receiver for “covered financial companies” placed into liquidation upon a determination that their impending failure could pose a significant threat to the financial stability of the United States).

   [36].         See, e.g., Joe Nocera, Sheila Bair’s Bank Shot, N.Y. Times Mag. (July 9, 2011), http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/10/magazine/sheila-bairs-exit-interview.html (describing numerous disagreements between the FDIC under the chairmanship of Sheila Bair and the OCC and other agencies).  One well-publicized example was the disagreement between the FDIC and the Fed over whether large banks should be permitted to move their derivatives businesses into their insured depository institutions in order to reduce the amount of collateral they would need to post.  See Bob Ivry et al., BofA Said to Split Regulators over Moving Merrill Derivatives to Bank Unit, Bloomberg (Oct. 18, 2011), http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2011-10-18/bofa-said-to-split-regulators
-over-moving-merrill-derivatives-to-bank-unit.html.

   [37].         As the Crisis developed, the FDIC vigorously disagreed with the Fed over whether to permit banks to continue using trust-preferred securities as a means of raising capital.  In the end, the FDIC’s concerns were proven well founded.  See, e.g., Greg Gordon & Kevin G. Hall, How the Fed Let Small Banks Take on Too Much Debt, Then Fail, McClatchy Newspapers (Dec. 22, 2010), http://www.mcclatchydc.com/2010/12/22/v-print/105708/fed-could-have-saved-many-smaller.html.

   [38].         The CFPB (legislatively designated the “Bureau of Consumer Financial Protection”) was created by section 1011 of the Dodd-Frank Act.  See Consumer Fin. Protection Bureau, http://www.consumerfinance.gov/ (last visited Sept. 4, 2012).

   [39].         Securities and Exchange Act of 1934, Pub. L. No. 73-291, § 4, 48 Stat. 881 (1934); see U.S. Sec. & Exchange Commission,http://www.sec.gov/index.htm (last visited Sept. 4, 2012).

   [40].         Commodity Futures Trading Commission Act of 1974, Pub. L. No. 93-463, § 201, 88 Stat. 1389 (1974); see U.S. Commodity Futures Trading Commission, http://www.cftc.gov/index.htm (last visited Sept. 4, 2012).

   [41].         See, e.g., Kevin Wack, Closed-Door Battle over Volcker Spills into Public View, Am. Banker (May 21, 2012), http://www.americanbanker.com
/issues/177_98/Gary-Gensler-Mary-Schapiro-Volcker-Rule-JPMorgan-Chase-1049494-1.html (describing the deep differences—a “long running, closed-door battle”—between the CFTC, on the one hand, and the Fed, OCC, FDIC, and SEC, on the other, over how vigorously to enforce the Volcker Rule, which prohibits proprietary trading by banks).  See generally Eugene F. Maloney, Banks and the SEC: A Regulatory Mismatch, 25 Ann. Rev. Banking & Fin. L. 443, 454–58 (2006) (discussing numerous examples of the differences in philosophical outlook between the banking agencies and the SEC).

   [42].         For a collection of articles reporting on the partisan positions for and against the CFPB, see Bureau of Consumer Financial Protection (C.F.P.B.), N.Y. Times, http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/organizations/c/consumer_financial_protection_bureau/index.html (last updated Aug. 10, 2012).

   [43].         Apart from a new standard by which to assess the acceptability of consumer financial services (whether a product or service is “unfair, deceptive or abusive” standard, as defined in section 1031 of the Dodd-Frank Act), most of the powers possessed by the CFPB were already within the scope of authority of other financial regulators and were simply transferred from them.  It is the reinvigorated focus on these powers that is probably one of the biggest reasons for resistance to them.

   [44].         The BCBS was created in 1974 as a committee of the Bank for International Settlements.  It has no formal legal powers, but its influence has become central to modern banking, and its latest iteration of minimum bank capital and liquidity standards—Basel III—is one of the most important points of reference for modern financial regulation.  See Basel Committee on Banking Supervision, Bank for Int’l Settlements, http://www.bis.org/bcbs/index.htm (last visited Sept. 4, 2012);see also infra note 48.

   [45].         The FSB was created by the G20 nations in 2009 as a response to the Crisis.  It was upgraded from an earlier, rather anemic committee (the Financial Stability Forum) that had been formed in the wake of the Asian Financial Crisis of the late 1990s.  The FSB now plays a major role in shaping regulatory thinking on the so-called Global-Systemically Important Financial Banks and Financial Institutions (“G-SIFIs”), whose thinking contributes to and influences the way in which domestic regulators approach important elements of financial regulation.  On the FSB, see History, Fin. Stability Board,http://www.financialstabilityboard.org/about/history.htm (last visited Sept. 4, 2012);  see also infra note 48.

   [46].         The IMF and World Bank jointly conduct a Financial Sector Assessment Program (“FSAP”) in terms of which the quality of financial regulation applied by member countries is reviewed as a peer assessment process.  See IMF, Factsheet: The Financial Sector Assessment Program (FSAP) 1–2 (2012), available athttp://www.imf.org/external/np/exr/facts/pdf/fsap.pdf.  See generally Chris Brummer, Soft Law and the Global Financial System: Rulemaking in the 21st Century 157(2011).

   [47].         See generally Basel Comm. on Banking Supervision, Basel III: A Global Regulatory Framework for More Resilient Banks and Banking Systems (2011),available at http://www.bis.org/publ/bcbs189.pdf.

   [48].         See generally Fin. Stability Bd., Policy Measures to Address Systematically Important Financial Institutions (2011), available athttp://www.financialstabilityboard.org/publications/r_111104bb.pdf.

   [49].         The literature on TRNs is now extant.  For a critical assessment, see generally Pierre-Hugues Verdier, Transnational Regulatory Networks and Their Limits, 34 Yale J. Int’l L. 113 (2009).

   [50].         See, e.g., supra note 19.

   [51].         Perhaps most important is the vast ecology of financial institutions (“FIs”) that comprise the so-called “shadow banking industry.”  These are FIs such as hedge funds, broker-dealers, mutual funds, insurance companies (such as AIG), and other non-insured depository institutions that complement and interconnect with the traditional banking and investment industry.  See generally Zoltan Pozsar et al., Shadow Banking (2010); Steven L. Schwarz, Regulating Shadow Banking, 31 Rev. Banking & Fin. L. 619 (2012); Erik F. Gerding, The Shadow Banking System and its Legal Origins (Jan. 24, 2012) (unpublished manuscript), available athttp://ssrn.com/abstract=1990816.

   [52].         See, e.g., Baxter, supra note 4, at 184–85 (citing examples); see also infra note 99 and accompanying text.

   [53].         See, e.g., Bob Ivry et al., Secret Fed Loans Gave Banks Undisclosed $13B, Bloomberg (Nov. 27, 2011), http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2011-11
-28/secret-fed-loans-undisclosed-to-congress-gave-banks-13-billion-in
-income.html (describing massive, low-interest loans extended by the Fed to domestic and foreign banking organizations to help them recover from the Crisis.  These loans were secret until the Fed was forced to disclose them as a result of court orders).

   [54].         Local bankers have traditionally played a major role in the governance of the twelve district Federal Reserve banks, and to this day their nominees are Class A directors of the district banks.  Class A directors constitute one-third of the total board.  When JPMorgan Chase, one of the largest U.S. banks, suffered severe trading losses, numerous commentators and politicians were prompted to demand the resignation of the bank’s chief executive officer, Jamie Dimon, from his position as a Class A director of the New York Federal Reserve Bank.  See Donna Borak, Dimon’s Role on N.Y. Fed Board Sparks Fierce Debate, Am. Banker (May 18, 2012), http://www.americanbanker.com/issues/177_97/Jamie
-Dimon-Chase-Fed-New-York-board-director-resign-1049463-1.html; Directors of Federal Reserve Banks and Branches, Fed. Res. Board,http://www.federalreserve.gov/aboutthefed/directors/ (last updated July 25, 2012); see also Peter S. Goodwin, Elizabeth Warren is Right: Jamie Dimon Needs to Resign from the N.Y. Fed, Huffington Post (May 14, 2012), http://www.huffingtonpost.com/peter-s-goodman/elizabeth-warren-jamie-dimon_b_1515220.html? (reporting on calls for, and directly calling on, Dimon’s resignation from his NY Fed position); Simon Johnson, Dimon and the Fed’s Legitimacy, N.Y. Times Econ. Blog (May 24, 2012), http://economix.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/05/24/dimon-and-the-feds-legitimacy/; Simon Johnson, Jamie Dimon and the Fall of Nations, N.Y. Times Econ. Blog (May 31, 2012), http://economix.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/05/31/jamie-dimon-and-the-fall-of-nations/; Simon Johnson, Jamie Dimon Should Resign from the Board of the New York Fed, Baseline Scenario (May 21, 2012), http://baselinescenario.com/2012/05/21/jamie-dimon-should-resign-from-the-board-of-the-new-york-fed/.

   [55].         See, e.g., Simon Johnson & James Kwak, 13 Bankers: The Wall Street Takeover and the Next Financial Meltdown 92–104 (2010) (citing many examples of what the authors call “The Wall Street-Washington Corridor”).

   [56].         Dodd-Frank Wall Street Reform and Consumer Protection Act, 12 U.S.C. § 5301 (Supp. IV 2010).

   [57].         See, e.g., Kimberly D. Krawiec, Don’t Screw Joe the Plummer: The Sausage-Making of Financial Reform (forthcoming 2012), available athttp://scholarship.law.duke.edu/faculty_scholarship/2445/ (showing that although the numerical quantity of comments by members of the general public has been much greater, the depth of public comment by business interests is much more substantive).  See generally Jason Webb Yackee & Susan Webb Yackee, A Bias Toward Business?  Group Influence on the U.S. Bureaucracy, 68 J. Pol. 128 (2006) (indicating that business input in the rulemaking process tends to be more influential than that of private citizens, particularly where expertise is required).

   [58].         See, e.g., Bank Lobbying on Track to Reach Record High This Year: Analysis, Huffington Post (Nov. 22, 2011), http://www.huffingtonpost.com
/2011/11/21/bank-lobbying-record-high_n_1106350.html (reporting on lobbying outlays by financial institutions in 2011 for the purpose of resisting the rules implementing Dodd-Frank).

   [59].         The belief that government-sponsored banking is illegitimate is reflected in at least three major strands of development in American financial history: first, in the long running battle over whether to create a central bank and the ensuing creation of the First and Second Banks of the United States; second, in the repeated reversion by the states toward permitting “free banking,” under which numerous private banks were permitted to operate largely without restraint and which system was vigorously defended in the face of the impending creation of a national banking system; and third, in the curious structure of the federal reserve system, which continues to provide a major role for private banks in the operation of central banking functions.  There is a vast literature on these events and the accompanying, vigorous political debates.  See generally, e.g., Davis Rich Dewey, Financial History of the United States (2d ed. 1903) (giving history prior to the creation of the federal reserve system); Milton Friedman & Anna Jacobsen Schwartz, A Monetary History of the United States, 1857–1960 (1963) (outlining the development of the modern federal reserve system).

   [60].         On the evolving central bank functions of the Banks of the United States and the national banking system, see, for example, Richard H. Timberlake, Monetary Policy in the United States: An Intellectual and Institutional History 10–12 (1978) (explaining the functions of the First Bank of the United States); id. at 30–33 (explaining the functions of the Second Bank of the United States); id. at 160–164 (explaining the functions of national banks).

   [61].         See Baxter, supra note 15, at 818–25 (describing the various “quasi-public” functions banks perform).

   [62].         See, e.g., 1 Walter Thornberry, Old and New London, ch. 40 (1878), available at http://www.british-history.ac.uk/report.aspx?compid=45058.

   [63].         Of course this role has historically operated in tension with the other prerogatives of legislatures and sovereigns.  In Britain both Whigs and Tories fiercely resisted the creation of the Bank of England in 1694.  It was damned in the usual manner of the times as yet another dastardly idea from Holland.  Id.  So, too, was the resistance met by the idea of a Bank of the United States.  The history of the veto of the Second Bank by President Andrew Jackson in 1832, in terms remarkably reminiscent of those uttered against the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street herself, is well known.  The story is once again retold in his biography.  See Jon Meacham, American Lion: Andrew Jackson in the White House 208 (2008).

   [64].         See, e.g., Osborn v. Bank of the United States, 22 U.S. 738, 860 (1824) (describing the Bank of the United States as “the great instrument by which the fiscal operations of the government are effected”); McCulloch v. Maryland, 17 U.S. 316, 354, 396, 422 (1819) (referring to the Bank as a “convenient, a useful, and essential instrument in the prosecution of fiscal operations” and remarking that “[it] is as much an instrument of the government for fiscal purposes, as the courts are its instruments for judicial purposes”).

   [65].         12 Stat. 665, repealed by National Bank Act of 1864, 13 Stat. 99 (1864) (codified as amended in scattered sections of 12 U.S.C.).

   [66].         13 Stat. 99 (codified as amended in scattered sections of 12 U.S.C.).

   [67].         See National Bank v. Kentucky, 76 U.S. 353, 361 (1869) (calling national banks “the instrumentalities by which the government proposes to effect its lawful purposes in the States”).

   [68].         See generally Bray Hammond, Banks and Politics in America from the Revolution to the Civil War, ch. 22 (1957) [hereinafter Hammond, Banks]; Bray Hammond, Sovereignty and an Empty Purse (1970) [hereinafter Hammond, Sovereignty].

   [69].         See Hammond, Banks, supra note 68.  The statute initially giving effect to this system was the National Currency Act of 1863, which created the OCC within the Treasury Department.  This legislation was substantially amended in 1864 by what came to be known as the National Bank Act, subsequently codified at 12 U.S.C. §§ 1 et seq.

   [70].         The most important piece of financial regulation before Dodd-Frank, namely the Glass-Steagall Act of 1933, had established a separation of investment and traditional or “commercial” banking by prohibiting banks from investing and trading in securities on their own account.  See The Banking Act of 1933 §§ 16, 20, 21, 32, 12 U.S.C. §§ 24, 78, 377, 378 (2006).  Section 16 allowed for a most important exception: U.S. Government obligations, obligations issued by government agencies, college and university dormitory bonds, and the general obligations of states and political subdivisions.  During the 1990s, sovereign bonds were again given special treatment in that those issued by OECD member countries have received zero-risk weightings—hence requiring no capital charge—in assessing required minimums for bank risk adjusted capital.  Though clearly specious in light of numerous threats of sovereign default, this policy certainly encourages banks to invest and deal in sovereign debt.  Most recently, the Volcker Rule specifically exempts U.S. government debt from the prohibition against proprietary trading.  See infra note 89; see also Dodd-Frank Wall Street Reform and Consumer Protection Act § 619(d)(1)(A), 12 U.S.C. § 1851(d)(1)(A) (Supp. IV 2010) (adding § 13(d)(1)(A) to the Bank Holding Company Act of 1956, 12 U.S.C. § 1841 (2006)).

   [71].         See Baxter, supra note 15, at 818–21 (citing more detailed statistics); see also Richard Bove, Why Do Banks Need More Capital? 16 (2012), available athttp://www.chicagofed.org/digital_assets/others/events/2012/bsc/bove_051012.pdf (citing the need for banks to act as primary dealers and maintain liquidity in the Treasury markets as the major reason for protection of the big banks).

   [72].         Historical Debt Outstanding-Annual 1950-1999, TreasuryDirect (Aug. 18, 2008), http://www.treasurydirect.gov/govt/reports/pd/histdebt/histdebt
_histo4.htm.

   [73].         Historical Debt Outstanding-Annual 2000-2010, TreasuryDirect (Oct. 1, 2010), http://www.treasurydirect.gov/govt/reports/pd/histdebt/histdebt
_histo5.htm.

   [74].         See Dep’t of Treasury, Monthly Statement of the Public Debt of the United States 1 (2012), available at http://www.treasurydirect.gov/govt
/reports/pd/mspd/2012/opds062012.pdf (reflecting an outstanding balance of $15.85 trillion as of June 30, 2012).

   [75].         This imagery was used by E. Gerald Corrigan, then President of the Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis, to illustrate an important quasi-governmental role played by banks, and one of such roles that differentiated banks from other firms.  See E. Gerald Corrigan, Are Banks Special?, Fed. Reserve Bank Minn. (1982),http://www.minneapolisfed.org/pubs/ar/ar1982a.cfm.

   [76].         Id.

   [77].         A P&A transaction is one in which another bank acquires the assets (branches, etc.) of the failing bank and assumes some or all of its liabilities (mostly to depositors).  This saves the FDIC from having to make a net cash outlay to depositors.  On P&A transactions, see FDIC, Resolutions Handbook, ch. 3 (2003),available at http://www.fdic.gov/bank/historical/reshandbook/ch3pas.pdf.

   [78].         Among the many books describing these convoluted events, see generally Andrew Ross Sorkin, Too Big to Fail: The Inside Story of How Wall Street and Washington Fought to Save the Financial System—and Themselves (2009); David Wessel, In Fed We Trust: Ben Bernanke’s War on the Great Panic (2009).

   [79].         The FSOC was created by section 111 of the Dodd-Frank Act. Dodd-Frank Wall Street Reform and Consumer Protection Act § 111, 12 U.S.C. § 5321 (Supp. IV 2010).

   [80].         Fin. Stability Oversight Council, Study & Recommendations Regarding Concentration Limits on Large Financial Companies 16 (2011).

   [81].         In general, the banking industry is not very concentrated in the United States.  A recent analysis indicates that for the banking industry as a whole, the four largest organizations (JPMorgan Chase, Bank of America, Citicorp and Wells Fargo) hold a total market share of about 35%.  Ibisworld, Bank On It: After a Roller Coaster Ride, Government Aid Will Revive Industry Revenue 25 (2012).  Partly as a result of their critical public service as bailout agents, however, these banks have increased their concentration by almost 50% since 2008 (23% to 34.2%).  See id. at 21.  The industry is highly concentrated in certain areas.  For example, the five largest banking organizations in the United States own over 53% (in 1913 it was 6%) of all the banking assets, which represent 57% of nominal GDP (2.6% in 1913), provide over 60% of all mortgages, issue 62% of all credit cards, and control 95% of all corporate lending. Heather Draper, Hoenig Targets Fed, Wall Street, Big Banks in Denver Talk, Denver Bus. J. (July 12, 2011), http://www.bizjournals.com/denver/news
/2011/07/12/hoenig-targets-fed-wall-street-big.html?page=all; see also David J. Lynch, Banks Seen Dangerous Defying Obama’s Too-Big-To-Fail Move, Bloomberg (Apr. 16, 2012), http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2012-04-16
/obama-bid-to-end-too-big-to-fail-undercut-as-banks-grow.html (reporting on the rapid recent growth of the large banks as a proportion of economic activity).

   [82].         See generally Douglas W. Diamond & Philip H. Dybvig, Bank Runs, Deposit Insurance, and Liquidity, 24 Fed. Res. Bank Minn. Q. Rev. 14 (2000) (modeling the way in which deposit insurance offers a more efficient mechanism for stabilizing local liquidity than exchange markets, which lead to runs on the banks).

   [83].         See 77 Cong. Rec. 3840 (1933) (setting forth Representative Steagall’s explanation that the billions of dollars banks would have loaned but for the fact that they feared another bank run and therefore found it impossible to extend credit).

   [84].         See, e.g., Ben S. Bernanke, Chairman, Fed. Reserve, Community Banking, Speech at the Independent Community Bankers of America National Convention and Techworld, Nashville, Tenn. (Mar. 14, 2012), available at http://www.federalreserve.gov/newsevents/speech/bernanke20120314a.htm (explaining the important role of community banks in their local economies).

   [85].         Note that this does not mean that banks are not tightly connected with other financial institutions, which, indeed, underlines the dilemma of modern, desegregated/post-Glass-Steagall banking.

   [86].         See Corrigan, supra note 75 (continuing, rightly in the author’s view, to hold the view that, enormous changes notwithstanding, banks are “special” players in the economy); see also E. Gerald Corrigan, Are Banks Special? A Revisitation, Fed. Res. Bank Minn. (Mar. 1, 2000),http://www.minneapolisfed.org/publications_papers/pub_display.cfm?id=3527.  See generally Biagio Bossone, What Makes Banks Special? A Study of Banking, Finance, and Economic Development (World Bank, Working Paper No. 2408, 1999) (supporting Corrigan’s position by arguing that the banking industry is “special” and still distinct from its complementary nonbank financial partners).

   [87].         See Baxter, supra note 4, at 181–82.

   [88].         Dodd-Frank Wall Street Reform and Consumer Protection Act § 619, 12 U.S.C. § 1851 (Supp. IV 2010) (explaining the details of the Volcker Rule, which is the name given to section 619 of the Dodd-Frank Act, and adding a new section 13 to the Bank Holding Company Act of 1956 that prohibits proprietary trading by banks and their affiliates).

   [89].         The Dodd-Frank Act added extensive provisions governing the regulation of the derivatives business, a highly technical area of financial services activity.  See Dodd-Frank Act §§ 711–774.

   [90].         See, e.g., Krawiec, supra note 57, at 29–35.

   [91].         See supra text accompanying note 54.

   [92].         For example, the Collins Amendment to section 171 of the Dodd-Frank Act extends minimum capital requirements to holding company structures.  The international Basel III standards add yet another complex dimension to such requirements.  See supra text accompanying note 47.

   [93].         See generally Nicholas Wapshott, Keynes—Hayek: The Clash That Defined Modern Economics (2011) (tracing the profound consequences for, and differences in approach to, the role of government, including regulation, in the economy, and the way in which Keynesian and Hayekian macroeconomics defines many clashes over regulatory policy).

   [94].         Environmental regulation might provide an example of more scientifically verifiable policy results.  When it comes to complex human system failures, such as financial collapses, one only has to review the great classics on the origins and causes of bank failures in the Great Depression to recognize that in financial regulation we cannot agree even when presented with a specific event, such as the Crash of 1929, to study.  See generally George J. Benston, The Separation of Commercial and Investment Banking: The Glass-Steagall Act Revisited and Reconsidered (1990); Ben S. Bernanke, Essays on the Great Depression (2000); Milton Friedman & Anna Jacobson Schwartz, A Monetary History of the United States, 1867-1960, ch. 7 (1963); John Kenneth Galbraith, The Great Crash 1929 (reissue 1997).  Similar disagreement is to be found in the Financial Crisis Inquiry Commission set up to examine the causes of the 2008 Crisis.  See Nat’l Comm’n on the Causes of the Fin. and Econ. Crisis in the U.S., The Financial Crisis Inquiry Report 3, 411, 441 (2011) [hereinafter Financial Crisis Inquiry Report] (containing a majority report and two dissenting reports).  In complex systems involving multiple human agents, any efforts to rely on linear, reductionist causal connections is bound to be incomplete and misleading.  See generally George F. R. Ellis, On the Nature of Causation in Complex Systems, 63 Trans. Royal Soc. South Afr. 69 (2008), available at http://www.mth.uct.ac.za/%7Eellis/Top-down%20Ellis.pdf (exploring the multiple forms of causation operating in real world systems).

   [95].         See, e.g., Baxter, supra note 4, at 194–96 (discussing the importance of elevating the status and rewards of regulators).

   [96].         See, e.g., James R. Barth et al., Guardians of Finance: Making Regulators Work for Us 206–13 (2012) (discussing various elements of regulatory capacity and vulnerability that must be addressed in order to ensure effective implementation of regulation).

   [97].         During the Crisis, the then-Secretary of the Treasury, Henry Paulson, and the then-President of the New York Fed, Timothy Geithner, spoke repeatedly to only a few of the industry titans.  See, e.g., John Carney, Look Who Really Controls Tim Geithner, Bus. Insider (Oct 8, 2009),http://articles.businessinsider.com/2009-10-08/wall_street/29961329_1_investment-banks-financial-firms-treasury-secretary-timothy-geithner (reprinting an AP report, no longer available, revealing Geithner’s phone logs during the Crisis); Andrew Ross Sorkin, Paulson’s Call Logs, Andrew Ross Sorkin Blog (Oct. 17, 2009),http://www.andrewrosssorkin.com/?p=88 (reproducing Paulson’s call logs during the September 2008 meltdown).

   [98].         See Monthly Report on Credit and Liquidity Programs and the Balance Sheet, Board Governors Fed. Res. Sys.,http://www.federalreserve.gov/monetarypolicy/clbs-appendix-c-201204.htm (last updated May 3, 2012) (describing the legislation and its application to fed disclosures).  See generally Nancy Watzman, Federal Reserve Forced to Report Which Banks Benefit from Loan Programs, Sunlight Found. Rep. Group (Oct. 18, 2011), http://reporting.sunlightfoundation.com/2011/Federal_Reserve_forced_to_say/ (describing the legislative and judicial actions necessary to force Fed disclosure).

   [99].         See Bob Ivry, Revealing Fed’s Secrets Fails to Produce Harm that Banks Cited, Bloomberg (Apr 2, 2011), http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2011-04
-02/revealing-fed-s-secrets-fails-to-produce-harm-that-banks-cited.html (describing the FOIA lawsuits brought by Bloomberg and Fox News to force the Fed to release information).

   [100].        Pillar 3 of Basel II, which will operate alongside Basel III, is the “Market Discipline” element of the international framework for financial regulation and its focus is on transparency as a means of promoting market discipline.  See Query for Pillar 3 Documents, Bank of Int’l Settlements, http://www.bis.org/search/?q=Pillar+3&adv=1 (documents relating to Pillar 3); supra note 47.

   [101].        See generally Craig Holman & William Luneberg, Lobbying and Transparency: A Comparative Analysis of Regulatory Reform, 1 Int. Grps. & Adv. 75 (2012), available at http://www.palgrave-journals.com/iga/journal/v1/n1
/pdf/iga20124a.pdf (discussing the criticality of transparency rather than mere access, and making recommendations for enhancing transparency in the policy making process).

   [102].        For further review of the devices for making access more meaningful for non-industry participants, see infra text accompanying notes 110–133.

   [103].        Including such entities as the Government Accountability Office, which produces numerous reports on financial regulation and its effectiveness, and the U.S. Senate Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations, which recently produced a meticulously researched, three-volume report, Permanent Subcomm. on Investigations, Wall Street and the Financial Crisis: Anatomy of a Financial Collapse (2011), available athttp://www.hsgac.senate.gov/subcommittees/investigations/media/senate
-investigations-subcommittee-releases-levin-coburn-report-on-the-financial-crisis.

   [104].        The inspectors general of various financial regulatory agencies have produced important reports concerning regulatory failure.  See, e.g., U.S. SEC Office of Inspector Gen., Report of Investigation of Failure of the SEC to Uncover Bernard Madoff’s Ponzi Scheme (Public Version) (2009), available athttp://www.sec.gov/news/studies/2009/oig-509.pdf; Welcome to SIGTARP, SIGTARP, http://www.sigtarp.gov/Pages/home.aspx (last visited Sept. 5, 2012).

   [105].        This panel was created to oversee the deployment of the TARP funds committed by Congress to help remedy the economic collapse of the 2008 Crisis (documents now archived at http://cybercemetery.unt.edu/archive/cop
/20110401223205/http:/www.cop.senate.gov/).

   [106].        This bipartisan commission conducted hearings and researched the causes of the Crisis.  See generally Financial Crisis Inquiry Report, supra note 94.  The Commission’s proceedings, documents, testimony, and report are now archived at http://fcic.law.stanford.edu/.

   [107].        See Baxter, supra note 15, at 825–31  (identifying the various forms of public subsidy enjoyed by banks).

   [108].        “Tripartism” has been defined as “regulatory policy that fosters the participation of [public interest groups] in the regulatory process” in order to promote fuller participatory democracy at the level of implementation of policy.  Ian Ayres & John Braithwaite, Tripartism: Regulatory Capture and Empowerment, 16 Law & Soc. Inquiry 435, 441, 475 (1991); see also Ian Ayres & John Braithwaite, Responsive Regulation: Transcending the Deregulation Debate, ch. 3 (1992); Baxter,supra note 4, at 191–92.

   [109].        Baxter, supra note 4, at 199.

   [110].        A potential model for applying tripartism in financial services regulation can perhaps also be found in insurance regulation, where some states have developed proxy advocates for advocating the public interest in regulatory proceedings.  See Daniel Schwarcz, Preventing Capture Through Consumer Empowerment Programs: Some Evidence from Insurance Regulation, in Preventing Capture: Special Interest Influence in Regulation, and How to Limit It (forthcoming 2012).

   [111].        See Duke Energy Corporation and Progress Energy Inc., 137 FERC ¶ 61,210 (2011), available athttp://www.ferc.gov/EventCalendar/Files/20111214190732-EC11-60-001.pdf (order rejecting compliance filing).

   [112].        Id. at para. 90 (applying the statutory “public interest” standard to reject the plans to mitigate adverse effects on competition of two energy companies that are seeking approval to merge).  Public utility regulation has a long (and controversial) history of applying public interest standards, but these are usually reinforced by statute and assisted through well organized public and private representations (as was the case in the Duke Energy case).

   [113].        See also Schwarcz, supra note 110, at 2.

   [114].        This idea was first proposed by Ross Levine and is now incorporated into a book he has coauthored.  See Barth et al., supra note 96, at 215–24; Ross Levine, The Governance of Financial Regulation: Reform Lessons from the Recent Crisis 2 (BIS, Working Papers No. 329, 2012).

   [115].        Levine, supra note 114.

   [116].        Saule T. Omarova, Bankers, Bureaucrats, and Guardians: Toward Tripartism in Financial Services Regulation, 37 J. Corp. L. 621, 658–59 (2012),available at http://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=1924546.

   [117].        Id.

   [118].        Id. at 623–24.

   [119].        Howard Davies, Comments on Ross Levine’s Paper “The Governance of Financial Regulation: Reform Lessons from the Recent Crisis” 20 (Bank of Int’l Settlements, Working Paper No. 329, 2010).

   [120].        The Shadow Financial Regulatory Committee is sponsored by the American Enterprise Institute.  Special Topic: Shadow Financial Regulatory Committee, Am. Enterprise Inst., http://www.aei.org/topic/shadow-financial-regulatory-committee/ (last visited Sept. 5, 2012).

   [121].        Brookings Inst., http://www.brookings.edu/ (last visited Sept. 5, 2012).

   [122].        Center for Econ. Pol’y Res., http://www.cepr.net/ (last visited Sept. 5, 2012).

   [123].        Pub. Citizen, http://www.citizen.org (last visited Sept. 5, 2012).

   [124].        New Deal 2.0, Roosevelt Inst., http://www.rooseveltinstitute.org/new-deal-20 (last visited Sept. 2012).

   [125].        POGO: Project on Gov’t Oversight, http://www.pogo.org/ (last visited Sept. 5, 2012).

   [126].        Am. for Fin. Reform, http://ourfinancialsecurity.org/ (last visited Sept. 5, 2012).

   [127].        Such developments are described in a forthcoming chapter by Christine Farnish, chair of Consumer Focus in the United Kingdom.  See Int’l Ctr. for Fin. Reg., Regulatory Capture: The Optimal Relationship Between the Regulator and the Regulated (working title, forthcoming Sept. 2012).

   [128].        See, e.g., The Volatility Institute, NYU Stern Sch. Bus., http://www.stern.nyu.edu/experience-stern/about/departments-centers
-initiatives/centers-of-research/volatility-institute/index.htm (last visited Sept. 5, 2012); see also INET@Oxford, Inst. for New Econ. Thinking,http://ineteconomics.org/initiatives/partnerships/oxford (last visited Sept. 5, 2012) (bringing together in a recently established institute various disciplines, including complexity science, to analyze issues such as systemic risk and financial crises).

   [129].        See, e.g., FDIC Systemic Resolution Advisory Committee, Fed. Deposit Ins. Corp., http://www.fdic.gov/about/srac/index.html (last visited Sept. 5, 2012) (revealing a recently established committee, which has as its members some independent experts who have been highly critical of regulatory policy).

   [130].        See Former FDIC Chair to Lead Systemic Risk Council, Monitor Financial Regulation, Bus. Wire (June 6, 2012), http://www.businesswire.com
/news/home/20120606005519/en/FDIC-Chair-Lead-Systemic-Risk-Council
-Monitor [hereinafter Former FDIC Chair]; Sheila Bair to Lead Private Financial Risk Council, Reuters (June 6, 2012),http://www.reuters.com/article/2012/06/06/financial-regulation-bair-idUSL1E8H66DN20120606; Sheila Bair: From Regulator to Watchdog, Frontline (June 12, 2012), http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/business-economy-financial
-crisis/money-power-wall-street/sheila-bair-from-regulator-to-watchdog/.

   [131].        The Council will be Paul Volcker, former chairman of the Fed, and several former financial agency chairs.  For the full list, see Former FDIC Chair,supra note 130.

   [132].        Sheila Bair herself exhibited fierce independence as chairman of the FDIC, and Brooksley Born, former chair of the CFTC, attempted herself to impose regulation on financial derivatives in the face of fierce industry and, ultimately, Congressional opposition.  See, e.g., Ryan Lizza, The Contrarian: Sheila Bair and the White House Financial Debate, New Yorker (July 6, 2009), http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2009/07/06/090706fa_fact_lizza (providing a profile on Sheila Bair after her Profile in Courage award for her independent line on financial regulation); Brooksley Born, Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org
/wiki/Brooksley_Born (last visited Sept. 5, 2012) (providing a profile on Brooksley Born, also a Profile in Courage award recipient).

Baxter_LawReview_10.12

 

By: Dorit Rubinstein Reiss

Introduction

[N]ot all capture is bad.  It surely is bad for regulators to believe that ‘what’s good for General Motors is good for America’; but it is also undesirable for regulators to believe that ‘what’s bad for General Motors is of no consequence to America’.[1]

Observers of the administrative state warn against capture of administrative agencies and lament its disastrous effects.  This Article suggests that the term “capture,” applied to a close relationship between industry and regulator, is not useful; by stigmatizing that relationship—judging the relationship as problematic from the start—the stigmatization hides the relationships potential benefits.  The literature on capture highlights its negative results: lax enforcement of regulation, weak regulations, and illicit benefits going to industry.  This picture, however, is incomplete and in substantial tension with another current strand of literature which encourages collaboration between industry and regulator.  The collaboration literature draws on the fact that industry input into the regulatory process has important benefits for the regulatory state.  Industry usually has information no one else has and has more incentive to give that information to a friendly regulator.  Furthermore, working with industry can substantially improve the impact of regulation; voluntary compliance is cheaper and can be more effective than enforced compliance, and industry can help regulators minimize negative unintended consequences.  This Article suggests that instead of engaging in name calling, we should focus on identifying when a close industry-regulator relationship will work in the public interest and when it is likely to undermine it.  That is an empirical question.

For decades, scholars have discussed capture of administrative agencies—mainly, though not exclusively, by industry[2]—strictly in terms of the negative consequences.[3]  If “accountability” is often seen as the “hurrah word” of the administrative state,[4] capture can be seen as the “boo-word”; historically, up until quite recently, few have had anything good to say about it.[5]  The term capture itself is a discussion ender; if an agency is said to be “captured,” the regulatory results are presumed to be bad.  Like most negative labels, this presumption tends to obstruct efforts to arrive at the kind of clear understanding that leads to good policy prescriptions.

Capture refers to an extremely close relationship between regulators and industry.[6]  Some believe such a relationship is inherently dangerous and negative.  Reports prepared by Ralph Nader’s associates, the “Nader’s Raiders,”[7] reflect that spirit.  For example, the Nader report on the Food and Drug Administration (“FDA”) saw the FDA as a puppet in the hands of industry and claimed that “when the law allows administrative discretion, industry, not the consumer, benefits.”[8]  It evaluated the FDA’s supervision of firms and criticized its presumption that almost all manufacturers can be trusted to place the public interest before profit.[9]  The report strongly criticized the FDA’s decisions to attempt to educate firms about the need for compliance rather than punish them for noncompliance.[10]

In the same vein, the group’s study of the Federal Aviation Administration (“FAA”) accused the regulators of being so closely related to the industry that they promoted the industry’s interests over consumers’ safety.[11]  The problem with this approach is that it is one sided.  Yes, a cozy relationship between regulator and industry creates risks and may (though not inevitably) lead to terrible outcomes.  But an adversarial relationship between industry and regulator has its own costs, can itself lead to extremely negative outcomes, and thus has also been justifiably criticized.[12]

But it’s not just about what is the least worst choice.  A close relationship between agency and regulators can provide substantial benefits.  It can improve the information available to an agency, and it can improve regulatory results by increasing compliance and preventing negative unintended consequences.[13]  This is why, in the last few decades, a substantial amount of literature promoted more collaborative government with closer ties and even partnerships between the private sector and regulators.

While capture has benefits on its own, it should not be evaluated in a vacuum.[14]  Rather, we should ask what the realistic alternatives are and which realistic alternative will achieve the best result.  Sometimes capture will achieve better results than other options.[15]  Other times it will at least achieve results that are good enough, or better than, the previous status quo.[16]

The real question is not simply whether “it is good or bad.”  What we should be studying is when would a cozy agency-industry relationship lead to benefits and when would it lead to harm, in light of existing alternatives.  To understand the effects of agency-industry relationship and to make informed policy decisions with that information in mind, we should examine that question theoretically and empirically with as little bias as possible.

This Article makes three contributions to the literature.  First, it makes the point that there is an overlap between the literature on capture and the literature on collaboration, since both address a close relationship between regulator and industry and the results of such a relationship.  It then explicitly analyzes possible distinctions between the two concepts, concluding that the distinction between a situation of capture and a situation of collaboration is a matter of degree or of post-hoc evaluation of the results.  Second, it suggests that a close relationship between industry and regulator has important benefits and describes those benefits.  Finally, it argues that, thus far, the question of which factors increase the potential benefits and which factors increase the risks has been understudied.  This is an empirical question.  A proper study of this question requires theorization and careful examination in real life context.  This Article takes a first stab at answering this question by suggesting such factors.

This Article is a thought piece.  It draws on existing work and current examples to suggest a rethinking of existing scholarship.  It sets out a research agenda for future empirical research.  It does not itself, however, contain new empirical data (though I am in the process of conducting three such empirical studies).

Part I defines the terms capture and collaboration and describes the literature addressing them.  It demonstrates that the terms overlap and there is no clear distinction.  While the literature on capture and collaboration teaches us important insights about the relationship between agencies and industry, a discussion that goes beyond each alone is necessary.  Part II addresses the potential risks and promises of a close relationship between industry and regulator.  Part III suggests factors that can determine whether a close relationship is beneficial or harmful.  The Article then concludes by summarizing the paper’s contribution and explaining avenues for future research.

I.  Capture v. Collaboration

Consider the following two examples of agency-industry interaction.

Since 1975, the FAA has been making use of voluntary reporting programs to allow airlines and airline personnel to report safety problems in return for a guaranteed waiver of sanctions.[17]  Between 1990 and 2009, the FAA entered into agreements for voluntary reporting programs with seventy-three carriers.[18]  In 2001, the FAA promulgated a regulation[19] guaranteeing that it would not use voluntarily submitted safety information for punitive actions, nor would the information be released to third parties under the Freedom of Information Act.[20]  This removed a substantial source of concern for the airlines in relation to the voluntary reporting programs and increased the use of such programs.[21]  Cynics would say this is exactly what industry wanted and is clearly the result of capture.  It allows airlines to get away with violations of safety regulations without sanction because their close connections with the regulators assure them there will be none.

In 2007, a large number of Southwest Airlines planes were found to be in violation of an airworthiness directive,[22] and in some cases, parts were showing fatigue cracks (such cracks themselves are not an immediate problem, but their presence is the first sign of the approach of catastrophic failure).[23]  Apparently, an FAA inspector warned of the cracks as early as 2003, but nothing was done because of the close relationship between Principal Maintenance Inspector Douglas Gawadzinski and senior management at Southwest Airlines.[24]  The connections were so close that FAA personnel allowed Southwest to fly problematic aircraft and even warned Southwest in advance of upcoming inspections.[25]

In April 2011, a tragedy was narrowly averted when a Southwest plane was forced to make an emergency landing because of a catastrophic failure of sections of fuselage skin[26]—the inevitable result of neglected fatigue cracks.[27]  This may be seen as an indication that the FAA and Southwest have returned to their cozy relationship with potentially dangerous results, but this is probably not the case.  Mistakes can be made even without capture, and the National Transportation Safety Board’s (“NTSB”) investigation suggested this was such a case; apparently, none of the parties involved believed the part of the airplane in which the cracks occurred was stressed in a way that would lead to catastrophic failure.[28]  The FAA responded to the near accident by immediately issuing an emergency directive requiring detailed inspections of certain aircraft models when they accumulated 30,000 flight cycles, and thereafter at intervals of 500 flight cycles.[29]  The combination of the NTSB’s findings and FAA’s rapid response suggests a common mistake rather than regulatory failure.

This complex picture suggests that the relationship between the FAA and industry could give critics substantial cause for concern.  But if you take a step back and look at the general picture, what were the effects on air safety?

Allowing the airlines to disclose information without penalty increased the availability of information.[30]  A study by an independent scholar put the total number of reports generated at approximately 900,000 (compared to no avenue to submit such reports before the program was created).[31]  As pointed out by the Government Accountability Office (“GAO”), such data provide information that cannot be found in any other way.[32]  It may have led to fewer punitive measures against airlines, but if the goal was to make air travel safer—not just punish airlines—it seemed to help by increasing the available information.  In a recent piece, Russell Mills, who has been studying these programs for a long time, demonstrated a connection between the voluntary reporting and the FAA’s airworthiness directives, showing that they made a difference (presumably—though it’s hard to measure—for the better) in the regulation of air safety.[33]

An independent review team said the following about the programs: “We are phenomenally impressed with what this agency has achieved, in collaboration with the aviation industry, in driving accident rates down to extraordinarily low levels.”[34]

The rate of fatal accidents among commercial carriers is extremely low, and has dropped dramatically since the 1960s.[35]  While I cannot connect the reduction causally to voluntary reporting—because there were many other factors—the close relationship certainly did not harm, and possibly helped, the situation.

Now consider as a counter the story of the Minerals Management Service (“MMS”).[36]  The MMS received negative attention on two occasions between 2005 and 2010.  In the first case, a lengthy investigation of its Royalty in Kind program exposed a series of ethical problems (described by the Inspector General of the Department of the Interior as a “[c]ulture of [e]thical [f]ailure”).[37]  The MMS collected royalties from companies harvesting minerals from the continental shelf and some federal lands pursuant to leases.[38]  The Royalty in Kind program allowed the agency to receive a percentage of the oil or gas collected by the companies and sell it in lieu of cash royalties.[39]  This became a substantial source of revenue.[40]  The investigation by the Department of the Interior revealed a culture of receiving gifts from industry members—mostly of food, drinks, and lodging (in violation of federal ethics guidelines)—and of alcohol and drug abuse during industry-organized parties (in two cases agency members had to be lodged by the industry because they were too drunk to go home).[41]  There was evidence of relaxation of the rules in favor of the regulated companies, especially in allowing industry members to change bids after winning them.[42]

To complete the picture of a captured agency in thrall to its regulatees, other government officials accused the MMS of lax regulation and carelessness in providing BP with its drilling permit after the BP scandal.[43]  Mary Kendall, Acting Inspector General for the Department of the Interior, criticized MMS regulation as being “heavily reliant on industry to document and accurately report on operations, production and royalties” and pointed out that “[b]ecause MMS relies heavily on the industry that it regulates in so many areas, however, the possibility for, and perception of, undue influence will likely remain.”[44]  The agency was criticized for exempting BP from producing an Environmental Impact Statement—something the agency regularly did for offshore drilling in the Gulf of Mexico.[45]

In spite of this image of a captured agency and the clearly problematic behavior of some of its employees, a recent in-depth empirical examination of the agency’s structure and its history suggests that the accusations of capture obfuscate potentially deeper causes of the problems in the way the MMS functions; many of the problems the MMS ran into are the result of conflicting roles assigned to it, which may have influenced its collaborative approach, and this will not be fixed by the reorganization of the agency.[46]

These two examples serve two purposes.  First, at least some of the behaviors of both agencies can be classified as either collaboration or capture, depending on the observer’s point of view.  Second, they highlight the fact that the kind of close relationship that can be classified as capture can either yield benefits or lead to disastrous results.

A.     Capture in the Literature

Capture focuses on close connections between a regulator and the industry it regulates.[47]  The literature uses a variety of definitions to explain the results or features of capture.  One definition suggests that in a situation of capture, regulated industry members “persuade regulators to alter rules or be lenient in enforcing those rules.”[48]  A somewhat different definition emphasizes the consequences, suggesting that captured regulatory agencies are “persistently serving the interests of regulated industries to the neglect or harm of more general, or ‘public,’ interests. . . . [T]he accusation implies excessive regulated industry influence on regulatory agencies.”[49]

Carpenter and Moss suggest that capture “is the result or process by which regulation (in law or application) is, at least partially, by intent and action of the industry regulated, consistently or repeatedly directed away from the public interest and towards the interests of the regulated industry.”[50]

Braithwaite and Makkai made the capture analysis more nuanced by breaking it into three related but not necessarily simultaneous behaviors—sympathy to industry (implying excessive sympathy), identification with industry’s interest, and (unduly) lax enforcement.[51]

This Article defines capture by emphasizing intentional influence rather than whether the result deviates from the public interest since, at the point of decision, agency decision can often be plausibly seen to be in the public interest—or at least one definition of it; the many aspects of the concept of public interest make a focus on it less than helpful.[52]  It also does not distinguish between influence and control, as Webb Yackee’s article does,[53] since I see the distinction as a matter of degree, a continuum rather than a dichotomy; at some point, influence is so strong as to become control, but in the regulatory context, we are not usually talking about absolute control by industry.

Any of these definitions inherently implies regularly repeated interactions between the regulator and a certain industry.  Capture of the agency is not usually an issue when interaction between the industry and the regulator is sporadic.[54]

This type of relationship has been known for a long time among those inside the regulatory state.  In an open letter about the Interstate Commerce Commission (“ICC”), a famous practitioner acknowledged that:

The Commission, as its functions have now been limited by the courts, is, or can be made, of great use to the railroads.  It satisfies the popular clamor for a government supervision of railroads, at the same time that the supervision is almost entirely nominal.  Further, the older such a commission gets to be, the more inclined it will be found to be to take the business and railroad view of things.  It thus becomes a sort of barrier between the railroad corporations and the people and a sort of protection against hasty and crude legislation hostile to railroad interests.[55]

Research on capture surged in the 1950s, with Marver Bernstein’s influential work on independent commissions.[56]  Bernstein suggested that, while a regulatory regime starts vigorously and with energy, over time its supporting coalition dissolves, the energy dissipates, and the agency starts to kowtow to the preferences of industry, finally seeing its own interests as completely identical to that of the regulated industry.[57]

Bernstein’s work was extremely influential—though it was not without critics from early on.[58]  In the subsequent public policy literature, capture was uniformly seen as a substantial concern.[59]  Even the more “optimistic” studies were optimistic either by suggesting that sometimes agencies avoid capture[60] or by challenging the prevalence of the phenomenon.[61]

In 1971, capture was discovered by the economic literature with Stigler’s seminal article[62] in which he claimed that regulation will, in the end, work for the benefit of the regulated industry, not the public, and that industry will have the most influence on its content.[63]  His approach was given some refinement and algebraic formulation by Peltzman.[64]  The Stigler-Peltzman approach was a challenge to the then-existing conventional wisdom that regulation was justified as a response to market failure, since it was the only way to protect against such failures.[65]  In contrast, Stigler-Peltzman’s findings suggested that regulation was not the answer because it would not work to prevent market failures but would instead reinforce them by giving more power to the regulated industry.[66]  The implied corollary was that market mechanisms are a better solution to market failures.[67]

The Stigler-Peltzman approach achieved prominence and generated substantial follow-up work,[68] though the economic literature on the causes and consequences was mostly theoretical with scant empirical support.[69]  The political science literature on the topic, however, did offer one careful, detailed cross-agency study on the factors leading to capture: Paul Quirk’s 1981 study of the factors increasing the potential for capture.[70]

Much of the literature examined the potential incentives industry can offer regulators to encourage cooperation.[71]  A more specialized strand of literature focused on the revolving door effects, and strongly argued that movement from industry to the regulator and back leads to capture and to regulators wanting to curry favor with industry.[72]

Not exactly fitting into either category, studies in regulation and law found similar results.  Studies of the rulemaking process in the United States found substantive influence by industry on the content of regulation.[73]  In a recent study, Shapiro and Steinzor not only found such influence but explained that it is especially strong where salience (towards the public) is low and technological complexity high.[74]

Most of these studies accept capture as a reality—and a negative one—and discuss what leads to capture and how to prevent it.  Two exceptions stand out.

Recently, Dan Carpenter challenged the existing evidence used in previous studies of capture from Stigler onwards.  In a study that straddled economic and political science literature, Carpenter suggested that deducing capture from regulatory results that seem to favor established firms is problematic since there are other reasons for that kind of advantage, some of which are actually in the public interest.[75]  In other words, you cannot conclude that, just because established firms, large firms, and repeat players do better under the regulatory system, the regulator is captured; there may be other reasons for those results.[76]

In two more studies, regulation scholar Braithwaite and several collaborators went beyond previous literature and suggested that capture may be positive or negative, depending on the circumstances.

In the first study, Ayres and Braithwaite suggested, as part of their discussion of Responsive Regulation,[77] that there are some forms of capture that actually enhance social welfare and are efficient.[78]  For example, one possible effect of capture is that it motivates the agency and the industry to move from a situation in which neither cooperates—a firm evades the law and the agency behaves in a punitive manner—to one where both cooperate—the firm obeys the spirit of the law and works to achieve the regulatory goal, and the agency moves to flexible enforcement, ignoring technical violations.[79]  This situation, explain Ayres and Braithwaite, “is clearly Pareto efficient. . . . [And] will unambiguously increase welfare” since it forces the agency to also consider the firm’s welfare when making decisions—and the firm is part of society.[80]  This analysis is based on theoretical game modeling.

A second study added empirical support to the view that some types of capture are beneficial.  This study, by Makkai and Braithwaite, examined the concept of capture using empirical data from the Australian nursing home industry.[81]  Makkai and Braithwaite suggested that capture should be seen as a more complex concept than was previously suggested, including three factors: sympathy to problems industry confronts, identification with industry, and lack of toughness in enforcement.[82]  They found very limited evidence that ties with industry (coming from industry or returning to industry—the “revolving door” idea) increase capture, and what evidence they found suggested weak effects.[83]

B.     Collaboration

Especially in the past few decades, a whole strand of literature has promoted reforms supporting closer ties between industry and regulators and stronger industry participation in policy making and enforcement.  Much of this literature started as a response to the problems of excessive regulation, command and control models, and conflictual, adversarial relations between agencies and industry; the solution proposed was generally the adoption of more negotiated, consensus-based modes of regulation.[84]

There are two classical examples.  First, in 1982, Bardach and Kagan made a strong, compelling case for the “Good Inspector” acting with forbearance and enforcing regulation with flexibility (and toughness).[85]  Second, in Responsive Regulation, Ayres and Braithwaite argued for a pyramid of enforcement that starts with persuasion and escalates degrees of enforcement on the basis of industry behavior.[86]

Some studies promoted self-regulation by industry as a way to make regulation more efficient and flexible.[87]  Others recommended “public-private partnerships” that would give more of a role to private industry in making policy.[88]  The Endangered Species Act is one example of a program designed to give industry a direct input into the content of regulation.  The Act has been a source of controversy between environmentalists and business interests for a long time.[89]  An amendment to the Act in 1982 allowed the Secretary to approve a Habitat Conservation Plan, allowing a landowner to interfere with an endangered species (“take” it) under certain conditions.[90]  In theory, the option is available to any kind of landowner; however, in practice, timber companies and real-estate developers create most Habitat Conservation Plans.[91]  A Habitat Conservation Plan is, in essence, an official compromise between the private actor (usually a company) and the United States Forestry and Wildlife Service, the agency in charge of implementing the Endangered Species Act.[92]  It is an invitation for businesses to participate in policymaking.[93]  Does this actually protect the environment?  The literature is undecided.  Many studies express concerns and criticisms.[94]  Others express cautious optimism as to the process and its results.[95]

A movement emphasizing the use of Alternative Dispute Resolution tools in enforcement of regulation also emphasizes the need for more cooperation with industry in achieving compliance and less stringent, punitive enforcement modes.[96]  More recently, we see programs that relax enforcement in exchange for voluntary cooperation.  The Environmental Protection Agency has experimented with a number of such programs, with mixed results.[97]  The FAA, as already mentioned, has used voluntary reporting programs with some success.[98]

C.     Lack of Analytical Clarity

While consensus-based regulation and collaboration are not capture, both promote a close relationship between the agency and industry, and the distinction is blurry.  Ayres and Braithwaite openly say that “[t]he very conditions that foster the evolution of cooperation are also the conditions that promote the evolution of capture and indeed corruption.”[99]  Similarly, Shover suggests that “the establishment of cooperative relationships for the solution of problems” is one of the factors leading to capture.[100]

More negatively, an opponent of collaborative government described collaboration as follows: “[T]he very entities subject to regulatory compulsion should engage in the design of rules that will dictate their conduct, self-monitoring for compliance with those rules, and self-enforcement when the entity discovers a violation of those rules.”[101]

Nonetheless, the terms are not supposed to be interchangeable.  What, then, are the differences between collaboration and capture?  Three things stand out.  First, supporters of collaboration want others besides industry involved.  Second, collaboration envisions equal status or the agency as the dominant partner; capture implies the industry is the dominant partner.  Third, collaboration has good consequences; capture has bad consequences.

The first and probably clearest distinction is that most of the pro-collaboration literature does not suggest allowing industry to be the only voice.  In fact, most of this literature wants industry to be a part of a dialogue in which other interest groups are just as well represented and have at least as much influence, if not more.[102]  This potential “countering” role for non-business interest groups is not a new idea, of course.  It was behind some of the moves to more participatory government in the 1960s and1970s,[103] but has since become an integral part of the pro-collaboration literature of recent decades.

For example, Ayres and Braithwaite’s influential Responsive Regulation reserves an important role for Nongovernmental Organizations (“NGOs”) serving as equal participants in the negotiation and enforcement of rules.[104]

For Sabatier too, the solution to capture is participation by third parties, either initiated by the agency or initiated by the interest groups themselves.[105]  Other scholars have also shown positive influence of third-party interest groups as a remedy for capture.[106]

As I will elaborate in Part III, my approach is pragmatic.  I believe in the art of the possible.  In some cases, a third party interest group may be a viable alternative and a good counter to capture (or at least may have the potential to reduce the power of the capturing industry).[107]  In some cases, it will be an excellent option.[108]  However, it will not work in every case.[109]  At least in the American context, there is reason to be skeptical about it working in many cases.[110]

First, it may not always be feasible.  Ayres and Braithwaite believe a suitable NGO—defending the public interest or a relevant private interest—will generally be available.[111]  I am not so sure—and not just in the case of their example of an NGO for the Internal Revenue Service.[112]  In the FAA context, the pilots’ union may be seen as a potential counter to the industry on matters of safety.  However, the pilots’ union’s interests on the issue are mixed since it also has an interest in increasing jobs and the profitability of the industry, so it does not quite represent the public interest.  Further, consider the MMS.  In that context, what NGO promotes “honesty in dealing with the oil industry”?  Environmental organizations may be watchdogs for compliance with environmental requirements, but what about the rest?  For many regulatory issues, the problem of diffused interests mentioned in the economic literature is all too real.[113]  Furthermore, being at the negotiating table requires resources—even if all information the regulator has is made available,[114] the NGO will still have to invest in processing the information and involvement—especially in more complex regulatory areas, where there are many decisions.  There may not always be a group with the required dedication or the ability to constantly engage.  We can learn something about this from the United States’ notice and comment rulemaking process which provides an opportunity to any interested party to participate, at least to some degree.[115]  In spite of the apparently open access, many studies suggest that industry participates more than others in this process.[116]  The same reasons that industry captures agencies operate here too.  Industry has the most interest in the content of regulation, and it is a long-term, substantive interest, which keeps industry involved after other participants have left the field.[117]  Industry has substantial resources to invest in affecting the content of regulation, and strong incentives to do so.[118]  In some situations, there will be an NGO with the same dedication and the ability to persevere; in others there will not.

Furthermore, even where such an NGO is available, it will not necessarily solve the problem.  One question is who will guard the guardian: how do we prevent the capture of the NGO by the regulated industry?[119]  Ayres and Braithwaite suggest as the solution a contested representation.[120]  This, however, requires not one but multiple suitable NGOs able and willing to undertake the role.

Similarly, if an NGO exists that is willing to counter the influence of the capturing industry it may improve the regulatory result—or not.  It all depends on which interests it represents.  Not all clashes between private interests protect the public interest.  Just as important, “[e]verything has a price.”[121]  Allowing a third party to counteract the influence of industry carries the cost of added delays, and depending on the level of trust between actors, can cause a return to a more contentious process.  It thus has the potential to thwart the original intent of the collaboration altogether.  Sometimes the price will be worth paying.  Other times, if the results of capture are good enough and the level of conflict high enough, it will not be.

A second distinction between collaboration and capture is that the term collaboration does not imply, as capture does, that the dominant partner is industry.  It implies a partnership of equals.  Calling a regulatory relationship capture suggests that industry usually gets its way, often because the agency really buys into the industry’s views.[122]  This is an important difference, but it seems more a matter of degree than of kind; how much real influence does industry have in practice?  If an agency accepted industry’s view, was it captured, or was it convinced by industry’s arguments?  Determining the degree of industry’s influence may be difficult in practice.  And even where that is possible, the argument still stands that mechanisms of collaboration facilitate and create opportunities for capture.

The final difference is a difference in results.  Calling a relationship between industry and regulator collaboration implies a positive outcome; capture implies a negative one.  But evaluation criteria based solely on results are not very useful as a conceptual tool to identify capture or other phenomena.  Results, obviously, can only be examined in hindsight.  In terms of normative judgment, they do not help assess the behavior itself.  Results do not provide a very useful guide, especially since it’s not so obvious we can identify capture when we see it.  For starters, identifying whether regulation works for the benefit of a certain industry is not easy.  In an early study, Etzioni challenged Stigler and Friedland’s early finding that utilities had captured regulators[123] by using their original data to arrive at the alternative conclusion—that regulation actually benefited consumers and therefore the regulators were not captured.[124]

Even if regulation does work for the regulated industry, it is not at all clear that capture is at work.  In an innovative piece, Carpenter demonstrated that there are other reasons besides capture that regulation may benefit large, established firms.[125]  These firms have real advantages.  For example, they are more known to the regulator, who can therefore make quicker decisions in relation to them, may enter niches earlier that are politically valuable, and can better withstand delays in decision making.[126]

Besides the difficulty of identifying capture, given the negative implications of the term, if used as a basis for policy prescriptions, it is problematic to say to the agency after the fact, “at first we thought you were collaborating and all was well, so we encouraged you to keep at it, but now we see that, since things turned out badly, you were in fact captured, and therefore there will be consequences.”[127]

Both capture and collaboration address situations of a close relationship between agency and industry.  The analytical distinction between them is problematic, and even when it can be used, collaboration mechanisms can be seen at least as “capture facilitators.”  The question is, therefore, what are the possible consequences of such a close relationship?

II.  The Risks and Benefits of a Close Relationship

A.     The Risks

The risks of a close relationship between agency and industry are that it could lead to weak (or absent) protection of the public, result in benefits to the industry at the expense of the public (“rent-seeking”),[128] and lead to straight out corruption.

One common justification for regulation is protecting the environment, public health, or other important values against economic interests of private firms.[129]  When it comes to protecting other important values (such as health, safety, or the environment), industry members naturally want to minimize their costs in order to increase their profits; in fact, it can be argued that they have a duty (to their shareholders) to do so.[130]  One result of this, goes the argument, is that industry’s influence will lead to ineffective, weak, and watered-down regulations that, in fact, do not provide adequate protections in these areas.  For example, one study suggests that, because of industry influence, the Food Safety and Inspection Service in the United States Department of Agriculture (“USDA”) had done nothing in relation to E. Coli-contaminated meat for over a decade (1982–1995).[131]  This neglect continued in spite of repeated outbreaks of illnesses related to E. Coli and after a report by the National Academy of Sciences, which pointed out the shortcomings of the USDA’s method of inspection and suggested a different one.[132]  The situation only changed after a very widespread outbreak of E. Coli, which was traced to contaminated meat and had dramatic and obvious effects (including the deaths of two children).[133]  Even then, the final rule was a watered-down version of the original, with most of the effective protections removed—a result of intensive efforts by industry.  Industry wanted a weak rule, and it succeeded in getting just that.[134]

Similarly, Etzioni suggests that a rule by the Department of Transportation was “profoundly shaped” by the railroad industry.[135]  The Department of Transportation allowed railroads to choose the routes acceptable for dangerous cargoes based on their own weighing of the factors involved (including the costs).[136]  Etzioni discusses a claim by Melberth from OMBWatch that the lobbyists from the industry actually provided the text of the rule.[137]  This rule, according to critics, failed to require rerouting of dangerous cargoes around major cities—including those designated by the Department of Homeland Security as targets for future terrorist attacks—with the result that the railroads continued to route such cargoes through population centers, potentially endangering lives.[138]

Etzioni offers another example.  In 2000, when the FDA prepared to publish information about the mercury content of various foods, the tuna industry—realizing canned tuna was going to be classed as dangerous—lobbied the FDA.[139]  The FDA recalibrated its categorization, and an FDA official, Clark Carrington, admitted that the staffers designed the three categories of mercury danger so that canned tuna fell into the “low” category to “keep the market share at a reasonable level.”[140]

Furthermore, capture can also lead to complete removal of regulations—deregulation—a phenomenon described by Carpenter as “corrosive capture.”[141]

The risks of a close relationship between agency and industry are also found in relation to enforcement.  Due to the close relationship between the regulators and the regulated companies, the regulators will be unlikely to do their job and rigorously enforce the regulations.[142]  This will lead to decreased protections for the public.  The regulators will be unwilling to penalize their good friends in the industry.  On the contrary, they may seek to please and promote those to whom they are personally connected.  After all, Great Walls can always be brought down by great lunches; in other words, the separation into regulated and regulator may not survive close personal contacts.  This is especially true where there is an exchange of personnel and close interpersonal connections between agency officials and industry employees.  Indeed, much of the economic literature about capture focuses on the negative effects of the “revolving door”—people moving between industry and the regulators.[143]  This tendency was described by the Department of the Interior’s Acting Inspector General, Mary L. Kendall, as part of the reason for the ethical problems discovered in the MMS, where there was “a culture where the acceptance of gifts from oil and gas companies were [sic] widespread throughout that office.”[144]

Of greatest concern to me is the environment in which these inspectors operate—particularly the ease with which they move between industry and government. . . . [W]e discovered that the individuals involved in the fraternizing and gift exchange—both government and industry—have often known one another since childhood.  Their relationships were formed well before they took their jobs with industry or government.[145]

Even without corruption, close connections can foster excessive trust that will lead to accepting the words of the industry at face value and, therefore, not finding out about violations.  For example, in relation to the FAA, a report by the Nader group found that FAA inspectors often missed industry violations because they relied on paperwork provided by the industry to discover problems, and the industry would lie in writing—a practice termed “pencil whipping.”[146]

In another example, the Bureau of Land Management (“BLM”), the agency handling on-shore oil drilling, was found by the GAO to regularly approve drilling permits without an Environmental Impact Statement, relying on exclusions provided in section 390 of the Energy Policy Act.[147]  The GAO found that the MMS (acting under the aegis of the BLM) used such exclusions in more than a quarter of drilling permits between 2006 and 2008,[148] frequently “out of compliance with both the law and BLM’s implementing guidance.”[149]

Preparing an Environmental Impact Statement, as required by the National Environmental Policy Act (“NEPA”),[150] is costly and difficult, and removing the requirement is a break for industry, but it raises concerns about adequately identifying environmental consequences and thus environmental protection.  In a specific example, the MMS (at the time under the BLM) apparently granted an exclusion from the NEPA to BP’s drilling in the Gulf of Mexico—drilling that ended with a catastrophic, far-reaching oil spill.[151]  The natural accusation is that cozy relationships between the agency and the company led to lax enforcement of the legal requirements, sacrificing the environment to the company’s interest.  According to a member of an environmental group quoted in the article, “[t]he agency’s oversight role has devolved to little more than rubber-stamping British Petroleum’s self-serving drilling plans.”[152]

Another common justification for tight regulation is that it can correct market failures (e.g., by limiting monopolies and cartels).[153]  The situation here is somewhat different.  In a monopoly situation, industry will want to place barriers on new entrants to the market and make access difficult.[154]  For example, one of the common struggles in relation to telecommunications liberalization is to allow potential new entrants access to the existing network to prevent them from having to invest the tremendous costs of creating a network anew.[155]  Research found that opening the market to competition required regulation to prevent the incumbent from setting access prices too high, and thus abusing their market power.[156]  Close connections between the incumbent and the regulator can lead to setting the access prices high.[157]

When it comes to rate setting, established industry will want a lax regime that provides it with maximum freedom.  For example, in his study of railway prices, Huntington demonstrated that, since the late 1920s, the ICC, captured by railroads, consented to any rate increase the railroad wanted.[158]

B.     The Benefits

While the risks of a close relationship are real enough, industry involvement in writing regulations is a recurring phenomenon,[159] as is flexible (or lax) enforcement.  Many studies have found that regulators rarely act punitively and generally prefer to negotiate and work with industry rather than prosecute or punish it.[160]  And that is not just because of the problems of the administrative state; there are good reasons to want industry involvement in the creation and enforcement of regulation, in spite of the obvious risks.

The first is that the best information about what is going on in industry is found in the hands of industry.  The second is that working with industry can lead to better results; enforcing compliance, without cooperation, is costly and, at best, only partly efficient—because, among other things, an industry unwilling to cooperate can find many ways to obstruct or avoid enforcement.[161]  The third is that it can also lead to better results because there is a societal advantage in preventing unanticipated negative consequences for industry,[162] and industry is often in the best position to anticipate and warn against such consequences.

1.     Industry and the Information Advantage

Good regulation requires good information.  Not only is this self-evident, but the legal framework is designed to increase the information available to agencies.[163]  At least one goal of the notice and comment process the Administrative Procedure Act (“APA”) mandates for informal rulemaking is to provide information.[164]  Many of the other requirements added to the process require the agency to undertake research that will make its decision more informed.[165]

A serious problem with this process is the fact that often the best information about what is going on in a given industry is in the hands of members of that industry.  Agencies are regularly understaffed and overworked[166]—a reality that is getting worse in these days of budget deficits and in this “age of austerity”[167] when agency resources are constrained and reduced.[168]  They cannot, even with the best will, collect all the needed information about industry to either devise the best regulations or catch those who violate them.  For example, the FAA is, on its face, a large agency with over 50,000 employees.[169]  But many of these employees are air traffic controllers.[170]  There are only about 4000 inspectors overseeing all the planes in the United States.[171]  As a second example, the Food Safety and Inspection Service of the USDA has to oversee the safety of meat and poultry in the United States.  The growth in meat consumption and sale has left its inspectors overburdened; one author estimates that “[a]t ninety-one birds per minute, inspectors have to examine over 12,000 poultry carcasses each day.  It is estimated that inspectors have an average of just two seconds to inspect a poultry carcass and twenty to thirty seconds to examine a 2,000 to 3,000 pound beef carcass.”[172]  A similar claim has been made concerning FDA resources.[173]

It is easy to claim that the solution should be for Congress to provide more funding,[174] but the chances of that happening are not very high in a political climate that calls for reducing government size and limiting spending.[175]

Along the same lines, producing information costs money.  And in an era of budget cuts, the agency often has to choose between producing the information and doing other things.  On the other hand, industry often needs the information in question for other purposes (e.g., information on safety problems in airplanes) and may be collecting it anyway.  Getting the information from industry can save money.  But to whom will industry be more likely to provide the information: the cop who monitors it and is prepared to punish it or the friendly regulator who goes out to lunch with it?

Most importantly, even if an agency had all the personnel and funding it could wish for, its information would still be secondhand (or we might say thirdhand since the information inspectors collect still needs to go up the agency hierarchy and be processed before it reaches central decision makers).[176]  It is the industry people who work on the ground and know what is really happening.[177]  They have the best opportunities to spot problems, and they can be the first line of defense.[178]  The problem, of course, is that industry members will have no incentive to provide information that might later hurt them.  They will have even less incentive to provide such information in an adversarial, punitive, hostile environment.[179]  If the relationship with the agency is good, and especially if industry members believe regulators care about industry’s interests, industry will have more incentive to provide information and will be more willing to trust the agency with it and to try and convince the agency in noncontentious ways of its point of view.[180]

Of course, another solution to the “not having good enough information” problem is requiring industry to provide such information and heavily punishing any parties that withhold it.  However, that may backfire.  Industry can respond by providing too much information.[181]  Information, even when provided, needs to be processed and considered.  In fact, one of the most common problems in the modern world is the problem of “info glut”—having too much information.[182]  Sorting through information also requires resources; extracting nuggets of meaning from a mass of verbal gravel can be very labor intensive when information is not well presented.[183]  Close relationships can reduce the motivation to practice this sort of information dumping and can incentivize industry to provide the information in a more useable form.[184]

Information overload is not the only potential risk of coercive or punitive information gathering.  As with any other issue, achieving compliance through coercion is neither simple nor straightforward.  Getting the information voluntarily through cooperation is often more efficient and easier.[185]  There is at least one study that suggests it may incentivize industry to conduct more research.[186]

If industry has a direct involvement in writing regulations, the regulation may be self-serving and weaker than it might otherwise be, but it will probably be well informed.  That will help prevent ineffective or erroneous regulation that may have substantial unintended consequences.

At the same time, relying on the regulated industry for information raises at least two real problems.  First, industry will probably provide information that supports its interests, place emphasis on things that support its views, or tend to downplay the things it prefers not to have regulated.  Industry may even do that without intending to; a known cognitive bias is the confirmation bias, which suggests that people (or companies) tend to emphasize and be more receptive to things that support their initial point of view.[187]  Almost automatically, the tendency will be to downplay or ignore adverse information—to rationalize it away.[188]  This is not true just of industry.  Sabatier pointed to the tendency of advocacy coalitions to “resist” information that suggests their core beliefs are wrong or their preferred outcomes unattainable, and to embrace information that supports their preferred point of view.[189]  Thus, simply by the nature of things, industry will tend to believe in, and provide, information that represents its interest in the best available light.  Close connections do not reduce the risk of self-serving information—but neither does the absence of such connections.  And the absence of information from industry can sometimes be much more costly than the receipt of self-serving information, as in the example of the FAA’s voluntary disclosure programs.

Another danger is that industry will lie.[190]  One could argue that a close relationship might increase the risk of lying because the industry will expect the agency to believe it and therefore expect the chances of getting caught to go down.  But the risk of lying exists regardless of the relationship with the agency.  One could equally argue to the contrary—that the industry will be more likely to lie (and will be more inclined to feel that lies are justified) if the government is “the enemy”[191] than if the relationship is good, and especially if industry expects the regulator to have a realistic regard for its legitimate interests.

A more subtle, but just as real, danger involved in capture is the effect of trust on the testing of information.  The problem here is that if the agency and industry have close connections, the agency may see information provided by its good friends in industry as reliable and not make adequate efforts to confirm or verify it.  Mistakes can happen even with a completely transparent, cooperative, and honest industry, and thus verifying information is useful and important.  In fact, for anything but perfection, it is crucial.  For example, the “pencil whipping” described by Nader and Smith can be traced in part to the FAA’s trust that the airlines provided reliable information, when they clearly did not.[192]  Similarly, another Nader report—this time on the FDA—suggests that, in relation to food additives, the FDA bought into industry assumptions and accepted some self-serving and misleading research results without doing its own testing.[193]  On the other hand, this kind of thing is not limited to close regulatory relationships.  Even an agency that is not “captured” will have trouble carefully scrutinizing data provided by industry.  Staffing problems and lack of inside information means agencies do not—cannot—test most of the information they get from industry.  Instead, they often rely on self-reporting.  A close relationship can improve the quality of self-reporting since relationships work both ways; the industry, too, will not want to disappoint its regulator allies or jeopardize the connection.

At the end, it comes down to a question of which problem one would rather face.  Is it better to have more information, at the risk of that information being self-serving or even unreliable, or is it better to lack information and make mistakes because of that?  If regulation is the art of the possible, lack of information makes very little possible.  The information provided by industry may well be partial and self-serving, but it is more than the agency will have in a more conflictual scenario.

2.     Improving Regulatory Results: Compliance

A close relationship—up to the level of capture—can also improve regulatory results by improving compliance.  Thoughtful students of regulation demonstrated that beyond a certain point, strict enforcement can backfire and lead to less, not more, compliance.[194]  The reason is that it can create resentment, which will lead to resistance and passive compliance.[195]  That is not to say that having strict sanctions is not useful, but it is useful most of all as a tool of last resort and as a background for strategies of negotiation and cooperation.[196]

Many studies have demonstrated the limits and problems of coercive enforcement.  A scholar of regulation recently said:

Research on second-generation regulatory agencies made clear to many that there are inherent shortcomings and limitations of strict rule-based enforcement.  Investigators from Australia to the U.S. found that despite the content of regulations, oversight of business firms was exceedingly imperfect. . . .  It was obvious to a host of investigators that a rigorous deterrence-based approach to oversight of privileged offenders that the level of political and fiscal resources it would require may [sic] it unlikely if not impossible.[197]

Studies suggest that many agencies do not use punitive sanctions even when they are available.[198]  And if they do use punitive sanctions regularly, the costs—not just the direct costs, but the negative effects—can be very high.[199]

Voluntary compliance is, by many standards, better than punitive enforcement.  It is cheaper—the agency does not have to invest as much in monitoring and in prosecuting wrongdoers.[200]  Punitive actions have costs in terms of personnel and time.  In the United States, many actions against wrongdoers also involve the courts,[201] which is another consideration.  Litigation is expensive.[202]  Even more importantly, quite often to achieve the regulatory results, you need the regulated firms to be willing to make an effort and occasionally suggest creative solutions.[203]  Even if it is not strictly necessary, industry creative involvement can lead to more efficient solutions.[204]  An adversarial relationship will discourage such behavior while a positive one will promote it.  Not to mention that punitive enforcement requires appropriate rules to be specified in advance—and in complex modern realities, regulations are almost always going to be over or under inclusive.  Cooperation by industry with the goal of the regulation can achieve better results.[205]

The side effects are less negative with voluntary compliance than with strict punitive enforcement.  Bardach and Kagan demonstrated the pitfalls of strict punitive enforcement: creating resentment on the part of the regulated, which see enforcement as arbitrary;[206] leading the regulated companies, even the “good apples” among them, to just do what the regulator demands and not invest in additional responsible behavior;[207] undermining cooperative problem solving;[208] and possibly leading the regulated industry to give up on the rule of law.[209]  Many subsequent studies suggested that punitive enforcement can harm cooperation.[210]

Close relations between industry and regulator—and influence of industry on the regulator’s view of sanctions—certainly reduce aggressive enforcement or even enforcement in general.[211]  But they can also increase voluntary compliance—at a price, and with an attendant risk.  If industry is involved in writing the regulations, it presumably agrees to the content and can be expected to comply with that content.  If enforcement is flexible and negotiated with the regulated industry—if it is done by agreement instead of by fiat—it is more likely the agreed-upon modifications will be put in place.

The price is sacrificing some of the results that could be achieved by top-down regulation.  If industry is going to agree to a regulatory scheme limiting it or imposing costs on it, it will probably agree to less than the supporters of the regulation want, to what can be seen as watered-down regulation.  In some circumstances, the regulation may be watered down to such a degree that the result will be the sacrifice of the other values.  But it does not have to be.  Industry has other reasons for not going too far in weakening regulation.  Among other things is the concern of reaction.  If regulation is too weak, there may be a public backlash, at least if there is a bad result.  The harsh reaction to the perceived cozy relationships between FAA and Southwest described in Part I is one example; the pressure led the FAA to substantially increase its enforcement, possibly too much.  In the following days, it grounded large numbers of American Airlines planes too, disrupting travel.[212]  Concerns about regulation have been a reason for industry to self-regulate.[213]  The same logic can lead industry to support a higher level of regulation than it would absent any outside pressures: better to have a hand in the process and cooperate (and be seen to cooperate) than to have the regulations imposed.

Furthermore, in many circumstances, industry will be at least partly on board with the goal of regulation.  In terms of the FAA, quite a bit of support for voluntary reporting programs came from the pilots working for the allegedly capturing airlines.[214]  Obviously, safety is also a major interest of the pilots and staff on the planes, who have constant exposure to whatever hazards exist.  A similar point is true for nuclear plants: a nuclear explosion endangers not only the public but also everyone in the plant, and makes it harder to get a permit to build another plant or fix things, when needed.[215]  And after all, industry is not one skin; top management may have an interest in avoiding scandals—be they airplane crashes, fatalities because of negligently manufactured drugs (such as when Chinese manufacturers deliberately used a cheap substitute instead of dried pig intestines to make the drug Heparin, leading to eighty-one deaths),[216] or nuclear explosions.

Other studies suggest that at least some corporations can have real commitment to social values, such as the environment.  That is one justification for voluntary compliance programs, some of which focus on “high performers.”[217]  From the point of view of the more socially conscious companies (the “knights,” drawing on Le Grand’s terminology),[218] the absence of regulation may disadvantage them since it allows less conscientious companies to cut corners and thus produce products more cheaply.  Those companies may have an interest in pushing for stricter regulation.[219]

Not only might the sacrifice be less than anticipated; there is, again, a question of “the art of the possible.”  Sometimes it is better to compromise on the content of the policy and end up with a policy that is easier to implement and more workable in practice than have a stronger policy that does not work.  And as long as the goal of regulation is to achieve results and not just punish industry for being industry or for being big industry, a compromise that achieves something may not only be the best possible solution under the circumstances, but it is itself a positive thing.  After all, strict enforcement or more adversarial mechanisms do not usually achieve one hundred percent compliance either.[220]

3.     Capture and Regulatory Results: Unintended Consequences

Regulation is not often planned with the intent to harm an industry.[221]  For example, in spite of views to the contrary, the goal of most environmental regulation is not to destroy any branch of industry or put workers out of jobs.  It is to protect the environment.  Unfortunately, sometimes the precautions needed to protect the environment, public health, competition, or any of the other things regulation tries to achieve are costly.  They can be costly in terms of direct monetary costs to the industry,[222] or in terms of reducing industry’s competitive edge compared to industry in other countries.[223]  They can be costly in other ways; for example, they can work to the advantage of large companies and against small businesses, thus pushing a sector towards oligopoly.[224]  They can have costs in unanticipated directions, such as delay on large construction projects.[225]

Strong involvement of industry in creating the regulation and allowing it substantial influence on the way regulation is enforced takes seriously concerns about negative effects on industry.  When designing regulation, industry can warn agencies in advance of potential costs and work with them to mitigate such costs.  Industry can negotiate enforcement that will not lead to unintended consequences.

At the same time, two risks are attendant.  The first is that, while capture allows us to take seriously the risks to industry from a certain kind of regulation, it may not give the same weight to unintended consequences for other groups, such as low-income people or small business.  The second is that capture may take such account of the risks to industry that the attendant regulation will not protect other important values—they will have no “bite.”

Again, the challenge is one of achieving maximum results with minimum sacrifice.

III.  Discussion: Factors Affecting the Results of Capture

Part II suggests that a close relationship between industry and regulator—up to the level of capture—carries risks and can result in very bad consequences, but also has important potential benefits.  In fact, some degree of close relationship may be necessary for a functional relationship between regulator and regulated industry.

My approach is pragmatic.  Regulation aims to achieve specific goals.[226]  Regulation is not in place to decorate shelves with rulebooks (or not only; leather-bound rulebooks certainly add to a room’s atmosphere).  Therefore, most discussions surrounding regulations rightly focus on what the results should be and how to achieve them.  If capture can, in certain circumstances, promote those goals—or promote them better than other tools—it should be used for that goal.

In that vein, when looking at the relationship between industry and regulator, we should focus on how to maximize its positive results and minimize its dangers.  To some extent, that is an empirical question, but at least some factors can be suggested.  As a starting point, the benefits highlighted in this Article are information, improved compliance, and avoiding unintended consequences.  The most important factors will relate to those benefits.

A.     Information

The importance of industry-only information is significant here.  A close relationship will be more beneficial where information is really difficult or expensive to come by without industry cooperation.  The problem is that the risks of a close relationship—because of the difficulty of verifying the information—are also extremely real in this situation.  If industry knows its information cannot be verified, and especially if there are other pressures, it may be tempted to massage such information.  This may be a situation where a close relationship between industry and regulator is essential, but close external supervision of the regulator—or at least occasional close scrutiny—is a necessary corollary.  At least some literature suggests that monitoring itself can prevent abuse.[227]

A stronger factor is where within industry information is available.  Industry is not one skin.  While the question needs empirical investigation, I suggest that the benefits will be higher where the information an agency needs is in the hands of the lowest and highest echelons of industry, in contrast to middle managers.  Lowest echelons may have less incentive to hide information from agency and, if the relationship is good, may be closer to the regulator than to management.  They are also the ones that may suffer from some problems—such as airline accidents.  Highest echelons may buy into the regulatory goals, and at any rate, have much to lose from scandals.[228]  But middle managers, who are often under substantial pressure to get results and get things done, may find themselves cutting corners more often and may wish to hide those cut corners from both management and regulators.

Second, while the risks do exist, the benefits are higher when understanding the way industry works “on the ground” is critical to effective regulation.  As pointed out by Makkai and Braithwaite:

[I]nspectors who come from the industry bring with them not only some special insight into the difficulties the industry faces, but they also bring special insight into the tricks of the trade used to get out of those difficulties.  Industry experience can be helpful in finding the skeletons in the corporate closet.  Admittedly, inspectors take the tricks of the regulatory trade across to the industry as well.  But it is clearly the government that gets the better of this particular exchange.  This is because most of the regulator’s job involves dealing with industry, while only a little of the business person’s job will concern dealing with regulators, unless she becomes a regulatory affairs specialist in a large firm.[229]

B.     Compliance

The incentives for industry to comply with regulation are also an important factor.  Noncompliance can be costly for industry.  One important factor is the existence of potential victims of noncompliance.  Potential victims of noncompliance who can complain or sue increase the risk of detection and of negative reactions, and therefore increase industry incentive to comply with regulation.  Deaths from airplane accidents, children harmed by specific products, and people who lost their homes following the mortgage crisis are more likely to generate sympathy and lead to outrage than harm to the general taxpayers’ base.

The benefits to the industry from the regulatory regime are also important; does regulation help coordinate between parts of industry?  Do regulatory requirements help management achieve values it already wants to achieve?

Finally, there is a question of what is on the other side of the scales.  If the costs of compliance are really high, the best relationship in the world may not push industry to comply.  So if the costs of compliance—direct or indirect—are substantial, the risks of capture are more likely to materialize.

Second, the incentives for an agency to stay true to its mandate are also important, and the salience of the regulated industry matters here.  A less-noticed agency may feel more comfortable allowing industry to deviate from the public interest than one that is under scrutiny.  The FAA regularly receives critical media attention after air crashes, leading some commentators to see it as a “tombstone agency”—an agency that only acts when someone dies (and in proportion to the number of deaths).[230]  The negative attention puts pressure on both the FAA and the airline industry, criticized together, to act.  In that sense, a close relationship may be a benefit.  When the pressure comes from outside the agency and is directed at both agency and industry, the close connections may make acting more effective: “We have a common problem.  Let’s solve it.”

The MMS, on the other hand, was hidden from the view of anyone outside Washington or oil companies until the scandals related to it occurred (the accusations of corruption due to gift taking by its employees and the accusations of lack of enforcement of environmental regulation in connection to the BP oil spill); even now, most people will have difficulty recognizing its name.  With no external exposure, there was no reason for the agency officials identifying with industry to beware or act differently.  In relation to the Royalty in Kind program, there came a point where the rest of the administrative state caught on and stepped in to correct the problem.[231]

Third, we have to ask what the real-world alternatives to capture actually are.  If an agency has enough funding and aid from external constituencies or from other sources in enforcing rules, or is facing a very divided industry, it may get a great deal done without capture.  In that case, the risks of capture may stand out more (though even there, the benefits are important).  But if the agency is substantially understaffed for its assigned role, or underfunded, capture may be the only way to get anything done.  In that case, achieving what an industry is willing to give through cooperation and due to its good relationship with the regulator may be enough, or at least better than nothing.  Capture will provide more benefits if there is a credible possibility of sanctions in the background.

In other circumstances, alternatives to capture may exist—command and control regulation, or a very comprehensive process, may be possible—but capture will still derive more benefits, or derive them more cheaply (and so may be better).

In the words of Komesar:

The correct question is whether, in any given setting, the market is better or worse than its available alternatives or the political process is better or worse than its available alternatives.  Whether, in the abstract, either the market or the political process is good or bad at something is irrelevant.  Issues at which an institution, in the abstract, may be good may not need that institution because one of the alternative institutions may be even better.  In turn, tasks that strain the abilities of an institution may wisely be assigned to it anyway if the alternatives are even worse.[232]

If an institution works well, but others would work better, others should be used; if an institution has problems, but the alternatives are even worse, that institution is the best possible for the specific context.[233]  In this context, capture, in spite of its manifest drawbacks, can sometimes be the best alternative we have available.  Thus, before finding fault, any critic must address the issue of what better course might have been taken.

Conclusion

Concerns about capture are still very real—though, these days, the belief in the value of collaboration provides something of a counterargument.  This Article suggests a way to reconcile the extensive literature denouncing the dangers of capture with the literature emphasizing the benefits of collaboration by suggesting that indeed, there is an overlap—at least a potential overlap—between them since both highlight a close relationship between industry and agency, but that overlap is more than just a cause of concern. Such a relationship has its benefits.

The devil is, as always, in the details—what is the relationship between the regulator and the industry, who else is on the playing field, what are we trying to achieve, and what else is available?  These are empirical questions.  A blanket condemnation of close relationships between industry and regulators by naming them capture is problematic and can lead to sacrificing potential advantages.

We need to start empirically studying and evaluating the factors that make a close relationship between industry and regulators work or vice versa.  We need to tackle the formidable task of assessing its real effects on public policy.  It is formidable because it requires defining what the “public interest” is in the relevant area and assessing the effects on it, neither easy tasks.  But it is important.


         * Associate Professor, UC Hastings College of the Law.  I would like to thank Mark Aaronson, Hadar Aviram, Ash Bhagwat, Abe Cable, Daniel Carpenter, Marsha Cohen, David Coolidge, John Crawford, Annie Daher, Ben Depoorter, Christopher Elmendorf, Heather Field, Beth Hillman, Alicia Jovais, Robert Kagan, Chimene Keitner, Heather Kelly, Evan Lee, Ethan Leib, John Leshy, David Levine, Richard Marcus, Jerry Mashaw, Osagie Obasogie, Roger Park, Radhika Rao, Reuel Schiller, David Schorr, Darien Shanske, Gail Silverstein, Brendon Swedlow, David Takacs, and Joan Williams for invaluable comments and suggestions in earlier stages of the project and on earlier drafts, and Erica Anderson and Fatemeh Shahangian for excellent research assistance.  All errors are, of course, my own.

        [1].   Toni Makkai & John Braithwaite, In and Out of the Revolving Door: Making Sense of Regulatory Capture, 12 J. Pub. Pol’y 61, 72–73 (1992).

        [2].   Scholars have also discussed concerns about capture by Nongovernmental Organizations (“NGOs”) and other interest groups.  See, e.g., Dieter Helm,Regulatory Reform, Capture, and the Regulatory Burden, 22 Oxford Rev. Econ. Pol’y 169, 172–75 (2006); Richard L. Revesz & Allison L. Westfahl Kong,Regulatory Change and Optimal Transition Relief, 105 Nw. U. L. Rev. 1581, 1604–07 (2011).  However, most of the scholarship focuses on the connection between industry and the regulator, and the case studies explore that situation.  I will therefore use language focusing on industry, while acknowledging that there can be capture by other actors.

        [3].   Capture has been discussed at least since the 1950s.  See Marver H.  Bernstein, Regulating Business by Independent Commission 268–71, 277–79 (1955).  Kenneth Culp Davis describes Bernstein’s work as “[t]ypical of the prevailing attitude among the present generation of political scientists.”  1 Kenneth Culp Davis, Administrative Law Treatise § 1.03, at 16 n.2 (1958).  It is still a topic of discussion today.  See, e.g., Steven P. Croley, Theories of Regulation: Incorporating the Administrative Process, 98 Colum. L. Rev. 1, 1–7 (1998); Amitai Etzioni, The Capture Theory of Regulations—Revisited, 46 Soc’y 319, 319–20 (2009); Michael E. Levine & Jennifer L. Forrence, Regulatory Capture, Public Interest, and the Public Agenda: Toward a Synthesis, 6 J.L. Econ. & Org. 167, 178–79 (1990); Makkai & Braithwaite, supra note 1, at 62; Sidney A. Shapiro & Rena Steinzor, Capture, Accountability, and Regulatory Metrics, 86 Tex. L. Rev. 1741, 1742, 1745–46, 1756, 1759 (2008); Wendy E. Wagner, Administrative Law, Filter Failure, and Information Capture, 59 Duke L.J. 1321, 1321, 1328–34 (2010).

        [4].   Mark Bovens, Public Accountability, in The Oxford Handbook of Public Management 182, 182 (Ewan Ferlie et al. eds., 2005) (“As a concept, however, ‘public accountability’ is rather elusive.  It is a hurrah-word, like ‘learning,’ ‘responsibility,’ or ‘solidarity’—nobody can be against it.”).

        [5].   See infra notes 60–61 and accompanying text for a discussion of the more “optimistic” strands of literature about capture.

        [6].   See infra Part I.A for a more thorough definition of capture.

        [7].   Martha Chamallas, The Disappearing Consumer, Cognitive Bias and Tort Law, 6 Roger Williams U. L. Rev. 9, 18 (2000).

        [8].   James S. Turner, The Chemical Feast: The Ralph Nader Study Group Report on Food Protection and the Food and Drug Administration 18 (1970).

        [9].   Id. at 37.

      [10].   Id.

      [11].   Ralph Nader & Wesley J. Smith, Collision Course: The Truth About Airline Safety 83–89 (1994).

      [12].   Eugene Bardach & Robert A. Kagan, Going by the Book: The Problem of Regulatory Unreasonableness 102–19 (1982); Robert A. Kagan, Adversarial Legalism: The American Way of Law 195–98 (2001) [hereinafter Kagan, Adversarial Legalism]; George J. Busenberg, Collaborative and Adversarial Analysis in Environmental Policy, 32 Pol’y Sci. 1, 1–2 (1999).

      [13].   Russell W. Mills, The Promise of Collaborative Voluntary Partnerships: Lessons from the Federal Aviation Administration 14–16 (2010).

      [14].   See generally Neil K. Komesar, Imperfect Alternatives: Choosing Institutions in Law, Economics, and Public Policy 3–7 (1994) (arguing for a comparative institutional analysis); Jeb Barnes, In Defense of Asbestos Tort Litigation: Rethinking Legal Process Analysis in a World of Uncertainty, Second Bests, and Shared Policy-Making Responsibility, 34 Law & Soc. Inquiry 5, 6–7, 11 (2009) (arguing that under an institutional analysis, as opposed to a pure legal process analysis, asbestos litigation serves as a reasonable use of judicial power).

      [15].   Ian Ayres & John Braithwaite, Tripartism: Regulatory Capture and Empowerment, 16 Law & Soc. Inquiry 435, 451–56 (1991).

      [16].   Id.

      [17].   Except in narrow circumstances, the FAA would not waive sanctions for problems resulting from criminal behavior or for problems disclosed in anticipation of an FAA inspection or during one.  Mills, supra note 13, at 17–19.  Other agencies have also adopted voluntary reporting programs.  See, e.g., Jodi L. Short & Michael W. Toffel, Coerced Confessions: Self-Policing in the Shadow of the Regulator, 24 J.L. Econ. & Org. 45, 46, 62–65 (2008).

      [18].   Russell W. Mills, The Development of Collaborative Regulatory Partnerships with Industry: A Historical Institutionalist Investigation of the Federal Aviation Administration’s Voluntary Safety Reporting Programs 26 (Apr. 2, 2010) (unpublished manuscript) (on file with author) [hereinafter Mills, Collaborative Regulatory Partnerships]; see also Mills, Collaborative Voluntary Partnerships, supra note 13.

      [19].   14 C.F.R. § 193 (2011).

      [20].   Id.; see also 5 U.S.C. § 552 (2006).

      [21].   Mills, supra note 13, at 28.

      [22].   Airworthiness directives are rules through which the FAA requires airlines to employ certain safety measures in certain types of aircraft.  See id. at 12.

      [23].   Press Release, Fed. Aviation Admin., FAA Proposes $10.2 Million Civil Penalty Against Southwest Airlines (Mar. 6, 2008), available athttp://www.faa.gov/news/press_releases/news_story.cfm?newsID=10179; Judson Berger, Southwest Has History of Triggering FAA Action, FoxNews.com (Apr. 4, 2011), http://www.foxnews.com/politics/2011/04/04/southwest-history-triggering-faa-action/.

      [24].   Mills, Collaborative Regulatory Partnerships, supra note 18, at 4–5.

      [25].   Id. at 5–6.

      [26].   The relevant part broke up and immediately lost all functionality.  Walter Berry & Lien Hoang, ‘Fuselage Rupture’ Forces Emergency Landing On Southwest Airlines Flight, Huffington Post (Apr. 2, 2011), http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/04/02/fuselage-rupture-forces-emergency

-landing-southwest_n_843925.html.  The plane shed five feet of exterior skin, “an approximately 9-inch wide by 59-inch long rectangular-shaped hole,” and opened the passenger cabin to the outside environment, which was the stratosphere.  Rapid Decompression Due to Fuselage Rupture, Nat’l Transp. Safety Board, http://www.ntsb.gov/investigations/2011/yuma_az.html (last visited Sept. 2, 2012).  That in itself is life threatening even if the plane does not fall out of the sky.  See id.

      [27].   Press Release, Fed. Aviation Admin., FAA Will Mandate Inspections for Early Models of 737 Aircraft (Apr. 4, 2011), available athttp://www.faa.gov/news/press_releases/news_story.cfm?newsID=12621.

      [28].   The NTSB’s press release on the accident suggested that all maintenance inspections were conducted, there were no discrepancies, and there was no sign of apparent wrongdoing.  Press Release, Nat’l Transp. Safety Bd., NTSB Continues Investigation of Southwest Flight 812 (Apr. 25, 2011), available athttp://www.ntsb.gov/news/2011/110425.html.  What seemed to happen is that the FAA, the airline, and the manufacturer did not believe the specific part of the plane warranted attention on a plane of this age; therefore, they did not expect cracks in it, and so no one checked for it.  NTSBgov, NTSB Final Press Briefing SWA Flight 812 Apr 4 2011, YouTube (Apr. 4, 2011), http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IyQxU2OAtaA.  “It was not an area that was believed could fail,” said the NTSB board member.  Id.

      [29].   FAA Docket No. 2011-0348, Airworthiness Directive 7 (May 6, 2011), available athttp://rgl.faa.gov/Regulatory_and_Guidance_Library/rgAD.nsf/0/cb59b54e49d84ede86257894004955d8/$FILE/2011-08-51.pdf.

      [30].   Mills, supra note 13, at 32–33.  This view is also raised in the medical context.  See, e.g., Michael R. Cohen, Why Error Reporting Systems Should be Voluntary, 320 Brit. Med. J. 728, 729 (2000).  Cohen, president of the Institute for Safe Medication Practices and a well-credentialed pharmacist and scholar, argues that when disclosure is used primarily to punish the wrongdoer (creating a “fear of retribution”) rather than to create solutions, it has a stifling effect on disclosure: “[N]on-punitive and confidential voluntary reporting programmes provide more useful information about errors and their causes than mandatory reporting programmes. . . .  Practitioners who are forced to report errors are less likely to provide in depth information because their primary motivation is self protection and adherence to a requirement . . . .”  Id. at 729.

      [31].   Mills, supra note 13, at 17.

      [32].   U.S. Gov’t Accountability Office, GAO-10-414, Aviation Safety: Improved Data Quality and Analysis Capabilities are Needed as FAA Plans a Risk-Based Approach to Safety Oversight (2010), available at http://www.gao.gov/assets/310/304182.pdf.

      [33].   Russell W. Mills, Collaborating with Industry to Ensure Regulatory Oversight: The Use of Voluntary Safety Reporting Programs by the Federal Aviation Administration 156–57 (May 2011) (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Kent State University), available at http://etd.ohiolink.edu/send-pdf.cgi/Mills%20Russell%20William.pdf?kent1302102713.

      [34].   Edward W. Stimpson et al., Managing Risks in Civil Aviation: A Review of the FAA’s Approach to Safety 56 (2008), available athttp://www.osc.gov/FY2010/Scanned/10-11%20DI-07-2793%20and%20DI-072868/DI-07-2793%20Agency%20Report%20%20(Part%203).pdf.

      [35].   Id. at 65 app. 3.

      [36].   Following a reorganization in 2010, the agency was restructured and is now named the “Bureau of Ocean Energy Management, Regulation and Enforcement.”  Salazar Swears-In Michael R. Bromwich to Lead Bureau of Energy Management, Regulation and Enforcement, Bureau of Ocean Energy Mgmt., Reg. & Enforcement (Jun. 21, 2010), http://www.boemre.gov/ooc/press/2010/press0621.htm.  Here, however, all the examples described date from before the reorganization, and the sources I used refer to the agency as the “Mineral Management Service.”  I therefore considered it less confusing to use the old name here.

      [37].   Memorandum from Earl E. Devaney, Inspector Gen., U.S. Dep’t of the Interior, to Dirk Kempthorne, Sec. of the Interior 1–3 (Sept. 9, 2008), available athttp://republicans.transportation.house.gov/Media/file/111th/CGMT/Oil_Spill
-OIG_Report_2008.pdf (regarding OIG investigations of MMS employees).

      [38].   Dep’t of the Interior, Office of Inspector Gen., Investigative Report of MMS Oil Marketing Group – Lakewood 1 (2008) [hereinafter Investigative Report],available at http://media.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/investigative/documents/mmsoil-081908.pdf .

      [39].   Id. at 1–2.

      [40].   Id. at 1–2, 4.

      [41].   Id. at 10–31.

      [42].   Id. at 11.

      [43].   See, e.g., Perry Bacon, Jr. et al., Lawmakers Assail Minerals Management Service, Wash. Post (May 26, 2010), http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/05/26/AR2010052602787.html (explaining that members of both parties of Congress criticized the MMS); see also Kathy Finn, Two Years After BP Oil Spill, Tourists Back in U.S. Gulf, Reuters (May 27, 2012), http://www.reuters.com/article/2012/05/27/usa-bpspill-tourism-idUSL1E8GP15X20120527 (discussing oil spill from BP oil well in Gulf of Mexico on April 20, 2010).

      [44].   The Deepwater Horizon Incident: Are the Minerals Management Service Regulations Doing the Job? Hearing Before the S. Comm. on Energy & Mineral Res., 111th Cong. 13–15 (2010) (statement of Mary L. Kendall, Acting Inspector General, Department of the Interior), available athttp://www.gpo.gov/fdsys/pkg/CHRG-111hhrg56979/pdf/CHRG-111hhrg56979.pdf.

      [45].   Jaclyn Lopez, BP’s Well Evaded Environmental Review: Categorical Exclusion Policy Remains Unchanged, 37 Ecology L. Currents 93, 95–98 (2010).

      [46].   But see Christopher Carrigan, Minerals Management Service and Deepwater Horizon: What Role Should Capture Play?, in Preventing Capture: Special Interest Influence in Regulation, and How to Limit It (Daniel Carpenter & David Moss eds., forthcoming) (manuscript at 56–58) (discussing that the MMS was not, as a whole, captured).

      [47].   Bernstein, supra note 3, at 268; Jean-Jacques Laffont & Jean Tirole, A Theory of Incentives in Procurement and Regulation 475–80 (1993); Jon Hanson & David Yosifon, The Situation: An Introduction to the Situational Character, Critical Realism, Power Economics, and Deep Capture, 152 U. Pa. L. Rev. 129, 202–05 (2003); Richard B. Stewart, The Reformation of American Administrative Law, 88 Harv. L. Rev. 1667, 1685 (1975).

      [48].   Craig W. Thomas et al., Special Interest Capture of Regulatory Agencies: A Ten-Year Analysis of Voting Behavior on Regional Fishery Management Councils, 38 Pol’y Stud. J. 447, 448 (2010).  There is room in the literature for an article identifying different types of behavior that fall under the definition of capture and then addressing each type separately.  That is not this Article.  As the literature review demonstrates here, scholarship focusing on a specific type of capture, such as the revolving door, exists.  See, e.g., Ernesto Dal Bó, Regulatory Capture: A Review, 22 Oxford Rev. of Econ. Pol’y 203, 214–15 (2006).  But much of the literature speaks in much more general terms.  See, e.g., Steven P. Croley, Regulation and Public Interests: The Possibility of Good Regulatory Government 26–29 (2008); Malcolm K. Sparrow, The Regulatory Craft: Controlling Risks, Solving Problems, and Managing Compliance 35, 37 (2000); Ayres & Braithwaite,supra note 15, at 436–39; Makkai & Braithwaite, supra note 1.

      [49].   Paul J. Quirk, Industry Influence in Federal Regulatory Agencies 4 (1981).

      [50].   Daniel Carpenter & David Moss, Introduction, in Preventing Capture: Special Interest Influence in Regulation, and How to Limit It, supra note 46 (manuscript at 20).

      [51].   Makkai & Braithwaite, supra note 1, at 64, 66.

      [52].   James Kwak, Cultural Capture and the Financial Crisis, in Preventing Capture: Special Interest Influence in Regulation, and How to Limit It, supra note 46 (manuscript at 4–7).

      [53].   Susan Webb Yackee, Reconsidering Agency Capture During Regulatory Policymaking, in Preventing Capture: Special Interest Influence in Regulation, and How to Limit It, supra note 46 (manuscript at 10).

      [54].   See Ian Ayres & John Braithwaite, Responsive Regulation: Transcending the Deregulation Debate 55–56 (Donald R. Harris et al. eds., 1992) (“Where relationships are ongoing, where encounters are regularly repeated with the same regulator, corruption is more rewarding for both parties: the regulator can collect recurring bribe payments and the firm can benefit from repeated purchases of lower standards.  Moreover, ongoing relationships permit the slow sounding out of the corruptibility and trustworthiness of the other to stand by corrupt bargains (and at minimum risk because an identical small number of players are involved each time).”); Neil Gunningham, Assessing Responsive Regulation ‘on the Ground’: Where Does It Work? 3 (2011) (unpublished manuscript) (on file with the author).

      [55].   Letter from Richard Olney, Att’y Gen., to Charles E. Perkins, President of the Chi., Burlington & Quincy R.R. (1892), quoted in Louis L. Jaffe, The Effective Limits of the Administrative Process: A Reevaluation, 67 Harv. L. Rev. 1105, 1109 n.7 (1954).

      [56].   Bernstein, supra note 3, at 3–8.

      [57].   Id. at 83–102.

      [58].   For a summary of previous criticisms and an additional one, see Paul Sabatier, Social Movements and Regulatory Agencies: Toward a More Adequate—and Less Pessimistic—Theory of “Clientele Capture”, 6 Pol’y Sci. 301, 303–05 (1975).  Among the criticisms mentioned is that often legislation is designed to promote close connections between industry and regulator and that Bernstein’s assumptions that the agency cannot mobilize a supporting constituency to counteract industry influence and that the supporting coalition inevitably disperses or loses interest are problematic.  Id. at 305.

      [59].   See, e.g., Nader & Smith, supra note 11, at 59–60, 83–86; Turner, supra note 8, at 37–41, 120–21.

      [60].   William D. Berry, An Alternative to the Capture Theory of Regulation: The Case of State Public Utility Commissions, 28 Am. J. Pol. Sci. 524, 524–27 (1984); Sabatier, supra note 58, at 304.

      [61].   Croley, supra note 48, at 50–51; Richard A. Posner, The Behavior of Administrative Agencies, 1 J. Legal Stud. 305, 315–16 (1972).

      [62].   See generally George J. Stigler, The Theory of Economic Regulation, 2 Bell J. Econ. & Mgmt. Sci. 3 (1971) [hereinafter Stigler, Economic Regulation].  This essay followed a previous article by Stigler and Friedland, in which they examined the effect of regulation in the electricity sector and concluded it had little effect.  See George J. Stigler & Claire Friedland, What Can Regulators Regulate? The Case of Electricity, 5 J.L. & Econ. 1, 11–12 (1962).

      [63].   Stigler, Economic Regulation, supra note 62, at 3–7.

      [64].   Sam Peltzman, Toward a More General Theory of Regulation, 19 J.L. & Econ. 211, 211–13 (1976).  Among other things, Peltzman suggests that where industry influence conflicts with other influences, the result will usually not be completely caving to industry or to consumers but somewhere in between—though it will lean towards industry.  Id. at 227–30.

      [65].   Sam Peltzman, The Economic Theory of Regulation After a Decade of Deregulation, 1989 Brookings Papers on Econ. Activity Microeconomics 1, 4–5.

      [66].   Id.; see also Dal Bó, supra note 48, at 206–07.

      [67].   Dal Bó, supra note 48, at 204, 207–11.

      [68].   Croley, supra note 48, at 9–13, 20–21, 59–60; Fiona Haines, The Paradox of Regulation: What Regulation Can Achieve and What It Cannot 12–30 (2011); Dal Bó, supra note 48, at 204, 206.

      [69].   Dal Bó, supra note 48, at 215–16.

      [70].   Quirk, supra note 49, at 16–21.

      [71].   Dal Bó, supra note 48, at 207–13.

      [72].   Id. at 214–15.  Dal Bó also addresses two studies that suggested some positive influences to the revolving door.  Id. at 217–19.

      [73].   Cornelius M. Kerwin, Rulemaking: How Government Agencies Write Law and Make Policy 182–84 (3d ed. 2003) (“Businesses . . . are involved in rulemaking more often than are other groups, and they devote to it greater slices of their likely larger budgets and staffs.”); Berry, supra note 60, at 525–26; Croley,supra note 3, at 126–31; Marissa Martino Golden, Interest Groups in the Rule-Making Process: Who Participates? Whose Voices Get Heard?, 8 J. Pub. Admin. Res. & Theory 245, 259–64 (1998); Jason Webb Yackee & Susan Webb Yackee, A Bias Towards Business? Assessing Interest Group Influence on the U.S. Bureaucracy, 68 J. Pol. 128, 133–35 (2006).  But see Mariano-Florentino Cuéllar, Rethinking Regulatory Democracy, 57 Admin. L. Rev. 411, 435–59, 497–99 (2005) (finding substantial participation by lay people and public interest groups in three rulemakings and finding that the sophistication of the comments, rather than the identity of the commentator, determines whether a comment influences the agency’s decision).

      [74].   Shapiro & Steinzor, supra note 3, at 1752–55.

      [75].   Daniel P. Carpenter, Protection Without Capture: Product Approval by a Politically Responsive, Learning Regulator, 98 Am. Pol. Sci. Rev. 613, 614–15, 625–26 (2004).

      [76].   Carpenter & Moss, supra note 50 (manuscript at 10–13, 17) (elaborating upon and discussing the idea that claims of capture are often supported by sketchy and problematic evidence).

      [77].   In discussing the idea of “tripartism,” the authors suggest NGOs can serve as a counter to industry influence.  Ayres & Braithwaite, supra note 54, at 54–73.

      [78].   Id. at 65–69; Ayres & Braithwaite, supra note 15, at 452–56.

      [79].   Ayres & Braithwaite, supra note 54, at 65.

      [80].   Id.

      [81].   Makkai & Braithwaite, supra note 1, at 62–64.

      [82].   Id. at 64–66.

      [83].   Id. at 69–72.

      [84].   See, e.g., Deborah S. Dalton, Negotiated Rulemaking Changes EPA Culture, in Federal Administrative Dispute Resolution Deskbook 135, 135–52 (Marshall J. Breger et al. eds., 2001); Daniel J. Fiorino & Chris Kirtz, Breaking Down Walls: Negotiated Rulemaking at EPA, 4 Temp. Envtl. L. & Tech. J. 29, 29–30, 40 (1985); Daniel J. Fiorino, Regulatory Negotiation as a Form of Public Participation, in Fairness and Competence in Citizen Participation 223–25 (Ortwin Renn et al. eds., 1995); Daniel J. Fiorino, Regulatory Policy and the Consensus Trap: An Agency Perspective, 19 Analyse & Kritik 64, 74–75 (1997); Jody Freeman,Collaborative Governance in the Administrative State, 45 UCLA L. Rev. 1, 97–98 (1997); Philip J. Harter, Assessing the Assessors: The Actual Performance of Negotiated Rulemaking, 9 N.Y.U. Envtl. L.J. 32, 32–38, 52–54 (2000); Laura I. Langbein & Cornelius M. Kerwin, Regulatory Negotiation Versus Conventional Rule Making: Claims, Counterclaims, and Empirical Evidence, 10 J. Pub. Admin. Res. & Theory 599, 599–600 (2000); Siobhan Mee, Negotiated Rulemaking and Combined Sewer Overflows (CSOs): Consensus Saves Ossification?, 25 B.C. Envtl. Aff. L. Rev. 213, 213 (1997).

      [85].   Bardach & Kagan, supra note 12, at 134–40.

      [86].   Ayres & Braithwaite, supra note 54, at 25–35.  The authors expressly address the tension between their approach and capture, and suggest a solution, which I will address in Part I.C.

      [87].   Virginia Haufler, A Public Role for the Private Sector 4 (2001); Neil Gunningham & Joseph Rees, Industry Self-Regulation: An Institutional Perspective, 19 Law & Pol’y 363, 363–66 (1997).  For a detailed analysis of self-regulation, including its strengths and weaknesses, see Ayres & Braithwaite, supra note 54, at 102–28.

      [88].   For a recent overview of that literature, see Dominique Custos & John Reitz, Public-Private Partnerships, 58 Am. J. Comp. L. 555, 555 (2010).  For an article expressing concerns about the effects of public-private partnerships on accountability, see Martha Minow, Public and Private Partnerships: Accounting for the New Religion, 116 Harv L. Rev. 1229, 1255–59 (2003).  For examples of promoting such partnership in practice, see Noel P. Greis & Monica L. Nogueira, Food Safety—Emerging Public-Private Approaches: A Perspective for Local, State, and Federal Government Leaders 6–9 (2010); Cassandra Moseley, Strategies for Supporting Frontline Collaboration: Lessons from Stewardship Contracting 6–8 (2010).

      [89].   Kenneth M. Murchison, The Snail Darter Case: TVA Versus the Endangered Species Act 1–6, 193–98 (2007).

      [90].   George F. Wilhere, Three Paradoxes of Habitat Conservation Plans, 44 Envtl. Mgmt. 1089, 1089–90 (2009).

      [91].   Id. at 1090.

      [92].   Id. at 1089.

      [93].   Errol E. Meidinger, Laws and Institutions in Cross-Boundary Stewardship, in Stewardship Across Boundaries 87, 101 (Richard L. Knight & Peter B. Landres eds., 1998).

      [94].   AIBS Co-Sponsors HCPs Study, 48 BioScience 228, 228–29 (1998); Cameron W. Barrows et al., A Framework for Monitoring Multiple-Species Conservation Plans, 69 J. Wildlife Mgmt. 1333, 1343–44 (2005); Frances C. James, Lessons Learned from a Study of Habitat Conservation Planning, 49 BioScience 871, 873–74 (1999); Jennifer Jester, Habitat Conservation Plans Under Section 10 of the Endangered Species Act: The Alabama Beach Mouse and the Unfulfilled Mandate of Species Recovery, 26 B.C. Envtl. Aff. L. Rev. 131, 147–54 (1998); M. Nils Peterson et al., A Tale of Two Species: Habitat Conservation Plans as Bounded Conflict, 68 J. Wildlife Mgmt. 743, 743–45 (2004); Matthew E. Rahn et al., Species Coverage in Multispecies Habitat Conservation Plans: Where’s the Science?, 56 BioScience 613, 616–19 (2006); Wilhere, supra note 90, at 1089.

      [95].   Leigh Raymond, Cooperation Without Trust: Overcoming Collective Action Barriers to Endangered Species Protection, 34 Pol’y Stud. J. 37, 52–54 (2006); Craig W. Thomas, Habitat Conservation Planning: Certainly Empowered, Somewhat Deliberative, Questionably Democratic, 29 Pol. & Soc’y 105, 118–24 (2001).

      [96].   Lisa Blomgren Bingham, Avoiding Negotiation: Strategy and Practice, in The Negotiator’s Fieldbook 113, 113–20 (Andrea Kupfer Schneider & Christopher Honeyman eds., 2006); Amy J. Cohen, Negotiation, Meet New Governance: Interests, Skills, and Selves, 33 Law & Soc. Inquiry 503, 534 (2008).  For criticism of this development, see Jonathan D. Mester, The Administrative Dispute Resolution Act of 1996: Will the New Era of ADR in Federal Administrative Agencies Occur at the Expense of Public Accountability?, 13 Ohio St. J. on Disp. Resol. 167, 168–69 (1997).

      [97].   Martina Vidovic & Neha Khanna, Can Voluntary Pollution Prevention Programs Fulfill Their Promises?  Further Evidence from the EPA’s 33/50 Program, 53 J. Envtl. Econ. & Mgmt. 180, 180–82, 189–92 (2007).

      [98].   Mills, Collaborative Regulatory Partnerships, supra note 18, at 45.

      [99].   Ayres & Braithwaite,  supra note 54, at 55.

    [100].   Neal Shover et al., Enforcement or Negotiation: Constructing a Regulatory Bureaucracy 5 (1986); see also Barry M. Mitnick, The Political Economy of Regulation: Creating, Designing, and Removing Regulatory Forms 38 (1980); Sparrow, supra note 48, at 18, 35.

    [101].   Mark Seidenfeld, Empowering Stakeholders: Limits on Collaboration as the Basis for Flexible Regulation, 41 Wm. & Mary L. Rev. 411, 412 (2000).

    [102].   See, e.g., Ayres & Braithwaite, supra note 54, at 57–60; Moseley, supra note 88, at 9.Busenberg;Freeman;Chris Ansell & Alison Gash, Collaborative Governance in Theory and Practice, 18 Journal of Public Administration Research and Theory 543,  (2008);Archon Fung, et al., Full Disclosure: The Perils and Promise of Transparency (Cambridge University Press. 2007);Doug  Henton, et al., Collaborative Governance: A Guide for Grantmakers   (William and Flora Hewlett Foundation. 2006);Charles Koch, Collaborative Governance in the Restructured Electricity Industry, 40 Wake Forest L. Rev. 589,  (2005);Janet   Newman, et al., Public Participation and Collaborative Governance, 33 Journal of Social Policy 203,  (2004).

    [103].   Reuel E. Schiller, Enlarging the Administrative Polity: Administrative Law and the Changing Definition of Pluralism, 1945–1970, 53 Vand. L. Rev. 1389, 1405–13 (2000).

    [104].   Ayres & Braithwaite, supra note 54, at 57–60.

    [105].   Berry, supra note 60, at 525–26; Paul A. Sabatier et al., Hierarchical Controls, Professional Norms, Local Constituencies, and Budget Maximization: An Analysis of U.S. Forest Service Planning Decisions, 39 Am. J. Pol. Sci. 204, 221, 226, 229 (1995); Sabatier, supra note 58, at 325–26.

    [106].   Berry, supra note 60, at 542; William T. Gormley, Jr., Alternative Models of the Regulatory Process: Public Utility Regulation in the States, 35 W. Pol. Q. 297, 302–05, 309–10 (1982); Shapiro & Steinzor, supra note 3, at 1742; Guy L. F. Holburn & Pablo T. Spiller, Interest Group Representation in Administrative Institutions: The Impact of Consumer Advocates and Elected Commissioners on Regulatory Policy in the United States 14–16 (Univ. of Cal. Energy Inst., Energy Policy & Econ. Working Paper No. 002, 2002).

    [107].   Peltzman points out that capture does not mean that the regulator will only follow the industry’s wishes; if there is a competing group, it might have some influence but less than that of the capturing group.  Peltzman, supra note 65, at 9–14; Peltzman, supra note 64, at 217–19.

    [108].   See, e.g., Sabatier et al., supra note 105, at 229–32.  The authors demonstrate that there is strong influence of community and environmental groups, and, in some cases, an influence equal to that of business groups.  Id.

    [109].   This is because some aspects of responsive regulations may not work in every case.  See Gunningham, supra note 54, at 1–4, 10–12.

    [110].   Sabatier, supra note 58, at 325–27.  The author presents this as a solution that is sometimes available, but certainly one that is not always available.  Id.

    [111].   Ayres & Braithwaite, supra note 15, at 444–45.

    [112].   Id. at 444.

    [113].   The argument is that, for many regulatory issues, affected members of the public have too low of a stake in the outcome to invest sufficiently in acquiring information and monitoring.  Peltzman, supra note 64, at 212–13.

    [114].   See Ayres and Braithwaite, supra note 15, at 472–73, 478–87.

    [115].   Croley, supra note 48, at 138–39; Jeffrey S. Lubbers, The Transformation of the U.S. Rulemaking Process—For Better or Worse, 34 Ohio N.U. L. Rev. 469, 471, 481–82 (2008); Dorit Rubinstein Reiss, Tailored Participation: Modernizing the APA Rulemaking Procedures, 12 N.Y.U. J. Legis. & Pub. Pol’y 321, 330–37 (2009).

    [116].   See Golden, supra note 73, at 247–48, 259–61 (noting that those with money, particularly businesses, are the most influential); Reiss, supra note 115, at 332 (noting that it is rare for others beyond interest groups, particularly business interest groups, to participate in rulemaking); Shapiro & Steinzor, supra note 3, at 1752–55 (noting that “many more business groups lobby the Executive Branch than public interest groups” (citaton omitted)); Webb Yackee & Webb Yackee, supranote 73, at 128–30 (“[B]usiness interests dominate bureaucratic policymaking . . . .”); William F. West, Formal Procedures, Informal Processes, Accountability, and Responsiveness in Bureaucratic Policy Making: An Institutional Policy Analysis, 64 Pub. Admin. Rev. 66, 66–68 (2004) (noting that public comment “was numerically weighted in favor of business groups”).

    [117].   Bernstein, supra note 3, at 269–71.

    [118].   Id.; Sabatier, supra note 58, at 317–20.

    [119].   Ayres & Braithwaite, supra note 15, at 439–40.

    [120].   Id. at 440.

    [121].   Anne Bishop, Daughter of the Blood 108 (1998).

    [122].   Bernstein, supra note 3, at 270–71; Ayres & Braithwaite, supra note 15, at 449; Hanson & Yosifon, supra note 47, at 214 (explaining that the second layer of capture is where “the interior situation of relevant actors is also subject to capture. . . . [T]argets include the way that people think and the way that they think they think.”).

    [123].   Stigler & Friedland, supra note 62.

    [124].   Amitai Etzioni, Does Regulation Reduce Electricity Rates? A Research Note, 19 Pol’y Sci. 349, 351–52 (1986).

    [125].   Carpenter, supra note 75, at 614.

    [126].   Id. at 614–15.

    [127].   Cf. Robert D. Behn, Rethinking Democratic Accountability 3 (2001) (“Those whom we want to hold accountable have a clear understanding of what accountability means: Accountability means punishment. . . .  Moreover, the definition of a ‘screwup’ is constantly changing. . . .  Public officials may not realize that something is a ‘screwup’ until someone holds them accountable for doing what many others have been doing for quite a while.”).

    [128].   Croley, supra note 48, at 28–29; Peltzman, supra note 65, at 9–10; Paul Eric Teske et al., The Economic Theory of Regulation and Trucking Deregulation: Shifting to the State Level, 79 Pub. Choice 247, 248–49 (1994).

    [129].   See Croley, supra note 48, at 14; Cary Coglianese & David Lazer, Management-Based Regulation: Prescribing Private Management to Achieve Public Goals, 37 Law & Soc’y. Rev. 691, 696, 698, 700 (2003); Cary Coglianese et al., Performance-Based Regulation: Prospects and Limitations in Health, Safety, and Environmental Protection, 55 Admin. L. Rev. 705, 706, 711–15, 723 (2003); Lars Noah, The Little Agency That Could (Act with Indifference to Constitutional and Statutory Strictures), 93 Cornell L. Rev. 901, 901–04 (2008).

    [130].   Robert Sprague & Aaron J. Lyttle, Shareholder Primacy and the Business Judgment Rule: Arguments for Expanded Corporate Democracy, 16 Stan. J.L. Bus. & Fin. 1, 4–5 (2010).  While still dominant in practice, that notion is challenged in some corporate law scholarship.  See, e.g., Robert Charles Clark, Corporate Law 677–81 (1986).  The author claims that corporations have duties to society at large, not just to their shareholders, and that those duties require corporate responsibility.  Id. at 695; see also C. James Koch, Social Responsibility, Corporate Strategy and Profits, 1 Harv. Envtl. L. Rev. 662, 664–68 (1976); Colin Scott,Reflexive Governance, Meta-Regulation and Corporate Social Responsibility: The ‘Heineken Effect’, in Perspectives on Corporate Social Responsibility 178–82 (Nina Boeger et al. eds., 2008).

    [131].   Dion Casey, Agency Capture: The USDA’s Struggle to Pass Food Safety Regulations, Kan. J.L. & Pub. Pol’y, Spring 2008, at 142, 147–48.

    [132].   Id.

    [133].   Id.

    [134].   Id. at 153–56.

    [135].   Etzioni, supra note 3, at 320.

    [136].   Id.

    [137].   Id.

    [138].   Id.

    [139].   Id. at 321.

    [140].   Id.

    [141].   Daniel Carpenter, Corrosive Capture? The Dueling Forces of Autonomy and Industry Influence in FDA Pharmaceutical Regulation, in Preventing Capture: Special Interest Influence in Regulation, and How to Limit It, supra note 46 (manuscript at 3–5).

    [142].   Peter Grabosky & John Braithwaite, Of Manners Gentle: Enforcement Strategies of Australian Business Regulatory Agencies 198–201, 203–07 (1987); Christopher D. Stone, Where the Law Ends: The Social Control of Corporate Behavior 93–110 (1st ed. 1975); Turner, supra note 8, at 17–18, 37–45; Etzioni, supranote 3, at 320.

    [143].   Sparrow, supra note 48, at 35; Dal Bó, supra note 48, at 214–15, 217–18.  But for a more positive view of the revolving door, see Ayres & Braithwaite,supra note 15, at 436–37.

    [144].   Memorandum from John E. Dupuy, Assistant Inspector Gen. for Investigations, to S. Elizabeth Birnbaum, Dir., Minerals Mgmt. Serv. (Apr. 12, 2010) (on file with the author).

    [145].   Memorandum from Mary L. Kendall, Acting Inspector Gen., to Ken Salazar, Sec. of the Interior (May 24, 2010) (on file with the author).  But seegenerally Carrigan, supra note 46 (suggesting a different, historical explanation from Kendall’s assessment of the problem and its source).

    [146].   Nader & Smith, supra note 11, at 99–101.

    [147].   42 U.S.C. § 15942 (2006).

    [148].   U.S. Gov’t Accountability Office, GAO-09-872, Energy Policy Act of 2005: Greater Clarity Needed to Address Concerns with Categorical Exclusions for Oil and Gas Development Under Section 390 of the Act 12 (Sept. 2009), available at http://www.gao.gov/new.items/d09872.pdf.

    [149].   Id. at 23–29.  Note that the GAO did not attribute these deviations to wrongdoing: “We did not find intentional actions on the part of BLM staff to circumvent the law; rather, our findings reflect what appear to be honest mistakes stemming from confusion in implementing a new law with evolving guidance.”  Id.at 29; see also Juliet Eilperin, U.S. Exempted BP Rigs from Impact Analysis, Wash. Post, May 5, 2010, at A4.

    [150].   42 U.S.C. § 4332 (2006).

    [151].   Eilperin, supra note 149.

    [152].   Id. (quoting Kierán Suckling, Exec. Dir., Ctr. for Biological Diversity).

    [153].   Haines, supra note 68, at 50–52, 203; David Levi-Faur, Regulatory Capitalism: The Dynamics of Change Beyond Telecoms and Electricity, 19 Governance 497, 503–04 (2006).

    [154].   See Carpenter, supra note 75, at 613 (focusing on the entry-barrier aspect of capture).

    [155].   Damien Geradin, The Opening of State Monopolies to Competition: Main Issues of the Liberalization Process, in The Liberalization of State Monopolies in the European Union and Beyond 181, 182–84 (Damien Geradin ed., 2000); Pierre Larouche, Telecommunications, in The Liberalization of State Monopolies in the European Union and Beyond, supra, at 15, 44–45; Michael J. Legg, Verizon Communications, Inc. v. FCC—Telecommunications Access Pricing and Regulator Accountability Through Administrative Law and Takings Jurisprudence, 56 Fed. Comm. L.J. 563, 565–67, 575 (2004).

    [156].   Steven K. Vogel, Freer Markets, More Rules: Regulatory Reform in Advanced Industrial Countries 65–66, 88–92 (1996); Viktor Mayer-Schönberger & Mathias Strasser, A Closer Look at Telecom Deregulation: The European Advantage, 12 Harv. J.L. & Tech. 561, 564–66 (1999); Vincent Wright, Public Administration, Regulation, Deregulation and Reregulation, in Managing Public Organizations: Lessons from Contemporary European Experience 244, 245 (Kjell A. Eliassen & Jan Kooiman eds., 1993).

    [157].   In telecommunications, see the articles described in Dal Bó, supra note 48, at 216.  Beyond utilities, the railroads’ capture of the ICC led to increased fares.  See Samuel P. Huntington, The Marasmus of the ICC: The Commission, the Railroads, and the Public Interest, 61 Yale L.J. 467, 478, 480–81 (1952); Teske et al., supra note 128, at 249.

    [158].   Huntington, supra note 157, at 481–85.

    [159].   See supra note 66.

    [160].   Grabosky & Braithwaite, supra note 142, at 190–95; Keith Hawkins, Environment and Enforcement: Regulation and the Social Definition of Pollution 7 (1984); Ayres & Braithwaite, supra note 15, at 457–58 n.54; Seidenfeld, supra note 101, at 419, 424–25; Gunningham, supra note 54, at 4–8.

    [161].   Haines, supra note 68, at 24–26.

    [162].   Ayres & Braithwaite, supra note 15, at 453 (noting that the regulated firm is also a member of society, and increasing its welfare should count in calculating the effects to the general welfare).

    [163].   For a description of the APA framework and its goals, see Reiss, supra note 115, at 326; Reuel E. Schiller, Rulemaking’s Promise: Administrative Law and Legal Culture in the 1960s and 1970s, 53 Admin. L. Rev. 1139, 1140, 1145, 1162–63 (2001); Stewart, supra note 47, at 1713–14.  A thorough discussion of the APA is beyond this paper.

    [164].   5 U.S.C. § 553 (2006); see also Mathew D. McCubbins et al., Administrative Procedures as Instruments of Political Control, 3 J.L. Econ. & Org. 243, 258 (1987); Richard B. Stewart, Administrative Law in the Twenty-First Century, 78 N.Y.U. L. Rev. 437, 446–49 (2003); West, supra note 116, at 67.

    [165].   Lubbers, supra note 115, at 476–78.

    [166].   Sparrow, supra note 48, at 35; Richard J. Pierce, Jr., Judicial Review of Agency Actions in a Period of Diminishing Agency Resources, 49 Admin. L. Rev. 61, 62–64 (1997); see also Croley, supra note 48, at 17.

    [167].   Paul Pierson, From Expansion to Austerity: The New Politics of Taxing and Spending, in Seeking the Center: Politics and Policymaking at the New Century 54, 60–61, 73 (Martin A. Levin et al. eds., 2001).  The author uses the term “fiscal austerity” to discuss the possible retrenchment of the welfare state due to economic troubles of the twentieth century.  Id. at 55.  The term, however, also nicely reflects the current reality of financial crises and the need to tighten government spending—a reality felt at least for several decades.

    [168].   Shapiro & Steinzor, supra note 3, at 1758–62.

    [169].   Roger W. Cobb & David M. Primo, The Plane Truth: Airline Crashes, the Media, and Transportation Policy 16 (2003).

    [170].   Mills, supra note 13, at 12.

    [171].   Id.

    [172].   Casey, supra note 131, at 146.

    [173].   David C. Vladeck, The FDA and Deference Lost: A Self-Inflicted Wound or the Product of a Wounded Agency? A Response to Professor O’Reilly, 93 Cornell L. Rev. 981, 983–84 (2008); Lorna Zach & Vicki Bier, Risk-Based Regulation for Import Safety, in Import Safety: Regulatory Governance in the Global Economy 151, 153–54 (Cary Coglianese et al. eds., 2009).

    [174].   See Thomas O. Sargentich, The Critique of Active Judicial Review of Administrative Agencies: A Reevaluation, 49 Admin. L. Rev. 599, 602–03 (1997); David Schoenbrod, The EPA’s Faustian Bargain, Regulation, Fall 2006, at 36, 41–42; Vladeck, supra note 173, at 984–85 (arguing that, until Congress provides the FDA with adequate funding to protect public health, the agency will be unable to ameliorate its reputation).

    [175].   Pierce, supra note 166, at 62–65.

    [176].   See Sabatier et al., supra note 105, at 207 (“Given that information is costly to acquire and that individuals have limited information-processing capabilities, information must be condensed as it moves up the hierarchy.  Such condensation provides an opportunity for distortion, usually to flatter the officials involved and to mirror their policy views.  As a result, top officials may hold incomplete, and often biased views of the situations confronted by their subordinates.”).

    [177].   Alexander S. P. Pfaff & Chris William Sanchirico, Environmental Self-Auditing: Setting the Proper Incentives for Discovery and Correction of Environmental Harm, 16 J.L. Econ. & Org. 189, 189–91 (2000).

    [178].   Mills, supra note 13, at 14; Anna Alberini & Kathleen Segerson, Assessing Voluntary Programs to Improve Environmental Quality, 22 Envtl. & Resource Econ. 157, 158 (2002).

    [179].   Edward P. Weber & Anne M. Khademian, Wicked Problems, Knowledge Challenges, and Collaborative Capacity Builders in Network Settings, 68 Pub. Admin. Rev. 334, 343 (2008) (“[U]sing only government-based public managers and coercion to solicit information and bring about compliance may lead to short-term, incomplete, high-cost successes at the expense of long-term problem-solving effectiveness . . . .”).

    [180].   Dal Bó, supra note 48, at 214.

    [181].   Wagner, supra note 3, at 1331.

    [182].   David Shenk, Data Smog: Surviving the Information Glut 15–16 (1997); Wagner, supra note 3, at 1331.

    [183].   Archon Fung et al., Full Disclosure: The Perils and Promise of Transparency 171–72 (2007); Shenk, supra note 182; Ira S. Nathenson, Internet Infoglut and Invisible Ink: Spamdexing Search Engines with Meta Tags, 12 Harv. J.L. & Tech. 43, 51–53 (1998).

    [184].   Alberini & Segerson, supra note 178 (“[I]ncreased cooperation between polluters and regulators can improve information flows and reduce implementation lags.”).  On the importance of the format in which the information is presented (easy versus hard to digest), see Fung et al., supra note 183, at 57–64.

    [185].   Mary F. Evans et al., Regulation with Direct Benefits of Information Disclosure and Imperfect Monitoring, 57 J. Envtl. Econ. & Mgmt. 284, 285–86 (2009).

    [186].   A. Mitchell Polinsky & Steven Shavell, Mandatory Versus Voluntary Disclosure of Product Risks 4 (Nat’l Bureau of Econ. Research, Working Paper No. 12776, 2006), available at http://www.nber.org/papers/w12776.pdf (“[V]oluntary disclosure will induce firms to acquire more information about product risks because they can keep silent if the information is unfavorable.”).

    [187].   Max H. Bazerman, Judgment in Managerial Decision Making 34–35 (5th ed. 2002).

    [188].   Id.

    [189].   Paul A. Sabatier, An Advocacy Coalition Framework of Policy Change and the Role of Policy-Oriented Learning Therein, 21 Pol’y Sci. 129, 133 (1988);see also William D. Leach & Paul A. Sabatier, To Trust an Adversary: Integrating Rational and Psychological Models of Collaborative Policymaking, 99 Am. Pol. Sci. Rev. 491, 494 (2005).

    [190].   Frédéric Boehm, Regulatory Capture Revisited – Lessons from Economics of Corruption 11, 16 (Internet Ctr. for Corruption Research, Working Paper No. 22, 2007), available at http://www.icgg.org/downloads/Boehm%20-%20Regulatory%20Capture%20Revisited.pdf.  Lying is also what the Nader report accuses the airlines of doing to the FAA.  See Nader & Smith, supra note 11, at 99–101.

    [191].   Bardach & Kagan, supra note 12, at 210–13 (noting the “regulatory ratchet” limitation on flexible regulatory enforcement and the persistence of unreasonableness).

    [192].   Nader & Smith, supra note 11, at 99–101.

    [193].   Turner, supra note 8, at 99–106.

    [194].   Grabosky & Braithwaite, supra note 142, at 190–91, 198–201; Roberto Pires, Promoting Sustainable Compliance: Styles of Labour Inspection and Compliance Outcomes in Brazil, 147 Int’l Labour Rev. 199, 200–02 (2008); John T. Scholz, Cooperation, Deterrence, and the Ecology of Regulatory Enforcement, 18 Law & Soc’y Rev. 179, 179–80, 185–87 (1984) [hereinafter Scholz, Cooperation]; Jodi L. Short & Michael W. Toffel, Making Self-Regulation More Than Merely Symbolic: The Critical Role of the Legal Environment, 55 Admin. Sci. Q. 361, 366–69 (2010).  But see generally John T. Scholz & Wayne B. Gray, Can Government Facilitate Cooperation? An Informational Model of OSHA Enforcement, 41 Am. J. Pol. Sci. 693 (1997) (emphasizing the importance of sanctions and supporting the view that they make a difference); John T. Scholz & Wayne B. Gray, OSHA Enforcement and Workplace Injuries: A Behavioral Approach to Risk Assessment, 3 J. Risk & Uncertainty 283 (1990) (emphasizing the importance of penalizing those who do not comply and supporting the view that penalties make a difference).

    [195].   Short & Toffel, supra note 194, at 368.

    [196].   Joseph V. Rees, Reforming the Workplace: A Study of Self-Regulation in Occupational Safety 12–13 (Keith Hawkins & John M. Thomas eds., 1988); Short & Toffel, supra note 194, at 368–69.  This mirrors the famous “bargaining in the shadow of the law” insight.  See Malcolm Feeley, Coercion and Compliance: A New Look at an Old Problem, in Compliance and the Law: A Multi-Disciplinary Approach 51, 60–62 (Samuel Krislov et al. eds., 1972); Robert H. Mnookin & Lewis Kornhauser, Bargaining in the Shadow of the Law: The Case of Divorce, 88 Yale L.J. 950, 950–51 (1979).

    [197].   Neal Shover, The Season of Responsive Regulation 7, 10–11 (June 3, 2011) (unpublished manuscript) (on file with the author).  For a discussion of the literature on the issue and many more citations, see id. at 6–13.

    [198].   Grabosky & Braithwaite, supra note 142, at 190–91, 203; Pires, supra note 194, at 200.

    [199].   Bardach & Kagan, supra note 12, at 292–97; Kagan, Adversarial Legalism, supra note 12, at 198, 200–04; Robert A. Kagan, The Consequences of Adversarial Legalism, in Regulatory Encounters: Multinational Corporations and American Adversarial Legalism 372, 373–74, 389–94, 400–05 (Robert A. Kagan & Lee Axelrad eds., 2000) [hereinafter Kagan, Consequences of Adversarial Legalism]; Pires, supra note 194; Weber & Khademian, supra note 179.

    [200].   Louis Kaplow & Steven Shavell, Optimal Law Enforcement with Self-Reporting of Behavior, 102 J. Pol. Econ. 583, 583–85 (1994); Michael W. Toffel & Jodi L. Short, Coming Clean and Cleaning Up: Does Voluntary Self-Reporting Indicate Effective Self-Policing?, 54 J.L. & Econ. 609, 618 (2011).

    [201].   For example, many enforcement actions by the EPA involve litigation.  See 42 U.S.C. §§ 7413, 9607 (2006); see also R. Shep Melnick, Regulation and the Courts: The Case of the Clean Air Act 200–02 (1983); Lynn Peterson, Promise of Mediated Settlements of Environmental Disputes: The Experience of EPA Region V, 17 Colum. J. Envtl. L. 327, 327–30 (1992).

    [202].   Kagan, Adversarial Legalism, supra note 12, at 29–32; James Q. Wilson, Bureaucracy: What Government Agencies Do and Why They Do It 282–84 (1989).

    [203].   Kagan, Consequences of Adversarial Legalism, supra note 199, at 380–81; Robert A. Kagan et al., Explaining Corporate Environmental Performance: How Does Regulation Matter?, 37 Law & Soc’y Rev. 51, 51–53, 82–84 (2003).

    [204].   Scholz, Cooperation, supra note 194, at 204, 208.

    [205].   Id. at 180–81.

    [206].   Bardach & Kagan, supra note 12, at 104–07.

    [207].   Id. at 64–66, 107–09.  This effect is termed “minimal compliance” by the authors.  Id. at 107–09.

    [208].   Id. at 109–11.

    [209].   Id. at 112–16.

    [210].   Edward L. Deci et al., A Meta-Analytic Review of Experiments Examining the Effects of Extrinsic Rewards on Intrinsic Motivation, 125 Psychol. Bull. 627, 627–28, 658–59 (1999); Deepak Malhotra & J. Keith Murnighan, The Effects of Contracts on Interpersonal Trust, 47 Admin. Sci. Q. 534, 534–35 (2002); Scholz,Cooperation, supra note 194, at 179–80; Short & Toffel, supra note 194, at 367–69.

    [211].   Grabosky & Braithwaite, supra note 142, at 203; Hawkins, supra note 160, at 3–6, 182–88; Makkai & Braithwaite, supra note 1, at 77.

    [212].   Mills, supra note 13, at 24.

    [213].   Haufler, supra note 87, at 3–4; Gunningham & Rees, supra note 87, at 401–02.

    [214].   Mills, supra note 13, at 25.

    [215].   Cass R. Sunstein, Risk and Reason: Safety, Law, and the Environment 144 (2002); Elizabeth Heger Boyle, Political Frames and Legal Activity: The Case of Nuclear Power in Four Countries, 32 Law & Soc’y Rev. 141, 155 (1998).

    [216].   Alicia Mundy, Generic Drug Makers Line Up Behind Proposal for FDA Fees, Wall St. J., Feb. 16, 2011, at B1.

    [217].   Alberini & Segerson, supra note 178, at 157–58; Vidovic & Khanna, supra note 97, at 182.

    [218].   Julian Le Grand, Knights, Knaves or Pawns? Human Behaviour and Social Policy, 26 J. Soc. Pol’y 149, 149, 154 (1997).

    [219].   Grabosky & Braithwaite, supra note 142, at 183–84; Gunningham, supra note 54, at 10–11.

    [220].   See Kagan, Adversarial Legalism, supra note 12, at 191–94.  Kagan demonstrates, citing extensive literature, that strict enforcement and adversarial approaches in the United States did not produce better regulatory results than in other countries and very likely resulted in the expenditure of more time and money to achieve essentially equivalent results.  Id. at 194–95, 198–205.

    [221].   Initially, this sentence read: “Nobody plans regulation with the intent to harm industry.”  But my colleague, John Leshy, pointed out that statement’s inaccuracy.  For example, he suggests, some mining regulation actually serves to restrict, and even undermine, mining operations.

    [222].   Bardach & Kagan, supra note 12, at 313–15; Clyde Wayne Crews, Jr., Ten Thousand Commandments: An Annual Snapshot of the Federal Regulatory State 1–2 (2008); Winston Harrington, Grading Estimates of the Benefits and Costs of Federal Regulation 1–4 (Res. for the Future, Discussion Paper No. 06-39, 2006), available at  http://ssrn.com/paper=937357.

    [223].   Geoffrey Garrett, Shrinking States? Globalization and National Autonomy in the OECD, 26 Oxford Dev. Studies 71, 95–96 (1998).

    [224].   Grabosky & Braithwaite, supra note 142, at 215–17; Cosmo Graham, Regulating Public Utilities: A Constitutional Approach 153–54 (2000).

    [225].   For a telling example, see Kagan’s description of the Oakland Port dredging and the effects the regulatory framework had on it.  Kagan, Adversarial Legalism, supra note 12, at 25–29.

    [226].   On the reasons for regulation, see Shapiro & Steinzor, supra note 3, at 1741.

    [227].   Short & Toffel, supra note 194, at 386–87 (suggesting that monitoring can increase compliance, though sanctions may not).  For a discussion of the literature on the issue and many more citations, see id. at 371.

    [228].   This may lead them to try to hide problems, but in a complex corporation, upper management may itself be unaware of the problems until very late, and finding the information sooner will be important to them.

    [229].   Makkai & Braithwaite, supra note 1, at 73.

    [230].   Cobb & Primo, supra note 169, at 17; see also Nader & Smith, supra note 11, at 61–68.

    [231].   Investigative Report, supra note 38, at 1–4.

    [232].   Komesar, supra note 14, at 6.

    [233].   Id.

Reiss_LawReview_10.12

 

By: David Arkush*

This Essay examines the three ideals that underlie most models of administrative legitimacy—the rule of law, sound public policy, and democracy—as well as their associated models of administration, and it argues that administrative legitimacy efforts are best focused on the democracy ideal.  Reforms guided by the rule of law and public policy ideals have far less potential to contribute to administrative legitimacy for two reasons: there is little evidence that the ideals are underserved in present administration, and each ideal suffers from deep conceptual problems that inherently limit its contributions.

“[T]here is plenty of reason to believe that administrative legitimacy is currently undermined by a democracy deficit . . . .”

Reforms driven principally by the democracy ideal also have fallen short.  Indeed, unlike the rule of law and public purposes ideals, there is evidence that the democracy ideal is underserved by present administration, which suggests that progress in realizing the ideal could enhance legitimacy.  In addition, unlike the other ideals, the most prominent challenges for realizing the democracy ideal are matters of practical design, not flaws in the ideal’s very conception.  This analysis suggests that it may be possible to make administration more democratic and that doing so should be the most fruitful path to improving administrative legitimacy.

Introduction

Administrative law is said to have been in crisis since Congress first began to establish modern regulatory agencies.  The central concern is the “legitimacy” of the administrative process.[1]  Agency officials write laws of general applicability but lack the political accountability of elected legislators.  They decide individual matters with binding authority but lack the independence of Article III judges.  At the same time, the administrative process is often inaccessible to the public, despite many features designed to make it transparent and open to participation, and the public lacks tools to assess adequately the quality of regulatory policies and outcomes.[2]

Observers have not always made clear what is meant by the term legitimacy,[3] but the ordinary sense of the term often suffices, with its evocation of a set of characteristics related to public perceptions of legality, propriety, and efficacy.  The principal reason for concern over the legitimacy of the administrative process is that it often involves the exercise of “substantial public power by unelected agency officials.”[4]  The lack of public accountability, as well as agencies’ poor fit within the constitutional scheme that separates legislative, executive, and judicial powers, means that agency decisions run a higher risk than other government actions of being viewed as unlawful, unsound, or undemocratic.

This triad of values or ideals—the rule of law, sound public policy, and democracy[5]—captures much of what drives legitimacy concerns as well as the models of administration proposed in response.  Each ideal is associated closely with a particular model.  The rule of law ideal is linked to a formalist model of administration, in which the law binds administrators tightly, leaving them with little to no discretion.  The public purposes ideal is linked to models of technocratic administration, in which agency discretion is legally broad but constrained and channeled by sound science.  The democracy ideal is linked to models of enhanced citizen participation, the most prominent being participation by interest groups.[6]

One might question why we should discuss the formalist and technocratic models at all if it is true that, as Gerald Frug noted years ago, “no one believes in them anymore.”[7]  To be sure, this Essay will not dwell for long on the rule of law ideal or the associated formalist model, as they have little expression in contemporary reform debates and proposals.  But the public purposes ideal and associated technocratic models remain prominent in administrative law.  They have been a powerful force in administrative reform efforts in recent decades—not just in academic debate but also in political and legal reform efforts, some of which have been successful.  At present, expertise-based models animated by the public purposes ideal are ascendant in Congress, the current presidential administration, and the courts.

This Essay argues that models based on the rule of law and public purposes ideals can be expected to make only limited improvements to legitimacy for two reasons.  First, there is little evidence that the contemporary administrative process fails to satisfy the models sufficiently for legitimacy purposes.  Second, the very conception of each ideal embeds a significant limitation on its potential contribution: each ideal reflects an aspiration to constrain administrative discretion through means which, by their nature, cannot accomplish the task.

In contrast, the democracy ideal should command more attention and energy.  Unlike the rule of law and public purposes ideals, there is evidence that present administration underserves the democracy ideal and administrative legitimacy suffers as a result.  Moreover, the limitations of the democracy ideal are less intractable than those of the other ideals.  The principal challenges in realizing the democracy ideal are practical in nature, rather than inherent flaws in the concept of a more democratic form of administration.  These problems are not easy to solve, to be sure, but there is no reason to believe they are intractable.  As a result, the democracy ideal may offer the best path to strengthening administrative legitimacy.

I.  The Rule of Law Ideal and the Formalist Model of Legitimacy

The rule of law ideal responds to the problem of discretion by holding that the law constrains and directs agency action.  Administrative action should “adhere to the dictates of public laws laid down in advance by the sovereign legislature.”[8]  The core concepts are borrowed from adjudication.  Foremost, the rule of law ideal delineates political and legal decision making.  Political decision making, conducted by the legislature, involves weighing policy and enacting it into law, while judicial decision making, the realm of the courts, involves applying the law to particular facts.[9]  Substantive lawmaking power is located exclusively within the legislature because that is the bargain struck in the Lockean social contract.[10]  The ideal conceives of administrative agencies as similar to courts, making legal and not political decisions.

The earliest legitimizing model of administrative law reflected the rule of law ideal closely.[11]  Termed the “formalist”[12] or “traditional”[13] model, it views the administrative agency as a discretionless “transmission belt”[14] or “machine”[15] for implementing legislative directives.  The model holds that agency mandates are clear, having been set out by the legislature, and the administrator’s sole task is to apply preexisting law or policy, generated outside the agency, to particular facts.[16]

The ideal’s divide between law and politics immediately encounters basic problems.  Unlike courts, administrative agencies have rulemaking powers that are closely analogous to the legislative function.  One response to this problem, embodied by the “nondelegation doctrine,” is to restrict the law-giving functions of agencies.  In theory, the doctrine limits the extent to which Congress can delegate its lawmaking functions to administrative bodies.  But in practice, the doctrine authorizes virtually all delegations of legislative power rather than forbids them.  The cases hold that Congress may delegate rulemaking authority to administrative agencies so long as it provides an “intelligible principle” to guide agency action.[17]  In turn, the “intelligible principle” standard requires only that Congress “clearly delineate[] the general policy, the public agency which is to apply it, and the boundaries of this delegated authority.”[18]

Another response is to view agency rule writing as a form of rule applying—to say that even when it writes prospective rules of general application, the agency is directed by legislation, and law rather than politics has guided its decisions.[19]  Imagine courts that, in addition to deciding individual cases, also write regulations clarifying, augmenting, or modifying statutory text, and the content of these regulations is dictated by statutory language, purpose, and context.  The rule of law ideal conceptualizes agencies as performing this function.  As a result, the ideal is subject to the objections that apply to legal formalist claims that courts are limited to law, not politics.  Whatever their merit in the context of judicial decision making, observers have found formalist models unconvincing in the context of administrative law.  The common view is that it is impossible to grant authority to administrators without also granting them discretion over policy.[20]

In addition, a more fundamental problem renders most of this discussion academic: Congress often gives administrative agencies broad discretion to make policy, and it has been doing so for the last century.  Even if we accept that agency rulemaking functions could be restricted to a type that we could fairly view as the mere application of law, Congress plainly gives agencies much broader authority.

In light of the nondelegation doctrine’s anemia and Congress’s routine grant of broad authority to agencies, the principal expressions of the rule of law ideal in administrative law are procedural—the requirement of procedural regularity and the aspiration to proper procedures.[21]  These goals are modest and largely undisputed.  Parties interested in particular administrative actions might dispute the precise procedures required and whether they have been satisfied, but there is little disagreement over the importance of procedural regularity as a general matter.  This retreat to procedural formality leaves behind much of the rule of law ideal’s thrust.  The ideal seeks not only to delineate how law is made but by whom.[22]  As a result, to the extent that the rule of law ideal’s core aspiration is that “law, rather than politics, ultimately has governed the administrative action,”[23] it plays a limited role in current administrative law discourse.

II.  The Public Purposes Ideal and Technocratic Models of Legitimacy

The public purposes ideal holds that the administrative process should generate sound public policy.  It has been expressed in two principal ways.  The first is associated with the New Deal Era and James Landis.[24]  In a period of pessimism about the health of an economy unguided by competent administration, agency officials’ expertise became an important justification for granting them broad policymaking discretion.[25]  In this view, administrative action was best constrained not by the courts or Congress but by the science of public health or sound management in a given area of the economy.[26]  Given the necessary time and freedom of action, administrators eventually would converge on the right answers to regulatory problems.[27]

The New Deal model of expert administration was short lived as a persuasive justification for regulatory discretion, but the public purposes ideal and related claims regarding agency expertise retained a strong place in administrative law.  In the 1970s and 1980s, the ideal underwent a profound resurgence,[28] finding expression in a model of “comprehensive rationality”[29] of administration that continues to play a prominent role in the legal literature and in practical reform efforts.  Comprehensive rationality stems from the notion that administrative agencies do a poor job of setting regulatory priorities or enact policies that produce greater social costs than benefits.[30]  In brief, agency outcomes are often irrational, and the goal, then, is to rationalize them.  The most prominent tool for this purpose is cost-benefit analysis, in which a policy maker weighs the social costs and benefits of a proposal, or all potential proposals, before enacting it.

The models animated by the public purposes ideal cannot provide an adequate response to legitimacy concerns.  Foremost, they cannot constrain administrative discretion adequately.  Technical expertise and science can resolve questions of fact, and those facts, in turn, can either inform policy decisions that must be made or can combine with policies already set to compel a certain course of action.  But the facts alone cannot make a decision.  The agency expert must make policy judgments.[31]  In addition, one cannot make a judgment impartially; without a stake in a matter, there is no reason to decide one way or another.[32]  Broad understanding of these points is likely the reason why the Landis model was so short lived,[33] even though its themes have continued to resonate in legal and political discourse.

One answer to the inadequacy of expertise is to posit a more expansive, sophisticated, politically informed, and generalist expertise.[34]  One can suggest that an important public health policy will be set not by agency scientists but by a politically appointed agency head who combines scientific expertise with a deep sense of public values, political acceptability, and a commitment to the public interest.  But this response assumes away the problem by presupposing the existence of a public official whom we trust to make good decisions that will be viewed as legitimate.  To redefine the word “expert” as someone who possesses faculties of judgment that alleviate legitimacy concerns is to dodge the central issue.

Despite the broad understanding that scientific expertise cannot resolve policy questions, and therefore cannot constrain administrative discretion, cost-benefit analysis has undergone a dramatic ascendance.  In recent decades, the methodology has been enacted and reenacted in numerous executive orders and statutes,[35]and the courts have increasingly reviewed agencies’ economic analyses with demanding rigor.[36]  Like other empirical inquiries, cost-benefit analysis, at best, can only supply the answers to factual questions, and cannot constrain the value judgments of decision makers.  An economic analysis might purport to demonstrate that a policy or set of policies is illogical by certain standards or is a product of bounded rationality, but to cite the data is to argue about what is good policy, not to win the argument.

Further, cost-benefit analysis is subject to a more fundamental critique: it lacks an objective basis.  As has been discussed extensively in the legal literature, one cannot conduct a cost-benefit analysis without assigning values to the objects of the analysis.  It is true that these inputs determine the result of the analysis, but there is no empirical or even agreed-upon basis for the values assigned.  Instead, they must be based on the very contested policy judgments that a neutral analysis is intended to help resolve.[37]  In turn, this indeterminacy gives rise to another critique of cost-benefit analysis: it risks diminishing the transparency and democratic accountability of agency decisions by masking important value judgments behind a veil of inaccessible analysis that appears to be scientific, but is not.

The inability of expertise models to resolve policy questions is related to a fundamental problem inherent in the public purposes ideal: it begs the question at issue.  Embedded in the ideal is an assumption that people are likely to view administrative agencies as legitimate if the agencies make good policy decisions.  This assumption may or may not be merited.  But even if we accept it, a greater problem remains: there is no objective answer to whether an agency’s policy decisions are “good.”  To answer by stating that experts can discern what is “good” policy would render the ideal circular: we are concerned that agencies have too much discretion and might fail to serve the public.  The ideal proposes that agencies can assuage these concerns by making good policy decisions.  But who is the judge of policy?  The agency.

Because we are concerned with public perceptions of legitimacy, a better answer is that the notions of policy soundness in which the public purposes ideal is grounded should come from the public.  If agencies can enhance their legitimacy with the public by producing sound policy, it is likely that they must do so by producing policy that the public views as sound.  In this sense, the public purposes ideal arguably collapses into the democracy ideal.

To make this discussion more concrete, let us assume that an agency—say, the Environmental Protection Agency (“EPA”)—acts with great efficiency to enact a regime that is the wonder of public policy schools, economists, and environmentalists nationwide.  If the public does not like the result, then nothing has been accomplished to improve legitimacy.  In addition, supporters of the policy might lose through the political process what they won through purportedly sound administration.

What remains of the public purposes ideal is the assertion that good science and rigorous analysis are important and useful tools for sound administration.  Although their presence cannot ensure legitimacy, their absence can doom it.  This is a retreat into proceduralism that, like that of the rule of law, is unobjectionable, adds little to legitimizing efforts, and abandons much of the ideal’s original, substantive content.

Indeed, the rule of law and public purposes ideals share a common structure.  Each responds to the problem of discretion by arguing it away: agencies have little discretion because their decisions are compelled by something exogenous to the administrative process, either the law or the facts.  Each fails to quell legitimacy concerns because neither can direct the decisions that administrators must make.  After careful scrutiny, all that remains of each is its proceduralist shadow.

There is a final point to be made regarding prominent, contemporary expertise models.  At present, they are, in some sense, a solution in search of a problem.  Sound science and analytical rigor are important values, but there is scant evidence that they are missing from the regulatory process (except when deliberate political interference frustrates them) or that the public believes they are missing (subject to the same caveat).  Indeed, much of the evidence that underlies the drive toward “comprehensive rationality” has been criticized as deeply flawed.  Comprehensive rationality seeks to remedy misguided regulation—for example, the promulgation of regulations with costs that exceed their benefits or the poor prioritization of regulatory initiatives. Without disputing that these phenomena exist, critics argue, they are vastly overstated.  Some studies purporting to demonstrate regulatory irrationality have been shown to suffer from errors; other studies are persuasive only if one agrees with contestable value judgments made by the authors.[38]  In contrast to these studies, a growing volume of evidence demonstrates that the benefits of regulations usually outweigh the costs, often by a wide margin.[39]

III.  The Democracy Ideal and Models of Increased Participation

In Sargentich’s telling, the democracy ideal envisions a high degree of citizen participation in the administrative process, or at least strong democratic accountability for agency officials regarding whether they actively consider public views.[40]  To his description, this Essay adds a substantive component: rather than merely serving as factors for consideration, public values should be reflected in or, to the extent possible, embodied by agency outcomes.[41]

The democracy ideal differs from the rule of law and public purposes ideals in multiple ways.  First, former ideals respond to the problem of discretion by attempting to suppress it out of the administrative process, claiming that it is obviated by exogenous sources of authority—laws or facts.  In contrast, the democracy ideal squarely admits that discretion exists in administration and attempts to import a basic source of legitimacy—citizen preferences—into the process.[42]  Second, there is reason to believe that progress toward realizing the democracy ideal might enhance administrative legitimacy.  This is because there is evidence that the ideal is deeply underserved at present and because progress toward more democratic administration would almost inherently combat the source of that failure.  Third, the democracy ideal’s conceptual problems are less severe than those affecting the rule of law and public purposes ideals.  The principal challenges facing the democracy ideal are matters of practical design, not limitations or contradictions embedded in the ideal itself.  As a result, it should be possible to make progress toward realizing the democracy ideal in administration.

A.     Evidence That the Democracy Ideal Is Underserved

We would care little for an administrative process that perfectly realized the rule of law and public purposes ideals if it did not also enjoy democratic support.  Indeed, as discussed above,[43] it is not clear what it would mean to satisfy the public purposes ideal without reference to democratic support for administrative policies.  Conversely, an administrative process can enjoy strong public support even if certain experts believe it generates poor policy outcomes according to their metrics.  This is certainly not to say that the democracy ideal alone could legitimize administration.  Satisfying the rule of law ideal and incorporating expertise properly are likely necessary as well.  And the democracy ideal also has significant gaps.  Most prominent is that it neither prevents nor remedies a significant source of illegitimacy and injustice—majoritarian tyranny.[44]  The point here is only that the democracy ideal appears to have more affirmative legitimizing potential than the others.  Unlike the rule of law and public purposes ideals, there is strong evidence that the democracy ideal is deeply underserved by current administrative law and practice.

One important phenomenon in this regard is the persistent perception that regulated interests and their perspectives dominate the regulatory process.  For decades, observers across the political spectrum have agreed that agencies are too often “captured” by industry.[45]  The term “capture” is a metaphor for a range of ways in which an agency comes to reflect the values or viewpoints of the industry it regulates.[46]  For example, an agency may be inclined toward compromise rather than conflict because it needs industry cooperation to accomplish certain tasks[47] or because industry has power with its overseers in Congress and the White House.[48]  Agency officials may have a history of employment in the regulated industry or may hope for future employment there.[49]

Empirical evidence confirms that industry participates in the administrative process much more than citizens or public interest groups, creating what Sid Shapiro has termed “representational capture.”[50]

A 1977 Senate committee report examined the previous ten major rules written by seven regulatory agencies, finding that “in agency after agency, participation by the regulated industry predominates—often overwhelmingly.”[51]  For example, 75% of Federal Power Commission rulemakings involved no public interest representatives even though the matters had a “clear consumer and public impact.”[52]  The remaining rulemakings had industry-to-public-interest participation ratios ranging from 4:1 to 12:1.[53]  In addition, public-interest representatives had participated in just 10% of the Federal Communication Commission’s (“FCC”) last thirty adjudications.[54]

Cary Coglianese studied twenty-five significant EPA rules written under the Resource Conservation and Recovery Act[55] between 1989 and 1991, finding that businesses participated in 96% of rulemakings, trade associations in 80%, and environmental and citizen groups (combined) in just 12%.[56]  Of the groups that participated, 59% represented regulated entities, while citizen and environmental groups comprised only 4%.[57]

Scott Furlong examined reports of registered lobbyists who lobbied both Congress and the executive branch to influence policy on environmental and natural resource issues in 1996.  Ninety-four percent of lobbyists worked for businesses or trade associations, while only 3% were from public-interest groups.[58]  An examination of the clients of lobbying firms revealed that 73% were businesses or trade associations and 6% were public-interest groups.[59]

Melissa Golden studied comments on eleven proposed rules at the EPA, the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (“NHTSA”), and the Department of Housing and Urban Development.  In eight rules proposed by the NHTSA or the EPA, business interests filed between 66.7% and 100% of the comments.  For five of eight rules, there were no public-interest comments.[60]

Jason Webb Yackee and Susan Webb Yackee studied thirty rulemakings by four agencies from 1994 to 2001 and found that business interests filed 57% of comments, compared to 19% by government interests and 22% by nongovernmental interests, which included 6% by public-interest groups.[61]

The principal cause of these differential participation rates is thought to be resource disparities between regulated industry and public interest groups,[62] as participation in the administrative process is expensive.[63]  Indeed, merely monitoring administrative activity well enough to identify actions in which one might wish to participate is costly.[64]  Overall, the imbalance in expenditures is stark.[65]

Wendy Wagner recently identified another variant of capture that stems from resource disparities not just between interest groups but between regulated entities and the agencies themselves: “information capture,” meaning “the excessive use of information and related information costs as a means of gaining control over regulatory decisionmaking in informal rulemakings.”[66]  The law prohibits an agency from “shield[ing] itself” from a “flood of information” and “developing its own expert conception” of a matter.[67]  To the contrary, “the agency is required to ‘consider’ all input that it receives.”[68]  The flood of information can cripple an agency as well as hamper the participation of less well-funded interest groups.[69]

A phenomenon apparently related to the perception of capture is the recent hyperpoliticization of the administrative process, in what has been termed administrative law as “blood sport.”[70]  Tom McGarity, borrowing a phrase from former Securities and Exchange Commission Chair Arthur Levitt, suggests that some high-stakes rulemakings now operate under a “blood sport” paradigm that differs vastly from the conventional model of a deliberative, lawyer-dominated process.[71]  These rulemakings have entered the realm of “politics as usual”[72]—meaning they are characterized by a rare, if not unprecedented, degree of political warfare.  The typical blood sport rulemaking may involve the flooding of an agency with information; unusually intense lobbying, including lobbying members of Congress and the White House;[73] public relations campaigns, coordination with think tanks, media pundits, and bloggers;[74] and intense congressional oversight, including stridently adversarial hearings, lengthy confirmation battles, invocation of the Congressional Review Act, which provides fast-track procedures for Congress to overturn a final agency rule within sixty days, and attempts to strip an agency’s funding or authority.[75]

Despite all of the findings reviewed above, evidence of a causal relationship between representation and influence is scarce and, at best, mixed.[76]  But the ambiguity of evidence on capture has done little to diminish concerns among students of administrative law and the broader public.  Improving the expression of the democracy ideal in administration should help reduce capture, whether real or merely perceived, in turn enhancing administrative legitimacy substantially.

B.     Models of Administration Associated with the Democracy Ideal

The dominant model associated with the democracy ideal is interest representation, in which interest groups that represent relevant segments of the public are afforded the opportunity to participate more extensively in the administrative process.  There is broad agreement that the interest-representation model has proved inadequate.  Two of the most common critiques are that the model fails to assure that the right interests will be represented, or represented properly,[77] and that resource disparities give industry groups an overwhelming advantage over public interest groups.[78]  Increased opportunities for participation are used disproportionately by organized interests, compounding the perception, if not the reality, of inadequate popular representation and pervasive industry capture.[79] Still, it is easy to overstate the shortcomings of interest representation, and the shortcomings have received far more attention than the achievements.  Sid Shapiro has begun to argue persuasively that, when measured in pragmatic terms by its actual accomplishments rather than its ability to meet a theoretical ideal, the interest-representation model “has been reasonably successful in narrowing administrative discretion in meaningful ways, adding to the accountability and legitimacy of the administrative state.”[80]

There have been other attempts to enhance citizen participation or representation but none nearly as broad or linked to actual legal and political reforms as the interest-representation model.  The most noteworthy is a handful of experiments and proposals related to deliberative democracy.  In these models, an agency convenes a discussion between affected groups, and sometimes randomly selected individuals—with the goal that they will reach a consensus or at least find some common ground on a contentious regulatory issue—then make recommendations to the agency.[81]  These proposals have merit but suffer from several flaws.[82] One is that their actual impact on agency decisions is uncertain at best, as they do not require the agency to follow a deliberative group’s recommendations.[83] More important is that they are highly resource intensive for a host of reasons, making them unlikely candidates for regular use throughout a vast bureaucracy.[84]

Like the rule of law and public purposes ideals, the democracy ideal has found expression in models that abandon significant aspects of the ideal.  The most dominant of these secondary models is accountability of administrators to the political branches.[85]  These models rely on Congress or the President to hold agencies accountable and, in turn, rely on the overseers’ accountability to the American public.[86]  These models suffer from serious shortcomings, foremost that the political branches are incapable or unwilling to oversee the administrative process adequately and that their own democratic responsiveness leaves something to be desired.[87]

C.     The Challenge of Democracy in Administration

The accountability and interest-representation models may abandon more of the democracy ideal than is necessary.  A critical point regarding the democracy-based models, including attempts at more robust citizen participation, is that some of their most important problems are practical matters, not limitations inherent in the democracy ideal.

A few inherent limitations exist, to be sure.  One is that decisions regarding how better to achieve democracy necessarily predate their own implementation, meaning the decisions themselves cannot be adequately democratic.[88]  Another is that, to some extent, each of the models employs the basic arrangement that gives rise to the problem of discretion in the first place—the reliance on representation rather than direct democracy.

As fundamental problems go, however, these are not so bad.  They do not cast doubt on the possibility that advancing the democracy ideal would enhance legitimacy.  They suggest only that models based on the ideal cannot completely resolve legitimacy problems.  This is in stark contrast to the gravest problem inherent in the rule of law and public-purposes ideals: they assume administrative discretion away more than respond to it.  The predominant critique of the democracy ideal is only that it is “difficult to achieve.”[89]  Through better design, we may make significant progress toward achieving it.

Two of the most significant design needs are a means of insulating agency officials from undue interference without sequestering them from the public as well and, conversely, a means of increasing citizen participation that does not also increase the influence of factional or private interests.  Special interests can take advantage of most of the opportunities for administrative oversight that are available to ordinary citizens, as well as others that most of the public lacks.  Recall that a common concern regarding the interest-representation model is that efforts to provide more opportunities for public participation or oversight often empower regulated entities as much as, if not more than, public-interest groups or citizens.[90]

Another challenge is how best to blend an agency’s technical expertise with citizen preferences.  The perceived tension between expertise and democratic values has been a subject of persistent debate in administrative law.[91]  We want agency officials to embody neutral expertise rather than mistaken public preferences or partisan or private goals, and therefore we partially insulate them from the political process.  At the same time, regulation requires value choices, not just the discovery and application of facts.[92]  For this reason, we also demand that agency decisions incorporate public values.  The challenge is how to place more discretion in citizens’ hands without sacrificing agency expertise, or place more in agency officials’ hands without sacrificing democratic values.

It bears emphasizing that these do not appear to be intractable problems rooted in irreconcilable conflict between democracy and expertise but matters of institutional design on which progress should be possible.  In theory, one can envision an arrangement that sacrifices little of either: a proceeding in which experts provide the relevant facts and law (to the extent is it clear)—and perhaps even set out the policy choice to be made—and then citizens or political representatives supply the actual decision.[93]  The principal form of expertise we seek in administration is the ability to find facts and to discern the limitations of our knowledge.  To a lesser extent, we seek legal expertise regarding an agency’s organic statute.[94]  We also seek the agency’s wisdom regarding policy decisions.  But the decisions themselves are the core exercise of discretion that gives rise to legitimacy concerns.  Perhaps they can be made by elected officials or—better yet for the democracy ideal—citizens.[95]

Conclusion

Many contemporary regulatory reform efforts promote technocratic models of administration.  Certainly, those models predominate in legislative proposals and executive orders.  This Essay has attempted to redirect some of that energy toward more productive ground for strengthening administrative legitimacy: citizen-participation models animated by the democracy ideal.

The technocratic models have not substantially improved legitimacy to date, and there is little reason to believe they will achieve more in the near future.  There is little evidence that technical deficits in administration are in fact diminishing legitimacy, and the models are based on an incoherent ideal of administration that confuses empirical analysis with policymaking.  In contrast, there is plenty of reason to believe that administrative legitimacy is currently undermined by a democracy deficit, and some of the most significant challenges for democracy-based models are practical matters rather than fundamental limitations of the ideal of democracy in administration.  Through careful institutional design, we may be able to make substantial progress on models of democratic accountability and citizen participation, thereby strengthening administrative legitimacy.


        *   J.D., Harvard Law School, 2003.

        [1].   See James Freedman, Crisis and Legitimacy (1978); see also Gerald E. Frug, The Ideology of Bureaucracy in American Law, 97 Harv. L. Rev. 1276, 1279–81 (1984); Mark Seidenfeld, A Civic Republican Justification for the Bureaucratic State, 105 Harv. L. Rev. 1511, 1513 (1992); Richard B. Stewart, The Reformation of American Administrative Law, 88 Harv. L. Rev. 1669, 1676, 1679–80 (1975).

        [2].    Cf. Freedman, supra note 1, at 6–7.

        [3].   See, e.g., Paul H. Brietzke, James O. Freedman, Crisis and Legitimacy: The Administrative Process and American Government, 14 Val. U. L. Rev. 361, 362–65 (1980) (book review).

        [4].   Thomas O. Sargentich, The Reform of the Administrative Process: The Contemporary Debate, 1984 Wis. L. Rev. 385, 393 (1984).

        [5].   This typology derives from, and largely follows, one expounded by Thomas Sargentich.  See generally Sargentich, supra note 4.  However, this Essay intends neither to follow Sargentich’s approach closely nor to comment on all points of departure.

        [6].   The associations between the ideals and models are not exclusive, to be sure.  Each ideal could be expressed in any of the models, and any model could be justified by reference to any of the ideals.  For example, the democracy ideal is most naturally associated with models of increased citizen or interest group participation, and formalist models are typically based in the rule of law ideal.  But democracy ideals could be expressed through a formalist model, and a formalist model based on democracy.  In the typical formalist model, administrators are directed by legislative policy choices set into laws.  But the core of formalism requires only the constraint of administrative discretion, not its constraint by any particular means.  A formal model could be built on plebiscites, with administrators mechanically implementing direct citizen choices.  For ease of discussion, this Essay discusses each ideal with the model with which it is most commonly associated.

        [7].   Frug, supra note 1, at 1297.

        [8].   Sargentich, supra note 4, at 397.

        [9].   Id. at 399.

      [10].   See, e.g., id. at 397–98.

      [11].   See Frug, supra note 1, at 1282; David Arkush, Direct Republicanism in the Administrative Process, 81 Geo. Wash. L. Rev. (forthcoming 2013) (manuscript at 8), available at http://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=2029860.

      [12].   Frug, supra note 1, at 1297.

      [13].   Stewart, supra note 1, at 1669.

      [14].   Id. at 1675.

      [15].   Frug, supra note 1, at 1297–98.

      [16].   Id. at 1298–99; Sargentich, supra note 4, at 398–99; Stewart, supra note 1, at 1675.

      [17].   Hampton v. United States, 276 U.S. 394, 409 (1928).

      [18].   Mistretta v. United States, 488 U.S. 361, 372–73 (1989) (quoting Am. Power & Light Co. v. SEC, 329 U.S. 90, 105 (1946)).

      [19].   See Sargentich, supra note 4, at 399.

      [20].   See, e.g., Frug, supra note 1, at 1312–14.

      [21].   See Sargentich, supra note 4, at 404–06.

      [22].   See supra text accompanying note 6.

      [23].   Sargentich, supra note 4, at 399.

      [24].   Id. at 411.

      [25].   See Stewart, supra note 1, at 1677–78.

      [26].   Id. at 1702.

      [27].   Elena Kagan, Presidential Administration, 114 Harv. L. Rev. 2245, 2260–61 (2001); Stewart, supra note 1, at 1677–78.

      [28].   See, e.g., Sargentich, supra note 4, at 411–13.

      [29].   See Richard B. Stewart, Administrative Law in the Twenty-First Century, 78 N.Y.U. L. Rev. 437, 443–45 (2003).

      [30].   See, e.g., Stephen Breyer, Breaking the Vicious Circle: Toward Effective Risk Regulation 10, 21 (1993); Cass R. Sunstein, After the Rights Revolution: Reconceiving the Regulatory State 74 (1990); Sargentich, supra note 4, at 412–13; Sidney Shapiro, Pragmatic Administrative Law, in Issues in Legal Scholarship 2005, at 10–12 (2005); Stewart, supra note 29, at 443.

      [31].   See, e.g., Stewart, supra note 1, at 1684.

      [32].   See, e.g., David. J. Arkush, Situating Emotion: A Critical Realist View of Emotion and Nonconscious Cognitive Processes for Law and Legal Theory, 2008 BYU L. Rev. 1275, 1354–55 (2008); see also Frug, supra note 1, at 1330 (“[G]enuine absence of personal involvement in an issue precludes the making of a judgment: ‘the participation of the speaker . . . is part of any sincere statement of fact.’  In short, impersonal judgment is a contradiction in terms, and every attempt to split the difference—to allow some personal involvement but not too much—simply creates a structure for manipulation.”).

      [33].   Kagan, supra note 27, at 2261–62.

      [34].   Freedman, supra note 1, at 51–55; Frug, supra note 1, at 1319.

      [35].   See Paperwork Reduction Act, 44 U.S.C. §§ 3501-20 (enacted 1980); Regulatory Flexibility Act (RFA), 5 U.S.C. §§ 601-12 (enacted 1980, amended 1996); Unfunded Mandates Reform Act, 2 U.S.C. §§ 1532-38 (enacted in 1995); Small Business Regulatory Enforcement Fairness Act, 5 U.S.C. § 601 (enacted 1996, in part amending RFA); Exec. Order No. 12,044, 43 Fed. Reg. 12,661 (Mar. 23, 1978) (requiring analysis examining cost-effectiveness of alternatives to proposed major rules); Exec. Order No. 12,291, 46 Fed. Reg. 13,193 (Feb. 17, 1981) (directing agencies to refrain from rulemaking unless net benefits of a rule outweigh net costs, and to maximize benefits and minimize costs); Exec. Order No. 12,866, 58 Fed. Reg. 51,735 (Sept. 30, 1993) (replacing Exec. Order No. 12,291 but maintaining similar cost-benefit analysis requirements); Exec. Order No. 13,563, 76 Fed. Reg. 3821 (Jan. 18,2011) (reiterating requirements of Exec. Order No. 12,866); Exec. Order No. 13,579, 76 Fed. Reg. 41,587 (July 11, 2011) (encouraging independent agencies to comply with parts of Exec. Order No. 13,563); OMB Circular A–4, Regulatory Analysis (1996, amended in 2003) (describing “best practices” for agencies to comply with Exec. Order No. 12,866).  On the rationales behind Executive Order 12,291, see James F. Blumstein, Regulatory Review by the Executive Office of the President: An Overview and Policy Analysis of Current Issues, 51 Duke L. J. 851, 858-59 (2001); Richard H. Pildes & Cass R. Sunstein, Reinventing the Regulatory State, 62 U. Chi. L. Rev. 1, 3 (1995).

      [36].   See, e.g., Bus. Roundtable v. SEC, 647 F.3d 1144, 1146 (D.C. Cir. 2011).

      [37].   See, e.g., Frank Ackerman & Lisa Heinzerling, Priceless: On Knowing the Price of Everything and the Value of Nothing (2004); Arkush, supra note 32, at 1338; Lisa Heinzerling, Regulatory Costs of Mythic Proportions, 107 Yale L.J. 1981, 1985–86 (1998).

          [38].   See, e.g., Heinzerling, supra note 37.  For brief reviews of this debate, see Sidney A. Shapiro, Administrative Law After the Counter-Reformation: Restoring Faith in Pragmatic Government, 48 U. Kan. L. Rev. 689, 723–25 (2000); Shapiro, supra note 30, at 11–13.

      [39].   The leading evidence is the OMB’s annual report to Congress analyzing the costs and benefits of the major regulations of the previous ten years.  Since their inception under the administration of George W. Bush, the analyses have been overwhelmingly positive.  For example, OMB’s 2011 report found that regulations issued between October 1, 2000 and September 30, 2010 resulted in benefits ranging from $132 billion to $655 billion, compared to costs ranging from $44 billion to $62 billion.  Office of Mgmt. & Budget, 2011 Report to Congress on the Benefits and Costs of Federal Regulations and Unfunded Mandates on State, Local, and Tribal Entities 13–14 (2011), available at http://www.whitehouse.gov/sites/default/files/omb/inforeg/2011_cb/2011_cba_report.pdf; see also Shapiro,supra note 30, at 12 (“[R]egulatory critics tend to adopt assumptions that make government look irrational, and the adoption of other equally plausible assumptions make government regulation look entirely reasonable in terms of its costs and benefits.  Moreover . . . a substantial literature contests the claim that traditional regulatory policies have failed.”).

      [40].   See Sargentich, supra note 4, at 425.  For a stronger statement of the ideal, see Frug, supra note 1, at 1296 (“[O]ther advocates of reinvigorating the notion of democracy . . . understand the term ‘democracy’ to refer to the process by which people create for themselves the form of organized existence within which they live.  Only by creating these forms together can people confront the intersubjective nature of social life.  Moreover, unless people do so themselves, the artificial structures through which they operate will threaten to function beyond their control.”).

      [41].   The addition of a substantive element is why this Essay adopts the name “democracy ideal” rather than Sargentich’s “democratic process ideal.”  Strong objections have been raised to including under the rubric of the democracy ideal the proceduralist versions that rely only on representation, and particularly interest-group competition.  See Frug, supra note 1, at 1374, 1376.

      [42].   Cf. Sargentich, supra note 4, at 425–26 (“The most direct expression of the democratic process ideal in the contemporary debate is the commitment generally to expand public participation in administration.”).

      [43].   See supra text accompanying notes 23–39.

      [44].   A reconciliation of the democracy ideal in administrative law with the problems of majoritarian rule is beyond the scope of this Essay, but two provisional points are worth suggesting.  First, some matters of regulatory policy, and in particular many issues of health, safety, or consumer protection, might prove less controversial than those that animate the fiercest debates regarding the protection of minority rights or viewpoints.  A question such as the permissible level of a toxin in the workplace might pose fewer problems for democratic theory than one like the permissibility of same-sex marriage.  Second, it is possible that the protection of minority rights from the will of the majority should be left to constitutional law, not administrative law proper.

      [45].   See, e.g., Steven P. Croley, Theories of Regulation: Incorporating the Administrative Process, 98 Colum. L. Rev. 1, 3–4 (1998); Stewart, supra note 1, at 1684–85 (“Critics have repeatedly asserted . . . that . . . agencies unduly favor organized interests, especially the interests of regulated or client business firms and other organized groups at the expense of diffuse, comparatively unorganized interests such as consumers, environmentalists, and the poor.”); id. at 1721–23.

      [46].   See Stewart, supra note 1, at 1685–86; Cass R. Sunstein, Factions, Self-Interest and the APA: Four Lessons Since 1946, 72 Va. L. Rev. 271, 286 (1986) (“[T]he notion of mechanical-reaction-to-pressure must sometimes be understood as a metaphor for a complex process in which administrators come to share the values of particular affected parties and their approaches to regulatory issues.”).

      [47].   Stewart, supra note 1, at 1686.

      [48].   Id. at 1685.

      [49].   See, e.g., Paul J. Quirk, Industry Influence in Federal Regulatory Agencies 19–20 (1981).

      [50].   Id. at 2, 4.

      [51].   Staff of Senate Comm. on Governmental Affairs, 95th Cong., Study on Federal Regulation: Public Participation in Regulatory Agency Proceedings 12 (Comm. Print 1977) [hereinafter Study on Federal Regulation]; see also id. at 16 (“Organized public interest representation accounts for a very small percentage of participation before Federal regulatory agencies.  In more than half of the proceedings, there is no such participation whatsoever.  In those proceedings where participation by public groups does take place, typically, it is a small fraction of the participation by the regulated industry.”).

      [52].   Id. at 13.

      [53].   See id.

      [54].   See id. at 16.

      [55].   42 U.S.C. § 6925 (2006).

      [56].   Croley, supra note 45, at 129.

      [57].   Id. (citing Cary Coglianese, Challenging the Rules: Litigation and Bargaining in the Administrative Process 46–47 tbl.2-x (Dec. 23, 1994) (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Michigan)).

      [58].   See Scott R. Furlong, Businesses and the Environment: Influencing Agency Policymaking, in Businesses and Environmental Policy: Corporate Interests in the American Political System 155, 174 (Michael E. Kraft & Sheldon Kamieniecki eds., 2007).

      [59].   Id. at 175.

      [60].   Marissa Martino Golden, Interest Groups in the Rulemaking Process: Who Participates? Whose Voices Get Heard?, 8 J. Pub. Admin. Res. & Theory 245, 250, 252 (1998).

      [61].   Jason Webb Yackee & Susan Webb Yackee, A Bias Towards Business? Assessing Interest Group Influence on the U.S. Bureaucracy, 68 J. Pol. 128, 133 (2006).

      [62].   See, e.g., Sidney A. Shapiro & Rena Steinzor, Capture, Accountability, and Regulatory Metrics, 86 Tex. L. Rev. 1741, 1754 (2008); Stewart, supra note 1, at 1764 (citing Benjamin W. Heineman, Jr., In Pursuit of the Public Interest, 84 Yale L.J. 182, 188 (1974)).

      [63].   See, e.g., Croley, supra note 45, at 120–25.

      [64].   See id. at 124–25.

      [65].   The Senate committee report, for example, stated that:

The regulated industry consistently outspends public participants by a wide margin in regulatory agency proceedings.  In every case or agency reviewed, industry spent many times more on regulatory participation than their public interest counterparts.  In some instances, industry committed as much as 50 to 100 times the resources budgeted by the public interest participants.

Study on Federal Regulation, supra note 5, at vii.

      [66].   Wendy E. Wagner, Administrative Law, Filter Failure, and Information Capture, 59 Duke L.J. 1321, 1325 (2010).

      [67].   Id.

      [68].   Id.

      [69].   See id.

      [70].   See generally Thomas O. McGarity, Administrative Law as Blood Sport: Policy Erosion in a Highly Partisan Age, 61 Duke L.J. 1671 (2012).

      [71].   Id. at 1680.

      [72].   Id.

      [73].   Id. at 1703–07.

      [74].   Id. at 1708–10.

      [75].   Id. at 1711, 1714–16, 1718.

      [76].   See, e.g., Shapiro & Steinzor, supra note 62, at 1754–55.

      [77].   Arkush, supra note 11 (manuscript at 32).

      [78].   Id.

      [79].   Id. (manuscript at 41).

      [80].   See Shapiro, supra note 30, at 5; see also id. at 5–10.

      [81].   See Arkush, supra note 11 (manuscript at 23–25).

      [82].   See id. (manuscript at 26).

      [83].   See id.

      [84].   See generally id.

      [85].   See Sargentich, supra note 4, at 431.

      [86].   See Arkush, supra note 11 (manuscript at 22–26).

      [87].   See id. at 24.

      [88].   See, e.g., Sargentich, supra note 4, at 431.

      [89].   Id. at 429.

      [90].   See supra text accompanying notes 77–80.

      [91].   See Susan Rose-Ackerman, American Administrative Law Under Siege: Is Germany a Model? 107 Harv. L. Rev. 1279, 1279 (1994) (“Modern democracies need to strike a balance between popular control and expertise.”); Sunstein, supra note 46, at 281 (“The debate over the respective roles of ‘expertise’ and ‘politics’ in agency decisionmaking has proved to be one of the most persistent in administrative law.”).

      [92].   Peter L. Strauss & Cass R. Sunstein, The Role of the President and OMB in Informal Rulemaking, 38 Admin. L. Rev. 181, 183 (1986).

      [93].   For further discussion of such a proceeding, as well as the theory underlying it, see Arkush, supra note 11, at 42.

      [94].   Chevron, U.S.A., Inc. v. Natural Res. Def. Council, Inc., 467 U.S. 837, 865 (1984).

      [95].   Frug, supra note 1, at 1298.

Arkush_LawReview_10.12

 

By: Edward Rubin*

The effort to insulate public administration from the tempestuous intensity of political controversy is a dominant theme in the history of American government.  At the federal level, it is older than the administrative state itself, having been put in issue by the transition from the Federalists to the Jeffersonian Democrats in 1800[1]—the events that later led to Marbury v. Madison[2]—and by the Jacksonian Democrats’ introduction of the spoils system in 1828.[3]  When the federal government instituted what is generally regarded as its first true regulatory program—the control of railroad shipping rates—it quickly moved to insulate the agency responsible for administering the program by rendering it independent of presidential control.[4]  Independent agencies—arguably one of America’s only three truly original governmental inventions, together with judicial review and national parks—proliferated in the Progressive Era and have since been joined by many others, adding up to about seventy in all.[5]  Their constitutionality was confirmed by the Supreme Court in its 1935 decision Humphrey’s Executor v. United States[6] and is now regarded as a settled matter, despite a certain amount of unitary executive grousing.[7]  This insulation can be referred to by the awkward name of depoliticization.[8]

When we speak of depoliticizing an administrative agency, we mean insulating it from direct presidential control.  The resulting distinction between executive and independent agencies, while looming large from the President’s perspective,[9] is essentially invisible to Congress.  All the mechanisms of control that Congress exercises over administrative agencies are equally available whether the agency is executive or independent.[10]  Amendments of authorizing statutes, adjustments of budgetary allotments, oversight hearings, casework, and staff level contacts can all be deployed against any agency with equal force.  Yet, Congress is hardly apolitical.  The President, however beholden to interest groups, at least thinks of himself, and describes himself, as representing all the people.  Members of Congress, with their narrower constituencies, are often viewed as motivated by exclusively political considerations.[11]

This observation suggests the possibility that a further level of insulation could be effectuated by shielding a particular administrative agency from congressional as well as presidential control.  Doing so could be described by the even more unwieldy term of hyperdepoliticization.  Unlike the ordinary depoliticization process, hyperdepoliticization would remove all direct political influences and place the agency in a structural position resembling a court, rather than an ordinary independent agency.  In considering this possibility, a variety of empirical questions naturally present themselves.  Would it truly shield the agency from partisan politics; would it improve the quality of agency decision making?  Would it render the agency unaccountable in some meaningful and measurable way?[12]

Hyperdepoliticization also presents some more theoretical issues that are absent from garden variety depoliticization.  In fact, the issues it raises are so theoretical that they belong as much to the field of philosophy as they do to law or political science.  When Congress insulates an agency from presidential control, it is simply distributing authority among its various subordinates in a particular way.  This is, of course, what any institution-wielding hierarchical authority will do and thus raises no theoretical complexities.  Those who favor a unitary executive argue that Congress may not establish insulation of this sort; that is, all authority to “take Care that the Laws be faithfully executed”[13] must be initially granted to the President.[14]  But this argument is based on the text and history of the U.S. Constitution.  No one has argued that there is any theoretical difficulty in limiting the way that a superior grants authority to its various subordinates.

Congress, however, being a legislature, has no superior in a democratic system.  There are constitutional limits to its authority, to be sure, and the courts are superior to Congress in defining and enforcing those limits.[15]  But within those limits—that is, when it is acting constitutionally—Congress is the supreme authority.  Thus, the only institution that possesses the authority to insulate an agency from Congress is Congress.  To insulate an agency from all political pressure by elected officials, therefore, Congress must not only place limits on a subordinate (the President, in the agency context) but also on itself.[16]  A technique of this sort raises legal theory problems because we have no established methodology for doing so.  Legislatures act primarily by passing statutes; every statute can be amended by a subsequent statute enacted in exactly the same manner as the original statute.  The technique also creates political theory problems because the legislature is the people’s primary representative in a democratic system.  If a legislature places limits on itself, it is, in effect, binding future legislatures, which means that it is disabling the people at that future time from implementing their preferred policies.  That appears to violate the basic premise of democracy.  These legal and political complexities, moreover, are not specific to the United States.  They are not even specific to the standard type of democratic polity where a legislature represents the people.  If the people’s only representative were a single executive officer—a structure that no democratic nation has adopted but that can be found in local government—the same problems would appear because that executive could only hyperdepoliticize its subordinates by placing limits on itself.[17]

These legal and political problems with hyperdepoliticization lead directly to the philosophical problem: how precisely does a conscious actor place limits on its future conduct?  Limits are regarded as a form of imperative order and such orders are typically imposed on a subordinate—that is, someone to whom the actor is authorized to give orders.  But a conscious actor is generally on the same level at both a given time and a subsequent time.  Why should the actor at the current point in time (“t2”)regard itself as the subordinate of its earlier self and obey a decision that it reached at an earlier point in time (“t1”)?  This is a major question in modern analytic philosophy,[18] and it is directly applicable to a legislature’s efforts to place limits on its future conduct.  Typically, philosophical problems only become issues in legal and political theory by analogy.  It may be illuminating to think about questions of free will, the nature of causality, or the reliability of induction when analyzing the work of a legislature, but it is also possible to ignore these complexities and deal only with political practicalities.  The philosophical problem involved in a conscious actor binding its future conduct is immediately presented in the case of hyperdepoliticization.  It is essentially the same problem in the political context as it is in the philosophic one and cannot be ignored.

Perhaps the best-known philosophic discussion of a conscious actor’s self-commitment is John Elster’s.[19]  It is of particular interest here because Elster begins with the rationality of individual actors then applies his conclusions to political settings at considerable length.[20]  The first Part of this Essay explores the issue of hyperdepoliticization by analyzing Elster’s discussion of self-commitment.  On the basis of the themes developed through that exploration, the second Part then discusses specific instances of hyperdepoliticization by Congress.

I.  Self-Commitment: Ulysses, Jon Elster, and the Power of Principle

A.     Elster’s Theory of the Constitution

Elster uses a famous incident from Homer’s The Odyssey as an image of a rational actor’s effort to commit himself to a future course of conduct.[21]  Book XII ofThe Odyssey recounts the passage of Ulysses and his crew by the Sirens’ Island.[22]  Circe warned Ulysses that anyone who hears their song will be irresistibly drawn to them and killed, so Ulysses instructs his sailors to stop up their ears with wax and then says to them, as Elster quotes, “You must bind me hard and fast, so that I cannot stir from the spot where you will stand me . . . and if I beg you to release me, you must tighten and add to my bonds.”[23]  Elster sees Ulysses’s action as an example of imperfect, or partial, rationality.[24]  “Ulysses was not fully rational,” he writes, “for a rational creature would not have to resort to this device.”[25]  But he was not entirely irrational either, Elster continues, because he was able to achieve by indirect means what a rational creature could have achieved directly.[26]  “His predicament—being weak and knowing it—points to the need for a theory of imperfect rationality,” Elster concludes.[27]

This discussion seems to be a promising approach to the issue of hyperdepoliticization.  The idea of a rational actor committing himself to a course of action that he then pursues, without any external force that can require his obedience, is directly applicable to the sort of discipline that a legislature must follow in order to hyperdepoliticize an administrative agency.  Elster recognizes this application, and in a subsequent work that also employs the image of Ulysses and the Sirens, he analyzes and discusses it at length.[28]  But the application that he chooses does not involve the legislature at all; rather, he argues that the process of self-commitment—of tying oneself to the mast—is analogous to the establishment of a constitution that binds subsequent political action.[29]  A constitution, Elster argues, is a means by which the political system binds itself to desirable policies so that it can resist the temptation to abandon or compromise those policies in times of crisis.[30]

If one is interested in the legislature’s use of self-commitment to achieve hyperdepoliticization, Elster’s decision to analogize his rational actor to the political system generally, rather than the legislature, is unfortunate.  This may seem to be a somewhat parochial concern however; clearly, the analogy Elster chose enables him to pursue much larger questions than a single and somewhat unusual legislative strategy.  The problem is that Elster’s analogy is simply incorrect.  It reveals a misunderstanding of political constitutions and possibly a misunderstanding of his own theory as well.

The basic problem is that the whole notion of self-commitment depends upon the existence of an identifiable self.  Defining the self is a complex enterprise that has occupied much of twentieth century philosophy,[31] but we can greatly simplify the problem for present purposes.  If we consider the issue of self-commitment, the concept of a self must involve an entity that is capable of making decisions regarding its own future course of action.  Any competent human being fits this definition.  Groups made up of separate human beings can readily qualify for this definition of a self as well; all that is needed is three rules: one identifying the group, a second specifying a process by which the group can reach a decision, and a third indicating how such decisions are to be announced.  Obviously, every functioning legislature meets this definition of a self because it needs these same three rules to carry out its ordinary functions.  None of the complexities that occur when applying the concept of intent to a collective body like a legislature apply to the question of treating the legislature as a decision maker.[32]  An external observer can only know that an individual has reached a decision when the individual takes some sort of action, and this action frequently consists of spoken or written words.  A collective body can act in exactly the same way; either some individual is designated to speak for the group or a certain proportion of the group’s members indicate assent to a document that has been presented to them.  Determining the intent of the legislature may be a thorny problem, but there is rarely any ambiguity about whether the legislature has in fact made a decision such as the enactment of a statute.

When Elster discusses constitution making in Ulysses Unbound, however, he implicitly incorporates the idea that a society is committing itself to a course of action.[33]  The problem here is that society is not a self, as just defined, but an academic or rhetorical abstraction.  A society cannot make decisions and therefore cannot bind itself in the required manner; only individuals or institutions within a society can do so.  This conceptual inaccuracy on Elster’s part is mystifying.  Elster is acutely aware of the complexities involved in analogizing collective entities to individuals, and refers to this problem explicitly in Ulysses Unbound.[34]  One section of his chapter about constitutions is entitled “Disanalogies with Individual Precommitment.”[35]  Even more strikingly, the first of the three essays that comprise his volume entitled Ulysses and the Sirens (Ulysses and the Sirens itself being the second essay) is a critique of analogies between intentional and functional explanations.[36]  “[I]n spite of certain superficial analogies between the social and biological sciences,” he writes, “there are fundamental differences that make it unlikely that either can have much to learn from the other.”[37]  Yet, Elster’s discussion of constitutions often rests on a similarly defective analogy of an individual and the political system or society in general.  The disanalogies he notes in Ulysses Unbound between the individual and constitutional case is that a constitution may bind “others” or it may not be binding at all.[38]  He does not address the basic problem that a constitution typically does not bind the constitution maker.

With respect to the American example, to which Elster devotes considerable attention in his essay, the important point is that the U.S. Constitution was drafted by a specially convened Convention[39] and then ratified by a specially designed voting procedure in the thirteen states.[40]  The decision-making self in this case was the Convention or, more problematically, the Convention and the eligible voters in each state.  Having drafted or enacted the Constitution, these entities then passed out of existence.  Thus, the U.S.  Constitution is simply not a case of self-commitment; rather, it is a case of a superior giving a written order to a subordinate,[41] and thus it is structurally identical to an ordinary statute in which the legislature places limits on a subordinate such as an administrative agency.  For constitution making to be an act of self-commitment, the Constitutional Convention would have had to place limits on what it could do in the future.  The Convention (or the Convention and the ratification votes in the states) did not do this; it simply passed out of existence.  In this sense, the U.S. Constitution resembles the Spartan Constitution after the death of Lycurgus, the self (an individual in this case) who drafted it.[42]

The Constitution itself provides a mechanism—a new constitutional convention—by which the same process that led to its creation and adoption can be revived.[43]  Does this make the initial drafting or adoption an act of self-commitment?  The answer is no for two reasons.  First, the Constitution, significantly, places no limits on what the new convention can do, aside from maintaining the equal representation of states in the Senate,[44] which is hardly the self-commitment to which Elster refers.  Second, and more significantly, the definition of self precludes the drafting and adoption of the Constitution from being an act of self-commitment.  Because the self (that is, the decision-making entity that drafted the Constitution) passed out of existence after the Constitution was adopted, a new constitutional convention, organized according to its provisions, would be a different self.[45]  If the Convention engaged in an act of self-commitment, it did so by disbanding, not by propounding the constitutional provisions.  The same can be said, of course, of the ordinary amendment process that Article V provides.  First, there are no substantive limits on the process itself, and second, the procedures specified are limits on the legislature that was created under the Constitution and on the states that became subject to it, not on the entity that drafted the Constitution in the first place.[46]

Can the willingness of U.S. government officials, or the people generally, to be bound by the Constitution be regarded as an act of self-commitment?  The Constitution, after all, is just a piece of paper and has no force unless people are willing to treat it as worthy of obedience.  But this is not what Elster means by self-commitment and probably not what most people mean by it.  Elster’s definition is that the actor himself makes a decision at t1 that will bind him at t2, not that he decides at t2 to obey some external entity that existed at t1 but has now passed out of existence.[47]  One can define self-commitment more broadly if one wishes, and perhaps even so broadly that it includes any act of obedience, but this would not distinguish the Constitution from any other governmental rule.  If obeying the Constitution is a form of self-commitment, then so is obeying a statutory rule or administrative regulation.  It is true, as the existentialists remind us, that we are always free to disobey, but this inspiring insight tells us very little about the purpose of national constitutions.[48]

Suppose, by way of an analogy, that the owner and chief executive officer of a company decides to relinquish all her ownership and control one year in the future.  Because she is aware that she has made some bad decisions by acting on her own, she decides to establish a managing committee to run the company and place all the stock she owns in escrow.  However, because she is aware that she built the company acting on her own, she also decides that if the committee fails to show a profit for three successive years, it will be required to appoint a single executive officer to replace it, with exactly the same authority as she originally possessed, and that this officer will be given all her stock.  We would certainly be willing to describe her decision to relinquish control and ownership of the company as an act of self-commitment.  In doing so, she might bolster her resolve with the mechanisms Elster discusses,[49] such as entering into a binding contract with the members of the future managing committee; telling her family and friends she will resign, so that her family will be angry and her friends contemptuous if she reneges; or creating rewards for herself, such as arranging for that cruise to Tahiti that she has always wanted to take.  But the document by which she organizes the company after she relinquishes control cannot be regarded as an act of self-commitment; it binds others, not herself.  Nor does it become an act of self-commitment because it provides for the possible re-establishment of her position.  She will be dead or in Tahiti by that time, and her successors will make the decision.

Going beyond the United States to either other nations or hypothetical situations, it appears that a constitution or constitutional amendment approaches true self-commitment as the process of adoption involves fewer and fewer actors other than the legislature.  Once the legislature is empowered to enact a new constitution or amend the existing one without the participation of any other decision maker, then it is genuinely binding itself.[50]  It is declaring that it will not alter the constitutional provisions in the future, although it has the authority to do so.  Thus, at t2, consistent with Elster’s definition, the legislature will willingly change ordinary statutes but refuse to change the ones it has identified as constitutional.  When the legislature must act in concert with other institutions to amend the constitutional provisions, it is no longer exhibiting the same level of restraint, and it is no longer acting on the basis of its own previous commitment.

In the situation where the legislature can act by itself, constitutional provisions, however defined, merge with ordinary legislation as a structural matter, and differ only on the basis of the enacting legislature’s declared intent to bind the future.  We have thus arrived at the issue of hyperdepoliticization.  In the American case, where Congress cannot enact constitutional provisions on its own, it can bind itself only by enacting a statute.  Such a statute can be a true self-commitment in the sense that Congress at t2 is the same institution as Congress at t1, with the same authority and the same freedom of action.  But the creation of a constitution by a body that then passes out of existence is not an act of self-commitment at all, and the only thing that Elster’s discussion of constitution making tells us is that he misunderstands the political process.

There have been a number of subsequent efforts to rescue the idea of a constitution as the self-commitment of a decision-making entity.  Stephen Holmes, for example, traces the issue back to Bodin’s theory of sovereignty, which insists that each polity must possess a single, unconstrained ruler that, within its jurisdiction, is subject to no earthly power.[51]  Such an authority, Bodin says, exercises all the powers of governance, but one of those must be the power to bind itself—to make definitive commitments.[52]  This is, of course, a familiar concept, which economists generally describe as the power to make credible commitments.[53]  Non-lawyers are often surprised by the notion that a full panoply of legal rights includes the right to be sued; but this right, which is denied to slaves or legal infants, grants the rights holder the power of commitment.  Madison’s concept of a constitution, Holmes argues, is a commitment in this sense, a voluntary constraining of sovereign power through the creation of rights that others may enforce against that power.[54]

Holmes provides a useful account of late eighteenth-century thought, but it only solves an eighteenth-century problem about the way an unconstrained sovereign, conceived as a necessity of governance, could be constrained.[55]  Using it as a theory of constitution making depends on the rather abstract notion that “the people” are sovereign.  In the American case, it asserts that this sovereign entity existed, or was somehow expressed, in the Constitutional Convention and the ratification votes in nine of the thirteen states.[56]  This may or may not be convincing, but it does not really rescue the self-commitment concept.  The “sovereign people,” having expressed itself through a decision-making institution, has not passed out of existence, but it is now dormant.[57]  To make a decision which might potentially be bound by the first one, this sovereign—the people—would need to generate a new entity through which it can act.[58]  Even if one accepts all the political mysticism involved in this conception, it seems clear that no such entity exists in our governmental system.  What does exist is the government this sovereign created, a set of institutions that are not, either individually or collectively, the sovereign.  In fact, if we interpret the American ratification process as the sovereign, then it seems that our sovereign went into retirement without making any commitments or placing any limits on itself if it chose to return, aside from that business of equal state representation in the Senate.

Jed Rubenfeld proposes a related idea that attempts to replace the uncertain and somewhat old-fashioned idea of sovereignty.[59]  Like persons, he argues, whose individuality only makes sense when considered as something that exists over a period of time, a people (that is, a group of persons who govern themselves) necessarily exists over time, not at a single moment.[60]  Such a temporally extended entity, whether an individual or a nation, does not make commitments through the ephemeral act of speaking, which is the way we customarily describe the decision-making process, but through the durable act of writing.[61]  A written constitution can thus be regarded, according to Rubenfeld, as a commitment made by the people as a temporally extended entity.[62]  It is obeyed because obeying the durable or written commitments that one makes is the way such an entity—either a person or a nation—expresses its self-assertion of its own identity, and thus establishes its freedom.  Those commitments then determine how particular constitutional cases are to be decided.[63]

The difficulty with this theory for present purposes is its ethereal circularity.  Rubenfeld’s notion of a people is not fatally vague—he answers the obvious objections effectively[64]—but it only exists, or only acts, by making commitments.  The only way we know what those commitments are, apparently, is that the people, as an entity, have made them.  The circularity occurs because “the people,” however meaningful this notion may be as an explanation of national identity, is not a decision-making mechanism in the same sense as the institutions supposedly bound by its commitments—the chief executive, the legislature, or the judiciary.  Rather, it is a self-contained process of identity formation that acts only by asserting that identity.  Governmental institutions may be guided by this process, but they are not bound by it; indeed, they are not only free to disobey, but they can destroy or dissolve the self-committing entity by doing so.  Perhaps Rubenfeld has resolved the difficulty that Elster and Holmes confront when speaking about self-commitment where there are, in fact, two different selves, but only by positing a single self that functions as cultural expression, a “brooding omnipresence in the sky,”[65]  not as a government decision maker.  If a person had a mystical experience that changed her sense of self, but that only affected her decisions because she interpreted herself in a different way and felt free to make different choices which denied that changed sense of self, we would generally not describe that as a case of self-commitment.

B.     Elster’s Analysis of Rational Decision Making

Allowing for the fact that Elster analogizes Ulysses’s self-commitment to the wrong political situation, we might nonetheless look to his well-known discussion once we correct the error and recognize that the problem he describes applies to statutory hyperdepoliticization and not to constitution making.  Unfortunately, most of his discussion is unhelpful because his answer also misunderstands the problem he presents.  In essence, he spends most of his time fighting his own hypothetical, looking for empirical ways out of a philosophical dilemma.  The task of correcting the conceptual difficulties thus created could be left for philosophers to resolve were it not for the fact that the particular reasons why Elster’s analysis is philosophically flawed are immediately implicated in applying that analysis to the decision making of a collective body like a legislature.

We can begin by being precise about the use of the myth as an analogy.  Ulysses has himself bound to the mast so that he will not respond to the Sirens when he hears their song.  The song thus represents a current situation (that is, the situation at t2) and the bonds that hold him represent some sort of commitment that disables him from responding to that situation.  His instruction to his crew represents an earlier decision—that is, a decision taken at t1.  The question is whether a person actually can effect such a restriction of his current decision making, and why he would do so.  Now suppose that the crew members had decided to tie Ulysses to the mast on their own.  We would no longer have a philosophic problem regarding the nature of Ulysses’s decision making.  Being subject to an external constraint, his failure to respond to the Sirens’ song would tell us nothing about his own decision making as a rational being.

Elster does not devote any time to discussing this situation, of course,[66] but he spends a great deal of time discussing a variety of situations at t2 where the actor’s decision making is impaired and the actor is aware of the impairment.[67]  Self-commitment in this context can thus be described as “Peter sober” binding “Peter drunk.”[68]  In most of the situations discussed by Elster, the impairment does not result from imbibing a substance but from weakness of the will; that is, the actor knows, in the current situation (i.e., t2) that yielding to his current inclinations will lead to undesirable consequences, but his physical or psychological desires incline him to give those consequences less weight than he gave them at t1, when the temptation was not present.[69]  Smoking, eating fattening foods, and deciding to take mind-altering substances, all of which Elster discusses at length, are examples of such weakness of the will, and Elster assimilates future discounting (favoring the present over the future) to this weakness as well.[70]

These considerations are of undoubted psychological interest, and they certainly apply to Ulysses, whose will was overborne by a supernatural force.  But they sidestep, and in fact obscure, the philosophical problem—namely, the problem with the nature of rationality itself.  That problem arises when the actor at t2, although fully aware of having decided to make a different decision at t1, is not aware of any impairment in his current rational capacities.  That is, he is convinced that he is fully rational at t2 and that what he would have perceived as a temptation at t1 is now a valid ground for action.

To clarify this point, suppose the actor at t2 has been drinking and now is fairly certain he is drunk.  He might well decide that he is in no condition to make decisions, and, confronted with a situation that requires him to choose between his current inclination and a course of action he had previously reached, he might well decide to favor his previously chosen course of action. But this is not truly a case of fulfilling a precommitment.  Rather, it is a case of recognizing a temporary cognitive impairment and deferring to a decision reached at a time when one was not impaired.  In fact, it is more similar to an actor’s decision to follow the advice of a more knowledgeable person—like taking medicine prescribed by a doctor.  Alternatively, we can say that self-recognized impairment is not a case of self-commitment because the actor is no longer a single self.  The person he is now, at t2, is not quite the same person that he was at t1.  This is not because his personality changed between the two times—that is a situation that must be accommodated within the framework of self-commitment over time—but rather because he is impaired and recognizes that he is impaired.  The situation is recognized in ordinary usage when we say that someone, being impaired, is “not himself.”

All discussion of cases of impairment at t2—not only the fairly obvious case of being drunk, but the related cases of being subject to a temptation that undermines one’s will—suffer from this same limitation.  They pose only a psychological problem, not a philosophical one.  Consequently, the techniques that Elster discusses for ensuring that the t1 commitment is followed at t2 belong to the realm of psychology.  They are stratagems by which the actor at t1 can place constraints on itself at t2 because the t1 actor is convinced that it is in a better position to decide.  Among those that Elster discusses are throwing away the key to the place where an addictive substance is stored, giving away the key to a trustworthy person, imposing costs on oneself at t2 for disobedience, and creating rewards for oneself at t2 for obedience.[71]  The problem is that these stratagems will only be legitimate from the perspective of the decision maker at t2 if that decision maker recognizes that it is impaired.  Otherwise, they will seem like nothing more than stratagems—ill-considered efforts by oneself to bind one’s future actions at a time when one’s understanding of those future actions was inadequate.

The true philosophic question arises when the actor is not aware that he is suffering from any impairment at t2.  That is, he does not regard himself as “Peter drunk” or otherwise functioning at a lower cognitive level than usual, nor does he regard himself as subject to a temptation that is undermining his will.  Rather, he sees himself as mentally equal at t2 to what he was at t1.[72]  How can the actor at t1 bind himself at t2 under such circumstances?  What mechanisms can he use that will overcome the phenomenological experience of being here now, at t2, and fully capable of making an autonomous decision?  This is the way Gregory Kavka sets up the philosophic problem in his well-known toxin hypothetical.[73]  An eccentric billionaire offers the actor a million dollars now if he will intend to drink a repulsive but not dangerous toxin in the future.[74]  When the future comes, however, the actor has already received the money, so there is no reason for him to fulfill his promise and drink the toxin.[75]  Therefore, the actor cannot honestly intend to drink the toxin, and cannot accept the million dollars, even though he would gladly undergo the relatively minor discomfort that the toxin causes in exchange for the money.[76]  One may or may not find this convoluted hypothetical illuminating; for present purposes, the important point is that the actor’s dilemma is caused by his rationality, not his irrationality.  He is perfectly in control of his faculties and his will at t2, which is precisely the reason he has trouble intending to drink the toxin at t1.  This is the philosophic problem: why should a rational actor at t2 be bound by its decision at t1—not how a rational actor at t1 binds an irrational actor at t2.

To clarify this point, consider the dieting situation that Elster discusses.[77]  The actor at t1 has decided that she wants to lose weight and will stop eating dessert.[78]  At t2, however, she finds herself at a restaurant famous for its desserts and wants to order chocolate cake.[79]  She might perceive herself as subject to an overwhelming temptation to eat the cake.  That means that she recognizes that her decision-making process is impaired, and she then has a reason to favor her decision at t1 to diet over her current desire to eat the cake.  Whether she will obey that decision, which she now regards as superior (ethically or cognitively), or whether she will succumb to her visceral desire to eat the cake because her will (that is, her recognition that her t1 decision is superior) has been overcome is a matter of psychology.  Alternatively, however, she might perceive herself at the restaurant as fully in control and decide to eat the cake because she now realizes that gustatory pleasure is more important to her than weight loss—that is, that she will have a better life if she eats dessert than she will if she achieves some particular body weight.  In that case, when she has the same view of her decision-making ability at t2 as she had at t1, is there any argument that could convince her to favor her decision at t1 and thus maintain her self-commitment?  This is the philosophic problem.

One reason Elster fails to confront this problem is that all his examples involve a t1 decision that strikes him, and will generally strike the reader, as sagacious, and a t2 decision that strikes him and the reader as impaired.[80]  That is unquestionably the situation in Ulysses’s case, as confirmed by his statements at t3, when he is past the Sirens.[81]  Consider, however, the reverse.[82]  A young man, age eighteen, has grown up in a desperately unhappy home where his parents fought with each other all the time and mistreated their children.  He commits himself to never marrying or having children of his own, and enforces this commitment by becoming a Catholic priest, or getting a vasectomy, or convincing his parents to write a will that disinherits him if he gets married, or telling his friends to shun him if he does so.  As he matures, however, he comes into contact with happily married couples, discovers he likes children, perceives himself as a kind, loving person, and has this assessment confirmed by his sexual partners, his friends, and, of course, his therapist.  Now, at t2  (age twenty-eight), his t1 decision no longer seems like a commitment that he wants to keep.  Perhaps the stratagems he adopted at t1 will be effective, but he will feel that they are not legitimate and will try to reverse them.  He may leave the priesthood, try to reverse his vasectomy, relinquish his inheritance, and make new friends.  In other words, he will regard his t1 decision as impaired, and the observer, in this case, is likely to agree.  This illustrates the problem Elster avoids: under circumstances such as these, what sort of commitment would a t2 actor be willing to obey?

The reason to distinguish between philosophical and psychological versions of the precommitment problem in discussing hyperdepoliticization is that only the philosophical version of the problem can be of much value in this context.  Congress, as a collective entity, cannot be viewed as Peter drunk, an impaired decision maker that should not take action or that should only take action with another actor’s approval.  Legally, the legislature is the primary policy maker of a modern democratic state.  If its members regard it as impaired, they are abandoning their basic legal responsibility—the policy-making function which they were elected to perform.  If outsiders regard it as impaired, they would, in essence, be rejecting democratic government.  That is in fact the attitude that the military has adopted in various nations when it carries out a coup,[83] but it does not seem like one that ought to be encouraged.  Politically, members of the legislature who concluded that the legislature is impaired would be denying their constituents representation, and outsiders would be counseling fatalistic inaction.

In other words, when the legislature is analogized to a rationally acting individual in order to gain insight into the problem of self-commitment, the analogy is useful only in its truly philosophical form, not in the quasi-psychological form that Elster discusses.  It simply does not make sense to say that a modern legislature is drunk, suffers from weakness of the will, or is subject to any of the other psychological conditions that counsel deference at t2 to a previous decision.[84]  The legal and political considerations that come into play when the decision maker is the legislature of a democratic regime direct us away from such analogies (however tempting they may be when the legislature is controlled by the opposing party) and toward the truly philosophical question of whether a fully competent decision maker should ever regard itself as bound by a previous decision, even a decision that explicitly attempts to bind the future.

In Ulysses Unbound, where Elster presents his application of the Sirens issue to the political system, he offers one possible way in which an entity like Congress might perceive itself as impaired.[85]  He argues that the Constitution serves as a precommitment strategy that will enable us to maintain our principles at times of political crisis such as war, when there is a temptation to compromise our civil liberties.[86]  Lawrence Tribe makes the same argument in the introduction to his constitutional law treatise,[87] and while he does not cite Elster, he relies heavily on a psychology experiment that is featured heavily in Elster’s work as well.[88]  There is so much wrong with this argument that I will need a separate essay to address it.  For the present, two observations will suffice. First, individuals are often impaired, in measurable ways, when subject to stress—a physiological reaction that brain researchers are beginning to understand.[89]  An analogy between this process and the behavior of an institution like a legislature is obviously highly speculative and unlikely to yield usable results.  Second, neither a legislature, through any institutional expression, nor its individual members are likely to concede that the legislature’s decision-making process is impaired in times of crisis.  The more common assertion is that such times require action, and that the institution, far from deferring to some previous commitment, should fulfill its crucial role by responding to the crisis.  Members of the legislature and external observers may conclude that a particular period of crisis is a poor time to enact a particular statute—that they should not spend time revising the criminal code during a war or that they should not restructure an emergency response agency until the particular emergency that agency is dealing with has passed.  But this simply asserts that there are better or worse times to make particular decisions, not that the decision maker itself is impaired in some essential way.

C.     The Real Story of Ulysses

To summarize, Elster’s discussion of Ulysses and the Sirens turns out to be of limited value in analyzing the problem of a decision maker’s precommitment because he conflates the philosophical problem that is directly implicated for any conscious decision maker, individual or institutional, with psychological problems applicable only to individuals.  If we want to focus on the philosophical problem we must look to other sources.  One possible source is a famous incident in Greek mythology, the time when Ulysses binds himself to the mast in order to resist the Sirens’ song.  This may seem to be a less-than-promising approach, because the foregoing section has just argued that Elster’s use of this particular incident provides little guidance in addressing the philosophical problem.  But we should not dismiss the myth so quickly.  In addition to misunderstanding the philosophical problem, Elster misunderstands The Odyssey.  If we look at the entire poem and not, as he does, at the incident with the Sirens in isolation, we can in fact find useful guidance on the self-commitment problem.

The hero of the poem is Ulysses, and to understand the poem we must understand its hero’s character.  We have a natural tendency to view Ulysses as a modern man, given his isolation and the cleverness he displays throughout the poem’s action.  This tendency is certainly encouraged by the famous Homeric epithet used to describe him, which is variously translated as a man “of twists and turns,”[90] “of many ways,”[91] “for Wisdom’s various arts renown’d,”[92] “resourceful,”[93]“ready at need,”[94] or “who was never at a loss.”[95]  Elster subscribes to this view.  His entire account emphasizes Ulysses’s autonomy—his ability to make decisions freely and implement them effectively.[96]

Elster’s interest in rationality supports this interpretation, which serves as the starting point for his entire inquiry.  A rational decision is necessarily an autonomous one, and Elster is interested in the reasons why it might be rational for a decision maker at t1 to restrict his own decision at t2.[97]  It is, moreover, the way modern people like heroes.  J.B. Schneewind identifies autonomy as an essential element of modernity and traces its emergence to the rejection of the tradition-bound idea that morality is grounded on obedience to some higher power or authority.[98]  Kant, whom Schneewind treats as the culmination of this process, explicitly identifies autonomy as the basis of self-legislating a categorical imperative.[99]  Kant says: “Autonomy of the will is the property that the will has of being a law to itself . . . .  The principle of autonomy is this: Always choose in such a way that in the same volition the maxims of the choice are at the same time present as universal law.”[100]

Contemporary and inspiring as this may be, it is not a convincing interpretation of The Odyssey.  While Ulysses displays a considerable amount of resourcefulness, it would be more accurate to describe him as the plaything of the gods than as a paragon of autonomy.  When the epic begins, Calypso has been holding him on her island as her boy toy for seven years, and his only recourse is pathetic sorrow: “With streaming eyes in briny torrents drown’d, And inly pining for his native shore.”[101]  He has literally been blown back and forth across the seas by Poseidon, who will shipwreck him again after he leaves Calypso’s island.  He escapes from Calypso through the intervention of the gods,[102] not his own efforts, just as he had Athena or Circe’s help in escaping from his other perils, and he will need Athena’s help once more in order to regain his kingdom from Penelope’s rebellious suitors.

In fact, the problem with Elster’s interpretation of Ulysses runs somewhat deeper and points toward a potential solution to the self-commitment problem.  Ulysses is not simply subject to the desires or caprices of the gods; he is respectful and obedient to them.  The Odyssey, like The Iliad, begins with an invocation to the Muse that states the theme of the entire poem.[103]  It refers to Ulysses’s vaunted cleverness, but then continues with one more feature of his personality, described (in the Rieu translation Elster uses) as follows: “But he failed to save [his] comrades, in spite of all his efforts.  It was their own sin that brought them to their doom, for in their folly they devoured the oxen of Hyperion the Sun, and the god saw to it that they should never return.”[104]  This is the only incident mentioned in the invocation, and its importance is further emphasized because it explains why Ulysses failed to save his crew, a serious mark against him in a tribal society where a leader was expected to protect his followers.[105]  It reveals that Ulysses was not only a clever man but a devout man, a man who was distinguished from others by his obedience to the gods.[106]

This quality of obedience plays an important role in the incident with the Sirens.  Elster presents Ulysses’s decision to have himself bound to the mast, instead of simply stopping up his ears with wax like his crew members, as a pure act of self-commitment on Ulysses’s part.[107]  He begins by quoting Ulysses’s instructions to his men: “You must bind me hard and fast, so that I cannot stir from the spot where you will stand me . . . and if I beg you to release me, you must tighten and add to my bonds.”[108]  In fact, the idea of binding himself to the mast is not his idea, but has been suggested to him by the goddess Circe.[109]  When she warns him, at the beginning of Book XII, about the dangers he is going to face in the next stage of his journey, she says (again in Rieu’s translation):

soften some beeswax and plug [the crew members’] ears with it; but if you wish to listen yourself, make them bind you hand and foot and on board and stand you up on the step of the mast . . . .  But if you start begging the men to release you, they must add to the bonds that already hold you fast.”[110]

To be sure, Circe does not order Ulysses to bind himself to the mast, but she certainly suggests this stratagem, and she tells him exactly how to do it.  He not only follows her suggestion but instructs his crew in words very similar to Circe’s.[111]  Thus, the story of the Sirens illustrates Ulysses’s devoutness, his willingness to listen to the gods, rather than his autonomy and resourcefulness.  To be sure, once he hears the Sirens’ song, he is no longer in control of himself, and it is his stratagem, the bonds, that restrain him.  But he has adopted the stratagem at the suggestion of a god.  The point is not that Ulysses is such a clever person that he thinks of binding himself to the mast, as a form of self-commitment, but that he is so obedient to Circe that he follows her instructions, rather than assuming that he could resist the Sirens’ song on his own.

This point is emphasized by the incident involving Hyperion’s oxen, which follows almost immediately.[112]  Ulysses’s devoutness is in fact the dominant, if not exclusive, theme of this extensively related incident.  Having been warned by Circe not to injure any of the oxen at the same time that she tells him how to escape the Sirens, Ulysses is inclined to bypass Hyperion’s island entirely.[113]  After his crew pleads with him, on the grounds that they do not share his iron constitution, Ulysses relents but asks that “every man of you . . . give me his solemn promise that if we come across a herd of cattle or some great flock of sheep, he will not kill a head of either in a wanton fit of folly.”[114]

At first, the men have no trouble resisting the temptation because they have plentiful supplies on their ship, but Zeus sends a furious storm that confines them to the island, and they soon exhaust their supplies and begin to suffer from starvation.[115]  In response, and pursuant to his responsibilities as leader, Ulysses goes “off inland to pray to the gods in the hope that one of them might show [him] a way of escape.”[116]  Finding a sheltered spot, he washes his hands and makes “supplications to the whole company on Olympus.”[117]  But the gods answer only by casting him into a pleasant sleep.  While he is away, one of his crew members persuades the others that they should eat the oxen, arguing that it is better to take their chances and later build a temple to Hyperion in expiation than to die of hunger.[118]  As Ulysses returns and smells the cooking meat, he exclaims “in horror”: “Father Zeus . . . and you other blessed gods who live for ever!  So it was to ruin me that you lulled me into that cruel sleep, while the men I left conceived and did this hideous thing!”[119]

The parallel to the biblical story of Moses on Mount Sinai and the golden calf is notable.[120]  While the theology differs, one idea is identical: a true leader is not someone who rebels against the divine will but rather one who is particularly reverent and obedient to it.  Moses and Ulysses share the same sense of outraged horror when they return from their isolated vigils to find that their followers have disobeyed the higher powers.  They themselves would never have done so, because their devotion to these powers is too strong.  As leaders, moreover, they would never have allowed their followers to disobey.[121]  But they needed to withdraw in order to express their devotion, and those weaker than themselves succumbed to the temptation in their absence.[122]

In other words, a basic feature of Ulysses’s personality is his obedience to the gods, and binding himself to the mast is an expression of this trait.  This feature can be generalized by recognizing obedience to the gods as a case of being guided by a higher principle.  A higher principle is simply a goal, purpose, or basis for action that applies in many different situations and is justified in terms that go beyond the circumstances of those situations.  Ulysses binds himself to the mast because Circe has recommended that he do so, but he follows her advice because he is guided by the higher principle of obedience to the gods.  Because it functions as a higher principle for him, he knows what to do when he is starving in the midst of cattle that a god has told him not to eat.  Thus, he knows what to do, and we, Homer’s audience, know what he will do when Athena tells him to disguise himself as a beggar before reentering his palace.  He simply follows the same principle.

D.    The Role of Principle

Treating the incident with the Sirens as part of the larger poem, rather than an isolated incident as Elster does, provides guidance in addressing the philosophical problem that Elster sidestepped.  Ulysses binds himself to the mast because he follows the higher principle of obedience to the gods.  Such devotion to a higher principle provides a general reason why an unimpaired decision maker at t2 (not Ulysses, of course, who is definitely “drunk” at t2) would follow a commitment it has reached at t1.  The reason is that it is committed to the principle at both times; thus, it can state a rationale for making the commitment at t1 that is convincing at t2because of its own force.  The t2 decision maker does not need to engage in the possibly demeaning and often unproductive inquiry about whether its decision-making process is impaired at that second time; all it needs to do is to recall the principled rationale it articulated at t1.

Ulysses’s choice of his higher principle—obedience to the gods—separates him from the conceptual framework of the modern world.  This is hardly surprising, since the poem is at least 2,600 years old.[123]  But his actions can be readily adapted to the modern context by changing the basis for the choice of principle from obedience to instrumental rationality.[124]  When the actor reaches his decision, he does so because that decision will implement some articulated goal he has chosen autonomously, not because he is being obedient to a higher power.  While the content is different, the structure of decision is the same.  In each case, the decision maker appeals to a principle that is more general than any immediate reason for action.  That principle, moreover, can be clearly articulated in those terms, and understood at t1,t2,or any other time.[125]

In other words, hyperdepoliticization is a particular technique of governance.  The legislature at t1 can use this technique when it implements an identified principle or purpose.  That will not necessarily be a common occurrence.  To reiterate, legislatures represent the people, they are supposed to respond to present circumstances, they are supposed to hold administrative agencies accountable, and they are supposed to decide on funding levels from one year to the next.  In most cases, they only need to enact ordinary legislation and can rely on their successors to adapt or amend it as the situation requires.  But there will be some cases where the principle that the legislature wants to implement is best achieved by hyperdepoliticization—that is, by enacting a measure that precludes its successors at t2 from intervening in the usual manner.  The reason for the t2 legislature to obey this measure—to refrain from intervening although there is no power within the government that can compel it to do so—is not that it perceives itself to be impaired but that it understands and accepts the principle which the hyperdepoliticization technique is being used to implement.  It agrees that the t1 legislature identified a valid principle and has correctly discerned that this principle is best implemented if it willingly restrains itself from acting.

The idea that self-commitment means commitment to a higher principle facilitates the analogy between an individual decision maker and a legislature.  To begin with, as noted above, Elster’s discussion emerges from an analysis of rationality, but it is unclear that this term can be coherently applied to a collective body like a legislature.  There is no difficulty, however, in asking whether a collective body has made an instrumentally rational decision, because the criterion of rationality is applied to the decision itself, not the subjective intention of the decision maker.  Of course, people may disagree about whether the decision is in fact instrumentally rational.  To pursue that debate, they will need to identify the goal the decision is intended to achieve, determine whether the decision itself is likely to achieve that goal, and decide whether it is the best method for doing so.  These can be difficult questions, but they are essentially the same whether the decision is made by an individual or a collective body.

In addition, and perhaps more importantly, basing precommitment on the appeal to principle explains why a democratic legislature, the specific kind of decision maker at issue in the hyperdepoliticization case, is justified in making and obeying precommitments.  As already noted, legislatures are not usefully regarded as subject to the vicissitudes of individual behavior.  Thus, they are unlikely to view themselves as suffering from impaired decision-making capability at any given time.  With respect to the purely philosophical aspect of self-commitment, a legislature has at least two other reasons for noncompliance with a past decision that are not analogous to individual decision makers.  First, legislatures, being primary policy makers, are not supposed to take orders from anyone else, a status very few individuals enjoy.  This might be regarded as a matter of psychology, but it is also an aspect of decision-making methodology; unlike a court, or even the chief executive, the legislature is set up to make its own decisions, independent of other governmental actors.  Second, the legislature does not simply act for itself.  It is the people’s representative—the current people’s representative.  Even if it were inclined to honor its precommitments, it might regard such obedience as a failure of its obligation to its constituents, who do not necessarily share those precommitments.

If, however, the t2 legislature is obeying the t1 legislature’s decision because that decision is articulated and justified by principle, these reasons for resistance fade.  The t2 legislature can base its obedience on the same rationale as the t1 legislature did.  This, then, is the rationale for hyperdepoliticization.  At t1, the legislature should attempt to precommit the action of future legislatures if it concludes that such precommitment is needed to effectuate a principle to which it subscribes.  At t2,the legislature should obey its t1 commitment if that commitment reflects a general principle to which the legislature still subscribes and if the principle will be effectively implemented by following the prior commitment.  It is when these conditions apply that a legislature should insulate an administrative actor from the legislature itself, as well as from the chief executive.

Commitment to principle will often be amplified, or reinforced, by the advantages of consistency.  The decision maker at t1 can argue that, in addition to the particular principle it articulates, whatever persuasive force that principle may have at t2, the only way to carry out a principle is to act consistently over time.  The idea is related to Gautier’s and Rubenfeld’s arguments,[126] but without any larger assertion that consistent action is in any way intrinsic to morality, personhood, or existence as an entity.  It is simply, as Holmes observes, a way for a decision maker to increase its power, its ability to make credible t1 commitments. [127]  This is not to say that one must always obey the hobgoblin of consistency and never act in response to present circumstances.  A prior decision is generally not worth following if it is not announced as a commitment.  A decision maker derives no additional power from simply being rigid; in fact, it probably loses power.  The added power that consistency confers will generally be available only when the earlier decision is one that was stated as a commitment; that is, something that the t1decision maker wanted subsequent decision makers to maintain.  In that case, the t2 decision maker has a reason to follow the t1 decision that supports the persuasive force of the principle underlying that decision.

II.  Current Cases of Hyperdepoliticization

Although hyperdepoliticization is not a recognized technique of governance at present, Congress has in fact deployed it in a variety of situations.  The discussion in the following Part is intended to be exemplary, not comprehensive.  At the outset, and even for the purpose of giving examples, it is useful to distinguish between what can be called grounded hyperdepoliticization and what can be called atmospheric hyperdepoliticization.[128]  Grounded hyperdepoliticization occurs when the legislature adopts definitive provisions for the purpose of disabling itself from future action, and can thus be regarded as the classic case.  Atmospheric hyperdepoliticization occurs when the legislature enacts a statute that attempts or aspires to insulate an agency from political pressures in general, and may apply to pressure from the legislature as well as to the more obvious case of pressure from the chief executive.  This Part offers two examples of grounded hyperdepoliticization.  The first involves the closure of military bases and was implemented by a statute; the second involves control of the money supply and was implemented by inaction—that is, the explicit decision not to alter an initiative adopted by the relevant agency.  The Part concludes with one fairly common example of atmospheric hyperdepoliticization—the creation of what can be called a deeply embedded agency.

A.     Grounded Hyperdepoliticization by Statute: The Closure of Military Bases

A notable case of self-imposed constraint by Congress involves the closure of military bases.  A military base produces major economic benefits for the place where it is located, and the expenses of operating the base are borne almost entirely by the federal government, whose revenue is generated by the nation as a whole.  As a result, members of Congress, as well as other politicians, lobby assiduously to obtain military bases for their state or district and treat their ability to do so as a major political success.[129]  However gratifying it is to obtain a base, it is more painful to have the base close once the economy of a particular locality has become dependent on the facility’s continued existence.  Thus, efforts to close any particular base tend to run into determined opposition from the local community and, in most cases, from its political representatives.[130]  As a result of this political dynamic, military bases proliferated throughout the course of American history.  By the 1980s, the military justification for their number and location (namely, to defend strategic points in the nation) had worn thin, and the Department of Defense was eager to close the ones that no longer served any other purpose.[131]

Congress responded to this dilemma by enacting successive statutes—the Base Closure and Realignment Act of 1988,[132] the Defense Base Closure and Realignment Act of 1990,[133] and the base closure provisions of the 2002 National Defense Authorization Act.[134]  The largest number of base closures occurred under the 1990 Act.[135]  This Act makes use of an independent commission, called the Base Realignment and Closure Commission (“BRAC”), created by the 1988 Act.[136]  The members of the Commission were originally appointed by the Secretary of Defense, but the 1990 Act provides that they are to be appointed by the President, with the advice and consent of the Senate, and on a bipartisan basis.[137]  Under the procedure specified in the Act, the military services submit proposals for base closures to the Secretary of Defense.[138]  The Secretary can add or delete bases from the list, and then he or she transmits the list to the BRAC Commission, which can once again add or delete bases that the Secretary has designated.[139]  Both the Secretary and the Commission are required to consider specified criteria that include the military value of the base, a cost benefit analysis of its closure, and the economic and environmental impacts that its closure would produce.[140]  Once the Commission reaches its decision, the list is then forwarded to the President, who—significantly—can approve or disapprove the list as a whole but cannot make additions or deletions.[141]  Presidential approval constitutes authority for the Secretary of Defense to close all the bases on the list.[142]  Congress retains the authority to halt the base closures by passing a Joint Resolution of Disapproval within forty-five days of the President’s approval, but it must once again act on the entire list and cannot make any additions or deletions.[143] Having failed to close any major bases during the Reagan administration, this procedure enabled the military to close sixteen major bases and “realign” eleven others under the 1988 Commission, and then close 102 major bases and realign or redirect eighty-three others under the four Commissions authorized pursuant to the 1990 Act.[144]

Considered simply as a procedure, the Base Closure Acts closely resemble Elster’s account of individual self-commitment—a definitive decision at t1 and the development of an effective stratagem.  That stratagem can be called aggregation—creating a definitive list of base closures at the administrative level and then disabling the elected politicians who are inevitably involved (the President, who as Commander-in-Chief, probably cannot be excluded, plus Congress itself) from altering the list.  It has no simple analogue in individual behavior, however, because it addresses the problem that individual members of a collective body have different interests from the body as a whole.

The key to the procedure’s obvious success seems to be the inability of any elected official to take action with respect to a particular military base.[145]  One way to interpret this success is that the procedure raises the cost of influencing an elected official to a level that no private actor, locality, or even state can afford; in order to save one’s own preferred base, one must convince either the President or Congress to terminate a process that promises to save taxpayers billions of dollars and that represents the conclusions of an independent commission acting on recommendations from the military itself.

Kenneth Mayer, in an effort to rescue the cynicism of public-choice analysis from an impressively public-regarding statute, observes that the process “obscured the causal chain,”[146] or, in the language of other public-choice scholars, shifts blame from the legislature to an agency.[147]  By delegating the decision to an appointed, expert administrative body, legislators can argue to their constituents that they were not responsible for the actual decision that closed their locality’s or their constituents’ favored base.  In addition, according to Mayer, “the timing of the process was explicitly designed to minimize political harm.”[148]  The three rounds of base closures under the 1990 Act all required the President to act on the BRAC’s recommendation by July 15 of an odd-numbered year, ensuring a significant time lag between Congress’s refusal to disapprove the list and the next congressional election.[149]

But public-choice analysis cannot quite explain the interesting fact that Congress managed to overcome a powerful political dynamic through the mechanism of hyperdepoliticization.  The reason Congress enacted this legislation, and the reason it allowed it to continue while hundreds of locally treasured bases were closed or realigned, is that its precommitment strategy was based on principle.  The principle was of course efficiency, something that is regarded in our society as one of the greatest virtues of governmental action.

Efficiency can conflict with other values, such as human rights or social equality, but no such values were implicated here.  Any possibility that it would conflict with national security was eliminated by the fact that the Department of Defense, a widely respected agency not known for its self-abnegation about budgetary allocations, virtually begged Congress to close military bases.[150]  The Act’s procedure was designed to ensure that the particular base closures would be efficient because each closure had to be approved by three levels of Defense Department decision makers—the individual services, the Secretary, and a specially constituted committee.  In other words, the decision maker not only devised a workable strategy but also based that rationale on a widely accepted principle that the strategy uncontroversially effectuated.  That is the reason the statute, and its strategy, was considered binding by subsequent Congresses, the t2 decision makers.  The reason that they did not amend the statute, or pass the Joint Resolutions it permitted, was not because they regarded themselves as impaired decision-makers.  It was because the enacting Congress’s precommitment made sense to them.

B.     Grounded Hyperdepoliticization by Inaction: Federal Reserve Control of the Money Supply

A second example of grounded depoliticization, this time by subsequent approval of administrative action rather than prior design of such action, involves the control of the money supply by the Federal Reserve Board (the “Fed” or “Federal Reserve”).  The Fed was created in 1913 as an independent agency to serve this purpose and bring an end to the cycle of financial panics that bedeviled the American financial system throughout the nineteenth century.[151]  As thus conceived, it was an ordinary independent agency, free of direct executive control because the Board members could not be dismissed at will,[152] but subject to the same congressional control as other federal agencies.

The statutory mechanism that Congress provided for control of the money supply was the adjustment of bank reserve requirements.  Banks, as financial intermediaries, lend out most of the money they receive from deposits.  To maintain financial stability, however, they are legally required to retain, or reserve, a percentage of their deposits, perhaps ten percent, in liquid form.[153]  This can either be cash in the bank vaults or deposits with the Federal Reserve itself (which are, in effect, cash).  The Federal Reserve Act envisioned that the Fed would control the money supply by adjusting bank reserve requirements.[154]  Lowering the required reserve allows the bank to lend more money, and thus increases the amount of money in circulation; raising the reserve requirement has the opposite effect.[155]

This sounds plausible, but it is unwieldy; even minute changes in the reserve rate will generate rather massive changes in the money supply because the rate affects every bank.[156]  As a member of an earlier Congress, Fisher Ames, commented about a different legislative strategy: it is “a great clumsy machine . . . applied to the slightest and most delicate operations—a hoof of an elephant to the strokes of mezzotino.”[157]  During the 1920s, therefore, the Federal Reserve developed a different, more flexible mechanism for controlling the money supply.  Under the leadership of Benjamin Strong, Governor of the Federal Reserve Bank of New York and a recognized financial wizard, a committee of Fed administrators and other public officials began to control the money supply by buying and selling government securities on the open market.[158]  The original legislation gave each of the Fed’s twelve regional branches authority to buy and sell government securities for various purposes, but the idea that this authority could be centralized and used as the Fed’s primary monetary control device came from Strong and the Open Market Committee.[159]  Congress codified this technique in the Banking Act of 1933 (the Glass-Steagall Act),[160] revised by the Banking Act of 1935[161] and revised again in 1942.[162]

The Open Market Committee, in its current form, consists of twelve members: the seven members of the Fed, the president of the New York Reserve Bank, and four other Federal Reserve Bank presidents on a rotating basis.[163]  It meets regularly, currently about eight times a year.[164]  Its control of the money supply through open market operations depends on the fact that American money is nothing more than obligations issued by the Federal Reserve.  This enables the Fed to adjust the amount of money in circulation by buying and selling government securities.  When the Federal Reserve buys securities on the open market, it has the unique ability to pay for those securities by simply entering the payment price in the purchaser’s account.  By doing so, it has added that sum to the money supply.  When it sells securities, it receives money, but because an obligation to itself is no obligation at all, that sum of money simply disappears; thus, it has subtracted that amount from the money supply.[165]  As is apparent, the device is extremely flexible.  The Fed can buy or sell in any amount it chooses, down to the price of a single government bond; on the other hand, even its largest purchase will not disrupt the price structure of the government securities market, because the average daily trading volume in this market is about $400 billion.[166]

Congress can of course amend the Federal Reserve’s authorizing statute whenever it wishes, but it has left its post-hoc authorization of the Fed’s open market operations essentially intact for seventy-five years.  This authorization provides for congressional oversight; the Chair of the Fed is required to appear before Congress semiannually to report on “the efforts, activities, objectives and plans of the Board and the Federal Open Market Committee with respect to the conduct of monetary policy,” and the Fed is required to issue a concurrent report covering this and related topics.[167]  But Congress has not used this opportunity to interfere in the actual operation of the Open Market Committee and often treats the Chair of the Fed with a degree of deference that is afforded to few other administrators who testify before it.[168]

The hyperdepoliticization of the Federal Reserve’s monetary control function is further buttressed by the Fed’s freedom from congressional budget control.  This is due to a unique situation that, like the monetary control function, evolved without prior planning.  In the course of its open market operations, the Fed holds large quantities of government securities and receives the interest payments on these securities.  In 2011, these payments amounted to $83.6 billion.[169]  The Fed simply returns most of this money to the United States Treasury, but it retains the amount it needs to finance its own operations—$3.4 billion in 2011.[170]  As a result, the Fed does not need to obtain funding from Congress, and Congress has thereby relinquished its ability to control the Fed through reductions, or threatened reductions, of its annual budgetary allocation.  Like its control of the money supply by committee, and the deference it receives during the semi-annual oversight hearings, the Fed’s ability to fund itself could be readily reversed.  Instead, Congress has followed the course of action to which it committed itself when these practices developed.

The continuation and resilience of Congress’s commitment to insulate the Federal Reserve’s monetary control function from Congress itself, combined with the weakness of the stratagems that it has employed to achieve this result, indicates the role that principle plays in the self-commitment process.  That principle is the general view among economists that elected officials are likely to adjust the money supply to produce short-term electoral gains but long-term economic harm if they exercise control over it.[171]  Specifically, they will facilitate their reelection by inflating the currency before elections, giving a weak economy what is sometimes called a dead-cat bounce that deludes the voters.[172]  The precise advantage of independence (defined above as independence from legislative as well as executive control) is that it separates the fiscal control, which remains with the legislature, from monetary control, which is now in the hands of the insulated agency.[173]  If the legislature wants to increase employment prior to the election, it must make structural changes in the nation’s economy by raising taxes, lowering expenditures, or issuing debt, rather than simply inflating the currency.

But why is inflation so harmful?  Why shouldn’t elected, accountable authorities determine the inflation rate?  One explanation is that the responsiveness of political authorities, however justifiable it may seem at the time, is a problem in itself because it creates price instability, which has a negative impact on economic growth.[174]  Private actors must account for fluctuations by indexing salaries, altering investment strategy, adjusting debt burdens, and engaging in other suboptimal behaviors.  Placing monetary policy in a truly independent agency that is concerned about these inefficiencies and therefore committed to a consistently low inflation rate reduces the need for this suboptimal behavior.[175]  The effect is reinforced because the act of delegating monetary control represents a credible commitment by the government that its anti-inflationary policies will remain in place.[176]  This makes so much sense that most of the world’s leading industrial nations have acted, in the post-World War II era, to insulate their central banks from political control.[177]  This is a striking development because many of these nations have rather different political structures from that of the United States and no tradition of independent agencies.[178]

The policy and budgetary independence of the Federal Reserve, although originally the product of agency initiative rather than explicit congressional action, represents a grounded form of hyperdepoliticization.  Certainly, everyone on the relevant oversight committees is, and probably most members of Congress are, well aware that these institutionalized modes of nonintervention exist.  In fact, the House and Senate Banking Committees have considered legislation to reduce or eliminate the Federal Reserve’s control of the money supply on a fairly regular basis.[179]  John Woolley describes the situation in 1975, when a perfect storm of political and economic factors led both the Chair of the House Banking Committee, Henry Reuss, and the Chair of the Senate Banking Committee, William Proxmire, to introduce bills that would have taken effective monetary control away from the Fed.[180]  After extensive hearings, Congress settled for a much more modest House Concurrent Resolution that increased the level of congressional oversight but has turned out to be largely symbolic in effect.[181]

According to Woolley, the mouse that the mid-1970s mountain of concern produced resulted from Federal Reserve Chair Arthur Burns’s intimidation of the congressional committees,[182] lack of interest on the part of congressional members because the proposals had limited political payoffs, lack of ability of the members to understand monetary policy, and pressure from the banking industry.[183]  Like the public choice interpretation of the Base Closure Act, however, this is an interpretation driven by the a priori assumption that a democratic legislature can never act on public policy grounds.  The contrary interpretation is more plausible.  In 1975, Congress gave serious and sustained attention to revising or eliminating the policy of central bank independence that had then been in place for about forty years.[184]  Its ultimate decision to maintain that independence by means of hyperdepoliticization has won nearly universal approbation from economists.  The more plausible conclusion is that this was a case of responsible legislative decision making.

Once we are willing to accept the apparently heterodox notion that Congress can make decisions in the public interest, we can see the 1975 hearings as an example of grounded hyperdepoliticization.  Unlike the Base Closure Act, this policy originally resulted from agency initiative, not explicit congressional action.  But Congress explicitly approved the agency’s action and thus made a grounded precommitment.  This commitment was perceived as such when subsequent Congresses, the decision makers at t2, were called on to decide whether that commitment should be continued or abandoned.  It was continued because the principle of central bank independence that supported it remained persuasive.

C.     Atmospheric Hyperdepoliticization: Deeply Embedded Agencies

Congress’s approach to base closure and monetary control are examples of grounded hyperdepoliticization.  In each case, Congress has adopted explicit policies—by statutory action in one case and by inaction where it has clear authority to act in another case—that restrict its ability to influence the relevant agency (the Defense Department and the Federal Reserve) at future times.  Grounded hyperdepoliticization is striking, but it is relatively rare.  However, a legislature can employ hyperdepoliticization in a less clear and dramatic way—not by explicitly committing itself to nonintervention but by establishing a mood or atmosphere to discourage future legislatures (that is, itself at t2) from intervening.  Unlike grounded hyperdepoliticization, which by definition requires some action specifically directed to the legislature, atmospheric hyperdepoliticization can result from action that is primarily directed to another entity, in particular the executive.  In other words, atmospheric hyperdepoliticization can be a concomitant, or even a byproduct, of a statute that establishes ordinary depoliticization.

It would not make sense to assert that ordinary depoliticization always brings atmospheric hyperdepoliticization in its train.  To begin with, this assertion is probably not true; Congress has not shown any particular reluctance to engage in statutory amendment, budget control, oversight, or staff-level contacts involving independent agencies.  In addition, and perhaps even more importantly, depoliticization is so common that conflating it with hyperdepoliticization would undermine the coherence and usefulness of the latter category.  The task, therefore, is to identify particular statutes or other legislative actions that can be reasonably understood as addressing future legislatures, even if they do so by establishing a mood rather than adopting, or declining to adopt, an identifiable provision.

One example of atmospheric hyperdepoliticization is the creation of what may be called a deeply embedded agency.  This is an agency that is placed in a structural position that creates apparent difficulties, or awkwardness, for legislative budget-cutting, oversight, casework, or staff-level contacts.  While simple depoliticization, that is, the insulation of an agency from executive control, can operate definitively, as a matter of law, its hyperdepoliticized concomitants cannot possess this definitive quality.  A democratic legislature can amend the organic statute of any agency and can generally employ one of its less severe mechanisms of control as well, such as budget adjustment and oversight.  Rather, the embedding technique depends upon creating a situation where intervention seems less appropriate than usual, where the structure of the agency itself provides members of the legislature who do not want to intervene with an additional argument that they can use against those who favor intervention.  In the absence of a definitive legislative action, determining whether the technique actually succeeds in achieving hyperdepoliticization is ultimately a matter for empirical determination.

One example of a deeply embedded agency in the U.S. government may be the Public Company Accounting Oversight Board (“PCAOB”) created by the Sarbanes-Oxley Act.[185]  The purpose of the PCAOB is to “oversee the audit of public companies that are subject to the securities laws.”[186]  To this end, the statute provides that the PCAOB:

shall be a body corporate, operate as a nonprofit corporation, and have succession until dissolved by an Act of Congress. . . .  The Board shall not be an agency or establishment of the United States Government, and, except as otherwise provided in this Act, shall be subject to, and have all the powers conferred upon a nonprofit corporation by, the District of Columbia Nonprofit Corporation Act. No member or person employed by, or agent for, the Board shall be deemed to be an officer or employee of or agent for the Federal Government by reason of such service.[187]

The members of this independent Board are  appointed by the Securities and Exchange Commission (“SEC”) and removed by the SEC only for cause.[188]  Moreover, the statute states criteria for the selection of PCAOB members: two members (and only two) must be certified public accountants, and all must be “prominent individuals of integrity and reputation who have a demonstrated commitment to the interests of investors and the public, and an understanding of the responsibilities for and nature of the financial disclosures required of issuers under the securities laws and the obligations of accountants.”[189]  In addition, the PCAOB, like the Fed, funds itself, in this case from fees that it is authorized to charge to the accounting firms it audits.[190]  In fiscal year 2011, the PCAOB collected about $202 million in fees to fund its expenditures.[191]

These statutory provisions seem to be an elaborate effort to create an expert, independent body as far removed from the ordinary, and ordinarily political, operation of government as a statutorily created agency can be.  Their obvious goal is to insulate the PCAOB from executive control, so much so that the removal provision was declared unconstitutional by the Supreme Court as an excessive intrusion on presidential authority.[192]  This is a bit awkward for a discussion of congressional techniques, to be sure, but the Court carefully limited its decision to the “for cause” removal provision and upheld the remainder of the statute.[193]

For present purposes, however, the Court’s decision is not crucial, as it only addresses the insulation of the PCAOB from presidential control.  The question is whether all the separation and insulation that the statute provides—its status as a nonprofit corporation; the criteria for selection of its members; its ability to fund itself; and the fact that it is subject to, or embedded in, an independent agency—are also intended to discourage future Congresses from interfering with the PCAOB’s operations.  Is this statute, in other words, an effort by the enacting Congress to hyperdepoliticize the PCAOB, to precommit future Congresses to respect the PCAOB’s independence and insulate it from congressional as well as presidential politics?  At present, this would appear to be the case; that is, Sarbanes-Oxley seems to be an attempt to hyperdepoliticize the PCAOB that it creates.  Whether this attempt is successful, however, can only be known, as in the case of the Federal Reserve Board Open Market Committee, by observing the actions of Congress over time.

If the intent is hyperdepoliticization, it must necessarily be based on principle and will only be effective if that principle proves persuasive to subsequent Congresses.  The principle, of course, is disinterested judgment—a neutral, expert assessment of the auditing procedures used for large American corporations.  Congress enacted Sarbanes-Oxley in response to a series of corporate frauds involving large companies such as WorldCom, Enron, and Tyco International.[194]  A major reason for these frauds, in Congress’s view, was that the accountants who audited these firms were not sufficiently independent; they did not follow proper accounting industry standards because they were subject to various pressures from the companies that they were auditing.[195]  If an oversight agency is to be created to discipline accounting firms and enforce these standards, it seems natural to insulate that agency from the same types of influences that undermined the independence of the accounting firms and caused the problem in the first place.

A second deeply embedded agency is the newly created Consumer Finance Protection Bureau (“CFPB”).  It is one part of the massive Wall Street Reform and Consumer Protection Act (the “Dodd-Frank Act”), which was enacted in response to the 2008 financial crisis.[196]  The CFPB’s role is to “regulate the offering and provision of consumer financial products or services under the Federal consumer financial laws.”[197]  In what can be reasonably regarded as an effort to avoid constitutional problems, the provisions for appointment of the CFPB’s director are not exotic.  The CFPB is headed by a single director, to be appointed by the President with the advice and consent of the Senate.[198]  The only criterion for appointment is the Director must be a citizen of the United States.[199]  He or she serves for a five-year term and can be removed by the President for cause, which is defined as “inefficiency, neglect of duty, or malfeasance in office.”[200]  These are standard provisions for the creation of an ordinary independent agency.[201]

There are, however, several features of the CFPB that signal congressional intent for greater insulation.  To begin with, the CFPB is “established in the Federal Reserve System.”[202]  One implication of this somewhat Delphic phrase is that CFPB employees are appointed in accordance with Federal Reserve selection criteria, are compensated in accordance with terms of the Federal Reserve Act, and participate in the Federal Reserve’s separate pension system.[203]  Significantly, however, it does not mean that the Fed exercises supervisory authority over the CFPB.  The Act provides that the Fed may not “intervene in any matter or proceeding before the Director, including examinations or enforcement actions, unless otherwise specifically provided by law” or “appoint, direct, or remove any officer or employee of the CFPB.”[204]  The relationship between the Fed, or indeed the rest of the Federal Reserve System, and the CFPB is one of coordination, not hierarchical control.

Of far greater significance than the application of Federal Reserve personnel policies to the CFPB is the application of the Federal Reserve’s relationship to Congress.  The CFPB is subject to essentially the same reporting requirements as the Fed, namely, semiannual hearings with concurrent reports, and participates in the Fed’s self-funding system.[205]  The funding provision reads, in part, as follows:

Each year (or quarter of such year), beginning on the designated transfer date, and each quarter thereafter, the Board of Governors shall transfer to the Bureau from the combined earnings of the Federal Reserve System, the amount determined by the Director to be reasonably necessary to carry out the authorities of the Bureau under Federal consumer financial law.[206]

Given Congress’s extensive experience with the Federal Reserve itself, these provisions, and the general establishment of the CFPB “in the Federal Reserve System,” can readily be seen as an effort by Congress to insulate the CFPB from its own intervention in the future—that is, as an effort to hyperdepoliticize the CFPB.  In effect, the enacting Congress may well be signaling to future Congresses that they should adopt the same deferential approach to oversight, and the same relinquishment of budgetary authority, that the enacting Congress and its predecessors for many decades have adopted toward the Federal Reserve Monetary control function.  If so, however, the hyperdepoliticization of the Fed is atmospheric, rather than grounded in a specific provision.  The statute does not contain any explicit provision directed toward future Congresses.  Rather, its provisions create a mood that seems to emphasize the importance of insulating the Fed from politics, and thus discouraging intervention by any elected official.

Once again, it is an empirical question whether such hyperdepoliticization will be effectuated.  The recent controversy over the appointment of the CFCB’s director is certainly not a promising sign from this perspective.[207]  It seems plausible that this controversy betokens a current disagreement about the importance of the principle that underlies the effort to insulate the CFCB from political intervention.  The rationale for such insulation certainly seems less clear than it is for the monetary control function or the supervision of corporate auditing.  Consumer protection can be regarded as an adversary function, rather than a neutral or adjudicative one.  The idea is that the agency charged with this function should favor one side of a recognized dichotomy between merchants and consumers, that it should support what is perceived to be the weaker side in order to even the playing field and achieve just results.  That may be a perfectly good policy, but it is not necessarily the sort of policy that can support an effort by a current Congress to bind its successors.  Whether that ultimately undermines the hyperdepoliticization techniques employed in the statute, or whether the CFPB is able to define a role and stance for itself that supports the use of these techniques, is something that will be determined in the coming years.

Conclusion

Congress often attempts to insulate administrative agencies from the President’s political influence.  This is sometimes called depoliticization, and given the structure of American government, it reflects a fairly standard allocation of authority by a superior among its subordinates.  More rarely, Congress seeks to insulate agencies from its own political influence as well, a technique this Essay describes as hyperdepoliticization.  Because Congress has no superior in our system, hyperdepoliticization consists of a decision maker giving instructions to itself at a later time.  Whether such an instruction can have binding force is a conundrum, one that has been extensively explored in modern analytic philosophy.  Any solution based on the idea that the decision maker is more rational or more coherent at the earlier time dodges the real philosophical problem.  In any case, it cannot be analogized to a legislature, a collective body that functions, at any given time, as the people’s representative.

The explanation offered by this Essay is that a legislature’s effort to hyperdepoliticize an agency by instructing future legislatures to desist from deploying their standard means of supervision may be regarded as persuasive or binding if certain conditions are met.  The major one is that the effort must be based on a principle that makes sense to the subsequent legislature.  The Essay then distinguishes between grounded and atmospheric forms of hyperdepoliticization.  The former is an explicit effort to achieve this result.  Examples include the Base Closure Acts of 1988 and 1990 and the Federal Reserve System’s control of the money supply.  Hyperdepoliticization has been effectively achieved in these cases because it is strongly supported by the principle of economic efficiency.  Atmospheric hyperdepoliticization is implicit, a possible byproduct of a statute that goes beyond the usual means of insulating an agency from presidential control.  The examples given in the Essay are the Public Companies Accounting Oversight Board created by the Sarbanes-Oxley Act and the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau created by the Dodd-Frank Act.  A principle of disinterested judgment supports the possible hyperdepoliticization of the PCAOB; the principle that would support the use of this technique for the CFPB is not as apparent.

Underlying these examples, and the entire technique, is the recognition that democratic legislatures are, in fact, capable of acting on the basis of principle—that is, capable of at least attempting to legislate good public policy.  The examples thus serve as evidence that this is possible.  Once this possibility is recognized, hyperdepoliticization becomes a mechanism that a legislature can deploy in appropriate circumstances.  The goal of this Essay is to identify this mechanism and explain its basis so that public-oriented legislatures can think more regularly, and more explicitly, about when they want to use it.


        *   Professor of Law, Vanderbilt Law School; J.D. 1979, Yale Law School

        [1].   See John Ferling, Adams vs. Jefferson: The Tumultuous Election of 1800, at 148 (2004); James F. Simon, What Kind of a Nation: Thomas Jefferson, John Marshall and the Epic Struggle to Create a United States 118–90 (2002).

        [2].   Marbury v. Madison, 5 U.S. (1 Cranch) 137 (1803); see also Davison M. Douglas, The Rhetorical Uses of Marbury v. Madison: The Emergence of a “Great Case”, 38 Wake Forest L. Rev. 375 (2003); William Van Alstyne, A Critical Guide to Marbury v. Madison, 1969 Duke L.J. 1 (1969).  The 1800 election also raised the issue of the federal judiciary’s political independence, a matter to which many of Chief Justice Marshall’s efforts were directed.  See Simon, supra note 1, at 190–259.

        [3].   See Daniel W. Howe, What Hath God Wrought: The Transformation of America, 1815–1848, at 331–34 (2007); Glyndon G. Van Deusen, The Jacksonian Era 35–37 (1959).  Even apologists for Jackson cannot succeed in making his policy in this area look particularly good.  See H.W. Brands, Andrew Jackson: His Life and Times 414–20 (2005); Sean Wilentz, The Rise of American Democracy: Jefferson to Lincoln 101–02, 314–19 (2005).  The resolution was the Civil Service system.  See, e.g., Ronald N. Johnson & Gary D. Libecap, The Federal Civil Service System and the Problem of Bureaucracy: The Economics and Politics of Institutional Change (1994); Stephen Skowronek, Building the New American State 47–84 (1982).

        [4].   Thomas K. McCraw, Prophets of Regulation: Charles Francis Adams, Louis D. Brandeis, James M. Landis, Alfred E. Kahn 57–79 (1984); see also Daniel P. Carpenter, The Forging of Bureaucratic Autonomy: Reputations, Networks and Policy Innovation in Executive Agencies, 1862–1928, at 18 (2001) (discussing autonomy within executive agencies, specifically the Department of Agriculture, the Department of the Interior, and the United States Postal Service).  This development came shortly after the advent of civil service reform.  See Sean D. Cashman, America in the Gilded Age: From the Death of Lincoln to the Rise of Theodore Roosevelt 252–60 (3d ed.     1993).

        [5].   For a general definition of independence and an insightful discussion of its use in current administrative practice, see generally David E. Lewis, The Politics of Presidential Appointments: Political Control and Bureaucratic Performance (2008); David E. Lewis, Presidents and the Politics of Agency Design (2003).

        [6].   Humphrey’s Ex’r v. United States, 295 U.S. 602 (1935).

        [7].   See Steven G. Calabresi & Saikrishna B. Prakash, The President’s Power to Execute the Laws, 104 Yale L.J. 541, 545 (1994); Steven G. Calabresi & Kevin H. Rhodes, The Structural Constitution: Unitary Executive, Plural Judiciary, 105 Harv. L. Rev. 1153, 1181–83 (1992); Geoffrey Miller, Independent Agencies, 1986 Sup. Ct. Rev. 41, 43 (1986).

        [8].   The term is used here in its most obvious or intuitive form—that is, insulating some decision making process from political debate or controversy.  In a recent article, Cass Sunstein and Thomas Miles use this term for a somewhat different, although related, idea about the decision-making stance of the federal judiciary in administrative law cases.  Cass R. Sunstein & Thomas J. Miles, Depoliticizing Administrative Law, 58 Duke L.J. 2193, 2229–30 (2009).  For other uses of the term, see, e.g., John Harriss, Depoliticizing Development: The World Bank and Social Capital (2001) (depoliticization as a myth that facilitates anti-progressive ideas); John Hasnas, The Depoliticization of Law, 9 Theoretical Inquiries L. 529 (2008) (customary law is depoliticized); Tim May, Power, Knowledge and Organizational Transformation: Administration as Depoliticization, 15 Soc. Epistemology 171 (2001) (administration itself as depoliticization); Philip Pettit,Depoliticizing Democracy, 17 Ratio Juris 52 (2004) (deliberative democracy as dependent on depoliticization).

        [9].   For example, the Office of Management and Budget’s (“OMB”) regulatory review subjects proposed regulations to cost-benefit analysis and serves as a basic mechanism of presidential control.  See Nicholas Bagley & Richard L. Revesz, Centralized Oversight of the Regulatory State, 106 Colum. L. Rev. 1260, 1262 (2006); Lisa S. Bressman & Michael P. Vandenbergh, Inside the Administrative State: A Critical Look at the Practice of Presidential Control, 105 Mich. L. Rev. 47, 55 (2006); Elena Kagan, Presidential Administration, 114 Harv. L. Rev. 2245, 2248 (2001).  But the process is only applied to executive agencies; independent agencies are exempt according to the terms of the executive orders that establish the process.  See Exec. Order No. 12,866, 3 C.F.R. 638 (1994).

      [10].   For discussions of the oversight process, see generally Joel D. Aberbach, Keeping a Watchful Eye: The Politics of Congressional Oversight (1990); Christopher H. Foreman, Jr., Signals From the Hill: Congressional Oversight and the Challenge of Social Regulation (1988); Matthew D. McCubbins & Thomas Schwartz, Congressional Oversight Overlooked: Police Patrols Versus Fire Alarms, 28 Am. J. Pol. Sci. 165 (1984).

      [11].   See, e.g., John A. Ferejohn, Pork Barrel Politics: Rivers and Harbors Legislation, 1947–1968, at 129–30 (1974); Morris R. Fiorina, Congress: Keystone of the Washington Establishment 7 (2d ed. 1989); John W. Kingdon, Congressmen’s Voting Decisions 1 (1989); David Mayhew, Congress: The Electoral Connection 14–15 (2004).  These studies are all overstated, but the basic point that Congress is a political body is certainly uncontested.

      [12].   The caveat regarding accountability is important because many uses of the term are not particularly meaningful.  See, e.g., Edward Rubin, The Myth of Accountability and the Anti-Administrative Impulse, 103 Mich. L. Rev. 2073, 2074 (2005).

      [13].   U.S. Const. art. II, § 3.

      [14].   See Calabresi & Prakash, supra note 7, at 583.

      [15].   Cooper v. Aaron, 358 U.S. 1, 18 (1958) (quoting Marbury v. Madison, 5 U.S. (1 Cranch) 137, 177 (1803)) (“It is emphatically the province and duty of the judicial department to say what the law is.”).

      [16].   In contrast, consider the interesting question whether an administrative agency must follow its own rules.  See Thomas W. Merrill, The Accardi Principle, 74 Geo. Wash. L. Rev. 569, 569 (2006); Edward L. Rubin, Due Process and the Administrative State, 72 Calif. L. Rev. 1044, 1105–09 (1984).  This has certain similarities to the legislative case, but it is not true self-commitment.  In the United States, agency action can always be overruled by Congress.  In addition, it is subject to the Administrative Procedure Act and to federal common law, both of which allow the courts to supervise the agency’s obedience to its own rules.  SeeHarold J. Krent, Reviewing Agency Action for Inconsistency with Prior Rules and Regulations, 72 Chi.-Kent L. Rev. 1187, 1187 (1997); Merrill, supra; Peter Raven-Hansen, Regulatory Estoppel: When Agencies Break Their Own “Laws, 64 Tex. L. Rev. 1, 5 (1985); Rodney A. Smolla, The Erosion of the Principle that the Government Must Follow Self-Imposed Rules, 52 Fordham L. Rev. 472, 472 (1984).

      [17].   Stephen Holmes, Passions and Constraint: On the Theory of Liberal Democracy 140–52 (1995).  An absolute ruler can voluntarily place limits on its future action and do so in the form of promises to others.  This is true even of God, as the famous promise of the rainbow indicates.  Genesis 8:21–22 (New King James);see also id. at 9:9–17 (God’s promise to Noah); id. at 9:17 (God’s promise to Abraham); id. at 9:16 (“The bow shall be in the cloud; and I will look upon it that I may remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth.”).

      [18].   See, e.g., Michael E. Bratman, Intentions, Plans and Practical Reason 12 (1987); Jon Elster, Ulysses and the Sirens: Studies in Rationality and Irrationality 36–111 (1988) [hereinafter Elster, Sirens]; Jon Elster, Ulysses Unbound: Studies in Rationality, Precommitment and Constraints 88–174 (2000) [hereinafter Elster, Unbound]; Edward F. McClennen, Rationality and Dynamic Choice: Foundational Explorations 218 (1990); Derek Parfit, Reasons and Persons 289 (1984); Gregory S. Kavka, The Toxin Puzzle, 43 Analysis 33, 36 (1983); Edward F. McClennen, Pragmatic Rationality and Rules, 26 Phil. & Pub. Aff. 210, 226 (1997); T.L.M. Pink,Justification and the Will, 102 Mind 329, 331 (1993).

      [19].   See generally Elster, Sirens, supra note 18; Elster, Unbound, supra note 18.

      [20].   See Elster, Sirens, supra note 18, at 88–174; Elster, Unbound, supra note 18, at 87–103.

      [21].   Elster, Sirens, supra note 18, at 36–37.

      [22].    Homer, The Odyssey 193 (E.V. Rieu, trans., 1946).

      [23].   Elster, Sirens, supra note 18, at 36.  Elster does not specify the translation he is quoting.  In fact, it is E.V. Rieu. See Homer, The Odyssey (E.V. Rieu trans., 1946).

      [24].   Elster, Sirens, supra note 18, at 36.

      [25].   Id.

      [26].   Id.

      [27].   Id.

      [28].   Elster, Unbound, supra note 18.

      [29].   Id.

      [30].   Id. at 88–174.

      [31].   See, e.g., Anthony Giddens, Modernity and Self-Identity: Self and Society in the Late Modern Age 70–108 (1991); Martin Heidegger, Being and Time 149–50 (John Macquarrie & Edward Robinson trans., 1962); Charles Taylor, Sources of the Self: The Making of Modern Identity 25–53 (1989).

      [32].   See, e.g., Frank H. Easterbrook, Statutes’ Domains, 50 U. Chi. L. Rev. 533, 547 (1983) (“Because legislatures comprise many members, they do not have ‘intents’ or ‘designs,’ hidden yet discoverable.”); Frank H. Easterbrook, Text, History, and Structure in Statutory Interpretation, 17 Harv. J.L. & Pub. Pol’y 61, 68 (1994) (“Intent is elusive for a natural person, fictive for a collective body.”); Max Radin, Statutory Interpretation, 43 Harv. L. Rev. 863, 870 (1930) (initiating the issue and arguing that legislative intent is a fiction); Antonin Scalia, Judicial Deference to Administrative Interpretations of Law, 1989 Duke L.J. 511, 517 (1989); Kenneth A. Schepsle, Congress is a “They” Not an “It”: Legislative Intent as an Oxymoron, 12 Int’l Rev. L. & Econ. 239, 244–45 (1992).  In fact, those who argue most vociferously against the idea of legislative intent do so on the ground that the meaning of legislation should be based on the three rules specified in the text—that is, on the actual decision announced by the legislature.  This position is generally known as textualism.  See, e.g., John F. Manning, Textualism as a Nondelegation Doctrine, 97 Colum. L. Rev. 673, 673 (1997); Richard Posner, Legal Formalism, Legal Realism, and the Interpretation of Statutes and the Constitution, 37 Case W. Res. L. Rev. 179, 216 (1986); Antonin Scalia, The Rule of Law as a Law of Rules, 56 U. Chi. L. Rev. 1175, 1176 (1989).

      [33].   Elster, Unbound, supra note 18, at 88.

      [34].    Id.

      [35].   Id. at 92–96.  A later section of the same essay is entitled “Societies Are Not Individuals Writ Large.” Id. at 167–68.  In it, he states: “Society has neither an ego nor an id.”  Id. at 168.  But the main point of this observation is to note that the group of people who write the constitution may represent one segment of society and may not speak for all its members.  “Frequently,” he notes, “constitutions are imposed on minorities and on future generations in the interest of a majority of the founding generation.”  Id.  But this observation still does not lead him to question the basic notion that a constitution is a device for self-commitment.

      [36].   Elster, Sirens, supra note 18, at 1.

      [37].   Id.  Elster’s basic critique is that biological systems can display only locally maximizing behavior, while humans can display globally maximizing behavior.  See generally id. at 36–111.

      [38].   Elster, Unbound, supra note 18, at 92–96.

      [39].   See Jack N. Rakove, Original Meanings: Politics and Ideas in the Making of the Constitution 309 (1996); Gordon S. Wood, The Creation of the American Republic 1776–1787, at 469–564 (1969).

      [40].   John P. Kaminski & Richard Leffler, Federalists and Antifederalists: The Debate Over the Ratification of the Constitution 23 (1989); David J. Siemers, Ratifying the Republic: Antifederalists and Federalists in Constitutional Time 137 (2002).

      [41].   Interestingly, Elster argues in a separate piece that a constitutional convention and the legislature that ultimately convenes under that constitution should have separate identities.  He writes: “More generally, other institutions or actors whose behavior is to be regulated by the constitution ought not to be part of the constitution-making process.”  Jon Elster, Deliberation and Constitution Making, in Deliberative Democracy 97, 117 (Jon Elster ed., 1998).  He makes these two principles the first of his “optimal conditions for deliberation” by a constitutional convention.  Id. at 116.  Of course, this account is normative, not descriptive, but it indicates that Elster is attuned to the continuity issue and raises further questions about why he would refer to constitution making as self-commitment.

      [42].   Plutarch, Lives of the Noble Grecians and Romans 49 (John Dryden trans., Modern Library ed. 1979).  Whether Lycurgus actually existed is not relevant to the comparison.  The Spartans, in the fifth century B.C., for example, believed that he did as surely as we believe that Madison existed, and were equally certain that he was no longer in existence.

      [43].   U.S. Const. art. V.  The exact language is:

The Congress, . . . on the Application of the Legislatures of two thirds of the several States, shall call a Convention for proposing Amendments, which . . . shall be valid . . . when ratified by the Legislatures of three fourths of the several States, or by Conventions in three fourths thereof . . . Provided that no State, without its Consent, shall be deprived of its equal Suffrage in the Senate.

Id.  Article V also prohibits amendment of two slavery-related clauses prior to 1808.  Id.

      [44].   See U.S. Const. art. I, § 3.

      [45].   For proposals to call a new convention, see Sanford Levinson, Our Undemocratic Constitution: Where the Constitution Goes Wrong (and How We the People Can Correct It) 173 (2006); Larry J. Sabato, A More Perfect Constitution: 23 Proposals to Revitalize Our Constitution and Make America a Fairer Country 198–220 (2007).

      [46].   U.S. Const. art. V.

      [47].   Elster, Unbound, supra note 18, at 92–94.

      [48].   We do not need to decide, in the context of this argument, whether a constitutional amendment is an act of self-commitment.  It either is or is not, depending on its terms.  If it is, then it is simply a self-commitment established by one of the entities created under the Constitution.  Such self-commitments by these subordinate entities are possible, of course; that is the entire point of this Essay.

      [49].   Elster, Unbound, supra note 18, at 63–77.

      [50].   This is precisely the situation that Elster advises against in his essay on deliberation and constitution making.  See id. at 170.

      [51].   Holmes, supra note 17, at 100–33.  Bodin’s ideas are most fully expressed in Jean Bodin, The Six Books of a Commonwealth A14 (Kenneth Douglas McRae trans., 1962) (1576).  His views are related to those of Thomas Hobbes, whom Holmes also discusses at length.  See Holmes, supra note 17, at 69–99.  See generally Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan (C.B. Macpherson ed., 1968) (1651).

      [52].   Bodin, supra note 51.

      [53].   See Douglass C. North, Institutions and Credible Commitments, 149 J. Institutional & Theoretical Econ. 11, 13–14 (1993); Mark E. Schaffer, The Credible-Commitment Problem in the Center-Enterprise Relationship, 13 J. Comp. Econ. 359, 370 (1989); Oliver E. Williamson, Credible Commitments: Using Hostages to Support Exchange, 73 Am. Econ. Rev. 519, 519 (1983), reprinted in Oliver E. Williamson, The Mechanisms of Governance 120 (1996).  For other applications of the idea, see, e.g., Gary Miller, Above Politics: Credible Commitment and Efficiency in the Design of Public Agencies, 10 J. Pub. Admin. Res. & Theory 289, 297 (2000); Edward Rock, Securities Regulation as Lobster Trap: A Credible Commitment Theory of Mandatory Disclosure, 23 Cardozo L. Rev. 675, 687 (2002).

      [54].   Holmes, supra note 17, at 134–77.  Holmes’s contrasts Madison’s views with those of Jefferson, who was adverse to the idea of such commitments and famously recommended that a new constitution be drafted every twenty years.

      [55].   Id. at 267–74.

      [56].   For discussions of the Framers’ thoughts about sovereignty, in addition to Holmes’ account, see Bernard Bailyn, The Ideological Origins of the American Revolution 198–229 (1992); Gordon S. Wood, The Creation of the American Republic 1776–1787, at 344–89 (1969).

      [57].   The concept of a sovereign, whatever generalized sophistication Bodin added to it, is clearly based on the image of a single ruler, which in Western Europe generally meant a hereditary monarch.  The role of self-commitment in this context depends on the theory of kingship.  If kingship is regarded as an office, then it is the same institution that continues in perpetuity, filled by different persons, much like the American presidency or Congress.  In that case, an action taken by the king that attempts to bind a future king counts as a case of self-commitment.  But if kingship is personal, then the possibility of self-commitment only lasts for the life of each individual king.  That seems to have been the idea in medieval England; for example, the view was that each new king had to re-issue the Magna Carta in order for it to be effective.  See generally Faith Thompson, Magna Carta: Its Role in the Making of the English Constitution 1300–1629 (1948).  On the general relationship between the king as a person and an institution, see generally Ernst H. Kantorowicz, The King’s Two Bodies: A Study in Medieval Political Theology (1957).

      [58].   In this sense, Holmes’s concept resembles Bruce Ackerman’s idea of constitutional moments: rare times when the political discourse shifts to a higher level that implicates the nation’s basic structure.  See Bruce Ackerman, We the People: Foundations 687 (1991); Bruce Ackerman, We the People: Transformations 5 (1998).  But Ackerman does not claim that the people exist as an entity, nor does he attempt to characterize the Constitution as an act of self-commitment.

      [59].   Jed Rubenfeld, Freedom and Time: A Theory of Constitutional Self-Government 145–59 (2001).

      [60].   Id.  Rubenfeld thus distinguishes his theory of the nation as a constructed and emergent entity from Benedict Anderson’s theory.  See Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities 145–54 (rev. ed. 2006) (distinguishing on the ground that Anderson treats the nation as imagined, rather than existing, because he adopts a speech-oriented concept of the nation as existing only in the present).

      [61].   Rubenfeld, supra note 59, at 45–88.

      [62].   Id. at 91–130.

      [63].   Id. at 163–220.

      [64].   Id. at 156–58.

      [65].   S. Pac. Co. v. Jensen, 244 U.S. 205, 222 (1917) (Holmes, J., dissenting).  Holmes was referring to the common law, not to a constitution, but his point is similar.  Common law does not exist as an abstraction, but is the product of particular and identifiable human decision makers.  Such a decision maker can be plural and decentralized, but must nonetheless follow the three rules specified above to count as a decision-making entity or self; that is, its members must be defined, its procedure specified, and its conclusions promulgated.

      [66].   He refers to it when discussing the closely-related issue of self-punishment, which, as he points out, “has the t1 effect of making the behavior in question physically impossible.”  Elster, Sirens, supra note 18, at 39.

      [67].   Id. at 37–47.

      [68].   Holmes, supra note 17, at 135.

      [69].   Elster, Sirens, supra note 18, at 67–68.

      [70].   Id. at 37–38.

      [71].   Elster, Unbound, supra note 18, at 63–77.

      [72].   We need not be concerned about whether he is “really” impaired or not.  If he does not perceive himself as impaired, the only thing the question of his really being impaired could mean is whether an external observer perceives him as impaired (“you’ve had too much to drink”).  If that occurs, there are two alternatives: either the observer can convince him that he is impaired or she cannot do so.  If she convinces him, then the situation is essentially the same as the situation where he comes to the conclusion that he is impaired on his own.  If the observer fails to convince him, then he is in essentially the same situation where he does not believe himself to be impaired.  There is no other possibility that would preserve his decision-making autonomy, which is, of course, the premise of the entire inquiry.

      [73].   Kavka, supra note 18.  For commentary, see Michael E. Bratman, Toxin, Temptation, and the Stability of Intention, in Rational Commitment and Social Justice: Essays for Gregory Kavka 59, 61 (Jules L. Coleman & Christopher W. Morris eds., 1998); David Gauthier, Rethinking the Toxin Puzzle, in  Rational Commitment and Social Justice: Essays for Gregory Kavka, supra, at 47, 47–58 [hereinafter Gauthier, Toxin]; Gilbert Harman, The Toxin Puzzle, in Rational Commitment and Social Justice: Essays for Gregory Kavka, supra, at 84, 84.

      [74].   Kavka, supra note 18, at 33.

      [75].   Id. at 34.

      [76].   David Gauthier suggests that the solution is that the actor can in fact intend to drink the toxin because doing so will be part of the best life that the actor can lead as a totality.  David Gauthier, Assure and Threaten, 104 Ethics 690, 709 (1994) [hereinafter Gauthier, Assure]; see also Gauthier, Toxin, supra note 73, at 47.  This is related to Rubenfeld’s notion of commitment.  See Rubenfeld, supra note 59, at 103–30.

      [77].   Elster, Sirens, supra note 18, at 38.

      [78].   Id. at 65–77.

      [79].   Id.

      [80].   Id.

      [81].   Homer, supra note 23, at 25.

      [82].   The general reason Elster’s discussion runs off the rails is perhaps because he limits himself to analytic philosophy and does not consider the problem from a phenomenological perspective; that is, his discussion is largely limited to what the actor decides at t1.  A phenomenological perspective emphasizes that a conscious actor is here, experiencing reality and making decisions, at any given time.  See Edmund Husserl, Experience and Judgment: Investigations in a Genealogy of Logic 50–51 (Ludwid Landgrebe ed., James S. Churchill & Karl Ameriks trans., 1973); Edmund Husserl, Ideas: General Introduction to Pure Phenomenology 112–14 (W.R. Boyce Gibson trans., 1931).

      [83].   See Tulio Halperin Donghi, The Contemporary History of Latin America 344–51 (Chile), 351–54 (Uruguay), 354–60 (Argentina), 360–64 (Brazil) (John Charles Chasteen trans., 1993); Martin Meredith, The Fate of Africa: A History of the Continent Since Independence 218–48 (2005) (discussing various countries in a chapter titled “The Coming of the Tyrants”).

      [84].   To be sure, questions about group psychology may be of relevance and interest in explaining why a legislature, as a collective body, reaches a particular decision.  But these are simply issues that arise whenever the legislature acts; they indicate that the legislature, like every other human institution, is a less-than-perfectly-rational decision maker, but provide no argument that it should therefore be precluded from acting.

      [85].   Elster, Unbound, supra note 18, at 96–105.

      [86].   Id. at 115–18.

      [87].   Laurence H. Tribe, American Constitutional Law 23 (3d ed. 2000) [hereinafter Tribe, 3d ed.]; Laurence H. Tribe, American Constitutional Law 11 (2d ed. 1988) [hereinafter Tribe, 2d ed.]. The second edition of Tribe’s treatise presented this theory without qualification.  In the third edition, he qualifies it somewhat.

      [88].   The experiment is George Ainslie’s demonstration that pigeons are capable of delaying gratification.  George Ainslie, Specious Reward: A Behavioral Theory of Impulsiveness and Impulse Control, 82 Psychol. Bull. 463 (1975).  Tribe says:

Just as the pigeon experimenters concluded that any ‘effective device for getting the later, larger reinforcement must include a means of either preventing preference from changing as the smaller, earlier reward comes close, or keeping the subject from acting on this change,’ . . . [so] it may be necessary to create mechanisms for enforcing such constitutional agreements in a setting carefully insulated from momentary pressures.

Tribe, 2d ed., supra note 87, at 11.  In his third edition, Tribe recognizes that there are disanalogies between conscious actors and pigeons, but still fails to recognize the basic difficulty that our Constitution is not a case of self-commitment because it was drafted and adopted by a different self.  Tribe, 3d ed., supra note 87, at 23.

      [89].   See Amy F.T. Arnsten, Prefrontal Cortical Network Connections: Key Site of Vulnerability in Stress and Schizophrenia, 29 Int’l. J. Developmental Neuroscience 215, 215 (2011); Steven M. Southwick et al., Role of Norepinephrine in the Pathophysiology and Treatment of Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, 46 Biological Psychiatry 1192, 1192 (1999).

      [90].   Homer, The Odyssey 77 (Robert Fagles trans., 1996).

      [91].   Homer, The Odyssey 27 (Richmond Lattimore trans., 1965).

      [92].   Homer, The Odyssey 25 (Alexander Pope trans., 1967) (Yale Pope ed., vol. 9).

      [93].   Homer, supra note 23, at 25 (quoting the Rieu translation, this being the one Elster uses).

      [94].   Homer, The Odyssey, in The Complete Works of Homer: The Iliad and the Odyssey 1, 1 (S.H. Butcher & Andrew Lang trans., 1935).

      [95].   Homer, The Odyssey 11 (W.H.D. Rouse trans., 1937).

      [96].   Elster, Sirens, supra note 18, at 36.

      [97].   Two obvious reasons, which Elster discusses at length, are passion and weakness of the will.  See Elster, Unbound, supra note 18, at 118–41.

      [98].   J.B. Schneewind, The Invention of Autonomy: A History of Modern Moral Philosophy 483–87 (1998).

      [99].   Id.

    [100].   Immanuel Kant, Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals 44 (James W. Ellington, trans., 1981).

    [101].   Homer, supra note 92, at 180–81.  This is Pope’s translation, which is not particularly accurate, but which is the most poetic.

    [102].   Homer, supra note 23, at 28–29.

    [103].   Homer, supra note 91, at 27.

    [104].   Homer, supra note 23, at 25.

    [105].   See M.I. Finley, The World of Odysseus 109–13 (rev. ed. 1965).  On the importance of protecting one’s followers according to tribal or honor morality, seeJacob Black-Michaud, Cohesive Force: Feud in the Mediterranean and the Middle East 151–54 (1975); William I. Miller, Bloodtaking and Peacemaking: Feud, Law, and Society in Saga Iceland 22–23, 259–60 (1990); J.M. Wallace-Hadrill, The Long-Haired Kings 121, 125 (1962).

    [106].   Using the Rieu translation would be a bit unfair to Elster, were it not the one that he uses, because its language is unusually, and perhaps anachronistically, religious-sounding.  Pope’s translation is equivalent: “Vain toils: their impious folly dar’d to prey, On Herds devoted to the God of Day: The God vindictive doom’d them never more, (Ah men unbless’d!) to touch that natal shore.”  Homer, supra note 92, at 28–29 (the Pope translation).  But Pope, being an an eighteenth-century Catholic, was equally anachronistic.  Modern translations other than Rieu’s describe the crew’s mistake in more secular terms—as “recklessness,” Homer, supra note 90, at 77 (the Fagles translation); Homer, supra note 91, at 27 (the Lattimore translation), “the blindness of their own hearts,” Homer, supra note 94, at 1 (the Butcher & Lang translation), or “madness,” Homer, supra note 95, at 11 (the Rouse translation).  Even so, there is agreement on the basic point that the crew came to grief because they disobeyed a god.

    [107].   Elster, Sirens, supra note 18, at 36–37.

    [108].   Id. at 36.

    [109].   Homer, supra note 91, at 186.

    [110].   Homer, supra note 23, at 190.

    [111].   Homer, supra note 91, at 186, 189.

    [112].   Homer, supra note 23, at 196–201.  Only the famous, but briefly told, passage between Scylla and Charybdis intervenes.

    [113].   Homer, supra note 91, at 185–89.

    [114].   Homer, supra note 23, at 197.

    [115].   Homer, supra note 91, at 193.

    [116].   Homer, supra note 23, at 198.

    [117].   Id.

    [118].   An adumbration of the line, attributed to Rear Admiral Grace Hopper (one of the founders of the COBOL computer language), is that “it’s easier to ask forgiveness than it is to get permission.”  Diane Hamblen, Only the Limits of Our Imagination: An Exclusive Interview with RADM Grace M. Hopper, Chips Ahoy, July 1986, available at http://web.archive.org/web/20090114165606
/http://www.chips.navy.mil/archives/86_jul/interview.html.

    [119].   Homer, supra note 23, at 199.  Pope’s translation conveys the emotional impact better: “Why were my cares beguil’d in short repose?  O fatal slumber, paid with lasting woes!  A deed so dreadful all the Gods alarms, Vengeance is on the wing, and heav’n in arms!”  Homer, supra note 92, at 452.

    [120].   See generally Exodus 32.  Aaron, who is apparently in charge during his brother’s absence, accedes to the people’s demand for an idol.  Id. at 32:2–5.  He is a basically good person, as depictions of him in other places indicate, but he is not a leader.  When Moses asks him to explain his action, he responds with the same rationale that public choice scholars ascribe to all legislators: the people wanted it.  See id. at 32:23–24.  At that point, according to the account, Moses saw the people were unrestrained (for Aaron had not restrained them).  Id. at 32:25.  What Aaron should have done of course (according to the author) is to remind the people of their previous decision.  To do so, he would necessarily need to appeal to the principle underlying the decision.

    [121].   Having disobeyed, they must die.  Hyperion kills Ulysses’s followers, while Moses himself, quoting directly from God, orders the Levites to kill their brothers, companions, and neighbors.  Id. at 32:27–28.  In other words, in a religious world, some principles are objectively correct, and people who violate them are punished by divine action.  In a secular world, we must find our own principles and, if we choose, impose our own punishments.

    [122].   The theological significance of the intervening incident of Scylla and Charybdis (where Ulysses can only avoid total destruction in Charybdis’s whirlpool by sacrificing six crew members to the monstrous Scylla) is similar to the book of Job: being devout may protect a person (Ulysses in this case) from destruction but not from suffering.  See generally Job 1.

    [123].   Gregory Nagy, Homeric Poetry and Problems of Multiformity: The “Panathenaic Bottleneck”, 96 Classical Philology 109, 110 (2001).

    [124].   For the classic definition of this concept, see Max Weber, Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretive Sociology 24–25 (Guenther Roth & Claus Wittich eds., Ephraim Fischoff et al. trans., 1978).  It is generally viewed as the stance that underlies public policy making.  See Edith Stokey & Richard Zeckhauser, A Primer for Policy Analysis 3–7 (1978); Deborah Stone, Policy Paradox: The Art of Political Decision Making 233–42 (2002).  For an extended discussion, see generally Jurgen Habermas, Reason and the Rationalization of Society, in The Theory of Communicative Action 42 (Thomas McCarthy trans., 1984).

    [125].   Moreover, from the modern perspective, the two types of higher principles can be seen as interchangeable.  Ulysses, viewed as a rational, modern decision maker, obeys the gods because he fears punishment; that is, he knows it is in his rational self-interest to be obedient.  This is probably a poor way to read the poem, but it illustrates the structural similarity of deontological and instrumental principles.

    [126].   See  Rubenfeld, supra note 59, at 103–30; Gauthier, Assure, supra note 76, at 692; Gauthier, Toxin, supra note 73, at 57.

    [127].   Holmes, supra note 17, at 100–33.

    [128].   An alternative terminology would be “hard” and “soft.”  It is certainly tempting to use monosyllabic modifiers when a nine-syllable word is being modified, but “hard” and “soft” have too many other connotations.

    [129].   See David S. Sorenson, Shutting Down the Cold War: The Politics of Military Base Closure 41–94 (1998).

    [130].   Id. at 7–40; Charlotte Twight, Institutional Underpinnings of Parochialism: The Case of Military Base Closures, 9 Cato J. 73, 81 (1989).

    [131].   Sorenson, supra note 129, at 15–16.

    [132].   Defense Authorization Amendments and Base Closure and Realignment Act of 1988, Pub. L. No. 100-526, §§ 201–209, 102 Stat. 2623, 2627–34.

    [133].   Defense Base Closure and Realignment Act of 1990, Pub. L. No. 101-510, §§ 2901–2911, 104 Stat. 1485, 1808–19 (codified in part in 10 U.S.C. § 2687 (1990)).

    [134].   National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 2002, Pub. L. No. 107-107, §§ 3001-3008, 115 Stat. 1012, 1342–53 (2001).

    [135].   Base Realignment and Closure (BRAC), Global Security, http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/facility/brac.htm (last visited July 8, 2012).

    [136].   Defense Base Closure and Realignment Act of 1990, §§ 2901–2911, 104 Stat. at 1808–19.

    [137].   Id. § 2902, 104 Stat. at 1808.

    [138].   Id. § 2903, 104 Stat. at 1810–12.

    [139].   Id. § 2903, 104 Stat. at 1811.

    [140].   Sorenson, supra note 129, at 47–48.

    [141].   Defense Base Closure and Realignment Act of 1990, § 2903, 104 Stat. at 1812.

    [142].   Id.

    [143].   For a general description and analysis, see Sorenson, supra note 129; Kenneth R. Mayer, Closing Military Bases (Finally): Solving Collective Action Dilemmas Through Delegation, 20 Legis. Stud. Q. 393 (1995); see also R. Douglas Arnold, The Logic of Congressional Action 139–41 (1990); Jason A. Coats, Base Closure and Realignment: Federal Control Over the National Guard, 75 U. Cin. L. Rev. 343, 351–57 (2006).

    [144].   See Base Realignment and Closure (BRAC), supra note 135.  The four Commissions reported recommendations in 1991, 1993, 1995 and 2005.  A realignment or redirection means that some facilities or services at a given base are terminated, although the base itself remains open.

    [145].   Needless to say, the announcement of major base closures brought huge outcries from most local communities, with elected representatives often in the lead.  These outcries were hardly unreasonable; Charleston Naval Shipyard, slated for closure by the 1993 BRAC list, employed 35,656 people in total, more than four times the number of the region’s next largest employer.  Opposition to its closure was led by the formidable Strom Thurmond, one of South Carolina’s senators.  Nevertheless, the facility was closed.  See Sorenson, supra note 129, at 131–38.  Thurmond was nonetheless reelected, at the age of 94, which perhaps indicates that the BRAC process was successful in providing politicians with political cover.

    [146].   Mayer, supra note 143, at 405–06.  Mayer attributes the term to Arnold, supra note 143, at 13.

    [147].   This is, of course, a special case of one standard public-choice explanation for delegation to administrative agencies.  See e.g., David Epstein & Sharyn O’Halloran, Delegating Powers: A Transaction Cost Politics Approach to Policy Making Under Separate Powers (1999); Morris P. Fiorina, Legislative Choice of Regulatory Forms: Legal Process or Administrative Process, 39 Pub. Choice 33 (1982).

    [148].   Mayer, supra note 143, at 406.

    [149].   2005 Def. Base Closure & Realignment Comm’n, 2005 Defense Base Closure and Realignment Commission Report 312 (2005), available athttp://www.brac.gov/docs/final/Chap3PrevExpwithBRAC.pdf.

    [150].   Sorenson, supra note 129, at 15–16.

    [151].   Federal Reserve Act of 1913, Pub. L. No. 63–43, 38 Stat. 251 (codified in scattered sections of 12 and 31 U.S.C.).  For a discussion of the agency and its purposes, see generally Thibaut de Saint Phalle, The Federal Reserve: An Intentional Mystery (1985); Milton Friedman & Anna J. Schwartz, A Monetary History of the United States 1867–1960, at 189–295 (1963); William Greider, Secrets of the Temple: How the Federal Reserve Runs the Country (1987).  The immediate motivation was the Panic of 1907.

    [152].   See 12 U.S.C. §§ 241–242  (2006).  Members of the Fed are appointed for fourteen-year terms, the longest term of any appointed federal agency official.  This extended term was instituted by the Banking Act of 1935.  Banking Act of 1935, Pub. L. No. 74–305, 49 Stat. 684.  See John T. Woolley, Monetary Politics: The Federal Reserve and the Politics of Monetary Policy 10–12, 48–49 (1984).

    [153].   de Saint Phalle, supra note 151, at 12.

    [154].   Id.

    [155].   The Fed could also control the money supply through adjustment of the discount rate—that is, the interest rate it charged when it lent money to banks (to provide liquidity, for example).

    [156].   What We Do, Fed. Res. Bank N.Y., http://www.newyorkfed.org
/aboutthefed/whatwedo.html (last visited July 8, 2012).

    [157].   Gordon Wood, Knowledge, Power, and the First Congress, in Knowledge, Power and the Congress 44, 50 (William H. Robinson & Clay H. Wellborn eds., 1991).

    [158].   Friedman & Schwartz, supra note 151, at 225–34; Greider, supra note 151, at 292–94.  Despite Strong’s efforts, however, the Open Market Committee is not controlled by the New York Fed or the regional banks in general.  The Board acted soon after the Committee’s monetary control function was established to take effective control of the process.  A. Jerome Clifford, The Independence of the Federal Reserve System 106–08 (1965).

    [159].   Clifford, supra note 158.

    [160].   Banking Act (Glass-Steagall) of 1933, Pub. L. No. 73–66, 48 Stat. 162.

    [161].   Banking Act of 1935, Pub. L. No. 74–305, 49 Stat. 684.

    [162].   The current version is codified at 12 U.S.C. § 263 (2006).

    [163].   Clifford, supra note 158, at 131–35; Freedman & Schwartz, supra note 151, at 445; Greider, supra note 151, at 313–14.

    [164].   Federal Open Market Committee, Bd. of Governors of the Fed. Res. Sys., http://www.federalreserve.gov/monetarypolicy/fomc.htm (last visited July 8, 2012).

    [165].   Greider, supra note 151, at 32.

    [166].   The total amount of U.S. securities outstanding is over $10 trillion.  Bureau of Pub. Debt, Monthly Statement of the Public Debt of the United States, TreasuryDirect, http://www.treasurydirect.gov/govt/reports/pd/mspd/2012
/opds052012.pdf (last visited July 8, 2012).

    [167].   12 U.S.C. § 225b (2012).

    [168].   Clifford, supra note 158, at 326–28; Greider, supra note 151, at 50; Woolley, supra note 152, at 138–43.

    [169].   Press Release, Bd. of Governors of the Fed. Reserve Sys., Reserve Bank Income and Expense Data and Transfers to the Treasury for 2011 (Jan. 10, 2012).

    [170].   Id.

    [171].   See Clifford, supra note 158, at 33–35; Greider, supra note 151, at 530–31.

    [172].   See, e.g., James M. Buchanan & Richard E. Wagner, Democracy in Deficit: The Political Legacy of Lord Keynes 1 (1977); Thomas Havrilesky, The Pressures on American Monetary Policy 1 (1993); Alberto Alesina & Lawrence H. Summers, Central Bank Independence and Macroeconomic Performance: Some Comparative Evidence, 25 J. Money, Credit & Banking 151, 151-152 (1993); Alberto Alesina, Politics and Business Cycles in Industrial Democracies, 8 Econ. Pol’y 55, 57 (1989); Nathaniel Beck, Elections and the Fed: Is There a Political Monetary Cycle?, 31 Am. J. Pol. Sci. 194, 194–95 (1987); Helge Berger et al., Central Bank Independence: An Update of Theory and Evidence, 15 J. Econ. Surveys 1, 3–4 (2001); Milton Friedman, Should There Be an Independent Monetary Authority?,in In Search of a Monetary Constitution 219, 219-220 (Leland Yeager ed., 1962); see also Steven Ramirez, Depoliticizing Financial Regulation, 41 Wm. & Mary L. Rev. 503, 532 (2000).

    [173].   Friedman, supra note 172, at 224–25; Thomas Sargent & Neil Wallace, Some Unpleasant Monetarist Arithmetic, 5 Fed. Res. Bank Minneapolis Q. 1, 1422–23 (1981).

    [174].   Alesina & Summers, supra note 172, at 159; Abdur Chowdhury, The Relationship Between the Inflation Rate and its Variability: The Issues Reconsidered, 23 Applied Econ. 993, 1001–02 (1991); Stanley Fischer, The Role of Macroeconomic Factors in Growth, 32 J. Monetary Econ. 485, 487 (1993).

    [175].   See Eric Schaling, Institutions and Monetary Policy: Credibility, Flexibility and Central Bank Independence 110 (1995); Robert J. Barro & David B. Gordon, Rules, Discretion and Reputation in a Model of Monetary Policy, 12 J. Monetary Econ. 101, 101–02 (1983); Guillermo A. Calvo, On the Time Consistency of Optimal Policy in a Monetary Economy, 46 Econometrica 1411, 1422–23 (1978).  But see Kenneth Rogoff, The Optimal Degree of Commitment to an Intermediate Monetary Target, 110 Q.J. Econ. 1169, 1169–70 (1985).

    [176].   Manfred Neumann, Precommitment by Central Bank Independence, 2 Open Econ. Rev. 95, 96 (1991); Rogoff, supra note 175, at 1187–88.

    [177].   See Alex Cukierman, Central Bank Strategy, Credibility and Independence: Theory and Evidence 445–49 (1992); Vittorio Grilli et al., Political and Monetary Institutions and Public Financial Policies in the Industrial Democracies, 10 Econ. Pol’y 342, 365–69 (1991).

    [178].   Economists have struggled to define central bank independence, in part because they want to carry out cross-national comparisons among countries with different governance structures.  See Alberto Alesina, Macroeconomics and Politics, NBER Macroeconomics Ann. 13, 42–43 (1988); Alex Cukierman et al.,Measuring the Independence of Central Banks and its Effects on Policy Outcomes, 6 World Bank Econ. Rev. 353, 382–95 (1992); Grilli et al., supra note 177, at 342.  For countries without a tradition of independent agencies, establishing independence from the executive can require complex political innovation.  In the United States, where this device is familiar, the crucial issue, as indicated above, is establishing independence from the legislature.

    [179].   See Clifford, supra note 158, at 322–68; Greider, supra note 151, at 160–221; Woolley, supra note 152, at 131–53.

    [180].   Woolley, supra note 152, at 145 (“Seldom have conditions seemed more conducive for a broad-based attack on the Federal Reserve than in 1975.  The economy was staggering through a bitter recession that had throttled the construction industry.  Many Democrats felt that they had a mandate to revive the economy.  An expert consensus laid much of the blame for the recession at the doorstep of the Federal Reserve.”).

    [181].   H.R. Con. Res. 133, 94th Cong. (1975).  See Robert E. Weintraub, Congressional Supervision of Monetary Policy, 4 J. Monetary Econ. 341, 341, 344 (1978).  Even the more modest effort to increase supervision of the Fed has encountered substantial resistance.  The current House of Representatives has recently passed the Federal Reserve Transparency Act, H.R. 459, 112th Cong. (2012), a fairly modest proposal to empower the Comptroller General of the United States to audit the Fed.  But Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid immediately declared that the Senate would not consider this legislation.  See Angel Clark, Harry Reid Vows Federal Transparency Act Will Never Be Voted on in Senate, Examiner.com http://www.examiner.com/article/harry-reid-vows
-federal-transparency-act-will-never-be-voted-on-the-senate (last accessed Aug. 5, 2012).

    [182].   Woolley, supra note 152, at 146  (“Burns’s spirited attack on those bills effectively immobilized the [House] committee.”).

    [183].   Id. at 132–53.

    [184].   Id. at 145 (“Seldom have conditions seemed more conducive for a broad-based attack on the Federal Reserve than in 1975 . . . .  The economy was staggering through a bitter recession that had throttled the construction industry.  Many Democrats felt that they had a mandate to revive the economy.  An expert consensus laid much of the blame for the recession at the doorstep of the Federal Reserve.”).

    [185].   Sarbanes-Oxley Act of 2002, Pub. L. No. 107-204, 116 Stat. 745 (codified in scattered sections of 15 U.S.C.).

    [186].   15 U.S.C. § 7211 (2006).

    [187].   Id.

    [188].   Id. § 7211(e)(4)–(6).

    [189].   Id. § 7211(e)(1).

    [190].   Id. § 7219; see id. § 7219(d)(1) (“The Board shall establish, with the approval of the Commission, a reasonable annual accounting support fee (or a formula for the computation thereof), as may be necessary or appropriate to establish and maintain the Board.”).  The provision goes on to specify how the fee is to be allocated among companies subject to the Board, and also provides that the Board shall use funds collected from monetary penalties to fund merit scholarships for accounting students.  Id. § 7219(c)(2).

    [191].   Pub. Co. Accounting Oversight Bd., Budget by Program Area 2009-2011 (2010), available at http://pcaobus.org/About/Ops/Documents/Fiscal
%20Year%20Budgets/2011.pdf.

    [192].   Free Enter. Fund v. Pub. Co. Accounting Oversight Bd., 130 S. Ct. 3138, 3147 (2010).  The decision held that, while Congress can place a “for cause” limit on the removal of an officer of the United States and on an inferior officer subject to an officer who can be removed at will, it cannot place a “for cause” limit on an inferior officer subject to an officer who is also only removable for cause.

    [193].   Id. at 3139, 3147.

    [194].   For the background and origins of the Act, see generally John C. Coates, The Goals and Promise of the Sarbanes-Oxley Act, 21 J. Econ. Persp. 91 (2007); Lawrence A. Cunningham, The Sarbanes-Oxley Yawn: Heavy Rhetoric, Light Reform (And It Might Just Work), 35 Conn. L. Rev. 915 (2003); Roberta Romano, The Sarbanes-Oxley Act and the Making of Quack Corporate Governance, 114 Yale L.J. 1521 (2005).

    [195].   Another provision of the Act requires that the audit committees of all companies subject to the Act consist exclusively of independent directors. 15 U.S.C. § 78j(m)(3)(A) (2006).  An independent director is defined as one who does not “accept any consulting, advisory or other compensatory fee from the issuer” and is not an “affiliated person of the issuer or any subsidiary.”  Id. § 78j(m)(3)(B).

    [196].   Dodd-Frank Wall Street Reform and Consumer Protection Act, Pub L. No. 111-203, 124 Stat. 1376 (2010).

    [197].   Id. § 1011(a), 124 Stat. at 1964.

    [198].   Id. § 1011(b), 124 Stat. at 1964.

    [199].   Id.

    [200].   Id. § 1011(c), 124 Stat. at 1964.

    [201].   Marshall J. Breger & Gary J. Edles, Established by Practice: the Theory and Operation of Independent Federal Agencies, 52 Admin. L. Rev. 1111, 1139–51 (2000).

    [202].   Dodd-Frank Wall Street Reform and Consumer Protection Act, § 1011(a), 124 Stat. 1964.

    [203].   Id. § 1013, 124 Stat. at 1966–74.  If they are already covered by the Civil Service Retirement System or the Federal Employees Retirement System, however, they may remain within those systems.

    [204].   Id. § 1012(c)(2), 124 Stat. at 1965–66.  This subsection is titled “Autonomy.”  Id.

    [205].   Id. § 1016, 124 Stat. at 1974.

    [206].   Id. § 1017(a), 124 Stat. at 1975.

    [207].   See Suzanna Andrews, The Woman Who Knew Too Much, Vanity Fair, Nov. 2011, at 184; Deborah Solomon, Obama to Nominate Consumer Bureau Chief Next Week, Wall St. J. Wash. Wire (July 15, 2011, 4:48 PM), http://blogs.wsj.com/washwire/2011/07/15/obama-to-nominate-consumer-bureau-chief-next-week/?KEYWORDS=elizabeth+warren.

Rubin_LawReview_10.12

 

By: Richard Murphy*

In 1983, then-Administrator William Ruckelshaus promised that under his leadership, EPA would operate “in a fishbowl.” I wish to reaffirm this commitment and take the opportunity to provide guidelines about how we will ensure transparency in our interactions with all members of the public.

Lisa Jackson, EPA Administrator[1]

Introduction

The basic template for legislative rulemaking under our quasi-constitution of administrative law, the Administrative Procedure Act (“APA”), could not be much simpler.  The default process for making such a rule is notice and comment.  Using this procedure, an agency must give notice to the world of the “subjects and issues involved” in its proposal.[2]  It must provide interested members of the public a chance to comment on the noticed proposal.[3]  On issuing the rule in its final form, an agency must include a “concise general statement of . . . basis and purpose.”[4]  In short, the agency must declare what it is thinking about regulating, give others a chance to say what they think about the agency’s thoughts, and wrap things up by justifying the agency’s ultimate regulatory choice.  Back in 1946, the APA’s drafters did not intend for this process to be difficult.[5]

The modern reality of significant legislative rulemaking is well known to be complex, burdensome, and opaque.[6]  Much of the opacity arises from the fact that most policymaking decisions are made well before an agency ever issues a notice of proposed rulemaking (“NPRM”).[7]  Rather than serve as a vehicle for policymaking, the notice-and-comment process is instead, to a rounding error, a means for establishing a record for judicial review of rules.

Much of the complexity flows from efforts made during the great “reformation” of American administrative law in the 1960s and 1970s to open up the policymaking process to greater participation by regulatory beneficiaries.[8]  In part as a consequence of adoption of an “interest representation” model of rulemaking, participation in the notice-and-comment process can demand substantial resources—in time, money, information, and expertise—from outside parties seeking to influence regulatory outcomes.  Of course, the same might also be said for the judicial review process that follows most significant rulemaking.

Not everyone, however, enjoys the same amount of time, money, information, and expertise.  We can thus think of administrative procedural law as handing interested persons (i.e., potential litigants) hammers with which to pound agencies.  Common sense, along with a very basic public choice analysis, suggests that regulated parties will generally be able to use these hammers with greater force than public interest groups.  A particular regulatory action that threatens the bottom line of a concentrated group of profit-seeking entities will attract their concentrated attention.  Such entities will invest in lawyers, consultants, scientists, lobbyists, and politicians to protect their profits.  Notwithstanding the strength and sophistication of many public interest groups, in many contexts they simply lack the resources to make for a good fight.  Thus, it is possible that changes made to the rulemaking process that were intended, in part, to enable strong public interest group participation may often disfavor such groups.[9]

Part I of this Essay briefly examines the validity of this concern that the rulemaking process as currently structured unduly favors industry over public interest groups.  It concludes that this concern has substantial justification.  By shoving policymaking into the pre-notice period, the current process tends to deprive public interest groups of information they need in order to attempt to influence regulatory outcomes.  Also, the resources necessary to participate in the rulemaking process (from pre-notice all the way through judicial review) naturally tilt the process in favor of those with money and power—namely corporate interests.

Part II then briefly discusses one suggestion for slightly redressing the balance of power: require prompt, electronic, and searchable disclosure of communications to agency officials directly bearing on the merits of potential rulemaking, regardless of whether a notice has been issued.  Adopting this type of policy would not, of course, correct the basic problem of the resource imbalance, but then nothing, realistically, could.  It would, however, make it somewhat easier for public interest groups to obtain the information they need to influence rulemaking in a timely way before an agency’s policy choices crystallize.

I.  Do We Have a Balance of Power Problem?

A.     A Quick Review of Our Current Procedural Framework for Notice-and-Comment Rulemaking and How We Got There

The complexity of modern notice-and-comment rulemaking can, to a considerable extent, be laid at the door of the great “reformation” of administrative law that the federal courts led during the 1960s and 1970s.[10]  As characterized by Professor Richard Stewart, the basic thrust of this reformation was to push administrative procedures towards an “interest representation” or pluralistic model of legitimacy.[11]  To ensure proper representation of all relevant interests, courts aggressively construed agency duties of notice, comment, and explanation to expand opportunities for meaningful participation by outsiders—especially public interest groups—in the rulemaking process.[12]

Prior to the reformation, taking the APA at its word, an agency could issue a sketchy notice of a proposed rule that provided only a “description of the subjects and issues involved.”[13]  The agency had to accept comments from the public and was required to “consider[ ] . . . the relevant matter presented,” but the APA provided no express mechanism for enforcing this duty.[14]  As part of any rule adopted by notice and comment, an agency was required to include a “general statement of . . . basis and purpose,” but the APA insisted that this statement be “concise.”[15]  Regulated parties directly affected by a legislative rule would have standing to challenge it in federal court, but regulatory beneficiaries often did not.[16]  Judicial review as to facts and policy was extremely lax, in essence inquiring whether any conceivable set of facts could justify the agency’s policy choice.[17]

During the 1960s and 1970s, the scope of potential regulation vastly increased with the creation of agencies such as the Environmental Protection Agency (“EPA”), the Consumer Product Safety Commission (“CPSC”), and the Occupational Safety and Health Agency (“OSHA”).  At the same time, concerns deepened that regulated parties had “captured” various agencies, which therefore were adopting policies biased in favor of special interests rather than optimally serving the public interest.[18]

Partially in response to such concerns, the federal courts, led by the D.C. Circuit, dragged a radically different model for legislative rulemaking out of the sparse provisions governing notice an comment in the APA.  The courts reasoned that without information concerning agency rulemaking efforts, outsiders can neither know that a rulemaking implicates their interests nor critique the agency’s grounds for action.  They therefore cannot meaningfully participate in the comment process—which cannot be right.[19]

To address these concerns, the courts reworked the APA’s notice provisions in two especially notable ways.  First, an agency’s final rule must be a “logical outgrowth” of the noticed proposal.[20]  The functional idea behind this abstraction is that a proposal should put an interested person who reads it on notice that issues of concern to her are “on the table.”[21]  This sort of notice prevents an agency from blocking meaningful comments by sandbagging interested parties with misleading notices.[22]  Second, courts insisted that agencies disclose any “scientific data” on which they may have relied in their NPRMs.[23]

Interested outsiders might submit the most insightful comments in the world, but their work will not matter much if agencies ignore them.  Courts therefore decided not to take the APA’s admonition that agencies accompany rules with “concise” contemporaneous explanations literally.[24]  Instead, such explanations must contain a response to any material comments offered during the notice-and-comment process.[25]

The reformation also included two especially notable changes to judicial review.  First, courts enabled regulatory beneficiaries (and public interest groups) to obtain judicial enforcement of these new requirements by relaxing standing rules.[26]  Second, courts developed “hard-look” review of agency policy decisions.  The conceptual roots of hard-look review can be traced back to the Chenery doctrine, which stands for the idea that the validity of agency discretionary action must rise or fall based on the validity of the agency’s contemporaneous explanation for it.[27]  By demanding a “concise general statement of basis and purpose” for rules developed through notice and comment,[28] the APA provided a hook for the Chenery doctrine to apply to rulemaking.  As it first evolved, the hard-look doctrine instructed courts to examine such explanations to ensure that an agency itself had taken a “hard look” at the regulatory problems confronting it.[29]  Later, the hard-look doctrine came to be associated instead with courts taking a “hard look” at agency policy choices to ensure their rationality.[30]  In theory, this form of review is supposed to be quite lax, but in practice, particularly where vague law and politicized courts come into play, one person’s policy judgment may be another person’s clear error.

Presidents and the Congress have also played their part in “ossifying” the rulemaking process.  Presidents of both political parties have used executive orders to centralize control of administrative rulemaking in the Office of Information and Regulatory Affairs (“OIRA”), a subdivision of the Office of Management and Budget in the Executive Office of the White House.[31]  Satisfying OIRA review requires agencies to prepare cost-benefit analyses for significant regulatory actions.[32]  A common criticism of OIRA review is that it is secretive and generally favors regulated interests.[33]  Congress has contributed to deliberative burdens by requiring agencies to issue various “impact statements” as part of the rulemaking process in statutes including, among others, the Regulatory Flexibility Act[34] and the Unfunded Mandates Reform Act.[35]

The result of all of these encrustations on the rulemaking process is that significant legislative rulemaking via notice-and-comment rulemaking, which was once easy and supposed to be so, is now a complex, time-consuming, resource-intensive procedural maze.

B.     Does the Current Model Unduly Favor Regulated Interests?

It bears noting at the outset that it is impossible to find a neutral corner from which to judge whether rulemaking outcomes optimize the “public interest” because the “public interest” is contested in interesting cases—one person’s “capture” sometimes turns out to be another person’s exceptionally well-reasoned policy choice.[36] We should expect people with especially strong commitments to environmental protection, such as staffers at Sierra Club, to place a lower value on economic development than staffers at the United States Chamber of Commerce.  Regardless of the technical pretensions of cost-benefit analysis, we lack objective means for precisely balancing the competing, incommensurate preferences of such groups.

That said, one stark difference between regulated parties and public interest groups is that the former seek to influence regulations to protect or enhance their bottom lines.  They have money, sometimes lots of it, at stake.  As Upton Sinclair observed, “It is difficult to get a man to understand something when his job depends on not understanding it.”[37]  We should therefore expect this profit motive to affect how regulated parties assess not just their own private interests but also how they perceive the public interest—even if they act with the best of faith.  It is obvious that, provided the opportunity and the power, profit-driven, regulated parties would not choose to regulate themselves in a socially optimal way.[38]  Likewise, given the chance to exercise undue influence, such parties would naturally attempt to persuade agencies to adopt policies that favor corporate interests more than they otherwise would.

It does not follow, however, from the less-than-astonishing fact that regulated entities follow their perceived self-interest that they can succeed in systematically distorting regulatory outcomes away from the public interest.  The primary protector of the public interest in a regulatory context should be the agency itself.  Agency officials are perfectly aware of the existence and force of industry bias.[39]  Moreover, many agency officials identify quite strongly with their regulatory missions; for example, the EPA is the home of many environmentalists.[40]  It is therefore possible that any imbalance in the regulatory process between regulated entities and public interest groups is nothing to be too worried about.[41]

Of course, for what it is worth, this hopeful view of the administrators’ power to triumph over special interests in order to serve the public good runs counter to the main underlying premise of the great reformation of American administrative law.  Broadly speaking, this premise was that agencies had been “captured” by the industries they were supposed to regulate.[42]  The reformation sought to solve this problem by opening up regulatory procedures and judicial review to participation by regulatory beneficiaries (and public interest groups representing them).[43]

Although these reforms expanded the formal powers of regulatory beneficiaries to participate in the procedural moves of rulemaking and judicial review, they did not eliminate some of the root causes of industry influence over agencies.  Regulated parties naturally have far more frequent and intimate contact with agencies than public interest groups.  Some of these contacts occur as part of the day-to-day process of implementing regulations.  Regulated entities seek information concerning regulatory requirements from agencies; agencies inspect regulated parties and converse with them about the results.[44]  When an agency turns to policymaking, it must obtain relevant information concerning the problems it confronts.  The primary source of this information will generally be, naturally enough, industry contacts.[45]  As Professor Stewart observed nearly forty years ago, pushing rulemaking procedures towards an interest-representation model does little to alter this fundamental dynamic.[46]

It is one thing to speculate, however soundly, on the likelihood of industry contacts swamping public interest group contacts in the rulemaking process.  It is another to study ninety rules to document it, which is what Professors Wagner, Barnes, and Peters recently did in their study of the rules that the EPA issued between 1994 and 2009 to limit hazardous air pollutants (the “HAPs” rules).[47]  They documented that during the pre-notice period, when the bulk of the real policymaking takes place, EPA officials had an average of 178 contacts per rule with interested parties—including regulated parties, public interest groups, and states.[48]  A whopping 170 of these contacts were with regulated parties, 9 were with states, and a measly 0.7 were with public interest groups.[49]

This wild imbalance does little to instill confidence in the efficacy of the current procedural model as a means of “ventilating” issues at effective times.[50]  That said, one must be careful in drawing too many conclusions from this study.  For one thing, one might generally expect some disproportion in pre-notice contacts as part of the natural order of things; if an agency needs information concerning a particular device or process, then it needs to consult with firms that use them.  Also, although the HAPs study took an admirable amount of work, it still only surveyed one particular area of rulemaking by one particular agency.  Federal rulemaking is a vast and varied enterprise, which is one reason it is hard to study.  Agencies can (and sometimes do) go out of their way to seek public input before issuing a formal NPRM.[51]

Even if agency policymaking mostly occurs before a public interest group is likely to be able to participate, one might still conclude that the current model for notice-and-comment rulemaking finds ample justification in the role it enables such groups to play through commenting and during judicial review.  Even here, however, there are grounds for concern over the imbalance between the resources of regulated parties and public interest groups.  Regulated parties will keep spending on comments and subsequent litigation up to the point that the expected costs to them of such efforts exceed the benefits to the parties.  As regulated parties may expect to protect or enhance their profits by successfully pushing regulations in their favor, this conduct is in some part self-financing.  Public interest groups, by contrast, must constantly engage in triage (a) to determine which agency regulatory efforts to investigate and track, and (b) to determine which of these regulatory efforts to challenge—whether in the notice-and-comment process or in subsequent litigation.  They must, in short, seek maximum legal and policy bangs for their very limited bucks.  It is rather as if the current model for judicial review of agency action supplies both regulated parties and public interest groups with guns to fire at agencies without ever noticing that one side in the fight has far fewer bullets than the other.  The HAPs study is again highly suggestive in this regard.  It found that industry interests submitted, on average, 35 comments per HAPs rule, whereas public interest groups submitted 2.4.[52]  Moreover, eighty-three percent of significant changes made in response to comments favored industry.[53]

II.  Tilting the Balance a Bit Through Enhanced Pre-Notice Transparency

In truth, it is hard to assess the degree to which notice-and-comment procedures, as currently designed, have contributed to regulatory departures from some pure, Platonic essence of the public interest.  Still, if you create a process that costs resources, you should expect interests with more of those resources (e.g., money or information) to dominate that process.  We therefore should expect corporate interests to dominate notice-and-comment rulemaking, and the empirical evidence is at least strongly suggestive that they often do.[54]  It therefore seems worthwhile to consider how one might, with the right will, redress this imbalance.

A.     Many Potential Paths

Given that agency policymaking is such a complex, multi-faceted process, it naturally follows that there are many different approaches one might try to redress the imbalance in power among agencies, regulated parties, and public interest groups.  Maybe the best and simplest approach would involve strengthening agencies to decrease their dependence on (and vulnerability to) regulated parties.  One might, for instance, properly fund regulatory agencies to enable them to increase their scientific and technical resources.  Alternatively, one might increase the effective strength of agencies by decreasing the amount of work it takes to adopt a rule.  Many observers of the regulatory process have long claimed that it has “ossified” due to needless burdens on rulemaking created by the courts, Congress, and the President.[55]  Steps could be taken to reverse this trend.

One might instead try reducing the power of regulated parties. Reducing the power of the powerful is hard to do—they have, after all, the power.  As a political matter, were such an effort to ever get off the ground, it would likely need to involve a generally applicable change to the law that would not, on its face, “pick on” one side or another.  Continuing in this speculative vein, it is reasonable to suspect that hard-look style arbitrariness review could systematically favor regulated parties as compared to public interest groups, because it tends toward highly technical, fact-sensitive issues that fall within the special expertise of regulated parties.  If this is so, then transforming hard-look review into something more like a “soft look” might tend to favor the public interest by depriving those wishing to challenge agency action of a weapon that regulated parties are generally better able to wield.[56]

Still another set of strategies might involve steps to strengthen public interest groups.  For public interest groups to exercise effective influence over policymaking, they need both timely information and the resources to act on that information.  It is possible to imagine a world in which the federal government writes large checks to public interest groups to correct the resource problem.  The economic and political constraints of the real world, however, make such steps very unlikely.  A more plausible strategy might involve changes in the regulatory system to make it easier for public interest groups to gain timely access to information regarding agency regulatory efforts.  The next Subpart fleshes out such a strategy.

B.     Timely Disclosure of Pre-Notice Contacts

The inspiration for this suggestion is quite simple and direct: On learning that I would be attending a symposium devoted to increasing the influence of public interest groups in rulemaking, I decided to ask a public interest attorney what single change would be most helpful in his work.  I spoke at some length with an attorney perfectly suited to answer this question, John Walke, Director of the Natural Resources Defense Council’s Clean Air Program, a person hip-deep in the EPA’s regulatory process.[57]  His answer came without a hint of hesitation: adopt real-time, searchable, electronic disclosure of pre-notice contacts intended to influence rulemaking.[58]

This response makes a great deal of sense in light of the well-known fact of administrative life that most of the real policymaking in legislative rulemaking occurs well before an agency publishes an NPRM in the Federal Register.[59]  It is also consistent with the finding of the HAPs study, discussed above, that the overwhelming majority of agency contacts during the pre-notice period are with regulated parties.[60]  Of course, the basic point of this proposal is to help enable regulatory beneficiaries learn how regulated parties are attempting to influence policymaking before agency views “jell.”[61]

Viewed from a doctrinal standpoint, this proposal would alter the balance between disclosure and secrecy in rulemaking struck several decades ago in the aftermath ofHome Box Office, Inc. v. FCC[62] (“HBO”) and Sierra Club v. Costle.[63]  The first of these two cases arose out of a challenge to “pay cable” rules adopted by the Federal Communications Commission (“FCC”) that restricted the ability of cablecasters to run feature films and sports programs.[64]  These rules naturally attracted the concentrated attention of various powerful entities—broadcasters, cable companies, motion picture interests, etc.—who “sought out individual commissioners or Commission employees for the purpose of discussing ex parte and in confidence the merits of the rules” at issue.[65]  The D.C. Circuit panel that resolved HBO was particularly impressed that many ex parte contacts occurred after the close of oral argument in the rulemaking proceeding but before promulgation, “when the rulemaking record should have been closed while the Commission was deciding what rules to promulgate.”[66]  During this time, the Commission “met some 18 times with Commission personnel, cable interests some nine times, motion picture and sports interests five times each, and ‘public interest’ intervenors not at all.”[67]

Confronted with this information regarding industry contacts, the court noted three concerns.  First, consistent with worries over agency capture that inspired the reformation, the court observed that it was “particularly concerned that the final shaping of the rules we are reviewing here may have been by compromise among the contending industry forces, rather than by exercise of the independent discretion in the public interest the Communications Act vests in individual commissioners.”[68]  Second, the court insisted that “[e]ven the possibility that there is here one administrative record for the public and this court and another for the Commission and those ‘in the know’ is intolerable.”[69]  Among other problems, such secrecy made effective judicial review impossible, for a court could not know whether the public reasons an agency gave for a decision matched its “real” reasons.  Given this circumstance, a court would have to “treat the agency’s justifications as a fictional account of the actual decisionmaking process and must perforce find its actions arbitrary.”[70]  Third, secret, ex parte contacts foiled an important function of rulemaking, which was to expose information on which the agency relied to “adversarial critique” from the public.[71]  Against all this, the court also recognized that “informal contacts between agencies and the public are the ‘bread and butter’ of the process of administration and are completely appropriate so long as they do not frustrate judicial review or raise serious questions of fairness.”[72]

To reconcile these competing concerns, the court held that (a) communications received before issuance of an NPRM generally need not go in a public file, and (b) after issuance of a notice but before issuance of a final rule, “any agency official or employee who is or may reasonably be expected to be involved in the decisional process of the rulemaking proceeding” should refuse to discuss the disposition of the rule with any interested party.[73]

Although HBO has never been formally overruled, its judicialized approach to rulemaking via notice and comment did not last long.  Its chief vulnerability is that it is extremely hard to reconcile with the APA’s clear treatment of ex parte contacts.  In administrative law vernacular, the APA divides rulemaking into “formal” and “informal” categories.  To promulgate a formal rule, an agency must follow the procedures set forth in 5 U.S.C. §§ 556 and 557, which authorize (but for the most part do not require) the use of trial-type procedures.  Of most immediate concern, in keeping with the judicial model that underlies formal proceedings, § 557(d) imposes strict limits on ex parte contacts.[74]  Notice-and-comment rulemaking is a species of “informal” rulemaking and not subject to § 557(d).  It thus seems clear that, in HBO, the D.C. Circuit, by imposing strict limits on ex parte contacts, made a policy choice regarding treatment of notice-and-comment rulemaking that Congress had itself declined to make.  Especially in a post-Vermont Yankee world, this kind of judicial creativity (or activism) was not likely to last.[75]

Nor did it.  In administrative law casebooks, HBO is commonly paired with its archrival and nemesis, Sierra Club v. Costle, which involved challenges to an EPA rule that promulgated new source performance standards for emission controls of coal-fired power plants.[76]  One of the challengers, the Environmental Defense Fund (“EDF”), claimed that the rule was procedurally defective because of a flurry of ex parte contacts (both written and oral) that occurred after the close of the comment period.[77]  Rather than apply the APA as interpreted by HBO, the D.C. Circuit Court tested this complaint against the procedural framework established for notice-and-comment rulemaking under the Clean Air Act Amendments of 1977.[78]  As amended, § 307 of the Act now codifies elements of the reformation; unlike the unadorned text of 5 U.S.C. § 553, it requires the EPA to disclose information on which it relies in NPRMs and to respond to any significant comments offered.[79]  Significantly, like § 553 of the APA, § 307 does not bar ex parte contacts.[80]

Faced with the EDF’s procedural argument, the court conceded that ex parte contacts can create the danger of “secret record[s]” for those in the know and fake public records for everyone else.[81]  Whereas the HBO court found this danger intolerable, the Sierra Club court was far less concerned.  It stressed that the scope for politics to distort technical decisionmaking was limited by the requirement that the EPA provide a public justification for its ultimate decision.[82]  Realistically, that public justification would not provide a full explanation of everything that affected the agency’s decision-making process.  The EPA would likely not explain, for instance, that “we softened some emissions requirements because, according to our best analysis, Senator Robert Byrd of West Virginia, where there is an awful lot of coal, is a United States Senator.”  This, however, is life in a democracy.

The court also stressed that agency contacts with industry are both practically important for effective regulation and play a key role in legitimating the entire regulatory enterprise:

Under our system of government, the very legitimacy of general policymaking performed by unelected administrators depends in no small part upon the openness, accessibility, and amenability of these officials to the needs and ideas of the public from whom their ultimate authority derives, and upon whom their commands must fall.  As judges we are insulated from these pressures because of the nature of the judicial process in which we participate; but we must refrain from the easy temptation to look askance at all face-to-face lobbying efforts, regardless of the forum in which they occur, merely because we see them as inappropriate in the judicial context.  Furthermore, the importance to effective regulation of continuing contact with a regulated industry, other affected groups, and the public cannot be underestimated.  Informal contacts may enable the agency to win needed support for its program, reduce future enforcement requirements by helping those regulated to anticipate and shape their plans for the future, and spur the provision of information which the agency needs.[83]

Everything in the preceding quote seems true.  Also, the United States Chamber of Commerce probably could not have said it better itself.

The court concluded that the EPA’s treatment of post-comment-period contacts from industry groups was well within the law.  Section 307 of the Clean Air Act requires the EPA to include in its rulemaking docket as soon as possible “[a]ll documents which become available after the proposed rule has been published and which the Administrator determines are of central relevance to the rulemaking.”[84]  The EPA had gone the extra mile to honor this requirement by docketing all written comments it had received as well as most oral meetings.[85]

Most to the present point, the court disposed quickly of the EDF’s plea for an extension of HBO’s bar on ex parte contacts:

Lacking a statutory basis for its position, EDF would have us extend our decision in Home Box Office, Inc. v. FCC to cover all meetings with individuals outside EPA during the post-comment period.  Later decisions of this court, however, have declined to apply Home Box Office to informal rulemaking of the general policymaking sort involved here, and there is no precedent for applying it to the procedures found in the Clean Air Act Amendments of 1977.[86]

The court further stated that:

Where agency action resembles judicial action, where it involves formal rulemaking, adjudication, or quasi-adjudication among “conflicting private claims to a valuable privilege,” the insulation of the decisionmaker from ex parte contacts is justified by basic notions of due process to the parties involved.  But where agency action involves informal rulemaking of a policymaking sort, the concept of ex parte contacts is of more questionable utility.[87]

Bars on ex parte contacts make sense for judicial action, not legislative action.  To the degree an agency is acting like a court, they should apply; to the degree an agency is acting like a junior varsity legislator, they should not.  In general, informal rulemaking involves broad policymaking—in other words, quasi-legislative action.  Therefore, except in unusual situations where an agency is using notice-and-comment rulemaking to determine “conflicting private claims to a valuable privilege” that implicate due process,[88] there is no basis for courts to impose a bar on ex parte contacts in notice-and-comment rulemaking.[89]

The courts’ unwillingness to follow HBO’s lead and severely limit ex parte contacts in the rulemaking process has left agencies with discretion to control such contacts largely as they see fit.  A grand survey of how all regulatory agencies have used this discretion is beyond the scope of this Essay.  If, however, the EPA, FCC, Department of Transportation (“DOT”), and Department of Energy (“DOE”) are representative examples, then it seems that many agencies are striving to ensure transparency of contacts after some formal, public step has been taken to initiate a rulemaking process.[90]  These policies do not, however, directly address the problem of influence occurring before such steps are taken.

Starting with the EPA, this Essay opened with a quote from Administrator Jackson’s “Fishbowl Memo” that she distributed to EPA employees soon after she began her tenure.[91]  The Fishbowl Memo has the following to say about transparency in rulemaking:

It is crucial that we apply the principles of transparency and openness to the rulemaking process.  This can only occur if EPA clearly explains the basis for its decisions and the information considered by the Agency appears in the rulemaking record.  Therefore, each EPA employee should ensure that all written comments regarding a proposed rule received from members of the public, including regulated entities and interested parties, are entered into the rulemaking docket.

Robust dialogue with the public enhances the quality of our decisions.  EPA offices conducting rulemaking are therefore encouraged to reach out as broadly as possible for the views of interested parties.  However, while EPA may and often should meet with groups and individuals, we should attempt, to the maximum extent practicable, to provide all interested persons with equal access to EPA.  In addition, it is essential to ensure that the public receives timely notice, as far as practicable, of information or views that have influenced EPA’s decisions.  This means that EPA employees must summarize in writing and place in the rulemaking docket any oral communication during a meeting or telephone discussion with a member of the public or an interested group that contains significant new factual information regarding a proposed rule.[92]

Certainly the tone of the Fishbowl Memo strongly favors transparency.  A close reading of these two quoted paragraphs, however, suggests that the agency has, in essence, reaffirmed the approach to ex parte contacts approved by Sierra Club.  The memo emphasizes that “it is essential to ensure that the public receives timely notice, as far as practicable, of information or views that have influenced the EPA’s decisions.”[93]  The means for providing this notice, however, is docketing, and the memo’s docketing requirements for both documents and oral contacts apply to “proposed rules.”[94]  They do not appear to apply during the pre-proposal stage where much of the real policymaking occurs.  Pre-notice contacts may nonetheless find their way into the rulemaking docket, albeit perhaps in digested form, insofar as the agency must “explain[ ] the basis for its decisions and the information considered.”[95]  At that point, however, notice to the public is no longer timely insofar as decisions have, in practice, been made.

The FCC—the agency on the receiving end of the HBO decision—has promulgated an extensive, complex set of rules governing ex parte contacts.[96]  As applied to informal rulemaking, the upshot of these complex rules seems close to that of the Fishbowl Memo.  The FCC categorizes agency actions into “exempt,” “permit-but-disclose,” and “restricted” proceedings.[97]  Generally speaking, ex parte contacts can be freely made and need not be disclosed during “exempt” proceedings; they can be freely made but must be promptly disclosed during “permit-but-disclose” proceedings; and they are barred during “restricted” proceedings.[98]

Notably, informal rulemakings under § 553 fall into the permit-but-disclose category.[99]  Thus, once an NPRM has been issued, a party making an ex parte contact with a decision-making official at the FCC is under an obligation to submit a record of that contact to the agency,[100] which discloses such contacts at least twice weekly.[101]  Provisions are made for limiting distribution of confidential information.[102]

By contrast, notices of inquiry (“NOIs”) fall into the exempt category.[103]  The FCC uses an NOI to alert interested persons that the agency is seeking information regarding a particular topic.[104]  The information gathered may later be used to fashion an NPRM.  If the pre-NPRM period accounts for the bulk of real policymaking, however, then the FCC’s detailed ex parte rules seem to avoid forcing disclosure just when it may be most needed.

The DOT has operated under an order governing disclosure of ex parte contacts for over forty years.  This brief order provides in most pertinent part:

When the contact takes place after the issuance of a notice of proposed rule making in the subject matter, the report should be made and included in the public docket promptly following the contact.  When the contact takes place before the issuance of a notice of proposed rule making and when the substance of the contact forms one of the bases for issuance of the notice, the substance of the contact should be discussed in the preamble to the notice.  If in any case there is a legitimate reason for not discussing the prior contact in the preamble to the notice, then a report of the contact should be made and placed in the public docket when the notice is issued.[105]

This policy’s treatment of pre-notice contacts is broadly consistent with the disclosure requirements that the reformation imposed on NPRMs in cases such as United States v. Nova Scotia Food Products Corp.[106]  Under the DOT policy, if a pre-notice contact provides information that forms the basis of a proposal, then the NPRM must disclose the “substance” of that contact.  But once again, if policies tend to “jell[ ]” prior to issuance of the notice,[107] then such disclosures will often come too late to help groups that are “outside the loop” to influence policy.

For a fourth example of an agency’s treatment of the problem of ex parte contacts, consider the DOE’s Guidance on Ex Parte Communications.[108]  Generally speaking, the DOE, borrowing the FCC’s phrase, takes a “permit-but-disclose” approach to ex parte contacts once it has taken some formal, public step to indicate that it has initiated a rulemaking.  This step may take the form of an “advanced notice of proposed rulemaking, a notice of public meeting or, if neither of those documents are utilized, the notice of proposed rulemaking.”[109]  An “advanced notice of proposed rulemaking” (“ANPRM”), as the name suggests, is a step that the DOE takes to gather information concerning a potential rule before the agency is ready to issue an NPRM.  It thus may play an analogous role to the FCC’s NOIs.  The DOE, however, takes transparency a step further than the FCC insofar as the former imposes ex parte limits on contacts made after an ANPRM, but the latter treats post-NOI contacts as exempt.

Still, there are limits to the DOE’s greater openness.  The Guidance declares:

Phone calls that DOE employees or contractors initiate to gather information as part of the rulemaking process need not be memorialized.  If new data is obtained as a result of such contacts after issuance of the notice of proposed rulemaking, it may be necessary to seek public comment on the data for DOE to rely on the data in the final rule.[110]

It is understandable that the DOE would excuse its own employees from a duty of summarizing and docketing their efforts to gain information.  Any system for disclosing ex parte contacts in rulemaking must balance the burden it creates on the administrative process against potential gains in legitimacy and effectiveness.  That said, this exception obviously leaves considerable room for obscuring information that might be better brought to light early in the process.

To summarize, each of these four agencies requires docketing of ex parte contacts at some point in the notice-and-comment process for informal rulemaking, broadly construed.  For some agencies, this rule applies after issuance of an NPRM.  For others, it may come earlier—for example, the DOE applies a docketing rule after issuance of an ANPRM.  Some agency policies expressly recognize that, where an agency relies on information gained from a pre-notice contact to form a proposal, this information should appear in the NPRM.  The reformation’s approach to agency duties of notice, however, would seem to demand such disclosure in any event.

Each of these policies fails to address an important gap in disclosure requirements.  Rulemaking, in the broadest sense, begins when an agency confronts some sort of policy problem.  At the very beginning of this process, an agency may not know very much about the problem—how serious it is, whether it justifies the use of limited agency resources, etc.  For any problem that eventually does lead to a rule, there must come a point where the agency recognizes that rulemaking is a serious prospect and then begins to devote substantial resources to exploring the policy choices that the hypothetical rule might adopt.  After this point, policy decisions are more likely to begin to jell.

Excluding those situations in which an agency is under a statutory obligation to engage in a particular rulemaking, determining the point at which the agency is serious enough about a potential rule to justify imposing docketing of ex parte contacts calls for judgment—it is not a bright line sort of inquiry.[111]  Still, for its own organizational purposes, an agency must decide at some point to place a rulemaking on its internal agenda for the purpose of determining whether to proceed with more formal steps, such as an NPRM, ANPRM, or NOI, as the case may be.  The EPA, for instance, treats a rule as having reached the “Pre-Proposal” stage once its Regulatory Policy Officer has determined that a rulemaking has commenced.[112]  Also, agencies already labor under statutory and executive obligations to publish regulatory agendas identifying at least some potential rules.[113]  Agencies, in short, have to determine whether they are engaged in rulemaking well before an NPRM is ever issued.  At the point an agency makes this internal determination, it should announce that fact and impose docketing requirements on ex parte contacts.

Of course, expanding docketing requirements would create a new burden on agencies (and on parties that contact them).  Some agencies have already, however, developed means for managing such burdens in rules governing ex parte contacts that are already in place.  For instance, such rules may contain provisions for dealing with confidential information.[114]  They may require that parties making oral contacts provide written summaries to an agency promptly.[115]  They may provide for sharing of information in electronic form.[116]  They may exclude casual contacts, among other categories.[117]

Suppose, however, for the sake of argument, that too aggressive an approach to docketing pre-notice contacts would be overly burdensome.  Even so, the broader point here is that at least some greater disclosure of ex parte contacts earlier in rulemaking proceedings should be eminently manageable.  Suppose, for instance, that it would be too burdensome for agencies to require written memorialization of oral contacts, which would therefore be excluded from disclosure.  Such an exclusion would create an obvious route for gaming the system; regulated parties, if they did not know already, would learn that some things are better left unwritten.  Still, especially when dealing with highly technical matters, some communications, to be effective, need to be in writing.  Requiring prompt, electronic, searchable docketing of all written communications once a rulemaking has become “serious” would mark a major advancement over the current system, helping public interest groups—assuming they have the resources, which is a very big assumption—to find out how regulated parties are attempting to influence policymaking before those policies are effectively chosen.

Conclusion

Regulation attempts to control the powerful, who do not much care to be controlled.  We should not therefore be terribly surprised when the powerful use the tools at their disposal to fight back against regulatory controls.  One of the tools for this fight has been administrative procedural law.  The great reformation of American administrative law of the 1960s and 1970s attempted to tilt the law’s balance more towards regulatory beneficiaries, adopting an interest representation model of rulemaking.  For public interest groups to play a serious role in this process, however, they need both information and other resources (funding, staff, etc.).  The reformation did not correct the problem of resource imbalance.  Also, its efforts to promote transparency have been stymied to a large degree because the APA requires disclosure of ex parte contacts during informal rulemaking only after an agency issues an NPRM, by which time much of the real policymaking has likely already occurred.  Responding to this information problem, to lessen to some small degree the power imbalance in rulemaking, this Essay suggests requiring prompt, electronic, searchable disclosures of contacts with agencies that occur after “serious” rulemaking efforts have begun but before issuance of an NPRM.  The precise scope of this disclosure duty could be the subject of debate and experiment but should involve considerably greater and more effective disclosure than occurs now.


        *   AT&T Professor of Law, Texas Tech University School of Law.  This Essay is based on a presentation made at a symposium, The Asymmetry of Administrative Law, held at Wake Forest University Law School on March 30, 2012.  Many thanks to the Wake Forest Law Review and to Professor Sidney Shapiro for organizing this event and for being such splendid hosts.

        [1].   Memoradum from Lisa Jackson, Adm’r, EPA,  to EPA Employees (Apr. 23, 2009), http://blog.epa.gov/administrator/2009/04/24/memo-to-epa-employees-transparency-in-epas-operations/.

        [2].   5 U.S.C. § 553(b)(3) (2006) (requiring notice of “either the terms or substance of the proposed rule or a description of the subjects and issues involved”).

        [3].   Id. § 553(c).

        [4].   Id.

        [5].   Cf. Am. Radio Relay League, Inc. v. FCC, 524 F.3d 227, 248 (D.C. Cir. 2008) (Kavanaugh, J., concurring in part and dissenting in part) (noting that the APA contemplated a “simple and speedy practice” for rulemaking that courts have transformed “into a laborious, seemingly never-ending process”).

        [6].   For a prominent statement of this critique, see Richard J. Pierce, Seven Ways to Deossify Agency Rulemaking, 47 Admin. L. Rev. 59, 65 (1995) ( “[C]ourts have transformed the simple, efficient notice and comment process into an extraordinarily lengthy, complicated, and expensive process . . . .”).  Along these lines, in a recent conversation with the author, a senior agency official in charge of legal oversight of rulemaking at his agency explained that, given the various statutes, executive orders, guidance documents, and court decisions that have accumulated over time, the set of requirements and related guidance he keeps for agency rulemaking now fills six thick, three-ring binders.  The size of this pile is all the more impressive given that these binders do not include court decisions.

        [7].   See, e.g., E. Donald Elliott, Reinventing Rulemaking, 41 Duke L.J. 1490, 1492 (1992) (describing notice-and-comment rulemaking as Kabuki theatre, “a highly stylized process for displaying in a formal way the essence of something which in real life takes place in other venues”); Richard B. Stewart, The Reformation of American Administrative Law, 88 Harv. L. Rev. 1669, 1775 (1975) (“Indeed, the content of rulemaking decisions is often largely determined in advance through a process of informal consultation in which organized interests may enjoy a preponderant influence.”).

        [8].   See generally Stewart, supra note 7 (characterizing changes in administrative law that expanded participation rights of regulatory beneficiaries as a great “reformation”).  For a brief summary of the reformation’s manifestations in the notice-and-comment rulemaking process, see infra Part I.A.

        [9].   For an especially pointed analysis of the unintentional consequences of pluralistic reform of rulemaking, see Wendy E. Wagner, Administrative Law, Filter Failure, and Information Capture, 59 Duke L.J. 1321, 1324–25 (2010) (contending that reforms designed to shed sunlight on the rulemaking process have enabled regulated industries to overwhelm agencies with technical information, leading to “information capture”).

      [10].   For the seminal article on the “reformation,” see generally Stewart, supra note 7.

      [11].   Id. at 1712.

      [12].   See United States v. Nova Scotia Food Prods. Corp., 568 F.2d 240, 251–52 (2d Cir. 1977) (insisting, notwithstanding the absence of supporting language in the APA itself, that an agency’s notice of a proposed rule must include any scientific information on which the agency relied in fashioning the proposal); Portland Cement Ass’n v. Ruckelshaus, 486 F.2d 375, 393–94 (D.C. Cir. 1973) (imposing on agencies a duty of responding to comments that “step over a threshold requirement of materiality”), cert. denied, 417 U.S. 921 (1974).

      [13].   5 U.S.C. § 553(b)(3) (2006).

      [14].   Id. § 553(c).

      [15].   Id.

      [16].   See Peter L. Strauss, Changing Times: The APA at Fifty, 63 U. Chi. L. Rev. 1389, 1401–05 (1996) (explaining the relatively restrictive approach to standing under the APA that courts applied until Ass’n of Data Processing Serv. Orgs., Inc. v. Camp, 397 U.S. 150 (1970)).

      [17].   See William Funk, Rationality Review of State Administrative Rulemaking, 43 Admin. L. Rev. 147, 149 (1991) (noting that prior to the seminal case of Citizens to Preserve Overton Park, Inc. v. Volpe, 401 U.S. 402 (1971), which required “searching and careful” review of facts necessary to justify rulemaking, federal administrative law simply presumed the existence of such facts).

      [18].   See Sidney A. Shapiro, Administrative Law After the Counter-Reformation: Restoring Faith in Pragmatic Government, 48 U. Kan. L. Rev. 689, 693 (2000) [hereinafter Shapiro, Counter-Reformation] (discussing the diagnosis of agency “capture” by regulated interests that helped justify the “reformation”).

      [19].   United States v. Nova Scotia Food Prods. Corp., 568 F.2d 240, 252 (2d Cir. 1977) (“To suppress meaningful comment by failure to disclose the basic data relied upon is akin to rejecting comment altogether.”).

      [20].   See Jack M. Beermann, Common Law and Statute Law in Administrative Law, 63 Admin. L. Rev. 1, 7–8 (2011) (discussing the lax approach that courts took to the notice requirement in the years immediately following adoption of the APA and identifying the “logical outgrowth” test for adequacy of notice as a nonstatutory test developed by the courts as they tightened their control over rulemaking).

      [21].   See, e.g., Am. Med. Ass’n v. United States, 887 F.2d 760, 768 (7th Cir. 1989) (“[T]he relevant inquiry is whether or not potential commentators would have known that an issue in which they were interested was ‘on the table’ . . . .”).

      [22].   See, e.g., Chocolate Mfrs. Ass’n of U.S. v. Block, 755 F.2d 1098, 1104 (4th Cir. 1985) (stating that agencies do not have “carte blanche” to issue rules that vary from original proposals and requiring that notices “be sufficiently descriptive to provide interested parties with a fair opportunity to comment and to participate in the rulemaking”).

      [23].   See, e.g., Nova Scotia, 568 F.2d at 251–52.

      [24].   See Pierce, supra note 6, at 65 (“To have any realistic chance of upholding a major rule on judicial review, an agency’s statement of basis and purpose now must discuss in detail each of scores of policy disputes, data disputes, and alternatives to the rule adopted by the agency.”); Wagner, supra note 9, at 1355 (“Even for the minor rules, the EPA typically prepares a one-hundred-plus-page report on its response to comments, as well as anywhere from a few to dozens of pages of ‘significant changes’ in the small, three-column type of the Federal Register.”(footnote omitted)).

      [25].   Portland Cement Ass’n v. Ruckelshaus, 486 F.2d 375, 393–94 (D.C. Cir. 1973) (requiring agencies to respond to material comments), cert. denied, 417 U.S. 921 (1974); see also, e.g., La. Fed. Land Bank Ass’n v. Farm Credit Admin., 336 F.3d 1075, 1080 (D.C. Cir. 2003) (declaring that agencies must respond “to those comments which, if true, . . . would require a change in [the] proposed rule” (internal quotation marks omitted) (quoting Am. Mining Cong. v. EPA, 907 F.2d 1179, 1188 (D.C. Cir. 1990))).

      [26].   See Strauss, supra note 16, at 1401–05 (discussing the Court’s shift in its approach to standing and connecting this shift to the “reformation” of administrative law toward an interest representation model).

      [27].   SEC v. Chenery Corp., 318 U.S. 80, 95 (1943).

      [28].   5 U.S.C. § 553(c) (2006).

      [29].   Greater Bos. Television Corp. v. FCC, 444 F.2d 841, 851 (D.C. Cir. 1970) (observing that it is a reviewing court’s task to ensure that “the agency has . . . really taken a ‘hard look’ at the salient problems, and has . . . genuinely engaged in reasoned decision-making” (footnote omitted)), cert. denied, 403 U.S. 923 (1971).

      [30].   See Motor Vehicle Mfrs. Ass’n v. State Farm Mut. Auto. Ins. Co., 463 U.S. 29, 43 (1983).

      [31].   Shapiro, Counter-Reformation, supra note 18, at 707–09.

      [32].   See Regulatory Planning and Review, Exec. Order No. 12,866 § 6(a), 58 Fed. Reg. 51,735 (Oct. 4, 1993); Improving Regulation and Regulatory Review, Exec. Order No. 13,563 § 1(b), 76 Fed. Reg. 3,821 (Jan. 18, 2011).

      [33].   See, e.g., Rena Steinzor et al., Ctr. for Progressive Reform, Behind Closed Doors at the White House: How Politics Trumps Protection of Public Health, Worker Safety, and the Environment, White Paper # 1111 4 (2011), available at http://www.progressivereform.org/articles/OIRA_Meetings_1111.pdf (“[E]very single study of its performance, including this one, shows that OIRA serves as a one-way ratchet, eroding the protections that agency specialists have decided are necessary under detailed statutory mandates, following years—even decades—of work.”); cf. Richard L. Revesz & Michael A. Livermore, Retaking Rationality: How Cost-Benefit Analysis Can Better Protect the Environment and Our Health 171–83 (2008) (proposing reforms to OIRA to enhance transparency and correct anti-regulatory bias while maintaining cost-benefit analysis as tool for review of rules).

      [34].   5 U.S.C. §§ 603–05 (2006) (requiring agencies to prepare impact statements discussing the effects of rules on small businesses at the proposal and final issuance stages of rulemaking).

      [35].   2 U.S.C. § 1532(a) (2006) (detailing impact-statement requirements for “any Federal mandate that may result in the expenditure by State, local, and tribal governments, in the aggregate, or by the private sector, of $100,000,000 or more (adjusted annually for inflation) in any 1 year”).

      [36].   Cf. Sidney A. Shapiro, The Complexity of Regulatory Capture: Diagnosis, Causality, and Remediation, 17 Roger Williams U. L. Rev. 221, 223–24 (2012) [hereinafter Shapiro, The Complexity of Regulatory Capture] (noting that the concept of capture is “elusive” and suggesting defining it operationally “as occurring when agencies consistently adopt regulatory policies favored by regulated entities”).

      [37].   Upton Sinclair, I, Candidate for Governor: And How I Got Licked 100 (1935).

      [38].   See, e.g., Edmund L. Andrews, Greenspan Concedes Error on Regulation, N.Y. Times (Oct. 23, 2008), http://www.nytimes.com/2008/10/24
/business/economy/24panel.html (reporting Greenspan’s rueful admission at a congressional hearing on the collapse of the housing bubble that “[t]hose of us who have looked to the self-interest of lending institutions to protect shareholders’ equity, myself included, are in a state of shocked disbelief”).

      [39].   See, e.g., Shapiro, The Complexity of Regulatory Capture, supra note 36, at 228–29, 234–41.

      [40].   Steven P. Croley, Regulation and Public Interests: The Possibility of Good Regulatory Government 49 (2008) (noting that many administrators are primarily motivated by “some philosophical commitment to the agency’s regulatory mission”).

      [41].   Cf. id. at 5 (contending that the “cynical” view of dysfunctional government inspired by public choice theory is oversold and that under conditions that “are plausible given the real-world legal-institutional environment in which federal administrative agencies operate—regulatory outcomes can and sometimes do advance broad social interests and increase social welfare”).

      [42].   Shapiro, Counter-Reformation, supra note 18, at 693.

      [43].   Id. at 693–94.

      [44].   Cf. Sierra Club v. Costle, 657 F.2d 298, 401 (D.C. Cir. 1981) (“Informal contacts may enable the agency to win needed support for its program, reduce future enforcement requirements by helping those regulated to anticipate and shape their plans for the future, and spur the provision of information which the agency needs”).

      [45].   See, e.g., Steven Croley, White House Review of Agency Rulemaking: An Empirical Investigation, 70 U. Chi. L. Rev. 821, 834 (2003) (noting the concern that agency dependence on industry for information may help the latter capture the former).

      [46].   Stewart, supra note 7, at 1777 (observing that, notwithstanding greater use of formal procedures, “agencies will continue to be exposed to intensive pressures from regulated or client groups, on whom the agencies must rely for information, political support, and other forms of cooperation if the agency is to survive and prosper”).

      [47].   Wendy Wagner, Katherine Barnes & Lisa Peters, Rulemaking in the Shade: Empirical Study of EPA’s Toxic Emission Standards, 63 Admin. L. Rev. 99, 128–29 (2011).

      [48].   Id. at 124.

      [49].   Id. at 125.

      [50].   See Stephanie Stern, Cognitive Consistency: Theory Maintenance and Administrative Rulemaking, 63 U. Pitt. L. Rev. 589, 600 (2002) (surveying sources indicating that industry insiders, lawyers, and empirical studies all agree that pre-notice contacts are a far better means to influence agency policy than post-notice comments).

      [51].   For instance, the Department of Energy holds public meetings to discuss “framework documents” and seek public input for development of energy conservation standards for appliances before issuing an NPRM.  See, e.g., Energy Conservation Program: Public Meeting and Availability of the Framework Document for High Intensity Discharge Lamps, 77 Fed. Reg. 11,785–86 (Feb. 28, 2012) (to be codified at 10 C.F.R. pt. 431).

      [52].   Wagner, Barnes & Peters, supra note 47, at 128–30.

      [53].   Id. at 130–31.

      [54].   See, e.g., supra notes 47–49, 53–54 and accompanying text.

      [55].   See generally Pierce, supra note 6.

      [56].   Cf. Sidney A. Shapiro, Substantive Reform, Judicial Review, and Agency Resources: OSHA as a Case Study, 49 Admin. L. Rev. 645, 652–54 (1997) (favoring a moderate “soft-look” approach to judicial review, which he designates “pass-fail” review).

      [57].   See John Walke, John Walke, Clean Air Director/Senior Attorney, Washington, D.C., Switchboard: Nat. Resources Def. Council Staff Blog,http://switchboard.nrdc.org/blogs/jwalke/ (last visited July 10, 2012) (explaining that Mr. Walke “work[s] on national legislation, litigation and Environmental Protection Agency rulemakings that will have the greatest impact on ensuring clean air for all Americans. . . .  [H]e frequently challenge[s] EPA rulemaking in federal court for running afoul of the Clean Air Act and failing to protect the public.”).

      [58].   For a similar proposal, see Cary Coglianese et al., Transparency and Public Participation in the Federal Rulemaking Process: Recommendations for the New Administration, 77 Geo. Wash. L. Rev. 924, 950 (2009) (“Although it may be difficult to establish a bright-line rule for when the development of a new rulemaking begins, the agency should nevertheless attempt in good faith to disclose all pertinent rule-related contacts as early in the process as possible.”).

      [59].   Elliot, supra note 7, at 1494 (observing that, under the current legal framework, “public input through formal notice-and-comment rulemaking must come relatively close to the end of the agency’s process, when the proposed rule has ‘jelled’ into something fairly close to its final form”).

      [60].   See supra notes 48–49 and accompanying text.

      [61].   Elliot, supra note 7, at 1494.

      [62].   567 F.2d 9 (D.C. Cir. 1977) (per curiam), cert. denied, 434 U.S. 829 (1977).

      [63].   657 F.2d 298 (D.C. Cir. 1981).

      [64].   HBO, 567 F.2d at 18–19.

      [65].   Id. at 51.

      [66].   Id. at 53.

      [67].   Id.

      [68].   Id.

      [69].   Id. at 54.

      [70].   Id. at 54–55.

      [71].   Id. at 55.

      [72].   Id. at 57.

      [73].   Id.

      [74].   See 5 U.S.C. § 557(d)(1)(B) (2006) (barring ex parte contacts during formal proceedings between “interested persons outside the agency” and persons within the agency who are or “may reasonably be expected to be involved in the decisional process”).

      [75].   See generally Vt. Yankee Nuclear Power Corp. v. Natural Res. Def. Council, 435 U.S. 519 (1978) (insisting, in no uncertain terms, that courts should not create additional procedural requirements for notice-and-comment rulemaking under the APA beyond those imposed by Congress).

      [76].   Sierra Club v. Costle, 657 F.2d 298, 312 (D.C. Cir. 1981).

      [77].   Id. at 386 (noting the EDF’s claim that the EPA had weakened its rule “as a result of an ‘ex parte blitz’ by coal industry advocates conducted after the close of the comment period”).

      [78].   Id. at 391.

      [79].   42 U.S.C. § 7607(d)(3), (6) (2006).

      [80].   Sierra Club, 657 F.2d at 395 (“In contrast to other recent statutes, there is no mention [in § 307] of any restrictions upon ‘ex parte’ contacts.”).

      [81].   Id. at 401 (“The possibility of course exists that in permitting ex parte communications with rulemakers we create the danger of ‘one administrative record for the public and this court and another for the Commission.’”) (quoting Home Box Office, Inc. v. FCC, 567 F.2d 9, 54 (D.C. Cir. 1977)).

      [82].   Id.

      [83].   Id. at 400–01 (footnotes omitted).

      [84].   42 U.S.C. § 7607(d)(4)(B)(i) (2006).

      [85].   Sierra Club, 657 F.2d at 387, 397–400, 400–04 (noting that all written comments were docketed, approving of the EPA’s treatment of written comments, and approving of the EPA’s docketing of oral meetings).

      [86].   Id. at 402 (footnotes omitted).

      [87].   Id. at 400 (footnotes omitted).

      [88].   See Sangamon Valley Television Corp. v. United States, 269 F.2d 221, 224 (D.C. Cir. 1959) (establishing that “basic fairness” justified a bar on ex partecontacts during ostensible rulemaking used to conduct the essentially adjudicative task of resolving “conflicting private claims to a valuable privilege”).

      [89].   See Elec. Power Supply Ass’n v. Fed. Energy Regulatory Comm’n, 391 F.3d 1255, 1266 (D.C. Cir. 2004) (declaring that “[HBO] was based on the due process clause”).

      [90].   According to one senior agency regulatory official’s sense of the matter after discussions several years ago with contacts at other major rulemaking agencies, about one-half of these agencies have limits on ex parte contacts.  E-mail from Neil Eisner, Assistant Gen. Counsel for Regulation and Enforcement, U.S. Dep’t. of Transp. (Apr. 18, 2012) (on file with author).

      [91].   See Jackson, supra note 1.

      [92].   Id.

      [93].   Id.

      [94].   Id.

      [95].   Id.

      [96].   Ex Parte Rules, 47 C.F.R. §§ 1.1200–1.1216 (2011), available at http://www.fcc.gov/encyclopedia/ex-parte-rules-2011.

      [97].   Id. § 1.1200(a).

      [98].   Id.

      [99].   Id. § 1.1206(a)(1).

    [100].   Id. § 1.206(b).

    [101].   Id. § 1.206(b)(4).

    [102].   Id. § 1.206(b)(2)(ii).

    [103].   Id. § 1.1204(b)(1).

    [104].   For an explanation of the FCC’s use of NOIs, see Rulemaking Process at the FCC, FCC Encyclopedia, http://www.fcc.gov/encyclopedia/rulemaking-process-fcc#q4 (last visited July 10, 2012).

    [105].   Dep’t  of Transp., DOT Order 2100.2 § 3(b), Policies for Public Contacts in Rule Making (1970) (emphasis added), available athttp://regs.dot.gov/requirements/DOT2100-2.pdf.

    [106].   568 F.2d 240, 251–52 (2d Cir. 1977).

    [107].   See Elliot, supra note 7, at 1494.

    [108].   Guidance on Ex Parte Communications, 74 Fed. Reg. 52,795 (Oct. 14, 2009).

    [109].   Id. at FAQ 2(ii).

    [110].   Id. at FAQ 8.

    [111].   See Coglianese et al., supra note 59, at 950 (noting that “it may be difficult to establish a bright-line rule for when the development of a new rulemaking begins”).

    [112].   See Regulatory Development and Retrospective Review Tracker: About Reg DaRRT, EPA, http://yosemite.epa.gov/opei/RuleGate.nsf/content/about.html?opendocument (last viewed June 30, 2012) (discussing EPA’s Regulatory Development and Retrospective Review Tracker) .

    [113].   See Coglianese et al., supra note 59.  In this regard, Executive Order 12,866 requires that:

Each agency shall prepare an agenda of all regulations under development or review, at a time and in a manner specified by the Administrator of OIRA.  The description of each regulatory action shall contain, at a minimum, a regulation identifier number, a brief summary of the action, the legal authority for the action, any legal deadline for the action, and the name and telephone number of a knowledgeable agency official.

Exec. Order 12,866 § 4(b), 58 Fed. Reg. 51,735 (Sept. 30, 1993).

    [114].   47 C.F.R. § 1.1206(b)(2)(ii) (2011), available at http://www.fcc.gov/encyclopedia/ex-parte-rules-2011 (specifying the FCC’s instructions for submitting confidential information in permit-but-disclose proceedings).

    [115].   Guidance on Ex Parte Communications, 74 Fed. Reg. 52,795, FAQ 7 (Oct. 14, 2009) (requiring interested parties to prepare memoranda memorializing in-person meetings and telephone contacts within one week for placement in the DOE’s public docket).

    [116].   47 C.F.R. § 1.1206(b)(2)(i) (2011) (requiring submission of documents to FCC for docketing in electronic form where feasible).

    [117].   Id. § 1.1202(a) (excluding from the definition of “presentation” various types of contacts, e.g., “communications which are inadvertently or casually made, inquiries concerning compliance with procedural requirements if the procedural matter is not an area of controversy in the proceeding, statements made by decisionmakers that are limited to providing publicly available information about pending proceedings”).

Murphy_LawReview_10.12

 

By: Julia Di Vito

Introduction

On June 17, 2010, the United States Supreme Court overturned more than five-hundred decisions issued by the National Labor Relations Board (“Board”) with one decision.  In so doing, the Court also overturned a decision by the United States Court of Appeals for the Seventh Circuit and affected decisions made by federal courts of appeals in four other circuits.  While this decision is significant in the arena of labor law, it is more significant for its impact on the Court’s future philosophy toward statutory interpretation.

In New Process Steel, L.P. v. NLRB, the Court held that the National Labor Relations Act (“NLRA”)—the enabling statute for the Board—did not allow a two-member group of the Board’s members to exercise the Board’s power to decide cases.[1]  The Board had previously delegated its authority to a three-member group of the five-member Board, and that three-member group continued to decide cases when its membership decreased to two because the third member’s appointment expired.[2]  In New Process Steel, the five-justice majority of the Court held that under the NLRA, the delegated group could only exercise the Board’s authority with three (not two) members and held that all of the orders issued by the two-member group were invalid.[3]

The majority’s decision demonstrates the current trend of formalistic statutory interpretation.  This method of interpretation involves examining the text of a statute to interpret its meaning and ignoring congressional intent, even if the effect of the formalistic interpretation seems contrary to that congressional intent.[4]  The Court in New Process Steel chose to avoid a functionalistic interpretation, in which one interprets a statute by considering both the text and the impact of the interpretation and chose instead an interpretation that best accomplishes the apparent congressional intent.  Justice Stevens wrote the opinion for the majority, despite his personal history of functionalistic interpretation.[5]

This Note considers the impact of New Process Steel on the future interpretative philosophy of the United States Supreme Court.  Part I examines the majority and dissenting opinions of the New Process Steel decision.  Part II explores the historical background of the Board and the NLRA and the circuit split regarding the Board’s delegation policy before the Court’s decision in New Process Steel.  Part III explains three types of statutory interpretation: formalism, functionalism, and Chevron deference.  Part IV analyzes the interpretive methods used by the majority and the dissent in New Process Steel and considers the absence of the Chevron doctrine.  Finally, Part V concludes by examining Justice Stevens’s break from his history as a functionalist and a consideration of the impact of New Process Steel on future Supreme Court statutory interpretation.

I.  New Process Steel, L.P. v. NLRB

In New Process Steel, the United States Supreme Court held that two members of the Board could not exercise the Board’s delegated authority.[6]  This decision invalidated almost six-hundred cases previously decided by two members of the Board over a twenty-seven month period and resolved a split among the federal circuits.[7]

The Board consists of five members appointed for five-year terms by the President and confirmed by the Senate.[8]  The Board members’ terms are staggered, and because the Senate must confirm the President’s appointees, the Board sometimes consists of fewer than five members.[9]

Under the Board’s delegation clause, “[t]he Board is authorized to delegate to any group of three or more members any or all of the powers which it may itself exercise.”[10]  The Board’s enabling statute also provides as follows:

A vacancy in the Board shall not impair the right of the remaining members to exercise all of the powers of the Board, and three members of the Board shall, at all times, constitute a quorum of the Board, except that two members shall constitute a quorum of any group designated pursuant to the first sentence hereof.[11]

In 2007, the Board had four active members and one vacancy.[12]  On December 20, 2007, these four members delegated to the general counsel the ongoing authority to conduct litigation that would normally require the Board’s case-by-case approval.[13]  They also delegated to three Board members—Wilma Liebman, Peter Schaumber, and Peter Kirsnaow—“all of the Board’s powers, in anticipation of the adjournment of the 1st Session of the 110th Congress.”[14]  Peter Kirsanow’s recess appointment expired on December 31, 2007.[15]

From January 1, 2008 until March 27, 2010, Liebman and Schaumber were the only two members of the Board.[16]  Relying on the language of the Board’s enabling legislation and an opinion by the U.S. Department of Justice’s Office of Legal Counsel, these two members concluded that they constituted a two-member quorum of the three-member delegee group.[17]  Under this delegation, they exercised the Board’s authority and decided almost six-hundred cases.[18]

During this period, the Board issued decisions against New Process Steel, L.P., which challenged the Board’s orders in the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Seventh Circuit.[19]  New Process Steel claimed that two members did not constitute a valid quorum of the Board and thus the decisions against it were not proper; the court of appeals did not agree.[20]  Other employers had similarly challenged the validity of the Board’s decisions during this time period in other circuits, and the circuit courts had come to different conclusions.[21]  The United States Supreme Court granted certiorari to resolve the conflicting decisions.[22]

The Supreme Court held that the delegation to members Liebman, Schaumber, and Kirsanow terminated when Kirsanow’s term ended, and thus the two-member delegee group could not exercise the Board’s authority to decide cases.[23]  The Court reached this decision by interpreting the delegation clause of the NLRA, which is the Board’s enabling statute.  The Court concluded that there were two ways to interpret this clause: either read it to require only that a delegee group contain three members at the time of delegation (and not necessarily during the time the delegee group exercises its power), or read it to require that “the delegee group maintain a membership of three in order for the delegation to remain valid.”[24]

The Court concluded that the proper interpretation was to require the delegee group to maintain three members and supported its conclusion with three reasons.[25]  First, the Court determined that this interpretation was the only way to give meaningful effect to section 3(b) of the NLRA,[26] which is titled “Delegation of powers to members and regional directors; review and stay of actions of regional directors; quorum; seal.”[27]  Under this section, the quorum requirement mandates the participation of three members “at all times” for the Board to act.[28]  Further, this section provides that “[a] vacancy in the Board shall not impair the right of the remaining members to exercise all of the powers of the Board,”[29] which the Court held should be read in conjunction with the quorum clause, meaning that vacancies would not impair the Board from acting so long as the three-member quorum requirement was satisfied.[30]  The Court found that, as a whole, section 3(b) meant that a three-member delegee group could still issue decisions with only two members participating “so long as the delegee group was properly constituted.”[31]

Second, the Court reasoned that “if Congress had intended to authorize two members alone to act for the Board on an ongoing basis, it could have said so in straightforward language.”[32]  In 1947, Congress amended the NLRA to increase the membership of the Board from three to five.[33]  Congress also changed the NLRA’s original two-member Board-quorum provision to the current three-member quorum requirement.[34]  The Court found this change significant and noted that it would only contravene the three-member quorum requirement if it found evidence of congressional intent to do so.[35]

The Court’s third reason for choosing this interpretation was the lack of historical practice authorizing a two-member quorum.  Prior to the period at issue, the Board had not allowed two members to act as a quorum of the three-member delegee group.[36]  Previously, the Board’s practice was to reconstitute a delegee group when one group member’s term expired and to stop issuing decisions when the membership fell to two members.[37]  The Court reasoned that this past practice indicated that the two-member group did not possess the Board’s delegated authority.[38]

The Court also provided reasons why interpreting the delegation clause to allow delegation to a group of three members at the time of delegation only—without regard to the delegee group’s subsequent membership—was improper.  It examined the NLRA as a whole and concluded that allowing this type of delegation would undercut the significance of the quorum requirement by allowing two members to act as the Board ad infinitum.[39]  The majority wrote that this interpretation ignored the three-member requirement in the delegation clause, which allows the Board to delegate authority “to any group of three or more members,” because, in effect, the Board was delegating its authority to a group of two members.[40]

The Court also disagreed with the Board’s interpretation of the NLRA.  It recognized that while two members can act as a quorum of a properly delegated group and “participate to transact business in the name of the group,” this fact “does not establish that the group itself can exercise the Board’s authority when the group’s membership falls below three.”[41]  The Court noted that the quorum provisions and the vacancy clause are separate; it read “the quorum provisions merely to define the number of members who must participate in a decision,” and the vacancy clause to determine whether vacancies in excess of the number in the quorum provision have any effect on the entity’s authority to act.[42]  Thus, in the Court’s view, these provisions applied in different situations, and allowing two members to constitute a quorum of a delegee group did not mean that two members could exercise the powers of the Board.

Lastly, the Court dismissed the Board’s other arguments for allowing delegation under the circumstances.  It distinguished the NLRA’s membership group from appellate panels, for which the Court had previously allowed two out of three judges to decide cases in extreme circumstances.[43]  In so doing, it noted “the difference between a panel constituted to decide particular cases and the creation of a standing panel plenipotentiary, which will decide many cases arising long after the third member departs,” and it also noted the “longstanding practice” of allowing two appellate judges to hear cases.[44]  Finally, the Court reasoned that achieving a congressional objective of Board efficiency did not trump the change to the text of the NLRA that required a three-member quorum, and stated that “[i]f Congress wishes to allow the Board to decide cases with only two members, it can easily do so.”[45]

Justices Kennedy wrote the dissenting opinion, and was joined by Justices Ginsburg, Breyer, and Sotomayor.[46]  The dissenting Justices felt that “the statute’s plain terms permit a two-member quorum of a properly designated three-member group to issue orders” and that Congress intended to allow the sort of delegation that was at issue.[47]  The dissent relied on its interpretation of the vacancy clause and noted that the majority had “reject[ed] a straightforward reading that it acknowledge[d was] ‘textually permissible.’”[48]

The dissent disagreed with the Court’s interpretation of the NLRA, criticizing the majority for giving some provisions a greater weight than others.[49]  The dissent also noted that the delegation clause is distinct from the group-quorum provision,[50] but reasoned that allowing a two-member quorum of a delegee group did not render the delegation clause obsolete.[51]  Under the dissent’s interpretation, a quorum of the full Board—which is three or more members—may delegate its authority to a three-member group.  This three-member quorum is required by the Board-quorum provision, which applies “at all times” to the Board acting as a whole.[52]  A delegee group with two members present may act on behalf of the Board, as permitted by the group-quorum provision, which states that “two members shall constitute a quorum of any group designated pursuant to the first sentence hereof.”[53]

The dissent explained that its interpretation also gave effect to the vacancy provision.  The vacancy clause applies to Board members exercising all the powers of the Board and, as the dissent explained, “This clause thus instructs that a vacancy in the Board shall not impair the right of members to exercise the Board’s powers, an authority that members of delegee groups possess.”[54]  Furthermore, “[t]he delegation clause establishes what is required for delegation in the first instance, while the vacancy clause and the group quorum provision allow the delegee group to proceed in the event that a member’s term expires or a member resigns.”[55]  Thus, the dissent’s interpretation allowed three or more members of the Board to delegate authority to a group of three members and allowed two members of that three-member group to constitute a quorum, no matter what happened to the third member.

The dissent also noted that the majority’s interpretation of section 3(b) would allow two members of a delegee group to act for the Board as long as “they [were] part of a delegee group that ha[d] fallen to two members due to any reason other than vacancy.”[56]  The dissent criticized the Court’s conclusion that Congress did not intend to allow two members to act for the Board for extended periods of time but did intend to allow two members to act for the Board temporarily.  To counter the Court’s conclusion that Congress could have expressly allowed for a two-member quorum of a delegee group, the dissent stated that the vacancy clause is an explicit rejection of a three-member requirement in a delegee group.[57]  The dissent pointed out that “Congress could have required a delegee group to maintain three members, but it did not do so.”[58]  The dissent admitted that Congress likely did not intend to allow two members to act for the Board for an extended period but noted that section 3(b) allows two-member quorums of delegee groups in extraordinary circumstances.[59]

The dissent also countered the majority’s third reason in favor of disallowing this delegation—the Board’s historical practice—as the dissent did not find this practice to be significant.  While the dissent noted that the Board did reconstitute three-member panels when one member was absent, it only read from this history that the Board respects the superiority of three-member groups to two-member quorums of those groups.[60]  The dissent also examined the 1947 Taft-Hartley Act, which amended the NLRA to increase the Board’s membership from three to five members.  This amendment also allowed the Board to exercise its powers through three-member groups, which the dissent noted had the purpose of “increasing by 100 percent its ability to dispose of cases expeditiously.”[61]  The dissent concluded that allowing two members of a three-member delegee group to exercise the Board’s powers would further this congressional objective.[62]

II.  Historical Background and the Circuit Split

A. The National Labor Relations Act

The Board was first created in 1935 by the NLRA—also known as the Wagner Act—which was billed as an act “[t]o diminish the causes of labor disputes burdening or obstructing interstate and foreign commerce, to create a National Labor Relations Board, and for other purposes.”[63]  Under this legislation, the Board was “empowered . . . to prevent any person from engaging in any unfair labor practice . . . affecting commerce.”[64]  The Board could carry out this power by initiating and conducting hearings and by issuing orders.[65]

Under the original version of the NLRA, the Board was composed of three members, appointed for five-year staggered terms.[66]  The Act provided that “[a] vacancy in the Board [would] not impair the right of the remaining members to exercise all the powers of the Board, and [that] two members of the Board [would], at all times, constitute a quorum.”[67]  The Act did not include a delegation provision.

Congress amended the NLRA in 1947 with the Labor Management Relations Act, also known as the Taft-Hartley Act.  Congress passed this amendment “to provide additional facilities for the mediation of labor disputes affecting commerce, to equalize legal responsibilities of labor organizations and employers, and for other purposes.”[68]  This amendment changed the membership of the Board so that “the Board [would] consist of five instead of three members.”[69]  The amendment also gave the Board the power to delegate its authority, providing as follows:

The Board is authorized to delegate to any group of three or more members any or all of the powers which it may itself exercise.  A vacancy in the Board shall not impair the right of the remaining members to exercise all of the powers of the Board, and three members of the Board shall, at all times, constitute a quorum of the Board, except that two members shall constitute a quorum of any group designated pursuant to the first sentence hereof.[70]

From the perspective of the amendment’s drafters, the expansion of the Board’s membership was intended to “permit it to operate in panels of three, thereby increasing by 100 percent its ability to dispose of cases expeditiously.”[71]  Thus, the increased size of the Board, combined with its new power of delegation, allowed the Board to more efficiently prevent unfair labor practices.  The delegation and quorum provisions of the Board’s enabling legislation have not been amended since the enactment of the Taft-Hartley Act.[72]

B. Historical Precedent

In the early 1980s, the Board was exercising its authority through a three-member panel.[73]  However, in 1981, before issuing a decision about the employment practices of Photo-Sonics, Inc., one member of the three-member panel resigned.[74]  The remaining two members of the Board issued a decision against Photo-Sonics.[75]  Photo-Sonics challenged the decision, asserting that the decision was—in the words of the circuit court—“unenforceable because it was not made by a properly constituted three-member panel.”[76]

The U.S. Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit, in Photo-Sonics, Inc. v. NLRB, concluded that the decision was valid and enforceable.  The court reasoned that the resigning member, John Penello, concurred in the decision before his resignation, so the decision was made by all three members of the panel.[77]  However, the court went on to state that “[e]ven if Penello did not participate, a decision by two members of the panel would still be binding.”[78]  The court interpreted the group-quorum provision to provide that two members constituted a quorum of a delegated three-member panel, so a decision by two members of the three-member panel would be valid, since a “quorum” of two panel members supported the decision.[79]  It also cited cases allowing a quorum of two judges to issue decisions when the third died or became ill.[80]

C. The Circuit Split

After the Board’s membership dropped to two members in 2008, employers receiving unfavorable decisions began challenging the Board’s validity in the federal circuit courts of appeals.  The courts of appeals for the First, Second, Fourth, Seventh, and Tenth Circuits all held that a two-member panel constituted a valid quorum of the Board; only the Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia Circuit did not.  However, these courts relied on different reasons to come to these conclusions.

On March 13, 2009, the United States Court of Appeals for the First Circuit became the first circuit court to uphold the validity of the Board’s two-member panel in Northeastern Land Services, Ltd. v. NLRB.[81]  The court reasoned that the Board’s interpretation of its own enabling statute should be entitled to deference under Chevron U.S.A., Inc. v. Natural Resources Defense Council, Inc.,[82] and deferred to the Board’s interpretation of section 3(b) of the NLRA.[83]  The court held that section 3(b) expressly authorizes the delegation of decisional authority to a three-member group and that the vacancy clause means that a vacancy may not impair the right of the two-member quorum of the three-member group to exercise all of the powers of the Board.[84]  The First Circuit also found support for this interpretation in a DOJ memorandum and in the Ninth Circuit’s decision in Photo-Sonics.[85]  Finally, the court analogized the Board’s quorum to permissible quorums of other administrative agencies, such as the Securities and Exchange Commission (“SEC”) and the National Mediation Board.[86]

On May 1, 2009, the Court of Appeals for the Seventh Circuit became the next court to issue a decision about the Board’s two-member quorum, and also found the Board’s authority to be valid—in the case that was ultimately appealed to the United States Supreme Court.[87]  The court did not apply Chevron deference to the Board’s interpretation of section 3(b), but instead interpreted the statute itself.  The court first looked to the plain meaning of the text and concluded that the Board had the power to delegate its authority to a group of three members and that the Board could continue to conduct business with a quorum of three members.[88]  Based on this proposition, it held that two members constituted a quorum when the Board had delegated its authority to a group of three members.[89]  In applying these legal principles to the facts of the case, the court found that the Board had met these conditions during the time period at issue.[90]

New Process Steel, the employer challenging the Board’s authority, argued that this interpretation would deprive the NLRA’s delegation clause of its meaning by allowing the Board to delegate its authority to two, not three, members.[91]  The court disagreed, reasoning that the delegation clause and the quorum provisions had to be read independently and that New Process Steel’s interpretation “sap[ped] the quorum provision of any meaning because it would prohibit a properly constituted panel of three members from proceeding with a quorum of two.”[92]  The court noted that Northeastern Land Services, Photo-Sonics, and the DOJ memorandum all supported this interpretation.[93]

The Seventh Circuit then looked at the legislative history of the NLRA.  The court concluded that the purpose of the Taft-Hartley Amendment—which increased the Board’s membership from three to five members—was to allow the Board to hear more cases, so it reasoned that a court should not interpret the statute in a way that would hinder the Board’s ability to hear more cases.[94]  It then distinguished the case at hand from a prohibition on two-judge quorums in the Article III context that had been imposed by the United States Supreme Court in Nguyen v. United States.[95]  The court reasoned that the statute at issue in Nguyen, which gave authority to Article III judges, had no delegation or quorum clauses, and noted that the statute’s legislative history indicated that Congress did not intend to allow delegations to panels of two.[96]  It noted that the Board’s enabling legislation, on the other hand, did include delegation and quorum provisions, and that the legislative history of the Board demonstrated no animus against a two-member quorum.[97]

Finally, the Seventh Circuit analogized the New Process Steel case to other administrative law opinions that had allowed public boards to act despite vacancies.  The court reasoned that in this context, the public board—rather than the individual members—has the authority to act; therefore, so long as the quorum requirements are met, the public board should be able to act.[98]  The court also distinguished the case at hand from one in which an agency, the Interstate Commerce Commission (“ICC”), had asked Congress to amend its enabling legislation to allow a depleted board of members (six of eleven) to act with merely a quorum of its remaining members.[99]  The court noted that this precedent did not apply to the Board since the Board already had statutory authority to let two members act for a three-member group, and that it did not need to ask Congress for permission to do so.[100]  Thus, based on all these reasons, the Seventh Circuit upheld the authority of the Board’s two-member quorum.[101]

On the same day that the Seventh Circuit addressed the issue—May 1, 2009—the U.S. Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia issued a decision that came to the opposite conclusion.[102]  In Laurel Baye Healthcare of Lake Lanier, Inc. v. NLRB, the court disagreed with the Board’s interpretation of section 3(b) because it eschewed various portions of the statutory language.[103]  To the court, section 3(b) meant that a three-member Board could delegate its power to a three-member group and that this delegee group could act with two members “so long as the Board quorum requirement is, ‘at all times,’ satisfied.”[104]  The court reasoned that the word “except” in the group-quorum provision meant that the delegee group’s ability to act was “measured by a different numerical value,” and that “at all times” meant that there must be three members present before the Board could act.[105]  It went on to state, “Though the delegee group quorum provision is preceded by the prepositional phrase ‘except that,’ Congress’s use of differing object nouns within the two quorum provisions indicates clearly that each quorum provision is independent from the other.”[106]

The court found support for its interpretation in an analogy to agency law.  An agent’s delegated authority ceases “upon the resignation or termination of the delegating authority.”[107]  By extension of this principle, the power of a delegated group of Board members (the collective agent) ceases when vacancies or disqualifications on the Board reduce the Board’s membership below a quorum, terminating the delegating authority.  The court reasoned that section 3(b) confers no authority on the delegated group and that the only authority under which the group could act was that of the Board.[108]  Therefore, the court concluded that when the Board’s membership fell below three, it had no authority to act; thus, a delegee group could not act on its behalf.[109]

The D.C. Circuit distinguished the authorities on which the Seventh Circuit relied when coming to the opposite conclusion.  The court noted that the case allowing the National Mediation Board to act through only one member was very limited and did not apply to the Board, because the Board makes substantive adjudications.[110]  Further, the case allowing the SEC to create its own quorum rule was inapplicable to the Board, because Congress gave the SEC the power to create that rule.[111]  Finally, the First Circuit’s decision in Northeastern Land Services did not influence the court’s decision, because that court decided whether the delegee group was valid after one member left the Board, not whether the lack of a quorum on the Board as a whole invalidated the delegation.[112]  Thus, the D.C. Circuit found the failure to meet the overall Board-quorum requirement of three members to be dispositive and held the Board could not act with two members.[113]

The U.S. Court of Appeals for the Second Circuit tackled this issue on June 17, 2009, and held that the Board had the authority to act during the relevant time period.[114]  Like the First Circuit, this court applied the Chevron analysis and found that the text of section 3(b) was ambiguous regarding whether the properly constituted panel of three members retained jurisdiction when the Board lost its quorum of three members.[115]  The court found the circuit split over the meaning of this provision itself to be evidence of the ambiguity.[116]  Faced with an ambiguous statute, the Second Circuit turned to the statute’s legislative history, unlike the D.C. Circuit, which instead had looked to another area of law.

Like the Seventh Circuit, the Second Circuit noted that Congress increased the size of the Board with the Taft-Hartley Act for the purpose of increasing the Board’s efficiency.[117]  However, the court did not find that legislative history to be dispositive and went on to the second step of the Chevron analysis, which is to ask whether the Board’s interpretation was reasonable.[118]  The court concluded that the Board’s interpretation of section 3(b) was straightforward and promoted efficiency, and so was reasonable enough to be entitled to deference.[119]  Finally, the court critiqued the D.C. Circuit and noted that while that court’s interpretation is also reasonable, under Chevron, the administrative agency’s interpretation is entitled to deference as long as it is reasonable.[120]

On November 20, 2009, the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Fourth Circuit joined the First, Second, and Seventh Circuits in allowing the Board’s two-member delegee group to act.[121]  Like the Second Circuit, the Fourth Circuit applied the Chevron analysis, but it concluded that the text of section 3(b) was plain and unambiguous.[122]  Under the Fourth Circuit’s interpretation, the delegation provision means that the Board can delegate any or all of its power to a three-member group; the vacancy provision means that a vacancy shall not impair the authority of the remaining Board members to act; and the quorum provision means that three members constitute a quorum of the Board, except that two members constitute a quorum of any group designated under the delegation provision.[123]  The court concluded that the Board’s delegation to the three-member group was proper, and that two members made a quorum.

The court rejected the D.C. Circuit’s narrow construction of the statute’s language because “it [was] based on an overly narrow construction of the modifying phrase that directly follows the three-member quorum requirement.”[124]  The court disagreed with the D.C. Circuit’s interpretation of the statutory phrase “except that” and concluded that had Congress desired to write the statute as the D.C. Circuit had read it, then Congress “would have simply omitted the words” from section 3(b).[125]  Finally, the court noted that reading the statute to require the three-member group to cease to exist when one of the members leaves would mean that a two-member quorum could never exist.[126]  Therefore, the Fourth Circuit allowed the two-member group to act.[127]

On December 22, 2009, the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Tenth Circuit—the last circuit to rule on this issue—allowed the two-member group to act.[128]  Like the First, Second, and Fourth Circuits, this court used the Chevron analysis and concluded that the statutory language is not clear on its face.  The court looked at the prior decisions on the issue and concluded that “this very split ‘is evidence of [the statute’s] ambiguity.’”[129]

Proceeding to the second step of the Chevron analysis, the court held that the Board’s construction of section 3(b) was permissible.  It noted that the Board read the phrase, “except that,” as modifying the three-member quorum provision, which the court concluded was a permissible reading.[130]  Thus, the Tenth Circuit joined the First, Second, Fourth, and Seventh Circuits in holding that the Board’s two-member delegee group properly exercised the Board’s authority by continuing to decide cases.

III.  Methods of Statutory Interpretation

Scholars typically divide methods of statutory interpretation into two categories: formalism (also known as textualism) and functionalism (also known as realism).[131]  These types of statutory interpretation differ in their consideration or avoidance of congressional intent and in their adherence to or redrafting of statutory text.[132]  Even when applied to seemingly straightforward statutes, these approaches can yield completely opposite results.

Formalism has been defined as the interpretation of a statute using “deductive logic to derive the outcome of a case from premises accepted as authoritative.”[133]  Formalist judges believe they must adhere to the precise terms of statutory texts and do not look to “legislative intent” when the meaning of a statute is clearly expressed by the text.[134]  These judges do not think they should try to understand Congress’s intentions behind a statute and only support enforcing the clear terms of the statute.  The United States Supreme Court has applied this method of statutory interpretation in recent years, “emphasizing that legislation routinely has unintended consequences and that judges must give effect to the actual commands embedded in clearly worded statutes rather than to the apparent background intent of the legislators who voted for them.”[135]

On the other hand, realism, or functionalism,[136] is not just a blind application of the words of a statute, but enables judges to decide cases so that their outcomes will best promote public welfare and public policy.[137]  Functionalist judges view themselves as agents of Congress and strive to carry out congressional intentions.[138]  Like formalists, functionalist judges will adhere to the words of a statute if those words clearly convey Congress’s meaning.  However, if the statute does not clearly evince congressional intent—due to drafting errors, poor foresight, or limited resources—they will interpret a statute to achieve what they believe is the best result for society.[139]  Under this theory, “If a given statutory application sharply contradicts commonly held social values, then the Supreme Court presumes that this absurd result reflects imprecise drafting that Congress could and would have corrected had the issue come up during the enactment process.”[140]  In this situation, a functionalistic judge will interpret the statute in a way that avoids a socially harmful result—a result that he or she assumes could not be what Congress intended.

A common example used to illustrate the difference between these two approaches involves a local ordinance that states “no dogs in the park.”[141]  A formalist would interpret this ordinance literally and would prohibit a blind person’s guide dog from entering the park because the ordinance states that no dogs are allowed in the park.  However, this formalist would allow a pet tiger to enter the park (assuming there is no ordinance about jungle cats), because a tiger is not a dog.  On the other hand, a functionalist would look at the purpose behind the ordinance and would determine that the ordinance was intended to protect park goers from disruptive pets.[142]  Interpreting the ordinance with that purpose in mind, the functionalist would allow the guide dog to enter the park, but not the pet tiger, even though the guide dog is a dog and the tiger is not.  Therefore, even though the ordinance seems clear on its face, the formalist and the functionalist would interpret it differently.

The United States Supreme Court attempted to take the burden of statutory interpretation off the judiciary when the interpretation of a federal administrative agency’s statute is at issue.  In Chevron U.S.A., Inc. v. Natural Resources Defense Council, Inc., the Court set up a process under which courts can defer to an agency’s interpretation of its own statute.[143]  “If the intent of Congress is clear,” as evidenced through an unambiguous statute, then the court and the agency “must give effect to the unambiguously expressed intent of Congress.”[144]  However, if the statute is ambiguous and Congress’s intent is not clear, “the question for the court is whether the agency’s answer is based on a permissible construction of the statute.”[145]  If the agency’s interpretation of the statute is reasonable and permissible, then the court should defer to the agency’s interpretation.[146]  Thus, even though a formalistic or functionalistic approach may factor into the reasonableness of an agency’s interpretation, the Chevron doctrine saves courts from deciding on a method of statutory interpretation when interpreting an administrative agency’s statute.

IV.  The Trend of Formalistic Statutory Interpretation

In New Process Steel, the majority and the dissent of the United States Supreme Court utilized several methods of statutory interpretation.  The majority’s method of interpretation also differed from the various circuit courts’ approaches.  The majority’s use of formalism—and the surprising absence of the Chevron doctrine in both the majority’s and the dissent’s opinions—signals a future of Supreme Court decisions using formalistic, rather than functionalistic, statutory interpretation.

A. Statutory Interpretation in New Process Steel

The majority opinion in New Process Steel is an example of formalistic statutory interpretation.  The majority looked to the text of the NLRA, specifically section 3(b), to determine the meaning of the delegation and quorum provisions.[147]  The Court concluded that its interpretation—prohibiting two members of the three-member delegee group from exercising the Board’s powers—was “the only way to harmonize and give meaningful effect to all of the provisions in § 3(b).”[148]  Thus, to determine the meaning of one provision of section 3(b), it looked at the language of section 3(b) as a whole, and came up with an interpretation based on the meaning of the statute derived from examining the text of the statute.

The majority also refused to infer congressional intent beyond what the text of the statute actually said.  The Court concluded that “if Congress had intended to authorize two members alone to act for the Board on an ongoing basis, it could have said so in straightforward language.”[149]  The majority supported the conclusion that the text of section 3(b) does not allow two members to act for the Board within the plain-meaning definition of “quorum” looking to both legal and English dictionaries.[150]  Furthermore, the majority rejected the argument that Congress amended the NLRA to “keep the Board operating at all costs” and definitively held that the text of section 3(b) does not allow two members of a three-member delegee group to exercise the authority of the Board.[151]

The dissent took the opposite approach by displaying a functionalistic interpretation of section 3(b).  This opinion started by looking at the text of section 3(b) and concluding that “the statute’s plain terms permit a two-member quorum of a properly designated three-member group to issue orders.”[152]  However, the dissent also looked at Congress’s purpose behind enacting section 3(b).  First, the dissent inferred that “Congress did not intend to allow two members to [exercise the powers of the Board] for protracted periods of time” but noted that “unintended consequences are typically the result of unforeseen circumstances.”[153]  Thus, even though Congress did not intend for two members to act for the Board all the time, it had created a mechanism by which two members could exercise the Board’s powers if the need arose.  The dissent also inferred that Congress did not intend for the Board to stop operating entirely for an extended period, even when the Board had only two members.[154]

The dissent next looked at Congress’s intent in amending the NLRA with the Taft-Hartley Act in 1947.  The purpose of this amendment, according to Justice Kennedy, was “to increase the Board’s efficiency by permitting multiple three-member groups to exercise the full powers of the Board.”[155]  The dissent concluded that its interpretation of section 3(b), which would allow the two members of the delegee group to act, furthered that congressional objective.  The dissent, in true functionalist fashion, stated:

[T]he new statutory language in § 153(b) complements the congressional intent to preserve the ability of two members of the Board to exercise the Board’s full powers, in limited circumstances, by permitting the Board to delegate “any or all” of its powers “to any group of three or more members,” two members of which would constitute a quorum.[156]

Therefore, the dissent not only looked at the plain meaning of the text of section 3(b), but also considered the intent of Congress and used an interpretation that was consistent with that congressional intent.

B. Where Is the Chevron Doctrine?

Neither the majority nor the dissent in New Process Steel even mentioned the Chevron doctrine.  This omission is very curious considering that this is a case in which a court is evaluating the validity of an administrative agency’s interpretation of its own statute—the prototypical Chevron case.[157]  Furthermore, four of the six circuit courts to address the two-member quorum of the Board’s delegee group used Chevron deference when deciding the issue.[158]  Counsel for the Board even relied on some of these circuit court decisions in their brief and argued that if the Court found the language of section 3(b) ambiguous, it “should defer to the Board’s understanding of that provision.”[159]

The missing Chevron analysis could indicate Chevron’s inapplicability to agency decisions when an agency is interpreting the reach of its own jurisdiction.[160]  It could also mean that the parties did not focus heavily on that argument.  Neither the Seventh Circuit, which heard the New Process Steel case before it went to the Supreme Court, nor the D.C. Circuit, which was the only circuit court to hold the two-member quorum to be invalid, addressed the Chevron issue.

Either way, the majority and the dissent used this case to illustrate formalistic and functionalistic interpretations, respectively, and neither appeared to find Chevron deference to be necessary or appropriate.  The conspicuous absence of the Chevron doctrine suggests a deliberate choice to use this case to display the Justices’ interpretative philosophies, instead of deferring to the Board’s judgment.  This choice could impact the Court’s future decisions on statutory interpretation, as the Chevron doctrine may continue to be absent from similar cases.

C. The Legacy of Justice Stevens

Justice Stevens, the author for the majority in New Process Steel, had previously been viewed as a functionalist judge.[161]  Historically, Justice Stevens believed that federal courts must discern and apply Congress’s intended meaning, that statutes are often poorly drafted, and if applied literally, may produce outcomes that appear unreasonable in light of the statutes’ purposes.[162]  He “presume[d] that Congress [was] (understandably) error prone in linguistic expression but quite coherent in the substantive framing of policies that serve some overarching purpose.”[163]  As a result of this presumption, Justice Stevens has interpreted statutes to avoid what he viewed as unintended results and has attempted to stay true to the congressional purposes behind statutes.[164]

Justice Stevens seems to have parted with his functionalist past when writing the New Process Steel majority opinion.  There is no doubt that the NLRA was not the most clearly drafted statute, as illustrated by the various interpretations of the statute by six circuit courts and the United States Supreme Court.  Stevens’s jurisprudential history indicates that when faced with a less-than-clear statute, like the NLRA, he would determine whether Congress had misspoken and inadvertently drafted a statute that produced a result contrary to its intent.[165]  One could imagine that, like the dissent from New Process Steel, Justice Stevens could have concluded that Congress did not intend for section 3(b) of the NLRA to prevent the Board from acting for more than two years and would have interpreted the statute in a way that would prevent this type of prolonged shutdown of the Board.

However, Justice Stevens did not follow his own interpretative legacy.  First, instead of inferring that Congress meant that two members could act for the Board under the circumstances presented, he would require Congress to “sa[y] so in straightforward language.”[166]  Next, he ignored the implication that with the Taft-Hartley Act, Congress intended “to preserve the ability of two members of the Board to exercise the Board’s full powers, in limited circumstances,” and that this purpose should be considered when interpreting the text of the NLRA.[167]  Finally, Justice Stevens stated that the majority was “not insensitive to the Board’s understandable desire to keep its doors open despite vacancies,”[168] but then ignored a reading of the text that was “textually permissible in a narrow sense,” which in fact would have helped the Board keep its doors open.[169]  Thus, while Justice Stevens may have a history as a functionalist,[170] he seems to have wanted to leave a final legacy as a formalist.

D. Impact on Future Cases

Because Justice Stevens retired shortly after the New Process Steel decision,[171] his inconsistent interpretative philosophy cannot help predict how he will decide cases in the future.  However, the New Process Steel decision does solidify a trend of formalistic statutory interpretation.  This decision illustrates that the United States Supreme Court will tend to interpret statutes or other documents by looking almost exclusively at the text without considering the impact of the interpretation or the context of the statutory language.  Even if the Court does not cite to New Process Steel when reaching that kind of conclusion, the case’s presence will still be felt.

This shift on the Court is illustrated by Free Enterprise Fund v. Public Company Accounting Oversight Board, decided by the Court eleven days after New Process Steel.[172]  In Free Enterprise Fund, the Court held unconstitutional a provision of the Sarbanes-Oxley Act.[173]  The challenged portion of the statute provided that members of the Public Company Accounting Oversight Board could not be removed at will but instead only “for good cause shown” and “in accordance with certain procedures.”[174]  The Court found that these removal procedures contravened the Constitution’s separation-of-powers requirement and contradicted Article II’s vesting of the executive power in the President.[175]  The Court noted that even if this removal structure was more efficient or convenient than any alternative, “the ‘fact that a given law or procedure is efficient, convenient, and useful in facilitating functions of government, standing alone, will not save it if it is contrary to the Constitution,’ for ‘[c]onvenience and efficiency are not the primary objectives—or the hallmarks—of democratic government.’”[176]  Thus, the Court ignored the practical benefits of upholding this statute and used a formalistic interpretation when determining the statute’s meaning.

As they did in New Process Steel, the dissenting justices engaged in a functionalistic interpretation.[177]  Justice Breyer, who also joined in the dissent in New Process Steel, wrote the dissenting opinion and stated that “if the Court were to look to the proper functional and contextual considerations, it would find the Accounting Board provision constitutional.”[178]  The dissent also noted that “[w]here a ‘for cause’ provision is so unlikely to restrict presidential power and so likely to further a legitimate institutional need, precedent strongly supports its constitutionality.”[179]  Therefore, the dissent found the statute to be constitutional not based on a reading of its text and the text of the Constitution, but by considering the impact of the statute and its necessity.  Although neither the majority nor the dissent referenced New Process Steel, both decisions were divided into a majority engaging in formalistic interpretation and a dissent engaging in functionalistic interpretation.

As New Process Steel and Free Enterprise Fund illustrate, the dominant interpretative philosophy of the Court will likely dictate how the Court will decide cases in the future.  Although Justice Stevens’s replacement, Justice Kagan, might follow the functionalist model,[180] and Justice Kennedy does not seem to know to which theory he subscribes,[181] formalistic interpretation appears to be the trend for the current Court.  The Court is likely to use formalistic interpretation in future cases requiring statutory interpretation, and these cases can be used to support the notion that statutes can be interpreted by looking only at their text and not considering their context, their impact, or congressional intent.

As a result, New Process Steel will affect more than the nearly six-hundred labor cases it overturned, because it solidified the formalistic approach of the Supreme Court.  It may also encourage independent statutory interpretation by the courts when Chevron deference would have been appropriate in the past.  Overall, New Process Steel may have started out as a case about the jurisdiction of the Board when it only had two members, but it ended up representing the prevailing interpretative philosophy of the current Court.

Conclusion

In New Process Steel v. NLRB, five Justices of the United States Supreme Court decided that the Board lacked the authority to decide cases with only two of its five members present.  The majority based this decision on its interpretation of the Board’s enabling statute, and did so without regard for the overall purpose of the Board, which is to resolve labor disputes.  The four dissenting Justices disagreed with the majority about the interpretation of the Board’s statute, but agreed with four circuit courts of appeals in arguing that the two Board members did have the authority to decide cases.

The present effects of the New Process Steel decision are significant: overturning almost six-hundred cases decided by the Board, reversing a circuit court of appeals decision, and affecting decisions from four other circuit courts of appeals.  However, the future impact of New Process Steel lies in its illustration of the Court’s views on methods of statutory interpretation.  The current majority of the Court prefers to engage in a formalistic approach to statutory interpretation, focusing on the text of the statute and ignoring the purpose of the statute or the impact of the interpretation.  Functionalistic justices are in the minority of the Court, indicating that the trend of formalistic interpretation will continue.  Therefore, this decision is more than just a labor law case; it instead signals a trend in Supreme Court jurisprudence and may be used by the formalistic majority to support statutory interpretations in the future.


[1]. New Process Steel, L.P. v. NLRB, 130 S. Ct. 2635, 2638 (2010).

[2]. Id. at 2638–39.

[3]. Id. at 2638, 2644.

[4]. See John F. Manning, Competing Presumptions About Statutory Coherence, 74 Fordham L. Rev. 2009, 2026 (2006) (discussing the Court’s approach of the past several decades with regard to statutory interpretation).

[5]. See id. at 2009–10.

[6]. New Process Steel, 130 S. Ct. at 2644.

[7]. See id. at 2638–39; see also infra Part II.C.

[8]. See 29 U.S.C. § 153(a) (2006).

[9]. See id. (“Of the two additional members so provided for, one shall be appointed for a term of five years and the other for a term of two years.  Their successors, and the successors of the other members, shall be appointed for terms of five years each . . . .”); see also National Labor Relations Act, Pub. L. No. 74-198, § 3(a), 49 Stat. 449, 451 (1935) (“One of the original members shall be appointed for a term of one year, one for a term of three years, and one for a term of five years, but their successors shall be appointed for terms of five years each . . . .”).

[10]. 29 U.S.C. § 153(b).

[11]. Id.

[12]. New Process Steel, 130 S. Ct. at 2638.

[13]. Id.

[14]. Id. (quoting Minutes of Board Action, Brief for Petitioner at 5a, New Process Steel, 130 S. Ct. 2635 (No. 08-1457)) (internal quotation marks omitted).

[15]. Id. at 2639.

[16]. Id.

[17]. Id. at 2638–39.

[18]. Id. at 2639.

[19]. Id.; New Process Steel, L.P. v. NLRB, 564 F.3d 840, 845 (7th Cir. 2009), rev’d, 130 S. Ct. 2635 (2010).

[20]. New Process Steel, 130 S. Ct. at 2639; New Process Steel, 564 F.3d at 845, 848.

[21]. See infra Part II.C.

[22]. New Process Steel, 130 S. Ct. at 2639.

[23]. Id. at 2640.

[24]. Id.

[25]. Id. at 2640–42.

[26]. Id. at 2640–41.

[27]. 29 U.S.C. § 153(b) (2006).

[28]. Id.

[29]. Id.

[30]. New Process Steel, 130 S. Ct. at 2640.

[31]. Id.

[32]. Id. at 2641.

[33]. Id. at 2638 (citing 29 U.S.C. § 153(a)).

[34]. See id. at 2641.

[35]. Id.

[36]. Id.

[37]. Id. at 2641 & n.3.

[38]. Id. at 2641–42 (citing Bowen v. Georgetown Univ. Hosp., 488 U.S. 204, 214 (1988)).

[39]. Id. at 2640–41.

[40]. 29 U.S.C. § 153(b) (2006); New Process Steel, 130 S. Ct. at 2640–41.

[41]. New Process Steel, 130 S. Ct. at 2642–43.

[42]. Id. at 2643.

[43]. Id. at 2643–44 (quoting Nguyen v. United States, 539 U.S. 69, 82 (2003) (allowing a two-judge “quorum to proceed to judgment when one member of the panel dies or is disqualified”)).

[44]. Id. at 2644.

[45]. Id. at 2644–45.

[46]. See id. at 2645 (Kennedy, J., dissenting).

[47]. Id.

[48]. Id. at 2646.

[49]. Id. at 2647.

[50]. The dissent divided the quorum provisions into two parts: (1) the Board-quorum provision, which states that “three members of the Board shall, at all times, constitute a quorum of the Board”; and (2) the group-quorum provision, which provides that “two members shall constitute a quorum of any group designated pursuant to the first sentence hereof.”  Id. at 2646.

[51]. Id. at 2648.

[52]. Id. at 2647 (quoting 29 U.S.C. § 153(b) (2006)).

[53]. 29 U.S.C. § 153(b); New Process Steel, 130 S. Ct. at 2647.

[54]. New Process Steel, 130 S. Ct. at 2648.

[55]. Id.

[56]. Id. at 2649.

[57]. Id. at 2648.

[58]. Id.

[59]. Id. at 2649.

[60]. Id. at 2650–52.

[61]. Id. at 2651 (quoting S. Rep. No. 80-105, at 8 (1947)).

[62]. Id.

[63]. National Labor Relations Act, Pub. L. No. 74-198, pmbl., 49 Stat. 449, 449 (1935).

[64]. § 10(a), 49 Stat. at 453.

[65]. See id. §§ 9(c)–(d), 10(b)–(c), 49 Stat. at 453–54.

[66]. See id. § 3(a), 49 Stat. at 451.

[67]. § 3(b), 49 Stat. at 451.

[68]. Labor Management Relations Act, Pub. L. No. 80-101, pmbl., 61 Stat. 136 (1947).

[69]. § 3(a), 61 Stat. at 139.

[70]. § 3(b), 61 Stat. at 139.

[71]. S. Rep. No. 80-105, at 8 (1947).

[72]. See 29 U.S.C. § 153(b) (2006).

[73]. See Photo-Sonics, Inc. v. NLRB, 678 F.2d 121, 122 (9th Cir. 1982).

[74]. Id.

[75]. Id.

[76]. Id.

[77]. Id.

[78]. Id.

[79]. Id. at 122–23.

[80]. Id. (citing TRW, Inc. v. NLRB, 654 F.2d 307 (5th Cir. 1981); Minniefield v. Alabama, 542 F.2d 947 (5th Cir. 1976); Litton Sys., Inc. v. Sw. Bell Tel. Co., 539 F.2d 418 (5th Cir. 1976); Wirth Ltd. v. S/S Acadia Forest, 537 F.2d 1272 (5th Cir. 1976); and United States v. Allied Stevedoring Corp., 241 F.2d 925 (2d Cir. 1957)).

[81]. 560 F.3d 36, 40–41 (1st Cir. 2009), vacated by Ne. Land Servs., Ltd. v. NLRB, 130 S. Ct. 3498 (2010).  This decision was appealed to the United States Supreme Court, but the Court chose instead to hear New Process Steel.

[82]. 467 U.S. 837 (1984); see infra Part III.

[83]. Ne. Land Servs., 560 F.3d at 40–41.

[84]. Id. at 41.

[85]. Id. at 41–42.

[86]. Id. at 42.

[87]. New Process Steel, L.P. v. NLRB, 564 F.3d 840, 848 (7th Cir. 2009), rev’d, 130 S. Ct. 2635 (2010).

[88]. Id. at 845–46.

[89]. Id.

[90]. Id. at 848.

[91]. Id. at 846 n.2.

[92]. Id.

[93]. Id. at 846.

[94]. Id. at 846–47.

[95]. 539 U.S. 69 (2003); New Process Steel, 564 F.3d at 847–48.

[96]. New Process Steel, 564 F.3d at 847–48.

[97]. Id. at 848.

[98]. Id.; see also Falcon Trading Grp., Ltd. v. SEC, 102 F.3d 579, 582 (D.C. Cir. 1996) (upholding SEC quorum rules permitting the SEC to operate with only two of five members); R.R. Yardmasters of Am. v. Harris, 721 F.2d 1332, 1344 (D.C. Cir. 1983) (upholding actions of National Mediation Board taken through only one of its three members).

[99]. New Process Steel, 564 F.3d at 848 (citing Assure Competitive Transp., Inc. v. United States, 629 F.2d 467 (7th Cir. 1980)).

[100]. Id.

[101]. Id.

[102]. Laurel Baye Healthcare of Lake Lanier, Inc. v. NLRB, 564 F.3d 469, 470, 476 (D.C. Cir. 2009).

[103]. Id. at 472.

[104]. Id. at 472–73 (quoting 29 U.S.C. § 153(b) (2006)).

[105]. Id.

[106]. Id. at 473 (citation omitted) (quoting 29 U.S.C. § 153(b)).

[107]. Id.

[108]. Id.

[109]. Id.

[110]. Id. at 474.

[111]. Id. at 474–75.

[112]. Id. at 475–76.

[113]. Id. at 476.  While it found the Board’s interpretation to be improper, the court did “acknowledge that the case before [it] present[ed] a close question, and that neither [the DOJ’s] interpretation nor the Board’s desire to continue to function is entirely indefensible.”  Id.

[114]. Snell Island SNF LLC v. NLRB, 568 F.3d 410, 410, 424 (2d Cir. 2009).

[115]. Id. at 419–20.  Even though the statute’s language was ambiguous, the court noted that the Board’s interpretation was entitled to deference.  Id. at 423–24.  It also noted that in light of the text of the statute, the initial delegation was proper, and it did not matter that the Board knew when it delegated to those three members that the panel’s membership would soon decrease to two members.  Id. at 419.

[116]. Id. at 420.

[117]. Id. at 422–23.

[118]. See Chevron U.S.A. Inc. v. Natural Res. Def. Council, Inc., 467 U.S. 837, 843 (1984).

[119]. Snell Island, 568 F.3d at 423–24.

[120]. Id. at 424.

[121]. Narricot Indus., L.P. v. NLRB, 587 F.3d 654, 660 (4th Cir. 2009), abrogated by New Process Steel, L.P. v. NLRB, 130 S. Ct. 2635 (2010).

[122]. Id. at 660 n.3.

[123]. Id. at 659–60.

[124]. Id. at 659.

[125]. Id. at 660.

[126]. Id.

[127]. Id. at 667.

[128]. Teamsters Local Union No. 523 v. NLRB, 590 F.3d 849, 850 (10th Cir. 2009), vacated, 131 S. Ct. 109 (2010).

[129]. Id. at 852 (alteration in original) (quoting State Ins. Fund v. S. Star Foods, Inc. (In re S. Star Foods, Inc.), 144 F.3d 712, 715 (10th Cir. 1998)).

[130]. Id.

[131]. See, e.g., Brian Z. Tamanaha, Beyond the Formalist-Realist Divide 1 (2010).

[132]. Id. at 1–2.

[133]. Richard A. Posner, Legal Formalism, Legal Realism, and the Interpretation of Statutes and the Constitution, 37 Case W. Res. L. Rev. 179, 181 (1987).

[134]. John F. Manning, The Absurdity Doctrine, 116 Harv. L. Rev. 2387, 2390 (2003).

[135]. Id.

[136]. See generally id. (noting that some scholars call this type of interpretation the absurdity doctrine).

[137]. See Posner, supra note 133, at 181.

[138]. See Manning, supra note 134, at 2389.

[139]. Id. at 2389–90.

[140]. Id. (footnote omitted).

[141]. See id. at 2396 & n.26.

[142]. Id.

[143]. Chevron U.S.A., Inc. v. Natural Res. Def. Council, Inc., 467 U.S. 837, 842–43 (1984).

[144]. Id.

[145]. Id. at 843.

[146]. Id. at 844.

[147]. See New Process Steel, L.P. v. NLRB, 130 S. Ct. 2635, 2639–40 (2010).

[148]. Id. at 2640.

[149]. Id. at 2641.

[150]. Id. at 2642.

[151]. Id. at 2644.

[152]. Id. at 2645 (Kennedy, J., dissenting).

[153]. Id. at 2649.

[154]. Id.

[155]. Id. at 2651.

[156]. Id. (quoting 29 U.S.C. § 153(b) (2006)).

[157]. See William F. Funk, Sidney A. Shapiro & Russell L. Weaver, Administrative Procedure and Practice 145 (4th ed. 2010).

[158]. The circuits to apply Chevron were the First, Second, Fourth, and Tenth Circuits.  See supra Part II.C.

[159]. Brief for the NLRB at 32, New Process Steel, 130 S. Ct. 2635 (No. 08-1457).

[160]. See The Supreme Court, 2009 Term—Leading Cases, 124 Harv. L. Rev. 380, 380 (2010).

[161]. See Manning, supra note 4, at 2009–26.

[162]. Id. at 2009–10.

[163]. Id. at 2010.

[164]. See, e.g., Barnhart v. Sigmon Coal Co., Inc., 534 U.S. 438, 462–72 (2002) (Stevens, J., dissenting) (arguing that a narrow reading of the Coal Act produced an incoherent result, which was likely not what Congress intended); W. Va. Univ. Hosps., Inc. v. Casey, 499 U.S. 83, 134–43 (1991) (Stevens, J., dissenting) (arguing that denying the award of expert fees to the prevailing party in a § 1983 suit was contrary to the congressional purpose of making the prevailing party whole in such litigation); United States v. Locke, 471 U.S. 84, 117–29 (1985) (Stevens, J., dissenting) (arguing that it was understandable that the author of the statute might inadvertently use the words “prior to December 31” when that author intended to refer to the end of the calendar year).

[165]. See, e.g., Locke, 471 U.S. at 117–23.

[166]. New Process Steel, L.P. v. NLRB, 130 S. Ct. 2635, 2641 (2010).

[167]. Id. at 2644 n.6 (quoting id. at 2651 (Kennedy, J., dissenting)) (internal quotation marks omitted).

[168]. Id. at 2644–45.

[169]. Id. at 2641.

[170]. See, e.g., Chevron, U.S.A., Inc. v. Natural Res. Def. Council, Inc., 467 U.S. 837 (1984).

[171]. Robert Barnes, Justice Stevens To Step Down, Wash. Post, Apr. 10, 2010, at A1 (announcing Justice Stevens’s retirement less than one month after the New Process Steel decision).

[172]. Free Enter. Fund v. Pub. Co. Accounting Oversight Bd., 130 S. Ct. 3138 (2010).

[173]. Id. at 3147.

[174]. Id. at 3147–48 (quoting 15 U.S.C. § 7211(e)(6) (2006)) (internal quotation marks omitted).  Chief Justice Roberts wrote the majority decision, which was also joined by Justices Scalia, Kennedy, Thomas, and Alito.  Justice Stevens joined with the dissent.  See id. at 3146.

[175]. Id. at 3147.

[176]. Id. at 3156 (quoting Bowsher v. Synar, 478 U.S. 714, 736 (1986)) (internal quotation marks omitted).

[177]. The dissent was comprised of Justices Breyer, Stevens, Ginsburg, and Sotomayor.  Id. at 3146.  Unlike in New Process Steel, Justice Stevens joining the dissent seems consistent with his functionalistic track record.

[178]. Id. at 3184 (Breyer, J., dissenting).

[179]. Id. at 3175.

[180]. Brandon J. Almas, Note, From One [Expletive] Policy to the Next: The FCC’s Regulation of “Fleeting Expletives” and the Supreme Court’s Response, 63 Fed. Comm. L.J. 261, 286–87 (2010) (discussing the difficulty in predicting Justice Kagan’s interpretative philosophy).

[181]. Like Justice Stevens, Justice Kennedy switched sides in Free Enterprise Fund and wrote the dissenting opinion in New Process Steel, but joined with the majority in Free Enterprise Fund.

* J.D. Candidate 2011, Wake Forest University School of Law.  The author would like to thank her family, friends, and the members of the Wake Forest Law Review for their support.

By: Zoe E. Niesel*

Introduction

In 1998, a thirty-year drama came to an end when anthropologists at the University of Nebraska agreed to return the skeletal remains of 1702 Native Americans to a coalition of fifteen modern tribes.[1]  For the tribes involved, this repatriation represented the end of a long struggle to assert their right to possession of human skeletal remains with which they shared a common heritage.[2]  Even though anthropological studies had concluded that the remains were not affiliated with any particular tribe, the Sioux and other tribes expressed their belief that the remains were part of their tribal history and should be returned to the spirit world in order “to nourish the soil, bring food to people.”[3]

However, for scientists in the University of Nebraska Anthropology Department, the repatriation of these remains represented the loss of valuable scientific resources that had the capacity to shed light on human evolution and existence.  Additionally, the experience had proved to be a lesson in the importance of complying with federal legislation governing Native American skeletal remains.  Following allegations that its researchers had attempted to cover up violations of the Native American Grave Protection and Repatriation Act (“NAGPRA”), the University of Nebraska Anthropology Department was subject to a federal criminal investigation and public demands for administrative action.[4]

In the twenty years since NAGPRA was enacted, similar disputes between scientists and Native American tribes seeking possession of culturally unaffiliated skeletal remains have been equally contentious.  Passed by Congress in 1990, NAGPRA provides sweeping protection for Native American skeletal remains and cultural artifacts that are found on federal land or held by federal agencies and museums.[5]  To be in compliance with NAGPRA, federal agencies and museums are required to undertake an effort to return Native American skeletal remains to a culturally affiliated tribe.[6]  This repatriation process was initially lauded as a landslide victory for Native American tribes in the struggle for indigenous rights.[7]  Despite the initial support of a coalition of scientific organizations,[8] NAGPRA quickly became a pariah in the anthropological community as scientifically valuable human remains were returned to tribes for reburial.[9]  This tension continued to amplify as tribes and scientists wrestled with how to determine whether a cultural affiliation existed between contested skeletal remains and a Native American tribe.[10]

Even though NAGPRA provides comprehensive protection of indigenous remains, problems with the statute’s implementation and efficacy became apparent after its passage.[11]  Native American activists continued to insist that the government was not doing enough to meet the responsibilities imposed by NAGPRA.[12]  In July 2010, these concerns were vindicated when the Government Accountability Office (“GAO”) issued a comprehensive report on the status of Native American skeletal remains in the United States.[13]  Drawing on investigations into the cultural property collections of eight government agencies,[14] the GAO concluded that the executive branch had generally failed to meet its duty to implement the repatriation provisions of NAGPRA.[15]

While the GAO’s assessment was a particularly harsh critique of the federal government’s performance under NAGPRA, the report did not consider new regulatory developments that have the capacity to clarify problematic areas of the repatriation process.  Four months before the GAO’s report was released, the Department of the Interior (“DOI”) implemented new regulations to clarify NAGPRA’s procedures in situations involving culturally unidentifiable human remains.[16]  These regulations seek to return skeletons to tribes even when a cultural affiliation cannot be established by a preponderance of the evidence—thus theoretically allowing for the return of more skeletal remains than under the previous regulatory framework.  While these new regulations have the potential to streamline repatriation proceedings, scientific organizations have already criticized the regulations and have threatened to seek review in federal court.[17]

Because of the length of time between the passage of NAGPRA and the promulgation of the 2010 regulations, the federal courts acted in the interim to establish a framework for the analysis of human remains under NAGPRA.  Since these courts indicated that some of their analysis would depend on the final promulgation of regulations for culturally unaffiliated remains, this Comment will address the effect of the 2010 regulations on this judicially created framework.  First, the developments leading to the initial enactment of NAGPRA will be addressed.  Second, the statutory provisions for repatriation provided in the organic legislation will be analyzed.  This Comment will also highlight the previous regulatory guidance on cultural affiliation as well as the case law that led to the creation of an overall NAGPRA framework in the absence of regulation.  Further, this Comment will assess the development of the 2010 regulations and the new layer of analysis they require.  Finally, the twenty years of statutory guidance, regulations, and case law under NAGPRA will be synthesized to establish a final NAGPRA analytical framework.  This Comment concludes that the greatest benefit of the 2010 regulations will be that they have the effect of requiring agencies and museums to revisit their initial cultural affiliation determinations using the comprehensive NAGPRA analytical framework.  This result—though not leading to repatriation for all human skeletal remains—will force agency and museum compliance, thus correcting some of the institutional failures noted by GAO’s 2010 report.

I.  The Development of NAGPRA

Scientific interest in Native American skeletal remains has existed since the eighteenth century when Thomas Jefferson began excavating an Indian burial ground on the banks of the Rivanna River.[18]  However, the approach Jefferson and his scientific contemporaries took divorced the identity of the human remains they uncovered from the Native populations then occupying the American landscape.[19]  Early scientists embraced the notion that human skeletal remains and cultural artifacts uncovered during excavations belonged to a unique “ancient” Indian culture that was in no way associated with living tribes.[20]  This belief perpetuated the “myth of the mound builders,” which argued that Native American burial mounds were not the work of earlier native populations, but were instead constructed by the Vikings, lost tribes of Israel, or refugees from Atlantis.[21]

The “myth of the mound builders” persisted as an interest in American archaeology during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and led to increasing excavation of Indian burial mounds throughout the United States.  During this period, archaeologists became increasingly focused on obtaining human skeletal remains.[22]  This preoccupation with Native American skeletons allowed budding American museums to build impressive skeletal collections, and it also provided scientists with adequate remains to use in various osteological studies.  Unfortunately, these studies were motivated in part by the nation’s desire to justify the historical subjugation of the Native American tribes and other minorities.[23]  The father of this school of thought was Samuel Morton, an American physician who used measurements from the skulls of Native Americans to “scientifically prove” that Native Americans were intellectually inferior to persons of Caucasian descent.[24]  Motivated in large part by Morton’s work, the U.S. military began conducting craniometric studies on Native American skulls taken from battlefields and graves to prove similar hypotheses.[25]

Interest in Native American skeletal remains and associated funerary artifacts persisted into the twentieth century, during which time academics became increasingly concerned with the destruction of artifacts and burial sites by looters.[26]  Federal legislation was the weapon of choice for dealing with this problem, and, in 1906, Congress passed the Antiquities Act to authorize criminal punishment when individuals were found impermissibly excavating a prehistoric or historic ruin on government land.[27]  In 1979, the Archaeological Resources Protection Act was enacted to provide additional protection to Native American remains by criminalizing the purchase or sale of archaeological resources found on public and Indian land.[28]  However, while these statutes did provide protection to Native American cultural resources, they failed to consider the interests of living Native American tribes and continued to treat prehistoric Native American cultures as entirely distinct from modern tribal communities.[29]

In the late twentieth century, a grassroots Native American movement began to correct inequalities between the treatment of excavated Native American remains and European remains.[30]  For over two hundred years, European skeletons were reburied if they were uncovered during archaeological excavations while Native American remains were removed for display in museums or use in scientific study.[31]  Additionally, Native American remains were often subjected to scientific study that was used to justify subjugation and repression of modern Native American tribes.[32]  To raise awareness and mount a campaign for protective legislation, Native Americans began uniting through organizations such as American Indians Against Desecration and the Native Americans Rights Fund.[33]  Activists demanded Congressional action to protect Native American burials, as state legislation tended to exempt scientific study of graves from prosecution.[34]  Furthermore, many Native Americans claimed that the interment of skeletal remains in museums violated their freedom of religion as tribal beliefs dictated that the spirits of the dead could not rest until properly buried.[35]

The movement for comprehensive repatriation legislation was also driven by the sheer number of Native American remains being housed by the U.S. government.  Public reports revealed that 42.5% of the 34,000 human remains held by the Smithsonian Institution were Native American.[36]  In response to these statistics, the Senate Select Committee on Indian Affairs began work on repatriation legislation in 1987.[37]  Congress achieved a breakthrough when it passed the National Museum of the American Indian Act (“NMAIA”), which created a new museum to house the Smithsonian’s Native American collection and provided repatriation procedures for the Native American skeletal remains held by the Smithsonian Institution.[38]  Under the NMAIA, tribes are able to request repatriation of skeletal remains and artifacts so long as the tribe can establish a cultural affiliation between the remains and the modern tribe by a preponderance of the evidence.[39]  The NMAIA was applauded as “an important first step” in enacting workable repatriation legislation and its passage signaled to other federal agencies and museums that a similar bill would likely be enacted to address disposition of skeletal remains held outside the Smithsonian.[40]  In fact, the NMAIA would come to serve as “important precedent” during the enactment of NAGPRA only a year later.[41]

II.  NAGPRA’s Repatriation Provisions

After two decades of intensive lobbying for repatriation legislation,[42] Native American activists achieved victory in 1990.  On November 16, 1990, President Bush signed into law the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act to ensure an adequate repatriation process for Native American skeletal remains held by federal agencies and federally funded museums.[43]  From the legislation’s inception to its final passage, Congress actively worked to ensure that NAGPRA would accommodate the interests of both Native American tribes and the scientific community.[44]

NAGPRA was introduced in the House on July 10, 1990 by Arizona Representative Morris Udall and from the beginning was supported by a host of tribal and scientific organizations.[45]  During congressional hearings, legislators framed the bill as human rights legislation because it sought to end the disparate treatment of Native American remains as compared to those of other groups and ensured Native Americans’ right to protect their dead.[46]  In addition to this human-rights element, Congress saw the bill and its broad protection of Native American interests as an exercise of its trust responsibility to the Native American tribes.[47]  The statute was probably most significant, however, because it represented the first piece of American legislation to recognize modern Native American tribes as living descendants of past cultures.[48]  To celebrate the relationship between prehistoric, historic, and modern Native Americans, NAGPRA both prohibits trafficking in Native American human remains and cultural artifacts[49] and provides repatriation procedures for remains and funerary artifacts that are controlled by the U.S. government.[50]

NAGPRA provides two avenues for Native Americans to obtain possession of human skeletal remains controlled by the government.  First, culturally affiliated tribes and lineal descendants may seek repatriation of remains and cultural objects that are held by federal agencies or museums.[51]  Second, NAGPRA establishes a repatriation process for any skeletal remains or artifacts that are excavated on federally owned land after the enactment of the legislation.[52]  To help ensure compliance with these repatriation provisions, Congress established a Review Committee to oversee and monitor the return of remains and artifacts.[53]  The Review Committee has the power to issue a nonbinding recommendation regarding the proper disposition of specific remains or artifacts, thus providing an alternative to federal litigation.[54]  Overall, oversight by the Review Committee and the procedural protections provided by the repatriation procedures seek to “effectively balance[] the interest of Native Americans in the rightful and respectful return of their ancestors with the interest of our Nation’s museums in maintaining our rich cultural heritage.”[55]

A.            Repatriation of Remains Held in Federal Agency and Museum Collections

NAGPRA requires federal agencies and federally funded museums to compile an initial inventory of Native American funerary objects and skeletal remains held in their collections.[56]  During this initial inventory, agencies and museums are to determine, to the extent possible, the cultural or geographic affiliation for each item and must note any known lineal descendants.[57]  If there are known lineal descendants[58] of the deceased, they will be notified and receive priority in repatriation proceedings.[59]  However, if there are no known lineal descendants but a cultural affiliation with a modern tribe is determined or reasonably believed to exist, the agency or museum must notify the affected tribes or Native Hawaiian organization.[60]  If either a lineal descendant or culturally affiliated tribe subsequently requests that an artifact or skeleton be returned, the agency or museum is required to expeditiously return the item at issue.[61]

Where a determination of cultural affiliation has not been made by the museum or agency, Native American tribes are authorized to request the repatriation of remains or artifacts if they can establish a prima facie case of cultural affiliation under a preponderance of the evidence standard.[62]  Once the prima facie case is established, the burden shifts to the agency or museum to establish that it has the superior right to possession.[63]  If the agency or museum cannot establish a superior right to possession, the entity may then attempt to show that the artifact or skeleton is invaluable to its scientific work.[64]  NAGPRA provides flexibility in the repatriation process by allowing repatriation to be suspended for ninety days when the remains requested are indispensable for the completion of a scientific study that would be of major benefit to the United States.[65]  Furthermore, a government agency or museum will also retain stewardship of cultural objects and remains when multiple tribes have asserted competing claims, thus potentially extending the time for scientific research to be conducted.[66]

B.            Repatriation of Newly Discovered Remains

In addition to providing for retroactive repatriation of remains and artifacts from museum and agency collections, NAGPRA requires that any Native American human remains found on federal land after November 16, 1990 be delivered to the appropriate Native American tribe.[67]  The Act provides a hierarchy of interests to determine to which tribe particular remains will be repatriated.  If a Native American skeleton is found on federal land, repatriation will proceed in the following priority order:

(1)    Skeletal remains will first go to any identified lineal descendants of the Native American.[68]

(2)    If a lineal descendant cannot be identified, skeletal remains will be repatriated to:

  1.                           i.   the Native American tribe on whose land the objects or remains were discovered;[69]
  2.                         ii.   the Native American tribe which has the closest cultural affiliation to the remains,[70] or,
  3.                        iii.   if cultural affiliation cannot be determined and the skeletal remains are found on federal land that is recognized as aboriginal, then the aboriginal tribe will have custody unless another tribe can demonstrate a stronger cultural relationship.[71]

Under section 3002, the actual excavation of Native American skeletal remains on federal land is not prohibited.  Instead, the legislation provides only for a repatriation process to interested individuals once remains are unearthed.

III.  The Problem of Cultural Affiliation

A.            Legislative and Regulatory Guidance on Cultural Affiliation

For both newly discovered remains and remains held in federal agency or museum collections, the existence of a cultural affiliation has proven to be one of the most contentious issues under NAGPRA.[72]  This problem mainly resulted from Congress’s failure to clarify how strong the requisite relationship needs to be between tribes and skeletal remains.  Additionally, archaeological, anthropological, and biological evidence used to assess the presence of cultural affiliation is often far from certain and further compounds the problem.[73]  The definition of the term provided in NAGPRA seems to establish a fairly low threshold of proof.  Under section 3001, a “cultural affiliation” means only that there is “a relationship of shared group identity which can be reasonably traced historically or prehistorically between a present day Indian tribe or Native Hawaiian organization and an identifiable earlier group.”[74]  To determine this relationship, “geographical, kinship, biological, archaeological, anthropological, linguistic, folkloric, oral traditional, historical, or other relevant information or expert opinion” can be offered and considered.[75]  The Senate Report that accompanied NAGPRA further explained that cultural affiliation did not have to be determined with scientific certainty; rather, the determination should be based on the totality of the circumstances.[76]  In offering this guidance, the Senate Report recognized that it would be “extremely difficult” for Native American claimants to present a case of cultural affiliation with absolute certainty as gaps in the historic or prehistoric record are inevitable.[77]  While this seems to establish a relatively insurmountable burden of proof for Native American tribes seeking repatriation of remains and artifacts, some legislators have argued that the original congressional intent was to require a significant relationship between skeletal remains and presently existing Native American tribes before repatriation would become mandatory.[78]

To further clarify the meaning of “cultural affiliation,” NAGPRA charged the DOI with promulgating regulations specifying how cultural affiliation would be established.[79]  In 1995, the agency responded to these statutory instructions by publishing a series of regulations that expanded on NAGPRA’s statutory framework.[80]  Under the promulgated regulations, Native American tribes seeking to show a cultural affiliation with specific human remains must establish all elements of a three-pronged test.  Under the first prong, the tribe will have the burden to show that they are an identifiable and federally recognized Indian tribe.[81]  Second, the tribe must offer evidence that an identifiable earlier group existed by establishing the cultural and biological characteristics of that group.[82]  Finally, the tribe must offer evidence of the existence of a shared group identity that can be reasonably traced between the modern tribe and the earlier group.[83]  Under this third prong, Native American tribes must show by a preponderance of the evidence that the modern tribe has been identified through prehistoric or historic times as descending from the earlier group.[84]  However, the regulations made clear that some gaps in the historic record would not be fatal to the tribe’s case under this last prong of the analysis.[85]

In addition to charging the DOI with the task of clarifying the requirements of the term “cultural affiliation,” Congress left the disposition of culturally unidentifiable remains to regulatory law.  Recognizing that the cultural identity of skeletons can prove difficult to establish, NAGPRA implicitly allows federal agencies and museums to list artifacts and skeletons as culturally unidentifiable when a link to a modern tribe cannot be established by a preponderance of the evidence.[86]  However, Congress failed to clarify what repatriation procedure would be utilized if remains were listed as culturally unidentifiable,[87] and instead provided only that the Secretary of the Interior would promulgate regulations outlining appropriate procedures when cultural affiliation could not be determined.[88]

Despite the congressional mandate to act on this issue, the DOI failed to promulgate regulations relating to the disposition of culturally unidentifiable remains for twenty years after NAGPRA was enacted.  In the interim, heated disagreements between Native Americans and scientists regarding these unclassified remains were motivated in part by the number of remains that had been relegated to the status of culturally unidentifiable.[89]  In 2007, seventeen years after the enactment of NAGPRA, some estimates claimed that 118,000 Native American skeletal remains were still being retained by federal agencies and museums because they were considered culturally unidentifiable.[90]  These numbers, staggering as they are, serve to represent the problems associated with using uncertain archaeological, biological, and historical data to prove cultural affiliation by a preponderance of the evidence.

B.            The Culturally Unaffiliated in the Absence of Regulation

1. The Review Committee

In the twenty years between the enactment of NAGPRA and the promulgation of the DOI’s regulations addressing the disposition of culturally unidentifiable skeletal remains, the Review Committee assisted the federal courts in determining the fate of contested remains.  The Review Committee has the power to hear both requests for disposition recommendations and disputes between federal agencies or museums and Native American tribes seeking repatriation.[91]  While the Review Committee can issue opinions regarding the disposition of culturally unidentifiable remains in both these instances, these opinions are not binding on federal agencies and museums.[92]  However, in many cases where the parties have mutually requested a disposition recommendation, the Review Committee’s recommendations are implemented, especially if the Secretary of the Interior concurs in the recommendation.[93]  In these scenarios, the Review Committee will most often recommend either repatriation to a federally recognized tribe or additional consultation between scientists and Native American tribes.[94]  However, when adversarial disputes are heard before the Review Committee, the process tends to be more contentious.  For example, in 2009, federal agencies and museums only fully implemented a dispute recommendation by the Review Committee in 8.3% of cases.[95]  Since figures like these indicate the relative weakness of a Review Committee decision, federal courts became the avenue used by Native American tribes to clarify the repatriation of culturally unidentifiable remains.

2. Na Iwi O Na Kupuna O Mokapu v. Dalton

Despite the importance of NAGPRA and its effect on the rights of Native American tribes, there has been shockingly little judicial attention to the meaning of “cultural affiliation” in the statute.  The few courts that have considered the issue have attempted to provide further clarification of the term through an interpretation of the statutory language.  Only five years after NAGPRA’s passage, the District of Hawaii was confronted with determining what type of scientific inquiry could be used to assess the presence of a “cultural affiliation” between a Native Hawaiian organization and human skeletal remains held by a government agency.  Na Iwi O Na Kupuna O Mokapu v. Dalton involved a Department of Defense inventory of human remains that had been disinterred from the Mokapu Peninsula on the island of Oahu, Hawaii.[96]  Initial work on the collection revealed that the remains of multiple individuals had become commingled, necessitating the use of anthropological techniques[97] to determine the age and sex of the bones.[98]  Throughout the process, the museum consulted with the Hui Malama, a Native Hawaiian organization, on the study of the skeletons.[99]  However, after the final report on the inventory was published in the Federal Register, the Hui Malama initiated a lawsuit claiming that the Department of Defense had violated the provisions of NAGPRA by conducting additional scientific research on the Mokapu remains.[100]

The U.S. District Court for the District of Hawaii ultimately held that NAGPRA provided scientists with the option of engaging in physical anthropology research to make a more definite cultural affiliation determination.[101]  The court reasoned that NAGPRA’s requirement that an initial inventory be a “simple itemized list”[102] did not preclude the use of scientific techniques in completing an inventory of human remains.[103]  Instead, a scientific assessment of cultural affiliation using modern techniques would ultimately further the overarching goal of NAGPRA—to provide accurate repatriation of human skeletal remains to culturally affiliated tribes.[104]  The court also rejected the argument that section 3003(b)(2) only allowed agencies and museums to rely on the available written record when making a cultural affiliation determination.[105]  The court found that section 3003(b)(2) prohibited studies unrelated to an initial inventory but allowed scientific study in making an accurate determination of cultural affiliation during an initial inventory.[106]  Thus, the court sanctioned the use of anthropological techniques in determining whether a link between modern tribes and skeletal remains existed.[107]

3. Bonnichsen v. United States

Perhaps the most prominent case addressing the issue of cultural affiliation between Native American tribes and human skeletal remains is Bonnichsen v. United States, which dealt with the discovery of a set of human remains known as the “Kennewick Man.”[108]  The remains were discovered along the banks of the Columbia River during a hydroplane race on property owned by the Army Corps of Engineers.[109]  The remains were initially handled by a local anthropologist, Dr. James Chatters, who concluded that the bones belonged to an early white settler.[110]  However, when subjected to further scientific examination, it was discovered that the remains were over 9000 years old, making them some of the oldest human remains ever uncovered on the American continent.[111]  These subsequent scientific studies further suggested that the bones did not share any physical similarity to modern Native Americans but instead possessed characteristics that indicated Caucasian ancestry.[112]

After the results were published in local papers, the local Native American community began asserting their right to possession of the remains.[113]  In part, this response was the result of a twenty-five year-old school of thought with roots in the civil rights movement.  During the 1960s, tribes began celebrating their heritage by embracing a creationist view of the past that was based on their rich tradition of oral histories.  The premise of this view was the belief that native peoples had existed on the American continent for all of time,[114] an idea that was irreconcilable with the migratory theory of North American colonization that is central to archaeological theory.[115]  Armed with this creationist belief, and having been shut out of the initial examination process, a coalition of local Native American tribes[116] asserted that the “Kennewick Man” was their ancestor and attempted to reclaim the skeleton through the use of the repatriation procedures established in NAGPRA.[117]  The Army Corps of Engineers initially agreed to repatriation, but a group of eight academics opposed the return of the skeleton on the grounds that a full scientific examination was not yet complete.[118]  When the tribe’s request was denied, it sued and successfully had the repatriation order remanded to the Corps for further examination of the cultural affiliation between the Kennewick Man and the tribes seeking repatriation.[119]

Realizing that the situation was reaching a boiling point, the Corps deferred the final decision on cultural affiliation to the Secretary of the Interior, who found that the remains were Native American and culturally affiliated with the tribal coalition.[120]  To again halt the pending repatriation, scientists sought review of the Secretary’s decision in the U.S. District Court for the District of Oregon.[121]  The district court sided with the scientists, holding that the Secretary’s finding of cultural affiliation was not supported by a preponderance of the evidence.[122]  In a subsequent blow to the tribal coalition, the Ninth Circuit affirmed the decision and found that there was not enough evidence of a cultural affiliation to reasonably justify repatriating the remains for reburial.[123]

The reasoning for the Ninth Circuit’s final holding was based on NAGPRA’s own definition of what constitutes a “Native American.”  Under § 3001(9), “Native American” is defined as “of, or relating to, a tribe, people or culture that is indigenous to the United States.”[124]  Because the present-tense word “is” was used in the statute, the court reasoned that Congress intended for the remains to bear some relationship to a Native American tribe presently in existence.[125]  The court’s analysis thus suggested that a NAGPRA analysis should be completed in two steps: first, it would have to be determined if the remains at issue were in fact Native American; second, if the remains were Native American, then a determination of which modern tribe had the closest cultural affiliation would be required.[126]  This judicial analysis was found to comport with the purpose of Congress, which was to allow for repatriation of human remains to Indian tribes when there was a discernable relationship between the tribe and the remains at issue.[127]

Since the remains at issue in this case could not be linked to any particular modern tribe, the court held that NAGPRA does not give the tribal coalition control “over the remains of people bearing no special and significant genetic or cultural relationship to some presently existing indigenous tribe, people, or culture.”[128]  The court reached this finding by examining the evidence presented by both the scientists and tribal coalition.[129]  First, the court noted that a physical examination of the bones revealed them to be of South Asian ancestry and had measurements that differed substantially from any modern North American Indian tribe.[130]  Furthermore, the testimony of one of the DOI’s archaeological experts revealed that there had been substantial changes in “settlement, housing, diet, trade, subsistence patterns, technology, projectile point styles, raw materials, and mortuary rituals” between the time that Kennewick Man lived and the beginning of the modern Columbia Plateau culture over 2000 years ago.[131]  Additionally, archaeological experts testified that the style in which Kennewick man was buried could not be reliably associated with the Columbia Plateau culture.[132]  The only evidence presented that suggested a possible cultural relationship between the Kennewick Man and the tribal coalition was Native American oral histories.  However, the Ninth Circuit found that concerns of authenticity and reliability mandated disregarding this evidence—for the court, the roughly 9000-year gap between the modern tribes and Kennewick Man was simply too substantial to bridge with oral tradition.[133]

Since no “reliable” evidence had been presented to indicate that Kennewick Man had a legitimate genetic or cultural link to a modern tribe, and therefore could not be considered “Native American,” the court found that the Secretary of the Interior had acted in an arbitrary and capricious manner in ordering repatriation.[134]  As a result of this holding, the Kennewick Man was returned to the Corps and interred in the Burke Museum at the University of Washington.[135]  Senator John McCain attempted to reverse this result in 2005 by proposing an amendment to NAGPRA which would define “Native American” as an individual that “is or was indigenous to the United States,” thus ensuring that ancient remains would be returned to modern tribes.[136]  However, Congress never took action on the bill, and the Kennewick Man continues to be utilized for scientific study.

4. Fallon Paiute-Shoshone Tribe v. United States Bureau of Land Management

Fallon Paiute-Shoshone Tribe v. United States Bureau of Land Management was the first case to consider NAGPRA’s “cultural affiliation” provisions following the highly-publicized Bonnichsen decision.  At issue in the case were skeletal remains known as the “Spirit Cave Man,” which dated to nearly 10,000 years old.[137]  The initial controversy over the Spirit Cave Man arose in 1996 when researchers from the University of California, Davis sent a request for collaborative investigation to the Nevada State Museum.[138]  Included in the request was a proposal to conduct radiocarbon dating on forty-one sets of human skeletal remains that had previously been uncovered on Bureau of Land Management (“BLM”) land in Nevada.[139]  Among the forty-one skeletons at issue was a mummy that had been found in the 1940s in a cave outside of Fallon, Nevada.[140]  At that time, the Spirit Cave remains were estimated to be 2000 years old.[141]  However, radio carbon dating conducted in the 1990s revealed that the Spirit Cave Man had been alive during the mid-Holocene, making him the oldest human uncovered in North America.[142]  The significance of this finding did not go unnoticed, and the Spirit Cave Man became the subject of national scientific attention.[143]  Because of the age of the remains, the Nevada State Museum listed them as culturally unaffiliated in its mandatory NAGPRA inventory.[144]

Following the University of California, Davis’s request to conduct destructive radiocarbon dating on the bones, the Fallon Paiute-Shoshone tribe sought repatriation of the Spirit Cave Man and demanded a moratorium on further destructive testing.[145]  To support its claim of cultural affiliation, the tribe presented evidence based on geographic location, textiles, and oral histories.[146]  However, the BLM reasserted its belief that the remains were unaffiliated with any modern tribe.[147]  The Fallon Paiute-Shoshone appealed the decision to the NAGPRA Review Committee, which found that the BLM had improperly ignored the evidence presented by the tribe that tended to show a cultural affiliation between the tribe and the Spirit Cave Man.[148]  The BLM ignored the recommendation of the Review Committee on the grounds that the committee was an advisory body only,[149] and the tribe filed suit in U.S. District Court for the District of Nevada.

As both the tribe and the BLM had stipulated that the Spirit Cave Man was Native American,[150] the court was forced to consider the issue of cultural affiliation under Bonnichsen’s second prong of inquiry.  In making this determination, the court introduced a roadmap that was to be followed when remains at issue were “culturally unaffiliated.”  First, the government agency was required to complete a study of the remains that took into account scientific, cultural, and traditional evidence.[151]  If the remains are subsequently determined to be culturally unaffiliated, Native American tribes are given an opportunity to provide additional scientific, cultural, and traditional evidence in an attempt to demonstrate by a preponderance of the evidence that the remains are affiliated with their particular tribe.[152]  The government agency should then weigh all the presented evidence to determine if the tribe has established the necessary cultural affiliation.[153]  If, after assessing all the evidence, the government agency still determines that the remains are unaffiliated, the remains are to remain in the possession of the government.[154]

With regards to the Spirit Cave Man, the court found that there was no issue with the Bureau of Land Management’s substantive determination that the remains lacked the necessary cultural affiliation for repatriation.[155]  However, the court vacated the Bureau’s decision on the grounds that the government had neither undertaken a reasoned weighing of the evidence nor explained why the tribe’s evidence was not sufficient to establish a cultural affiliation.[156]  On remand, the BLM would need to “uphold or reverse its determination of non-affiliation based on a reasoned and coherent discussion of the evidence and BLM’s reasons for believing or disbelieving it.”[157]  Furthermore, the court recognized that, in the future, the disposition of culturally unidentifiable human remains would depend on the Secretary of the Interior’s adoption of regulations under 43 C.F.R. § 10.11, which had yet to be promulgated at that time.[158]

IV.  The 2010 Regulations and Their Effect on the Current NAGPRA Framework

A.            The Development of 43 C.F.R. § 10.11(c)

In 2007, the Department of the Interior finally initiated action to clarify NAGPRA’s repatriation process by publishing a proposed rule that established a procedure for the disposition of culturally unidentifiable remains.[159]  The proposed rule generated over one hundred comments from Native American tribes, museums, and scientific organizations seeking to weigh in on the regulation’s specific provisions.[160]  The overall tone of the comments generally revealed support for the DOI’s long-awaited disposition procedures.  However, some comments did raise concerns that resulted in extensive modifications to the regulations before they became final on March 15, 2010.[161]

In the policy statement to the draft regulations proposed in 2007, the DOI voiced its commitment to returning culturally unidentifiable remains to Native American groups.[162]  In order to accomplish this goal, the Department created a hierarchy of interests to be used to assess which Native American tribe will have a superior claim to culturally unidentifiable remains.[163]  Under the draft of section 10.11(c), if a federal agency or museum cannot prove that it has a superior right of possession to culturally unidentifiable remains, the agency or museum must offer to transfer control to Native American tribes in the following priority order:

(1)   A museum or Federal agency that is unable to prove that it has right of possession . . . to culturally unidentifiable human remains must offer to transfer control of the human remains to Indian tribes and Native Hawaiian organizations in the following priority order:

(i)     The Indian tribe or Native Hawaiian organization from whose tribal land, at the time of the excavation or removal, the human remains were removed;

(ii)   The Indian tribe or tribes that are recognized as aboriginally occupying the area from which the human remains were removed.  Aboriginal occupation may be recognized by a final judgment of the Indian Claims Commission or the United States Court of Claims, or a treaty, Act of Congress, or Executive Order; or

(iii)  The Indian tribe and Native Hawaiian organization with:

(A)   A cultural relationship to the region from which the human remains were removed, or

(B)   For human remains lacking geographic affiliation, a cultural relationship to the region in which the museum or Federal agency with control over the human remains is located.

(iv)  If it can be shown by a preponderance of the evidence that another Indian tribe or Native Hawaiian organization has a stronger cultural relationship with the human remains than an entity specified in paragraph [(ii)] or [iii] of this section, the Indian tribe or Native Hawaiian organization that has the strongest demonstrated cultural relationship, if upon notice, the Indian tribe or Native Hawaiian organization claims the human remains.

. . .

(3)   If none of the Indian tribes or Native Hawaiian organizations identified in paragraph (c)(1) of this section agrees to accept control, a museum or Federal agency may, upon receiving a recommendation from the Secretary or authorized representative:

(i)     Transfer control of culturally unidentifiable human remains to a non-federally recognized Indian group, or

(ii)   Reinter culturally unidentifiable human remains according to State or other law.[164]

As public comments were submitted on the hierarchical scheme of the proposed rule, it became apparent that the provisions allowing for repatriation of human remains based on geographic affiliation would be the most controversial.  Objection to this provision was based on the fact that archaeological research has shown that Native American groups were highly mobile and often nomadic.  Thus, there was no scientific basis for the DOI to assume that remains excavated in a particular locale must be culturally or genetically linked to the Native American tribe that is currently occupying the area.[165]  The Society for American Archaeology (“SAA”) argued in opposition to this section of the regulation, stating that “[a] cultural relationship to a region, without additional demonstrable contextual connections to particular human remains, is too tenuous to provide any reasonable structure for assessing potential claimants.”[166]  This conclusion was based on the SAA’s observations that tribes had often been forced to relocate far from regions where their ancestor’s remains were located, and the current location of any tribe could not provide justification for assuming a connection with geographically affiliated remains.[167]

The relationship between skeletal remains and Native American groups becomes even more tenuous when based on the location in which the museum or agency currently housing the remains is located.[168]  Because museums strive to assemble geographically diverse collections and documentation of a skeleton’s origin might be incomplete or nonexistent, there is simply no reasonable basis to find a cultural affiliation between remains and Native tribes in the areas surrounding a museum or agency.[169]  Additionally, these geographically based provisions would not even comport with the goal of NAGPRA itself, which was to provide repatriation of human remains to Native American tribes that shared a meaningful relationship with the skeleton at issue.[170]  In drafting its final rule, the DOI took notice of comments like these and chose to remove the geographic affiliation basis for a cultural relationship, explaining that “[t]he diversity of opinion regarding the meaning of ‘cultural relationship’” convinced the agency that the geographic affiliation provisions were inappropriate.[171]  Similar concerns prompted the removal of the provisions that allowed for evidence of a stronger cultural link to overcome geographic affiliation.[172]

In sum, the regulations that emerged from the DOI in final form on March 15, 2010 listed only two groups to which culturally unidentifiable remains must be repatriated: (1) the Native American tribes from whose tribal lands the remains were removed, and (2) the Native American tribe recognized as aboriginal to the land from which the remains were removed.[173]  This scaled-back final version of the regulation should have represented a victory for scientific organizations seeking to retain possession over culturally unidentifiable skeletal remains.  However, many scientists remained worried that the promulgation of these regulations would seriously undermine research involving ancient human remains by requiring repatriation when no discernable cultural relationship existed.[174]

B.            A Synthesis of the Judicially Created NAGPRA Framework

Given the length of time between the enactment of NAGPRA and the promulgation of the 2010 regulations, agencies and museums had come to rely on the protection provided by the federal courts to ancient human remains and otherwise culturally unaffiliated skeletons.  In its comments to the 2007 proposed regulations, the Field Museum of Natural History noted its concern that the new regulations seemed to “directly contradict the result in the Kennewick Man case in that culturally unidentifiable human remains would be returned to the requesting tribes under the proposed regulations.”[175]  However, despite the concern of the Field Museum and other scientific organizations, it is unlikely that the 2010 regulations will lead to any significant change in the way in which an analysis of cultural affiliation is conducted under currently existing federal case law.

When considered in their entirety, the holdings in Dalton, Bonnichsen, and Fallon Paiute-Shoshone Tribe establish the following framework for the analysis of culturally unidentifiable remains.  An agency or museum must first determine whether the remains at issue are in fact “Native American” and therefore subject to the provisions of NAGPRA.  In making this assessment, the agency or museum will look for a reasonable relationship between the remains and modern Native Americans that includes features beyond those “common to all humanity.”[176]  In finding this relationship, scientific and cultural evidence may be taken into account, and it is likely that DNA analysis will be considered important.  If the skeleton is not found to be Native American under this evaluation, then the repatriation provisions of NAGPRA will not apply.

If, however, remains are found to be Native American within the meaning of NAGPRA, the agency or museum must then continue its analysis of the remains.  The agency or museum will need to conduct an assessment of the skeleton to determine its cultural affiliation.  The evidence necessary to establish cultural affiliation at this stage of the analysis must be more specific than the evidence necessary to support the general finding that the remains are Native American.  In making this initial assessment of cultural affiliation, the agency or museum is free to use scientific evidence and physical anthropology techniques as confirmed in Dalton.  If the agency or museum cannot establish that a cultural affiliation exists under a preponderance of the evidence standard, the remains can be listed as culturally unidentifiable.

A Native American tribe is free to challenge the agency’s initial conclusion by offering scientific and cultural evidence of a cultural affiliation between the tribe and the skeletal remains.  The agency or museum will then need to weigh all competing evidence to determine whether the proffered relationship does exist.  If a cultural relationship is still not believed to exist, the remains will be listed as culturally unaffiliated.

C.            The Effect of the 2010 Regulations on the Current NAGPRA Framework

The 2010 regulations do nothing to challenge the judicially created framework for analyzing human remains under NAGPRA.  Instead, the regulations come into effect when a final agency decision determines that the remains are culturally unaffiliated.  Prior to 2010, agencies and museums could retain possession of remains after this final decision was entered.  However, the new regulations mandate that remains listed as culturally unaffiliated pass through one more level of analysis.  Under this last prong, the agency or museum will have to determine whether the culturally unaffiliated remains were excavated on either Native American tribal lands or land recognized by the Indian Claims Commission or the U.S. Court of Claims as the aboriginal lands of a Native American tribe.  If the remains were excavated on one of these categories of land, then repatriation to the tribe associated with that land is appropriate.  If the remains were not excavated on one of these categories of land, the agency or museum will retain possession of the remains for scientific study.

Under the new stage of analysis codified in the 2010 regulations, it is true that more culturally unidentifiable skeletal remains will be returned to Native American tribes than prior to the adoption of these regulations.  It is unlikely, however, that scientists will lose all scientifically valuable remains to Native American tribes.  First, adoption of the 2010 regulations does nothing to change the disposition of cases like Bonnichsen because some human remains will not identifiable as Native American, and therefore will not be subject to any of the repatriation provisions in NAGPRA.  This result is particularly likely to occur where ancient human remains are involved.  Because remains over five-thousand years old have genetic and cultural backgrounds entirely distinct from modern Native American groups, these remains will not bear a reasonable relationship to modern Native Americans and cannot be considered “Native American” under the standard announced by the Bonnichsen court.

However, the 2010 regulations are likely to make a difference in the disposition of cases like Fallon Paiute-Shoshone Tribe.  If the agency or museum stipulates that certain remains are indeed Native American, the remains are subjected to a cultural affiliation analysis.  If the remains are ultimately determined to be “culturally unaffiliated,” the skeletons may still be returned depending on where they were excavated.  For example, the Spirit Cave mummy at issue in Fallon Paiute-Shoshone Tribe could ultimately have been returned to the requesting tribe if Spirit Cave was located on tribal land or federally recognized aboriginal land.  In fact, some archaeologists have argued that the remains should be returned because government documents list the location in which the remains were originally uncovered as “traditional tribal lands.”[177]  Because approximately fifty-five million acres of land[178] are recognized as Native American tribal land in the United States, any culturally unaffiliated remains that were uncovered on these tribal lands will be affected by the 2010 regulations and returned to Native tribes.  Even if the remains were not excavated on tribal land, such aboriginal lands “cover most every inch of our country”[179] and may serve as the next basis for repatriating skeletons to modern tribes.

For Native American tribes, perhaps the most valuable effect of the 2010 regulations will be the renewed look given to culturally unaffiliated remains.  Since the enactment of NAGPRA in 1990, Native American tribes have consistently argued that agencies and museums have failed to undertake a proper analysis of cultural affiliation.[180]  Additionally, tribes claim that federal agencies and museums have not shared information with them in order to make an accurate finding of cultural affiliation possible.[181]  While it was not the primary motive of the 2010 regulations to address these concerns, Dr. Sherry Hutt, the manager of the National NAGPRA program, has stated that she believes the new regulations will force agencies and museums to revisit their cultural property collections and notify interested Native American tribes of the remains that are currently being held in their repositories.[182]

Because of the failure of agencies and museums to follow the analytical framework provided by NAGPRA and its case law, some studies have indicated that eighty percent of the culturally unaffiliated skeletal remains held by federal agencies and museums are actually culturally affiliated with a modern tribe.[183]  To address this discrepancy, the 2010 regulations add a new layer of analysis to the cultural affiliation problem, thus forcing agencies to reexamine their collections to determine if one of the geographic affiliation provisions will apply.  In making these determinations, the agency or museum will be forced to walk through the statutory and judicial framework for assessing a cultural affiliation, thus bringing the entity into compliance with the proper NAGPRA analysis.  As tribes have been discouraged with the failure of agencies and museums to meet the basic requirements of NAGPRA,[184] the reexamination prompted by the 2010 regulations’ new prong of analysis might be the most valuable contribution of the new regulations.  Therefore, even though the 2010 regulations will not change the analytical framework under NAGPRA, they will, de facto, initiate compliance with the framework, hopefully correcting some of the longstanding problems with NAGPRA compliance.

Conclusion

From twenty years of case law, regulatory guidance, and statutory mandates under NAGPRA, a clear analytical framework has emerged for culturally unaffiliated remains that balances the needs of both scientists and Native Americans.  By not requiring repatriation when remains are not considered “Native American,” the framework protects ancient remains for use in scientific study.  If, however, remains are considered Native American, the case law applying NAGPRA and its 2010 regulations require a thorough balancing of evidence in making a cultural affiliation determination, followed by geographically based repatriation when a cultural affiliation cannot be scientifically concluded.  Because the geographic affiliation provisions allow Native American tribes to reclaim remains even when cultural affiliation cannot be conclusively determined, tribes are able to rebury remains that they still consider part of their heritage and cultural background, even if this relationship is not entirely recognized in the modern scientific community.

The most helpful application of the 2010 regulations, however, may be in a realm in which they do not directly apply.  Because the GAO has determined that federal agencies are generally failing to meet their statutory duties under NAGPRA, Native Americans have become rightfully disillusioned with the NAGPRA process.  These feelings may be, in part, the result of the piecemeal way in which a NAGPRA framework was built.  Because the initial legislation did not provide sufficient guidance on how to assess cultural affiliation, many tribes, museums, and federal agencies were left wondering how remains would be analyzed under NAGPRA’s repatriation process.  But after twenty years of trial and error, a balancing framework has finally emerged from the federal courts that will help agencies and museums understand their NAGPRA responsibilities.  By forcing agencies and museums to revisit initial assessments of cultural affiliation, entities will be forced to conduct an examination under the NAGPRA framework and consult with tribes on the evidence used.  Many hope that this increased involvement with and discussion on previously unaffiliated remains will smooth some of the tensions between Native Americans and the scientific community, thus leading to a more workable relationship in cases where mutual agreement cannot be reached.

 


[1].Joe Duggan, Native Repatriations Nearly Complete in Nebraska, Lincoln J. Star (Oct. 9, 2010), http://journalstar.com/news/state-and-regional
/article_1f4da392-d41b-11df-82d6-001cc4c002e0.html; Diedtra Henderson, Human Bones: What to Do With Them?, Seattle Times, Oct. 11, 1998, http://community.seattletimes.nwsource.com/archive/?date=19981011&slug=2777071; Indians Focus on Future After University Agrees to Hand Over Remains, Lewistown Sun J., Sept. 3, 1998, at B8; Jon Marcus, Indian Tribes Given Bones for Reburial, Times Higher Educ., Sept. 25, 1998, http://www.timeshighereducation.co.uk/story.asp?storyCode=109183&sectioncode=26.

[2]. See Marcus, supra note 1.  Following the repatriation, all of the remains were reburied at the Ponca Cemetery in Niobrara, Nebraska.  See Duggan, supra note 1.

[3]. Marcus, supra note 1 (quoting a member of the Sioux tribe).

[4]. See Duggan, supra note 1.

[5]. See 25 U.S.C. §§ 3001–3013 (2006).

[6]. Id. § 3003(a).

[7]. See, e.g., 136 Cong. Rec. 35,678 (1990) (statement of Sen. Daniel Inouye) (“[T]he bill before us today is not about the validity of museums or the value of scientific inquiry.  Rather, it is about human rights.”).

[8]. The organizations that urged Congress to pass repatriation legislation in 1990 included the American Association of Museums, the Society for American Archaeology, the American Anthropological Association, the American Association of Physical Anthropologists, the Archaeological Institute of America, the Society for Historical Archaeology, and the Society of Professional Archaeologists.  See Timothy McKeown & Sherry Hutt, In the Smaller Scope of Conscience: The Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act Twelve Years After, 21 UCLA J. Envtl. L. & Pol’y 153, 154 (2002–2003).

[9]. See G.A. Clark, NAGPRA and the Demon-Haunted World, Soc’y for Am. Archaeology Bull. (Nov. 1996), https://www.saa.org/Portals/0/SAA
/publications/SAAbulletin/14-5/SAA4.html  (“NAGPRA is an unmitigated disaster for archaeologists, bioarchaeologists, and other physical anthropologists concerned with the study of human skeletal remains.”).

[10]. See Brad Knickerbocker, An Ancient Man’s Bones of Contention, Christian Sci. Monitor, Oct. 21, 1999, at 1.

[11]. Kathleen S. Fine-Dare, Grave Injustice: The American Indian Repatriation Movement and NAGPRA 143–63 (2002).

[12]. See, e.g., Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act: Oversight Hearing Before the H. Comm. on Natural Res., 111th Cong. 17–18 (2009) (statement of D. Bambi Kraus, President, National Association of Tribal Historic Preservation Officers) (stating that NAGPRA still faced many “challenges and barriers to success,” including the fact that “two out of three Native Americans, over 123,000 Native Americans are now listed as culturally unidentifiable and they remain languishing on museum shelves”); Letter from Robert García, Exec. Dir. and Counsel, The City Project, et al. to Ken Salazar, Sec’y, U.S. Dept. of the Interior, et al. (July 27, 2011), http://www.cityprojectca.org/blog/wp‑content/uploads/2011/07/TCP‑letter‑Salazar-re-106-NAGPRA-20110727.pdf (asking the Secretary of the Interior to institute civil penalty proceedings against Los Angeles County for its failure to repatriate human remains pursuant to the requirements outlined in NAPGRA).

[13]. U.S. Gov’t Accountability Office, GAO-10-768, Native American Grave Protection and Repatriation Act: After Almost 20 Years, Key Federal Agencies Still Have Not Fully Complied with the Act (2010), available at http://www.gao.gov/new.items/d10768.pdf.

[14]. The GAO investigated agencies in the Department of the Interior—the Bureau of Indian Affairs, the Bureau of Land Management, the Bureau of Reclamation, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, and the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers—as well as the Department of Agriculture’s U.S. Forest Service and the Tennessee Valley Authority.  Id. at 3.

[15]. See id. at 53–55.

[16]. 43 C.F.R. § 10.11 (2010); see U.S. Gov’t Accountability Office, supra note 13, at 74.

[17]. See Rob Capriccioso, Scientists Ponder NAGPRA Lawsuit, Indian Country Today, Apr. 14, 2010, http://indiancountrytodaymedianetwork.com
/2010/04/scientists-ponder-nagpra-lawsuit/.

[18]. Karl Lehmann-Hartleben, Thomas Jefferson, Archaeologist, 47 Am. J. Archaeology 161, 162 (1943).

[19]. Patty Gerstenblith, Art, Cultural Heritage, and the Law 840 (2d ed. 2008).

[20]. Id. (noting that many early scientists believed that ancient American remains were attributable to a culture far superior to any living Native American group).

[21]. See Angela Miller, “The Soil of an Unknown America”: New World Lost Empires and the Debate over Cultural Origins, Am. Art, Summer/Fall 1994, at 9, 9–10, 14.  The persistence of this myth represents another way in which early archaeology was used to reinforce Native American inferiority and repression.  Id. at 9–10.

[22]. Gerstenblith, supra note 19.

[23]. See James Riding In, Without Ethics and Morality: A Historical Overview of Imperial Archaeology and American Indians, 24 Ariz. St. L.J. 11, 18 (1992).

[24]. Specifically, Morton concluded that American Indians were “averse to cultivation, and slow in acquiring knowledge; restless, revengeful, and fond of war.”  Samuel George Morton, Crania Americana 6 (Philadelphia, J. Dobson 1839).  From this background, it is no surprise that Native Americans remain suspicious of cranial and skeletal studies that are conducted by modern physical anthropologists and archaeologists.

[25]. Riding In, supra note 23, at 19.

[26]. Gerstenblith, supra note 19.

[27]. The Antiquities Act is codified at 16 U.S.C. §§ 431–433 (2006).  Unfortunately, this legislation had limited efficacy as it is narrow in scope and there is disagreement as to whether it is unconstitutionally vague.  See Robert C. Lind et al., Art and Museum Law 547 (2002).

[28]. The criminal provisions are codified at 16 U.S.C. § 470ee(c)–(d).

[29]. Gerstenblith, supra note 19.

[30]. See Riding In, supra note 23, at 25 (noting that the Indian burial movement sought to rebury remains held by the U.S. government and museums, repeal discriminatory burial laws, and make certain that Native Americans are entitled to the same fundamental rights as the rest of society).

[31]. Gerstenblith, supra note 19, at 841.  For example, a 1970s archaeological excavation in Iowa led to the reburial of twenty-six European skeletons, while two unearthed Native American skeletons were sent to a local museum.  Jerome C. Rose et al., NAGPRA is Forever: Osteology and the Repatriation of Skeletons, 25 Ann. Rev. Anthropology 81, 81 (1996).

[32]. See, e.g., Miller, supra note 21, at 9–10, 14; Riding In, supra note 23, at 17–18.

[33]. See Rose et al., supra note 31.

[34]. Gerstenblith, supra note 19, at 841.

[35]. See id.; Riding In, supra note 23, at 13.

[36]. Rose et al., supra note 31, at 89; see also Jack F. Trope & Walter R. Echo-Hawk, The Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act: Background and Legislative History, 24 Ariz. St. L.J. 35, 54 (1992) (stating that a catalyst for NAGPRA was the discovery of the thousands of remains at the Smithsonian).

[37]. See Rose et al., supra note 31, at 89.

[38]. See 20 U.S.C. §§ 80q-1 to -15 (2006); see also Rose et al., supra note 31, at 89; June Camille Bush Raines, Comment, One is Missing: Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act: An Overview and Analysis, 17 Am. Indian L. Rev. 639, 651 (1992).

[39]. 20 U.S.C. § 80q-9(c); see also Raines, supra note 38, at 652.

[40]. 135 Cong. Rec. 22,912 (1989) (statement of Sen. John McCain).

[41]. Trope & Echo-Hawk, supra note 36, at 57.

[42]. See Dean B. Suagee, Tribal Voices in Historic Preservation: Sacred Landscapes, Cross-Cultural Bridges, and Common Ground, 21 Vt. L. Rev. 145, 202 (1996).

[43]. Pub. L. No. 101-601, 108 Stat. 3048 (1990) (codified at 25 U.S.C. §§ 3001–3013 (2006)); see Trope & Echo-Hawk, supra note, 36, at 58–59; Renee M. Kosslak, The Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act: The Death Knell for Scientific Study?, 24 Am. Indian L. Rev. 129, 130 (2000).

[44]. Gerstenblith, supra note 19, at 849; Daniel K. Inouye, Repatriation: Forging New Relationships, 24 Ariz. St. L.J. 1, 2 (1992).  Congress also hoped that the bill would promote “a continuing dialogue between museums and Indian tribes.” S. Rep. No. 101-473, at 6 (1990).

[45]. C. Timothy McKeown, Considering Repatriation Legislation as an Option: The National Museum of the American Indian Act (NMAIA) & the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA), in UTIMUT: Past Heritage, Future Partnerships 134, 136–37, 146 (Mille Gabriel & Jens Dahl eds., 2008).

[46]. See 136 Cong. Rec. 35,677 (1990) (statement of Sen. John McCain) (“I believe this legislation establishes a process that provides the dignity and respect that our Nation’s first citizens deserve.”); id. at 35,678 (statement of Sen. Daniel Inouye) (“[T]he bill before us today is not about the validity of museums or the value of scientific inquiry.  Rather, it is about human rights.”); id. at 35,679 (statement of Sen. Daniel Moynihan) (“[T]his is hugely important legislation. The treatment of native Americans has been one of our Nation’s greatest failures.”); McKeown, supra note 45, at 137.

[47]. Under the judicially created trust responsibility, enactments that deal with the affairs of Native American tribes are to be liberally construed for the benefit of the Native American people.  See Trope & Echo-Hawk, supra note 36, at 60 (noting that this is an equivalent standard to that applied in remedial civil rights litigation).

[48]. Gerstenblith, supra note 19, at 849; McKeown, supra note 45, at 136.

[49]. Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act, Pub. L. No. 101-601, § 4(a), 104 Stat. 3048, 3052 (1990) (codified at 18 U.S.C. § 1170 (2006)).

[50]. These provisions are codified at 25 U.S.C. §§ 3001–3013 (2006).  See Gerstenblith, supra note 19, at 849.

[51]. 25 U.S.C. § 3005(a)(1); Gerstenblith, supra note 19, at 849.

[52]. 25 U.S.C. § 3002(a); Gerstenblith, supra note 19, at 849–50.

[53]. See 25 U.S.C. § 3006.  The Secretary of the Interior is charged with appointing the seven committee members, who are appointed from a slate of individuals nominated by Native American tribes, museum organizations, and scientific organizations.  Id.

[54]. Id.

[55]. 136 Cong. Rec. 35,677 (1990) (statement of Sen. John McCain).

[56]. 25 U.S.C. § 3003(a); see also Francis P. McManamon & Larry V. Nordby, Implementing the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act, 24 Ariz. St. L.J. 217, 220 (1992).

[57]. 25 U.S.C. § 3003(a).

[58]. Lineal descendants must establish a direct line of descent, without interruption, according to the traditional kinship system of the Native American tribe or the common law system of descent.  McKeown, supra note 45, at 143.

[59]. 25 U.S.C. § 3005(a)(1).

[60]. Id. § 3003(d)(1).  Under NAGPRA, an “Indian tribe” is defined as a “tribe, band, nation, or other organized group or community of Indians, including any Alaska Native village . . . which is recognized as eligible for the special programs and services provided by the United States to Indians because of their status as Indians.”  Id. § 3001(7).  A “Native Hawaiian organization” is any organization which “serves and represents the interests of Native Hawaiians . . . has as a primary and stated purpose the provision of services to Native Hawaiians, and . . . has expertise in Native Hawaiian affairs.”  Id. § 3001(11).

[61]. Id. § 3005(a)(1).

[62]. Id. § 3005(a)(4).  Section 3005 thus establishes a two-tiered hierarchy for repatriation of remains currently held in museum and agency collections: remains go first to any known lineal descendants, and then to the tribe with the closest cultural affiliation to the remains.  See McKeown, supra note 45, at 142.

[63]. 25 U.S.C. § 3005(c).

            [64].            Id. § 3005(b).

[65]. Id.  This section does not preclude any additional agreement between the Native American tribe and researchers regarding further study of the remains.  See id. § 3009(1)(B).  A number of Native American tribes have forged successful agreements with archaeologists in the study of human remains and artifacts, including the Bannock-Shoshone, the Catawba, the Chugach, the Dakota, the Kodiak Area Native Association, the Makah, the Blackfoot, and the Cree.  See T.J. Ferguson, Native Americans and the Practice of Archaeology, 25 Ann. Rev. Anthropology 63, 69 (1996).  The provisions of NAGPRA seek to encourage this type of cooperation, and the statute does not contain any provisions that hinder Native American collaboration with scientists.  See id. at 74 (“[I]n the post-NAGPRA era archaeologists will pay a severe price for not doing a better job of sharing their work with Native Americans.”).

[66]. 25 U.S.C. § 3005(e).

[67]. Id. § 3002(a).

[68]. Id. § 3002(a)(1).

[69]. Id. § 3002(a)(2)(A); see also McKeown, supra note 45, at 143 (noting that tribal lands include “all lands within the exterior boundaries of any Indian reservation”).

[70]. 25 U.S.C. § 3002(a)(2)(B).

[71]. Id. § 3002(a)(2)(C); see also McKeown, supra note 45, at 143 (noting that the original treaties between the United States government and the various Indian tribes should also be taken into consideration to determine aboriginal occupation).

[72]. Jane E. Buikstra, Repatriation and Bioarchaeology: Challenges and Opportunities, in Bioarchaeology: The Contextual Analysis of Human Remains 399–402 (Jane E. Buikstra & Lane A. Beck eds., 2006).

[73]. See generally Fine-Dare, supra note 11, at 147–48 (describing scientific challenges of NAGPRA).

[74]. 25 U.S.C. § 3001(2) (emphasis added).

[75]. Id. § 3005(a)(4).

[76]. S. Rep. No. 101-473, at 9 (1990).

[77]. Id.

[78]. See, e.g., Press Release, Congressman Doc Hastings, Hastings Authors Kennewick Man Bill: Bill Clarifies NAGPRA, Protects Against Future Battle of the Bones (Aug. 9, 2006), available at http://www.friendsofpast.org/nagpra
/Hastings/060809PR.pdf (arguing that the congressional intent in passing NAGPRA was to ensure that only recent and identifiable remains be returned to tribes, thus requiring a substantial relationship between unearthed human remains and a modern tribe).

[79]. 25 U.S.C. § 3011.

[80]. Native American Graves Protection Act Regulations, 60 Fed. Reg. 62,134, 62,167–68 (Dec. 4, 1995) (codified at 43 C.F.R. § 10.14 (2010)).

[81]. 43 C.F.R. § 10.14(c)(1) (2010).

[82]. Id. § 10.14(c)(2).

[83]. Id. § 10.14(c)(3).

[84]. Id. § 10.14(d).  This standard of proof necessarily means that Native Americans will not have to prove cultural affiliation with scientific certainty.  See Id. § 10.14(f).

[85]. See Id. § 10.14(d).

[86]. See Ryan M. Seidemann, Altered Meanings: The Department of the Interior’s Rewriting of the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act to Regulate Culturally Unidentifiable Human Remains, 28 Temp. J. Sci. Tech. & Envtl. L. 1, 7 (2009).

[87]. See 25 U.S.C. § 3002 (2006); Kosslak, supra note 43, at 131.

[88]. See 25 U.S.C. § 3011.

[89]. See, e.g., News Release, Nat’l Ass’n of Tribal Historic Pres. Officers, Study Finds Native Americans Excluded from Repatriation Process; More Work Needed on Improving NAGPRA (Aug. 14, 2008), http://www.nathpo.org/PDF
/NAGPRA%20Report/Nagpra_Report_Press_release.pdf.

[90]. Seidemann, supra note 86.

[91]. 25 U.S.C. § 3006(c); U.S. Gov’t Accountability Office, supra note 13, at 29.

[92]. Rose et al., supra note 31, at 91.

[93]. U.S. Gov’t Accountability Office, supra note 13, at 31.

[94]. Id.

[95]. See id. at 36.

[96]. Na Iwi O Na Kupuna O Mokapu v. Dalton, 894 F. Supp. 1397, 1402 (D. Haw. 1995).

[97]. Id. at 1403.  The court’s opinion indicates that morphometric and macroscopic assessments were utilized.  Morphometric analysis studies involves “visual observations of skull morphology, strengthened by physical measurements of specific distances on the skull, to create two-dimensional and three-dimensional data of morphological variation that can then be evaluated using statistical analyses.”  Arion T. Mayes, These Bones are Read: The Science and Politics of Ancient Native America, 34 Am. Indian Q. 131, 143 (2010).  In contrast, macroscopic analysis involves a visual examination of traits on the remains that are large enough to be seen without magnification and is useful in the determination of age and sex.  Patricia M. Landau & D. Gentry Steele, Why Anthropologists Study Human Remains, 20 Am. Indian Q. 209, 216 (1996).

[98]. Dalton, 894 F. Supp. at 1403.

[99]. Id.

[100]. Id. at 1403–04.

[101]. See id. at 1414–15.

[102]. 25 U.S.C. § 3003(e) (2006).

[103]. Dalton, 894 F. Supp. at 1414–15 (noting that Congress included the “simple itemized list” language only to avoid placing an undue burden on federal agencies and museums seeking to complete their initial inventories under NAGPRA).

[104]. Id. at 1415.  Under this reasoning, § 3003(e) sets a minimum floor which below agencies and museums cannot fall in meeting their NAGPRA responsibilities, although agencies are allowed to go beyond the minimum and conduct additional identification studies to confirm ethnicity.  Id.

[105]. Id. at 1416.

[106]. Id. at 1417.

            [107].            Id.

[108]. Bonnichsen v. United States, 367 F.3d 864 (9th Cir. 2004).

[109]. Susan B. Bruning, Complex Legal Legacies: The Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act, Scientific Study, and Kennewick Man, 71 Am. Antiquity 501, 501 (2006).

[110]. Timothy Egan, Tribe Stops Study of Bones That Challenge History, N.Y. Times, Sept. 30, 1996, at A12.  Dr. Chatters based this conclusion on the features of the excavated skull, including the prominent nose, square-shaped eye sockets, and angular jaw common to Europeans.  Robert W. Lannan, Anthropology and Restless Spirits: The Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act, and the Unresolved Issues of Prehistoric Human Remains, 22 Harv. Envtl. L. Rev. 369, 374 (1998).

[111]. See Bruning, supra note 109; Lannan, supra note 110, at 372.

[112]. See Lannan, supra note 110, at 372.  On a humorous note, early graphical facial reconstructions based on the bones revealed an individual that some have described as shockingly similar to British actor Patrick Stewart.  David Hurst Thomas, The Skull Wars: Kennewick Man, Archeology, and the Battle for Native American Identity xxi (2000).

[113]. Lannan, supra note 110, at 376.

[114]. Ryan M. Seidemann, Time for A Change? The Kennewick Man Case and Its Implications for the Future of the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act, 106 W. Va. L. Rev. 149, 153 (2003).

[115]. Modern archaeology ascribes to an immigration theory of North American colonization.  Under this theory, Native Americans are the descendants of several waves of Asian immigrants that passed between Siberia and Alaska as early as 30,000 years ago.  See Michael D. Lemonick & Andrea Dorfman, Who Were the First Americans?, Time, Mar. 13, 2006, at 44, 47.

[116]. The tribes involved were the “Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation, the Nez Perce Tribe, the Confederated Tribes of the Umatilla Indian Reservation, the Wanapum Band, and the Confederated Tribes and Bands of the Yakama Indian Nation.”  Lannan, supra note 110, at 376.

[117]. See id.  In hindsight, it has been suggested that more could have been done to avoid the expensive litigation over this skeleton.  In cases where archaeologists have conferred with local Native American groups during initial examination of remains, compromises have been achieved that are acceptable to both groups.  For example, when archaeologist Terry Fifield uncovered ancient human remains in On Your Knees Cave on Prince of Wales Island, she contacted local Tlingit groups to discuss how the bones should be handled.  Her honesty and willingness to work with the tribes resulted in a cooperative relationship in which tribal leaders passed resolutions allowing for a full scientific examination of the remains.  See Timothy H. Heaton, On Your Knees Cave, Univ. of S.D., http://orgs.usd.edu/esci/alaska/oykc.html (last visited Sept. 28, 2011).  This is in sharp contrast to the initial examination of the Kennewick Man, which did not involve any consultation with local tribes.

[118]. Bonnichsen v. United States, 969 F. Supp. 614, 617–18 (D. Or. 1997).  The plaintiffs included two Smithsonian Institution anthropologists and a group of anthropology professors.

[119]. Bonnichsen v. United States, 969 F. Supp. 628, 645 (D. Or. 1997).

[120]. Bonnichsen v. United States, 367 F.3d 864, 871–72 (9th Cir. 2004).

[121]. Bonnichsen v. United States, 217 F. Supp. 2d 1116, 1119 (D. Or. 2002).

[122]. Id. at 1156.

[123]. Bonnichsen, 367 F.3d at 882.

[124]. Id. at 878.

[125]. Id. at 878–79.

[126]. See id. at 877 (“The first inquiry requires only a general finding that remains have a significant relationship to a presently existing ‘tribe, people, or culture,’ a relationship that goes beyond features common to all humanity.  The second inquiry requires a more specific finding that remains are most closely affiliated to specific lineal descendants or to a specific Indian tribe.”).

[127]. Id. at 876.  Representative Charles Bennett directly addressed this issue during House of Representatives hearings on NAGPRA in 1990.  He commented that “we should not overlook the fact that there are some of the deceased who don’t have modern descendants, and their remains still should be kept with care . . . .”  Protection of Native American Graves and the Repatriation of Human Remains and Sacred Objects: Hearings on H.R. 1381, H.R. 1646, and H.R. 5237 Before the H. Comm. on Interior and Insular Affairs, 101st Cong. 130 (1990).  These comments strongly suggest that Congress did not intend for NAGPRA to force the repatriation of ancient remains when there was no relationship to modern tribes.

[128]. Bonnichsen, 367 F.3d at 879.

[129]. Id. at 880–81.

[130]. Id. at 880.

[131]. Id. at 881.

[132]. Id.

[133]. Id. at 882.  But see Buikstra, supra note 72, at 401 (stating that oral traditions have been successfully used as evidence in repatriation proceedings before the Smithsonian’s Native American Repatriation Committee).

[134]. Bonnichsen, 367 F.3d at 879–82.

[135]. See Richard L. Hill, Tribes Quit Long Fight Over Kennewick Man’s Remains, The Oregonian, July 16, 2004, at A01.

[136]. S. 536, 109th Cong. § 108 (2005).

[137]. Fallon Paiute-Shoshone Tribe v. U.S. Bureau of Land Mgmt., 455 F. Supp. 2d 1207, 1210 (D. Nev. 2006).

[138]. Pat Barker et al., Bureau of Land Mgmt., Determination of Cultural Affiliation of Ancient Human Remains from Spirit Cave, Nevada 2 (2000), available at http://www.blm.gov/pgdata/etc/medialib/blm/nv/cultural
/spirit_cave_man.Par.57656.File.dat/SC_final_July26.pdf.

[139]. Id. at 2–3.

[140]. Fallon Paiute-Shoshone Tribe, 455 F. Supp. 2d at 1209; Barker et al., supra note 138, at 10.

[141]. Fallon Paiute-Shoshone Tribe, 455 F. Supp. 2d at 1210.

[142]. Barker et al., supra note 138, at 12–13, 35; Carey Goldberg, Oldest Mummy ‘Found’ on Museum Shelf, N.Y. Times, Apr. 27, 1996, at 1.

[143]. Fallon Paiute-Shoshone Tribe, 455 F. Supp. 2d at 1210.

[144]. Barker et al., supra note 138, at 3.

[145]. Id.

[146]. Id.

[147]. Id. at 66 (“[T]he BLM has determined that the remains from Spirit Cave are unaffiliated with any modern individual, tribe, or other group and are therefore culturally unidentified.”).

[148]. 67 Fed. Reg. 17,463 (Apr. 10, 2002) (announcing findings and recommendations of the Review Committee); see Fallon Paiute-Shoshone Tribe, 455 F. Supp. 2d at 1212.

[149]. Fallon Paiute-Shoshone Tribe, 455 F. Supp. 2d at 1212.

[150]. Id. at 1216.

[151]. Id. at 1218.

[152]. Id.

[153]. Id.

[154]. Id.

[155]. Id. at 1225.

[156]. Id. at 1224.

[157]. Id. at 1225.

[158]. Id. at 1214, 1218, 1226 n.2 (noting that the parties to this action had agreed that the implementation of the DOI regulations governing disposition of culturally unidentifiable remains would have governed the outcome of this case).

[159]. Disposition of Culturally Unidentifiable Human Remains, 72 Fed. Reg. 58,582 (proposed Oct. 16, 2007).

[160]. U.S. Gov’t Accountability Office, supra note 13, at 74.  For the comments, see Docket Summary Folder: NAGPRA Regulations: Docket No. DOI-2007-0032, DOI, http://www.regulations.gov/#!docketDetail;D=DOI-2007-0032 (last visited Sept. 28, 2011).

[161]. U.S. Gov’t Accountability Office, supra note 13, at 74.

[162]. Id.

[163]. Disposition of Culturally Unidentifiable Human Remains, 72 Fed. Reg. at 58,583.

[164]. 72 Fed. Reg. at 58,589.

[165]. See Seidemann, supra note 86, at 22.

[166]. Letter from Dean R. Snow, President, Soc’y for Am. Archaeology to Sherry Hunt, Manager, Nat’l NAGPRA Program 11 (Jan. 14, 2008), http://www.saa.org/Portals/0/SAA/repatriation/SAA_CUHR_comments_2008_01
_14.pdf.

[167]. Id. at 16.

[168]. Id. at 12 (“The location of a museum or repository might have absolutely nothing to do with cultural affiliation of the remains they curate.”).

[169]. Id.

[170]. Id. at 11 (“[This provision] demonstrates disrespect for NAGPRA’s carefully structured process for allowing parties with genuine cultural connections to human remains to engage with institutions in the process of determining ultimate disposition options.”).

[171]. Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act Regulations—Disposition of Culturally Unidentifiable Human Remains, 75 Fed. Reg. 12,378, 12,389 (Mar. 15, 2010) (codified at 43 C.F.R. pt. 10).

[172]. Id. at 12,400.

[173]. See 43 C.F.R. § 10.11(c) (2010).

[174]. See Capriccioso, supra note 17.

[175]. Letter from Joe Brennan, Gen. Counsel, Field Museum of Natural History, to Sherry Hunt, Manager, Nat’l NAGPRA Program (Jan. 10, 2008) (internal citation omitted), http://www.regulations.gov/#!documentDetail;D
=DOI-2007-0032-0017.

[176]. Bonnichsen v. United States, 367 F.3d 864, 877 (9th Cir. 2004).

[177]. See Anthropologists Back Native American Claims, UNM Today (Feb. 14, 2007), http://www.unm.edu/~market/cgi-bin/archives/001718.html.

[178]. U.S. Forest Service, Forest Service National Resource Guide to American Indian and Alaska Native Relations D-1 (1997), available at http://www.fs.fed.us/people/tribal/tribexd.pdf.

[179]. “Tweaking the NAGPRA Rules”: Native American Calling Interview with Sherry Hutt on April 7, 2010, Friends of America’s Past, http://friendsofpast.org/nagpra/2010NAGPRA/Hutt4710.pdf.

[180]. Capriccioso, supra note 17.

[181]. Id.

[182]. “Tweaking the NAGPRA Rules”, supra note 179.

[183]. Id.

[184]. Id.

* J.D. Candidate, May 2012, Wake Forest University School of Law.  The author thanks her parents and brother for their endless support and encouragement.

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