By Matthew Meyers

As many readers know, Arizona came close to enacting a bill that would permit business owners to refuse service to gay and lesbian consumers, so long as that refusal arises from their religious beliefs.  The Arizona Legislature passed the bill, but Governor Jan Brewer vetoed it.  The conflict surrounding whether Governor Brewer should veto the bill illustrated the contentious divide between people on both sides of the debate.  It was not only a political debate; people disputed the scope, language, and meaning of the bill (text of the bill here).

Constitutional law professor Michael Curtis considered these issues in advance of the Arizona bill, in an article published in Volume 47 of the Wake Forest Law Review.  Analogizing discrimination based on sexual orientation with racial and gender discrimination, Professor Curtis makes the case that broad exemptions based on religious beliefs would be problematic.  He writes:

This will reinforce the caste system, encouraging self-deception and dissemblance by gays and making it more dangerous and painful for gays to come out. Our common basic interest in truth and honesty support dismantling this caste system.

I encourage readers to check his article out (PDF is here), since this debate over a religious exemption is sure to continue in the coming months and years.

By Jordan Crews

Thursday, in Pisano v. Strach, the Fourth Circuit affirmed the district court, holding that North Carolina’s regulations on general elections ballots is constitutional.

Under North Carolina law, a new political party, in order to nominate candidates, must select its candidates by party convention and submit its nominees by July 1.  To qualify as a new party, the group must file petitions with the State Board of Elections on June 1 in the election year in which the group desires to participate.  A separate petition must be filed for each county in which the group gathers signatures.  The petitions must be signed by registered and qualified voters in North Carolina equal in number to two percent of the total number of voters who voted in the most recent election for Governor, with at least 200 signatures from each of at least four congressional districts.  A group must submit each petition for verification to the chairperson of the county board of elections in the county where the signatures were obtained by May 17.

Al Pisano, Nicholas Triplett, the North Carolina Constitution Party, and the North Carolina Green Party filed suit against the Director of the State Board of Elections, alleging that the May 17 deadline, together with the two percent signature requirement, violated the First and Fourteenth Amendments because it severely burdened their “ability to field presidential candidates.”  The district court granted the defendants’ motion for summary judgment and the plaintiffs appealed.

Election laws that impose a severe burden on ballot access are subject to strict scrutiny, and a court will uphold the restrictions only if they are “narrowly drawn to advance a state interest of compelling importance.”  However, “if a statute imposes only modest burdens, then a State’s important regulatory interests will usually be enough to justify reasonable, nondiscriminatory restrictions.”

The Fourth Circuit found that the North Carolina law imposed only modest burdens, so strict scrutiny analysis was inappropriate.  The Court noted that the laws contained many alleviating factors.  The law does not limit groups to a short time frame for gathering signatures, and the Court emphasized that political groups are on notice of the number of signatures they need to collect three and a half years before the deadline, providing “ample opportunity to collect signatures when voters are engaged, such as during primaries and other elections.”  For these reasons, the Court concluded that the burden on the plaintiffs was modest.  As such, it declined to apply strict scrutiny.

Applying the lesser demanding test, the Court simply needed to “balance the character and magnitude of the burdens imposed against the extent to which the regulations advance the state’s interest in ensuring that order, rather than chaos, is to accompany the democratic processes.”  North Carolina’s “asserted regulatory interests need only be sufficiently weighty to justify the limitation imposed on the plaintiffs’ rights.”  The Court concluded that North Carolina’s May 17 deadline was reasonable.  The deadline falls after the state’s May primary and precedes other important deadlines, such as the counties’ June 1 deadline to verify signatures.  The state also requires qualifying new parties to select their nominees by party convention and submit their names by July 1.  Thus, the deadlines “permit the government to verify signatures and prepare the ballot before the November election.”  The Court found that the May 17 deadline outweighed the modest burden imposed on the plaintiffs, and so held that the deadline was constitutional.

The district court’s grant of summary judgment to the defendants’ was affirmed.

By: Scott R. Bauries*

Introduction

A constitution is an instrument of entrustment.  By adopting a democratic constitution, a polity places in the hands of its elected representatives its trust that those representatives will act to pursue the ends of the polity, rather than their own ends, and that they will do so with an eye toward the effects of adopted policies.  In effect, the polity entrusts lawmaking power to its legislature with the expectation that such power will be exercised with loyalty to the public and with due care for its interests.  Simply put, legislatures are fiduciaries.[1]

In this Article, I examine the nature of the fiduciary duties that state constitutions place on state legislatures.  Generally, I develop the concepts of legislative duties of loyalty and care and propose principles for the enforcement of these duties.  Specifically, I consider how these duties might function in the context of the affirmative obligations that state constitutions place on state legislatures to pursue certain policy goals.[2]  Ultimately, I present the case that specific affirmative duties placed upon legislatures by state constitutions are governed by general fiduciary duties, and that they ought to be adjudicated as such, using the tools of deference appropriate to the review of discretionary decisions by individuals in positions of trust.

One policy area in which every state constitution imposes specific affirmative obligations is education, and education is the one area in which courts in nearly all American states have been asked to enforce such affirmative obligations.[3]  Accordingly, I focus my analysis on what I term “the education duty.”  I define the duty as a mandatory specific obligation of the state legislature, which also carries with it a general duty of care.  Contrary to the existing scholarship and case law, I argue that, although the education duty in each state’s constitution should be subject to judicial enforcement, the proper focus of judicial review should be the general duty of care imposed by each state’s constitution, rather than the nebulous qualitative terms contained in each state’s education clause.[4]  Approaching enforcement as an application of the qualitative terms in the education clause has resulted in both overenforcement and underenforcement of the education duty.  Moving the focus of judicial review to the underlying duty of care will remedy both of these problems and preserve a role for the judiciary in ensuring the legislature’s performance of its constitutional obligations, while also protecting the separation of powers in state governments.

This Article proceeds in three subsequent Parts.  Part I sets the stage for the discussion that follows by distinguishing between negative and positive constitutional rights, and further distinguishing between positive constitutional rights and duties, as discussed in the constitutional law cases and scholarship.  Part II then sets about identifying and defining a duty-based approach to constitutional analysis, focusing on the provisions in every state constitution mandating the legislative provision of a system of education.  Drawing from the history and political theory underlying constitutionalism in the United States, from the current texts of the fifty state constitutions and from the history of litigation over these provisions, I establish that state legislative duties in general, and affirmative legislative duties in particular, are fiduciary duties to the public as a whole.  I ultimately develop a conception of the fiduciary foundations of the legislative duty to provide for education.

In Part III, I then outline how state courts might alter their approaches to enforcement of the education duty and other similar duties to reflect these fiduciary foundations.  Ultimately, I conclude that a fiduciary duty-based approach to affirmative constitutional provisions will allow for enforcement without institutional encroachment and will provide the necessary space for a principled consideration of whether individual rights to education and other public services exist and whether they are enforceable.

I.  Constitutional Rights and Duties

In the part below, I begin by laying out the familiar conceptual distinction between positive rights and negative rights.[5]  This distinction sets the stage for the more difficult, and more important, distinction between positive rights and positive duties.[6]  These distinctions help to show that the affirmative duty provisions in state constitutions are sui generis in constitutional law and theory, and they therefore require a unique approach to judicial review.  This approach asks us to step back from the hopelessly indeterminate, and therefore unhelpful, text of such provisions and to consider their overall structure and the political theory of government embodied in that structure, and then calibrate the appropriate level of judicial deference that is owed to legislative action under these provisions.[7]

A.     Negative and Positive Constitutional Rights

Scholarship of constitutional law is permeated with “rights talk.”[8]  This is true in the federal context, where the Constitution places limitations on the use of federal power and often speaks of rights specifically and therefore seems to call up a rights-focused analytical framework.  But it is also true in the scholarship of state constitutions and the national constitutions adopted primarily after World War II, which, in addition to containing express limitations on the use of government power through the articulation of rights, expressly call for the use of government power to achieve certain social policy goals.[9]  In this latter case, a rights-focused approach is neither inevitable nor necessarily desirable, though rights talk has overwhelmingly dominated the debates over interpretation and enforcement.[10]

One important conceptual distinction that has informed the debate has been that between negative constitutional rights and positive constitutional rights.  As Professor David Currie explains, a negative right allows its holder to prevent government action against the holder, while a positive or affirmative right entitles its holder to demand government action.[11]

Numerous scholars, and some courts, have criticized this distinction, arguing that if it exists, the distinction is not a categorical one but rather a continuum.[12]  Under this widely held view, even ostensible negative rights require some government action or expenditure to effectuate them; therefore, all rights have some affirmative character.[13]  For example, many criminal defendants are entitled to legal representation provided by the state.  If this is so, the continuum theorists argue, then the right to counsel is at least in part a positive right.[14]

Similarly, in order for individuals to be able to freely speak their minds, it is necessary that public spaces are provided, are maintained, and are made safe, for example by providing police protection to unpopular speakers to prevent a “heckler’s veto.”[15]  All of this requires government action and expenditure, and all of it is, in some sense, mandated by the Constitution; therefore freedom of speech is a kind of positive right, the argument goes.[16]  But this view misperceives the distinction it proposes to eliminate (the distinction between rights against government action and rights requiring government action).[17]  Both the right to counsel and the right to protection of unpopular speakers are practical applications of underlying rights against government action, and neither of these “rights” would exist in any situation where government were not to first act against an individual.  The right to the “Assistance of Counsel,” as articulated in the Sixth Amendment, is not a free-standing entitlement but is predicated on one’s first having the status of a “criminal defendant.”[18]  No person has this status automatically by birth.  Rather, the state must act to place this status on a person.

The right to protection against a “heckler’s veto”—which in extreme cases would seem to require that a city police department expend resources to protect unpopular speakers from physical harm—is the best example of a true positive right, if it were to actually require the expenditure of public resources absent prior state action.[19]  But as a matter of current law, it does not.  Most cases identified as heckler’s veto cases involve police attempting to remove an unpopular speaker from a public forum to protect the speaker’s safety—to act against an individual speaker.[20]  In these cases, it is generally true that the remedy against “hecklers” of unpopular speakers cannot be to remove the speaker, as that would be a direct infringement of the speaker’s right to speak.  Thus, it is a prohibition against government action—the same as any other constitutional right.

The closest that the Supreme Court has ever come to recognizing the protection against heckler’s vetoes as a positive right was its holding in Forsyth County v. Nationalist Movement.[21]  The Court held that city officials were not permitted to charge an unpopular group more for a speaking permit than more mainstream groups on the grounds that more police protection would be needed for the unpopular group.[22]  In practical terms, this holding means that cities wishing to expend resources to protect speakers from hecklers must expend greater resources to protect unpopular speakers, whether these cities wish to do so or not.  Stated this way, police protection against hecklers sounds like a positive right.  In response to the Court’s decision in Nationalist Movement, however, a city might decide that it must provide police protection for no fee or a nominal fee, or it might decide not to provide police protection at all.  If a city chooses to provide protection, it is not permitted to decide the price of that protection based on the message to be protected.  Nothing in the Nationalist Movement case, or in any other heckler’s veto case, however, makes it a constitutional compulsion for a city to provide police protection for speakers—popular or unpopular.[23]

Thus, neither of these rights—the two best candidates thus far offered for positive federal constitutional rights—can be violated by the government unless the government first takes some action.  In the case of the right to counsel, the government must first arrest a suspect and then propose to put the suspect on trial for a crime.  Only then does the government’s obligation to provide counsel arise.[24]  If the government wishes to avoid providing counsel to indigent defendants, it need only stop arresting them.  The fact that this solution would be impractical or unwise does not make it unconstitutional.  If failure to arrest at all would be constitutional, and if an arrest and a criminal charge are preconditions to the right to counsel, then the right to counsel is not itself a positive right but is a precondition for the exercise of discretionary state power.

In the case of freedom of expression, the analysis is similar.  Concepts of freedom of expression as a fully self-actualized opportunity to speak one’s mind in an open, available, safe place with lots of people listening are simply not part of the right, and the Court has never so held.  Were the law otherwise, then an individual speaker could compel a municipality to set up and fund a public park where none currently exists.  True, governments around the country act, as a matter of policy, to provide safe venues for expression, but as with the arresting of criminal suspects, the practical value of the government activity does not render it constitutionally compelled.

Professor Frank Cross has explained this distinction succinctly.[25]  As Cross explains, distinguishing between a positive right and a negative right is as simple as imagining a world without government or where government action is impossible.[26]  In such a world, a negative right could not possibly be violated, while a positive right would always be violated.  In explaining the distinction this way, Cross elucidates a vital point: our rights are legally meaningless[27] until we decide against whom these rights run, and what obligations these rights place on the entities against whom they run.[28]  Only then can we decide whether our rights are enforceable in court and to what extent they may be enforced.  Applying this conception to the rights to counsel and police protection against a heckler’s veto leads to the conclusion that both are extensions of decidedly negative rights, respectively against conviction by trick or surprise and against viewpoint discrimination.  Neither can possibly be violated in a world without government action.

Therefore, although it is common in legal scholarship to reject “formalistic” distinctions between positive rights and negative rights,[29] the distinction clearly exists in American constitutional law, and it provides a useful way of talking about the relationship between the individual and the activist state in the modern world.[30]  The distinction between positive and negative rights is familiar, even though not universally accepted.[31]  The next Subpart focuses on a less explored distinction, but one that is more meaningful if we hope to understand the meaning of affirmative obligations in state constitutions—the distinction between positive rights and positive duties.

B.     Positive Constitutional Duties

Aside from rights, plausible arguments exist that all constitutions impose duties on the government.  Like the more commonly discussed categories of positive rights, such duties require government action of some sort.  In fact, it is plausible to claim, as some scholars have suggested, that positive rights impose correlative positive duties on government.[32]  However, this correlation does not necessarily run both ways.  It is possible to conceive of governmental duties that exist but do not run to individuals or create any individual rights to enforcement.  The President’s duty to “take Care that the Laws be faithfully executed”[33] and the obligation of the United States to “guarantee to every State in this Union a Republican Form of Government”[34] under the Constitution come to mind.  In the discussion that follows, I focus my attention on the prospect of a legislative duty to legislate as a free-standing duty that does not depend on the existence of any individual positive right.

The idea of a legislative duty to legislate does not find much purchase in legal scholarship, though as an idea it has an impressive pedigree.  Legislative duty can be thought of as a central part, or at least a natural implication, of the work of such diverse political theorists as Immanuel Kant, Thomas Hobbes, John Locke, Jeremy Bentham, John Stuart Mill, and Thomas Paine, among others.[35]  Legal philosophers such as John Finnis have developed normative accounts of the duty to govern from concepts of natural law,[36] and these accounts have gained significant texture over time due to the work of later scholars.[37]  Nevertheless, the bulk of the philosophy of law regarding the broad idea of governing focuses on three concepts separate from legislative duty—individual rights, legislative authority, and the individual’s obligation to obey law.[38]

In state and federal constitutional law, the scholarship is heavily focused on individual rights and government powers and pays very little attention to the prospect of governmental duties.[39]  For example, a mountain of scholarship exists on the contested subject of unenumerated rights under the Constitution, but a comparative molehill of scholarship exists examining the related idea of unenumerated legislative duties.[40]

This dearth of commentary is not for the lack of importance of the idea of legislative duty.  Professor Robin West points out that the idea of legislative duty, encompassing both a duty “to legislate—and to do so toward particular ends,” forms one of the pillars of liberal political thought.[41]  West further points out, however, that, to the extent that the extant scholarship hints at conceptions of positive legislative duties as a constitutional principle, it does so either as a way of illustrating the content of presupposed individual positive rights or as a way of “tak[ing] the judiciary off the hook,” by establishing residual moral legislative duties where the judiciary cannot enforce what would otherwise be positive constitutional entitlements.[42]  She pointedly asserts that, in the absence of a plausible argument for the analytically prior existence of individual positive rights, constitutional theorists generally neglect discussion of legislative duties to legislate.[43]

In federal constitutional law, this omission of duty-based analysis is somewhat understandable, as the Constitution does not contain many affirmative obligatory statements.[44]  It may be, then, that the Constitution simply will admit no affirmative legislative duties to legislate, perhaps because the Framers chose to enumerate few affirmative obligations in the Constitution, none of which expressly require Congress to enact legislation.[45]  However, as West points out, even to the extent that the Constitution embraces unenumerated legal principles, the scholarship has single-mindedly focused on rights, leaving the idea of unenumerated duties unexplored.[46]  Perhaps the structure of the federal document—as a grant of limited and enumerated powers—forestalls an “unenumerated duties” interpretation where it may not foreclose an “unenumerated rights” interpretation.[47]

State constitutions, however, both in their legislative articles and, more commonly, in separate policy-focused articles directed at state legislatures, contain numerous explicit affirmative obligations, and such provisions also have appeared prominently in national constitutions adopted around the world in the years since World War II.[48]  The prevalence of these provisions has allowed for both courts and commentators to consider whether legislative duties exist and whether they may be enforced.  But the bulk of scholarly commentary has defaulted to discussing these provisions in a rights-focused frame, leaving the equally important idea of legislative duties relatively unexplored.[49]

In state constitutional education cases, the courts more often directly address the concept of legislative duty, as words such as “shall” often appear in state constitutional education clauses.  But, as the next Part demonstrates, these courts generally conceive of the legislative duty in absolutist terms, requiring the establishment of a school system that qualitatively seems to the justices in its actual operation to be “adequate,” or some variant thereof, and usually purport do so in the context of individual rights.[50]  This substance-oriented, absolutist approach often fails to achieve the adequacy that the courts claim to seek and sometimes even results in the courts conceding the issue back to the legislatures after prolonged institutional conflicts.[51]  In the next Part, I argue that rather than approaching affirmative duty provisions in state constitutions in this way, state courts should address affirmative duties as the fiduciary duties they are by switching from such a substance-oriented approach of review to a more process-oriented form of review.

II.  The Education Duty

In education, we speak often of constitutional rights and seldom of constitutional duties.[52]  The “right to education” is frequently held up as an exemplar of a positive constitutional right created by state constitutions, and cases purporting to adjudicate education rights claims are held up as examples that positive constitutional rights are enforceable and subject to effective judicial remediation.[53]  The consequences of this rights-focused approach have been to improperly focus state judiciaries on the substantive results of legislative enactments, rather than on the legislative process, and this substantive focus has led some courts to overreach their institutional boundaries and other courts to abdicate their judicial role.

The discussion below evaluates state judicial approaches to the enforcement of state constitutional education clauses in light of text, along with the history and political theory underlying state constitutionalism.  I conclude from this review that state courts have both overenforced and underenforced the norms expressed in the affirmative duty provisions of their constitutions,[54] and that recognizing the nature of legislative duty as a fiduciary duty will guide these courts to more fruitful adjudicatory approaches.  I begin with state constitutional text.

A.     State Constitutional Education Clauses

1.     Education Clauses and Education Rights

Every state constitution imposes upon the state legislature some obligation to provide for an education system.[55]  State constitutional education clauses often contain qualitative terms, such as “thorough,”[56] “efficient,”[57] “suitable,”[58] and “adequate,”[59] that describe the legislature’s duty to provide for an education system.  In addition, education clauses uniformly state their terms affirmatively, and most often as mandatory directives rather than as admonitory encouragements.  For example, the Minnesota Constitution provides, “[I]t is the duty of the legislature to establish a general and uniform system of public schools.”[60]  Most of the other state education clause provisions take similar forms, using duty-based terms such as “shall” to impose obligations and directing these terms toward the establishment and maintenance of a system of schools.[61]

Not all state constitutions contain unambiguously mandatory language, however.  Several state constitutions employ mandatory terms, such as “shall,” but direct such terms to hortatory goals.  For example, the California Constitution provides, “A general diffusion of knowledge and intelligence being essential to the preservation of the rights and liberties of the people, the Legislature shall encourage by all suitable means the promotion of intellectual, scientific, moral, and agricultural improvement.”[62]  Iowa’s education clause contains similar language,[63] as do the education clauses of Nevada[64] and New Hampshire.[65]  Other state constitutions contain a kind of patent ambiguity in their provisions.  For example, in its Education Article, North Carolina’s constitution contains an admonition that education “shall forever be encouraged,”[66] followed by a mandatory requirement for the establishment of a “general and uniform system of free public schools, which shall be maintained at least nine months in every year, and wherein equal opportunities shall be provided for all students.”[67]  But the Declaration of Rights of the same constitution unambiguously establishes an individual “right to the privilege of education,” followed by a state duty to “guard and maintain that right.”[68]  Similarly, Wyoming’s constitution provides an admonition that a right to education “should have practical recognition,” followed by a mandatory legislative duty to “encourage means and agencies calculated to advance the sciences and liberal arts.”[69]

Vermont’s education clause does not contain any mandatory terms at all.  It provides, “Laws for the encouragement of virtue and prevention of vice and immorality ought to be constantly kept in force, and duly executed; and a competent number of schools ought to be maintained in each town unless the general assembly permits other provisions for the convenient instruction of youth.”[70]  This provision has the feel of a completely optional encouragement, but it might nevertheless be read as mandatory because of the existence of the “unless” clause, which suggests that the admonitory goals must be pursued in the absence of alternative legislative action of a similar character.  Alabama’s education clause is even more explicit in denying any compulsion for legislative action, stating:

It is the policy of the state of Alabama to foster and promote the education of its citizens in a manner and extent consistent with its available resources, and the willingness and ability of the individual student, but nothing in this Constitution shall be construed as creating or recognizing any right to education or training at public expense, nor as limiting the authority and duty of the legislature, in furthering or providing for education, to require or impose conditions or procedures deemed necessary to the preservation of peace and order.[71]

However, this language was added to Alabama’s constitution right after Brown v. Board of Education[72] was decided, and it is followed by language explicitly authorizing segregated schooling.[73]  One trial court in Alabama has held that, due to its racist purpose, the education clause as amended following Brown may not be applied and that the original education clause found in the pre-Brown version of the state constitution, which contains squarely mandatory language,[74] must be applied instead.[75]

Many observers have argued that these provisions create positive individual rights to educational services.[76]  However, the overwhelming majority of state constitutions direct their affirmative duty or goal statements at the legislature or the state, with no mention at all of individuals.[77]  Still, numerous scholars and many state supreme courts have taken the existence of these affirmative provisions as establishing a judicially enforceable individual positive right to education in each state.[78]  Few have questioned whether the duty to provide education might exist independently of an individual right to receive it.[79]

Professors Steven Calabresi and Sarah Agudo come the closest to a full examination of whether education deserves the status of an individual “right” under state constitutions.[80]  Employing a jural correlativity analysis,[81] the authors conclude that, given the ubiquity of affirmative duty provisions among state constitutions at the time of the adoption of the Fourteenth Amendment, the conclusion that education is a right “deeply rooted in American history and tradition,” and is thus a “fundamental right,” is almost inevitable.[82]  Specifically, in discussing Prigg v. Pennsylvania,[83] the authors state, “Thus, Justice Story’s opinion stood for the proposition that an individual right can give rise to government power, which is far more tenuous than our claim that a government duty to educate implies an individual right to be educated at public expense.”[84]  Of course, as an analysis of the availability of a substantive due process right to education in federal court, Calabresi and Agudo’s analysis does not squarely address the more direct question of whether the state constitutional provisions they rely on create stateconstitutional rights, but it goes a good distance in that direction.  Only one state court, the Supreme Court of Washington, has taken the correlativity analysis this far and has specifically concluded that an individual positive right to education exists under the state constitution.[85]  However, many other state courts have at least stated that such rights are created by educational duty provisions, either as “fundamental rights” in the equal protection context (as Calabresi and Agudo did) or as free-standing individual positive rights in the adequacy context.[86]

Counterbalancing these favorable treatments of the question of education rights under state constitutions are few, but powerful, rejoinders based in textualist and original intent analysis.  Professor John Eastman’s work over the past decade establishes the proposition that no individual rights to education existed under state constitutions until very recently.[87]  Eastman’s work is based on the textual features of the education clauses of state constitutions and judicial interpretations of these textual features.[88]  Eastman demonstrates that, through much of history, the education clauses of state constitutions were stated in hortatory, rather than mandatory, terms.[89]  Only since the Civil War have more mandatory provisions become common, and only since the late 1960s have even these provisions been construed in the courts as establishing individual rights—typically the “fundamental rights” familiar to federal equal protection jurisprudence.[90]

Professor Jon Dinan provides originalist support for Eastman’s conclusions through his careful and comprehensive review of the available convention debates for the best evidence of state constitutional framers’ intent in adopting education provisions.[91]  Dinan’s analysis leaves very little room for one to conclude that such provisions were intended by their drafters and adopters to be judicially enforced by individual rights holders.[92]  As Dinan points out, rather than seeking to establish judicially enforceable provisions, the vast majority of state constitutional drafters appear to have worked to prevent the substantive components of their proposed provisions (e.g., requirements for “adequacy,” “thoroughness,” “efficiency,” “sufficiency,” etc.) from becoming judicially enforceable.[93]

Taken together, the work of these two scholars makes a strong case for categorically rejecting the recent move in the state courts to enforce the qualitative provisions in state constitutional education clauses as substantive rights provisions.  Nevertheless, it is possible, surveying the provisions extant in state constitutions today for not only text but also structure and underlying political theory, to come to a more nuanced conclusion—one that recognizes the difference between specific substantive requirements and general substantive goals, either or both of which may potentially form aspects of a legislative duty to legislate.

As outlined above, the provisions in today’s state constitutions are overwhelmingly worded in mandatory terms, such as “duty” and “shall.”  While such provisions (with the single exception of North Carolina’s) do not explicitly establish individual positive rights, they certainly purport to establish affirmative legislative duties, and these duties may be judicially enforceable.  It is a familiar interpretive principle that, where a legal text is clear and unambiguous, a court should not delve beneath such text to derive the intent of its drafters.[94]  Though they may be vague as to the content of the duty, the mandatory provisions are certainly clear at least in establishing a legislative duty to provide for education.  Even the hortatory education clauses at least admonish the states to take education seriously in determining how to prioritize state appropriations and policy determinations,[95] and such admonishments might themselves be judicially enforceable, were a principled theory to undergird such enforcement.[96]

In any event, the provisions exist and will continue to generate judicial interpretations.  Thus, it behooves the scholarly community to assist with the proper conceptualization of both the mandatory and admonitory provisions.

2.              The Challenges of Enforcement and Remediation

I now turn to the judicial interpretation and enforcement of these state constitutional provisions.  I briefly review the path that brought these provisions into the state courts for review, and I show that the approaches that state courts have taken in the existing cases overlook the character of the duties they purport to enforce and ultimately devalue the idea of an individual right to education.

Education finance litigation involves constitutional challenges to state education funding systems, where the ultimate goal is an increase or reallocation of statewide education funding.  The conventional account of this litigation holds that it has proceeded through three “waves” of reform.[97]  Recently, this “wave” metaphor has drawn scholarly criticism.[98]  However, if one avoids the common flaw of assuming a clear line of demarcation between each wave and accepts that each case may draw from theories dominant in one or more waves alternatively, then the metaphor remains useful as an explanatory tool.

Under this metaphor, the first wave involved challenges brought in federal and state courts based on the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment.  School finance litigation, as currently conceived, is the progeny of the decades-long development of institutional reform litigation in the federal courts.[99]  As Professor Owen Fiss pointed out years ago,[100] institutional reform litigation began in earnest[101] with the seminal education rights case Brown v. Board of Education.[102]  As Professor Abram Chayes explained in his article on the topic, the judge in institutional reform litigation does not so much adjudicate the case as manage it.[103]  Although courts do issue their own injunctions, an institutional reform claim most often results in a negotiated settlement agreement, which the court formalizes into a consent decree—a device that effectively orders performance of the settlement agreement—thus converting any breach of the agreement into a potential contempt of court.[104]  In such cases, the judge either assumes monitoring of the compliance with the injunction directly or appoints a special master to handle the monitoring on the ground.  This monitoring can extend for years or even decades.[105]  Out of the resistance to Brown, the form developed as federal judges issued injunctive remedial orders or consent decrees binding local school districts and other public entities to achieve long-term, structural changes to remedy widespread past harms with persistent present effects.[106]

Once these large-scale desegregation orders gained acceptance, reformers turned their eyes toward arguments based on socioeconomic equality, pressing claims in federal court relying on the Equal Protection Clause that education was a fundamental right and wealth was a suspect classification, and hoping that courts would apply strict scrutiny to state educational finance schemes.[107]  The Supreme Court closed the federal door on these types of challenges in San Antonio Independent School District v. Rodriguez,[108] holding that education is not a federal fundamental right,[109] and wealth is not a suspect classification for the purposes of analysis under the Equal Protection Clause.[110]  Relying on these holdings, the Supreme Court in Rodriguez applied rational basis review and upheld Texas’s school finance system, despite broad inequalities in funding, based on what the Court determined to be the legitimate governmental objective of preserving local control over educational decision making.[111]

The denial of strict scrutiny review of educational funding inequalities in federal courts had the immediate effect of directing all education finance litigation to state courts; this litigation was pursued in a second wave of reform, involving primarily equity-based challenges based on the equal protection or uniformity provisions of state constitutions.[112]  These challenges were designed similarly to the federal institutional reform litigation that spawned Rodriguez, with large plaintiff groups seeking broad structural injunctions to equalizing funding.[113]  These “second wave” challenges met with varying levels of success, typically depending on whether education was found to have the status of a fundamental right in the state—the same determination that was ultimately dispositive in Rodriguez.[114]  Ultimately, however, litigants generally migrated away from the equality-based strategy in favor of a new strategy: suits based on the absolute inadequacy of education spending.[115]  These challenges make up the “third wave” of litigation-based reform, and adequacy-based theories currently remain dominant in education finance reform litigation.[116]

Adequacy-based challenges ask state courts to interpret and enforce the quality terms of a state constitution’s education clause.  Along with the duty-based language discussed above, each state’s education clause may contain one or more terms of quality that describe the goals of the legislative duty, such as “thorough,”[117]“efficient,”[118] “suitable,”[119] “adequate,”[120] and “high quality.”[121]  The most difficult aspect of an adequacy claim is therefore the inherent indeterminacy in the language used to frame each state’s command.  Empirical studies have repeatedly been unable to document any influence that differences in the quality terms that exist in state constitutional education clauses have on the results of adequacy cases.[122]  States with comparatively weak-sounding education clause language—such as Kentucky[123]—have generated judicial decisions invalidating the entire state educational system,[124] while states with comparatively strong-sounding language—such as Illinois[125]—have generated judicial decisions rejecting the very idea of a judicial role in enforcing education clause language.[126]  Moreover, courts choosing to engage the education clause substantively, as the Supreme Court of Kentucky did, tend to reach for lofty-sounding, but often unrealistic, starkly countertextual, and even ahistorical, interpretations of the constitutional language.[127]  Education policy claims are particularly susceptible to this danger, as few judges likely relish the idea of publishing an opinion minimizing the importance of education or the legislature’s responsibility for it.

Given both the indeterminacy in constitutional language and the understandable tendency to reach for lofty and aspirational standards, approaching the education clause substantively gives rise to a significant concern—whether a state court may, consistent with the separation of powers, mandamus or otherwise enjoin a legislature to raise or allocate additional revenue for the state’s education system where the court sees current funding levels as not “thorough,” “efficient,” “suitable,” “adequate,”  or “high quality.”[128]

Facing this concern, courts have taken one of three paths.[129]  About a third of courts have dismissed cases asking for such enforcement on grounds of non-justiciability, concluding that, because affirmative duty provisions are directed at state legislatures and because their terms are so subjective, these legislatures are vested with complete and unreviewable discretion.[130]  Another third or so have engaged the merits of the claims and chosen either a deferential form of review—such as the federal “rational basis” test, upholding the legislation against the challenge[131]—or a non-deferential form of review, construing the education clause as an absolute command to create an “adequate” system of schools (or some variant of the term).  These courts ultimately hold against the state and use that holding as a justification for a public law injunction to legislate the system into constitutionally valid status.[132]  A final third have engaged in review of the merits of such cases, applied a non-deferential form of review, and found the state constitution violated, only to step back at that stage and deny the plaintiffs any sort of directive remedial order against the legislature.[133]

Proponents of this third way tout its ability to engage state legislatures and the judiciary in an ongoing “dialogue” as to the meaning of the state constitution.[134]  Proponents favor the dialogic approach because it ostensibly allows the courts to engage in a collaboration with the coordinate branches of government, and therefore mitigates separation of powers problems resulting from interbranch conflicts.[135]

Recently, Professors Charles Sabel and William Simon offered a thoughtful defense and reconceptualization of the dialogic, or what the authors term the “experimentalist,” model.[136]  Sabel and Simon argue, in part, that institutional reform litigation[137] in state courts under state education clauses succeeds because courts have abandoned the traditional model of institutional reform in these cases.[138]  Professors Sabel and Simon further argue that in the successful institutional reform cases, including, prominently, state court education clause litigation, courts do not perform a directive monitoring role.[139]  Rather, courts in these cases issue orders setting substantive goals and then step back and allow for the parties to experiment with different strategies for achieving these goals.[140]  This process of experimentation results in the formation of what Sabel and Simon term “new publics” made of interested stakeholders both within and outside the party structure of the case.[141]  These “new publics” stand as alternatives to the “control groups” that ordinarily materialized in Chayesian institutional reform litigation to control the remedial process, which scholars have criticized as harmful to democratic processes due to the control exercised over public policy by designated groups of plaintiffs’ lawyers.[142]

Though encouraging, the optimistic accounts of this new form of institutional reform litigation give short shrift to three concerns.  The first is that the new types of judicial orders that create what Sabel and Simon call “destabilization,” stripped of the gloss that might be placed upon them by comparing them to the hyperspecific and directive orders of Chayesian structural injunctions, nevertheless cannot be anything other than top-down edicts.[143]  At a certain point, a legislature may not decide for itself not to pursue or accomplish the substantive “goals” set out in one of these orders.  The goals, ostensibly at least, are operationalizations of judicial mandates, either expressed or implied, and they carry with them the latent, yet still potent, power of the court.

Second, in school finance litigation at least, the “new publics” that have developed in response to plaintiff-friendly judgments have been strikingly similar to the “old publics” that filed each suit in the first place.  The lawyers for the plaintiffs and the interest groups often at the heart of the cases, if permitted, stay closely involved during the remedial process, often returning to the court not directly for periodic reporting but for relitigation of the remedy, where they are unsatisfied with legislative efforts resulting from goal-oriented judicial orders.[144]  The cases often remain adversarial, rather than cooperative, and their progress continues to be directed by an identifiable “control group” of lawyers even where a judge issues a dialogic order.  Thus, although the days of detailing the square footage of a prison cell in a remedial order appear to be gone,[145] the new experimentalist process looks very much like the old command-and-control process in most other ways.

Finally, for all of the rhetoric of individual rights that exists in the cases, few individual plaintiffs, if any, ever receive any direct relief for the proved violation of their own individual rights to education.  In these dialogic or experimentalist cases, courts do not order any particular action to remedy any individual harms.  Rather, as Sabel and Simon describe, courts merely set statewide substantive quality goals and allow the political actors subject to the order to pursue these goals.[146]  At no point does a court order that the educational situation of a named plaintiff be set right.  This lack of specification of the remedy, while undoubtedly satisfying to judges looking at conflicts with legislatures, is destructive to the legitimacy of rights adjudication.  From the perspective of an individual plaintiff, the court has held that the plaintiff has a right and that the right has been violated.  But the court has not offered any particularized relief for the violation, and indeed has even left the ostensible violator partially in charge of determining how the violation will be remedied.  Inevitably, the right is devalued at best and eliminated at worst.[147]

Defenders may claim that plaintiffs are at peace with this adjustment of the normal process of litigation and that, as public interest representatives, or as members of new publics, plaintiffs naturally will feel vindicated by the progress and attention to their issues that a dialogic judicial decree causes.  This may be true in some cases, but it is not true in all.  For example, when the Supreme Court of Idaho held that state’s school system unconstitutional and proceeded to engage the destabilization process that Sabel and Simon advance,[148] the plaintiffs certainly did not accept the lack of direct remediation of the violation of their rights.  Instead, they filed suit in federal court against the justices of the Supreme Court of Idaho, alleging violations of their fundamental right to a remedy.[149]  Although the suit was ultimately dismissed on Rooker-Feldman Doctrine[150] grounds, it stands as a powerful rejoinder to those who would dismiss the interests of plaintiffs who are told that they have rights and that these rights have been violated, but who receive no specific relief.

Moreover, courts employing the experimentalist approach have continued to be confronted with separation of powers problems.  Some of the primary courts exemplifying the experimentalist approach have even ultimately bowed to these pressures and withdrawn ongoing judicial supervision, either by declaring that the state is now in compliance with the constitution based on a lenient standard of review that would have upheld the system in the first instance[151] or by re-affirming that the constitution is not satisfied, but holding that further court involvement is not necessary.[152]

In the final analysis, then, the dialogic or experimentalist approaches to remediation have presented the same institutional concerns as specific remedial injunctions.  In each case, because the courts make substantive judgments of the inadequacy of the state school system, the courts must also directly or indirectly supervise the substantive content of legislative policies.  Further, in each case founded on individual rights, the courts have subverted the idea of individual rights after adjudicating these rights to be violated, thus devaluing them.  Faced with these remedial issues and the inevitable risks to their institutional capital, it is understandable that a number of state courts have decided to avoid adjudicating these claims altogether, holding them to be nonjusticiable.[153]

Another approach is possible, one that protects the judiciary from encroaching on legislative functions where judges merely disapprove of the outcomes of legislative deliberations, but protects the judiciary’s ability to correct gross failures of political will in extreme cases.  To work, however, this approach must take into account the true constitutional status of education in each state.  Despite all the talk of individual rights to education, education clause litigation, as currently conceived, is not really about individual rights.  Like all other constitutional questions concerning affirmative provisions, it is about systemic duties to the public as a whole.  The next Subpart develops a theory of the nature of a systemic affirmative legislative duty and applies this theory to state constitutional education clauses.

B.     Education as a Systemic Duty

1.     The Importance of the Proper Conception

A right entitles a specific person to a specific thing, be it the action or the forbearance of another.  A negative constitutional right, therefore, entitles its holder to thegovernment’s forbearing from acting against the holder in some way, and a positive constitutional right entitles its holder to the government’s action on the holder’s behalf.[154]  In contrast, a duty obligates its holder to act or forbear from acting but does not necessarily entitle another party to any specific action or forbearance as to that party.[155]  In the world of positive constitutional duties and positive constitutional rights, this distinction makes an enormous difference.

If the affirmative provisions that exist in state constitutions and in some national constitutions are construed as rights provisions, then these provisions should entitle specific individuals to demand specific goods or levels of service to themselves.  Otherwise, in what sense are education rights, “rights”?[156]  If, however, education clauses are read as purely duty provisions, then they obligate government to pursue the ends identified but do not necessarily entitle any person to a particular level of government service.

The recognition of this distinction allows us to further recognize a vitally important point: no state supreme court has truly recognized anything that could be accurately described as a “positive right to education” under its state constitution.  Over the course of the second wave of school finance litigation, the language of fundamental rights was employed extensively.  Although some state courts came to different conclusions than the Supreme Court did in Rodriguez as to whether education should be characterized as a “fundamental right,” in each of these cases, as well as in the many cases that came to the same conclusion as the RodriguezCourt, the courts approached the question with the same purpose—to determine the level of equal protection scrutiny to apply.[157]  Of course, “fundamental rights” justifying strict scrutiny in equal protection cases are not the same thing as “positive rights.”[158]  Moreover, to the extent that individual rights justify individual remedies, especially in the positive entitlement context, no state supreme court has ordered an individual remedy pursuant to a judgment of unconstitutionality under its state constitution’s education clause.[159]  Acknowledging this set of facts does not mean that education may never be recognized as an individual entitlement under state constitutions, but it does mean that the “fundamental rights” cases do not establish the kind of “education right” (i.e., a positive entitlement) that the literature seems to assume exists in every state.[160]

Once we are able to distinguish between what state constitutions clearly and textually provide (an education duty) and what they may imply, but may also not imply (a positive education right as an individual entitlement), then we can more easily understand the pressures that state courts are put under when they review education clause claims and the choices that courts make in resolving such claims.  We can also better understand why the enterprise of education clause litigation has largely been a failure, or at least a massive disappointment.[161]

Accepting my descriptive conclusion—that state constitutions do not textually provide for more than duties and that no state supreme court has truly analyzed its constitution and found that a positive individual entitlement right to education exists—this leads to a further question.  In a world of state legislative duties that do not correlate to individual entitlements, how is a court to approach judicial review?

The first hurdle that would be presented in any such regime would be to determine who can sue to force the legislature to perform its duty.  Nearly every state court that has encountered a school finance adequacy suit has had to resolve the question of standing.  Now, it is fairly well established that the standing doctrine in state courts is often more forgiving to plaintiffs than in federal courts.[162]  Some of the reasons for this are textual—for example, explicit authorization for the rendering of advisory opinions in some state constitutions.[163]  Some of the reasons are historical—several states have authorized generalized grievance litigation, especially to challenge taxation legislation, since long before the Supreme Court began focusing its eye on standing under Article III in the mid-twentieth century.[164]  Accordingly, as it turns out, the standing issue has not presented much of a problem for education clause plaintiffs.

The second hurdle, however, as discussed above, would be the more significant question of whether and how legislative action in performing its systemic duty may be adjudicated where the challenge is based on the qualitative terms of the education clause.  In other words, assuming that the legislature has a compulsory duty to legislate on education and that the legislature has so legislated, if this legislation falls short of what a proper plaintiff thinks is “adequate,” or some variant thereof, may the courts decide whether the plaintiff is correct?  And if so, may the courts remediate the harms of this inadequate legislation?  Like the first hurdle, this hurdle must be cleared in nearly every education clause suit that is filed.  Unlike the standing question, however, it is often resolved against the plaintiff’s interest, either at the threshold stage or at the remedial stage.

At times, state supreme courts have indeed approached education clauses squarely as the sources of legislative duties, rather than (or in addition to) rights.  The most forceful of these analyses was rendered in 1978 by the Supreme Court of Washington, which held that the education clause in the state constitution “does not merely seek to broadly declare policy, explain goals, or designate objectives to be accomplished.  It is declarative of a constitutionally imposed Duty.”[165]  States drawing from the Washington analysis have at times spoken of rights and at other times spoken of duties or muddled the two concepts, but all have approached their clauses in similar ways—as demands on the legislature to meet the substantive standards stated within them.[166]

The Supreme Court of Kentucky, in perhaps the seminal third wave decision, held that the word “efficient” in the state’s education clause imposed an obligation on the state’s legislature to provide an “adequate” education, with the goal being:

to provide each and every child with at least the seven following capacities: (i) sufficient oral and written communication skills to enable students to function in a complex and rapidly changing civilization; (ii) sufficient knowledge of economic, social, and political systems to enable the student to make informed choices; (iii) sufficient understanding of governmental processes to enable the student to understand the issues that affect his or her community, state, and nation; (iv) sufficient self-knowledge and knowledge of his or her mental and physical wellness; (v) sufficient grounding in the arts to enable each student to appreciate his or her cultural and historical heritage; (vi) sufficient training or preparation for advanced training in either academic or vocational fields so as to enable each child to choose and pursue life work intelligently; and (vii) sufficient levels of academic or vocational skills to enable public school students to compete favorably with their counterparts in surrounding states, in academics or in the job market.[167]

Some states have adopted the Kentucky formulation wholesale;[168] others have adapted it;[169] still others have created their own formulations.[170]  But as in Kentucky, state supreme courts have generally evaluated compliance with their education clauses by examining whether the state school system in fact evidences these sorts of qualitative elements,[171] usually in comparison with professionally derived standards[172] or the systems of other states.[173]  States choosing not to engage this substantive evaluation of the qualitative adequacy of the state’s school system have generally done so on the theory that, despite the existence of an education clause in the state’s constitution, the matter is nonjusticiable.[174]

With due respect to the hard work that it has taken over the years to define, develop, advocate for, and apply these qualitative standards, this substantive evaluative approach is inconsistent with the nature of the duty imposed by each state’s education clause.  Just as inconsistent, however, is the set of decisions dismissing education clause challenges as nonjusticiable, as these decisions both render the obligations stated in a state’s education clause nugatory and on their own terms fail to take account of the broader legislative duties underlying even provisions stating specific affirmative legislative obligations.  In the Subpart below, I flesh out these broader duties, which are fiduciary in character.

2.     The Fiduciary Theory of Representative Government

Legislative duties are fiduciary duties.  That is, power exercised by a legislative body is a delegated or entrusted power, which the legislature must use in the best interests of the entrustor—the people.[175]  This idea is as old as Western political philosophy.[176]  It had its origins in Plato’s “philosopher kings,”[177] found its way into Roman political philosophy through Cicero,[178] and made it into English political thought first through King James I.[179]  Once there, the fiduciary concept became a subject of political thought in England and developed further during the centuries leading to the American Revolution, culminating in the political philosophy of John Locke.[180]

John Locke is nearly universally regarded as being among the most important political philosophers to the thinking of the Framers of the United States Constitution,[181] as well as to the drafters of the early state constitutions.[182]  Along with contemporaries such as Montesquieu, Locke gave us several important ideas—the separation of powers, inalienable rights, and the power of the people to alter their government.[183]  In Locke’s conception of governance, the people agree amongst themselves, by majority, to cede a portion of the powers and rights of which they individually possess in the “state of nature.”[184]  The result of this compact is the formation of a government where the legislature exercises “supreme power,” but where it may use such power only within the boundaries of the people’s entrustment.[185]  In fact, Locke refers to the legislative power specifically as a “trust,” carrying with it only “a fiduciary power to act for certain ends.”[186]  Like all trusts, this trust confers upon the legislature both power (or discretion) and duty—fiduciary duty, to be specific.[187]

Locke’s conception of the relationship between the people and their legislature is most explicit in section 149 of his Second Treatise on Government.  There, he summarizes the features of government by consent:

Though in a constituted commonwealth standing upon its own basis and acting according to its own nature—that is, acting for the preservation of the community, there can be but one supreme power, which is the legislative, to which all the rest are and must be subordinate, yet the legislative being only a fiduciary power to act for certain ends, there remains still in the people a supreme power to remove or alter the legislative, when they find the legislative act contrary to the trust reposed in them.  For all power given with trust for the attaining an end being limited by that end, whenever that end is manifestly neglected or opposed, the trust must necessarily be forfeited, and the power devolve into the hands of those that gave it, who may place it anew where they shall think best for their safety and security.[188]

Two implications of this expression of the fiduciary construct bear further discussion.

First, it is clear that Locke viewed the fiduciary duty of the legislature—and, by extension, the government—to be an overriding limitation on the legislature’s actions, superseding any independent or specific limitations that might also exist in the constitution.  That is, under a Lockean view, it would be possible to comply with a specific limitation on government action—staying within the bounds of an enumerated power, for example—while nevertheless violating the overriding fiduciary duty to act in the interests of the public at all times—for example, by acting within an enumerated power to benefit a private actor at the expense of the public.

Second, it must therefore also be true that, where a more specific limitation on government power is not subject to enforcement by the courts in its specific terms—for example, because those terms are indeterminate or vague—the overriding fiduciary duty may provide an avenue for judicial relief.[189]  This idea that the “public interest” or a “public purpose” is an overarching requirement for all legislation is the idea that undergirded much of the Supreme Court’s Lochner-era jurisprudence,[190] and it continues to form the basis of jurisprudence under the Takings Clause (though the “public use” requirement is explicit there),[191] the Necessary and Proper Clause,[192] and the “congruence and proportionality” requirement under section five of the Fourteenth Amendment.[193]

The Lockean conception of the social compact—the conception that most influenced the Framers, as well as their state constitutional forebearers—views the legislative power as a public trust granted to the legislature for exercise only in the public’s interest.  Under the United States Constitution, this general fiduciary duty is limited by the terms of the initial entrustment.  The doctrine of enumerated powers is one expression of this limit.  The reservation of certain individual rights is another.  These explicit limitations are analogous to the circumscribing of the authority of a trustee in a trust instrument.  The fiduciary character of the relationship between the people and the state adds to these limitations the general limitations on the fiduciary’s power to act—or to refrain from acting—that exist by default.[194]  Because the nature of the arrangement is one of fiduciary trust, then, the specific limitations must be read in light of the more general limitations that all fiduciary relationships place on fiduciaries, specifically the duties of care and loyalty.[195]  I turn to these next.

a.  Legislative “Loyalty”

Throughout the history of constitutional law, and particularly in the most recent century of this history, courts have enforced aspects of Congress’s and state legislatures’ duties of loyalty.  A fiduciary duty of loyalty entails a fiduciary’s responsibility not to act against the interests of his principal, whether by self-dealing[196] or by a more general breach of trust, such as the taking of an act against the principal, regardless of direct benefit to the fiduciary.[197]  Applied to legislative action, the fiduciary principle of the duty of loyalty would seem clearly to ban self-interested legislating, such as the use of the Spending Power to earmark funds for a particular legislator’s district,[198] except, possibly, where the earmark also accomplishes a public purpose.[199]

More importantly, the duty of loyalty forms a plausible foundation for the various doctrines of negative rights enforcement developed in the federal courts and adopted by most state courts.  Where a government actor acts against the enumerated right of an individual, it inherently acts disloyally to that person—against that person’s interests.  However, the government’s fiduciary duties do not run to individuals; they run to the polity as a whole.[200]  Accordingly, while a government action against the rights of an individual may be presumptively unconstitutional, even action clearly in conflict with the individual’s rights may be valid if the interests of the polity outweigh such interests of the individual.

We operationalize this principle through various doctrinal tests, such as strict scrutiny.  For example, suppose a state legislature enacts a law making it a crime to falsely claim that one has been awarded a military medal.[201]  An individual is arrested when he is observed wearing a false Congressional Medal of Honor and claiming to those who ask that he won the medal for valorous service in Afghanistan.  He is prosecuted, and he challenges the state’s power to prosecute him as a violation of his right to free expression.[202]  If the state’s duty were to run purely to the individual, then this prosecution would be a clear violation of his rights and therefore a breach of the duty of loyalty.  But because the state’s duty runs to the polity as a whole, the state’s action may be justified as a valid attempt to serve the interests of that polity.  In effect, the state may justify disloyalty to the individual only with a showing of its overarching loyalty to the collective.

Assuming that the speech in question does not fall under one of the exceptions to the speech protections of the First Amendment,[203] which themselves are based on ex ante balancing of public and individual interests,[204] the government will survive the challenge as long as it can establish a compelling government interest to which the criminal prohibition in question is narrowly tailored.[205]  Perhaps the public interest in preserving the value of the honors it bestows on valorous individuals outweighs the individual’s right to speak falsely about his own honor.[206]  How the case comes out is not important for this discussion—only that the proper inquiry is whether the government is acting loyally to the public interest or whether it is acting against that interest by depriving a person of a reserved right without a compelling justification sounding in the overall public interest.  The legislative duty of loyalty, then, is embodied in the jurisprudence of negative rights.

b.  Legislative “Care”

If legislative loyalty is about not acting against the interests of an individual citizen unless the general interests of the public align with the action, then legislative care is about acting sufficiently responsibly in the pursuit of the general interests of the public.  In private fiduciary law, the duty of care is based on concepts of negligence.  A trustee, in administering a trust, must exercise the care “that would be observed by a prudent man dealing with the property of another.”[207] Similarly, a corporate director must act “with the care that an ordinarily prudent person would reasonably be expected to exercise in a like position and under similar circumstances.”[208]

The concepts are difficult to apply to the negative rights context, in which the problem is not the government’s lack of care but rather the government’s acting directly against a member of the polity.  However, scholars have shown that the duty of care fits well in certain contexts in the exercise of governmental powers.[209]  The fit is even stronger in the area of affirmative legislative duties to legislate.

Affirmative legislative duties resemble instruments of entrustment or incorporation, and they reflect the same sorts of concerns that cause entrustors to specify duties or purposes in such instruments.  Although the law of fiduciary relationships is permeated with default duties, settlors and incorporators, along with other entrustors, often have reasons to direct the work of their fiduciaries toward certain ends.

In the trust context, a settlor may specify to a trustee that the trust funds must be invested in certain ways.[210]  The law holds the trustee to the duty to follow such directives of the settlor, but continues to impose a general duty of care on the trustee in doing so.[211]  In the corporate-director context, the articles of incorporation may or may not so specify, but a profit-making company has “as its objective the conduct of business activities with a view to enhancing corporate profit and shareholder gain.”[212]  Some corporations, particularly charitable corporations, go further than this general principle of the corporate purpose and specify a purpose in the articles of incorporation.[213]  Similarly to trustees, though, the directors of both such corporations must pursue the stated purpose, or the underlying corporate purpose to seek profit, while exercising due care.[214]

Applied to affirmative duties to legislate on particular topics, it is a natural conclusion that the statement of a duty in a constitution directs the legislature’s action at a particular desired policy end, just as a similar statement of purpose might direct the action of a trustee or corporate board, while preserving the underlying fiduciary duties that the trustee or board also possesses.  In the legislative context, the imposition of an affirmative duty to legislate on a particular topic may be thought of as a mandate with strict terms that must be complied with, or as a direction of the legislature’s actions toward an end, coupled with the sort of discretion that a trustee or corporate director is expected to exercise with reasonable care even in the presence of a purpose-driven mandate.  In the Subpart below, I examine one such affirmative constitutional duty to legislate—the education duty that exists in every state constitution—and I show that the latter approach is best fit to this duty.

3.     The Education Duty

By now, it cannot be gainsaid that the Constitution was highly influenced by the fiduciary conception of governance.[215]  Examining the current text of various state constitutions adopted at differing times over the course of American history reveals a pervasive adoption of Lockean entrustment ideals in those documents as well.  Almost every state constitution, regardless of when adopted, begins with a prefatory clause that declares the establishment of the state government as a willing act of “the People,”[216] and every state constitution contains at least one clause affirming the Lockean idea of popular sovereignty as the foundation of state governmental power.[217]

These features are far from dated.  Indeed, even Hawaii, the state most recently admitted to statehood, includes an explicit Lockean clause in its state constitution.[218]  And Georgia, the state with the most recently adopted constitution (its eleventh version) makes the Lockean entrustment ideal even more explicit: “All government, of right, originates with the people, is founded upon their will only, and is instituted solely for the good of the whole.  Public officers are the trustees and servants of the people and are at all times amenable to them.”[219]

Thus, far from being a relic of the colonial and early national days, the core ideal of government power as an entrustment of fiduciary duties from the people to the state is present and explicit nationwide.

State constitutions are permeated with the language of governmental power as a “public trust.”[220]  But we also see elements of distrust of legislative fidelity to the public’s entrustment.  Although it is axiomatic that state legislative power is “plenary,”[221] at varying levels in state constitutions, we see the familiar, broad, power-granting language that we find in the Constitution.[222]  As G. Alan Tarr points out, because state power is plenary in its default sense, specific grants of legislative power are best read not as authorizations, but as limitations.[223]  Enumerations of power being unnecessary in a state constitution, they function most clearly as the people’s assertion of control over their fiduciaries.

Also ubiquitous are detailed procedural requirements for legislating—for instance, requirements that legislation address a single subject, that each house keep a journal, or that a bill be read a certain number of times out loud prior to passage.[224]  Many state constitutions also contain non-right-based provisions placing substantive limitations on legislation, some of which explicitly call for judicial involvement.  For example, in stating the prohibition of “special” legislation that exists in nearly every state constitution, the Michigan Constitution explicitly calls for nondeferential judicial review:

In all cases when a general law can be made applicable, a special law shall not be enacted except as provided in section 2.  Whether a general law could have been made applicable in any case shall be judicially determined without regard to any legislative assertion on that subject.[225]

So, the people of Michigan have enshrined, as a constitutional principle, both the duty to legislate only in the general public interest and the policy of zero judicial deference to legislative defenses against claims of breach of this duty.  A reasonable reading of this provision is that the people, though entrusting the power of legislation to the state legislature, remained skeptical that this power would always be used in the public interest, and that, rather than calling for revolution in cases where the trust was broken, as Locke would have counseled,[226] the people favored a judicial resolution.  The call for no judicial deference evinces a presumption that, where special legislation has been enacted, the legislature has breached its fiduciary obligations.

State constitutions should therefore be viewed as strongly Lockean documents.  Examining the text and structure of state constitutional documents reveals a strong affirmation of the Lockean ideals of popular sovereignty[227] and the people as a repository of inalienable rights.[228]  Nearly every state constitution contains such affirmations explicitly in the text.  Several state constitutions go further, explicitly denoting state power as a “public trust” or some variant of the phrase,[229] and even in some cases reserving to the people an explicit “right of revolution.”[230]  Finally, many state constitutions, in Lockean fashion, proclaim that the rights they enumerate are “excepted out of the power of government,” as the retained rights of an entrustor are excepted out of the powers of a fiduciary.[231]  Reading their provisions more holistically reveals that state constitutions evince a distrust of legislative use of power that comports well with the residual fear of legislative tyranny that animated the Lockean conception of the legislature as a duty-limited fiduciary of the public trust.[232]

Once we understand that state constitutions stand on fiduciary foundations, it remains to inquire whether the fiduciary duties of the legislature have any operation where a state constitution has stated a more precise duty to legislate, as all state constitutions do on the subject of education, or whether the terms of the stated duty should be the sole bounds of enforceability.  As discussed above, education duties are stated in either mandatory or admonitory terms, depending on the state, and both mandatory and admonitory education clauses contain varying standards of quality.[233]  In the past, scholars and some courts have attempted to categorize the fifty states based on whether qualitative language in state constitutional education clauses calls for more or less effort from the state legislature in funding the education system.  Under this categorical framework, each state’s education clause is grouped with others depending on the strength of its qualitative terms.

Gershon Ratner was the first to group the state education clauses together into four such categories for the purpose of enforcing the duties therein.[234]  Ratner explains the categories as follows:

Provisions in the first group contain only general education language and are exemplified by the Connecticut Constitution: “There shall always be free public elementary and secondary schools in the state.”  Provisions in the second group emphasize the quality of public education, as illustrated by the New Jersey Constitution: “The Legislature shall provide for the maintenance and support of a thorough and efficient system of free public schools for the instruction of all the children in this State between the ages of five and eighteen years.”  Provisions in the third group contain a stronger and more specific education mandate than those in the first and second groups.  Typical is the Rhode Island Constitution, which requires the legislature “to promote public schools and to adopt all means which they may deem necessary and proper to secure . . . the advantages . . . of education.”  Finally, provisions in the fourth group mandate the strongest commitment to education.  This group is exemplified by the Washington Constitution: “It is the paramount duty of the state to make ample provision for the education of all children residing within its borders.”[235]

Later scholars adopted Ratner’s approach and applied it specifically to school finance litigation, the primary means by which states now interpret their education clauses in the courts.[236]

These scholars, and intuitively many observers, predicted that the differences in state constitutional education clause text would make for differences in enforcement.  However, empirical scholarship has not borne out the predictions that these categorical methods would have justified.[237]  States with lower-duty provisions have been the locus of sweeping judgments and multidecade court supervision of remedies.  For example, New Jersey’s constitution calls only for a “thorough and efficient” education,[238] but the state’s supreme court has issued decisions in no less than twenty-five appeals and has supervised the remediation of the system since the late 1970s with no end in sight, and New Jersey is one of the highest spending states in the country.[239]  Similarly, lower-spending states with higher-duty education clauses, such as Georgia,[240] have adjudicated in favor of the state in education clause litigation based on legislative deference and separation of powers.[241]  Nevada, a low-spending state, has not experienced any direct challenge to the adequacy of its education system,[242] though it has what would be termed a Category II education clause,[243] similar to that of New Jersey,[244] which has been embroiled in litigation over its education clause for more than four decades with no end in sight.[245]

Undeterred, prominent theorists of school finance have continued to search for cases in which the text of the state constitution has made a predictable difference in the outcome.[246]  Of course, examples exist, but no trends in the cases suggest that similar language in state constitutional education clauses leads to similar results.  Thus, one is left to wonder why.  The most plausible explanation for the lack of predictability in results based on constitutional language is that the language at issue is hopelessly indeterminate.[247]  Courts applying “strong-sounding” constitutional language are about as likely to issue rulings abdicating judicial review as courts applying “weak-sounding” constitutional language and about as likely to issue plaintiff-friendly judgments.

Given the indeterminacy of the language used in each education clause—and in light of Dinan and Eastman’s findings to the effect that the provisions were likely not designed to provide courts with qualitative standards for enforcement—it is most plausible to conclude that the education clauses in the states, if they are to be judicially enforced, must be enforced in their general, and not their specific, terms.  Thus, rather than attempting to figure out what “thorough” means, and whether “thorough” means something different from “adequate,” “sufficient,” “ample,” or “high quality,” courts should recognize that the specific terms chosen in each education clause are best read as general commands or admonitions to the legislature to seek what the South African Constitution terms the “progressive realization” of a goal.[248]

However, based on the fiduciary nature of the legislative responsibility, this “progressive realization” should be directed not at the specific adjectives contained in a state’s education clause but at the general goal these terms attempt to reflect—a system that educates the people as the beneficiaries of a public educational trust.[249]  The next Part considers how courts might approach education clauses from this perspective, focusing on the education duty as an example from which principles of enforcement of other affirmative duties may be derived.

III.  Enforcing the Education Duty

Most state courts that have encountered education clause litigation have expressed the familiar maxim of state-court judicial review that every presumption in favor of the constitutionality of a challenged statute should be indulged; that is, a statute must not be held unconstitutional unless its infirmity is shown “beyond a reasonable doubt.”[250]  This rule of review stems from the background conception of state legislative power as “plenary.”[251]  Interestingly, though, the courts never connect up the idea of plenary legislative power with the political theory that underlies it—Locke’s theory of the “supreme” legislature,[252] a theory that indeed justifies broad power and discretion, but which also imposes fiduciary duties.[253]  Because of this failure, the courts fail to properly calibrate the deference that is owed to the legislature, resulting in both overenforcement and underenforcement of state constitutional education clauses.

If courts are to accept my account, then the natural question that will follow is, of course, what this acceptance will mean for judicial review in the states.  As discussed above, the law of negative rights has developed doctrines quite consistent with a fiduciary theory of government.  The various doctrines by which courts enforce negative rights and weigh these rights against broad public interests appear to be applications of a legislative (and executive, in many cases) duty of loyalty.  Explicit affirmative duties, however, require courts to elucidate the more difficult concept of a legislative duty of due care[254] in the context of the explicit affirmative duty.  I turn to this concept now.

A.     The Legislative Standard of Care

The law recognizes many types of relationships as fiduciary relationships, and each carries with it a slightly different level of obligation.[255]  Some, such as a trust with one settler, one beneficiary, and one trustee, are simple.[256]  Others, such as mutual funds and ERISA-protected benefit plans, are highly complex, multilevel arrangements.[257]  Some fiduciary duties arise due to a subordinate agency, such as the fiduciary duty of loyalty that an employee owes an employer while employed.[258]  Others arise due to a personal representation, such as the fiduciary duty of an attorney to a client.[259]  But the fiduciary relationship that fits best as an analogy for the entrustment of legislative power to a legislature by the people is the relationship that arises between a corporate board of directors and the shareholders of a corporation.

The parallels between corporate boards and legislatures are too compelling to dismiss.  Both legislatures and corporate boards serve in a representative capacity, elected by those represented and entrusted to make decisions on their behalf, with the entrustors retaining the ultimate check on the use of this authority by virtue of their power to replace the representatives at periodic elections.[260]  Both have duties to make policy in the best interests of the entire body they represent, not just the majorities who elected them, and both must balance competing considerations in allocating scarce resources to maximize these interests.  Like corporate boards, legislatures would see their functions greatly impaired through constant litigation seeking post-hoc reversal or modification of decisions made in the course of carrying out these duties, and both would benefit from qualified protection from judicial overreach in evaluating policy decisions.[261]  Indeed, Professor Franklin Gevurtz has demonstrated that state constitutional representative governance owes much to the practices of the corporations that colonized Massachusetts and Virginia, as the charters of these corporations eventually became the first state constitutions.[262]  If the legislature of a state is a fiduciary, it makes sense to treat the state legislature similarly to the private fiduciary to which it is most analogous—a corporate board.

For a corporate board, the duty of due care is defined, at least in the practical sense, by the business judgment rule.  Although the business judgment rule is highly controversial and is the subject of reams of corporate law scholarship,[263] resolving the many disputes that the rule in its many forms has generated is far beyond the scope of this Article.  For current purposes, I employ the business judgment rule in its idealistic sense, as stated in the American Law Institute’s Principles of Corporate Governance.[264]  Under this formulation of the rule, a director will not be held liable for a decision made on behalf of the corporation if the director “is informed with respect to the subject of the business judgment to the extent the director or officer reasonably believes to be appropriate under the circumstances,”[265]and if the director “rationally believes that the business judgment is in the best interests of the corporation.”[266]

Applied to the legislative context,[267] this formulation might seem familiar.  It contains elements of both information gathering and rationality.  These elements have found their way into different doctrines of constitutional law in the federal courts in the past.  Information gathering calls to mind the jurisprudence of Congress’s enforcement power under section five of the Fourteenth Amendment, a test of the scope of Congress’s discretionary legislative authority to legislate.[268]  Of course, the rational belief element calls to mind the rational basis test, a test applicable to claims of violations of individual negative rights of relatively low importance.[269]  But how might the business judgment formulation make these familiar doctrines work differently in the context of affirmative duties to legislate?

Education duty claims are not claims that a power has been exceeded or that a right has been violated—the traditional forms of constitutional claims, both of which sound in the duty of loyalty.  Rather, education duty claims are claims that a state legislature has acted insufficiently, either by not legislating at all (and thereby arguably violating a duty of obedience to the legislative command),[270] or by legislating insufficiently well (and thereby violating the duty of due care).[271]

In some sense, it can be said that state courts have all along been engaging in attempts to enforce a legislative duty of care in school finance litigation.  Decisions in favor of plaintiffs often reference care-based concepts, such as “inaction” and “insufficient action.”[272]  But the decisions in favor of plaintiffs have been undertheorized, and as a result, the courts reaching the merits have overenforced state constitutional education clauses.  Examples of this overenforcement abound, but we need review only one to get a sense of the problem.  In Kentucky, the state constitution’s education clause states merely that the legislature has the duty to establish “an efficient system of common schools.”[273]  Despite this minimalist language, the Supreme Court of Kentucky in 1989 issued a sweeping declaration, not only that the state education legislation that allowed for wide and irrational disparities in funding was unconstitutional but also that the word “efficient” called for a system containing nine principles, one of which incorporated seven “capacities” or learning goals.[274]  This ruling was then adopted or relied on in nearly every other successful state court case for the next two decades nationwide, regardless of differences in the substantive language of the education clauses among the states.[275]

On the other side of the ledger, state courts that approach education clause litigation in the traditional vein—whereby rights that are violated require remediation, and whereby large-scale violations require large-scale remediation, such as the structural injunctions familiar from federal institutional reform litigation—have balked.  Based on both remedial concerns and the indeterminacy of education clause language, about a third of state courts presented with education clause claims have dismissed the claims as nonjusticiable.[276]  Where activist courts such as Kentucky’s have overenforced their constitutions, restraintist courts such as Illinois’s have underenforced theirs.  Applying the corporate model of the duty of care allows for a workable path between these two extremes.[277]

Primarily, under the business judgment rule, the corporate board’s duty of care is a procedural duty to carefully consider evidence and to remain attentive to business realities in making decisions.[278]  This is a duty to avoid negligence, but a particular kind of negligence—negligence in failing to consider relevant information reasonably available to the director-fiduciary.  As noted above, the Principles of Corporate Governance add to this consideration of material and relevant information the idea that the ultimate decision must be one that the director “rationally believes” to be in the best interests of the corporation and shareholders.[279]  This standard has the feel of a subjective, good-faith test, but the word “rationally,” rather than the word “believes,” does all of the work.  Nevertheless, the idea that the ultimate decision must be “rational” or based on a “rational consideration” or “rational belief” is simply a way for courts to gauge whether the material and relevant information required to be considered has, in fact, been considered.

For example, imagine a corporate decision based on overwhelming and completely uncontradicted information indicating that voting in favor of a proposed merger would bankrupt the company.  But imagine, further, that the directors vote in favor of the merger, and the company goes bankrupt.  In such a case, it would be difficult to argue that the board failed to consider relevant information reasonably available to it if the information were presented to the board and this presentation were reflected in the minutes, perhaps accompanied by several board members’ statements that they viewed a merger to be in the best interests of the shareholders.  Rather, in voting in favor of the predictably disastrous merger, the board would appear to have acted with something other than a “rational belief” that the corporation’s best interests would be served by a “yes” vote.  Where an ultimate decision does not rationally follow from the information considered, then a recitation in the minutes of a board meeting that the information was in fact carefully considered should not be credited as true, and the decision should be subject to judicial correction.  Thus, even gilded with the substantive-sounding language of “rational belief,” the character of the corporate duty of care remains procedural at its core.

B.     Adjudicating Affirmative Duties

As they generally do in the corporate context, state supreme courts should approach all education clause claims against state legislatures with the skepticism reflected in the political question doctrine.  Education clause language is inherently indeterminate, meaning different things to different judges, and current approaches to such indeterminacy have either added so much content to the clauses as to make their initial terms meaningless or have caused judicial abdication, rendering the language nugatory.  With the foregoing analysis in mind, state courts should defer to legislative discretion in applying the nebulous terms of education clauses, but they should draw from private corporate law to apply a state-specific approach to deference distinct from the overly harsh practice of total abstention from the merits that results from an unthinking application of the federal political question doctrine.[280]

Where state constitutional affirmative legislative duties are subject to challenge, courts should limit initial review to process, rather than substance.[281]  Few large-scale legislative enactments occur without being preceded by a significant amount of information gathering and consideration.  The committee structure of Congress has largely found its way into state legislatures, and these bodies have adopted the norms of consideration and reconsideration of issues before adoption that are familiar to Congress.  Where this sort of careful consideration occurs in enacting a state school finance system, the system should not be struck down as “inadequate” because, despite the enactment process, flaws remain.  Rather, a state education finance plan should be struck down only where the legislature, in enacting a school finance system, failed to consider relevant, material information, or where its ultimate plan could not have been rationally based on the actual information presented to it.

Of course, such a deferential approach will make plaintiff victories significantly rarer, but where a case presents a wholesale challenge to the overall “adequacy” of a state financing system—as Professor William Thro puts it, a “facial challenge”[282] to school financing legislation—plaintiff victories should indeed be rare.  This conclusion need not mean that plaintiffs cannot challenge failures of equal protection, and it need not even mean that individual plaintiffs cannot challenge the inadequacies of their own individual educational services from the state.  It does, however, mean that a court challenge to an entire legislative scheme based on the substantive terms of a state’s education clause should meet a high burden of establishing a breach of the legislature’s duty of care.

Thus, to win an education clause case, a plaintiff should show that the legislature has essentially abdicated its role by failing to act at all in the face of obvious needs, or by acting without due care by failing to consider relevant, material, and available information about the state’s existing education system’s needs and flaws.[283]  Importantly, such showings would be much easier to make in the legislative context, where the press keeps a watchful eye on legislative deliberations and information gathering, than in the business context, where much deliberation occurs in private meetings.  Such press attendance would operate as a powerful check on cynical, pro forma types of “deliberation” and information presentation designed only to satisfy the procedural standard as a subterfuge.

With this in mind, any court determining that the constitution has been violated should not feel constrained to abstain from the remedial phase, as many courts in the current regime have.[284]  Rather, courts finding for the plaintiffs should make specific orders for remediation, as any separation-of-powers-based concerns should have been addressed through the process of overcoming such a deferential scheme of review.  The most natural such order would be an injunction against the use of the current unconstitutional legislative scheme, which would provide a strong signal (albeit not a direct judicial command) to the legislature that it must act immediately to replace the legislation.  Such an injunctive order need not even run directly against the legislature itself to be effective, and it would therefore not present the kinds of separation of powers problems that worry courts where the prospective remedy might be a requirement to increase funding, which inherently must run against the legislature.[285]

C.     Enforcement and Systemic Change

Remediation that consists solely of an order preventing the use of the unconstitutional statutory scheme is likely to accomplish an important purpose of judicial review of fiduciary action—informing the entrustors that the fiduciary has breached their trust.  According to Professor David Law, constitutional courts serve a vital role in protecting popular sovereignty by signaling to the populace that a constitutional principle has been breached by legislative action.[286]  Challenges to the popular monitoring of legislative action include the lack of information available to the public as to the meaning of constitutional provisions and the facts surrounding a legislative act.  Courts help to remedy this lack of information by providing recognizable, authoritative, and public signals as to whether the legislature has acted unconstitutionally and, if so, to what extent the people should be alarmed about it.[287]  Such signaling enables the people to assert their popular sovereignty by (1) coordinating in disapproval, and if necessary, (2) coordinating in action (e.g., voting, protesting, rebellion, etc.).[288]

Law’s conception of the function of judicial review fits neatly into the fiduciary framework that I have outlined here.  True to Locke’s idea of a residual right of revolution in the people, Law sees the function of the judiciary as providing information to the people that they cannot secure for themselves, that they may deliberate about it and act in ways stopping short of outright revolution, but signaling to the public’s fiduciary that there has been a breach of the public trust.[289]  The model I have outlined here enables this sort of signaling, but incentivizes state courts to be careful about sending a signal by making the path to that signal difficult and by limiting the judiciary’s role to the quality of the legislative process rather than the quality of its product.

Some might worry that, if accepted, the framework presented here will lead to the obliteration of valuable differences among state constitutions, thereby disrespecting the intent of the divergent groups of state constitutional framers over the course of American state constitutional history.  But, assuming that such differences are both real and worth preserving,[290] an approach to the review of affirmative duties that applies an underlying, generalized fiduciary duty of care to the enforcement of such duties does not inevitably eliminate such differences.  For example, in determining whether relevant, material information was in fact considered by the state legislature in making education policy, a court in, say, Montana could legitimately view a very different set of considerations as relevant and material than a court in, say, New York.  Thus, accepting and enforcing the underlying general fiduciary duty of care does not portend the elimination of independent state constitutional jurisprudence in each state.

Proponents of the experimentalist reform of state school systems through the courts may also view the approach set forth above as dangerous to their goals.[291]  However, the key to the experimentalist accounts is that a judicial decision destabilizes the status quo, thus allowing for (and incentivizing) extrajudicial cooperation from varied groups of stakeholders.[292]  If I am correct, then these proponents should not see my approach as an affront to theirs.  Although the experimentalist approaches thus far have assumed a merits judgment based on the quality terms of a state’s education clause, their approach does not require the judgment to be founded on the quality terms.  The experimentalist approach is an approach to remediation, not adjudication of the constitutional violation, and a procedural approach to judicial review can ground an experimentalist approach to remediation just as easily as a substantive approach to merits review can.

Moreover, the “destabilization” that proponents of the experimentalist approach laud as the factor that makes these suits successful may even be more effective if it occurs with less policy direction.  In their model, destabilization works because it leads to protracted and cyclical negotiations between “new publics,” presumably those stakeholders with the best interests of the institution in mind.  But it seems that destabilization alone is preferable to destabilization and negotiation under court supervision, as the former allows the political process to operate naturally once destabilized, while the latter relies on our collective suspension of political processes in the making of policy.  Such destabilization is much more likely to occur where a state supreme court disallows the continued use of a flawed school finance scheme than where it simply declares its disapproval of the scheme but does not enjoin its use.

More importantly, a persistent problem with education clause litigation as currently practiced is that quality social-science research concerning the needs of students and schools, along with the costs of providing for such needs, comes to light for the first time in litigation, or even during the remedial process, too often and then only as selected and presented by adversarial litigants whose interests may be narrower than those of the overall public.[293]  A cottage industry of school funding experts has emerged over the past few decades, and these experts now do most of their work within the litigation process, either offering testimony to show that state school systems are inadequate, or performing “costing-out” studies pursuant to remedial plans after states lose suits or sign consent decrees.[294]  Experimentalists hold that the consideration of this evidence during litigation and during the remedial process allows for a collaborative approach to public policy making, and I do not disagree.  Nevertheless, it would be far preferable for this collaborative consideration of relevant and material social-science information to occur outside the adversarial litigation context, and a fiduciary approach incentivizes this kind of consideration while policy is being developed.

Under the fiduciary approach, the courts retain an important role, but not a veto over state legislative discretion.  Where a state legislature considers a costing-out study during the legislative process but rejects that study, for example, a fiduciary approach would at least require the legislature’s representative in court to identify a principled reason for the rejection of the study.  This reason would then become a part of a visible, public court record, and if the reason were unconvincing, then the public would have its signal that its legislative fiduciary does not have the interests of its entrustors in mind.  Ultimately, the goal of both the approach I have laid out and the experimentalist approach is to get the legislature to perform its constitutional duty, and my way of providing the judiciary with an institutionally sound path to involvement secures this goal.

Conclusion

In this Article, I have presented a fiduciary model of judicial review and applied it to the affirmative duties that American state constitutions impose on state legislatures to legislate in the field of education.  The lessons of this analysis, however, apply to any affirmative legislative duty to legislate, and the fiduciary principles outlined above should serve as a guide for judicial review outside the education context where explicit affirmative legislative duties to legislate are at issue.[295]  Of course, important questions remain, most prominently whether the duty-based analysis conducted above forecloses further rights-based analyses.  I am inclined to answer that question in the negative, as the existence of a duty neither necessitates nor forecloses the existence of a right, but a full analysis of this difficult question will have to await future work.

Properly applied, a fiduciary approach has the potential to balance the judiciary’s reluctance to exceed its traditional role with the need for limited, fall-back judicial review of grossly deficient or completely absent legislative deliberation on an important, often fundamental, policy issue.  However, it also recognizes that legislative acts that apply statewide are often imperfect, that such acts often result from numerous compromises and negotiations, and that the interest groups that feel that they are on the losing end of such compromises have a powerful motivation to bring lawsuits.  Courts should default to a position of noninvolvement in these cases, but should retain the ability to become involved where the legislative deliberative process has broken down.  The public trust deserves no less, but state courts should do no more.


       *            Robert G. Lawson Associate Professor of Law, University of Kentucky.  My heartfelt thanks to the participants at the Washington University Junior Faculty Colloquium and the National Education Finance Conference, as well as to Joshua Douglas, Nicole Huberfeld, Kent Barnett, William Thro, R. Craig Wood, Harold Lewis, and Justin Long for helpful comments on the manuscript at earlier stages.  Thanks also to the editors of the Wake Forest Law Review for their careful editing and to the University of Kentucky for supporting this research. Errors and omissions are, of course, my own.

   [1].           This view of representative government is now ascendant in the scholarship not only of constitutional law but also of other areas of public law.  See, e.g., Evan Fox-Decent, Sovereignty’s Promise: The State as Fiduciary 23–51 (2011); Gary Lawson et al., The Origins of the Necessary and Proper Clause 56–57 (2010); Evan J. Criddle, Fiduciary Foundations of Administrative Law, 54 UCLA L. Rev. 117, 120 (2006); Evan Fox-Decent, The Fiduciary Nature of State Legal Authority, 31 Queen’s L.J. 259, 260–61 (2005); David Jenkins, The Lockean Constitution: Separation of Powers and the Limits of Prerogative, 56 McGill L.J. 543, 565–66 (2011); Sung Hui Kim, The Last Temptation of Congress: Legislator Insider Trading and the Fiduciary Norm Against Corruption, 98 Cornell L. Rev. (forthcoming 2013); Ethan J. Leib & David L. Ponet, Fiduciary Representation and Deliberative Engagement with Children, 20 J. Pol. Phil. 178, 179 (2012), available athttp://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi
/10.1111/j.1467-9760.2011.00398.x/pdf; Ethan J. Leib et al., A Fiduciary Theory of Judging, 101 Cal. L. Rev. (forthcoming 2013) [hereinafter Leib et al., Judging]; Robert G. Natelson, The Agency Law Origins of the Necessary and Proper Clause, 55 Case W. Res. L. Rev. 243, 247, 274, 284–87 (2004) [hereinafter Natelson,Agency]; Robert G. Natelson, The Government as Fiduciary: A Practical Demonstration from the Reign of Trajan, 35 U. Rich. L. Rev. 191, 192 (2001); Robert G. Natelson, Judicial Review of Special Interest Spending: The General Welfare Clause and the Fiduciary Law of the Founders, 11 Tex. Rev. L. & Pol. 239, 245–46 (2007) [hereinafter Natelson, Welfare]; David L. Ponet & Ethan J. Leib, Fiduciary Law’s Lessons for Deliberative Democracy, 91 B.U. L. Rev. 1249, 1249–50 (2011); D. Theodore Rave, Politicians as Fiduciaries, 126 Harv. L. Rev. (forthcoming Jan. 2013).

   [2].           Throughout this Article, I use the terms “positive” and “affirmative” interchangeably, as the scholarship does.  See, e.g., Helen Hershkoff, Positive Rights and State Constitutions: The Limits of Federal Rationality Review, 112 Harv. L. Rev. 1131, 1133 (1999) (employing both terms throughout).

   [3].           See, e.g., id. at 1186 (using education as the exemplar of positive rights that can be enforced).  The literature on this topic is voluminous.  For three very recent treatments of the debates surrounding education litigation under state constitutions, see generally Scott R. Bauries, State Constitutions and Individual Rights: Conceptual Convergence in School Finance Litigation, 18 Geo. Mason L. Rev. 301, 321–25 (2011); Derrick Darby & Richard E. Levy, Slaying the Inequality Villain in School Finance: Is the Right to Education the Silver Bullet?, 20 Kan. J.L. & Pub. Pol’y 351, 354–56 (2011); William E. Thro, School Finance Litigation as Facial Challenges, 272 Educ. L. Rep. 687 (2011).  Foreign courts have attempted to enforce other affirmative obligations, such as a positive right to housing.  See generallyGovt. of the Rep. of S. Afr. v. Grootboom 2001 (1) SA 46 (CC) (S. Afr.) (holding that forced evictions violate individual rights to housing and ordering the legislature to craft a plan for dealing with homelessness).

   [4].           I use the term “education clause” throughout to denote the clause in each state’s constitution that mandates the legislative provision for an education system.  See infra note 61 (citing the education clauses of the fifty state constitutions).

   [5].           This distinction tracks, but does not exactly duplicate, the familiar distinction that international law makes between “first generation” (or political) rights and “second generation” (or socioeconomic) rights.  See Jeffrey Omar Usman, Good Enough for Government Work: The Interpretation of Positive Constitutional Rights in State Constitutions, 73 Alb. L. Rev. 1459, 1464 (2010).

   [6].           This distinction is rarely made in the constitutional law scholarship.  In fact, as Professor Robin West explains, where constitutional law theorists mention affirmative legislative duties, they generally do so only after recognizing prior affirmative individual rights.  Robin West, Unenumerated Duties, 9 U. Pa. J. Const. L. 221, 224 (2006).

   [7].           My analysis excepts out of its prescriptions precise affirmative duties, such as the duty under the Florida Constitution to limit class sizes to a certain number of students depending on the grade.  Fla. Const. art. IX, § 1(a)(1)–(3).  As we shall see, most affirmative state and national constitutional provisions are much more vague, calling for a holistic approach to interpretation and construction.  See infra notes 62–74 and accompanying text.

   [8].           Mary Ann Glendon coined this term as part of her seminal monograph on the perversion of civil and political discourse through the overly casual rhetoric of rights.  See Mary Ann Glendon, Rights Talk: The Impoverishment of Political Discourse 14 (1991).

   [9].           See, e.g., S. Afr. Const. ch. 2, § 29(1), 1996, available at http://www.info.gov.za/documents/constitution/1996/96cons2.htm#29 (last visited Aug. 22, 2012) (“Everyone has the right to a basic education, including adult basic education; and to further education, which the state, through reasonable measures, must make progressively available and accessible.”); Hershkoff, supra note 2, at 1187–89; Usman, supra note 5, at 1461.

   [10].         For a recent example of this tendency within a very well-argued and cogent article, one which is quite typical of the scholarly discourse in this area, see Usman, supra note 5, at 1461 (“Unlike their federal counterpart, state constitutions unambiguously confer positive constitutional rights.”).  As I will show, other than a few outlier provisions specifically mentioning affirmative rights, this conclusion—widely expressed in the scholarship—is based entirely on state constitutional language establishing affirmative legislative duties rather than individual rights.  In fact, only the North Carolina Constitution can reasonably be said to “unambiguously” establish a positive constitutional right to education.  See N.C. Const. art. I, § 15 (“The people have a right to the privilege of education, and it is the duty of the State to guard and maintain that right.”).  Illustrating the breadth of the acceptance of the point, at different points in his fine article, Usman cites numerous other scholars, including the leaders in the field of state constitutional law, as holding the same view.  See generally Usman, supra note 5.  As a further example of the tendency that exists among most scholars and courts, Usman begins his part on the positive “rights” that exist in state constitutions by listing several types of affirmative duties that state constitutions establish without mentioning rights, or even mentioning individuals.  See id. at 1464–65.

   [11].         See David P. Currie, Positive and Negative Constitutional Rights, 53 U. Chi. L. Rev. 864, 874 (1986) (distinguishing between positive remedies for negative rights violations and positive constitutional rights themselves).

   [12].         See, e.g., Usman, supra note 5, at 1462–63.

   [13].         Id. at 1463.

   [14].         See Mark Tushnet, Social Welfare Rights and the Forms of Judicial Review, 82 Tex. L. Rev. 1895, 1896 (2004).

   [15].         See id.; see also id. at 1896 n.7 (explaining the term “heckler’s veto,” as coined by Harry Kalven, Jr.).

   [16].         Id. at 1896.

   [17].         See Currie, supra note 11, at 873.

   [18].         U.S. Const. amend. VI.

   [19].         Illustrating the contested nature of this point, Professor Tushnet, in using the example, introduces it with the conditional statement, “if free speech law rejects the ‘heckler’s veto’ . . . .”  Tushnet, supra note 14, at 1896.

   [20].         See Kunz v. New York, 340 U.S. 290, 311–12 (1951) (prohibiting the removal of the unpopular speaker from the public forum as a way of dealing with hecklers, but not mandating any other remedy or any remedy at all); see also Bachellar v. Maryland, 397 U.S. 564, 567 (1970); Cox v. Louisiana, 379 U.S. 536, 551–52 (1965); Niemotko v. Maryland, 340 U.S. 268, 282, 289 (1951); Hague v. Comm. for Indus. Org., 307 U.S. 496, 502 (1939); Richard A. Posner, Pragmatism Versus Purposivism in First Amendment Analysis, 54 Stan. L. Rev. 737, 742 (2002) (“[T]he Supreme Court has made clear that government cannot, by banning unpopular speakers in order to prevent disorder, allow a ‘heckler’s veto.’”) (citing Forsyth Cnty. v. Nationalist Movement, 505 U.S. 123, 134–35 (1992); Terminiello v. City of Chicago, 337 U.S. 1, 4–5 (1949)).  But see Niemotko, 340 U.S. at 288–89 (Frankfurter, J., concurring) (“As was said in Hague v. C. I. O., uncontrolled official suppression of the speaker ‘cannot be made a substitute for the duty to maintain order.’  Where conduct is within the allowable limits of free speech, the police are peace officers for the speaker as well as for his hearers.  But the power effectively to preserve order cannot be displaced by giving a speaker complete immunity.  Here, there were two police officers present for 20 minutes.  They interfered only when they apprehended imminence of violence.  It is not a constitutional principle that, in acting to preserve order, the police must proceed against the crowd, whatever its size and temper, and not against the speaker.” (citations omitted)).

   [21].         505 U.S. 123 (1992).

   [22].         Id. at 134 (“The fee assessed will depend on the administrator’s measure of the amount of hostility likely to be created by the speech based on its content.  Those wishing to express views unpopular with bottle throwers, for example, may have to pay more for their permit.”).

   [23].         See Kunz, 340 U.S. at 311–12 (prohibiting the removal of the unpopular speaker from the public forum as a way of dealing with hecklers, but not mandating any other remedy or any remedy at all); see also Bachellar, 397 U.S. at 567; Cox, 379 U.S. at 551; Niemotko, 340 U.S. at 289 (Frankfurter, J., concurring) (“It is not a constitutional principle that, in acting to preserve order, the police must proceed against the crowd, whatever its size and temper, and not against the speaker.”); Hague, 307 U.S. at 502.

   [24].         U.S. Const. amend. VI.

   [25].         Frank B. Cross, The Error of Positive Rights, 48 UCLA L. Rev. 857, 863–78 (2001); see also Cass R. Sunstein, Against Positive Rights, in Western Rights?: Post-Communist Application 225, 225–32 (András Sajó ed., 1996).

   [26].         Cross, supra note 25, at 866.

   [27].         The varying debates about the moral and political status of rights are rich and interesting but beyond the scope of this Article.  For further reading on the moral status of rights, see generally Tibor R. Machan, Individuals and Their Rights (1989).  For further reading on the political dimension of rights, see generally Michael Freeden, Rights (1991).

   [28].         See Nicholas Quinn Rosenkranz, The Subjects of the Constitution, 62 Stan. L. Rev. 1209, 1210–11 (2010) (making this argument as part of a textualist reading of the Constitution).

   [29].         See, e.g., Lynn P. Freedman, Reflections on Emerging Frameworks of Health and Human Rights, 1 Health & Hum. Rts. 314, 324 (1998).

   [30].         Nevertheless, another useful distinction, which may be more palatable to those who reject the former, is that between so-called “first-generation” and “second-generation” rights, with the former being political rights, such as the freedom of speech and religion, and the latter being primarily socio-economic rights, such as the right to education, health care, or a clean environment.  Usman, supra note 5, at 1464.  This distinction maps fairly cleanly onto the distinction between positive and negative rights, where negative rights (accepting my distinction for the sake of argument) are those rights traditionally viewed as first-generation rights, and positive rights are those rights traditionally viewed as second-generation rights.  I am certainly not the first to suggest the congruence of these ideas.  See, e.g., id.at 1461.

   [31].         See supra notes 25–28 and accompanying text (discussing the critiques of the distinction).

   [32].         Steven G. Calabresi & Sarah E. Agudo, Individual Rights Under State Constitutions When the Fourteenth Amendment Was Ratified in 1868: What Rights Are Deeply Rooted in American History and Tradition?, 87 Tex. L. Rev. 7, 108–09 (2008).

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

   [34].         Id. art. IV, § 4.

   [35].         See Leslie Green, The Duty to Govern, 13 Legal Theory 165, 165 (2007) (adding John Finnis and Thomas Aquinas to the list); Robert G. Natelson, The Constitution and the Public Trust, 52 Buff. L. Rev. 1077, 1097–1108 (2004) [hereinafter Natelson, Public Trust] (adding other political thinkers such as Plato, Cicero, Aristotle, and Grotius to the list); Natelson, Welfare, supra note 1, at 245 (discussing Aristotle, Cicero, and Locke); West, supra note 6, at 221–23, 240 (discussing the named scholars); see also Ekow N. Yankah, When Justice Can’t Be Done: The Obligation to Govern and Rights in the State of Terror, L. & Phil. (forthcoming 2012), available at http://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm
?abstract_id=2009944 (discussing many of the scholars mentioned above, particularly Finnis, Aristotle, Aquinas, Hobbes, and Kant).

   [36].         John Finnis, Aquinas: Moral, Political, and Legal Theory 91 (1998); John Finnis, Natural Law & Natural Rights 246 (1980).

   [37].         Green, supra note 35, at 184; Natelson, Welfare, supra note 1, at 245; West, supra note 6, at 223; Yankah, supra note 35.

   [38].         See Green, supra note 35, at 166 (commenting that, given these other subjects of focus in the scholarship, the idea of duties to govern may seem “quaint”); Yankah, supra note 35.

   [39].         West, supra note 6, at 221.  Perhaps the one exception is the area of “positive rights,” where any such rights would seem to correlate by nature with affirmative government duties.  Nevertheless, even this burgeoning body of scholarship speaks of duties mostly as an afterthought and only in the context of fleshing out the content of positive rights—not the other way around.  See id. at 228.

   [40].         Id. at 221.

   [41].         Id. at 223.

   [42].         Id. at 228.

   [43].         Id.

   [44].         The few it does contain are the “Take Care” Clause, U.S. Const. art. II, § 3 (“[H]e shall take Care that the Laws be faithfully executed . . . .”); the Guarantee Clause (also called the “Republican Form of Government” Clause), Id. art. IV, § 4; and the Protection from Invasion Clause in the same section, id.  Each of these imposes a non-relative, substantive obligation on a branch of the federal government, or the federal government itself.  Of course, in addition to these more substantive obligations, the Constitution establishes various procedural obligations, such as that the President give the State of the Union Address periodically, Id. art. II, § 3; and that the Congress meet in session at least once each year, Id. art. I, § 4, cl. 2.  Other than these sections and a few other procedural requirements, the Constitution consists entirely of (1) grants of power to the various branches of government; (2) prohibitions on the use of such power in certain circumstances; and (3) reservations of rights.

   [45].         Congress is arguably required to enact legislation to fund the other branches of government based at least on the mentions of the compensation of the members of these branches.  See id. art. II, § 1, cl. 7; Id. art. III. § 1 (I am indebted to Justin Long for this insight).  But this requirement, if it is actually operative against Congress, is implied rather than express.  Although it can be argued that both the Guarantee Clause and the Protection from Invasion Clause, id. art. IV, § 4, operate as legislative duties to legislate, neither requires the enactment of legislation because neither is directed at Congress itself.  Further, the former of these clauses consistently has been viewed as nonjusticiable in the federal courts.  See, e.g., Mountain Timber Co. v. Washington, 243 U.S. 219, 234 (1916) (holding that the Guarantee Clause is a question for Congress rather than the judiciary).  This has had the effect of rendering the clause “a constitutional dead letter.”  See Erwin Chemerinsky, Cases Under the Guarantee Clause Should Be Justiciable, 65 U. Colo. L. Rev. 849, 852 (1994).

   [46].         West, supra note 6, at 228.

   [47].         But see Green, supra note 35, at 171 (outlining Finnis’s idea that the power to govern and the duty that resides in the people to obey gives rise to a duty to govern on the part of the entity holding the power to govern).

   [48].         See, e.g., S. Afr. Const. ch. 2, § 29(1), 1996, available at http://www.info.gov.za/documents/constitution/1996/96cons2.htm#29 (“Everyone has the right to a basic education, including adult basic education; and to further education, which the state, through reasonable measures, must make progressively available and accessible.”); see also Tushnet, supra note 14, at 1913–15.  See generally Usman, supra note 5.

   [49].         See generally Helen Hershkoff, Foreword: Positive Rights and the Evolution of State Constitutions, 33 Rutgers L.J. 799 (2002); Hershkoff, Positive Rights, supra note 2; Helen Hershkoff, Welfare Devolution and State Constitutions, 67 Fordham L. Rev. 1403 (1999) [hereinafter Hershkoff, Welfare Devolution]; Allen W. Hubsch, The Emerging Right to Education Under State Constitutional Law, 65 Temp. L. Rev. 1325, 1325 (1992) (“In the past two decades, many state supreme courts have addressed for the first time the import and meaning of the education articles of their state constitutions.  As a result, a new body of state constitutional law regarding the right to education has emerged.”); Molly S. McUsic, The Future of Brown v. Board of Education: Economic Integration of the Public Schools, 117 Harv. L. Rev. 1334, 1345 (2004) (“In [state equal protection] cases that succeeded, courts found education to be a fundamental right under state constitutions at least in part by relying on the inclusion in their state constitutions of a right to education.”); Burt Neuborne, Foreword: State Constitutions and the Evolution of Positive Rights, 20 Rutgers L.J. 881 (1989); Michael A. Rebell, Poverty, “Meaningful” Educational Opportunity, and the Necessary Role of the Courts, 85 N.C. L. Rev. 1467, 1540 (2007) (“The courts’ role in articulating constitutional principles and affirming the right of all children to an adequate and meaningful educational opportunity is of paramount importance.”); Julia A. Simon-Kerr & Robynn K. Sturm, Justiciability and the Role of the Courts in Adequacy Litigation: Preserving the Constitutional Right to Education, 6 Stan. J. Civ. Rts. & Civ. Liberties 83 (2010); Paul L. Tractenberg, The Evolution and Implementation of Educational Rights Under the New Jersey Constitution of 1947, 29 Rutgers L.J. 827, 888 (1998) (speaking of the judicial interpretation of the affirmative duty language in the New Jersey Constitution, which states that “[t]he right is personal to and enforceable by the state’s children, and it has been construed to embody a very high-level of educational opportunity sufficient to enable disadvantaged urban students to be able to compete with their advantaged suburban peers in the world beyond the schoolhouse”).  To be sure, not all of the rights-focused analyses have been supportive of the role of individual rights in school finance adequacy litigation.  See, e.g., Darby & Levy, supra note 3, at 361–65.  An early and much-cited article took a more narrow duty-based approach, focusing on the schools themselves, rather than state legislatures, and that article remains notable as one of very few examples of duty-focused analyses.  Gershon M. Ratner, A New Legal Duty for Urban Public Schools: Effective Education in Basic Skills, 63 Tex. L. Rev. 777, 814 (1985) (“The most direct sources of the duty to educate are state constitutions.”).

   [50].         See, e.g., Lake View Sch. Dist. No. 25 v. Huckabee, 91 S.W.3d 472, 495 (Ark. 2002) (considering the efforts of other state supreme courts to derive a fundamental right to education from their education clauses and holding, “[n]evertheless, because we conclude that the clear language of Article 14 imposes upon the State an absolute constitutional duty to educate our children, we conclude that it is unnecessary to reach the issue of whether a fundamental right is also implied”)overruled on other grounds by 142 S.W.3d 643 (Ark. 2004); McDuffy v. Sec’y Exec. Office Educ., 615 N.E.2d 516, 526 (Mass. 1993) (“[I]t is reasonable therefore to understand the duty to ‘cherish’ public schools as a duty to ensure that the public schools achieve their object and educate the people.”); Claremont Sch. Dist. v. Governor, 635 A.2d 1375, 1378 (N.H. 1993) (“We do not construe the terms ‘shall be the duty . . . to cherish’ in our constitution as merely a statement of aspiration.  The language commands, in no uncertain terms, that the State provide an education to all its citizens and that it support all public schools.”); Abbeville Cnty. Sch. Dist. v. State, 515 S.E.2d 535, 541 (S.C. 1999) (“Finally, we emphasize that the constitutional duty to ensure the provision of a minimally adequate education to each student in South Carolina rests on the legislative branch of government.”).

   [51].         See Ala. Coal. for Equity, Inc. v. Hunt, 64 So. 2d 107, 154 (Ala. 1993) (“By imposing upon the state a duty to organize and maintain a system of education, § 256 also implies a continuing obligation to ensure compliance with evolving educational standards.  Section 256’s requirement that the system operate ‘for the benefit’ of school-age children likewise obligates the state to provide its children with an education that will in fact benefit them by offering them appropriate preparation for the responsible duties of life.”).  This decision led to almost a decade of legislative recalcitrance, ultimately resulting in total judicial abdication of the constitutional question.  See Ex parte James, 836 So. 2d 813, 819 (Ala. 2003) (dismissing the ongoing case as a nonjusticiable political question); DeRolph v. State, 780 N.E.2d 529, 529–32 (Ohio 2002) (following a similar progression, although resulting not in a retroactive holding of nonjusticiability but a prospective release of jurisdiction, despite a holding that the system remained unconstitutional).

   [52].         See, e.g., Rose v. Council for Better Educ., Inc., 790 S.W.2d 186, 212 (Ky. 1989) (“A child’s right to an adequate education is a fundamental one under our Constitution.  The General Assembly must protect and advance that right.”).

   [53].         See, e.g., Hershkoff, supra note 2, at 1186 (supporting the argument that positive state constitutional welfare rights should be enforceable and explaining that positive education rights had been enforced effectively in the American states under state constitutions); Neuborne, supra note 49, at 887; Tractenberg, supranote 49, at 888.

   [54].         The theory of “under-enforced constitutional norms,” described as constitutional principles that, for reasons such as justiciability, escape full judicial enforcement, comes from Lawrence Sager’s seminal article on the topic.  Lawrence Gene Sager, Fair Measure: The Legal Status of Underenforced Constitutional Norms, 91 Harv. L. Rev. 1212, 1213–20 (1978).  Contemporaneously, Henry Monaghan developed the related idea of “over-enforced” constitutional norms, such as those constitutional principles which the courts develop as prophylactics, e.g., the Miranda rule, requiring or forbidding more of the government than a constitution’s underlying mandates require or permit.  Henry P. Monaghan, The Supreme Court, 1974 Term-Foreword: Constitutional Common Law, 89 Harv. L. Rev. 1, 2–3 (1975).

   [55].         R. Craig Wood, Educational Finance Law: Constitutional Challenges to State Aid Plans–An Analysis of Strategies 103–08 (3d ed. 2007) (listing the education clauses of the fifty states).

   [56].         N.J. Const. art. VIII, § IV, ¶ 1.

   [57].         Ky. Const. § 186.

   [58].         Kan. Const. art. VI, § 6(b).

   [59].         Ga. Const. art. VIII, § 1, ¶ 1.

   [60].         Minn. Const. art. XIII, § 1.

   [61].         Alaska Const. art. VII, § 1; Ariz. Const. art. XI, § 6; Ark. Const. art. XIV, § 1; Colo. Const. art. IX, § 2; Conn. Const. art. VIII, § 1; Del. Const. art. X, § 1; Fla. Const. art. IX, § 1(a); Ga. Const. art. VIII, § 1; Haw. Const. art. X, § 1; Idaho Const. art. IX, § 1; Ill. Const. art. X, § 1; Ind. Const. art. IX, § 1; Kan. Const. art. VI, § 1; Ky. Const. § 183; La. Const. art. VIII, § 1; Me. Const. art. VIII, pt. 1 § 1; Md. Const. art. VIII, § 1; Mass. Const. pt. 1, ch. V, § II; Mich. Const. art. VIII, §§ 1–2; Minn. Const. art. XIII, § 1; Miss. Const. art. VIII, § 201; Mo. Const. art. IX, § 1(a); Mont. Const. art. X, § 1; Neb. Const. art. VII, § 1; Nev. Const. art. XI, § 2; N.J. Const. art. VIII, § IV, ¶ 1; N.M. Const. art. XII, § 1; N.Y. Const. art. XI, § 1; N.C. Const. art. IX, § 2; N.D. Const. art. VIII, §§ 1, 3, 4; Ohio Const. art. VI, § 2; Okla. Const. art. XIII, § 1; Or. Const. art. VIII, §§ 3, 8(1); Pa. Const. art. III, § 14; R.I. Const. art. XII, § 1; S.D. Const. art. VIII, § 1; Tenn. Const. art. XI, § 12; Tex. Const. art. VII, § 1; Utah Const. art. X, § 1; Va. Const. art. VIII, § 1; Wash. Const. art. IX, §§ 1–2; W. Va. Const. art. XII, §§ 1, 12; Wis. Const. art. X, § 3.  For the complete text of each state’s education clause, see Wood, supra note 55, at 103–08.

   [62].         Cal. Const. art. IX, § 1.  Note that the California Constitution also has a more directive provision mandating the maintenance of a public school in each district for at least six months of each year.  Id. § 5.  This latter provision has not figured prominently in any school finance case yet.

   [63].         Iowa Const. art. IX, 2d, § 3 (“The general assembly shall encourage, by all suitable means, the promotion of intellectual, scientific, moral, and agricultural improvement.”).

   [64].         Nev. Const. art. XI, § 1 (“The legislature shall encourage by all suitable means the promotion of intellectual, literary, scientific, mining, mechanical, agricultural, and moral improvements, and also provide for a superintendent of public instruction and by law prescribe the manner of appointment, term of office and the duties thereof.”).

   [65].         N.H. Const. pt. 2d, art. 83 (“Knowledge and learning, generally diffused through a community, being essential to the preservation of a free government; and spreading the opportunities and advantages of education through the various parts of the country, being highly conducive to promote this end; it shall be the duty of the legislators and magistrates, in all future periods of this government, to cherish the interest of literature and the sciences, and all seminaries and public schools, to encourage private and public institutions, rewards, and immunities for the promotion of agriculture, arts, sciences, commerce, trades, manufactures, and natural history of the country; to countenance and inculcate the principles of humanity and general benevolence, public and private charity, industry and economy, honesty and punctuality, sincerity, sobriety, and all social affections, and generous sentiments, among the people . . . .”).

   [66].         N.C. Const. art. IX, § 1 (“Religion, morality, and knowledge being necessary to good government and the happiness of mankind, schools, libraries, and the means of education shall forever be encouraged.”).

   [67].         Id. § 2 (“The General Assembly shall provide by taxation and otherwise for a general and uniform system of free public schools, which shall be maintained at least nine months in every year, and wherein equal opportunities shall be provided for all students.”).

   [68].         Id. art. I, § 15.

   [69].         Wyo. Const. art. I, § 23 (“The right of the citizens to opportunities for education should have practical recognition.  The legislature shall suitably encourage means and agencies calculated to advance the sciences and liberal arts.”).

   [70].         Vt. Const. ch. II, § 68.

   [71].         Ala. Const. art. XIV, § 256.

   [72].         347 U.S. 483 (1954).

   [73].         Ala. Const. art. XIV, § 256 (“To avoid confusion and disorder and to promote effective and economical planning for education, the legislature may authorize the parents or guardians of minors, who desire that such minors shall attend schools provided for their own race, to make election to that end, such election to be effective for such period and to such extent as the legislature may provide.”).

   [74].         Ala. Const. of 1901, art. XIV, § 256 (“The legislature shall establish, organize, and maintain a liberal system of public schools throughout the state for the benefit of the children thereof between the ages of seven and twenty-one years.”).

   [75].         See Op. of the Justices, 624 So. 2d 107, 147 (Ala. 1993) (reproducing a trial court opinion in an advisory opinion of the state supreme court recognizing a prior declaration of unconstitutionality by the trial judge based on the racist origins of the amendment).  As this issue was never appealed to the Supreme Court of Alabama, it is unclear whether all of the amended language, just the explicitly race-neutral language, or none of the amended language is operative.

   [76].         See, e.g., Jonathan Feldman, Separation of Powers and Judicial Review of Positive Rights Claims: The Role of State Courts in an Era of Positive Government, 24 Rutgers L.J. 1057, 1077 (1993); Hershkoff, supra note 2, at 1168; Neuborne, supra note 49; Rebell, supra note 49, at 1505–10.

   [77].         But see N.M. Const. art. XII, § 5 (“Every child of school age and of sufficient physical and mental ability shall be required to attend a public or other school during such period and for such time as may be prescribed by law.”); N.C. Const. art. I, § 15 (“The people have a right to the privilege of education, and it is the duty of the State to guard and maintain that right.”); Id. art. IX, § 3 (“The General Assembly shall provide that every child of appropriate age and of sufficient mental and physical ability shall attend the public schools, unless educated by other means.”); Okla. Const. art. XIII, § 4 (“The Legislature shall provide for the compulsory attendance at some public or other school, unless other means of education are provided, of all the children in the State who are sound in mind and body . . . .”); Wyo. Const. art. I, § 23 (“The right of the citizens to opportunities for education should have practical recognition.”).

   [78].         See Hershkoff, supra note 2, at 1168; Helen Hershkoff, State Courts and the “Passive Virtues”: Rethinking the Judicial Function, 114 Harv. L. Rev. 1833, 1839 (2001) [hereinafter Hershkoff, Passive Virtues]; Charles F. Sabel & William H. Simon, Destabilization Rights: How Public Law Litigation Succeeds, 117 Harv. L. Rev. 1015, 1022–28 (2004); James S. Liebman & Charles F. Sabel, A Public Laboratory Dewey Barely Imagined: The Emerging Model of School Governance and Legal Reform, 28 N.Y.U. Rev. L. & Soc. Change 183, 278–83 (2003); Rebell, supra note 49, at 1526–29.  Hershkoff’s influential work has defended state constitution-based institutional reform litigation as uniquely legitimate due to the structural features of state government and the unique, positive character of state constitutional rights to education and social welfare.  Hershkoff, supra note 2, at 1168.

   [79].         For one recent article on the side of more skepticism toward the value of individual rights to reform, see generally Darby & Levy, supra note 3.

   [80].         Calabresi & Agudo, supra note 32, at 108–09.

   [81].         The idea that rights and duties are correlative, such that, where one exists, the other does as well, is most closely associated with the scholarship of Wesley Newcomb Hohfeld.  See Bauries, supra note 3, at 306–16 (reviewing the jural correlativity theory as expressed in Wesley Newcomb Hohfeld, Fundamental Legal Conceptions as Applied in Judicial Reasoning, 26 Yale L.J. 710, 710, 717 (1917), and Wesley Newcomb Hohfeld, Some Fundamental Legal Conceptions as Applied in Judicial Reasoning, 23 Yale L.J. 16, 28–59 (1913)).  Hohfeld’s theory of correlativity has rarely been employed in constitutional analysis.  See generallyAllen Thomas O’Rourke, Refuge from a Jurisprudence of Doubt: Hohfeldian Analysis of Constitutional Law, 61 S.C. L. Rev. 141 (2009).  Calabresi and Agudo do not cite Hohfeld specifically to support their case, but the idea of correlativity underlies their analysis.

   [82].         Calabresi & Agudo, supra note 32, at 108–09.

   [83].         41 U.S. 539 (1842).

   [84].         Calabresi & Agudo, supra note 32, at 108.

   [85].         Seattle Sch. Dist. No. 1 v. State, 585 P.2d 71, 86–87 (Wash. 1978).

   [86].         E.g., Rose v. Council for Better Educ., Inc., 790 S.W.2d 186, 201 (Ky. 1989); Helena Elementary Sch. Dist. No. 1 v. State, 769 P.2d 684, 690–91 (Mont. 1989), amended by 784 P.2d 412, 413 (Mont. 1990).

   [87].         John C. Eastman, When Did Education Become a Civil Right? An Assessment of State Constitutional Provisions for Education, 1776-1900, 42 Am. J. Legal Hist. 1, 2 (1998).

   [88].         See id.  See generally John C. Eastman, Reinterpreting the Education Clauses in State Constitutions in School Money Trials: The Legal Pursuit of Educational Adequacy 55 (Martin R. West & Paul E. Peterson, eds. 2007).

   [89].         Eastman, supra note 87, at 3–8.

   [90].         Id. at 2, 31.  As Eastman points out, in two states, Montana and North Carolina, the text of the state constitution provides explicitly for individual rights in education.  However, as Professor John Dinan explains, the Montana provision merely guarantees individual equality in educational services.  John Dinan, The Meaning of State Constitutional Education Clauses: Evidence from the Constitutional Convention Debates, 70 Alb. L. Rev. 927, 970 (2007).

   [91].         Dinan, supra note 90, at 929–32.

   [92].         Id. at 979.  Dinan recognizes and acknowledges the likely critiques of his originalist approach.  As Dinan states, the evidence he considers comes only out of debates during state constitutional conventions and does not include debates over proposed amendments to existing state constitutions.  Also, roughly half of the convention debates that have occurred over time either were not memorialized or the records do not exist today.  Id. at 979–81.  While these limitations in Dinan’s data certainly counsel a cautious approach in interpreting his findings, he certainly makes out at least a prima facie case on originalist terms that no state constitutional drafters intended to make the substantive provisions in state education clauses judicially enforceable and that only one state’s (Montana’s) drafters sought to render an equality provision.  See id. at 979.  A possible counterpoint to Dinan’s analysis comes out of the history of Florida’s constitutional revision in 1998.  One of the members of the Revision Commission convened in that year, which resulted in an amendment to the state constitution’s education clause, claims that the revision was adopted with the express goal of making the clause enforceable in the courts.  See Jon Mills & Timothy Mclendon, Setting a New Standard for Public Education: Revision 6 Increases the Duty of the State to Make “Adequate Provision” for Florida Schools, 52 Fla. L. Rev. 329, 366 (2000).

   [93].         Dinan, supra note 90, at 967–68.

   [94].         See, e.g., Comm. to Recall Robert Menendez from the Office of U.S. Senator v. Wells, 7 A.3d 720, 735 (N.J. 2010) (quoting State v. Trump Hotels & Casino Resorts, Inc., 734 A.2d 1160 (N.J. 1999)) (“Our analysis begins with the plain language of the Federal Constitution.  ‘If the language is clear and unambiguous, the words used must be given their plain meaning.’”).

   [95].         See Dinan, supra note 90, at 946 (relating comments of some conventioneers that adoptions of admonitory provisions were directed at signaling the importance of education).

   [96].         At least one state constitutional scholar uses the word “admonitory” to describe similar provisions.  See Bernard Schwartz, The Great Rights of Mankind: A History of the American Bill of Rights 53–54, 85–86, 90–91 (1977) (reviewing the declarations of rights in several early state constitutions and criticizing the “admonitory” nature of the particular provisions drafted for the Virginia Constitution by George Mason, a non-lawyer).

   [97].         William E. Thro, Judicial Analysis During the Third Wave of School Finance Litigation: The Massachusetts Decision as a Model, 35 B.C. L. Rev. 597, 600–04 (1994) [hereinafter Thro, Judicial Analysis] (explaining the “waves” metaphor); William E. Thro, A New Approach to State Constitutional Analysis in School Finance Litigation, 14 J.L. & Pol. 525, 529–30 n.14 (1998) (outlining the “waves” metaphor).  See generally Michael Heise, State Constitutions, School Finance Litigation, and the “Third Wave”: From Equity to Adequacy, 68 Temp. L. Rev. 1151 (1995) (adopting the “wave” metaphor).

   [98].         See William S. Koski, Of Fuzzy Standards and Institutional Constraints: A Re-examination of the Jurisprudential History of Educational Finance Reform Litigation, 43 Santa Clara L. Rev. 1185, 1283–96 (2003) (explaining that no clear line divides equality theories from adequacy theories and that, in fact, both theories are present in most education finance cases); James E. Ryan, Standards, Testing, and School Finance Litigation, 86 Tex. L. Rev. 1223, 1237 (2008) (calling into doubt the distinctions made between the second and third “waves”); id. at 1229 n.35 (citing Richard Briffault, Adding Adequacy to Equity, in School Money Trials: The Legal Pursuit of Educational Adequacy 25, 25–27 (2007)); see also William S. Koski & Rob Reich, When “Adequate” Isn’t: The Retreat from Equity in Educational Law and Policy and Why It Matters, 56 Emory L.J. 545, 548 (2006) (making the prescriptive case for returning to equity as the dominant theory).

   [99].         Owen M. Fiss, Foreword: The Forms of Justice, 93 Harv. L. Rev. 1, 2 (1979).  Other common terms for the claims that “institutional reform litigation” describes are “public law litigation,” “structural reform litigation,” and “institutional litigation.”  See Susan P. Sturm, A Normative Theory of Public Law Remedies, 79 Geo. L.J. 1355, 1357 n.1 (1991); see also, e.g., Abram Chayes, The Role of the Judge in Public Law Litigation, 89 Harv. L. Rev. 1281, 1284, 1288–89 (1976) (“public law litigation”); Theodore Eisenberg & Stephen C. Yeazell, The Ordinary and the Extraordinary in Institutional Litigation, 93 Harv. L. Rev. 465, 466 (1980) (“institutional litigation”); Fiss, supra, at 2 (“structural reform litigation”); Margo Schlanger, Beyond the Hero Judge: Institutional Reform Litigation as Litigation, 97 Mich. L. Rev. 1994, 1995 (1999) (“institutional reform litigation”).  I favor and use “institutional reform litigation” because it is the most descriptively accurate, as this litigation’s chief distinguishing feature is its goal to cause the reorganization of public institutions, rather than to secure compensation for particular plaintiffs. See supra note 78 and accompanying text.

   [100].        Fiss, supra note 99, at 2.

   [101].        Usman, supra note 5, at 1468 (citing Michael Heise, Litigated Learning, Law’s Limits, and Urban School Reform Challenges, 85 N.C. L. Rev. 1419, 1438–39 (2007)) (“While education related litigation was not unknown prior to Brown, the Supreme Court’s watershed decision generated a substantial increase therein.”).

   [102].        347 U.S. 483 (1954).

   [103].        See Chayes, supra note 99, at 1300–02 (describing the processes involved in fashioning public law remedies).

   [104].        Sturm, supra note 99, at 1446.

   [105].        Ross Sandler & David Schoenbrod, The Supreme Court, Democracy and Institutional Reform Litigation, 49 N.Y.L. Sch. L. Rev. 915, 916 (2005).

   [106].        See Fiss, supra note 99, at 2–3; Michael Heise, Litigated Learning, Law’s Limits, and Urban School Reform Challenges, 85 N.C. L. Rev. 1419, 1438–39 (2007); Schlanger, supra note 99, at 1994–95.

   [107].        See Wood, supra note 55, at 82–85 (discussing the first wave).

   [108].        411 U.S. 1 (1973).

   [109].        Id. at 37.

   [110].        Id. at 28–29.

   [111].        Id. at 55.

   [112].        Thro, Judicial Analysis, supra note 97, at 601–03.

   [113].        See Sonja Ralston Elder, Enforcing Public Educational Rights via a Private Right of Action, 1 Duke F. L. & Soc. Change 137, 143–44 (2009) (noting that of the cases filed by 2009, “[i]n more than 80 percent of these cases, a school district or nonprofit organization was a named plaintiff.  In the remaining eight cases in which all plaintiffs were individual students, the suits were filed as or treated as class actions rather than individual suits.”).

   [114].        See Wood, supra note 55, at 69–70 (outlining the history of the “equity” wave).

   [115].        Thro, Judicial Analysis, supra note 97, at 603–04.  Many explanations exist for this migration, among them that the issues surrounding determinations of equality and equity became too complex for courts and the public to accept, that urban districts did not see many benefits in equity litigation, and that the pervasive influence of “local control” impaired the goals of plaintiffs.  See Michael Heise, Equal Educational Opportunity, Hollow Victories, and the Demise of School Finance Equity Theory: An Empirical Perspective and Alternative Explanation, 32 Ga. L. Rev. 543, 579–85 (1998) (explaining these theories and introducing the alternative explanation that remedies did not have their desired effects of centralization of and increases in spending).

   [116].        As several scholars have pointed out, equity theories have not disappeared from education finance litigation.  See supra note 98.  In fact, in some cases, equity remains the dominant theory, and at least one scholar has determined that, even in purported “adequacy” cases, the adjudication of the claims amounts to evaluating inequalities.  Ryan, supra note 98, at 1225.  Nevertheless, this third “wave” remains distinct from prior reform periods because inadequacy was not pressed by litigants as a dominant theory of relief during these prior periods.

   [117].        N.J. Const. art. VIII, § IV, ¶ 1.

   [118].        Ky. Const. § 186.

   [119].        Kan. Const. art. VI, § 6(b).

   [120].        Ga. Const. art. VIII, § 1, ¶ 1.

   [121].        Ill. Const. art. X, § 1.

   [122].        See generally Paula J. Lundberg, State Courts and School Funding: A Fifty-State Analysis, 63 Alb. L. Rev. 1101 (2000) (finding no significant relationship between education clause language, defined by the category approach, and case outcomes); Karen Swenson, School Finance Reform Litigation: Why Are Some State Supreme Courts Activist and Others Restrained?, 63 Alb. L. Rev. 1147 (2000) (revealing no significant relationship between language and case outcomes); Yohance C. Edwards & Jennifer Ahern, Note, Unequal Treatment in State Supreme Courts: Minority and City Schools in Education Finance Reform Litigation, 79 N.Y.U. L. Rev. 326 (2004) (reaching similar conclusions).  But see Bill Swinford, A Predictive Model of Decision Making in State Supreme Courts: The School Financing Cases, 19 Am. Pol. Res. 336, 347 (1991) (finding a weak relationship, but only as to equality-based cases).

   [123].        See Ky. Const. § 186 (requiring the establishment of “an efficient system of common schools”).

   [124].        See Rose v. Council for Better Educ., Inc., 790 S.W.2d 186, 212 (Ky. 1989) (interpreting “efficient” to require a system that follows nine aspirational principles, one of which encompasses seven specific learning goals).

   [125].        See Ill. Const. art. X, § 1 (“A fundamental goal of the People of the State is the educational development of all persons to the limits of their capacities.  The State shall provide for an efficient system of high quality public educational institutions and services.”).

   [126].        See Comm. for Educ. Rights v. Edgar, 672 N.E.2d 1178, 1191 (Ill. 1996) (rejecting a challenge based on the “high quality” term as a nonjusticiable political question).

   [127].        See, e.g., William E. Thro, A New Approach to State Constitutional Analysis in School Finance Litigation, 14 J.L. & Pol. 525, 548 (1998) (“If [the Supreme Court of Kentucky’s] standard is taken literally, there is not a public school system in America that meets it.”).

   [128].        See generally Joshua Dunn & Martha Derthick, Adequacy Litigation and the Separation of Powers, in School Money Trials: The Legal Pursuit of Educational Adequacy 322 (Martin R. West & Paul E. Peterson eds., 2007) (explaining the salience of separation of powers concerns to system-wide adequacy claims).

   [129].        Scott R. Bauries, Is There an Elephant in the Room?: Judicial Review of Educational Adequacy and the Separation of Powers in State Constitutions, 61 Ala. L. Rev. 701, 721–34 (2010) (outlining these three approaches and their scholarly defenders); Larry J. Obhof, Rethinking Judicial Activism and Restraint in State School Finance Litigation, 27 Harv. J.L. & Pub. Pol’y 569, 572–73 (2004) (explaining the approaches).

   [130].        Bauries, supra note 3, at 340–42 (2011) (discussing this approach among state courts).

   [131].        Id. at 333–34 (discussing these cases, each of which adopts a legislative definition of adequacy in formulating its own definition of the constitutional standard).

   [132].        Id. at 334–40 (discussing the cases which have resulted in both nondeferential merits adjudication and policy-directive remediation).

   [133].        Id. at 342–46 (discussing the cases which have resulted in nondeferential merits adjudication, but no court-directed remediation).  The most common remedy is a nondirective declaration of unconstitutionality.  Id.

   [134].        See George D. Brown, Binding Advisory Opinions: A Federal Courts Perspective on the State School Finance Decisions, 35 B.C. L. Rev. 543, 546 (1994) (advocating an active dialogic approach as a means to allow review); Larry J. Obhof, Rethinking Judicial Activism and Restraint in School Finance Litigation, 27 Harv. J.L. & Pub. Pol’y 569, 593–94, 598–600 (2004) (arguing in favor of a “middle ground” approach, which would require total remedial abstention—or passive dialogue—as a means to allow review without trampling on the separation of powers).  Other terms are used interchangeably with “dialogue.”  See Rebell, supra note 49 at 1539–42 (utilizing the term “colloquy”).

   [135].        See Sturm, supra note 99, at 1365–76 (presenting the “consensual deliberation” approach, which is the progenitor of the dialogic approach in education finance litigation).

   [136].        Sabel & Simon, supra note 78, at 1067–73, 1082–1100.

   [137].        See supra note 99 and accompanying text.

   [138].        Sabel & Simon, supra note 78, at 1022–28.

   [139].        Id. at 1025–26.

   [140].        Id.

   [141].        Id. at 1022–28.

   [142].        Ross Sandler & David Schoenbrod, Democracy By Decree: What Happens When Courts Run Government 142 (2003).

   [143].        Sabel & Simon, supra note 78, at 1020.

   [144].        For example, after the Ohio Supreme Court decided DeRolph v. State, 780 N.E.2d 529 (Ohio 2002), and issued a goal-oriented, nondirective order, the court was forced to revisit the case several times through compliance actions, and even after all of these additional appeals, the court finally dismissed the case without holding that the legislature had achieved such compliance.  Id. at 529–35 (recounting the serial relitigation of the case in the state’s courts).  Sabel and Simon use Texas and Kentucky as their examples, and it is true that, in both of these states, the courts refrained from issuing directive remedial orders, preferring to state goals instead.  Nevertheless, although conditions improved, both states found themselves faced with education clause litigation brought by the same interest groups that filed the initial suits shortly thereafter.  See generally Opinion & Order, Young v. Williams, Nos. 03-CI-00055, 03-CI-01152 (Ky. Cir. Ct., Franklin Cnty., Div. II, Feb. 13, 2007); Plaintiffs’ Original Petition & Request for Declaratory Judgment, Tex. Taxpayer & Student Fairness Coal. v. State, No. D-1-GN-11-003130 (Tex. Dist. Ct. 200th filed Oct. 10, 2011).  The Texas case is ongoing, while the Kentucky case was dismissed as nonjusticiable and was not appealed by the plaintiffs.

   [145].        Sandler & Scheonbrod, supra note 105, at 928.

   [146].        Sabel & Simon, supra note 78, at 1022–28.

   [147].        This conclusion is a natural extension of the well-known theory of “remedial equilibration” developed by Professor Daryl Levinson.  See generally Daryl J. Levinson, Rights Essentialism and Remedial Equilibration, 99 Colum. L. Rev. 857 (1999) (observing that the ways in which courts choose to enforce rights are influenced by the courts’ remedial concerns).

   [148].        Idaho Sch. for Equal Educ. Opportunity v. State, 129 P.3d 1199, 1208 (Idaho 2005) (“We affirm the conclusion of the district court that the current funding system is simply not sufficient to carry out the Legislature’s duty under the constitution. . . .  The appropriate remedy, however, must be fashioned by the Legislature and not this Court.”).

   [149].        Kress v. Copple-Trout, No. CV-07-261-S-BLW, 2008 WL 352620, at *2 (D. Idaho Feb. 7, 2008), dismissed on reconsideration, 2008 WL 2095602 (D. Idaho May 16, 2008).  Though this suit was ultimately dismissed, the plaintiffs’ apparent need to file and prosecute it illustrates, from a plaintiff’s perspective, the problems inherent in conceptualizing a constitutional provision that states an affirmative duty as a power.  Id. at *1–3.

   [150].        See D.C. Court of Appeals v. Feldman, 460 U.S. 462, 463 (1983) (holding that a federal court may not sit in appellate judgment of a state law decision by a state court); Rooker v. Fid. Trust Co., 263 U.S. 413, 415 (1923) (reaching the same conclusion).

   [151].        Hancock v. Comm’r of Educ., 822 N.E.2d 1134, 1140 (Mass. 2005) (Marshall, C.J., concurring) (plurality opinion) (holding that the state system would not be invalidated because the plaintiffs failed to show that the legislature acted in an “arbitrary, nonresponsive, or irrational way to meet the constitutional mandate”); Neely v. W. Orange Cove Consol. Indep. Sch. Dist., 176 S.W.3d 746, 784–85 (Tex. 2005) (establishing “arbitrariness” as the touchstone for whether a state education finance system is unconstitutional and upholding the state system due to the failure of the plaintiffs to establish that it was “arbitrary”); see alsoRoosevelt Elementary Sch. Dist. No. 66 v. State, 74 P.3d 258, 268 (Ariz. Ct. App. 2003) (holding that the failure to establish a causal link between an alleged lack of funding and low student achievement prevented the plaintiffs from proving a constitutional violation).

   [152].        State v. Lewis, 789 N.E.2d 195, 202–03 (Ohio 2003) (reaffirming that the state constitution was violated but certifying the court’s ultimate withdrawal from its ongoing supervisory role in the litigation).

   [153].        See Coal. for Adequacy & Fairness in Sch. Funding, Inc. v. Chiles, 680 So. 2d 400, 405 (Fla. 1996) (dismissing an adequacy-based challenge as a nonjusticiable political question); Comm. for Educ. Rights v. Edgar, 672 N.E.2d 1178, 1191 (Ill. 1996) (dismissing the case as a nonjusticiable political question); Neb. Coal. for Educ. Equity & Adequacy v. Heineman, 731 N.W.2d 164, 178–79 (Neb. 2007) (dismissing the case as a nonjusticiable political question); Okla. Educ. Ass’n v. State, 158 P.3d 1058, 1065–66 (Okla. 2007) (dismissing the case as a nonjusticiable political question); Marrero v. Commonwealth, 739 A.2d 110, 113–14 (Pa. 1999) (dismissing the case as a nonjusticiable political question); City of Pawtucket v. Sundlun, 662 A.2d 40, 58–59 (R.I. 1995) (dismissing the case as a nonjusticiable political question); see also Ex parte James, 836 So. 2d 813, 818–19 (Ala. 2002) (employing the political question doctrine retroactively to dismiss ongoing litigation that had already resulted in plaintiff victories at the Alabama Supreme Court level).

   [154].        Currie, supra note 11, at 865–66.

   [155].        M.D.A. Freeman, Lloyd’s Introduction to Jurisprudence 357 (7th ed. 2001) (explaining that, while every individual right imposes a correlative duty on some person or entity, not every duty implies a correlative right).

   [156].        See supra note 3 and accompanying text (discussing positive rights).  I leave to the side for present purposes that the individual positive rights of which so many commentators and courts speak may actually be collective rights.  See Bauries, supra note 129, at 759 (“Are education rights, if they exist, individual or collective?”).  In practical terms, there is little to no distinction between a “collective right” and a systemic legislative duty.  See Douglas Sanders, Collective Rights, 13 Hum. Rts. Q. 368, 369–70 (1991) (explaining that, unlike group rights, such as affirmative action, collective bargaining, and class action rights, which use the power of the group to achieve rights-enhancing goals for the group’s individual members, collective rights seek to advance the group as a whole, an interest that the author describes in the human rights context as ensuring “distinct group survival,” but which can be thought of in the school finance context as enhancing the system itself, rather than (or in addition to) the interests of the individuals within the system).  In fact, one plausible way to read the Supreme Court of Washington’s decision in Seattle School District v. State, 585 P.2d 71, 91–92 (Wash. 1978), is as an interpretation of the state constitution’s education clause to establish both a systemic duty and a collective right in “all children residing within the borders of the State.”  Id. at 91 (“Therefore, all children residing within the borders of the State possess a ‘right,’ arising from the constitutionally imposed ‘duty’ of the State, to have the State make ample provision for their education.”).  For an “expressivist” account of state constitutional social and economic rights that draws substantially on collective rights theory, see Helen Hershkoff, “Just Words”: Common Law and the Enforcement of State Constitutional Social and Economic Rights, 62 Stan. L. Rev. 1521, 1553–55 (2010).

   [157].        See Bauries, supra note 3, at 327–33 (outlining the use of federal fundamental rights analysis in second-wave cases in the states).

   [158].        See supra note 11 and accompanying text (distinguishing between negative rights, such as equal protection, and positive rights).  But see Calabresi & Agudo, supra note 32, at 108–09 (using the latter concept to define the former).

   [159].        See Bauries, supra note 129, at 757–59.

   [160].        See supra note 3 and accompanying text (discussing the literature’s strongly rights-focused approach to school finance litigation).

   [161].        See, e.g., Dunn & Derthick, supra note 128, at 322.

   [162].        Hershkoff, Passive Virtues, supra note 78, at 1844–68 (discussing standing to sue in state courts).

   [163].        Id. at 1844–52 (discussing advisory opinions in the states).

   [164].        Id. at 1852–59 (discussing generalized grievances and public actions in the states).

   [165].        Seattle Sch. Dist. No. 1 v. State, 585 P.2d 71, 85 (Wash. 1978) (en banc).

   [166].        See, e.g., Rose v. Council for Better Educ., Inc., 790 S.W.2d 186, 212 (Ky. 1989) (“A child’s right to an adequate education is a fundamental one under our Constitution.  The General Assembly must protect and advance that right.”); McDuffy v. Sec’y of Exec. Office of Educ., 615 N.E.2d 516, 519 (Mass. 1993) (“[W]e shall restrict ourselves to a determination whether the constitutional language of [the education clause], is merely hortatory, or aspirational, or imposes instead a constitutional duty on the Commonwealth to ensure the education of its children in the public schools.  We conclude that a duty exists.”).

   [167].        Rose, 790 S.W.2d at 212.

   [168].        McDuffy, 615 N.E.2d at 618 (“The guidelines set forth by the Supreme Court of Kentucky fairly reflect our view of the matter and are consistent with the judicial pronouncements found in other decisions.”).

   [169].        Abbeville Cnty. Sch. Dist. v. State, 515 S.E.2d 535, 540 (S.C. 1999) (“We define this minimally adequate education required by our Constitution to include providing students adequate and safe facilities in which they have the opportunity to acquire: 1) the ability to read, write, and speak the English language, and knowledge of mathematics and physical science; 2) a fundamental knowledge of economic, social, and political systems, and of history and governmental processes; and 3) academic and vocational skills.”).

   [170].        Conn. Coal. for Justice in Educ. Funding, Inc. v. Rell, 990 A.2d 206, 253–54 (Conn. 2010) (“Thus, we conclude that [the education clause], entitles Connecticut public school students to an education suitable to give them the opportunity to be responsible citizens able to participate fully in democratic institutions, such as jury service and voting.  A constitutionally adequate education also will leave Connecticut’s students prepared to progress to institutions of higher education, or to attain productive employment and otherwise contribute to the state’s economy.  To satisfy this standard, the state, through the local school districts, must provide students with an objectively ‘meaningful opportunity’ to receive the benefits of this constitutional right.”).

   [171].        See id. at 249–50 (“[O]ur research has revealed that those state courts that have reached the merits of the issue overwhelmingly have held that there is a floor with respect to the adequacy of the education provided pursuant to their states’ education clauses; that education must be in some way ‘minimally adequate’ or ‘soundly basic.’  Furthermore, many of these decisions have articulated comprehensive standards that have defined the components of a constitutionally adequate education . . . .”).

   [172].        See R. Craig Wood & Bruce D. Baker, An Examination and Analysis of the Equity and Adequacy Concepts of Constitutional Challenges to State Education Finance Distribution Formulas, 27 U. Ark. Little Rock L. Rev. 125, 144–168 (2004) (analyzing and critiquing the different expert methodologies used to “cost out” adequate education funding in the scholarship and the cases).

   [173].        See, e.g., Rose v. Council for Better Educ., Inc., 790 S.W.2d 186, 213 (Ky. 1989) (justifying that in its judgment of unconstitutionality in part, “[w]e have described, infra, in some detail, the present system of common schools.  We have noted the overall inadequacy of our system of education, when compared to national standards and to the standards of our adjacent states.”).

   [174].        See supra note 144.

   [175].        The ancient idea of governance as a fiduciary responsibility has taken on new life due to recent scholarly work, some predating this Article, and some authored contemporaneously.  See supra note 1.  Each of these treatments focuses on different elements of a government’s fiduciary duty, but none confronts the important state constitutional question of affirmative constitutional duties to legislate on a particular topic—the topic addressed herein.

   [176].        For a comprehensive review of the origins and development of the “government-as-fiduciary” conception from the beginnings of Western political theory to the time of the American Revolution, see Natelson, Public Trust, supra note 35, at 1097–1123.

   [177].        Id. at 1097 (discussing Plato, The Republic 164 (H.D.P. Lee trans., 1961)).

   [178].        Id. at 1099–1100 (quoting Marcus Tullius Cicero, De Officiis (Loeb ed., Walter Miller trans., 1956)).

   [179].        Id. at 1103 (quoting James Stuart, The True Law of Free Monarchies, reprinted in The True Law of Free Monarchies and Basilikon Doron 56–57 (Daniel Fischlin & Mark Fortier eds., 1996)).

   [180].        See generally John Locke, Two Treatises on Government, in 5 The Works of John Locke 207 (New ed. 1823).

   [181].        See, e.g., Gordon S. Wood, The Creation of the American Republic: 1776–1787, at 283–84 (1969) (noting the importance of the Lockean notion of a social compact among the entrustors of power in post-Revolutionary thought); Donald L. Doernberg, “We the People”: John Locke, Collective Constitutional Rights, and Standing to Challenge Government Action, 73 Calif. L. Rev. 52, 57 (1985) (“It would be difficult to overstate John Locke’s influence on the American Revolution and the people who created the government that followed it.”); Andrew C. McLaughlin, Social Compact and Constitutional Construction, 5 Am. Hist. Rev. 467, 467 (1900) (“Locke was the philosopher of the American Revolution, as he was of the Revolution of 1688.”); Natelson, Public Trust, supra note 35, at 1115, 1115 n.157 (terming Locke’s Second Treatise “hugely influential” and noting that “Locke was repeatedly cited during the constitutional debates”); John F. Reinhardt, Political Philosophy from John Locke to Thomas Jefferson, 13 U. Kan. City L. Rev. 13, 46 (1944–1945) (“Many of the phrases of the Declaration of Independence may be found in Locke’s Two Treatises of Government.”).

   [182].        James A. Gardner, Interpreting State Constitutions: A Jurisprudence of Function in a Federal System 60 n.16 (2005) (“State constitutions written between 1776 and 1789 reveal a clear reliance on the Lockean model.”); Marc W. Kruman, Between Authority & Liberty: State Constitution Making in Revolutionary America 40 (1997) (outlining the influence of Lockean ideas in the early state constitutions).  In fact, it appears from the drafting history of state constitutions that, to the extent that Locke’s conception of the social compact evinces a distrust of legislative power, state constitutions have become more Lockean as history has unfolded.  See Christian G. Fritz, The American Constitutional Tradition Revisited: Preliminary Observations on State Constitution-Making in the Nineteenth Century West, 25 Rutgers L.J. 945, 967–70 (1994) (discussing the history of state constitutional adoption and revision in the nineteenth century, and pointing out that, as distrust of legislatures grew more widespread, state constitutions became more lengthy, specific, and “legislative”).  Although James Gardner is cited in this footnote, he rejects the idea that Locke’s conception of the social compact is useful as a tool for state constitutional interpretation.  Gardner, supra, at 122.  He bases this rejection on the conclusion that a baseline assumption of the Lockean model—that a distinct polity exists in a state of nature and willfully agrees to form an autonomous state—is not met in the case of the American states, each of which is populated by individuals who have already formed a social compact to create a national government.  Gardner’s argument is a convincing case for the proposition that states ought not to be viewed as having formed their constitutional governments for the sole purpose of achieving state-specific ends (Hans Linde’s primacy thesis), but it does not establish that the Lockean ideas that illuminated the structuring of governmental powers and rights in the early state constitutions and the national constitution ought to be discarded, and I do not read Gardner as urging this result.  In fact, in Gardner’s account, which places federalism values, rather than the values of an imaginarily distinct state polity, at the center of state constitutional interpretation, each state must establish for its legislature both sufficient power to act to accomplish the ends in the public interest and sufficient limitations on that power to forestall tyranny.  See id. at 123–36.  These ends reflect the essence of Locke’s conception of the relationship between the people and the state as a fiduciary one.  Added to Locke’s conception is merely the element that, in addition to protecting the people from outside attacks and state governmental tyranny, the government must be set up to counterbalance the vast powers of the federal government.

   [183].        Doernberg, supra note 181, at 58 n.34, 67.

   [184].        The Declaration of Independence expresses this state as the state in which “all men are . . . endowed by our Creator.”  The Declaration of Independence para. 2 (U.S. 1776).

   [185].        Locke, supra note 180, § 149, at 426.  The American Founding Fathers, and their state constitutional contemporaries, saw fit to create three coequal branches of government, rather than a supreme legislature and a subordinate executive, as Locke’s framework would have suggested.

   [186].        Id. § 22, at 351 (“The liberty of man in society is to be under no other legislative power but that established by consent in the commonwealth, nor under the dominion of any will, or restraint of any law, but what that legislative shall enact according to the trust put in it.”); id. § 136, at 419 (“To this end it is that men give up all their natural power to the society they enter into, and the community put the legislative power into such hands as they think fit, with this trust, that they shall be governed by declared laws, or else their peace, quiet, and property will still be at the same uncertainty as it was in the state of Nature.”); id. § 149, at 426 (“[Y]et the legislative being only a fiduciary power to act for certain ends, there remains still in the people a supreme power to remove or alter the legislative, when they find the legislative act contrary to the trust reposed in them.”).  In addition to these statements, in Locke’s direct enumeration of the limits of legislative power, he speaks explicitly in terms of a “trust”:

These are the bounds which the trust that is put in them by the society and the law of God and Nature have set to the legislative power of every commonwealth, in all forms of government.  First: They are to govern by promulgated established laws, not to be varied in particular cases, but to have one rule for rich and poor, for the favourite at Court, and the countryman at plough.  Secondly: These laws also ought to be designed for no other end ultimately but the good of the people.  Thirdly: They must not raise taxes on the property of the people without the consent of the people given by themselves or their deputies.  And this properly concerns only such governments where the legislative is always in being, or at least where the people have not reserved any part of the legislative to deputies, to be from time to time chosen by themselves.  Fourthly: The legislative neither must nor can transfer the power of making laws to anybody else, or place it anywhere but where the people have.

Id. § 142, at 423 (emphasis added).

   [187].        Scholars have recognized that Locke’s conception of the legislature’s power is one of fiduciary power, which comes with fiduciary duties to the public. See, e.g., Jenkins, supra note 1, at 543 (“Both the executive and the legislature have a fiduciary trust to act for the public good.”).

   [188].        Locke, supra note 180, § 149, at 426.

   [189].        This is, of course, an extrapolation of Locke’s idea that the people, as entrustors, have the power to revoke the trust (to revolt) whenever the fiduciary acts outside the terms of the entrustment.  Id.  We do not have revolutions every time that Congress or state legislatures act outside their constitutional boundaries today; rather, the genius of the Founding Fathers, applying Locke’s ideas in light of Montesquieu’s refinement of separated powers and checks and balances, established judicial review as the avenue to police violations of the people’s entrustment.  Nevertheless, this use of judicial review, though short of revolution, is still a distinctly Lockean way to check abuses of fiduciary entrustment.

   [190].        See Clark Neily, No Such Thing: Litigating Under the Rational Basis Test, 1 N.Y.U. J. L. & Liberty 898, 900–03 (2005).

   [191].        See generally Kelo v. City of New London, 545 U.S. 469 (2005) (generating outrage nationwide precisely because of the perception that the city engaging in the taking was acting to deprive individuals of their property for a primarily private purpose).

   [192].        See J. Randy Beck, The Heart of Federalism: Pretext Review of Means-End Relationships, 36 U.C. Davis L. Rev. 407, 412 (2003).

   [193].        See Bd. of Trs. of the Univ. of Ala. v. Garrett, 531 U.S. 356, 365 (2001).

   [194].        Tamar Frankel, Fiduciary Duties as Default Rules, 74 Or. L. Rev. 1209, 1210–12 (1995).

   [195].        See, e.g., Natelson, Agency, supra note 1, at 322 (stating that, in applying an agency principle to Congress’s action under the Necessary and Proper Clause, it is “to remain within its (somewhat restricted) realm of authority, and proceed in good faith, with reasonable care, and with impartiality and loyalty toward its constituents”).

   [196].        See, e.g., Karen E. Boxx, Of Punctilios and Paybacks: The Duty of Loyalty Under the Uniform Trust Code, 67 Mo. L. Rev. 279, 282–83 (2002).

   [197].        See, e.g., E. Haavi Morreim, The Clinical Investigator as Fiduciary: Discarding a Misguided Idea, 33 J.L. Med. & Ethics 586, 589 (2005) (“Somewhat less obviously, the fiduciary also must not compromise the entrustor’s welfare for the benefit of third parties.”).

   [198].        See Natelson, Welfare, supra note 1, at 242.

   [199].        Indeed, it is plausible to view much of the jurisprudence of the Lochner Era, including Lochner itself, as an attempt to enforce the duty of loyalty by looking behind the stated public purposes of federal and state legislation and assessing whether such legislation was really enacted for the benefit of the public or was instead enacted to benefit private parties or interest groups.  See generally David Bernstein, Rehabilitating Lochner (2011) (showing that some evidence of special interest protection existed in the facts of Lochner itself).

   [200].        See Locke, supra note 180, § 149, at 426.

   [201].        For a similar federal law, see Stolen Valor Act, 18 U.S.C. § 704(b) (2006).

   [202].        A case similar to this hypothetical was, at the initial submission date of this Article, pending before the United States Supreme Court.  United States v. Alvarez, 617 F.3d 1198, 1200–01 (9th Cir. 2010), aff’d, 132 S. Ct. 2537 (2012).

   [203].        See id. at 1212–14 (declining to apply the First Amendment exemption, stating, “Although certain subsets of false factual speech have been declared unprotected, such classes of speech were developed as the result of thoughtful constitutional analysis of what other characteristics the speech must have before it can be proscribed without clashing with First Amendment protections.  The Act does not fit neatly into any of those ‘well-defined’ and ‘narrowly limited’ classes of speech previously considered unprotected, and we thus are required to apply the highest level of scrutiny in our analysis.”).

   [204].        See Sheldon H. Nahmod, Public Employee Speech, Categorical Balancing and § 1983: A Critique of Garcetti v. Ceballos, 42 U. Rich. L. Rev. 561, 569–73 (2008) (outlining this ex ante form of interest balancing, which Professor Nahmod terms “categorical balancing”).

   [205].        Citizens United v. Fed. Election Comm’n, 130 S. Ct. 876, 898 (2010).

   [206].        See Alvarez, 617 F.3d at 1217 (rejecting a similar argument based on the narrow tailoring prong).  The Alvarez case has now been decided, with the Supreme Court holding that the government’s interest (i.e., the interest of the people) in protecting the value of military honors, though compelling, does not justify preventing false speech altogether.  Alvarez, 132 S. Ct. at 2549 (2012).  Rather, more narrowly tailored means of protecting the public interest, such as “counterspeech,” are available that would not impact the individual’s presumptive right to free expression.  Id.

   [207].        Unif. Probate Code § 7-302 (amended 2006).

   [208].        Am. Law. Inst., Principles of Corporate Governance § 4.01 (1994) [hereinafter ALI].

   [209].        Natelson, Agency, supra note 1, at 322; Philip J. Levitz, A Modern Fiduciary Theory of the Necessary & Proper Clause (Mar. 1, 2012) (unpublished student scholarship), available at http://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm
?abstract_id=2014468.

   [210].        George G. Bogert & George T. Bogert, The Law of Trusts and Trustees § 102 (1987).

   [211].        Id. § 683 (“A trustee has a duty to use ordinary, reasonable skill and prudence in following the directions or authority of the settlor with regard to trust investments.”).

   [212].        ALI, supra note 208, § 2.01.

   [213].        See Model Nonprofit Corp. Act § 2.02(b)(6)(i) (2008) (permitting a purpose to be specified in the articles of incorporation).

   [214].        See Model Nonprofit Corp. Act § 8.30(b) (2008) (“The members of the board of directors or a committee of the board, when becoming informed in connection with their decision-making function or devoting attention to their oversight function, must discharge their duties with the care that a person in a like position would reasonably believe appropriate under similar circumstances.”); ALI, supra note 208, § 4.01(a).

   [215].        See Natelson, Public Trust, supra note 35, at 1088–91.

   [216].        See, e.g., Del. Const. pmbl. (“Through divine goodness, all people have by nature the rights of worshipping and serving their Creator according to the dictates of their consciences, of enjoying and defending life and liberty, of acquiring and protecting reputation and property, and in general of obtaining objects suitable to their condition, without injury by one to another; and as these rights are essential to their welfare, for due exercise thereof, power is inherent in them; and therefore all just authority in the institutions of political society is derived from the people, and established with their consent, to advance their happiness; and they may for this end, as circumstances require, from time to time, alter their Constitution of government.”).

   [217].        See, e.g., Ala. Const. art. I, § 2 (“That all political power is inherent in the people, and all free governments are founded on their authority, and instituted for their benefit; and that, therefore, they have at all times an inalienable and indefeasible right to change their form of government in such manner as they may deem expedient.”); Alaska Const. art. I, § 2 (“All political power is inherent in the people.  All government originates with the people, is founded upon their will only, and is instituted solely for the good of the people as a whole.”); Ariz. Const. art. II, § 2 (“All political power is inherent in the people, and governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed, and are established to protect and maintain individual rights.”); Ark. Const. art. II, § 1 (“All political power is inherent in the people and government is instituted for their protection, security and benefit; and they have the right to alter, reform or abolish the same, in such manner as they may think proper.”).

   [218].        See Haw. Const. art. I, § 1 (“All political power of this State is inherent in the people and the responsibility for the exercise thereof rests with the people.  All government is founded on this authority.”).

   [219].        Ga. Const. art. II, § 1, ¶ I.

   [220].        See, e.g., Colo. Const. art. XXIX, § 6 (“Any public officer, member of the general assembly, local government official or government employee who breaches the public trust for private gain and any person or entity inducing such breach shall be liable to the state or local jurisdiction for double the amount of the financial equivalent of any benefits obtained by such actions.”); Fla. Const. art. II, § 8 (“A public office is a public trust.  The people shall have the right to secure and sustain that trust against abuse.”); Ga. Const. art. I, § 2, ¶ I (“All government, of right, originates with the people, is founded upon their will only, and is instituted solely for the good of the whole.  Public officers are the trustees and servants of the people and are at all times amenable to them.”).

   [221].        See G. Alan Tarr, Understanding State Constitutions 7 (1998).  This view has long been the conventional one in state constitutionalism.  See Thomas M. Cooley, A Treatise on the Constitutional Limitations Which Rest Upon the Legislative Power of the States of the American Union 127–35 (1896) (collecting cases).  “Plenary” should not be confused for “supreme” in the Lockean sense, as the former describes the scope of the legislative power—what objects it may address—while the latter describes the authority of the power—the extent to which it may be checked by the other branches of government or by popular will.  Constitutional drafters adopted most of Locke’s prescriptions for representative government, but they left the legislative power checked by two co-equal branches, where Locke would have left it supreme and would have lodged the ultimate check in the people’s power to alter, abolish, or reform their government.  Locke, supra note 180, § 149, at 426.

   [222].        See, e.g., Fla. Const. art. III, § 1 (“The legislative power of the state shall be vested in a legislature of the State of Florida, consisting of a senate composed of one senator elected from each senatorial district and a house of representatives composed of one member elected from each representative district.”); Vt. Const. ch. II, § 6 (“[Legislatures] may prepare bills and enact them into laws, redress grievances, grant charters of incorporation, subject to the provisions of section 69, constitute towns, boroughs, cities and counties; and they shall have all other powers necessary for the Legislature of a free and sovereign State; but they shall have no power to add to, alter, abolish, or infringe any part of this Constitution.”).

   [223].        Tarr, supra note 221, at 8–9.  Tarr also points out that at least one state has acted by constitutional amendment to forestall such an interpretation.  See id.at 9 n.10. (quoting Alaska Const. art. XII, § 8).

   [224].        For a sampling of these sorts of provisions, see Scott R. Bauries, State Constitutional Design and Education Reform: Process Specification in Louisiana, 40 J.L. & Educ. 1, 7–8 (2011).

   [225].        Mich. Const. art. XII, § 1.

   [226].        Locke, supra note 180, at § 149, at 427 (calling for abolishment of the “trust” reposed by the people where the legislature acts in conflict with the trust or outside its scope).

   [227].        See, e.g., Colo. Const. art. II, § 1 (“All political power is vested in and derived from the people; all government, of right, originates from the people, is founded upon their will only, and is instituted solely for the good of the whole.”).

   [228].        See Ark. Const. art. II, § 2 (“All men are created equally free and independent, and have certain inherent and inalienable rights; amongst which are those of enjoying and defending life and liberty; of acquiring, possessing and protecting property, and reputation; and of pursuing their own happiness.”).

   [229].        Some state constitutions use the word “trust” to describe the legislative duty.  See Ala. Const. art. IV, § 60 (“No person convicted of embezzlement of the public money, bribery, perjury, or other infamous crime, shall be eligible to the legislature, or capable of holding any office of trust or profit in this state.”).  Others contain provisions explicitly requiring that legislation—usually for appropriations and/or taxes—be passed only for public purposes.  See Alaska Const. art. 9, § 6 (“No tax shall be levied, or appropriation of public money made, or public property transferred, nor shall the public credit be used, except for a public purpose.”).

   [230].        Some state constitutions claim this right expressly.  See Ark. Const. art. II, § 1 (“All political power is inherent in the people and government is instituted for their protection, security and benefit; and they have the right to alter, reform or abolish the same, in such manner as they may think proper.”); Colo. Const. art. II, § 2 (“The people of this state have the sole and exclusive right of governing themselves, as a free, sovereign and independent state; and to alter and abolish their constitution and form of government whenever they may deem it necessary to their safety and happiness, provided, such change be not repugnant to the constitution of the United States.”); Ky. Const. § 4 (“All power is inherent in the people, and all free governments are founded on their authority and instituted for their peace, safety, happiness and the protection of property.  For the advancement of these ends, they have at all times an inalienable and indefeasible right to alter, reform or abolish their government in such manner as they may deem proper”).  Most do not, but many nevertheless imply the right to revolt by explicitly stating that the government’s action outside its powers constitutes “tyranny” or “oppression.”  See Ala. Const. art. I, § 35 (“That the sole object and only legitimate end of government is to protect the citizen in the enjoyment of life, liberty, and property, and when the government assumes other functions it is usurpation and oppression.”).

   [231].        See, e.g., Ala. Const. art. I, § 36 (“That this enumeration of certain rights shall not impair or deny others retained by the people; and, to guard against any encroachments on the rights herein retained, we declare that everything in this Declaration of Rights is excepted out of the general powers of government, and shall forever remain inviolate.”); Ark. Const. art. II, § 29 (“[W]e declare that everything in this article is excepted out of the general powers of the government; and shall forever remain inviolate; and that all laws contrary thereto, or to the other provisions herein contained, shall be void.”).

   [232].        See, e.g., Fla. Const. §§ 10–12 (directing the legislative power at specific objects); id. § 4 (placing procedural restrictions on legislative action, including requirements for transparency, such as the public reading of each bill); see also Fritz, supra note 182 (outlining the increasing distrust of legislative power that led to the adoption or expansion of such provisions in the nineteenth century).

   [233].        See supra notes 62–77 and accompanying text (discussing the different state education clauses).

   [234].        Ratner, supra note 49, at 814–16.  Ratner’s study was preceded by one other that grouped the clauses but for a different purpose.  See Erica Black Grubb,Breaking the Language Barrier: The Right to Bilingual Education, 9 Harv. C.R.-C.L. L. Rev. 52, 66–70 (1974).  After the rise of the “third wave,” perennial school finance commentator William Thro adopted Ratner’s category method of analysis.

   [235].        See Ratner, supra note 49, at 815–16.

   [236].        See William E. Thro, The Role of Language of the State Education Clauses in School Finance Litigation, 79 Educ. L. Rep. 19, 23–25 (1993).  Thereafter, the category approach quickly became the standard way to talk about education clauses.  See, e.g., Coal. for Adequacy & Fairness in Educ., Inc. v. Chiles, 680 So. 2d 400, 405 n.7 (Fla. 1996) (employing the category approach, as adopted by Thro).

   [237].        See Yohance C. Edwards & Jennifer Ahern, Unequal Treatment in State Supreme Courts: Minority and City Schools in Education Finance Reform Litigation, 79 N.Y.U. L. Rev. 326, 353–61 (2004) (finding no significant relationship between education clause language, defined by the category approach, and case outcomes); Paula J. Lundberg, State Courts and School Funding: A Fifty-State Analysis, 63 Alb. L. Rev. 1101, 1107–14 (2000) (reaching similar conclusions); Karen Swenson, School Finance Reform Litigation: Why Are Some State Supreme Courts Activist and Others Restrained?, 63 Alb. L. Rev. 1147, 1164–80 (2000) (finding the same).  But see Bauries, supra note 129, at 713 n.57 (explaining the limitations of Bill Swinford’s study); Bill Swinford, A Predictive Model of Decision Making in State Supreme Courts: The School Financing Cases, 19 Am. Pol. Res. 336, 347 (1991) (finding a relationship in the equity-based cases during the second wave).

   [238].        N.J. Const. art. VIII, § 4, ¶ 1 (“The Legislature shall provide for the maintenance and support of a thorough and efficient system of free public schools for the instruction of all the children in the State between the ages of five and eighteen years.”).

   [239].        According to a recent study by Education Week, New Jersey spends an average of $13,238 per pupil, compared with a national average expenditure per pupil of $9,644.  Quality Counts 2009, Educ. Wk., http://www.edweek.org/apps
/qc2009/state_compare.html#table_5 (last visited Sept. 17, 2012).

   [240].        Ga. Const. art. VIII, § 1, ¶ I (“The provision of an adequate public education for the citizens shall be a primary obligation of the State of Georgia.”).

   [241].        See, e.g., McDaniel v. Thomas, 285 S.E.2d 156 (Ga. 1981).

   [242].        In Guinn v. Legislature, a dispute between the governor of Nevada and the state legislature over whether the legislature was required to provide funding for a previously approved state education budget, the Supreme Court of Nevada, citing the state constitution’s education clause and holding that it superseded a later-adopted amendment to the state constitution requiring a supermajority for all tax increases, ordered the legislature to approve the tax increases required to fund the previously approved state education budget by simple majority.  See Guinn v. Legislature, 76 P.3d 22, 34 (Nev. 2003).

   [243].        Nev. Const. art. XI, § 2 (“The legislature shall provide for a uniform system of common schools, by which a school shall be established and maintained in each school district at least six months in every year, and any school district which shall allow instruction of a sectarian character therein may be deprived of its proportion of the interest of the public school fund during such neglect or infraction, and the legislature may pass such laws as will tend to secure a general attendance of the children in each school district upon said public schools.”).

   [244].        N.J. Const. art. VII, § 4, ¶ 1 (“The Legislature shall provide for the maintenance and support of a thorough and efficient system of free public schools for the instruction of all the children in the State between the ages of five and eighteen years.”).

   [245].        See Bauries, supra note 3, at 334 (discussing the New Jersey litigation saga).

   [246].        See, e.g., William E. Thro & R. Craig Wood, The Constitutional Text Matters: Reflections on Recent School Finance Cases, 251 Educ. L. Rep. 520 (2010), available at http://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id
=1658971.

   [247].        One scholar has described the clauses as “inherently nebulous,” a characterization with which I agree.  See Clayton P. Gillette, Reconstructing Local Control of School Finance: A Cautionary Note, 25 Cap. U. L. Rev. 37, 37 (1996).

   [248].        See S. Afr. Const. art. I, § 29 (1996) (providing for a “right . . . to further education, which the state, through reasonable measures, must make progressively available and accessible”).  See generally Govt. of the Rep. of S. Afr. v. Grootboom 2001 (1) S.A. 46 (CC) (calling for progressive realization of the goal of expanding access to housing).

   [249].        Nearly every state views its education system and the funds used to pay for it explicitly as a public trust.  See, e.g., Ohio Const. art. VI, § 2 (“The general assembly shall make such provisions, by taxation, or otherwise, as, with the income arising from the school trust fund, will secure a thorough and efficient system of common schools throughout the state; but, no religious or other sect, or sects, shall ever have any exclusive right to, or control of, any part of the school funds of this state.”).

   [250].        See, e.g., Davis v. State, 804 N.W.2d 618, 628 (S.D. 2011) (“In the present case, the plaintiffs have the burden of persuading the Court beyond a reasonable doubt that the public school system fails to provide students with an education that gives them the opportunity to prepare for their future roles as citizens, participants in the political system, and competitors both economically and intellectually, and that this failure is related to an inadequate funding system.”); see alsoUsman, supra note 5, at 1478–79 (providing examples from Kentucky and Colorado).

   [251].        William J. Brennan, Jr., State Constitutions and the Protection of Individual Rights, 90 Harv. L. Rev. 489, 503 (1977); Robert A. Schapiro, Judicial Deference and Interpretive Coordinacy in State and Federal Constitutional Law, 85 Cornell L. Rev. 656, 695 (2000); Usman, supra note 5, at 1479; see also James B. Thayer, The Origin and Scope of the American Doctrine of Constitutional Law, 7 Harv. L. Rev. 129, 146 (1893) (illustrating the ubiquity of the rule, as well as its resilience in the face of challenges, in early state constitutional adjudication).

   [252].        See supra note 185 and accompanying text (discussing Locke’s theory of legislative primacy).

   [253].        See supra notes 180–200 and accompanying text (discussing Locke’s conception of the legislature as the people’s fiduciary).

   [254].        There is some dispute over whether the duty of care is even a fiduciary duty.  Kelli A. Alces, Debunking the Corporate Fiduciary Myth, 35 J. Corp. L. 239, 250 (2009); William A. Gregory, The Fiduciary Duty of Care: A Perversion of Words, 38 Akron L. Rev. 181, 183 (2005).  Nevertheless, it seems that the best way to see the duty of care is as a duty that applies to fiduciaries, but not only to fiduciaries.

   [255].        See Austin W. Scott, The Fiduciary Principle, 37 Calif. L. Rev. 539, 541 (1949).

   [256].        Id.

   [257].        See, e.g., Christopher R. Stevenson, Abusing Abuse of Discretion: Judicial Review of ERISA Fiduciaries’ Discretionary Decisions in Denial of Benefits Cases, 27 Hofstra Lab. & Emp. L.J. 105, 111–12 (2009) (reviewing the adoption of trust law principles to adjudicate individual claims against ERISA fiduciaries).

   [258].        Scott, supra note 255, at 541.

   [259].        Id.

   [260].        Many have criticized the corporate election process, but each of these critiques also finds its way into critiques of legislative electoral processes, such as partisan gerrymandering.  That both systems are flawed in similar ways supports the analogy.

   [261].        See, e.g., Andrew S. Gold, A Decision Theory Approach to the Business Judgment Rule: Reflections on Disney, Good Faith, and Judicial Uncertainty, 66 Md. L. Rev. 398, 436, 436 n.246 (2007) (briefly reviewing these and other justifications for the rule).

   [262].        Franklin A. Gevurtz, The Historical and Political Origins of the Corporate Board of Directors, 33 Hofstra L. Rev. 89, 113–15 (2004).

   [263].        See Franklin A. Gevurtz, The Business Judgment Rule: Meaningless Verbiage or Misguided Notion, 67 S. Cal. L. Rev. 287, 289 (1994) (arguing that the rule is both unnecessary and misguided); Gold, supra note 261, at 432–36 (outlining some of the disagreements and concluding that the rule is an example of an “incompletely theorized agreement”—a doctrine that generates results on which most can agree, but which fails to achieve consensus as to its theoretical justification).

   [264].        See ALI, supra note 208, § 4.01(c).

   [265].        Id. § 4.01(c)(2).

   [266].        Id. § 4.01(c)(3).

   [267].        It should be noted here that this Article does not propose holding legislators accountable individually for breach of the legislature’s duty of care.  The duty to exercise due care in fulfilling an affirmative legislative duty to legislate is a duty that falls upon the legislature as a body and one that is breached only when legislation is passed pursuant to a process that violates the general duty.  See Thro, supra note 3, at 698–99 (making the point that all school finance litigation presents as facial challenges, and like a challenge to Congress’s exercise of its Commerce Power, the violation of the state constitutional duty to fund an education system is complete when the legislation is signed); see also Rosenkranz, supra note 28, at 1273–80 (making the same point about several congressional powers).  Under these formulations, and the one presented herein, which is consistent with them, even if a substantial number of individual legislators violated their duties, if the majority that passed the legislation fulfilled the general duty of care, then the legislation should stand.

   [268].        See supra note 193 and accompanying text (discussing the section five power and Garrett).

   [269].        This is true although a significant, and in my estimation well-taken, critique of the rational basis test is that it does not require the ultimate “basis” that upholds a challenged law to have been the actual basis for that law.  See Neily, supra note 190, at 899–900.

   [270].        For an explanation of the duty of obedience in the nonprofit corporation context, see Nicole Huberfeld, Tackling the “Evils” of Interlocking Directorates in Healthcare Nonprofits, 85 Neb. L. Rev. 681, 703–08 (2007).

   [271].        See supra note 267 (discussing the duty of care in the affirmative duties context).

   [272].        See, e.g., Seattle Sch. Dist. No. 1 v. State, 585 P.2d 71, 80 (Wash. 1978) (“Declaratory procedure is peculiarly well suited to the judicial determination of controversies concerning constitutional rights and, as in this case, the constitutionality of legislative action or inaction.”).

   [273].        Ky. Const. § 183.

   [274].        Rose v. Council for Better Educ., Inc., 790 S.W.2d 186, 212–13 (Ky. 1989).

   [275].        See Scott R. Bauries, Foreword: Rights, Remedies, and Rose, 98 Ky. L.J. 703, 709–10 (2010); supra notes 166–67, 173, and accompanying text (discussing Rose).

   [276].        See Bauries, supra note 3, at 325–27 (discussing cases resulting in outright dismissals at the premerits phase).

   [277].        Other scholars have, in the past, proposed mediate approaches, but these proposals have not focused on mediating the merits—only the remedy.  See, e.g., Brown, supra note 134, at 550–56 (arguing in favor of a “middle ground” approach, which would require dialogue during the remedial phase, but not particular judicial deference on the merits); Obhof, supra note 134, at 593–96 (advocating a similar approach).

   [278].        See Alces, supra note 254, at 251 (“[T]he standard [of the corporate duty of care] is a procedural one.  In order to fulfill the ‘duty of care’ directors must only be sure to inform themselves regarding business decisions they make on the corporation’s behalf and must exercise the most rudimentary monitoring of the corporate enterprise.”).

   [279].        ALI, supra note 208, § 4.01(c)(3).

   [280].        See Rachel E. Barkow, More Supreme than Court?  The Fall of the Political Question Doctrine and the Rise of Judicial Supremacy, 102 Colum. L. Rev. 237, 258–63 (2002) (describing the abstention function of the political question doctrine).

   [281].        Smith v. Van Gorkom, 488 A.2d 858, 874 (Del. 1985) (holding that board members who voted to approve a merger after only two hours of debate and without reviewing any documentation regarding the adequacy of the proposed purchase price violated the duty of care), overruled on other grounds by Gantler v. Stephens, 965 A.2d 695, 710 n.45 (Del. 2009).  Most corporate cases appear to conceive of the business judgment rule as a standard of review, rather than a rule of abstention.  Aronson v. Lewis, 473 A.2d 805, 812 (Del. 1984), overruled on other grounds by Brehm v. Eisner, 746 A.2d 244 (Del. 2000) (reaffirming the business judgment standard but rejecting the appellate standard of review).  But some scholars favor the “abstention” approach.  See Stephen M. Bainbridge, The Business Judgment Rule as Abstention Doctrine, 57 Vand. L. Rev. 83, 90 (2004).

   [282].        See Thro, supra note 3, at 688 (arguing that, properly conceived, all education clause litigation presents facial challenges).

   [283].        As discussed below, the “costing-out” studies now familiar to the remedial stages of school finance litigation would seem to fit naturally within this category.  See Wood & Baker, supra note 172, at 143–58 (discussing educational adequacy cost studies).

   [284].        See Bauries, supra note 129, at 735 (discussing remedial abstention).

   [285].        See, e.g., Dunn & Derthick, supra note 128, at 322–23.

   [286].        See David S. Law, A Theory of Judicial Power and Judicial Review, 97 Geo. L.J. 723, 774 (2009).

   [287].        Id. at 777.

   [288].        Id. at 778.  As developed in a forthcoming piece by Ethan Leib, David L. Ponet, and Michael Serota, judges may also have fiduciary duties to the public, one of which is what the authors term “deliberative engagement,” a duty that this kind of signaling supports.  See Leib et al., Judging, supra note 1.

   [289].        See Law, supra note 286, at 774.

   [290].        For a view critical of this assumption, see generally James A. Gardner, The Failed Discourse of State Constitutionalism, 90 Mich. L. Rev. 761 (1992). But see generally Hans A. Linde, State Constitutions Are Not Common Law: Comments on Gardner’s Failed Discourse, 24 Rutgers L.J. 927 (1993) (challenging Gardner’s argument).

   [291].        See Koski, supra note 98, at 1189; Liebman & Sabel, supra note 78, at 184–92; Sabel & Simon, supra note 78, at 1016–21.

   [292].        See generally Sabel & Simon, supra note 78.

   [293].        See Wood & Baker, supra note 172, at 144–68 (reviewing the history of social science “costing-out” studies of educational equity and adequacy and identifying a then-emerging trend whereby advocacy groups conduct their own studies to support planned arguments in litigation); cf. William S. Koski, Courthouses vs. Statehouses?, 109 Mich. L. Rev. 923, 933–936 (2011) (reviewing Eric A. Hanushek & Alfred A. Lindseth, Schoolhouses, Courthouses, and Statehouses: Solving the Funding-Achievement Puzzle in America’s Public Schools (2009) and Michael A. Rebell, Courts & Kids: Pursuing Educational Equity Through the State Courts (2009)).  After a very fair and even-handed review of two books with competing views, Professor Koski seems ultimately sympathetic to Professor Rebell’s view that the consideration of social science evidence by courts is not as problematic as critics would hold it to be, based primarily on the many tools that courts possess, such as the appointment of masters and monitors, to assist them with their work.  Id. at 934–35.  My own view is that it makes little difference whether the judiciary canconsider social-science evidence before we consider whether it should.  Professor Rebell’s argument makes the answer to the former question the answer to the latter as well.  The adoption of the fiduciary approach presented herein clarifies that these are two separate inquiries and that the judiciary’s role in assessing social-science evidence is best limited to a determination of whether the social-science evidence a legislature considered was in fact relevant and material to its funding decision.

   [294].        Wood & Baker, supra note 172, at 143–58 (reviewing the proliferation of this industry and critiquing the methodologies employed in expert costing-out studies).

   [295].        Some state constitutions contain affirmative duties of this sort directed at subjects other than education.  See, e.g., Hershkoff, Welfare Devolution, supranote 49, at 1407 nn.20–23 (citing articles outlining challenges based on state constitutional provisions requiring the legislative provision of welfare services, health care, education, and housing).  In addition, many national constitutions contain these sorts of duties, often directed at multiple policy goals, including education.  See, e.g., Eleanor D. Kinney & Brian Alexander Clark, Provisions for Health and Health Care in the Constitutions of the Countries of the World, 37 Cornell Int’l L.J. 285, 291–301 (2004) (reviewing constitutions requiring the provision of health services); Dinah Shelton, Human Rights, Environmental Rights, and the Right to Environment, 28 Stan. J. Int’l L. 103, 103–04 n.5 (1991) (reviewing constitutions requiring the protection of the natural environment).

Bauries_LawReview_1.13

By: Roberto L. Corrada*

Introduction

The standard for voluntary affirmative action[1] under Title VII has been in question in recent years.  The last United States Supreme Court opinion to directly address the matter is over twenty years old, and the Court’s composition has changed since then.  In the years since the last Title VII affirmative action opinion in 1987, Congress has passed the Civil Rights Act of 1991, and the constitutional standard for voluntary affirmative action has been addressed by the Court no fewer than five times.  The constitutional standard had been crafted by Justice Sandra Day O’Connor; but with her retirement, both the constitutional (Fourteenth Amendment) and the statutory (Title VII) standards for affirmative action have again been obscured.

A recent case, Ricci v. DeStefano,[2] although primarily a Title VII disparate treatment case, nonetheless contains dicta that sheds some light on the Court’s thinking about Title VII affirmative action.  Commentators trying to make sense of the Supreme Court’s confusing decision in the case have debated whether it spells doom for affirmative action or whether, as Professor Charles Sullivan puts it with respect to disparate impact theory, reports of the death of affirmative action as a result of Ricci might be exaggerated.[3]  I agree with those scholars who see Ricci as having left the door ajar for affirmative action plans under both constitutional and statutory standards, but for reasons on which other scholars have not focused.

This Article argues that Ricci, while having dealt a blow to disparate impact theory, has not necessarily dealt a fatal blow to affirmative action in the process.  Many believe that Ricci has no implications for affirmative action at all since the case’s facts involved no preferences for minorities.[4]  However, I believe that dicta in the case suggests how the Court may handle a Title VII affirmative action case in the future, even though I agree that no affirmative action issue was before the Court in Ricci.  The key to understanding Ricci and to anticipating the foreseeable future of affirmative action lies in understanding Justice Kennedy’s emerging views, assuming new Justices Sotomayor and Kagan follow relatively liberal paths.  Specifically, Justice Kennedy—stepping into the “swing-vote” role formerly held by Justice O’Connor—has adopted key elements of Justice O’Connor’s position on affirmative action: hostile and restrictive, yes, but not entirely opposed to it as are the more conservative members of the Court.

I begin in Part I by looking back at the two Supreme Court Title VII voluntary affirmative action cases: United Steelworkers of America v. Weber[5] and Johnson v. Transportation Agency.[6]  I then discuss the legal standard that emerged from those cases, and explore in Part II how that standard might have been affected indirectly by subsequent developments—including case law on affirmative action in the constitutional context, passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1991, Justice O’Connor’s retirement, and the Ricci case.  I argue in Part III that the legal standard for Title VII affirmative action has perhaps shifted, and that there are sufficient clues in constitutional case law and in the Ricci case to suggest what the legal standard has become.

I.  Private Voluntary Affirmative Action Under Title VII

After the famous 1978 affirmative action decision in Regents of the University of California v. Bakke—involving a public entity and the extent of its ability to craft a quota plan while still avoiding liability under the U.S. Constitution[7]—the Court turned its attention to affirmative action programs implemented by private entities, which are constrained only by Title VII.  The Court decided two cases within a decade that established a structural framework for voluntary affirmative action under Title VII.  In the first of these, United Steelworkers of America v. Weber,[8] decided the year after Bakke, the employer had established a controversial quota plan reserving half the slots in a specific training program for black workers only.[9]  The Gramercy, Louisiana plant for the Kaiser Aluminum & Chemical Corporation was located in an area where black workers made up nearly 40% of the entire workforce.[10]  Despite that number, the Gramercy plant had only five skilled craftworkers out of 273 (almost 2%) who were black.[11]  As a result, the United Steelworkers, a labor union, negotiated with Kaiser Aluminum to add a quota to ensure that 50% of all new trainees for its in-house training program at the Gramercy plant would be black, since some training was required for skilled craft positions.[12]

The Court upheld the plan.  Justice Brennan, writing for the majority, canvassed the language of Title VII, as well as its legislative history, to find that while affirmative action was not mandated by the statute, voluntary plans were permitted within certain bounds.[13]  In laying out these bounds, the Court first stated that an employer adopting a voluntary plan must be addressing a traditionally segregated employment opportunity that requires such action.[14]  Even then, the plan: (1) must not require the discharge of white workers in order to hire black workers; (2) must not serve as an absolute bar to the advancement of white workers; and (3) must be temporary, in that it can only be used to attain, and not to maintain, racial balance.[15]  The Court found that black workers had traditionally been kept out of the apprentice positions that served as a critical prerequisite for skilled craft jobs at the Kaiser Aluminum Gramercy plant.[16]  The Court further found that since the quota was 50% for each training program, the plan did not serve as an absolute bar to white workers, nor did it require discharge of those workers.[17]  It also found the measure to be temporary, since the plan was expressly going to be terminated upon attainment of its goal—black workers constituting 36% of the skilled craftworker population in the Gramercy plant, reflecting the total percentage of black workers in the relevant labor market.[18]

The prospects for female employees at the Santa Clara Transportation Agency were little better than for black workers at Kaiser Aluminum when the Agency set up its own affirmative action plan for women in skilled craft positions.[19]  As is often the case, voluntary affirmative action plans are set up by employers facing potential Title VII liability due to a dearth of women or minorities in particular positions.[20]  Though 22% of Agency employees were women, none of the 238 workers in skilled craft positions were women.[21]  Women at the Agency occupied positions in which women were traditionally represented, including office, clerical, and paraprofessional jobs.[22]  As a result of the skewed demographics of the Santa Clara Agency workforce, the County adopted an affirmative action plan for women, with the goal of eventually getting the workforce to reflect the relevant job-market demographic for women, which was 36%.[23]  The plan was explicitly a “goal” plan instead of a quota plan, requiring no particular percentage of female hiring in any given year.[24]  In 1980, the Agency hired one woman, whose gender was a factor in her being employed over a male applicant who had ranked a couple of points higher on the oral examination (he had achieved a score of seventy-five to her seventy-three).[25]  The Supreme Court’s eventual decision in Johnson v. Transportation Agency upheld the hiring and the affirmative action plan, citing the test established in Weber eight years earlier.[26]  In upholding the plan, the Court specifically noted that the target job was in a traditionally segregated job category, that the plan was goal based (even less intrusive on the rights of the majority than was the quota plan in Weber), and that the plan was temporary.[27]

Critically, in both the Johnson and Weber cases, the Supreme Court allowed Title VII voluntary plans to be justified using general labor-force statistics.[28]  The plans were upheld not only because there was a dearth of minorities or women in the particular jobs that had been traditionally occupied by majority-class workers, but also because the plans had stopping points, or goals, reflected by the minority population in the overall workforce.[29]  The Gramercy locale had 40% black workers and the Santa Clara locale had 36% women in their respective labor markets.  The Court allowed the plans to be founded on these very general workforce markers.[30]

II.  The Fourteenth Amendment Equal Protection Clause’s Public Voluntary Affirmative Action Standard

The key jurist on affirmative action has been Justice Sandra Day O’Connor.[31]  On the Court from 1981 until 2006, she was involved in the Johnson case on the Title VII side and wrote for the majority or plurality in City of Richmond v. J.A. Croson Co.,[32] Adarand Constructors, Inc. v. Pena,[33] and Grutter v. Bollinger[34] (as well as the concurrence in Gratz v. Bollinger[35]) on the public sector/Fourteenth Amendment side before stepping down from the Court in 2006.  Justice O’Connor has been the driving force or had a hand in six of the eight full United States Supreme Court decisions on constitutional and statutory voluntary affirmative action.[36]  Although Justice O’Connor is often cited for her majority opinions, which form the body of the Court’s thinking on affirmative action, her concurring opinion in an early case, Wygant v. Jackson Board of Education,[37] may be the best opinion to analyze to understand her thinking on the subject.  In Wygant, Justice O’Connor transparently puzzles through what would ultimately become the foundation of her philosophy on affirmative action.  Moreover, the Wygant concurrence has taken on even more meaning now, as Justice Anthony Kennedy—O’Connor’s successor as the key vote on affirmative action[38]—has prominently cited to it in his majority opinion in Ricci.  It is this notable reliance that makes Ricci suggestive regarding the future of voluntary affirmative action under Title VII.

Wygant v. Jackson Board of Education was decided in 1986 and was the next Supreme Court case on voluntary affirmative action brought under the Fourteenth Amendment’s Equal Protection Clause after Bakke.[39]  The Court in Wygant confronted an affirmative action plan that protected newly hired minority teachers from termination.[40]  The Board of Education of Jackson, Michigan—in an attempt to redress rampant racial discrimination in teacher hiring—adopted an affirmative action hiring plan, but realized that any layoffs, especially mass layoffs in response to an economic downturn, would quickly erase any affirmative action gains.[41]  In response, the Board, working with the teacher’s union, adopted an additional termination-protection plan.  That plan provided as follows:

In the event that it becomes necessary to reduce the number of teachers through layoff from employment by the Board, teachers with the most seniority in the district shall be retained, except that at no time will there be a greater percentage of minority personnel laid off than the current percentage of minority personnel employed at the time of the layoff.[42]

The Wygant case was filed after two separate years of layoffs in which some less senior minority teachers were retained, while some more senior majority teachers were let go.[43]  The Court struck down the layoff-protection plan as a violation of the Fourteenth Amendment’s Equal Protection Clause.[44]  In doing so, the Court inquired as to whether any compelling state interest justified the plan and examined the means used to accomplish that interest.  The Jackson Board of Education justified its layoff protection plan in two ways.  First, the Board maintained that minority students needed minority role models in teaching positions and pointed to the fact that the percentage of minority teachers was lower than the percentage of minority students in the school.[45]  Second, the Board argued that the city’s history of racial discrimination justified the layoff-protection plan as a remedial measure.[46]  With respect to the first argument—the “role model” theory—the Court stated that societal discrimination is not enough to justify a role-model approach and that, in any case, the role-model approach had no link to past discrimination by the school district, nor did it have any logical stopping point.[47]  With respect to the second argument—remedying past discrimination—the Court found that the layoff-protection plan had been originally instituted without sufficient evidence documenting actual past discrimination by the Jackson School Board.[48]  Any showing of discrimination was made only in the context of the lawsuit, after the challenged plan was implemented.

Regardless of the Board’s interest in creating the layoff-protection plan, the Court stated that the plan would fail under the Fourteenth Amendment in any case because it was “not sufficiently narrowly tailored” to meet that interest.[49]  According to the Court, while there are times when race must be taken into account in formulating a remedy, the burden imposed on the majority class by race-based remedies must be kept to a minimum to withstand constitutional strict scrutiny.[50]  The Court found that hiring goals impose such a minimal burden, presumably because a person who is denied a job has not yet developed the expectation that comes with having the position.  According to the Court, though, layoff protection imposes a harsher injury on the majority class because the loss of an existing job is more intrusive than is the denial of a prospective future opportunity.[51]

Justice O’Connor’s concurrence in Wygant lays bare her developing thinking on affirmative action.  First, Justice O’Connor emphasizes that she favors voluntary action by employers, and especially public employers, to remedy past discrimination.[52]  She agrees with the plurality, however, that rationales based on remedying general societal discrimination or role-model theories are not sufficient bases on which to anchor voluntary efforts.[53]  According to O’Connor:

The imposition of a requirement that public employers make findings that they have engaged in illegal discrimination before they engage in affirmative action programs would severely undermine public employers’ incentive to meet voluntarily their civil rights obligations.  This result would clearly be at odds with this Court’s and Congress’ consistent emphasis on “the value of voluntary efforts to further the objectives of the law.”  The value of voluntary compliance is doubly important when it is a public employer that acts, both because of the example its voluntary assumption of responsibility sets and because the remediation of governmental discrimination is of unique importance.[54]

In Wygant, O’Connor asks by implication, if societal discrimination is not enough to ground voluntary remedial efforts by the government, what would motivate voluntary action short of requiring the government to make out an entire case of discriminatory liability against itself?[55]  Justice O’Connor suggests that requiring too much by way of evidence would serve as a strong disincentive to voluntary action.  Accordingly, she notes, a required finding of prior antecedent or contemporaneous discrimination is too much.[56]  Nonetheless, public employers must have a “sufficient basis” for imposing affirmative action measures.[57]

Justice O’Connor then finds this “sufficient basis” in the statistical analysis approved in Hazelwood School District v. United States,[58] a case involving systemic, pattern, or practice discrimination under Title VII.[59]  As she explains, a statistical comparison of the percentage of minority employees in target jobs to the percentage of minorities in the relevant labor market is sufficient to establish a prima facie case of systemic discrimination and should likewise provide a “firm basis” for remedial affirmative action.[60]  Justice O’Connor notes that imposing such a strong requirement would neither make the employer automatically liable nor make the affirmative action plan unassailable.[61]  Indeed, the statistical finding illustrated in Hazelwood creates a prima facie case of discrimination, but named plaintiffs and anecdotal evidence of discrimination would have to accompany the statistics to actually prove systemic discrimination resulting in liability, thus allowing an employer to make a statistical case without finding actual liability against itself.[62]  O’Connor concludes her concurrence by applying her construct to the facts at hand in Wygant.[63]  She explains that the statistical comparison of minority teachers to minority students is irrelevant to the issue of employment discrimination: “[I]t is only when it is established that the availability of minorities in the relevant labor pool substantially exceeded those hired that one may draw an inference of deliberate discrimination in employment.”[64]

Justice O’Connor’s thinking on affirmative action, revealed in Wygant, became cemented a few years later in City of Richmond v. J.A. Croson Co.[65]  In Croson, the City of Richmond had created an affirmative action plan for hiring minority contractors.[66]  As was the case with the City of Jackson in Wygant, Richmond also had its substantial share of racial strife and past discrimination.  The City Council decided that since the population of the city was 50% African American, it was only logical that a substantial number of its contractors should be drawn from the ranks of minority-owned enterprises.[67]  The City thus established a substantial goal for prime contractors to award 30%, based on total dollar amounts, of their city-project subcontracts to minority-owned enterprises.[68]  Justice O’Connor, writing for the plurality, emphasized that to lawfully establish an affirmative action plan, the City had to show actual discrimination with “some specificity before [it could] use race-conscious relief.”[69]  According to O’Connor, the comparison to the city population was irrelevant to the issue of proving discrimination in contracting (this was similar to her reaction to the comparison between teacher and student populations advanced in Wygant).  Instead, the City should have identified the disparity between two figures—the percentage of dollar amounts awarded to minority contractors by Richmond and the percentage of qualified minority contractors in the relevant market.[70]  When these statistics are used, the percentages change markedly.  Richmond awarded only 0.67% of its prime contracts to minority firms during the relevant time period.[71]  However, evidence indicated that the percentage of qualified minority contractor firms in the national market at the time was only 4.7%, and that a large percentage of those firms were concentrated in just five other states.[72]  Even if a standard deviation of greater than two or three were produced statistically in the Croson case (assuming Richmond was representative of the national market), the maximum goal of any affirmative action plan would have to be the market percentage—about 5%.

The bottom line for voluntary affirmative action plans, subject to constitutional scrutiny under the Fourteenth Amendment after Croson, is that they can only be adopted after the relevant governmental unit produces a “firm” or “strong” basis in evidence that actual discrimination has occurred.[73]  The firm or strong basis refers to the amount of evidence sufficient to make out a prima facie case of systemic discrimination under Title VII, consistent with the Court’s decision in Hazelwood.  This much is made plain by a close analysis of Justice O’Connor’s concurring opinion in Wygant, followed by her plurality opinion in Croson.  Importantly, Justice Kennedy, the new swing vote on affirmative action and the author of the majority opinion in Ricci, joined Justice O’Connor in Croson.[74]

III.  Ricci v. DeStefano: Predicting a Shift in the Standard for Private Voluntary Affirmative Action Under Title VII

A.            Relevant Facts of Ricci

The facts of the Ricci case have now been rehashed dozens of times in scholarly articles.[75]  The critical facts for purposes of this Article are the following.  The City of New Haven developed and administered officer-promotion exams for lieutenant and captain positions within its fire department.[76]  These examinations were developed over a period of time with the involvement of experts.[77]  The exams included a written component, worth 60% of the final exam score, and an oral component, worth 40% of the final score.[78]  This balance was struck in the collective bargaining agreement between the firefighter union and the City of New Haven.[79]  In addition, a City rule required that each promotion went to someone with one of the top three scores on a given exam.[80]  For the lieutenant exam, seventy-seven applicants took the exam (forty-three Caucasian, nineteen African American, and fifteen Hispanic), thirty-four of whom passed the exam (twenty-five Caucasian (60%), six African American (30%), and three Hispanic (20%)).[81]  For the captain exam, there were forty-one applicants (twenty-five Caucasian, eight African American, and eight Hispanic), twenty-two of whom passed the exam (sixteen Caucasian (65%), three African American (40%), and three Hispanic (40%)).[82]  Unfortunately, the tests produced a disparate impact against minority takers under the very rough, traditional disparate impact test known as the “80% rule.”[83]  Under the 80% statistical rule, an impact on minorities from a test is disparate for purposes of making out a prima facie case under Title VII if the pass rate for minority-class takers is less than 80% of the pass rate for majority-class takers.[84]

In Ricci, the 80% rule was met.  On the lieutenant exam, the pass rate for African-American takers was only about 55% of the Caucasian pass rate (32% vs. 58%), and the pass rate for Latino takers was even lower, at about 34% (20% vs. 58%).[85]  On the captain exam, there were similar results.  The pass rate for both African Americans and Latinos was 38%, about 60% of the Caucasian pass rate, and also within the 80% requirement.[86]  Because this created prima facie disparate impact liability, the City of New Haven chose to discard the test results.[87]  In the end, the Supreme Court narrowly held that the City of New Haven should not have discarded the tests, because of the race-based disadvantage or disparate treatment caused to the white firefighters who had taken and passed the tests.  The Court found that Title VII would not support a disparate treatment violation (here, discrimination against whites caused by nullifying the test results) in order to address only a prima facie case of disparate impact liability (the City of New Haven had uncovered a prima facie case of disparate impact liability based on the 80% rule, but had not uncovered strong evidence of an actual case of disparate impact liability).[88]  The Court stated, however, that test results could be discarded if the City of New Haven had uncovered a “strong basis in evidence” of an actual case of disparate impact liability, but held that no such showing of disparate impact liability existed in the New Haven scenario; while there was an impact, the City had not gone further to analyze whether the tests also failed the “business necessity/job-relatedness” and “alternative means” prongs of the full disparate impact analysis in order to have a “strong basis” for finding liability.[89]

B.            Ricci’s Holding Limited to Tests Already Taken

The Court’s decision in Ricci must be interpreted narrowly for the full decision (holding and dicta) to make sense.  The square holding of the case is that when a test has a disparate impact, the employer must be able to show a “strong basis in evidence” for Title VII disparate impact liability from the lower-passing group before that employer may discard the test results; only by following this proof structure may the employer avoid potential disparate treatment liability to the higher-passing group.[90]  As related to tests already taken, a “strong basis in evidence” means an employer finding of potential disparate impact liability, as opposed to a mere prima facie case.  The public employer must show not only that the tests had a disparate impact on the basis of race, but also that there was no adequate business necessity for the tests, or if there was an adequate business necessity, that no alternative measure or test that accomplished the employer’s business goals, but with less impact, was available.[91]

There are solid indications in the Ricci decision that the holding is limited to tests that have already been administered.[92]  First, the Court explicitly states that the violation occurred in “discarding the test results,”[93] and not in the efforts of the City to create a fair test.[94]  Second, despite its overall holding in Ricci, the Court takes great pains to explain, in dicta, that voluntary actions to remedy discrimination (short of discarding tests, apparently) are important and would be chilled if a public employer had to find actual disparate impact liability against itself before attempting to remedy racial discrimination.[95]  For example, in answering petitioner arguments urging that compliance cannot ever be a defense unless actual disparate impact liability is shown first, the Court states as follows:

Again, this is overly simplistic and too restrictive of Title VII’s purpose.  The rule petitioners offer would run counter to what we have recognized as Congress’s intent that “voluntary compliance” be “the preferred means of achieving the objectives of Title VII.”  Forbidding employers to act unless they know, with certainty, that a practice violates the disparate-impact provision would bring compliance efforts to a near standstill.  Even in the limited situations when this restricted standard could be met, employers likely would hesitate before taking voluntary action for fear of later being proven wrong in the course of litigation and then held to account for disparate treatment.[96]

Obviously, the foregoing statement by the Court would make no sense if the latter part of the decision—which required the City of New Haven to have strong evidence of potential disparate impact liability before discarding tests—applied to all attempts by an employer to eradicate past racial discrimination, including through affirmative action programs.  Indeed, the Court here cites to Justice O’Connor’s concurring opinion in Wygant, in which she suggests that the City of Jackson, Michigan might have escaped liability for its affirmative action plan (limiting minority-teacher terminations) if it had based its remedial efforts on a statistical showing sufficient to make out a prima facie case of systemic discrimination liability, rather than just on an impact case.[97]  As shown prior, Justice Kennedy subscribes to Justice O’Connor’s thinking on this issue.  Third, the Court explains its decision about the discarded tests by invoking the reliance interest of the test takers (mainly related to the effort involved in studying for a particular test)—an interest that would not exist if the remedial actions were taken at the design stage, pre-administration.[98]

C.            The Future of Title VII Affirmative Action

An interesting question after Ricci is what may an employer voluntarily do under Title VII if it faces (as did the City of New Haven) a vastly segregated workforce and desires to address the discrimination?  What does Ricci’s “strong basis in evidence” rule mean, if anything, in the affirmative action context?  We know, after Ricci, that the employer cannot discard test results that have an adverse impact against a protected class unless the employer can show it faces potential disparate impact liability if it were to keep the results.  We also know that an employer can take any action to ensure that its testing or selection criteria are fair.[99]  But what if an employer chooses to address the segregation by implementing affirmative action remedies—say a goal plan for hiring or promotion, like the one used in Johnson?[100]  The relevant case law for Title VII affirmative action is Johnson and Weber—discussed earlier in this Article—which allow such plans based on general labor force statistics, rather than on a statistical test that analyzes the makeup of the workplace in relation to the makeup of the qualified labor pool.[101]  However, those cases are now dated and likely do not reflect the current thinking of the Court in these matters.[102]

If the Ricci holding is limited to discarding tests already taken, are there any clues in the case’s dicta about how the Court perceives Title VII affirmative action programs—voluntary remedial preferences to address workplace racial disparities?  It turns out there are.  For example, it seems clear that a majority of the Court still favors voluntary remedial action, including affirmative action by employers, and thinks that such action is consistent with Title VII and the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment.[103]  The Ricci Court cites twice to Croson and once to Justice O’Connor’s concurring opinion in Wygant to underscore the importance of voluntary remedial actions, and affirmative action, as a part of Title VII compliance.  Of course, the citation to Justice O’Connor’s concurring opinion in Wygant, I argue, is also an intentional nod to her view that it is particularly important for the government to take the lead in voluntary compliance efforts, given the especially pernicious history of the government’s role in racial discrimination.  Wygant is an affirmative action case, even though Ricci is not.[104]  The Court cites to these cases also to emphasize the “strong basis in evidence” idea as having come from Croson and O’Connor’s concurring opinion in Wygant.  The Ricci decision thus strongly suggests the introduction of a new legal standard for Title VII affirmative action, forged in the context of the already-existing standard for affirmative action under the Equal Protection Clause of the U.S. Constitution.[105]  Instead of citing to Johnson or Weber regarding the proper Title VII analysis for voluntary remedial action, the Court cites constitutional affirmative action precedent.  As the Court states:

In searching for a standard that strikes a more appropriate balance, we note that this Court has considered cases similar to this one, albeit in the context of the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment.  The Court has held that certain government actions to remedy past racial discrimination—actions that are themselves based on race—are constitutional only where there is a “‘strong basis in evidence’” that the remedial actions were necessary.  This suit does not call on us to consider whether the statutory constraints under Title VII must be parallel in all respects to those under the Constitution.  That does not mean the constitutional authorities are irrelevant, however.  Our cases discussing constitutional principles can provide helpful guidance in this statutory context.[106]

The Court appears to be signaling a shift in its standard for affirmative action under Title VII.  The Ricci case announces a “strong basis in evidence” standard and explains that, in the context of tests already taken, a city must have evidence of imminent disparate impact liability before it can discard such tests.[107]  However, the Court goes on to state that applying such a standard to all voluntary remedial actions would chill these efforts, and indicates that for these other efforts, a “strong basis in evidence” is consistent with standards already developed under the Equal Protection Clause.[108]  The Court expressly states that these cases can serve as useful guidance under Title VII.[109]

Those citations to Croson, and perhaps especially to Justice O’Connor’s concurring opinion in Wygant, invoke O’Connor’s idea of a prima facie statistical case of systemic discrimination (as opposed to impact) as being strong enough to ground voluntary remedial efforts.  Therefore, “strong basis in evidence” means—consistent with Justice O’Connor’s concurring opinion in Wygant and majority opinion in Croson—a statistical showing disciplined by a technical analysis (minimally a standard-deviation test and maximally a multiple-linear-regression analysis) in affirmative action or voluntary remediation cases in which a test has not yet been given.  Croson and Wygant are not testing cases.

After Ricci, I believe that the City of New Haven could take more aggressive affirmative action measures (instead of, or simultaneously with, changing its testing criteria for future promotions).  For example, the City of New Haven could use a statistical test to compare the percentage of minority firefighter officers to the percentage of minority firefighters (or even the hiring pool from which New Haven firefighters are drawn).  If the result is greater than two or three standard deviations, the City can take affirmative action to fix the problem.  The City could institute a goal plan to reach a percentage of minority firefighters consistent with the percentage in the appropriate labor pool.  In addition, the City could provide free study materials to minorities, additional training for minority officer candidates, and could act to step up minority recruitment.  In short, the City could implement any number of preferences for minorities in order to address the systemic discrimination that apparently exists in the fire department, and that would be revealed by the application of more searching statistical methods.


* Professor, University of Denver Sturm College of Law.  The author thanks Professor Wendy Parker and the Wake Forest Law Review for an informative, well-run, and impressively well-attended Symposium.  The author thanks Charles Sullivan, Steve Willborn, Alan Chen, Michael Selmi, Justin Driver, Kimberly West-Faulcon, David Schwartz, Randy Wagner, and the Colorado Employment and Labor Law Faculty (Melissa Hart, Martin Katz, Scott Moss, Helen Norton, Nantiya Ruan, and Catherine Smith) for their comments on this Article.  All errors are the author’s.

[1]. Although it is perhaps a question of some debate, for purposes of this Article, “affirmative action” involves only voluntary efforts by an employer to remedy past discrimination in a race-conscious way by adopting goals, or possibly even quotas, or by creating preferences on the basis of race or gender.  “Affirmative action” does not encompass employer attempts to ensure that selection criteria apply to all persons equally and that such criteria do not discriminate against minorities.  See Helen Norton, The Supreme Court’s Post-Racial Turn Towards a Zero-Sum Understanding of Equality, 52 Wm. & Mary L. Rev. 197, 244–46 (2010) (explaining the legal distinctions between these two types of programs).  But see George Rutherglen, Ricci v DeStefano: Affirmative Action and the Lessons of Adversity, 2009 Sup. Ct. Rev. 83, 110–11 (examining different approaches to disparate impact theory and concluding that certain “forms of race-conscious action,” such as mandatory affirmative action plans and readjustment of test scores, “are too coercive, and perhaps too clear, to fit the long-standing consensus on affirmative action”).

[2]. 129 S. Ct. 2658 (2009).

[3]. See generally Charles A. Sullivan, Ricci v. DeStefano: End of the Line or Just Another Turn on the Disparate Impact Road?, 104 Nw. U. L. Rev. 411 (2010).

[4]. See, e.g., Rutherglen, supra note 1, at 83, 94–95.  These scholars cite to Justice Ginsburg’s dissent in the case, in which she wrote that “New Haven’s action, which gave no individual a preference, ‘was simply not analogous to a quota system or a minority set-aside where candidates, on the basis of their race, are not treated uniformly.’”  Ricci, 129 S. Ct. at 2696 (Ginsburg, J., dissenting) (quoting Ricci v. DeStefano, 554 F. Supp. 2d 142, 157 (D. Conn. 2006) (internal quotation marks omitted)).

[5]. 443 U.S. 193 (1979).

[6]. 480 U.S. 616 (1987).

[7]. Regents of the Univ. of Cal. v. Bakke, 438 U.S. 265, 269–71 (1978).

[8]. 443 U.S. 193 (1979).  For important background information and context relating to the Weber case, especially regarding the United Steelworkers’ involvement in affirmative action efforts in government contracting, see generally Deborah Malamud, The Story of United Steelworkers of America v. Weber, in Employment Discrimination Stories 173 (Joel Wm. Friedman ed., 2006).

[9]. Weber, 443 U.S. at 197–98.

[10]. Id. at 199.

[11]. Id. at 198.

[12]. Id. at 199.

[13]. Id. at 201–08.

[14]. See id. at 208 (noting that both Title VII and the challenged affirmative action plan “were structured to ‘open employment opportunities for Negroes in occupations which have been traditionally closed to them’” (quoting 110 Cong. Rec. 6548 (1964) (statement of Sen. Hubert Humphrey))).

[15]. Id. at 208.

[16]. Id. at 198–99, 222–23.

[17]. Id. at 208.

[18]. Id. at 208–09.

[19]. Johnson v. Transp. Agency, Santa Clara Cnty., Cal., 480 U.S. 616, 621 (1987).

[20]. See id. at 653 (O’Connor, J., concurring).

[21]. Id. at 621 (majority opinion).

[22]. Id. at 616.

[23]. Id. at 621–22.

[24]. Id. at 622.

[25]. Id. at 623–25.

[26]. Id. at 640–42.

[27]. Id. at 640.

[28]. Id. at 635; United Steelworkers of Am. v. Weber, 443 U.S. 193, 208–09 (1979).

[29]. Johnson, 480 U.S. at 635–36; Weber, 443 U.S. at 208–09.

[30]. There has been some suggestion that the Civil Rights Act of 1991 changed and hardened the standard for affirmative action, but that does not seem to be the case.  Section 116 of the 1991 Act expressly states that the amendments have no impact on affirmative action.  Civil Rights Act of 1991, Pub. L. No. 102-166, § 116, 105 Stat. 1071, 1079.  Despite a memorandum in the Act’s legislative history by then-Senator Robert Dole suggesting that codification of the mixed-motive standard created a hurdle for race-conscious action of any kind, 137 Cong. Rec. S15,477 (daily ed. Oct. 30, 1991) (memorandum of Sen. Robert Dole), federal courts have rejected this view (most likely because there was not enough guidance from Congress on the issue).  See, e.g., Gilligan v. Dep’t of Labor, 81 F.3d 835, 840 (9th Cir. 1996); Officers for Justice v. Civil Serv. Comm’n, 979 F.2d 721, 725 (9th Cir. 1992); Hannon v. Chater, 887 F. Supp. 1303, 1316–18 (N.D. Cal. 1995).  Section 106 of the Act prohibits race-norming tests (altering or modifying test results on the basis of race), but that provision has been narrowly applied and likely only prohibits what the Supreme Court already condemned in Connecticut v. Teal, 457 U.S. 440 (1982).  Civil Rights Act of 1991 § 106; 42 U.S.C. § 2000e-2(l) (2006).  See Chi. Firefighters Local 2 v. City of Chicago, 249 F.3d 649, 656 (7th Cir. 2001) (holding that section 106 does not apply to test “banding,” or treating all scores within a certain range the same way); Hayden v. Cnty. of Nassau, 180 F.3d 42, 53 (2d Cir. 1999) (holding that section 106 does not apply to an employer’s attempts to create a test with the slightest possible adverse impact on racial minorities); Alfred W. Blumrosen, Society in Transition IV: Affirmation of Affirmative Action Under the Civil Rights Act of 1991, 45 Rutgers L. Rev. 903, 908–09, 913 (1993); Nelson Lund, The Law of Affirmative Action in and After the Civil Rights Act of 1991: Congress Invites Judicial Reform, 6 Geo. Mason L. Rev. 87, 89–91 (1997).

[31]. See Girardeau A. Spann, The Dark Side of Grutter, 21 Const. Comment. 221, 226–27 (2004).

[32]. 488 U.S. 469, 476 (1989).

[33]. 515 U.S. 200, 204 (1995).

[34]. 539 U.S. 306, 311 (2003).

[35]. 539 U.S. 244, 276 (2003) (O’Connor, J., concurring).

[36]. See Goodwin Liu, The Bush Administration and Civil Rights: Lessons Learned, 4 Duke J. Const. L. & Pub. Pol’y 77, 97 (2009) (discussing Justice O’Connor’s role in affirmative action cases).

[37]. 476 U.S. 267, 284 (1986) (O’Connor, J., concurring in part and concurring in the judgment).

[38]. See Norton, supra note 1, at 248; Ilya Shapiro, A Faint-Hearted Libertarian at Best: The Sweet Mystery of Justice Anthony Kennedy, 33 Harv. J.L. & Pub. Pol’y 333, 348 (2010) (book review) (“[A]t the very least it is safe to say that, for the foreseeable future, the outcome of race cases will all depend upon Justice Kennedy.”).

[39]. See Wygant, 476 U.S. at 273.

[40]. Id. at 270.

[41]. Id. at 298 (Marshall, J., dissenting).

[42]. Id. at 270 (plurality opinion).

[43]. Id. at 272.

[44]. Id. at 272–73.

[45]. Id. at 274.

[46]. Id. at 277.

[47]. Id. at 275–76.

[48]. Id. at 277–78.

[49]. Id. at 283.

[50]. Id. at 279–81.

[51]. Id. at 282–83.

[52]. Id. at 290 (O’Connor, J., concurring in part and concurring in the judgment).

[53]. Id. at 288.

[54]. Id. at 290 (citations omitted) (quoting Regents of the Univ. of Cal. v. Bakke, 438 U.S. 265, 364 (1978) (Brennan, J., concurring in the judgment in part and dissenting in part)) (citing S. Rep. No. 92-415, at 10 (1971) (accompanying the amendments extending coverage of Title VII to the States) (“Discrimination by government . . . serves a doubly destructive purpose.  The exclusion of minorities from effective participation in the bureaucracy not only promotes ignorance of minority problems in that particular community, but also creates mistrust, alienation, and all too often hostility toward the entire process of government.”)).

[55]. Id. at 290–91.

[56]. Id. at 291 (“As is illustrated by this case, public employers are trapped between the competing hazards of liability to minorities if affirmative action is not taken to remedy apparent employment discrimination and liability to nonminorities if affirmative action is taken.  Where these employers, who are presumably fully aware both of their duty under federal law to respect the rights of all their employees and of their potential liability for failing to do so, act on the basis of information which gives them a sufficient basis for concluding that remedial action is necessary, a contemporaneous findings requirement should not be necessary.”).

[57]. See id.

[58]. Id. at 294 (citing Hazelwood Sch. Dist. v. United States, 433 U.S. 299, 308 (1977)).

[59]. Hazelwood, 433 U.S. at 301.  The U.S. Supreme Court’s approved standard for proving discrimination through statistics is a standard-deviation (binomial-distribution) analysis, although a more sophisticated linear-regression analysis is also acceptable.  See Bazemore v. Friday, 478 U.S. 385, 399–400 (1986) (Brennan, J., concurring in part) (explaining the role of regression analysis); Castaneda v. Partida, 430 U.S. 482, 496 & n.17 (1977) (explaining and applying binomial distribution and standard deviation); Hazelwood, 433 U.S. at 311 & n.17 (same); Dianne Avery et al., Employment Discrimination Law 205–10 (8th ed. 2010) (explaining the various statistical measures used by litigants in proving employment discrimination claims).  Lesser statistical measures than these will not suffice statistically to prove discrimination since they do not meet the statistical significance rule, which requires a showing that any disparity is not due to mere chance.  Id. at 205.  For more on Hazelwood, see generally Stewart J. Schwab & Steven L. Willborn, The Story of Hazelwood: Employment Discrimination by the Numbers, in Employment Discrimination Stories, supra note 8, at 37, 37–63.

[60]. Wygant, 476 U.S. at 292 (“[I]n order to provide some measure of protection to the interests of its nonminority employees and the employer itself in the event that its affirmative action plan is challenged, the public employer must have a firm basis for determining that affirmative action is warranted.  Public employers are not without reliable benchmarks in making this determination.  For example, demonstrable evidence of a disparity between the percentage of qualified blacks on a school’s teaching staff and the percentage of qualified minorities in the relevant labor pool sufficient to support a prima facie Title VII pattern or practice claim by minority teachers would lend a compelling basis for a competent authority such as the School Board to conclude that implementation of a voluntary affirmative action plan is appropriate to remedy apparent prior employment discrimination.” (emphasis added)).

[61]. Id. (“If a voluntary affirmative action plan is subsequently challenged in court by nonminority employees, those employees must be given the opportunity to prove that the plan does not meet the constitutional standard this Court has articulated.  However, as the plurality suggests, the institution of such a challenge does not automatically impose upon the public employer the burden of convincing the court of its liability for prior unlawful discrimination; nor does it mean that the court must make an actual finding of prior discrimination based on the employer’s proof before the employer’s affirmative action plan will be upheld.  In ‘reverse discrimination’ suits, as in any other suit, it is the plaintiffs who must bear the burden of demonstrating that their rights have been violated.” (citation omitted)).

[62]. See Hazelwood, 433 U.S. at 311 & n.17, 312.  Though the Court has indicated in dicta that statistics alone may be enough to prove actionable discrimination, this statement may be limited to egregious cases in which minority hiring is nonexistent.  See, e.g., Int’l Bhd. of Teamsters v. United States, 431 U.S. 324, 342 n.23 (1977) (“[T]he company’s inability to rebut the inference of discrimination came not from a misuse of statistics but from ‘the inexorable zero.’”); see also 2 Barbara T. Lindemann & Paul Grossman, Equal Emp’t Opportunity Comm., Am. Bar Ass’n, Employment Discrimination Law 2306 (C. Geoffrey Weirich ed., 4th ed. 2007) (“Courts recognize that evidence of the ‘inexorable zero’—a failure to hire any members of a protected class—by itself may support an inference of intentional discrimination under the disparate treatment theory.” (footnotes omitted)).

[63]. Wygant, 476 U.S. at 294.

[64]. Id. (citing Hazelwood, 433 U.S. at 308).

[65]. 488 U.S. 469 (1989).

[66]. Id. at 477–80.

[67]. Id. at 479–80.

[68]. Id. at 477.

[69]. Id. at 504.  Justice Scalia has characterized the standard as requiring a “strong basis in evidence.”  See Concrete Works of Colo., Inc. v. City & Cnty. of Denver, Colo., 540 U.S. 1027, 1029 (2003) (Scalia, J., dissenting from denial of petition for writ of certiorari) (quoting Shaw v. Hunt, 517 U.S. 899, 910 (1996)).  Justice O’Connor characterizes the standard as a requirement for a “firm” basis in evidence in Wygant, but then refers to a test of statistical significance as requiring a “strong” basis in evidence in Croson.  Compare Wygant, 476 U.S. at 286 (O’Connor, J., concurring), with Croson, 488 U.S. at 510 (plurality opinion) (quoting Wygant, 476 U.S. at 277 (plurality opinion)).  Justice Kennedy refers to the same basic proof requirement in Ricci as a “strong basis in evidence.”  Ricci v. DeStefano, 129 S. Ct. 2658, 2664 (2009).  In the end, it doesn’t matter that much whether the requirement is characterized as “firm” or “strong,” so long as it is understood to be the same standard.

[70]. Croson, 488 U.S. at 503.  To Justice O’Connor, only this comparison could give rise to the proper inference of discrimination.  See id.  This is essentially the standard that Justice O’Connor outlines in Wygant, as evidenced by her concurring opinion in that case.

[71]. Id. at 479–80.

[72]. Id. at 481.

[73]. See id. at 500 (quoting Wygant, 476 U.S. at 277).  For a discussion of the “firm” versus “strong” language, see supra note 69.

[74]. See id. at 476.  Particularly noteworthy is the fact that Justice Kennedy joins Part V of Justice O’Connor’s plurality opinion in Croson, in which Justice O’Connor details how the City of Richmond might have proceeded on its own to rectify discrimination using the proper labor-pool analysis.  See id. at 509–11.

[75]. See, e.g., Norton, supra note 1, at 216–18; Rutherglen, supra note 1, at 83–91; Sullivan, supra note 3, at 414–15, 418–19.

[76]. Ricci v. DeStefano, 129 S. Ct. 2658, 2665 (2009).

[77]. Id. at 2665–66.

[78]. Id. at 2665.

[79]. Id.

[80]. Id.

[81]. Id. at 2666.

[82]. Id.

[83]. There are two types of disparate impact cases: those cases based on a single selection criterion, see, e.g., Griggs v. Duke Power Co., 401 U.S. 424, 433–34, 436 (1971) (possession of a high school diploma or passage of intelligence test), and those cases based on multiple selection criteria, typically involving subjective elements, like interviews, see, e.g., Watson v. Fort Worth Bank & Trust, 487 U.S. 977, 982, 989–91 (1988) (supervisory interviews and recommendations).  In a single selection criterion case, a specified selection criterion is used by the employer to make hiring or promotion decisions.  The single criterion could be a written or oral examination (as in Ricci), a typing test, or even a height and weight requirement.  When test results are examined, differing pass rates of race groups can be analyzed.  If there is a great disparity, which for policy purposes exists with a rate for one group of takers that is less than 80% of the pass rate for the highest-passing group, the test is viewed as defective and will have to be dropped unless the employer can show that the criterion is job related and consistent with business necessity.  Those questioning the test can still prevail even if the employer shows business necessity if they can produce a better test, presumably one roughly achieving the employer’s business goals, but with less of a disparate impact.  1 Lindemann & Grossman, supra note 62, at 122–24, 128–32.

In the multiple selection criteria case, there are a variety of elements that go into selection of employees.  Typically included among these are subjective elements, like interview scores.  In these cases, it may be impossible to point to a single component that produces a disparate impact in hiring.  When this happens, employers turn to a basic statistical test (sometimes called a standard-deviation test, a binomial-distribution test, or simply a “z” test), or an even more sophisticated statistical test called a multiple-linear-regression analysis, to examine the importance of different factors involved in hiring, including, most significantly, the chances that the disparity in hiring can be produced by mere chance or happenstance.  In the case of a standard deviation test, a result greater than three standard deviations from the norm means the probability that the result was produced by mere chance is 1% or less.  See id. at 122–32.

The standard-deviation and linear-regression tests are tests of statistical significance.  These tests are more accurate at showing that a test is problematic than is the 80% rule, which is more of a rough guide that has the virtue of being easy to apply.  See id. at 128–32.  In Ricci, the City of New Haven did not analyze the test results using a test of statistical significance.  The City chose to make its decision about the tests solely on the basis of the 80% rule.  See Ricci, 129 S. Ct. at 2677–78.

[84]. Ricci, 129 S. Ct. at 2678.

[85]. Id. at 2666, 2678.  The higher the pass-rate differential, the better the case for a disparate impact claim.

[86]. Id.

[87]. As explained supra note 83, the 80% rule is the crudest of measures of disparate impact.  A better statistical test would be a regression analysis, and it is possible that the crudeness of the measure may have subconsciously played a part in the Court’s decision making.  Scrutinized closely based on the facts of the case, the holding in Ricci is actually, literally, that a prima facie showing of disparate impact based solely on the 80% rule is not a strong enough basis in evidence to set aside tests already taken.

[88]. Ricci, 129 S. Ct. at 2677–78, 2681.

[89]. Id. at 2678 (“Based on the degree of adverse impact reflected in the results, respondents were compelled to take a hard look at the examinations to determine whether certifying the results would have had an impermissible disparate impact.  The problem for respondents is that a prima facie case of disparate-impact liability—essentially, a threshold showing of a significant statistical disparity, and nothing more—is far from a strong basis in evidence that the City would have been liable under Title VII had it certified the results.  That is because the City could be liable for disparate-impact discrimination only if the examinations were not job related and consistent with business necessity, or if there existed an equally valid, less-discriminatory alternative that served the City’s needs but that the City refused to adopt.  We conclude there is no strong basis in evidence to establish that the test was deficient in either of these respects.” (emphasis added) (citation omitted)).  Rather than remand the case at this point for further findings, though, the Court itself proceeds to engage in the more detailed analysis.  In so doing, the Court strangely applied mere rationality as the burden for the City to satisfy in these other parts of the disparate impact cause of action.  See id. at 267881; Melissa Hart, Procedural Extremism: The Supreme Court’s 2008–2009 Labor and Employment Cases, 13 Emp. Rts. & Emp. Pol’y J. 253, 262–63 (2009); Norton, supra note 1, at 21828; Sullivan, supra note 3, at 422–25. In the end, and despite the Supreme Court’s analysis, there really is no reason to believe that these tests identified the best supervisors for the firefighting position, a point that may well have been fleshed out more carefully on remand.

[90]. Ricci, 129 S. Ct. at 2664–65, 2676.

[91]. Id. at 2673 (citing 42 U.S.C. § 2000e-2(k)(1)(A) (2006)).

[92]. See Hart, supra note 89, at 263 (“The majority [in Ricci] drew a line between: 1) voluntary compliance efforts that seek to avoid disparate impact in the creation and administration of employment tests; and 2) practices and the evaluation of test scores after the tests have been taken.  The former are not subject to the Court’s new approach.  Only after a test has been taken—when the actual racial make-up of the results is known—will an employer be at risk of disparate treatment liability.”).  Professor Hart cites to Professor Sullivan for this proposition.  Id. at 263 n.58; see Sullivan, supra note 3, at 417 (interpreting the holding of Ricci “to mean that the employer could have adopted its testing . . . to minimize its disparate impact, even though it could not invalidate a test, once it was given, for that reason”); see also Norton, supra note 1, at 237–39 (suggesting that a narrow holding in Ricci that is limited to tests already taken is a distinct possibility).

[93]. Ricci, 129 S. Ct. at 2664 (“As a result, the City’s action in discarding the tests was a violation of Title VII.”).

[94]. Id. at 2674; see also Hart, supra note 89, at 263; Norton, supra note 1, at 23539; Sullivan, supra note 3, at 41718.

[95]. See Ricci, 129 S. Ct. at 2674–76.

[96]. Id. at 2674 (citations omitted).

[97]. Nor do I believe that a citation here to a concurring opinion is simply a case of Justice Kennedy or his clerks inserting just any supporting citation.  If that were the case, why cite to a concurring opinion?  The Croson cite alone would certainly suffice as support.  I believe Justice Kennedy signals here that he agrees with Justice O’Connor’s vision and philosophy of affirmative action, as applied in Part V of the Croson decision certainly, but also as conceived and explained in Justice O’Connor’s concurring opinion in Wygant.

[98]. Ricci, 129 S. Ct. at 2681 (“The injury arises in part from the high, and justified, expectations of the candidates who had participated in the testing process on the terms the City had established for the promotional process.”); see also Sullivan, supra note 3, at 418 (“The majority in Ricci repeatedly referred to the white firefighters’ expectations of, and reliance on, the use of the test as a promotion method, neither of which would exist if the employer’s disparate impact calculations occurred early in the process.”); cf. Richard Primus, The Future of Disparate Impact, 108 Mich. L. Rev. 1341, 1345 (2010) (characterizing the Ricci Court’s narrow and rigid holding on the testing issue as explainable because of the “visible victims” involved).  This is consistent, too, with the Court’s hesitancy in affirmative action cases to allow remedies that deprive others of actual jobs, as in Wygant, in which the Court found that depriving somebody of an existing job based on affirmative action violates least-restrictive-means analysis.  Wygant v. Jackson Bd. of Educ., 476 U.S. 267, 279–80 (1986).  Of course, the deprivation in Ricci was a promotion, not loss of a job, but the Court’s statement about candidates’ reliance interest in the test process shows the Court more willing to put this on the “loss” rather than the “fail to get” side of the ledger. The question, of course, has yet to be decided in an affirmative action context.

[99]. See Norton, supra note 1, at 245–46; Sullivan, supra note 3, at 417–18.

[100]. See supra notes 19–27 and accompanying text.

[101]. See supra notes 8–30 and accompanying text.

[102]. Weber and Johnson were decided in 1979 and 1987, thirty-two and twenty-four years ago, respectively.  In that time, both the Court and its general thinking about affirmative action, revealed in its constitutional decisions, have changed considerably.  While federal courts have consistently applied these precedents in the Title VII context, many have distinguished Weber and Johnson on the basis that in those cases virtually no blacks or women had been hired into target jobs, lessening the requirement of a statistical showing of apparent discrimination to justify affirmative action.  See Cynthia L. Estlund, Putting Grutter to Work: Diversity, Integration, and Affirmative Action in the Workplace, 26 Berkeley J. Emp. & Lab. L. 1, 12 (2005).

[103]. See supra note 29 and accompanying text.

[104]. See Norton, supra note 1, at 246–48.

[105]. In this argument, I part company with Linda L. Arakawa and Michele Park Sonen, and the position they take in Note, Caught in the Backdraft: The Implications of Ricci v. DeStefano on Voluntary Compliance and Title VII, 32 U. Haw. L. Rev. 463 (2010).  They argue that there is apparently no room for use of statistics to engage in voluntary remedial efforts after the introduction of Ricci’s “strong basis in evidence” standard.  Id. at 464–65.  They also argue that the use of statistical tools to ground affirmative action is consistent with past Supreme Court precedent, as authored by Justice O’Connor.  Id. at 481–82.  I agree with them about the latter argument, but not the former.  I believe, as I argue in this Part, that the Ricci Court in dicta upholds and supports those prior constitutional opinions on the scope of employer voluntary remedial efforts.  Arakawa and Park Sonen argue additionally that the “strong basis in evidence” standard should be rejected in favor of a standard that would allow a prima facie case of disparate impact liability using sophisticated statistical measures to ground voluntary efforts or affirmative action.  Id. at 482–83.  While I believe they are on the right track, I argue, instead, that the Court leaves the door open for voluntary efforts based on statistical measurements that establish a prima facie case of systemic discrimination, as explained by Justice O’Connor in her concurring opinion in Wygant.  Arakawa and Park Sonen attempt to reconcile Ricci and their own proposed standard with Weber and Johnson.  I argue that the Court is signaling a shift that would allow voluntary affirmative action, but to a greater degree under the more rigid constitutional standard, squarely inconsistent with the prior analysis established under Weber and Johnson.

[106]. Ricci v. DeStefano, 129 S. Ct. 2658, 2675 (2009) (citations omitted).

[107]. Id. at 2676.

[108]. Id. at 2675–76.

[109]. Id. at 2675.

Article in PDF Form

By: Naomi Harlin Goodno*

Introduction

Schoolyard bullying has been around for generations, but recently it has taken on a new, menacing face¾cyberbullying.  Now adolescents use technology to deliberately and repeatedly bully, harass, hassle, and threaten peers.  No longer does the bullying end once the school day ends.  With the use of technology, groups of bullies can relentlessly and anonymously attack twenty-four hours a day for the whole world to witness.  There is simply no escape.  Cyberbullying follows victims from their schools to their homes to their personal computer screens, with fresh injuries inflicted every time a new person clicks on an Internet site to witness or join in the bullying.  Adolescents use Internet sites like YouTube, or social networking sites like Facebook and MySpace, to repeatedly mock others by creating web pages, videos, and profiles.  Adolescents use their cell phones to take photos anytime and anywhere (including  bathrooms)[1] and then instantaneously post them online for others to rate, tag, discuss, and pass along.[2]

Cyberbullying is one of the top challenges facing public schools.[3]  There are many recurring legal problems confronting public schools.  By way of example, assume there are two public middle school children, Joe and Jane.  Joe punches Jane on the school’s property between classes.  The school is well within its rights to suspend Joe.[4]  Assume instead that Joe punches Jane off of school grounds, after school ends, and as the children are walking home.  Because the assault took place off of school property and after hours, the school does not have jurisdiction to punish Joe; rather, it is a matter for the parents and law enforcement.[5]

Assume instead that Joe creates an animated video game of Jane from his personal home computer at night.  In the game, Joe shows himself and other students punching Jane.  Joe posts the game on the Internet and it is quickly passed along to over one hundred other students at the same school, many of whom join in the virtual punching of Jane.  Some students log on to the site while at school, using their personal smart phones and laptops, and other students log onto the site after school at home using their personal computers.  Jane is terrified to go to school.

Can the school punish Joe or any of the other students?  In this hypothetical, Joe created the website off-campus and after school hours, so how is it different, if at all, from Joe physically punching Jane off-campus and after school hours?  Is Joe’s website protected by free speech?  Can the school search Joe’s and the other students’ personal cell phones or laptop computers to see if and when the website was accessed?  How does the public school respond, if at all, to this situation without trampling the constitutional and legal rights of the students?

Neither the legislatures nor the courts have been able to give public schools clear and consistent guidance on how to answer these questions.  Indeed, in a recent Third Circuit opinion, the court was deeply divided on how to decide such issues.[6]  There is also a circuit split on these issues making it ripe for the Supreme Court of the United States to resolve.[7]  Cyberbullying raises issues that require a fine balance between protecting the constitutional rights of public school students while also creating a safe learning environment.

The purpose of this Article is to set forth a comprehensive model cyberbullying policy for primary and secondary public schools that meets educational goals and considers constitutional challenges.  This first Part of this Article explores the current problems caused by cyberbullying and why these problems are unique from off-line bullying.  Because of the unique problems caused by cyberbullying, some state legislatures are beginning to enact specific laws to address cyberbullying.  The current statutes are summarized in Appendix A of this Article.  Those statutes, however, provide little to no direction on how public schools should create cyberbullying policies that are constitutional while also meeting statutory requirements.  Thus, Appendix B of this Article sets forth a model cyberbullying policy for public schools.

The second and main Part of this Article considers three constitutional challenges public schools face in adopting a cyberbullying policy.  First, public schools wrestle with how to define “cyberbullying” without violating the students’ First Amendment rights to free speech.  The crux of the problem concerns speech that students make off of school grounds but that impacts other students at school (for example, creating a website at home, which is then accessed at school, that harasses another student).  This Part sets forth a novel way of approaching the conflicting legal precedents by separately considering jurisdictional and substantive issues.  The second constitutional challenge is composing a cyberbullying policy that does not violate due process rights or that is written in language that is unconstitutionally vague or overbroad.  The third constitutional challenge is formulating a way for school officials to know when they can search students’ personal electronic devices without violating the Fourth Amendment.

The final Part of this Article addresses pedagogical concerns such as reporting requirements, disciplinary matters, and educating students, parents, and school officials about cyberbullying.  All of these topics should be considered in order to construct a comprehensive cyberbullying policy.  The model cyberbullying policy for public schools set forth in Appendix B of this Article adopts language that attempts to combat cyberbullying while complying with constitutional requirements and meeting educational goals.

I.  Current Problems

Cyberbullying is a major problem causing significant harm.[8]  There is no dispute that students today use e-mail, messaging, texting, and social networking sites on almost an hourly basis to stay in touch with one another.[9]  In one survey of thirteen- to seventeen-year-olds, thirty-five percent reported being the targets of Internet harassment including “rude or nasty comments, rumors, and threatening or aggressive messages.”[10]  As one teenage victim stated: “It makes me hurt both physically and mentally.  It scares me and takes away all my confidence to make me feel sick and worthless.”[11]  Indeed, in March of 2011, the White House held a special conference that specifically focused on bullying prevention where the President concluded that cyberbullying is a serious problem facing the United States.[12]  Cyberbullying is linked to “low self-esteem, family problems, academic problems, school violence, and delinquent behavior . . . [and] suicidal thoughts.”[13]  Studies have shown that, of adolescents who have contemplated suicide, “cyberbullying victims were almost twice as likely to have attempted suicide compared to youth who had not experienced cyberbullying.”[14]

 

Recent cases: There have been far too many recent cyberbullying cases that have ended in such tragedy.  One case involved Tyler Clementi, a Rutgers University freshman, who leaped to his death after his roommate secretly taped and posted online a video of Clementi having a “sexual encounter” with another young man.[15]  Perhaps even more troubling are those cases that involve young school-age children, both in middle school and high school.  Such cases sadly illustrate how a child’s vulnerabilities are escalated by the use of the wider forum of technology.  There were the three middle school boys who invited fellow students to “kick a ginger” on a specific day which led to the attacks on at least seven red-haired middle school children.[16]  There were middle school boys who created a video game on a website where “they virtually ‘beat up’ one of their classmates on a regular basis and invited others to join them in the beatings.”[17]  There were other middle school children who created a website where “middle school girls were pictured on a ‘Hot or Not’ list that was e-mailed around to be voted on.”[18]

There was thirteen-year-old Megan Meier, who committed suicide after being cyberbullied by a classmate’s parent who adopted a false identity on MySpace as a boy, wooed her, and then viciously turned against her and posted that “[t]he world would be a better place without [her].”[19]  There was the fourteen-year-old boy who sent death threats on Facebook to two other classmates he believed were interested in his girlfriend.[20]  There were the three Louisiana high school students who were arrested for cyberstalking after they created competing websites with the posting of insults and graphically violent poems.[21]  There were two Florida girls, aged fifteen and sixteen, who were arrested for creating a fake Facebook page in another classmate’s name and posting a picture of the girl’s face on a “nude prepubescent girl’s body” with other disturbing images and statements.[22]

There was also Phoebe Prince, who was relentlessly cyberbullied by the students at her high school for three months before she hung herself.[23]  Classmates posted multiple threads on Facebook about how Phoebe was an “Irish slut” and a “poser.”[24]  Ultimately, six teenagers were criminally charged—including two boys charged with statutory rape of a minor—after the group of teenagers taunted, threatened, shoved, and sent demeaning text messages to Phoebe.[25]  One of the most troubling aspects of Phoebe’s case is that the school administrators were well aware of the cyberbullying[26] and, yet, the school did not take any action.[27]  “How long can the school department ignore the increasing rate of bullying before reality sets in?” two students asked in a school newspaper article.[28]

 

Public schools without guidance: For school-age children, incidents of cyberbullying are often ignored.[29]  Schools are ill-equipped to deal with cyberbullying.[30]  Indeed, such failures open up school districts to lawsuits.[31]  For example, a student’s family sued a New York school district for failing to protect their homosexual son from cyberbullying.[32]  There is no question that schools must be more proactive about stopping students from cyberbullying.[33]  But the blame does not lie completely with the schools.  Many schools want to help but do not know where the boundaries of discipline begin and where they end.  “Schools are finding themselves at a loss, particularly because of vague laws,”[34] or because there are no laws or policies at all, to instruct them on how to address cyberbullying.  When can a school legally punish a student for speech that occurs off-campus?  To what extent can schools search students’ personal computers and cell phones for evidence of cyberbullying without running afoul of the students’ constitutional rights?

These are the questions haunting the school districts.  School administrators know that there is a problem, but they do not know to what extent they are allowed to be a part of the solution.  Across the nation, principals have responded to student-on-student cyberbullying in “dramatically different ways.”[35]  One principal of a middle school shared his frustration about student cyberbullying incidents: “All we are doing is reacting, . . . .  We can’t seem to get ahead of the curve.”[36]  Another middle school principal said that for schools it is a lose-lose situation: “I have parents who thank me for getting involved [with cyberbullying incidents] . . . and parents who say ‘[i]t didn’t happen on school property, stay out of my life.’”[37]

 

Courts in conflict: Courts are conflicted in how to deal with cyberbullying and they fail to clearly specify whether (and when) a school has jurisdiction to regulate off-campus speech that bullies others.[38]  The Supreme Court has yet to rule on this issue and lower courts are all over the board.[39]  For example, one district court found that a school could not discipline a student who created a webpage entitled “Satan’s web page,” in which he listed names of students under the heading “people I wish would die.”[40]  Although the student admitted he may have used school computers, the court held that the school’s disciplinary measures violated the student’s First Amendment rights because there was “[no] proof of disruption to the school on-campus activity.”[41]  In contrast, the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania upheld as constitutional the expulsion of a student who created a website called “Teacher Sux,” in which the student made derogatory comments about a teacher—including why the teacher should die.[42]

The Third Circuit’s recent decisions are illustrative of the unclear law concerning cyberbullying.  Very recently, in June 2011, the Third Circuit revisited en banc two of its recent opinions concerning cyberbullying.  In one case, the court initially upheld as constitutional a school’s disciplinary action of a student who created a fake, offensive MySpace page of a principal—but that decision was reversed by a deeply fractured en banc court.[43]  The other en banc opinion held that a school’s disciplinary action was unconstitutional for very similar behavior.[44]  The law in the area of schools regulating cyberbullying is unmistakably in flux, which leaves schools without clear guidance as to how to address the problem.

A.            Bullying versus Cyberbullying

It is apparent that neither the courts nor the schools are clear on how legally to deal with the rampant problem of cyberbullying.  What makes the legal framework for cyberbullying so difficult?  The answer, as set forth in this Subpart, is that cyberbullying differs from off-line bullying such that current laws and school policies are often inadequate to deal with this new forum for bullying.

Cyberbullying, for the purposes of this Article, is distinguishable from off-line bullying by the use of electronic technology to deliberately and repeatedly harass or intimidate fellow students.  Off-line bullying, done face-to-face, has long been a problem in our school system.[45]  While schools and state legislatures have historically taken some steps to curtail schoolyard bullying,[46] these steps are insufficient to address cyberbullying because the scope of cyberbullying is much more immense than off-line bullying.  New technology has not only allowed for new outlets to bully—it has changed the face of bullying.  Cyberbullying presents new problems that “old-fashioned” antibullying laws and policies cannot address for at least six reasons.

First, cyberbullying, unlike off-line bullying, is ubiquitous.  Harassing statements and comments made on the Internet can be made on- and off-campus, day and night.[47]  The victim’s perception, and perhaps the reality, is that an entire school, neighborhood, and community can be involved in the bullying.[48]  With a few keystrokes, the bullying statements can be “circulated far and wide in an instant.”[49]  Therefore, antibullying policies that only address on-campus bullying cannot sufficiently address cyberbullying, yet courts and school officials are confused as to how and to what extent schools can regulate off-campus speech.

Second, cyberbullying allows for much greater anonymity than off-line bullying.[50]  Bullies can easily take on fake Internet identities or even take on the identities of other students so that “victims often do not know who the bully is, or why they are being targeted.”[51]  As one fifteen-year-old explained: “I get mean messages on Formspring,[[52]] with people telling me I’m fat and ugly and stupid.  I don’t know what I ever did to anyone.  I wish it wasn’t anonymous.”[53]  Because of anonymity, cyberbullies may not fit the profile of the typical bully.[54]  For example, three Louisiana students were recently arrested for cyberbullying, despite the fact that they were all honor students.[55]  Anonymity, therefore, not only creates problems for school officials who are investigating cyberbullying (school officials may be at a loss as to what would entail constitutional searches in their investigations) but also may impact which remedies for cyberbullying are most effective.

Third, cyberbullying gives bullies physical distance from their victims while at the same time allowing for a greater audience—which may encourage even more bullying.[56]  The audience mentality allows for others to “join in on ‘the fun’” who may not have done so in a physical confrontation.[57]  Moreover, audience members can easily perpetuate the bullying by adding online comments or by simply forwarding messages and links to others. [58]  Off-line bullying policies fail to address how cyberbullying quickly involves numerous parties.

Fourth, children are often more technologically adept than adults.  Children use and explore new technologies every day,[59] while teachers and parents remain oblivious.[60]  This allows for undetected and unregulated outlets for bullying.

Finally, cyberbullying, unlike off-line bullying, is permanent and “usually irrevocable,”[61] trailing its victims from childhood to adulthood.  Not only does cyberbullying follow students from school to their homes, but harassing statements can be accessed and relived over and over again, even years later.  As one commentator aptly put it: “The Web never stops and it never forgets.”[62]  Because of the possible life-long impact of cyberbullying, it is crucial that school officials are equipped with the legal and necessary tools to try to prevent it.

It is largely because of these differences between cyberbullying and off-line bullying that many current antibullying statutes and school policies are inadequate.  As the next Subpart addresses, even states with antibullying statutes have gaps that do not cover all aspects of cyberbullying.

B.                        Current Statutes and Policies

Appendix A of this Article sets forth a chart analyzing the current state and federal antibullying laws as well as proposed bills.  Overall, on the positive side, a large majority of state legislatures have enacted antibullying laws.  However, some of these state laws fail to address cyberbullying, and even those laws that have tried to do so often give inadequate guidance to public school administrators on how to enforce the law without violating students’ constitutional and legal rights.

Specifically, the District of Columbia and forty-five states have enacted general antibullying laws (mainly targeting off-line bullying).[63]  Only Hawaii, Michigan, Montana, North Dakota and South Dakota lack such statutes.[64]  Hawaii[65] and Michigan,[66] along with the federal government,[67] have proposed antibullying laws, which are currently pending.  While forty-three states require public schools to have a policy regarding bullying,[68] only a minority of those states have model school policies.[69]

The gaps in these laws become even more evident when looking at how cyberbullying is specifically addressed.  Again, the good news is that some states attempt to address the cyberbullying problem in antibullying statutes.  Six states expressly prohibit “cyberbullying,”[70] and twenty-eight states prohibit “electronic harassment,”[71] which likely encompasses most aspects of cyberbullying.

The problem is that, of those states with antibullying statutes, only ten states have model policies.[72]  Those ten model policies fail to fully and adequately give school officials guidance on how to deal with the unique aspects of cyberbullying, further compounding the problem.[73]  For example, neither “cyberbullying” nor “electronic harassment” is even mentioned in the California Department of Education’s “Sample Policy for Bullying Prevention.”[74]  Likewise, the model antibullying policies for Oklahoma and Rhode Island[75] also fail to include any reference to cyberbullying.  Indeed, Colorado’s model policy readily identifies its own gaps: “the [school] district should consult with its own legal counsel to determine appropriate language.”[76]  Such model policies give little guidance to school administrators about how to deal with cyberbullying.

Even those state legislatures that have created model school policies referencing “cyberbullying” fall short.  For example, the Delaware, Florida, Ohio, and South Carolina[77] model school policies define cyberbullying, but fail to give public school officials any guidance on how to apply the definition so as not to run afoul of free speech and other constitutional and legal protections.

Thus, while state legislatures, for the most part, are taking great strides by including cyberbullying in their antibullying legislation, there has been little to no guidance on how public school officials can legally implement policies to deal with cyberbullying.  The remainder of this Article attempts to set forth a constitutional model cyberbullying policy that public schools can adopt and put into action.

II.  A Constitutional Cyberbullying Policy for Primary and Secondary Public Schools: Considering First Amendment, Due Process, and Fourth Amendment Challenges

It is imperative to note at the outset that students’ civil rights must be protected.  Indeed, “[t]he vigilant protection of constitutional freedoms is nowhere more vital than in the community of American schools.”[78]  As one judge explained:

In order to maintain a thriving democracy, students cannot be unreasonably encumbered in their freedom to express moral, political, and social ideals and beliefs.  The classroom is peculiarly the “marketplace of ideas.”  The Nation’s future depends upon leaders trained through wide exposure to that robust exchange of ideas which discovers truth “out of a multitude of tongues, (rather) than through any kind of authoritative selection.” . . . Schools should foster an environment of learning that is vital to the functioning of a democratic system and the maturation of a civic body.[79]

The exercise of students’ civil rights in public school, however, has to be “applied in light of the special characteristics of the school environment.”[80]  The constitutional rights of public school students “are not automatically coextensive with the rights of adults in other settings.”[81]  Thus, in addressing the First Amendment, Due Process, and Fourth Amendment issues related to cyberbullying in public schools, there must be a balance between safeguarding students’ constitutional rights and allowing public school officials to maintain a safe and thriving learning environment.[82]  This Part of the Article attempts to set forth an analysis that strikes this balance.

A.            First Amendment Issues: Defining “Cyberbullying”

It is well established that the First Amendment right to freedom of speech extends to students in public schools.[83]  As the United States Supreme Court declared over forty years ago, public school students do not “shed their constitutional rights to freedom of speech or expression at the schoolhouse gate.”[84]  However, the Supreme Court also recognized the need for schools to be able to exercise a certain amount of authority over the speech of their students to retain order and control of the educational environment.[85]  One of the main concerns is that school cyberbullying policies will run afoul of the First Amendment and interfere with students’ rights to free speech.[86]  Therefore, to address whether or not a specific cyberbullying policy is constitutional, the extent to which student speech is protected by the First Amendment must be carefully examined.  There is no Supreme Court case squarely on point.[87]  The split in lower courts’ decisions shows that the law is ambiguous.[88]  Even the Supreme Court has expressed confusion over how precedents apply to the burgeoning issues involving student free speech, stating that “[t]here is some uncertainty at the outer boundaries as to when courts should apply school speech precedents.”[89]

This Subpart sets forth a novel First Amendment constitutional framework to consider when analyzing public school cyberbullying polices.  The two-prong framework involves both a jurisdictional and substantive inquiry:[90] (1) The school must first decide whether it has jurisdiction over the speech.  The legal standard differs depending on whether the speech originated on- or off-campus (the harder cyberbullying cases usually involve speech originating off-campus);[91] if the school has proper jurisdiction, then (2) the school must determine whether, as a matter of substantive law, it can indeed regulate the speech.  This second inquiry will fall into two subcategories: (i) whether the school is able to categorically regulate the speech; and if not, then (ii) under the “Tinker standard,”[92] whether the speech materially disrupts class work or substantially impinges on the rights of others.[93]

1. Jurisdictional Matters

Speech Originating On-Campus: There is Supreme Court precedent dictating that schools have jurisdiction to regulate speech that originates on school campuses,[94] or at school-sanctioned activities that are equivalent to being on the school campus.[95]  Therefore, in the cyberbullying context, it appears to be within the school’s jurisdiction to regulate speech that originates on-campus whether the student uses the school’s resources or the student uses his or her own personal technology while on-campus.

 

Speech Originating Off-Campus: The Supreme Court has not ruled on whether schools have jurisdiction over student speech that originates off-campus or is not related to a school-sponsored activity.  There are, however, a number of cases that deal with this issue, some of which involve the Internet.[96]  Unfortunately, the holdings in these cases are inconsistent.[97]

The cases can be grouped into three general categories.  First, in a few cases, the courts skip the jurisdictional question all together.[98]  However, the Third Circuit reversed a district court decision in which the jurisdictional question was not addressed.[99]  Thus, it would behoove one, especially given that most cyberbullying originates off-campus, to thoroughly address the jurisdictional issue before attempting to regulate any off-campus speech.[100]

Second, some courts require that it must be “foreseeable” that the speech would reach the campus for the school to regulate it.  If it was “foreseeable” that the speech would reach campus, then it can be regarded as “on-campus” speech and the school would have jurisdiction over it.[101]

Third, some courts have ruled that there must be a “sufficient nexus” between the speech and the school before a school has the jurisdiction to punish the student speech.[102]  However, courts are split as to what constitutes this “sufficient nexus.”  Some courts have broadly applied the rule finding the connection is established if the speech is directed at a school-specific audience;[103] or if the speech has been brought on to the campus, even if it was not the student in question who did so.[104]  Other courts, however, have narrowly applied the rule and found no substantial nexus between the speech and the school because the student speech, “did not attempt to engage other students in any on-campus behavior.”[105]

Given that cyberbullying easily spreads (Internet links and text messages can easily be forwarded to numerous people with the click of a button), courts should adopt the broad application of the “sufficient nexus” test.  For purposes of a cyberbullying policy, schools should consider using both the “foreseeability” and the “sufficient nexus” language.[106]  Such a jurisdictional requirement will also likely protect a cyberbullying policy from a challenge that the policy is constitutionally overbroad.[107]  These legal standards are incorporated in the Model Cyberbullying Policy in Appendix B of this Article.

2. Substantive Matters

Once the school’s jurisdiction has been established, the next inquiry is whether the school can regulate the speech without violating the First Amendment.  Based on precedent, schools can do so in two instances: (i) if the speech is categorically prohibited, or (ii) if the Tinker standard is met.  Each of these rules will be taken in turn.

 

Categorically prohibited speech: Schools can wholly regulate two categories of speech, and a cyberbullying policy should address both.[108]  First, under Hazelwood, schools can regulate speech that “bear[s] the imprimatur of the school.”[109]  Thus, for example, if a cyberbully uses the school’s emblem on an Internet message intended to harass another student, the school can discipline the cyberbully regardless of whether the speech originated on- or off-campus.

Second, it is widely accepted that, even under the broadest reading of the First Amendment, “true threats” are not protected.[110]  Though the threshold for determining whether a statement is a “true threat” is fairly high, courts have held that, “[i]n light of the violence prevalent in schools today, school officials are justified in taking very seriously student threats against faculty or other students.”[111]  Any school cyberbullying policy that requires punishment for a student who makes a “true threat” against a teacher or another student will be constitutional.

Courts, however, often do not decide whether particular speech reaches the level of a true threat because they often do not have to.  If a court finds that the speech can be regulated by the Tinker standard (requiring a lower threshold), then the school’s actions will be constitutionally justified regardless of whether the speech constituted a true threat.[112]  This leads to the second type of speech that schools can regulate¾student speech which satisfies the Tinker standard.  This second type of speech is addressed in the next Subpart of this Article.[113]

 

Student Speech that can be regulated under the Tinker Standard: In the 1969 seminal case Tinker v. Des Moines, the Supreme Court held that it was unconstitutional for a high school to suspend students for wearing black armbands in silent protest of the Vietnam War.[114]  The Court recognized that a school had authority to control student speech but that “it must be able to show that its action was caused by something more than a mere desire to avoid the discomfort and unpleasantness that always accompany an unpopular viewpoint.”[115]  The Court set out a two-part standard for when schools could constitutionally regulate student speech: “[C]onduct by the student, in class or out of it, which for any reason—whether it stems from time, place, or type of behavior—materially disrupts classwork or involves substantial disorder or invasion of the rights of others is, of course, not immunized by the constitutional guarantee of freedom of speech.”[116]  Therefore, under the Tinker standard, schools can regulate student speech that either (i) materially disrupts the operation of the school, or (ii) substantially impinges upon the rights of others.[117]

Schools, therefore, should incorporate the language of the Tinker two-part standard into their cyberbullying policy.[118]  There is, however, some ambiguity in its application.  Courts have unevenly applied the first Tinker standard (that schools can regulate student speech that causes “material disruption”).[119]  Courts tend to consider speech as having materially disrupted school activities if administrators are forced to interrupt their regular duties to deal with the disruption.[120]  The disruption must be a real disturbance and something more than a “buzz” about the speech.[121]  However, when the speech is violent, threatening, or sexually explicit, courts have often found that there was a material disruption.[122]  Moreover, courts have also found that schools may discipline students for speech where “a forecast of substantial and material disruption was reasonable.”[123]

Notably, Tinker is different than most cyberbullying cases because Tinker involved political speech.  Arguably, then, the threshold for establishing a “material disruption” may be lower for purely hurtful speech.[124]  As one scholar noted, “cyberbullying incidents that occur at school—or that originate off-campus but ultimately result in a substantial disruption of the learning environment—are well within the school’s legal authority to intervene.”[125]

Though Tinker clearly set out a two-prong standard under which a school may regulate student speech, the trend has been for courts to focus on the first prong (regulating speech that causes a material disruption).  Courts have, for the most part, ignored the possibility of the second prong (regulating speech that substantially impinges on the rights of others).[126]  Although many courts have not yet embraced this second prong of Tinker, the prong may cover many instances of cyberbullying.  For example, if a cyberbully harasses a victim to the point at which the victim misses school or suffers emotional distress, then a school could arguably discipline the cyberbully on the grounds that the student substantially impinged on the rights of another student.

In sum, by combining precedent (although ambiguous at times) a school should be able to draft a cyberbullying policy that would survive First Amendment free speech challenges.  First, the policy should establish that the school will regulate any student speech within its jurisdiction, which includes (i) all speech originating on-campus and (ii) speech originating off-campus if it was “foreseeable” that the speech would reach campus or if there is a “sufficient nexus” between the off-campus speech and the school.  Once jurisdiction is established, then the cyberbullying policy should set forth that the school can (i) wholly regulate speech that “bear[s] the imprimatur of the school” or contains “true threats,” or (ii) regulate speech that “materially disrupts” school operations or “substantially impinge[s] on the rights” of others at the school.[127]

B.            Due Process Issues: Creating a Nonvague Policy with Proper Notice Requirements

In addition to First Amendment challenges, school policies may also be challenged as unconstitutionally vague.[128]  A regulation is unconstitutionally vague, and thus a violation of due process, if it does not give “fair notice of the regulation’s reach” and requires students “to guess as to the contours of its proscriptions.”[129]  Thus, there are two possible vagueness challenges to school cyberbullying policies: the policy is (1) vague as to the definition of what constitutes cyberbullying, or (2) fails to give proper notice of the regulation.  Each of these issues will be taken in turn.

1. Nonvague Explanation of “Cyberbullying”

Specificity of terms is especially important when a regulation, such as a public school cyberbullying policy, is a “content-based regulation of speech.”[130]  Although a school has “a certain degree of flexibility in its disciplinary procedures,” its regulations may still be found to be unconstitutionally vague or overbroad.[131]  The most common reason for a court to sustain a vague or overbroad challenge of a school policy is when specific terms within the policy are not defined.[132]  Therefore, a cyberbullying policy should set forth a clear definition of “cyberbullying.”

As discussed more fully in Part II.A above, this definition should include language as set forth in Hazelwood, Watts, and Tinker.[133]  For example, a cyberbullying policy can prohibit the use of electronic devices to make an electronic communication that is meant to: (1) be a “true threat” against a student or school administrator;[134] (2) “materially disrupt” school operations;[135] or (3) substantially “impinge on the rights” of others at the school.[136]  This third prohibition of “impinging on others” could include: creating “reasonable fear of harm to the student’s person or property;”[137] creating “a substantially detrimental effect on the student’s physical or mental health;”[138] “substantially interfering with a student’s academic performance . . . [or] interfering with the student’s ability to participate in or benefit from the services, activities, or privileges provided by a school;”[139] or being “so severe, persistent, or pervasive” so as to cause “substantial emotional distress.”[140]

The United States Supreme Court has found that for antidiscrimination statutes, “[e]numeration is the essential device used to make the duty not to discriminate concrete and to provide guidance for those who must comply.”[141]  Thus, another way to make the term “cyberbullying” less vague is to set forth a prohibition of cyberbullying based on enumerated characteristics, such as those describing traditionally protected groups or identity-based groups.[142]  For example, in its definition of cyberbullying, the policy should prohibit cyberbullying on the basis of race, color, national origin, gender, religion, disability, sexual orientation, or gender identity to remove any doubt that cyberbullying is prohibited regarding any of these characteristics.[143]  As one study showed, schools that have policies with enumerated categories report less bullying than schools that do not.[144]  Policies should be drafted so that inclusion of enumerated categories does not affect protection for students who do not fall into any of them.[145]

2. Providing Proper Notice

To make certain that students’ due process rights are not violated, cyberbullying policies must give students and parents notice of the details of the policy.  There are three considerations to ensure proper notice is given.  First, the cyberbullying policy must clearly set forth what conduct is forbidden.  For example, one student raised a successful due process challenge to discipline stemming from a violation of the school’s cyberbullying policy because the policy failed to “put students on notice that off-campus speech or conduct which cause[d] a disruption to school activities may subject them to discipline.”[146]  The court explained such notice was necessary so that students could “modify their conduct in conformity with the school rules.”[147]  Therefore, a cyberbullying policy should clearly set forth the what, who, and when.  In other words, the policy should not only define what constitutes “cyberbullying” and against whom it is prohibited (such as enumerated groups of individuals), but it must also explain when the school can exercise jurisdictional authority over the conduct.[148]

Second, the school must ensure that students and parents receive actual notice of the cyberbullying policy.  Students’ due process rights are implicated if they do not have adequate and actual notice of a school’s policy regarding punishment for certain acts.  To meet the actual notice requirement, one scholar suggests that schools should be required to create cyberbullying policies that require parents to receive copies of the school’s cyberbullying policy, along with information on how to prevent cyberbullying and what to do if their child is being cyberbullied.[149]  Florida’s model bullying policy does just that; it suggests that the student handbook include the bullying policy, that school officials should inform all students and parents in writing of the bullying policy at the beginning of each school year, and that there should be an annual process for discussing the policy with students in a student assembly.[150]  Another way schools can fulfill the actual notice requirement is to implement an “acceptable use policy” for the use of the school’s technology resources, which establishes that school technology cannot be used to cyberbully another student.  The “acceptable use policy” should be in the form of a contract, which parents and students must sign before students are able to use the school’s technology resources.[151]

Third, as some state statutes already require, a valid cyberbullying policy should also include a procedure for immediately notifying parents if the school discovers that their child is involved in a cyberbullying incident.  Eleven state statutes require schools to notify the parents of both the victim and the cyberbully.[152]  The West Virginia statute requires schools to notify parents of any student involved in a cyberbullying incident.[153]  Some scholars suggest that schools should notify the alleged cyberbully’s parents prior to any investigation.[154]  After the investigation, the cyberbully and his parents should be notified of the potential consequences to which they may be subjected.[155]

C.            The Fourth Amendment Issues: Allowing for Reasonable Searches and Seizures

The Fourth Amendment raises additional concerns in cyberbullying cases.  Once an incident of alleged cyberbullying is reported to school officials, how can the school investigate the allegations without violating the Fourth Amendment’s prohibition of unreasonable searches and seizures?[156]  To put the issue in context, consider the illustrative hypothetical set forth in the Introduction of this Article: Joe and Jane are middle school students.  Jane’s parents discover that Joe has posted on the Internet an animated game depicting himself and other students punching Jane.  Joe has forwarded a link to the game to many of his school friends, who have in turn forwarded it to other students.  During school hours, while on-campus, numerous students, including Joe, have logged onto the website and participated in the game.  Jane’s parents report the website to school officials.

Can school officials search Joe’s cell phone and personal laptop computer to see if he did indeed create the website?  Can school officials search other students’ personal electronic devices to see if they accessed the website?  If the school decides to search Joe’s cell phone, can school officials also search the cell phone for other instances of cyberbullying or violations of school rules?  All of these questions pose novel issues under the Fourth Amendment.  There are no Supreme Court cases on point.  Moreover, those states that have drafted model bullying policies also fail to address these issues.[157]  Schools, therefore, are once again left without any guidance.  The discussion below aims to answer these questions.

1. The T.L.O. Legal Standard

The controlling authority on the Fourth Amendment application to schools is the 1985 Supreme Court case New Jersey v. T.L.O.[158]  This case involved a teacher who found high school students smoking in the bathroom in violation of school rules.[159]  School officials searched one student’s purse for cigarettes.[160]  After finding cigarettes, the school official continued to search the purse and subsequently found drug paraphernalia.[161]  The student sought to suppress the evidence found in the purse as a violation of the Fourth Amendment.[162]  The Supreme Court first determined that, under the Fourth Amendment, students have a legitimate expectation of privacy in the private property they bring to school.[163]  The students’ interest, however, must be balanced against the interest of school officials “in maintaining discipline in the classroom and on school grounds.”[164]

The Court established a two-step inquiry for determining when it is reasonable for a public school official to search students’ personal property.[165]  First, the search must be justified at inception, meaning there must be “reasonable grounds for suspecting that the search will turn up evidence that the student has violated or is violating either the law or the rules of the school.”[166]  Second, the scope of the search must be “reasonably related to the objective of the search and not excessively intrusive in light of the age and sex of the student and the nature of the infraction.”[167]  Based on this two-prong test, the Court in T.L.O. held the search of the student’s purse did not violate the Fourth Amendment because it was based on an individualized suspicion that she had violated the school rules (first that she was smoking and second that she was using illegal drugs) and was not overly intrusive.[168]  Notably, under T.L.O., once a reasonable suspicion of wrongdoing exists, a search of a student’s personal belongings does not require the student’s consent or the consent of his parents.[169]

Although courts have not specifically dealt with the Fourth Amendment’s role in cyberbullying, two cases have applied the T.L.O. test to the possession and use of cell phones in violation of school rules.  In Klump v. Nazareth Area School District, the school had a policy prohibiting use or display of cell phones during school hours.[170]  The student, Klump, violated the rule when his cell phone fell out of his pocket during class.[171]  After his teacher confiscated his phone, the teacher, along with the principal, then used the phone to call nine other students listed in Klump’s phone directory to determine if they were violating school policy.[172]  They also accessed Klump’s text messages and e-mail, and had an instant messaging conversation with Klump’s younger brother without identifying themselves.[173]  The school officials asserted that they found a drug-related text message while searching the phone.[174]  The court held the search was unreasonable.[175]  While the teacher was justified in seizing the cell phone because it violated the school policy, the search of the phone failed the first part of the T.L.O. test because it was not justified at inception.[176]  The teacher and principal had no reason to suspect that Klump was violating any other school policy other than the possession of the cell phone, thus, seizure alone would have been acceptable.  Notably, there were no facts suggesting that Klump had used his cell phone while on-campus.[177]  Instead the school authorities were impermissibly searching the phone “as a tool to catch other students’ violations.”[178]

In the second cell phone case on point, J.W. v. Desoto County School District, the school district also had a policy prohibiting students from possessing or using cell phones at school.[179]  Student R.W. was caught violating this policy when he opened his cell phone to retrieve a text message during class.[180]  The teacher took R.W.’s phone, opened it, and viewed personal photos stored on it.[181]  R.W. was ordered into the principal’s office where the principal and police sergeant also opened the phone and examined the photographs.[182]  One photo showed another student holding a B.B. gun.[183]  Based on that photo, R.W. was expelled for having gang pictures.[184]  The court applied the T.L.O. test and upheld both the seizure and search of the phone.[185]  The court explained that upon witnessing a student violating the rule, it was reasonable for a school official to seek to determine to what end the student was improperly using the phone.[186]  The court noted the student could have been using his cell phone at school to cheat or communicate with another student who would also be subject to discipline.[187]

The court in Desoto distinguished Klump by explaining that in Klump the student unintentionally violated the school policy (the phone fell out of his pocket) and the school officials used that accident as a pretext for a “fishing expedition.”[188]  In contrast, here R.W. knowingly violated the rules by bringing the phone on school grounds and then using it.[189]  Moreover, as opposed to the “fishing expedition” that occurred in Klump (misleadingly calling other students and responding to text messages and emails using a student’s electronic identity),[190] in R.W.’s case the search by the school officials was limited to a search of the phone.[191]

 

Incorporating the T.L.O. Standard into a Cyberbullying Policy: the search must (1) have “reasonable grounds;” and (2) be limited in “scope.” Cyberbullying policies should incorporate the two-prong test articulated in T.L.O.[192]  First, the policy should indicate that school officials[193] can search a student’s personal electronic device for evidence of cyberbullying only when there are “reasonable grounds” that the search will lead to evidence of cyberbullying by that person (presumably a violation of a school rule).  The policy should also make clear that, unlike in Klump, school officials should not be allowed to misleadingly use the search as a ploy to try to catch other students violating the rules.

As Klump and Desoto illustrate, what constitutes “reasonable grounds” will be a fact-specific inquiry.[194]  For example, applying the first prong of the T.L.O. standard to the illustrative hypothetical set forth at the beginning of this Part of the Article, if Joe, or any other student, was impermissibly using (not just possessing)[195] his electronic device at school, then there would be reasonable grounds to search it to determine to what ends the student was improperly using the electronic device.  The analysis, however, is slightly more complex if the only fact before school officials is a call from Jane’s parents reporting alleged cyberbullying (or an allegation of cyberbullying only from Jane).  Then school officials would have to consider factors such as the perceived credibility of the person making the report[196] and whether the electronic record (e.g., a history of postings or visits to a website, emails, or bullying text messages on a cell phone) is likely to still be accessible.

A school’s cyberbullying policy should also include language incorporating the second prong of the T.L.O. standard, namely a search of a student’s electronic device should be limited in scope.[197]  If there is suspicion of only a cyberbullying text message, or accessing a website as in the hypothetical set forth above involving Joe, then photographs stored on the electronic device should be left alone.  As the Court stated in T.L.O, teachers and school administrators should use their “common sense” in determining the appropriate scope of the search.[198]  Generally, call logs and text logs will be within the scope of the search to determine who else may have received or sent the bullying message, or may have accessed or posted on the bullying website.[199]  However, as addressed in Klump, school officials should not misleadingly or anonymously contact students on these logs to dupe them into admitting further violation of school rules.[200]

2. Special Legal Concerns for Sexting

Sexting is the sending or receiving of sexually explicit messages, images, or videos between cell phones, or posting them on the Internet (such as on Facebook or MySpace).[201]  Unfortunately, sexting is becoming all too popular among high school and middle school students.[202]  These messages are often sent because of romantic interests but can quickly turn into an unforgiving and relentless form of cyberbullying.[203]  Because many child pornography laws prohibit the distribution of child pornography without exception, minors who sext each other can be, and indeed have been, criminally prosecuted.[204]  The possibility of criminal legal liability can also confront school officials.  There are currently no statutory exceptions allowing for school officials to possess or distribute nude images of minors;[205] therefore, school officials who are investigating allegations of cyberbullying that involve sexting could be subject to state and federal criminal felony charges.[206]  One Pennsylvania school board is currently under criminal investigation for improper conduct and disseminating child pornography when it was alleged that phones displaying pornographic images and video clips involving minor students were passed around and viewed by more school employees than necessary to investigate the incident.[207]

Moreover, courts have yet to address the possible civil liability of school officials who uncover and examine nude photos of students.  The American Civil Liberties Union (“ACLU”) recently pursued a private suit against a Pennsylvania district attorney (after privately settling with the school district) when explicit photos on a female student’s cell phone were discovered by the principal and turned over to the district attorney.[208]  In this case, a teacher confiscated a female student’s cell phone when the student used it during class.[209]  The teacher turned the phone over to the principal who informed the student that he had found sexually explicit photos and turned them over to law enforcement.[210]  The cell phone contained photos of the female student in various states of nudity intended to be seen only by the student’s boyfriend and herself.[211]  The ACLU alleges the student’s phone was illegally searched.[212]  Courts have historically been stricter in enforcing the Fourth Amendment when student nudity is involved.[213]

Thus, for a school district and its officials to avoid criminal or civil legal liability, if a cyberbullying investigation leads to the uncovering of images of nude minors, those images should never be distributed or shown to other school officials.[214]  The school official should promptly contact law enforcement and turn the material over to authorities without distributing it.  While school officials can discuss the nature of the material with each other for investigative and disciplinary purposes, cyberbullying policies should strictly prohibit the dissemination or showing of any nude images of children to anyone other than law enforcement.[215]

III.  A Comprehensive Cyberbullying Policy: Including Legally Valid “Policy Considerations”

While cyberbullying is a new and dangerous type of bullying that raises many novel and complex constitutional issues, the sole purpose of a cyberbullying policy—to halt cyberbullying—should not be forgotten.  There are at least three other guidelines that schools should consider in order to create a comprehensive cyberbullying policy: (1) how to set forth  procedures that properly respond to and report cyberbullying incidents; (2) how to adopt legally valid and proportionate remedies once a cyberbullying incident has occurred; and (3) how to educate students, parents, and school officials about the vices of cyberbullying.[216]  This Part of the Article will address these additional issues by incorporating the best elements of already existing statutory requirements along with some refinements to ensure that the model cyberbullying policy in Appendix B of this Article is not only constitutional, but also comprehensive.[217]

A.            Procedures for Responding to and Reporting Cyberbullying Incidents

As discussed in a previous Subpart of this Article, a school must provide notice of its cyberbullying policy to students and parents in order to survive constitutional challenges.[218]  This notice should also include information on how to identify, respond to, and report cyberbullying incidents.[219]  Because of the often sensitive nature of cyberbullying (particularly if it involves sexting), the reporting provision should specifically identify the school official[220] who will be a “safe contact” person for students who wish to report incidents of cyberbullying.[221]

In addition, because some students have “indicated that when they reported cyberbullying incidents to teachers, these conversations were not confidential and in some instances resulted in additional retaliatory harassment,”[222] the reporting provision should allow for anonymous and confidential reporting.[223]  This could be implemented in a number of ways, such as an anonymous online form on the school’s website or an anonymous drop box inside the school.  However, because the reliability and credibility of an anonymous report cannot be ascertained, school officials should neither take disciplinary action[224] nor search a student’s personal electronic devices solely based on an anonymous tip.[225]  Nevertheless, based on an anonymous tip, school officials could research the Internet on their own (to see if certain websites exist) or interview students and parents.

Finally, the reporting provision of a cyberbullying policy should put students and parents on notice that school officials may report cyberbullying incidents to law enforcement depending on the criminal nature, gravity, or repetition of the offense.[226]  Fines and imprisonment for criminal behavior are possibilities.[227]

B.            Proportionate Remedies for Cyberbullying Incidents

Schools have many options in how to respond to cyberbullying.  Such options include suspending, expelling, or counseling the student as well as contacting the appropriate authorities.[228]  While certain state statutes mandate specific remedies,[229] a majority of states leave it to schools to create remedies and punishments for cyberbullying.[230]  Courts generally defer to the school’s judgment of what level of punishment is appropriate.[231]  The court may weigh public policy interests in determining whether the punishment is too harsh, but unless the facts fall heavily on the side of harm to the student, courts will accept the form of punishment that a school chooses.[232]  As one court stated, “we are mindful that ‘[i]t is not the role of the federal courts to set aside decisions of school administrators which the court may view as lacking a basis in wisdom or compassion.’”[233]  Because of the vastly different ways schools can respond to cyberbullying, some have called for uniform policies.[234]

Schools may, for example, adopt a tiered approach to consequential remedies, which would allow schools to take into consideration the nature of the offense and the age of the student.  For a first time or minor offense, schools can mandate the cyberbully attend mandatory counseling and education sessions.  For a second or more serious offense, schools can prohibit students from participating in school activities such as sports or student government.  Prohibiting a student from participation in a school-sponsored activity is often ideal because, while it might be a stern punishment, it will not have the serious detrimental effect on the student’s academic record that school suspension would have.  Additionally, to avoid tragic school shootings like what occurred at Columbine High School,[235] it is particularly important for schools to discipline cyberbullies who are involved in student activities and purportedly serve as role models to other students.  For a serious incident of cyberbullying that includes violent speech, school suspension or expulsion may be warranted.[236]  In such cases, there may also be civil and criminal liability outside the school’s jurisdiction.[237]

In addition to consequential remedies, cyberbullying policies should also include preventive remedies.  A false accusation of cyberbullying might trigger retaliation, which would then lead to actual cyberbullying.  Thus, when considering preventive remedies, schools should also prohibit retaliation or false accusations against a target or witness of cyberbullying.[238]  In addition to delineating prohibited conduct, the cyberbullying policy should also indicate the types of behavior the school wishes to promote.[239]  For instance, the policy should reflect that schools expect students to be “good citizens—not passive bystanders—[and to report incidents] if they are aware of bullying or students who appear troubled.”[240]  Finally, after an incident of cyberbullying, schools should provide post-care counseling to both the cyberbully and victim[241] and, when necessary, “file a complaint with the Internet site or service to have the material removed.”[242]

C.            Educating Students, Parents, and School Officials

Because cyberbullying is a new phenomenon, it takes time, unfortunately, for the law to catch up to the problem.  Thus, it is imperative that a comprehensive cyberbullying policy provide for educational opportunities whenever possible.  As the Florida Department of Education has explained, education about bullying is an important tool that can help “change the social climate of the school and the social norms with regards to bullying.”[243]

Florida law mandates that schools develop “a procedure for providing instruction to students, parents, teachers, school administrators, counseling staff, and school volunteers on identifying, preventing, and responding to bullying or harassment.”[244]  The law, however, provides little guidance as to what those programs should include.[245]  Student training and education should start at a young age, since instances of cyberbullying have been reported by students as young as ten.[246]  An educational program for students should train students on: (1) the meaning of cyberbullying and the need to refrain from engaging in it—even if meant as a joke—since there are possible repercussions within the school or even within the justice system;[247] (2) how to be an ally to peers who are being bullied;[248] and (3) how to protect themselves from being cyberbullied.[249]  Schools should consider allowing students to play an active role in developing the school’s cyberbullying educational programs.[250]

In addition to providing educational opportunities for students, schools should also train parents and school officials.  Maryland law, for example, mandates such training.[251]  Part of the training program for school officials should include training specific faculty members to be “safe contacts” to whom students may report incidents of cyberbullying.[252]  Parents may be in the best position to prevent their children from “abusing available technology, or putting themselves at risk of being cyberbullied.”[253]  Parents should be educated in how to identify and prevent incidents of cyberbullying.[254]  Schools can educate and train parents by various methods including meetings and assemblies at the school, newsletters from the school or district, half-time programs at school sports events, and parent workshops.[255]  Parents should also be educated on the consequences of cyberbullying to send a clear message that schools will not tolerate cyberbullying.[256]

Conclusion

Cyberbullying presents a danger to schoolchildren.  Because cyberbullying involves the Internet and the use of cell phones, it is more pervasive, relentless, and cruel than off-line bullying.  There is simply no escape for victims of cyberbullying.  Indeed, cyberbullying follows a victim from their school to their home, and possibly to their adult life.  Legislatures and public schools are taking measures to combat cyberbullying.  However, with this new medium for bullying comes many new and challenging legal issues.

These new issues can be resolved.  A cyberbullying policy that carefully adopts language to deal with a public school’s jurisdiction over off-campus speech that either materially disrupts school activities or impinges on another student’s rights should address First Amendment concerns.  A cyberbullying policy that sets forth clear definitions of terms and gives proper notice to students and parents should ensure that due process is met.  And finally, a cyberbullying policy that establishes a reasonable process by which school officials can conduct searches of students’ personal electronic devices when investigating cyberbullying claims should address Fourth Amendment issues.  The model cyberbullying policy set forth in Appendix B attempts to do just that—to provide a step in the right direction so that public schools can ensure a safe environment without trampling students’ constitutional and legal rights.

 

 

Appendix A

Chart of Current State and Federal
Antibullying Statutes

State Antibullying Statute

Statute requires schools to enact bullying policy?

 

Statute specifically includes the terms “cyberbullying” or “electronic harassment”?

Model Antibullying School Policy provided?

Statute requires notice be given to parents?

Alabama

Ala. Code §§ 16-28B-1 to -9 (2011)[257]

Yes[258]

Yes[259]

No

No

Alaska

Alaska Stat. §§ 14.33.200-250 (2011)

Yes[260]

No

Yes[261]

No

Arizona

Ariz. Rev. Stat. Ann. § 15-341(37) (2011)

Yes[262]

No

No

No

Arkansas

Ark. Code Ann. § 6-18-514 (2010)

Yes[263]

Yes[264]

No

No

California

Cal. Educ. Code §§ 32282, 32261 (West 2011)

Yes[265]

Yes[266]

Yes[267]

No

Colorado

Colo. Rev. Stat. Ann § 22-32-109.1 (2010)

Yes[268]

No

Yes[269]

No

Connecticut

Conn. Gen. Stat. § 10-222d (2010)

Yes[270]

No

No

Yes[271]

District of Columbia

D.C. Mun. Regs. tit. 5, § 2405.5 (2011)

No[272]

No[273]

No[274]

No

Delaware

Del. Code Ann. tit. 14, § 4112D (2011)

Yes[275]

Yes[276]

Yes[277]

Yes[278]

Florida

Fla. Stat. § 1006.147 (2010)

Yes[279]

Yes[280]

Yes[281]

Yes[282]

Georgia

Ga. Code Ann. § 20-2-751.4 (2011)

Yes[283]

Yes[284]

No

Yes[285]

Hawaii[286]

Proposed but not passed[287]

Idaho

Idaho Code Ann. §§ 18-917A, 33-512 (2011)

Yes[288]

Yes[289]

No

No

Illinois

105 Ill. Comp. Stat. 5/27-23.7 (2010)

Yes[290]

Yes[291]

No

No

Indiana

Ind. Code § 20-33-8-0.2 (2010)

Yes[292]

No

No

No

Iowa

Iowa  Code § 280.28 (2010)

Yes[293]

Yes[294]

Yes[295]

No

Kansas

Kan. Stat. Ann. 72-8256 (2011)

Yes[296]

Yes[297]

No

No

Kentucky

KY Rev. Stat. Ann. §§ 158.148, .440 (West 2010)

Yes[298]

No

No

No

Louisiana

LA Rev. Stat. Ann § 17:416.13 (2011)

Yes[299]

Yes[300]

No

No

Maine

ME Rev. Stat. Ann. tit. 20, § 1001(15(H)) (2010)

Yes[301]

No

Yes[302]

No

Maryland

MD. Code Ann., Educ. §§ 7-424, -434.1 (West 2010)

Yes[303]

Yes[304]

No

No

Massachusetts

Mass. Gen. Laws 71 § 37O (2011)

Yes[305]

Yes[306]

No

Yes[307]

Michigan

proposed but not passed[308]

Yes[309]

Minnesota

Minn. Stat. § 121A.0695 (2010)

Yes[310]

Yes[311]

No

No

Mississippi

Miss. Code. Ann. § 37-11-67 (2010)

Yes[312]

Yes[313]

No

No

Missouri

Mo. Rev. Stat. § 160.775 (2011)

Yes[314]

Yes[315]

No

No

Montana

(No Statute)

No

No

No

No

Nebraska

Neb. Rev. Stat. §§ 79-2, 137 (2010)

Yes[316]

Yes[317]

Yes[318]

No

Nevada

Nev. Rev. Stat. §§ 388.122 to .123, .133 (2010)

Yes[319]

Yes[320]

No

No

New Hampshire

N.H. Rev. Stat. Ann. §§ 193-F:1 to -6 (2011)

Yes[321]

Yes[322]

No

Yes[323]

New Jersey

N.J. Stat. Ann. §§ 18A:37-13, -15 (West 2011)

Yes[324]

Yes[325]

Yes[326]

No

New Mexico

N.M. Code R. § 6.12.7 (Weil 2010)

Yes[327]

Yes[328]

No

No

New York

N.Y. Educ. Law § 2801-a (McKinney 2009)

Yes[329]

No

No

Yes[330]

North Carolina

N.C.  Gen Stat. § 115C-407.15 (2010)

Yes[331]

Yes[332]

No

No

North Dakota

(No Statute)

No

No

No

No

Ohio

Ohio Rev. Code Ann. § 3313.666 (West 2011)

Yes[333]

No

Yes[334]

Yes[335]

Oklahoma

Okla. Stat. tit.70, § 24-100.4 (2011)

Yes[336]

Yes[337]

Yes[338]

No

Oregon

OR. Rev. Stat. §§ 339.351 and 339.356 (2010)

Yes[339]

Yes[340]

No

No

Pennsylvania

24 PA. Cons. Stat. § 13-1303.1-A (2010)

Yes[341]

Yes[342]

No

No

Rhode Island

R.I. Gen. Laws § 16-21-26 (2011)

Yes[343]

Yes[344]

Yes[345]

No

South Carolina

S.C. Code Ann. §§ 59-63-140, -120 (2010)

Yes[346]

Yes[347]

Yes[348]

No

South Dakota

(No Statute)

No

No

No

No

Tennessee

Tenn. Code Ann. §§ 49-6-1015 to -1016 (2011)

Yes[349]

No

No

No

Texas

Tex. Educ. Code Ann. § 37.001 (West 2009)

Yes[350]

No

No

Yes[351]

Utah

Utah Code Ann. § 53A-11A-301 (West 2011)

Yes[352]

No

No

Yes[353]

Vermont

VT. Stat. Ann. tit. 16, § 565 (2011)

Yes[354]

No

Yes[355]

No

Virginia

VA. Code Ann. § 22.1-279.6 (2011)

Yes[356]

Yes[357]

No

No

Washington

Wash. Rev. Code § 28A.300.285 (2010)

Yes[358]

Yes[359]

Yes[360]

No

West Virginia

W. Va. Code Ann. § 18-2C-3 (West 2011)

Yes[361]

No

Yes[362]

Yes[363]

Wisconsin

Wis. Stat. § 118.46 (2010)

Yes[364]

No

Yes[365]

No

Wyoming

Wyo. Stat. Ann. §§ 21-4-312, -314 (2011)

Yes[366]

Yes[367]

No

No

Federal Antibullying Statute

Federal Laws

Proposed, but not passed[368]

Proposed, but not passed[369]

 

Appendix B

Model Cyberbullying Policy For Public Schools[370]

It is the policy of this school that all students and school employees enjoy a safe and secure educational setting.  The school prohibits cyberbullying, as defined herein.  Nothing in this policy is intended to infringe on the constitutional rights of students or school employees.

1. Definitions

(a)   The term “cyberbullying”[371]

(i)     means the use of any electronic communication, by individuals or groups, to

(1)   make a true threat against a student or school employee;[372]

(2)   materially disrupt school operations;[373] or

(3)   substantially impinge on the rights of another student such as, but not limited to: creating reasonable fear of harm to the student’s person or property; creating a substantially detrimental effect on the student’s physical or mental health; substantially interfering with a student’s academic performance or interfering with the student’s ability to participate in or benefit from the services, activities, or privileges provided by the school; or being so severe, persistent, or pervasive as to cause severe emotional distress.[374]

(ii)   includes conduct that is based on, but not limited to, a student’s actual or perceived[375] race, color, national origin, gender, religion, disability, sexual orientation or gender identity, distinguishing physical or personal characteristic, socioeconomic status, or association with any person identified in section 1(a)(ii).

(b)   As used in this policy, the term “electronic communications” means communications through any electronic device, including, but not limited to, computers, telephones, mobile phones, pagers, and any type of communication, including, but not limited to, emails, instant messages, text messages, picture messages, and websites.[376]

2. School Jurisdiction[377]

(a)   No student shall be subjected to cyberbullying by an electronic communication that bears the imprimatur of the school regardless of whether such electronic communication originated on or off the school’s campus.

(b)   The school shall have jurisdiction to prohibit cyberbullying that originates on the school’s campus if the electronic communication was made using the school’s technological resources or the electronic communication was made on the school’s campus using the student’s own personal technological resources.

(c)    The school shall have jurisdiction to prohibit cyberbullying that originates off the school’s campus if: [378]

(i)     it was reasonably foreseeable that the electronic communication would reach the school’s campus; or

(ii)   there is a sufficient nexus between the electronic communication and the school which includes, but is not limited to, speech that is directed at a school-specific audience, or the speech was brought onto or accessed on the school campus, even if it was not the student in question who did so.

3. Notice[379]

(a)   Parents shall receive written notice of this cyberbullying policy at the beginning of each school year.

(b)   There shall be an annual process for discussing this policy with students in a student assembly.

(c)    For access to the school’s technological resources, including but not limited to email and Internet access, students and parents shall review, sign, and return the school’s acceptable use policy which prohibits the use of the school’s technological resources for cyberbullying.[380]

(d)   This policy, along with the school’s acceptable use policy as described in section 3(c), shall be prominently posted at school on student bulletin boards and in computer labs, and on the school’s website.

4. Investigations

(a)   Parents shall be notified as soon as practicable if their child is involved in a school investigation concerning cyberbullying.[381]

(b)   School officials may search and seize a student’s personal electronic device, including but not limited to cell phones and computers, if:[382]

(i)     the student is using the electronic device at school in violation of school rules; or

(ii)   the school official

(1)   has reasonable grounds for suspecting the search will turn up evidence that the student has violated or is violating either the law or the school rules; and

(2)   the search is limited in scope by being reasonably related to the objective of the search and not excessively intrusive in light of the age and sex of the student and the nature of the infraction.

(c)    Reasonable grounds, as set forth in section 4(b)(ii)(1), will not be established solely on anonymous reports.[383]

(d)   If the cyberbullying victim or student reporting the cyberbullying is willing, the school shall initiate an interview to determine the nature of the bullying, the name of the participants, where and how the information was being sent, and how far the images or messages have spread.[384]

(e)    Any evidence of cyberbullying discovered during an investigation should be preserved.  Such actions may include, but are not limited to, saving the victim’s cell phone, text, or email messages; and printing or copying posts or other electronic communications available on websites before removing them.[385]

(f)     If, during the course of a cyberbullying investigation, images of nude minors are discovered, those images should not be distributed or shown to other school officials.  The school official who discovered the image should promptly contact law enforcement.[386]

5. Reporting[387]

(a)   Specific faculty members [insert names here] will be the main contacts for students who wish to report incidents of cyberbullying.  Students, parents, and other school officials may also contact the principal to report incidents of cyberbullying.

(b)   Anonymous and confidential reports of cyberbullying incidents are allowed, but they will not provide the sole basis for a search of a student’s personal electronic device or for disciplinary action.

(c)    School officials may report incidents of cyberbullying to law enforcement depending on the criminal nature of the offense, or the gravity and repetition of the offense.

6. Remedies[388]

(a)   An individual student whose behavior is found to be in violation of this policy will be subject to discipline.  In determining the disciplinary action, the school will take into consideration the nature of the offense, the age of the student, and the following:

(i)     For a first-time or minor cyberbullying offense, the school may mandate that the student attend mandatory counseling and education sessions.

(ii)   For a second or more serious cyberbullying offense, the school may prohibit the student from participating in school activities or events.

(iii)  For a serious incident of cyberbullying, the school may suspend or expel the student.

(b)   No student shall retaliate or make false accusations against a target or witness of cyberbullying.

(c)    Whenever practicable, the school shall provide counseling to all students involved in a cyberbullying incident.

(d)   Whenever practicable, the school shall file a complaint with Internet sites or services containing cyberbullying material to have the material removed.

7. Education[389]

(a)   The school shall provide an annual educational program for students, parents, and school officials.  This education program shall train individuals:

(i)     on the meaning of and prohibition against cyberbullying, including the provisions of this policy;

(ii)   how students can report cyberbullying incidents;

(iii)  how students can be an ally to peers who are being cyberbullied; and

(iv)  how students can protect themselves from being cyberbullied.

(b)   The school shall encourage students to play an active role in developing the school’s cyberbullying educational programs.

 


* Associate Professor of Law, Pepperdine University School of Law.  I am deeply thankful to Professor Bernie James for his mentoring.  I would also like to thank Lindsey Forrester Archer, Holly Townson, and Whitney McEachran for their thorough research and a special thanks to Elizaveta Kabanova for her research and last-minute editing suggestions.

[1]. Cindy Long, Silencing Cyberbullies, NEAToday (May 2008), http://www.nea.org/home/4104.htm.  The article notes that in one cyberbullying incident “a ‘popular girl’ placed her digital camera under a bathroom partition to capture an ‘unpopular’ girl in a compromising position.”  Id.

[2]. See, e.g., Sameer Hinduja & Justin W. Patchin, Cyberbullying: Identification, Prevention, and Response, Cyberbullying Research Center, http://www.cyberbullying.us/Cyberbullying_Identification_Prevention_Response_Fact_Sheet.pdf (last visited Sept. 16, 2011).

[3]. Mary Ellen Flannery, Top Eight Challenges Teachers Face This School Year, NEAToday (Sept. 13, 2010), http://neatoday.org/2010/09/13/top-eight
-challenges-teachers-face-this-school-year/ (“[N]early one in three teens say they’ve been victimized via the Internet or cell phones.  A teacher’s role—or a school’s role—is still fuzzy in many places.  What legal rights or responsibilities do they have to silence bullies, especially when they operate from home?”).

[4]. See, e.g., Thomas v. Bd. of Educ., 607 F.2d 1043, 1052 (2d Cir. 1979).  The court explained:

When school officials are authorized only to punish speech on school property, the student is free to speak his mind when the school day ends.  In this manner, the community is not deprived of the salutary effects of expression, and educational authorities are free to establish an academic environment in which the teaching and learning process can proceed free of disruption. Indeed, our willingness to grant school officials substantial autonomy within their academic domain rests in part on the confinement of that power within the metes and bounds of the school itself.

Id.

[5]. See id.; see also Flaherty v. Keystone Oaks Sch. Dist., 247 F. Supp. 2d 698, 705 (W.D. Pa. 2003) (finding a school policy constitutionally overbroad where the policy lacked language to limit the school’s authority “to discipline expressions that occur on school premises or at school related activities, thus providing unrestricted power to school officials”).

[6]. See J.S. ex rel. Snyder v. Blue Mountain Sch. Dist., 593 F.3d 286 (3d Cir. 2010), vacated, reh’g granted en banc, No. 08-4138, 2010 U.S. App. LEXIS 7342, at *1 (3d Cir. Apr. 9, 2010), rev’d en banc, No. 08-4138, 2011 WL 2305973, at *1 (3d Cir. June 13, 2011).  In this case, the court was deciding whether a school could discipline a student for creating, on a home computer, a vulgar and fake MySpace page of the school’s principal.  Snyder, 2011 WL 2305973, at *1.  Finding that the school could not discipline the student, the en banc court was fractured—seven judges joined the majority, five judges concurred and six judges dissented.  Id. at *8, *18, *22.

[7]. Compare id. at *27 (Fisher, J., dissenting) (stating that “[o]ur decision today causes a split with the Second Circuit”), with Wisniewski v. Bd. of Educ., 494 F.3d 34, 40 (2d Cir. 2007) (holding that the school can regulate student speech created off-campus where it was reasonably foreseeable that it would reach the school campus).

[8]. A proposed bill that would make cyberbullying a federal crime sets forth the following findings of fact:

Congress finds the following: . . .

(4) Online victimizations are associated with emotional distress and other psychological problems, including depression.

(5) Cyberbullying can cause psychological harm, including depression; negatively impact academic performance, safety, and the well-being of children in school; force children to change schools; and in some cases lead to extreme violent behavior, including murder and suicide.

(6) Sixty percent of mental health professionals who responded to the Survey of Internet Mental Health Issues report having treated at least one patient with a problematic Internet experience in the previous five years; 54 percent of these clients were 18 years of age or younger.

Cyberbullying Prevention Act, H.R. 1966, 111th Cong. (2010).

[9]. “Most teens text daily.”  Amanda Lenhart, Teens, Cell Phones and Texting: Text Messaging Becomes Centerpiece Communication, Pew Internet & Am. Life Project, http://pewresearch.org/pubs/1572/teens-cell-phones-text
-messages (last visited Sept. 19, 2011) (noting that teenagers’ use of cell phones and texting has increased from 45% to 75% since 2004, and that 72% of teens are texters); Jill Tucker, Social Networking Has Hidden Dangers For Teens, S.F. Chronicle (Aug. 9, 2009, 08:31 PM), available at http://www.sfgate.com
/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2009/08/10/BA9T1954T7.DTL#ixzz1J3WA1cEI (“While teens are spending more and more time on social networking sites like Facebook and MySpace¾with 22 percent saying they check their sites more than 10 times a day¾they don’t seem to be aware of the long-term personal havoc they could create with a click of a button.”); see also id. (explaining “51 [percent of teens] check their sites more than once a day”).

[10]. Bullying/Cyberbullying Prevention Law: Model Statute and Advocacy Toolkit, Anti-Defamation League, 5 (Apr. 1, 2009), http://www.adl.org/civil
_rights/Anti-Bullying%20Law%20Toolkit_2009.pdf; see also Bullying, Berkshire Dist. Attorney’s Office, http://www.mass.gov/?pageID=berterminal
&L=3&L0=Home&L1=Crime+Awareness+%26+Prevention&L2=Parents+%26+Youth&sid=Dber&b=terminalcontent&f=parents_youth_bullying&csid=Dber (last visited Aug. 31, 2011).  The article explained:

Bullying is the most common form of violence.  Some 3.7 million youth engage in it, and more than 3.2 million are victims of bullying annually.

An estimated 160,000 children miss school every day out of fear of attack or intimidation by other students . . . .

72% of teens report ‘at least one incident’ of bullying online (name calling, insults via IM or social networking sites).

90% did NOT report the incident to an adult.

Id.

[11]. Hinduja & Patchin, supra note 2, at 1.

[12]. See Jenny Walker, White House Conference on Bullying Prevention, CyberBullyingNews.com (Mar. 10, 2011), http://www.cyberbullyingnews.com
/2011/03/white-house-conference-on-bullying-prevention-watch-live-today/.

[13]. Randy Taran, Cyberbullying: Strategies to Take Back Your Power, Huffington Post (Jan. 17, 2011, 12:12 PM), http://huffingtonpost.com/randy
-taran/cyberbullying-10-ways-to_b_807005.html.

[14]. Sameer Hinduja & Justin W. Patchin, Cyberbullying Research Summary: Cyberbullying and Suicide, Cyberbullying Research Center (2010), http://www.cyberbullying.us/cyberbullying_and_suicide_research_fact
_sheet.pdf.

[15]. Linsey Davis & Emily Friedman, NJ Gov. Wonders How Rutgers ‘Spies’ Can Sleep at Night After Clementi’s Suicide, ABC News (Sept. 30, 2010), http://abcnews.go.com/US/suicide-rutgers-university-freshman-tyler-clementi
-stuns-veteran/story?id=11763784.

[16]. Victoria Kim & Richard Winton, School Holds Tolerance Seminar as 3 Boys Are Arrested in ‘Ginger’ Attacks, L.A. Times, Nov. 30, 2009, http://articles.latimes.com/2009/nov/30/local/la-me-ginger-attacks1-2009dec01.

[17]. Long, supra note 1.

[18]. Id.

[19]. Christopher Maag, A Hoax Turned Fatal Draws Anger but No Charges, N.Y. Times, Nov. 28, 2007, http://www.nytimes.com/2007/11/28/us/28hoax.html?
_r=2&oref=slogin.

[20]. Michelle Kim, Boy, 14, Arrested for Cyber-Bullying 12-Year-Olds, NBC N.Y., Mar. 14, 2011, http://www.nbcnewyork.com/news/local/117966829.html.

[21]. Students Arrested for Cyber Bullying, WAFB La.’s News Channel, http://www.wafb.com/global/story.asp?s=2774728& (last visited Aug. 29, 2011).

[22]. Jason Beahm, Teen Cyberbullying Arrest: Fake Facebook Page, FindLaw Blogs (Jan. 21, 2011, 12:15 PM), http://blogs.findlaw.com/blotter/2011
/01/teen-cyberbullying-arrest-fake-facebook-page.html.

[23]. Russell Goldman, Teens Indicted After Allegedly Taunting Girl Who Hanged Herself, ABC News (Mar. 29, 2010), http://abcnews.go.com/Technology
/TheLaw/teens-charged-bullying-mass-girl-kill/story?id=10231357.

[24]. Emily Bazelon, What Really Happened to Phoebe Prince? The Untold Story of Her Suicide and the Role of the Kids Who Have Been Criminally Charged For It, Slate (July 20, 2010, 10:13 PM), http://www.slate.com/id
/2260952/entry/2260953.

[25]. Erik Eckholm & Katie Zezima, 6 Teenagers Are Charged After Classmate’s Suicide, N.Y. Times, Mar. 29, 2010, http://www.nytimes.com/2010
/03/30/us/30bully.html.

[26]. Bazelon, supra note 24.

[27]. Id.

[28]. Frank LoMonte, States Should Protect Student Journalists, Philly.Com (Aug. 11, 2010), http://articles.philly.com/2010-08-11/news/24971988_1_student
-journalism-student-reporters-number-of-school-systems.

[29]. Hinduja & Patchin, supra note 2, at 2.  This study determined that:

Parents often say that they don’t have the technical skills to keep up with their kids’ online behavior; teachers are afraid to intervene in behaviors that often occur away from school; and law enforcement is hesitant to get involved unless there is clear evidence of a crime or a significant threat to someone’s physical safety.

Id.

[30]. Rick Nauert, Social Workers Struggle to Deal with Cyber Bullying, PsychCentral (Jan. 11, 2011), http://psychcentral.com/news/2011/01/11/social
-workers-struggle-to-deal-with-cyber-bullying/22507.html (“Although cyber bullying is growing in prevalence, new research suggests nearly half of elementary, middle and high school social workers feel ill-equipped to deal with such victimization.”).  The article explains:

In a survey of nearly 400 school social workers at the elementary, middle and high school levels who were members of the Midwest School Social Work Council, the researchers found that while all respondents felt that cyber bullying can cause psychological harm, including suicide, about 45 percent felt they were not equipped to handle cyber bullying, even though they recognized it as a problem.

Further, only about 20 percent thought their school had an effective cyber bullying policy.

“If there’s no policy in place to guide them, staffers are flying solo in this area, and that can be a liability,” said Singer.

Id.

[31]. If a school does not take active steps to prohibit student harassment, they face possible civil liability, under both federal and state laws, from students who have been harassed by their peers.  See, e.g., 20 U.S.C. § 1681(a) (2010) (“No person . . . shall, on the basis of sex, be excluded from participation in, be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination under any education program or activity receiving Federal financial assistance.”); Murrell v. Sch. Dist. No. 1, 186 F.3d 1238, 1238 (10th Cir. 1999) (finding that a school district could be held liable under Title IX for having actual knowledge of student-on-student harassment and failing to take active steps to prevent it); Williams v. Port Huron Area Sch. Dist. Bd. of Educ., No. 06-14556, 2010 WL 1286306, at *1 (E.D. Mich. Mar. 30, 2010) (holding that a school district was liable for student-on-student harassment under the “deliberate indifference” standard of Title VI and Title IX claims, when students were harassed based on their race); L.W. v. Toms River Reg’l Schs. Bd. of Educ., 915 A.2d 535, 535 (N.J. 2007) (ruling that the New Jersey discrimination law extended a duty to schools to prevent students from being sexually harassed by fellow students); Susan H. Kosse, Student Designed Home Web Pages: Does Title IX or the First Amendment Apply?, 43 Ariz. L. Rev. 905, 905-19 (2001) (explaining the schools’ dilemma in regulating student web pages in violation of the First Amendment but also subjecting themselves to liability under Title IX for failing to prevent sexual harassment).

[32]. Eckholm & Zezima, supra note 25.

[33]. Jan Hoffman, Online Bullies Pull Schools Into the Fray, N.Y. Times, June 27, 2010, http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/28/style/28bully.html?_r=1&sq
=hoffman&st=cse&scp=3&pagewanted=all.  The author notes:

Many principals hesitate to act because school discipline codes or state laws do not define cyberbullying.  But Bernard James, an education law scholar at Pepperdine University, said that administrators interpreted statutes too narrowly: “Educators are empowered to maintain safe schools,” Professor James said. “The timidity of educators in this context of emerging technology is working to the advantage of bullies.”

Id.

[34]. Cdnogen, Research Post: School Officials Handle Cyber Bullying, StudentWebStuff.com (Oct. 1, 2009, 10:45 AM), http://www.studentwebstuff.com/mis/showthread.php?t=8123.  The article notes:

It is time to address cyber bullying in detail, so that educational institutions can be well aware of their legal rights and responsibilities.  This requires clearly defining the scope of cyber bullying and early detection of activities. From these, schools should be able to better assess and decrease the number of cases through prevention strategies.

Id.

[35]. Hoffman, supra note 33.

[36]. Id. (internal quotation marks omitted).

[37]. Id.

[38]. See infra Part II.A.

[39]. See infra Part II.A.

[40]. Mahaffey v. Aldrich, 236 F. Supp. 2d 779, 781-82 (E.D. Mich. 2002).  The student added a disclaimer to his page, “[D]on’t go killing people and stuff.”  Id. at 782.  Although unintended, the webpage was circulated to other students at the school.  Id. at 786.

[41]. Id.

[42]. J.S. ex rel. H.S. v. Bethlehem Area Sch. Dist., 807 A.2d 847, 851 (Pa. 2002).

[43]. J.S. ex rel. Snyder v. Blue Mountain Sch. Dist., 593 F.3d 286 (3d Cir. 2010), vacated, reh’g granted en banc, No. 08-4138, 2010 U.S. App. LEXIS 7342  (3d Cir. Apr. 9, 2010), rev’d en banc, No. 08-4138, 2011 WL 2305973 (3d Cir. June 13, 2011).  Seven judges joined the majority, five judges concurred, and six judges dissented.  See id. at *8, *18, *22.

[44]. Layshock v. Hermitage Sch. Dist., 496 F. Supp. 2d 587 (W.D. Pa. 2006), aff’d, 593 F.3d 249 (3d Cir. 2010), vacated, reh’g granted en banc, No. 07-4465, 2010 U.S. App. LEXIS 7362 (3d Cir. Apr. 9, 2010), aff’d on reh’g, No. 07-4465, 2011 WL 2305970 (3d Cir. June 13, 2011) (en banc).

[45]. See, e.g., Mitsuri Taki, Relations Among Bullying, Stresses, and Stressors, in Handbook of Bullying in Schools: An International Perspective 151, 151 (Shane R. Jimerson, Susan M. Swearer, & Dorothy L. Espelage eds., 2010) (describing research findings on the causes and effects of bullying from as far back as the 1970s); Ben Craw, The ‘80s Bully Megacut: Shoves, Wedgies, Putdowns, and Punches, The Huffington Post (May 14, 2010), http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/05/14/the-80s-bully-megacut-sho_n
_575350.html (describing the typical bully in the 1980s).

[46]. See infra Part I.B (surveying the current state laws concerning bullying and cyberbullying).  The Arizona law regulating bullying in schools gives an example of the typical language used in antibullying statutes.  See infra Part I.B.  The statute provides: “The Governing Board shall . . . [p]rescribe and enforce policies and procedures to prohibit pupils from harassing, intimidating and bullying other pupils on school grounds, on school property, on school buses, at school bus stops and at school sponsored events and activities.”  Ariz. Rev. Stat. § 15-341(A)(37) (2011).  See also Idaho Code Ann. § 33-512(6) (2006) (stating that each district shall have the duty to “prescribe rules for the disciplining of unruly or insubordinate pupils, including rules on student harassment, intimidation and bullying”); Me. Rev. Stat. tit. 20-A, § 1001(15)(H) (2009) (mandating that school boards shall “[e]stablish policies and procedures to address bullying, harassment and sexual harassment”); Neb. Rev. Stat. § 79-2,137 (2008) (establishing that each district shall establish a policy on bullying and finding that “[b]ullying disrupts a school’s ability to educate students”).

[47]. Anti-Defamation League, supra note 10, at 1 (explaining that for victims of cyberbullying “there is no refuge and victimization can be relentless”); see also David Kravets, Cyberbullying Bill Gets Chilly Reception, Threatlevel (Sept. 30, 2009, 6:37 PM), http://www.wired.com/threatlevel
/2009/09/cyberbullyingbill/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+wired27b+%28Blog+‑+27B+Stroke+6+%28Threat+Level%29%29.  The article quotes Rep. Linda Sanchez (D-CA) explaining: “Bullying has gone electronic . . . This literally means kids can be bullied at any hour of the day or the night, or even in the victims’ own home.”  Id. (internal quotation marks omitted).  Representative Sanchez proposed the “Megan Meier Cyberbullying Prevention Act,” which would make cyberbullying a federal offense.  H.R. 1966, 111th Cong. (2010).

[48]. Hinduja & Patchin, supra note 2, at 2.

[49]. Anti-Defamation League, supra note 10, at 1.

[50]. Mike Hardcastle, What is Cyberbullying? Bullying Comes Home, About.Com TeenAdvice, http://teenadvice.about.com/od/schoolviolence/a
/cyberbullying1.htm (last visited Aug. 31, 2011).  The article states:

Bullying has been around forever but cyberbullying is different because it lets a bully remain anonymous.  It is easier to bully in cyberspace than it is to bully face to face.  With cyberbullying a bully can pick on people with much less risk of being caught . . . .

The detachment afforded by cyberspace makes bullies out of people who would never become involved in a real life incident.  The Internet makes bullying more convenient and since the victim’s reaction remains unseen people who wouldn’t normally bully don’t take it as seriously.

Id.

[51]. Hinduja & Patchin, supra note 2, at 2.  See also H.R. 1966, 111th Cong. (2010) (“Congress finds . . . [e]lectronic communications provide anonymity to the perpetrator and the potential for widespread public distribution, potentially making them severely dangerous and cruel to youth.”).

[52]. Formspring, http://www.formspring.me/ (last visited Aug. 29, 2011).  Formspring is a question-and-answer-based social website which allows its users to anonymously set up a profile page, from which anyone can ask them questions.  See generally id.  The questions and their given responses are then published on the user’s profile page, including links to social networking sites such as Facebook and Twitter.  The site’s anonymity has been criticized for generating hateful comments because it allows minors to ask questions and give responses related to sexual experiences and preferences for all the public to see, share, and comment on.  Tamar Lewin, Teenage Insults, Scrawled on Web, Not on Walls, N.Y. Times, May 5, 2010, http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/06/us
/06formspring.html.

[53]. Hinduja & Patchin, supra note 2, at 4; see also Anti-Defamation League, supra note 10, at 1 (explaining that cyberbullying may be more harmful than traditional bullying because of the invasive and pervasive nature of the communication and because messages are circulated far and wide and there is no refuge¾it is ubiquitous).

[54]. Hardcastle, supra note 50 (“Bullies are natural instigators and in cyberspace bullies can enlist the participation of other students who may be unwilling to bully in the real world.  Kids who stand around doing nothing in a real life bullying incident often become active participants in online harassment.”).

[55]. Students Arrested for Cyber Bullying, supra note 21 (“All of the students involved are honor students.”).

[56]. See, e.g., Long, supra note 1.  The article states:

Unlike the schoolyard bully of yesteryear, the cyberbully can hide behind online anonymity and attack around the clock, invading the privacy of a teen’s home. With young people spending most of their free time online or texting their friends, digital bullies not only have ready access to victims, but also an audience—because without witnesses, virtual bullying loses its punch.

Id.

[57]. Anti-Defamation League, supra note 10, at 1.

[58]. How Is Cyberbullying Different to Other Forms of Bullying?, TeachToday, http://www.teachtoday.eu/en/Teacher-advice/Cyberbullying/How
-is-cyberbullying-different-to-other-forms-of-bullying.aspx (last visited Aug. 29, 2011) (explaining that “bystanders can become perpetrators if they pass on emails or text/picture messages or take part in an online discussion”).

[59]. See, e.g., H.R. 1966, 111th Cong. (2009) (“Congress finds the following: (1) Four out of five of United States children aged 2 to 17 live in a home where either they or their parents access the Internet. (2) Youth who create Internet content and use social networking sites are more likely to be targets of cyberbullying.”).

[60]. Sameer & Patchin, supra note 2 (explaining that parents and teachers may not be able to keep track or even know what to do if cyberbullying is discovered).

[61]. Anti-Defamation League, supra note 10, at 1.

[62]. Rick Rojas, When Students’ Controversial Words Go Viral, What Is the University’s Role?, L.A. Times (Mar. 27, 2011), http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la‑me‑college‑speech‑20110327,0,2970965
.story (reporting on the recent story where a college student posted a YouTube video, in which she complained and mocked Asian students, leading to death threats against her and her subsequent voluntary withdrawal from school).

[63]. See infra Appendix A.

[64]. See infra Appendix A.

[65]. S.B. 2094, 25th Leg. Reg. Sess. (Haw. 2010).

[66]. Matt’s Safe School Law, H.B. 4162, 95th Leg. Reg. Sess. (Mich. 2007); H.B. 4580, 96th Leg. Reg. Sess. (Mich. 2010).

[67]. S. 3739, 111th Cong. (2010).  This proposed bill, if passed, would amend the Safe and Drug-Free Schools and Communities Act to allow federal funding for schools that have bullying prevention programs.  See also Megan Meir Cyberbullying Prevention Act, H.R. 1966, 111th Congress (2009).  This proposed bill, if passed, would make it a federal crime to cyberstalk.

[68]. See infra Appendix A.

[69]. Eighteen states have model school policies, including Alaska, California, Colorado, Delaware, Florida, Iowa, Maine, Michigan, Nebraska, New Jersey, Ohio, Oklahoma, Rhode Island, South Carolina, Vermont, Washington, Wisconsin, and West Virginia.  See infra Appendix A.

[70]. Ariz. Rev. Stat. Ann. § 15-341 (37) (2011); Kan. Stat. Ann. 72-8256 (2009); Mass. Gen. Laws ch. 71, § 37O (2011); Nev. Rev. Stat. § 388.133 (2010); N.H. Rev. Stat. Ann. § 193-F:4 (2011); Or. Rev. Stat. § 339.356 (2010).

[71]. Ala. Code § 16-28B-5 (2011); Alaska Stat. § 14.33.200 (2011); Cal. Educ. Code § 32282 (West 2011); Fla. Stat. § 1006.147 (2010); Ga. Code Ann. § 20-2-751.4 (2011); Idaho Code Ann. § 18-917A (2011); 105 Ill. Comp. Stat. 5/27-23.7 (2010); Ind. Code § 20-33-8-0.2 (2010); Iowa Code § 280.28 (2010); Kan. Stat. Ann. 72-8256 (2009); Md. Code Ann., Educ. § 7-424 (West 2010); Minn. Stat. § 121A.0695 (2010); Miss. Code. Ann. § 37-11-67 (2010); Nev. Rev. Stat. § 388.122 (2010); N.H. Rev. Stat. Ann. § 193-F:4 (2011); N.J. Stat. Ann. § 18A:37-14 (West 2011); N.M. Code R. § 6.12.7 (LexisNexis 2010); N.C. Gen. Stat. § 115C-407.15 (2010); Okla. Stat. tit. 70, § 24-100.4 (2011); Or. Rev. Stat. § 339.351 (2010) (Definitions); 24 Pa. Cons. Stat. § 13-1303.1-A (2010); R.I. Gen. Laws § 16-21-26 (2011); S.C. Code Ann. § 59-63-140 (2010); Va. Code Ann. § 22.1-279.6 (2011); Wash. Rev. Code § 28A.300.285 (2010); Wyo. Stat. Ann. § 21-4-314 (2011).

[72]. Those ten states are California, Delaware, Florida, Iowa, Oklahoma, Nebraska, New Jersey, Rhode Island, South Carolina, and Washington.  See infra Appendix A.

[73]. See supra Part I.A.

[74]. Sample Policy for Bullying Prevention, Cal. Dep’t of Educ., http://www.cde.ca.gov/ls/ss/se/samplepolicy.asp (last updated Oct. 25, 2010).

[75]. Safe Schools Guide: Selected Strategies and Resources, Okla. Dep’t of Educ. (2005), http://www.sde.state.ok.us/Schools/SafeHealthy/pdf
/SafeSchlGuide.pdf; Guidance on Developing Required Policies on Bullying, Rhode Island Dep’t of Educ., http://www.ride.ri.gov/psi/docs/child_family
/substance/bullying%20guidance%20and%20modelpolicy%2011-21-03.pdf (last visited Aug. 29, 2011).

[76]. Colorado Association of School Boards Sample Policy on Bullying Prevention and Education, Center for the Study and Prevention of Violence (2001), http://www.colorado.edu/cspv/safeschools/bullying_casbpolicy.html.

[77]. Delaware’s Model Bully Prevention Policy, Delaware Dep’t of Educ., http://www.doe.k12.de.us/infosuites/students_family/climate/files/Bully%20Prevention%20Policy%20Template.pdf (last visited Aug. 29, 2011); Model Policy Against Bullying and Harassment, Fla. Dep’t of Educ. (July 31, 2008), www.fldoe.org/safeschools/doc/modelpolicy.doc; Anti-Harassment, Anti-Intimidation and Anti-Bullying Policy,  Ohio Dep’t of Educ. Adm’r, http://www.ode.state.oh.us/GD/Templates/Pages/ODE/ODEDetail.aspx?page=3&TopicRelationID=1287&ContentID=29364&Content=109573 (last updated Aug. 4, 2011) (providing a variety of resources including an overview of the Model Policy); South Carolina—Self Control Addressing Bullying in Our Schools: A Bullying Prevention Model, S.C Dep’t of Educ. 31–36, http://www.itv.scetv.org/guides/sc2v2.pdf (last visited Sept. 24, 2011).

[78]. Shelton v. Tucker, 364 U.S. 479, 487 (1960).

[79]. J.S. ex rel. Snyder v. Blue Mountain Sch. Dist., No. 08-4138, 2011 WL 2305973, at *23 (3d Cir. June 13, 2011) (Fisher, J., dissenting) (citations omitted) (quoting Keyishian v. Bd. of Regents, 385 U.S. 589, 603 (1967)).

[80]. Tinker v. Des Moines Indep. Cmty. Sch. Dist., 393 U.S. 503, 506 (1969).

[81]. Bethel Sch. Dist. No. 403 v. Fraser, 478 U.S. 675, 682 (1986).

[82]. See, e.g., Hazelwood Sch. Dist. v. Kuhlmeier, 484 U.S. 260, 266 (1988) (pointing out that students’ First Amendment rights in public schools must be applied in light of the special characteristics of the school’s environment, and that a school does not need to tolerate student speech that is inconsistent with the school’s educational mission—even if the government would not be able to censor similar speech outside the school).

[83]. See e.g., Tinker, 393 U.S. at 506.

[84]. Id.

[85]. Id. at 507 (“[T]he Court has repeatedly emphasized the need for affirming the comprehensive authority of the States and of school officials, consistent with fundamental constitutional safeguards, to prescribe and control conduct in the schools.”).

[86]. See Morse v. Frederick, 551 U.S. 393, 418 (2007) (Thomas, J., concurring) (“I am afraid that our jurisprudence now says that students have a right to speak in schools except when they don’t.”); Tova Wolking, Comment, School Administrators as Cyber Censors: Cyber Speech and First Amendment Rights, 23 Berkeley Tech. L.J. 1507, 1529 (2008) (“The chilling effect of punishing student speech merely because it is unpleasant or disagreeable threatens the foundations of democracy. . . . It follows that discouraging students from engaging in discourse and critical thinking, even if it is juvenile or silly, is antithetical to a healthy democracy.”).

[87]. There are four seminal Supreme Court cases concerning student free speech.  Morse, 551 U.S. at 397 (holding that schools may regulate student speech that promotes illegal drug use and that takes place during a school-sponsored event); Hazelwood, 484 U.S. at 271 (holding that schools can regulate student speech which may be perceived to “bear the imprimatur of the school,” such as a school-sponsored newspaper); Bethel Sch. Dist. No. 403 v. Fraser, 478 U.S. 675, 683 (1986) (holding that lewd, vulgar, or plainly offensive speech that takes place on-campus is punishable); Tinker, 393 U.S. at 513 (holding that schools can regulate speech that “materially disrupts classwork or involves substantial disorder or invasion of the rights of others”).

[88]. Compare J.S. ex rel. Snyder v. Blue Mountain Sch. Dist., 593 F.3d 286 (3d Cir. 2010), rev’d en banc, No. 08–4138, 2011 WL 2305973, at *12 (3d Cir. June 13, 2011) (holding that the school could not discipline a student for speech created off-campus) with Wisniewski v. Bd. of Educ. of the Weedsport Cent. Sch. Dist., 494 F.3d 34, 40 (2d Cir. 2007) (holding that the school can regulate student speech created off-campus where it was reasonably foreseeable that it would reach the school campus).  See also infra Part II.A(1)-(2); David Kravets, Cyberbullying Bill Gets Chilly Reception, Wired.Com (Sept. 30, 2009), http://www.wired.com/threatlevel/2009/09/cyberbullyingbill/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+wired27b+%28Blog+‑+27B+Stroke+6+%28Threat+Level%29%29.  This article explains how Representative Sanchez proposed legislation, the “Megan Meier Cyberbullying Prevention Act,” which would make cyberbullying a federal offense. Id.  The legislation was criticized as being “unconstitutionally vague” and a “breach of free speech.”  Id.

[89]. Morse, 551 U.S. at 401.

[90]. Although courts do not systematically address these two inquires, as this Part will lay out, a survey of student speech precedent lends itself to this framework.

[91]. See Anti-Defamation League, supra note 10, at 5-6. The authors point out:

As a significant amount of cyberbullying is created on computers, cell phones and other devices that are not owned by the school, or are not located on school property, but still affect the school environment and the welfare of the students, it is important to ensure that schools are given adequate legal framework to address the issue.

Id.

[92]. Tinker, 393 U.S. at 513.  See infra Part II.A(2) (discussing the Tinker standard fully).

[93]. While this Part of the Article analyzes how public schools might have the right to regulate some off-campus speech, other scholars have argued that  “Tinker Stopped Itself at the Schoolhouse Gate.”  Aaron H. Caplan, Public School Discipline for Creating Uncensored Anonymous Internet Forums, 39 Willamette L. Rev. 93, 140 (2003).

[94]. Hazelwood Sch. Dist. v. Kuhlmeier, 484 U.S. 260, 270 (1988) (holding that schools can regulate student speech in school-sponsored newspapers); Bethel Sch. Dist. No. 403 v. Fraser, 478 U.S. 675, 683 (1986) (holding that lewd offensive speech given at a school assembly is punishable).

[95]. Morse, 551 U.S. at 401, 408 (explaining that a student “cannot stand in the midst of his fellow students, during school hours, at a school-sanctioned activity and claim he is not in school” and promote illegal drug use) (internal quotations omitted).

[96]. One scholar argues that Internet-speech cases might be most like underground newspaper cases.  Wolking, supra note 86, at 1516-19.  See also, e.g., Thomas v. Bd. of Educ., 607 F.2d 1043, 1049 (2d Cir. 1979) (holding that schools could not punish students who distributed the newspaper off-campus, and only minimally associated the newspaper to the school by keeping copies in a teacher’s office for storage).

[97]. Compare Doninger v. Niehoff, 527 F.3d 41, 43–44 (2d Cir. 2008) (ruling that the school had authority to take away a student’s right to participate in student government when the student posted online comments that substantially disrupted the school), Wisniewski v. Bd. of Educ., 494 F.3d 34, 40 (2d Cir. 2007) (holding that the school can regulate student speech where it was reasonably foreseeable that it would reach the school campus), J.S. ex rel. H.S. v. Bethlehem Area Sch. Dist., 807 A.2d 847, 869 (Pa. 2002) (finding that the school can regulate speech originating off-campus, but directed at the school), and Killion v. Franklin Reg’l Sch. Dist., 136 F. Supp. 2d 446, 459 (W.D. Pa. 2001) (allowing a school to regulate speech where the school disciplined a student for creating, and sharing with his friends via email, a website which was insulting and degrading to one of the teachers), with Beussink ex rel. Beussink v. Woodland R-IV Sch. Dist., 30 F. Supp. 2d 1175, 1180 (E.D. Mo. 1998) (finding that the decision to discipline a student for off-campus speech was unacceptable because it was based on the principal’s emotional reaction and not any real fear that the speech would cause material disruption), Emmett v. Kent Sch. Dist. No. 415, 92 F. Supp. 2d 1088, 1190 (W.D. Wash. 2000) (holding that because the speech was created off-campus, there was not enough of a connection to the school for the school to have jurisdiction over the speech), and J.C. ex rel. R.C. v. Beverly Hills Unified Sch. Dist., 711 F. Supp. 2d 1094, 1118 (C.D. Cal. 2010) (finding that the student speech originating off-campus did not substantially disrupt school activity and so the school had no authority to punish the student for that speech).

[98]. See, e.g., LaVine v. Blaine Sch. Dist., 257 F.3d 981, 991 (9th Cir. 2000) (finding school discipline constitutional, without any jurisdictional analysis, where the student wrote a violent poem off-campus but showed it to his teacher).

[99]. J.S. ex rel. Snyder v. Blue Mountain Sch. Dist., 593 F.3d 286 (3d Cir. 2010), vacated, rev’d en banc, No. 08–4138, 2011 WL 2305973, at *10 (3d Cir. June 13, 2011) (overturning the district court’s decision that stated Tinker did “not govern this case because no ‘substantial and material disruption’ occurred”).

[100]. See, e.g., Beverly Hills, 711 F. Supp. 2d at 1104 (conducting a jurisdictional analysis despite concluding that in the Ninth Circuit “the substantial weight of authority indicates that geographic boundaries generally carry little weight in the student-speech analysis”).

[101]. See, e.g., Wisniewski, 494 F.3d at 3840 (finding that the Tinker standard applied because it was reasonably foreseeable that the student speech would reach campus and because it did, in fact, reach the school campus).

[102]. See Evans v. Bayer, 684 F. Supp. 2d 1365, 1372 (S.D. Fla. 2010); Beverly Hills, 711 F. Supp. 2d at 1107; Bethlehem, 807 A.2d at 864 (holding that the threshold question is whether there was a sufficient nexus between the speech and the school campus).

[103]. Bethlehem, 807 A.2d at 847 (finding that there was a sufficient nexus between the speech and the school where a student created a website off-campus which was subsequently viewed by students on-campus); see also Wolking, supra note 86 (explaining courts’ decisions regarding off-campus speech).  However, while the intended audience may be a factor in deciding whether or not there was a sufficient nexus, it may not be enough on its own.  See Emmett v. Kent Sch. Dist. No. 415, 92 F. Supp. 2d 1088, 1090 (W.D. Wash. 2000) (“Although the intended audience was undoubtedly connected to Kentlake High School, the speech was entirely outside of the school’s supervision of control.”).

[104]. Killion v. Franklin Reg’l Sch. Dist., 136 F. Supp. 2d 446, 455 (W.D. Pa. 2001) (“Further, because the Bozzuto list was brought on-campus, albeit by an unknown person, Tinker applies.”); see also Bethlehem, 807 A.2d at 865 (holding that “where speech that is aimed at a specific school and/or its personnel is brought into the school campus or accessed at the school by its originator, the speech will be considered on-campus speech.”).

[105]. Evans, 684 F. Supp. 2d at 1375.  In Blue Mountain, Judge Chagares, in his dissent, points out that one factor in deciding a school’s jurisdictional reach is whether the student made the Internet site private or public.  J.S. ex rel. Snyder v. Blue Mountain Sch. Dist., 593 F.3d 286, 300 (3d Cir. 2010) (J. Chagares, dissenting), vacated, reh’g granted en banc, No. 08-4138, 2010 U.S. App. LEXIS 7342 (3d Cir. Apr. 9, 2010), rev’d en banc, No. 08-4138, 2011 WL 2305973 (3d Cir. June 13, 2011).

[106]. Some courts have looked at both whether it was “foreseeable” that the speech would reach campus and whether there was a “sufficient nexus.”  For example, after considering the many various rulings concerning student off-campus speech, the court in Beverly Hills analyzed both whether the conduct was foreseeable and whether there was a substantial nexus between the speech and the school.  Beverly Hills, 711 F. Supp. 2d at 1108.

[107]. Compare Flaherty v. Keystone Oaks Sch. Dist., 247 F. Supp. 2d 698, 705–06 (W.D. Pa. 2003) (holding school policy constitutionally overbroad where there were no “geographical limitations”), with Layshock, 496 F. Supp. 2d at 605 (upholding constitutionality of school policy over overbroad claim because policy set forth “geographical limitations”).

[108]. See infra Appendix B (setting forth a proposed Model Cyberbullying Policy for Public Schools).

[109]. Hazelwood Sch. Dist. v. Kuhlmeier, 484 U.S. 260, 271 (1988) (allowing the school to delete school newspaper articles discussing teen pregnancy and divorce from school-sponsored newspaper).

[110]. See Watts v. United States, 394 U.S. 705, 707-08 (1969) (holding that a “true threat” is not protected by the First Amendment); see also Wisniewski v. Bd. of Educ., 494 F.3d 34, 38 (2d Cir. 2007) (stating that schools have broader authority over student speech than allowed by the “true threats” standard in Watts).

[111]. Lovell ex rel. Lovell v. Poway Unified Sch. Dist., 90 F.3d 367, 372 (9th Cir. 1996).

[112]. See, e.g., LaVine v. Blaine Sch. Dist., 257 F.3d 981, 989 (9th Cir. 2000) (upholding, under the Tinker standard, the school’s emergency expulsion of a student who showed a teacher a poem, which the student had written while at home, that described the graphic killing of the student’s classmates).

[113]. It could be argued that under Fraser a school might have a third category of speech it can wholly regulate, namely lewd, vulgar, or plainly offensive speech.  In Fraser, a student gave an “elaborate, graphic, and explicit sexual metaphor” in a speech he gave at a school assembly.  Bethel Sch. Dist. No. 403 v. Fraser, 478 U.S. 675, 675 (1986).  The Court held that, as part of a school’s duty to teach “the essential lessons of civil, mature conduct,” the school could discipline the student.  Id. at 683.  In later interpreting Fraser, the Court, however, seems to limit its holding to speech that occurs only on-campus.  See Hazelwood, 484 U.S. at 266–67 (noting that under Fraser “the government could not censor similar speech outside the school”) (emphasis added); J.S. ex rel. Snyder v. Blue Mountain Sch. Dist., No. 08-4138, 2011 WL 2305973, at *12 (3d Cir. June 13, 2011) (en banc) (“Fraser’s ‘lewdness’ standard cannot be extended to justify a school’s punishment of J.S. for use of profane language outside the school, during non-school hours.”); Saxe v. State College Area Sch. Dist., 240 F.3d 200, 213 (3d. Cir. 2001) (“According to Fraser, then, there is no First Amendment Protection for . . . plainly offensive speech in school.”) (emphasis added).

[114]. Tinker v. Des Moines Indep. Cmty. Sch. Dist., 393 U.S. 503, 514 (1969).

[115]. Id. at 509.

[116]. Id. at 513.  Many courts that have analyzed the issue of off-campus student speech have applied the Tinker “material disruption” standard.  See, e.g., J.C. v. Beverly Hills Unified Sch. Dist., 711 F. Supp. 2d 1094, 1110 (C.D. Cal. 2010); Killion v. Franklin Reg’l Sch. Dist., 136 F. Supp. 2d 446, 455 (W.D. Pa. 2001); Beussink ex rel. Beussink v. Woodland R-IV Sch. Dist., 30 F. Supp. 2d 1175, 1178 (E.D. Mo. 1998)Often courts have taken the phrase “in class or out of it,” to mean that Tinker gave schools the right to regulate off-campus speech.  Beverly Hills, 711 F. Supp. 2d at 1103.  Note that the Third Circuit has left open the issue of whether Tinker should apply to off-campus speech at all.  See Blue Mountain, 2011 WL 2305973, at *7 (“The Supreme Court established a basic framework for assessing student free speech claims in Tinker, and we will assume, without deciding, that Tinker applies to J.S.’s speech in this case.”) (emphasis added).  In Blue Mountain, the concurrence observed:

I write separately to address a question that the majority opinion expressly leaves open: whether Tinker applies to off-campus speech in the first place. I would hold that it does not, and that the First Amendment protects students engaging in off-campus speech to the same extent it protects speech by citizens in the community at large.

Id. at *16 (Smith, J., concurring).

However, as set forth in this Part of the Article, except for the concurrence in Blue Mountain, scholars and other courts have collectively assumed, as did the majority in Blue Mountain, that the Tinker standard applies to all public school student speech whether originating on- or off-campus.  In addressing Blue Mountain, and a similar en banc Third Circuit case, Judge Jordan explains:

Our Court today issues en banc decisions in two cases with similar fact patterns. In both the case presently before us and in J.S. v. Blue Mountain School District . . . we are asked whether school administrators can, consistent with the First Amendment, discipline students for speech that occurs off campus. Unlike the fractured decision in J.S., we have reached a united resolution in this case, but there remains an issue of high importance on which we are evidently not agreed and which I note now, lest there be any misperception that it has been resolved by either J.S. or our decision here. The issue is whether the Supreme Court’s decision in [Tinker] can be applicable to off-campus speech. I believe it can, and no ruling coming out today is to the contrary.

Layshock v. Hermitage Sch. Dist., No. 07–4465, 2011 WL 2305970, at *12 (3d Cir. June 13, 2011) (en banc) (Jordan, J., concurring) (footnote omitted).

[117]. Furthermore, schools do not have to wait until the disruption has occurred.  Schools can proactively regulate student speech that “might reasonably [lead] school authorities to forecast substantial disruption of or material interference with school activities.”  Tinker, 393 U.S. at 514.  See, e.g., Saxe, 240 F.3d at 212 (explaining that if students in the past flew a Confederate flag causing material disruption, it would be reasonable for the school to believe there would be a material disruption if the Confederate flag was again displayed).

[118]. See infra Appendix B.

[119]. For example, in both Layshock and Bethlehem the issues revolved around whether a material disruption was caused by a fake MySpace profile of school officials.  Although both cases applied the “material disruption” Tinker standard, they came to opposite holdings.  Compare Layshock, 2011 WL 2305970, at *1, with J.S. ex rel. H.S. v. Bethlehem Area Sch. Dist., 807 A.2d 847, 868 (Pa. 2002).

[120]. See Doninger v. Niehoff, 527 F.3d 41, 50 (2d Cir. 2008) (holding that two administrators were disrupted when called away from scheduled meetings and school activities to deal with the influx of phone calls from the community that were in response to a student’s blog post).  But see Beverly Hills, 711 F. Supp. 2d at 1117 (stating that an administrator who was charged with student discipline was not disrupted from her regular activities when dealing with the consequences of a student video posting on YouTube).

[121]. Killion, 136 F. Supp. 2d at 456 (“We cannot accept, without more, that the childish and boorish antics of a minor could impair the administrators abilities to discipline students and maintain control.”).  See also Blue Mountain, 2011 WL 2305973, at *10 (finding no substantial disruption occurred where “beyond general rumblings” there was only “a few minutes of talking in class, and some officials rearrang[ed] their schedules . . . in dealing with the [fake, vulgar MySpace] profile [of the school principal]”).

[122]. In Emmett, the court reasoned that the suspension of a student who had created a derogatory comment about a teacher was improper in part because the speech did not contain any threats.  Emmett v. Kent Sch. Dist. No. 415, 92 F. Supp. 2d 1088, 1090 (W.D. Wash. 2000).

[123]. Blue Mountain, 2011 WL 2305973, at *10.  In this case, the court noted many cases where courts have held that a forecast of substantial and material disruption was reasonable.  Id.  See, e.g.,  Doninger v. Niehoff, 527 F.3d 41, 50–51 (2d Cir. 2008) (holding that punishment was justified, under Tinker, where a student’s derogatory blog about the school was “purposely designed by [the student]” to “encourage others to contact the administration,” and where the blog contained “at best misleading and at worst false information” that the school “need[ed] to correct”); Lowery v. Euverard, 497 F.3d 584, 596 (6th Cir. 2007) (holding that punishment was justified, under Tinker, where students circulated a petition to fellow football players calling for the ouster of their football coach, causing the school to have to call a team meeting to ensure “team unity,” and where not doing so “would have been a grave disservice to the other players on the team”); LaVine v. Blaine Sch. Dist., 257 F.3d 981, 989–90 (9th Cir. 2000) (holding that the school district did not violate a student’s First Amendment rights when it expelled him on an emergency basis in order to prevent “potential violence on campus” after the student showed a poem entitled “Last Words” to his English teacher, which was “filled with imagery of violent death and suicide” and could “be interpreted as a portent of future violence, of the shooting of  . . .  fellow students”).

[124]. Recent cases show a trend of finding that hurtful speech can cause a material disruption.  For example, in Emmett, the student speech was artistic in nature: the website was created as a satire of the school’s homepage and on it were ironic mock obituaries of the student’s friends.  Emmett, 92 F. Supp. 2d at 1090.  The court, noting that the student speech was much closer to political satire than violent threats, did not allow the school to discipline the student.  Id.  Contrastingly, in Wisniewski, the court noted that the student speech was not a sophisticated satire of school administrators but merely a violent depiction of the death of a teacher on a student’s icon for instant messaging.  Accordingly, the court found that the speech was threatening and violent and posed a real threat of material disruption to the school.  Wisniewski v. Bd. of Educ., 494 F.3d 34, 35–39 (2d Cir. 2007).  These two cases illustrate that courts are more likely to find that a student’s speech is not subject to school discipline if it is political or artistic in nature.  See also Bethlehem, 807 A.2d at 86566 (distinguishing bullying speech with the type of political speech addressed by Tinker).

[125]. Hinduja & Patchin, supra note 2.

[126]. The court in Beverly Hills stated:

[L]ower [c]ourts have not often applied the ‘rights of other’ prong from Tinker . . . the Court is not aware of any authority . . . that extends the Tinker rights of others prong so far as to hold that a school may regulate any speech that may cause some emotional harm to a student.  This Court declines to be the first.

J.C. ex rel. R.C. v. Beverly Hills Unified Sch. Dist., 711 F. Supp. 2d 1094, 1122–23 (C.D. Cal. 2010).  However, the Third Circuit has suggested that the Tinker right-of-others prong could be used to justify a school’s antiharassment policy.  Saxe v. State Coll. Area Sch. Dist., 240 F.3d 200, 217 (3d. Cir. 2001) (noting that while the precise scope of the rights-of-others prong is unclear, it might be applicable to a school’s defense of its policy).  The Eighth Circuit, however, has chosen only to apply the second prong of Tinker in cases where the student conduct could “result in tort liability.”  Bystrom ex rel. Bystrom v. Fridley High Sch., 822 F.2d 747, 752 (8th Cir. 1987).

[127]. See infra Appendix B.

[128]. See, e.g., Layshock v. Hermitage Sch. Dist., 496 F. Supp. 2d 587, 60406 (W.D. Pa. 2006) (cyberbullying case where plaintiff challenged school’s discipline of a student on grounds that the school policy was vague).

[129]. Sypniewski v. Warren Hills Reg’l Bd. of Educ., 307 F.3d 243, 266 (3d Cir. 2002) (internal quotation marks omitted).

[130]. Id. at 266 (citing Reno v. ACLU, 521 U.S. 844, 87172 (1997)).

[131]. Bethel Sch. Dist. No. 403 v. Fraser, 478 U.S. 675, 686 (1986).

[132]. See, e.g., Sypniewski, 307 F.3d at 26165 (finding that the school harassment policy was not overbroad except for the section which allowed for punishing students acting with “ill will,” where the term “ill will” was not defined); Saxe v. State Coll. Area Sch. Dist., 240 F.3d 200, 21517 (3d. Cir. 2001) (finding discipline stemming from school policy unconstitutional because policy’s terms were overbroad and vague); Killion v. Franklin Reg’l Sch. Dist., 136 F. Supp. 2d 446, 458–59 (W.D. Pa. 2001) (holding that because the policy did not contain a definition of “abuse” and because it did not provide further specifications or limitations, it was overbroad).

[133]. See infra Appendix B.

[134]. See Watts v. United States, 394 U.S. 705, 707–08 (1969).

[135]. Tinker v. Des Moines Indep. Cmty. Sch. Dist., 393 U.S. 503, 513 (1969).

[136]. Id. at 509.

[137]. Anti-Bullying/Anti-Harassment Policies, Iowa Dep’t of Educ., http://educateiowa.gov/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=1154:anti-bullyinganti-harassment-policies&catid=411:legal-lessons&Itemid=2656 (last visited Aug. 29, 2011).

[138]. Id.

[139]. Id.  Policies enacted in Iowa, Maine, and Vermont, as well as Michigan’s pending policy, have similar language in their model policies.  Maine School Management Association Sample Policy, Me. Dep’t of Educ., http://www.maine.gov/education/management.htm (last visited Aug. 29, 2011); Model Bullying Prevention Plan, Vt. Dep’t of Educ. http://education.vermont.gov/new/pdfdoc/pgm_safeschools/pubs/bullying_prevention_04.pdf (last visited Aug. 29, 2011); Model Anti-Bullying Act, Mich. State Bd. of Educ., http://www.michigan.gov/documents/mde/SBE_Model
_AntiBullying_Policy_Revised_9.8_172355_7.pdf (last visited Aug. 29, 2011).

[140]. Anti-Defamation League, supra note 10, at 1112; Model Policy Against Bullying and Harassment, Fla. Dep’t of Educ., 8 (July 31, 2008), www.fldoe.org/safeschools/doc/modelpolicy.doc.

[141]. Romer v. Evans, 517 U.S. 620, 628 (1996).

[142]. See, e.g., Latest Hate Crime Statistics, FBI (Nov. 22, 2010), http://www.fbi.gov/news/stories/2010/november/hate_112210/hate_112210 (listing statistics for specific groups covered by hate crime laws).

[143]. See, e.g., Safe Schools Improvement Act of 2010, S. 3739, 111th Cong., § 2(g)(1) (2010); Anti-Defamation League, supra note 10, at 11 (setting forth a model bullying statute prohibiting bullying based on enumerated grounds); Model Policy Against Bullying and Harassment, supra note 140, at 2 (stating that school districts may add “additional specific categories of students to which bullying and harassment is prohibited in excess of what is listed” such as sex, race, color, religion, national origin, age, disability, etc.).

[144]. Harris Interactive, From Teasing to Torment: School Climate in America 9 (2005), available at http://www.glsen.org/binary-data/GLSEN
_ATTACHMENTS/file/499-1.pdf.

[145]. For example, the cyberbullying policy can simply state that students are prohibited from cyberbullying other students “including, but not limited to [list enumerated categories].” Anti-Defamation League, supra note 10, at 11 (emphasis added).

[146]. J.C. v. Beverly Hills Unified Sch. Dist., No. CV 08-3824 SVW, at *14 (C.D. Cal. 2009), available at www.lawyersusaonline.com/wp-files/pdfs/jc-v-beverly-hills.pdf (order granting plaintiff’s summary adjudication motion on third cause of action).  In Beverly Hills, a case extensively cited in Part II.A supra, the published portion of the court’s opinion only ruled on the first two causes of action concerning the First Amendment issue and qualified immunity.  J.C. ex rel. R.C. v. Beverly Hills Unified Sch. Dist., 711 F. Supp. 2d 1094, 1097 (C.D. Cal. 2010) (“An order regarding Plaintiff’s due process claim, the Third Cause of Action, will follow shortly.”).  For plaintiff’s third cause of action, that the school cyberbullying policy violated due process, the court wrote a separate, unpublished order.  See J.C. v. Beverly Hills Unified Sch. Dist., No. CV 08-3824 SVW, at *14 (C.D. Cal. 2009), available at www.lawyersusaonline.com/wp
-files/pdfs/jc-v-beverly-hills.pdf
.

[147]. J.C. ex rel. R.C. v. Beverly Hills Unified Sch. Dist., No. CV 08-3824 SVW, at *14 (C.D. Cal. 2009), available at www.lawyersusaonline.com/wp
-files/pdfs/jc-v-beverly-hills.pdf.

[148]. For example, New Hampshire’s bullying prevention statute allows for the school to take action if bullying or cyberbullying “[o]ccurs off of school property or outside of a school-sponsored activity or event, if the conduct interferes with a pupil’s educational opportunities or substantially disrupts the orderly operations of the school or school-sponsored activity or event.”  N.H. Rev. Stat. Ann. § 193-F:4 (2011).  See also Anti-Defamation League, supra note 10, at 13 (adopting similar language).

[149]. Darryn Cathryn Beckstrom, State Legislation Mandating School Cyberbullying Policies and the Potential Threat to Students’ Free Speech Rights, 33 Vt. L. Rev. 283, 315 (2008).

[150]. Model Policy Against Bullying and Harassment, supra note 140, at 8 (also suggesting that posters, signs, or other reminders of the policy be displayed around the school and on the school’s buses).  The Anti-Defamation League maintains that the cyberbullying policy should be broadly publicized throughout the school, and given to the students’ parents via the conduct code, student handbook on school bulletin boards, and on the school website.  See Anti-Defamation League, supra note 10, at 7 (explaining that this “notice will send a message to students, teachers, and parents that the school is taking this issue seriously and does not accept inappropriate conduct”).

[151]. The Anti-Defamation League drafted a model acceptable use policy, adapted from a U.S. Department of Justice model policy.  See Anti-Defamation League, supra note 10, at 2122.  Scholars also suggest that schools display signs or posters in the school’s computer lab, to remind students of the acceptable “use policy.”  Sameer Hinduja & Justin W. Patchin, Preventing Cyberbullying: Top Ten Tips for Educators, Cyberbullying Research Center (2009), www.cyberbullying.us/Top_Ten_Tips_Educators_Cyberbullying_Prevention.pdf (recommending that a “use policy” be drafted in contract form).

[152]. Conn. Gen. Stat. § 10-222d (2010); Del. Code Ann. tit. 14, § 4112D (b)(2)(j) (2011); Fla. Stat. § 1006.147 (2010); Ga. Code Ann. § 20-2-751.4 (2011); Mass. Gen. Laws ch. 71 § 37O(d)(viii) (2011); N.H. Rev. Stat. Ann. § 193-F:4 (2011); N.Y. Educ. Law § 2801-a (McKinney 2009); Ohio Rev. Code Ann. § 3313.666 (West 2011); Tex. Educ. Code Ann. § 37.001(a)(6) (West 2009); Utah Code Ann. 1953 § 53A-11a-301 (West 2011); W. Va. Code Ann. § 18-2C-3 (2011).

[153]. W. Va. Code Ann. § 18-2C-3(b)(5) (2011).

[154]. See, e.g., Sameer Hinduja & Justin W. Patchin, Sexting: A Brief Guide for Educators and Parents, Cyberbullying Research Center, 3 (2010), http://www.cyberbullying.us/Sexting_Fact_Sheet.pdf [hereinafter Sexting].

[155]. Cal. Sch. Bd. Ass’n, Cyberbullying: Policy Considerations for Boards, Governance and Policy Services: Policy Briefs, 5 (July 2007), www.csba.org/Services/Services/PolicyServices/~/media/Files/Services/PolicyServices/SamplePolicies/Cyberbullying.ashx.

[156]. U.S. Const. amend. IV; New Jersey v. T.L.O, 469 U.S. 325, 333 (1985) (holding that the Fourth Amendment’s “prohibition on unreasonable searches and seizures applies to searches conducted by public school officials”).

[157]. See supra Part I.B.  None of the states with model bullying policies address the scope of reasonable searches.  See infra Appendix A.  Indeed, state legislatures are unclear how the Fourth Amendment applies to reported cyberbullying incidents.  For example, in November 2010, a member of the Virginia House of Delegates asked the Attorney General of Virginia to look at the question of whether school officials may search students’ cellular phones and laptops when a student reports another student is violating the school’s bullying policy.  Advisory Op., No 10-105, 2010 WL 4909931, at *2 (Va. Att’y Gen. Nov. 24, 2010) (“[r]ecognizing that no court has considered the matter”).

[158]. New Jersey v. T.L.O., 469 U.S. 325 (1985).

[159]. Id. at 328.

[160]. Id.

[161]. Id.

[162]. Id. at 329.

[163]. Id. at 338.

[164]. Id. at 339.  In determining a balance between the two interests, the Supreme Court stated that “[i]t is evident that the school setting requires some easing of restrictions to which searches by public authorities are ordinarily subject.  The warrant requirement, in particular, is unsuited to the school environment . . . [as it would] unduly interfere with the maintenance of the swift and informal disciplinary procedures needed in the school.”  Id. at 340.

[165]. Id. at 341.

[166]. Id. at 342.  Note that the Court declined to rule on whether “individualized suspicion is an essential element of the reasonableness standard . . . adopt[ed] for searches by school authorities.”  Id. at 342 n.8.

[167]. Id. at 342.  The Court explained that the reasonableness standard saves teachers and administrators from being responsible for understanding the legal definition and “niceties” of probable cause while also ensuring that the students’ right to privacy is not invaded any further than is necessary.  Id. at 343.

[168]. Id. at 347.

[169]. Id. at 34142.

[170]. Klump v. Nazareth Area Sch. Dist., 425 F. Supp. 2d 622, 627 (E.D. Penn. 2006).

[171]. Id. at 630.

[172]. Id.

[173]. Id.

[174]. Id. at 631.

[175]. Id. at 64546.

[176]. Id. at 64041.

[177]. Id. at 640.

[178]. Id.

[179]. J.W. v. Desoto Cnty. Sch. Dist., No. 2:09-cv-00155-MPM-DAS, 2010 WL 4394059, at *1-2 (N.D. Miss. 2010).

[180]. Id. at *1.

[181]. Id.

[182]. Id.

[183]. Id.

[184]. Id. at *2.

[185]. Id. at *4.

[186]. Id.

[187]. Id.

[188]. Id. at *5.

[189]. Id.

[190]. Klump vs. Nazareth Area Sch. Dist. 425 F. Supp. 2d 622, 630 (E.D. Penn. 2006).

[191]. Desoto, 2010 WL 4394059, at *5.

[192]. See, e.g., infra Appendix B.

[193]. Schools may be concerned that a search conducted by a school resource officer, a police officer trained in the Fourth Amendment and employed by the city on assignment to the school, may be governed by a heightened probable-cause standard. However, one court has held that the reasonable suspicion standard that applies to school officials also applies to the school resource officer.  See In re William V, 4 Cal. Rptr. 3d 695, 699 (Cal. Ct. App. 2003).  In William, the court reasoned that the balance of the importance of the educational environment with the privacy interest of the students determined in T.L.O. is the same whether the search is being done by a school official or a school resource officer.  IdBut see Advisory Op., No 10-105, 2010 WL 4909931, at *3 n.15 (Va. Att’y Gen. Nov. 24, 2010) (“It should be noted that, if the search is being conducted by a school security officer, it may be governed by the heightened probable-cause standard.”).

[194]. Klump, 425 F. Supp. 2d at 640.

[195]. In Desoto, the school official was allowed to search a cell phone the student had used while on-campus, whereas in Klump mere possession (not use) of a cell phone, in violation of school rules, would only allow seizure and not a search.  Compare Desoto, 2010 WL 4394059, at *5, with Klump, 425 F. Supp. 2d at 640.

[196]. If the victim or student reporting the bullying is willing, schools should initiate an interview to determine the nature of the bullying, the name of the participants, the location and the manner in which the information is being sent, and the distance that the images or messages have spread.  See Nancy Willard, Educator’s Guide to Cyberbullying, Cyberthreats & Sexting, Ctr. for Safe and Responsible Use of the Internet, 9 (2005), http://www.cyberbully.org/cyberbully/documents/educatorsguide.pdf.  Policies should mandate all evidence be preserved.  Id. at 8.  This requires that any messages received by the victim (cell phone text messages and voicemails) should not be deleted, emails should be saved and printed, and posts should be printed before removal is requested.  Id.  Additionally, any information found through the school district’s investigation should be saved and documented.  Id.  One state’s department of education has endorsed a policy that requires perpetrators, victims, witnesses, teachers, and staff members to be interviewed.  Policy for Prohibiting Bullying, Harassment and Intimidation, Ga. Dep’t of Educ., 6 (Sept. 9, 2010), http://www.toombs.k12.ga.us/system/policies/bullying
_policy.pdf (last updated Mar. 31, 2011).

[197]. New Jersey v. T.L.O, 469 U.S. 325, 341 (1985).

[198]. Id. at 343.

[199]. See, e.g., Sexting, supra note 154, at 3.

[200]. Klump, 425 F. Supp. 2d at 640.

[201]. Sexting, supra note 154, at 1.

[202]. Id.  The study explains:

[T]he National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy released data from late September and early October of 2008 which identified that 19% of teens (aged 13 to 19) had sent a sexually-suggestive picture or video of themselves to someone via email, cell phone, or through another form of online interaction, while 31% had received a nude or semi-nude picture from someone else.

Id.

[203]. See, e.g., Jan Hoffman, A Girl’s Nude Photo, and Altered Lives, N.Y. Times, Mar. 26, 2011, http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/27/us/27sexting.html?_r
=1&partner=rss&emc=rss&pagewanted=all (explaining how a middle school girl sent a nude photo of herself to another middle school student, a soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, who then forwarded it to another young girl, who then forwarded the photo to all contacts in her cell phone).  The article explains: “In less than 24 hours, the effect was as if Margarite, 14, had sauntered naked down the hallways of the four middle schools [in her town] . . . .  Hundreds, possibly thousands, of students had received her photo and forwarded it.  Id.

[204]. See, e.g., id.  The county prosecutor decided against charging Margarite, the middle-school girl who had sexted a nude photo of herself to a classmate.  Id.  But the prosecutor did “charge three students with dissemination of child pornography, a Class C felony, because they had set off the viral outbreak” by forwarding the nude photo to others.  IdSee also A.H. v. State, 949 So. 2d 234, 235 (Fla. Ct. App. 2007).  In A.H., a sixteen-year-old girl was criminally prosecuted for sending nude pictures of herself to her seventeen-year-old boyfriend.  Id.  The boy was also criminally charged with producing, directing, and promoting child pornography.  Id.  See also Riva Richmond, Sexting May Place Teens at Legal Risk, N.Y. Times (Mar. 26, 2009, 12:00 PM), http://gadgetwise.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/03/26/sexting‑may‑place‑teens‑at‑legal-risk/.

[205]. See, e.g., 18 U.S.C.A. § 2252A (West 2010) (prohibiting under federal criminal law the distribution of child pornography with no exception for school officials investigating sexting or cyberbullying).

[206]. Sexting, supra note 154, at 3.

[207]. Joe Elias & Daniel Victor, Sequenita High School Officials Being Investigated for Handling of Images in ‘Sexting’ Case, The Patriot News (Apr. 15, 2010), http://www.pennlive.com/midstate/index.ssf/2010/04/susquenita_high
_school_officia.html.

[208]. Am. Civ. Liberties Union of Pa., ACLU of PA Sues School District for Illegally Searching Student’s Cell Phone: School Turned Over Girl’s Private Nude Photos to Law Enforcement (May 20, 2010), http://www.aclupa.org
/pressroom/acluofpasuesschooldistrict.htm.

[209]. Id.

[210]. Id.

[211]. Id.

[212]. Id.

[213]. See, e.g., Beard v. Whitmore Lake Sch. Dist., 402 F. 3d 598, 603 (6th Cir. 2005) (holding students’ constitutional rights were violated after school officials strip searched students to search for stolen money).  The court explained: “Students . . . have a significant privacy interest in their unclothed bodies.”  Id. at 604.

[214]. Sexting, supra note 154, at 3 (“[I]t should be made very clear that administrators and educators should never forward, copy, transmit, download . . . or show any non-law enforcement personnel any evidence collected from [a] personal digital device . . . after the initial discovery . . . at any other time during the investigation.”).

[215]. See infra Appendix B.

[216]. See, e.g., Anti-Defamation League, supra note 10, at 4-7.  Although this is a model statute for state legislatures to enact, instead of a cyberbullying policy for schools to adopt, this model statute gives guidance because it suggests that school bullying policies should address reporting, remedies, and education.  Id.

[217]. See supra Parts II.A–C.

[218]. See supra Part II.B.

[219]. See, e.g., N.J. Stat. Ann. § 18A:37-15(b)(5) (West 2011) (requiring schools to have a bullying policy with “a procedure for reporting an act of harassment, intimidation or bullying”).

[220]. See Anti-Defamation League, supra note 10, at 14, § B(3)(b)(ii); Lisa Madigan, Cyberbullying: A Student Perspective, 8 http://www.illinoisattorneygeneral.gov/children/cyberbullying_focus_report0610.pdf  (last visited Aug. 29, 2011); Susan P. Limber & Marlene Snyder, What Works—and Doesn’t Work—in Bullying Prevention and Intervention, The State Educ. Standard 24, 27 (July 2006), http://www.yaleruddcenter.org/resources
/upload/docs/what/bias/NASBEbullyingarticle.pdf.

[221]. Dianne L. Hoff & Sidney N. Mitchell, Cyberbullying: Causes, Effects, and Remedies, 47 J. Educ. Admin. 652, 663 (2009).

[222]. Madigan, supra note 220, at 9.

[223]. See, e.g., N.J. Stat. Ann. § 18A:37-15(b)(5) (West 2011) (allowing “a person to report an act of harassment, intimidation or bullying anonymously”).

[224]. See id. (prohibiting “formal disciplinary action solely on the basis of an anonymous report”).

[225]. As set forth in Part II.C, a school official must have “reasonable grounds” based on a specific fact inquiry before conducting a search of a student’s personal property.  New Jersey v. T.L.O, 469 U.S. 325, 342 (1985).  It is doubtful that anonymous reports alone would satisfy this requirement since school officials would be unable to determine the credibility of the reports.

[226]. See, e.g., Utah Code Ann. § 53A-11a-301(2)(e) (West 2011) (requiring schools to have “procedures for promptly reporting to law enforcement all acts of bullying, hazing, or retaliation that constitute criminal activity”); see also Cyberbullying: Policy Considerations for Boards, supra note 155, at 5 (“[California school] responses might include . . . contacting law enforcement if the behavior involves [a possible crime].  The student perpetrator and his or her parents should be informed of the potential consequences to which they may be subjected, including potential civil law liabilities.”).

[227]. See, e.g., Megan Meir Cyberbullying Prevention Act, H.R. 1966, 111th Cong. (2009) (proposing that “whoever . . . use[s] electronic means to support severe, repeated, and hostile behavior, shall be fined under this title or imprisoned not more than two years, or both); S.B. 2094, S. 25th Leg., Reg. Sess. (Haw. 2010) (“If any child of school age engages in bullying or cyberbullying, the child, and the father, mother, or legal guardian, shall be fined not more than $100 for each separate offense.”); Jared’s Law, H.B. 750, 58th Leg., Reg. Sess. (Idaho 2006) (“A student who personally violates any provision of this section shall be guilty of an infraction.”).

[228]. Cyberbullying: Policy Considerations for Boards, supra note 155, at 5 (“Existing school rules pertaining to student discipline may be used in the event that a student is found to have engaged in cyberbullying, or the district may decide that other actions are needed on a case-by-case basis.”).

[229]. See, e.g., Ga. Code Ann. § 20-2-751.5(d) (2011) (“[I]t is preferable to reassign disruptive students to alternative educational settings rather than to suspend or expel such students from school.”).

[230]. See, e.g., Kan. Stat. Ann. 72-8205(e)(1) (2011) (“The board may transact all school district business and adopt policies that the board deems appropriate to perform its constitutional duty to maintain, develop and operate local public schools.”).

[231]. Wisniewski ex rel. Wisniewski v. Bd. of Educ., 494 F.3d 34, 40 (2d Cir. 2007) (citing Wood v. Strickland, 420 U.S. 308, 326 (1975)) (recognizing that it is not the place of federal courts to set aside school administrators’ decisions on such matters as the extent of a student’s punishment, but not directly ruling on whether the extent of the punishment was constitutional).  But see Doninger v. Niehoff, 527 F.3d 41, 53 (2d Cir. 2008) (suggesting that if the student’s punishment had been more extreme than prohibiting her participation in student council, that punishment may have been in violation of her constitutional rights).

[232]. See, e.g., O.Z. ex rel. v. Bd. of Trs. of the Long Beach Unified Sch. Dist., 2008 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 110409, at *17 (C.D. Cal. Sept. 9, 2008) (holding that a school has an interest in being able to transfer a student who has shown violent tendencies toward a teacher).

[233]. Wisniewski, 494 F.3d at 40 (alteration in original) (quoting Strickland, 420 U.S. at 326).

[234]. RI Task Force Takes on Cyberbullying, Sexting, Boston Globe (Mar. 15, 2011), http://www.boston.com/news/local/rhode_island/articles/2011/03/15/ri
_task_force_readies_new_policy_for_cyberbullying/ (“One proposal from the task force would create a statewide education policy on cyberbullying for schools . . . A single, statewide policy would help teachers know what to do when they hear a student is being bullied . . . .”).

[235]. Lorraine Adams & Dale Russakoff, Dissecting Columbine’s Cult of the Athlete, Washington Post, June 12, 1999, http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp
-srv/national/daily/june99/columbine12.htm (explaining schools should not give the appearance that popular student athletes receive special treatment because of their abilities or social status).

[236]. See, e.g., Doninger, 527 F.3d at 54; J.S. ex rel. H.S. v. Bethlehem Area Sch. Dist., 807 A.2d 847, 868 (Pa. 2002); O.Z., 2008 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 110409, at *13; Cyberbullying: Policy Considerations for Boards, supra note 155, at 5 (authorizing the suspension or expulsion of a student who engages in harassment or bullying by electronic means).

[237]. See Todd D. Erb, Comment, A Case for Strengthening School District Jurisdiction to Punish Off-Campus Incidents of Cyberbullying, 40 Ariz. St. L.J. 257, 275 (2008).

[238]. See, e.g., N.J. Stat. Ann. § 18A:37-15(b)(9) (West 2011) (allowing for “consequences and appropriate remedial action for a person found to have falsely accused another as a means of retaliation or as a means of harassment, intimidation or bullying”); Model Policy Against Bullying and Harassment, supra note 140, at 1 (explaining that a school policy against bullying and harassment should include a statement that “bullying” and “harassment” include “[r]etaliation against a student or school employee by another student or school employee for asserting or alleging an act of bullying or harassment” and also that “[r]eporting an act of bullying or harassment that is not made in good faith is considered retaliation”).

[239]. See Model Policy Against Bullying and Harassment, supra note 140, at 2–3; see also Limber & Snyder, supra note 220, at 24, 27 (explaining how one antibullying program recommends that schools adopt four straight-forward rules about bullying: “we will not bully others; we will try to help students who are bullied; we will make it a point to include students who are easily left out; if we know someone is being bullied, we will tell an adult at school and an adult at home”).

[240]. Limber & Snyder, supra note 220, at 27.

[241]. See, e.g., Fla. Stat. § 1006.147 (4)(j) (2008) (requiring school bullying policies provide “a procedure to refer victims and perpetrators of bullying or harassment for counseling”); Cyberbullying: Policy Considerations for Boards, supra note 155, at 5 (“[T]he district should consider ways it can provide support to the victim through counseling or referral to mental health services.”).

[242]. See, e.g., Santa Barbara School Districts Board Policy, 4, http://www.sbsdk12.org/board/policies/5000/BP5131.pdf (last updated Dec. 14, 2010) (“If the [cyberbully] is using a social networking site or service that has terms of use that prohibit posting of harmful material, the Superintendent or designee also may file a complaint with the Internet site or service to have the material removed.”).

[243]. Model Policy Against Bullying and Harassment, supra note 140, at 8.

[244]. Fla. Stat. § 1006.147(4)(l) (2010) (requiring “a procedure for providing instruction to students, parents, teachers, school administrators, counseling staff, and school volunteers on identifying, preventing, and responding to bullying or harassment”).

[245]. The Model Cyberbullying Policy in Appendix B of this Article gives an example of an educational program.  Like Florida, Illinois also requires schools to implement antibullying training.  105 Ill. Comp. Stat. 5/27-13.3 (2010).  Although Illinois does not provide a model cyberbullying policy, the Illinois Attorney General’s Office has prepared a webinar and training modules to give some guidance to schools.  The educational material includes statistics, anecdotes, and discussion of cyberbullying and sexting.  The training modules are modified to be grade-appropriate for elementary school, middle school, and high school.  See Office of the Ill. Att’y Gen., Attorney General’s Internet Safety Training Modules (2010), www.isbe.state.il.us/curriculum/ppt/internet_safety
_webinar.ppt
(last visited Sept. 20, 2011).

[246]. Hoff & Mitchell, supra note 221, at 663 (setting forth a study that students reported incidents of cyberbullying occurring when they were as young as ten years old and up through their high-school years).

[247]. Willard, supra note 196, at 7.  See also Hinduja & Patchin, supra note 151, at 1 (stating that certain cyberbullying behaviors are encompassed in existing criminal legislation, such as: harassment, stalking, felonious assault, certain acts of hate or bias).

[248]. Hoff & Mitchell, supra note 221, at 663; see also Limber & Snyder, supra note 220, at 27 (stating that students should be taught to be good citizens, rather than passive bystanders, when they witness bullying).

[249]. Willard, supra note 196, at 6.

[250]. Hoff & Mitchell, supra note 221, at 663 (explaining that student input would be valuable because “they are the group who understands this phenomenon best”).  See also Madigan, supra note 220, at 8 (explaining how students suggested peer-to-peer mentoring and mediation programs).

[251]. Md. Code Ann., Educ. § 7-424.1(g)(1) (West 2010) (requiring schools to develop an antibullying educational program for “staff, volunteers, and parents”).

[252]. See Model Policy Against Bullying and Harassment, supra note 140, at 4; Hoff & Mitchell, supra note 221, at 663.

[253]. Madigan, supra note 220, at 8.

[254]. See id.; Anti-Defamation League, supra note 10, at 15.

[255]. See Model Policy Against Bullying and Harassment, supra note 140, at 8.

[256]. Willard, supra note 196, at 10.

[257]. Also referred to as the Student Harassment Prevention Act.

[258]. Ala. Code § 16-28B-6 (2011).

[259]. Id. § 16-28B-3 (defining harassment as not limited to, written electronic, verbal or physical acts).

[260]. Alaska Stat. § 14.33.200(a) (2011).

[261]. Sample Issues and Areas to Consider When Developing Local Policies for Harassment, Intimidation, and Bullying, Alaska Dep’t. of Educ. and Early Dev., http://eed.state.ak.us/tls/SchoolSafety/Docs/Sample_Issues_and_Areas.pdf (last visited Sept. 20, 2011).

[262]. Ariz. Rev. Stat. Ann. § 15-341(37) (2011).

[263]. Ark. Code Ann. § 6-18-514 (a)(2) (2010).

[264]. Id. § 6-18-514 (a)(3)(B) (defining “Electronic Act”).

[265]. Cal. Educ. Code § 32282(a)(1)(E) (West 2011).

[266]. Id. § 32261(d) (bullying includes acts committed personally or by means of an electronic act).

[267]. Sample Policy for Bullying Prevention, Cal. Dep’t of Educ., (2010), available at http://www.cde.ca.gov/ls/ss/se/samplepolicy.asp.

[268]. Colo. Rev. Stat. Ann § 22-32-109.1(2)(a) (West 2010).

[269]. Colorado Association of School Boards Sample Policy on Bullying Prevention and Education, Ctr. for the Study and Prevention of Violence, (2001), http://www.colorado.edu/cspv/safeschools/bullying_casbpolicy.html.

[270]. Conn. Gen. Stat. § 10-222d (2010).

[271]. Id. § 10-222d(7) (2010) (requiring each school to notify parents or guardians of both the students who commit any verified acts of bullying and the students against whom such acts were directed).

[272]. The District of Columbia is considering a proposed bill that would require schools to implement antibullying policies, including bullying using “electronic communications.”  The bill also proposes that a model policy be developed.  Council of D.C., Bullying Prevention Act of 2010, B18-0770 (D.C. 2010) available at http://www.dccouncil.washington.dc.us/images/00001
/20100506090826.pdf.

[273]. Id.

[274]. Id.

[275]. Del. Code Ann. tit. 14, § 4112D(b)(1) (2011).

[276]. Id. 14 § 4112D(a) (bullying includes electronic acts).

[277]. Delaware’s Model Bully Prevention Policy, Del. Dep’t of Educ., http://www.doe.k12.de.us/infosuites/students_family/climate/files/Bully%20Prevention%20Policy%20Template.pdf (last visited Sept. 19, 2011).

[278]. Del. Code Ann. tit. 14, § 4112D(b)(2)(j) (2011) (requiring notification of a parent, guardian, relative caregivers, or legal guardian of any target of bullying or person who bullies another).

[279]. Fla. Stat. § 1006.147(2) (2010).

[280]. Id. § 1006.147(3)(b) (defining harassment to include use of data or computer software).

[281]. Model Policy Against Bullying and Harassment, supra note 140.

[282]. Fla. Stat. § 1006.147(4)(i) (2010) (requiring a procedure for immediate notification to the parents of a victim and the parents of the perpetrator of an act).

[283]. Ga. Code Ann. § 20-2-751.4(b)(1) (2011).

[284]. Id. § 20-2-751.4(a) (stating that bullying includes use of data or software that is accessed through a computer, computer system, computer network or other electronic technology of local school system).

[285]. Id. § 20-2-751.4(b)(3) (requiring that a method be developed “to notify the parent, guardian, or other person who has control or charge of a student upon a finding . . . that such student has committed an offense of bullying or is a victim of bullying”).

[286]. But see Haw. Rev. Stat. Ann. § 302A-1002 (2009) (requiring schools to report crime-related incidents, but no mention of bullying or cyberbullying).

[287]. S.B. 2094, 25th Leg., Reg. Sess. (Haw. 2010).

[288]. Idaho Code Ann. § 33-512(6) (2011).

[289]. Id. § 18-917A(2)(b) (“[H]arassment . . . may also be committed through use of a land line, care phone, or wireless telephone, or through the use of data or computer software that is accessed through a computer, computer system or computer network.”).

[290]. 105 Ill. Comp. Stat. 5/27-23.7(d) (2010).

[291]. Id. at 5/27-23.7(b).

[292]. Ind. Code § 20-33-8-12(1) (2011).

[293]. Iowa  Code § 280.28 (3) (2011).

[294]. Id. § 280.28 (2)(a) (2011).

[295]. Anti-Bullying/Anti-Harassment Policies, supra note 137.

[296]. Kan. Stat. Ann. § 72-8256(b) (2009).

[297]. Kan. Stat. Ann. § 72-8256(a)(1)(B) (2009).

[298]. Ky. Rev. Stat. Ann. § 158.148(1) (West 2011).

[299]. La. Rev. Stat. Ann § 17:416.13(B)(1) (2011).

[300]. Id. § 17:416.13(C)(2) (defining “cyberbullying”).

[301]. Me. Rev. Stat. Ann. tit. 20, § 1001(15)(H) (2010).

[302]. Maine School Management Association Sample Policy, supra note 139.

[303]. Md. Code Ann., Educ. § 7-424.1(c)(1) (West 2010).

[304]. Id. § 7-424.1(a)(2) (stating that bullying, harassment or intimidation includes an intentional electronic communication).

[305]. Mass. Gen. Laws ch. 71 § 37O(c) (2011).

[306]. Id. § 37O(a).

[307]. Id. § 37O(d)(viii) (setting forth procedures for notifying parents or guardians of a victim and perpetrator).

[308]. Matt’s Safe School Law, supra note 66.

[309]. Model Anti-Bullying Act, supra note 139.  While this policy is not mandated by law, it was developed by the Michigan Department of Education based on the antibullying bills pending in the Michigan state legislature.  See Matt’s Safe School Law, supra note 66.

[310]. Minn. Stat. § 121A.0695 (2010).

[311]. Id.

[312]. Miss. Code. Ann. § 37-11-67(2) (2010).

[313]. Id. § 37-11-67(1).

[314]. Mo. Rev. Stat. § 160.775(1) (2011).

[315]. Id. § 160.775(2).

[316]. Neb. Rev. Stat. §§ 79-2, 137(3) (2010).

[317]. Id. § 79-2, 137(2).

[318]. Considerations for Policy Development, Neb. Dep’t of Educ., http://www.education.ne.gov/safety/Bullying_Prevention/Bullying_Prevention_Policy_Dev.html (last visited Sept. 20, 2011).

[319]. Nev. Rev. Stat. § 388.133 (2010).

[320]. Id. at § 388.123.

[321]. N.H. Rev. Stat. Ann. § 193-F:4(II) (2011).

[322]. Id. §§ 193-F:3(II), (III).

[323]. Id. § 193-F:4(II)(h) (describing a procedure for notification within forty-eight hours of the reported incident to both the parents or guardian of victim and the parents or guardian of the perpetrator of bullying or cyberbullying).

[324]. N.J. Stat. Ann. § 18A:37-15(a) (West 2011).

[325]. Id. § 18A:37-14 (defining electronic communication).

[326]. Model Policy and Guidance for Prohibiting Harassment, Intimidation and Bullying on School Property, at School-Sponsored Functions and on School Buses, State of N.J. Dep’t of Educ., http://www.state.nj.us/education/parents
/bully.pdf (last updated Apr. 2011).

[327]. N.M. Code R. § 6.12.7.8(B) (LexisNexis 2010).

[328]. Id. § 6.12.7.7(A).

[329]. N.Y. Educ. Law § 2801-a(1) (McKinney 2000) (requiring school safety plan).

[330]. Id. § 2801-a(2)(e) (requiring policies for contacting parents, guardians and persons in parental relation to students in the event of a violent incident).

[331]. N.C. Gen. Stat. § 115C-407.16 (2010).

[332]. Id. § 115C-407.15(a) (defining bullying to include electronic communication).

[333]. Ohio Rev. Code Ann. § 3313.666(B) (West 2011).

[334]. Anti-Harassment, Anti-Intimidation or Anti-Bullying Model Policy, Ohio Dep’t of Educ. Adm’r, http://education.ohio.gov/GD/Templates/Pages/ODE
/ODEDetail.aspx?Page=3&TopicRelationID=435&Content=106473 (last modified June 3, 2011).

[335]. Ohio Rev. Code Ann. § 3313.666(B)(5) (West 2011) (requiring parents or guardians of any student involved in incident be notified and have access to any written reports pertaining to the incident).

[336]. Okla. Stat. tit.70, § 24-100.4(A) (2011).

[337]. Id. (prohibiting bullying by electronic communication specifically).

[338]. Safe Schools Guide, Okla. Dep’t of Educ., 75 (2005), http://www.sde.state.ok.us/Schools/SafeHealthy/pdf/SafeSchlGuide.pdf.

[339]. Or. Rev. Stat. § 339.356(1) (2010).

[340]. Id. § 339.351(1) (defining cyberbullying).

[341]. 24 Pa. Cons. Stat. § 13-1303.1-A(a) (2010).

[342]. Id. § 13-1303.1-A(e) (stating that bullying includes intentional electronic acts).

[343]. R.I. Gen. Laws § 16-21-26(b) (2011).

[344]. Id. § 16-21-26(a)(3) (defining electronic communications).

[345]. Guidance on Developing Required Policies Against Bullying, http://www.ride.ri.gov/psi/docs/child_family/substance/bullying%20guidance%20and%20modelpolicy%2011-21-03.pdf (last visited Sept. 16, 2011).

[346]. S.C. Code Ann. § 59-63-140(A) (2010).

[347]. Id. § 59-63-120(1) (stating that harassment, intimidation, and bullying includes electronic communication).

[348]. South Carolina—Self Control Addressing Bullying in Our Schools: A Bullying Prevention Model, S.C Dep’t of Educ. 31–36, http://www.itv.scetv.org
/guides/sc2v2.pdf (last visited Sept. 24, 2011).

[349]. Tenn. Code Ann. § 49-6-1016(a) (2011).

[350]. Tex. Educ. Code Ann. § 37.001(a) (West 2009).

[351]. Id. § 37.001(a)(6).

[352]. Utah Code Ann. § 53A-11a-301(1) (West 2011).

[353]. Id. § 53A-11a-301(3)(j).

[354]. Vt. Stat. Ann. tit. 16, § 565 (2011).

[355]. Model Bullying Prevention Plan, supra note 139.

[356]. Va. Code Ann. § 22.1-279.6(A) (2011).

[357]. Id. (explaining that model policies should address the use of electronic means for purposes of bullying, harassment, and intimidation).

[358]. Wash. Rev. Code § 28A.300.285(1) (2010).

[359]. Id.at § 28A.300.285(2).

[360]. Prohibition of Harassment, Intimidation and Bullying, State of Wash. Office of Superintendent of Pub. Instruction (Apr. 2008), http://www.k12.wa.us/SafetyCenter/Guidance/pubdocs/Anti‑BullyingPolicyFinal.pdf.

[361]. W. Va. Code Ann. § 18-2C-3(a) (West 2011).

[362]. Student Code of Conduct, W. Va. Dep’t of Educ. (July 1, 2003), http://wvde.state.wv.us/policies/p4373.html.

[363]. W. Va. Code Ann. § 18-2C-3 (b)(5) (West 2011).

[364]. Wis. Stat. § 118.46(1)(a) (2010).

[365]. Bullying Prevention Policy Guidelines, Dep’t of Pub. Instruction (Mar. 2007), http://www.dpi.state.wi.us/sspw/pdf/bullyingguide.pdf.

[366]. Wyo. Stat. Ann. § 21-4-314(a) (2011).

[367]. Id. § 21-4-312.

[368]. Safe School Improvement Act of 2010, S. 3739, 111th Cong. (2010) (allowing for federal funding for schools that have bullying prevention programs).  See also Megan Meir Cyberbullying Prevention Act, H.R. 1966, 111th Cong. (2010).

[369]. Megan Meir Cyberbullying Prevention Act, H.R. 1966, 111th Cong. (2010).

[370]. This Model Cyberbullying Policy is limited only to cyberbullying.  In addition to cyberbullying, schools should adopt policies that are inclusive of off-line bullying and harassment (both of which are beyond the scope of this Article).  This Policy is based on Part III of this Article and also the pending Safe Schools Improvement Act of 2010, the “Florida Department of Education Model Policy Against Bullying and Harassment,” and the Anti-Defamation League “Model Statute.”  See Safe School Improvement Act of 2010, S. 3739, 111th Cong. (2010); Model Policy Against Bullying and Harassment, supra note 140; Anti-Defamation League, supra note 10.

[371]. See supra Part II.A(2) of this Article.

[372]. See supra Parts II.A(2)-B(1) of this Article.

[373]. See supra Parts II.A(2)-B(1) of this Article.

[374]. See supra Parts II.A(2)-B(1) of this Article.

[375]. See supra Part II.B(1) of this Article.

[376]. See supra Part II.B(1) of this Article.

[377]. See supra Part II.A(1) of this Article.

[378]. See supra Part II.A of this Article.

[379]. See supra Part II.B(2) of this Article.

[380]. The Anti-Defamation League drafted a model acceptable use policy, adapted from a U.S. Department of Justice model policy.  Anti-Defamation League, supra note 10, at 21.

[381]. See supra Part II.B(2) of this Article.

[382]. See supra Part II.C(1) of this Article.

[383]. See supra Part II.C(1) of this Article.

[384]. See supra Part II.C(1) of this Article.

[385]. See supra Part II.C(1) of this Article.

[386]. See supra Part II.C(2) of this Article.

[387]. See supra Part III(A) of this Article.

[388]. See supra Part III(B) of this Article.

[389]. See supra Part III(C) of this Article.

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Holder v. Humanitarian Law Project may prove to be simply the beginning of a rich vein of emerging jurisprudence at the intersection of national security and civil liberties. Indeed, the majority’s determination that “strict scrutiny” applies may yet prove to be the most important aspect of the decision, one that will not always break the government’s way.

Over the course of the post-9/11 era, the Supreme Court has had a fair amount to say about the government’s response to terrorism as that response relates to military detention and trial before military commissions.[1] Notably, however, it has not had much to say about federal criminal law relating to terrorism until very recently.  That changed in June 2010 with the Court’s decision in Holder v. Humanitarian Law Project, which rejected a series of constitutional challenges to a key counterterrorism statute.[2]

The law at issue—18 U.S.C. § 2339B[3]—is frequently referred to as the “material support law,” as its essential function is to prohibit the provision of “material support or resources” to designated foreign terrorist organizations.[4] “Material support or resources,” in turn, is defined to include:

any property, tangible or intangible, or service, including currency or monetary instruments or financial securities, financial services, lodging, training, expert advice or assistance, safehouses, false documentation or identification, communications equipment, facilities, weapons, lethal substances, explosives, personnel (1 or more individuals who may be or include oneself), and transportation, except medicine or religious materials.[5]

The term “training” in that definition is further defined to mean “instruction or teaching designed to impart a specific skill, as opposed to general knowledge,” while the phrase “expert advice or assistance” is defined to mean “advice or assistance derived from scientific, technical or other specialized knowledge.”[6]

From the government’s perspective, the material support law is important in two distinct ways.  First, it has an unfocused preventive function in that it inhibits the flow of various forms of support to foreign terrorist organizations, thus (hopefully) limiting their capacity to cause harm.  In this respect, the statute functions much like a conventional embargo provision; one merely substitutes the notion of a foreign terrorist organization for the notion of a hostile foreign state as the object of the embargo.

Second, it has a focused preventive function insofar as a person providing support—and thus subject to prosecution and then incarceration in jail—also is a person whom the government believes to be personally dangerous.  The latter function is particularly important in circumstances in which a suspected agent of a foreign terrorist organization cannot be linked to a particular plot.  The broad definition of support cited above, combined with a permissive mens rea element,[7] ensures that it is relatively easy to charge in comparison to, say, conspiracy to commit a violent act in violation of 18 U.S.C. § 956(a).

On the other hand, these same features also raise an array of constitutional concerns.  Is the statute vague or overbroad?  Does it violate the First Amendment in terms of expression or association?  Does it impute guilt-by-association in violation of the Fifth Amendment?  More generally, does the existence of the material support law unduly chill the activities of journalists, advocates, and human rights groups?

These were among the concerns raised by a set of individuals and groups led by the Humanitarian Law Project (“HLP”), which is a non-governmental organization wishing to provide various forms of support for the humanitarian and political activities of the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (“PKK”) and the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (“LTTE”), both of which have been designated as foreign terrorist organizations since 1997.[8] Anticipating that such activities would expose them to prosecution, HLP—for ease of reference, I will refer to all the coplaintiffs collectively as HLP from this point—sought declaratory and injunctive relief in a civil suit filed in California, which ultimately arrived at the Supreme Court after twelve years of lower court litigation.  There, by a 6-3 margin, a majority of the Supreme Court rejected HLP’s argument that the material support law is unconstitutionally vague insofar as it prohibits “training,” “expert advice or assistance,” “service,” or “personnel,” and that, in any event, the law unconstitutionally infringes freedom of expression and association.[9]

The key to understanding the majority opinion by Chief Justice Roberts is that it considers HLP’s arguments through an as-applied lens, emphasizing the particular actions that HLP proposed to undertake rather than engaging in an open-ended review.  In particular, the opinion examines the arguments in view of HLP’s stated desire to (1) train PKK members in the use of international law for purposes of dispute resolution, (2) teach PKK members how to petition for relief from “various representative bodies such as the United Nations,” and (3) engage in “political advocacy on behalf of Kurds” in Turkey (just as HLP’s copetitioner proposed to advocate on behalf of Tamils in Sri Lanka).[10]

The substantive analysis begins with the question of vagueness.[11] The problem with HLP’s position, the majority explained, was that the statute was not so much unclear as it was simply broad.[12] The ultimate question was whether the statute provided a “person of ordinary intelligence fair notice of what is prohibited,” the Court observed, and as to the particular actions proposed by HLP, there was more than adequate notice in that some were clearly covered and some were clearly not.[13] In particular, the terms of “training” and “expert advice or assistance” plainly encompassed the proposals to give training in relation to international law or in relation to petitioning bodies such as the U.N. for relief.[14] Conversely, none of the terms in the material support definition plausibly would extend to efforts by HLP to simply advocate on behalf of Kurds living in Turkey.[15] The term “personnel” would not apply because Congress defined that term to require a relationship of direction and control between the organization and the individual, and the term “services” would not apply because the Court understood it to require “concerted activity” actually coordinated between the organization and the individual.[16] The majority conceded that HLP had identified less-readily classifiable scenarios that might arise, but dismissed these as “entirely hypothetical.”[17] Thus the Court left the door open to a revival of the vagueness argument if and when such fact patterns might actually arise.

Having dispatched the vagueness challenge, and having determined along the way that the material support law simply does not apply to the independent advocacy proposed by HLP, the majority then turned to the question of whether the statute violated the First Amendment’s protection of freedom of expression by prohibiting the two forms of training suggested by HLP.  Interestingly, the majority rejected the government’s suggestion that this question be answered with reference to a doctrinal framework of intermediate scrutiny, as would befit a content-neutral regulation with an incidental impact on expression.[18] It instead categorized the law as content based in this setting, reasoning that the law’s prohibition of “expert advice or assistance” turned on a content-contingent inquiry into whether expression involved specialized or merely general knowledge.[19] Thus the majority elected instead to apply strict scrutiny.[20] And though HLP conceded that the government has a compelling interest in suppressing terrorism, this development did seem to augur poorly for the government insofar as strict scrutiny requires the government to pursue the least restrictive means available to pursue such interests.  But despite the general perception that strict scrutiny is “fatal” in practice, it was not so in this instance.

The central dispute at this point—indeed, the central issue with the broad sweep of the material support law—was whether it mattered that HLP intended no harm by its proposed actions, and truly intended only to encourage terrorist groups to pursue peaceful means of achieving their ends.  If so, then the law plainly would be overinclusive and hence would fail strict scrutiny.  The majority concluded, however, that this characterization of the impact of HLP’s proposed actions failed to account for the indirect harm they might cause.  First, the majority noted that both Congress and the executive branch had formed the judgment that all forms of support to a foreign terrorist organization, no matter how innocuous on their face, were contrary to U.S. interests, and the majority expressly noted that the judiciary owed at least some degree of deference to such judgments in light of comparative institutional competence concerns.[21] Second, the majority concluded that this judgment was correct on the merits, irrespective of deference obligations.[22] It explained that seemingly innocuous support can be harmful in several respects.  At least when money or other monetizable assets are involved, for example, the support is fungible and hence either directly or via substitution will enable recipient groups to spend more on their violent activities.[23] But of course HLP was not proposing to give money to the PKK via these training activities (although, as the court noted, one of the copetitioners did originally propose to assist the Tamil Tigers in obtaining tsunami relief funds).[24] Thus it mattered a great deal to the majority’s analysis that it proceeded to make a distinct point about the indirect impact of seemingly-innocuous forms of support.  Whatever the form of the support, and whatever the intentions underlying it, support tends to “lend legitimacy to foreign terrorist groups—legitimacy that makes it easier for those groups to persist, to recruit members, and to raise funds—all of which facilitate more terrorist attacks.”[25] Once one accepts this descriptive account, the nexus between the government’s interest in suppressing terrorism and its selection of an embargo-style prohibition on a sweeping array of forms of support becomes much clearer and more defensible.

The majority then turned to the particular forms of training HLP proposed to give to the PKK, inquiring whether they presented a more sympathetic case than the general argument considered above.  The majority did not think so.  Instruction relating to international law, the court reasoned, could be employed to facilitate the use of negotiations as a stratagem designed to “buy[] time to recover from short-term setbacks, lulling opponents into complacency, and ultimately preparing for renewed attacks.”[26] And such organizations might also use its newfound knowledge of the “structures of the international legal system . . . to threaten, manipulate, and disrupt”—an awkward phrasing that appears to suggest that such training would facilitate “lawfare” in the sense that groups might employ pretextual litigation as a means of restraining their state opponents.[27] As for training in the use of petitions for “relief,” the majority expressed uncertainty as to what HLP actually had in mind, but did note that to the extent that this might include monetary relief then it would present an easy case.[28]

This left only HLP’s freedom of association argument.  Here the Court drew a sharp distinction between punishment of association simpliciter and punishment of actions with associative aspects, but also with elements of transferring value of some kind to the recipient group.[29] Because the material support statute encompassed only the latter, in the majority’s view, prior decisions that struck down efforts to punish mere membership in various unpopular or subversive groups were not applicable.[30]

Reflecting on these arguments, it is tempting to treat Holder v. Humanitarian Law Project as a sweeping victory for the government, as an indication of clear sailing ahead for material support prosecutions in a broad array of circumstances.  But this would be premature if not foolish.  The majority’s opinion wraps up with a series of cautionary statements warning readers not to presume too much about the scope of the holding.[31] As the foregoing analysis emphasizes, after all, the Court’s rationale turned in substantial part on its decision to analyze HLP’s arguments through the lens of the specific and narrow set of actions HLP proposed to undertake.  Thus we find the majority warning at the end that one should not assume that “future applications of the material-support statute to speech or advocacy will survive First Amendment scrutiny,” that “a regulation of independent speech would pass constitutional muster, even if the Government were to show that such speech benefits foreign terrorist organizations,” or “that Congress could extend the same prohibition on material support . . . to domestic organizations.”[32] Bearing this in mind, it seems most accurate to say that the majority was correct in its analysis within the narrow bounds it set for itself, and that the decision decides relatively little with respect to close cases that may arise in the future.

And that leads to perhaps the most significant question of all about the decision and its implications.  The fact of the matter is that the government has prosecuted violations of the material support law frequently since 9/11 (after having rarely used it between its enactment in 1996 and the fall of 2001), yet few if any of the cases actually brought involved anything resembling the conduct HLP proposed to carry out.[33] It thus is tempting to conclude that all of this discussion is merely academic.  But it seems to me that this would be too cavalier an attitude and that it would fail to account for the substantial impact that the mere prospect of prosecution can have.  That the statute has not, or at least has not often, been used in expression-sensitive ways does not mean that it cannot be.  The majority’s closing caveats seem to hold open the prospect for future declaratory judgment actions exploring these boundaries, perhaps intentionally so.  One can readily imagine, for example, a suit concerning the ability of lawyers to file amicus briefs or otherwise to provide counsel to designated groups.  Such litigation might draw attention to the little-discussed “license” option in § 2339B, for example, pursuant to which the Secretary of State in conjunction with the Attorney General may issue an “approval” that precludes prosecution on the grounds of providing “personnel,” “training,” or “expert advice or assistance.”  In the final analysis, in other words, Holder v. Humanitarian Law Project may prove to be simply the beginning of a rich vein of emerging jurisprudence at the intersection of national security and civil liberties.  Indeed, the majority’s determination that “strict scrutiny” applies may yet prove to be the most important aspect of the decision, one that will not always break the government’s way.


[1]. See, e.g., Boumediene v. Bush, 553 U.S. 723, 732–33 (2008) (holding that Congress violated the Suspension Clause by attempting to replace habeas jurisdiction with a truncated form of review for noncitizens held in military custody at Guantanamo); Hamdan v. Rumsfeld, 548 U.S. 557, 567 (2006) (holding that the system of military commissions established by presidential order violated the Uniform Code of Military Justice); Hamdi v. Rumsfeld, 542 U.S. 507, 509 (2004) (holding that the September 18, 2001, Authorization for Use of Military Force conferred authority to use military detention in relation to persons who bore arms for the Taliban in Afghanistan, but that an American citizen held on that ground has a Fifth Amendment right to more substantial procedural safeguards than had been given in that instance).

[2]. Holder v. Humanitarian Law Project, 130 S. Ct. 2705 (2009).

[3]. 18 U.S.C. § 2339B (2006).

[4]. In fact, § 2339B is only one of several such laws.  For an overview and discussion of the origins of § 2339B, see Robert Chesney, The Sleeper Scenario: Terrorism-Support Laws and the Demands of Prevention, 42 Harv. J. on Legis. 1, 4–21 (2005).

[5]. 18 U.S.C. § 2339B(g)(4) (2006) (incorporating by reference 18 U.S.C.
§ 2339A(b)).

[6]. 18 U.S.C. § 2339A(b)(2)–(3) (2006).

[7]. There is no need to prove the defendant intended any harm, but simply that the defendant acted knowingly and with knowledge that the recipient either had been formally designated by the Secretary of State to be a “foreign terrorist organization” or at least that the defendant knew the recipient engaged in terrorist activity.  18 U.S.C. § 2339B(a)(1) (2006).

[8]. Press Release, U.S. Dep’t of State, Office of the Coordinator for Counterterrorism, Foreign Terrorist Organizations (Nov. 24, 2010), available athttp://www.state.gov/s/ct/rls/other/des/123085.htm.

[9]. Holder v. Humanitarian Law Project, 130 S. Ct. 2705, 2712 (2009).

[10]. Id. at 2716–17.

[11]. Prior to this point, the opinion does consider and dismiss the possibility of invoking the canon of constitutional avoidance so as to adopt an interpretation of the material support law that, HLP argued, would avoid any constitutional objections.  HLP suggested that the Court read into the statute a mens rea requirement pursuant to which the government would have to prove that the defendant intended for any support he or she provided to contribute to harm or an unlawful end.  The majority declined to do so, reasoning that Congress had specifically chosen not to do this in the first place and thus that such an interpretation would amount to revision rather than interpretation.  See id. at 2717–18.

[12]. See id. at 2719–21.

[13]. See id. at 2720–22.

[14]. See id. at 2720.

[15]. See id. at 2721–22.

[16]. Id.

[17]. Id. at 2722.

[18]. Id. at 2723.

[19]. Id.at 2723–24.

[20]. Id. at 2724.

[21]. See id. at 2727.  For a discussion of comparative institutional competence claims in the national security setting, see generally Robert Chesney, National Security Fact Deference, 95 Va. L. Rev. 1361 (2009).

[22]. Humanitarian Law Project, 130 S. Ct. at 2727.

[23]. Id. at 2725–26.

[24]. See id. at 2729.

[25]. Id. at 2725.

[26]. Id. at 2729.

[27]. Id.

[28]. Id.

[29]. Id. at 2719.

[30]. Id. It is not clear that this is entirely correct.  Notably, the definition of “support” includes the term “personnel,” which is further defined to include the act of providing one’s own self to a group and being subject to its direction or control.  This is, in a sense, a membership prohibition, and in that singular respect Scales v. United States, 367 U.S. 203, 229 (1961) would seem to require that a mens rea of intent be read into the law in order to avoid constitutional difficulties.  But HLP’s proposed actions did not implicate this particular use of the material support law, and the issue received no mention in the opinion.

[31]. Humanitarian Law Project, 130 S. Ct. at 2730.

[32]. Id.

[33]. For an overview of § 2339B prosecutions, see Robert M. Chesney, Federal Prosecution of Terrorism-Related Offenses: Conviction and Sentencing Data in Light of the ‘Soft-Sentence’ and ‘Data-Reliability’ Critiques, 11 Lewis & Clark L. Rev. 851, 894–901 (2007) (including an appendix listing prosecutions between 2001 and 2007).