By Steven I. Friedland

“The world isn’t run by weapons anymore, or energy, or money.  It’s run by little ones and zeroes, little bits of data.  It’s all just electrons.”[1]

We live in an era of mass surveillance. Advertisers, corporations and the government engage in widespread data collection and analysis, using such avenues as cell phone location information, the Internet, camera observations, and drones.  As technology and analytics advance, mass surveillance opportunities continue to grow.[2]

The growing surveillance society is not necessarily harmful[3] or unconstitutional.  The United States must track people and gather data to defend against enemies and malevolent actors.  Defenses range from stopping attempts to breach government computers and software programs,[4] to identifying and thwarting potential terroristic conduct and threats at an embryonic stage.

Yet, without lines drawn to limit mass data gathering, especially in secret, unchecked government snooping likely will continue to expand.  John Kerry, the sitting Secretary of State, even recently acknowledged that the government has “sometimes reached too far” with its surveillance.[5] The stakes for drawing lines demarcating privacy rights and the government’s security efforts have never been higher or more uncertain.

This Article argues that the forgotten Third Amendment, long in desuetude, should be considered to harmonize and intersect with the Fourth Amendment to potentially limit at least some mass government surveillance.  While the Fourth Amendment has been the sole source of search and seizure limitations, the Third Amendment should be added to the privacy calculus,[6] because it provides a clear allocation of power between military and civil authorities and creates a realm of privacy governed by civil law.

Consequently, in today’s digital world it would be improper to read the words of the Third Amendment literally, merely as surplusage. Instead, the Amendment’s check on government tyranny should be viewed as restricting cybersoldiers from focusing surveillance instrumentalities[7] on and around private residences or businesses in an intrusive way—or using proxies to do so—that would serve as the functional equivalent of military quartering in the civil community.

I.  Mass Surveillance

Imagine an America with continual domestic drones, which collected camera and cell phone surveillance of every person in a particular residential subdivision, business headquarters, or city high-rise building.  The surveillance would be mostly secret but “in public,” capturing people sitting on rocking chairs on their front porches, unloading bags of groceries from their cars, opening their wallets to pay bills, and anything visible through windows in private residences and businesses.  People who go to sporting events or the supermarket would have their faces matched to an existing database. The metadata from Internet use, cell phone location data and other sources, including hyper-local observations, would be fed into computers for complex analysis and combined with other surveillance information.[8]  This information, all gathered and utilized outside the private space protected by the physical walls and doors of houses, would present a fairly intimate picture of these individuals over time, creating in essence a virtual window to what is occurring within the house or building, as well as without.[9]

Such a day is not far off. Drones and robots are currently being employed domestically in the skies,[10] on land, and in the seas[11] for various purposes, although apparently not yet on a continual and widespread basis. Yet, expansion of their use seems inevitable.[12] While most unmanned aircraft systems fly high overhead, out of sight, as more information is released and people look more carefully, we will know they are there. The government also is developing the Biometric Optical Surveillance System (“BOSS”), which will have tremendous capabilities for identifying people from distances of up to 100 meters.  This system was scheduled for testing at a public hockey game in the State of Washington in 2013.[13]  To supplement the information acquired directly, the government obtains considerable amounts of information through the consent of third parties.[14]

While surveillance is not overly intrusive when deployed in public places, where being watched can be expected, it still can be dangerous.[15] Surveillance, when taken as a whole with information and data gathering, can form a mosaic of intrusion in a manner similar to that described by Justices Alito and Sotomayor in their concurrences in the GPS tracking device case United States v. Jones.[16]  Pursuant to this “mosaic theory,” a privacy violation does not require a physical trespass.  One commentator noted the following,

Today’s police have to follow hunches, cultivate informants, subpoena ATM camera footage. . . . Tomorrow’s police . . . might sit in an office or vehicle as their metal agents methodically search for interesting behavior to record and relay. Americans can visualize and experience this activity as a physical violation of their privacy.[17]

Significantly, surveillance also is an expression of power—an accumulation of data that can be used against persons, even creating that intimate picture of what occurs inside a house when the cybersleuth never actually sets foot in it. As another commentator has observed about possible power abuses, “We cannot have a system, or even the appearance of a system, where surveillance is secret, or where decisions are made about individuals by a Kafkaesque system of opaque and unreviewable decision makers.” [18]

II.  The Third Amendment’s Place In Constitutional Orthodoxy

“[N]o Soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house, without the consent of the Owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law.”[19]

A.     Origins and Interpretations

The Third Amendment might have an obscure[20] and obsolete[21] place in constitutional law orthodoxy, yet it draws on a rich history. The bright-line Amendment[22] traces its origins to pre-revolutionary war England, where multiple abuses by the king in quartering soldiers, the Royal entourage and their horses in private residences led to laws prohibiting quartering in England.[23]These laws were enacted in part to avoid maintaining a standing army, especially during peacetime.[24]  For example, in 1689,the British Parliament enacted the Mutiny Act, which outlawed the quartering of troops in private homes without the owner’s consent.[25] A standing army was thought to provide a slippery slope to tyranny, and it was the confluence of military with civil authority that was the real problem, not simply the taking of private resources by the King.

Continued quartering abuses in the colonies led to the adoption of the Third Amendment. Patrick Henry argued for the amendment because it offered rule by civil authority, not military force, [26] as did Samuel Adams, who objected to soldiers quartered “in the body of a city” and not just houses.[27]

Perhaps the amendment’s desuetude is attributable in part to the fact that it has only been the subject of Supreme Court cases in passing, such as in Griswold v. Connecticut,[28] and just one significant direct judicial interpretation, Engblom v. Carey,[29] a 1981 Second Circuit Court of Appeals case. In Engblom, the court was confronted with a claim by two correctional officers who claimed their Third Amendment rights were infringed by the State of New York when the state quartered national guardsmen in their dormitory-style residences during a prison strike by the guards in an upstate New York prison.[30]  The guards were renting their rooms from the State.[31]

The court first applied the Third Amendment to the State of New York through the incorporation doctrine of the Fourteenth Amendment.[32]  Significantly, the court viewed several of the key terms in the amendment expansively. The court considered the national guardsmen to be “soldiers” and held that the Third Amendment applied to the guardsmen as “tenants,” even if they did not own their quarters, despite the express language in the amendment.[33]

B.     The Relationship Between the Third and Fourth Amendments

The Second Circuit in Engblom also used an analysis borrowed from the Fourth Amendment, setting forth a standard of a “legitimate expectation of privacy” to determine if Third Amendment rights were triggered.[34] It noted that the amendment’s objective was to protect the fundamental right to privacy in conjunction with the use and enjoyment of property rights.[35]

The Engblom analysis at least implicitly recognized the interlocking nature of the Third and Fourth Amendments and the primary role of the Fourth Amendment as the privacy standard bearer. As one noted commentator observed, “If the Fourth Amendment had never been enacted, the Third Amendment might have provided the raw material for generating something like an anti-search and seizure principle.”[36]

Constitutionally, courts have used the Fourth Amendment to protect against government snooping on others, but the Fourth Amendment has been strapped with textual limits, given its language protecting only against unreasonable, not all, searches and seizures, and interpretive limits authored by a reticent Supreme Court that has stuck by rules created in predigital cases.[37] Also, while the Fourth Amendment protects against United States government spying, it does not apply to such conduct by foreign governments, which can and do swap data with the United States,[38] or apparent swaps of data with thousands of technology, finance, and manufacturing companies.[39]

Preoccupation with the Fourth Amendment doctrine, combined with a Gresham’s Law style of constitutional application suggesting that general principles often end up marginalizing specific provisions, help explain the Third Amendment’s disuse.  A contextual interpretation of this amendment in the digital era could offer a significant link in a system of digital checks and balances.

III.  Interpretation

The Third Amendment’s relevancy to surveillance privacy depends on its interpretation,[40] both in terms of its themes and words. The amendment’s broad themes resonate in the world of “Big Data” and the Internet. The amendment provides a bright line allocation of power, with a clear distinction that limits the military and protects homes from intrusion without consent.  As evidenced by Due Process, Equal Protection, and other constitutional doctrines such as the Eighth Amendment, the Court often takes into account evolving facts and cultural transformations over time.  A more specific analysis of each component of the Amendment follows.

A.     War and Peace

The wartime/peacetime distinction in the amendment provides a useful contrast about the expansiveness of government power at different times. When compared to the Fourth Amendment, the framers of the Third Amendment provided a clear line of what is reasonable in times of war or peace.

B.     Soldiers

History is instructive. Early English case law reflects the concern over forced accommodations and board not only by soldiers, but also by the royal court and its entourage.[41] The prohibition extended to the soldiers’ instrumentalities, namely their horses.[42]  In the late 1700s, soldiers honorably fought in uniform generally within full view of the enemy. Times have changed. InEngblom, national guardsmen were considered soldiers, even though they were defending a domestic prison.  Today, the definition would certainly include cyber agents, military personnel who are paid to hack and disrupt another country’s software and hardware and to protect our own. Instead of horses, these cyber soldiers use codes or metal instrumentalities to invade others’ cyber spaces.[43] Using stealth and remote access to obtain and crunch data is the new face of warfare; these soldiers disrupt and disable various aspects of a country to keep it off balance and vulnerable. For example, deployment of the Stuxnet worm, placed on computers in Iran to disrupt its quest for nuclear weapons, is but one illustration of the new military.

C.         Quartering

Quartering historically came to mean an “act of a government in billeting or assigning soldiers to private houses, without the consent of the owners of such houses, and requiring such owners to supply them with board or lodging or both.”[44] Billeting can mean a letter ordering the assignment or the assignment itself.         This definition yields some insights.  Significantly, it is a military intrusion into home life—civilian life—by soldiers, which is why early English analysis incorporated the forced provision of board and the tethering of horses as part of quartering. Thus, it is the intrusion and diminishment of civil authority and life that matter, even if it is through remote access rather than the physical presence of the soldiers. An unmanned drone is the equivalent of a piloted plane. Would military personnel stationed regularly at businesses, or operating cameras on the rooftops of private residences or businesses, or even on all public mailboxes generate intimidation or intrusion into daily life? Would the intrusions still be significant if the soldiers were outside of the houses and businesses, in the curtilages, peering inside or the equivalent? Especially if seen or heard, electronic surveillance devices could significantly interfere with civilian community life and intrude on civilian authority. As one commentator has noted, “[G]overnment or industry surveillance of the populace with drones would be visible and highly salient. People would feel observed, regardless of how or whether the information was actually used.”[45]

Quartering today also can involve proxies, where the U.S. government knows and promotes the equivalent of private or foreign quartering for its own gain.  One illustration of proxy quartering might involve an agreement between countries to swap sensitive data on each other’s citizens, revealing the intricacies of civil life inside the cities and their residences or businesses.[46]

D.    Any Houses

The term “any houses” on its face appears highly restrictive.[47] Yet, at least in Engblom, it also means tenancies. While tenancies refers to residences, today there are a proliferation of buildings housing businesses, which fall within the types of civil occupancies where sensitive and confidential civil life occurs.  Invasions of these buildings without physical entry can occur regularly in the digital world, which is how the term should be judged and is in keeping with the intent of the framers.

While the term “any houses” could be more broadly construed to mean all private chattel or real property, including electronic devices,[48] this likely would expand the meaning of the amendment to become a version of the Fifth Amendment Takings Clause, not likely intended for the Third Amendment’s “houses” distinction, particularly when the Fourth Amendment protects not only houses, but also “persons, places, and effects.”

E.     Without Consent

Although the amendment permits quartering in peacetime with consent, if quartering extends to businesses, the government-private business partnerships create questions about the voluntariness of the relationships.  This is especially the case if the government inserts employees into the private business locations.  This type of relationship might not generate adequate voluntary consent.[49]

Conclusion

The Third Amendment no longer will be the forgotten amendment if it is considered to interlock with the Fourth Amendment to provide a check on some domestic mass surveillance intruding on civil life, particularly within the home, business or curtilage of each.  In the digital era, the dual purposes of the Amendment should be understood to potentially limit the reach of cyber soldiers and protect the enjoyment of a private tenancy without governmental incursion.



        [1].   Sneakers (Universal Pictures 1992).
        [2].   See, e.g., Quentin Hardy, Big Data’s Little Brother, N.Y. Times, Nov. 12, 2013, at B1 (“Collecting data from all sorts of odd places and analyzing it much faster than was possible even a couple of years ago has become one of the hottest areas of the technology industry. . . . Now Big Data is evolving,         becoming more “hyper” and including all sorts of sources.”).
        [3].   Contra Neil Richards, The Dangers of Surveillance, 126 Harv. L. Rev. 1934 passim (2013) (arguing that surveillance is a direct threat to “intellectual privacy,” or the notion that ideas develop best in private).
        [4].   China allegedly attempts to hack U.S. computers on a daily basis. See Keith Bradsher, China Blasts Hacking Claim by Pentagon, N.Y. Times (May 7, 2013), http://www.nytimes.com/2013/05/08/world/asia/china-criticizes-pentagon-report-on-cyberattacks.html.
        [5].   Mark Memmott, U.S. Spying Efforts Sometimes ‘Reached Too Far,’ Kerry Says, The Two Way, Nat’l Pub. Radio (Nov. 1, 2013), http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2013/11/01/242288704/u-s-spying-efforts -sometimes-reached-too-far-kerry-says (quoting John Kerry as saying that “some of the electronic surveillance programs of the National Security Agency have been on ‘automatic pilot’ in recent years and have inappropriately ‘reached too far’”).  Google’s Executive Chairman, Eric Schmidt, was less restrained about secret government spying, calling reports of National Security Agency (“NSA”) interception of the main communication links used by Google and Yahoo to connect to their data centers “outrageous.”  See Eyder Peralta, Google’s Eric Schmidt Says Reports of NSA Spying ‘Outrageous,’  The Two Way, Nat’l Pub. Radio (Nov. 4, 2013), http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2013/11/04 /242960648/googles-eric-schmidt-says-reports-of-nsa-spying-are-outrageous (“There clearly are cases where evil people exist, but you don’t have to violate the privacy of every single citizen of America to find them.”).
        [6].   For the dual rationales of the Amendment, see Geoffrey M. Wyatt, The Third Amendment in the Twenty-First Century: Military Recruiting on Private Campuses, 40 New Eng. L. Rev. 113, 122–24 (2005).
        [7].   Instrumentalities do not include malware such as the “Stuxnet” computer worm, tracking devices, cookies and more. The Stuxnet worm was allegedly used by several countries to infiltrate and infect Iran’s nuclear facilities. See Alan Butler, When Cyberweapons End Up on Private Networks: Third Amendment Implications for Cybersecurity Policy, 62 Am. U. L. Rev. 1203, 1204–05 (2013).
        [8].   Indeed, the NSA alone gathers 20 billion “record events” per day. James Risen & Laura Poitras, N.S.A. Examines Social Networks of U.S. Citizens, N.Y. Times, Sep. 29, 2013, at A1.
        [9].   This off-the-wall versus through-the-wall distinction was advanced in Kyllo v. United States, 533 U.S. 27 (2001), where the Court found that the police unconstitutionally used an infrared heat detection device to determine whether heat lamps were being used in the house to grow marijuana. Id. at 40.
      [10].   In fact, Robert Mueller, the current F.B.I. Director, recently conceded at a Senate hearing that drones indeed have been used for some “very minimal” domestic surveillance operations. Phil Mattingly, FBI Uses Drones in Domestic Surveillance, Mueller Says, Bloomberg (June 19, 2013), http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2013-06-19/fbi-uses-drones-in-domestic -sureillance-mueller-says.html.
      [11].   William Herkewitz, Ocean Drones Plumb New Depths, N.Y. Times, Nov. 12, 2013, at D1.
      [12].   M. Ryan Calo, The Drone As Privacy Catalyst, 64 Stan. L. Rev. Online 29, 30–31 (2013). Calo notes that there are several counties where drone use is occurring; however, there are also several restrictions that limit use of drones. See Operation and Certification of Small Unmanned Aircraft Systems (SUAS), 76 Fed. Reg. 40,107, 40,107–08 (July 7, 2011), available athttp://www.gpo.gov/fdsys/pkg/FR-2011-07-07/pdf/2011-15494.pdf#page=16.
      [13].   Eddie Keogh, DHS to Test Facial Recognition Software at Hockey Game, Reuters (Sept. 18, 2013), http://rt.com/usa/dhs-hockey-washington-face-033/.
      [14].   Another way the government obtains information is through warrants and requests under FISA.  See Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act, 50 U.S.C. §§ 1801-1885 (2010).
      [15].   See Neil Richards, supra note 3, at 1952–58. Professor Richards organizes his argument as follows: “Part II shows how surveillance menaces our intellectual privacy and threatens the development of individual beliefs in ways that are inconsistent with the basic commitments of democratic societies. Part III explores how surveillance distorts the power relationships between the watcher and the watched, enhancing the watcher’s ability to blackmail, coerce, and discriminate against the people under its scrutiny.” Id. at 1936.
      [16].   132 S. Ct. 945, 956 (2012) (Sotomayor, J., concurring); Id. at 961 (Alito, J., concurring).  The case involved the placement of a GPS device on a private individual’s car.  Id. at 948 (majority opinion).  Writing for the majority, Justice Scalia found that the installation of the device was a search within the meaning of the Fourth Amendment.  Id. at 952.
      [17].   Calo, supra note 12, at 32.
      [18].   Neil M. Richards & Jonathan H. King, Three Paradoxes of Big Data, 66 Stan. L. Rev. Online 41, 43 (2013).  The authors discuss the paradox of power associated with Big Data, stating that “[b]ig data will create winners and losers, and it is likely to benefit the institutions that wield its tools over the individuals being mined, analyzed, and sorted. Not knowing the appropriate legal or technical boundaries, each side is left guessing. Individuals succumb to denial while governments and corporations get away with what they can by default, until they are left reeling from scandal after shock of disclosure.”  Id. at 45.
      [19].   U.S. Const. amend. III.
      [20].   William S. Fields & David T. Hardy, The Third Amendment and the Issue of the Maintenance of Standing Armies: ALegal History, 35 Am. J. Legal Hist. 393, 429 (1991).
      [21].   Morton Horwitz, Is the Third Amendment Obsolete? 26 Val. U.  L.  Rev. 209 passim (1991).
      [22].   This provision firmly states its singular prohibition.  Interestingly, it still arguably has been violated on multiple occasions. See, e.g., B. Carmon Hardy, A Free People’s Intolerable Grievancein The Bill of Rights, A Lively Heritage 67, 69 (1987); Tom W. Bell, “Property” in the Constitution: A View From the Third Amendment, 20 Wm. & Mary Bill Rts. J. 1243, 1276 (2012).
      [23].   See, e.g., B. Carmon Hardy, A Free People’s Intolerable Grievance – The Quartering of Troops and the Third Amendment, 33 Va. Cavalcade 126 (1984); J. Alan Rogers, Colonial Opposition to the Quartering of Troops During the French and Indian War, 34 Mil. Aff. 7, 7–11 (1970).
      [24].   Fields & Hardy, supra note 20, at 395; Hardy, supra note 23; Rogers, supra note 23.
      [25].   Horwitz, supra note 21, at 210.
      [26].   Patrick Henry, Patrick Henry’s Objections to a National Army and James Madison’s Reply, Virginia Convention (June 16, 1788), in 2 The Debate on the Constitution 695, 696–97 (Bernard Bailyn ed., 1993).
      [27].   Samuel Adams, Letter to the Editor, Bos. Gazette, Oct. 17, 1768, reprinted in 5 The Founders’ Constitution 215, 215 (Philip B. Kurland & Ralph Lerner eds., 1987) (“No man can pretend to say that the peace and good order of the community is so secure with soldiers quartered in the body of a city as without them.”).
      [28].   381 U.S. 479, 484 (1965) (discussing the Third Amendment as a part of the penumbras forming a constitutional privacy right).
      [29].   677 F.2d 957 (2d Cir. 1982).
      [30].   Id. at 958–59.
      [31].   Id. at 959–60.
      [32].   Id. at 961.
      [33].   Id. at 961–62.
      [34].   See William Sutton Fields, The Third Amendment: Constitutional Protection from the Involuntary Quartering of Soldiers, 124 Mil. L. Rev. 195, 207 & n.108 (1989); Ann Marie C. Petrey, Comment, The Third Amendment’s Protection Against Unwanted Military Intrusion, 49 Brook. L. Rev. 857, 857–64 (1983).
      [35].   Engblom, 677 F.2d at 962.
      [36].   See Horwitz, supra note 21, at 214.
      [37].   See, e.g., the physical trespass test used in United States v. Jones, 132 S. Ct. 945, 950–52 (2012); Id. at 955 (Sotomayor, J., concurring) (“[T]he trespassory test applied in the majority’s opinion reflects an irreducible constitutional minimum.”). The case involved the placement of a GPS device on a private individual’s car. Id. at 948 (majority opinion).  Justice Scalia found that doing so without a warrant unconstitutionally violated Mr. Jones’s property rights. Id. at 949.
      [38].   A prime illustration is the relationship between England and the United States.  They have swapped sensitive data on each other’s citizens, doing indirectly what is not permitted directly.  British Spy Agency Taps Cables, Shares with U.S. NSA – Guardian, Reuters (June 21, 2013), http://uk.reuters.com/article/2013/06/21/uk-usa-security-britain -idUKBRE95K10620130621.
      [39].   Michael Riley, U.S. Agencies Said to Swap Data with Thousands of Firms, Bloomberg (June 15, 2013), http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2013-06 -14/u-s-agencies-said-to-swap-data-with-thousands-of-firms.html.
      [40].   Most scholars believe that words in the Constitution require interpretation.  Originalism, for example, looks to ground the meaning of the words based on the era and its sources.  Construction can have varying levels of strictness. For example, Justice Scalia believes that “[w]ords have meaning. And their meaning doesn’t change.” Jennifer Senior, In Conversation: Antonin Scalia, N.Y. Mag. (Oct. 6, 2013) http://nymag.com/news/features/antonin-scalia-2013-10/.
      [41].   Tom W. Bell, The Third Amendment: Forgotten but Not Gone, 2 Wm. & Mary Bill Rts. J. 117, 121 (1993).
      [42].   Id. at 123 n.46 (citing Coram Rege Roll, no. 564 (Easter 1402), m. 28d, at Westminster in Middlesex, reprinted in VII Select Cases in the Court of King’s Bench 121-23 (G.O. Sayles ed., 1971)).
      [43].   See Butler, supra note 7, at 1231–33, for an argument that it does trigger the Third Amendment.
      [44].   Quartering Soldiers, The Law Dictionary, http://thelawdictionary.org /quartering-soldiers/ (last visited Jan. 13, 2013).
      [45].   Calo, supra note 12, at 33.
      [46].   See supra note 38.
      [47].   Given the rejection of an alternative Amendment that would have limited it only to private and not public houses, the Framers opted for a broader approach.  Compare Bell, supra note 41, at 129 n.105, with U.S. Const. amend. III.
      [48].   A recent commentator has provided the Amendment with a similar construction. See Butler, supra note 7, at 1230.
      [49].   The government also pays and partners with companies to produce and swap data. Riley, supra note 39.

By Bradley Pollina

Introduction

The Supreme Court recently handed down its decision in Florida v. Jardines,[1] affirming by a 5-4 vote the Florida Supreme Court’s ruling[2] that the police’s use of a trained narcotics detection dog on the front porch of a home is a “search” within the meaning of the Fourth Amendment.  This case is the first time the Court has applied the non-Katz-based search doctrine articulated in United States v. Jones.[3]  As will be more fully elaborated below, it is my claim that the Court purposely avoided using the word “trespass” so as not to reverse the Florida state courts, which had decided that the police were lawfully present on the defendant’s property at the time of the dog sniff, on an issue lying at the heart of state court competence—that is, application of the common law of trespass.

Recall that in Katz v. United States,[4] the Court overruled Olmstead v. United States.[5]  The Court in Olmstead held that wiretapping was not a Fourth Amendment search because there was no physical police invasion of property that would constitute a trespass—there was no “entry of the houses or offices of the defendants.”[6]  Justice Harlan authored a concurring opinion in Katz that was to become the dominant formulation of the test for a search under the Fourth Amendment[7]—if the individual has manifested a subjective expectation of privacy and society is prepared to accept that expectation as reasonable, then there is a right to privacy protected by the Fourth Amendment in those circumstances.[8]

Justice Scalia, writing for the Court in Jones, reasoned that the “persons, houses, papers and effects” portion of the Fourth Amendment would be rendered superfluous if the Fourth Amendment were not closely tied to property rights.[9]  According to Justice Scalia’s opinion, and much to the surprise of many observers, Katz’s reasonable expectation of privacy (“REOP”) standard “added to”—but did not “substitute[] for”—the common law trespassory test used by the Court for decades prior and embodied inOlmstead.[10]  As the Court put it, “for most of our history the Fourth Amendment was understood to embody a particular concern for government trespass upon the areas (‘persons, houses, papers, and effects’) it enumerates.  Katz did not repudiate that understanding.”[11]  As a result, information gained by the government’s trespassory activity would be the product of a search within the meaning of the Fourth Amendment.[12]  Five members of the Court saw the police’s placement of a GPS device on the defendant’s car as a governmental trespass on private property, therefore constituting a Fourth Amendment search.[13]  Four others concurred in the judgment, but rejected the trespass rationale.[14]

I.  Dissecting Jardines: Rationalizing the Court’s Options

It is quite clear that in Jardines, Justice Scalia did not rely on the REOP strand of Jones.  But what is curious is that he did not use the word “trespass” once in his majority opinion.[15]  Instead, Justice Scalia conspicuously referred to that portion of theJones opinion as holding that “‘when the Government obtains information by physically intruding’ on persons, houses, papers or effects,” a search has occurred.[16]  Because, according to the majority, that occurred when the police brought a narcotics-sniffing dog to the defendant’s front door to search for drug activity, there was no reason to reach the question of whether the defendant’s reasonable expectation of privacy was violated.[17]

In my view, the “trespass” test articulated in Jones and the “physical intrusion” application in Jardines are identical in content.  Indeed, Justice Kagan’s concurring opinion understands the majority opinion to have found that the police conduct constituted a trespass.[18]  The dissent reached a similar conclusion (though it obviously did not agree that one had occurred).[19]  What is more difficult to discern is whether or not this branch of Fourth Amendment doctrine relies on common law trespass—as theJones majority articulated it—or on some notion of constitutional common law, under which the federal and state courts are to decide if the police committed a “physical intrusion” having constitutional significance.  But in my view, there is little reason to think it is the latter.  Aside from the understanding evidenced by the concurring and dissenting justices, the remainder of this Article offers another reason to think that the Jones test is alive and well as articulated in that opinion, and that there were other, more deeply-rooted reasons for the Court to avoid using the magic word “trespass” in Jardines, and instead rely on a notion of “physical intrusion” in.

It will be interesting to see how this issue plays out in the lower courts, but for the sake of observation, I suspect that the majority in Jardines had a particular reason for not using the word “trespass” despite the strong expectation that it would do so based on the opinion in Jones.  My theory is that Justice Scalia did not want to intrude upon the Florida courts’ handling of the trespass issue.  As the dissent in the Florida Supreme Court decision points out, it was undisputed that the police were lawfully present at Jardines’ front door.[20]  There was no trespass under state law-that much was clear for the remainder of litigation in the Florida courts[21]-and the United States Supreme Court.[22]  Conversely, the Florida Supreme Court had found a search under the more traditional Katz/REOP test.[23]  It decidedly did not revisit the trespass issue, and let stand the Florida Court of Appeals’ ruling that the police were lawfully present at the defendant’s front door.[24]

Thus, in order for the U.S. Supreme Court to affirm the finding of a “search,” I think it had three main options: 1) affirm that a search had occurred on the REOP rationale, 2) vacate on the REOP analysis and remand to the state courts for consideration in light of Jones and the trespass rationale (decided after the Florida Supreme Court decided Jardines), or 3) find a search based on the Jones trespass test and commit a blunder of judicial federalism.[25]

The first option would seem the easiest, and it is what I thought the Court was poised to do.  However, the majority turned out to be much more eager to apply the “new” Jones rationale (that Justice Scalia claimed was actually an old rationale) instead of traditional REOP doctrine from Katz.[26]  The second option would be unsatisfactory, since it would leave the ultimate disposition of an important Fourth Amendment issue (dog sniffs as searches) unresolved during more litigation in the state courts, and even then, the Florida courts’ resolution of the Fourth Amendment question would not necessarily be binding in other states.  Furthermore, if the Supreme Court reversed the state courts on the REOP rationale, the judgment entered on remand would probably be one finding “no search” since there is no reason to believe the issue of trespass would be decided any differently by the state courts the second time around.[27]  This option would accomplish little, save for virtually requiring the state courts to find that no search occurred and, perhaps more cynically, would only be useful if that is the result the justices wanted.

The third option would be something of an intrusion into the routine workings of the state courts, since it would involve the United States Supreme Court resolving a basic question of state tort law that was settled below in the state courts.[28]  Answering the question of whether a common law trespass occurred is an issue at the heart of state court decision making.  In other words, if the Supreme Court disagreed that the dog sniff violated a reasonable expectation of privacy, but nevertheless thought that a trespass—and therefore a search—had occurred, it essentially would be telling the Florida state courts that they had misapplied the common law of trespass.[29]

While not inconceivable,[30] this approach would not comport with a reasonable sense of federal non-interference with state court adjudication.  This is best understood as a question of jurisdictional discretion—while the Supreme Court could reverse a state court’s resolution of a state law issue, it might decline to do so based on respect for the state court.  Similarly, it could simply resolve the case on other grounds to avoid the problem.  Here, the Court could have simply affirmed on the REOP rationale and declined to apply the new Jones analysis.[31]

The way that the Court decided Jardines is substantively in line with the third option—it found that a search had occurred, but not on the traditional REOP framework.  And this is what precipitated the fourth “option.”  The Court resolved the search issue on the new Jones rationale without saying it was actually finding a “trespass.”

II.  Why the Court Didn’t Say “Trespass”

My claim is that Justice Scalia took this approach (“physical intrusion” instead of “trespass”) in the first instance, and gained the support of four other justices in conference, in order not to offend the Florida state courts by re-working (i.e., reversing) their resolution of the common law trespass issue.  I see no explanation in the majority opinion of how the Jones “trespass” test has changed in any way in Jardines, where it was described as a “physical intrusion” rationale.[32]  Nor is an explanation provided by the other justices writing separately in concurrence or dissent.[33]  Instead, I think Justice Scalia purposely minced his words in a way that allowed de facto application of the Jones trespass rationale without using the word “trespass.”  There is a strong background notion shared by many onlookers that, despite the Court’s technical ability to do so, it should not (and in this case would not) re-visit an issue so central to the daily work of a state court.[34]  The majority could, to some extent, blunt the resonance of such a move by carefully selecting its words.

To ground things a bit more in federal courts doctrine, consider the jurisdictional principles at play in the case.  There is no doubt that the Supreme Court possesses the jurisdiction to decide non-federal issues when they are antecedent to the resolution of an issue of federal statutory or constitutional right, as in these Fourth Amendment search cases.[35]  The issue of whether a common law trespass occurred must be determined in order to decide whether a “search” occurred within the meaning of the federal Constitution—indeed, the answer to the “search” question is entirely answered by the “trespass question.”  But I think that larger issues of federal-state judicial relations were at play in this case, and that was what was driving the unexpected outcome.  As Professor Shapiro has explained, “a court will often acknowledge that it has jurisdiction over the subject matter of a dispute yet, despite Marshall’s dictum, will refrain from exercising it.”[36]  In other jurisdictional settings (i.e., not on review of a state court judgment), the Court has developed a set of abstention doctrines designed to promote equity, comity, and federalism—Pullman,[37] Burford,[38] and Younger[39] to name a few of the most prominent examples.  Similarly, on direct review of state court judgments, the Court’s decision in a given case not to visit certain issues resolved in the state courts may also be driven by concerns for comity and federalism.  Leaving undisturbed a state court’s ruling on an issue in a case is a vote of confidence for the state courts; on the other hand, a reversal of a state court’s ruling on a run-of-the mill question may create friction between the federal and state judicial systems.  By not using the word “trespass” and appearing to retreat from the repeated use of that word inJones, Justice Scalia seems to have decided the case on an altered rationale.  But on closer examination, it appears that he may have been trying to avoid the affront to the state courts that would have occurred had he explicitly second-guessed a common law question at the core of their competence by saying that a trespass took place.  Calling the conduct at issue a “physical intrusion,” at the very least, avoided this in name.  How successful this attempt was at avoiding friction with the Florida state courts on a decidedly non-federal issue is another matter entirely.

Conclusion

In summary, the Court decided that the sanctity of the home was offended by the dog sniff in this case since the police entered this constitutionally protected area, but it did so in a roundabout way.  The result is that the state of the Jones “trespass” test is in flux and will spawn more litigation over whether there must be a finding of a common law trespass in order to rely upon that branch of Fourth Amendment search doctrine, or if instead, state and federal courts are to rely upon some notion of an unconstitutional “physical intrusion” whose relationship to common law trespass is unclear at this point in time.  Moreover, this case illustrates that the procedural posture of a case on certiorari from a state supreme court may affect the substantive content of the decision in the United States Supreme Court.  Here, there is strong reason to believe—in light of judicial federalism—that the finding in the Florida Court of Appeals that the officer and dog were lawfully present on the property tied the hands of the Supreme Court ever so slightly.  As a result, the Court’s holding finding a search was less than straightforward and tiptoed around the word “trespass” while, in effect, holding that is precisely what occurred.

 


         [1].   133 S. Ct. 1409 (2013).

         [2].   See Jardines v. Florida, 73 So. 3d 34 (Fla. 2011).  The Florida Supreme Court held that the Fourth Amendment draws a “firm line at the entrance of the house” and that the “sniff test” undertaken by the police and K9 partner was a search requiring probable cause and a warrant.  Id. at 55-56.  Since the dog sniff was conducted without a warrant, the search was held unreasonable and the evidence of drug activity was suppressed.  See id.

         [3].   132 S. Ct. 945 (2012).  The Court held that Fourth Amendment protections do not “rise or fall” with the Katzformulation, and that the Amendment is also concerned with government trespass.  Id. at 950.

         [4].   389 U.S. 347 (1967).

         [5].   277 U.S. 438 (1928).

         [6].   Id. at 464.

         [7].   See, e.g., Orin Kerr, The Fourth Amendment and New Technologies: Constitutional Myths and the Case for Caution, 102 Mich. L. Rev. 801, 820 (2004) (noting, in this pre-Jones article, that the touchstone of the Fourth Amendment is the “reasonable expectation of privacy” test which first appeared in Justice Harlan’s Katz concurrence).

         [8].   Katz, 389 U.S. at 361 (Harlan, J., concurring).

         [9].   Jones, 132 S. Ct. at 950.

       [10].   Id. at 952.

       [11].   Id. at 950 (citation omitted).

       [12].   A “search” requires probable cause and a warrant.  So the syllogism continues: if the government is trespassing, it quite obviously does not have a warrant, and is thus committing an unreasonable search within the meaning of the Fourth Amendment.

       [13].   James, 132 S. Ct. at 954.

       [14].   Id. at 957 (Alito, J., concurring).  Justice Alito’s analysis began: “I would analyze the question presented in this case by asking whether respondent’s reasonable expectations of privacy were violated by the long-term monitoring of the movements of the vehicle he drove.”  Id. at 958.

       [15].   Professor Kerr first identified this issue in an article in The Volokh Conspiracy.  See Orin Kerr, Supreme Court Hands Down Florida v. Jardines, Volokh Conspiracy (Mar. 26, 2013 10:38 AM), http://www.volokh.com/2013/03
/26/supreme-court-hands-down-florida-v-jardines/.

       [16].   Florida v. Jardines, 133 S. Ct. 1409, 1414 (2013) (quoting Jones, 132 S. Ct. at 950-51 n.3 (emphasis added)).

       [17].   See id. at 1417.

       [18].   See id. at 1418 (Kagan, J., concurring).

       [19].   See id. at 1420 (Alito, J., dissenting).

       [20].   Jardines v. Florida, 73 So. 3d 34, 61 (Fla. 2011) (Polston, J., dissenting) (“[I]t is undisputed that one dog and two officers were lawfully and briefly present near the front door of Jardines’ residence when the dog sniff at issue in this case took place.”).

       [21].   State v. Jardines, 9 So. 3d 1, 4 (Fla. Dist. Ct. App. 2008) (“[T]he officer and the dog were lawfully present at the defendant’s front door . . .”).

       [22].   See supra text accompanying note 16.

       [23].   See Jardines, 73 So. 3d at 46.

       [24].   See supra note 21.

       [25].   At oral argument, Justice Alito explicitly asked counsel for the defendant why the Court should not accept as a statement of Florida law that no trespass occurred, indicating some uneasiness from the bench with re-deciding an issue of state tort law and causing friction between the federal and state courts in our system of dual sovereignty.  See Transcript of Oral Argument at 59, Florida v. Jardines, 133 S. Ct. 1409 (2013) (No. 11-564), available athttp://www.supremecourt.gov/oral_arguments/argument_transcripts/11-564.pdf.

       [26].   See Jardines, 133 S. Ct. at 1417.

       [27].   That is, there is no reason to think the finding of “no trespass” would be re-visited in any way.

       [28].   See supra note 21.

       [29].   To be clear, since there is no federal law of trespass, a judgment from the Supreme Court holding that a search had occurred due to a governmental trespass would effectively reverse the Florida courts on their resolution of an issue of common law.

       [30].   See infra note 34.

       [31].   See generally David L. Shapiro, Jurisdiction and Discretion, 60. N.Y.U. L. Rev. 543 (1985) (outlining the various ways in which the Supreme Court could exercise discretion on review of state court cases and concluding the discretion is necessary to avoid undue interference with the states).

       [32].   See supra note 16.

       [33].   See supra text accompanying notes 18-19.

       [34].   In conversations with Judge Raymond Lohier of the Second Circuit Court of Appeals, Judge John Koeltl of the District Court for the Southern District of New York, and Professor Helen Herhskoff of NYU Law, all told me that they had strong doubts that the Court would decide the Jardines case on anything but the REOP rationale, since going beyond that issue, and onto the new Jones test, would require a disagreement with the Florida courts on whether a common law trespass had occurred.  They all echoed Justice Alito’s concern of failing to accept the state courts’ resolution as an authoritative statement of Florida law.  Discussion with Judge Raymond Lohier, 2nd Circuit Court of Appeals and Judge John Koeltl, United States District Court for the Southern District of New York, in New York City., N.Y. (February 27, 2013) during New York University School of Law Constitutional Litigation Seminar, held at the United States District Court for the Southern District of New York, 500 Pearl Street, New York, NY; Interview with Helen Hershkoff, Herbert M. and Svetlana Wachtell Professor of Constitutional Law and Civil Liberties, New York University School of Law, in New York City., N.Y. (March 4, 2013).

       [35].   The Supreme Court has certiorari jurisdiction to review state court judgments under 28 U.S.C. § 1257 (2012).  It has been relatively clear since Martin v. Hunter’s Lessee, 14 U.S. 304 (1816), that the Supreme Court, on review of a state court judgment, can review antecedent state law questions, which are those that must be decided in order to ultimately determine whether the state court properly decided an issue of federal law.  However, the Supreme Courts (and federal courts more generally) has adopted a set of abstention doctrines under which jurisdiction—and competence to address a certain issue—may be declined for reasons of equity, comity, or federalism.  The federal courts have not held fast to Justice Marshall’s admonition inCohens v. Virginia: “We have no more right to decline the exercise of jurisdiction which is given, than to usurp that which is not given.  The one or the other would be treason to the Constitution.”  Cohens v. Virginia, 19 U.S. 264, 404 (1821).

       [36].   Shapiro, supra note 31 at 547.

       [37].   See generally, Railroad Comm’n of Tex. v. Pullman Co., 312 U.S. 496 (1941).  Pullman abstention involves staying a federal court action, but retaining jurisdiction, so that the state courts have an opportunity to interpret the constitutionally-suspect statute in question and thereby, potentially avoid the need for a constitutional decision.

       [38].   See Burford v. Sun Oil Co., 319 U.S. 315 (1943).  Under Burford abstention, a federal court sitting in diversity may stay its hand where the state courts have greater expertise in a question of state policy, and the question is of substantial importance to a state administrative scheme.  The idea is that the federal court should hesitate before interfering in a state administrative scheme in which the state courts play a vital role.

       [39].   See generally, Younger v. Harris, 401 U.S. 37 (1971).  Younger abstention is based on a rule of equity which forbids a court of equity from enjoining ongoing criminal proceedings, even where the individual being prosecuted is raising federal constitutional claims.  Also at play is a principle of comity, which holds that the state court will give the federal constitutional defenses in the criminal case a fair shake.

By: Josh Bowers*

Introduction

There is a broad swath of cases—perhaps the majority in many jurisdictions—where arrests are based on the allegations and observations of no witnesses except the arresting officers; where there are no concrete victims; where cases are typically resolved with some form of guilty plea at the first appearance or shortly thereafter; where there is almost no practical interval for any kind of discovery, and, in any event, such discovery would consist of little more than the arresting officer’s paperwork; and where there is even less practical opportunity for any kind of formal substantive litigation.[1]  When I practiced in New York City, we called these cases “disposables,” because that is precisely what we were expected to do with them.  These “disposable” cases are almost always public-order violations and misdemeanors—turnstile hops, public urination, disorderly conduct, loitering, graffiti on public property, prostitution, simple possession of drugs and marijuana, to name just a few of the many low-level offenses that have been the focus of aggressive order-maintenance policing initiatives in urban centers over the past two decades.

From the defendant’s perspective, available process in these disposable cases consists principally of the brief opportunity to convince the arresting officer to do otherwise and to persuade appointed counsel to push hard for a plea offer below the conventional market rate.  From the public’s perspective, process is inaccessible and unassessable.  The adjudication (and ultimate summary disposition) of these cases is a decidedly professional endeavor.[2]

The costs of this state of affairs are potentially significant.  Specifically, order-maintenance policing and prosecution initiatives inordinately tend to focus on the very communities where disorder is most likely found.[3]  And this creates something of a paradox.  Because disorder correlates with poverty, and poverty correlates with race, normatively and instrumentally defensible efforts to root out disorder may, counterintuitively, generate disorder by cultivating undesirable perceptions of unequal justice.[4]  That is, prosecutors and police may undermine their own efforts by unintentionally promoting destructive “connotations of racial hierarchy and domination.”[5]  In this way, order-maintenance enforcement may prove self-defeating.[6]  Significantly, lay and local participation in law enforcement may provide a counterweight to lay perceptions of unfairness and injustice.[7]  Indeed, public participation in criminal justice has the capacity to not just reshape pernicious perceptions of unfairness and injustice, but, perhaps, to promote fairness and justice in fact.[8]

Such an insight is not new to the literature on community policing and prosecution.[9]  In this vein, community-prosecution advocates have offered a number of radical proposals—neighborhood prosecution programs, community justice counsels, and other problem-solving initiatives—intended to promote local democratic decision making.[10]  In theory, I find no fault with such inventive reform, but I think we may have overlooked a more conventional option.  Instead of grasping for novel solutions outside the box, the system could do more with less by reconceptualizing the box itself.[11]  What I have in mind is a misdemeanor grand jury that would address the normative—or extralegal—question of whether a public-order charge is equitably appropriate in the particular case.  In other words, I propose reorienting the grand jury’s focus in two meaningful ways: first, from the technical question of probable cause to the normative question of whether charges are reasonable; and, second, from prospective serious felony prosecutions to low-level mala prohibita prosecutions that are likelier to raise tough normative questions and thereby to implicate equitable reasons against charging.[12]  In this Article, I posit that such reform effectively could promote goals consistent with the community-prosecution enterprise, which Tony Thompson has identified as decentralization of authority, accountability, and collaboration to promote problem solving.[13]

Before continuing, I should note that I have my reservations about community-prosecution and community-justice efforts more generally.  As critics and even some supporters of such initiatives have recognized, the very notion of community justice is amorphous—perhaps even vacuous and potentially dangerous.[14]  The precise boundaries of the relevant community and what counts as community prosecution are close to indefinable.[15]  And even if we could divine a precise definition, it might serve only to marginalize those subgroups that fell outside the lines.[16]

However, this Article was prepared for a symposium on community justice, and, for present purposes, I intend to operate within that paradigm.  If nothing else, I agree with Bob Weisberg, who has observed that the concept of community justice may serve as a useful heuristic—a stand-in for certain ill-defined, but nevertheless worthwhile, aspirations from which contemporary professionalized criminal justice has moved too far away.  By Weisberg’s reasoning, if we are careful, we may successfully use the “vocabulary” of community without being used by it.[17]  Thus, I offer this rough-and-ready proposal not as a one-size-fits-all universal solution, but as a potentially attractive option for prosecution offices that are dedicated already to the community-justice enterprise.[18]  In short, I make no constitutional or even legal claim.[19]  Rather, I submit that a district attorney’s office committed to community prosecution might advance its objectives effectively by taking the idea of an expressly normative grand jury seriously.

And, significantly, the reform that I have in mind would be no great stretch.  Specifically, as I explain in Part I, the grand jury historically served (and, in sub-rosafashion, continues to serve) as a normative check, notwithstanding its ostensible function as a probable-cause screen.  In Part II, I proceed from the descriptive to the normative and make the case for the normative grand jury, offering reasons to believe that the grand jury can provide a more desirable and effective equitable, rather than legal, screen.  And in Part III, I offer some ideas about how to construct an efficient screen that minimizes the danger of arbitrary or discriminatory decision making cloaked as equitable discretion.  Finally, in Part IV, I observe that the normative grand jury has the capacity to promote discourse, democratic values, and perceptions of systemic legitimacy—again, goals consistent with the community-justice movement.

I.  Upside-Down Grand Juries

The modern grand jury’s ostensible function is to test the legal sufficiency of criminal charges only.[20]  When it comes to this legal determination, the conventional debate has been over whether to describe the grand jury’s function as accusatory or adjudicatory in nature.[21]  More recently, however, a number of scholars have observed that this binary conception of the grand jury is overly simplistic.[22]  Instead, the grand jury fairly may be thought of as more of a quasi-legislative body than an executive or judicial body.  More to the point, when the grand jury refuses to indict a prospective defendant, it may do so for reasons that have little to do with the lack of probable cause.  Rather, the grand jury may base its decision on a determination that the charge is equitably unauthorized—that the charge is, on balance, unfair or contrary to community interests or norms.  According to Ric Simmons: “[G]rand juries have always done more than simply measure evidence against a given legal standard; frequently they have made discretionary, political judgments about the cases before them.”[23]  On this reading, the grand jury is more of a grassroots political “fourth branch” of government—one that serves to reshape the rough edges of the law in a decidedly populist fashion.[24]  It provides a mechanism for the intuitive expression of local sentiments that may deviate from general legislative directives or specific executive enforcement decisions.

By way of recent example, consider the decision of a New Orleans grand jury to reject homicide charges against a doctor and two nurses arrested for euthanizing patients in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina.[25]  Or consider the decision of a New York City grand jury to reject felony gun possession charges against professional football player Antonio Pierce, who allegedly concealed from police a gun that a teammate had discharged accidentally.[26]  In both cases, it seems likely that the grand juries had probable cause to file the proposed charges.  Nevertheless, the bodies refused to indict, presumably based on what they perceived to be a lack of blameworthiness.[27]

Significantly, this conception of the grand jury as a “de facto local legislature” is consistent with the institution’s historical role.[28]  At common law, the grand jury tailored application of the prospective offense to fit the perceived culpability of the prospective offender.  Put differently, the early grand jury trafficked in equity, not legal standards and rules.  According to Roger Fairfax:

[T]he underlying premise . . . is that the grand jury’s defining purpose is to test the sufficiency of the evidence by determining whether probable cause exists.  To the contrary, the grand jury was never designed as a mere sounding board to test the sufficiency of the evidence. . . . Where the grand jury truly adds value is through its ability to exercise robust discretion not to indict where probable cause nevertheless exists.[29]

To put a finer historical point on it, consider this grand jury instruction from 1759, which provided that potential charges “need no Explanation your Good Sense & understanding will Direct ye as to them.”[30]  Thus, the determination was decidedly normative—an evaluation of “general moral blameworthiness.”[31]  In other words, the common law grand jury served as a tool of community justice—as a popular and localized democratic check on state power plays.

Indeed, almost every seminal and celebrated early case featured a grand jury that took a normative, not legal, stand.  For example, in 1681, English grand juries refused to indict Lord Shaftesbury and his confederate Stephen Colledge for treason.[32]  Likewise, in 1734, two grand juries refused to indict John Peter Zenger for libel against the Royal Governor of New York.[33]  Most commentators agree that these defendants were almost certainly legally guilty—or that, at a minimum, probable cause was apparent.[34]  Nevertheless, the grand jurors declined charges because they “were politically opposed to the prosecutions.”[35]

Once we come to understand the genuine and longstanding function of the grand jury, it becomes a bit clearer why contemporary grand juries so frequently indict: the body evaluates only the more serious—often mala in se—cases that raise relatively little normative disagreement between the prosecutor and grand jury about the wisdom of prospective charges.[36]  Specifically, in nineteen states and in the federal system, grand jury indictments are required to initiate felony charges only.[37]  Four states only require grand jury indictments for felony charges that carry potential sentences of life imprisonment or death.[38]  Conversely, almost no jurisdiction extends the grand jury requirement to misdemeanor charges.[39]  Indeed, the misdemeanor indictment is an almost unheard of anomaly.

Thus, there exists something of a disconnect.  Most lay and professional stakeholders already agree that suspected murderers, rapists, and robbers almost always oughtto be charged where probable cause exists to support such charges.[40]  However, reasonable minds may, and often do, disagree about optimal or fair levels of (or strategies for) enforcement of petty public-order offenses.[41]  Indeed, the anecdotal (and limited)[42] empirical evidence indicates that grand juries do, in fact, refuse to indict more frequently in cases involving less blameworthy conduct.  Specifically, a Texas study found that grand juries far more frequently disagreed with each other and prosecutors in cases involving drug crimes than cases involving crimes of passion.[43]  And grand juries reached divided votes one-third of the time in cases involving adult consensual sodomy but less than five percent of the time in all other cases.[44]

This, then, serves as a plausible rejoinder to the witticism that a grand jury readily would indict a ham sandwich.[45]  Simply put, it might be that the grand jury only has an opportunity to evaluate the ham sandwiches that are suspected of having done very bad things.  Comparatively, there may be other penny-ante ham sandwiches that are likelier to be normatively innocent, but that end up criminally charged on the prosecutor’s initiative alone.[46]  Thus, the institution of the grand jury presents something of an intriguing puzzle: the body is used principally to evaluate the serious cases that are least likely to provoke normative disagreement; and almost not at all to evaluate the borderline petty cases where the mala prohibita conduct in question implicates most directly the community’s multifaceted conceptions of what constitutes adequate quality of life in public spaces.[47]

Notably, however, the grand jury did not always approach cases in so decidedly an inverted fashion.  At common law, the grand jury not only analyzed prospective charges of rape, murder, and the like; it also considered whether and how the state should regulate a wide variety of relatively nominal victimless conduct.  According to Andrew Leipold: “Early grand juries might accuse individuals of offenses such as disgraceful speech, excessive frivolity, and failing to serve the public.  The latter charges could include failing to grind corn properly and ‘giving short measure’ when selling beer.”[48]  Whereas prospective charges like “excessive frivolity” potentially were subject to grand jury oversight at common law, the modern day equivalent—disorderly conduct—is almost never.  Rather, it is policed, prosecuted, and processed by professionals acting alone.

II.  The Normative Case for Normative Grand Juries

The descriptive claim, detailed above, is that the grand jury plays a normative role, but only for some of the cases, and only through a kind of deception.  Specifically, I would submit that contemporary grand jury practice is upside down and inside out.  It is upside down because the body has no opportunity to evaluate the very cases that most frequently raise persuasive equitable questions.  And it is inside out because the body is expressly authorized to evaluate only the legal (and not the equitable) merits of prospective charges.

A fundamental normative question remains, however.  Is the grand jury’s normative role normatively desirable (or, at least, defensible)?  Put differently, should the system aim to stamp out the grand jury’s covert equitable function, or should it bring that function to the fore?  More to the point, is a lay body competent to exercise equitable charging discretion, and, if so, when and how?

In this Part, I claim that the value of the grand jury does not necessarily fall with punishment stakes or evidentiary merit.  Rather, I suggest that lay bodies are better able to screen meaningfully criminal cases that are legally easy but normatively challenging.  And, significantly, petty order-maintenance cases are particularly likely to fall within this category.  These are the cases that are most prone to selective enforcement.[49]  And, as indicated, these are the cases that are least intrinsically blameworthy.[50]  In such circumstances, police and prosecutors come to use public-order offenses to punish some marginal conduct (but not other conduct) and to arrest and prosecute some borderline offenders (but not other offenders).  The consequent fear is real that police and prosecutors may fail to strike adequately the delicate balance between promoting the quality of life on neighborhood streets and minimizing perceived and actual executive overreach.[51]

A.     Equitable Discretion & Its Exercise

In a previous article and book chapter, I made the case for equitable discretion as a complement to the rule of law.[52]  Specifically, I argued that complete justicerequires law tempered by equity, lest it become, in Blackstone’s terms, “hard and disagreeable.”[53]  Moreover, I challenged the entrenched assumption that equitable charging decisions are best left to the unfettered discretion of the professional prosecutor, and I identified a number of reasons why prosecutors may underexercise their considerable discretion to decline “disposable” cases even in the not-uncommon circumstances where it is normatively appropriate for them to do so.[54]  Specifically, I explained that prosecutors are incentivized to charge “disposable” cases reflexively, because: (1) prosecutors know that these charges generate quick and easy convictions; (2) prosecutors are more likely to defer to arrest decisions in police-initiated cases; and (3) prosecutors are ill-equipped—by training and experience—to distinguish between equitably appropriate and inappropriate cases at the point of charge.[55]  That is, legal professionals tend not to particularize adequately, but instead to sort cases into boxes and process them accordingly.[56]  Finally, I offered data that show counterintuitively (but consistent with the institutional incentives and cognitive biases that I identified) that petty nonviolent public-order cases, in fact, are prosecuted at a far higher rate than violent felony cases involving concrete victims.[57]

In this Subpart, I plan to highlight certain arguments in favor of sharing equitable discretion between a lay body and the professional executive.  I do not intend to say that lay and local intuition is decidedly superior, only that some lay and local involvement is better than none when it comes to resolving equitable charging questions in normatively borderline cases.[58]  As I explained previously:

It is no simple task to determine how to optimally allocate sentencing discretion, but it is clearer that the answer ought not to be an exclusive grant of decision-making authority to the least transparent and most interested actor.  Instead, the objective ought to be a sharing of power.  Different institutional actors possess different proficiencies, and the criminal justice system ought to allocate discretion to tap respective competencies.[59]

This, then, is where the conventional wisdom goes wrong.  It is well established that the prosecutor need give no reason for a decision to charge.[60]  As long as the prosecutor stays within applicable legal limits (that consist of only probable cause and the rarely implicated constitutional doctrines of double jeopardy and selective, vindictive, or retaliatory prosecution), then her reasons for charging are taken to be her own.[61]  I do not deny that the prosecutor is most competent to determine office priorities and evidentiary strength of cases.  That is, she is the administrative and legal expert and ought to be empowered to exercise significant discretion within these domains.  But she has no special claim against lay people to the evaluative art of equitable discretion.  To the contrary, her equitable perspective is complicated by her professional position, whereas the lay decision maker is free to make moral judgments with fresh eyes that are unclouded by institutional incentives and biases.  This is what one nineteenth century legal scholar referred to as the jury’s “downright common sense, unsophisticated by too much learning.”[62]  Indeed, even Justice Rehnquist observed that the lay juror’s “very inexperience is an asset because it secures a fresh perception . . . , avoiding the stereotypes said to infect the judicial eye.”[63]

As the historical grand-jury instruction detailed above made plain, on moral questions the lay decision maker may trust her “Good Sense & understanding” of right and wrong.[64]  In this way, moral questions are eminently accessible to the layperson and distinctly within her capacity.[65]  Specifically, on the question of whether to charge, the layperson need determine only whether it is appropriate to prosecute the offender, notwithstanding legal guilt.  Unlike the legal inquiry, this equitable inquiry demands no specialized or technical training and, accordingly, no instruction from the prosecutor—just an intuitive judgment grounded in experiential wisdom.[66]  And because a lay body—by its very nature—brings a deinstitutionalized perspective to the charging decision, there may be value to a normative grand jury independent of the question of whether it is genuinely representative of the relevant community.  Concretely, a grand jury may better exercise equitable discretion not only because it is local but also because it is lay.

But, of course, from a community-prosecution standpoint, it is critical that the body represent the relevant community (in whatever way that community may be defined).  And, notably, studies demonstrate that perspectives on blameworthiness and on the optimal balance between order and liberty tend to vary across communities.  Thus, the problem with contemporary criminal justice is not just that it is professionalized but also that it is centralized, and that it thereby privileges one culturally constructed perspective above all others—specifically, the perspective of the professional law-enforcement community.

Even if this is not the wrong perspective, it is an incomplete perspective.  Bill Stuntz recognized this, terming this lack of local perspective in criminal justice a “governance problem”: “[For t]he detached managers of urban criminal justice systems . . . criminal justice policies are mostly political symbols or legal abstractions, not questions the answers to which define neighborhood life.  Decisionmakers who neither reap the benefit of good decisions nor bear the cost of bad ones tend to make bad ones.”[67]

By contrast, the historically disadvantaged communities that are the inordinate focus of both public-order crime and its enforcement have opportunities to observe firsthand the effects of order-maintenance policing and prosecution.  Thus, they are well situated to evaluate whether enforcement efforts do more harm than good within the particular context of the particular case.

On this score, I do not claim on original insight.  Rather, Stuntz explored previously this balance:

[R]esidents of all neighborhoods have two warring incentives. On the one hand, they want safe streets. . . . On the other hand, they are loath to incarcerate their sons and brothers, neighbors and friends. . . . The balance between those warring incentives looks quite different . . . to [those] outside the communities where crimes happen and punishment is imposed.[68]

And, Tracey Meares and Dan Kahan offered a similar argument: “[Members of communities affected by order-maintenance policing] are excruciatingly sensitive to the individual and societal costs of invasive policing, there’s no basis for court[] [actors] to presume that they are better situated than the members of these communities to determine . . . a reasonable trade off between liberty and order.”[69]

The value of lay and local participation in criminal justice cannot be overstated (even as it has been underused by the contemporary justice system).  It is “the judgment of community condemnation” that justifies imposition of the criminal sanction.[70]  But the more criminal justice is refracted through a professional prism, the less it comes to reflect its justificatory source.  Nowhere is local control more critical than in the order-maintenance context, but, unfortunately, nowhere is case-specific lay oversight more absent.

As I hinted in the last Subpart, this was not always the case.  At common law, “keeping the peace” (or what we might call order-maintenance enforcement today) was not a professional enterprise; it “was not about applying a particular set of rules” but was about public involvement in “a communal legal culture” that “‘depended on the presence and participation of people in local communities.’”[71]

Of course, there are valid reasons—readily illustrated by the historical record—to worry that such unfiltered expressions of community condemnation could undermine ordered and evenhanded justice.  But recognition of the limits of public participation does not entail its wholesale rejection.  To the contrary, the elusive answer to the question of how to allocate discretionary authority is to find the right balance.[72]  In striking that balance, the system ought to consider which decision makers’ judgments “are most fully amenable to public scrutiny.”[73]

This, then, is why the need is so great for some kind of normative screen in petty public-order cases.  It is in this domain that the criminal justice system has moved furthest away from its roots as a lay “exercise in self-government,” yet it is in this very domain that local input from the residents of high-crime neighborhoods is integral to the balance between the costs of order-maintenance crime and the positive and negative effects of enforcement efforts to maintain order.[74]

B.     The Limits of Legal Limits

At the point of charge (and even at the point of disposition), legal hurdles—like evidentiary sufficiency—are relatively inconsequential to the processing of order-maintenance cases.  First, legal checks do little to constrain prosecutorial discretion, because prosecutors lack the information to identify legally weak cases.[75]  Specifically, order-maintenance cases appear legally fungible to prosecutors because these prosecutors have access to only skeletal police paperwork that tends to mask evidentiary shortcomings or other legal problems.[76]  And prosecutors are unlikely to learn much new in the days or mere hours between initial charge and final plea.[77]  Indeed, as I have previously explored, when it comes to petty cases, all parties tend to bargain in the shadow of process costs, not in the undeveloped shadow of trial prospects.[78]

Second, legal checks do little to constrain prosecutorial discretion because prosecutors enjoy so many substantive options to lawfully—even if inequitably—pursue charges.  That is, most police observations of public disorder are sufficient to demonstrate violation of multiple criminal statutes.  Here, I need not rehearse the by-now unoriginal, but almost certainly accurate, over-criminalization literature.[79]  Suffice it to say, modern criminal codes cover a breathtaking amount of conduct that is not quite intrinsically bad but that is nevertheless contrary to the conventional order.  Moreover, even after the criminal-procedure revolution of the 1960s, the Court continues to provide significant discretionary authority to both police and prosecutors.[80]  Put simply, criminal codes and even constitutional search and seizure law serve less to impose limits and more to create opportunities—opportunities for police to discover evidence and make arrests and, thereafter, for prosecutors to charge.

Comparatively, when it comes to order-maintenance prosecutions, extralegal considerations carry potentially greater weight.[81]  In a world where so many people are subject to arrest and prosecution, authorities must pick and choose between the technically guilty offenders.[82]  Such discretionary justice is not per se problematic—indeed, it may be desirable—as long as discretion is exercised appropriately.  But, of course, whether discretion is exercised appropriately is the big question—perhaps the biggest question in all of criminal law and procedure.  My hope is not to solve that puzzle (were it even solvable).  Rather, I intend only to spotlight that legal limits—standing alone—are incapable of adequately promoting desirable discretion while constraining arbitrary actions or outright oppression.

In this vein, the normative grand jury—with its extralegal focus—could provide a valuable alternative check on the prosecutor’s ability to make the criminal case.  More importantly, the normative grand jury would provide a thin check only.  That is, the normative grand jury would not touch the prosecutor’s legal discretion.  This is critical because it may be that police and prosecutors appropriately require significant legal discretion to make arrests and initiate charges.  (I am skeptical that they need the almost plenary grants of arrest and charge authority that they possess, but I am willing to concede the point for present purposes.)  Thus, the normative grand jury would leave undisturbed these legal rules and standards intended to facilitate effective policing and prosecution.  The body would merely provide a buffer between the police and the prosecutor and between the prosecutor and her desired charge—a buffer analogous to the “circuitbreaker . . . in the state’s machinery of justice” that Justice Scalia envisioned for the petit jury in Blakely.[83]

By way of example, consider pretextual stops, arrests, and prosecutions.  Currently, police and prosecutors have unfettered authority to investigate and enforce a lesser offense as a proxy for a suspected serious offense.[84]  As a legal matter, this may be the right approach.  Generally, we may want to allow police and prosecutors to exploit traffic offenses and low-level regulatory crimes as a means to effectively fight the wars on drugs and terrorism.  But it does not follow that we consider all pretextual stops, arrests, and prosecutions to be equitable—that is, to be fair exercises of legal authority.  The normative grand jury would have the power only to evaluate the equitable reasonableness of the pretextual criminal charge separate from the legal grant of authority—that is, separate from the rule that pretextual investigations and prosecutions are constitutionally permissible.  In short, the normative grand jury would be able only to short-circuit a normatively problematic use of pretext.  It would be unable to undo the legality of pretext in the first instance.  The prosecutor could still seek the charge.  She just might fail to win it.  Thus, the grand jury would ask and answer the narrow question of whether this offender should be charged with this offense, whereas a subsequent grand jury would assess a subsequent case on its own contextualized terms.

In this way, the normative grand jury sidesteps a principal and persuasive objection to the conventional exercise of jury nullification: that jury nullification renders law a subjective manifestation of what the community believes it to be.[85]  In the case of petit jury nullification, the objection holds true, because the trial jury is tasked appropriately with a determination that is decidedly legalistic—that is, the bottom-line determination of legal guilt.  But, as indicated, the charging decision descriptively and properly involves more than legal analysis, and, therefore, a decision to decline prosecution affects the shape of the law less directly, if at all.  Thus, the grand jury’s exercise of equitable power is qualitatively different than impermissible jury nullification.  The grand jury is merely sharing equitable authority with another actor to whom such authority is already lawfully entrusted.  On this score, Roger Fairfax has argued that a grand jury’s “robust” exercise of discretion is wholly consistent with its “intended constitutional role” as more than “a mere probable cause filter.”[86]  According to Fairfax: “The term ‘grand jury nullification’ is somewhat of a misnomer . . . .  [T]he term has pejorative connotations, . . . does not capture the essence of the enterprise of the grand jury’s exercise of discretion, . . . and unfairly yokes grand jury discretion with petit jury nullification without careful consideration.”[87]  Grand jury discretion operates as a one-off check on the equities, but leaves the applicable law firmly in place.

This all highlights a critical insight: when it comes to concerns over the abuse of discretion, it is often not law that fails but equity and its lack of exercise.[88]  Or, rather, as I intend to argue in a separate article, it is the law’s failure to accommodate opportunities for the transparent and honest expression of equity by actors willing and able to make normative judgments unclouded by institutional incentive and cognitive bias.[89]  Unfortunately, but predictably, lawyers and legal academics have tended to focus reform energies on legal fixes and have largely ignored potential fixes that lie beyond law (or at least beyond what is conventionally considered to be law).  But legal constraints on discretion effectively may carry only so far.  Legal grants of authority may be over-inclusive but, if narrowed, they may underperform.  Aristotle understood this:

[T]he law takes account of the majority of cases, though not unaware that in this way errors are made. And the law is none the less right; because the error lies not in the law nor in the legislator but in the nature of the case; for the raw material of human behavior is essentially of this kind.[90]

Legal professionals understand this as well, but by dint of training or perhaps even self-interest they have concluded that there are no limits beyond the limits of law—save for electoral politics that can provide almost no case-specific oversight.  This professionalized and technocratic conception is misguided, however.  Equitable oversight offers a supplemental and almost untapped reservoir for the effective regulation of executive exercises of discretion.

There is nothing new to this insight.  Aristotle recognized it, as have modern philosophers and historians.  For example, Laura Edwards has argued that an overdependence on legal limits in the slaveholding South vindicated the “absolute” discretionary “power of the master” within those domains that fell without law.[91]  By contrast, the interests of marginalized groups—like slaves, women, and the poor—were better protected by “localized” efforts that “eschewed systemization,” that “valued personalized justice,” and that focused “more on people and their problems than on statutes and legal rules.”[92]

Still, what of the objection that localized efforts—here, a lay normative charging screen—risk arbitrariness or, worse still, discrimination or majoritarian tyranny?[93]  The pithy response is that the concern applies also to the current charging paradigm.  Indeed, bias and discrimination are endemic to any discretionary system.[94]  And, as indicated, it is already well established that the prosecutor freely may decline equitably to pursue any legally sufficient charge.[95]  Thus, the immediate choice is not between a proposed discretionary regime and a preexisting determinate charging regime; it is the choice about who may exercise equitable discretion and whether it should remain within the prosecutor’s exclusive domain.

There are powerful arguments that leaving such decisions to prosecutors promotes consistency and minimizes caprice.  But the arguments are not unassailable.  On the one hand, prosecutorial charging decisions may be constrained by office-wide policies and practices.[96]  On the other hand, as indicated, prosecutorial charging decisions may be shaped by institutional incentives and biases that do not correlate with normative blameworthiness or particularized justice.  Indeed, Bill Stuntz has attributed partially the lack of equal treatment in the criminal justice system to the decline of local democracy in law enforcement.[97]  Moreover, the lay body may promote consistency by virtue of the simple fact that it is a collective body that requires a majority to act.[98]  In other words, an idiosyncratic prosecutor may derail a pending charge; an idiosyncratic grand juror may not.[99]

In any event, the question is not whether a lay body—acting alone—could exercise charging discretion more consistently than the professional prosecutor, because the immediate proposal does not seek to allow the lay body to act on its own.  Rather, the proposal is to share power—to provide an interval for both groups to participatecollaboratively.  Again, the prosecutor would retain the power to initiate charges—perhaps even to resubmit rejected charges to a separate normative grand jury.[100]  In this way, the prosecutor would have the first (and perhaps middle) word, but the normative grand jury would have the last.  Such cooperation is at the core of what counts for community-prosecution advocates.[101]

More importantly, such cooperation is at the core of what constitutes moderate and evenhanded exercises of discretion.[102]  The normative grand jury would demand a kind of “reason giving” that would limit the discretion of the prosecutor even as it provided discretion to the lay body.  In this way, the body would not serve obviously to undermine consistency and other rule of law values, and could very well promote them, as highlighted by the expansive literature on the virtues of “reason giving.”[103]  As Stuntz explained: “[W]hen prosecutors have enormous discretionary power, giving other decisionmakers discretion promotes consistency, not arbitrariness.  Discretion limits discretion; institutional competition curbs excess and abuse.”[104]  Both sets of actors—the lay and the professional—have constructive roles to play in making discretionary judgments and constraining the discretion of others.[105]

At the risk of repetition, it is worth revisiting an earlier point: the contemporary criminal justice system operates according to the sometimes-misguided assumption that normative evaluation is secondary to mechanistic legal determinations.  In fact, as explored, the assumption is flat wrong in some contexts.  Specifically, when it comes to the enforcement of public-order crimes, equitable evaluation plays the more robust role.  The legal limits are so spartan that the prosecutor’s capacity (if not her will) to exercise discretion may be considered closer to a kind of sovereign grace.[106]  This fact, however, remains largely unappreciated precisely because the premise that legal limits matter serves to mask the operative principle of equitable discretion.  The cost of this state of affairs is not just a lack of transparency and honesty, but a systemic tendency to consistently shuttle evaluative authority to the least transparent actors—the professional prosecutors and police.  Martha Nusbbaum and Dan Kahan have made this point:

[R]ecognizing the evaluative conception of emotion in criminal law . . . can actually make it better, particularly if responsibility . . . is properly allocated among different decisionmakers. . . . [By contrast,] mechanistic doctrines will not stop . . . inappropriate . . . motivations.  They only drive those assessments underground.[107]

This perception serves not only “to disguise contentious moral issues,” but to promote autocratic decision making that, in the long run, promotes (or at least readily allows) arbitrariness and caprice.[108]

Nevertheless, I concede that arbitrariness and caprice are intractable concerns—concerns that are not incontrovertibly allayed by my proposal to share equitable discretion.  However, as I noted in the introduction, the immediate proposal is not intended for all jurisdictions, but principally only for those majority-minority jurisdictions that are committed to the community-prosecution enterprise already (and that are also most affected by public-order crime and its enforcement).  In these relatively homogenous jurisdictions, there is some hope that the most problematic forms of arbitrariness and discrimination may be minimized, albeit not eliminated.[109]  Indeed, as I detail in Part IV, one of the chief ancillary benefits of importing such a community-prosecution model is that it may counteract, as opposed to propagate, local perceptions of unequal justice, which, in turn, may promote normative and instrumental rule-of-law values and goals.

III.  Brass Tacks

How ought we structure a normative grand jury such that it could ensure both a robust and efficient screen over cases for which a necessary premium is put on speed?  An unfortunate byproduct of the Warren Court’s constitutional procedural revolution is a perceived false choice between formal procedures and unfettered discretion.  A separate option is informal procedure.[110]  It is an option that is ill suited to certain questions, like the bottom-line determination of legal guilt, but it may be ideally situated for a normative charging determination that is otherwise left to the unfettered discretion of the professional prosecutor.

Already, the historical grand jury provides an object lesson in (almost) workable informality. According to the Supreme Court, the early grand jury was an “institution [] in which laymen conduct[ed] their inquiries unfettered by technical legal rules.”[111]  Indeed, to this day, the grand jury operates free of the evidentiary rules that typify trials and even pretrial hearings.[112]  Thus, the grand jury may consider hearsay evidence, illegally obtained evidence, and otherwise incompetent evidence.[113]  In this way, the prosecutor is able to paint a complete picture for the grand jury and not just the picture to which she will be limited at trial.

The problem is that the prosecutor is typically unwilling to paint a complete picture.  Thus, the grand jury provides an insufficient screen, not because it lacks formality, but because it lacks inclusivity.  Specifically, the prosecutor’s ex parte presentation is unlikely to include the kinds of contextual arguments that auger in favor of charge mitigation or outright declination.  This, then, is the most radical component of my proposal.  If the normative grand jury is to be an effective community-prosecution tool, the defendant must be permitted to state his moral claim.[114]

It may seem odd to open the grand jury to the defendant and his attorney, and I concede that it is no small structural reform.  However, it should be noted that a fraction of states already provide the defendant a right to testify before the grand jury.[115]  In any event, there is nothing sacrosanct about the prevailing structure of the grand jury.  Indeed, it is inaccurate even to speak of a uniform or even dominant grand jury structure.  To the contrary, Ric Simmons has observed that there are “over fifty different types of grand juries, each with its own unique blend of structural rules, procedural constraints, and informal culture.”[116]  In fact, even the notion of the grand jury as prosecutorial domain is historically dubious.  At common law, the grand jury was closed not only to the defendant and his counsel but also typically to the prosecutor.[117]  Moreover, because the body is not even constitutionally required outside of the federal criminal justice system, jurisdictions are constitutionally free to reconstruct the institution however they may see fit.[118]  Put simply, a jurisdiction may implement freely an adversarial grand jury proceeding if it wishes.[119]

But just because an adversarial grand jury is constitutional (and even unoriginal) does not make it feasible.  Efficiency concerns remain.  And it may seem particularly farfetched that we can somehow expeditiously subject misdemeanor cases to an adversarial normative screen.  The efficiency objection is two-fold: in most jurisdictions, there are many more misdemeanor than felony cases; and adversarial proceedings require more time and effort than ex parte proceedings.  Indeed, order-maintenance cases are dubbed “disposables” precisely because they are considered unimportant and are meant to be resolved quickly and cheaply.  Again, the objection is sound, but I am not without plausible responses.

A.     Extralegal Arguments

Because of the unique mission and method of the normative grand jury, its proceedings may be cursory, yet not meaningless—that is to say, adversarial, yet not terrifically involved.  Critically, the lawyers’ arguments would not concern law.  Indeed, the normative grand jury could even be directed to presume legal guilt (or, at least, to consider the factual allegations in the light most favorable to the prosecution) in order to expeditiously proceed to the equitable particulars.  The advantage of an extralegal screen is that it need not accommodate itself to technical and time-consuming legal forms.  The lawyers’ arguments would be brief and conclusory.  That is, like its common-law progenitor, the normative grand jury would hear no evidence.  Rather, the prosecutor would have a minutes-long opportunity to present her allegations (which the jury might be instructed to accept) and to provide relevant background information (for example, criminal record) that might weigh in favor of charging.  Then, the defense attorney would have a minutes-long opportunity to offer a brief narrative, contextualizing the incident or the offender and illuminating the equitable reasons to forego charges.[120]

Ultimately, equitable judgments are intuitive judgments, and, as social psychologists have demonstrated, intuitive judgments are, by nature, “spontaneous, . . . effortless, and fast.”[121]  Thus, not only can lawyers be expected to make quick moral arguments to the normative grand jurors, but also the jurors can be expected to reach quick moral conclusions.  Notably, then, from an efficiency standpoint, the chief virtues of the normative grand jury are those aspects that make the proceeding look least like a typical rule-bound full-dress criminal trial—that is, the informality of its procedures and the extralegality of its focus.

Again, although such a stripped-down adversarial procedure would be unconventional, it would present no evidentiary problems because no rules constrain what evidence a grand jury may hear or from whom.  In any event, the kinds of arguments that I envision are not so unconventional as they might initially seem.  Lawyers make extralegal arguments of this nature all the time, albeit in contexts outside of charging.  Simply put, there exist already adversarial models for the kinds of short and snappy equitable arguments I have in mind—to wit, bail hearings, plea negotiations, and discretionary sentencing proceedings.

B.     Normative Models

Consider plea bargaining in misdemeanor cases.  In their classic treatments of the subject, Milton Heumann and Malcolm Feeley both emphasized that plea negotiations have far more to do with “fleshing out . . . the setting and circumstances of the incident . . . [and] the defendant’s background” than the legal merits of the pending charges.[122]  Or take, for example, the typical misdemeanor bail hearing.  The prosecutor and defense attorney offer the judge normative claims for and against release and its conditions, and the judge, for her part, reaches a decision that turns less on strength of case than on the persuasive force of the lawyers’ cursory equitable narratives.  Thus, the bail determination relies on a holistic understanding of the contextualized factual circumstances of the alleged incident and the contextualized social circumstances of the alleged offender.

The normative grand jury would consider a similarly succinct set of normative arguments but with a different punch line: instead of requesting minimal bail or release on recognizance, the defense attorney would ask the body to decline the charges.  This brief normative pitch could happen in the several minutes between counsel’s initial client interview (typically in the courthouse pens), and the defendant’s initial arraignment appearance.  Moreover, because the substance of the normative pitch to the grand jury would be largely duplicative of the defense attorney’s normative pitches in favor of a lenient summary disposition or a release on favorable conditions, the substance of the initial client interview would adequately prepare the lawyer for all three sets of arguments.  Finally, and significantly, because the defense attorney would offer an equitable narrative on behalf of her client, it would even be possible to keep the defendant out of sight in order to shield the defendant’s race or ethnicity (or simply just his charm or repellence) from the grand jury, thereby minimizing any risk of arbitrary or discriminatory decision making.[123]

C.     Available Resources

But even a quick proceeding entails costs.  And it would be fanciful to suppose that a jurisdiction could implement a normative grand jury without the infusion of additional resources.  But it is important to keep perspective on the relevant baseline.  As indicated, the immediate proposal is offered only for those jurisdictions that are committed to the community-prosecution project already.  Thus, the right comparison is not to the cost of conventional criminal justice, but to the cost of other available community-prosecution initiatives.

In any event, there are reasons to believe that the costs of a normative grand jury could be kept down.  First, to the extent the normative screen is effective and the grand jury declines to prosecute in some nontrivial proportion of cases, resources could be diverted to the grand jury from the courtrooms and lawyers’ offices that would otherwise be required to process these cases to disposition.  Second, and more provocatively, if I am right that conventional grand juries are upside down—that is, that they focus on the wrong cases (felony cases over which there is little normative disagreement)—then the system could divert grand jury resources away from the types of serious felony cases about which there is little normative disagreement, and toward the petty cases that raise more vexing equitable questions.[124]  Third, there exists already a veritable untapped font of prospective normative jurors.  Specifically, among citizens who report for petit grand jury duty, the most pervasive complaint is that time is wasted.  Prospective jurors sometimes spend hours or even days waiting to be assigned to trial jury panels.[125]  Courts could make productive use of juror downtime by placing prospective jurors on normative grand juries.  As indicated, the normative grand juror would require almost no instruction, because the body would apply no legal standard.  The juror would be asked simply to listen to the parties and to decide whether the charge ought to proceed, all things considered.

Finally, even if the normative grand jury were to prove prohibitively costly across the mass of order-maintenance cases, it could be used still in a representative sample.  That is to say, some screen is better than no screen when it comes to promoting the goals of community prosecution and constraining executive abuses of equitable discretion.

IV.  Core & Ancillary Advantages

Recall the core community-prosecution values—decentralization of authority, accountability, and collaboration.[126]  The normative grand jury not only could serve these ends, but also a collection of ancillary expressive and instrumental objectives as well.  First, the normative grand jury would inject a measure of public participation into a professional executive process where heretofore there is almost none.  It would thereby make criminal justice not only more transparent but also more democratic.[127]  Second, by this same measure, it would promote constructive dialogue between local communities and prosecutors (and even indirectly police) over what types of crimes should be charged and in which contexts.[128]  Third, it would promote perceptions of procedural legitimacy, both by providing the defendant an opportunity to state his moral case and by fostering lay and local influence over criminal-justice practice.[129]

A.     Transparency & Participation

The normative grand jury would inject a measure of public deliberation and meaningful process into the adjudication of cases that are currently fodder for a professional assembly line only.  As indicated, petty public-order cases typically terminate with a summary plea after summary decisions to arrest and charge.[130]  Thus, any lay oversight is more oversight, because almost no such cases currently proceed to trial—jury or otherwise.  If nothing else, the normative grand jury would foster a kind of “democratic visibility” by requiring the prosecutor to give persuasive moral reasons for her decision to initiate criminal charges. [131]

Beyond cultivating transparency, normative grand juries would provide a mechanism for “distributing participatory experiences among citizens.”[132]  Heather Gerken has argued that such participatory experiences are essential to achieve the kind of dynamic and inclusive democracy that transcends mere electoral politics and its incomplete winner-take-all formula.[133]  This is not to say that electoral politics are less than essential—only that they are incomplete.  Electoral politics provide the engine for crime creation and criminal justice policy in the abstract.  Jury politics complement electoral politics by providing an interval for contextualized democratic decision making—by bringing democracy down to the ground.  Thus, in Gerken’s terms, juries provide “a tool for aggregation [] of community judgments [and] interpretations of the law . . . when we cannot all sit at the same table to hash out such questions.”[134]  In this way, the immediate proposal is consistent with other “new governance” initiatives that endorse “bottom-up” democratic experimentalism controlled—or at least influenced by— the relevant stakeholders, as opposed to their ostensible representatives.[135]

Importantly, by permitting lay and local bodies to implement centralized legislative commands, the system conveys a “sign of trust” and “an acknowledgement of equal status” to electoral minorities.[136]  These groups are granted the dignity not only to participate but “the dignity to decide.”[137]  And, significantly, the more out-groups that are granted the dignity to decide collaboratively with in-groups, the more out-group members are likely to buy into the process—to take active, as opposed to apathetic, roles; to, therefore, “see the law as theirs.”[138]  And this, in turn, may serve to meliorate, as opposed to exacerbate, perceived and genuine divisions along lines of race and class.[139]

Moreover, the normative grand jury would facilitate democratic participation and expression early and often.  The charge is prerequisite to all criminal prosecution; by contrast, the jury trial is alienable (and often unavailable in misdemeanor cases).[140]  Thus, trial juries provide an anemic, or at least highly infrequent, normative check.  By contrast, normative grand juries could review most all petty cases and thus provide participatory experiences to a more significant proportion of the citizenry. [141]

A related advantage is that the normative grand jury would educate the public about law-enforcement objectives and efforts and would give the public an opportunity to provide feedback on particular or prospective exercises of state power.  The interaction would be dialogic in that the state also could learn what its citizenry was willing to tolerate and in what circumstances.  For example, the public might approve overwhelmingly of law-enforcement’s order-maintenance initiatives, in which case it would authorize most all public-order charges.  Or it might reject what it perceives to be state overreach in certain order-maintenance domains, in which case it would be less deferential.  In either event, the public would learn what professionals were doing, and the professionals would learn what the public was thinking.  Moreover, the educative advantages would advance the democratic advantages not only by facilitating “community participation,” but also by promoting a sense of “shared responsibility” in the administration of criminal justice.[142]  Previously, I offered a similar argument in a related context:

[A]n equitable sentencing jury not only provides a democratic check on the prosecutor; it forces the jury to take responsibility for its punishment decision.  It calls on laypersons to consider the potential punishment in light of the specific case, and—upon doing so—members of the sentencing jury are shaped and educated by that punishment decision going forward.  Pithily, what they take away from the jury box, they may bring to the ballot box.[143]

Thus, those who serve on normative grand juries could better learn the information necessary to hold politically accountable the district attorney, which, in turn, could provide a political incentive for police and prosecutors to adjust enforcement efforts to better reflect lay perspectives of justice and fairness.

Of course, it could be that police and prosecutors know better than the public what is in the public interest, in which case prosecutors could use normative grand juries (and other community-prosecution initiatives) as tools to emphasize the positive attributes of order-maintenance enforcement and to enlist the public in such enforcement efforts.  From a community-justice perspective, this is the right incentive: prosecutors should be encouraged to provide the reasons for state action.

Community prosecution is intended to bridge an almost inevitable gap.  Professional police and prosecutors are likely to share sets of beliefs that seem foreign to the lay public, while the public—even victims and offenders—is likely to share sets of beliefs that seem foreign to professional officers.  Prevailing institutional design offers no robust channel for sharing information across the divide.  On its own, electoral politics—even retail politics—operate at too high a level of abstraction and, in any event, are primarily concerned with the enforcement and adjudication of serious high-profile cases.[144]  By contrast, the normative grand jury could cultivate understanding between populations by exposing each group to the respective beliefs of the other.[145]  It would serve thereby as a conduit for productive case-specific dialogue between local communities and prosecutors over what types of crimes should be charged and in what contexts.

B.     Perceptions of Fairness & Justice

As indicated, the normative grand jury could potentially advance a series of democratic and expressive objectives—that is, the promotion of discourse, public participation, and liberal democratic values.  But, critically, by nurturing these intrinsically good objectives, the normative grand jury also could advance instrumental goals.  Specifically, as Paul Robinson and I explore in far greater detail elsewhere in this volume, people are likelier to comply with the law and its enforcement when they believe that procedures are fair and that the applied substantive law reflects accurately communal intuitions of normative blameworthiness.[146]  Herein lies the potential payoff for police and prosecutors.  Law enforcement may advance its objectives by cultivating perceptions of fairness and justice, even in circumstances where the prosecutor’s office or police department are unconcerned with these values for their own sake.[147]  Indeed, it is fair to presume that such instrumental benefits are what motivate many district attorneys and police chiefs to pursue community-justice reforms in the first instance.

Critically, the instrumental need is perhaps greatest in the order-maintenance context.  As Dan Kahan and others have recognized, the very jurisdictions that are the sensible focus of order-maintenance policing and prosecution are the same jurisdictions that tend to be plagued not just by crime and disorder but also by discordant relations between enforcement personnel and the predominately poor and minority lay citizenry.[148]  And such relations may be made worse by the kinds of aggressive tactics that tend to typify order-maintenance policing and prosecution.  In Kahan’s terms, an unfortunate “side effect” of order-maintenance enforcement is its potential to undermine perceptions of fairness and justice, and, ultimately, deference to the law and its enforcement.[149]

Robinson and I also examine the Court’s Fourth Amendment doctrine, which has empowered police to engage in such aggressive order-maintenance tactics.[150]  I need not rehash our claims here, but I do wish to highlight the degree to which the doctrine tends to bend in favor of law enforcement.[151]  I have my criticisms of the Court’s Fourth Amendment jurisprudence.[152]  If nothing else, the Court has come to rely too heavily on bright-line rules and thereby to endorse unreasonable claims about the reasonable man.[153]  For present purposes, however, I concede that the Court may be right, as a general matter, to provide police terrific legal discretion.  After all, effective policing requires the police officer to wear many hats.  He is a community caretaker, a public-safety agent, and an enforcer of law.[154]  And he often must act fast when determining the appropriate course of action in a given set of circumstances.[155]  Consequently, the Constitution can do only so much to regulate police authority without concurrently undermining police effectiveness.[156]

This illustrates the Aristotelian point I made earlier: generally applicable legal constraints on executive discretion can be made only so narrow before they unproductively serve to hamstring the sovereign.[157]  Nevertheless, even if legal deference is owed to executive actors, such deference comes at a potentially highpolitical (and therefore an instrumental) cost.  Specifically, the law may generate a political imbalance.  In the Fourth Amendment context, the Court’s rulings have created a kind of community-perspective deficit that risks undermining lay perceptions of systemic legitimacy.  That is, the professional law-enforcement community has a particular perspective of reasonable state action. It is, however, but one perspective.  There are many others.[158]  Yet the Court’s jurisprudence has prioritized the professional perspective and has provided law enforcement substantial leeway to act on that perspective.  When police and prosecutors exploit such authority, they risk communicating the normatively and instrumentally undesirable message to affected communities that a contrary perception of what constitutes reasonable enforcement is a perspective that “only ‘unreasonable’ people could hold.”[159]

Moreover, the presence of a community-perspective deficit may be particularly pronounced in majority-minority neighborhoods where, for culturally constructed reasons, individuals may be likelier to perceive coercion in even polite police requests.[160]  Tracey Maclin has made this claim (albeit in perhaps overblown terms):

[F]or most black men, the typical police confrontation is not a consensual encounter.  Black men simply do not trust police officers to respect their rights.  Although many black men know of their right to walk away from a police encounter, I submit that most do not trust the police to respect their decision to do so.[161]

But beyond the limits of law, community justice may provide an effective (principally) political antidote to a (principally) political problem.  Such initiatives may serve as mechanisms to take account of community perspectives that the law has failed to adequately consider.  In particular, the normative grand jury could promote perceptions of systemic legitimacy by accommodating local “understandings of reality” and by “reflect[ing] experiences and social influences peculiar to those subcommunities.”[162]  Equally important, an offender might grow more accepting of enforcement and less inclined to recidivate if his accusers were not a perceived occupying force but his own peers with whom he shared “linked fates.”[163]

I recognize, of course, that this vision may be starry eyed.  As I wrote at the start, it is hard enough to identify the relevant community on a given question, much less to ensure that a given body adequately (but not excessively) represents the interests of that community.[164]  Significantly, however, a normative grand jury could foster perceptions of legitimacy even if the accusers are insufficiently representative of the offender population.  That is, from a legitimacy standpoint, there may be advantages to lay participation for its own sake.  Specifically, social scientists have found that citizens tend to see lay decision making as more fair and procedurally legitimate than professionalized decision making.[165]  Thus, a prospective defendant may derive value from an opportunity to state his moral case and not just to accept a prefabricated plea.[166]  And the community may derive value from an opportunity not only to observe the prosecution of particular order-maintenance cases, but also to equitably influence its application.[167]

Conclusion

In this Article, I have explored one criminal-justice puzzle and two criminal-justice crises.  The puzzle is that the criminal justice system reserves for lay actors the mixed determinations of law and fact that they are least equipped to make, and forbids them from considering the commonsense questions of equitable discretion over which they—and not prosecutors—may enjoy potentially superior perspective.  The crises are the lack of meaningful and public process in order-maintenance enforcement and the unfettered and nontransparent scope of executive discretion.  This unfortunate reality is nothing new to critics of contemporary criminal justice.  In response, these critics have tended to respond somewhat in kind: they have endorsed reforms that are principally intended to promote criminal trials—either by banning or limiting the availability of plea bargains, or by streamlining adjudicatory practices.[168]

However, I think these efforts may be misguided on balance—at least as they pertain to petty order-maintenance cases.  First, plea bans may be ill-suited for the kinds of low-level cases where “the process is the punishment” and where, comparatively, plea bargaining may provide an efficient and sometimes even fair way out.[169] Second, informal trial processes run the risk of sacrificing the spoils of hard-fought constitutional battles.  Although it is largely true that the Warren Court’s constitutional criminal-procedure revolution has produced a top-heavy and often unworkable due-process model (especially for low-stakes cases), nevertheless, I remain wary of walking back from its protections in favor of some fictionalized historical summary-process ideal.

What to do then?  I do not claim to have the answer.  But I hope I have identified a relatively unexplored path: equitable (and not legal) lay (and not professional) oversight over discretionary (and not adjudicatory) decisions.  Thus, this Article sketches and defends a model for extralegal regulation of normatively misguided prosecutions.  Indeed, if there is anything to recommend to the historical justice system that included—in different degrees over different eras—such barbaric practices as mandatory death sentences, torture, and trials by ordeal, it is the fact that the system embraced a robust front-end role for lay grand juries to derail application of these practices.  Of course, the system included arbitrariness and discrimination—evils made worse by the unfettered influence lay actors enjoyed over criminal justice.  But that is precisely my point.  There is a balance to be struck.  Whereas professionals played too small of a part in the administration of historical criminal justice, they play too big of a part today.  We need a division of labor—that is, some (but not too much) outsourcing of equitable discretion from the professional actors who currently possess almost all such power to the lay actors who currently possess almost none. [170]

The overwhelming majority of public-order cases are easy legal cases.  But it does not follow that these easy legal cases provide equitably appropriate occasions for criminal prosecution and punishment.[171]  Prosecutors face challenges in determining which legally easy cases are which and what they ought to be worth.  And, in the face of cognitive and institutional biases, prosecutors are not well positioned to arrive at the right decisions on their own.

For the district attorney’s office that wisely seeks guidance from its constituents, the normative grand jury could represent a tool to advance contemporary community-prosecution goals—a tool that would remain consistent with the institution’s centuries-old role as the robust, transparently democratic, and decidedly equitable “voice of the people” in the charging process.[172]


        *     Associate Professor, University of Virginia School of Law.  I would like to thank Stephanos Bibas for helpful comments, Saverio Romeo for outstanding research assistance, and Ron Wright, Matt Antonelli, and Wade Sample for organizing the excellent symposium that gave rise to this Article.

        [1].   Josh Bowers, Legal Guilt, Normative Innocence, and the Equitable Decision Not to Prosecute, 110 Colum. L. Rev. 1655, 1705 n.232 (2010) [hereinafter Bowers, LGNI] (citing a study that found that approximately half of New York City cases are disposed of at the first court appearance); Josh Bowers, Punishing the Innocent, 156 U. Pa. L. Rev. 1117, 1163 n.231 (2008) [hereinafter Bowers, Punishing] (citing New York City statistics of high rates of first-appearance pleas); Ian Weinstein, The Adjudication of Minor Offenses in New York City, 31 Fordham Urb. L.J. 1157, 1168, 1170–72 (2004) (indicating that approximately half of all non-felony cases in New York City are resolved at the first appearance, typically by plea).

        [2].   Stephanos Bibas, Transparency and Participation in Criminal Procedure, 81 NYU L. Rev. 911, 913 (2006) [hereinafter Bibas, Transparency] (“Outsiders have few ways to learn about, let alone participate in, the progress of most pending cases . . . .”); Bowers, Punishing, supra note 1, at 1173.

        [3].   See generally Bernard E. Harcourt, Illusion of Order: The False Promise of Broken Windows Policing (2001); Josh Bowers, Grassroots Plea Bargaining, 91 Marq. L. Rev. 85 (2007) [hereinafter Bowers, Grassroots]; Dan M. Kahan, Reciprocity, Collective Action, and Community Policing, 90 Cal. L. Rev. 1513, 1529 (2002) [hereinafter Kahan, Reciprocity].

        [4].   See Kahan, Reciprocity, supra note 3, at 1529–30; see also Bowers, Grassroots, supra note 3, at 92, 98.

        [5].   Kahan, Reciprocity, supra note 3, at 1529; see also Josh Bowers & Paul H. Robinson, Perceptions of Fairness and Justice: The Shared Aims & Occasional Conflicts of Legitimacy and Moral Credibility, 47 Wake Forest L. Rev. 211 (2012).

        [6].   See generally William J. Stuntz, Self-Defeating Crimes, 86 Va. L. Rev. 1871 (2000).

        [7].   See Kahan, Reciprocity, supra note 3, at 1533 (observing that community policing efforts enabled the Boston Police Department “to target certain neighborhoods for order-maintenance policing without apparently provoking the resentment that the New York Police Department encountered”).  See generallyBowers & Robinson, supra note 5; William J. Stuntz, Unequal Justice, 121 Harv. L. Rev. 1969, 1973, 1976, 1994, 2012, 2031–32, 2039 (2007).

        [8].   Infra Part IV.A–B.

        [9].   See generally Anthony Alfieri, Community Prosecutors, 90 Cal. L. Rev. 1465 (2002); Anthony Thompson, It Takes a Community to Prosecute, 77 Notre Dame L. Rev. 321 (2002).

      [10].   Thompson, supra note 9, at 354–56. See generally Community Prosecution, Ctr. for Court Innovation, http://www.courtinnovation.org/topic
/community-prosecution (last visited Mar. 31, 2012).

      [11].   See generally Malcolm M. Feeley, Court Reform on Trial: Why Simple Solutions Fail 192 (1983) (“[T]o mobilize public support, reformers must often offer dramatic plans . . . [and] bold strategies . . . .  But these very strategies that facilitate innovation undercut implementation.”).

      [12].   See Ric Simmons, Re-Examining the Grand Jury: Is There Room for Democracy in the Criminal Justice System?, 82 B.U. L. Rev. 1, 23 (2001) (“The true power of the grand jury . . . manifests itself in the marginal cases . . . [where] the defendant has a credible or sympathetic story to tell.”); see also Adriaan Lanni,Implementing the Neighborhood Grand Jury, in Grand Jury 2.0: Modern Perspectives on the Grand Jury 171, 182 (Roger Fairfax ed., 2011) (observing that the grand jury plays a more robust normative role when it evaluates “more controversial charges—for example, prosecutions for minor drug offenses”).  See generally Bowers,LGNI, supra note 1 (defending the exercise of equitable charging discretion, particularly in petty public-order cases).

      [13].   Thompson, supra note 9, at 323, 354–55, 360; see also Anthony C. Thompson & Robert V. Wolf, The Prosecutor as Problem Solver: An Overview of Community Prosecution, Ctr. for Ct. Innovation, 4 (Oct. 2004),  http://www.courtinnovation.org/sites/default/files/prosecutor_as_ps.pdf (“Community prosecution at its core involves three key ingredients: problem-solving, community involvement, and partnerships.”).

      [14].   See, e.g., Robert Weisberg, Restorative Justice and the Dangers of “Community,” 2003 Utah L. Rev. 343, 343, 348, 374 (“‘[C]ommunity’ is a very dangerous concept.  It sometimes means very little, or nothing very coherent, and sometimes means so many things as to become useless in legal or social discourse.”).

      [15].   See Stephanos Bibas, Forgiveness in Criminal Procedure, 4 Ohio St. J. Crim. L. 329, 331 n.6 (2007) [hereinafter Bibas, Forgiveness] (observing that “‘community’ and ‘community members’ are nebulous concepts with unclear definitions, particularly in our far-flung, heterogenerous society”); Bibas, Transparency,supra note 2, at 914  (positing that communities are constituted of multiple overlapping subgroups: “people affected by a particular crime, residents of high-crime neighborhoods, voters, citizens, and aliens”); Thompson, supra note 9, at 323, 354 (“It is not at all obvious . . . what the term ‘community prosecution’ actually means. . . . [T]he concept of ‘community prosecution’ is not in any way self-defining.  As is apparent from the wide range of programs that lay claim to the name ‘community prosecution,’ one can give this vision of prosecutorial practice virtually any meaning.”).  My own unsatisfying definition of the relevant community is the same as Stephanos Bibas’s: “Locals affected by a particular crime.”  Bibas, Transparency, supra note 2, at 914.

      [16].   See Bowers & Robinson, supra note 5, at 234 (“[I]t is not clear how to go about coherently narrowing community to some subset of the sovereign whole.”); Weisberg, supra note 14, at 348 (observing that community justice risks many of the balkanizing pitfalls common to “identity politics” more generally).  Moreover, as I previously explored in an article about drug courts, there are reasons to be wary of so-called problem solving built against the backstop of conventional criminal justice.  Josh Bowers, Contraindicated Drug Courts, 55 UCLA L. Rev. 783, 830 (2007) [hereinafter Bowers, Drug Courts] (“[D]rug courts keep conventional justice—often in its most powerful forms—always in the background and close at hand.  Drug courts are not divorced from conventional justice; they are grafted indelibly onto it.”).

      [17].   Weisberg, supra note 14, at 374.

      [18].   See Bibas, Forgiveness, supra note 15, at 331 n.6 (observing that lay participation in criminal justice probably works best in “homogeneous communities”).

      [19].   However, in a separate work in progress, I do claim that Fourth Amendment reasonableness might have been read more expansively—specifically, as a mechanism to review the equities of prosecutorial charging decisions.  Josh Bowers, Equitable Constraints as Rules of Law (unpublished manuscript) (on file with author).

      [20].   See Roger A. Fairfax, Jr., Grand Jury Discretion and Constitutional Design, 93 Cornell L. Rev 703, 708 (2008) (“[T]he modern conception assumes that the grand jury should indict if the government presents enough evidence to establish probable cause that the accused committed the alleged crimes.”); Model Grand Jury Charge, U.S. Courts (Mar. 2005), http://www.uscourts.gov
/FederalCourts/JuryService/ModelGrandJuryCharge.aspx (“The purpose of the Grand Jury is to determine whether there is sufficient evidence to justify a formal accusation against a person—that is, to determine if there is ‘probable cause’ to believe the person committed a crime.”).

      [21].   See, e.g., Niki Kuckes, The Democratic Prosecutor: Explaining the Constitutional Function of the Federal Grand Jury, 94 Geo. L.J. 1265, 1271–89 (2006).  As between the two, the consensus view is the body is more accurately considered an appendage of the executive than the judiciary.  United States v. Williams, 504 U.S. 36, 51 (1992) (describing the grand jury as an “accusatory” not an “adjudicatory” body); United States v. Cleary, 265 F.2d 459, 461 (2d Cir. 1959) (observing that the grand jury is “[b]asically . . . a law enforcement agency”); Fairfax, supra note 20, at 708 n.7 (describing adjudicatory conception as the dominant view); Andrew D. Leipold, Why Grand Juries Do Not (And Cannot) Protect the Accused, 80 Cornell L. Rev. 260, 271 (1995) (“It is . . . common knowledge that the grand jury . . . is now a tool of the Executive.”).

      [22].   Simmons, supra note 12, at 2 (2002) (“In theory, an indicting grand jury is convened to evaluate the sufficiency of the evidence according to a fixed legal standard.  In practice, its functions are more subtle and complex.”).

      [23].   Id. at 3; see also Fairfax, supra note 20, at 706 (“Where the grand jury truly adds value is through its ability to exercise robust discretion not to indict where probable cause nevertheless exists . . . .”); Kuckes, supra note 21, at 1269 (discussing the conception of a grand jury as a body that “may properly consider not only the sufficiency of the evidence, but also the wisdom of the prosecution, community priorities, the relative culpability of the accused, and a host of other discretionary factors”).

      [24].   United States v. Eisenberg, 711 F.2d 959, 964 (11th Cir. 1983) (“[T]he grand jury is a unique body and is not a part of either the executive or the judicial branch.”); United States v. Udziela, 671 F.2d 995, 999 (7th Cir. 1982) (“[T]he grand jury is a constitutional fixture in its own right, belonging to neither the executive nor the judicial branch.”); Simmons, supra note 12, at 10.  Notably, even the Supreme Court has recognized that the grand jury sometimes plays such a role.  See Williams, 504 U.S. at 47 (observing that the grand jury functions “as a kind of buffer or referee between the Government and the people”); Vasquez v. Hillery, 474 U.S. 254, 263 (1986) (“The grand jury does not determine only that probable cause exists to believe that a defendant committed a crime . . . .  The grand jury is not bound to indict in every case where a conviction can be obtained.”); see also United States v. Ciambrone, 601 F.2d 616, 629 (2d Cir. 1979) (discussing the “implicit” power of the grand jury to grant mercy to guilty accused); United States v. Cox, 342 F.2d 167, 190 (5th Cir. 1965) (Wisdom, J., concurring) (highlighting the “unchallengeable power” of grand juries “to shield the guilty”).  Even Chief Justice John Roberts once observed that “a significant role for the grand jury has been not to indict people even though the Government had the evidence to indict them.”  Transcript of Oral Argument at 16–17, United States v. Resendiz-Ponce, 549 U.S. 102 (2006) (No. 05-998).

      [25].   Sheri Fink, The Deadly Choices at Memorial, N.Y. Times Mag., Aug. 30, 2009, at 28, 30.

      [26].   Burress Indicted, Pierce Not, in Gun Case, United Press Int’l (Aug. 3, 2009, 3:54 PM), http://www.upi.com/Sports_News/2009/08/03/Burress-indicted
-Pierce-not-in-gun-case/UPI-98281249314867 (quoting Pierce’s attorney that “the grand jurors . . . concluded, as they should have, that [Pierce] acted as any reasonable person would have”).

      [27].   Simmons, supra note 12, at 49 (summarizing examples of cases in which grand juries may have rejected “borderline” cases).

      [28].   Ronald J. Allen, Joseph L. Hoffman, Andrew D. Leipold, Debra Livingston & William J. Stuntz, Comprehensive Criminal Procedure 1084 (3d. ed. 2011).  See generally Stuntz, Unequal Justice, supra note 7, at 1989 (“[J]uries were exercising powers of moral evaluation—powers the substantive law of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries vested in fact finders, not just in legislatures.”).

      [29].   Fairfax, supra note 20, at 706.  As Ron Wright explained, colonial grand juries “did not refuse to indict because of a lack of proof that the accused had violated a criminal statute” but rather because “they fundamentally disagreed with the government’s decision to enforce these laws at all.”  Ronald F. Wright, Why Not Administrative Grand Juries?, 44 Admin. L. Rev. 465, 469 (1992); see also Simmons, supra note 12, at 5 (“[F]rom the beginning, the grand jury was a political body.”).

      [30].   William E. Nelson, Americanization of the Common Law: The Impact of Legal Chance on Massachusetts Society 26 (Univ. of Ga. Press 1994) (1975).

      [31].   Francis Bowes Sayre, Mens Rea, 45 Harv. L. Rev. 974, 988 (1932).

      [32].   Simmons, Re-Examining the Grand Jury, supra note 12, at 10–14.

      [33].    Id. at 11.

      [34].   Id. at 10–11.  Additional historical examples include “no true bills” returned against violators of unpopular colonial tax and sedition acts.  Sara Sun Beale, Grand Jury Law and Practice § 1:3 (2d ed. 1997) (“The refusal to indict in these cases appears to have been based on the jurors’ approval of the conduct in question, and not on the finding that the defendants were innocent of the conduct charged against them.”); Fairfax, supra note 20, at 722; Leipold, supra note 21, at 285 & n.131.

      [35].   Simmons, supra note 12, at 11.

      [36].   Id. at 31 & n.136 (reporting an indictment rate of 99.6% for federal grand juries in 1984, a 99.5% rate for federal grand juries in 1976, and a consistent indictment rate of more than 99%).

      [37].   Beale, supra note 34, at 8–11.

      [38].   Id.

      [39].   Id. at 8–13.

      [40].   Paul H. Robinson, Reply, in Criminal Law Conversations 61, 62 (Paul H. Robinson et al. eds., 2009) (“[L]ay judgments about core wrongdoing are intuitional.”).

      [41].   Specifically, Paul Robinson has observed that “as a matter of common sense, the law’s moral credibility is not needed to tell a person that murder, rape, or robbery is wrong[,]” but, by contrast, “at the borderline of criminal activity, where there may be some ambiguity as to whether the conduct really is wrong.”  Paul H. Robinson, Why Does the Criminal Law Care What the Layperson Thinks Is Just? Coercive Versus Normative Crime Control, 86 Va. L. Rev. 1839, 1865 n.84 (2000) [hereinafter Robinson, Crime Control]; see also Richard J. Bonnie et al., Criminal Law 215 (3d ed. 2010) (“Modern laws define a great many crimes that are not mala in se but only mala prohibita. . . . [S]uch offenses, [arise out of] no ‘innate sense of right and wrong.’” (quoting State v. Boyett, 32 N.C. (10 Ired.) 336, 343–44 (1849))); Paul H. Robinson & John M. Darley, Justice, Liability, and Blame: Community Views and the Criminal Law 13 (1995) (arguing that while mala prohibita offenses are “less intuitively improper conduct” there is “significant potential for disagreement . . . between code and community with regard to ‘victimless crimes,’ such as prostitution, gambling, or distribution of certain drugs”); Bowers, LGNI, supra note 1, at 1667 & n.45.

      [42].   Simmons, supra note 12, at 31 (“Grand jury statistics are notoriously difficult to obtain.  Most prosecutors’ offices . . . are reluctant to publicize the fact that grand juries reject any cases at all.”).

      [43].   Robert A. Carp, The Harris County Grand Jury—A Case Study, 12 Hous. L. Rev. 90, 111, 115 & tbls. 11, 13 (1974).  Specifically, Carp found that Houston grand jurors reported disagreeing with prosecutors two-and-one-half times more frequently in cases involving drug crimes than in cases involving crimes of passion.  Remarkably, a Bronx prosecutor reported almost the same statistic: that New York City grand juries are two-and-one-half times more likely to refuse to charge drug felonies than felonies overall.  Simmons, supra note 12, at 34, 50 (observing that grand juries are likelier to play an equitable role in “cases on the margins”).

      [44].   Carp, supra note 43, at 111 tbl.10; cf. Lawrence v. Texas, 539 U.S. 558 (2003) (invalidating a Texas sodomy statute that criminalized adult consensual same-sex sexual activity).

      [45].   The quote is commonly attributed to Sol Wachtler, former Chief Judge of the New York Court of Appeals.  United States v. Navarro-Vargas, 408 F.3d 1184, 1195 (9th Cir. 2005).  Wachtler learned the power of the grand jury first hand.  He was prosecuted, convicted, and sent to prison for harassing his mistress and for threatening to kidnap her daughter.  Lawrence Van Gelder, Ex-Judge Wachtler to Move from Prison to Halfway House, N.Y. Times, Aug. 27, 1994, at 21, available athttp://www.nytimes.com/1994/08/27/nyregion/ex-judge
-wachtler-to-move-from-prison-to-halfway-house.html; see also William J. Campbell, Eliminate the Grand Jury, 64 J. Crim. L. & Criminology 174, 174 (1973) (“[T]he grand jury is the total captive of the prosecutor.”); Simmons, supra note 12, at 29 (“For the last forty years, commentators and practitioners alike have almost uniformly called for the grand jury’s reform or outright abolition, claiming that the institution is no more than a rubber stamp for the prosecutor.”).

      [46].   See generally Bowers, Punishing, supra note 1 (exploring the concept of normative guilt and innocence).

      [47].   Moreover, there is strong reason to believe that the grand jury is not all that good at fulfilling its ostensible legal function.  Specifically, Andrew Leipold has argued persuasively that a trained magistrate—that is, a legal technician—is better equipped to answer the legal question of whether the probable-cause standard is met.  Leipold, supra note 21, at 394; see also Campbell, supra note 45, at 178 (arguing that the “laymen who make up the grand jury possess neither the skills nor the training” for the “sophisticated” legal task of measuring probable cause, and, thus, the grand jury “operates as a sounding board for the predetermined [legal] conclusions of the prosecuting official”); Simmons, supra note 12, at 45 (“Grand jurors are inherently unqualified to perform this statutory duty . . . [of] evaluat[ing] whether or not there is sufficient evidence to establish reasonable cause that the defendant committed a crime.”).

      [48].   Leipold, supra note 21 at 283 n.120; see also Ernest S. Griffith, History of American City Government: The Colonial Period 217 (1938) (describing grand jury presentments for illegal tread on wheels of carts and for liquor violations); Richard D. Younger, The People’s Panel: The Grand Jury In The United States, 1634–1941 at 7–8 (1963) (describing colonial grand jury presentments for neglecting a ferry, drunkenness, disgraceful speech, breach of the Sabbath, and idle living).  Even as late as 1930, one scholar described grand-jury indictments for violations of “[d]og law,” “[b]awdy house,” “[f]ish law,” “[g]ambling,” “[h]unting without license,” “[c]onducting dance in unlicensed hall,” “[c]ontributing to delinquency of minor,” “[d]riving without lights,” “[i]ndecent conduct,” “[l]ottery tickets (possession of),” “[l]eaving scene of motor accident,” “[n]uisance,” “[p]erverted practice,” “[p]ublic profanity,” “[r]oad nuisance,” “[s]peeding,” and “[v]agrancy.”  Wayne L. Morse, A Survey of the Grand Jury System, 10 Or. L. Rev. 101, 131 tbl.II-A (1931).

      [49].   Bowers, supra note 16, at 806–07 (“Enforcement may be selective simply because drug crime is everywhere, but the police cannot be.  Police rationally concentrate on poor and urban–often minority—communities because drug use is more readily discoverable in these areas.”); William J. Stuntz, Race, Class, and Drugs, 98 Colum. L. Rev. 1795, 1810, 1820–22 (1998) (“Looking in poor neighborhoods tends to be both successful and cheap. . . . Street stops can go forward with little or no advance investigation. . . . [T]he stops themselves consume little time, so the police have no strong incentive to ration them carefully.”).

      [50].   See supra note 45 and accompanying text.

      [51].   See generally Josh Bowers, Grassroots, supra note 3; Kahan, Reciprocity, supra note 3; Stuntz, supra note 6.

      [52].    Bowers, LGNI, supra note 1; Josh Bowers, Mandatory Life and the Death of Equitable Discretion, in Life Without Parole: The New Death Penalty 1, 36–37 (Austin Sarat, ed. forthcoming 2012) (on file with author) [hereinafter Bowers, LWOP].

      [53].   1 William Blackstone, Commentaries, *62; Bowers, LGNI, supra note 1, at 1672 (“Complete justice demands both the simple justice that arises from fair and virtuous treatment and the legal justice that arises from the application of legal rules.”); see also Bowers, LWOP, supra note 52 (manuscript at 36–37).

      [54].   See Bowers, LGNI, supra note 1, at 1655, 1657–58.

      [55].   See id. at 1660, 1702.

      [56].   Bowers, LWOP, supra note 52 (manuscript at 17) (“[T]he prosecutor is a  trained professional, and the trained professional typically develops heuristics that may frustrate adequate contextualization.”).  According to Blackstone, such dependence on “established rules and fixed precepts” has the capacity to “destroy [equity’s] very essence” by “reducing it to positive law.”  1 Blackstone, supra note 53, at *61–62.

      [57].   Bowers, LGNI, supra note 1, at 1716–17.

      [58].   Jeffrey Abramson, We, The Jury: The Jury System and the Ideal of Democracy 18 (1994) (“[L]ocal knowledge . . . qualifies the juror[s] to understand the facts of the case and to pass judgment in ways that a stranger . . . could not. . . . [T]hey know the conscience of the community and can apply the law in ways that resonate with the community’s moral values and common sense.”).

      [59].   Bowers, LWOP, supra note 52 (manuscript at 24).

      [60].   Bowers, LGNI, supra note 1, at 1659–60 (describing conventional wisdom).

      [61].   Id.

      [62].   Edward R. Wilder, Trial of Issues of Fact—Jury v. Judges, 13 W. Jurist 391, 395 (1879).

      [63].   Parklane Hosiery Co. v. Shore, 439 U.S. 322, 355 (1979) (Rehnquist, J., dissenting).  As I have written elsewhere:

This is a theme to which lower courts have returned repeatedly: that lay jurors are “not likely to get into the habit of disregarding any circumstances of fact, or of forcing cases into rigid forms and arbitrary classes;” that “the good sense of a jury . . . that take[s] a common-sense view of every question” is sometimes to be preferred to the judgment of the legal professional who “generalizes and reduces everything to an artificial system formed by study.”  These courts have recognized an Aristotelian insight: that evaluation of just deserts is not mechanistic and technical, but, instead, draws on practical wisdom about “the common concerns of life”—an intuitive kind of wisdom that the layperson consults naturally.

LWOP, supra note 52 (manuscript at 21) (quoting Hamilton v. People, 29 Mich. 173, 190 (1874); State v. Williams, 2 Jones L. (47 N. Car.) 257, 269 (1855); State v. Schoenwald, 31 Mo. 147, 155 (1860)).

      [64].   Nelson, supra note 30, at 26.

      [65].   As I have written elsewhere:

There are plausible reasons to believe that lay bodies contextualize the retributive inquiry better than legal technicians do.  More than the professional, the layperson has the capacity and inclination to cut through the thicket of legal and institutional norms (that are not the layperson’s stock in trade) to the equitable question of blameworthiness that is and ought to be central.

LWOP, supra note 52 (manuscript at 20–21).

      [66].   Josh Bowers, Blame by Proxy: Political Retributivism & Its Problems, A Response to Dan Markel, 1 Va. J. Crim. L. (forthcoming 2012), available athttp://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=1945743 [hereinafter Bowers, Blame by Proxy] (“[T]he full measure of moral blameworthiness is to be found in neither code nor casebook—court nor classroom.  It is the product of neither executive nor judicial pronouncement.  To the contrary, it arises out of the exercise of human intuition and practical reason, applied concretely to the particular offender and his act.”); Bowers, LGNI, supra note 1 at 1725–26 (“[P]rofessionals are not so uniquely competent to reach normative determinations, and lay bodies are not so obviously inept.  Accordingly, the criminal justice system should experiment with charging decisions to find some interval for lay participation in the [inculpation of another.”]) (internal quotation marks omitted).

      [67].   Stuntz, Unequal Justice, supra note 7, at 1974; William J. Stuntz, The Collapse of American Criminal Justice 7–8 (2011) [hereinafter, Stuntz, Collapse] (“If criminal justice is to grow more just, those who bear the costs of crime and punishment alike must exercise more power over those who enforce the law and dole out punishment.”).

      [68].   Stuntz, Unequal Justice, supra note 67, at 1981–82; see also id. at 2040 (“From the perspective of those who pay for the never-ending battle against crime in the coin of safety and freedom, criminal justice is no longer an exercise in self-government—not something that residents of high-crime neighborhoods do for themselves, but something people who live elsewhere do to them.”).

      [69].   Dan M. Kahan & Tracey L. Meares, Foreword: The Coming Crises of Criminal Procedure, 86 Geo. L.J. 1153, 1168 (1998) (arguing in favor of deferring to inner-city judgments about the balance of liberty and order).

      [70].   Henry M. Hart, Jr., The Aims of the Criminal Law, 23 Law & Contemp. Probs. 401, 404 (1958).

      [71].   Jessica K. Lowe, A Separate Peace? The Politics of Localized Law in the Post-Revolutionary Era, 36 Law & Soc. Inquiry 788, 793 (2011) (discussing and quoting Laura F. Edwards, The People and Their Peace: Legal Culture and the Transformation of Inequality in the Post-Revolutionary South 65 (2009)); see alsoStephanos Bibas, The Machinery of Criminal Justice (2012).  In his brilliant article, Bill Stuntz attributes to the influence of local democracy the relative egalitarian nature of urban criminal justice in the Gilded Age, and “[n]owhere was the power of local democracy more evident than in battles over vice.”  Stuntz, supra note 7, at 1975, 1996.

      [72].   Bowers, LGNI, supra note 1, at 1725; Heather K. Gerken, Second-Order Diversity, 118 Harv. L. Rev. 1099, 1104, 1145 (2005) (arguing that granting local minorities the authority to decide may serve as a “counterweight” to the prevailing dominant “influence model”); Douglas E. Litowitz, Kafka’s Outsider Jurisprudence, 27 Law & Soc. Inquiry 103, 132–33 (2002) (“[B]oth insider and outsider perspectives have an important role to play in any comprehensive account of law . . . .  [O]utsider and insider perspectives can mediate each other . . . .  The goal is to play multiple perspectives against each other in a kind of hermeneutic conversation . . . .”).

      [73].   Dan M. Kahan & Martha C. Nussbaum, Two Conceptions of Emotion in Criminal Law, 96 Colum. L. Rev. 269, 362–64 (1996).

      [74].   Stuntz, supra note 7, at 2040.

      [75].   Bowers, LGNI, supra note 1, at 1701–02.

      [76].   Id. at 1702.

      [77].   Id. at 1705–06.

      [78].   Bowers, Punishing, supra note 1, at 1134 (“In low-stakes cases, process costs dominate . . . .”).

      [79].   Bibas, Transparency, supra note 2, at 932–34 (“[C]riminal laws do not create binding obligations but rather a menu of options for [professional] insiders.”);see also Bowers, Blame by Proxy, supra note 67, at 1; Bowers, LGNI, supra note 1, at 1693–96, 1698, 1700–04; ; William J. Stuntz, Plea Bargaining and Criminal Law’s Disappearing Shadow, 117 Harv. L. Rev. 2548, 2554, 2557–58 (2004)[hereinafter Stuntz, Plea Bargaining]; Stuntz, Unequal Justice, supra note 7, at 2001 (“Laws like these give prosecutors more cards to play . . . .”).

      [80].   Hartman v. Moore, 547 U.S. 250, 265–66 (2006); Atwater v. Lago Vista, 532 U.S. 318, 354 (2001); Whren v. United States, 517 U.S. 806, 813, 818–19 (1996); Bordenkircher v. Hayes, 434 U.S. 357, 358, 364–65 (1978); People v. Robinson, 767 N.E.2d 638, 642 (N.Y. 2001).

      [81].   Bowers, LGNI, supra note 1, at 1693–96, 1700–04, 1708; see also supra notes 49–50, 52 and accompanying text.

      [82].   Stuntz, Self-Defeating Crimes, supra note 6, at 1892; Stuntz, Race, Class, and Drugs, supra note 49, at 1795, 1831.

      [83].   Blakely v. Washington, 542 U.S. 296, 306–07 (2004); see also Williams v. Florida, 399 U.S. 78, 100 (1970) (observing that the value of the jury “lies in the interposition between the accused and his accuser of the commonsense judgment of a group of laymen”); Jenia Iontcheva Turner, Implementing Blakely, 17 Fed. Sent’g Rep. 106, 111 (2004) (noting that the Court’s reasoning in the Blakely line of cases extends also to “moral . . . decision-making”).

      [84].   See, e.g., Whren, 517 U.S. at 813 (permitting pretexual traffic stops by narcotics officers); Costello v. United States, 350 U.S. 359, 359–61 (1956) (involving pretextual tax-evasion prosecution of suspected mobster).

      [85].   See generally Andrew D. Leipold, Rethinking Jury Nullification, 82 Va. L. Rev. 253 (1996).

      [86].   Fairfax, supra note 20, at 720.

      [87].   Id. at 708 n.10; see also id. at 717 (discussing the “long shadow cast by petit jury nullification” and how “deep skepticism” toward this type of nullification animates much of the scholarship and law); Kuckes, supra note 21, at 1269 n.19 (“[J]ury nullification . . . criticisms do not readily apply to grand juries, which have the valid power to decline prosecution even on meritorious criminal charges.”); Simmons, supra note 12, at 48 (“The term ‘grand jury nullification’ is . . . a misnomer because it equates the grand juror’s proper exercise of discretionary judgment with a trial juror’s improper decision to acquit those whom have been proven guilty.”).  I must concede that, several years ago, when I first considered the normative function of the grand jury, I too used the term “grand jury nullification.”  Josh Bowers,Grand Jury Nullification: Black Power in the Charging Decision, in Criminal Law Conversations, supra note 40, at 578, 578.  However, I have since come to the conclusion that nullification is the wrong label.

      [88].   Bowers, Equitable Constraints as Rules of Law, supra note 19.

      [89].   Id.; see also Kahan & Nussbaum, supra note 73, at 374 (“It is when the law refuses to take responsibility for its most contentious choices that its decisionmakers are spared the need to be principled, and the public the opportunity to see correctable injustice.”).

      [90].   Aristotle, The Nicomachean Ethics, at 1137b 14–20 (J.A.K. Thomson & Hugh Tredennick trans., Penguin Classics rev. ed. 2004) (c. 384 B.C.E.).

      [91].   Laura F. Edwards, The People and Their Peace: Legal Culture and the Transformation of Inequality in the Post-Revolutionary South 239–40 (2009) (quoting State v. Mann, 13 N.C. (2 Dev.) 263, 266 (1829)).

      [92].   Lowe, supra note 71, at 790 (describing, but not fully subscribing to, Edwards’ perspective); cf. Stuntz, Unequal Justice, supra note 7, at 2031–32 (discussing criminal justice in the Gilded Age and concluding that “moderation and equality” depend upon putting equitable discretion “in the hands of residents of those neighborhoods where the most criminals and crime victims live.”).

      [93].   Younger, supra note 48, at 128–29 (noting grand jury refusals to charge members of the Ku Klux Klan); Simmons, supra note 12, at 14 (discussing grand jury refusals to charge whites with violence against African-Americans in the reconstruction south); Fairfax, supra note 20, at 722.

      [94].   Bibas, Forgiveness, supra note 15, at 347 (“[A]ll of these concerns are legitimate but far from fatal.  Discrimination, arbitrariness, and variations in temperament, eloquence, and attractiveness are endemic problems in criminal justice.  Remorse, apology, and forgiveness are at least neutral metrics and criteria to structure and guide discretion.”); cf. Kenneth Culp Davis, Discretionary Justice 21 (1969) (“[T]he conception of equity that discretion is needed as an escape from rigid rules [is] a far cry from the proposition that where law ends tyranny begins.”).

      [95].   Courts have indicated that it is appropriate for prosecutors to exercise such equitable discretion.  Pugach v. Klein, 193 F. Supp. 630, 634 (S.D.N.Y 1961) (“[The prosecutor never has a] duty to prosecute [because] problems are not solved by the strict application of an inflexible formula.  Rather, their solution calls for the exercise of judgment.”).  For an argument that equitable charging discretion is inevitable, desirable, and ultimately under-exercised, see generally Bowers, LGNI, supranote 1.

      [96].   However, it should also be noted that such policies and practices constrain not only arbitrary decision making, but also decision making that is appropriately sensitive to the equities of the particular case.

      [97].   Stuntz, Unequal Justice, supra note 7, at 1973, 1976, 1995, 2012, 2031–33, 2039 (arguing that “equality and local democracy go hand in hand” and that public and locally accountable exercises of equitable discretion “promot[e] consistency, not arbitrariness”); see also Bowers, LGNI, supra note 1, at 1676 (“By embracing case-specific equitable valuation, the system is not any less consistent per se (even if the inevitable inconsistencies are more apparent); in fact, such a system may even be more consistent and less arbitrary, especially where normative judgments are made by locally responsive and comparatively more transparent lay collectives.”).

      [98].   Fairfax, supra note 20, at 715 n.49 (indicating that, unlike a petit jury, a single holdout cannot derail a prospective charge).

      [99].   See Douglas G. Smith, Structural and Functional Aspects of the Jury: Comparative Analysis and Proposals for Reform, 48 Ala. L. Rev. 441, 485 (1997) (“The jury may be a superior institution to fill the factfinding role if for no other reason than that it is a group decisionmaking body rather than a single individual.”);see also Laura Appleman, The Plea Jury, 85 Ind. L.J. 731, 753 (2010) (“There is an undeniable advantage [to] having a group, instead of a single actor . . . since the breadth of a group’s experience is necessarily much wider than just one, regardless of expertise.”).

    [100].   Double jeopardy would not apply to the rejected charges.  Beale, supra note 34, § 8:6 (“Double jeopardy imposes no bar to resubmission because the grand jury has determined only that the evidence presented did not establish probable cause to indict the accused.”); see Crist v. Bretz, 437 U.S. 28, 29 (1978) (“[J]eopardy attaches when the jury is empanelled and sworn.”).  However, if the normative grand jury is to be more than toothless, I would think there would need to be some reasonable limits on resubmission.  See Simmons, supra note 12, at 19 (“[A]llowing re-submissions prevents the grand jury from acting as an effective check on the prosecutor . . . since the state effectively can ignore any action the grand jury takes without legal repercussions.”); id. at 9 (“Of course this defiance did not help Colledge in the end. . . . [T]his second grand jury dutifully indicted Colledge, and he was immediately tried and executed.”); see also Leipold, supra note 21, at 281–82.  Perhaps, the prosecutor would be permitted to resubmit upon a showing of probable jury bias or other improper motivation.  Significantly, a minority of states do limit statutorily the authority of prosecutors to resubmit charges.  Beale, supra note 34, at § 8:6.

    [101].   Alfieri, supra note 9, at 1469 (“Community-prosecution programs . . . affor[d] opportunities for citizen-state collaboration and . . . encourag[e] grassroots justice initiatives.”); Thompson, supra note 9, at 354–55, 360 (noting the decentralization, accountability, and collaboration involved in contemporary community prosecution programs).

    [102].   Margareth Etienne, In Need of a Theory of Mitigation, in Criminal Law Conversations, supra note 40, at 630, 631 (“[T]o leave these hard questions in the hand of any one institutional actor—the judge, jury (or commonly, the prosecutor)—is to leave that group susceptible to accusations of caprice and lawlessness.”).

    [103].   Frederick Schauer, Giving Reasons, 47 Stan. L. Rev. 633, 657 (1995) (“[W]hen institutional designers have grounds for believing that decisions will systematically be the product of bias, self-interest, insufficient reflection, or simply excess haste, requiring decisionmakers to give reasons may counteract some of these tendencies.”); Mathilde Cohen, Comparing Reason Giving (unpublished manuscript) (on file with author) (observing that reason giving may “encourag[e] consistency . . . and promot[e] the rule of law . . . [because] [t]he practice of reason-giving limits the scope of available discretion over time by encouraging judges to treat similarly situated cases alike and to treat differently situated cases differently”).

    [104].   Stuntz, supra note 7, at 2039 (emphasis added).

    [105].   As I observed previously:

[T]he risk of abuse of equitable discretion is endemic—as is the risk of abuse across human endeavors. But this endeavor ought not to be abandoned just because unchecked equitable discretion paradoxically may empower decision-makers to behave inequitably by, for example, exacerbating the oppressive treatment of traditionally subjugated groups.  The risk of abuse merely underscores the need for conscientious institutional and legal design intended to express and cabin equitable discretion optimally.

Bowers, LWOP, supra note 52, (manuscript at 15–16).

    [106].   Id.; Bowers, Equitable Constraints as Rules of Law, supra note 19.

    [107].   Kahan & Nussbaum, supra note 73, at 360, 362–64 (indicating that efforts to strip or conceal exercises of equitable discretion may lead only to their arbitrary, “clumsy and offhand” expression).

    [108].   Id. at 274; Dan M. Kahan, Ignorance of Law is an Excuse— But Only for the Virtuous, 96 Mich L. Rev. 127, 154 (1997) (“The moralizing that occurs with [the] criminal law . . . [is] on balance a good thing, and [is] probably inevitable in any event, but [it] ought at least to be made openly.”); cf. Schauer, supra note 103, at 658 (noting that when an official “announc[es] an outcome without giving a reason” she engages in an “exercise of authority.”).

    [109].   Bibas, Foregiveness, supra note 15, at 331 n.6 (observing that lay participation in criminal justice probably works best in “homogenous communities”).

    [110].   See John Langbein, Torture and Plea Bargaining, 46 U. Chi. L. Rev. 3, 21 (1978) (proposing an informal “streamlined . . . procedure” as “a middle path between the impossible system of routine adversary jury trial and the disgraceful nontrial system of plea bargaining”).

    [111].   Costello v. United States, 350 U.S. 359, 364 (1956); see also Simmons, supra note 12, at 5 (“[E]arly grand juries heard no evidence and did not even need to have firsthand knowledge of the cases that came before them . . . .”).

    [112].   Fed. R. Evid. 1101(d).

    [113].   See United States v. Calandra, 414 U.S. 338, 349–50 (1974) (holding that the grand jury may consider illegally obtained evidence); Costello, 350 U.S. at 363 (holding that the grand jury may consider hearsay).

    [114].   See Simmons, supra note 12, at 24 (“[G]iving the defendant the right to testify makes sense if the grand jury is actually performing a broader, more political role.”).

    [115].   Id. at 23–24 & n.103 (indicating that only four states provide defendant a statutory right to testify before the grand jury).

    [116].   Id. at 16.

    [117].   Indeed, remarking on the Colledge trial, King William III’s Solicitor General indicated that the “matter of admitting counsel to a grand-jury hath been . . . a very unjustifiable and unsufferable one.”  Sir John Hawles, Remarks on Colledge’s Trial, 8 Howell’s State Trials 723, 724 (T. B. Howell ed., 1816). In his opinion, the grand jury “ought to . . . not rely upon the private opinion of counsel, especially of the king’s counsel, who are, or at least behave themselves as if they were parties.” Id.  Likewise, in 1806, the United States Attorney for Kentucky sought admission to the grand jury that was considering the indictment of Aaron Burr.  The request was taken to be “novel and unprecedented” and was denied.  Helene E. Schwartz, Demythologizing the Historic Role of the Grand Jury, 10 Am. Crim. L. Rev. 701, 734 (1972).

    [118].   See Hurtado v. California, 110 U.S. 516, 538 (1884).

    [119].   Nor am I the first to propose an adversarial grand jury.  See Simmons, supra note 12, at 23–24 (discussing proposals to provide defendants rights to testify and present evidence and arguments to the grand jury).

    [120].   Because the defense attorney would present the normative arguments for the defendant, there is less concern that the defendant would implicate himself.  Cf.Simmons, supra note 12, at 23 (observing that, given the right, a defendant “will rarely testify” before a grand jury, because he “opens himself up to very real liabilities”).  I should add that—at least in the petty-crime context—I find the concern with self-incrimination overblown because these cases so rarely proceed to trial in any event.  Nevertheless, I am skeptical whether an efficient normative grand jury could include the presentation of testimony—either from the defendant or anyone else.  An additional advantage of allowing the defense attorney to speak for the defendant is that it minimizes the risk that the grand jury would decline charges on the bases of such irrelevant factors as defendant charisma.  See, e.g., Bibas, Forgiveness, supra note 15, at 347 (“Some offenders and some victims are more eloquent and attractive than others, which may increase their ability to win forgiveness and mercy.”); Ekow Yankah, Good Guys and Bad Guys: Punishing Character, Equality and the Irrelevance of Moral Character to Criminal Punishment, 25 Cardozo L. Rev. 1019, 1020–21 (2004) (arguing that people read character signals to conclude—often incorrectly—that an actor is blameworthy in a particular situation).

    [121].   Chris Guthrie, Jeffrey J. Rachlinski & Andrew J. Wistrich, Blinking on the Bench: How Judges Decide Cases, 93 Cornell L. Rev. 1, 7 (2007); see alsoJonathan Haidt, The Emotional Dog and Its Rational Tail: A Social Intuitionist Approach to Moral Judgment, 108 Psychol. Rev. 814, 817 (2001) (claiming that moral judgments are products of quick moral intuitions followed by after-the-fact moral reasoning).

    [122].   Malcolm M. Feeley, The Process is the Punishment: Handling Cases in a Lower Criminal Court 179 (1979) (noting that the defense attorney tries to individualize his client and distinguish the incident from the “normal” instance of the charged crime); see, e.g., id. at 164 (“You wouldn’t want to louse up this guy’s whole life for this measly prank.”); Milton Heumann, Plea Bargaining: The Experiences of Prosecutors, Judges, and Defense Attorneys 32 (1977) (“You get . . . a first offender on a drunk driving case, and suppose the guy has got a wife and six kids . . . .  [Y]ou get a [prosecutor] to say, ‘Hell, how am I going to cost this guy his job, getting him a divorce, blow his family, put his kids on welfare for six months . . . .”); id. at 40 (“[H]ere’s a nice kid . . . he’s a college kid.”); id. at 109 (“Now look.  He’s an old guy.  He’s sixty-two years old, how about six months?”); id. at 151 (“Army backgrounds, both with tremendous records in the service, all kinds of citations and everything else, fully employed, good family backgrounds, no criminal records . . . .  These men shouldn’t have felony records for the rest of their lives . . . .”); see also Feeley, supra, at 162–65 (highlighting normative plea-bargaining arguments based on remorse, clean record, the potential loss of educational and employment opportunities, family and social support, and the bad character of the arresting officer).

    [123].   See supra notes 88–99 and accompanying text.

    [124].   For felony cases, courts could employ the cheaper mechanism of a magistrate’s preliminary hearing, which—in that context—is also more effective, because a legal technician can be expected to do better assessing the legal determination of probable cause, and that legal determination is comparatively more important in the serious cases where selective enforcement and normative disagreement are less likely concerns.  Indeed, a number of states have substituted preliminary hearings for grand jury proceedings in felony cases, and the data indicate that magistrates are somewhat likelier to reject proposed felony charges for lack of probable cause.  Allen et al., supra note 28, at 1037.

    [125].   See James N. Canham, One Day, One Trial, 16 Judges’ J., no. 3, 1977 at 34, 36 (“Extended service leads to frustration and boredom, due often to under-utilization, and the resulting resentment towards the courts is not conducive to the dispensation of justice.”); Joanna Sobol, Note: Hardship Excuses and Occupational Exemptions: The Impairment of the “Fair Cross-Section of the Community,” 69 S. Cal. L. Rev. 155, 223 (1995) (citing studies and stating, “Our failure to use jurors efficiently is the principal reason why, for most citizens, jury duty is synonymous not with a meaningful opportunity to perform an important public service, but rather with aggravation and endless waiting . . . .  [Jurors’] number one complaint about jury duty is that their time is wasted at almost every opportunity.”).

    [126].   See supra note 13 and accompanying text.

    [127].   See infra Part IV.A.

    [128].   See infra Part IV.A.

    [129].   See infra Part IV.B.

    [130].   See supra p. 101.

    [131].   Gerken, supra note 72, at 1122; see also Cohen, supra note 103, at 15 (“[R]eason-giving is fundamental to a democratic regime because free and equal citizens should be treated not merely as objects of rule-application and rule-making, but also as autonomous agents who take part in the law of their own society.”); Kahan & Nussbaum, supra note 73, at 363 (observing that professional decision-makers would be compelled “to accept responsibility for their moral assessments and to give reasons for them in a public way.”); Schauer, supra note 103, at  658 (“[G]iving reasons becomes a way to bring the subject of the decision into the enterprise . . . and a way of opening a conversation rather than forestalling one.”).

    [132].   Gerken, supra note 72, at 1143–44; see also Heather K. Gerken, Dissenting by Deciding, 57 Stan. L. Rev. 1745, 1748 (2005) [hereinafter Gerken,Dissenting] (advocating disaggregated democratic institutions—like juries—that provide decision-making authority to conventionally powerless political minorities).

    [133].   See generally Gerken, supra note 72.

    [134].   Id. at 1138; see id. at 1106 (arguing that “[d]isaggregated institutions” have the benefit of “facilitating mass participation and aggregating community judgments”).

    [135].   Howard Erlanger et al., Is It Time for a New Legal Realism?, 2005 Wis. L. Rev. 335, 357; see, e.g., Stuntz, Collapse, supra note 67, at 11 (“[T]he more urgent need is for a better brand of politics: one that takes full account of the different harms crime and punishment do to those who suffer them—and one that gives those sufferers the power to render their neighborhoods more peaceful, and more just.”).  See generally William H. Simon, Solving Problems vs. Claiming Rights: The Pragmatist Challenge to Legal Liberalism, 46 Wm. & Mary L. Rev. 127 (2004).

    [136].   Gerken, supra note 72, at 1143–44; cf. Schauer supra note 103, at 658 (“[G]iving reasons may be a sign of respect.”).

    [137].   Gerken, supra note 72, at 1143–44.

    [138].   Id. at 1147 (“[T]he more poor people and people of color are involved in the decisionmaking process, the more likely it is that members of these groups will take an active role in the process.”); see also Gerald E. Frug, The City as a Legal Concept, 93 Harv. L. Rev. 1057, 1070 (1980) (“Power and participation are inextricably linked: a sense of powerlessness tends to produce apathy rather than participation.”); Gerken, supra note 72, at 1144–45 (“It may help electoral minorities feel that they have gotten a ‘fair shake’ from the majority, and thus feel more invested in the political process.”).

    [139].   Gerken, supra note 72, at 1145 n.120.

    [140].   See generally Baldwin v. New York, 399 U.S. 66 (1970); Duncan v. Louisiana, 391 U.S. 145 (1968).

    [141].   Appelman, supra note 99, at 760 (observing that “jury trials are few and far between” and that there is a systemic need for public participation exercised frequently).

    [142].   Williams v. Florida, 399 U.S. 78, 100 (1970) (discussing the value of a lay jury).

    [143].   Bowers, LWOP, supra note 52, (manuscript at 30–31) (proposing an equitable sentencing jury and observing that “[u]nder the proposed reforms, the relationship between the politics of crime and the punishment of crime might prove somewhat more dynamic” because “[t]he jury’s equitable decision might serve to bridge” the divide between “abstract litigation and specific incidents of crime”).

    [144].   Bowers, Grassroots, supra note 3, at 111 (“[T]he target communities of public-order enforcement are not those that typically wield terrific electoral clout.”); Bowers, LGNI, supra note 1, at 1714 (“Consequently, district attorneys’ electoral prospects rarely rise or fall on their handling of isolated minor cases.”).

    [145].   James Forman, Jr. & Shaimaa Hussein, Presentation at Faculty Workshop, Georgetown Law: Isolation, Empathy, and the Politics of Crime (Sept. 15, 2009).

    [146].   See generally Robinson & Darley, supra note 41, at 6 (“Each time the system is seen to convict in cases in which no community condemnation is appropriate, the system weakens the underlying force of the moral sanction. . . . If the criminal law is seen as unjust in one instance, its moral credibility and its concomitant compliance power are, accordingly, incrementally reduced.”); Bowers, LWOP, supra note 52, (manuscript at 22–23) (“[F]acilitating visibility and local participation has an added advantage: a criminal-justice system that equitably empowers lay bodies is likelier to be seen as legitimate and morally credible. Specifically, individuals tend to perceive lay decision-making to be more procedurally fair than professional decision-making.”); Bowers & Robinson, supra note 5; Robinson, Crime Control, supra note 41, at 1839 (arguing that punishment in the absence of community condemnation undermines the normative force of the criminal law and thereby undermines crime control); Louis Michael Seidman, Soldiers, Martyrs, and Criminals: Utilitarian Theory and the Problem of Crime Control, 94 Yale L.J. 315, 333 (1984) (“The evidence is all around us that large numbers of people are willing to play the crime game when the threatened punishment no longer communicates moral disapproval.”).

    [147].   Kahan, Reciprocity, supra note 3, at 1533 (observing that when law enforcement cultivates perceptions of legitimacy, “citizens are [more] likely to be more forgiving of isolated instances of police misconduct”).

    [148].   Id. at 1529–30.

    [149].   Jeffrey Rosen, Excessive Force: Why Patrick Dorismond Didn’t Have to Die, New Republic, Apr. 10, 2000, at 24, 27 (describing order-maintenance policing as “a drug whose primary effect is that it will reduce crime, and its side effect is that it may exacerbate political tensions”); see also Bowers, Grassroots, supra note 3, at 91–94 (discussing how when police who respond too aggressively to “borderline” behavior, they risk producing sympathy for the rule breakers, creating fear and loathing in law-abiding citizens towards order-maintenance policing); Jeffrey Fagan & Garth Davies, Street Stops and Broken Windows: Terry, Race, and Disorder in New York City, 28 Fordham Urb. L.J. 457, 461-63 (2000) (documenting legitimacy costs of order-maintenance policing); Kahan, Reciprocity, supra note 3, at 1529 (“The perception that order-maintenance policing visits unequal burdens on minorities is likely to reinforce . . . disrespect . . . .”).

    [150].   Bowers & Robinson, supra note 5, at 219–226.

    [151].   See, e.g., Virginia v. Moore, 553 U.S. 164 (2008) (holding that a misdemeanor arrest supported by probable cause is per se reasonable, even if the misdemeanor arrest is contrary to state law); Illinois v. Caballes, 543 U.S. 405 (2005) (holding that individuals have no reasonable expectation of privacy against drug-sniffing dogs); Atwater v. City of Lago Vista, 532 U.S. 318 (2001) (holding that a misdemeanor arrest supported by probable cause is per se constitutionally reasonable, no matter how trivial the criminal incident); California v. Greenwood, 486 U.S. 35 (1988) (holding that defendants have no reasonable expectation of privacy in their bagged trash); Oliver v. United States, 466 U.S. 170 (1984) (holding that individuals have no reasonable expectation of privacy in open fields); Smith v. Maryland, 442 U.S. 735 (1979) (holding that individuals have no reasonable expectation of privacy in their telephone records); United States v. Miller, 425 U.S. 435 (1976) (holding that individuals have no reasonable expectation of privacy in their bank records).  But see, e.g., Kyllo v. United States, 533 U.S. 27, 40 (2001) (recognizing a reasonable expectation of privacy against the use of a thermal imager to detect heat emanating from a home).

    [152].   See generally Bowers, Equitable Constraints as Rules of Law, supra note 19.

    [153].   Dan M. Kahan et al., Whose Eyes Are You Going to Believe? Scott v. Harris and the Perils of Cognitive Illiberalism, 122 Harv. L. Rev. 837, 888 (2009) [hereinafter Cognitive Illiberalism]; see also Albert W. Alschuler, Bright Line Fever and the Fourth Amendment, 45 U. Pitt. L. Rev. 227, 235–41 (1984); Bowers & Robinson, supra note 5, at 227 (“Courts may endorse ostensible reasonable beliefs that the reasonable public does not, in fact, share—that the public, instead, perceives to be either too deferential to the criminal class or, conversely, insufficiently protective of any citizen (save for the very paranoid).”).

    [154].   Chicago v. Morales, 527 U.S. 41, 106, 109 (1999) (Thomas, J., dissenting) (“Police officers are not . . . simply enforcers of the criminal law.  They wear other hats . . . .  [Thus,] the police inevitably must exercise discretion . . . .  That is not to say that the law should not provide objective guidelines for the police, but simply that it cannot rigidly constrain their every action.”).

    [155].   Graham v. Connor, 490 U.S. 386, 396–97 (1989) (“The calculus of reasonableness must embody allowance for the fact that police officers are often forced to make split-second judgments—in circumstances that are tense, uncertain, and rapidly evolving.”).

    [156].   For these same reasons, I am skeptical about the degree to which we may subject police decision making to popular oversight.  Thus, I acknowledge the limits of my own proposal: as a community-justice tool, the normative grand jury would do its work on the prospective prosecutorial charge, not directly on police investigation and arrest decisions.  The body’s impact on police decision-making would be tangential, if at all.  I welcome sensible community-policing reforms, but I am uncertain how to sensibly craft them, and thus such reforms are not my focus.  In short, I see persuasive reasons to conclude that police deserve deference in circumstances where prosecutors may not—reasons that I plan to explore in greater detail in a separate article.  Bowers, Equitable Constraints as a Rule of Law, supranote 19.

    [157].   See supra text accompanying notes 90–91 (discussing Aristotelian insight about the scope of effective rules).  But, as Aristotle understood, equitable constraints may pick up where legal constraints must necessarily leave off.  Id.; see also Bowers, LGNI, supra note 1, at 1705–12 (discussing how equitable considerations may offer a greater pool of options than legal remedies).

    [158].   See supra text accompanying notes 62–63 (positing the various fresh perspectives of lay decision makers).

    [159].   Kahan et al., Cognitive Illiberalism, supra note 153, at 842. See generally Bibas, Transparency, supra note 2, at 916 (observing that professionalized insider-dominated criminal justice “impairs [lay] outsiders’ faith in the law’s legitimacy and trustworthiness, which undercuts their willingness to comply with it . . . [, thus] imped[ing] the criminal law’s moral and expressive goals as well as its instrumental ones.”).

    [160].   Tracey Maclin, “Black and Blue Encounters”—Some Preliminary Thoughts about Fourth  Amendment Seizures: Should Race Matter?, 26 Val. U. L. Rev. 243, 250 (1991) (“[T]he dynamics surrounding an encounter between a police officer and a black man are quite different from those that surround an encounter between an officer and the so-called average, reasonable person.”).

    [161].   Id. at 272.

    [162].   Kahan et al., Cognitive Illiberalism, supra note 153, at 884–85.

    [163].   Kahan & Meares, supra note 69, at 1176; see also Simmons, supra note 12, at 55 (observing that “grand juries enhance a perception of justice” among defendants and grand jurors).

    [164].   See supra note 14 and accompanying text.  See generally Kim Forde-Mazrui, Jural Districting: Selecting Impartial Juries Through Community Representation, 52 Vand. L. Rev. 353 (1999).

    [165].   Bowers & Robinson, supra note 5, at 226-27; Robert J. MacCoun & Tom R. Tyler, The Basis of Citizens’ Perceptions of the Criminal Jury: Procedural Fairness, Accuracy, and Efficiency, 12 Law & Hum. Behav. 333, 338 (1988); Simmons, supra note 12, at 61 “[I]n general individuals believe—rightly or wrongly—that a jury of lay people is a fairer and more objective arbiter in a criminal case than is a trained, professional ‘expert’”).

    [166].   Allan Lind & Tom R. Tyler, The Social Psychology of Procedural Justice 106 (1988) (“The perception that one has had an opportunity to express oneself and to have one’s views considered by someone in power plays a critical role in fairness judgments.”); Tom R. Tyler, Why People Obey the Law 163 (2006) (observing that “an opportunity to take part in the decision-making process” contributes significantly to perceptions that procedures are fair); Bowers & Robinson, supra note 5, at 216 (“[P]rocedures are [perceived to be] legitimate . . . when they provide opportunities for . . . interested parties to be heard.”);Rebecca Hollander-Blumoff, Just Negotiation, 88 Wash. U. L. Rev. 381, 390 n.37 (2010) (“Research has suggested that the opportunity for participation may be important to individuals even when their participation is unlikely to affect the decision.  This suggests that on some occasions, even nonmeaningful voice may lead individuals to assess a process as more fair.”).

    [167].   Bowers & Robinson, supra note 5, at 248 (discussing the importance of decision control to perceptions of legitimacy).

    [168].   Albert Alschuler and Stephen Schulhofer have expressed support for the so-called “Philly model” that features stripped-down bench trials to lesser charges.  Albert W. Alschuler, The Changing Plea Bargaining Debate, 69 Calif. L. Rev. 652 (1981); Steven J. Schulhofer, Is Plea Bargaining Inevitable?, 97 Harv. L. Rev. 1037 (1984); cf. Is Plea Bargaining a Cop-Out?, Time, Aug. 28, 1978, at 44 (“Here we have an elaborate jury trial system, and only 10% of the accused get to use it.  That’s like solving America’s transportation problems by giving 10% Cadillacs and making the rest go barefoot.” (quoting Alschuler)).  John Langbein has expressed support for the kinds of informal jury trials that typified common-law criminal justice.  Langbein, supra note 110, at 21 (proposing an inquisitorial “streamlined . . . procedure” as “a middle path between the impossible system of routine adversary jury trial and the disgraceful nontrial system of plea bargaining”); cf. Steven Zeidman, Perspective: Time to End Violation Pleas, N.Y.L.J., April 1, 2008, at 2, col. 3 (proposing a ban on first-appearance guilty pleas).  See generally Bibas, Machinery, supra note 71.

    [169].   See, e.g., Feeley, supra note 122; see also Heumann, supra note 122; Bowers, Punishing, supra note 1, at 1120.

    [170].   See generally Bowers, LWOP, supra note 52 (making a similar claim about lay equitable sentencing discretion).

    [171].   See generally Bowers, LGNI, supra note 1.

    [172].   Simmons, supra note 12, at 11.

Bowers_LawReview_9.12

 

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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