David Rivkin

By David B. Rivkin, Jr., and Elizabeth Price Foley

October 14, 2024, in the Wall Street Journal

Jack Smith made no concessions in his response to the Supreme Court’s July ruling in Trump v. U.S., which rejected the special counsel’s contention that he had unlimited authority to prosecute Donald Trump for alleged crimes that involved official presidential acts. Chief Justice John Roberts provided a framework for distinguishing official acts from private ones and for determining which official acts could be prosecuted.

In a 165-page brief filed with Judge Tanya Chutkan, who is presiding over the election-fraud case, Mr. Smith acknowledges only that Mr. Trump’s communications with Justice Department officials were official acts and can’t be prosecuted—as the justices expressly said. But Mr. Smith characterizes then-President Trump’s official conversations with the vice president as outside the zone of immunity and his communications with state officials and the public not as official acts of the president but private acts of a candidate. In so doing he gives short shrift to the separation-of-powers justification for immunity.

Trump v. U.S. extended presidential immunity, which the court recognized in Nixon v. Fitzgerald (1982), from civil lawsuits to criminal prosecutions. Like the immunity enjoyed by prosecutors, judges and members of Congress, the president’s immunity for official acts is predicated on separation of powers. Fitzgerald held that immunity is especially important for the president, who “occupies a unique position in the constitutional scheme” as head of a branch of government—an “easily identifiable target” for legal attacks that could thwart the effective functioning of the office.

A president’s immunity from criminal prosecution is absolute when he exercises his core constitutional powers, such as recognizing foreign governments, nominating and firing executive officers, commanding the military, issuing pardons, faithfully executing the laws—and, as in this case, directing an executive-branch department.

Other acts within the “outer perimeter” of the president’s responsibility, the court explained, have “at least” a presumptive immunity. The presumption is rebuttable only if the prosecutor can prove that the acts are “manifestly or palpably beyond” the president’s authority, such that, as Fitzgerald put it, imposing liability would “pose no dangers of intrusion on the authority and functions of the Executive Branch.”

Mr. Smith’s brief falls short of making that case. His primary argument is that the “throughline” of Mr. Trump’s postelection efforts “was deceit,” because the president made “knowingly false claims of election fraud.”

The prosecutor’s focus on Mr. Trump’s motive is a critical legal error. The Trump decision reiterated Fitzgerald’s holding that in distinguishing between official and private acts, “courts may not inquire into the President’s motives.” Allowing such an inquiry would vitiate the president’s immunity, since virtually every presidential decision is based in part on political considerations, and suits against a president would always allege improper motives.

The only relevant questions, therefore, are whether a president’s acts, objectively viewed, are official or unofficial, and if they are official, whether they can be prosecuted without intruding on the president’s legitimate authority. Mr. Smith asserts that when a president seeks “to influence his Vice President” about electoral certification, it is outside the zone of immunity because the vice president exercises this power as president of the Senate, and the “Executive Branch plays no role.” He deems Mr. Trump’s interactions with state officials private because the president has “no official role” in the Electoral College process or enforcing state election law. And he asserts that Mr. Trump made various public statements in his capacity as a candidate, not as president.

The court has rejected Mr. Smith’s cramped view of presidential authority on several occasions. In his concurrence in Youngstown Sheet & Tube v. Sawyer (1952), Justice Felix Frankfurter observed that executive power extends beyond statutes and express constitutional provisions to include the “gloss” of longstanding presidential practice. In Dames & Moore v. Regan (1981), a majority embraced Frankfurter’s view.

The Trump decision also accepted Frankfurter’s view, observing that “some Presidential conduct—for example, speaking to and on behalf of the American people—certainly can qualify as official even when not obviously connected to a particular constitutional or statutory provision.” The president is “expected to comment on those matters of public concern” and in so doing so, he may pressure others—outside the executive branch—to behave in certain ways. In McDonnell v. U.S. (2016), the court held that an “official act” under the federal bribery statute includes using one’s office “to exert pressure on another official to perform an official act.”

Mr. Smith asserts that Mr. Trump’s legal efforts in his “capacity as a candidate” to challenge certain state elections prove that his conversations with officials and statements to the public were private actions. But that gets it backward. Under Trump, the burden is on the prosecutor to show that his allegations don’t infringe on the president’s official duties, not on the president to show that his exercise of those duties is untainted by private considerations.

Chief Justice Roberts writes in Trump that immunity is a “farsighted” constitutional doctrine designed to prevent constant legal harassment from enfeebling the presidency. Without immunity, the threat of civil and criminal liability would create, as George Washington put it in his Farewell Address, the “alternate domination of one faction over another, sharpened by the spirit of revenge” with every new administration.

Democrats profess to be worried that Mr. Trump, if returned to office, will use the justice system to seek retribution against his political opponents. They should stop and consider that presidential immunity also restrains that “spirit of revenge” if Mr. Trump wins in November.

Mr. Rivkin served at the Justice Department and the White House Counsel’s Office during the Reagan and George H.W. Bush Administrations. Ms. Foley is a professor of constitutional law at Florida International University. Both practice appellate and constitutional law in Washington.

By David B. Rivkin, Jr., and Elizabeth Price Foley

September 8, 2024, in the Wall Street Journal

Donald Trump runs no risk of going to prison in the middle of his campaign, thanks to Judge Juan Merchan’s decision Friday to postpone sentencing until Nov. 26. The delay gives his lawyers more time to prepare an appeal. Fortunately for Mr. Trump, his trial was overwhelmingly flawed, and a well-constructed appeal would ensure its ultimate reversal.

A central problem for the prosecution and Judge Merchan lies in Article VI of the U.S. Constitution, which makes federal law the “supreme law of the land.” That pre-empts state law when it conflicts with federal law, including by asserting jurisdiction over areas in which the federal government has exclusive authority.

Mr. Trump’s conviction violates this principle because it hinges on alleged violations of state election law governing campaign spending and contributions. The Federal Election Campaign Act pre-empts these laws as applied to federal campaigns. If it didn’t, there would be chaos. Partisan state and local prosecutors could interfere in federal elections by entangling candidates in litigation, devouring precious time and resources.

That hasn’t happened except in the Trump case, because the Justice Department has always guarded its exclusive jurisdiction even when states have pushed back, as has happened in recent decades over immigration enforcement.

The normal approach would have been for the Justice Department to inform District Attorney Alvin Bragg, who was contemplating charges against Mr. Trump, of the FECA pre-emption issue. If Mr. Bragg didn’t follow the department’s guidance, it would have intervened at the start of the case to have it dismissed. Instead the department allowed a state prosecutor to interfere with the electoral prospects of the chief political rival of President Biden, the attorney general’s boss.

Mr. Trump was indicted under New York’s law prohibiting falsification of business records, which is a felony only if the accused intended “to commit another crime” via the false record. Judge Merchan instructed the jury that the other crime was Section 17-152 of New York election law, which makes it a misdemeanor to “conspire to promote or prevent the election of any person to a public office by unlawful means.” Prosecutors alleged that Mr. Trump violated this law by conspiring with his lawyer, Michael Cohen, and Trump-related businesses to “promote” his presidential election by coding hush-money payments as “legal expenses” when they should have been disclosed publicly as campaign expenses or contributions—matters that are governed by FECA.

FECA declares that its provisions “supersede and preempt any provision of state law with respect to election to Federal office.” The 1974 congressional conference committee report accompanying enactment of FECA’s pre-emption language states: “It is clear that the Federal law occupies the field with respect to reporting and disclosure of political contributions and expenditures by Federal candidates.” Federal Election Commission regulations likewise declare that FECA “supersedes State law” concerning the “disclosure of receipts and expenditures by Federal candidates” and “limitation on contributions and expenditures regarding Federal candidates.”

The New York State Board of Elections agreed in a 2018 formal opinion that issues relating to disclosure of federal campaign contributions and expenditures are pre-empted because “Congress expressly articulated ‘field preemption’ of federal law over state law in this area” to avoid federal candidates’ “facing a patchwork of state and local filing requirements.”

In using New York’s election law to brand Mr. Trump a felon based on his actions with respect to a federal election, Mr. Bragg subverts FECA’s goal of providing predictable, uniform national rules regarding disclosure of federal campaign contributions and expenses, including penalties for noncompliance. Congress made its goals of uniformity and predictability clear not only in FECA’s sweeping pre-emption language but also in its grant of exclusive enforcement authority to the FEC for civil penalties and the Justice Department for criminal penalties. Both the FEC and Justice Department conducted yearslong investigations to ascertain whether Mr. Trump’s hush-money payments violated FECA, and both declined to seek any penalties.

Prior to Mr. Trump’s New York prosecution, it would have been unthinkable for a local or state prosecutor to prosecute a federal candidate predicated on whether or how his campaign reported—or failed to report—contributions or expenditures. In 2019 the FEC investigated whether Hillary Clinton’s 2016 presidential campaign failed to disclose millions in contributions from an outside political action committee. The agency deadlocked, and no penalties were imposed. In 2022 the FEC levied $113,000 in civil penalties against Mrs. Clinton’s campaign for violating FECA because it improperly coded as “legal services,” rather than campaign expenditures, money paid to Christopher Steele for production of the “dossier” that fueled the Russia-collusion hoax. In neither instance did any state or local prosecutor indict Mrs. Clinton under state election law based on failure to disclose these contributions or expenditures properly. If New York’s Trump precedent stands, Mrs. Clinton could still be vulnerable to prosecution, depending on various states’ statutes of limitation and the Justice Department’s potential involvement.

Mr. Bragg’s prosecution of Mr. Trump is plagued by many reversible legal errors, of which the failure to accord pre-emptive force to FECA is the strongest grounds for its reversal on appeal. The prosecutor’s interference in the 2024 presidential election process has created legal and political problems. The Justice Department’s failure to intervene before the trial is a dereliction of duty.

The department aggressively prosecuted Mr. Cohen based on the same hush-money payments, so it was well aware that New York’s prosecution invaded its exclusive FECA jurisdiction. This is another stark example of the Biden administration’s incompetence—or, worse, the distortion of justice through a partisan lens. It is left to the appellate courts, and ultimately the Supreme Court, to clean up the mess Mr. Bragg and the Justice Department have made.

Mr. Rivkin served at the Justice Department and the White House Counsel’s Office during the Reagan and George H.W. Bush Administrations. Ms. Foley is a professor of constitutional law at Florida International University College of Law. Both practice appellate and constitutional law in Washington.

By David B. Rivkin, Jr., and Elizabeth Price Foley

July 1, 2024, in the Wall Street Journal

The Supreme Court on Monday rendered the most important defense of separation of powers in its history. Trump v. U.S. concluded that the Constitution requires immunity from criminal prosecution for official presidential acts. The decision isn’t about Donald Trump so much as it is about protecting the presidency itself; future occupants of that office, including President Biden; and the ability of the government to function.

In Federalist No. 70, Alexander Hamilton explained that the executive branch is embodied in a single person, the president, to avoid the “habitual feebleness and dilatoriness” inherent in multimember bodies like Congress. A unitary president ensures vigor in the exercise of executive power for the benefit of the nation. “A feeble executive implies a feeble execution of the government. A feeble execution is but another phrase for a bad execution; and a government ill executed, whatever it may be in theory, must be, in practice, a bad government.”

The Trump opinion acknowledged these truths and built on Nixon v. Fitzgerald (1982), which recognized presidential immunity from civil lawsuits predicated on official acts. In that case, Justice Lewis Powell wrote that such immunity is mandated by the president’s “unique position” and “rooted in the constitutional tradition of the separation of powers.” Lawsuits “could distract a President from his public duties, to the detriment of not only the President and his office but also the Nation that the Presidency was designed to serve.”

As Chief Justice John Roberts noted in Trump, that’s even more true of criminal charges. Given “the peculiar public opprobrium that attaches to criminal proceedings,” they “are plainly more likely to distort Presidential decisionmaking than the potential payment of civil damages.” Without immunity, “a President inclined to take one course of action based on the public interest may instead opt for another, apprehensive that criminal penalties may befall him upon his departure from office.” Immunity is therefore crucial to protect the independence of the executive branch. But the immunity the court recognized isn’t without limit.

The president enjoys absolute immunity for acts undertaken within his exclusive power, as granted by the Constitution. “Once it is determined that the President acted within the scope of his exclusive authority,” the court declared, “his discretion in exercising such authority cannot be subject to further judicial examination.” One of the allegations against Mr. Trump is that he attempted to convince the Justice Department to investigate election fraud. Because the president has ultimate authority over the Justice Department, the high court held that Mr. Trump is absolutely immune from charges relating to his interactions with it.

For acts “within the outer perimeter” of the president’s official responsibility, the justices held, there is “at least a presumptive immunity.” The president has a broad array of “discretionary responsibilities” that aren’t exclusively his. “At a minimum,” the court held, “the President must . . . be immune from prosecution for an official act unless the Government can show that applying a criminal prohibition to that act would pose ‘no dangers of intrusion on the authority and functions of the Executive Branch.’ ”

Applying that standard, the court concluded that allegations relating to Mr. Trump’s efforts to persuade Vice President Mike Pence to take certain actions during Congress’s certification of electors “involve official conduct,” but left it to the trial judge to determine whether prosecution “would pose any dangers of intrusion on the authority and functions of the Executive Branch.” The court took the same approach to allegations regarding Mr. Trump’s interactions with state officials, private parties and the public. Whether these were “official acts” requires “close analysis” by the trial court, “with the benefit of briefing” by the parties, the justices said. All these questions will be litigated and could again come before the high court.

At the same time, the justices made clear that the president has no immunity from prosecution for private acts. That’s consistent with Clinton v. Jones (1997), which denied Bill Clinton’s claim of immunity in a lawsuit alleging sexual harassment during his time as Arkansas governor. Presidents aren’t “above the law”; they are immune from civil lawsuit or criminal prosecution only for actions undertaken pursuant to the highest law, the Constitution.

The court also wisely rejected special counsel Jack Smith’s argument that determining whether acts are official and therefore immune can wait until after the trial. Presidential immunity “must be addressed at the outset of a proceeding,” the court held, because the mere “possibility of an extended proceeding” may reduce the presidency’s vigor. The justices observed that “we do not ordinarily decline to decide significant constitutional questions based on the Government’s promises of good faith.”

Without immunity and prompt pretrial determination thereof, former presidents could face years of court proceedings fighting novel charges predicated on public speeches; negotiations with state, foreign or congressional leaders; or executive orders lacking clear statutory authorization such as vaccine mandates, eviction moratoriums or actions opening the border. Clever prosecutors could conjure up indictments based on opaque criminal statutes such as conspiracy against rights, conspiracy to defraud the U.S., obstruction of justice, mail or wire fraud, racketeering, and false statements or misrepresentations.

The wisdom of the court’s decision is illustrated by charges Mr. Smith levied against Mr. Trump. The Court concluded that many of them were based on official acts and thus constitutionally inappropriate. Other charges were so poorly developed that they must be decided on remand, necessitating even more litigation.

Any prosecution of a president based on his official acts harms the presidency’s effectiveness. The court has sent a clear message to prosecutors like Mr. Smith: You’d better have a strong case, because presidents have immunity for official acts, and they are entitled to prompt judicial determination thereof. If the justices had decided otherwise, our nation would have descended into a destructive cycle of perpetual lawfare, weakening all presidents—including Mr. Biden—and further politicizing the justice system.

Mr. Rivkin served at the Justice Department and the White House Counsel’s Office during the Reagan and George H.W. Bush Administrations. Ms. Foley is a professor of constitutional law at Florida International University College of Law. Both practice appellate and constitutional law in Washington.

By David B. Rivkin, Jr., and Elizabeth Price Foley

June 4, 2024, in the Wall Street Journal

Whether you love, hate or merely tolerate Donald Trump, you should care about due process, which is fundamental to the rule of law. New York’s trial of Mr. Trump violated basic due-process principles.

“No principle of procedural due process is more clearly established than that notice of the specific charge,” the Supreme Court stated in Cole v. Arkansas (1948), “and a chance to be heard in a trial of the issues raised by that charge, if desired, [is] among the constitutional rights of every accused in a criminal proceeding in all courts, state or federal.” In in re Winship (1970), the justices affirmed that “the Due Process Clause protects the accused against conviction except upon proof beyond a reasonable doubt of every fact necessary to constitute the crime with which he is charged.” These three due-process precepts—notice, meaningful opportunity to defend, and proof of all elements—were absent in Mr. Trump’s trial.

The state offense with which Mr. Trump was indicted, “falsifying business records,” requires proof of an “intent to defraud.” To elevate this misdemeanor to a felony, the statute requires proof of “intent to commit another crime.” In People v. Bloomfield (2006), the state’s highest court observed that “intent to commit another crime” is an indispensable element of the felony offense.

New York courts have concluded that the accused need not be convicted of the other crime since an “intent to commit” it is sufficient to satisfy the statute. But because that intent is, in the words of Winship, “a fact necessary to constitute the crime,” it is an element of felony falsification. Due process requires that the defendant receive timely notice of the other crime he allegedly intended to commit. It also requires that he have opportunity to defend against that accusation and that prosecutors prove beyond a reasonable doubt his intent to commit it.

Mr. Trump’s indictment didn’t specify the other crime he allegedly intended to commit. Prosecutors didn’t do so during the trial either. Only after the evidentiary phase of the trial did Judge Juan Merchan reveal that the other crime was Section 17-152 of New York’s election law, which makes it a misdemeanor to engage in a conspiracy “to promote or prevent the election of any person to a public office by unlawful means.”

To recap, the prosecution involved (1) a misdemeanor elevated to a felony based on an “intent to commit another crime,” (2) an indictment and trial that failed to specify, or present evidence establishing, another crime the defendant intended to commit, and (3) a jury instruction that the other crime was one that necessitated further proof of “unlawful means.” It’s a Russian-nesting-doll theory of criminality: The charged crime hinged on the intent to commit another, unspecified crime, which in turn hinged on the actual commission of yet another unspecified offense.

To make matters worse, Judge Merchan instructed the jury: “Although you must conclude unanimously that the defendant conspired to promote or prevent the election of any person to a public office by unlawful means, you need not be unanimous as to what those unlawful means were.”

Due process demands that felony verdicts be unanimous, but in Schad v. Arizona (1991), a murder case, the high court indicated that there need not be unanimity regarding the means by which a crime is committed. But a plurality opinion by Justice David Souter cautioned that if the available means of committing a crime are so capacious that the accused is not “in a position to understand with some specificity the legal basis of the charge against him,” due process will be violated. “Nothing in our history suggests that the Due Process Clause would permit a State to convict anyone under a charge of ‘Crime’ so generic that any combination of jury findings of embezzlement, reckless driving, murder, burglary, tax evasion, or littering, for example, would suffice for conviction,” Justice Souter wrote.

Justice Antonin Scalia concurred, observing that “one can conceive of novel ‘umbrella’ crimes (a felony consisting of either robbery or failure to file a tax return) where permitting a 6-to-6 verdict would seem contrary to due process.” Four dissenting justices argued that the In re Winship precedent requires unanimity regarding all elements of a crime, including the means by which it’s committed.

All nine justices in Schad, then, believed unanimity is required to convict when the means by which a crime can be committed are so broad that the accused doesn’t receive fair notice of the basis of the charge. New York’s election law requires that the violation occur “by unlawful means,” so any “unlawful” act—including, in Scalia’s example, either robbery of failure to file a tax return—can qualify. That’s clearly overbroad. Thus, Judge Merchan’s instruction that the jury “need not be unanimous as to what those unlawful means were” was unconstitutional.

That isn’t all. Judge Merchan hand-selected three laws—federal election law, falsification of “other” business records and “violation of tax laws”—as the “unlawful means” by which state election law was violated. Mr. Trump received no notice of any of these offenses, and the prosecutor briefly alluded only to federal election law, during the trial. Mr. Trump tried to call former Federal Election Commission Chairman Brad Smith to explain why this law wasn’t violated, but Judge Merchan ruled Mr. Smith couldn’t testify on whether Mr. Trump’s conduct “does or does not constitute a violation” of federal election law, denying him a meaningful opportunity to be heard.

Judge Merchan’s second “unlawful” means, falsification of other business records, is circular: A misdemeanor becomes a felony if one falsifies business records by falsifying business records. Further, the prosecution never alleged or provided evidence that Mr. Trump falsified “other” business records. The prosecutors likewise neither alleged nor offered evidence that Mr. Trump had violated tax laws, Judge Merchan’s third predicate.

Mr. Trump, like all criminal defendants, was entitled to due process. The Constitution demands that higher courts throw out the verdict against him. That takes time, however, and is unlikely to occur before the election. That unfortunate reality will widen America’s political divide and fuel the suspicion that Mr. Trump’s prosecution wasn’t about enforcing the law but wounding a presidential candidate for the benefit of his opponent.

Mr. Rivkin served at the Justice Department and the White House Counsel’s Office during the Reagan and George H.W. Bush Administrations. Ms. Foley is a professor of constitutional law at Florida International University College of Law. Both practice appellate and constitutional law in Washington.

By David B. Rivkin, Jr., and Lee A. Casey

May 30, 2024, in the Wall Street Journal

As it defends itself against Hamas in Gaza, Israel has come under sustained political, media and legal attack for supposedly violating international law—and not only from hostile countries and bodies like the International Criminal Court and the International Court of Justice. On May 10 the U.S. State Department sent a report to Congress that concluded U.S.-provided arms have been used by Israel “in instances inconsistent with its IHL”—international humanitarian law—“obligations or with established best practices for mitigating civilian harm.”

These criticisms are based on a distorted view of the law of war and its crucial legal principles—distinction, proportionality, and the obligations owed to enemy civilians. They threaten Israel’s strategic interests and the ability of all law-abiding nations to defend themselves.

The law of armed conflict is a practical set of rules directed at ameliorating the harms of war—originally with respect to those engaged in combat, and over the years expanding to noncombatants associated with the military and ultimately to civilians. Protecting civilians and civilian property is an important goal of the laws of war, but not their paramount goal.

Other equally important goals are regulating the means and methods of warfare, ensuring appropriate treatment for wounded combatants and prisoners of war, and ensuring that the war aims of belligerents—generally understood as “military necessity”—can be pursued within these rules and requirements. But the law of war is in no way intended to level the playing field in favor of the weaker party.

The law of war has many sources, but the Biden administration should have followed the standard U.S. position, as laid out in the Law of War Manual. One of its most important teachings is that “although military necessity cannot justify actions that have been prohibited by the law of war, some law of war rules expressly incorporate military necessity.” That’s especially true of rules meant to protect civilian populations affected by armed conflict, largely embodied in the principles of “distinction” and “proportionality.”

The principle of distinction provides that civilians can’t be deliberately targeted for attack, as Hamas did on Oct. 7 and routinely does. In choosing how and what to attack, military commanders must make good-faith efforts to distinguish between civilian and military targets. “The law of war does not require that commanders and other decision-makers apply a fixed standard of evidence or proof,” the manual says. Rather, they “exercise professional judgment in making any assessment that a person or object is a military objective.”

Equally important is the principle of proportionality, whose meaning is widely misunderstood. Proportionality requires that the expected harms to civilians and civilian property from an attack can’t be “excessive” when compared with “the concrete and direct military advantage expected to be gained.” The comparison isn’t to the number of soldiers killed or to the number of casualties on each side of the conflict. Nor is there any upper limit on the number of civilian deaths that will trigger “war crimes” if exceeded.

The manual clearly states that “in assessing the military advantage of attacking an object, one may consider the entire war strategy rather than only the potential tactical gains from attacking that object.” There is a significant subjective component in making proportionality determinations. “It could often be the case that reasonable persons might disagree as to whether the expected civilian casualties from an attack would be excessive,” the manual states. “Similarly, reasonable commanders might make different decisions in applying the principle of proportionality.”

Commanders are also enjoined to take “feasible” precautions to protect civilians during an attack. Such measures might include attacking at times when civilians are less likely to be present and giving advance warnings. But the “standard for what precautions must be taken is one of due regard or diligence, not an absolute requirement to do everything possible.” Moreover, “a commander may determine that a precaution would not be feasible because it would result in increased operational risk (i.e., a risk of failing to accomplish the mission) or an increased risk of harm to his or her forces.”

A critical and too often ignored aspect of the laws of war is that each party to a conflict is primarily responsible for protecting its own civilian population by moving them away from military targets and taking other measures to shield them. Hamas not only fails to meet these obligations; it uses civilians as human shields and invites casualties for propaganda purposes. That doesn’t relieve Israel from its proportionality obligations, but the manual makes clear that additional civilian injuries resulting from this illegal tactic are “a factor that may be considered in determining whether such harm is excessive.” Hamas is also looting aid shipments, making it more difficult for assistance to reach Gaza civilians.

Based on these rules and currently available credible evidence, there is no reasonable case that Israel has violated the laws of war. Such claims are grounded at best in speculation, which is unlikely to be entirely accurate. To the extent that Israel hasn’t followed U.S. “best practices,” as the State Department complains, it doesn’t mean there have been violations. Such measures are prudential and not required by law. Hamas, by contrast, indisputably commits war crimes by deliberately attacking civilians, brutalizing Israeli women and children, taking hostages, systematically locating military facilities in or near civilian installations, and using Palestinian civilians as human shields.

Other antagonists of Israel, including at the ICC and the ICJ, have argued in addition that the Jewish state, as an “occupying” power, is obligated to feed, clothe and protect Gaza’s civilian population. But Israel left the strip in 2005. Hamas initiated the current armed conflict, and Israel won’t have the obligations of an occupying power unless it takes control of the territory after hostilities are ended.

If the U.S. and other civilized countries follow the logic of these criticisms of Israel, the consequences will be dire. Most immediately, U.S. condemnations will embolden the Jewish state’s enemies—most of which are also hostile to the U.S.—and could impede Israel’s ability to defeat Hamas. In the future, the administration’s standards of conduct could impair the ability of all law-abiding nations to defend themselves.

Nuclear deterrence, the mainstay of U.S. defense strategy, would be delegitimized if obligations to the civilian population are expanded so that injury to civilians is elevated over all other considerations in determining whether a particular combat operation is lawful. Even in peacetime, this approach would be terrible statecraft. At a time when rogue states and terrorist organizations are waging numerous wars, it’s a formula for global anarchy.

Messrs. Rivkin and Casey practice appellate and constitutional law in Washington. They served at the Justice Department and the White House Counsel’s Office in the Reagan and George H.W. Bush administrations.

By David B. Rivkin, Jr., and Elizabeth Price Foley

April 24, 2024, in the Wall Street Journal

The Supreme Court hears oral arguments Thursday in Trump v. U.S., in which Donald Trump argues that the Constitution precludes his prosecution for his role in the Jan. 6, 2021, riot. Mr. Trump’s detractors insist that recognizing presidential immunity would put him above the law. They’re wrong. Immunity for official actions is a necessary part of the constitutional structure, and criminal prosecution isn’t the only way to hold a president accountable for unlawful official acts.

Because no previous president ever faced criminal charges, the question before the justices is novel. But the high court has addressed the unique constitutionally driven relationship between the presidency and the courts. In Kendall v. U.S. ex rel. Stokes (1838), it declared: “The executive power is vested in a President; and as far as his powers are derived from the constitution, he is beyond the reach of any other department, except in the mode prescribed by the constitution through the impeaching power.”

Franklin v. Massachusetts (1992) dealt with the question of when statutes enacted by Congress apply to the president. The ruling noted that “the President is not explicitly excluded” from the Administrative Procedure Act, “but he is not explicitly included, either.” Under such circumstances, “out of respect for the separation of powers and the unique constitutional position of the President . . . textual silence is not enough to subject the President to the provisions.”

More fundamentally, in Nixon v. Fitzgerald (1982), the court held that separation of powers demands absolute immunity from civil lawsuits for acts falling within the “outer perimeter” of the president’s official responsibilities. Absolute immunity is necessary because the president “occupies a unique position in the constitutional scheme,” and the specter of litigation “could distract a President from his public duties.” That applies with even greater force to the threat of criminal prosecution.

Special counsel Jack Smith argues that “no President need be chilled in fulfilling his responsibilities” because there are “strong institutional checks to ensure evenhanded and impartial enforcement of the law,” including grand jury indictment, due process and the government’s burden of proving guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. But even if the prospect of conviction is remote, the threat of prosecution impairs the presidency.

Further, the most important institutional check, the norm against politicized prosecutions, has so broken down that not only Mr. Smith but district attorneys in New York and Atlanta have rushed to bring Mr. Trump to court. Imagine how other presidents might have fared if they had to worry about prosecution for official acts:

• Abraham Lincoln suspended habeas corpus without congressional authorization. In Ex Parte Merryman (1861), Chief Justice Roger Taney, acting as a circuit judge, held that the power to suspend habeas lies solely with Congress. Lincoln ignored Taney’s ruling and continued his suspension of habeas until the end of the Civil War. No one suggested that Lincoln be prosecuted for false imprisonment, false arrest or kidnapping.

• Harry S. Truman seized domestic steel plants during the Korean War, violating statutes that authorized the president to seize private property only in narrow circumstances. The Supreme Court declared his actions unconstitutional in Youngstown Sheet & Tube Co. v. Sawyer (1952). But no federal prosecutors suggested they could prosecute him for “conspiracy against rights,” or “conspiracy to commit an offense against the United States,” the charges Mr. Smith has brought against Mr. Trump.

• Bill Clinton, George W. Bush, Barack Obama and Joe Biden all unilaterally ordered military actions as commander in chief. Critics accused them of usurping Congress’s power to declare war, but nobody seriously suggested that they be prosecuted for murder, torture, war crimes or misappropriation of government resources.

The president isn’t the only official to enjoy immunity for official acts. In Yaselli v. Goff (1927), the Supreme Court affirmed a lower court’s conclusion that federal prosecutors have absolute immunity from civil liability because the “public interest requires that persons occupying such important positions . . . should speak and act freely and fearlessly in the discharge of their important official functions.” In Kalina v. Fletcher (1997), the justices held that even under Section 1983—a civil-rights law authorizing lawsuits against state officials who violate federal constitutional rights—prosecutors enjoy absolute immunity for acts undertaken in their “role as an advocate.” This is because that role is unique to prosecutors, and the public’s interest “in protecting the proper functioning of the office, rather than the interest in protecting its occupant, . . . is of primary importance.”

The court reached the same conclusion about judges in Pierson v. Ray (1967), which held that Section 1983 didn’t abrogate judges’ absolute immunity for “acts committed within their judicial jurisdiction,” because such immunity is “for the benefit of the public, whose interest it is that the judges should be at liberty to exercise their functions with independence and without fear of consequences.”

In Gravel v. U.S. (1972), the justices held that the Speech and Debate Clause extends absolute immunity to members of Congress and their aides for official actions. This is to protect a member of “a co-equal branch of the government” from “executive and judicial oversight that realistically threatens to control his conduct as a legislator.”

Like prosecutors, judges and congressmen, a president threatened with prosecutions for official acts couldn’t exercise his duties with full vigor. Unlike those other officials, the president is the singular head of a branch of government, making his ability to exercise his powers all the more essential.

That leaves the question of whether the actions for which Mr. Trump was charged were official or, as Mr. Smith asserts, private. In McDonnell v. U.S. (2016) the court held that an “official act” is an action on any matter that is “pending . . . before a public official,” and includes the president’s “using his official position to exert pressure on another official, knowing or intending that such advice will form the basis for an ‘official act’ of another official.”

Mr. Trump acknowledges that “no court has yet addressed the application of immunity to the alleged facts of the case.” The justices should draw a line and extend absolute criminal immunity to actions within the outer perimeter of the president’s duties. Then it would be for the lower courts to decide on which side of the line these actions fall.

Mr. Rivkin served at the Justice Department and the White House Counsel’s Office during the Reagan and George H.W. Bush Administrations. Ms. Foley is a professor of constitutional law at Florida International University College of Law. Both practice appellate and constitutional law in Washington.

By David B. Rivkin, Jr., and James Taranto

March 6, 2024, in the Wall Street Journal

Justice Samuel Alito’s first State of the Union address was a happy occasion, but things went downhill after that. “The Supreme Court now has two superb new members,” President George W. Bush told the nation on Jan. 31, 2006. Justice Alito had been confirmed that same day, Chief Justice John Roberts four months earlier. Both were in the audience—justices get front-row seats—and both eventually came to regard the annual ritual as a burden. Justice Alito hasn’t attended one since 2010.

“Unless you’re there on the floor, you don’t really appreciate what’s going on,” Justice Alito told the Journal in an interview last spring. “The members [of Congress] are extremely vocal. . . . I remember during one where President Bush was speaking, and the leaders behind us were saying, ‘Bulls—! That’s bulls—!’ They’re always making these comments, and loud enough so you could hear it two or three rows away.”

That’s awkward for members of the court, whose official role requires them to rise above partisanship. Applause lines are even trickier, since silence can seem like dissent. “We sit there like potted plants, and then we look out of the corner of our eye to see whether any of our colleagues are going to stand up, or the Joint Chiefs are,” Justice Alito said. “There are some times when you have to stand up. Like, ‘Don’t we honor the brave men and women who are fighting and dying for this country?’—you can’t not stand up for that. But then you say, ‘Isn’t the United States a great country’—you stand up—‘because we are going to enact this legislation’—maybe you have to sit down.”

In January 2010, the court itself became the target of a presidential declamation. “With all due deference to separation of powers,” President Barack Obama said, “last week the Supreme Court reversed a century of law that I believe will open the floodgates for special interests—including foreign corporations—to spend without limit in our elections.”

As Democratic lawmakers arose behind the justices and clapped, TV cameras caught Justice Alito shaking his head and mouthing the words “not true.” He was right, as even the New York Times’s Linda Greenhouse acknowledged. Citizens United v. FEC didn’t touch the Tillman Act of 1907, which to this day prohibits corporate campaign contributions. It struck down provisions of a different law, enacted in 2002, and overturned precedents dating only to 1990 and 2003.

Justice Alito was surprised by Mr. Obama’s error. “I imagine the State of the Union speech is vetted inside out and backwards,” he told us. “Somebody should have seen that this statement was inaccurate.” He also failed to realize he was on camera: “My mistake was that I didn’t think about the fact that the text is distributed to the media ahead of time. They knew that the president was going to talk about the Supreme Court, so they had their cameras on us. . . . That’s why it’s a sore point.”

Justice Alito isn’t the first member of the court to shun the State of the Union. John Paul Stevens never attended. Antonin Scalia last went in 1997, Clarence Thomas in 2006. “It has turned into a childish spectacle,” Scalia said in 2013. “I don’t want to be there to lend dignity to it.”

Chief Justice Roberts was only a little less pointed in March 2010, six weeks after the Obama-Alito kerfuffle. “The image of having the members of one branch of government standing up, literally surrounding the Supreme Court, cheering and hollering, while the court, according to the requirements of protocol, has to sit there expressionless, I think is very troubling,” he told students at the University of Alabama Law School. “To the extent the State of the Union has degenerated into a political pep rally, I’m not sure why we’re there.”

The chief justice has nonetheless continued to attend and is expected to do so again on Thursday night. As with those applause lines, you can’t even abstain without making a statement.

Mr. Taranto is the Journal’s editorial features editor. Mr. Rivkin practices appellate and constitutional law in Washington.

By David B. Rivkin, Jr., and Elizabeth Price Foley

February 29, 2024, in the Wall Street Journal

Many observers thought the Supreme Court would decline to consider Donald Trump’s claim that presidential immunity shields him from prosecution for his conduct on Jan. 6, 2021. But on Wednesday the justices announced that they will hear the former president’s case in April. Mr. Trump could eventually face a trial on those charges, but the justices had little choice but to take up this question because the lower court’s ruling was so sweeping and dangerous.

Mr. Trump claims that his allegedly criminal actions were “official acts” taken as president. The U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia held that it didn’t matter if they were—that no president is entitled to immunity from “generally applicable criminal laws.” That decision violates the separation of powers, threatens the independence and vigor of the presidency, and is inconsistent with Supreme Court precedent.

The justices are unlikely to decide whether Mr. Trump’s actions were in fact “official acts.” Instead, they will consider the key legal question, “whether and if so to what extent does a former president enjoy presidential immunity from criminal prosecution for conduct alleged to involve official acts during his tenure in office.”

That’s a novel question, but in Nixon v. Fitzgerald (1982), the high court held that a president enjoys absolute immunity from civil suits predicated on his “official acts,” even if they fall foul of “federal laws of general applicability.” Justice Lewis Powell wrote that such immunity is a “functionally mandated incident of the President’s unique office, rooted in the constitutional tradition of the separation of powers and supported by our history.” Such lawsuits “could distract a President from his public duties, to the detriment of not only the President and his office but also the Nation that the Presidency was designed to serve.”

Mr. Trump maintains that he believed the 2020 presidential election was riddled with fraud and that his conduct on Jan. 6 was fully consistent with his constitutional obligations to “take care that the laws be faithfully executed.” Whatever the merits of that claim, it raises weighty questions of law and fact that the D.C. Circuit was wrong to brush aside—most centrally, that the president’s power is granted by the Constitution, which, as the supreme law of the land, overrides ordinary, “generally applicable” statutes.

The D.C. Circuit decision opened the door to all manner of constitutional crises. A former president could be prosecuted for ordering a military attack on an American affiliated with a foreign terrorist organization, even though such an order is clearly within his authority as commander in chief. Aggressive prosecutors motivated by ideology or partisanship could use capaciously worded criminal statutes—including those regarding mail or wire fraud, racketeering, false statements and misrepresentations—to challenge almost any presidential action, including those related to national security activities.

As with civil suits, it isn’t enough to say that the former president would have the opportunity to mount a defense in court. The mere possibility of personal prosecution for official actions would chill future presidential decisions. The D.C. Circuit casually disregards this danger, asserting simply that the “public interest” in prosecuting crimes is weightier than the risk of chilling impartial and fearless presidential action. It asserts that a president wouldn’t be “unduly cowed” by the prospect of criminal liability, “any more than a juror” or “executive aide” would be. That analogy is inapt because the president’s responsibilities are much weightier than those of jurors or aides. He alone is the singular head of a constitutional branch of government. As the justices recognized in Nixon v. Fitzgerald, the “greatest public interest” isn’t in enforcing ordinary statutes against the president. Immunity is necessary to ensure he has “the maximum ability to deal fearlessly and impartially with the duties of his office.”

The D.C. Circuit dismissed as “slight” the risk that former presidents will be politically targeted because prosecutors “have ethical obligations not to initiate unfounded prosecutions” and there are “additional safeguards in place,” including the requirement of seeking an indictment from a grand jury. These arguments border on frivolous. Not all prosecutors are ethical, and even those who are may be overzealous. Many cases have featured prosecutorial misconduct or abuse. And the justices have surely heard the saying that a prosecutor can indict a ham sandwich. Lawyers in civil cases are also bound by ethical obligations, but that didn’t vitiate the case for presidential immunity in 1982.

Jack Smith, the special counsel in the Trump cases, has asserted that federal prosecutors make decisions without regard to politics—but his conduct in this case belies that claim. His chief argument against Mr. Trump’s petition for a stay of the D.C. Circuit’s decision denying his immunity was that such a delay would cause “serious harm to the government—and to the public” because the case “presents a fundamental question at the heart of our democracy.” Many Supreme Court cases raise such questions, and Mr. Smith avoids saying what distinguishes this one. The obvious answer is the election timetable.

Mr. Smith’s demand for fast-tracking the Supreme Court’s consideration thus contradicts the D.C. Circuit’s suppositions about prosecutorial ethical probity. Trying Mr. Trump, the all-but-certain Republican nominee for president, before the election is inconsistent with Section 9-27.260 of the Justice Department’s Justice Manual, which makes clear that prosecutors “may never make a decision regarding . . . prosecution or select the timing [thereof] . . . for the purpose or affecting any election, or for the purpose of giving an advantage or disadvantage to any candidate or political party.”

The question of presidential immunity is an important one for our constitutional democracy of separated government powers, and the D.C. Circuit made a grievous error in disposing of it so casually. The justices were right to halt the proceedings until they can give the issue the careful consideration it deserves.

Mr. Rivkin served at the Justice Department and the White House Counsel’s Office during the Reagan and George H.W. Bush Administrations. Ms. Foley is a professor of constitutional law at Florida International University College of Law. Both practice appellate and constitutional law in Washington.

By David B. Rivkin, Jr., and Lee A. Casey

February 7, 2024, in the Wall Street Journal

The case of Trump v. Anderson, in which Donald Trump asks the Supreme Court to reverse a ruling that bars him from Colorado’s presidential ballot, raises many complicated legal and factual questions. The justices should ignore them and decide a simple one: Does Section 3 of the 14th Amendment, which disqualifies certain former officeholders who have “engaged in insurrection,” apply to the presidency?

As Michael Mukasey has argued in these pages, the answer is no. Those who are covered by the Insurrection Clause are specifically disqualified from serving as members of Congress or the Electoral College—not as president or vice president. They are also barred from state office and from “any office, civil or military, under the United States.” But “any office” refers to appointive posts such as judges, generals and cabinet secretaries, and “officers of the United States” are appointed, not elected.

This raises an obvious question: Why would the authors of the 14th Amendment exclude the presidency? For two compelling and practical reasons, which reinforce Section 3’s plain meaning.

First, by the time the amendment was ratified in 1868, the states had largely adopted a system whereby presidential electors, instead of being appointed by state legislatures, were chosen by popular vote after committing to a particular candidate. If no former Confederates (or more modern insurrectionists) could stand for election as presidential electors, there would be little chance of an insurrectionist president. (As Mr. Mukasey also observed, if the president were covered, there would be no reason to cover presidential electors, who wouldn’t be able to elect an insurrectionist if they wanted to.)

Second, there was no way to cover the presidency without violating the Constitution’s established federalism principles, which require states to act uniformly when dealing with federal laws and institutions. These principles are at the root of several constitutional provisions, including the equal representation of states in the Senate, the Supremacy Clause and the Full Faith and Credit Clause. These provisions are indispensable in making the federal republic functional.

Applying Section 3’s disqualification to the presidency would create exactly the uniformity problem the Supreme Court now faces—different states reaching different conclusions about what is and isn’t an insurrection in the context of a national election.

There is ample evidence that the 14th Amendment’s drafters paid great attention to federalism concerns. This is particularly true regarding the amendment’s first two sections, which dramatically reshaped the relationship between U.S. citizens and the federal and state governments by requiring states to respect federal constitutional rights. As legal scholar Kurt T. Lash recounted in “Federalism and the Original Fourteenth Amendment,” a 2019 article, radical Republicans, who favored stronger federal power, clashed with moderate Republicans determined to preserve states’ rights under the Constitution’s original Madisonian federalism architecture. It is implausible that they would have fought hard to protect federalism while permitting each state to determine presidential disqualification for itself.

In U.S. Term Limits v. Thornton (1995), the Supreme Court held that states couldn’t impose their own qualifications on members of Congress. Justice John Paul Stevens’s majority opinion discussed at length how elections to the national legislature involved the people of the U.S. rather than citizens of each state, requiring that qualifications be nationally uniform. This logic is even more compelling when it comes to the president, who is elected by the entire nation. As Alexander Hamilton wrote in Federalist No. 68, the Framers made the “appointment of the president” depend “in the first instance to an immediate act of the people of America, to be exerted in the choice of persons for the temporary and sole purpose of making the appointment”—members of the Electoral College.

The Constitution authorizes state legislatures to determine how presidential electors are selected—and even to appoint them directly, as Colorado did in 1876—and the qualifications for serving as president are stated in the constitutional text. There is no indication that the states may interpret these for themselves. Stevens wrote that while states can adopt “election procedures” (his emphasis) that govern access to the ballot—such as signature requirements for independent candidates or “sore loser” provisions that bar a third-party run by a former candidate for a major-party nomination—they can’t set or revise qualifications for federal office.

Some of Mr. Trump’s opponents have pointed hopefully to Hassan v. Colorado, a 2012 decision of the 10th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals in which then-Judge Neil Gorsuch upheld the state’s authority to bar from the ballot a naturalized citizen who wanted to run for president. Abdul Karim Hassan asserted an eccentric theory that the 14th Amendment vitiated the requirement that the president be a natural-born citizen. Judge Gorsuch ruled that “a state’s legitimate interest in protecting the integrity and practical functioning of the political process permits it to exclude from the ballot candidates who are constitutionally prohibited from assuming office”—not that state officials or judges could decide what the qualifications for federal office are.

The meaning of “natural-born citizen” is open to dispute in certain unusual cases involving would-be candidates born overseas to American parents or in unincorporated U.S. territories (where the Constitution doesn’t fully apply). If such a dispute arose and states responded to it differently, the federal courts would have to intervene quickly to impose uniformity. To avoid precisely that sort of situation, the drafters of the 14th Amendment left the presidency out of Section 3.

A Supreme Court decision to that effect would be consistent with the doctrine that judges should avoid deciding constitutional issues unnecessarily. Was the riot of Jan. 6, 2021, an “insurrection”? If so, what does it mean to have “engaged” in it? Does disqualifying someone from office require an act of Congress or a criminal conviction? These questions may be pertinent in future cases, but not in Trump v. Anderson.

Messrs. Rivkin and Casey practice appellate and constitutional law in Washington. They served at the Justice Department and the White House Counsel’s Office in the Reagan and George H.W. Bush administrations.

By David B. Rivkin, Jr., and Andrew M. Grossman

16 January 2024 in the Wall Street Journal

Conservatives often criticize liberal jurists for “judicial activism”—disregarding laws passed by elected legislators and imposing their own policy preferences instead. On Wednesday the Supreme Court will consider whether to overturn a precedent that went too far in the other direction by surrendering the judicial role of interpreting the law and handing it to unelected bureaucrats and agency heads.

Loper Bright Enterprises v. Raimondo is a case about fishing regulation. The National Marine Fisheries Service issued a rule requiring the plaintiffs to pay the costs of carrying federal conservation monitors aboard their vessels. The fishermen argued that the service had no legal authority to do so, but the high court’s precedent in Chevron v. NRDC (1984) obligated the U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia to defer to the government’s interpretation of an “ambiguous” statute.

Chevron was an “accidental landmark,” as legal scholar Thomas Merrill put it in 2014. At issue in the case was a Clean Air Act regulation interpreting the term “stationary source” to refer to an entire facility rather than a single smokestack. This definition enabled facilities to make changes that didn’t increase their total pollution without triggering onerous permitting requirements for “new or modified” sources. The justices upheld the regulation, deferring to the agency’s interpretation of “ambiguous” text.

For as long as they’d had the power to do so, federal courts interpreted statutes for themselves where necessary to decide a case, including in cases challenging agencies’ positions on the laws they administer. Chevron superseded that approach with a blanket rule of deference.

It’s unclear if the high court intended this fundamental change. Chevron’s author, Justice John Paul Stevens, regarded the decision as ordinary pragmatism: “When I am so confused, I go with the agency,” he told his colleagues as they discussed the case in conference.

By all indications, Chevron’s reasoning was driven by the need to assemble a court majority on a difficult interpretive question. That explains the decision’s failure to grapple with the obvious consequences of its logic. The Constitution vests the “judicial power” in the courts. “It is emphatically the province and duty of the judicial department to say what the law is,” as Chief Justice John Marshall wrote in Marbury v. Madison (1803). Chevron bucked that constitutional command without acknowledging that it did so.

Chevron deference also conflicts with the Administrative Procedure Act of 1946, which provides that a “reviewing court shall decide all relevant questions of law” and “interpret constitutional and statutory provisions.” Chevron doesn’t cite the APA.

While few appreciated Chevron’s import when it was handed down, its potential was apparent to the Justice Department. The Reagan administration seized on the decision as a corrective to the judicial activism of lower courts, especially the D.C. Circuit, in blocking its deregulatory agenda. The Chevron doctrine bulldozed the policy-driven obstacles courts had thrown up to block regulatory reforms. It gained adherents among newly appointed textualist judges like Antonin Scalia and Kenneth Starr on the D.C. Circuit, who favored judicial restraint.

But over the years Chevron became less about judicial restraint and more about agency dominance. With the movement toward textualism, led by Justices Scalia and Clarence Thomas, courts gradually returned to constrained formalism in interpreting statutes. Armed with the Chevron doctrine, however, the administrative state learned to wield its new interpretive power to maximum effect.

Deference might have been relatively harmless if agencies engaged in a good-faith effort to carry out unclear statutes. But beginning in the Clinton administration, Chevron changed the way they go about their business. Instead of asking what Congress meant, agency lawyers and decision makers hunt for ambiguities, real or imagined, to justify their policy objectives.

As agencies relied more on Chevron to pursue policy agendas, judges were forced to confront a greater range of asserted “ambiguities” with no standard to distinguish among them. Judicial review is the essential check on executive overreach, yet Chevron put a brick on the scale by committing the courts to favor the government’s positions. It is all too easy for courts, when faced with difficult or contentious interpretive questions, to waive the ambiguity flag and defer.

By aggrandizing the power of unelected bureaucrats, the Chevron doctrine also diminishes Congress. Witness the unseemly but now-routine spectacle of lawmakers hectoring the president and agencies to enact policy programs—from student-loan forgiveness to the expansion of antitrust law and greenhouse gas-regulation—rather than legislating themselves. The prospect of achieving an uncompromised policy win through executive action has replaced the give-and-take of the legislative process.

But the victories achieved in this fashion are only as durable as the current administration, and each new president takes office with a longer list of “day one” executive actions to reverse his predecessor and implement his own agenda. Donald Trump raised hackles last month when he said he would be a “dictator,” but only on “day one.” He was describing the post-Chevron presidency.

The principal argument of Chevron’s defenders is “reliance.” Ending deference to agencies, they say, would create regulatory uncertainty and threaten the viability of the administrative state. But what reliance interest can there be in a doctrine that empowers agencies to change course on a political whim, over and again?

The Supreme Court has already been moving away from Chevron deference, which it hasn’t applied since 2016. The Covid pandemic heightened the need for agency flexibility, yet none of the justices’ pandemic-policy decisions resorted to deference. In recent years, 13 states have rejected Chevron-style deference in interpreting state law without consequence.

Chevron’s rule of deference is an abdication of judicial duty, not an exercise in judicial restraint. It has proved unworkable and corrosive to the constitutional separation of powers. Forty years later, the court should correct its mistake.

Mr. Rivkin served at the Justice Department and the White House Counsel’s Office in the Reagan and George H.W. Bush administrations. Mr. Grossman is a senior legal fellow at the Buckeye Institute and an adjunct scholar at the Cato Institute. He filed a friend-of-the-court brief in support of the petitioners in Loper Bright. Both authors practice appellate and constitutional law in Washington.

By David B. Rivkin, Jr., And Laurence A. Friedman

January 4, 2024, in the Wall Street Journal

Mass tort exposure has created an epidemic of bankruptcies, affecting organizations from Johnson & Johnson (talcum powder) to the Boy Scouts (sexual abuse). The way this process has unfolded is causing the federal bankruptcy system to come apart, harming the plaintiffs and bankrupt entities alike. Nobody benefits but the plaintiff lawyers.

Trial lawyers have found an opportunity to exploit the traditional bankruptcy claims process through the use of well-honed mass tort shakedown strategies. The scheme is simple but damaging. Plaintiff lawyers invest in a flurry of marketing through social media, TV and radio ads, often using professional “lead generation” companies, to identify the maximum number of potential tort claimants.

These claims can’t be fully verified, challenged or adjudicated within the framework of bankruptcy proceedings. Their proliferation siphons off tremendous resources from companies that are already in financial distress, compromising their ability to emerge from bankruptcy and short-changing established creditors, including earlier plaintiffs. As a lawyer for one of the Boy Scouts’ insurers told the press in 2021: “Allowing invalid and fraudulent claims will hurt valid survivors of sexual abuse by delaying and diluting any compensation they would receive.”

The bankruptcy reorganization process involves restructuring a company in a manner that maximizes its value, then distributes that value efficiently to creditors (including employees, bondholders and vendors) through a court-approved plan, thus staving off liquidation. This is possible because creditors and other stakeholders have predictable expectations of how the bankruptcy will proceed and their claims will be treated.

Creditors often must accept less than their original claims. But the process keeps the organization running, protecting jobs by putting its business operations on a sound financial footing again. Sometimes creditors are assigned ownership in a reorganized company, giving them a stake in a reasonably prompt and efficient resolution of bankruptcy.

But when the trial lawyers bring their “claims” to the table, all bets are off. Insurance companies, creditors, the bankrupt entity and sometimes its principals are forced back to the drawing board. The trial lawyers then typically offer an “easy” solution: create a separate bucket of cash to be held in trust as the sole source for resolution of the mass tort claims (including lawyer fees). Since the voting power in the reorganization plan approval process is driven by the aggregate amount of each creditor’s claims, claim proliferation gives disproportionate powers to the plaintiff tort lawyers.

The Boy Scouts of America bankruptcy in Delaware is a perfect example. At the time of the initial bankruptcy filings in 2020, the number of actual lawsuits filed by abuse claimants was less than 300 and expected to grow to about 2,000. Then the mass-tort lawyers brought more than 80,000 new, unadjudicated sexual-abuse claims into the case. If the judge allows final plan approval taking into account these new claims, the result will dilute the funds available to the original victims whose suits were the impetus for the bankruptcy filing in the first place. Their expected payouts could be reduced from $1.2 million to $30,000 a claim.

In the Johnson & Johnson bankruptcy case, the first set of trial lawyers objected to the original reorganization plan and extracted an agreement to increase the pot of settlement money from $4 billion to more than $9 billion. Then a different set of mass tort lawyers objected to this second attempt to resolve the claims. Result: chaos, with the second bankruptcy now on appeal, the company contemplating a third, nothing conclusively resolved, and potential for ever more filings going forward.

The mass-tort lawyers use sophisticated lead-generation algorithms to capture potential claimants by promising lottery-size payouts. A sampling of solicitations on the web for those wondering if they may have a claim against Johnson & Johnson is instructive. Preliminary questions suggest that if you have been diagnosed with cancer, you may have a claim—even if you didn’t use the product but someone in your home did.

Another site suggests that the average judgment in a talc-related claim is $4.4 million. Yet simple math tells us that if the $9 billion proposed settlement is divided by the number of current claims—60,000—the average payout is more like $150,000. Legal and administrative fees can eat up 40% of that. The Federal Trade Commission would ordinarily bring enforcement cases against businesses putting out such misleading advertisements.

Congress could come up with systemic solutions to the claims-proliferation problem, but that seems unlikely given political gridlock and trial lawyers’ clout. The Judicial Conference of the U.S., which prescribes the official rules and forms governing bankruptcy practice and procedure, is a more viable avenue for reform.

The Judicial Conference could quickly change the claim forms to require greater upfront disclosures—including requiring submission of a specific diagnosis linking the claim to the alleged tort, as well as disclosure of any relationship between the doctor giving the diagnosis and the lawyers—and heightened certification requirements for lawyers and others who help file claims on behalf of tort claimants. Bankruptcy judges could appoint claims examiners in cases where large numbers of claims are brought into the proceedings to review how claims were generated and to advise judges on their findings, prior to those claims being allowed. And those judges need to be looking more closely at how lawyers are shaping the proceedings, serving as a cop on the beat in these cases.

Without such a new approach, the corporate bankruptcy system will continue to deteriorate, at the expense of troubled companies, their creditors and plaintiffs alike.

Mr. Rivkin practices appellate and constitutional law in Washington. He served at the Justice Department and the White House Counsel’s Office in the Reagan and George H.W. Bush administrations. Mr. Friedman is managing member of Friedman Partners LLC. He was director of the Executive Office for U.S. Trustees, 2002-05, and a Chapter 7 bankruptcy trustee.

By David B. Rivkin and Peter Berkowitz

December 13, 2023, in the Wall Street Journal

Pope Francis reportedly warned Israeli President Isaac Herzog in a phone call that it is “forbidden to respond to terror with terror.” Assuming he meant this as a criticism of Israel’s efforts to defend itself against Hamas, one might dismiss it as the ill-informed opinion of a left-leaning politician. But the pope’s error is worth taking seriously, because he speaks with some authority on matters of war and peace. Catholic theology has shaped the Judeo-Christian “just war” theory that midwifed the modern laws of war.

If the pope believes there is a certain level of civilian casualties in Gaza that is per se impermissible, he is fundamentally wrong. That view, common though it is, conflicts with key just-war precepts that demand careful balancing of competing imperatives.

Just-war doctrine, while refined over the centuries, was largely developed within the Christian tradition by St. Augustine of Hippo in the fourth century. Augustine rejected primitive Christian pacifism and argued that war, waged in compliance with proper rules, is a necessary tool of ethical statecraft. Acknowledging the sanctity of human life and expressing concern about the harm inevitably caused by a clash of arms, just war’s principal role is to protect the innocent to the extent possible, a task that pacifism can’t accomplish.

Just-war precepts, as incorporated into the traditional laws of war, have two distinct components. The first, jus ad bellum, comprises the rules governing when force may be rightly used. These include just cause, legitimate authority, public declaration, proper intent, proportionality, use of arms as the last resort, and reasonable hope for success. Given Hamas’s longstanding resolve to destroy the Jewish state, the failure of several Israeli military campaigns over the years to deter the terror group, and the Oct. 7 massacre, Israel unquestionably meets these criteria.

The second component, jus in bello, encompasses the rules governing how force may be lawfully used, including at whom it may be directed. This component underwent considerable doctrinal refinement between the 17th and 19th centuries. On April 24, 1863, the U.S. became the first military power to promulgate a comprehensive jus in bello manual, known as the Lieber Code.

Combatants must comply with both jus in bello and jus ad bellum, and violations by one side don’t justify violations by the other. Yet defining a war crime isn’t a simple matter of counting bodies. The weighing of conflicting imperatives permeates every facet of just-war theory. Guiding this balancing is the principle of double effect, which holds that it is morally permissible to act in pursuit of a good goal even if doing so would produce unintended but foreseeable harm. This principle is undergirded by a broad proportionality requirement, which measures the totality of positive and negative consequences of prosecuting a given war.

Jus in bello law contains two basic principles. The principle of discrimination forbids deliberate attacks on civilians and civilian infrastructure. It is absolute and brooks no departures. The principle of proportionality holds that in attacking legitimate military targets—which include military facilities that Hamas has integrated into civilian infrastructure—combatants are permitted to cause unavoidable collateral damage to civilians and civilian infrastructure, provided the harm is proportional to the value of the legitimate military objectives being sought. Destroying Hamas qualifies as a paramount military objective.

The principle of proportionality has been traditionally applied with considerable flexibility, in part because balancing its imperatives depends on combat circumstances that involve complex technical matters that are inherently difficult to gauge.

The laws of war used to play no favorites. Since World War II, however, humanitarian organizations, led by the International Committee of the Red Cross, have sought to provide special privileges for national liberation movements, an imprecise term that could include Hamas. These organizations have also tried to dilute rules that classify as unlawful enemy combatants fighters who don’t bear arms openly, don’t wear distinctive uniforms, and don’t operate in military organizations that feature well-defined command structures. Those efforts have constrained the military flexibility of law-abiding powers.

Equating unintended and proportional collateral damage with terrorism, as Pope Francis apparently did, goes further. It undermines the right to self-defense, the cornerstone of the laws of war. If the characterization of Israel’s exercise of its right of self-defense as terrorism were to prevail, the laws of war, instead of reflecting the military imperatives of law-abiding powers, would give a decisive advantage to terrorists and rogue states.

This is particularly dangerous at a time when Hamas jihadists commit horrific war crimes and Russia attacks, tortures and rapes civilians and brutalizes prisoners of war. For rogue entities like these, war crimes aren’t a cruel aberration but an integral part of their battle plans.

The pope’s comments to Mr. Herzog amount to a rejection of just-war theory and an embrace of primitive pacifism. They fail to understand that what happens in Gaza won’t stay in Gaza. If the laws of war were rewritten to preclude law-abiding powers like Israel and the U.S. from defending themselves against lawless combatants like Hamas, Hezbollah and Iran, lawlessness would inevitably prevail.

Mr. Rivkin practices appellate and constitutional law in Washington. He served at the Justice Department and the White House Counsel’s Office in the Reagan and George H.W. Bush administrations. Mr. Berkowitz is a senior fellow at Stanford’s Hoover Institution. He served as director of the U.S. State Department’s policy planning staff, 2019-21.

By James Taranto and David B. Rivkin, Jr.

October 1, 2023, in the Wall Street Journal

One of America’s great First Amendment pieties holds that the Constitution protects “the principle of free thought—not free thought for those who agree with us, but freedom for the thought that we hate.”

That observation comes from Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes’s dissent in U.S. v. Schwimmer (1929). A subtly more sweeping variation—you might call it the anything-goes theory of the First Amendment—is that any limit on speech opens the door to broad censorship, and therefore if the courts protect speech that has no obvious value, we can be confident of their vigilance against limiting speech that really matters.

First Amendment lawyer Floyd Abrams appealed to that logic in a 2010 interview with the Journal. Amid the left’s denunciations of Citizens United v. FEC, he described his effort to persuade the American Civil Liberties Union’s board to continue opposing restraints on campaign speech.

“I said to them: Look, you bring cases, such as one to strike down a law of Congress which was aimed at ‘virtual child pornography’—not real children being filmed, but otherwise wholly pornographic,” Mr. Abrams recounted. “I said: You didn’t do it because you wanted to protect the folks who like to watch child pornography. You did it because you thought the government shouldn’t be trusted to make content decisions about who watches anything.”

If any recent member of the Supreme Court followed the anything-goes theory, it was Justice Anthony Kennedy, whom Mr. Abrams described as “all by himself on the court” as “the single most consistently protective jurist of First Amendment rights.” Justice Kennedy was the author of both Citizens United and Ashcroft v. Free Speech Coalition (2002), the other case to which Mr. Abrams referred.

Justice Samuel Alito, by contrast, vigorously rejects the anything-goes theory. “The First Amendment was not intended to prohibit any regulation of speech,” he said in a Journal interview on July 7. On occasion that view has left him alone in dissent against a free-speech claim.

Even so, in the vast majority of cases he’s a strong defender of the freedom of speech. He accepts Holmes’s dictum and cited it in Matal v. Tam (2017), in which the court held that the government had violated a rock band’s constitutional rights by denying its trademark application for its racially insensitive name.

In oral arguments, Justice Alito has a knack for posing scenarios that reveal the untenability of speech restrictions, particularly on political speech. In Minnesota Voters Alliance v. Mansky (2018), the court reviewed a statute banning “political” attire at polling places. Justice Alito asked if a National Rifle Association T-shirt would be permitted.

“No, it would not,” the state’s lawyer said.

“How about a shirt with the text of the Second Amendment?”

“I think that would be viewed as political.”

“How about the First Amendment?” The lawyer said that would be OK but couldn’t explain why. He lost the case.

When the court first heard Citizens United in 2009, Justice Alito asked Deputy Solicitor General Malcolm Stewart if federal campaign-finance laws applied to books. When Mr. Stewart said they did, Justice Alito got to the heart of the matter: “The government’s position is that the First Amendment allows the banning of a book if it’s published by a corporation?” Rearguing the case a few months later, then Solicitor General Elena Kagan admitted: “The government’s answer has changed.”

Yet Justice Alito has rejected free-speech claims when “what we were dealing with was speech that had little if any value, and there were established and cabined rules for saying that it shouldn’t be protected in those cases,” he says. He wasn’t yet on the court when it decided Free Speech Coalition but cites a “trilogy of cases” in which he dissented on this basis:

• In U.S. v. Stevens (2009), an 8-1 majority struck down a federal criminal statute against “knowingly selling depictions of animal cruelty with the intention of placing those depictions in interstate commerce for commercial gain.” Justice Alito saw such videos as analogous to actual child pornography (as distinct from the virtual kind), which entails committing a violent act “in the process of creating the speech.”

• In Snyder v. Phelps (2011), also decided 8-1, the justices ruled that the First Amendment shielded a fringe religious group from liability for staging a lawful but grotesque protest outside the funeral of a U.S. Marine. “I thought this was an example of the established tort of the intentional infliction of emotional distress,” Justice Alito says.

• In U.S. v. Alvarez (2012), the justices struck down the Stolen Valor Act of 2005, which made it a crime to claim falsely “to have been awarded any decoration or medal authorized by Congress for the Armed Forces of the United States.” “Alvarez involved speech that was false,” Justice Alito says. “You could prove the falsity of it to a scientific, mathematical certainty.” Justices Antonin Scalia and Clarence Thomas joined his dissent, which said that such claims inflict “real harm on actual medal recipients and their families.”

As he deliberated over these cases, Justice Alito weighed the anything-goes approach. “I did think at the time of those decisions: You know, my colleagues might have something,” he says. “If we say that . . . free speech has to prevail even in these outrageous situations, maybe in a later case, when what’s involved is important speech, they’ll hold firm, they’ll resist the pressure to give in.”

But several of his colleagues who backed protection of outré speech in those cases have endorsed restrictions on core political speech in others. Justices Stephen Breyer and Sonia Sotomayor voted to let Minnesota’s T-shirt ban stand. Four justices dissented from the pro-free-speech holdings in Citizens United, and Justice Alito’s vote was pivotal: His predecessor, Justice Sandra Day O’Connor, had gone the other way in McConnell v. FEC (2003).

The ACLU was long a redoubt of free-speech absolutism, but today Justice Alito is a more resolute defender of core political speech. Mr. Abrams lost the internal debate over Citizens United as the board changed its position and endorsed “reasonable” limits on campaign contributions. “The ACLU doesn’t say what ‘reasonable’ means, so the government will doubtless supply the definition,” Mr. Abrams and two other ACLU dissenters wrote in an April 2010 Journal op-ed.

Then there’s 303 Creative v. Elenis (2023), in which the justices held 6-3 that the state of Colorado can’t compel a web designer to create sites celebrating gay weddings. “A lot of the dissent,” Justice Alito says, “involved providing public accommodations in the ordinary sense of the word—allowing someone to eat at a restaurant, allowing someone to rent a hotel room, or the sale of an off-the-shelf product.” Those aren’t expressive acts, and “the woman who operated the company said she didn’t discriminate in that way.”

He notes that both sides in the case “stipulated that this was pure speech.” The right to speak against same-sex marriage is important enough that Justice Kennedy’s majority opinion emphasized it in Obergefell v. Hodges (2015), even as it declared that gay couples have a constitutional right to wed. But the ACLU filed a friend-of-the-court brief in 303 Creative siding with the state on the grounds that its application of the law imposed only an “incidental burden” the owner’s constitutional rights.

By now it’s unsurprising that the ACLU would take such a position. A more poignant rebuttal of the anything-goes theory is that at an earlier stage of the case, six legal scholars made the same argument to the 10th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals. The first signer of that April 2020 brief: Floyd Abrams.

Mr. Taranto is the Journal’s editorial features editor. Mr. Rivkin practices appellate and constitutional law in Washington. He served at the Justice Department and the White House Counsel’s Office in the Reagan and George H.W. Bush administrations.

By David B. Rivkin, Jr., and Lee A. Casey

September 16, 2023, in the Wall Street Journal

Justice Samuel Alito has refused a demand from Senate Democrats that he disqualify himself from a pending case because of an interview in this newspaper. One of us (Mr. Rivkin) is on the legal team representing the appellants in Moore v. U.S. and conducted the interview jointly with a Journal editor.

In a four-page statement Sept. 8, Justice Alito noted that other justices had previously sat on cases argued by lawyers who had interviewed or written books with them. “We have no control over the attorneys whom parties select to represent them,” he wrote. “We are required to put favorable or unfavorable comments and any personal connections with an attorney out of our minds and judge the cases based solely on the law and the facts. And that is what we do.”

The recusal demand came in an Aug. 3 letter to Chief Justice John Roberts signed by Senate Judiciary Committee Chairman Dick Durbin and the committee’s other Democrats, excluding Georgia’s Sen. Jon Ossoff. It is part of a campaign against the court’s conservatives by Democratic politicians, left-wing advocacy groups and journalists whose goals include imposing a congressionally enacted code of ethics on the high court.

Although there already is a judicial ethics code, propounded by the U.S. Judicial Conference, it applies only to the lower federal courts, which Congress established. Proposals to create a Supreme Court code of conduct—including onerous and enforceable recusal requirements—raise fundamental issues of judicial independence and separation of powers. Chief Justice Roberts noted in NFIB v. Sebelius (2012) that the justices have a “responsibility to declare unconstitutional those laws that undermine the structure of government established by the Constitution.”

Congressional imposition of such rules would do precisely that. Justice Alito put the point strongly in the Journal interview. “Congress did not create the Supreme Court,” he said. “No provision in the Constitution gives them the authority to regulate the Supreme Court—period.” To be sure, Article III authorizes Congress to regulate the court’s appellate jurisdiction, and Justice Alito followed his observation with this caveat: “Now, they have the power of the purse, so they have the ability to take away all of our money if we don’t do what they want. So as a practical matter, they have a lot of authority. But as a constitutional matter, they don’t.”

The Supreme Court’s independence is critical to America’s constitutional structure. As James Madison observed in his notes of the Constitutional Convention, “if it be essential to the preservation of liberty that the Legislative Executive & Judiciary powers be separate, it is essential to a maintenance of the separation, that they should be independent of each other.”

The political branches—Congress and the president—have overlapping powers that bear on the same policy issues. They also have effective tools at their disposal to fight encroachments on their authority. By contrast, the Supreme Court has the authority only to “say what the law is,” as Chief Justice John Marshall put it in Marbury v. Madison (1803). For the rule of law to prevail, the court has to carry out its duties free of any interference from the political branches. Yet its status as a countermajoritarian institution with no popular constituency makes it vulnerable to political attack.

The Constitution protects the judiciary by conferring life tenure on the justices and other Article III judges. They can be removed from office only through impeachment and conviction, and Congress is prohibited from reducing their salaries. Although lawmakers have enacted statutes establishing procedural and evidentiary rules for the lower federal courts, there is no constitutional basis supporting such authority over the Supreme Court. And while Congress first enacted recusal rules for lower courts in 1792, it didn’t extend them to the Supreme Court until 1948.

Even with respect to the lower courts, Congress doesn’t have a free hand. Recusal involves a core judicial function—the exercise of judgment in the same manner as deciding other legal issues. All recusals are determined case by case, considering the litigants and issues raised. History supports the premise that this is an inherent part of “judicial power,” belonging exclusively to the courts. In British and colonial courts alike, recusal decisions were handled entirely by judges, with no legislative input.

Congress can no more regulate this core judicial function than it can direct the president’s exercise of his core functions. As the Supreme Court confirmed in Trump v. Mazars (2020), which involved competing presidential and congressional claims, the resolution of separation-of-powers questions must take into account whether one branch of government is using its power to “aggrandize” itself at another’s expense or to gain some “institutional advantage.” The current efforts by Senate Democrats, while clothed in a concern for ethics, are plainly designed to weaken the court and put it under Congress’s thumb.

There is no evidence that the Supreme Court needs new recusal rules or has an ethics problem at all. Corruption inherently doesn’t loom large as a problem for the federal judiciary. The president and members of Congress must run for election, which requires them to raise campaign money. Both political branches provide tangible benefits to private parties through the creation or administration of spending programs and the letting of government contracts. This creates possibilities for corrupt influence.

Federal judges, by contrast, have life tenure and, as per Article III, hear only “controversies” that are brought before them. Like the president and other executive-branch officials, they are subject to impeachment for bribery or other corrupt acts. But fewer than a dozen jurists have been removed from office in more than two centuries. Recent accusations of “corruption” against conservative justices mostly involve their social activities with friends who have no pending cases before the court and likely never will. The critics seem untroubled (and rightly so) by similar behavior from liberal justices.

As Justice Alito’s statement notes, “recusal is a personal decision for each Justice.” Justices may look to the Judicial Conference’s Code of Conduct for guidance when considering whether to recuse themselves from a case. Although the federal statute requiring recusal in certain defined circumstances applies to the high court, the justices have never ruled on whether that application is constitutional.

The law, known as Section 455, incorporates standards anchored in traditional common law, so that they are arguably consistent with the original public meaning of Article III’s term “judicial power, exercised by the Supreme Court.” They mostly involve financial or family interests in a particular case. A judge might recuse himself, for instance, if a relative or a company in which he owns stock is a party to a case. Justices interpret and apply the law’s provisions in a flexible enough way to preserve judicial independence.

That flexibility is illustrated by U.S. v. Will (1980), in which the justices rejected the proposition that Section 455 obligated the entire court to recuse itself from hearing an appeal of a lawsuit, brought by 13 federal district judges, challenging the validity of statutes that repealed previously enacted cost-of-living pay increases for the judiciary. The decision by Chief Justice Warren Burger invoked “the ancient Rule of Necessity”: Because every judge had a financial interest in the outcome, a ruling by disinterested judges was a logical impossibility. Although Justice Harry Blackmun recused himself, the court held 8-0 that the repeal was constitutional only when it took effect before the increase did.

Even a single justice’s recusal can be harmful. Justice Alito’s statement related to Moore v. U.S. cited his “duty to sit,” a principle Justice William Rehnquist elucidated in a memorandum rejecting a motion to recuse himself from Laird v. Tatum (1972). Rehnquist noted a consensus among federal circuit courts of appeals “that a federal judge has a duty to sit where not disqualified which is equally as strong as the duty to not sit where disqualified.” That duty, he argued, is even stronger for a justice, whose recusal “raises the possibility of an affirmance of the judgment below by an equally divided Court. The consequence attending such a result is, of course, that the principle of law presented by the case is left unsettled.”

When a judge serving on a lower court is recused, another judge is assigned to the case and the litigation goes forward. That’s impossible when a member of the high court is recused. No one can sit in for a justice. Thus, while lower federal judges generally resolve doubts by recusing themselves, the opposite presumption is appropriate for the Supreme Court.

In addition, if the duty to sit were weakened, there is a real danger that litigants would use recusal motions strategically to affect the outcomes of cases. Public-policy litigation often comes before the court through test cases, in which litigants have been selected with a view toward the current or likely position of the federal circuit courts with jurisdiction over their place of residence or operations. In contentious areas of the law, those positions may be markedly different, reflecting the balance of judges with different judicial philosophies on the circuits.

A circuit split is one of the principal reasons why the Supreme Court will agree to hear a case. In this context, two justices’ recusals could turn a losing case into a winning one. A single recusal and a tie vote would leave the split unresolved, so that different parts of the country would be governed under different interpretations of federal law. The Supreme Court Ethics, Recusal and Transparency Act, which Mr. Durbin’s committee advanced along party lines in July, would subject the justices’ recusal decisions to review by either their colleagues or a panel of lower-court judges, creating temptations within the judiciary itself to game the system.

Liberals should be as concerned as conservatives with maintaining the court’s integrity and independence, and at least on the bench they appear to be. All nine justices have signed a “Statement on Ethical Principles and Practices,” which affirms, among other things, that the justices have a duty to sit and that the decision to recuse or not is up to each individually: “If the full Court or any subset of the Court were to review the recusal decisions of individual Justices, it would create an undesirable situation in which the Court could affect the outcome of a case by selecting who among its Members may participate.”

None of this is to deny that the justices should clearly define their recusal standards or that they should make public the reasoning for their decisions, as the Statement on Ethical Principles and Practices says they are free to do. There is value in assuring the public that these decisions are taken based on rational standards, honestly applied. But that is a matter for the justices, not Congress.

Messrs. Rivkin and Casey practice appellate and constitutional law in Washington. They served at the Justice Department and the White House Counsel’s Office in the Reagan and George H.W. Bush administration.

By David B. Rivkin, Jr., and O. H. Skinner

August 17, 2023, in the Wall Street Journal

Hawaii’s Supreme Court hears oral arguments Thursday in Honolulu v. Sunoco, a lawsuit brought by the state’s largest city against a group of energy companies. Honolulu alleges that the defendants have created a “public nuisance” by producing fossil fuels that emit greenhouse gases when burned. The companies argue that they are already subject to federal regulation, which supersedes any claim under state law.

Activist groups are increasingly attempting to use public-nuisance lawsuits to impose policies that they’ve failed to persuade lawmakers to enact. The list of industries under assault is long and growing. One set of public-nuisance actions targets firearm manufacturers. It was launched on behalf of local governments in New York state by plaintiff lawyers, with the firm Napoli Shkolnik, fresh from a successful action against pharmaceutical companies, serving as lead counsel. Other cases pursue chemical companies for producing so-called forever chemicals, which have been lawfully used for decades in making and packaging countless household and personal-hygiene products.

Public-nuisance lawsuits also attack beverage companies for using plastic bottles, leading to litter on beaches. School districts are suing tech companies claiming that their social-media platforms endanger children. Several cities have sued Hyundai and Kia alleging that certain cars they make are “too easy to steal.”

The financial stakes are high. The opioid cases—brought against drug manufacturers, distributors and retail pharmacy chains—have generated more than $55 billion in settlements. (Last week the U.S. Supreme Court stayed a settlement between plaintiffs and bankrupt Purdue Pharma, pending an appeal that the justices will hear in December.) The litigation against “forever chemicals” manufacturers, which is still in the early stages, has already led to more than $11 billion in tentative settlements. Given the apocalyptic rhetoric around climate change and gun violence, lawsuits against gun and energy companies, if successful, could yield hundreds of billions of dollars in damages.

Their lawsuits feature profoundly flawed theories of liability that threaten the fabric of U.S. law. Under traditional common law, a paradigmatic public nuisance suit involves clearly unlawful conduct, such as running a brothel or drug house in a residential neighborhood, blocking a public right of way, or operating a factory that emits noxious smells. Defendants in such lawsuits are the agents directly responsible for causing the alleged harm.

These new ideological public-nuisance suits target products or activities that didn’t violate any law or regulation at the time they were produced and used. The defendants are manufacturers and distributors rather than individuals who committed specific wrongful acts. Such claims often feature freestanding state-law causes of action, available to local governments that otherwise lack legal authority to bring other public enforcement actions. That enables plaintiff lawyers, working with local governments, to make an end-run around state governments, pushing “progressive” policies, even in conservative states.

As long as the threat of litigation lingers over every industry under the sun, plaintiff lawyers will have the ability to intimidate market participants and reshape the economy without ever scoring a conclusive win in a courtroom (never mind a legislature). Even corporate giants that can afford to fight sometimes find it more economical to settle a meritless claim. Litigation options and their attendant costs are even worse for small and midsize businesses, like local car dealers, gasoline stations and beverage distributors.

There have been some major litigation setbacks to this public-nuisance campaign. In 2021 the Second U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals dismissed a New York City suit against international oil companies that sought to recover, as the court put it, “damages caused by those companies’ admittedly legal commercial conduct in producing and selling fossil fuels around the world.” The same year, the Oklahoma Supreme Court tossed an opioid case against Johnson & Johnson.

But because such lawsuits are usually driven by state law, there is no opportunity for a conclusive nationwide win at the U.S. Supreme Court covering all these lawsuits; the battles have to be waged on a state-by-state basis. Federal constitutional issues arise in cases against some industries—the First Amendment for social media, the Second Amendments for gun makers. There are also some instances in which federal common law or regulatory statutes like the Clean Air Act pre-empt the application of state public-nuisance laws. That was the basis on which the Second Circuit threw out the New York case and is one of the key arguments before the Hawaii Supreme Court.

Fortunately, there are other available remedies. State legislatures could bar cities and counties from hiring plaintiff lawyers to prosecute public nuisance suits on a contingency basis, which would constitute an excellent remedial measure. They could also forbid local governments from bringing public-nuisance cases at all, or at least against manufacturers and distributors of products circulating in interstate commerce, or require approval from state officials such as the attorney general.

Conservative states would likely lead the way in enacting such reforms. These public-nuisance lawsuits harm the economy and are antithetical to American democracy, which requires decisions about economic regulation to be made by politically accountable officials, not by courts. And having governmental entities delegate litigation control to plaintiff lawyers amounts to a government-deputized shakedown of disfavored industries.

Mr. Rivkin practices appellate and constitutional law in Washington. He served at the Justice Department and the White House Counsel’s Office in the Reagan and George H.W. Bush administrations. Mr. Skinner is executive director of Alliance For Consumers. He has served as solicitor general and handled consumer cases in the Arizona Attorney General’s Office.

By David B. Rivkin, Jr., and Lee A. Casey

August 2, 2023, in the Wall Street Journal

The latest indictment of Donald Trump takes the courts and the country into uncharted territory. Special counsel Jack Smith and a District of Columbia grand jury accuse Mr. Trump of conspiring to steal the 2020 presidential election and charge him, among other things, with defrauding the U.S. But Mr. Trump’s status as president when the alleged crimes took place raises questions about whether he can be successfully prosecuted—and, if he is, troubling implications for future presidents.

The president is immune from civil and criminal liability for actions taken in the execution of the office. That immunity is absolute, like the immunity accorded to judges and prosecutors. Courts have allowed only that the president may be subject to subpoena in certain circumstances that don’t impose great burdens on his ability to function as chief executive.

Former presidents can be held liable for personal actions while in office, but only those that fall beyond “the outer perimeter of his official responsibility.” In Nixon v. Fitzgerald (1982), the Supreme Court held that Richard Nixon was immune from a civil damages action in which a former federal employee claimed he was illegally fired as punishment for revealing Pentagon cost overruns. The justices reasoned that absolute immunity for official acts was “a functionally mandated incident of the President’s unique office,” since “personal vulnerability” to suit could warp a president’s decision-making and deter him from performing his duties “fearlessly and impartially.” That’s obviously even truer of criminal liability, so the court can be expected to extend presidential immunity accordingly. (An exception is offenses for which a former president has been impeached and convicted, the prosecution of which the Constitution explicitly authorizes.)

The critical legal question, then, is whether Mr. Trump’s alleged offenses fall within the “outer perimeter” of his responsibilities as president. The courts have only started to grapple with this issue. In Thompson v. Trump (2022), Judge Amit Mehta of the U.S. District Court for the District of Columbia held that Mr. Trump’s contacts with local election officials after the 2020 election weren’t official acts. That case, which involved a civil action against Mr. Trump by plaintiffs alleging injuries suffered during the Jan. 6, 2021, riots, could be reversed by the D.C. Circuit or the Supreme Court.

Whatever the higher courts make of Judge Mehta’s conclusion, he made a key analytical error in reaching it. He fell into the trap of relying on Mr. Trump’s motivation, in the guise of his “purpose,” which was to preserve his “incumbency.” But the justices in Nixon made clear that the determination of whether a president was acting in his official capacity couldn’t be based on either motivation or the legality of his actions, as that would “subject the President to trial on virtually every allegation that an action was unlawful, or was taken for a forbidden purpose.” The court also noted that the president’s discretionary authority under the Constitution is so broad that “it would be difficult to determine which of the President’s innumerable ‘functions’ encompassed a particular action.”

Mr. Smith fell into the same trap. His focus vis-à-vis Mr. Trump is very much on whether he honestly believed the election had been stolen from him. The proper question is whether the actions he allegedly took after the 2020 election fall objectively within “the outer perimeter of his official responsibility.”

The strongest argument that they don’t is that supervision of state election officials, the selection of presidential electors, and the vice president’s role in counting those votes aren’t ordinarily presidential responsibilities. But it isn’t so clear that, in a case where voting irregularities were reported in the media from numerous critical states—even if incorrectly—the president has no official role in investigating and addressing those claims.

The selection of presidential electors is in part a matter of federal law. The Constitution vests this task in the state legislatures under the Electors Clause, which governs presidential elections. Because the states had no such authority before the Constitution, this critical power is substantially federal in character.

In Moore v. Harper (2023), the Supreme Court recognized that a parallel constitutional provision, the Elections Clause—which divides authority for setting the rules of congressional elections between the state legislatures and Congress—was sufficiently federal in nature to justify the high court’s review of state court decisions involving these rules, even though it ordinarily has no authority to scrutinize a state court’s interpretation of state laws.

It was Mr. Trump’s constitutional duty to “take care that the laws be faithfully executed.” He had no power to direct state officials’ actions, but urging them to ensure the integrity of federal elections could fall within the outer bounds of his responsibility. He has no authority to direct the vice president’s discharge of his constitutional duties as Senate president, but his exhorting or pleading with the vice president to take certain actions is arguably within the bounds of his authority. Presidents do it routinely when the vice president is called on to cast a deciding Senate vote.

Judge Mehta adopted an unduly crabbed legal test for what constitutes an official presidential action. He asserted that “a sitting President has no expressly identified duty to faithfully execute the laws surrounding the Certification of the Electoral College.” But the Take Care Clause, which is a key component of presidential duties, is broadly framed to include ensuring compliance with all federal laws, including the Constitution. Moreover, the clause is only a subset of the power conveyed to the president by the Vesting Clause, which provides that the “executive power shall be vested in a President of the United States.”

Pursuant to that broad authority, a president may communicate with, cajole and even browbeat officials over whom he has no supervisory authority, urging them to pursue policies that he believes are in the national interest. Many presidents take such actions; both Mr. Trump and President Biden, for instance, pressed states to follow federal Covid-19 recommendations. Wise or not, those were undoubtedly official actions.

The indictment of Mr. Trump means that the Supreme Court will almost certainly be called on to determine the scope of a former president’s immunity and whether Mr. Trump’s actions after the 2020 election fell within the outer reaches of his official responsibilities.

Mr. Trump’s conduct may be hard to defend, but the stakes here are far greater than his fate. One can easily envision a future president using military force, sending weapons to another country, engaging in a major diplomatic endeavor or authorizing a prosecution based on what opponents believe—perhaps rightly—are self-serving lies. Under Mr. Smith’s theory, he could be charged with defrauding the United States.

The specter of such prosecutions would cripple the ability of all future presidents to perform their constitutional responsibilities vigorously and fearlessly. That’s why we have presidential immunity in the first place.

Messrs. Rivkin and Casey practice appellate and constitutional law in Washington. They served at the Justice Department and the White House Counsel’s Office in the Reagan and George H.W. Bush administrations.

By David B. Rivkin, Jr., and James Taranto

29 July 2023 in the Wall Street Journal

The Supreme Court usually makes news by making decisions, and it’s done plenty of that lately. In its first two terms with a 6-3 conservative majority, the justices have revisited old precedents and established new ones on abortion, gun rights, racial discrimination, freedom of speech and religion, the power of unelected federal regulators and more.

By comparison with the previous eight decades or so, the court has frequently declined to defer to elite political opinion, and as a result it has made news in other ways. A draft abortion opinion was leaked to the press. An armed man was arrested outside the home of Justice Brett Kavanaugh and charged with attempted assassination. The justices have come under attack from President Biden (“this is not a normal court”) and Democratic lawmakers. Partisan journalists have tried to gin up “ethics” scandals and incite animus against disfavored justices.

“I marvel at all the nonsense that has been written about me in the last year,” Justice Samuel Alito says during an early July interview at the Journal’s New York offices. In the face of a political onslaught, he observes, “the traditional idea about how judges and justices should behave is they should be mute” and leave it to others, especially “the organized bar,” to defend them. “But that’s just not happening. And so at a certain point I’ve said to myself, nobody else is going to do this, so I have to defend myself.”

He does so with a candor that is refreshing and can be startling. He spoke with us on the record for four hours in two wide-ranging sessions, the first in April in his chambers at the court. In the interim, he wrote an op-ed for these pages responding in detail to a hit piece from ProPublica, a self-styled “independent, nonprofit newsroom that produces investigative journalism with moral force.” Many of the court’s critics claim to want more “transparency.” Their hostile reactions to our April interview and his June op-ed suggest—no surprise—that they’re really after ideologically congenial rulings, not to mention conformist press coverage.

Justice Alito, 73, was appointed in early 2006 and is now the second most senior associate justice. He has emerged as an important voice on the court with a distinctive interpretive method that is rooted in originalism and textualism—adherence to the text, respectively, of the Constitution and statutes—but in some ways more pragmatic than that of Justice Clarence Thomas or Neil Gorsuch.

“There are very serious differences” in how the six conservative justices approach cases, Justice Alito says. The simplest difference involves respect for precedent: Justice Thomas “gives less weight to stare decisis than a lot of other justices.” It is, “in its way, a virtue of his jurisprudence,” Justice Alito says. “He sticks to his guns.”

That’s why Justice Thomas writes many lone concurrences. In Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization (2022), he argued that “in future cases, we should reconsider all of this Court’s substantive due process precedents,” including those involving same-sex marriage, contraception and consensual sodomy. Justice Alito’s majority opinion carefully distinguished those issues from abortion. Justice Thomas often disregards precedents with which he disagrees and follows his own route to the majority’s destination—to cite a recurring example, by relying on the 14th Amendment’s Privileges or Immunities Clause rather than the Due Process Clause. The disadvantage of this approach, Justice Alito says, “is that you drop out of the conversation, and . . . lose your ability to help to shape what comes next in the application of that rule.”

Justice Gorsuch has an ornery streak that has shown itself in cases involving Indian law, crime and discrimination. “He’s definitely not a consequentialist,” Justice Alito says of his colleague—meaning he is less concerned with the real-world effects of following his principles.

An example is Ramos v. Louisiana (2020), which overturned a pair of 1972 precedents and held that the Sixth Amendment’s right to a jury trial requires unanimity for a finding of guilt in state court. Every state but Louisiana and Oregon already required unanimous verdicts, but “Ramos potentially affected many, many criminal convictions that had been obtained . . . using nonunanimous jury verdicts, which had been specifically approved by the Supreme Court,” Justice Alito says. “Overruling those decisions had potentially vast consequences. . . . That was not a big factor in his analysis.”

As for Chief Justice John Roberts, “he puts a high premium on consensus. He rarely dissents.” He filed no outright dissenting opinions in the 2022-23 term and only one in 2021-22. He also “has expressed a very strong tendency to protect the prerogatives of the judiciary,” as in Bank Markazi v. Peterson (2016). The court upheld a law directing that Iranian assets targeted by successful plaintiffs in a specific terrorism case be seized to pay the judgment. The chief justice dissented against what he called an unacceptable intrusion on judicial power: “Hereafter, with this Court’s seal of approval, Congress can unabashedly pick the winners and losers in particular pending cases.”

On the liberal side of the court, by contrast, “I don’t see that there’s a difference in interpretive method,” Justice Alito says. Yet he emphasizes that “we don’t always line up 6-3, 5-4, the way some people tend to think. If you look at all the cases, there are cases where the lineup is unusual.” Chief Justice Roberts wrote two election-law decisions this term, Allen v. Milligan and Moore v. Harper, in which he was joined by the three liberals and Justice Kavanaugh, along with Justice Amy Coney Barrett in the latter case.

Another prime example is National Pork Producers Council v. Ross, which upheld a California law banning the sale of meat from pigs that are “confined in a cruel manner”—almost all of which is produced in other states. The council argued that the law violated the Dormant Commerce Clause, a doctrine that limits states’ authority to enact policies that burden interstate commerce.

Justice Alito, who agreed with that view, says “it’s no secret that Justice Thomas and Justice Gorsuch don’t think that there is such a thing as the Dormant Commerce Clause.” Justices Barrett, Sonia Sotomayor and Elena Kagan signed on to parts of Justice Gorsuch’s opinion, providing a majority that let the law stand.

“I have not joined Justice Thomas, Justice [Antonin] Scalia, Justice Gorsuch in saying we should get rid of the Dormant Commerce Clause,” Justice Alito says. “I’ve written this in the Tennessee wine case—that the Constitution surely was meant to contain some principle that prevents the balkanization of the economy. That was one of the main reasons for calling the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia.”

He refers to his 7-2 ruling in Tennessee Wine and Spirits Retailers Assn. v. Thomas (2019). In dissent, Justices Gorsuch and Thomas cited the 21st Amendment, which repealed Prohibition and gave states broad authority to regulate alcohol. Justice Alito’s majority opinion treated that provision “as one part of a unified constitutional scheme,” within which the lawmakers who ratified the 21st Amendment understood that “the Commerce Clause did not permit the States to impose protectionist measures clothed as police-power regulations.”

That demonstrates a central feature of Justice Alito’s jurisprudence: its emphasis on historical context. “I think history often tells us what the Constitution means,” he says, “or at least it can tell us what the Constitution doesn’t mean.” His dissent in Obergefell v. Hodges (2015) is a case in point. “It’s perfectly clear that nobody in 1868 thought that the 14th Amendment was going to protect the right to same-sex marriage,” he says. Before this century, “no society—even those that did not have a moral objection to same-sex conduct, like ancient Greece—had recognized same-sex marriage.” The first country to legalize it was the Netherlands, effective in 2001.

The same attention to history informs Justice Alito’s textualism. “I reject the idea that a statute should be interpreted simply by looking up the words in the dictionary and applying that mechanically,” he says. Justice Gorsuch did something like that in Bostock v. Clayton County (2020), in which the court held that Title VII of the 1964 Civil Rights Act, which prohibits employment discrimination “because of . . . sex,” covers “sexual orientation and gender identity.”

Justice Gorsuch reasoned that because sex is essential to the definition of both categories, such discrimination is “because of” sex. But in 1964 homosexuality was subject to widespread disapprobation, and gender identity “hardly existed as a concept, even among professionals in the field,” as Justice Alito says. “When it’s very clear that the author of the text . . . cannot have meant something, then I don’t think we should adopt that interpretation, even if a purely semantic interpretation of the statute would lead you to a different result.”

Justice Alito’s respect for precedent has limits: “Some decisions—and I think that Roe and Casey fell in this category—are so egregiously wrong, so clearly wrong, that’s a very strong factor in support of overruling.” Those are the 1973 and 1992 abortion cases that Dobbs overturned, with Justice Alito writing for a majority of five. Chief Justice Roberts provided a sixth vote to uphold Mississippi’s 15-week abortion ban but urged “a more measured course” that would narrow the precedents while deferring the question of whether to overturn them altogether.

Justice Alito has been known to take a similarly incremental approach. His opinion for the court in Janus v. Afscme (2018) held that compelling public employees to pay union dues violated the First Amendment, and it overturned a 1977 precedent, Abood v. Detroit Board of Education. A foretaste came in Harris v. Quinn (2014), also written by Justice Alito, which subjected Abood to a withering critique but left it standing.

“The question how broad a decision should be—should we overrule a prior precedent when we really don’t have to in order to decide this case?—it’s a judgment call,” he says. “There can be reasons for deciding the case more narrowly. Maybe we’re not sure whether it should be overruled. Maybe we think it would be better if the issue were highlighted for others to address first—scholars, lower-court decisions. Maybe it’s a question of what a majority of the court is willing to go along with.”

That last contingency sometimes depends on events more than philosophy. Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg died in September 2020, and President Trump appointed Justice Barrett to succeed her. Had Ginsburg lived a few months longer, the chief justice’s tentative approach might have prevailed in Dobbs. Or perhaps the justices wouldn’t have taken the case.

In the 2023-24 term, the court will consider whether to overturn Chevron v. NRDC (1984), an increasingly disputed precedent that requires courts to defer to administrative agencies’ interpretations of ambiguous statutes. Justice Alito is careful not to state a position on Chevron, but he does make a pertinent broader point about precedent: “I’m not in favor of overruling important decisions just by pretending they don’t exist but refusing to say anything about them.”

He says that’s what his colleagues did last month in U.S. v. Texas, the term’s only case that had him alone in dissent. The court threw out Texas’ challenge to lax Biden administration immigration guidelines on the ground that the state lacked standing to challenge them in court. But Justice Alito says Texas’ claim of injury “was the same as—in fact, stronger than—that of Massachusetts in Massachusetts v. EPA,” a 2007 case that opened the door to federal regulation of greenhouse gases. “The court just hardly said a word about Massachusetts v. EPA.”

The Biden policies suspended all enforcement measures for certain categories of illegal aliens, despite statutory language to the contrary—a clear violation, in Justice Alito’s view, of the president’s express constitutional duty to ensure that the law be faithfully executed. How did all eight of his colleagues end up on the other side? “I have no idea,” he says. “I honestly don’t. Why did it turn out that way? Because it involves immigration? Because it’s vaguely connected to Trump? I don’t know. I don’t know what the explanation is.”

After the justices reconvene on the first Monday in October, they will continue making news in the usual way. Among the issues on the fall docket, along with the reconsideration of Chevron: whether South Carolina impermissibly gerrymandered its congressional districts by race, whether the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau’s funding scheme is unconstitutional, whether Congress can tax unrealized investment income, and whether someone subject to a domestic-violence restraining order can be deprived of his right to possess firearms. (Mr. Rivkin and a law partner, Andrew Grossman, represent the appellants in Moore v. U.S., the tax case.)

The attacks on the court are sure to keep coming as well. Last week the Senate Judiciary Committee voted along party lines to advance Sen. Sheldon Whitehouse’s Supreme Court Ethics, Recusal and Transparency Act, which purports to impose on the justices and their clerks regulations “at least as rigorous as the House and Senate disclosure rules.”

Justice Alito says he voluntarily follows disclosure statutes that apply to lower-court judges and executive-branch officials; so do the other justices. But he notes that “Congress did not create the Supreme Court”—the Constitution did. “I know this is a controversial view, but I’m willing to say it,” he says. “No provision in the Constitution gives them the authority to regulate the Supreme Court—period.”

Do the other justices agree? “I don’t know that any of my colleagues have spoken about it publicly, so I don’t think I should say. But I think it is something we have all thought about.”

The political branches have other weapons they could deploy against the court. The Constitution doesn’t specify the number of justices, so Congress could pack the court by enacting legislation to expand its size. Last week a pair of leftist law professors issued an “open letter” urging President Biden to “restrain MAGA justices” by applying their rulings as narrowly as possible. The day the court decided Biden v. Nebraska, striking down Mr. Biden’s student-loan forgiveness plan, the president announced that he was undertaking legally questionable alternatives.

Justice Alito wonders if outright defiance may be in the offing for the first time since the aftermath of Brown v. Board of Education (1954): “If we’re viewed as illegitimate, then disregard of our decisions becomes more acceptable and more popular. So you can have a revival of the massive resistance that occurred in the South after Brown.”

Will the justices’ recent rulings endure? The court shows little sign of yielding to external pressure, but its three liberal members stand ready to overturn many recent precedents from which they dissented. Whether they’ll have the opportunity likely depends on who holds the White House and the Senate when future high-court vacancies arise. About that prospect, Justice Alito demurs: “We are very bad political pundits.”

Mr. Rivkin practices appellate and constitutional law in Washington. He served at the Justice Department and the White House Counsel’s Office in the Reagan and George H.W. Bush administrations. Mr. Taranto is the Journal’s editorial features editor.