Town asserting 'full-on assault of stink' wins latest round in nuisance feud with hot-mix asphalt maker

Quarry and asphalt manufacturing facility in England.
Richard Law via Wikimedia Commons GNU 1.2

An asphalt plant that residential neighbors blamed for burning eyes and sore throats is a public nuisance, the Massachusetts Appeals Court affirmed Friday.

There's been much hand-wringing over the use, and argued misuse, or even abuse of public nuisance law in recent years, from me included. The sub-subject is addressed in my recent 2 Tortz (2024 rev. ed.) (SSRN), and a recent book by the insightful Prof. Linda Mullenix sits on my desk, patiently awaiting attention.

But Friday's case is a reminder that sometimes, a public nuisance is just a nuisance.

The defendant's property, in Acushnet, Massachusetts, on the commonwealth's south coast and just 10 minutes from my work, was a quarry since the 1890s and an asphalt plant since the 1950s, the court recounted. Then in 2021, owner P.J. Keating (PJK) started operating a newly constructed hot-mix asphalt plant located closer than its predecessor facility to neighboring residential properties. Subsequently, local resident complained to the Acushnet Board of Health of noxious odor and burning eyes, noses, and throats.

The board ultimately sent two investigators, one its own agent and one a hired expert. Both validated the complaints. The board's agent reported, according to the court, that "the odor was 'horrendous,' lasted throughout his fifteen-minute visit, made his eyes water, and left him feeling dizzy for one-half hour after leaving the site.... He testified that at the home of one resident, he rated the odor as level four [of seven], but at another home he rated the odor as a seven for the duration of his visit, a 'full-on assault of ... stink.'"

PJK provided contrary evidence. PJK told the board that it complied with the toughest regulatory standards, and its activity comported with the property's industrial zoning. PJK cast doubt on the credibility of the complainants, showing that a great many complaints came from relatively few neighbors. And some complaints occurred at times when the plant was not operating, PJK submitted. PJK also submitted expert evidence to argue that any odors or fumes posed no risk to public health.

Some of the disconnect might have resulted from the source of odors or fumes being transport trucks rather than the plant itself, the board expert suggested. When the mixing facility was located deeper in the property, the hot-mix asphalt had more time to cool while it was loaded into the trucks. With the new facility, trucks were loaded and hit the road, close to residences, while the asphalt was still hot.

Either way, the problem before the Appeals Court was not really one of merits. After the Board of Health ordered PJK to cease and desist until it could get its emissions under control, PJK sought and obtained relief in the Superior Court. The Superior Court ruled that the board's decision was arbitrary and capricious and not supported by substantial evidence, so annulled the cease and desist.

Hardly so, the Appeals Court ruled: "We think it plain that the record contains substantial evidence supporting the board's conclusion that PJK's plant is a public nuisance." The board might have given witness testimony more credit than PJK cared to, but that's the job of the fact-finder. The board received abundant evidence from both sides, so its conclusion was neither arbitrary nor unsubstantiated.

As a point of interest, the court observed that the board's legal determination must be given some latitude. Quoting the state high court from 1952, "[b]oards of health are likely to be composed of laymen not skilled in drafting legal documents, and their orders should be read with this fact in mind. They should be so construed as to ascertain the real substance intended and without too great attention to niceties of wording and arrangement."

At a deeper level, the simple case is indicative of the challenge at the heart of public nuisance doctrine, a division between the powers of the judiciary, resonating in corrective justice, and the powers of the political branches, resonating in distributive justice.  Public nuisance cases are difficult because they put the courts in the position of enforcing amorphous public policy, here, enjoining the operation of a lawful business.

In this vein, it's telling that PJK relied on its full compliance with zoning laws, industrial regulations, and public health and environment laws. The strategy effectively argues that the question presented already has been decided by the political branches, so the courts should not second guess. If residents don't want an asphalt plant next door, the argument goes, their remedy is with the zoning commission. To burden a business beyond substantial regulation is to invite courts to interfere with the economy: not their job.

In another state, that argument might win the day. Massachusetts courts are less solicitous, or more willing to assert regulatory authority, if there is no plain political mandate to the contrary. The court here agreed with the board that just because asphalt-mixing odors and fumes are not regulated, or are regulated only at extremes—in fact, the EPA deregulated asphalt manufacturing emissions in 2003—does not mean there is no risk to public health, nor even that emissions are not carcinogenic.

One need look no farther than PFAS to show that non-regulation is not necessarily indicative of safety.

The outcome here is bad news for a nasty collateral litigation brought by PJK in 2022 against the Town of Acushnet.

The PJK suit in federal court demands $50 million dollars for losses in stalled productivity at the facility. PJK accused the town of regulatory taking through "a series of deliberate, methodical, concerted, and systematic actions to specifically target Plaintiffs and the Property and to stop the legal, longstanding operations on the Property," WJAR reported in January. According to PJK, "the [board agent] has stated that 'the Town hired him "to make PJK's life a living hell."'" 

Currently in discovery, the federal case is Tilcon, Inc. v. Acushnet, No. 1:22-cv-12046 (D. Mass. filed Dec. 2, 2022).

Friday's case is P.J. Keating Co. v. Acushnet, No. 23-P-629 (Mass. App. Ct. Apr. 12, 2024) (temporary state posting). Justice Peter W. Sacks wrote the unanimous opinion of the panel, which also comprised Justices Meade and Massing.

Consumer-unfriendly designs resist right to repair

The nation is in the grip of a battle over right-to-repair laws. I'm a fan.

Right to repair ensures consumers' ability to repair, or to have repaired, the products they own without having to go back to the original manufacturer. Corporations in the tech era have sought to lock down their products and the business of servicing them, both to profit from service and to protect intellectual property. The behavior is anti-competitive and monopolistic, which is to say, it's how things work in America.

Consumers can be kept out of products, and independent repairers can be driven out of business, by legal and design mechanisms. Legally, a consumer might be barred from repairing a product by contractual clauses in product sale and warranty or by clickwrap terms and conditions of software. Right to repair laws are effective to fight back against these limitations.

Product design can exclude consumers from repair access, too, and this is the more challenging problem. Makers always claim that design limitations on repair are incidental or required for the integrity of the product. A car's onboard computer might be accessible only with a proprietary interface, a measure the carmakers says is necessary to protect the consumer from hacking. A cell phone might break when it's not pried opened properly, an inconvenience the maker says is necessary to pack safely the features consumers want into so small a space.

More than half the states had right to repair on the legislative docket in 2023, the National Conference of State Legislatures counted, with new enactments in California, Colorado, New York, and Minnesota. NPR reported recently on the latest from Michigan. The White House and Europe are on board, and Apple seems to have gauged the winds and decided to play nice. 

Apple's strategy is not the norm. Despite the popularity of right to repair and its obvious essentiality for a free market, right to repair has been elusive. Carmakers have been especially resistant.

Massachusetts adopted right to repair by voter initiative in 2012. The legislature came on board the next year. Carmakers resisted at every turn. Voters were compelled in 2020, despite deceptive industry political tactics, to approve another initiative that expressly expanded the law to apply to automobile telematics, that is, cars' onboard diagnostic data. 

Carmakers continue to resist, tying the law up in litigation, with claims such as federal preemption (this blog in July 2022). Federal regulators initially sided with carmakers, but in recent months, pressured and shamed by Massachusetts senators and the White House, have grown indecisive and tried to plot a middle course. The problem is exacerbated with electric vehicles, as carmakers resist right to repair by leveraging the Administration's wish to transition inventory.

In carmakers' latest fit of passive-aggressive resistance to right to repair, they're refusing to include features such as internet connectivity in states such as Massachusetts. If we insist that carmakers share, then they'll pack up their toys and go home.

A car cabin air filter usually is easily accessible behind the glove box.
Not on the 2023 Nissan Versa. (Generic image.)
Matt Woolner via Flickr CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

I believe I saw for myself last weekend evidence of carmaker resistance-by-design to right to repair. 

My family acquired a 2023 Nissan Versa last year. The dealer purchase and the car itself have been nothing but a series of frustrations and disappointments. The seller was deceptive in pricing and failed to provide standard equipment; I might write about those issues another time. I am shopping for counsel now to bring a design-defect claim against Nissan: also a story for another time. My advice in short: don't buy a Nissan.

My latest micro-frustration was over the cabin air filter. A passenger car's cabin air filter is almost invariably located behind the glove box and easily changeable by the owner. No longer in the 2023 Versa.

Even removal of the glove box first requires the extraction of six screws; the box's latch assembly comes out too, along with two of the screws. It's not easy to replace later. 

Behind the glove box there is ample room for a cabin air filter; it's not there. Rather, a lower side panel in the passenger compartment also must then be removed. The plastic pins for the side panel are not made for repeated removal. So repeated access to the filter seems to ensure that the interior plastic walls will need replacement, too, in time.

Finally, one can reach the filter, though removing it from a too-small access window means squeezing it, thereby diminishing the integrity of the new filter one puts in.

I can imagine no good reason for the relocation of the filter than to make it more difficult for consumers to replace it themselves. And for those who don't and do take the car to a Nissan service provider, the now more involved operation, especially removal and replacement of the glove box, will increase the labor cost. Win-win for Nissan.

That's just the tip of the iceberg. Makers are doubling down on consumer-resistant designs.

I want to replace the faulty charging port on my more-than-two-year-old Google Pixel 3 cell phone. One would think it an easy and foreseeably necessary operation to replace an essential external port with pins and contacts that bend, break, and degrade over time, faster than the electronics they serve. 

But I've read online that it's nearly impossible for an amateur such as me to pry the phone open, to access the port's plug-in, without shattering an interior glass panel. Why? To sell me a Pixel 8, I suspect.

Resistance to right to repair through deliberate design will be much harder for consumers to fight than mere terms and conditions or even proprietary codes. Physical design limitations are difficult to detect and disallow. Industry capture of regulators doesn't help.

Right to repair might have won the battle of public opinion, but it's far from becoming consumers' reality.