From national TV to local school, suspension of dissenters evidences worrisome speech suppression

Google Gemini CC0

Free speech is in danger in the United States, and two recent matters, one national and one local to me, are representative and worrisome.

The national story is the suspension of Jimmy Kimmel from his late-night talk show on the ABC television network.

Where Kimmel apparently crossed a red line with ABC parent Disney was his equation of the accused assassin of Charlie Kirk with the America-first MAGA movement. The comment stoked right-wing ire, and Kimmel was accused of inciting or supporting political violence—an inferential leap he did not make. In the light of day, I find Kimmel's comment in poor taste. But he did not advocate for political violence. 

I support the prerogative of Disney, as a private creative company—subject to procedurally proper and viewpoint-immaterial business regulation, such as antitrust law, which has been under-enforced in the administrations of both parties—to make decisions about what content it wishes to broadcast. But as in the case of cancelled late-night host Stephen Colbert, the decision here is not about reasoned disagreement, rather is about capitulation to government threats to use state power unlawfully and unconstitutionally.

Circumstances strongly suggested that Colbert's Late Show was canceled because of government threats to use the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) broadcast licensing authority to block the merger of CBS parent Paramount with media company Skydance. But it was difficult to find direct rather than circumstantial evidence of the connection between the government and Paramount.

No longer. FCC Chairman Brendan Carr plainly threatened to use FCC power to attack Nexstar, the company that owns a great many ABC affiliates that carry Disney content. Nexstar and Disney are said to be courting, and Nexstar has a history of dissatisfaction with FCC regulation that would stymie the growth of its media empire. So the FCC threat to Nexstar was taken to heart in the boardroom, The Wall Street Journal reported, and became a threat to business partner Disney, in turn. 

Curious how the anti-regulatory right is suddenly interested in a strong administrative state.

The problem here is that censorship of political content, that is, political viewpoint discrimination, is not a legitimate basis for the FCC, nor most any governmental authority, to flex its muscle in interference with the private market. The closest Carr came to a legitimate rationale for FCC retaliation was the assertion that programming such as Kimmel's perpetuates false information. 

Yet even if that were a proper basis for government intervention—arguable, depending on the nature of the information alleged false—there is no evidence that false assertions of fact by Kimmel or anyone else motivated Carr's threat. Whatever one thinks of Kimmel's appraisal of the Kirk murder, or of MAGA, he uttered only opinion.

Incidentally, President Trump's lawsuit against The New York Times Co. this week evidences the same disregard for the difference between fact and opinion. The voluminous complaint is rife with allegations that establish a difference of opinion, but precious few claims of false assertions of fact. So over the top is the complaint that it evidences the abject failure of the legal profession to regulate itself as a profession. (UPDATE, Sept. 19: Did I underestimate the profession? See Trump v. N.Y. Times Co. (M.D. Fla. Sept. 19, 2025). HT @ Dan Greenberg.)

To be clear, if Disney wants to suspend Kimmel because executives don't like his politics, fine. I might worry about whether antitrust law is enforced with sufficient vigor, or simply whether our media infrastructure is sufficiently healthy, that Americans have access to a wide range of viewpoints through audiovisual media. But my worries would not warrant interference with a business owner's political prerogative.

My objection here is to the threatened abuse of power by the FCC. A broadcast regulatory authority picking who may and who may not have access to media channels based on the broadcaster's support for the ruling regime is naked and shameful authoritarianism.

And then there is the local.

In my community of Barrington, Rhode Island, a teacher, Benjamin Fillo, has been suspended from Barrington Public Schools for his TikTok comments about Charlie Kirk.

Once again, I find the speaker's comments in poor taste. According to The New York Post and to WLNE—an ABC affiliate which, incidentally, recently became the second local news broadcaster under the control of the right-wing-disinformation-associated Sinclair group, somehow without provoking FCC regulatory objection—Fillo called Kirk a "piece of garbage" and accused him of hatred for the LGBTQ community and hostility to women's rights and democracy.

Like Kimmel, Fillo did not advocate for political violence. I would like him to have condemned it. But that preference is mine.

Also, as a parent in this community, I am sympathetic to parents' concerns that the public school be a place of neither ideological indoctrination nor ideological marginalization.

What worries me here is that Fillo's speech occurred on TikTok, outside the school, outside his capacity as a teacher, at least insofar as has been reported. His video seems to have effected no "material and substantial disruption" of the schoolhouse, to use the probably applicable constitutional language, other than disruption by people who self-servingly would claim disruption.

The school district has hired an independent investigator. Sounds a bit Orwellian, but better than a summary firing. What's concerning is that, again, as far as I have seen reported, the investigation is based only on extramural speech, and worse, Fillo was placed on administrative leave for his extramural speech. So already he's been singled out and penalized upon no apparent evidence that he poses any threat to students.

When my daughter was a minor in Barrington schools, she had teachers with whom I disagreed, and with whom she disagreed, politically, and who had different religious beliefs from mine, and from hers, just like I have law students who have different opinions and beliefs from mine. The appropriate pedagogy, which my daughter's teachers employed, and which I endeavor to employ, albeit in the different context of graduate school, is to equip students to disagree. It's not an easy line to draw, but that's the job of a teacher.

What does not work, what I would not want from my child's teachers, and what I try not to do in the classroom, is to pretend to be some kind of politically neutered Ken doll incapable of forming a personal viewpoint. That's what no teacher should model for students. Yet that seems to be what Barrington schools, and too many parents, want to see.

That Fillo has opinions outside the school, whether or not I agree with them, whether or not students and parents agree with them, suggests to me only that he is a good teacher, because he is a whole and thinking human being. If he had no discernible political views, I would wonder whether he were competent to teach social studies.

The takeaway from both these matters seems to be that our society is suffering a worrisome intolerance for disagreement.

It's becoming cool and normal for government to use its power to enforce group-think—a place I thought the right promised to move us away from. And it's becoming cool and normal for employers, even public employers, to capitulate to demands that group-think be enforced, or at least that dissent be suppressed. 

The marketplace of ideas is a flawed metaphor. But it's not all wrong. What I know for sure is that ours should not be a country in which the marketplace of ideas sells only one kind of bread, and everyone must get in line for it.

Greenberg: 'Why American Libel Law Is a Disaster'

My friend and colleague Dan Greenberg, a senior research fellow at the Cato Institute, has penned an editorial in which he explains "Why American Libel Law Is a Disaster" (free sign-up).  

The Eleventh Circuit affirmed dismissal of Alan Dershowitz's libel suit against CNN at the end of August for lack of evidence of "actual malice," the extraordinary standard of U.S. First Amendment law that requires public-figure plaintiffs to prove defendants' intent, knowledge, or smoking-gun recklessness as to the falsity of what they utter.

I don't disagree with the outcome in Dershowitz. But like concurring Judge Barbara Lagoa, I have serious reservations about the "actual malice" rule. The standard, calcified in constitutional law by New York Times v. Sullivan (U.S. 1964), is unique in the world in its broad application in tort litigation in purported protection of the freedom of expression.

Brigitte and Emmanuel Macron, 2019
PICRYL public domain

Though I am a free speech and press advocate six days out of seven, I have long been persona non grata in media defense circles when the subject of Sullivan rolls around. As a torts teacher, I understand that under-compensating victims of genuine harm, and of letting tortfeasors off the hook for socially intolerable conduct, have far-reaching adverse consequences for the social order. And I daresay that our present epidemic of misinformation has a direct lineage to Sullivan.

Dan Greenberg, who bears scars similar to mine as a plaintiff-survivor of formally unsuccessful defamation litigation, has written an op-ed for The Dispatch, "Why American Libel Law Is a Disaster."  He uses as case in point the libel suit (CNN) of French President Emmanuel Macron and his wife Brigitte against "self-styled independent journalist" Candace Owens—and the fact that the Macrons almost surely will lose, despite the absurd and damaging assertions of the defendant.

Here are the opening paragraphs. 

Did you know that the president of France and his wife Brigitte are actually blood relatives in an incestuous marriage? Or that Brigitte is a transgender woman? Or that President Emmanuel Macron was manipulated into becoming the president of France through a CIA mind control program? Or that the Macrons conducted an extensive campaign of violence, fraud, and identity theft to cover all of this up?

Well, you probably didn’t know this, because nothing would lead a reasonable person to believe any of it is true. But this didn’t stop Candace Owens, a self-styled independent journalist, from propagating that delusional narrative. Over the last year, Owens produced an eight-part podcast, Becoming Brigitte, that placed the Macrons at the center of a vast and incredible conspiracy. In July, the Macrons sued Owens for libel in Delaware.

Professor Eugene Volokh at Reason has key excerpts from Dershowitz v. CNN, Inc. (11th Cir. Aug. 29, 2025), from Judge Lagoa's concurrence, and from the contrary concurrence of Judge Charles Wilson.

There is more on the Sullivan debate, including an edited version of the complaint in Greenberg's 2013 defamation suit against an Arkansas newspaper, in my textbook, 2 Tortz, ch. 15(B)(5)(c), "Reconsidering Sullivan," from page 516.

'Take It Down' Act purports to redress revenge porn, but invites censorship by only incentivizing take-down

Derived from Google Gemini, RJ Peltz-Steele CC0

President Trump signed into law bipartisan federal revenge porn legislation Monday—alas, not in time for inclusion in 2 Tortz (2025 ed.)—but all is not sunshine and rainbows.    

First, it must be noted, and news media seem widely oblivious to the fact that, Congress, per the Commerce Clause, created a federal civil action for revenge porn already in 2022, in the quinquennial reauthorization of the Violence Against Women Act. The law is codified at 15 U.S.C. § 6851.

The TAKE IT DOWN Act, signed into law Monday, ups the stakes by criminalizing revenge porn at the federal level. The law also is broader in scope than existing law. With the new act, the federal government joins the majority of states in tackling deepfake sexual images, besides authentic images. And as Sunny Gandhi and Adam Billen explained for Tech Policy Press, Take It Down extends to "nude images published with the intent to 'abuse, humiliate, harass, or degrade' a minor rather than only 'sexually explicit' images."

The law's means, though, subordinate free speech to purported privacy rights. Right there in the name, Take It Down introduces a requirement that platforms remove non-consensual intimate imagery within 48 hours of a complaint. As Jason Kelley of the Electronic Frontier Foundation (EFF) observed, that's hardly enough time to investigate the context of an image or rights to it, even if a platform were so inclined. 

Rather, Take It Down emulates the notice-and-take-down regime of the intellectual property system, which has resulted in excessive removal of content upon complaint at the expense of fair, authorized, and otherwise protected uses. A poster is afforded little or no opportunity to object to take-down, or to remediate any perceived wrong; rather, the system errs on the side of censorship.

In Take It Down, the addition of criminal penalties further incentivizes prophylactic take-down, with no corresponding incentive to hear an objection or to exercise judgment. The penalties if wrongfully posted content remains online are severe, while there is no risk in excessive removal. As Kelley further observed, for large platforms such as Meta, that calculus incentivizes the blunt use of AI and automation to effect take-down, errors be damned.

Worse, an automated, prophylactic take-down process is susceptible of ill intentioned manipulation.

"President Trump himself has said that he would use the law to censor his critics," Kelley reminded readers.

Take It Down seeks to address a real problem, but takes the easy way out. The law panders to advocates for protective legislation, allowing legislators to take credit for "solving" the problem. Meanwhile, the law gives the corporatocracy a pass on meaningful responsibility and invites political opportunists to obliterate free speech and sow misinformation in its place. 

O Congress. "Bipartisanism ain't all it's cracked up to be."

Court's pass on Wynn bid to revisit 'actual malice' makes sense, but standard still fuels misinformation

Wynn operates the Encore Casino in Everett, Mass.,
since a dust-up with authorities over ownership.
Holiday Point via Flickr CC BY 2.0

The U.S. Supreme Court declined to hear casino mogul Steve Wynn's bid to overturn the New York Times v. Sullivan "actual malice" standard, despite the known appetite of some justices to revisit the 1964 precedent.

The outcome is not a surprise and probably for the best, because Wynn had lousy facts to support his argument. Unfortunately, Sullivan's complicity in our present misinformation crisis remains real and ever more problematic. Cases such as Wynn's undermine legitimate recognition of the dysfunction Sullivan has wrought.

I've written and spoken before, and will not here belabor, my ardent opposition to the Sullivan standard, which requires public figures to demonstrate, even prove—usually upon filing a complaint, with no access to evidence in the possession of the defense—that the defendant subjectively knew of the falsity of the publication, or at least that there's a smoking gun disproving the defendant's denial.

Sullivan came about with good intentions. In a nutshell, the Supreme Court was determined to enforce Brown v. Board (U.S. 1954) and bring about the civil rights order required by the Reconstruction Amendments, specifically in Sullivan by heading off southern officials' weaponization of tort law. But the wide berth that the Court cut for freedom of speech vis-à-vis the competing values of personal reputation and human dignity was cemented in constitutional law, and now we face the consequences of an irremediable imbalance.

Steve Wynn
Sarah Gerke via Flickr CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

In Wynn's case, defendant Associated Press surfaced two complaints of sexual assault filed with police against Wynn in the 1970s. The reporting occurred in the context of contemporary allegations of a pattern of misconduct, which Wynn roundly denies. The AP report probably falls within the common law "fair report" privilege, which shields from liability the re-publisher of allegations in official documents. The advanced age of the reports raises a thin question on the "fair" prong of the analysis, and the degree to which the privilege has been constitutionalized is debatable. But those issues are neither here nor there, for the courts in the Nevada lawsuit never got that far.

Wynn's suit was dismissed under the Nevada anti-SLAPP law because, the Nevada Supreme Court affirmed, Wynn failed to demonstrate sufficient proof of actual malice in his pleading. Wynn offered little more in the way of allegation than that the police complaints were "implausible," so should have been disbelieved—hardly that they were contradicted by evidence in the defendant's possession. There was an allegation that the AP reporter regarded a complainant against Wynn as "'crazy'"—but, again, that hardly equates to "lying." Anyway, were the fair report privilege eventually implicated, the salient fact would be the truthful rendition of the reports, not the truth of their underlying contents.

Besides bemoaning Sullivan, I have lamented at length on the ill wisdom of anti-SLAPP laws, such as they have been adopted throughout the United States, another song of woe I won't here reiterate. I also have acknowledged consistently that anti-SLAPP works well when it works well (and could work better). Wynn's case proves both points. He didn't get his day in court, nor hardly a hearing. But I suspect his ability to prosecute all the way to Washington has more to do with his wealth than with the merits of his claim.

Wynn's appeal strategy was principally to attack Sullivan head on. Wynn knows, or his lawyers know, that near immunity for false, even ludicrous, allegations against public figures has everything to do with the vigor of misinformation circulating in the American marketplace of ideas. But Wynn was ill able to illustrate an injustice against a meritorious cause, the kind of fertile soil one needs to nurture willingness to overturn a 60-year-old, civil rights-era precedent.

For some further context of judicial dissatisfaction with Sullivan, here's an excerpt from my 2 Tortz: A Study of American Tort Law (Lulu 2024 rev. ed.), on "Reconsidering Sullivan."

Doubts about sacrosanct Sullivan were once uttered at one’s own risk in legal academic circles. But U.S. Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas legitimized debate with a concurrence in denial of certiorari in McKee v. Cosby (U.S. 2019). An actress, McKee, in 2014, publicly accused actor-comedian Bill Cosby of rape 40 years earlier. A letter from Cosby’s attorney to mass media attacked McKee’s credibility, but did not specifically deny the asserted facts of the encounter. McKee alleged defamation, and the courts concluded that the letter stated only unverifiable opinion.

Media advocates certainly hoped that Thomas’s commentary was a one-off. It was not. Two years later, Justices Thomas and Neil Gorsuch dissented from denial of certiorari in Berisha v. Lawson (U.S. 2021).... Earlier the same year, highly regarded U.S. Circuit Judge Laurence Silberman had joined Thomas’s call, dissenting in Tah v. Global Witness Publishing (D.C. Cir. 2021) (involving accusation of bribery against international human rights organization). A likeminded concurrence by Florida appellate Judge Bradford L. Thomas followed in Mastandrea v. Snow (Fla. Dist. Ct. App. 2022) (involving accusation city official was “on the take” in development matter). And that same year, the Journal of Free Speech Law published Professor David McGowan’s A Bipartisan Case Against New York Times v. Sullivan (2022). Justice Thomas reiterated his “view that we should reconsider the actual-malice standard,” Blankenship v. NBCUniversal, LLC (U.S. 2023) (Thomas, J., concurring in denial of certiorari), thrice more in 2022 and 2023.

Mass-media misinformation during the Donald J. Trump Presidency, contributing to the January 6, 2021, attack on the U.S. Capitol, shook the confidence in Sullivan even of some devoted liberal stalwarts in the academy. On the one hand, President Trump had used defamation, among other legal tools, to attack critics. He was accused of weaponizing transaction costs, but Sullivan remained an important substantive bulwark. On the other hand, Trump evaded “Me Too” accountability not only with denials, like Cosby, but with ruthless accusations of lying, which loyal political supporters embraced and amplified.

The busy federal court for the Southern District of New York has seen its share of politically charged defamation litigation. That’s where writer E. Jeanne Carroll, availing of a New York look-back statute, brought two suits against President Trump, alleging sexual battery in the 1990s and defamation for calling her claims “a complete con job,” “a hoax” and “a lie.” Juries awarded Carroll in excess of $80 million for sexual battery and defamation, despite the actual malice standard. Trump appealed. Do the verdicts show that Sullivan works? In 2022, Sarah Palin lost a defamation claim in S.D.N.Y. against The New York Times over a staff editorial that blamed her in part for the mass shooting that wounded U.S. Rep. Gabby Giffords. Exceptionally against the usual no-actual-malice motion to dismiss, Palin had won discovery. And discovery revealed some ethically problematic sloppiness behind the scenes at the Times. Nevertheless, bad journalism is not actual malice, and the court and jury so concluded. Palin’s appeal from the Second Circuit was seen widely as a contender to draw Sullivan reconsideration, but the Court passed.

Whether a function of social media, declining civility, or partisan extremism, data show that defamation litigation is up. And courts are not as quick as they once were to dismiss for a plaintiff’s inability to prove actual malice. Still, the public-plaintiff win remains a rarity, especially for the public official or public figure who doesn’t have the resources to go to the mat.

The case is Wynn v. Associated Press, No. 24-829 (U.S. Mar. 24, 2025).

New book spotlights freedom of press in film

My friend and colleague Helen J. Knowles-Gardner, formerly a political science professor and now research director at the Institute for Free Speech, along with co-author Professor Emeritus Bruce E. Altschuler and Professor Brandon T. Metroka, has published a gratifyingly compelling new book, Filming the First: Cinematic Portrayals of Freedom of the Press (Lexington Books 2025).

The engaging cover art was created by illustrator Doug Does Drawings (X, Etsy, Instagram, YouTube).

Here is the publisher's description of the book:

The First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution prohibits Congress from abridging freedom of the press. But, as the printed press has been transformed into mass media with Americans now more likely to get their political information from television or social media than from print, confidence in this important, mediating institution has fallen dramatically. Movies, in their role as cultural artifacts, have long reflected and influenced those public attitudes, inventing such iconic phrases as “follow the money” from All the President’s Men and “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore” from Network. Filming the First: Cinematic Portrayals of Freedom of the Press analyzes eighteen films that span from Citizen Kane to Spotlight showing changes in how the press have been portrayed over time, which voices receive the most attention and why, the relationship between the press’s “Fourth Estate” role and the imperatives of capitalism, and how, despite the First Amendment’s seemingly absolute language, the government has sometimes been able to limit what the public can read or view.

I was privileged to review an advance copy of the book and am quoted aptly on the back cover: 

Filming the First is a deeply thought-provoking exploration of America's cinematic engagement with "the press." Through the revealing social implications of the big screen, Filming the First interrogates press freedom from yellow-journalism sensationalism to Watergate and Vietnam heroics, to the existential threat of misinformation. Organizing eighteen films into ten thematic chapters, Filming the First embraces both classics and the avant-garde and treats readers to perspectives on mass media from the reverent paean to the ruthless critique. Knowles-Gardner, Altschuler, and Metroka locate their diverse film selections each in its social, cultural, and legal context. Upon each exposition, the writers relate key takeaways to the perils and uncertainties that surround the business of media in our polarized present day. Filming the First is a thrill ride for film buffs, free speech aficionados, and anyone willing to engage with the struggle to define media's place in modern democracy.

If I ever again have the freedom to teach an indulgent topical seminar, this book is at the top of my list.

Here is the table of contents.

Chapter 1. Censorship in a Time of War: Good Morning, Vietnam
Helen J. Knowles-Gardner

Chapter 2. A Media Mogul Battles Against His Fictional Doppelganger: Citizen Kane and RKO 281
Bruce E. Altschuler

Chapter 3. Heroic Newspaper Reporters, Editors, and Publishers Battle the President – All the President’s Men and The Post
Bruce E. Altschuler

Chapter 4. Technology Transforms the Press into the Media: Network and The Social Network
Bruce E. Altschuler

Chapter 5. “How Can We Possibly Approve and Check the Story…?”: Good Night, and Good Luck and The China Syndrome
Helen J. Knowles-Gardner

Chapter 6. Testing the Limits of Freedom: Denial and Deliberate Intent
Helen J. Knowles-Gardner

Chapter 7. Responsibility Matters: Shattered Glass
Helen J. Knowles-Gardner

Chapter 8. Creating Protagonists, Competing Interests, and Uncertain Legal Standards: The People vs. Larry Flynt and Citizenfour
Brandon T. Metroka

Chapter 9. A Tale of One Press Clause and Two Journalisms: Spotlight and Out in the Night
Brandon T. Metroka

Chapter 10. Mainstream Press Negligence and its Effects: The Normal Heart and Tongues Untied
Brandon T. Metroka

 

High court construes tenure contract to constrain faculty salary cuts at Tufts medical school

TUSM Arnold Wing, 2012, Boston
John Phelan via Wikimedia Commons CC BY 3.0

Academic freedom won a rare court victory last week when the Massachusetts high court allowed claims that Tufts University improperly reduced the salaries of tenured medical faculty.

(As an aside, I wrote just yesterday about academic freedom in the case of FAMU's efforts to fire the law school's first and only tenured Latina professor for speaking on a matter of public concern, namely, the school dean's contentious resignation. Please consider signing the letter in support of Prof. Maritza Reyes.)

In the scrappy remains of what academia has become, the Tufts School of Medicine (TUSM) in the late 2010s told eight faculty that they would have to bring in external research support to cover half their salaries and their lab space, or they would see their salaries and space cut. The eight plaintiffs didn't meet the new standards, and TUSM imposed the cuts.

As things usually go in these cases, the trial court awarded summary judgment to the defense. Much responsibility for the sorry state of academic tenure in the United States can be laid at the feet of its once defenders, such as the American Association of University Professors (AAUP), which became so enamored with procedural arcana in the early 20th century that it forgot the substantive rights it was supposed to be fighting for. I wrote in 2011 about this problem and the urgent need to address it then. The law too often says that as long as a university dots its is and crosses its ts, it can fire for any reason.

The typical bulwark in the tenure contract is simply that firing must be "for cause," a wishy-washy term that reduces the contract practically to year-to-year employment. A university can disavow termination as a violation of civil rights, then turn right around and point to bad breath and a disagreeable disposition as sufficient "cause." Judges usually are eager to defer to universities, reasoning that workers could strike better bargains if they wanted to; they have the AAUP working for them, after all.

Just such ambiguity contributed to the plaintiffs' grief in the instant case. The Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court (SJC) opined that the term "economic security" in the Tufts tenure contract "is ambiguous." Upon the ambiguity, the term could be not be said to include a guarantee of lab space, and the lower court so concluded correctly.

A state high court typically would send plaintiffs packing wholesale upon deference to university interpretation of the contract. However, the SJC reversed and remanded, concluding that "more evidence is required regarding the customs and practices and reasonable expectations related to salary and full-time status for tenured professors at TUSM, and even other universities and medical schools," to determine whether the compensation reduction violated the contract.

Massachusetts is a labor-friendly state, for better and for worse. The courts are permissive, for example, in "wrongful termination" tort suits that would be shut down in a flash in other states. Here, the SJC was willing to look for evidence that other states' courts would eschew breezily. While I'm usually hesitant to see a court broadly construe a meticulous private contract, I'll here let myself be bettered by anxiety over academic freedom facing evisceration by the looming dismantling of faculty job security.

The plaintiffs in the Tufts case had been awarded tenure at different times, from 1970 to 2009. The SJC looked to the TUSM faculty handbook, which usually is construed as contractual in higher ed employment law. The handbook includes an academic, freedom, tenure, and retirement policy that incorporated language verbatim from the 1940 AAUP Statement on Principles of Academic Freedom and Tenure.

The 1940 statement speaks eloquently to the importance of "freedom of teaching and research and of extramural activities," as well as "a sufficient degree of economic security." All good. But the statement characteristically left "the precise terms and conditions" to ad hoc negotiation, as long as termination is permitted "only for adequate cause" and the result of some kind of review process. That's long left the tenured professor in an AAUP-style contract to wonder whether anything would stop the university from reducing salary to a penny and relocating the professor's office to the boiler room.

When Tufts presented a faculty hearing board with a multi-million operating deficit in the late 2010s, the board was more than willing to throw some faculty under the bus to save the rest. The union at my school did the same thing during the pandemic: eagerly approving faculty salary cuts, and even asking that they be higher, rather than calculating how many quarter-million-dollar-a-year assistant-associate-vice-provost-chancellors we might do without instead. 

Thus, another problem with tenure as we have it is that the AAUP, enraptured as it was and is with collectivism, never thought to consider the need to protect faculty from each other. Unlike the First Amendment, AAUP academic freedom allows the collective to run roughshod over dissenting voices.

With due process duly delivered, the Tufts plaintiffs saw salary reductions from 10 to 50%.

Taking stock of the matter, the SJC concluded, again, exceptionally, that "economic security is an important substantive provision of the tenure contract and not a prefatory or hortatory term." The court relied on the 1940 statement and strained in structuralist contract construction to distinguish a 2022 New York decision to the contrary. 

The record at Tufts probably does not support plaintiffs in resisting any salary reduction, but, the SJC concluded, at least created a question of fact as to how much is too much.

The case is Wortis v. Trustees of Tufts College (Mass. Mar. 14, 2024). Chief Justice Scott L. Kafker wrote the unanimous opinion.

Book supports legal privilege for undercover reporting

Truth and Transparency, a recent book by Professors Alan K. Chen and Justin Marceau, is a comprehensive and gratifying tour of the history and law of undercover reporting.

Chen and Marceau teach at the Sturm College of Law at Denver University and have especial expertise in constitutional law, and respectively in public interest law and animal law. In their co-authorship, they examine the social phenomenon of undercover reporting that lies at the intersection of journalism, tort law, and the First Amendment—and often animal law, too.

I know Chen best for his work in opposing ag gag laws: statutes designed to stop and punish journalists, activists, and whistleblowers from investigating and revealing wrongful conduct and animal cruelty in the agricultural industry, especially by way of undercover video recording. Chen has worked against ag gag in Idaho, Iowa, Kansas, and Utah. I've been privileged to sign on to some of the amicus briefs he has coordinated.

Chen and Marceau leave no stone unturned. I was intrigued especially to read about the history of undercover reporting in the United States, the evolution of undercover reporting in its treatment in journalism ethics, and the thorough explication of undercover reporting in tort and First Amendment law.

Upton Sinclair's 1905 The Jungle, a novel based on real-life undercover reporting in the meatpacking industry, was my mind's go-to on the early history of the practice. Apropos of the present Women's History Month, however, it was female reporters such as Nellie Bly who carved out a niche for undercover reporting in the popular imagination in the late 19th century and deserve the most credit for pioneering the genre.

Bly, born Elizabeth Jane Cochran, famously had herself committed to a deplorable New York mental institution in 1887 for 10 days before a New York World lawyer secured her release, per prearrangement. Chen and Marceau recount the stories of Bly and other so-called "girl stunt reporters." They trace the history even further, as well, to antebellum abolitionists determined to expose the horrors of slavery.

Chen and Marceau explore a range of treatments of undercover reporting in journalism ethics, including the qualified permissiveness of the 1996 Code of Ethics of the Society of Professional Journalists, preserved in the more recent 2014 iteration. They observe as well the almost complete prohibition on the practice at National Public Radio, where journalists may engage in deception only when necessary to protect themselves in a conflict zone, and secret recordings may be used in only extraordinary circumstances.

A case that naturally arises throughout the book is the ABC News investigation of hygienic practices at Food Lion in the 1990s (at Reporters Committee). This case was contemporary with my university study of journalism, so was front and center in my class on journalism ethics. Whether or when journalists might engage in deception to get the story is a favorite point of discussion in journalism ethics class. The problem stratifies the need for public trust in journalism across the micro layers of people who are the subjects of stories and the macro layers of readers and the public interest. 

A court in Food Lion ultimately held that ABC journalists could be sued for trespass or breach of loyalty, but awarded only nominal damages. The factual problem for the plaintiffs that precluded a more substantial damages award was that notwithstanding the concealment of their motives, the journalists had been given jobs at Food Lion, and they did their jobs. So from a damages perspective, Food Lion got what it paid for. The appellate court, unlike the trial jury, was unwilling to consider the reputational harm flowing from truthful disclosures, if deceptively obtained, as any kind of compensable loss.

The outcome in Food Lion was consistent with the broad propositions of First Amendment law that there is no right to gather the news, which is why the Freedom of Information Act is a statutory rule, not a constitutional one; and that journalists are not exempt from generally applicable expectations of law, such as honoring contracts, obeying police orders—and not trespassing. As Chen and Marceau observe, the outcome exerted a chill in investigative reporting.

However, the Food Lion rule is hardly absolute, Chen and Marceau also aptly observe. The rule of no-right-to-gather-news has never been wholly true. The courts have given media latitude to test the limits, for example disallowing wiretap liability for receiving probably illegally intercepted communications. And technological advances have complicated the picture. A majority of U.S. circuit courts now, in a post-George Floyd world, have held that the First Amendment protects video-recording police in public places. The proposition seems right, but it doesn't square with the news-gathering rule.

The outcome in Food Lion further hints at a deeper problem in tort law that Chen and Marceau explore: the problem of damages in cases of only notional harm. In contemporary doctrine, a trespass with no infliction of physical harm or loss might entitle a plaintiff to an equitable remedy of injunction, but no more than nominal damages in tort law, thus Food Lion. Though with no damages in the offing, there is no deterrence to deceptive trespass, a logic that likely explains the eventual waning of Food Lion's chilling effect. The problem bleeds into the contemporary debate over the nature of damages in personal privacy violations. 

Journalism exceptionalism resonates as well in the problem of trespass and consent. Food Lion suggests that consent to enter property is vitiated by deception as to one's motive. Chen and Marceau explore opposing academic and judicial views on the question.

In a remarkable work of empirical research unto itself, Chen and Marceau's chapter 6 presents compelling data to show overwhelming public support for undercover reporting to expose wrongdoing. Public support seems to transcend political ideology and even whether the perpetrator of deception is a journalist or activist.

Chen and Marceau argue summatively and persuasively for a qualified legal privilege to protect journalistic deception in undercover reporting. Historical, ethical, and legal authorities all point in the same direction. Even the Fourth Circuit in Food Lion hedged its bets, observing that generally applicable employment law as applied in the case had only an "incidental effect" on news-gathering; in other words, news-gathering was outweighed as a consideration, not shut out.

Technological advances and citizen journalism will continue to generate conflict among conventional norms of property and fair dealing, evolving norms of privacy, and public interest in accountability in private and public sectors. Truth and Transparency is an essential manual to navigate in this brave new world.

Smart but unconstitutional? Trump appointee inverts Scalia maxim in striking corporate transparency law

"Corporate Transparency," Seattle
by Daniel Foster via Flickr CC BY-NC 2.0

A federal district court in Alabama ruled the Corporate Transparency Act, a key anti-corruption statute, unconstitutional upon the inverse of a maxim of the late Justice Antonin Scalia.

There's much commentary on the reading-people's internet about the significance of the March 1, 2024, decision, which is certain to be reviewed by the Eleventh Circuit Court of Appeals. The dry question of business regulation might not make the cut on the TikTok news cycle, meanwhile, but the issue is immensely important.

Effective in January 2024, the Corporate Transparency Act, part of the Anti-Money Laundering Act of 2020, which in turn is part of the National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 2021 ("NDAA"), requires most businesses to report their "beneficial owners" with the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network (FinCEN) of the U.S. Treasury Department. The information is not then public, but can be shared with law enforcement, including tax authorities.

The change in law has been in the works for some 20 years, conceived initially in the years after 9-11 to combat the financing of terrorism. The ABA Business Law Section has a deeper dive for subscribers.

Critically, the transparency around beneficial corporate ownership brings the United States into compliance with transnational norms. We had become something of a money-laundering haven in the world because of the secrecy we allow around ownership of corporations, namely (pun intended) anonymous shell corporations.

People who are keen to exert dark-money influence in politics, to hide assets, or to launder money, of course, tend to have a lot of it. So the law did not come about quickly or easily. But Congress was determined enough in the end to enact the law by a super-majority, overriding President Trump's veto of the NDAA.

Constitutional objections to the law are abundant, based in the First, Fourth, and Fifth Amendments, besides the limits of congressional power under Article I, as amended. It was only the latter theory on which Judge Liles Burke ruled. He concluded that the Corporate Transparency Act strays beyond the necessary-and-proper latitude afforded Congress for any of its constitutional powers, including the Commerce Clause and the Sixteenth Amendment taxing power. It's a problem in vertical federalism; if there is to be transparency in corporate beneficial ownership, then, it must come from the states. Burke is a Trump appointee.

I'm skeptical of the winning argument. Congress's powers in business regulation are substantial, and corruption and tax evasion are almost invariably interstate endeavors. Thus, the significance of the decision: for if it is right, a great deal more of our federal regulatory and taxing machinery will be suspect.

To be fair, small businesses objected to the added burdens of FinCEN compliance amid their already hefty costs in tax compliance, and I am empathetic. We might ought do something about that. But I suspect the legislative obstacles have more to do with keeping commercial-tax preparers in business and keeping the law arcane to shield loopholes, than with flat aversion to transparency.

The other constitutional objections are not frivolous, even if they don't hold up in the end; the rights-based theories have more romantic appeal to the classical liberal. The Fifth Amendment claim is based on due process, not so strong by itself; the Fourth Amendment claim is creative: search or seizure without reasonable suspicion. The First Amendment claim gave me pause: Compelled transparency compromises anonymous speech.

It happens that just last month, I (pro se) created a nonprofit entity to operate an academic research project. To free my New York nonprofit of minimum tax obligations—even though it has and anticipates no money—I applied for a 501(c)(3) determination from the IRS—which costs, by the way, a $275 tip to Uncle Sam.

The IRS informed me that upon approval, I will have to report my nonprofit's beneficial owners to FinCEN. It's irritating; mostly, I'm put off just wondering whether there will be yet another fee.  But it did occur to me that my nonprofit will be engaged in academic expression, and it might have things to say that will upset people in power. So there is a hint of Orwellianism in having to register my state entity with the federal FinCEN and identify my "beneficial owners"—remember, not even with any money in the mix.

At the same time, this is the uneasy balance we always have struck with the nonprofit tax registrations of First Amendment-sensitive enterprises, such as churches and issue advocates. In essence, this is the Citizens United problem, which I've always thought is more layered than it gets credit for. We have not found a principled way to differentiate Nike-as-speaker from the ACLU-as-speaker without some office of government problematically intervening to make the call.

Anyway, what attracted me to this ruling from Alabama is none of the above; rather, it was page one of Judge Burke's opinion. Have a read:

The late Justice Antonin Scalia once remarked that federal judges should have a rubber stamp that says STUPID BUT CONSTITUTIONAL. See Jennifer Senior, In Conversation: Antonin Scalia, New York Magazine, Oct. 4, 2013. The Constitution, in other words, does not allow judges to strike down a law merely because it is burdensome, foolish, or offensive. Yet the inverse is also true—the wisdom of a policy is no guarantee of its constitutionality. Indeed, even in the pursuit of sensible and praiseworthy ends, Congress sometimes enacts smart laws that violate the Constitution. This case, which concerns the constitutionality of the Corporate Transparency Act, illustrates that principle.

If that doesn't suck you into a 53-page opinion on financial regulation, nothing will.

For the time being, as of March 4, 2024, FinCEN has suspended reporting obligations for plaintiffs in the action only, including members of the National Small Business Association.

The case is National Small Business United v. Yellen (N.D. Ala. Mar. 1, 2024). The plaintiff is a 501(c)(6) nonprofit, I'm guessing a business league, though it sounds like a not-too-exciting football league.

Observers comment on Assange extradition hearings

My thanks to Assange Defense Boston for organizing the Massachusetts State House rally on February 20 (above). Assange Defense Boston posted on X a couple of clips of me (below). Read more about "Me and Julian Assange" and see my images from the event.

Here (and embedded below) is a webinar from the European Association of Lawyers for Democracy and World Human Rights about the February 20 and 21 hearings in the UK High Court of Justice. And here (and embedded below) are discussions of journalists, diplomats, and others who were in the room for parts of the hearings.

"..it's not partisanship...this is about government accountability. You can not form coherent policy positions...unless you have the info on which to base them. That's what Julian Assange is about. That's what resisting his extradition is about"
Prof. Rick Peltz-Steele @UMassLaw pic.twitter.com/9ONm9RDxVz

— Assange Defense Boston (@AssangeBoston) February 23, 2024

"[Assange]developed this amazing idea abt freedom of information absolutism...When he founded WikiLeaks..to make the best use of this new democratizing instrument on the internet" Prof. Richard Peltz-Steele @UMassLaw, co-signee letter to @TheJusticeDepthttps://t.co/RJLoxdBue7
2/ pic.twitter.com/umiT9FAvQz

— Assange Defense Boston (@AssangeBoston) February 23, 2024

State high court simplifies anti-SLAPP, draws picture

Notwithstanding the merits of anti-SLAPP statutes—I've opined plenty, including a catalog of problems—the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts (SJC) in recent years made a mess of the state anti-SLAPP law by creating an arcane procedure that befuddled and frustrated the lower courts.

Yesterday the SJC admitted the arcanity and clarified the procedure. I'll note that one thing I like about the Mass. law is that it has a focused trigger in petitioning activity; that's not changing. It'll take me some time to work through the 50 pages of the opinion. But to my delight, there's a picture! The SJC kindly created a flow chart:

The case is Bristol Asphalt Co. v. Rochester Bituminous Products, Inc. (Mass. Feb. 29, 2024). The court then helpfully applied the new framework in another case the same day, Columbia Plaza Associates v. Northeastern University (Mass. Feb. 29, 2023). (Temporary posting of new opinions.)

The court's unofficial top technocrat, Chief Justice Scott L. Kafker authored both opinions. The court affirmed in both cases, denying the anti-SLAPP motion to strike in Bristol Asphalt and granting it in Columbia Plaza, so the lower courts waded their way to correct conclusions despite the mire.

Student media combat criminalization of speech

The criminalization of journalism is the worry at the heart of the Julian Assange case, as a UK court mulls the possibility of his extradition to the United States to face Espionage Act charges, essentially for publishing truthful information that he lawfully obtained (more).

Today is Student Press Freedom Day, a day to recognize the important First Amendment rights and vital Fourth Estate function of journalists in schools, colleges, and universities. 

Speech on college campuses, if more in a protest vein than a journalistic vein, has seen lately a wave of efforts at criminalization. Charges might not be on the scale of the federal Espionage Act. But the deployment of criminal law in the suppression of speech is bad news at any level.

Student journalism came face to face with the criminalization of protest speech recently at Northwestern University.

The Intercept reported on February 5 that students at Northwestern University had embodied their pro-Palestinian protest in a parody of The Daily Northwestern newspaper. The parody was regarded by other students and members of the community as offensive and antisemitic.

The newspaper publisher—a nonprofit comprising alumni, faculty, staff, and students, and distinct by design from the student editorial board—complained to police. And when the perpetrators were identified, prosecutors charged them with "theft of advertising."

"The little-known statute appears to only exist in Illinois and California, where it was originally passed to prevent the Ku Klux Klan from distributing recruitment materials in newspapers, The Intercept reported. "The statute makes it illegal to insert an 'unauthorized advertisement in a newspaper or periodical.' The students, both of whom are Black, now face up to a year in jail and a $2,500 fine."

The Daily Northwestern published an editorial demanding that charges be dropped. The publishing entity and prosecutors capitulated, Seth Stern recounted for the Freedom of the Press Foundation.

Stern lauded the student editors, and I agree. They didn't like their nameplate being appropriated by an offensive partisan protest. But that wasn't the point. Stern explained:

After all, newspapers are often the victims of the same kind of overreach the students are facing. Police in Marion, Kansas, raided the Marion County Record last August, purportedly to investigate whether reporters somehow committed identity theft by confirming a news tip on a government website. In October, authorities charged a reporter and publisher in Alabama with violating a grand jury secrecy law—plainly inapplicable to journalists—by reporting on a criminal investigation of a local school board. Six months before that, an Arizona state senator got a restraining order against a reporter for knocking on her door.

There’s more. A citizen journalist in Texas is hoping to go to the Supreme Court with her lawsuit over an arrest for violating an archaic law against soliciting “nonpublic information.” The City of Los Angeles last week sued a journalist for publishing information that the city itself gave him. And the mayor of Calumet City, Illinois, had citations issued to a journalist in October for asking public employees too many questions. The list, unfortunately, goes on and on.

There are cases in which I will go to bat for criminal law enforcement against protest activity. Protestors don't have a right to trespass on private property after being asked to leave peaceably, which seems to have happened at Brown University. And they don't have a right to cause damage or to put other people in harm's way.

First Amendment doctrine is not perfect, but it has plenty of experience drawing this line. What's worrisome about the latest incidents of speech criminalization is that we seem to have to be re-litigating some easy questions.

When I was an intern at the Student Press Law Center many moons ago, there were five statutes in the United States protecting student media freedom. Today there are 17. Read more about the steady but sure advance of student media freedom at the SPLC and how you can recognize student media freedom at Student Press Freedom Day.

To combat corruption, India Supreme Court strikes down dark money system, cites U.S. precedents

Late last week, the Supreme Court of India struck a blow for transparency and accountability when it ruled unconstitutional a system of anonymous political donation.

In a 2017 law, India had adopted a system of "electoral bonds." These are not investment bonds. Rather, to make a political donation, a donor was required to buy a political bond from the State Bank of India, and the bank then gave the money to the indicated political candidate.

The bond system was adopted ostensibly to further transparency and accountability. By requiring all political donations to be processed by the state bank, regulators could ensure compliance with donor restrictions. The system was supposed, then, to balance donor anonymity—a legitimate extension of free speech rights—with anti-corruption regulation.

P.M. Narendra Modi speaks to Pres. Biden at the G20, 2022.

White House photo via Flickr

But as Darian Woods reported for The Indicator, the party in power of Prime Minister Narendra Modi received 90% of donations. It seems less likely that imbalance represented overwhelming enthusiasm for the Modi administration and much more likely that corporate donors sought favor with the administration and feared retaliation otherwise, despite their seeming anonymity. For while they were anonymous to the public, their identities were known to the state bank. And the state bank is under the control of the administration.

The India Supreme Court ruled that the electoral bond system is incompatible with the fundamental "right to know" (RTK), that is, with Indian norms of freedom of information (FOI). I wrote in 2017 about India's Right to Information Act (RTIA), a statutory instrument akin to the U.S. Freedom of Information Act (FOIA). FOI, or access to information (ATI), for India, though, is in sync with contemporary norms elsewhere in the world, notably Europe, where RTK or FOI is recognized as a human right. Courts such as the India Supreme Court, like the Court of Justice of the EU, therefore have the constitutional enforcement power of judicial review.

The India Supreme Court, as it often does on important constitutional questions, surveyed other common law nations. And despite our weak and non-textual recognition of FOI as a constitutional right, the United States earned several mentions. Saliently, the court cited the old stalwart, Buckley v Valeo (U.S. 1976), for "concern of quid pro quo arrangements and [the] dangers to a fair and effective government. Improper influence erodes and harms the confidence in the system of representative government." Disclosure, the India court reasoned,

helps and aides the voter in evaluating those contesting elections. It allows the voter to identify interests which candidates are most likely to be responsive to, thereby facilitating prediction of future performance in office. Secondly, it checks actual corruption and helps avoid the appearance of corruption by exposing large contributions and expenditures to the light of publicity. Relying upon Grosjean v. American Press Co. (U.S. 1936), [disclosure] holds that informed public opinion is the most potent of all restraints upon misgovernment. Thirdly, record keeping, reporting and disclosure are essential means of gathering data necessary to detect violations of contribution limitations.

For a more recent vintage, the India court cited Nixon v. Shrink Missouri Government PAC (U.S. 2000): 

[T]he Supreme Court of the United States observes that large contributions given to secure a political quid pro quo undermines the system of representative democracy. It stems public awareness of the opportunities for abuse inherent in a regime of large contributions. This effects the integrity of the electoral process not only in the form of corruption or quid pro quo arrangements, but also extending to the broader threat of the beneficiary being too compliant with the wishes of large contributors.

So the India court fairly observed that the U.S. Supreme Court has been willing to unmask donors, even if the Supreme Court has lately been less than enthusiastic about regulations it once, in a Buckley world, approved. Indeed, even as the U.S. Supreme Court rejected the disparate treatment of corporations in Citizens United v. FEC (U.S. 2010), it approved of disclosure requirements. 

The India court found support for disclosure in defense against corruption in other national regimes, too, for example, in Canada and Australia. Alas, there, comparisons with the United States deteriorate in practice. The India Supreme Court did not mention the dark (money) side to America's affair with transparency. Read more at the Brennan Center for Justice.

The case is Association for Democratic Reforms v. India (India Feb. 15, 2024).

Assange Defense Boston rallies at State House

The Boston Committee of Assange Defense rallied today at the Massachusetts State House.

At the rally today, I spoke about my experience with freedom-of-information law and read parts of a letter from U.S. law professors to U.S. Attorney General Merrick Garland. The letter asks the U.S. Department of Justice to drop Espionage Act charges against Assange and abandon the request for his extradition from the UK. 

Freedom of the Press Foundation has more on the letter. My comments were based on, and the text of the letter can be found in, my February 16, 2024, post, "Me and Julian Assange."

The High Court in London heard arguments today that Assange should have a right to appeal to the courts over his extradition, which the British government has approved. Read more about today's proceeding from Jill Lawless at AP News. The case continues in the High Court tomorrow.  Protestors crowded on the street outside the London courthouse today.

Photos and videos by RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0.

The sun shines at the Massachusetts State House.

The group sets up.

The crowd grows.

Committee organizer Susan McLucas introduces the cause.

Victor Wallace speaks.

A letter in support is read from U.S. Rep. Jim McGovern (D-Mass.).

A speaker decries government secrecy. The s***-word might have been used.

A woman speaks to the intolerable cruelty of U.S. federal prisons.

Committee organizer Paula Iasella says that Assange is hardly alone in aggressive national security accountability, citing John Young's Cryptome.