Tag: justice antonin scalia

Drug-Sniffing Dogs Are Sense-Enhancing Technology

The Supreme Court heard oral argument yesterday in Florida v. Jardines, a case that examined whether bringing a drug-sniffing dog to the front door of a home looking for drugs was a Fourth Amendment search.

Having attended the oral argument (transcript; audio forthcoming), my sense is that a majority on the Court thinks dog-sniffs at front doors (absent a warrant) go too far. But few of the justices know why. The one who does is Justice Kagan.

What rationale might the Court use to decide the case? Even after United States v. Jones threw open Fourth Amendment doctrine, the instinct for using “reasonable expectation of privacy” analysis is strong. (I’ve joked that many lawyers think the word “privacy” can’t be uttered without the prefix “reasonable expectation of.”) This is where much of the discussion focused, and Justice Breyer seemed the most firmly committed to its use.

But the insufficiency of “reasonable expectation” doctrine for providing a decision rule was apparent when Breyer teed up Jardines’s counsel to knock the case out of the park. There was much discussion of what one reasonably expects at the front door of a home. Neighbors may come up. Trick-or-treaters may come up. Neighbors may come up with their dogs. The police may come to the door for a “knock and talk.” Neighbors, trick-or-treaters, dogs, and police officers may all come up and discover odors coming from the house. What makes the drug-sniffing dog unexpected?, Justice Breyer asked:

Do in fact policemen, like other people, come up and breathe? Yes. Do we expect it? Yes, we expect people to come up and breathe. But do we expect them to do what happened here? And at that point, I get into the question: What happened here?

Joelis Jardines’s counsel could not say what made the dog unexpected.

Perhaps property law draws the line that excludes government agents with drug-sniffing dogs, while allowing other visitors to come to the door. Not so. Justice Alito in particular pressed Jardines’s counsel for any case that had excluded dogs (drug-sniffing or otherwise) from the implied consent one gives to visitors on the walk and at the front door. The argument is unavailing, this idea that Florida’s property law (put into play by the majority holding in Jones, which relied on property rights) solve this case. Florida property law doesn’t exclude dogs from the implied permission it gives to lawful visitors on residential property.

None of this is to say that the government had it easy. Florida’s counsel had uttered just three sentences when Justice Kennedy informed him that the rule from Illinois v. Caballes would not carry the day. In Caballes, the Court found there to be no search at all when government agents walked a drug-sniffing dog around a car stopped for other reasons. (I attacked what I called the “Jacobsen/Caballes corollary” to the Katz decision in the Cato Institute’s brief to the Court, and also in this Jurist commentary.)

It won’t be the rule from Caballes. So what is the rationale that decides this case?

Justice Scalia was on the scent when he reasoned with the government’s counsel about what might be done with binoculars.

“As I understand the law,” he said, “the police are entitled to use binoculars to look into the house if—if the residents leave the blinds open, right?”

Florida’s counsel agreed.

“But if they can’t see clearly enough from a distance, they’re not entitled to go onto the curtilage of the house, inside the gate, and use the binoculars from that vantage point, are they?”

“They’re not, Your Honor.”

“Why isn’t it the same thing with the dog?”

Justice Kagan knows that it is. And she used Justice Scalia’s reasoning in Kyllo v. United States, the precedent that is on all fours with this case.

She recited from Kyllo: “ ‘We think that obtaining by sense-enhancing technology any information regarding the interior of the home that could not otherwise have been obtained without physical intrusion into a constitutionally protected area constitutes a search, at least where, as here, the technology in question is not in general public use.’” And she asked Florida’s counsel, “[W]hat part of that language does not apply in this case?”

“Franky’s nose is not technology,” he replied, referring to the dog. “It’s—he’s using—he’s availing himself of God-given senses in the way that dogs have helped mankind for centuries.”

The existence of dogs in human society for centuries might help the government if dogs had been used for drug-detection all this time. And then only if the question was what it is reasonable to expect.

What matters is that a drug-sniffing dog is indeed a form of sense-enhancing technology. Selected for its strong sense of smell, and trained to convey when particular odors are present, a drug-sniffing dog makes perceptible to law enforcement what is otherwise imperceptible.

And that is the very definition of searching. At least as Black’s Law Dictionary has it: “‘Search’ consists of looking for or seeking out that which is otherwise concealed from view.”

Police officers use dogs to search for drugs and other materials in which they are interested but which they cannot see by themselves. A drug-sniffing dog is a cuddly chromatograph.

And just now, quietly, you have seen at work the rationale that the Supreme Court should use to decide Florida v. Jardines. Was it a search to bring a drug-sniffing dog to the front door of a house? The Court should apply the plain meaning of the word “search” to the facts of the case that has come before it. There’s no need for doctrine at all.

The Second-Day Story on U.S. v. Jones

Does a more careful reading of the Supreme Court’s decision in U.S. v. Jones turn up a lurking victory for the government?

Modern media moves so fast that the second-day story happens in the afternoon of the first. The Supreme Court ruled unanimously Monday morning that government agents conduct a Fourth Amendment search when they place a GPS device on a private vehicle and use it to monitor a suspect’s whereabouts for weeks at a time. Monday afternoon, a couple of commentators suggested that the case is less a win than many thought because it didn’t explicitly rule that a warrant is required to attach a GPS device to a vehicle.

Writing on the Volokh Conspiracy blog, George Washington University law professor Orin Kerr noted “What Jones Does Not Hold.”

The Court declined to reach when the installation of the device is reasonable or unreasonable. … So we actually don’t yet know if a warrant is required to install a GPS device; we just know that the installation of the device is a Fourth Amendment “search.”

And over on Scotusblog, Tom Goldstein found that “The Government Fared Much Better Than Everyone Realizes”:

[D]oes the “search” caused by installing a GPS device require a warrant? The answer may be no, given that no member of the Court squarely concludes it does and four members of the Court (those who join the Alito concurrence) do not believe it constitutes a search at all.

So there is a constitutional search when the government attaches a GPS device to a vehicle, but the Court conspicuously declined to say that such a search requires a warrant. Do we have an “a-ha” moment?

When the Supreme Court granted certiorari in the case, it took the unusual step of adding to the questions it wanted addressed. In addition to “[w]hether the warrantless use of a tracking device on respondent’s vehicle to monitor its movements on public streets violated the Fourth Amendment,” the Court wanted to know “whether the government violated respondent’s Fourth Amendment rights by installing the GPS tracking device on his vehicle without a valid warrant and without his consent.” These are both compound questions, but the dimension added by the second is the Fourth Amendment meaning of attaching a device to a vehicle. The case was about attaching a device to a vehicle, and if the Court didn’t walk through every clause in each of the questions presented, that’s why.

On that central question in the case, the government argued the following: “Attaching the GPS tracking device to respondent’s vehicle was not a search or seizure under the Fourth Amendment.” The government lost, full stop.

Now, it’s true that the Court’s majority opinion didn’t explictly find that the “search” that occurs when attaching and using a GPS device requires a warrant, but look at its characterization of the opinion it affirmed: “The United States Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia Circuit reversed [Jones’s] conviction because of admission of the evidence obtained by warrantless use of the GPS device which, it said, violated the Fourth Amendment.”

The Court did decline to consider the argument that the government might be able to attach a device based on reasonable suspicion or probable cause—that argument was “forfeited” by the government’s failure to raise it in the lower courts—but if the Supreme Court were limiting its holding to the attachment-as-search issue, it would have remanded the case back to the lower courts for further proceedings consistent with the opinion. It did not, and the sensible inference to draw from that is that the general rule applies: a warrant is required in the absence of one of the customary exceptions. Failing to make that explicit was not “opening a door” to a latent government victory. U.S. v. Jones was a unanimous decision rejecting the government’s warrantless use of outré technology to defeat the natural privacy protections provided by law and physics.

At least one serious lawyer I know has raised the point that I address here, and it is a real one, but some in the commentariat are a little too showy with their analysis and far too willing to go looking for a government victory in what is nothing other than a government defeat.

U.S. v. Jones: A Big Privacy Win

The Supreme Court has delivered a big win for privacy in U.S. v. Jones. That’s the case in which government agents placed a GPS device on a car and used it to track a person round-the-clock for four weeks. The question before the Court was whether the government may do this in the absence of a valid warrant. All nine justices say No.

That’s big, important news. The Supreme Court will not allow developments in technology to outstrip constitutional protections the way it did in Olmstead.

Olmstead v. United States was a 1928 decision in which the Court held that there was no Fourth Amendment search or seizure involved in wiretapping because law enforcement made “no entry of the houses or offices of the defendants.” It took 39 years for the Court to revisit that restrictive, property-based ruling and find that Fourth Amendment interests exist outside of buildings. “[T]he Fourth Amendment protects people, not places” went the famous line from Katz v. United States (1967), which has been the lodestar ever since.

For its good outcome, though, Katz has not served the Fourth Amendment and privacy very well. The Cato Institute’s brief argued to the Court that the doctrine arising from Katz “is weak as a rule for deciding cases.” As developed since 1967, “the ‘reasonable expectation of privacy’ test reverses the inquiry required by the Fourth Amendment and biases Fourth Amendment doctrine against privacy.”

Without rejecting Katz and reasonable expectations, the Jones majority returned to property rights as a basis for Fourth Amendment protection. “The Government physically occupied private property for the purpose of obtaining information” when it attached a GPS device to a private vehicle and used it to gather information. This was a search that the government could not conduct without a valid warrant.

The property rationale for deciding the case had the support of five justices, led by Justice Scalia. The other four justices would have used “reasonable expectations” to decide the same way, so they concurred in the judgement but not the decision. They found many flaws in the use of property and “18th-century tort law” to decide the case.

Justice Sotomayor was explicit in supporting both rationales for protecting privacy. With Justice Scalia, she argued, “When the Government physically invades personal property to gather information, a search occurs.” This language—more clear, and using the legal term of art “personal property,” which Justica Scalia did not—would seem to encompass objects like cell phones, the crucial tool we use today to collect, maintain, and transport our digital effects. Justice Sotomayor emphasized in her separate concurrence that the majority did not reject Katz and “reasonable expectations” in using property as the grounds for this decision.

Justice Sotomayor also deserves special notice for mentioning the pernicious third-party doctrine. “[I]t may be necessary to reconsider the premise that an individual has no reasonable expectation of privacy in information voluntarily disclosed to third parties.” The third-party doctrine cuts against our Fourth Amendment interests in information we share with ISPs, email service providers, financial services providers, and so on. Reconsidering it is very necessary.

Justice Alito’s concurrence is no ringing endorsement of the “reasonable expectation of privacy” test. But he and the justices joining him see many problems with applying Justice Scalia’s property rationale as they interpreted it.

Along with the Scalia-authored Kyllo decision of 2001, Jones is a break from precedent. It may seem like a return to the past, but it is also a return to a foundation on which privacy can be more secure.

More commentary here in the coming days and weeks will explore the case’s meaning more fully. Hopefully, more Supreme Court cases in coming years and decades will clarify and improve Fourth Amendment doctrine.

GPS Tracking and a ‘Mosaic Theory’ of Government Searches

The Electronic Frontier Foundation trumpets a surprising privacy win last week in the U.S. Court of Appeals for the D.C. Circuit. In U.S. v. Maynard (PDF), the court held that the use of a GPS tracking device to monitor the public movements of a vehicle—something the Supreme Court had held not to constitute a Fourth Amendment search in U.S. v Knotts—could nevertheless become a search when conducted over an extended period.  The Court in Knotts had considered only tracking that encompassed a single journey on a particular day, reasoning that the target of surveillance could have no “reasonable expectation of privacy” in the fact of a trip that any member of the public might easily observe. But the Knotts Court explicitly reserved judgment on potential uses of the technology with broader scope, recognizing that “dragnet” tracking that subjected large numbers of people to “continuous 24-hour surveillance.” Here, the DC court determined that continuous tracking for a period of over a month did violate a reasonable expectation of privacy—and therefore constituted a Fourth Amendment search requiring a judicial warrant—because such intensive secretive tracking by means of public observation is so costly and risky that no  reasonable person expects to be subject to such comprehensive surveillance.

Perhaps ironically, the court’s logic here rests on the so-called “mosaic theory” of privacy, which the government has relied on when resisting Freedom of Information Act requests.  The theory holds that pieces of information that are not in themselves sensitive or potentially injurious to national security can nevertheless be withheld, because in combination (with each other or with other public facts) permit the inference of facts that are sensitive or secret.  The “mosaic,” in other words, may be far more than the sum of the individual tiles that constitute it. Leaving aside for the moment the validity of the government’s invocation of this idea in FOIA cases, there’s an obvious intuitive appeal to the idea, and indeed, we see that it fits our real world expectations about privacy much better than the cruder theory that assumes the sum of “public” facts must always be itself a public fact.

Consider an illustrative hypothetical.  Alice and Bob are having a romantic affair that, for whatever reason, they prefer to keep secret. One evening before a planned date, Bob stops by the corner pharmacy and—in full view of a shop full of strangers—buys some condoms.  He then drives to a restaurant where, again in full view of the other patrons, they have dinner together.  They later drive in separate cars back to Alice’s house, where the neighbors (if they care to take note) can observe from the presence of the car in the driveway that Alice has an evening guest for several hours. It being a weeknight, Bob then returns home, again by public roads. Now, the point of this little story is not, of course, that a judicial warrant should be required before an investigator can physically trail Bob or Alice for an evening.  It’s simply that in ordinary life, we often reasonably suppose the privacy or secrecy of certain facts—that Bob and Alice are having an affair—that could in principle be inferred from the combination of other facts that are (severally) clearly public, because it would be highly unusual for all of them to be observed by the same public.   Even more so when, as in Maynard, we’re talking not about the “public” events of a single evening, but comprehensive observation over a period of weeks or months.  One must reasonably expect that “anyone” might witness any of such a series of events; it does not follow that one cannot reasonably expect that no particular person or group would be privy to all of them. Sometimes, of course, even our reasonable expectations are frustrated without anyone’s rights being violated: A neighbor of Alice’s might by chance have been at the pharmacy and then at the restaurant. But as the Supreme Court held in Kyllo v US, even when some information might in principle be possible to obtain public observation, the use of technological means not in general public use to learn the same facts may nevertheless qualify as a Fourth Amendment search, especially when the effect of technology is to render easy a degree of monitoring that would otherwise be so laborious and costly as to normally be infeasible.

Now, as Orin Kerr argues at the Volokh Conspiracy, significant as the particular result in this case might be, it’s the approach to Fourth Amendment privacy embedded here that’s the really big story. Orin, however, thinks it a hopelessly misguided one—and the objections he offers are all quite forceful.  Still, I think on net—especially as technology makes such aggregative monitoring more of a live concern—some kind of shift to a “mosaic” view of privacy is going to be necessary to preserve the practical guarantees of the Fourth Amendment, just as in the 20th century a shift from a wholly property-centric to a more expectations-based theory was needed to prevent remote sensing technologies from gutting its protections. But let’s look more closely at Orin’s objections.

First, there’s the question of novelty. Under the mosaic theory, he writes:

[W]hether government conduct is a search is measured not by whether a particular individual act is a search, but rather whether an entire course of conduct, viewed collectively, amounts to a search. That is, individual acts that on their own are not searches, when committed in some particular combinations, become searches. Thus in Maynard, the court does not look at individual recordings of data from the GPS device and ask whether they are searches. Instead, the court looks at the entirety of surveillance over a one-month period and views it as one single “thing.” Off the top of my head, I don’t think I have ever seen that approach adopted in any Fourth Amendment case.

I can’t think of one that explicitly adopts that argument.  But consider again the Kyllo case mentioned above.  Without a warrant, police used thermal imaging technology to detect the presence of marijuana-growing lamps within a private home from a vantage point on a public street. In a majority opinion penned by Justice Scalia, the court balked at this: The scan violated the sanctity and privacy of the home, though it involved no physical intrusion, by revealing the kind of information that might trigger Fourth Amendment scrutiny. But stop and think for a moment about how thermal imaging technology works, and try to pinpoint where exactly the Fourth Amendment “search” occurs.  The thermal radiation emanating from the home was, well… emanating from the home, and passing through or being absorbed by various nearby people and objects. It beggars belief to think that picking up the radiation could in itself be a search—you can’t help but do that!

When the radiation is actually measured, then? More promising, but then any use of an infrared thermometer within the vicinity of a home might seem to qualify, whether or not the purpose of the user was to gather information about the home, and indeed, whether or not the thermometer was precise enough to reveal any useful information about internal temperature variations within the home.  The real privacy violation here—the disclosure of private facts about the interior of the home—occurs only when a series of very many precise measurements of emitted radiation are processed into a thermographic image.  To be sure, it is counterintuitive to describe this as a “course of conduct” because the aggregation and analysis are done quite quickly within the processor of the thermal camera, which makes it natural to describe the search as a single act: Creating a thermal image.  But if we zoom in, we find that what the Court deemed an unconstitutional invasion of privacy was ultimately the upshot of a series of “public” facts about ambient radiation levels, combined and analyzed in a particular way.  The thermal image is, in a rather literal sense, a mosaic.

The same could be said about long-distance  spy microphones: Vibrating air is public; conversations are private. Or again, consider location tracking, which is unambiguously a “search” when it extends to private places: It might be that what is directly measured is only the “public” fact about the strength of a particular radio signal at a set of receiver sites; the “private” facts about location could be described as a mere inference, based on triangulation analysis (say), from the observable public facts.

There’s also a scope problem. When, precisely, do individual instances of permissible monitoring become a search requiring judicial approval? That’s certainly a thorny question, but it arises as urgently in the other type of hypothetical case alluded to in Knotts, involving “dragnet” surveillance of large numbers of individuals over time. Here, too, there’s an obvious component of duration: Nobody imagines that taking a single photograph revealing the public locations of perhaps hundreds of people at a given instant constitutes a Fourth Amendment search. And just as there’s no precise number of grains of sand that constitutes a “heap,” there’s no obvious way to say exactly what number of people, observed for how long, are required to distinguish individualized tracking from “dragnet” surveillance.  But if we anchor ourselves in the practical concerns motivating the adoption of the Fourth Amendment, it seems clear enough that an interpretation that detected no constitutional problem with continuous monitoring of every public movement of every citizen would mock its purpose. If we accept that much, a line has to be drawn somewhere. As I recall, come to think of it, Orin has himself proposed a procedural dichotomy between electronic searches that are “person-focused” and those that are “data-focused.”  This approach has much to recommend it, but is likely to present very similar boundary-drawing problems.

Orin also suggests that the court improperly relies upon a “probabilistic” model of the Fourth Amendment here (looking to what expectations about monitoring are empirically reasonable) whereas the Court has traditionally relied on a “private facts” model to deal with cases involving new technologies (looking to which types of information it is reasonable to consider private by their nature). Without recapitulating the very insightful paper linked above, the boundaries between models in Orin’s highly useful schema do not strike me as quite so bright. The ruling in Kyllo, after all, turned in part on the fact that infrared imaging devices are not in “general public use,” suggesting that the identification of “private facts” itself has an empirical and probabilistic component.  The analyses aren’t really separate. What’s crucial to bear in mind is that there are always multiple layers of facts involved with even a relatively simple search: Facts about the strength of a particular radio signal, facts about a location in a public or private place at a particular instant, facts about Alice and Bob’s affair. In cases involving new technologies, the problem—though seldom stated explicitly—is often precisely which domain of facts to treat as the “target” of the search. The point of the expectations analysis in Maynard is precisely to establish that there is a domain of facts about macro-level behavioral patterns distinct from the unambiguously public facts about specific public movements at particular times, and that we have different attitudes about these domains.

Sorting all this out going forward is likely to be every bit as big a headache as Orin suggests. But if the Fourth Amendment has a point—if it enjoins us to preserve a particular balance between state power and individual autonomy—then as technology changes, its rules of application may need to get more complicated to track that purpose, as they did when the Court ruled that an admirably simple property rule was no longer an adequate criterion for identifying a “search.”  Otherwise we make Fourth Amendment law into a cargo cult, a set of rituals whose elegance of form is cold consolation for their abandonment of function.

First, They Came for the Sex Offenders

First, they came for the sex offenders. I am not a sex offender, but I opposed the civil commitment of sex offenders by the federal government because it is not an activity within the enumerated powers of Congress. The Supreme Court decided otherwise in Comstock, with the exception of Justices Thomas and Scalia.

Next, they will come for suspected terrorists. As Dahlia Lithwick (who I rarely agree with – here is her commentary on the Heller case) points out, the Supreme Court’s decision in Comstock may have some frightening implications for domestic preventive detention of terrorism suspects in lieu of criminal prosecution.

I saw this firsthand last summer when I attended a scholars meeting with the Obama administration’s Detention Policy Task Force (the same one that Andy McCarthy publicly refused to attend). I gave my views on where detention policy should go, as did a conference room full of experts on the laws of armed conflict and criminal justice (who shall remain anonymous, as this meeting was off the record). I was dismayed to hear a law professor from a prestigious university propose a system of preventive detention as the logical solution to countering terrorism. Worse yet, to make this law less provocative, the professor further proposed that preventive detention should be applied in other criminal contexts, so that the department of pre-crime would not be seen as unfairly targeting only enemy combatants overseas. This professor had taught many of the Department of Justice staffers in the room, and I looked around to see heads nodding at the suggestion.

I responded forcefully that such a system is antithetical to American traditions of due process. Battlefield detention is necessary to incapacitate insurgents and terrorists overseas, and is often employed in lieu of killing them. Broad powers of detention without trial in the criminal context do not make Guantanamo less controversial; they bring it on to our shores and in to our courtrooms. If we have enough information to show that someone is a threat by a preponderance of the evidence in order to detain them, we probably have enough to indict them for conspiracy. One of the reasons that few people turn to political violence in the United States is that the Bill of Rights bars the government from telling the citizenry how to worship, what to think, and what they can say. Generally speaking, you have to actually be a criminal to get charged as one.

Would the votes in Comstock translate into a Supreme Court ratification of such a system? Probably not, since Kennedy and Alito stressed in their concurrences that the circumstances in Comstock are unique. And Hamdi showed us that Scalia takes habeas corpus rights seriously when it comes to citizens. Unfortunately, only Stevens shared this view and he looks to be replaced by Elena Kagan, who argued that civil commitment in Comstock was an extension of Congress’ power to create and run a prison system (not an enumerated power). But this isn’t about counting the noses currently on the Court; it’s about creating a new normal where the people in prison are detainees, not defendants.

Unfortunately, there are more than a few people in favor of such a system. Jack Goldsmith and Neal Katyal (now the acting Solicitor General) propose a terrorism court. Sens.  McCain and Lieberman want to treat all terrorism suspects as enemy combatants. Sens.  Lieberman and Brown want to strip the citizenship of terrorism suspects and try them by military commission. Sens. Graham and McCain plan to close Guantanamo by creating a preventive detention court. Take a conservative plan to deal with enemy combatants captured on the other side of the world, strap on some liberal angst over tea parties and militia groups, and you’ve got a bipartisan plan for wholesale degradation of everyone’s liberties.

And when the proposal comes, the first thing they’ll say is that this is how we already deal with sex offenders.

The ‘Honest Services’ Law

Next week the Supreme Court will be hearing two criminal cases involving the controversial “honest services” law that has been used by federal prosecutors in recent years to police ethics in government and business.  By focusing attention on the (sometimes)  shady dealings of their targets, federal prosecutors have been able to deflect attention away their own actions, at least with regard to this statute.  No longer. 

We have a preview of next week’s Supreme Court argument because Justice Scalia filed an opinion in February lamenting the fact that the Court had just declined to hear an appeal involving the honest services statute.  Here is an excerpt from Scalia’s opinion:

It is practically gospel in the lower courts that the statute “does not encompass every instance of official misconduct,” United States v. Sawyer, 85 F. 3d 713, 725 (CA1 1996). The Tenth Circuit has confidently proclaimed that the statute is “not violated by every breach of contract, breach of duty, conflict of interest, or misstatement made in the course of dealing,” United States v. Welch, 327 F. 3d 1081, 1107 (CA10 2003). But why that is so, and what principle it is that separates the criminal breaches, conflicts and misstatements from the obnoxious but lawful ones, remains entirely unspecified. Without some coherent limiting principle to define what “the intangible right of honest services” is, whence it derives, and how it is violated, this expansive phrase invites abuse by headline-grabbing prosecutors in pursuit of local officials, state legislators, and corporate CEOs who engage in any manner of unappealing or ethically questionable conduct.

Is it the role of the Federal Government to define the fiduciary duties that a town alderman or school board trustee owes to his constituents? It is one thing to enact and enforce clear rules against certain types of corrupt behavior, e.g., 18 U. S. C. §666(a) (bribes and gratuities to public officials), but quite another to mandate a freestanding, open-ended duty to provide”honest services” — with the details to be worked out case by-case.

Read the whole thing (pdf).  A few weeks after Scalia filed this opinion, the Court evidently reconsidered and accepted several appeals involving the honest services law.  

For additional information, here is a podcast interview and an article I prepared for the Washington Legal Foundation.  For more detailed info on the cases before the Supreme Court, go to SCOTUS blog

For info on trends in the criminal law more generally, go here, here, and here.

Justice Scalia Makes Sense; Law Professor Responds by Instructing Class to be a Collective Jerk

In January, Justice Antonin Scalia made some remarks about privacy at the Institute of American and Talmudic Law. The AP reported:

Scalia said he was largely untroubled by such Internet tracking. “I don’t find that particularly offensive,” he said. “I don’t find it a secret what I buy, unless it’s shameful.”

He added there’s some information that’s private, “but it doesn’t include what groceries I buy.”

In response to this commonsensical provocation, Fordham University law professor Joel Reidenberg had his class compile a 15-page dossier on Scalia, “including his home address, the value of his home, his home phone number, the movies he likes, his food preferences, his wife’s personal e-mail address, and ‘photos of his lovely grandchildren.’”

Reidenberg apparently sent the file to Justice Scalia, eliciting this response:

I stand by my remark at the Institute of American and Talmudic Law conference that it is silly to think that every single datum about my life is private. I was referring, of course, to whether every single datum about my life deserves privacy protection in law.

It is not a rare phenomenon that what is legal may also be quite irresponsible. That appears in the First Amendment context all the time. What can be said often should not be said. Prof. Reidenberg’s exercise is an example of perfectly legal, abominably poor judgment. Since he was not teaching a course in judgment, I presume he felt no responsibility to display any.

Being a jerk to Justice Scalia didn’t help Professor Reidenberg make his point, whatever it may be.

According to the Above the Law blog, Reidenberg believes that “technological constraints should be built into the infrastructure of online networks in recognition of users’ privacy rights.” He may also think the Nile should flow the other direction, but having his students dig up graves in Egypt won’t advance that cause.