Iowa's Law Targeting "Critical Race Theory"

A few weeks ago, Iowa's governor signed a law that she claimed would address the teaching of "critical race theory." Shortly after she signed the bill into law, the Des Moines Register reported:

Iowa Gov. Kim Reynolds signed a new law that she said will target the teaching of critical race theory and other concepts in government diversity trainings and classroom curriculum.

“Critical Race Theory is about labels and stereotypes, not education. It teaches kids that we should judge others based on race, gender or sexual identity, rather than the content of someone’s character,” Reynolds said in a statement. “I am proud to have worked with the legislature to promote learning, not discriminatory indoctrination.”

Critical race theory, a decades-old legal theory that examines how slavery's legacy continues to influence American society, is not specifically named in the new legislation. But the law would ban teaching certain concepts, such as that the U.S. or Iowa is systemically racist.

The new law, House File 802, goes into effect July 1.

Reynolds' signing comes as other Republicans across the country have said they want to eliminate teaching critical race theory and associated concepts from classrooms. Iowa is among more than a dozen states that have considered legislation this year aimed at eliminating similar concepts from classroom curriculum.

That same Register article notes that Iowa's law is based "nearly word for word" on an executive order issued by the Trump Administration (that is now repealed) that banned certain forms of diversity training for federal contractors. The Register's prior reporting on that order is here, the order itself is here.

There are a number of glaring practical problems with the law, which appear to be based, in part, on the bill's origin in a ban on training for contractors. For one, the law contains no penalty or disciplinary provisions, so it is unclear what would result from a violation of the law. The bill also includes prohibitions on certain types of training, but also includes restrictions for school curricula. While the restrictions on training are somewhat explicit, the restrictions on school districts and their curricula are woefully vague.

These defects, and others, are addressed in the remainder of this post, which walks through the law and tries to make sense of what is being restricted.

The Third Amendment in 2020

I recently posted a working version of a short article I'm writing to SSRN. It is meant to be the first in a yearly series of articles on the Third Amendment. This article surveys how the Third Amendment was cited and referenced in 2020--from cases and Third Amendment claims by litigants, to citations in academic legal writing. It also addresses popular coverage of the Third Amendment, which was surprisingly active in 2020.

The abstract is below:

This Article is the first in a series of yearly articles analyzing references, discussion, and applications of the Third Amendment in court, legal scholarship, and popular media and commentary. The Third Amendment’s prohibition on the quartering of soldiers in houses during peacetime, and its requirement that quartering during times of war be authorized by law is not typically discussed (or even known) by most in the legal field. This Article and its future iterations aim to address this neglect by surveying references to the Third Amendment and noting trends in its invocation and discussion across all aspects of the legal field.

As it turns out, the Third Amendment had a bit of a moment in 2020, drawing brief but widespread public attention in early June. A dispute between the mayor of Washington, DC and National Guard soldiers over whether they could be housed in a particular hotel led to a great deal of speculation over whether the Third Amendment would be invoked and, if so, whether it would apply to the dispute. While no litigation ended up taking place, this incident brought more attention than usual to this neglected component of the Bill of Rights. This Article describes the dispute, surveys the commentary, and evaluates whether a Third Amendment claim could have even been made in the first place.

Beyond this, the Article surveys citations and trends in arguments invoking the Third Amendment in 2020 case law and legal scholarship. The Third Amendment’s restrictions on the practice are often cited to demonstrate a constitutional right to privacy and to substantiate claims that the Constitution and its Bill of Rights were designed to protect civilians against overbearing military and governmental authority. Additionally, it tends to be a go-to citation for litigants who claim that their rights were violated and who want to throw every argument they have at the court. This Article provides a comprehensive breakdown of Third Amendment citations in the case law, and evaluates arguments invoking the Third Amendment in 2020 legal scholarship.

While the Third Amendment doesn’t get the respect or attention given to adjacent amendments, this Article serves as a first step toward a systematic understanding of the Third Amendment’s role in case law, legal scholarship, and broader society.

I've written about the Third Amendment here several times in the past--most recently last summer. In prior years, I took a critical approach towards scholarship on the Third Amendment and evaluated whether such scholarship was worth publishing. 

Now, nearly eight years later, I think there's a place for Third Amendment scholarship. Writers should take a subtle approach and see what lessons about broader issues and practices can be drawn from patterns of Third Amendment citation and use. Stretching the Third Amendment beyond its breaking point to apply it to situations is not the way to breathe life back into the amendment--even if the argument turns out to be novel.

The article is still a draft, so any comments or feedback are welcome.

How Many Times Can a Complaint Be Amended?

This post aims to answer a simple question: what is the highest number of amendments to a complaint that has ever been allowed by a court in the United States?

A bit of background first. This post concerns civil litigation, where plaintiffs typically file a complaint setting forth various causes of action against defendants who have allegedly wronged them. These complaints are often amended. Sometimes plaintiffs add or remove parties. Plaintiffs may also add or remove causes of action or factual allegations in support of their causes of action. A defendant may move to dismiss a complaint, and if they succeed, the court may grant the plaintiff leave to file an amended complaint. Granting leave to amend at least once is common--unless a defendant has clearly demonstrated that a plaintiff's case is completely futile, a court will likely give the plaintiff another shot.

While many cases I've litigated have involved amended, second amended, or even fourth amended complaints, I was curious about the maximum number of amendments courts have allowed. A first amended complaint isn't too hard for a plaintiff to get. But when a court is confronted with a complaint that has been drafted and redrafted multiple times, the probability that the court will give a plaintiff yet another chance decreases.

From my exhaustive research (searching for "tenth amended complaint" and increasing the numbers until I could find no further results), it appears that the most amended complaint on record was amended twenty-two times.  The case is Mirarchi v. Boockvar, and it's a recent one--with the original complaint filed on January 12, 2021 in the US District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania (case no. 5:21-CV-00126). A publicly-accessible link to the docket is here.

I've answered the question I set out to investigate, but I dug into the case itself, as I was curious about what would give rise to so many amendments. For those of you brave enough to dive into that nonsense, read on:

Does the Constitution Prohibit DC Statehood?

With the Democratic party in control of the House and Senate, discussions have been picking up over whether the District of Columbia will be granted statehood.  Proponents argue that residents of the District, many of whom are African American, lack sufficient representation in Congress and the Senate, and point to the fact that DC's population is larger than Wyoming, which has a representative and two senators.  Critics argue that DC statehood is a political effort to increase the number of Democratic senators.  

Politically charged debates often prompt accusations of unconstitutionality by one side or the other, even if the Constitution truly has no say on the matter. Critics of DC statehood are advancing such arguments, exemplified by this article published yesterday by the Wall Street Journal's Editorial Page.

The WSJ Editorial Board's primary argument is that the Constitution mandates that DC remain a district that is not a state, and Democratic statehood proposals violate this provision of the Constitution:

Fashioning an independent seat of government in a federal system while affording representation to its residents is a dilemma dating to the founding. The Framers provided in the Constitution’s Article I that Congress could, “by cession of particular states,” control a small area in which the federal government would operate. In 1790 part of the territories of Virginia and Maryland, two of the 13 states that ratified the Constitution, were delineated for federal control.

Advocates of statehood brush aside the constitutional concerns and frame their cause as a simple question of democracy. It’s true that the roughly 700,000 residents of the District don’t have the ability to elect voting Members of Congress. Many hold influence over the federal government as employees and contractors or in other positions, and in the Founding era proximity to the seat of power was itself considered a form of representation.

 

Yet the natural remedy for the imperfect status quo, if representation is the real concern, would be for Congress to do something it has done before—return part of the District to the state that ceded it in the first place. That’s what happened in 1846 when Congress reinstated Virginia’s control over the D.C. suburbs of Arlington and Alexandria.

 . . .

There could be constitutional challenges to retrocession to Maryland. But the creation of an independent state to supplant the District, as the current House legislation proposes, is certainly unconstitutional. The Founders deliberately created a federal district under the control of Congress because it didn’t want the federal government to be subject to the sway of any one state. Statehood imposed by statute would strip Congress of one of its enumerated powers—effectively amending the Constitution without an amendment process.

Others advance similar claims that the Constitution "mandated" creation of the District of Columbia. They all appear to be citing Article I, Section 8, Clause 17 of the Constitution, which provides that:

The Congress shall have the power . . . [t]o exercise exclusive legislation in all cases whatsoever, over such District (not exceeding ten miles square) as may, by cession of particular states, and the acceptance of Congress, become the seat of the government of the United States, and to exercise like authority over all places purchased by the consent of the legislature of the state in which the same shall be, for the erection of forts, magazines, arsenals, dockyards, and other needful buildings

First, these arguments do not appear to have any force against what Democrats are proposing. Democrats are not advocating the complete elimination of the District described in the Constitution. Instead, they are proposing that the District be limited to a much smaller area, with the rest of DC becoming a separate state. The Constitution does mandate a particular location or size (beyond a maximum size) for the District, and shrinking the District is therefore consistent with this constitutional provision.

But critics' arguments run into an even more fundamental problem--they are based on an assumption that the Constitution mandates the creation of the District of Columbia. This is not apparent from the language of Article I, which grants a power to Congress to exercise exclusive legislation over whatever District "as may" become the seat of the United States' government. This isn't to say that creating such a District isn't a good idea, as certain founders recognized. But permitting Congress to exercise a particular power is a far cry from mandating that Congress do so.

I suspect that this reading of Article I is inconsistent with most of these same critics' approach to other provisions of Article I, like Congress's power to regulate commerce. Conservatives have long opposed extensive application of Article I's Commerce Clause to federal legislation governing sales transactions that take place within a single state. In opposing broad application of the commerce clause, they argue that the founders sought to create a limited federal government, and that Article I should be interpreted as providing a limited set of powers that Congress may exercise. This constrained reading of Congress's power is undermined by the more aggressive reading in the District of Columbia Context--the assertion that Congress must create a District to serve as the seat of the federal government.

Critics of DC statehood may also contend that the founders never intended for Washington D.C. to be a state, as Senator Mike Rounds did earlier in March:

The Founding Fathers never intended for Washington D.C. to be a state.#DCStatehood is really about packing the Senate with Democrats in order to pass a left-wing agenda.

Just look at the DC voter registration data:
🔵 76.4% Democrat
🔴 5.7% Republican

— Senator Mike Rounds (@SenatorRounds) March 22, 2021

Responses to this particular tweet have been largely cheeky--noting that Senator Rounds represents South Dakota, which was not a state at the time of the founding. These responses miss the point.

The response, instead, should be that based on what the Constitution says, it appears that there was an expectation that there would be a District, but whether that district would be DC, or whether it could ever change in size or location (other than remaining below 10 square miles) appears to be an open question. 

Moreover, proponents of originalist methodology should scold Senator Rounds for his shoddy attempt at engaging in originalist analysis. Virtually all originalist scholars will tell you that modern originalism focuses on the original public meaning of constitutional provisions--not on the intentions of the founders. When left-wing commentators refer to the original intent of the founders in criticizing originalism, they are met with a flurry of indignant responses from academic originalists. I haven't seen a similar set of responses to Senator Rounds' tweet though. Perhaps I missed them.

In the end, DC statehood is a political debate. Critics and proponents of statehood may try bringing the Constitution into the picture, but these efforts are misguided do nothing more than muddy the waters.

EDIT - APRIL 22, 2021

I have left out a discussion of whether DC statehood violates the 23rd Amendment, a secondary argument that the WSJ advances and that others focus on in more detail elsewhere. While I avoided discussion of the 23rd Amendment issue to save space, it is not apparent that DC statehood would violate the amendment, which grants DC electors in the electoral college. While the size of the district may be reduced, this would not undermine the appointment of electors. And DC statehood is certainly not inconsistent with the spirit of the 23rd Amendment, which is to grant political representation to those in the District--statehood would permit residents to have not only representation in executive elections, but in the legislature as well. If statehood passes and the three electoral votes for the shrunken district remain a widespread concern, the 23rd Amendment may be repealed should it be deemed no longer necessary.

Experiments with ScholarSift: An Interesting, But Opaque Platform

A few days ago, I wrote about Brian Frye's article in Techdirt where he discussed ScholarSift, a new platform for legal research. A broader discussion of that platform and my concerns with it are in my earlier post--in short, users can submit an article on ScholarSift (either a draft article of theirs, or a copy of a completed article), and the platform analyzes the text and citations to return "relevant" results. Notably, the platform highlights relevant results that are not included in the citations, which may help direct writers to authors and articles that they may have otherwise missed in their research.

I ended up getting credentials to try out the system and submitted a few articles--both draft articles and completed articles. It was an mixed experience. For the drafts that I submitted, I found a few articles that I had not tracked down in my research thus far. And for some of the articles I tried out, there was a nice diversity of results, although it was sometime difficult to sort through the long list of results that some of the articles generated. While the organization of results was sometime unclear and difficult to sift through, the ability to filter between journal articles, books, and cases was a welcome feature. The basis for the organization remained unclear though--with little more indication of why results were listed in a particular order beyond a vague "relevance" criterion that was measured in unknown degrees.

Some articles I tried out caused the system to turn out some odd, unhelpful results. I submitted one article, a draft paper surveying state self-defense laws and applying philosophical takes on freedom of belief to determine the ideal approach to this area of the law. The draft included a few pages that discussed the phenomena of self-defense in cases where the defendant was trapped in a cycle of domestic abuse and violence prior to killing their domestic partner and whether that history of abuse may factor into the defendant's mindset--a scenario that much of the literature describes as the "battered woman" defense. The "battered woman" phrase seemed to have a disproportionate impact on the results that were generated as nearly all of the articles and cases addressed this phenomenon, even though that discussion was only a small portion of the article itself. I suspect this may have been a result of the contents of the database of articles from which ScholarSift draws its results, or it may have been because the "battered woman" phrase was repeated several times in the text and citations (although the phrase "self-defense" was used even more frequently).

I also submitted my article, Shooting Fish, to see how the platform might respond to an article on an unconventional topic with a wide range of statutory citations. The results brought back a disproportionate number of articles about fishing rights and practices in the context of American Indian tribes. This was, admittedly, an area I did not address in the article. I made the decision not to explore tribal laws partly because I wanted to limit the scope of the article (for the same reason, I relegate my discussion of federal restrictions to under a page). I also am not as familiar with tribal law and was concerned that I would not be able to conduct systematic and thorough research of those laws. While I acknowledge that ScholarSift fulfilled its purpose of identifying an area of the literature that I did not address, it's overwhelming focus on that area of literature ended up crowding out other results that were related to laws and issues that I did address in the article. The platform did generate several relevant results (I was familiar with several of the articles it generated from research I'd done in related areas), but the disproportionate focus on literature related to American Indian laws, treaties, and rights made the results a bit more difficult to navigate. 

Other articles I submitted suggested that there's still a way to go with the database. I submitted a draft article I'm writing on trial by combat in American law--the results ended up being all over the map. While trial by combat is not a subject of common discussion in modern legal literature, it is addressed more frequently in history articles. While I occasionally got results for some papers from journals outside the legal field (some different articles I submitted resulted in citations to medical and psychological journal articles), historic literature on trial by combat was conspicuously absent from the results. 

Similarly, I submitted an article on pew rights and related legal disputes to stress-test the database's capabilities. The results ended up being as helpful as I could have expected. There was a lot of First Amendment literature in the results that did not really match up, but I was pleasantly surprised by the number of hits for articles discussing intra-church disputes and court treatment of canon law.

I also noticed that I kept having to sign out and log back in after every two or three article searches. This was not a substantial burden, but it made me feel judged.  Perhaps I was offending the system with the bizarre articles I was submitting.

From my experience so far, I stand by my the conclusions in my earlier post. I think that ScholarSift is a useful tool to have available for legal research and writing. At this stage, it certainly is not sufficient to serve as the only tool--after all, it is designed to analyzed near-complete drafts to determine what sources and citations are already missing, and authors need to be able to do the research to get to that stage of the draft. I still have qualms with how the platform works--the metrics behind the "relevancy" determinations remain entirely unclear, as do the contents of the database from which the platform draws. If ScholarSift's database continues to expand to older works and articles in non-legal fields, it will be a welcome addition to other research platforms that are currently available.

Citations, Hierarchies, and Algorithms in Legal Scholarship

I read Brian Frye's Techdirt article, "It's the End of Citation As We Know It & I Feel Fine," where he makes the bold claim that the "worst thing about legal scholarship is the footnotes." In a field where article lengths are expanding to 100 pages and beyond, where costly submission software crowds out students and professionals who are outside of the academy, and where journals will publish anything--even ridiculous articles about shooting fish with guns, there is serious competition for the title of what aspect of legal scholarship is "the worst."

I won't deny that footnotes in legal scholarship can be a bit overwhelming for the uninitiated, and that some editors demand citations for everything under the sun. But I'm not sure that the footnote craze is as horrible as Frye makes it out to be. To start, I suspect that the focus on footnotes originates, at least in part, with the legal writing that many law students will go on to prepare in practice, in which arguments referencing cases and statutes require frequent citations to support the claims being made. To the extent that law review articles--particularly those with a more doctrinal focus like 50-state surveys of laws governing the shooting of fish with guns--include citations to case law or statutes, those footnotes should be encouraged to confirm that the legal claim being made has a basis in legal authority. 

Even when citations are to scholarly, rather than legal, authorities, frequent footnotes can be helpful. They maybe a resource for those doing research in the area to find related scholarship on particular issues. They can serve as a substitute for literature reviews, reducing the length of what may already be a too-long piece. Footnotes to scholarship may also provide a barometer as to the legitimacy of claims being made. Overreliance on single sources, or--God forbid--citations to one's own work may undermine claims that are presented as well-established. Finally, numerous, repetitive, and useless footnotes, (I'm thinking especially of introduction footnotes beginning with "See infra Section __"), should be dealt with by the author, who can refuse to include such footnotes in the initial draft and who can (and should) push back on editors who demand such useless additions.

Frye turns to a discussion of ScholarSift, a platform created by Rob Anderson and Trent Wenzel, that purports to analyze legal scholarship to "identify the most relevant articles." From what little I can find out about ScholarSift, people can upload an article (either a draft, completed, or already-published article) and the system locates "relevant" articles based on analysis of the article's text and citations. 

Frye suggests that ScholarSift could be used as a substitute for footnotes by finding sources that are similar or relevant to the text being analyzed. This does not seem feasible, as the software appears to be built around connecting authors to similar, or "relevant" sources based on the whole of a draft. It does not appear that the system is designed to connect one particular statement or proposition in an article to a source (or sources) that support that statement--instead, it generates a list of "related" articles (and, I think, cases, laws, and maybe books) that are "relevant" to the article as a whole. Replacing footnotes with this program would be similar to a law review article listing a bibliography at the end and telling the reader to look through all the sources to confirm whether the article's contents are accurate. As much work as sorting through footnotes may be, this approach sounds like much more of a burden.

(I admit that I do not have a ScholarSift account--which you apparently can only get by submitting a request by email. If my description of how the system's use of submissions to generate results is therefore incorrect, I welcome corrections.)

But Frye's discussion of ScholarSift raises some interesting notions about how it may assist in legal research help legal scholarship as a whole.  Frye writes:

It works really well. As far as I can tell, ScholarSift is kind of like Turnitin in reverse. It compares the text of a law review article to a huge database of law review articles and tells you which ones are similar. Unsurprisingly, it turns out that machine learning is really good at identifying relevant scholarship. And ScholarSift seems to do a better job at identifying relevant scholarship than pricey legacy platforms like Westlaw and Lexis.

 

One of the many cool things about ScholarSift is its potential to make legal scholarship more equitable. In legal scholarship, as everywhere, fame begets fame. All too often, fame means the usual suspects get all the attention, and it’s a struggle for marginalized scholars to get the attention they deserve. Unlike other kinds of machine learning programs, which seem almost designed to reinforce unfortunate prejudices, ScholarSift seems to do the opposite, highlighting authors who might otherwise be overlooked. That’s important and valuable. I think Anderson and Wenzel are on to something, and I agree that ScholarSift could improve citation practices in legal scholarship.

I'm a bit less optimistic than Frye about ScholarSift, largely because I cannot find any information on how it works, it is unclear what database of documents ScholarSift pulls from, and I am concerned that to the extent that it relies on a database of legal scholarship, the hierarchical problems that Frye identifies in his article may still be imported into results. 

Regarding the lack of information, ScholarSift's website contains virtually no information about how the system operates. I have not been able to locate additional written information on ScholarSift anywhere else--although my search for such information was admittedly a cursory one. I located, and listened to, this Ipse Dixit podcast interview of Rob Anderson who describes how ScholarSift works. But, as is the case with the website, the information is presented in largely conclusory terms--describing how the system will "look at" the text and citations of an article uploaded to it and analyze "relationships" between other articles to sift through a database of "a few hundred thousand articles" and list results in an order of what is most "closely-related." It remains unclear how "relevance" or "closely-related" determinations are made, although it appears that this is done through an analysis of the text, including commonly used words, phrases, and maybe combinations and/or proximities of words or phrases to one another.

The makeup of ScholarSift's database of articles and sources is also unclear. The contents of the database, how determinations are made on what to include, and the age of what is included are all mysterious. On the podcast, Anderson notes that scholars using the platform can upload their own drafts or articles to ensure that they are part of the database, but I expect this would only account for a small portion of what makes up the database. Without more information on the database, its contents, and how its contents are selected, it is impossible to conclude that ScholarSift can conduct exhaustive searches of potentially relevant material.

Finally, Frye and Anderson note that ScholarSift may help break down hierarchy problems in legal academia, where big names from prestigious institutions tend to be overcited, and where the body of scholarship consists largely of articles written by white, male authors. If the processes for locating "relevant" article truly focus on an article's text, perhaps the platform will have some impact. But I have my doubts. 

First, the platform is meant to analyze articles and their citations in locating relevant results (although this will supposedly change as the system develops). If citations are included as inputs, though, they will influence the searches, and authors' biases in selecting their own sources will likely be reflected in the results. 

Second, related to my concern about the database's contents, ScholarSift presumably draws from a body of scholarship in legal academia, in which white male authors are overrepresented (especially if historical writing is taken into account). Even if determinations of relevance are based on the text of submissions and articles in the database, this will still result in results skewing towards white males if they make up the bulk of what is included in the database. 

Third, Anderson notes that there will be features permitting searchers to filter results in various ways, including by high citation rates. This suggests that the system at least includes information on articles' citation rates, and this information may influence what results are deemed "relevant"--which may in turn continue to perpetuate hierarchies of overciting authors from the most prestigious institutions. This last concern is, admittedly, speculative, but without information on how the algorithm works, this concern shouldn't be dismissed. Additionally, as the program develops (and, especially, if it is used to generate a profit), there may be pressure to prioritize results that account for the "prestige" of an author or publications--which could defeat the very purpose of the platform.

If ScholarSift is truly text-focused (as Frye describes, "Turnitin in reverse"), it may have a positive impact on legal research and lead to increased diversity in citations. Hopefully that will be the case. And Anderson notes that ScholarSift may end up being an alternate mean for submitting articles to law reviews--an outcome I would be happy to see. I think it is still early days and that it is too soon to be overly optimistic. But ScholarSift may be worth watching and including as one of many tools used by authors of legal scholarship. 

Michigan Court of Appeal Issues Strong Decision Restricting Government Drone Use

I learned from Greg McNeal's Twitter thread (and related blog post) of an interesting opinion issued by the Michigan Court of Appeals last week in which the court found that the use of a drone by a township to take aerial photographs of private property violated the property owners' reasonable expectations of privacy.

The case is Long Lake Township v. Maxon. A link to the opinion is here, a link to the dissent is here.

Summary of the Case

The township filed a civil action against the property owners, arguing that their property constituted an "illegal salvage or junk yard" in violation of town ordinances. The township relied on aerial photographs of the property taken in 2010, 2016, 2017, and 2018 that purportedly showed an increase in junk stored on the property. The township had used a drone to take the photos.

The property owners moved to suppress the photos, arguing that they had been obtained through an unlawful search in violation of the Fourth Amendment. In response, the township argued that the drone operator it had hired to take the photos had done so in a manner consistent with FAA regulations--noting that they had maintained a consistent line of site with the drone and that it was lower than 400 feet at all times. (A link to the FAA regulations that the township appears to be referencing is here, an FAA summary of the rules is here).

The court recognized that Michigan has a law that restricts individuals from using drones to capture photos, video, or audio recordings of other people in a manner that would invade others' "reasonable expectation of privacy."

The court first noted that in Kyllo v. United States, the United States Supreme Court had found that the use of a thermal imaging device on a home violated the Fourth Amendment. In Kyllo, the Court concluded:

Where, as here, the Government uses a device that is not in general public use, to explore details of the home that would previously have been unknowable without physical intrusion, the surveillance is a "search" and is presumptively unreasonable without a warrant.

The Michigan Court of Appeals took pains to note that Kyllo's holding was not premised on whether the technology used was widely available--noting that other language in Kyllo stated that homeowners should not be "at the mercy of advancing technology" that might be able to see through walls.

The court then considered the cases, California v. Ciraolo (no Fourth Amendment violation where police conducted aerial observation of a defendant's yard from 1,000 feet up) and Florida v. Riley (aerial observation of greenhouse from 400 feet up did not constitute a Fourth Amendment violation). The court emphasized Justice O'Connor's concurrence in Riley, where she recognized that the plurality of the Court relied on FAA regulations governing how high the helicopter could fly, and concluded that compliance with FAA regulations alone does not determine compliance with the Fourth Amendment. Instead she found that "considerable public use of airspace at 400 feet and above" meant that Riley did not have a reasonable expectation that the curtilage of his property was protected from naked-eye aerial observation from 400 feet.

The majority of the Michigan Court of Appeals concluded that the use of the drone by the township was closer to the thermal imaging device used in Kyllo than the aircraft overflights in Ciraolo and Riley. The court noted that FAA regulations were relevant in this case because they demonstrated that drones were "qualitatively different from airplanes and helicopters," as they are smaller, more maneuverable, stealthy, and fly at lower heights. 

The court did not reach the determination of whether a drone overflight was trespassory, finding it unnecessary to do so. Instead, the court found that the determination that the drone use violated reasonable expectations of privacy was enough to establish a Fourth Amendment violation. The court also refused to craft a precise altitude test, instead concluding that "persons have a reasonable expectation of privacy in their property against drone surveillance, and therefore a governmental entity seeking to conduct drone surveillance must obtain a warrant or satisfy a traditional exception to the warrant requirement."

In a dissenting opinion, Judge Hood took issue with the majority's blanket distinguishing of Ciraolo and Riley. Recognizing that drones are smaller, Judge Hood noted there was no evidence that the photos captured were different than those that could be taken from a plane or helicopter at that altitude. Judge Hood further noted that the drone was flying in airspace in which the public could use drones, and emphasized that Kyllo involved technology that was not in general public use--not the case with drones which are generally available for people to use.

Analysis

Years ago, I wrote an article surveying state laws restricting law enforcement drone use. One of my main conclusions was that state-level litigation governing how law enforcement agencies could use drones and the evidence obtained from these drones, was necessary. Absent specifically-drafted legislating that put meaningful restrictions in place, the government would likely engage in broad drone use in light of Ciraolo and Riley. Such broad use could be restricted by laws, or by courts who could craft exceptions to the existing Fourth Amendment case law.

I concluded that leaving it in the hands of courts to carve out restrictions for government drone use (either through passing no laws or passing laws that simply reaffirm Fourth Amendment protections) was not the best approach, and that both privacy advocates and law enforcement advocates should support legislation. Legislation would permit evidence-based restrictions on particular types of drone use and leave law enforcement open to use drones in a manner that balanced potential privacy intrusions with the utility of new technology. These restrictions could be amended as technology develops. Courts, however, would not be in a position issue such carefully crafted restrictions, and would likely be faced with the options of broadly permitting government drone use, or stretching Fourth Amendment case law to craft restrictions that could not be amended or addressed by state legislatures.

This case is an example of the latter outcome. As far as I can tell, Michigan law does not restrict its law enforcement agencies' use of drones. Instead, the most the court cited was a law restricting private drone use--a law couched in broad language based on the Fourth Amendment concept of "reasonable expectations of privacy." As I argue in my article, laws like this provide no guidance for courts beyond what is already set forth in the case law, and are therefore have little to no practical impact. 

In the face of this dearth of meaningful restrictions, the court decided to craft a broad restriction of its own--a prohibition on all warrantless drone surveillance of private property. Law enforcement agencies in Michigan must now obtain a warrant before using a drone in this manner, or use a helicopter for such surveillance. This case is based on the Fourth Amendment, so the state legislature cannot write any laws to restrict the scope of the opinion. The only thing the government can do to try to undo this outcome is to appeal to the state supreme court.

Privacy advocates may cite this case as an example of why laws restricting government drone use are unnecessary. That would be a mistake. The dissenting opinion illustrates how courts could just as easily reach the opposite conclusion and permit government drone use. FAA regulations (which have developed since I wrote my article) now permit fairly flexible drone use--including altitude restrictions of below 400 feet--which may permit much closer imaging of private property. I suspect that other courts in similar situations may rely on Ciraolo and Riley to permit similar drone use.

In civil cases, a strong sign that you've reached a fair settlement is that both sides are unhappy with the outcome. The same is the case with drone restrictions. Privacy advocates would likely take a strong view of Fourth Amendment protections and would consider a legislative restriction approach to be a needless compromise. Law enforcement advocates would not want their ability to use new technology to be curtailed by laws or regulations. But using legislation to curtail specific restrictions on government drone use is the only way to balance the nuances of new technology with the blunt instrument of Fourth Amendment decision-making. Long Lake Township illustrates how failing to take this approach can come down against law enforcement interests, but its dissent should be just as much of a warning to those concerned with law enforcement overreach.