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George Peretz QC: The Subsidy Control Bill: Part I – A new public law regime

The Subsidy Control Bill, now going through the House of Commons, creates the domestic replacement for the EU State aid regime. So it might be regarded as legislation of interest only to those who reside in the land of competition law: a distant land of which State aid law is a particularly exotic and remote peninsula. Any such view would, however, be profoundly wrong. On the contrary, the Bill sets up a new type of public litigation, covering a very wide range of public authority decisions, that should be of considerable interest to public lawyers and its application to legislation will be of interest to constitutional lawyers as well.
The structure of the Bill
Clause 12 of the Bill is the core provision: it creates a duty on public authorities, when they take a decision to grant a subsidy, to consider “subsidy control principles” and not to grant the subsidy unless it is consistent with those principles. Those subsidy control principles are set out in Schedule 1 to the Bill: they are open-textured principles that involve considerable scope for judgement and policy disagreement (for example: “Subsidies should be an appropriate policy instrument for achieving their specific policy objective and that objective cannot be achieved through other, less distortive, means”: principle E). Chapter 2 of Part 2 of the Bill also prohibits certain subsidies: in some case the prohibition is “bright line” (for example, a prohibition on unlimited guarantees in clause 15); but in other cases it is more open-textured (for example, the prohibition in clause 29 on subsidies to restructure ailing or insolvent enterprises unless, among other conditions, there is a “credible” restructuring plan).
The definition of what is a subsidy occupies clauses 2-5. As in State aid and WTO subsidy law, the definition includes a wide range of ways in which public authorities can give advantages to businesses. As well as grants, it includes: loans and guarantees; providing or purchasing goods or services; and foregoing revenue that is otherwise due. It expressly includes certain tax measures (clause 4 being particularly relevant to those). So a very wide range of public decision-making affecting business is covered.
However, the definition of a subsidy expressly excludes measures that are not capable of affecting trade or competition, as well as transactions that are not any more favourable to the recipient than would have been available on the market (for example, a public authority loan to a business that is on no better terms than those that would have been offered by a bank). Both those exclusions are open-textured and capable of providing ample basis for disagreement of fact and assessment of fact. There are also, in later parts of the Bill, bright-line exclusions, such as the exclusion for subsidies of less than £315,000, as well as exclusions for subsidies granted in relation to natural disasters, economic emergencies and maintaining financial stability.
In some cases, to be defined by secondary legislation, the granting authority will be obliged to request a report from the Competition and Markets Authority (CMA) before granting the subsidy (“subsidies of particular interest”: clause 52). In some other cases (“subsidies of interest”), again to be defined by secondary legislation, the granting authority will be able to obtain such a report from the CMA but does not have to (clause 56), or may be required by the Secretary of State to obtain one (clause 55).
The Secretary of State also has a wide power to refer a subsidy to the CMA after its grant if he considers that the Bill has not been complied with or if the subsidy carries a risk of negative effects on competition or trade: clause 60.
The CMA’s report must include an evaluation of the granting authority’s assessment of the subsidy control principles and may give advice on how the assessment could be improved or the subsidy modified (clause 59). Importantly, though, the CMA report is not binding on the granting authority: the Bill leaves the granting authority free to reject its advice if it wishes.
The duty to consider the subsidy control principles before granting a subsidy is alleviated by the possibility of “subsidy schemes” (clause 10). These are, essentially, frameworks set out by the granting authority, and are subject to the same obligations as a subsidy would be: but once the scheme decision has been taken, any subsequent subsidy fitting within the scheme can be granted without further consideration of the subsidy control principles. It is also possible for the UK and devolved governments to make subsidy schemes covering grants made by other public authorities (so that, for example, the Welsh Government could make a subsidy scheme allowing, say, grants of up to a certain amount for the purposes of promoting Welsh language and culture to be given by any Welsh local authority without the grantor having to consider the subsidy control principles before doing so). Like subsidies, subsidy schemes in some cases must be, and in some cases may be, referred to the CMA for advice before they are made.
The Secretary of State (but not the devolved governments) is given power to make a “streamlined subsidy scheme”: a streamlined subsidy scheme has to be laid before Parliament but (unlike an ordinary subsidy scheme) is not referable to the CMA (clauses 10(4)-(6) and 64(1)(a)).
Finally, and importantly, there are transparency obligations (clauses 32-34). Any subsidy granted by a public authority must be entered on a public “subsidy database” with such details as may be set out in regulations made by the Secretary of State. (Where a subsidy is made under a subsidy scheme, the duty applies only if the subsidy exceeds £500,000). The entry must be made within six months of the decision or (in the case of tax measures) within one year from the date of the relevant tax return.
Judicial review
The CMA has no powers of enforcement. So the ultimate answer to the question “why should we take any notice of the requirements of the Bill?” is the risk of judicial review.
The Bill sets up a new judicial review regime that applies to “subsidy decisions”: an “interested party” may apply to the Competition Appeal Tribunal (CAT) for judicial review of such a decision (clause 70(1)). The CAT (set up by the Enterprise Act 2002) is a UK tribunal consisting of a legal chairman (usually its President or a High Court or Court of Session judge) and two experts in competition law or economics: appeals from it lie to the Court of Appeal or Inner House. The CAT is to exercise its powers on a judicial review or supervisory jurisdiction basis.
It is important to note that “subsidy decision” covers any decision to grant a subsidy (or make a subsidy scheme): clause 70(7). Nor is there any limitation of the grounds of challenge to questions as to the application of the Bill: clause 70 covers any judicial review of a subsidy decision on any grounds, including (for example) lack of power to grant the subsidy at all, procedural unfairness, or bias.
In addition to the role of the CAT, there are four further particular features of the special judicial review regime that will apply to subsidy decisions.
First, the concept of “interested party” (who has standing to bring a challenge) is circumscribed by clause 70(7)(a): it is either (a) “a person whose interests may be affected by the giving of the subsidy or making of the subsidy scheme” or (b) the Secretary of State.
As to (a), the wording is likely to be read in the light of Article 369(6) of the Trade and Cooperation Agreement (TCA), which defines “interested party”, for the purposes of the obligation to provide a route to seek judicial review of subsidy control decisions, as being “any natural or legal person, economic actor or association of economic actors whose interest might be affected by the granting of a subsidy, in particular the beneficiary, economic actors competing with the beneficiary or relevant trade associations.” That list of examples would appear to suggest that only economic “interests” count (excluding, for example, other local authorities concerned that their areas may be adversely affected by the measure or public interest groups such as the Good Law Project). It should be noted that nothing in the TCA would have prevented the United Kingdom from operating more generous standing rules: and, indeed, in Ireland now, and in the United Kingdom itself when part of the EU, it is and was open to anyone with standing as a matter of general public law to seek judicial review of a subsidy decision on the basis that it amounted to an unlawful State aid.
As to (b), though the Secretary of State is automatically an “interested party” able to seek judicial review of a subsidy decision he dislikes (for example, a subsidy decision by the Scottish or Welsh Government), the devolved governments have no equivalent status (and, as suggested above, are unlikely to have standing under limb (a) either).
Second, a very strict time limit of only one month applies from the “transparency date” (the date on which details of the subsidy are placed on the database): clause 71 (inserting a new rule 98A into the CAT Rules). However, the wording of rule 98A(1) (“before the end of one month beginning with the relevant date” – the “relevant date” being, by default, the transparency date) would appear to permit an application before the transparency date if the subsidy is made public (or the applicant gets to hear about it) beforehand: in such a case the rule 98A limit could turn out to be more generous than the standard English time limit for judicial review (promptly and in any event within 3 months of the decision)..
Third, and to some extent also in mitigation of the strict time limit, interested parties are given a right in clause 76 to pre-action disclosure of “such information as would enable, or assist in, the making of a determination as to whether the subsidy was given” in accordance with the Bill: essentially, a form of pre-action duty of candour. Such a request must be made within one month of the transparency date and must be answered within 28 days: once answered there is then a further month within which an application to the CAT must be made. However, it is also important to note that clause 76 does not give any right to pre-action disclosure in relation to common-law grounds such as bias or lack of power.
Finally, in addition to the usual powers available to the High Court or Court of Session in judicial review cases, the CAT is given, by clause 74, the power (if it grants any remedy in the usual suite of public law remedies) also to order that the granting authority recover the amount of the subsidy granted by the decision at issue from the recipient. The power is given at large (“may”): but since Article 373 of the TCA obliges the United Kingdom to “have in place an effective mechanism of recovery in respect of subsidies” and states that “the Parties recognise that recovery is an important remedial tool in any system of subsidy control”, it is likely that a recovery order would be the rule rather than an exception.
This post sets out the basic framework of the Bill. In a second post on this blog I will look at the application of the Bill to legislation, and look at various uncertainties and concerns about how the judicial review provisions will work and about enforcement of the Bill more generally.
George Peretz QC is a barrister practising in public law at Monckton Chambers.
(Suggested citation: G. Peretz, ‘The Subsidy Control Bill: Part I – A new public law regime’, U.K. Const. L. Blog (28 October 2021) (available at https://ukconstitutionallaw.org/))
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Trump’s Must-Carry Lawsuit Against Twitter Moved to Twitter’s Home Court–Trump v. Twitter
As you recall, in July, Trump sued Twitter, Facebook, and YouTube for “deplatforming” him. As expected (see image to the right), YouTube successfully transferred its case to the Northern District of California. Now Twitter has done the same.
(A reminder that Trump’s legal filings routinely make brain-meltingly stupid arguments. This one is no exception).
Twitter’s TOS, which Trump agreed to in 2009 when he created his account, contains a mandatory venue clause. To get around this, Trump claimed he “is exempted from the forum selection clause because he was the sitting President at the time his Twitter account was suspended and was legally unable to accept the forum selection clause.”
The court gently shreds this argument. It says that the “Court does not find, nor do the Plaintiffs cite to, any section of the code that prevents a federal actor from accepting a forum selection clause.” It also says that the Knight Institute v. Trump ruling had no bearing on venue selection (and, as usual, there’s irony in how Trump tries to turn a bad courtroom loss into something that benefits him). “For these reasons, the Court finds that Trump’s status as President of the United States does not exclude him from the requirements of the forum selection clause in Twitter’s Terms of Service.”
The court could have listed other reasons to reject Trump’s argument, like Trump signed up for the account when he wasn’t a sitting president, he filed the case when he wasn’t a sitting president, and other plaintiffs on the complaint have never been president and thus cannot benefit from these arguments. Plus, yes, Trump literally takes the position that the rule of law doesn’t apply to him–even if it applies to “ordinary” Americans. And the odious idea that a government actor can force private publishers to carry their unwanted propaganda is the kind of “rule of law” we see in banana republics.
The court goes on to explain why the venue clause is mandatory, not permissive, and why it covers Trump’s claims. This is not a hard case.
As a last-ditch effort, Trump argues that he should benefit from the “consistent content moderation” requirement of Florida’s new social media censorship bill (another ironic claim, because he literally just argued that his forum selection situation should not be treated consistently with other users due to his presidential status, but whatever). That law can’t be applied retroactively, and it’s currently enjoined as unconstitutional, but the court rejects the argument on more mechanical grounds.
Having established the enforceability of Twitter’s forum selection clause, the burden shifts to Trump to provide a public policy argument in favor of keeping the case in Florida. The court recaps Trump’s arguments:
(1) the FDUTPA claims constitute a localized controversy that will affect how the Defendants engage in business in Florida; (2) several Plaintiffs, including Trump, are residents of Florida; (3) the bargaining positions between Twitter and its users weighs against a transfer, (4) Justice Clarence Thomas’s concerns regarding Section 230 in an opinion on a petition denying a writ of certiorari; and (5) recent case law weighs against a transfer of this action.
Unsurprisingly, the court shuts these arguments down:
“this case does not present a localized controversy that warrants keeping the case in this district. ‘To the contrary, this case involves issues that are national in scope.'” (Cite to Trump v. YouTube)
“almost half of the Plaintiffs reside outside of Florida and Twitter’s inconsistent application of its rules and policies occurs nationwide.” (Trump routinely disregards his co-plaintiffs, unless they help his personal situation).
Twitter is headquartered in California.
The case involves interpretation of constitutional rights, i.e., the First Amendment.
“the Plaintiffs’ remaining arguments related to the parties’ bargaining power, Justice Clarence’s concerns, and the addictive nature of social media do not constitute the types of public interest considerations that weigh against applying a forum selection clause…These arguments do not share a nexus with Florida and instead raise general national issues related to social media platforms.”
Plaintiffs always lose must-carry lawsuits, and Trump’s arguments give no reason believe that he will become the exception to the dozens of failed cases that preceded this case. That prediction grows increasingly likely watching how easily the courts breeze through Trump’s attempts to fight the mandatory venue clauses.
Recently, Trump filed a preliminary injunction motion in this case while the venue transfer motion was pending. I’m not sure about litigation etiquette, but to me, Trump’s move seemed to be premature, ill-advised, or bad form. I didn’t blog the motion in part because I wasn’t sure if the court would ever hear it in its current form. (Of course, Mike Masnick blogged it at Techdirt). After all, with the venue switch, the Ninth Circuit caselaw will become more relevant than the 11th Circuit caselaw. Now, the plaintiffs ought to redo their preliminary injunction motion to reflect the revised precedent.
Case citation: Trump v. Twitter, Inc., 1:21-cv-22441-RNS (S.D. Fla. Oct. 26, 2021)
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Court Orders Unmasking Subpoena of Alleged Infringers–Baugher v. GoDaddy
In the DMCA, Congress enabled copyright owners to obtain pre-litigation discovery of alleged infringers (17 USC 512(h)). After sending a takedown notice, the copyright owner can apply for an unmasking subpoena, which the clerk of the court must issue without any discretion or review by a judge. This fast lane is a historical anachronism; it does little to balance the privacy interests of the alleged infringer. Knowing what we know now about the dangers of unmasking subpoenas, I would like to think that Congress would draft 512(h) with more privacy sensitivity today.
512(h) subpoenas rarely produce court opinions because the copyright owners get the subpoena automatically and the services usually automatically comply with the subpoena. This case is unusual because the Doe defendants attempted to quash the subpoena. The court rejects the Doe defendants’ efforts, and it gives us a little more insight about 512(h) along the way.
The copyright owner is Julia Allison Baugher, an author. For unspecified reasons, bloggers reposted some of her works, including an 81 page book proposal, which included a 54 page manuscript draft, and 22 photos. The proposal, manuscript, and 2 photos were previously unpublished and not registered; the other 20 photos were covered by a copyright registration. She sent takedown notices to the blog’s “registrar” (this is the court’s word), GoDaddy, which GoDaddy honored. The bloggers did not submit counternotices. Baugher then submitted a request for a 512(h) subpoena, which the court clerk issued. It’s not clear how the bloggers learned of the subpoena, but they moved to quash it.
The bloggers argued that the subpoena would violate their First Amendment right to speak anonymously. The court says that the First Amendment requires a balancing between the competing interests. Thus, the plaintiff has to show a prima facie case of copyright infringement before the subpoena can be upheld.
Baugher easily established the prima facie case of 106 violations. The bloggers countered with fair use. The court doesn’t see it:
Nature of use. The bloggers claimed they posted Baugher’s works for criticism and commentary, but the court says “most of Baugher’s work was posted without substantial comment or criticism by the Does….Posting a work and implicitly inviting comment or criticism is the same as simply copying the work; any work made public will almost always inspire an opinion in the reader, but the reader’s implicit opinion is not the same as comment or criticism formed and made by the blogger who copies the copyright-protected work.”
Nature of work. The reposted materials were both highly creative and unpublished.
Amount taken. The “Does reproduced the materials in their entirety” (tautology alert).
Market effect. The bloggers didn’t show any evidence of non-harm. (It’s true that the defense has the burden on fair use, but it’s also problematic to require defendants to prove the negative).
One of the reasons why unmasking subpoenas are so dangerous is that they can be used to impose extra-judicial consequences without any court oversight, such as terminating the employment or public shaming of the unmasked people. The DMCA says the subpoenaed information may be used only for copyright enforcement purposes, but there’s no practical way to enforce this, and I can’t think of anyone who has tried. Nevertheless, the court says the statutory limitation is good enough to address the bloggers’ fears of misuse, so the subpoena must be honored.
Case citation: Baugher v. GoDaddy.com LLC, 2021 WL 4942658 (D. Ariz. Oct. 22, 2021)
Some prior blog posts on 512(h):
512(h) Doesn’t Preempt Doe Unmasking Lawsuits–Strike 3 v. Doe
eBay Must Disclose User Identities In Response To 512(h) Subpoenas
Did a Court Eliminate 512(h) Subpoenas?–Maximized Living v. Google
An Unmasking Effort Gets Gutted Some More – Art of Living Foundation v. Does
Copyright Doe Defendant Can’t Quash Disclosure Subpoena Anonymously—Hard Drive Productions v. Does (Guest Blog Post)
Spiritual Group’s Attempt to Unmask Online Critics Goes South–Art of Living Foundation v. Does
Co-Blogger Identity Isn’t Disclosed via 512(h), but Takedown Letters Are Copyrightable
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Peloton Can’t Bind All Family Members To Its Arbitration Provision–SS v. Peloton
This case involves the Peloton treadmill (“Tread+”). The treadmill has caused numerous personal injuries, and Peloton has recalled it. In this case, a 3 year old boy suffered personal injuries due to a Tread+ his dad bought. The dad, mom, and child sued Peloton for negligence and misrepresentation. Peloton invoked the arbitration clause in its TOS. The court’s resolution likely satisfies no one.
The Dad
Peloton successfully argued that the dad agreed to the TOS. “Peloton states that when he signed up for the Peloton account, he necessarily (1) was presented with a conspicuous hyperlink to a full copy of the Terms of Services, including the Arbitration Provision, and (2) affirmatively clicked the button indicating that he agreed to the Terms of Service….Peloton also correctly points out that whether he read the terms or not, Mr. Stern was put on constructive notice of the Arbitration Provision…Mr. Stern cannot reasonably dispute agreeing to Peloton’s Terms of Service. The evidence indicates he did, and Mr. Stern failed to rebut that evidence by providing a declaration attesting to the fact that he did not agree or later opted out of the Arbitration Provision.”
The specific evidence Peloton introduced of its TOS formation:
Defendants rely on declarations from Daniel Feinberg, a Senior Product Manager at Peloton, to establish that Mr. Stern registered for a Peloton account and accepted Peloton’s Terms of Service….
In the Supplemental Declaration, Mr. Feinberg (1) states that he is familiar with Peloton’s internal database, which it maintains in the ordinary course of business; (2) describes the process that transpires when a customer registers and agrees to the Terms of Service, including what account information related to that process is maintained by Peloton; (3) indicates he reviewed Mr. Stern’s account information, which shows that Mr. Stern registered for a Peloton account on August 25, 2019, and again on November 29, 2019, and as part of that registration process, was required to affirmatively agree to Peloton’s Terms of Service regardless of whether he registered on the website or mobile application; and (4) when Mr. Stern created his Peloton account in 2019, the registration process still required users to affirmatively click a button acknowledging they agreed to the Terms of Service
The court overrules the plaintiffs’ objections to this evidence. It’s a reminder that you must consider how you will introduce evidence of contract formation in addition to worrying about the contract terms and formation process.
The court discusses another topic I don’t often see discussed. The Federal Arbitration Act applies only to interstate commerce. “To the extent the contract pertains to use of Peloton’s Services (e.g., its app, website, and on-demand fitness classes), because those services require use of the Internet, the Agreement would involve interstate commerce.”
The Mom and Son
Peloton tries to bind the mom and son to the TOS via “equitable estoppel.” The idea is that sometimes nonsignatories get benefits from a contract sufficient to impose the contract terms on them anyways. But not in this case. The son son is 3 years old. He lacks capacity to agree to the TOS, and he could disaffirm it even if he did. He got no benefits from the treadmill. Peloton’s TOS expressly restricted use by minors, and the 3 year old never used it. The story is the same for the wife: “Mrs. Stern never used the Tread+, nor did she benefit from it.” Thus, the nonparties cannot be swept into the contract. The court distinguishes the Nicosia v. Amazon and Tice v. Amazon rulings; but the result is consistent with the uncited BF v. Amazon case.
Consequences
Abstracting from the nuances, the court’s ruling is obvious. Peloton can’t bind parties not in privity to the terms of its contract. That’s Contracts Law 101. Still, the consequences can be pretty significant in the IoT era. Many products can affect the rights of home residents and visitors who aren’t in privity, like voice-command and surreptitious video devices. This ruling reinforces the unlikelihood that the device manufacturer can reach those parties with its TOS–in some cases, raising questions about the devices’ permissibility under existing law.
In terms of this lawsuit, the dad’s case goes to arbitration but the wife and son’s cases remain in court. The dad signaled that he plans to challenge the arbitrability of his claims, so it’s possible the arbitrator will decide that the claims are outside the arbitration scope and bounce the dad’s case back to court as well. Another possibility is that the family decides to drop the dad’s claims altogether because the bulk of the case’s value likely rests in the son’s claims.
Otherwise, the parties are in a Mexican standoff. The family can proceed with the full set of claims only by litigating in two venues, which doubles the litigation costs for both sides and creates a risk of inconsistent judgments. Both sides would benefit from merging the cases back into one, but someone has to concede, and neither party has an incentive to do so. Another possibility would be to stay one case–likely the arbitration–until the resolution of the other cases to see what happens and decide if the second case is worth pursuing. Either way, the court’s “split the baby” decision (see what I did there? or too soon?) on arbitration was potentially a bummer for both parties.
Case citation: S.S. v. Peloton Interactive, Inc., 2021 WL 4711675 (S.D. Cal. Oct. 7, 2021).
Note: my wife is a big Peloton fan, and we own some stock in the company.
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Social Media Is Often a Defamation-Free Zone…But Not Always–Steak N Shake v. White
I’ve blogged some recent cases showing how it’s become really, really hard to win defamation cases over social media content (e.g., Rapaport v. Barstool). Still, online defamation claims can succeed, as this case shows. But even if the plaintiff wins in court, does it truly win?
* * *
The court summarizes the facts:
On the job at Steak N Shake, Melissa White thought she found worms in hamburger meat, and insisted her manager inspect the meat. And when she didn’t find her manager’s inspection up to her own standards, White, perhaps cloaking herself as a modern-day Upton Sinclair, rushed to post her accusations of Steak N Shake’s purported sale of contaminated meat sales on Facebook.
The Facebook post:
If you can’t read the text, it says:
#SHARESHARESHARE JUST GOT FIRED FROM STEAK N SHAKE ON FLORRISANT AND LINBERGH ROAD BECAUSE I FOUND LIVE WORMS WHILE COOKING A STEAKPATTY MOVING INSIDE OF IT AND REFUSED TO SELL THAT MEAT ……WELL RIGHT NOW #RIGHT NOW THEY ARE STILL SELLING SAME MEAT #NOONEEVENCHECKEDIT. I JUST DON’T WANT EVERYONE GETTING SICK. I JUST GOT FIRED FOR NOTHING I HAVE A FAMILY THIS SHIT IS NOT RIGHT I DID NOTHING WRONG #FOX2 #ELLIOT WYA
(This transcription is from the opinion. Notice how the court omitted any reference to the fire emoji.
)
The post went viral; it received over 36,000 shares and thousands of comments. Unsurprisingly, it’s offline now.
Steak N Shake wasn’t pleased with this post, and it sued White for defamation. The case went to a jury. The jury found for Steak N Shake and awarded $70,000 in compensatory damages and $10,000 in punitive damages. Last week, the court denied White’s requests for post-trial relief. The court shows little interest in overriding the jury’s determinations.
I think Steak N Shake’s decision to sue was an interesting one. Unquestionably, White’s post was very damaging to it. According to the court, “Steak N Shake presented evidence of a multitude of Facebook comments from numerous members of the public, many declaring that they will never eat at Steak N Shake again or that they thought Steak N Shake was ‘gross’ and ‘disgusting.'” (Pro-tip: you could logically reach those conclusions about Steak N Shake even if their food is 100% maggot-free). Further, Steak N Shake presented evidence it lost $755k in sales. So surely the jury ruling vindicates Steak N Shake’s position and increases consumer confidence that its meat is actually maggot-free. In particular, the punitive damages signal that the jury thought White’s mistakes weren’t innocent.
Yet, did Steak N Shake actually accomplish any of its goals? The damages award won’t affect its bottom line–and of course Steak N Shake won’t collect much, if any, of it (“Steak N Shake’s counsel even acknowledged in its closing argument that White likely did not have the financial resources to pay a large judgment”). The media coverage of this ruling will not come close to reaching the audience that White’s post did; as the old saying goes, “a lie can travel halfway around the world while the truth is still putting on its shoes.” So did Steak N Shake accomplish its goals?
Whether or not Steak N Shake’s food is in fact infested with bugs, today is another good day to choose to eat less meat and switch to plant-based options. On that front, Steak N Shake isn’t a venue of choice.
Case citation: Steak N Shake, Inc. v. White, 2021 WL 4819592 (E.D. Mo. Oct. 14, 2021)
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Government Jawboning Doesn’t Turn Internet Services into State Actors–Doe v. Google
The plaintiffs are “conservative content creators” (i.e., QAnon enthusiasts) who posted videos to YouTube. YouTube suspended their accounts. The plaintiffs sued for First Amendment violations (presumably a 1983 claim). The court previously denied a TRO. YouTube now gets the case dismissed with prejudice. It’s not a close call.
To show YouTube is a state actor, the plaintiffs tried four different unsuccessful arguments:
Public Function. This argument is foreclosed by Prager U. v. Google.
Compulsion. The court says:
The Court finds that the statements by federal lawmakers Plaintiffs point to are insufficient to plead that the government “commanded a particular result in, or otherwise participated in, [Plaintiffs’] specific case.” [cite to Daniels v. Alphabet] Plaintiffs point to generalized statements from lawmakers pertaining to “coronavirus-related misinformation,” “disinformation proliferating online,” “QAnon-related speech,” and “conspiracy theories.” None of the statements mention Plaintiffs’ names, their YouTube or Google accounts, their channels, or their videos. Plaintiffs argue that state actors “commanded a particular result” in their case because “Plaintiffs have alleged that Congress demanded that the unpopular speech dubbed ‘misinformation,’ and QAnon-related speech be limited and erased, which is precisely what Plaintiffs allege Defendants did.” The Court disagrees that broad lawmaker proclamations regarding “misinformation” or “QAnon-related speech,” for example, are sufficient to show that the government “commanded” the suspension of Plaintiffs’ accounts. Even if Defendants had complied with these lawmaker statements to the letter, they would still have had the ultimate discretion on what videos or accounts fit into buckets like “misinformation” or “QAnon-related speech.”
Plaintiffs claim that Defendants’ conduct is state action because it was in response to the threat of various government penalties—the repeal of CDA Section 230 protections, “show trials” in front of the U.S. Senate, and a DOJ antitrust suit against Google—allegedly linked to whether Defendants appropriately moderated certain types of content. The threats of penalties Plaintiffs point to are insufficient to convert private conduct into state action here. The Ninth Circuit has found that pleading “a private actor’s conduct is subject to penalties…is…insufficient to convert private action into that of the state.” Moreover, Plaintiffs fail to point to any penalties that necessarily or even likely would have followed if Defendants did not suspend their accounts….
Plaintiffs can point to no authority to support a compulsion theory of state action based on penalties, particularly “threats” as speculative as the ones they point to here.
To be clear, it’s offensive when our elected officials treat Section 230 like a political football, threatening to withdraw the immunity if services don’t bend to their censorial whims. When politicians do this, they are really saying they don’t care about good social policy that benefits their constituents. It’s all fun-and-games until an immunity gets broken. But the plaintiffs’ arguments–that the politicians’ jawboning make all subsequent content moderation decisions into state action–are even worse from a policy outcome. As they would say on Reddit, ESH.
Joint Action. The court says:
the Schiff-Wojnicki Twitter exchange Plaintiffs point to in support of their joint action claim clearly pertains to misinformation regarding COVID-19. As the Court discussed above, Plaintiffs have failed to allege any facts indicating that their posts pertained to COVID-19. Accordingly, it is unclear how this Twitter exchange supports a joint action theory pertaining to the suspension of Plaintiffs’ channels….Further, it is simply implausible to read a casual Twitter exchange between one member of Congress and YouTube’s CEO as joint action. Plaintiffs’ theory would effectively cause companies to cease communicating with their elected representatives for fear of liability, as Defendants compellingly argue.
Chilling companies’ abilities to petition the government is another censorial consequence of the plaintiffs’ arguments.
The court continues:
Based on Plaintiffs’ allegations, their content was removed through the following series of events: federal lawmakers publicly flagged general categories of content for Defendants to consider moderating and issued threats to compel Defendants to comply, Defendants independently chose what content fit into the lawmakers’ general categories, and Plaintiffs’ channels happened to be some of the content Defendants decided to remove. Courts have dismissed cases for lack of state action despite significantly more alleged cooperation between public and private actors compared to what Plaintiffs allege here
…far more is necessary to plead joint action than what they have alleged here…At most, Plaintiffs appear to allege that government officials identified categories of information Defendants should consider removing—there is no allegation that government officials were in the room or somehow directly involved in the decision to suspend Plaintiffs….there are no allegations that Defendants invoked state or federal procedure to bring about the suspension of Plaintiffs’ accounts. Defendants merely suspended Plaintiffs from Defendants own private platform.
Government Nexus. “Plaintiffs have failed to point to a single case in which governmental nexus was found.”
Implications. Unsurprisingly, this case wasn’t close. #MAGA plaintiffs are routinely overclaiming state action by Internet services as a short-sighted ploy to force the services to carry garbage content that harms the services’ audiences. This opinion is a clean and decisive ruling that standard government jawboning doesn’t automatically turn the entire Internet into a giant state actor. I can’t wait for this litigation fad to die out.
The court declined supplemental jurisdiction over the state law claims, which the plaintiffs could choose to refile in state court if they want to lose again. I think it’s more likely the plaintiffs will choose to appeal the case and give the Ninth Circuit a first-hand opportunity to explain why Prager U v. Google means they lose.
In contrast to many cases in this genre, the plaintiffs were represented by counsel. That counsel is Cris Armenta. In addition to being on the losing side of the Garcia v. Google case, she also lost the Daniels case, which this court repeatedly cited against her arguments in this case.
Case Citation: Doe v. Google LLC, 2021 WL 4864418 (N.D. Cal. Oct. 19, 2021)
Selected Related Posts About State Action Claims
Anti-Zionist Loses Lawsuit Over Social Media Account Suspensions–Martillo v. Facebook
Court Nopes Another Lawsuit Over Facebook Suspensions–Orders v. Facebook
Facebook Defeats Lawsuit By Publishers of Vaccine (Mis?)information–Children’s Health Defense v. Facebook
Court Rejects Lawsuit Alleging YouTube Engaged in Racially Biased Content Moderation–Newman v. Google
Yet Another Court Says Facebook Isn’t a State Actor–Brock v. Zuckerberg
YouTube (Again) Defeats Lawsuit Over Content Removal–Lewis v. Google
When It Came to @RealDonaldTrump, Twitter Couldn’t Please Everyone–Rutenberg v. Twitter
Another Must-Carry Lawsuit Against YouTube Fails–Daniels v Alphabet
Newspaper Isn’t State Actor–Plotkin v. Astorian
An Account Suspension Case Fails Again–Perez v. LinkedIn
Are Social Media Services “State Actors” or “Common Carriers”?
Google and Twitter Defeat Lawsuit Over Account Suspensions/Terminations–DeLima v. Google
More Plaintiffs (and Lawyers) Need To Be Reminded That YouTube Isn’t a State Actor–Divino v. Google
Facebook Isn’t a Constructive Public Trust–Cameron Atkinson v. Facebook
Google and YouTube Aren’t “Censoring” Breitbart Comments–Belknap v. Alphabet
LinkedIn Isn’t a State Actor–Perez v. LinkedIn
Section 230 Preempts Another Facebook Account Termination Case–Zimmerman v. Facebook
Section 230 Ends Demonetized YouTuber’s Lawsuit–Lewis v. Google
Court Rejects Another Lawsuit Alleging that Internet Companies Suppress Conservative Views–Freedom Watch v. Google
Another Suspended Twitter User Loses in Court–Wilson v. Twitter
First Voters Reject Tulsi Gabbard, Then a Judge Does–Gabbard v. Google
YouTube Isn’t a State Actor (DUH)–PragerU v. Google
Facebook Still Isn’t Obligated to Publish Russian Troll Content–FAN v. Facebook
Vimeo Defeats Lawsuit for Terminating Account That Posted Conversion Therapy Videos–Domen v. Vimeo
Russia Fucked With American Democracy, But It Can’t Fuck With Section 230–Federal Agency of News v. Facebook
Private Publishers Aren’t State Actors–Manhattan Community Access v. Halleck
Your Periodic Reminder That Facebook Isn’t a State Actor–Williby v. Zuckerberg
Section 230 Protects Facebook’s Account and Content Restriction Decisions–Ebeid v. Facebook
Court Tosses Antitrust Claims That Internet Giants Are Biased Against Conservatives–Freedom Watch v. Google
Twitter Isn’t a Shopping Mall for First Amendment Purposes (Duh)–Johnson v. Twitter
YouTube Isn’t a Company Town (Duh)–Prager University v. Google
Facebook Defeats Lawsuit By User Suspended Over ‘Bowling Green Massacre’–Shulman v. Facebook
Yelp, Twitter and Facebook Aren’t State Actors–Quigley v. Yelp
Facebook Not Liable for Account Termination–Young v. Facebook
Online Game Network Isn’t Company Town–Estavillo v. Sony
Third Circuit Says Google Isn’t State Actor–Jayne v. Google Founders
Ask.com Not Liable for Search Results or Indexing Decisions–Murawski v. Pataki
Search Engines Defeat “Must-Carry” Lawsuit–Langdon v. Google
KinderStart Lawsuit Dismissed (With Leave to Amend)
ICANN Not a State Actor
The post Government Jawboning Doesn’t Turn Internet Services into State Actors–Doe v. Google appeared first on Technology & Marketing Law Blog.
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Poland’s Constitutional Tribunal on the status of EU law: The Polish government got all the answers it needed from a court it controls
On 7 October 2021, Poland’s Constitutional Tribunal declared Articles 1, 2 and 19 of the Treaty on European Union (TEU) to be partially unconstitutional. While the same Treaty provisions had previously been held compatible (see Case K 18/04) with the Polish Constitution, the composition of the Tribunal itself has since changed dramatically. Its latest decision, issued in response to an application from the Polish Prime Minister, by a panel composed of judges appointed in violation of the established procedure has twisted the wording of both the EU Treaty and the Polish Constitution to suit the government’s power struggle with the Court of Justice of the European Union (CJEU).
Background
Since the rise into power of the far-right PiS (Law and Justice) party in late 2015, Poland – alongside Hungary – has been clashing with the EU institutions on several fronts: there have been disputes on women’s rights and the rights of members of the LGBT+ community, the protection of the natural environment and, notably, the independence of the judiciary. While the Article 7 TEU procedure initiated against the two Member States has stalled due to the requirement of unanimity in the Council, the EU is currently exploring options of financial pressure, such as the so-called ‘conditionality mechanism’ or the suspension of the COVID-19 EU recovery fund. Simultaneously to these more recent developments, the most effective mechanism of guaranteeing the respect of EU values in Poland and Hungary has traditionally been the CJEU, specifically through the preliminary reference procedure.
The conflict between the CJEU and Poland escalated in March 2021 when the Grand Chamber delivered its judgment in Case C-824/18 regarding the appointment of judges to the Polish Supreme Court. The CJEU’s decision effectively set aside a ruling of Poland’s Constitutional Tribunal, reiterating that the effects of the principle of primacy of EU law were binding on all bodies of a Member State (paras 140-150). It was in response to this judgment that Poland’s Prime Minister, Mateusz Morawiecki, filed a request to the Constitutional Tribunal seeking an interpretation of Articles 1, 2 and 19 TEU. The final verdict was delivered on 7 October 2021, one day after the CJEU had dismissed Poland’s request to cancel its injunction ordering the Member State to suspend the recently established disciplinary regime for judges. This regime has already been deemed incompatible with EU law by the CJEU, notably because it exposes judges to disciplinary proceedings for filing a reference for a preliminary ruling to the Luxembourg court in accordance with Article 267 TFEU.
It must be noted that Poland’s Constitutional Tribunal is a judicial body whose primary competence is to scrutinise the constitutionality of legislation. In accordance with Article 194 of Poland’s 1997 Constitution, it is composed of 15 judges elected by the Parliament for a 9-year term. Back in 2015, shortly before the general election which brought about a change of government, the Parliament elected five judges to replace those whose term was about to expire. However, the President of Poland, Andrzej Duda, refused to swear them into office and, following the victory of PiS in the general election, the newly constituted Parliament elected new judges who were then sworn into office by the President within hours.
The packing of the Constitutional Tribunal has been subject to the scrutiny of the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR) in Xero Flor v Poland, decided in May 2021, where it held that the presence of Judge Mariusz Muszyński, one of the judges elected in 2015 by the new Parliament, constituted a violation of Article 6 of the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR) as regards the right to a tribunal established by law (paras 289-291). It is worth pointing out that the current President of the Constitutional Tribunal, Judge Julia Przyłębska, who is widely known to be a close friend of the PiS leader, Jarosław Kaczyński, was also among the five judges appointed in violation of Article 6 ECHR (right to a fair trial). Six years after the 2015 Constitutional Tribunal crisis and with a number of other judges appointed since by the ruling party, some of whom were active PiS politicians and Members of Parliament (MPs) prior to their appointment, the Constitutional Tribunal is widely considered to have lost independence from the executive, its reputation tarnished.
The Constitutional Tribunal’s ruling
The Constitutional Tribunal in its judgment in Case K 3/21, issued on 7 October 2021, ruled that Article 1 TEU, read in conjunction with Article 4(3) TEU, as well as Article 2 TEU and Article 19(1) TEU, is incompatible with the Polish Constitution. The case essentially concerned the jurisdiction of the CJEU and the principle of primacy of EU law. The latter principle, which is not laid down in the EU Treaties, dates back to the 1964 judgment in Costa v ENEL in which the Court of Justice famously held that in case of a conflict between a provision of then-Community law and domestic law, Community law shall prevail. While from the Court of Justice’s point of view, the principle of primacy is necessary to ensure the uniformity of EU law across the Union, Member States have found it challenging to reconcile with their own constitutional traditions. Notably, the German Federal Constitutional Court has over the years scrutinised the principle of primacy and its limits, starting from the famous Solange line of cases to its last year’s decision to set aside a CJEU judgment regarding the ECB’s decision on the Public Sector Purchase Programme, to which the Polish Prime Minister repeatedly referred to in his application to the Constitutional Tribunal.
The Polish Constitutional Tribunal has never recognised the primacy of EU law over the Constitution. In its judgment in K 18/04, delivered in May 2005, shortly after Poland’s accession to the EU, the Tribunal confirmed the Constitution’s supreme legal force, explaining that a possible collision between a constitutional norm and a provision of EU law may in no circumstances be resolved by assuming the supremacy of the EU norm. In October 2021, the judge-rapporteur of the Constitutional Tribunal referred to that part of the 2005 judgment in the oral motives of the latest decision.
In its October 2021 judgment, the Tribunal held that the first and the second subparagraphs of Article 1 TEU have allowed for a new stage of the European integration, whereby the EU institutions act beyond the limits of competences enshrined in the Treaties and transferred by Poland in accordance with Article 90 of the Polish Constitution. In particular, the Tribunal challenged the second subparagraph of Article 1 in which the TEU is described as marking ‘a new stage in the process of creating an ever closer union among the peoples of Europe’ . According to the judgment, a new stage of integration, in which the CJEU’s competences go beyond those conferred on the EU and is causing the Polish State to lose its sovereignty, is incompatible with Articles 2 and 8 of the Polish Constitution according to which the Republic of Poland is a democratic state, and the Constitution is its supreme law.
The Tribunal has further decided that Articles 2 and 19(1) TEU are inconsistent with the Polish Constitution insofar as they allow lower national courts and the Polish Supreme Court to disapply the Constitution, to set aside the rulings of the Constitutional Tribunal and to examine the legality of the procedure for the appointment of judges, which, according to the Tribunal, is outside the competences of the EU. The Tribunal argues that by deriving a right to examine the organisation and structure of a Member State’s judicial system from Article 19(1) TEU, the CJEU has essentially granted itself a new competence. According to the Tribunal, this competence may by no means be derived from Article 2 TEU which is a list of values of merely ‘axiological significance’ as opposed to setting clear rules.
Commentary
Notwithstanding its political implications or the doubts regarding the Constitutional Tribunal’s legitimacy in light of the above-discussed court-packing procedure, it must be observed that in the verdict of 6 October 2021, the Tribunal has manifestly erred in the interpretation of both the Polish Constitution and the TEU. While the 2005 judgment of the Constitutional Tribunal, indeed, rejected the principle of primacy of EU law, it also ruled that the EU Treaties were compatible with the Polish Constitution. Having scrutinised a number of EU law provisions in response to a reference from a group of opposition MPs challenging Poland’s membership in the EU, including Articles 1, 2 and 19 TEU, the Tribunal had already confirmed their compliance with the Constitution back in 2005. Subsequent rulings of the Polish Tribunal, notably those delivered following the adoption of the Treaty of Lisbon (K 32/09 and SK 45/09), reiterated the status quo in this respect. As the wording of the Treaties has not changed since, and neither has that of the Polish Constitution, the 2021 application from the Prime Minister should, therefore, have been declared inadmissible as the same matter had already been dealt with by the Constitutional Tribunal.
The 2021 judgment has been heavily criticised in a joint statement issued by 26 retired judges of the Constitutional Tribunal, including four former Presidents of the Tribunal, who argued that the judgment’s real aim was not to ensure the supremacy of the Polish Constitution. This view was echoed in Judge Piotr Pszczółkowski’s dissenting opinion – one of two delivered with the judgment of 6 October 2021 – who held that the application only formally sought an interpretation of the TEU. Indeed, it appears that what Prime Minister Morawiecki was really looking for – and what he ended up receiving from the Tribunal – was the green light to set aside a number of CJEU judgments that the government does not intend to implement. This, however, is outside the competences of the Constitutional Tribunal, laid down in Article 188 of the Polish Constitution, according to which the Tribunal may control the conformity of international agreements with the Constitution, but not that of judgments issued by international courts.
Furthermore, in the 2021 judgment, the Constitutional Tribunal has not only stepped outside its own competences, but also outside the scope of the Prime Minister’s application. The alleged incompatibility with the Polish Constitution transpired, according to the Tribunal, from the fact that EU law provides a mechanism for ordinary courts to disapply the Constitution. With this statement, the Tribunal has clearly challenged the preliminary reference procedure laid down in Article 267 TFEU, which had not been questioned by the applicant. This has effectively given the Polish government a carte blanche to disregard CJEU decisions issued in response to preliminary references made by Polish courts. This puts a serious question mark over the relationship between the EU and a Member State that, while not intending to leave, is ‘cherry-picking’ the EU law commitments it wants to fulfil.
Lastly, it is worth emphasising that the alleged conflict between the EU law and the Polish Constitution was driven solely by the government and the politically-controlled Constitutional Tribunal. In reality, there is no conflict between the TEU and the Polish Constitution. According to Article 45 of the Polish Constitution, all courts shall be independent and impartial and, as discussed above, the Constitutional Tribunal is currently neither independent nor impartial. Thus, not only has the CJEU in its case law pointed out the violations of EU law by Poland, but has also (indirectly) highlighted the Member State’s violation of its own Constitution.
Conclusion
The President of the European Commission, Ursula von der Leyen, responded to the Polish ruling with a statement vowing to use all Treaty powers available to ensure the principle of primacy. The Polish judgment has been widely criticised by many Member States and considered by some as a nuclear option that may ultimately lead to ‘Polexit’. Indeed, as was held by the Constitutional Tribunal in the above-mentioned 2005 ruling, a potential conflict between the Polish Constitution and EU law may only be resolved in three ways: by changing the provision of EU law at issue, by amending the Constitution, or by withdrawing from the EU. The first two solutions are not an option in the current circumstances. The Polish government would need to bring about a change of the fundamental provisions of the TEU (Articles 1, 2, 19) on which the EU legal system is built, which clearly is not in the interest of the other Member States.
Mr Morawiecki’s government also does not intend to amend the Polish Constitution and, quite frankly, there is no need to do it. As this post argues, there is in fact no conflict between the EU Treaties and the Polish Constitution. The third option – withdrawing from the EU – is also not a solution. According to a recent opinion poll, 8 out of every 10 Poles want the country to remain within the EU, and the October judgment of the Constitutional Tribunal sparked a mass protest across Poland with a crowd of 100,000 protesters gathering in Warsaw alone. This shows that there is currently no public support for the government to initiate a withdrawal procedure. Prime Minister Morawiecki, whose party’s ratings now stand at around 30-35%, has since categorically denied any intention to withdraw from the EU and appears not to realise the implications of the judgment.
By insisting on the incompatibility of the Polish Constitution with EU law, and having received confirmation of this from the Constitutional Tribunal, Mr. Morawiecki’s government appears to be boxing itself into a corner of having to choose between these three impossible options.
Poland’s Constitutional Tribunal on the status of EU law: The Polish government got all the answers it needed from a court it controls published first on https://immigrationlawyerto.weebly.com/
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Justice should not be blind to something that is obvious to everyone else – An Analysis of Advocate General Bobek’s Opinion in Nord Stream 2
The Nord Stream 2 pipeline is an offshore import pipeline designed to transmit significant volumes of natural gas from Russia to a landing point in Germany. Over the last years, the European Commission has made various attempts to complicate the realization of the Nord Stream 2 project. There were various reasons for the Commission to try to complicate the project, but primarily this was driven by Eastern European and Baltic States to herd off perceived overreliance of the EU on Russian energy imports. First, the Commission argued that the Gas Market Directive applied to offshore pipelines like Nord Stream 2. This would have meant that new regulatory constraints would be imposed on the pipeline with significant impact on the project financing as well as ownership and operation of the pipeline. When the Commission legal service confirmed the academic consensus that this was not the case, the Commission changed its strategy. It suggested that an intergovernmental agreement between the EU and Russia that would extend the application of the ‘principles of EU energy law’ to the pipeline was necessary. When the Council legal service found the key factual claims to be wrong and the legal positions by the Commission untenable, the Commission then suggested that an amendment to the Gas Market Directive was needed. Ultimately, this culminated in the suggested amendment to the Gas Market Directive. By the time the Commission first proposed this amendment, the final investment decision for around EUR 8 billion had been taken and significant investments into North Stream 2 had already been made.
The proposed amendment specifically intended to modify the definition of an ‘interconnector’ under Article 2 of the Gas Market Directive in order to extend the scope of the Gas Market Directive, and all the other instruments of EU energy law that follow, to the border of the territorial sea of the Member State. Prior to this, all gas volumes transported through import pipelines bringing gas to the EU were subject to EU gas market regulation at their landing terminal at the coast. While the physical structures of the pipelines remain unchanged, the legal, operational and economic impacts on affected operators are considerable. However, in practice the number of affected pipeline operators is limited to a single pipeline, Nord Stream 2, due to the derogation regime ushered in the amending Directive.
Nord Stream 2 challenged this amendment before the General Court and asked the Court to annul the amendment in its entirety due to its alleged discriminatory effect. On 20 May 2020, the General Court made an order dismissing the claim. In essence, the General Court did not hear the case on substance as it held that the applicant did not meet the criteria for standing under Article 263 TFEU because the EU act challenged is a directive that requires national implementation (paras. 106 – 108). This in turn, according to the General Court, implies that there is no ‘direct concern’. The applicant brought an appeal against this order. The case in front of the Court of Justice of the European Union (CJEU) hence concerns the standing of an individual applicant to bring a direct action for annulment of a legislative act under EU law. Natural and legal persons have to meet the requirements under Article 263 TFEU in order to establish standing to take direct action before the CJEU. The case at hand concerns a legislative act. For this category of acts, a private person needs to show either that the act is addressed to him or her, or that the act is (otherwise) of (1) direct, and (2) individual concern. In his recently published Opinion in case C-348/20 P, Nord Stream 2 AG v European Parliament and Council of the European Union, Advocate General Bobek stood with the applicant and suggested for the ECJ to accept the applicant’s legal standing. This case note wishes to shed light on Advocate General Bobek’s opinion and consider its broader implications.
The Opinion
The Opinion of the Advocate General focuses on two important and distinct issues of a procedural nature: (1) Can an individual be directly concerned, within the meaning of Article 263 TFEU, by a directive? (2) What considerations should guide the assessment of the admissibility of written evidence produced by the parties in proceedings before the EU Courts, in particular the admissibility of internal documents of the EU institutions?
Direct concern
Advocate General Bobek commences his Opinion by strongly criticising the basic premise of the General Court’s decision: the contested measure cannot be of direct concern to the appellant because it is a directive. This premise, according to the Advocate General, is not only contrary to the established case-law of the CJEU but also excludes the standing of individual applicants in all cases concerning a directive (paras. 35-58). Instead, Advocate General Bobek argues that the amendment to the directive is capable of producing legal effects by extending the scope of application of the latter to situations and addressees not previously caught by this Directive. In light of the fact that the applicant henceforth falls inside the new scope of application its legal position is clearly altered – it became subject to a detailed body of rules, which governs its activities. The question that follows is whether this impact stems from the Directive or the national implementation measures (para. 42).
The General Court excluded direct concern on the ground that the provisions of the amendment required implementing measures at national level (para. 116). The Court’s arguments revolved around the theoretical possibility of applying an exemption under Article 36 of the Gas Market Directive for major new infrastructure or taking advantage of the possibility of a derogation under its Article 49a for pipelines completed before 23 May 2019 (paras. 114-115). These can allow certain qualified infrastructure projects to escape the requirements of EU energy law (including unbundling, third-party access and tariff regulation).
Advocate General Bobek emphasizes that genuine discretion on the part of the national authorities is required in order for these options to have any bearing on the question of direct concern (para. 72). The fact that a directive provides for exemption- or derogation possibilities that an individual undertaking may take advantage of in certain situations does not mean that direct concern is excluded. Whereas these possibilities do give some leeway to national authorities to grant an exemption or a derogation to certain operators, that is not the case in respect of the appellant (para. 75). In that regard, the (in)applicability of those provisions is entirely pre-determined by the EU rules. In this case, the EU legislature decided that (1) the derogation is only applicable to gas transmission lines between a Member State and a third country ‘completed before 23 May 2019’, and (2) the exemption is only available to major infrastructure projects in respect of which no final investment decision has been taken. At the time of the adoption of the amendment (17 April 2019), the Nord Stream 2 pipeline had passed the pre-investment stage, but was not going to be completed, let alone operational, before 23 May 2019 (para. 74). Therefore, the Advocate General finds that these derogations could in any case not be applied to North Stream 2 and accordingly the national implementing authority did effectively not have discretion to apply the derogations.
Whereas the General Court had found a second source of implementation discretion in Article 9 of the Directive, Advocate General Bobek does again not agree with this finding. The amendment had extended the unbundling obligations under Article 9. According to the General Court however the extension did not follow from the amendment, since Member States were allowed to provide two alternatives to full ownership unbundling: the ‘independent system operator’ (ISO) model or the ‘independent transmission operator’ (ITO) model provided for in the Gas Market Directive (para. 91). However, the Opinion correctly notes that the fact that three options are available for unbundling is irrelevant (para. 78). The point is that regardless of the option ultimately chosen by the national authorities, the appellant’s legal position will inevitably be altered, and regardless of the differences between those three models, each requires a transfer of ownership and/or of the operation of the pipeline or part thereof, thus obliging the appellant to alter its corporate structure (para. 80).
Furthermore, the Advocate General specifically notes that the General Court failed to discuss the rules regarding third-party access and tariff regulation as creating a further change to the legal position of Nord Stream 2. By virtue of those provisions, the appellant will, to the extent envisaged by them, be legally precluded from acting as a normal market operator that is free to choose its customers and pricing policy. The appellant will thus face a number of new regulatory constraints that limit its right to property and the freedom to conduct a business (para. 96). Throughout its submissions before the General Court, the appellant consistently referred to the effects from the application of these other rules (para. 87). The General Court acknowledged this but nonetheless rejected the requirement of direct concern by looking only at provisions on unbundling. Had the Court properly assessed the provisions on third-party access and tariff regulation, it would have come to the conclusion that those provisions also directly affect the appellant (para. 92).
Individual concern
Advocate General Bobek then continues to find that not only is the amendment of direct concern to the applicant, it is also of individual concern. The leading case in this area to date is Plaumann, in which the Court explained:
‘[P]ersons other than those to whom a decision is addressed may only claim to be individually concerned if that decision affects them by reason of certain attributes which are peculiar to them or by reason of circumstances in which they are differentiated from all other persons and by virtue of these factors distinguishes them individually just as in the case of the person addressed.’
The Advocate General applied this test to the case and supported the existence of an individual concern through four central arguments. (1) The appellant is the only company belonging to that (purely theoretical) group of individuals affected by the contested measure (para 194). (2) In light of its factual situation, the appellant was in a unique position vis-à-vis the amendment. In fact, the Opinion notes that it can hardly be disputed that only the appellant was in that position when the measure was adopted. No other company will ever be in that position in the future (para. 196). (3) Not only were the EU institutions aware that, by virtue of the amendment, the appellant was going to be subject to the newly established legal regime, but they acted with the very intention of subjecting the appellant to that new regime (para. 197). (4) Given the advanced stage in the construction of the project and the investment already made at the time of adoption of the amendment, it is evident that the adoption of amendment requires the appellant to introduce profound changes to its corporate and financial structure and to its business model (para. 199).
According to Advocate General Bobek, it follows from this analysis, and from the fact that the conditions for standing under Article 263 TFEU are therefore fulfilled, that the ECJ should set aside the General Court’s Order and declare the action for annulment admissible.
Admissibility of evidence
Interestingly, Advocate General Bobek further criticized that in terms of admissibility of evidence in the case, the General Court blindly relied on the provisions of Regulation No 1049/2001 and refused to consider evidence relating to the objective of the amendment, which eventually led that court to err in law (para. 153). However, more importantly for this case, the Advocate General also suggested that the refused documents are not relevant in showing the true intent of the EU institutions in targeting the appellant as the same information can be found in the public domain (paras. 175 and 178).
It is clear, as the Advocate General Bobek finds, that the extension of the EU Gas Market Directive to the activities of the appellant was the reason that prompted the EU institutions to adopt the amendment. Information to this effect is widely available. The Order from the General Court completely ignores this reality. In the words of Advocate General Bobek: ‘Justice is often depicted as being blind. However, at least in my recollection, that allegory is not meant to be interpreted as Justice being unable to see something that is blindingly obvious to everyone else’ (paras. 197-198).
It is a peculiar suggestion that a Court should ignore what is common knowledge and readily available information. If the Court was restricted to documents permissible under Regulation 1049/2001, the institutions would have it in their hands to only release the documents that suit them (para. 140). Should the only court entitled to fully monitor the EU institutions really be left with the same level of access to information when performing that task as any other Tom, Dick, and Harry? (para.140).
Comment
The Court has consistently held that it is possible for an individual to bring an action for annulment against a directive. Despite this recognition, it has been hesitant to accept this in practice. Clearly, what is required in order to meet the high threshold set by the CJEU is that the facts of a case must be highly unusual. Nord Stream 2 AG v European Parliament and Council of the European Union offers just that: a highly unusual case. The actions of EU institutions in this case have been extraordinary.
The strength of the Opinion lies in its practical approach to the case simply and convincingly applying the existing criteria for direct and individual concern based on the facts of the case. Its approach is in stark contrast to the order made by the General Court. The arguments put forward by Advocate General Bobek in favour of admissibility are convincing and it will likely be difficult for the Court to ignore them.
As to the question of admissibility of evidence, one relevant question is whether the Court should ignore the reality and limit itself to reviewing only officially released documents, even when it is clear that the picture painted in those documents does not reflect the reality? Would the Court not just become an enabler to those with political power?
Justice should not be blind to something that is obvious to everyone else – An Analysis of Advocate General Bobek’s Opinion in Nord Stream 2 published first on https://immigrationlawyerto.weebly.com/
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Anti-Zionist Loses Lawsuit Over Social Media Account Suspensions–Martillo v. Facebook
Martillo claims that six social media services suspended his accounts because he is an anti-Zionist. He sued for Title II discrimination. The court responds: “the defendants’ social media platforms are not places of ‘public accommodation.’ The statutory definition of a ‘public accommodation’ cannot be interpreted to include a virtual meeting place.” Cites to Lewis v. Google and Noah v. AOL (from nearly 20 years ago! Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose).
Martillo also sued for violations of Massachusetts’ common carrier law. The court responds simply: “The defendants are not common carriers of ‘merchandise or other property’ for purposes of this 1869 law.”
The court adds that both the Title II and common carrier claims, if otherwise meritorious, would be preempted by Section 230. The court says simply: “The defendants’ alleged blocking of content posted by Martillo and disabling of his account are editorial decisions protected by the CDA.” Cites to Sikhs for Justice v. Facebook and Langdon v. Google. However, as the court made clear, this case would have failed even without relying on Section 230.
Reminder: dozens of online account termination and content removal lawsuits have failed. Add this one (and the bonus below) to the list.
Case citation: Martillo v. Twitter, Inc., 1:21-cv-11119-RGS (D. Mass. Oct. 15, 2021)
BONUS: Bethune v. Facebook Inc., 0:21-cv-02118-NEB-HB (D. Minn. Oct. 15, 2021): Bethune wants $222 billion in damages because Facebook shut down his page. He sued for violations of 18 U.S.C. § 249, 18 U.S.C. § 242, and 18 U.S.C. § 371, none of which have a private right of action. He also brought a 1983 claim. The court says simply: “Neither Facebook nor Zuckerberg is alleged, or can plausibly be alleged, to be a ‘state actor’ within the meaning of § 1983.” Cite to Prager U. v. Google.
Selected Related Posts About State Action Claims
Court Nopes Another Lawsuit Over Facebook Suspensions–Orders v. Facebook
Facebook Defeats Lawsuit By Publishers of Vaccine (Mis?)information–Children’s Health Defense v. Facebook
Court Rejects Lawsuit Alleging YouTube Engaged in Racially Biased Content Moderation–Newman v. Google
Yet Another Court Says Facebook Isn’t a State Actor–Brock v. Zuckerberg
YouTube (Again) Defeats Lawsuit Over Content Removal–Lewis v. Google
When It Came to @RealDonaldTrump, Twitter Couldn’t Please Everyone–Rutenberg v. Twitter
Another Must-Carry Lawsuit Against YouTube Fails–Daniels v Alphabet
Newspaper Isn’t State Actor–Plotkin v. Astorian
An Account Suspension Case Fails Again–Perez v. LinkedIn
Are Social Media Services “State Actors” or “Common Carriers”?
Google and Twitter Defeat Lawsuit Over Account Suspensions/Terminations–DeLima v. Google
More Plaintiffs (and Lawyers) Need To Be Reminded That YouTube Isn’t a State Actor–Divino v. Google
Facebook Isn’t a Constructive Public Trust–Cameron Atkinson v. Facebook
Google and YouTube Aren’t “Censoring” Breitbart Comments–Belknap v. Alphabet
LinkedIn Isn’t a State Actor–Perez v. LinkedIn
Section 230 Preempts Another Facebook Account Termination Case–Zimmerman v. Facebook
Section 230 Ends Demonetized YouTuber’s Lawsuit–Lewis v. Google
Court Rejects Another Lawsuit Alleging that Internet Companies Suppress Conservative Views–Freedom Watch v. Google
Another Suspended Twitter User Loses in Court–Wilson v. Twitter
First Voters Reject Tulsi Gabbard, Then a Judge Does–Gabbard v. Google
YouTube Isn’t a State Actor (DUH)–PragerU v. Google
Facebook Still Isn’t Obligated to Publish Russian Troll Content–FAN v. Facebook
Vimeo Defeats Lawsuit for Terminating Account That Posted Conversion Therapy Videos–Domen v. Vimeo
Russia Fucked With American Democracy, But It Can’t Fuck With Section 230–Federal Agency of News v. Facebook
Private Publishers Aren’t State Actors–Manhattan Community Access v. Halleck
Your Periodic Reminder That Facebook Isn’t a State Actor–Williby v. Zuckerberg
Section 230 Protects Facebook’s Account and Content Restriction Decisions–Ebeid v. Facebook
Court Tosses Antitrust Claims That Internet Giants Are Biased Against Conservatives–Freedom Watch v. Google
Twitter Isn’t a Shopping Mall for First Amendment Purposes (Duh)–Johnson v. Twitter
YouTube Isn’t a Company Town (Duh)–Prager University v. Google
Facebook Defeats Lawsuit By User Suspended Over ‘Bowling Green Massacre’–Shulman v. Facebook
Yelp, Twitter and Facebook Aren’t State Actors–Quigley v. Yelp
Facebook Not Liable for Account Termination–Young v. Facebook
Online Game Network Isn’t Company Town–Estavillo v. Sony
Third Circuit Says Google Isn’t State Actor–Jayne v. Google Founders
Ask.com Not Liable for Search Results or Indexing Decisions–Murawski v. Pataki
Search Engines Defeat “Must-Carry” Lawsuit–Langdon v. Google
KinderStart Lawsuit Dismissed (With Leave to Amend)
ICANN Not a State Actor
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If “Trespass to Chattels” Isn’t Limited to “Chattels,” Anarchy Ensues–Best Carpet Values v. Google
Trigger warning: this is a terrible opinion. Let’s hope the judge corrects his errors or that the appeals court does it for him.
* * *
This opinion addresses a venerable issue in Internet Law: can a website control how visitors see its web pages? I first remember this issue flaring up in the late 1990s when Third Voice, a browser plug-in, let users write commentary “over” third-party websites. That sparked angst among website operators who couldn’t control what users were saying about them in the Third Voice frame. Third Voice was followed by adware vendors such as AllAdvantage, which framed third-party websites, displayed ads in the frame, and shared some ad revenue with users (its tagline: “Get Paid to Surf the Web”). Gator, WhenU, and other adware vendors followed. By its nature, adware changes the screen display of the sites users are visiting. A series of lawsuits from two decades ago covered some important ground regarding the ability of website owners to block adware. Wells Fargo v. WhenU concluded that copyright was a dead-end. 1-800 Contacts v. WhenU concluded that trademarks was a dead-end. Nevertheless, because adware often provided poor consumer experiences, adware largely fizzled out by 2010. As a result, the legal issues rarely are litigated any more.
* * *
The court approaches this case like it’s an adware case, but the court never once uses the term. The issue is that Google incorporated a new feature into its Android software. You can see how it modified a website’s display in these before/after screenshots (the component at issue is the “view 15 related pages” bar on the bottom right):
As you can see, the new bar covers up the “cove base” line. If a user selects the up arrow, a new screen covers up most of the web page and displays links to rival vendors:
Google has since dropped this feature.
The plaintiffs alleged that the prior screenshot contains ads, which turns this case into an adware case. But the screenshot doesn’t label the listings as “ads,” so either Google uncharacteristically cut that corner or these listings are organic search results, and this isn’t an adware case at all. I’m going to characterize Google’s feature as an “adware bar” because the court accepts the plaintiffs’ allegations as true on a motion to dismiss, but I wonder if that characterization will withstand further scrutiny.
Underlying this litigation is an epistemological question: what does a “canonical” version of a web page look like? Every browser software makes its own choices about how to render a page; every browser software “frames” every web page with its software features; and every browser software lets users configure the display in ways that affect website owners’ expectations. As just one example of the latter point, browser software programs let users magnify or shrink the display size, so what appears above/below the fold critically depends on user configuration, not just the website operator’s choices.
For this reason, if courts want to assess the veracity of the plaintiffs’ claim that the “cove base” link gets covered up, judges must assume how a canonical version of a web page appears. For example, in the “before” image above, the court doesn’t explain the source of the screenshot, what technological conditions it reflects, and how often those conditions will hold in the field. Thus, a court’s hypothesis may have no grounding in reality. It also strips users of their own agency to decide what browsing tools best serve their needs and how best to configure those tools.
* * *
In this lawsuit, the plaintiffs aren’t suing Google for violating their copyrights or trademarks. With respect to copyright, the court says: “Plaintiffs do not rely on copyright protection for their websites in pleading their claim…Plaintiffs are not asserting infringement of any right to the reproduction, performance, distribution, or display of their websites. Plaintiffs want and expect Google to copy and display their websites in Chrome browser and Search App, and acknowledge that Google has license to do so.”
Wait, what? We need to know more about this license. If a website “permits” browser software to display them (assuming such permission is even required in the first place, and assuming that permission isn’t automatically granted by connecting the website to the web), then a website can’t control the browser software configurations. It seems like this license could be dispositive to the case, but the court doesn’t explore it more.
Trespass to Chattels
The plaintiffs instead claim that the adware bar constitutes a trespass to chattels. However, Google’s adware bar never interacts with the plaintiffs’ physical servers at all. As the court says, “None of Plaintiffs’ websites, files, or data were physically altered in any way. Nor were Plaintiffs’ servers disrupted.” Instead, the adware bar’s display customization takes place solely on the user’s device, supplementing how the code renders on the device. So the “chattel” at issue here isn’t the website operator’s servers; it’s the HTML code that the website operators send to each user’s device (and gave Google permission to display).
If the “chattel” at issue is only the intangible HTML code, then no “chattels” are being trespassed. It’s not possible to “trespass” an intangible asset; any legal protection for the asset comes from contract law (but the plaintiffs gave a license) or IP law, such as copyright law, which the plaintiffs aren’t invoking. Thus, given that “intangible chattel” is a legal oxymoron, a lawsuit over “trespassing HTML code” should fail hard. It didn’t.
Citing a 2003 Ninth Circuit case, Kremen v. Cohen, the court says “a website can be the subject of a trespass to chattels claim.” This abstract statement requires more clarification. The Kremen case involved the alleged theft of the sex.com domain name by improperly modifying the electronic records evidencing ownership of the domain name. The Ninth Circuit held that the intangible asset (the domain name) could be “converted,” even though normally conversion only applies to chattel (i.e., physical property), not intangibles. We need legal doctrines to redress the improper hijacking of the monetary value of owning a domain name, just like we would redress the improper acquisition of monetary value stored in an online bank or cryptocurrency account. Thus, other cases have applied conversion law to alleged theft of domain name registrations (e.g., CRS v. Laxton).
But the Kremen case didn’t say that all of a website’s intangible assets are like tangible assets. If it had, it would have eliminated the distinctions between IP law and the law of chattels.
So when this court says “Plaintiffs have property rights to their websites for the same reasons a registrant has property rights to a domain name,” I have no idea what it means. A website can sometimes control access to its servers (see the Van Buren case). A website can own the copyrights to the HTML code and the files that users download. Website owners can prevent the unauthorized reassignment of their ownership interests, such as someone trying to modify their copyright registration records. But the broad statement “property rights to their websites” is mostly wrong.
To find the HTML code’s physicality necessary to treat it like a chattel, the court makes this garbled statement:
like a domain name, a website is a form of intangible property that has a connection to an electronic document. “A website is a digital document built with software and housed on a computer called a ‘web server,’ which is owned or controlled in part by the website’s owner. website occupies physical space on the web server, which can host many other documents as well.” Compl. ¶ 34. Plaintiffs’ website is also connected to the DNS through its domain name, bestcarpetvalue.com, just as Kremen’s domain name was connected to the DNS.
This is very, very confused. My copyrighted works may be printed on physical pages, but that doesn’t mean a third-party’s encroachment into my intangible copyrights becomes trespass to chattels. That’s the purview of copyright–or not restricted at all. And the linkage to the domain name record is nonsensical because the domain name wasn’t “taken,” and indeed the website operator gave a license to display it. The court even acknowledges that its line of logic has been rejected before:
After Kremen, the California Court of Appeal, Sixth Appellate District, noted that conversion traditionally required a taking of tangible property and that “this restriction has been greatly eroded,” but not “destroyed.” Silvaco Data Sys. v. Intel Corp., 184 Cal. App. 4th 210, 239 n.21 (2010). The Silvaco court also cautioned that “the expansion of conversion law to reach intangible property should not be permitted to ‘displace other, more suitable law.’” As discussed above, however, Plaintiffs’ websites have a connection to a tangible object.
Having accepted the core fallacy of the plaintiffs’ claims, the court makes unhelpful statements like “trespass to chattels ought to apply to a website, and several courts have so found.” The first half of the sentence isn’t in contention; everyone agrees that trespass to chattels can protect a website’s servers (not at issue in this case). Some of the cited precedent do not involve applying trespass to chattels only to intangible code. Some courts have in fact done this (not all of which the court cited), but those cases are overwhelmed by precedent rejecting the point. The court disregards Google’s citations those cases, breezily saying “Other cases cited by Google do not discuss the distinction between tangible and intangible property and offer little guidance.” (That critique might apply to this opinion, too).
Having satisfied itself that “a website is a form of intangible property subject to the tort of trespass to chattels,” the court next turns to harm. The court ignores the plainly stated and impossible-to-miss holding of Intel v. Hamidi, which says that common law trespass to chattels is actionable only when electronic signals cause or threaten to cause measurable loss to computer system resources. The plaintiffs can’t possibly prove any harm to any computer system resources.
Instead, the court cites a different part of the Hamidi opinion saying that Intel didn’t show any “physical or functional harm or disruption” to its computer systems. The court proceeds: “although Plaintiffs are not alleging physical harm to their websites, they do allege functional harm or disruption.” HOLD ON. The plaintiffs may claim “functional harm or disruption,” but the complete test is functional harm or disruption…TO THEIR COMPUTER SYSTEMS. By omitting those words, the court dramatically and improperly expands the test. Seriously, it’s impossible to read the Intel v. Hamidi opinion and miss the majority’s point that not all intangible harms count; only harms to COMPUTER SYSTEM RESOURCES count.
The court says the plaintiffs sufficiently alleged “functional disruption” by claiming that Google’s ads “obscured and blocked their websites, which if true, would interfere with and impair their websites’ published output. Although Google’s ad may not have disabled or deactivated the ‘Cove Base’ product link, it nevertheless allegedly impaired the functionality of the website: an Android phone user cannot engage a link that cannot be seen.” But “published output” isn’t a computer system resource, and an “obscured link” assumes what the hypothetical canonical website looks like.
Implied-in-Law Contract/Unjust Enrichment
Given that the plaintiffs granted a license to Google to display its site, I don’t know what this claim could possibly cover. Google responds that whatever it means, it’s preempted by copyright law. Google’s position seems reasonable given that this claim wades squarely into copyright’s realm. The adware cases from 2 decades ago rejected copyright claims in virtually identical facts; and there are the old copyright cases involving things like adding ads to pre-manufactured videos. Not surprisingly, this judge finds a way around that too.
The court summarizes that “Google allegedly covered up or obscured a portion of Plaintiffs’ websites from Android phone users for financial benefit, which makes their claim ‘qualitatively different’ from a copyright claim.” No, that’s exactly what the derivative work right covers, and it’s the exact issue litigated in the old WhenU cases. To get around this, the plaintiffs argued:
Google could not in the brick-and-mortar marketplace lawfully plant its logo on Plaintiffs’ storefront windows without Plaintiffs’ consent, even if Google owned their buildings. Nor could Google place ads in Plaintiffs’ marketing brochures or superimpose ads on top of Plaintiffs’ print advertisements without Plaintiffs’ permission and without paying Plaintiffs’ price. Likewise, Google cannot in the online marketplace unilaterally superimpose ads on Plaintiffs’ website without Plaintiffs’ consent and without compensation just because Google makes the software through which Android users view that website on their mobile screens…
a storefront business owner is injured when its window is obscured, regardless of whether that window is clear or covered with advertisements. By analogy, a website owner is injured when its website is obscured by unwanted ads, regardless of the content displayed in the website.
Are we really doing this again? I agree Google can’t unilaterally stick its logos onto a physical retailer’s windows…because THAT WOULD BE REAL PROPERTY TRESPASS. I’m not sure what law prevents Google from placing ads over marketing brochures or print ads OTHER THAN COPYRIGHT LAW (or possibly trademark law–but at this point, what does any of this have to do with IMPLIED-IN-LAW CONTRACTS?). And there are many other forms of competitive marketing adjacencies that are fully permissible in the offline/physical space world, as I documented over a decade ago in my Brand Spillovers paper.
Plus, let’s not lose sight of the users’ agency–they are the ones responding to the marketing signals. They aren’t passive automatons in this equation. My Deregulating Relevancy article from 15 years ago explains that principle more.
First Amendment
There is some discussion about the First Amendment, but it’s so terrible that I can’t bring myself to blog it. To summarize: the court seems to be saying that the plaintiffs can suppress truthful non-misleading advertising without relying on any intellectual property rights (and without any countervailing public policy doctrines, like fair use). That can’t possibly be right.
Implications
As you can see, the court creates a distorted pastiche of the precedent to reach an obviously wrong and wholly counterintuitive outcome.
In particular, the court’s mangled summaries, like “Plaintiffs have property rights to their websites” and “a website is a form of intangible property subject to the tort of trespass to chattels,” cannot survive critical scrutiny. What is the point of calling it “trespass to CHATTELS” if no actual chattels are harmed? In that circumstance, the trespass to “chattels” doctrine becomes a boundary-less “commercial trespass to intangibles” concept that both lacks any precedent and conflicts with the entire system of IP.
A boundary-less commercial trespass doctrine creates plenty of problematic edge cases:
By design, ad blockers block portions of how websites display. (The websites can’t claim copyrights in third-party ads, but this court wasn’t considering copyright anyways). How would the court’s “commercial trespass” doctrine apply to ad blockers? Indeed, unlike Google’s browser software, many websites expressly contractually ban ad blockers.
What about updates of browser software? By definition, those updates change the previous website renderings to a new website rendering. If any website prefers the old rendering to the new, can it sue the browser software for commercial trespass?
Browser software programs allow users to resize their windows. Commercial trespass?
Phone manufacturers create different screen sizes. If this cuts off “cove base” from being above the fold, liability?
This case brought to mind the Edible Arrangements v. Google lawsuit in Georgia (also not cited by the court). In that case, the trademark owner claimed that Google committed theft/conversion by selling its trademark for keyword advertising purposes. Unlike this court, the Georgia appellate court rejected the theft/conversion analysis. Weirdly, though, the Georgia Supreme Court granted a petition to hear the case, so who knows anything any more?
Case citation: Best Carpet Values Inc. v. Google LLC, 5:20-cv-04700 (N.D. Cal. Sept. 24, 2021)
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Lee Marsons: Constitutional change in an era of incrementalism: Launching Public law Project’s UK constitutional reform tracker
We are living in constitutionally eventful times. From the prorogation of Parliament, Brexit and the Northern Ireland Protocol, the Independent Review of Administrative Law, the Independent Human Rights Act Review, the Nationality and Borders Bill, the Judicial Review and Courts Bill, or multiple stories surrounding the ministerial code, this is a time of ongoing constitutional importance, tension, and change. It is difficult to keep up, even for those who are experts.
But these changes are not being approached in a unified way under a single Bill, review, or commission. The grand Commission on the Constitution, Democracy and Rights – promised in the Conservative Party’s 2019 manifesto – is no more. Instead, policies which have constitutional implications are being pursued at different times by different departments in different ways to achieve different objectives. This makes it difficult to track what is going on, in which department, why it is important, how it interrelates with other changes, and what its broader or longer-term implications might be. “Incremental” is the buzzword of the day, with ministers “eating the elephant in chunks”. This also means that much of the change produced may not even be intentional. It may be the unexpected consequence of a series of measures taken together over time.
For these reasons, Public Law Project is today launching a UK constitutional reform tracker, available here. The tracker is a tool designed to help users keep up to date with constitutionally significant events and perceive important patterns as they emerge by categorising these events according to constitutional theme. During this project, PLP has worked closely with the Bingham Centre for the Rule of Law, the Bonavero Institute of Human Rights, the Constitution Unit, the Institute for Government, and the UK Administrative Justice Institute. The initial phase of development has been led by PLP Research Fellow, Lee Marsons, and PLP Research Assistant, Mustaqim Iqbal.
How does the tracker help?
The tracker does two important things.
The first is to provide a chronological list of constitutionally important events under the current administration beginning 24 July 2019. We have taken this date as our starting point given that it makes most sense to be interested in constitutional developments under the government currently in office, rather than any previous administrations. Given that the current constitutional reform trend is not exclusively legislative in some areas, these important events include not only primary legislation but also secondary or delegated legislation issued by Ministers, policy papers, parliamentary motions, ministerial statements, government speeches and announcements, public appointments, administrative practices, and key cases from the courts associated with these things. The purpose is to highlight events that may otherwise be obscure or missed.
The second important feature is to make every one of these entries searchable by various tags and sub-tags. Currently the major tags are: Parliament; Courts; Ethics, standards and integrity; Human rights and equality; Devolution and the Union; Civil service and public sector reform; and Rule of law. Entries are also identifiable with a wide range of sub-tags for users with more specific interests in these general themes. For example, the “Parliament” theme contains sub-tags including “hybrid proceedings”, “standing orders”, and “committees”. The “Courts” theme contains sub-tags including “judicial review”, “ouster clauses”, and “tribunals”. The “Civil service and public sector reform” theme contains sub-tags including “new public bodies”, “special advisors”, “public body appointments”, and “relocation”.
Users can also search for entries related to particular central government departments (e.g. “Home Office”, “Ministry of Justice”, or “Department for Digital, Culture, Media and Sport”) and entries related either generally to “Coronavirus” or specific stages of the crisis (e.g. “first lockdown” and “roadmap out of lockdown”). The full list of searchable tags and sub-tags is available on the website. This feature will help users understand not only what is going on in terms of individual changes but also the interrelationships between events, so that trends and patterns over time can be seen.
Care has been taken to draft each entry in language which is as politically impartial as possible, in order to provide a factual description of events, allowing users to arrive at their own conclusions as to the quality and merits of the changes. The language is also designed to be accessible to non-lawyers and non-experts in an attempt to make this information available to the widest possible range of interested audiences.
The scope of the tracker
At the time of launch, the tracker’s focus is on constitutional change produced by central government and the responses to this central government action, such as by litigation or parliamentary reports. Independent constitutional reforms adopted by the devolved nations – such as attempts to implement in domestic law various United Nations treaties – are not within the immediate ambit of this project but there is scope for expansion should there be appetite for this.
Inevitably, this is the type of project that may never truly be complete. It may forever be too broad for some and too narrow for others. Equally, no matter how much time is spent researching, some events that should be included may be missing. Indeed, no claim is made that the tracker is yet fully comprehensive and this soft launch is intended more as an initial public test drive to trial the idea and to gather feedback for future improvement, refinement, and development.
Nevertheless, the tracker can act as a helpful platform for identifying the range of activities that will be useful for public lawyers to know about and for fostering further understanding, debate, and analysis on this important subject. Whatever one’s constitutional area of interest, we hope that the tracker will prove to be a valuable research tool, drawing attention to developments that may have otherwise gone unnoticed and highlighting patterns that may otherwise have been only semi-visible.
Lee Marsons, Research Fellow, Public Law Project.
Comments, feedback, or questions should be directed to [email protected].
(Suggested citation: L. Marsons, ‘Constitutional change in an era of incrementalism: Launching Public Law Project’s UK Constitutional Reform Tracker’, U.K. Const. L. Blog (19 October 2021) (available at https://ukconstitutionallaw.org/))
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From the DSA to Media Data Space: the possible solutions for the access to platforms’ data to tackle disinformation
The ability of independent researchers to access online platforms’ data is a precondition for effective platform governance, independent oversight and to understand how these platforms work. In particular, granular access to online platforms’ data allows researchers to carry our public interest research into platforms’ takedown decisions (see e.g. Lumen Database), ads libraries (see here) and recommender systems (see here). Access to social media platforms’ data is also key in tackling mis- and disinformation (see here). In essence, researchers need meaningful access to platforms’ data to identify organized disinformation campaigns, to understand users’ engagement with disinformation and to identify how platforms enable, facilitate, or amplify disinformation (e.g. via optimization rules, micro-targeting; see e.g. Citizen Browser) and so on. This evidence-based work – such as the recent WSJ Facebook files – critically depends on access to platform data. Yet, whereas the amount of platforms’ data is constantly growing, it has become increasingly difficult for researchers to access that data. After a short introduction into the status quo, this blog post looks into the possible solutions to enhance access to platform’ data for research on disinformation: Article 31 of the DSA, the strengthen Code of Practice on Disinformation, Art. 40 GDPR Code of Conduct and a Media Data Space.
The ‘post-APIcalypse’ access to platforms’ data
The lack of sufficient access to platforms’ data by researchers is due to various reasons: privatization of data ecosystems, the lack of incentives for platforms in revealing what kind of users’ data they have and how they use it, corporate secrecy on platforms’ algorithmic practices and data protection concerns (see also here and here). As a result, access to platforms’ data for researchers is currently mainly governed by contractual agreements, platforms’ own terms of service and public application programming interfaces (APIs). APIs access can be restricted or eliminated at any time and for any reason. In the aftermath of the Cambridge Analytica scandal platforms cut down their APIs even more, which has been described by researchers as ‘the APIcalypse’ and a ‘post-API age’. Other self-regulatory platform initiatives such as Social Science One have been widely criticized for delays, significant limitations and ’extremely limited scientific value’. The UN Special Rapporteur on the promotion and protection of the right to freedom of opinion and expression, stressed a lack of transparency and access to data as ‘the major failings of companies across almost all the concerns in relation to disinformation and misinformation’.
The GDPR says no
Somewhat ironically, some ‘big tech’ platforms are now presenting themselves as defenders of privacy citing the General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR) as a key obstacle that prevents them from sharing their with researchers. The most recent example is Facebook’s shut down of the accounts of researchers affiliated with the Cybersecurity for Democracy project at New York University (NYU) who got access to Facebook’s data by asking users to install a browser add-on called Ad Observer and voluntarily share anonymized data about ads they see. Facebook claimed that it had to stop NYU’s ‘unauthorized scraping’ violating platform’s terms of service to ‘protect people’s privacy’ in line with the Federal Trade Commission (FTC)’s Order. However, in a strongly-worded letter, the FTC called this claim ‘inaccurate’ and an ‘insinuation’. It has been argued that the FTC order restricts how Facebook shares user information but it does not preclude users from voluntarily sharing information about their experiences on the platform, including through ‘data donation’ initiatives, such as browser extensions.
This is not to say that data protection concerns and users right to privacy are a non-issue. On the contrary, web scraping raises major legal and ethical concerns (see here) and platform datasets can be abused for harmful purposes (see Clearview or MegaFace case). It is true that the GDPR lacks clarity regarding whether and how platforms might share data with researchers (see here, here or here). The argument that via a browser add-on data about Facebook users who did not install it are also collected, requires a separate analysis.
However, the GDPR is being weaponized by some platforms to prevent good-faith research in the public interest. As bluntly put by the EDPS, it would appear that the reluctance to give access to platforms’ data is motivated no so much by data protection concerns as by ‘the absence of business incentive to invest effort in disclosing or being transparent about the volume and nature of data they control.’ One thing is clear: the GDPR does not a priori prohibit the sharing of personal data by platforms with researchers. Data access can be granted in a privacy-preserving way. Hopefully, the long-awaited European Data Protection Board’s (EDPB) guidelines on the processing personal data for scientific research purposes (due in 2021) will soon offer some clarifications on how that can be done. The bottom line is, as Vermeulen sums up, ‘the fact that it requires an argument is in itself a barrier to hand over data. This uncertainty is undesirable for both researchers and the platforms.’
For these reasons, there is a clear need for a legally binding data access framework that provides independent researchers with access to a range of different types of platform data. Let’s unpack what the EU policy and regulatory initiatives have in store.
Solution #1: Article 31 DSA
From the outset, Article 31 of the Digital Services Act proposal (DSA) is all one could hope for: it provides a specific provision on data access. The closer look reveals the following drawbacks (for a detailed analysis see here). First, Article 31 DSA does not provide for a direct access for researchers. It is upon a reasoned request from the Digital Services Coordinator or the European Commission (EC) that the very large online platforms (VLOPS) shall provide access to data. Second, access is limited to so-called ‘vetted researchers’. Various conditions to qualify as a ‘vetted researcher’ ultimately narrow done its scope to university-affiliated academics. As the EU DisinfoLab points out, the disinformation community has grown beyond the realm of the university and now includes a variety of different actors: journalists, fact-checkers, digital forensics experts, and open-source investigators etc. They are all excluded from the ‘vetted researchers’ definition, and hence access to data. Third, ‘vetted researchers’ may only use platforms’ data for purposes of research into ‘systemic risks’ as defined in Article 26 DSA. Arguably, this category is broad and non-exhaustive and includes catch-all concepts such as the right to privacy and freedom of expression. Symptomatically however, Article 26 DSA mentions ‘dissemination of illegal content’ and ‘intentional manipulation of the service’ but does not refer to mis- or disinformation as a ‘systemic risk’. One can hope that research into disinformation techniques such as attention hacking, information laundering or cross-platform migrations will also fall under this definition.
Putting all the eggs in the DSA basket is therefore a risky bet. Even if Article 31 DSA gets amended according to civil society calls (see here and here), the regulation will enter into force no sooner than in 2-3 years. The adoption of the delegated act foreseen in Article 31(5) DSA specifying the conditions under which data access can take place, including technical and procedural aspects, may take even more time. Let’s see what can happen in the meantime.
Solution #2: The Strengthen Code of Practice on Disinformation
The centrepiece of EU disinformation efforts has been the self-regulatory Code of Practice on Disinformation, in force since October 2018. The EC’s Assessment of the Code of Practice in September 2020 found the lack of access to data allowing for an independent research on emerging trends and threats posed by online disinformation, ‘a fundamental shortcoming’ of the Code. The data access required to detect and analyse disinformation was seen as ‘episodic and arbitrary,’ and did ‘not respond to the full range of research needs.’ In July 2021, the Assembly of the signatories of the Code of Practice has kicked off the process of drafting the strengthened Code of Practice on Disinformation in line with the EC Guidance published on 26 May 2021.
According to the EC Guidance, relevant signatories should commit to co-creating a ‘a robust framework for access to data for research purposes’ which will offer ‘transparent, open and non-discriminatory, proportionate and justified’ conditions for access to data for research purposes. The framework should include access to 2 parallel data access regimes: i) continuous, real-time, stable and harmonised access to anonymised, aggregate or otherwise non-personal data through APIs or other open and accessible technical solutions; ii) access to ‘data requiring additional scrutiny including personal data’ which should at least allow academic researchers to have access to datasets necessary to understand sources, vectors, methods and propagation patterns of disinformation phenomenon. To that end, platforms and the research community, should together define conditions applicable for access to these datasets which ‘in principle’ should be standardized and uniform across platforms. The Guidance shows that the EC learned its lesson: it wants to end platforms’ cherry-picking with whom they want to collaborate based on series of multi-bilateral arrangements. The Code should also be complemented by ‘a robust monitoring system’: the signatories should commit to and report on concrete service-level indicators in order to evaluate the quantity and granularity of data made available, the number of research organisations having access to platforms’ data, as well as the amount of resources made available.
Despite of how promising it all sounds, the main characteristic of the Code remains unchanged: the participation and subscription to its commitments remains voluntary. However, the EC end game is to evolve the Code of Practice towards a Code of Conduct foreseen in Article 35 DSA. The monitoring and the assessment of the achievement of the objectives of such Code, would then fall under the European Board for Digital Services (Article 35(5) DSA). In the meantime, the EC hopes that the strengthened Code of Practice will create a framework that, already in the interim before the DSA’s adoption, would reinforce the accountability of online platforms. A first draft of the strengthened Code of Practice is expected already this autumn.
Solution #3: GDPR Article 40 Code of Conduct
On 30 August 2021, the European Digital Media Observatory (EDMO) has launched a Working Group on Access to Platform Data to work towards a creation of a Code of Conduct on access to platform data under Article 40 GDPR. EDMO believes that Article 40 Code of Conduct could ‘clarify how platforms may provide access to data to independent researchers in a GDPR-compliant manner’. Under Article 40 GDPR, Codes of Conduct may also establish a monitoring body to oversee the implementation of the Code. Such codes must also be approved by a relevant data protection authority. According to the EDPB Guidelines 1/2019 on Codes of Conduct and Monitoring Bodies, Article 40 Code of Conduct should lay out how the GDPR might be put into practice in a ‘specific, practical and precise manner’, provide ‘unambiguous, concrete, attainable and enforceable (testable)’ standards and rules. In short, a Code should avoid being ‘overly legalistic’, but instead provide ‘concrete case scenarios’ and ‘specific examples of best practice’. To this end, twelve members of the Working Group from academia, civil society (Access Now, Future of Privacy Forum), and ‘big tech’ (Twitter, Facebook, Google) will work together to: (i) identify the legal basis and key questions regarding how to provide privacy-compliant access to data and (ii) understand what clarity and guidance on the reach of the GDPR is required to address these questions.
EDMO’s initiative seems like a promising way forward to offering researchers a clearer route to data access that is overseen and enforced by an independent monitoring body. And although the drafting of the Code will take time, bringing the key stakeholders around the same table is an accomplishment on its own.
Solution #4: Media Data Space
In December 2020, the EC published the Media and Audiovisual Action Plan (MAAP) alongside with the European Democracy Action Plan. With the MAAP, the EC ambition is ‘to accelerate the recovery, transformation and resilience of the media industry’ and to ‘set up integrated industrial policy for news media’. As part of this strategy, the EC wants to create a ‘European media data space’ to support media companies ‘in sharing data and developing innovative solutions’. The EC envisages the following benefits of sharing media data. First, access to audience data, content meta data and other types users’ behaviour data would allow European media companies to create personalised content and promotion. Second, it would help EU news publishers to pool together their content and customer data to produce news targeting their own national audiences. Third, it would provide insight to services aiming at increasing the findability of media content across borders. A media data space has therefore a clear economic goal: to empower European media companies who are at a competitive disadvantage vis-a-vis the ‘big tech’ platforms ‘to make better decisions and deploy more advanced solutions based on insights gleaned from data’.
However, one can imagine a wider, societal and political impact of such a media data space. That depends on who will have access to and to what data. According to the Data Strategy, data spaces can be used for multiple purposes (including both research and non-research purposes). The creation of a shared media data space open for researchers and fact-checkers could possibly facilitate research on platforms and disinformation phenomena. Of course, one aspect to consider is how the cross-context use of personal data, including the use of sensitive personal data for other purposes, would fit with the GDPR and the upcoming Data Governance Act (DGA) proposal.
Conclusion
Access to platforms’ data has different angles: from the lack of incentives and platforms’ perceived risks of what the data they share will reveal, lack of standards for data quality, to the potential for misuse of personal data. It is also, to some extent, a trust-building exercise to ensure a proper balance between the interests of the data subjects and the shared interest of the society as a whole to ensure an independent oversight and effective accountability of online platforms. A ‘quick fix’ to all these is neither possible nor necessarily wanted. But with the recent initiatives we are finally moving from discussing data access in an abstract way towards constructive, concrete and – at least in some cases – legally binding solutions.
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There Is No Bottom When It Comes to Section 230 Reform Proposals (Comments on the Justice Against Malicious Algorithms Act)
When I first saw the Justice Against Malicious Algorithms Act. my draft version didn’t identify its sponsors. I assumed it was yet another sloppy and unserious Section 230 reform proposal from representatives like Rep. Gosar or Gohmert. You can imagine my shock when I learned that this bill was the Section 230 reform bill that the Democratic leaders on the House Energy & Commerce Committee chose to back–including my own representative, Rep. Eshoo, who represents the Silicon Valley (including Google) and surely knows better…?
I couldn’t wrap my head around these leaders investing their political capital into such a poorly drafted bill that seemed more about messaging than solving problems. Or do they think it’s actually a serious, if wholly defective, proposal? Either way, it shows us how we, and the Internet, are inevitably screwed. When one of these 230 reform bills finds a coalition, we’re destined for an Internet that none of these politicians’ constituents actually want.
What the Bill Does
The bill eliminates Section 230 for making a personalized recommendation of information that materially contributes to a physical or severe emotional injury. A personalized recommendation is defined as “the material enhancement, using a personalized algorithm, of the prominence of such information with respect to other information.” A personalized algorithm is “an algorithm that relies on information specific to an individual.”
The new Section 230 exclusion doesn’t apply to (a) services with less than 5M unique monthly visitors, (b) recommendations made in response to a user-specified search, or (c) vendors such as web hosts, domain name registrars, CDN, data storage, and cybersecurity.
Why This Bill is Bad
This bill embodies many of the worst ideas about how NOT to reform Section 230. If the drafters want better inspiration for Section 230 reform ideas, they should consult this 2019 statement.
Some of the structural problems with the bill:
the bill misplaces its scienter standards. It removes Section 230 if the service recklessly, knew, or should have known that it was making personalized recommendations, but what’s the point of that? Any Internet service that makes a personalized recommendation will necessarily know that it’s doing so. The scienter qualifications make no sense.
The scienter standards would make slightly more sense if they modified the imposition of harm, but that’s not what the bill says. Moving the words around won’t make the bill better, however. Adding scienter preconditions to Section 230 functionally repeal the immunity by eliminating Section 230’s procedural benefits. (For more, see Cathy Gellis’ post on this point). Plaintiffs can easily claim that services had the requisite scienter and survive a motion to dismiss, boosting defense costs even if the defense ultimately prevails, because the service will now have to go through discovery on its scienter and delay resolution until summary judgment at the earliest. Anyone advocating to impose scienter conditions on Section 230 either doesn’t understand why Section 230 works today or wants to repeal it without admitting that goal.
the harm standard is unmanageable. How can services predict which UGC items will “materially contribute to a physical or severe emotional injury” and which won’t? They can’t make this assessment on an automated basis; and even manual review won’t identify all of the potential problematic items. Thus, this standard will require Internet services to assume that *all* UGC could “materially contribute” to the specified harms and thus clamp down on all UGC.
the “physical or severe emotional injury” standard is problematic in two other ways. First, not all behavior that causes severe emotional injury will lead to a cause of action, so this standard is overinclusive. Second, this harm standard opens up a Section 230 bypass for any cause of action that recognizes physical or emotional injury–which is virtually all causes of action, including defamation. This too destroys Section 230’s procedural benefits because plaintiffs can easily graft an allegation of emotional injury to any complaint and bypass Section 230’s motion to dismiss.
the definition of “personal algorithm” (“an algorithm that relies on information specific to an individual”) is confusing and over-inclusive. One obvious example is geo-location, which is specific to the geo-located individual. Imagine rolling back 230 for all geo-located content; or imagine abandoning geo-location. (Also, how specific does the geo-location need to be–if it’s geo-location of an individual at the national level, is that specific to the individual?).
the exclusion applies equally to personalized content and personalized ad targeting, so this bill would potentially wreak havoc on the entire advertising ecosystem. After all, I get severe emotional distress when I get targeted ads for old or chunky men…and when I see Facebook’s ads urging Congress to reform Section 230…
like all other efforts to impose size-based distinctions in Section 230, the “small service” exception is miscalibrated. Jess Miers and I put together a much-needed guide for properly drafting size-based distinctions for Internet services. For example: the “unique monthly visitors” standard isn’t defined and applies to services without registered users; there’s no phase-in period; and the 5M “unique monthly visitors” standard is too low. I think the supporters would be surprised at how many services they pick up unintentionally!
The bill, like so many in this genre, doesn’t thoughtfully anticipate the possible countermoves that services might make beyond retrenching personalized content. For example, Internet services could make all content presentations into searches, which would annoy consumers greatly (imagine, for example, every service asking readers “would you like to see articles meant for you? Enter your location here to search for them”); they could migrate towards “top content” lists, which reify existing power structures and disadvantage minority voices; they could aggressively downrank content to make the remaining content more prominent (the 230 exclusion only applies to enhancing the prominence of UGC, not to degrading prominence); or they could just randomly publish content in reverse chronological order and let the trolls and spammers take over. Which of these alternative outcomes do the bill supporters want?
To make sure you didn’t miss the point, this bill would functionally eliminate Section 230’s immunity for UGC in multiple independent ways, which would severely undermine or eliminate much of the current UGC ecosystem. That makes the bill impossible to salvage with some tweaks.
For more on the illogic of linking Section 230 to algorithmic amplification, see Daphne Keller, Amplification and its Discontents.
What Would This Bill Do to Facebook/Instagram?
Facebook has been begging Congress for years to amend Section 230, because Facebook naively (or hubristically) assumes that it can steer Congress into good 230 reforms that entrench a competitive moat around Facebook and Instagram and hurt their competition. In reality, Congress is gunning for Facebook and Instagram, so each time Facebook begs Congress to reform Section 230, it’s digging its own grave (and the grave of all UGC generally…).
This bill obviously targets Facebook and Instagram, but unsurprisingly it overshoots its mark. For example, even if Facebook and Instagram eliminated their newsfeed algorithms in response to this bill, it would still lose Section 230 because presenting content only from a user’s friends would constitute an algorithm that relies on information specific to an individual, i.e., the friendship. Instead, to retain Section 230, Facebook and Instagram would have to present information from non-friends and friends equally, which means that most newsfeeds would rarely, if ever, display news from friends. So the bill would blow apart Facebook’s and Instagram’s core value proposition of letting friends talk to each other. At the same time, it would devastate all other social media services that use “friends” or “followers” as part of the content delivery mechanism. This would dial the entire Internet ecosystem back to look a lot more like the 1990s.
Final Thoughts
There’s a deep irony about this bill. Congressional staffers rely heavily on personalized algorithms (like lobbyist recommendations) for their information flows, yet this bill seeks to kibosh the personalized algorithms for the rest of us. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
At its core, this bill is really a privacy bill misplaced in Section 230. The supporters should instead invest their time and energy in actually working on a comprehensive federal privacy bill that preempts problematic state laws like the CCPA/CPRA. I’m not convinced that the First Amendment permits the regulation of algorithms under the privacy rubric as opposed to the Section 230 rubric, but at least the conversation will make more sense than this bill does.
Parting thought: The “JAMAA” acronym, combined with the bill’s problems, brings to mind Carl Carlton’s classic song, She’s a Bad Mama Jama (hat tip Alan Kyle).
Prior Blog Posts on the 117th Congress’ Efforts to Kill the Internet
The SHOP SAFE Act Is a Terrible Bill That Will Eliminate Online Marketplaces
Comments on the PROMISE Act
Comments on the “SAFE TECH” Act
Comments on the “Protecting Constitutional Rights from Online Platform Censorship Act”
While Our Country Is Engulfed By Urgent Must-Solve Problems, Congress Is Working Hard to Burn Down Section 230
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Michael Foran: Parliamentary Sovereignty and the Politics of Law-making

Parliamentary sovereignty has traditionally been understood to mean that Parliament is free to enact legislation on any area of law that it chooses, and that Acts of the U.K. Parliament take precedence over subordinate legislation, regulation, or common law rule. Understood this way, parliamentary sovereignty is a constitutional principle that is couched explicitly in legal terms: it is a legal principle with legal effect, speaking to other legal entities within our constitutional order regarding how they are to exercise their legal functions in light of legislation passed by Parliament. In essence, it is a doctrine of legislative supremacy which honours Parliament’s constitutional role by according its enactments their due authority. On this view, no discernible distinction exists between parliamentary sovereignty and Parliament’s law-making powers because sovereignty describes the scope and weight of those very powers.
A central feature of the political aspect of our constitution is that the other elements of legislative creation remain firmly within the purview of politics. The background circumstances which lead members of Parliament to vote for or against the enactment of legislation have been understood to fall outwith the concern of the judiciary. It is not for a court of law to question why Parliament has come to enact the legislation that it enacts or to refrain from acting when given the opportunity to. Such political circumstances do not affect the validity or authority of legislation, nor have political circumstances that affect parliamentary action or inaction been understood to undermine sovereignty. So long as Parliament is legally uninhibited in its creation of statute, it is sovereign. What courts are to do in their interpretation and application of legislation is another question entirely. There very well may be limits to how a court interprets legislation, given background constitutional principles such as the rule of law and the separation of powers, but this is a separate issue from how we make sense of the political aspects of our constitution.
Recent jurisprudence has called this picture into question. R (Miller) v Prime Minister marked an important shift in how the Supreme Court understands the relationship between the legal and political aspects of our constitution. In Miller II, the court held that an attempt to prorogue Parliament for a period of several weeks unduly affected the ability of Parliament to carry out its constitutional function of holding the government to account and so, with no reasonable excuse offered in explanation, was unlawful. The Inner House of the Court of Session had considered the exercise of prerogative power in this instance to be unlawful on the ground that it had been used improperly to ‘stymie’ Parliament from exercising its constitutional functions. In contrast, and despite widespread speculation that this was indeed the motive and purpose of prorogation, the Supreme Court chose instead to focus on its effects:
‘[A] decision to prorogue Parliament (or to advise the monarch to prorogue Parliament) will be unlawful if the prorogation has the effect of frustrating or preventing, without reasonable justification, the ability of Parliament to carry out its constitutional functions as a legislature and as the body responsible for the supervision of the executive. In such a situation, the court will intervene if the effect is sufficiently serious to justify such an exceptional course.’ [12]
This conclusion is grounded in both the principle of parliamentary sovereignty and what the court referred to as ‘parliamentary accountability’, the principle that the executive is accountable to Parliament for its actions and inactions.
The use of these principles and the connection drawn between them in this case has been subject to trenchant critique. Loughlin, for example, argues that in order for the court to conclude as it did, it needed to ‘transform a formal principle into a functional principle’. We can see from the judgment how one might conclude this. The Court, having orthodoxly described parliamentary sovereignty as the principle that ‘laws enacted by the Crown in Parliament are the supreme form of law in our legal system, with which everyone, including Government, must comply’ [41], stressed that this principle entails other principles demanding its efficacy.
Elliott helpfully provides several examples of these penumbral principles: the principle, established in the 17th century by the Case of Proclamations, that prerogative power cannot be used incompatibly with legislation enacted by Parliament; the De Keyser principle that prerogative cannot be relied on when the matter in question is governed by statute; the principle that Parliament cannot bind its successors; and the principle, recently applied in Privacy International but advanced by Laws LJ in Cart, that parliamentary sovereignty necessarily implies access to courts where authoritative judicial interpretation of statute must occur if Parliament is to have the capacity to enact effective law. Far from being a formal principle, concerned only with the authority of statute within a hierarchy of legal sources, parliamentary sovereignty has always had a functional element to it.
In Miller II, the Court drew out another principle from parliamentary sovereignty: that it ‘would … be undermined as the foundational principle of our constitution if the executive could, through the use of the prerogative, prevent Parliament from exercising its legislative authority for as long as it pleased’ [42]. This seems to be a wholly defensible extension of the principle of sovereignty, understood not in purely formal terms, but as reflecting what it has always been: a principle protecting Parliament’s capacity to exercise its legislative function in a manner which is legally unimpeded by the prerogative.
This being said, recent judicial analysis of parliamentary sovereignty threatens to expand the concept beyond what is reasonable, unduly encroaching upon both the judicial and the political sphere. In Reference by the Attorney General and the Advocate General for Scotland – United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (Incorporation) (Scotland) Bill the court continued the expansion of the principle of parliamentary sovereignty in two important respects.
Firstly, it claimed that ‘A provision which required the courts to modify the meaning and effect of legislation enacted by Parliament would plainly impose a qualification upon its legislative power’ [28]. While this statement referred to s 19 of the UNCRC Bill, an analogue was drawn with s 3 of the Human Rights Act which requires courts, as far as possible, to interpret statutes compatibly with Convention rights. This case turned on whether interpretative obligations and declarations of incompatibility limit the ability of Parliament to legislate. Given that the provisions under dispute in this case were modelled after analogous sections in the HRA and the fact that it was set out explicitly in the Explanatory Notes to the Bill that the intention of the Scottish Parliament was to replicate sections in the HRA, the Court was required to comment on these provisions too.
Unless the Court presumes that s 3 HRA cannot be repealed or an explicit exemption included within legislation, it is unclear how it qualifies the legal ability of Parliament to legislate. This provision, itself a product of Parliament’s ability to legislate, is directed towards the judiciary, influencing how courts are to interpret statute. It does not affect Parliament’s ability to pass legislation, nor limit the words that it can enact into law. In contrast, prorogation of Parliament without lawful excuse may have arisen from the political sphere of the prerogative, but it had a concrete legal effect in that it legally prevented Parliament from legislating. Deepening our understanding of parliamentary sovereignty naturally can include ensuring that Parliament’s functions are legally effective. It is very hard to see how an interpretative obligation qualifies sovereignty.
The only way that this could be seen as limiting Parliament would be if the interpretation of statute was not within the constitutional role of the courts and was instead a parliamentary power. Indeed, it is telling that the Supreme Court here described such provisions as requiring the courts to ‘modify the meaning and effect of legislation’, as if statutes have some independent meaning or effect that is discernible free from the process of judicial interpretation. This understanding would exclude even the understanding of Dicey who argued that:
‘Parliament is supreme legislator, but from the moment Parliament has uttered its will as lawgiver, that will becomes subject to the interpretation put upon it by the judges of the land, and the judges, who are influenced by the feelings of magistrates no less than by the general spirit of the common law, are disposed to construe statutory exceptions to common law principles in a mode which would not commend itself either to a body of officials, or to the Houses of Parliament, if the Houses were called upon to interpret their own enactments … Parliamentary sovereignty has favoured the rule of law … the supremacy of the law of the land both calls forth he exertion of Parliamentary sovereignty, and leads to its being exercised in the spirit of legality’ (The Law of the Constitution, 273)
The only way that s 3 HRA could limit law-making power would be if the Diceyian account of judicial interpretation also did so, and that would only be true if sovereignty (or, if we accept the distinction, law-making power) didn’t mean legislative supremacy, but instead meant that Parliament’s constitutional role includes the exercise of both legislative and judicial powers. But it has never meant that. Parliament does not interpret statutes; courts do.
In construing judicial interpretation of statute as a limitation on Parliament’s law-making powers, the Court has expanded the concept to entail not just its legal effectiveness, free from interference from the prerogative, but also its ‘practical’ effectiveness, free from political constraint. Section 3 of the HRA – again a product of Parliament’s own law-making power – raised ECHR rights to the same status as common law rights by creating a judicial presumption that Parliament does not intend to breach them. Parliament is still perfectly within its legal authority to repeal any part of the HRA or to set out an exception to it if it so chooses. To view this as a qualification of law-making powers is to conflate the power to make law with the power to interpret it.
Furthermore, this presumption that statute does not intend to revoke legal rights is always present when courts interpret law. Regardless of the interpretative methodology adopted, it is never open to a court to simply ignore relevant legislation that touches on the case at hand. The creation of an explicit duty adds greater weight to this presumption, helping to rebut a presumption of implied repeal, but arguably only as a matter of formalising what courts already do. Implied repeal only applies where both statutes, properly understood, conflict. What counts as a proper construction remains the product of judicial interpretation.
It may be tempting to argue, following the Continuity Bill case, that this constitutes a qualification of parliament’s law-making power (but not sovereignty) when the requirement originates from a devolved legislature. But you cannot be limited if you never had the power in the first place. Parliament is the speaker, not the listener. It does not have interpretative powers and there is no default interpretation that courts adopt when discerning the meaning of statutes. They will approach such questions by taking into account all relevant considerations, including devolved legislation or rights-conferring statutes where applicable. If this constitutes a limitation on parliamentary sovereignty, given that Parliament remains free to legislate or amend statute in any devolved area, then any devolved legislation that would affect judicial interpretation of UK legislation in Scotland would be outwith competence. Parliamentary sovereignty has never been this expansive, nor devolution this narrow in scope.
This strained interpretation is compounded by the Court’s second expansion of parliamentary sovereignty with the claim that s 4 of the HRA also qualifies sovereignty: ‘Parliament can itself qualify its own sovereignty, as it did when it conferred on the courts the power to make declarations of incompatibility with rights guaranteed by the ECHR’ [50]. Once more, the only way that this can constitute a limitation on law-making powers is if those powers include or demand the political winds to eternally be favourable. The Court offered three reasons for why declarations of incompatibility qualify parliamentary sovereignty. However, two of these apply only to the Scottish Bills under reference. This leaves one reason for why s 4 HRA would qualify sovereignty: that a finding of incompatibility ‘would impose pressure on Parliament to avoid the opprobrium which such a finding would entail’ [52]. On this view, s 4 is not unconstitutional because Parliament qualified its own sovereignty. Nevertheless, this claim that s 4 qualifies sovereignty is startling. This reasoning clearly manifests a shift to understanding parliamentary sovereignty as including not just the ability of Parliament to legislate in any area that it sees fit, but also the ability of Parliament to do so free from both legal and political impediment.
Does this mean that any judicial finding that might paint Parliament in a bad light or which might result in political pressure on Parliament to change the law would infringe parliamentary sovereignty? This would be absurd. Yet, what else are we to conclude from these comments that pressure to avoid opprobrium limits legislative powers? The Court could have distinguished the provisions in the HRA from the provisions in these Bills, stressing that the HRA did not qualify sovereignty, but these Bills might. But the Court was clear that the HRA limited Parliament’s legislative powers. This was central to its reasoning.
The HRA is not unconstitutional because Parliament is seemingly empowered to qualify its own sovereignty, but the upshot of this judgement is that parliamentary sovereignty is undermined or qualified by judicial findings that impose pressure on Parliament to avoid the opprobrium entailed by them. Parliament is free to direct the courts to do this, thus qualifying its own sovereignty and so the qualification is not unconstitutional. But what about other organs of state? Are the courts themselves free to qualify or undermine sovereignty in this manner by publishing judgments that create similar opprobrium but where the defence that Parliament qualified its own sovereignty is not present? It would be absurd if politically disadvantageous judicial findings qualified sovereignty. But again, what else are we to conclude when the only reason that DOIs don’t is because they arose from an Act of Parliament?
This is made all the more striking when we consider that the court did not need to base its reasoning on this conception of sovereignty. It could have maintained the, admittedly flimsy, distinction between sovereignty and unqualified legislative power introduced in the Continuity Bill judgment. It could have held that both the HRA and the UNCRC Bill qualify legislative power (but not sovereignty) and that this is permitted when the UK Parliament does it, but not when the Scottish Parliament does. Indeed, as Elliott and Kilford note, this is exactly what the Court did with regards to s 28(7) and the analogy with s 3 HRA. Having introduced a gun in the first half of the judgement, it refused to fire it in the second half, preferring instead to ground the ratio of this part of its judgement on the affect these provisions have on parliamentary sovereignty.
The court’s focus on the practical effectiveness of parliamentary sovereignty in Miller II entailed principles which demanded that Parliament remain legally unimpeded in its law-making functions. This was orthodox and correct. Its expansion of sovereignty to include political effectiveness, first in the Continuity Bill case and now here, proves too much. If Parliament is worried that it may face political backlash for acting or failing to act in a given area, then our constitutional order is working. A central tenet of political constitutionalism is that political entities are best held to account through the political process. That method of accountability cannot and should not be construed as a limitation on sovereignty. Parliament’s legal ability to enact legislation is unaffected; the political consequences it faces for action or inaction is not for the Court to concern itself with.
The Supreme Court opining on the political aspects of parliamentary politics would be relatively unimportant if it were not using this expansive definition of sovereignty to ground its adjudication of legal disputes. This strained understanding of what constitutes an interference with the ability of Parliament to make law has concrete practical implications, given that it has used this to radically alter the devolution settlement. What was once seen to be squarely within the realm of politics has begun to be juridified and this is a mistake, the full implications of which have yet to be seen.
My thanks to Chris McCorkindale, Adam Tomkins, Alison Young, and Mike Gordon for helpful comments on previous drafts.
Michael Foran is a Lecturer in Public Law at the University of Strathclyde
(Suggested citation: M. Foran, ‘Parliamentary Sovereignty and the Politics of Law-making’, U.K. Const. L. Blog (18 October 2021) (available at https://ukconstitutionallaw.org/))
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Section 230 Protects Securities Exchange–Saveene v. Remo
This case involves an alleged case of corporate hijacking. The plaintiff alleges that it bought a controlling interest in a corporate entity opaquely named American Diversified Holdings Corp. (“ADHC”) from Remo. Remo then allegedly dissolved the Nevada entity and, without permission, created a new entity in Wyoming with the same name and filed reports for “ADHC” with the OTC securities exchange. The buyer claimed that OTC “permitted Remo to disseminate false information” and “failed to properly investigate Remo and his fraudulent actions.” The buyer sued OTC for tortious interference, breach of fiduciary duty, and negligence. OTC successfully defended on Section 230 on a motion to dismiss.
The court applies the standard three-part test for Section 230:
ICS Provider: “OTC disseminates information on listed companies.”
Third-Party Information: The claims are based on information Remo (a third party) submitted about ADHC. The plaintiff claimed the OTC isn’t a “passive platform” (ugh) because it “reviews and investigates information published on its platform.” The court says that’s irrelevant; the plaintiff didn’t allege that OTC “assisted in the development of or contributed to the quarterly reports Remo published on behalf of ADHC.”
Publisher/Speaker Claim. The claims are based on “OTC’s dissemination of alleged false information and failure to remove and investigate such information”–in other words, publishing content.
This is an interesting ruling for at least three reasons. First, the court applied Section 230 to a claim of fiduciary breach. That’s the kind of claim that some courts could treat as creating first-party liability not subject to 230, even if the facts won’t actually support a fiduciary duty. Here, I infer the plaintiff created the problem by focusing on disseminating information without adequately investigating it. If those are the plaintiff’s best facts to illustrate a fiduciary breach, then I think 230 was appropriate.
Second, this ruling opens up a range of possibilities for how other securities exchanges might benefit from Section 230. In the end, securities exchanges are fundamentally just information disseminators. The availability of Section 230 could lead to some interesting and unexpected outcomes.
Third, this ruling highlights the general lack of understanding about the interplay between Section 230 and the securities world. I have blogged about that intersection relatively rarely. One notable example was my 2008 comments to the SEC on Section 230’s applicability to linked content, an issue that I haven’t heard about since. This case might spur more securities lawyers to care more about Section 230.
Case citation: Saveene Corp. v. Remo, 2021 WL 4806380 (S.D.N.Y. Oct. 14, 2021)
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Mark Elliott and Nicholas Kilford: Devolution in the Supreme Court: Legislative Supremacy, Parliament’s ‘Unqualified’ Power, and ‘Modifying’ the Scotland Act

In the Continuity Bill Reference, the Supreme Court advanced a striking analysis of the implications for devolution of the doctrine of parliamentary sovereignty — or, more specifically, of the provision in the Scotland Act 1998 that had hitherto been understood merely to affirm that doctrine. The provision in question is section 28(7), which says of section 28 (which, in subsection (1), invests the Scottish Parliament with legislative authority): ‘This section does not affect the power of the Parliament of the United Kingdom to make laws for Scotland.’
Far from merely affirming parliamentary sovereignty, section 28(7), we learned from the Court’s Continuity Bill judgment, imposes limits on devolved competence that transcend those that follow straightforwardly from sovereignty itself. It does this, on the Court’s analysis, by vouchsafing Parliament’s ‘unqualified’ power to legislate for Scotland — a concept that is implicitly taken to be something more demanding, in terms of its constraining effect upon the Scottish Parliament, than mere sovereignty. Thus the Court held that provisions in the Continuity Bill that would ‘render the effect of laws made by the UK Parliament conditional on the consent of the Scottish Ministers’ would fall foul of section 28(7) even though they would not offend parliamentary sovereignty — presumably on the ground that sovereignty can withstand conditions that the s 28(7) notion of ‘unqualified power’ cannot accommodate.
The UNCRC Bill Reference
In its recent judgment in the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (Incorporation) (Scotland) Bill Reference, the Supreme Court doubled down on the logic of its earlier analysis in the Continuity Bill case. The judgment deals with references, each made under section 33 of the Scotland Act, concerning both the UNCRC Bill and the European Charter of Local Self-Government (Incorporation) (Scotland) Bill; in this post, we focus on the former, and on three provisions in particular:
section 19, which would require legislation — including Acts of the UK Parliament that would be within Scottish devolved competence — to be ‘read and given effect in a way which is compatible’ with the UNCRC, ‘so far as it is possible to do so’;
section 20, which would allow ‘strike down declarators’ to be issued, stating that certain legislation — including UK legislation within devolved competence and enacted prior to section 20’s entry into force — ‘ceases to be law’ to the extent of its incompatibility with the UNCRC;
section 21, which provides for ‘incompatibility declarators’ in respect of UNCRC-incompatible legislation (including UK legislation within devolved competence) that receives Royal Assent on or after the day on which section 21 enters into force.
The UNCRC Bill thus essentially replicates key features of the Human Rights Act 1998 (‘HRA’) while going further, by way of the section 20 strike-down power, in respect of existing legislation. The Court held that all three of these provisions are outside devolved competence because they would modify section 28(7) of the Scotland Act. The Court also held section 6 to be outside competence. This provision would require public authorities, a term that does not explicitly exclude UK Ministers acting under UK legislation in relation to reserved matters, to act compatibly with the UNCRC requirements.
The Court’s conclusions in relation to sections 19–21 were facilitated by a combination of three factors:
a broad reading of the notion of ‘modification’;
leveraging and developing the distinction drawn in the Continuity Bill case, between parliamentary sovereignty and the UK Parliament’s ‘unqualified’ power to legislate for Scotland that, we are told, is protected by section 28(7);
an arresting analysis of the HRA that leads the Court to ascribe startlingly far-reaching effects to the corresponding provisions of the UNCRC Bill.
The cumulative effect is a highly unconvincing judgment that reads the Scottish devolution settlement unnecessarily narrowly — an outcome that the Court prepares the ground for at the outset of its judgment when it says that the Scotland Act ‘must be interpreted in the same way as any other statute’ and according to its ‘ordinary words’. This approach completes the retreat from Robinson v Secretary of State for Northern Ireland, in which it was said that devolution legislation should be ‘interpreted generously and purposively’, moving instead towards a more limited conception of devolution that diminishes it by virtue of an interpretation of the underlying legislation which is far from favourable towards the devolved institutions.
‘Modification’, sovereignty and section 28(7) of the Scotland Act
The Court’s explanation of what it takes to ‘modify’ protected provisions such as section 28(7) does not go beyond a reiteration of the position staked out in the Continuity Bill case. In that case it was held that modification occurs when, inter alia, Scottish legislation alters a rule laid down in a protected provision or ‘is otherwise in conflict with its unqualified continuation in force as before, so that the protected enactment has to be understood as having been in substance amended, superseded, disapplied or repealed by the later one’. This broad conception of modification is then combined with an equally wide reading of section 28(7). As noted above, the Court had already indicated in the Continuity Bill case that section 28(7) acknowledges a notion of ‘unqualified’ legislative power that is more expansive than the notion of parliamentary sovereignty. But in the UNCRC Bill case, that logic is pressed much further.
Section 19 was held to be outside competence because (the Court claimed) provisions like section 3 of the HRA (and so section 19 of the UNCRC Bill) require the courts ‘to modify the meaning and effect of legislation enacted by Parliament’ thereby ‘plainly impos[ing] a qualification upon its legislative power’. This analysis both departs from well-established understandings of — and overstates — the effect of section 3 of the HRA while exploiting the notion that the ‘unqualified’ law-making power that is supposedly vouchsafed by section 28(7) of the Scotland Act is a wider concept than parliamentary sovereignty. In this way, the Court is able (on its own logic, at least) to conclude that while the UK Parliament could (and did) validly enact section 3 of the HRA (because it does not detract from its sovereignty), the Scottish Parliament cannot enact something similar (because it is subject to the broader, more demanding requirement leaving Westminster’s unqualified power intact).
The Court’s analysis of section 21 of the UNCRC Bill is equally strained. It is, we are told, outwith competence because section 4 of the HRA (on which section 21 of the Bill is modelled) has the effect of qualifying parliamentary sovereignty itself — because, inter alia, such provisions ‘impose pressure on Parliament to avoid the opprobrium which … a finding [of incompatibility] would entail’. This analysis has the bewildering fourfold effect of:
inverting orthodoxy (or at least one version of it) regarding sovereignty, which is casually invested with newly-revealed malleability — it was fine, we are told, for the UK Parliament to enact section 4 because ‘it can qualify its own sovereignty’;
radically departing from the well-founded view that section 4 renders the HRA scheme consistent with sovereignty by limiting the courts’ role to a declaratory one;
casting aside the very device (namely, the distinction between sovereignty itself and the wider notion of ‘unqualified’ power) that the judgment otherwise deploys in pursuit of intellectual coherence (albeit that the distinction is later resurrected, the Court conceding that section 21 declarators would not affect the validity of UK Acts but could ‘affect Parliament’s power to legislate for Scotland, as guaranteed by section 28(7)’);
failing adequately to distinguish between political constraints that operate upon Parliament (and which have never hitherto been thought to qualify its legal sovereignty) and legal constraints.
The conclusion that the section 20 strike-down power is outside competence is perhaps the least surprising, but even this is questionable, given that it is perfectly clear that the Scottish Parliament itself can amend or repeal UK legislation within devolved competence, and that this does not offend parliamentary sovereignty. The difficulty, the Court holds, is that the Scottish Parliament lacks the authority to authorise courts to strike down such legislation — because this would make the continuation in force of Acts of the UK Parliament conditional on the courts’ willingness to find them compatible with the UNCRC — thereby introducing a form of conditionality that the Continuity Bill case had already judged offensive to the notion of Parliament’s ‘unqualified’ authority.
This raises a broader question about the relationship between (i) things that the Scottish Parliament can uncontroversially do and (ii) things that the Supreme Court tells us in this case that the Scottish Parliament cannot do. Although the Scottish Parliament can clearly repeal Acts of the Westminster Parliament within competence, the Court finds that ‘the fact that the Scottish Parliament has the power to repeal an Act of Parliament does not entail that it has the power to authorise the courts to declare that unrepealed Acts of Parliament have ceased to be law.’ The reason for this is a crucial distinction the Court draws between Parliament’s immunity from external limitation — as protected by section 28(7) — and Parliament’s ability to subject itself to limitations by its own consent. Indeed, the Court claims (again invoking its view regarding the malleability of parliamentary sovereignty in Parliament’s own hands) that although, in its view, ‘a qualification of Parliamentary sovereignty was introduced by the European Communities Act 1972’, this does not detract from its ‘unqualified’ power to make laws because, rather than being imposed externally, ‘Parliament itself effected that qualification of its sovereignty’. Parliament does the same by listing authorities competent to amend or repeal its legislation in the Scotland Act and this list is taken by the Court to be exhaustive. The UNCRC Bill, however, purports to add the Scottish courts to it without Westminster’s consent. The Court explains that, ‘[a]s the judgment in the Continuity Bill case made clear, the Scottish Parliament cannot make the effect of Acts of Parliament conditional on decisions taken by other institutions’. Decisions to repeal Westminster’s legislation must be traceable to Westminster itself through, for example, the Scotland Act.
This view, however, is only sustainable if the UNCRC Bill itself does not repeal legislation that conflicts with the UNCRC requirements. If it does, then the role of the Scottish courts — as in ordinary instances of implied repeal — might be to identify legislation with which they conflict, and which is therefore impliedly repealed. That the powers bestowed on courts by this Bill are discretionary, and that the Bill itself does not impliedly repeal legislation which is in tension with the UNCRC requirements, is therefore essential to the Court’s reasoning. However, unlike the Continuity Bill case, because the powers bestowed on the courts are discretionary, compatibility with the UNCRC is not a condition of the continuing effect of Acts of Parliament. Rather, incompatibility is merely the precondition for the potential exercise of these judicial powers. Again, and as with the court’s analysis of section 4 of the HRA, it is the mere spectre of impugnment that is said to have implications for Parliament’s legislative power and, therefore, to modify section 28(7).
Section 101, interpretation and the rule of law
One of the key questions asked of the Court in these references was ‘whether certain provisions which, on their face, admittedly exceed the legislative competence of the Scottish Parliament, can be interpreted as being within its competence by means of recourse to the interpretative obligation set out in section 101(2) of the Scotland Act’. This obligation requires that any provision of an Act of the Scottish Parliament is to be read ‘as narrowly as is required for it to be within competence, if such a reading is possible’. It was argued before the Supreme Court that section 101(2) would allow the courts to ‘set further limits [to section 6] on a case by case basis, according to their assessment of how the limits of the legislative competences of the Scottish Parliament applied to the facts of individual cases brought before them.’ The Court, in response to this question, held that section 101(2), though capable of dealing with generality, could not be relied on as a drafting device and gave three reasons for this conclusion:
Despite the analogy with s 3 HRA, section 101(2) (and its kin in the other settlements) ‘have not been given as far-reaching an effect as section 3 of the Human Rights Act’. Indeed, the Court affirmed ‘Lord Neuberger’s statement in the Welsh Byelaws case that “[i]t would not be permissible to invoke [section 154 of the Government of Wales Act] if it was inconsistent with the plain words of [the provision in question]”’ and that this ‘gives section 154 a more restricted scope than section 3 of the Human Rights Act’.
Because the alternative would undermine other parts of the Scotland Act. Section 101(2), says the Court, ‘cannot have been intended to be construed as having the effect of rendering nugatory the pre-enactment safeguards provided by the Scotland Act’. In other words, pre-enactment determinations about legislative competence, such as those required from the person in charge of the Bill and the Presiding Officer of the Scottish Parliament, as well the section 33 reference procedure itself, would all be fatally undermined if even the plainest breach of competence limitations could always be remedied by panacean application of s 101(2).
Section 101(2) cannot have been intended by Parliament to allow the abrogation of the rule of law by facilitating legal ambiguity or uncertainty. In this instance, ‘there has been no attempt to draft section 6 of the Bill in such a way as to provide a clear and accessible statement of the law. On the contrary, there has been a decision to draft and enact a provision whose plain meaning does not accurately represent the law, and to rely on the courts, applying section 101(2)… to give it a different effect which is lawful… that cannot be how Parliament intended section 101(2) to be interpreted and applied.’
An interesting aspect of this final reason is that, just as the Scotland Act has not been understood as permitting the Scottish Parliament to abrogate the rule of law, nor can it be taken in section 101 to permit that abrogation by facilitating legal uncertainty. Here, the judgment demonstrates how the rule of law can bite on the Scotland Act, sculpting the way that section 101 itself is interpreted. In accordance with the principle of legality, if Parliament had intended section 101 to be capable of facilitating infringement of the rule of law, it would have needed to legislate explicitly to that effect. It has not done so.
The Court concludes that ‘[s]ection 101(2) cannot have been intended to enable the courts to undertake, in substance, a rewriting of provisions enacted by the Scottish Parliament, which on their face are plainly and unambiguously outside its legislative competence’. To do so would ‘result in the circumvention of the safeguards’ in the Scotland Act, ‘would give section 101(2) a function going beyond interpretation’ and ‘would also be liable to contravene key provisions of the ECHR’.
Conclusion
The UNCRC Bill judgment is doubtless one of the most significant judgments that the Supreme Court has rendered in relation to devolution. The Court’s broad reading of section 28(7) confirms (if the Continuity Bill case left any room for doubt) that devolved legislatures are constrained not merely by the sovereignty of the UK Parliament but by the more far-reaching, and imprecise, notion that it retains ‘unqualified’ power. It is paradoxical that arguably the most potent tools for restraining the Scottish Parliament are to be found in what might have otherwise been understood as fairly innocuous provisions of the very Act designed to empower it. At the same time, the Court advances a novel and troubling reading of the HRA that overstates its effect and inverts well-established understandings of how sections 3 and 4 work (in ways, it might be noted in passing, that will hand considerable if ill-founded ammunition to HRA critics) while articulating, at least implicitly, a view of parliamentary sovereignty that ascribes to it a surprising degree of malleability. The extent to which some of these ideas will take root remains to be seen, but the case is of potentially profound significance not only for the devolution settlements themselves but for our understanding of the wider constitutional landscape of which they form a part.
Mark Elliott is Professor of Public Law at the University of Cambridge. Nicholas Kilford is a PhD candidate at the University of Cambridge. The authors are very grateful to Alison Young and Mike Gordon for their very helpful comments on an earlier draft.
(Suggested citation: M. Elliott and N. Kilford, ‘Devolution in the Supreme Court: Legislative Supremacy, Parliament’s ‘Unqualified’ Power, and ‘Modifying’ the Scotland Act’, U.K. Const. L. Blog (15 October 2021) (available at https://ukconstitutionallaw.org/))
Mark Elliott and Nicholas Kilford: Devolution in the Supreme Court: Legislative Supremacy, Parliament’s ‘Unqualified’ Power, and ‘Modifying’ the Scotland Act published first on https://immigrationlawyerto.weebly.com/
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Sometimes less is more – a critical view on AG Bobek’s Opinion on the seats of EU agencies
On 6 October 2021, Advocate General (AG) Michal Bobek delivered his Opinion in Joined cases C-59/18 and C-182/18 Italy v Council (Siège de l’Agence européenne des médicaments) and Case C‑743/19 Parliament v Council, two challenges of the decisions on the seat of the newly established European Labour Authority (ELA) and the new seat of the European Medicines Agency (EMA). The main conclusion of the AG in his Opinion is that the Court of Justice lacks jurisdiction over the decisions of Member States on the location of the EMA and the ELA. In his view, “as a matter of principle and certainly in view of how the Treaties currently stand, the Court has no jurisdiction under Article 263 TFEU over decisions taken by the representatives of the Member States” (para 82). The AG’s Opinion, however, also reveals an incorrect interpretation of the scope of Article 341 TFEU.
Article 341 TFEU provides that: “The seat of the institutions of the Union shall be determined by common accord of the governments of the Member States.” It is understood that due to their political sensitivity, decisions on the location of EU institutions should be taken unanimously by the Member States. Decisions on the seat of EU agencies can be just as politically sensitive, but are such decisions included in the scope of Article 341?
In his Opinion, the AG suggests that Article 341 TFEU is not appropriate to serve as the basis for decisions on the seat of EU agencies (para 143). In this respect, he proposes for the Court to rule that decisions made by the Representatives of the Member States do not produce any legal effects under EU law. Whilst fully in agreement with the AG’s conclusion on inadmissibility of the action, this post will present a critical view on the suggested inapplicability of Article 341 TFEU for decisions on the seat of EU agencies.
If the CJEU were to follow the AG’s Opinion, decisions on the seat of an EU agency, instead of being made by common agreement of the Member States under Article 341 TFEU, would have to be adopted by the corresponding EU legislative procedure (see para 176). To a large extent, the Opinion therefore meets the demands of the European Parliament (para 84), which has long been interested in co-deciding the seats of EU agencies. For the Member States, this conclusion, if accepted by the Court, results in the loss of Article 341 TFEU as a legal basis for the selection of EU agencies.
The AG’s conclusions on the inapplicability of Article 341 TFEU for the selection of seats of EU agencies are, as I will show below, not substantiated.
Historical interpretation
It should be noted that the AG’s Opinion is rather brief on the historical interpretation of Article 341 TFEU (para 110). Whilst Article 341 TFEU and its predecessors in previous Treaties have been interpreted by the Court on several occasions (see e.g. Case 230/81 Luxembourg v Parliament), the question of its scope has so far never been addressed. When the scope of a particular Treaty provision is at stake, the Court regularly also examines the historical context of that provision to ascertain its purpose and scope. For example, in Case C-370/12 Pringle (para 135) and Case C-62/14 Gauweiler (para 100), the Court inferred the purpose and scope of Articles 125 and 123 TFEU, respectively, from their historical context. However, in the present Opinion, the AG laconically explains that the substance of Article 341 TFEU and its predecessors has remained the same since 1951 (when a similar provision was included in Article 77 of the Treaty of the European Coal and Steel Community (ECSC)), without trying to find out its purpose (see para 110).
Undoubtedly, finding the documents related to the preparatory work for the Paris and Rome conferences in the 1950s may be quite challenging. However, looking into the historical context may reveal interesting elements of the drafters’ intentions. Whilst at the time of establishment of the European Economic Community (EEC) no agency was created, Article 216 of the EEC Treaty (today Article 341 TFEU) was drafted with the need in mind to establish not only the seat of the Community institutions but also, in the future, that of other bodies. Indeed, the original EEC Treaty already envisaged, aside from the Community institutions, also the European Investment Bank, the Economic and Social Committee, and the Monetary Committee (Articles 129, 193 and 105). It is therefore obvious, that the drafters of the original EEC Treaty envisioned already in 1957 a wider scope for the Article 216 (now Article 341 TFEU) than only to serve as a basis for deciding the seats of Community institutions. The historically wide scope of this provision was most likely the reason why the Lisbon Treaty did not amend it to mention explicitly also bodies, agencies and offices.
The two Edinburgh Decisions
Another problematic part of the Opinion is the qualification of the two 1992 Edinburgh Decisions. The first Edinburgh Decision establishes the seats of the EU institutions, bodies and departments, the second one deals with the Danish arrangements for the Maastricht Treaty. The AG suggests in paragraph 116 of the Opinion that the first Edinburgh Decision was not adopted pursuant to the provisions of EU law and only has legal value under EU law to the extent that its content has been taken over by EU law. This conclusion seems to be in contradiction with other parts of the Opinion. On one hand, in paragraph 116, the AG limits the legal effects of the first Edinburgh Decision under EU law to the extent is has been taken over by EU law, on the other hand, in paragraph 166, he admits that the decisions of the Member States adopted pursuant to the Treaties produce legally binding effects under EU law. In this respect, it is apparent from the wording of the first Edinburgh Decision that it was adopted pursuant to the Treaties. Indeed, in its preamble, the Decision refers to the Article 216 EEC (today Article 341 TFEU). In Article 1, it sets the seats of the EU institutions and some other bodies (thus using a wider scope than institutions only) as envisaged in Article 216 and, in Article 2, it envisages the decision on the location of other bodies and departments at the next European Council. In Case C-345/95 France v Parliament, the Court in fact confirmed that the first Edinburgh Decision represents the decision based on Article 216 EEC (now Article 341 TFEU) (see para 23).
However, that same first Edinburgh Decision is qualified by the AG only as an international agreement without taking into account its basis in the EEC Treaty. Furthermore, the AG also seems to conflate the two Edinburgh Decisions, which were admittedly adopted at the same time but substantially are completely disconnected. The first Edinburgh Decision, which relates to the seats of institutions and certain bodies, was adopted pursuant to Article 216 EEC (Article 341 TFEU), and hence its qualification as a purely international agreement without any binding effects under EU law is, in my view, not appropriate. The second Edinburgh Decision regarding certain Danish arrangements for the Maastricht Treaty is a completely separate one, dealing with issues other than that of the seats of institutions, bodies, offices and agencies. It has no basis in the EU Treaties and thus can be correctly qualified as an international agreement. In analysing the first Edinburgh Decision as an international agreement, the AG refers in paragraph 118 to Case C-135/08 Rottmann, which concerns the second Edinburgh Decision only.
The Opinion contains another contradiction, namely between paragraph 117 and footnote 68. On the one hand, paragraph 117 claims that only Article 1 of the first Edinburgh Decision was incorporated into EU law through the later adopted Protocol No. 6, thus suggesting that it was not part of EU law before 1999 (the entry into force of the Amsterdam Treaty to which Protocol No. 6 was annexed). On the other hand, in footnote 68, the AG confirms that when adopted on the basis of EU law provision, an act like the first Edinburgh Decision becomes part of EU law and refers to Case C-345/95 France v Parliament, in which the Court confirmed that the first Edinburgh Decision was adopted on the basis of what is now Article 341 TFEU and thus was part of EU law.
Depriving Article 341 TFEU of its effectiveness
In the present challenges of the seats of the EMA and the ELA, the Council argued that the exclusion of agencies from the scope of Article 341 TFEU would deprive this provision of any effectiveness, since the seats of the EU institutions are already set out in Protocol No. 6, and any change to those seats would necessitate the use of the Treaty revision procedure enshrined in Article 48 TEU. Whilst the AG admits that Article 341 TFEU has to a large extent exhausted its potential, he does not find the Council’s argument convincing enough to conclude that the scope of Article 341 TFEU also covers agencies (para 138). He insists that Article 341 TFEU can still be used for the seat of a potential new institution or for the change of an existing one (para 138). However, he fails to address the Council’s argument that the seat of a new institution or the change of an existing one would have to follow the revision procedure enshrined in Article 48 TEU, thereby rendering Article 341 TFEU futile. Indeed, in both cases, Protocol No. 6 would have to be amended by using Article 48 TEU, and Article 341 TFEU would not be applicable.
Subsequently, the AG’s Opinion rejects the unanimity voting in the Council due to the political sensitivity of decisions on the location of EU agencies. In this respect, the Opinion argues that, in voting for the seat of EU agencies, the Council has departed from unanimity and used simple majority voting instead (para 142). In this respect, it is true, that simple majority voting is used to narrow down the choice of city candidates for the seat. However, the AG omits the fact that the simple majority voting is regarded only as an indicative expression of preferences and the city taking the most votes subsequently has to be unanimously agreed upon by the Representatives of the Member States. For example, as the document on the ELA selection stipulates, “the outcome of the voting process will be confirmed by common agreement of the Member States’ representatives at the same meeting”.
The decisions of the Representatives of the Member States and their connection to EU law
Finally, the AG suggests that decisions of the Representatives of the Member States, adopted outside the Treaties, do not produce any binding legal effects in EU law (para 167). This absolute statement is in need of further qualification. In principle, I concur with this conclusion to the extent that these decisions themselves do not produce legally binding effects directly under EU law. However, whilst I still believe that, in taking the EMA and ELA seat decisions, the Representatives of the Governments of the Member States acted under Article 341 TFEU, even if they had acted outside the framework of the Treaties (quod non), there exists a certain connection between EU law and the decisions of the Representatives of the Member States adopted outside the Treaties, if such decisions are related to the functioning of the EU.
It is true that the EU Treaties whilst stipulating the legal effects of the acts of EU institutions in Article 288 TFEU, are silent on the legal effect of decisions made by the Representatives of the Member States. However, the accession treaties bind new Member States to these decisions, without specifying whether their binding nature under EU law is contingent on them having been adopted on the basis of the Treaties or outside the Treaty framework. In precise terms and by way of example, according to Article 5 of the 2003 Act of Accession:
The new Member States accede by this Act to the decisions and agreements adopted by the Representatives of the Governments of the Member States meeting within the Council. They undertake to accede from the date of accession to all other agreements concluded by the present Member States relating to the functioning of the Union or connected with the activities thereof.
Following the logic that the main purpose of an accession treaty is to ensure that the EU law and the acquis communitaire as a whole become binding upon the new Member States, it is difficult to see how decisions of the Representatives of the Member States meeting within the Council lack any legal connection with EU law and the acquis. One could argue that the above-mentioned Article 5 covers only the decisions adopted on the basis of the Treaties. However, nothing in Article 5 indicates such a limitation. There is also no need for “all other agreements”, as specified in the last sentence of this provision, to be based on the Treaties.
In my view, Article 5 of the 2003 Act of Accession means, in practice, that the ten new Member States became bound, for example, by both Edinburgh Decisions at the date of their accession in 2004 through the accession treaty, which represents an instrument of both EU and international law. Indeed, stemming from this logic, the decisions made by the Representatives of the Member States, as well as any other agreements related to functioning of the EU or connected with the activities thereof, whilst not perceived as part of EU law, should be perceived at least as international obligations of the Member States binding upon them either directly through international law or indirectly through EU law, i.e. the accession treaty. Indeed, as the Court of Justice confirmed in Case 44/84 Hurd, the purpose of the type of provision, like Article 5 of the 2003 Act of Accession, in the accession treaty is to extend the acquis communitaire, which the Member States are bound to accept, to all other acts adopted by the common agreement of the Member States (para 29). The view of the Court, together with the wording of accession treaty, mean that decisions of the Representatives of the Member States related to the functioning of the EU may, depending on their nature, create legal effects for the Member States.
In addition, as will be demonstrated below, decisions of the Representatives of the Member States related to the functioning of the EU create a special connection with EU law. This connection means that, these decisions facilitate the proper implementation of EU law, and consequently without implementing the decisions, the proper application of EU law might be hindered.
This was the case for the Decision of the Representatives of the Governments of the Member States, meeting within the Council, of 27 February 2002 on the financial consequences of the expiry of the ECSC Treaty and on the research fund for coal and steel (2002/234/ECSC). By this decision, the Member States entrusted the European Commission with the management of the ECSC assets and liabilities after expiry of the ECSC Treaty, an act certainly creating legal effects under international law. However, without the application of this decision ensuring the transition of assets from the ECSC to the Community, the effective management of former ECSC assets by the Community would be precluded. The same is true for another decision, namely the decision of the representatives of the Member States of 28 April 2004 concerning privileges and immunities granted to Athena (2004/582/EC). Without the recognition of privileges and immunities for Athena by the decision of the representatives of the Member States, the mechanism established by Council Decision 2004/197/CFSP would be prevented from efficient application.
The above conclusions can also be applied to the decisions establishing the seats of EU agencies. Without these decisions on their seats, the agencies would only function on a provisional basis and not become fully operational, thereby hindering the efficient application of the EU acts governing the establishment and functioning of such agencies. Thus, whilst I maintain that decisions on the seat of EU agencies are correctly based on Article 341 TFEU, if the Court were to rule the contrary, the AG’s conclusion that the ELA’s seat in Bratislava is only matter of fact, and does not produce any legal effects (see para 172) is, in my view, incorrect.
Conclusion
The AG could have easily suggested to the Court, after examining the relevant case law on the judicial review of the decisions of the Representatives of the Member States (Case C‑181/91 and C‑248/91 Parliament v Council and Commission, C-684/20 P Sharpston v Council and Conference of the Representatives of Governments of the Member States, etc.) to declare the actions inadmissible, without elaborating on substantive issues, including certain legal aspects of the seats of EU agencies. However, he decided to dwell on the scope of Article 341 TFEU and the legal nature of decisions of the Representatives of the Member States. Whilst this is certainly his right, as outlined above, his arguments are open to serious doubts, which should be resolved by the Court. In any case, as Shakespeare said, sometimes, less is more.
Sometimes less is more – a critical view on AG Bobek’s Opinion on the seats of EU agencies published first on https://immigrationlawyerto.weebly.com/
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