Years ago, I bought a contraption designed to separate and concentrate the most volatile components of a liquid mixture. I would tell you what I did with it, but I don't want to implicate myself in a federal felony.
Since 1868, it has been illegal for Americans to locate a "distilled spirits plant" in "any dwelling place," an offense currently punishable by a maximum $10,000 fine and up to five years in prison. The federal ban on home distilling is at the center of a case that the Supreme Court recently agreed to hear, which raises a specific constitutional issue but also highlights the absurdity of treating this hobby as a crime.
That policy, the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 5th Circuit ruled last April, cannot be justified as an exercise of the federal government's tax power. To the contrary, Judge Edith Jones said in the court's opinion, the ban is "an anti-revenue provision that prevents distilled spirits from coming into existence," meaning its effect is "to reduce revenue instead of raising it."
Nor is the provision consistent with "the Supreme Court's explanation of how the federal power of taxation works," Jones wrote. When Congress imposes a tax, the Court explained in 2012, it "leaves an individual with a lawful choice to do or not do a certain act, so long as he is willing to pay a tax levied on that choice." But in this case, Jones noted, would-be home distillers "have only the choice not to do as they wish or risk fines and imprisonment."
The government argued that the ban helps collect liquor taxes by prohibiting a form of production that is difficult to detect. But "Congress cannot prohibit intrastate activity solely because it might produce products hard to tax," Jones said. If it could, she warned, there would be "no limit whatsoever" to its tax power.
Under the government's logic, Jones noted, "Congress may criminalize nearly any at-home conduct only because it has the possibility of concealing taxable activity. Home-based businesses may be forbidden. Remote work may be deemed a crime."
The Trump administration, which wants the Supreme Court to overturn the 5th Circuit's decision, argues that threatening to imprison home distillers is a "necessary and proper" safeguard against tax evasion. But whatever your take on the constitutional question, that policy is morally indefensible, haphazardly enforced, and inconsistent with the federal government's treatment of wine and beer.
The lead plaintiff in this case is Scott McNutt, a member of the Hobby Distillers Association. In 2014, McNutt received a "Notice of Potential Civil and Criminal Liability" from the Treasury Department, which said it had reason to believe he "may have purchased a still capable of producing alcohol and/or equipment and materials that may be used in the manufacture of a still."
The notice warned that "federal law provides no exemptions for the production of distilled spirits for personal or family use." It added that "unlawful production of distilled spirits is a criminal offense," which it erroneously claimed was "punishable by a fine of up to $500,000" as well as "imprisonment for not more than 5 years."
Meanwhile, online retailers such as Amazon sell a wide variety of home stills, many of which are explicitly advertised as appliances designed to produce alcoholic beverages such as vodka, gin, brandy, and whiskey. Customers could be forgiven for assuming that's legal, especially since federal law has long permitted home wine and beer production "for personal or family use."
McNutt's lawyers say he "owns a still that he has used to lawfully distill fuel alcohol and seeks to 'tinker around' with beverage spirits." Another plaintiff, Thomas Cowdrey, "likewise seeks to experiment in creating new beverage spirits, including 'apple pie vodka,' for which he has developed a recipe."
Because of a law Congress enacted 158 years ago, McNutt and Cowdrey would be felons if they acted on those desires. It might be time to rethink that policy.
A little more than a year ago, President Donald Trump publicly demanded that Pam Bondi, then the attorney general, find a crime to pin on former FBI Director James Comey. Trump's underlings have repeatedly tried to do that, first charging Comey with lying to Congress and then accusing him of threatening to assassinate the president. But the first indictment was dismissed because Trump had illegally appointed the prosecutor who obtained it, and the second was doomed right out of the gate because it aimed to punish constitutionally protected political speech.
The Justice Department's latest attempt to follow Trump's marching orders was revealed on Monday, when U.S. District Judge Trevor McFadden unsealed a "criminal information" that claims Comey illegally shared classified information with The New York Times on October 5, 2016. In an attempt to meet the statutory deadline for that charge, prosecutors filed it exactly 10 years after the alleged disclosure. But Comey's lawyers argue that federal law required the government to obtain a grand jury indictment within 10 years of the alleged offense, which it failed to do.
Whatever you make of that dispute, the president has made it clear that he wants to imprison Comey, a longtime nemesis because of his role in the "Russiagate hoax" during Trump's first term, and does not much care about exactly how that happens. Justice Department officials, meanwhile, are keen to pursue Trump's personal vendetta by using their prosecutorial powers as an instrument of his revenge.
The new case "would almost be funny if it weren't such an appalling abuse of the Department of Justice," Comey said in an online video on Monday. "I'm still innocent. I'm still not afraid of these people, and I still believe in the independent federal judiciary."
In the New York Timesstory at the center of the case, Charlie Savage and Nicole Perloth reported that Yahoo had adapted "a system intended to scan emails for child pornography" to comply with a Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Court order seeking "messages containing a computer 'signature' tied to the communications of a state-sponsored terrorist organization." Savage and Perloth cited "two government officials who spoke on the condition of anonymity."
Dustin Farahnak, a special U.S. attorney for the District of Columbia, says that story included "first-time disclosures of classified information not intended for the public domain." According to Farahnak, the government has evidence that Comey "directed staff" to discuss "specific accuracy concerns" about a prior Reuters report on the same subject with Savage. In the process of doing that, Farahnak says, those FBI officials "illegally transferred classified information."
Comey's attempt to set the record straight, according to Trump's henchmen, was a felony punishable by up to 10 years in prison under 18 USC 793(d), an Espionage Act provision that applies to an official who "willfully" shares "information relating to the national defense" with an unauthorized recipient when he "has reason to believe" it "could be used to the injury of the United States." Comey also faces a charge of conspiring to violate Section 793, which likewise carries a maximum 10-year sentence.
If Comey's alleged disclosure was such a grave crime, you might wonder, why did it take a decade to charge him? Because two prior investigations of the same incident concluded that criminal charges were not warranted.
Beginning in March 2017, John Durham, the U.S. attorney for the District of Connecticut, looked into the genesis of the Times article. The investigation found that James Baker, then the FBI's general counsel, was one of the anonymous sources. Baker said he had acted under instructions from FBI Chief of Staff James Rybacki, whom he understood to be conveying Comey's wishes. Durham's investigation included interviews, emails, phone records, and consideration of the relevant statutes. In December 2018, Comey's lawyers note, Durham "wrote a classified memorandum outlining the investigation and recommending 'NO prosecution for Baker or anyone else.'"
The following month, the U.S. Attorney's Office for the District of Columbia "opened an investigation into the same subject matter," Comey's lawyers say. That investigation "was closed without any charges in February 2020" after the office "declined to prosecute."
Given the outcomes of those two investigations, the decision to charge Comey now stinks of desperation to slake Trump's thirst for revenge. According to Comey's lawyers, the tardiness of the charges also fatally undermines the case.
Federal law generally requires that prosecutors file charges within five years of the alleged crime. But the Internal Security Act of 1950 made an exception for Section 793, saying "an indictment for any violation" of that provision "may be found at any time within ten years next after such violation shall have been committed."
The charges against Comey "should be dismissed as time barred," his lawyers argue: "Section 19 of the Internal Security Act gives the government an extended ten-year limitations period in which to charge Section 793 offenses. But as Section 19 unambiguously states, the government may invoke that extended period only by obtaining a grand jury indictment. A criminal information—which the government can issue unilaterally without grand jury involvement—does not suffice. Because the default five-year statute of limitations for federal felonies has long since elapsed on the alleged offenses, and the government's information does not meet the express statutory requirement for an extended ten-year limitations period, the information is untimely and must be dismissed."
Whichever side prevails on that issue, no one should have any illusions that the Justice Department is pursuing the mission suggested by its name. "It remains unclear what [McFadden] will do with the matter and whether DOJ will even be able to secure an indictment—as required by the Constitution," Cato Institute legal fellow Mike Fox says in an emailed press release. "Should the matter proceed, it is unequivocally clear that this case is a vindictive prosecution—a classic case of lawfare by a weaponized Justice Department."
Is there an exception to the 5th Amendment's promise that government cannot take private property without "just compensation"? The Supreme Court declined to address that question this past Monday when it rejected a trio of petitions asking the justices to consider whether people should be compensated when law enforcement seizes or destroys their property.
Two of the cases concerned individuals who were not accused of a crime but whose property nevertheless became collateral damage as police pursued a suspect. In June 2022, police fired 30 tear gas canisters into Amy Hadley's home in South Bend, Indiana. Officers smashed windows, tore down security cameras, ransacked furniture, ripped down a panel and a fan, and punched holes in the walls as they searched for a fugitive named John Parnell Thomas, who had never been there. The police had erroneously concluded that Thomas accessed the internet via the IP address at Hadley's home. According to Hadley, the police caused at least $16,000 in damages, which insurance only partially covered.
About two months later, a SWAT team in Los Angeles arrived at Carlos Pena's North Hollywood printing business and destroyed it, along with his equipment inside, crippling his livelihood after a fugitive broke in and barricaded himself in the shop. (The suspect ultimately escaped.) Pena alleged approximately $60,000 in damages in his suit against the city, which declined to compensate him for his losses. His insurance also refused to step in—as is common in such cases, as policies often exclude damage caused by the government.
The third petition concerned Chicago drivers whose vehicles were seized by the city over modest unpaid parking tickets. Ryan O'Donnell's vehicle was impounded and sold for scrap because of about $524 in debt. Michael Goree's was seized and relinquished to the lienholder over a debt that did not belong to him; the $560 in unpaid tickets were for a different vehicle owned by his co-signer.
In all of these cases the lower courts' reasoning came from a similar place. Hadley, O'Donnell, and Goree's petitions were heard by the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 7th Circuit, which has adopted a categorical rule: Property destroyed in the exercise of "police power" is immune to claims under the Takings Clause, the U.S. Constitution's pledge that government cannot usurp private property without fairly compensating the owner. Pena's case went to the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 9th Circuit, where the judges have declined to issue such a sweeping exception but have instead ruled that governments are exempt from paying out claims when the police actions in question were "necessary."
In a statement, U.S. Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor, joined by Justice Neil Gorsuch, outlined the many inconsistencies between the circuits on the topic. "It is still an 'open question' whether these or any other approaches are consistent with this Court's precedents. Few of these decisions likewise explain the source of any such police-power exception to the Takings Clause—whether the common law, the Constitution, or elsewhere," she wrote. "Such questions thus continue to 'benefit from further percolation' in the lower courts before this Court chooses to intervene."
Sotomayor was quoting herself. In 2024, she released similar remarks in response to a petition from Texas woman Vicki Baker, whose house in McKinney had been hollowed by a SWAT team attempting to capture a fugitive. The high court declined to hear Baker's case, although she finally found relief under the Texas state constitution this year.
"It's possible that the Court sincerely doesn't think the lower courts have done enough thinking on this important but novel issue," Patrick Jaicomo, a senior attorney at the Institute for Justice who represented Hadley, tells me. "Still, we've brought them 5 cases from 5 circuits. How much more percolation is needed?…The Court is going to have to address this important issue, and it's not clear what another circuit decision or 6 might do to aid that consideration."
Though Sotomayor's statement ran in parallel to the one two years ago, its slightly sharper warning intimated that we may be inching closer to a resolution. "I again encourage courts considering this issue to take care," she wrote, "that due deference to state police powers does not eclipse constitutional rights."
On December 2, the Supreme Court will consider constitutional challenges to "assault weapon" bans in Connecticut and Cook County, Illinois, that cover widely owned rifles, including the AR-15. As the plaintiffs in those consolidated cases see it, such laws plainly violate the Second Amendment because they prohibit arms in common use for lawful purposes. In briefs filed on Wednesday, Connecticut and Cook County urge the justices to reject that test, saying a weapon's popularity is not dispositive. The relevant question, they say, is whether their rifle restrictions fit a historical tradition of banning "unusually dangerous weapons."
Cook County and Connecticut have the burden of showing that their laws are "consistent with this Nation's historical tradition of firearm regulation," the test established by the Supreme Court's 2022 decision in New York State Rifle & Pistol Association v. Bruen. On the face of it, that is a daunting challenge.
In the 2008 case District of Columbia v. Heller, the Supreme Court said the Second Amendment protects the right to own "bearable arms" that are "in common use" for "lawful purposes like self-defense." That description indisputably encompasses "AR-15 platform and similar semiautomatic rifles," the firearms at issue in these cases. But Heller also recognized "the historical tradition of prohibiting the carrying of 'dangerous and unusual weapons.'" Cook County and Connecticut argue that the rifles they have deemed intolerable fall into that category.
"There is a robust historical tradition of regulating unusually dangerous weapons that
compromise public safety," Cook County says. "Such regulations, which long
predate the founding, have included outright bans and other restrictions on exceptionally dangerous weapons like launcegays, trap guns, Bowie knives, and slung shots."
Cook County argues that its ordinance is "relevantly similar" to those historical restrictions because it targets "exceptionally lethal weapons that are disproportionate to the end of self-defense." AR-15s are "offensive weapons of war designed for maximum lethality and are not customarily used for self-defense," the brief says. "The purpose and operation of the ban is consistent with our Nation's historical tradition and accounts for the exceptional dangerousness of these technologically advanced weapons."
The ban is "an appropriate contemporary restriction implemented by the legislature in response to dramatic technological change and unprecedented societal concern," the brief says. "It is tailored to respond to the particular dangers presented in areas with mass casualty exposure and acute public safety risk."
Connecticut offers a similar argument. One problem with this defense is the premise that "assault weapon" bans focus on "exceptionally lethal weapons." As critics of such laws have been pointing out for decades, the features they target, such as folding stocks, pistol grips, and barrel shrouds, do not affect a rifle's basic operation. With or without them, a rifle fires the same ammunition at the same rate with the same muzzle velocity. And because AR-15s use intermediate-caliber ammunition, they are arguably less lethal than shotguns and many hunting rifles that are not classified as "assault weapons."
Cook County's emphasis on technological developments is also questionable. Constitutional guarantees establish principles that courts routinely apply to technologies that did not exist at the founding. Although the Framers did not have radio, television, or the internet, for example, the First Amendment nevertheless constrains government regulation of those media.
More specifically, Heller rejected the idea that modern weapons are not covered by the Second Amendment by recognizing a constitutional right to own semiautomatic pistols. The Supreme Court said "the Second Amendment extends, prima facie, to all instruments that constitute bearable arms, even those that were not in existence at the time of the founding." The Court confirmed that point in the 2016 case Caetano v. Massachusetts, which involved a state ban on stun guns.
Cook County also asserts that AR-15s are not suitable for self-defense, a claim that would be hotly contested by many owners of such rifles, who commonly report using them for that purpose. "Plaintiffs have shown that AR-15s are well-adapted for self-defense," U.S. District Judge Peter Sheridan wrote in 2024, when he reluctantly concluded that New Jersey's AR-15 ban was inconsistent with Heller while expressing his dismay at that result. "Evidence has been presented to the Court that the build of the AR-15 makes it well-suited to self-defense because it is 'light weight, [has] very mild recoil, and [has] good ergonomics'; it is a weapon which is 'well suited to younger shooters, female shooters, and other shooters of smaller stature.'"
Sheridan added that "the AR-15's design features—including the effectiveness of its cartridge for self-defense use and its better continuity of fire when used with available magazines—make the AR-15 a good choice for self-defense." And he noted that "the AR-15 has been used recently in several, relatively high-profile self-defense events in Florida, Illinois, Texas, Pennsylvania, and Oklahoma."
Cook County and Connecticut are also wrong in suggesting that self-defense is the only "lawful purpose" that matters. While Heller emphasized the use of handguns "in defense of hearth and home," it did not say that was the full extent of the Second Amendment right. To the contrary, the phrase "lawful purposes like self-defense" implies that the right extends to other uses, such as hunting, pest control, and target shooting. The decision explicitly mentioned hunting as a "reason Americans valued the ancient right."
The briefs are misleading in another way that may prove decisive. They conflate "dangerous and unusual" with "unusually dangerous," which is not the same thing.
During the 19th century, state legislators restricted (and sometimes banned) weapons such as Bowie knives, spears, sword canes, slungshots, and brass knuckles. But the historical evidence suggests those weapons were not targeted simply because they were "unusually dangerous." Legislators were also concerned about how the weapons were typically used.
Solicitor General D. John Sauer, who filed a brief supporting the challenges to the AR-15 bans, notes that the 19th-century laws targeted weapons associated with "duels, brawls, and other criminal activities." And in reviewing those laws, state courts distinguished between arms favored by criminals and arms commonly used for lawful purposes.
In 1871, for example, the Tennessee Supreme Court held that legislators could ban weapons that were "not usual" but could not ban "the usual arms of the citizen." The top courts of Texas, Arkansas, West Virginia, North Carolina, and Michigan concurred that the right to arms encompassed weapons commonly owned by law-abiding people, including rifles.
AR-15s and similar rifles readily pass that common-use test. In January, the National Shooting Sports Foundation, the gun industry's trade association, reported that Americans own more than 32 million "modern sporting rifles," its preferred term for the models covered by "assault weapon" bans. Survey data suggest that somewhere between 16 million and 25 million Americans have owned AR-15-style rifles. Last year, a unanimous Supreme Court described the AR-15 as "the most popular rifle in the country."
According to Cook County and Connecticut, however, none of that matters. "Once it is established that a regulation pursues a legitimate public safety objective in a permissible manner, raw ownership numbers cannot immunize a firearm from regulation," Cook County says. It argues that opponents of its ordinance have misconstrued the significance of the common-use test and misunderstood how it interacts with Bruen.
"When the Second Amendment's plain text covers an individual's conduct, the Constitution presumptively protects that conduct," the Supreme Court said in Bruen. "To justify its regulation, the government may not simply posit that the regulation promotes an important interest. Rather, the government must demonstrate that the regulation is consistent with this Nation's historical tradition of firearm regulation. Only if a firearm regulation is consistent with this Nation's historical tradition may a court conclude that the individual's conduct falls outside the Second Amendment's 'unqualified command.'"
The common-use question, Cook County argues, figures only in the first Bruen step: "the inquiry whether the weapon at issue is one 'the Second Amendment protects.'" But even if ownership of AR-15s is covered by "the Second Amendment's plain text," it says, that does not resolve the question of whether they can be banned, which depends on the historical analysis required by the second step of the Bruen test.
"This Court's decision in Bruen confirms that the Second Amendment's step-two inquiry does not insulate popularly owned firearms from regulation," the brief says. In Bruen, it was "undisputed" that "handguns are weapons 'in common use' today for self-defense," including "outside the home." But "instead of being the end of this Court's inquiry, that observation was just the beginning." The decision also included an "extended analysis" of the historical laws that New York cited to justify its "proper cause" requirement for carry permits. "If lawful common use alone were enough to forbid regulation," Cook County argues, "there would have been no need to engage in that careful and prolonged analysis."
The question in Bruen was not whether the Second Amendment precludes "regulation." It was whether New York's specific approach, which required residents to demonstrate a "special need" before they were allowed to exercise the right to bear arms, was consistent with the historical tradition. That is why the Court considered (and rejected) the purported historical analogs that New York offered.
Cook County conflates requirements for carry permits, the issue in Bruen, with an outright ban on ownership, the policy it is defending. Connecticut likewise blurs the distinction between carry restrictions and complete prohibition.
"The Bowie knife was 'widely carried by Americans of all stripes,' including 'upstanding citizens and villains' alike," Connecticut's brief says. "The widespread use of Bowie knives and other weapons for lawful purposes did not prevent dozens of States from restricting those weapons." But those laws generally restricted or banned public carry. They rarely made it illegal to acquire or possess a Bowie knife, which is the approach that Connecticut and Cook County have taken with AR-15s.
That policy is hard to reconcile with Heller. I will quote Sheridan again, since his comments made it clear that he would have preferred to uphold New Jersey's AR-15 ban. Under Heller, he said, "a categorical ban on a class of weapons commonly used for self-defense is unlawful." Given "the Supreme Court's clear direction on this point," he concluded, New Jersey's law "is unconstitutional" as applied to "the Colt AR-15 for use for self-defense in the home."
Last July, the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 3rd Circuit agreed and went further, extending that conclusion to "the full class of semi-automatic rifles" banned in New Jersey. "Together, Heller and Bruen teach that bans or broad prohibitions on possessing or carrying of a class of weapons in common use for lawful purposes fail to find support in our Nation's tradition of firearm regulation," Judge Arianna Freeman, a Joe Biden appointee, wrote in the majority opinion. "That principle resolves our inquiry here."
To beat back the challenges to their laws, Connecticut and Cook County will have to persuade the justices that the 3rd Circuit's understanding of Heller and Bruen is wrong, meaning they are free to ban firearms in common use for lawful purposes. That seems like a tall order, and Cook County's position is especially puzzling. According to its brief, the fact that a weapon is covered by the Second Amendment does not mean Americans have a right to possess it. The more you think about that claim, the less sense it makes.
On a Tuesday morning in February 2025, federal agents descended upon Ayala's Mini Market, a convenience store in Glendale, Arizona, that offered check cashing, money transfer, shipping, and cellphone repair services along with standard items such as groceries, snacks, sodas, and cigarettes. The agents, who worked for the Internal Revenue Service (IRS) and the Department of Homeland Security (DHS), seized three computers, five cellphones, and business records, plus about $460,000 in cash and checks. They did not say why.
Twenty months later, the store's owner, Mario Ayala, still has not received a definitive answer to that question. Nor has the government told him what it plans to do with his property or how he can try to get it back. That Kafkaesque situation is unconstitutional, Ayala's lawyers at the Institute for Justice argue in a motion and memorandum they filed on Tuesday in the U.S. District Court for the District of Arizona. The motion seeks the return of the property seized from Ayala's business, saying there is no legitimate reason for the government to keep it.
"The government can't take your stuff, disappear, and then never explain itself," says Institute for Justice attorney Betsy Sanz. "For over a year and a half, the government has been holding Mario's money and property. This prolonged seizure violates the Fourth Amendment and federal law. The government cannot hold onto your property indefinitely without explanation so it can eventually take it permanently using civil forfeiture."
The raid on Ayala's store happened while he was visiting his ailing father in Mexico, who died a couple of months later. After Ayala's wife and son called to tell him what had happened, he rushed back to Arizona, where he tried to figure out why his business had been targeted by the IRS and the DHS. That was harder than you might think.
Ayala "has heard nothing from the government since they raided his business and seized his property," Sanz and her colleagues note in their memorandum. When the agents left, they told Ayala's son that "the business would receive a letter within thirty days," the memorandum says, but "no letter came," and the government "has not told Mario why it took his property or why it refuses to return it."
The agents left a one-page inventory of the property they took, including the computers, cellphones (two of which belonged to Ayala's customers), documents, and currency, although it did not specify the amount of money. They also left the first page of a warrant signed by a federal magistrate judge, which contained no information about the crime they were investigating or the property they were authorized to seize. It referred to attachments that might have clarified those points, but the attachments were missing.
Ayala still has not seen those attachments. But on the same day the agents raided his store, they also searched 18 other businesses in the Phoenix area, all of which offered money services. Judging from the warrants served on three of those other businesses, which were signed by the same magistrate judge at the same time on the same day as the warrant for Ayala's Mini Market, the legal justification for the searches was suspected violations of 31 USC 5324, which makes it a felony to "structure" a financial transaction with the intent of "evading" federal reporting requirements.
The Bank Secrecy Act requires that financial institutions report cash transactions involving more than $10,000 to the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network (FinCEN). Although that mandate is aimed at money laundering, someone can be guilty of structuring even without evidence of any other crime if he deliberately tries to avoid triggering a FinCEN report by breaking up a transaction into amounts below the threshold. As far as Ayala can tell, the search of his store was based on nothing more than suspicion of structuring.
If so, Ayala's lawyers argue, the IRS agents who participated in the raid violated a 2019 federal law that bars the agency from seizing money when structuring is the only suspected crime. Congress passed that law in response to IRS forfeiture abuses highlighted by the Institute for Justice. "For the IRS to legally seize property based on a structuring offense, it must also have an added suspicion of some other criminal act," Sanz et al. note. "Yet the IRS seized Mario's property, apparently on the sole suspicion of a structuring violation."
That is not the only legal problem with the seizure. Assuming the government plans to seek forfeiture of Ayala's money based on an alleged connection to criminal activity, it missed a crucial deadline. The Civil Asset Forfeiture Reform Act (CAFRA) requires the federal government to notify property owners of attempted forfeitures within 60 days of the seizure. That deadline passed a year and a half ago, and Ayala still has received no such notice.
"This notice is crucial because it informs a property owner that the government intends to forfeit his property and triggers his ability to respond by filing a claim or administrative petition," Ayala's lawyers note. If the government fails to meet that requirement, CAFRA says, it "shall return the property."
The government can seek extensions of the CAFRA deadline "only if there is reason to believe that notice may have an adverse result," such as "endangering the life or physical safety of an individual," "flight from prosecution," "destruction of or tampering with evidence," "intimidation of potential witnesses," or "otherwise seriously jeopardizing an investigation or unduly delaying a trial." None of those conditions applies in this case, Sanz et al. say, and their client "is unaware of the government seeking any such extension here."
Another possible rationale for keeping Ayala's property is that the government needs it as evidence in a criminal investigation. But his lawyers argue that the seized items "have no independent evidentiary value."
The government "cannot claim that it is holding the cash as evidence of the suspected structuring offense, because the government—in the usual course—does not continue to hold the physical cash it seizes but rather promptly deposits it," the memorandum says. "To prove the suspected offense here, the government would present evidence documenting the amounts and frequency of transactions and evidence that the defendant intentionally evaded reporting requirements. No fact the government must prove to establish a structuring offense becomes more or less provable by the government's continued possession of Mario's money."
Although "the checks and business documents that the government seized from Mario may at first have had some evidentiary value," Sanz et al. say, it could have long since returned the originals and kept copies. As for the computers and cellphones, "the government has had ample time to extract and copy" any relevant information.
While the benefits of keeping Ayala's property seem highly dubious, the cost to him has been severe. The seizure of the checks and currency wreaked havoc with his business model, which relies on money received for transfers to cash checks, which in turn are scanned and used to pay the companies that handle the transfers.
"The search and seizure of Mario's property upended his business," the memorandum says. "He had to keep his business closed until March 1, 2025, to replace the seized computers and to figure out how they could keep the business open. He took $50,000 of his own money out of the bank so that he could keep cashing customers' checks. When that ran out, the business had to stop cashing checks for a long time, losing customers."
Ayala "also had to come up with $112,097.20 to pay the money transmitters to cover the balance that had accrued while he was away," his lawyers add. "Since all the cash and cashed-but-unscanned checks had been seized, Mario needed to pay this money to the transmitters on his own. Though he did ultimately pay back all the money transmitters over the following month, the consequences of the raid damaged Mario's business relationship with one of the money transmitters he had formerly worked with, InterMex. Today, the business can no longer offer InterMex as an option for money transfers."
Ayala's business "is now finally stable, but it is still not doing as well as it was before the raid," Sanz et al. say. "Mario has changed the way he runs his business because of the raid. He now scans every customer's cashed check to send it to the money transmitters as soon as it is cashed, rather than collecting [checks] and scanning them together as they previously did. He constantly worries that his business will be targeted again."
In the 20 months since the raid, the government has not filed a forfeiture action or even notified Ayala that it intends to do so. Nor has it filed any criminal charges related to the seizure, as far as Ayala knows. "The government has no lawful reason to retain
Mario's property," his lawyers say, "and this Court should exercise its equitable jurisdiction to order its return."
The motion relies on Federal Rule of Criminal Procedure 41(g), which says "a person aggrieved by an unlawful search and seizure of property or by the deprivation of property may move for the property's return." The U.S. Court of Appeals for the 9th Circuit, which includes Arizona, has adopted four criteria for granting such a motion: whether the government "displayed a callous disregard for the constitutional rights of the movant," whether "the movant has an individual interest in and need for the property he wants returned," whether "the movant would be irreparably injured by denying return of the property," and whether "the movant has an adequate remedy at law for the redress of his grievance."
All of those factors count in Ayala's favor, Sanz et al. argue. Ayala's interest in the property and the injury he is suffering are clear, as is the absence of any other remedy. As for the first criterion, "the government can neither forfeit Mario's property nor justify holding it as evidence, so its continued retention is unreasonable under the Fourth Amendment," the memorandum says. "And its nearly 20 months of silence, without any notice or any forum in which to contest the seizure, offends due process. At every turn, the government has 'callous[ly] disregarded' Mario's constitutional rights."
Ayala immigrated to the United States from Mexico in 1991 and struggled for years to make a go of his business, which was successful enough at the time of the raid that he planned to open a new location devoted to cellphone repair. That plan is now on hold because of the financial difficulties caused by the seizure.
"This business is my American Dream, and the government took years of my hard work without telling me what I did," Ayala says. "This raid hurt me and my family. I hope this lawsuit gets my money back and helps make sure this doesn't happen to anyone else."
One of the unfortunate quirks of the American system is that you can't lie to the government, but the government can lie to you. Samuel Tunick found himself on the receiving end of this setup last year at Atlanta International Airport. When agents from the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) asked for his phone password, he allegedly gave them a self-destruct code that wiped his data. Tunick now faces five years in prison for destroying evidence.
It turns out that the feds were lying to Tunick the entire time. A new court filing, first reported by 404 Media, shows that the DHS had sent out an order to seize Tunick's phone over his involvement in environmentalist protests in Atlanta. When he landed at the airport, however, agents told Tunick that they were looking for "kiddie porn" and he would be allowed to leave with his phone if he cooperated. They also repeatedly denied him access to his lawyer when he asked.
"There can be no real debate that if law enforcement had acted similarly elsewhere in Atlanta, their actions would be unconstitutional. But the government says it was entitled to act this way because Mr. Tunick was returning from an international vacation" in the Dominican Republic, his lawyers wrote in the filing, which includes internal DHS communications and excerpts from his interrogation video.
U.S. law recognizes a "border exception" to Fourth Amendment privacy rights, allowing federal agents to search incoming travelers for contraband. U.S. Customs and Border Protection (CBP) claims that this exemption also allows them to hold travelers for questioning and search their electronic data. Tunick's case reveals just how widely the agency stretches this loophole.
A few hours before Tunick landed, Homeland Security Investigations (HSI) agent Travis Mcghie emailed the CBP station in Atlanta with his photo and information, stating that he is under investigation for "suspected terrorist activities." (Tunick is involved in Save the Atlanta Forest, also known as Stop Cop City, a protest movement against a local police training center.) The email asked CBP to "conduct a 100% baggage exam, retain all electronics and collect passcodes," stating that the HSI will be at the airport to conduct an interrogation.
Pulled into the secondary screening room, Tunick "almost immediately" told CBP officers that "I don't really want to speak without a lawyer any more," according to the filing, which cites the interrogation tape. He would ask for a lawyer multiple times.
The agents asked Tunick if he had "kiddie porn" on his phone and stated that "because you're refusing to talk, we have the authority to go through your phone to see what we're looking for." One of them, Latoya Castro, told Tunick that "either you can give us your password so that we can go through it no problem, or you can refuse to do that, unfortunately, we will have to seize your phone."
Both of those statements were a lie, of course. The HSI's email had asked CBP to take Tunick's phone, whether or not he cooperated.
The lie about child porn may not only have been meant to intimidate Tunick. While there arecontradictory lower court rulings about the border search exemption, some courts have ruled that the CBP can only search electronics for "digital contraband," or files that are themselves illegal. A search for child sex abuse material would be on stronger legal ground than a search for mere evidence of other crimes.
Tunick was using GrapheneOS, a secure phone system that allows users to set both a real password and a "duress password" that wipes out all data when entered. The interrogation tape shows his phone appearing to reset after he gave the officers a passcode. HSI agent Nathan Burnham and FBI agent Andrea Coble then entered the room.
"You are not under arrest. Once these gentlemen are done with you, pursuant to your entry into the country, you're free to leave," Burnham said, referring to the CBP officers.
Tunick's lawyers argue that the judge should throw out the phone password Tunick provided and everything that resulted from entering it as an "involuntary" response made under "unlawful interrogation," because the CBP agents did not read Tunick his Fifth Amendment rights and ignored his multiple requests to consult with his lawyer before answering their questions.
The CBP claims that secondary screening at the border doesn't count as a criminal investigation, so detainees don't have the same rights as criminal suspects. "Since the international arrivals inspection is an administrative function, CBP policy and federal regs do not permit the presence of lawyers during secondary examinations," a spokesmantoldReason earlier this year.
But Tunick's lawyers insist that his experience was "far outside" a normal border crossing: He was accused of a serious crime to his face, faced an investigation for a different serious crime he didn't know about, and clearly could not leave the situation until he gave information to government agents.
"I hope people understand that the charges against me are meant to intimidate people against protecting their data and their privacy, and the government hopes to set a precedent that no one has the right to privacy," Tunick told 404 Media.
Defend the Atlanta Forest, the movement that Tunick is involved with, has been amajor nuisance for authorities in Georgia. Protesters attacked and burned construction equipment throughout 2022, and police shot a protester in 2023 under unclear circumstances, claiming that they were fired at during a raid.
The Trump administration has brought down the federal government against the movement. In June 2026, the Department of Justice broughtfederal charges against two alleged arsonists, citingNational Security Presidential Memo 7, which directs the feds to go after left-wing domestic terrorism.
But beyond the email line about "suspected terrorist activities," there is no indication of what specific crimes the feds suspected Tunick of, or why they suspected him. And the whole setup of the interrogation was designed to hide those answers. In fact, instead of charging Tunick under typical obstruction or evidence-destruction laws, federal prosecutors chose ararely-used statute that doesn't require them to disclose what the underlying investigation was about.
"Many times the government wants to highlight what it was trying to investigate because that ups the stakes on what the defendant was doing," former prosecutor Daniel RichmantoldThe New York Times. "This is a case where I think they're trying to avoid exactly that by focusing only on the destruction, and not what the investigation was about."
Since 1871, a federal statute has authorized Americans to sue state and local officials for violating their constitutional rights. But since 1982, thanks to the court-invented doctrine of qualified immunity, such claims have been allowed only when they allege violations of "clearly established" law.
Because courts often require plaintiffs to meet that standard by citing precedents involving closely similar facts, qualified immunity can prove insurmountable even for victims of outrageous abuses. But as two recent cases illustrate, there are limits to this license for misconduct, meaning officials may still be held accountable when they flout longstanding constitutional principles, even when they do so in novel ways.
In 2022, Mario Rosales and Gracie Lasyone sued two Alexandria, Louisiana, police officers, Samuel Terrell and Jim Lewis, alleging that they had pulled Rosales over without legal justification. The cops ordered Rosales and Lasyone, his girlfriend, out of the car and detained them for 21 minutes, during which they grilled the couple about illegal drugs, frisked Rosales, and instructed him to empty his pockets.
Terrell and Lewis sought refuge in qualified immunity. But last month, the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 5th Circuit ruled that Rosales and Lasyone had plausibly alleged several Fourth Amendment violations, including a stop based on a "fabricated traffic violation," an improperly prolonged detention, and unjustified searches.
In reaching that conclusion, the 5th Circuit relied mainly on a 1968 decision in which the Supreme Court said police may detain someone only if they reasonably suspect he is involved in criminal activity and may frisk him only if they reasonably suspect he is "armed and dangerous." Assuming the facts alleged in the lawsuit are true, the three-judge panel unanimously held, Terrell and Lewis had failed both of those tests.
When the officers stopped Rosales, the principles that the 5th Circuit applied had been the law of the land for more than half a century. Terrell and Lewis nevertheless argued that "any constitutional violation arising from the traffic stop was not clearly established," which gives you a sense of the chutzpah that qualified immunity invites.
Police commonly pull drivers over, ostensibly for traffic violations, in the hope of implicating them in drug crimes. A case that the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 8th Circuit considered this month involved a much more unusual scenario: a judge who locked two children in jail cells because he was frustrated by their resistance to a parental custody decision.
During a 2019 hearing in Taney County, Missouri, a divorced couple agreed that the mother would have primary custody of their two children, then 12 and 14. But contrary to that agreement, the children did not want to go home with their mother, which led to an argument in the courthouse lobby.
Judge Eric Eighmy intervened, telling the children they had to leave with their mother and repeatedly warning them that they could end up in foster care if they refused to do so. When that did not work, Eighmy jailed them until they became more cooperative.
"The time spent in the holding-cell area was between twenty and forty minutes," the 8th Circuit noted. And since Eighmy did not have probable cause to believe the children had committed any offense, "much less one that justified placing them in a holding cell," the court said, their confinement clearly violated the Fourth Amendment.
If so, Eighmy argued, he had no way of knowing that. The 8th Circuit panel unanimously disagreed: "As we put it over a decade and a half ago, long before the events in this case, 'it is clearly established that a warrantless arrest, unsupported by probable cause, violates the Fourth Amendment.'"
Notably, the 8th Circuit did not think the bizarre details of the case counted in Eighmy's favor. "We are not concerned about the lack of a prior case" with "fundamentally similar" facts, it said. "Indeed, given how clear the law is, it would have been surprising to find one."
Last July, President Donald Trump imposed 50 percent tariffs on various Canadian goods, a list he subsequently expanded to include additional imports, some of which he banned outright. His legal justification was Section 338 of the Smoot-Hawley Tariff Act, which Congress approved in 1930. Section 338 authorized tariffs in response to discriminatory trade practices. But in the 96 years since it was enacted, no president had ever used it to impose tariffs.
Why is that? According to a lawsuit that the Liberty Justice Center (LJC) filed on Tuesday in the U.S. Court of International Trade (CIT), the answer is clear: Section 338 was superseded by subsequent legislation that likewise targeted discriminatory trade barriers, beginning with the Reciprocal Trade Agreements Act of 1934 and culminating in Section 301 of the Trade Act of 1974. Section 301, the current remedy, includes requirements that Trump apparently sought to dodge by invoking Section 338 instead.
That maneuver is illegal, the LJC argues. "Congress already gave the executive branch a tool for responding to unfair foreign trade practices: Section 301, which requires an investigation, public comment and other safeguards," says Jeffrey M. Schwab, the LJC's director of litigation. "The administration cannot skip those protections by reaching for a 1930 statute that no president had ever used to impose a tariff."
Why not? "Where provisions in two acts are in irreconcilable conflict, the later act, to the extent of the conflict, constitutes an implied repeal of the earlier one," the lawsuit says. "Where a later act covers the whole subject of an earlier one and is clearly intended as a substitute, it operates similarly as a repeal. And a specific policy embodied in a later federal statute controls the construction of an earlier one even absent express amendment."
Even if Section 338 somehow survived congressional approval of contrary laws, the LJC adds, Trump's tariffs exceed the authority it grants. And if Trump's interpretation of Section 338 were correct, the lawsuit says, the provision would violate the nondelegation doctrine, which bars Congress from delegating its tariff power to the president without providing "an intelligible principle" to guide and constrain his exercise of it.
Trump's Section 338 tariffs, in short, are "the Administration's latest attempt to exercise, through a statute never designed for the purpose, the tariff power that the Constitution assigns to Congress." That pattern should be familiar by now.
Shortly after taking office in 2025, Trump claimed to have discovered a previously unnoticed delegation of extensive tariff authority in the International Emergency Economic Powers Act (IEEPA), a 1977 law that does not mention import taxes and had never been used to impose them. That claim was rejected by every court that considered it, and last February the Supreme Court ruled that IEEPA does not authorize tariffs at all.
Trump responded to that decision by immediately announcing similarly broad tariffs under Section 122 of the 1974 Trade Act, which addresses "fundamental international payments problems" caused by "serious United States balance-of-payments deficits." In May, the CIT ruled that the new tariffs were illegal because Trump had failed to "identify balance-of-payments deficits within the meaning of Section 122."
Trump then switched to Plan C, invoking Section 301 of the Trade Act, which authorizes tariffs in response to a foreign "act, policy, or practice" that is "unreasonable or discriminatory" and "burdens or restricts" U.S. commerce. He claimed that provision justified tariffs on 86 trading partners, accounting for nearly all U.S. imports, because they had failed to "impose and effectively enforce a prohibition on the importation of goods produced with forced labor." The CIT is currently weighing challenges to those tariffs, including an LJC lawsuit.
Trump's Section 338 tariffs have now added to the CIT's caseload. The LJC represents Gellert Global Group, an importer that was hit hard by those taxes after Trump added cheese to the list of disfavored Canadian goods. The lawsuit asks the CIT to certify a class of importers, numbering in "the hundreds, if not the thousands," that likewise have been clobbered by Trump's 50 percent tariffs.
Since Trump obviously is aware of Section 301, why did he resort to a never-used, seemingly obsolete provision to justify the tariffs on imports from Canada? As the LJC notes, Section 301 requires an investigation by the Office of the U.S. Trade Representative, "consultation with the foreign country concerned, notice, public comment, a hearing, and determinations within statutory deadlines." It also requires "that action be equivalent in value to the burden imposed, that duties be preferred over other import restrictions, and that actions terminate after four years absent a request for continuation and review."
Can Trump avoid those constraints by invoking Section 338 instead? The LJC thinks not: "Congress did not intend to leave in place a parallel authority that would allow the President to impose the same remedies, for the same conduct, free of every one of those safeguards."
Section 338 has been "impliedly repealed," the LJC argues. "At a minimum, Section 301 controls where, as here, the President seeks to respond to foreign practices within Section 301's scope, and the President may not impose duties in response to such practices while disregarding the procedures and limits Section 301 imposes. Because the President did not proceed under Section 301, the Section 338 Tariffs are unlawful whether or not Section 338 survives."
Even if you ignore subsequent legislation, the LJC argues, the Canadian policies that Trump cited when he announced the tariffs do not qualify as "discrimination" under Section 338. "Canada's motor vehicle surtax and its provinces' alcohol purchasing decisions are responses to tariffs that the United States imposed on Canada, not discrimination by Canada against the United States," it says. Trump also complained that Canada treats European cheese imports more favorably than U.S. cheese imports. But "when Congress enacted Section 338, a preference granted under a reciprocal agreement was not 'discrimination.'"
Section 338 "addresses discrimination: measures that single out United States commerce for worse treatment than the commerce of the world at large," the lawsuit says. "It is not a general authorization to impose tariffs whenever the President disagrees with a trading partner's policies, or whenever a trading partner responds to tariffs the United States has imposed on it."
Trump also was unfazed by Section 338's requirement that the president set duties to "offset" the costs imposed by discriminatory practices, which implies proportionality. Rather than attempt that, the LJC notes, Trump imposed "the statutory maximum rate of 50 percent without tying it to any measured burden."
As interpreted by Trump, the lawsuit warns, Section 338 authorizes the president to "impose tariffs of up to 50 percent on any products of any country that extends better treatment to any other country in any respect—including through any of the hundreds of preferential trade agreements to which the United States is not a party—or that responds to tariffs the United States has imposed on it." Yet Section 338 "contains no clear statement authorizing that power," contrary to the "major questions" doctrine, which applies to assertions of executive authority with "vast economic and political significance."
If Section 338 conferred the sort of unfettered authority that Trump is claiming, the LJC says, it "would supply no intelligible principle constraining the exercise of Congress's power to lay duties." His reading "would convert a narrow, fact-dependent provision into an effectively unrestricted delegation of Congress's tariff power," which would be "an unconstitutional delegation of legislative power."
This case "is not about the president," says LJC CEO Sara Albrecht. "It is about the presidency. No president should have the power to pull a dormant statute off the shelf and use it to impose sweeping tariffs or import bans without the limits Congress required."
Matt Gaetz resigned from the U.S. House of Representatives in November 2024, shortly before the House Ethics Committee released a report accusing him of having sex with a 17-year-old girl in 2017, when he was 35, and "regularly pa[ying] women for engaging in sexual activity with him." The probe was widely discussed as a sex trafficking probe, but the ethics committee "did not find sufficient evidence to conclude that Representative Gaetz violated the federal sex trafficking statute," per its report.
Now two women have filed a civil lawsuit accusing Gaetz of sex trafficking.
The suit, filed in the U.S. District Court for the Middle District of Florida, says that Gaetz and two other men (Joel Micah Greenberg and Christopher Dorworth) broke federal anti-trafficking laws by using "their public office, power, and wealth to prey on the economic vulnerability" of Jane Doe 1 and Jane Doe 2.
Gaetz, who now hosts The Matt Gaetz Show on One America News Network, said many of the suit's allegations against him are false. "The lawsuit relies almost exclusively on a Congressional Committee report that didn't allow me to confront my accusers," he said. "Now I will finally have that chance."
On X, Gaetz posted an image of three women in bikinis seated next to bottles of beer and looking at the ocean and wrote "Jane Doe Strikes Again! Two adult women sued me today alleging they were sex trafficked to the Bahamas. I'm shocked nobody responded to their repeated cries for help, posted to instagram."
Jane Doe Strikes Again! Two adult women sued me today alleging they were sex trafficked to the Bahamas. I'm shocked nobody responded to their repeated cries for help, posted to instagram. https://t.co/HPvX2xypzs
This does not seem like especially helpful behavior from a public relations perspective, to say nothing of whether it's legally wise to for Gaetz to be posting to social media about the suit against him.
But Gaetz's point isn't entirely off base. The actions described in the suit against him are hardly what most people would consider sex trafficking.
Jane Doe 1 and Jane Doe 2 were adult women willingly advertising on Seeking Arrangement, a site aimed at connecting young women with rich men for mutually beneficial relationships. And by their own account, that is what went down. They were taken on trips and paid thousands of dollars while hanging out, partying, and having sex with Gaetz and his friends.
Needless to say, advertising on a sugar baby website does not make you fair game for forced prostitution or sexual assault. But nowhere in the lawsuit are forced prostitution or sexual assault alleged.
Instead, we get sentences like this: Gaetz and the other defendents "led [Jane Doe 1] to believe they could solve her financial problems as long as she kept performing sexual acts for them and their associates," states the suit. But "the money never came as a single payment that would have solved Jane Doe 1's financial issues."
So…it's sex trafficking because he didn't pay her enough at one time? I don't think that's how the law works.
Overall, it's a stretch to say that Gaetz's actions as described in this suit fall under the scope of the federal Trafficking Victims Protection Reauthorization Act. Under federal law, sex trafficking must involve an element of force, fraud, or coercion, and/or must involve commercial sex involving someone who is under age 18.
In this case, both alleged victims were in their 20s at the time of the alleged trafficking. No element of force or fraud is claimed. And the type of "coercion" alleged seems more appropriate for a college debate than a courtroom.
There was no suggestion that harm would come to the women or their families, that a job or housing would be lost, or that failure to engage in sexual activity with Gaetz and his friends would result in some sort of other (physical, reputational, legal, etc.) harm befalling them. There was nothing on Gaetz's end that would seem to arise to "coercion" under federal trafficking statute, which defines it as involving "threats of serious harm to or physical restraint against any person," a scheme to make someone believe that serious harm will befall them if they don't comply, or abuse or threatened abuse of the legal process.
The suit contains a lot about Greenberg—a former tax collector who is in prison after pleading guilty to charges that include sex trafficking—and comparatively little about Gaetz. It seemingly attempts to make up for the lack of direct allegations against him by noting findings from the Ethics Committee, even though that committee specifically said it could not find evidence of sex trafficking.
Gaetz is accused of having sex with Jane Doe 1 at a party while Jane Done 1 was on MDMA. But the suit does not accuse Gaetz of foisting drugs on her, simply saying "controlled substances circulated at the party, and Jane Doe 1 took MDMA during the evening." Nor does it say that anyone forced Jane Doe 1 to be at the party or to have sex with Gaetz.
Gaetz is also accused of paying Jane Doe thousands of dollars—never directly after sex or as a direct quid pro quo, but during the same time period during which he was having sex with her. The payments were labeled things like "Being my friend," "Being awesome," "Here," and "Just because," the suit says.
And Gaetz is accused, along with the other defendants, of paying to fly Jane Doe 1 and Jane Doe 2—whom Greenberg met through the sugar baby website and introduced to Gaetz—"to Venice Beach, Miami, Las Vegas, the Florida Keys, the Bahamas, and New York City" and paying for their hotel rooms. The suit does not say that they were forced or coerced on these trips, merely that the trips exposed them to "men they would never otherwise have met, and every part of that access, from the flights to the hotel rooms, was paid for by men, including the Defendants, who expected sex in return."
The women's lawyer told the Associated Press that there was "an exploitative power imbalance," because on one side you had a congressman and some other powerful men and on the other "young financially vulnerable women in their early twenties."
Morally speaking, that might be relevant. And for a congressman, it may have been grounds for sanction. But the fact that these women were younger and less financially successful does not make a relationship between them and Gaetz de facto "coercive" or illegal.
Age gaps in relationships—even substantial ones—are not outlawed. And relationships in which an older man is attractive precisely because he has more money and power than the younger female involved, and offers to spend it lavishly, are not uncommon. The idea that this violates federal criminal law simply showcases how distorted our ideas of sex trafficking have become.
In the News
Children have a fundamental right to access the internet, says India's Supreme Court. The Free PressJournalreports:
"The safety of our children and their freedom are not at odds with each other. Our children are entitled to both," the court observed.
The bench explicitly recognised the right to access and use the internet as a fundamental right under Article 21, which protects life and personal liberty, read with Article 19(1)(a), which guarantees freedom of speech and expression.
Meanwhile, in the U.S.: "A federal appeals court panel has ruled that Florida's 2024 law restricting access to social media for teens is likely constitutional and can continued to be enforced while the legal challenge continues," notes the Florida Phoenix.
We were promised REPEATEDLY that age-verification law was narrow, and would ONLY apply to porn. But— as we warned —it was always a ruse.Since conservatives got their ruling in FSC v Paxton, they've pushed to age-gate anything and everything. It's not going to stop with social media or chatbots.
'Appropriate safeguards.' A small change in the language of the Apple App Store's app review guidelines could portend big changes. Via9to5Mac:
Under Section 1.2, which covers user-generated content, the guidelines now read (changes in bold):
Apps that enable users to create, generate, upload, share, or otherwise contribute content present particular challenges, including intellectual property infringement, nonconsensual intimate imagery, and anonymous bullying.
Apple's new terms add that "Developers who fail to implement appropriate safeguards or fail to remediate identified violations after notice may be considered in violation of the Developer Code of Conduct."
The change is being reported as a crackdown on "nudification" apps, and that certainly seems to be part of it. But the language about going after "developers who fail to implement appropriate safeguards"—combined with the broad warning about user-generated content—could signal a broader intent to crack down on social media platforms and other types of apps that don't implement ID verification or engage in more intense content moderation.
On Substack
Don't sacrifice due process to outrage. We can't let anger over allegations of gang rape at Cornell convince us to re-implement old Title IV policies that disregard due process, writes Robert Shipley of the Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression:
There's a groundswell of demand to "do something" in the wake of the sexual assault claims at Cornell. But amid the outrage and concern over the incident, it's critical to remember that one attempted remedy we actually know will not work is to return to a campus justice system in which the burden of proof is on the accused and basic civil liberties are cast aside. That social experiment has already been run. It failed.
Title IX, the law against sex discrimination in federally funded education programs, was passed in 1972. Debates at the time focused on how it would affect single-sex colleges and college athletics. Explicitly aimed at sex discrimination, the text of the law itself mentions neither sexual assault nor sexual harassment. Those became matters for Title IX gradually over the next couple of decades, as courts determined that sexual assault and sexual harassment were both forms of sex discrimination, and therefore covered under Title IX.
The Jane Doe lawsuit against Cornell and the accused students (as well as a fraternity, a sorority, and a local bar) hit national news at nearly the same time that the Trump administration officially removed the Biden-era regulations from the Federal Register. While almost certainly not related, some have connected the two, citing the Cornell incident to argue that regulations surrounding Title IX need to be changed again to reduce due process protections for the accused.
Not to pick on Sam here, but this is a useful point to highlight some of the impossibility of trust & safety work. Meta actually used to have a program *exactly* like this, BUT it became a central feature of Frances Haugen's Facebook Files as an example of Meta being evil.I'll explain…
• A new pair of high-tech sunglasses from Meta "can read your mail, describe the person in front of you, tell you what is on a restaurant menu, and help you find your way home," writesReason's Reem Ibrahim. "For the approximately 700,000 Americans who are blind, it is potentially life-changing."
• "The Supreme Court of Canada has upheld a decision ordering new trials for two people facing human trafficking and sexual services offences, after concluding they should have been able to cross-examine a complainant about the commercial aspect of her prior sex work," reportsThe Canadian Press. "The case looked at the application of section 276 of the Criminal Code, known as the rape shield law, which limits use of evidence about a complainant's sexual history in court proceedings."
• Markets in everything:
This website lets you attend the wedding of complete strangers
Couples list their weddings and users can buy a ticket to attend https://t.co/8b7EawyFod
• The People First Transportation Alliance has been campaigning against robot taxis in D.C. "But just who is behind the group remains unclear, even as it has sought to sway the outcome of a contentious issue with vast sums of money and thousands of jobs at stake across the country," reportsThe Washington Post.
Walking through East Cleveland, Ohio, feels a touch like you've wandered onto the set of a postapocalyptic film noir. Grand, gilded homes announce themselves on neighborhood streets, some crowned with turrets, many with windows punched out like missing teeth. Often, no one is home, because no one lives there. It is safer than 1 percent of U.S. cities.
That question is not really a legal one, at least not in the most technical sense. But it is the driving force behind a thorny case a federal court recently resuscitated: Fambrough v. City of East Cleveland, a saga concerning a man whose vehicle became an obsessive target of the East Cleveland Police Department (ECPD) after he used it to campaign for a mayoral challenger.
Some of the facts are in dispute. But the basic gist is as follows: William Fambrough, long a politically engaged East Clevelander, campaigned for Juanita Gowdy—a challenger to then-Mayor Brandon King—by broadcasting messages around the city with his sound truck. That ultimately came to an end after law enforcement impounded the car, cited him for parking and noise violations, and prosecuted him for the latter.
Fambrough sued, alleging the complex legal odyssey set into motion over his step van amounted to First Amendment retaliation, an unreasonable seizure under the Fourth Amendment, and a violation of the 14th Amendment's proscription against selective enforcement. The U.S. Court of Appeals for the 6th Circuit rejected some of those claims. But it resurrected claims against King and his chief of staff, Michael Smedley—depriving them of qualified immunity, the legal doctrine that inoculates state and local government officials from facing lawsuits if their alleged misconduct was not "clearly established" as illegal in prior case law. It also revived Fambrough's retaliation claim against the city.
As the 6th Circuit summarizes: King "says he received a phone call from a resident who complained about Fambrough's sound truck and someone else's box truck being parked in a residential area," so he told someone to take care of it. Scott Gardner, then the city's chief of police, "was concerned about selectively enforcing" the parking ordinance—which prohibits parking a truck in front of residential property, except for loading or unloading—because it is indeed almost never enforced. This was the beginning of a long pursuit, which ultimately saw a swarm of officers dispatched to Fambrough's house in August 2021 to confiscate the vehicle, allegedly resulting in $6,000 in damage. Fambrough also had to pay $528 in fees to get the damaged truck back.
"All the attention City officials gave Fambrough struck Gardner as unusual," the 6th Circuit notes. "The mayor's office wasn't this attentive even in homicide cases. And considering that the City had around only 50 police officers at the time and had 'serious crime problems,' Gardner thought it was odd to devote this much attention to permitting and parking issues." Based on available data, East Cleveland's violent crime rate is 1,409 per 100,000 residents, about four times higher than the national average.
Yet Gardner ultimately got on board. Smedley phoned him on August 9 "extremely upset," according to Gardner, and told the police chief he was "incompetent" for failing to "take care of" Fambrough's sound truck. Smedley wanted the "utmost enforcement as possible." So Gardner sent an email. "Please, find this vehicle and tow it," he wrote to all of ECPD. "Cite the operator with disturbing the peace and loud music. Please contact me as soon as this is complete to claim a surprise." A surprise!
Police succeeded. "On its face, the email told officers to tow Fambrough's truck regardless of whether it was parked illegally," writes the 6th Circuit. "And the Noise Ordinance authorizes seizure only of 'the sound device used,' and only upon conviction. So Gardner's instruction to tow the truck wasn't authorized by municipal law." The court still held that the seizure did not violate the Fourth Amendment. It also gave Gardner qualified immunity, ruling it is not clearly established that someone who acts as a conduit for someone else's alleged retaliation—which here came from the mayor's office—is a "responsible party."
Heather McCollough, the city's assistant law director, subsequently prosecuted Fambrough for allegedly violating the noise ordinance. According to a sworn declaration from Fambrough's attorney, McCollough outlined some of Fambrough's offenses on a call: that he "made complaints about the police department" and filed "public records requests," among other issues. Notably, it is legal to do those things. McCollough was typically willing to resolve minor noise complaints, she added, but not so much in this case, because Fambrough needed to "stand down." (He ultimately pleaded no contest to disorderly conduct, a reduced charge.)
Institute for Justice
"Only after [Fambrough] began supporting Gowdy's election was the weight of the law thrown against him," the 6th Circuit writes in its analysis of potential municipal wrongdoing. "And the City's police officers didn't uncover Fambrough's violations of their own accord. Instead, City decisionmakers sent them to Fambrough's home each time to enforce the Parking Ordinance. So the timing of the parking-related enforcement actions supports an inference that Fambrough's political speech was the motivating factor—as does the fact that the City rarely enforced the Parking Ordinance against anyone else despite having plenty of opportunities to do so." Incredibly, a photo of another truck can be seen down the street on the same day law enforcement came to fetch Fambrough's vehicle. (The law also includes pickup trucks, so the city arguably has a lot of enforcement to do if it sincerely believes this law matters.)
King allegedly set the chain of events into motion while Smedley took the driver's seat. "Smedley's pattern of incessantly calling and berating Gardner," the 6th Circuit adds, "clashes with the idea that Smedley was chiefly concerned with minor permitting, noise, or parking issues." After all, if that were true, why would the problem appear to begin and end with one person?
Over five years have passed since the ordeal. Although Fambrough is now potentially closer to getting in front of a jury, he has yet to actually state his case, still burdened by the onerous process government actors invoke to kill such suits before the community can assess the merits. King, meanwhile, won that election. He left office in May 2025, however, after he was found guilty of one count of theft in office, four counts of having an unlawful interest in a public contract, three counts of representation by public official or employee, one count of filing a false disclosure statement, and one count of soliciting improper compensation.
The Trump administration's attempts to fast-track construction of the president's long-promised border wall through Texas' remote Big Bend region have ground to a halt amid fierce opposition, protests, and legal challenges from landowners and conservation groups.
A federal judge on Wednesday released an opinion explaining her decision to issue a preliminary injunction blocking border wall construction through the Big Bend area. U.S. District Judge Kathleen Cardone found that the plaintiffs, which included the Center for Biological Diversity and several longtime residents of the region, had shown a substantial threat of irreparable harm if the construction project is allowed to continue.
The Trump administration wants to spend $7.5 billion building additional security infrastructure along a 500-mile stretch of the U.S.-Mexico border running through the Big Bend region, which includes Big Bend National Park. The federal government began sending threatening letters to property owners announcing its intent to acquire necessary pieces of their land this summer, and it waived several environmental regulations, allowing it to put bulldozers on the ground inside the national park by September.
However, numerous groups and local landowners say the border wall project will alter their way of life and permanently scar one of the most rugged and pristine landscapes in the country. The project attracted bipartisan criticism and protests.
Cardone also found that the plaintiffs were likely to succeed on their claims that Department of Homeland Security (DHS) Secretary Markwayne Mullin exceeded his authority when he issued environmental waivers for the project.
The injunction is a temporary reprieve for property owners such as David Keller, an archaeologist and part-time river guide on the Rio Grande River. The original plans for the border wall expansion would have cut through Keller's 10-acre property near Redford, Texas, putting a 30-foot-tall wall on the levee that sits between the river and the rest of his land.
Keller says the Trump administration gravely underestimated how much anger its tactics and attitude would generate.
"It's a level of arrogance—they're just used to being able to bulldoze over people," David Keller says. "They were moving forward as if they weren't expecting any resistance, but boy, they're due for a wakeup call. And they're having it right now."
Keller is a plaintiff in a separate lawsuit against the DHS by Conserve Big Bend, a coalition of landowners, conservationists, river tour guides, researchers, and other affected parties.
Keller says he's loved wild, open country since he was a child, and as soon as he saw the region in the 1990s, he decided he would find a way to live and work there, which he's done for the past 25 years. "It's visually magnificent," Keller says. "It's incredible. It's like no other place I'd ever seen. It's one of the last unspoiled places remaining in the lower 48."
Keller says it's where he plans on being buried, too, although these days he's unsure whether to say "plans" or "planned." The proposed border construction is an existential threat to the life he's built, he says, and if the wall goes up, he'd likely move.
"I didn't come down here to live in a cage," Keller says.
The proposed border wall would not only block access to the river for farmers, ranchers, and outdoors enthusiasts along the river, as well as block the view into Mexico, it would wreck "the whole feeling of the place, the historical cross-border culture that we've developed," Keller says.
So far, the federal government has not tried to seize any private property in the Big Bend region through eminent domain, although it sent letters to property owners this summer requesting access to survey their land and warning them that it held the option to invoke eminent domain if they did not quickly sell.
Both Keller's and the Center for Biological Diversity's lawsuits argue that the department's justification for building and expediting additional border infrastructure in the Big Bend Region are factually and legally incorrect. The DHS determined that the sector of the border is an "area of high illegal entry."
However, despite making up roughly a quarter of the entire U.S.-Mexico border, the Big Bend sector only accounted for between 0.3 percent and 2.2 percent of total border-wide arrests over the past 30 years.
Cardone cited the low apprehension numbers in her finding that Mullin exceeded his authority to issue the waivers.
"The unrebutted evidence shows that the Big Bend Sector is, by far, the sector with the lowest rate of migrant apprehensions along the entire U.S.-Mexico border, both in terms of gross totals and apprehensions per mile of border," Cardone wrote. "Therefore, if the Big Bend Sector is an area of high illegal entry, so is every other sector, and the waiver authority would apply to the entire U.S.-Mexico border."
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