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 Times story 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."

The post The Justice Department's 3rd Attempt To Imprison James Comey Stinks of Trump's Desperation for Revenge appeared first on Reason Magazine.

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."

The post Police Destroyed Their Homes and Businesses. The Supreme Court Won't Say Who Should Pay. appeared first on Reason Magazine.

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."

The post The Feds Took $460,000 From This Arizona Convenience Store Owner and Never Explained Why appeared first on Reason Magazine.

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."

© Copyright 2026 by Creators Syndicate Inc.

The post 2 Recent Cases Illustrate the Limits of a Doctrine That Often Blocks Civil Rights Claims appeared first on Reason Magazine.