Minimum Competence

Andrew and Gina Leahey
  • 4.8 (12)
  • Noticias diarias
  • Cada día

Minimum Competence is your daily companion for legal news, designed to bring you up to speed on the day’s major legal stories during your commute home. Each episode is short, clear, and informative—just enough to make you minimally competent on the key developments in law, policy, and regulation. Whether you’re a lawyer, law student, journalist, or just legal-curious, you’ll get a smart summary without the fluff. A full transcript of each episode is available via the companion newsletter at www.minimumcomp.com. www.minimumcomp.com

  1. hace 1 día

    Court Upholds Trump's De Minimis Tariff Repeal, SCOTUS Takes Immigrant Detention Fees Case & a Courtroom AI "Prompt Injection"

    This Day in Legal History: The Social Security Act On August 14, 1935, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed the Social Security Act, creating the foundation of the American social safety net and permanently changing the relationship between citizens and their government. Flanked by members of Congress and photographers, FDR put his signature to a law that guaranteed, for the first time in American history, a measure of economic security against the hazards of old age, unemployment, and poverty. The Act was born of the Great Depression, when the suffering of millions—elderly people with no savings, workers with no jobs, families with no support—overwhelmed the old assumption that hardship was a purely private matter. Social Security established old-age benefits funded by taxes on workers and employers, created a federal-state system of unemployment insurance, and provided aid for dependent children, the blind, and people with disabilities. Roosevelt himself was clear-eyed about its limits, saying at the signing that no law could insure everyone against every vicissitude of life, but that this one gave “some measure of protection” against poverty-ridden old age and unemployment. The legal significance runs deep, and it connects to a story we’ve told before on this show. When the Social Security Act was challenged as an unconstitutional federal overreach and an improper use of the taxing power, it reached a Supreme Court that had been striking down New Deal programs left and right. But in 1937—in the same term as the failed court-packing fight and the Court’s famous doctrinal shift—the justices upheld Social Security, in Steward Machine Company v. Davis and Helvering v. Davis, broadly reading Congress’s power to tax and spend for the general welfare. Those decisions helped cement the constitutional foundation of the modern administrative and welfare state. Ninety-one years later, Social Security remains the single largest program in the federal budget, and the principle it established—that the national government has a role in securing the economic dignity of its people—remains, as our opening quote from FDR suggests, a live measure of the country’s progress. A federal trade court has upheld President Trump’s authority to close the “de minimis” tariff exemption—handing the administration a rare courtroom win on tariffs. The U.S. Court of International Trade, a three-judge panel in New York, ruled that Trump lawfully used the International Emergency Economic Powers Act, or IEEPA, to end the duty-free treatment that low-value imports—parcels worth $800 or less—had long enjoyed. Some quick background: the de minimis exemption is what let a flood of cheap packages, especially from Chinese e-commerce sellers, enter the U.S. tariff-free, and closing it has already generated over a billion dollars in new duty payments. What makes this ruling notable is that it cuts against the trend. Trump’s tariff agenda has fared badly in court—the Supreme Court ruled in February that IEEPA does not authorize him to unilaterally impose sweeping tariffs, which led to that roughly $100 billion in refunds we covered, and the trade court later struck down a replacement tariff. So how does the administration win this one? The court drew a fine but important distinction: ending a duty-free privilege is not the same as affirmatively imposing a tariff. The challenger, an auto-parts importer, argued IEEPA gave the president no independent power to close the exemption, but the panel found that rescinding a trade-related “privilege” falls within the emergency-powers statute even if imposing new tariffs does not. The significance is that it carves out a narrow lane where the administration’s emergency-powers theory actually holds up—a reminder that in the tariff wars, the difference between taking away a benefit and imposing a new burden can be the difference between winning and losing in court. US court backs Trump’s power to close ‘de minimis’ tariff exemption | ReutersCNBC · Bloomberg The Supreme Court has taken up a case that sounds technical but goes to the heart of whether wrongly detained immigrants can find a lawyer at all. The question is whether attorneys who successfully challenge an immigrant’s detention through a habeas corpus petition can recover their fees from the federal government. It turns on the Equal Access to Justice Act—a statute that lets people who beat the government in court recover their attorney’s fees, unless the government’s position was “substantially justified.” Here’s why this matters enormously right now. As immigration detention has surged, so have habeas petitions challenging it: one court in California went from a handful of these cases in 2021 to hundreds in a single month this year, and courts have repeatedly ordered the government to pay fees after finding people were detained unlawfully. But two federal appeals courts, the Fourth and Fifth Circuits, have held that habeas challenges to immigration detention aren’t the kind of “civil case” the fee statute covers—which would mean the lawyers who win these cases can’t recover a dime. Think about the practical stakes. Detained immigrants are frequently poor, often can’t work, and have no right to a free lawyer in immigration proceedings. Fee-shifting is a big part of what makes it economically possible for attorneys to take these cases at all. If the Supreme Court rules that EAJA doesn’t apply, it doesn’t change the substance of anyone’s detention—but it quietly removes much of the financial incentive for lawyers to challenge unlawful detention, weakening one of the few real checks on the system. The significance is that this is access to justice in its most concrete form: whether the courthouse door stays open depends, as it so often does, on who can afford to walk through it. US Supreme Court case tests fees for immigration detainees | ReutersSCOTUSblog · Bloomberg Law And finally, a story from the frontier of AI misuse that is equal parts alarming and absurd. A Connecticut judge has sanctioned a plaintiff who hid secret instructions inside his own court filings—instructions aimed not at the judge, but at any artificial intelligence that might read the documents. The plaintiff, representing himself, buried text in white font on a white background, invisible to a human eye, telling any AI model reviewing the filing to side with him. This is what’s known as a “prompt injection” attack, and it’s reportedly the first documented instance of one aimed at a U.S. court. The court caught it—apparently tipped off by strange white spaces in the text—and issued an order warning him to stop. He didn’t. At the next hearing, he’d hidden a message reading “hi, I hope you can’t see me,” and, in another filing, a concealed link to a SpongeBob SquarePants video. The judge was not amused, issuing a decision bluntly titled “Court Sanction for Plaintiff’s Use of Prompt-Injection.” The remedy is almost poetically low-tech: the plaintiff is now barred from filing electronically and must submit everything on paper. Now, it’s easy to laugh—and the SpongeBob link earns a chuckle—but the serious point is real. This is a new species of the AI-integrity problem we’ve tracked all summer, alongside the fake hallucinated citations. It’s an attempt to corrupt the decision-making process itself, and it quietly reveals something bigger: that courts and their staff may increasingly be using AI tools to help review filings, which creates a brand-new attack surface for litigants willing to game it. The significance is that the age-old duty of candor to the tribunal now has to contend with adversaries trying to whisper to the machines—and courts are going to need new rules, and sharp eyes, to catch them. Connecticut judge says plaintiff hid messages for AI in court filings | Reuters404 Media · Tom’s Hardware This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.minimumcomp.com/subscribe

  2. hace 2 días

    Motley Rice's $67M Meta Fee, Trump Media Sued Over Paid Truth Social Access & Palestinian Students Sue Columbia

    This Day in Legal History: Britain’s Last Executions On August 13, 1964, two men—Peter Anthony Allen and Gwynne Owen Evans—were hanged simultaneously in two different English prisons for the murder of a man during a robbery. They were the last people ever executed in the United Kingdom. Evans died at Strangeways Prison in Manchester and Allen at Walton Prison in Liverpool, both at eight in the morning, and with them, centuries of capital punishment in Britain came quietly to an end. Neither man knew he was making history; the abolition of the death penalty wasn’t yet law. But the machinery of change was already turning. The very next year, in 1965, Parliament passed the Murder Act, which suspended the death penalty for murder for a trial period of five years. In 1969, Parliament made that suspension permanent for England, Scotland, and Wales. The death penalty lingered on the books for a handful of exotic offenses—treason, piracy with violence, certain military crimes—until it was finally abolished completely in 1998, bringing British law into line with the European Convention on Human Rights. The significance of August 13, 1964 is sharpened by contrast. Britain reached the end of capital punishment through ordinary legislation, and much of Europe followed a similar path, treating abolition as a basic human-rights commitment. The United States took the opposite fork: the Supreme Court briefly halted the death penalty in 1972 in Furman v. Georgia, only to allow it back four years later in Gregg v. Georgia, and capital punishment remains part of American law today, administered by the federal government and a number of states. So this anniversary is a useful mirror—a reminder that two closely related legal systems, working from a shared common-law inheritance, reached opposite conclusions on one of the deepest questions a legal system can face: whether the state should ever have the power to take a life. That’s the question our opening quote, from Bryan Stevenson, puts squarely on the table. The law firm Motley Rice is in line for a payday of more than $67 million—its fee for winning New Mexico’s sprawling case against Meta. We covered the underlying result: a judge ordered Meta to pay $567 million into a teen mental-health fund, on top of $375 million in civil penalties a jury imposed in March, bringing New Mexico’s potential recovery to more than $942 million. Motley Rice represented the state on contingency, and under its contract it can seek a sliding-scale cut—20% of the first $50 million recovered, scaling down to 5% on amounts over $250 million—which works out to roughly 7% of the total, or about $67 million. Here’s the practice-of-law angle worth understanding. States increasingly hire private plaintiffs’ firms to bring these massive cases because they don’t have the in-house firepower to go toe-to-toe with a company like Meta and its armies of lawyers. The firm fronts the enormous cost and risk of years of litigation in exchange for a percentage if it wins—the same model that produced the giant tobacco settlements of the 1990s, in which Motley Rice was a central player. Supporters say it lets under-resourced states take on deep-pocketed defendants they otherwise couldn’t touch; critics say it hands public law-enforcement power to private firms with a profit motive. The significance is that this is the economic engine behind the whole wave of state social-media litigation we’ve been tracking. The fee comes out of New Mexico’s recovery, and it only gets paid after appeals conclude—and Meta has said it will appeal—so the number, like the verdict, isn’t final. But it’s a rare, concrete look at the money that makes this kind of public-interest litigation actually happen. Law firm Motley Rice’s fee for Meta case in New Mexico could top $67 million | ReuterAlbuquerque Journal · JD Journal Two press-freedom organizations—The Intercept and the Freedom of the Press Foundation—have sued in Manhattan federal court to shut down a Trump Media service that sells wealthy subscribers early access to President Trump’s social media posts. The service, called Truth API, launched August 1 and charges up to $100,000 a month for a faster feed of ten high-profile Truth Social accounts, including the president’s own. The legal concern at the heart of the suit is a specific and serious one: Trump’s posts routinely move financial markets—an announcement about tariffs or a company can send stocks lurching—and a paid feed that delivers those posts to deep-pocketed subscribers before the general public gives those subscribers a head start to trade on market-moving information. In other words, it potentially creates a two-tiered market in the president’s words, where those who can pay six figures a month get to act on presidential statements seconds or minutes before everyone else. That’s the kind of information asymmetry securities law generally frowns on. The service drew scrutiny fast—Senators Elizabeth Warren and Adam Schiff had already called for a government investigation days before this suit. It’s also legally novel: the plaintiffs are press-freedom groups, framing public access to a president’s official-ish communications as a matter of public interest, which raises interesting questions about their theory and standing. The significance is that this sits at a genuinely new intersection—of a president who governs partly through market-moving social media posts, the business incentive to monetize that, and a securities and public-information framework that never contemplated selling early access to the president’s feed. However the case comes out, it’s a preview of the strange legal questions created when official speech becomes a paid product. Trump sued over service that offers paid early access to Truth Social posts | ReutersWashington Post · NPR A group of current and former Palestinian students and staff have sued Columbia University, alleging that the school discriminated against its Palestinian community over the past two years. According to the complaint filed in New York, the plaintiffs say Columbia failed to protect Palestinian members from harassment, subjected them to what they call “unfair and biased disciplinary hearings,” and “actively participated in and amplified” what they describe as racially, ethnically, and politically motivated targeting of Palestinians on campus. The legal vehicle here is worth understanding, because it’s the same one being wielded on multiple sides of the campus fights. Civil-rights law—principally Title VI of the Civil Rights Act—bars institutions that receive federal funding from discriminating on the basis of race, color, or national origin. We’ve seen Title VI invoked against universities over allegations of antisemitism, and we’ve seen the Justice Department use it to pressure schools like Harvard. Here, Palestinian and Arab plaintiffs are invoking that same framework to allege discrimination against them. The context matters: Columbia suspended more than 65 students last year over a pro-Palestinian protest that shut down its main library, and it agreed to pay the federal government over $200 million to resolve federal probes and restore funding. Columbia has denied discriminating and says it condemns hate, and it declined to comment on the pending litigation. To be clear, these are allegations in a complaint, not proven facts, and I’m not weighing in on the underlying political conflict. The significance is legal and institutional: universities are now being sued from opposite directions under the very same civil-rights statute, and Columbia in particular finds itself squeezed between federal enforcers, one set of students, and another—each claiming the protection of Title VI. It’s a vivid illustration of how anti-discrimination law becomes the battleground when a campus fractures. Palestinian students and staff sue Columbia University alleging discrimination | ReutersUS News · Middle East Eye This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.minimumcomp.com/subscribe

  3. hace 3 días

    Fifth Circuit Voids Surprise-Billing Formula, Judge Blocks USPS Mail-In Limits & White House Pushes New Reflecting Pool Charges

    This Day in Legal History: Andrew Johnson Suspends Secretary Stanton On August 12, 1867, President Andrew Johnson suspended Edwin Stanton, his Secretary of War, and installed General Ulysses S. Grant to run the department temporarily. It was a quiet-sounding personnel move that lit the fuse on one of the great constitutional confrontations in American history—and it turned on a question we still argue about: how much control a president has over the officials who serve beneath him. The context was Reconstruction. Stanton was a close ally of the Radical Republicans in Congress, and as Secretary of War he controlled the Army’s presence across the defeated South, including the Freedmen’s Bureau—making him essential to Congress’s plans to remake the region and protect the newly freed. Johnson, who bitterly opposed that agenda, wanted Stanton gone. But Congress had anticipated exactly this: it had passed the Tenure of Office Act, which barred the president from removing a Senate-confirmed cabinet officer without the Senate’s consent. Johnson, trying to thread the needle while Congress was in recess, suspended Stanton rather than firing him outright. When the Senate later refused to concur and Johnson removed Stanton anyway in early 1868, the House impeached him—and he survived removal in the Senate by a single vote. The significance of August 12, 1867 reaches all the way to the present. The Tenure of Office Act was eventually repealed and, decades later, the Supreme Court in Myers v. United States suggested it had been unconstitutional all along, endorsing a robust presidential removal power—the same removal-power debate that traces back to the very first Congress and runs through today’s fights over the independence of agencies and prosecutors. Johnson’s clash with Stanton is the original American showdown over whether a president can be checked in the control of his own executive branch. And on a day when we’ve got a story about the White House leaning on the Justice Department, that 159-year-old question feels remarkably current. A federal appeals court has thrown out the government formula at the heart of the law meant to protect patients from surprise medical bills—handing a significant win to doctors and hospitals over insurers. Sitting en banc, all seventeen judges of the Fifth Circuit issued an unsigned opinion mostly siding with physicians and air-ambulance companies, and invalidating a federal rule as going beyond what Congress actually authorized in the No Surprises Act. Here’s how this works, because it’s less about patients than it sounds. The No Surprises Act protects you, the patient—if you get care from an out-of-network provider in an emergency, you only owe your normal in-network cost-sharing. The fight is over who pays the rest: the insurer or the provider. That gets decided in arbitration, and the key benchmark is something called the “qualifying payment amount,” or QPA. Whoever controls how the QPA is calculated basically controls who wins. The court found that federal agencies had let insurers game that number—by baking in so-called “ghost rates,” contracted amounts for services that providers never actually deliver, which dragged the benchmark down in insurers’ favor—and by improperly excluding bonus and incentive payments. The significance is twofold. Substantively, it rebalances a high-stakes payment fight away from insurers and toward providers. But the deeper theme is administrative law: this is a court holding that agencies rewrote a statute to favor one side beyond what Congress wrote—exactly the kind of post-Chevron scrutiny of agency rulemaking we’ve been tracking all summer. The patient protections stay; the multibillion-dollar question of who pays just got sent back to the drawing board. US appeals court voids formula used to avert surprise medical bills | ReutersAmerican Medical Association · Bloomberg Law A federal judge has blocked the U.S. Postal Service nationwide from enforcing the mail-in voting restrictions in President Trump’s executive order—and if this story sounds familiar to longtime listeners, it should. U.S. District Judge Indira Talwani in Boston expanded an order she first issued in June, which had covered 23 states, into a nationwide injunction. Under the executive order, the Postal Service was supposed to gather state lists of eligible voters and deliver absentee ballots only to people on those lists; Talwani’s ruling bars USPS from refusing to deliver mail ballots based on those new federal verification requirements. Her reasoning is the same principle we keep coming back to: the executive branch, she wrote, has no authority to regulate elections—that power belongs to the states under the Constitution. And she stressed the timing, noting it’s now less than 90 days before the November 3 midterms, which makes it especially important not to let the federal government change election rules on the eve of the vote. This connects to the entire voting-rights arc we’ve followed—the administration’s 0-and-21 losing streak on voter rolls, the Supreme Court emergency application, the Voting Rights Act anniversary. The significance is that the courts continue to hold a firm, near-unbroken line: however much the administration wants federal control over how Americans cast and count ballots, judges keep ruling that elections are run by the states, and the closer we get to November, the more urgently they’re saying it. Judge blocks US Postal Service from restricting mail-in voting | ReutersNPR · US News The White House has reportedly asked the Justice Department to explore bringing new charges against David Hearn—the former Olympian in the Reflecting Pool case—just over a week after the department dropped the case because its own evidence showed he didn’t do it. Recall the sequence: Hearn was indicted on a felony for allegedly damaging the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool, but prosecutors then moved to dismiss, telling the court that newly disclosed documents showed the damage came from a botched renovation, not vandalism. According to sources, President Trump was furious at U.S. Attorney Jeanine Pirro for dismissing the case, and the White House has since asked the department to examine whether there’s a basis for a new charge—possibly a misdemeanor. The talks are described as preliminary, with no decision made, and Congressman Jamie Raskin has already launched a probe into the whole affair. Here’s why this is legally striking. The decision to drop the case wasn’t a technicality—it was the government concluding, on the evidence, that the underlying premise was false. To now go looking for new charges against the same person, at the White House’s urging and reportedly out of the president’s personal anger, raises the specter of vindictive prosecution—using the charging power not to pursue justice but to punish. The significance goes to the core of prosecutorial independence, the theme running through the Blanche confirmation fight and beyond: charging decisions are supposed to be driven by evidence and law, not by a president’s displeasure that a case was dropped. It’s a live test of whether that line still holds. Trump White House asked DOJ to explore new Reflecting Pool charges, sources say | ReutersUS News · MS NOW And finally, the law graduates who suffered through California’s disastrous 2025 bar exam have reached a settlement in their class action against the company that administered it. You may remember the debacle: the February 2025 California bar exam, run by the vendor Meazure Learning, collapsed into login failures, software crashes, frozen screens, and lost answers, throwing thousands of aspiring lawyers into chaos on the single most important test of their careers. That fiasco spawned multiple lawsuits—the test-takers’ claims were consolidated into a class action in federal court—as well as a state audit and a legislative inquiry. This settlement resolves the graduates’ own case, and it’s distinct from the separate deal the State Bar itself reached with Meazure last month, in which the vendor agreed to pay the Bar $5.25 million and forgive $1.36 million in unpaid invoices. The significance connects directly to a story we covered a couple of weeks ago—the meltdown of the new NextGen exam in Washington State. Two different states, two different vendors and formats, the same underlying failure: the high-stakes gateway to the legal profession buckling under basic technology problems, and leaving the people trying to enter the profession to pick up the pieces. These settlements put a price on that failure—but they also intensify a growing question about whether the bar exam, as currently built and administered, is a reliable way to license lawyers at all. Law grads reach settlement in class action over botched California bar exam | ReutersBloomberg Law · ICLG This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.minimumcomp.com/subscribe

  4. hace 4 días

    Mangione Heads to Trial, Trump Says Weaponization Fund Is "Up to Blanche" & Social Media Suits Advance

    This Day in Legal History: The Weimar Constitution On August 11, 1919, President Friedrich Ebert signed the Weimar Constitution into force, creating the first parliamentary democracy in German history. It came into effect a few days later, ending the provisional government that had followed Germany’s defeat in the First World War and the fall of the monarchy. On paper, it was a strikingly modern and liberal document—and its story is one of the most important cautionary tales in all of constitutional law. The Weimar Constitution rested on genuinely progressive foundations: popular sovereignty, a separation of powers, and an extensive bill of fundamental rights, including—remarkably for 1919—formal equality between men and women and the right to vote for both. It established a directly elected president, a parliament, the Reichstag, and a framework that looked, in many respects, like a model twentieth-century democracy. For a document drafted in the chaos of postwar Germany, it was an ambitious attempt to build a rights-respecting republic from the ground up. But the Weimar Constitution is remembered today largely for the flaw that helped destroy it: Article 48, which gave the president sweeping power to rule by emergency decree, suspending civil liberties when he deemed public order to be threatened. That emergency clause was invoked more and more frequently as the republic’s politics fractured—and in 1933 it became the legal mechanism through which the Nazi regime dismantled democracy from the inside, using the constitution’s own emergency powers to suspend rights and seize dictatorial control. Which brings us back to today’s opening quote: the Weimar experience is the definitive real-world example of Justice Jackson’s warning that an emergency power, once available, “lies about like a loaded weapon, ready for the hand of any authority that can bring forward a plausible claim of an urgent need.” The significance of August 11, 1919 is that it stands as an enduring lesson that a constitution’s protections are only as durable as the limits it places on emergency power—that a democracy can be subverted not in spite of its own laws, but through them. Luigi Mangione is due back in court for a pretrial hearing ahead of his murder trial, set to begin September 8, in the December 2024 killing of UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson outside a Manhattan hotel. Mangione, who is 28, has pleaded not guilty to murder, weapons, and forgery charges brought by the Manhattan District Attorney, and he has separately pleaded not guilty to federal stalking charges. At today’s hearing before Justice Gregory Carro, the parties are expected to take up jury selection and the thorny question of public access to what is shaping up to be one of the most closely watched trials in years. Let’s talk about the real legal challenges here, because this case is unusual on several fronts. First, Mangione faces parallel state and federal prosecutions arising from the same killing—something the Constitution permits under the “dual sovereignty” doctrine, even though it can feel like being tried twice. Second, the defense has signaled it may argue that Mangione lost control of his actions due to an extreme mental-health breakdown, and notably has not conceded that he was even the shooter, despite prosecutors citing surveillance video, DNA, ballistics, and a notebook. And third—the elephant in the courtroom—is that this case became a cultural flashpoint, with a wave of public anger at the health-insurance industry curdling, in some corners, into sympathy for the accused. That makes jury selection genuinely difficult: finding impartial jurors amid saturation coverage and strong public feeling is exactly the kind of problem that tests the machinery of a fair trial. The significance is that beyond the headlines, this is a serious test of whether the system can give a fair, dispassionate trial to a defendant the public has turned into a symbol—which is precisely when the guarantees of criminal procedure matter most. Luigi Mangione due in court ahead of insurance CEO murder trial | ReutersUPI · 6abc President Trump has said that whether to revive the $1.8 billion “anti-weaponization fund” is now up to his newly confirmed attorney general, Todd Blanche—a statement that lands like the punchline to a story we’ve been telling for weeks. Recall the sequence: Blanche rescinded the fund on the eve of his confirmation to win over Republican holdouts, but Trump then acknowledged that he himself never signed the rescission order, which left the door open. Now, with Blanche confirmed as attorney general by that razor-thin 50-49 vote, Trump is saying the future of the fund rests with Blanche. And that is exactly the scenario that critics warned about. Think back to what senators extracted as the price of confirmation: a promise to kill a fund that would have used taxpayer money to pay people, including January 6 defendants, who claimed to be victims of the prior Justice Department. But a promise made by the executive branch can be unmade by the executive branch, and here the president is openly signaling that his former personal lawyer, now running the Justice Department, could bring it back. The significance goes to the very heart of the concern that dogged Blanche’s nomination: the independence of the attorney general. When the president publicly frames the revival of a controversial payout fund as a decision for “his” attorney general to make, it underscores the worry that the Justice Department’s most consequential choices may run through the lens of the president’s personal and political interests. The confirmation fight is over, but the question it raised is very much alive. Trump says future weaponization fund is up to Blanche | ReutersForbes · Axios A federal appeals court has cleared thousands of lawsuits to proceed against the major social-media companies over claims they deliberately designed their platforms to addict young users. The San Francisco-based Ninth Circuit rejected the bid by Meta, Google’s YouTube, TikTok, and Snapchat to escape roughly 2,400 lawsuits consolidated in federal court, brought by states, municipalities, school districts, and individuals. The legal fight here is all about Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act—the 1996 law that shields online platforms from liability for content their users post. The companies argued that Section 230 also immunizes them from claims that they failed to warn about, or engineered, the addictive nature of their platforms. The court said no, and the distinction it drew is the crucial one: Section 230 protects a platform from being sued over what its users say, but it does not necessarily protect the platform’s own product-design choices—the infinite scroll, the algorithmic feeds, the notification schedules engineered to maximize engagement. Claims aimed at that design, the court reasoned, are different from claims aimed at user content. If you’ve been listening, you know this is the federal counterpart to everything we’ve tracked at the state level—the New Mexico judgment, the Tennessee trial, the multistate penalty fight. The significance is that the industry’s most powerful legal shield, Section 230, is being narrowed: plaintiffs are increasingly framing their cases around addictive design rather than harmful content, and courts are increasingly letting those cases through. That reframing may prove to be the key that unlocks the courthouse door for the whole wave of social-media harm litigation. US appeals court allows thousands of lawsuits against social media companies to proceed | ReutersNBC News · Al Jazeera And finally, in my column for Bloomberg Tax this week, I dig into a question hiding underneath the AI gold rush: who’s actually paying for it? My starting point is a striking data point—Microsoft’s current federal tax expense fell year over year from about $14.1 billion to just $2.5 billion, even as its revenue surged. And a big part of that drop comes from accelerated deductions in last year’s massive 2025 tax law, which restored 100% bonus depreciation—letting companies write off the full cost of huge investments, like AI data centers, in the very first year. My core argument is that the tax law is financing the AI infrastructure boom, but it isn’t creating it—and that distinction matters enormously before anyone declares the policy a success. The political narrative writes itself: capital spending soared after the tax cut, therefore the tax cut worked. But I think correlation is doing an awful lot of heavy lifting there. Microsoft and its rivals aren’t pouring tens of billions into AI infrastructure because Congress rediscovered depreciation. They’re doing it because falling behind in AI could threaten their core businesses—it’s become about as close to a strategic necessity as it gets. And here’s the tell: Microsoft announced its roughly $80 billion AI data-center plan in a blog post in January 2025, a full six months before the tax law was even signed. The trajectory was public, budgeted, and well underway before the depreciation rules changed. So my point to Congress is: prove it. Before congratulating yourselves, you owe the public evidence that these tax benefits actually changed corporate behavior rather than just rewarding investments companies were already racing to make. And I want to push back on the idea that this is “just” a timing benefit and therefore basically free. Timing isn’t free—letting a company keep its cash now in exchange for tax revenue later is like giving it an interest-free loan, and every dollar of accelerated depreciation is a dollar the Treasury can’t use for something else this year. That’s a real opportunity cost, felt in deficits or forgone public investment. My recommendation is concrete: Congress should require the Treasury and the J

  5. hace 5 días

    Senate Confirms Todd Blanche as AG in 50-49 Squeaker, Alito Stays on SCOTUS & NJ's $2.5B PFAS Settlement

    This Day in Legal History: Ruth Bader Ginsburg Joins the Court On August 10, 1993, Ruth Bader Ginsburg was sworn in as an associate justice of the Supreme Court, becoming the second woman—and the first Jewish woman—ever to serve on it. She had been confirmed by the Senate just a week earlier by a lopsided 96 to 3, a margin that is almost unimaginable for a Supreme Court nominee today, and she took the seat vacated by the retiring Justice Byron White. Ginsburg reached the Court after one of the most consequential legal careers of the twentieth century—much of it spent, as a litigator, dismantling sex discrimination brick by brick. In the 1970s, as head of the ACLU’s Women’s Rights Project, she argued a series of cases before the very Court she would later join, persuading an all-male bench to recognize that treating men and women differently under the law often rested on nothing but stereotype. She was strategic and incremental, sometimes choosing male plaintiffs to show that gender lines cut both ways. On the Court, she became known for landmark majority opinions like United States v. Virginia, striking down the male-only admissions policy at the Virginia Military Institute, and, later, for pointed dissents that made her an unlikely cultural icon. The significance of August 10, 1993 is a fitting frame for today’s news, because it raises a question the Court is wrestling with right now: when justices come and when they go. Ginsburg famously declined to retire during President Obama’s second term, confident she could outlast the political moment; when she died in September 2020, President Trump filled her seat, shifting the Court’s balance for a generation. That episode turned “strategic retirement” from an academic debate into a live and painful one—and it’s the exact debate hanging over our second story today. Ginsburg’s life is a reminder both of how much a single justice can shape the law, and of how fraught the timing of a lifetime appointment has become. The Senate has confirmed Todd Blanche as attorney general, ending one of the most bruising cabinet fights of Trump’s second term with a razor-thin 50-49 vote taken overnight on Saturday. We’ve followed this saga from the beginning—the tense confirmation hearing, the stalled committee vote, the eleventh-hour deal to rescind the anti-weaponization fund—and this is where it lands. Two Republicans, Susan Collins of Maine and Lisa Murkowski of Alaska, broke ranks and voted no, citing concerns ranging from the Epstein files to that $1.8 billion fund; Senator Bill Cassidy provided the decisive vote, saying Blanche was the best option the president was likely to offer. Blanche, you’ll recall, was Trump’s personal criminal defense lawyer before joining the Justice Department, and that’s the heart of why this was so contested: the concern that the nation’s top law-enforcement officer would serve the president personally rather than the law. The significance is twofold. First, the margin itself—a single vote, with defections from the president’s own party—signals just how uneasy even some Republicans were about Blanche’s independence. Second, remember what it took to get here: Blanche had to formally dismantle a controversial initiative to win confirmation. But as Democrats pointed out, that was an executive-branch promise, not a law, and the same executive branch can revisit it. So Blanche takes office as attorney general having made a concession whose durability is genuinely uncertain—confirmed, but on the narrowest possible terms and with the questions about his independence very much unresolved. Senate Republicans narrowly confirm Todd Blanche as attorney general | ReutersNPR · Washington Post Justice Samuel Alito has put an end to a summer of retirement speculation, confirming that he intends to stay on the Supreme Court. “Obviously, I’m here for another term,” the 76-year-old justice said in an interview published in the Wall Street Journal’s editorial pages. The speculation had reached a fever pitch back in June, when a veteran Supreme Court reporter’s pre-written retirement story was published by mistake and then quickly retracted—but the talk never fully died down. What makes Alito’s statement legally and politically interesting is what he pushed back on. He explicitly rejected the suggestion that he should time his retirement strategically—stepping down now, while President Trump is in office and Republicans control the Senate, so that a younger conservative could be confirmed to replace him and hold the seat for decades. And that is exactly where today’s Ginsburg anniversary comes crashing in. Justice Ginsburg made the opposite bet: she declined calls to retire while President Obama could name her successor, and when she died in 2020, a president of the opposite party filled her seat and reshaped the Court. That history is precisely why so many now urge aging justices to retire strategically. Alito is declining to play that game—at least publicly. The significance is that this keeps a reliably conservative vote on the Court for now, but it also spotlights an uncomfortable feature of our system: lifetime tenure means the timing of a single retirement can shape constitutional law for a generation, and we increasingly expect justices to make that intensely personal decision with one eye on the electoral calendar. Justice Alito says he is staying on Supreme Court for another term | ReutersABC News · Fortune And finally, a federal judge has approved more than $2.5 billion in settlements that New Jersey reached with DuPont, Chemours, Corteva, and 3M to resolve claims over contamination from PFAS—the “forever chemicals” that have become one of the biggest environmental-liability stories of the decade. Chief U.S. District Judge Renée Marie Bumb signed off on Friday, ending a legal battle that began back in 2019. A quick primer: PFAS are a family of synthetic chemicals used in everything from nonstick coatings to firefighting foam, and they’re called “forever chemicals” because they essentially don’t break down in the environment or the human body, and they’ve been linked to serious health harms. New Jersey sued under a natural-resource-damages theory—the idea that these companies polluted the state’s shared resources, its water and land, and must pay to restore them. The numbers are substantial: DuPont, Chemours, and Corteva will pay $875 million over 25 years, clean up four former industrial sites, and fund a $1.2 billion remediation account; 3M will pay up to $450 million. The judge called the deal “fair, reasonable and adequate” and even an “impressive windfall” given the risks of taking such a case to trial. The significance is that this is one of the largest state PFAS recoveries yet, and it fits the mass-tort pattern we’ve watched all summer—from talc to Roundup—where companies, facing enormous litigation exposure, choose certainty over trial. But this one has an environmental twist: beyond the money, it forces the actual cleanup of contaminated sites, and it gives every other state attorney general eyeing PFAS litigation a $2.5 billion data point to bring to their own negotiating table. New Jersey’s $2.5 billion ‘forever chemicals’ settlements with DuPont, 3M, others win court approval | ReutersPhiladelphia Inquirer · New Jersey Attorney General This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.minimumcomp.com/subscribe

  6. 7 ago

    Trump Goes 0-21 on Voter Rolls, Signs New Birthright Orders & Meta Hit With $567M in New Mexico

    This Day in Legal History: The Gulf of Tonkin Resolution On August 7, 1964, Congress passed the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution, one of the most consequential—and most cautionary—delegations of power in American history. The vote was overwhelming: unanimous in the House, and 88 to 2 in the Senate. The resolution authorized President Lyndon Johnson “to take all necessary measures to repel any armed attack against the forces of the United States and to prevent further aggression” in Southeast Asia—and it became the legal foundation for the escalation of the Vietnam War, all without a formal declaration of war. The resolution passed after Johnson told the public that North Vietnamese torpedo boats had made unprovoked attacks on two U.S. destroyers in the Gulf of Tonkin. In the years that followed, serious doubts emerged about what had actually happened—particularly regarding the second reported attack, which may never have occurred at all. Congress, acting on the president’s account and in a moment of Cold War urgency, handed the executive branch what amounted to a blank check for war. At the time there were only about 25,000 U.S. troops in Vietnam; that number would eventually exceed half a million. The significance of August 7, 1964 is that it became the defining lesson in the dangers of Congress ceding its war powers to the president. The Constitution gives Congress the power to declare war precisely because the founders feared executive war-making, and the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution showed what happens when the legislature abdicates that role. The backlash shaped a generation of law: Congress rescinded the resolution in 1970, and in 1973 passed the War Powers Resolution over President Nixon’s veto, trying to claw back some control over the commitment of American forces. It’s a permanent reminder—resonant on a day full of stories about the reach of executive power—that authority handed over in a crisis is very hard to take back. The Trump administration’s campaign to force states to hand over their voter registration data has now lost twenty-one court cases in a row—an unbroken streak of defeats as the November midterms approach. According to a Reuters analysis, the Justice Department has sued 30 states and the District of Columbia seeking their voter rolls, and it has gone zero for twenty-one, with federal courts from Pennsylvania to California to Michigan, plus the Sixth Circuit Court of Appeals, all rejecting the effort. Here’s the detail that really tells the story: seven of the fifteen district judges who ruled against the administration were appointed by Trump himself, and some Republican state officials—in Idaho, Kentucky, Utah, and West Virginia—have resisted the requests too. This isn’t a partisan split; it’s a near-consensus rejection. The legal problem is structural. Under the Constitution, the administration of elections is primarily the job of the states, and courts have repeatedly found the federal government lacks the authority to simply demand statewide voter data. We’ve tracked the pieces of this all summer—the SAVE database fights, the threats to prosecute election officials, the mail-in voting order—and this is the throughline: a coordinated push for federal control over election machinery running headlong into a judiciary, staffed partly by the president’s own appointees, that keeps saying no. The significance is that the courts are holding a hard line on the decentralized structure of American elections, and doing it unanimously enough that it’s hard to dismiss as politics. It’s a fitting counterpoint to yesterday’s Voting Rights Act anniversary: sixty years apart, the fights over who controls the ballot continue. Analysis: Trump loses 21 straight court battles for state voter rolls as midterms near | ReutersCBS News · Brennan Center President Trump has signed two new executive orders attempting to narrow birthright citizenship—despite the fact that the Supreme Court rejected his last attempt just over a month ago. Recall that on June 30, the Court held that the Fourteenth Amendment guarantees citizenship to nearly everyone born on U.S. soil, striking down his earlier order. These new orders are narrower. The White House is taking aim at “birth tourism”—foreigners traveling to the U.S. specifically to give birth—and at denying birthright citizenship to children of some foreign diplomatic staff, with the possibility of extending limits to U.S. territories later. It’s worth being precise here, because the two pieces are legally very different. The diplomatic-staff piece actually sits on firmer ground: the Fourteenth Amendment grants citizenship to those “subject to the jurisdiction” of the United States, and children of accredited foreign diplomats have long been recognized as a genuine exception. But the birth-tourism piece runs straight into the June ruling, which held that a child’s citizenship doesn’t depend on the immigration status or purpose of the parents. And crucially, these are executive orders—they set executive-branch policy, but they don’t carry the force of a statute or override a constitutional holding. After his June loss, Trump had called on Congress to act; instead he’s gone back to the executive-order well. The significance is a real test of what a president can do after the Supreme Court has ruled against him on constitutional grounds. Legal experts say it’s unclear what practical effect these orders can even have, and fresh legal challenges are all but certain. It’s an attempt to chip at the edges of a ruling the administration couldn’t overturn head-on. Trump to sign orders on birthright citizenship, Axios reports | ReutersCBS News · Al Jazeera And finally, a New Mexico judge has ordered Meta to pay $567 million into a teen mental-health fund and to substantially overhaul how its platforms work for young users—one of the most significant rulings yet in the wave of litigation over social media and children. Judge Bryan Biedscheid in Santa Fe found that Meta created a “public nuisance” in New Mexico, siding with Attorney General Raúl Torrez—the same AG who, as we noted yesterday, is suing the Justice Department over the Epstein files. Torrez had accused Meta of designing its products to addict young users and failing to protect children from sexual exploitation on its platforms. The “public nuisance” theory is worth flagging, because it’s the same legal tool that drove the big opioid settlements: the idea that a company’s conduct created a widespread harm to the public that it can be forced to help abate. And the money is only part of it. The judge imposed a five-year decree requiring concrete design changes—monthly limits on teens’ time on Facebook and Instagram, restrictions on notifications, tighter controls on adult contact with minors, safeguards around AI chatbots, and enhanced review of child sexual abuse reports. This lands amid everything we’ve tracked: the Tennessee trial that just opened, the multistate penalty fight, the bellwether cases. Meta says it will appeal and that it’s been working to remove harmful content. The significance is that a court hasn’t just put a price on Meta’s conduct—it has ordered the company to redesign its products for kids, backed by the public-nuisance theory. If that approach holds up on appeal, it’s a template other states will follow, and it moves the social-media reckoning from damages into the far more consequential territory of forced design change. New Mexico court orders Meta to pay $567 mln teen mental health fund | ReutersWashington Post · Yahoo Finance This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.minimumcomp.com/subscribe

  7. 6 ago

    U.S. Refunds $100B in Supreme Court-Struck Tariffs, New Mexico Sues for Epstein Files & OpenAI Fights Apple

    This Day in Legal History: The Voting Rights Act of 1965 On August 6, 1965, President Lyndon B. Johnson signed the Voting Rights Act, arguably the most effective civil-rights statute in American history. Johnson signed it at the Capitol, and after a ceremony in the Rotunda, he moved to the President’s Room near the Senate Chamber—the same room where Abraham Lincoln had signed a bill freeing enslaved people pressed into Confederate service—flanked by congressional leaders, Martin Luther King Jr., Rosa Parks, and others who had fought and bled for this moment. The Act was a direct response to the machinery of disenfranchisement that Southern states had built after Reconstruction. For nearly a century, literacy tests, poll taxes, and outright intimidation had kept Black Americans from the ballot box despite the Fifteenth Amendment’s guarantee. The Voting Rights Act attacked that machinery head-on: it banned literacy tests, and—crucially—in Section 5, it required jurisdictions with the worst histories of discrimination to “preclear” any change to their voting rules with the federal government before those changes could take effect. It also authorized federal examiners to register voters directly. The impact was immediate and staggering: over a quarter-million new Black voters registered by the end of 1965 alone. The significance of August 6, 1965 is that it transformed American democracy by finally making the promise of the Fifteenth Amendment real. But it’s also a living, contested statute, which is why it belongs in the news and not just the history books. In 2013, in Shelby County v. Holder, the Supreme Court effectively disabled the Section 5 preclearance requirement, holding that the formula for deciding which jurisdictions were covered was outdated. In the years since, fights over voting rules, voter rolls, and ballot access—many of which we’ve covered on this show—have unfolded on the terrain the Voting Rights Act created and that Shelby County reshaped. Sixty years on, the argument the Act tried to settle is still very much open. A court filing has revealed the striking scale of the aftermath of one of the biggest separation-of-powers rulings in years: the U.S. government has already refunded about $100 billion in tariffs that the Supreme Court struck down. According to the filing in the U.S. Court of International Trade, roughly $100 billion in refunds—duties plus interest—had been completed as of the end of July, representing more than half of the $166 billion the government had collected under the invalidated tariffs. Here’s the backstory. After returning to office, President Trump used the International Emergency Economic Powers Act—a law meant for genuine national emergencies—to impose sweeping tariffs on trading partners. This February, the Supreme Court ruled he had exceeded his authority, holding that IEEPA doesn’t hand the president that kind of open-ended tariff power. Now the bill is coming due, and the refunds go to the importers who paid the duties in the first place. There’s a direct line from this to a story we covered last week: after losing the IEEPA tariffs at the Supreme Court, the administration reached for Section 338, a dormant 1930s trade statute, to hit Canada—a workaround that itself invites fresh legal challenge. The significance is a vivid, hundred-billion-dollar lesson in the cost of executive overreach. When a president stretches a statute past its limits and the courts say no, the consequences aren’t abstract—they’re measured in massive refunds and a scramble for new legal authority. It’s the separation of powers with a price tag attached. US refunds $100 billion in tariffs struck down by Supreme Court, filing shows | ReutersNBC News · US News New data shows that entry-level hiring at the country’s largest law firms has fallen—and the reasons say a lot about where the profession is heading. According to the National Association for Law Placement, firms with more than 500 lawyers pulled back on hiring associates straight out of law school, and for the first time in memory, those firms brought in more lateral associates—attorneys with prior experience—than fresh graduates. Laterals made up about 49% of associate hires, while entry-level grads fell to roughly 38%, a sharp drop from the 46% share they’d held. Three forces are driving this, and the middle one should get your attention. First, clients increasingly want sophisticated, autonomous counsel who can hit the ground running. Second—and this is the newsy part—artificial intelligence is absorbing exactly the kind of tasks that used to be assigned to first-year associates: document review, initial research, first drafts. Third, there’s a deep pool of experienced lateral talent available to poach. The significance is both immediate and long-term. In the short run, it’s a harder market for new graduates entering six-figure debt into a profession that’s hiring fewer of them. But there’s a real structural risk the report flags: the junior-associate years are how firms train the next generation of partners. If AI hollows out entry-level work and firms stop hiring and mentoring juniors, they may find themselves, a decade from now, with no mid-level talent to promote—having automated away the bottom of the pipeline that feeds the top. It’s a preview of a question every knowledge profession is about to face. Entry-level hiring at large US law firms declined for first time in a decade, data shows | ReutersLaw.com (American Lawyer) · NALP New Mexico has sued the U.S. Justice Department for access to the unredacted files on Jeffrey Epstein, accusing the federal government of stonewalling the state’s own investigation. New Mexico’s attorney general, Raúl Torrez, reopened the state’s Epstein investigation earlier this year and requested the unredacted federal files to identify people—visitors and staff at Epstein’s Zorro Ranch property in New Mexico—who allegedly participated in or witnessed crimes. The state says the DOJ reneged on a 2019 arrangement under which New Mexico paused its own probe and turned evidence over to federal authorities in exchange for continued information-sharing. The Justice Department counters that under the Epstein Files Transparency Act and protective court orders, it is neither required nor permitted to disclose victim-identifying information, and that New Mexico has offered “no lawful basis” for such sweeping disclosures. Torrez put the stakes plainly: the state says it needs to see those files before it can decide whether to charge anyone. The significance is a genuine legal collision between two legitimate interests. On one side is a state prosecutor who says he can’t do justice—can’t bring charges—without evidence the federal government is holding. On the other are real statutory and court-ordered protections for the privacy of victims, which exist for good reason in a case defined by the sexual abuse of young women and girls. It’s also another chapter in the long-running, politically charged fight over transparency in the Epstein files, an issue that has repeatedly surfaced around this administration. A court will now have to weigh a state’s investigative need against federal victim-protection rules. New Mexico sues US government for access to Epstein files | ReutersAl Jazeera· UPI And finally, OpenAI has asked a federal judge to throw out Apple’s lawsuit accusing it of stealing trade secrets—a case we covered when Apple filed it back in July. To recap, Apple alleged that OpenAI misappropriated its confidential information to jump-start its own push into consumer hardware, using former Apple employees, aggressive recruiting, and supply-chain connections. In its motion to dismiss, OpenAI calls the allegations “baseless” and makes a pointed argument: “OpenAI has no use, need, or desire for Apple’s trade secrets,” its lawyers wrote, insisting it’s “building something entirely new and different from anything at Apple.” OpenAI’s core defense is to reframe the story—not as theft of secrets, but as ordinary competition for talent. It says its real interest is in recruiting top engineers, many of whom simply chose to leave Apple for more exciting work. And that reframing goes right to the heart of trade-secret law. Hiring a competitor’s employees is completely legal—people are free to change jobs and use the general skills and knowledge they’ve built. What’s illegal is taking or using the former employer’s specific, protected confidential information. So the whole case turns on which side of that line the conduct falls: lawful talent raid, or unlawful secret-grab. The judge is set to hear arguments on October 1, and OpenAI faces an August 17 deadline to respond to Apple’s request for a preliminary injunction. The significance is that this is shaping up to be a marquee test of where the law draws the line between competing for people and stealing their knowledge—a question that will define a lot of fights in the AI talent wars.OpenAI asks US judge to dismiss Apple’s trade secrets case | ReutersBloomberg · Axios This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.minimumcomp.com/subscribe

    U.S. Refunds $100B in Supreme Court-Struck Tariffs, New Mexico Sues for Epstein Files & OpenAI Fights Apple

  8. 5 ago

    DOJ Fights IRS-Suit Fees, Amazon Loses Perplexity AI Ban, Final Oath Keepers Cases Dismissed & EPA Climate Grants Restored

    This Day in Legal History: The First Federal Income Tax On August 5, 1861, President Abraham Lincoln signed the Revenue Act of 1861, and with it created the first federal income tax in the history of the United States. The country was three months into the Civil War, the Union’s costs were exploding, and the government needed money on a scale the old system of tariffs and land sales simply couldn’t provide. So Congress reached for something new: a tax of three percent on annual incomes over $800. The 1861 income tax was, in practice, a bit of a false start. The $800 threshold meant only a small slice of the population owed anything, the administrative machinery to collect it barely existed, and in fact no income tax was ever actually collected under the 1861 Act—it was superseded the next year by the Revenue Act of 1862, which built the real apparatus, including the office of the Commissioner of Internal Revenue, the direct ancestor of the modern IRS. But the significance of August 5, 1861 is conceptual and enduring: it was the moment the federal government first asserted the power to tax the incomes of individual Americans directly. That assertion would be contested for decades—the Supreme Court struck down a later income tax in 1895, and it took the Sixteenth Amendment in 1913 to settle the question for good. But the line runs straight from Lincoln’s wartime measure to the entire modern federal tax system. It’s a fitting anniversary for a day when one of our stories is about the fees and sanctions flowing from a lawsuit against the IRS—the very institution whose origins trace back to this Civil War revenue scramble. The income tax was born of necessity, in the middle of the gravest crisis the country ever faced, and it’s been at the center of American political and legal argument ever since. After Trump’s roughly $10 billion lawsuit against the IRS was thrown out as brought in “bad faith,” a federal judge ordered him to pay the legal fees of those who fought it—and now the Justice Department is fighting the size of that bill. In this particular case, the challengers are seeking a fairly modest sum, around $43,500. But it’s part of a much bigger pattern: according to a Bloomberg analysis, attorneys have sought fees topping $100,000 in at least ten cases over the past year, totaling more than $2.5 million, and the DOJ is pushing courts to throw out or shrink many of those requests. Here’s the legal mechanism at work. Ordinarily in American litigation, each side pays its own lawyers—that’s the “American rule.” But courts can shift fees onto a party as a sanction when a lawsuit is frivolous or brought in bad faith, which is exactly what happened with the IRS suit, a case that also named Trump’s sons and alleged harm from the leak of the family’s tax records. Fee-shifting like this is meant to deter abusive litigation and to make whole the people forced to defend against it. The significance—and the irony—is that after a court found the underlying suit was an abuse of the judicial process, the government is now spending its lawyers’ time contesting comparatively small fee awards owed to the people who were dragged into it. And because the DOJ is doing the contesting, it’s taxpayers funding both sides of that fight. It’s a small-dollar story that illustrates a large-dollar problem: what happens, and who pays, when the government itself is found to have litigated in bad faith. Trump fights fees for challengers in lawsuit against IRS | ReutersYahoo Finance (Bloomberg) · AOL A federal appeals court has overturned a ban on Perplexity’s AI-powered shopping agents accessing Amazon—and it’s a genuinely landmark ruling for the future of “agentic” artificial intelligence. Back in March, a court had temporarily barred Perplexity’s shopping tool, built into its Comet browser, from operating on Amazon’s platform. Amazon’s legal theory rested on the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act—the federal anti-hacking statute that makes it illegal to access a computer “without authorization.” Amazon argued that when Perplexity’s AI agent logs into Amazon and shops on a user’s behalf, that’s unauthorized access. The appeals court disagreed, and the reasoning is what makes this important: the court found Amazon unlikely to succeed, concluding that it was Perplexity’s users—real people, with real Amazon accounts—who were accessing the platform, not Perplexity itself. The AI agent was simply acting as the user’s tool. This is the first time a federal appeals court has addressed whether AI agents acting on behalf of users can lawfully access online platforms, and that question is about to be everywhere. We’re heading into a world where your AI assistant books your travel, does your shopping, and manages your accounts—and the legal system has to decide whether that’s you using a tool, or a company trespassing on someone else’s system. The significance is that this ruling plants an early flag on the side of the user: if you’re authorized to be somewhere online, your AI agent acting for you is authorized too. Expect this to be cited constantly as the agentic-AI economy collides with decades-old computer-access law. Amazon loses US court ban on Perplexity’s AI shopping tools | ReutersBloomberg Law · Engadget A federal judge has dismissed the last of the January 6 Oath Keepers prosecutions—but he did so under vocal protest, in a rebuke that is itself the story. U.S. District Judge Amit Mehta granted the Justice Department’s motion to drop the cases against nine remaining Oath Keepers members tied to the Capitol attack, closing out the final chapter of the January 6 prosecutions. The dismissal flows from the administration’s decision, on the first day of Trump’s second term, to drop all pending January 6 cases. Here’s the legal framework and the tension inside it. Under the rules of criminal procedure, prosecutors have broad power to dismiss charges, and courts generally must defer to that call—the executive branch, not the judge, decides whom to prosecute. Mehta acknowledged the government had the authority. But he made unmistakably clear he thought it was wrong, writing that “today’s epilog diminishes the gravity of that day, denigrates the work of the prosecutors and law enforcement officers who secured these convictions, and excuses criminal acts that caused a centuries-long pillar of our democracy—the peaceful transfer of presidential power—to buckle.” That’s extraordinary language from a sitting federal judge. The significance is a stark illustration of the limits of judicial power against prosecutorial discretion. A judge who presided over these seditious-conspiracy trials, who saw the evidence and entered the convictions, had to sign the order erasing them because the decision to prosecute—or not—belongs to the executive. He could register his profound disagreement for the historical record, but he could not stop it. It’s a study in where one branch’s power ends and another’s begins. US judge grants Justice Department bid to dismiss Oath Keepers prosecutions | ReutersWashington Post · CNN And finally, a divided federal appeals court has ruled that the EPA cannot claw back roughly $20 billion in clean-energy grants—another decision drawing a hard line around executive power over money that Congress has already committed. The D.C. Circuit restored an injunction against EPA Administrator Lee Zeldin’s move to terminate grants that had been awarded to nonprofit groups from the Greenhouse Gas Reduction Fund, a $27 billion program Congress created in the 2022 Inflation Reduction Act to finance renewable-energy projects, including in communities historically shut out of green financing. Zeldin had frozen the money in early 2025, saying it didn’t align with the agency’s priorities and might be tainted by fraud, waste, and abuse. The court wasn’t persuaded: six judges concluded that terminating the grants and clawing back the funds “based solely on a policy disagreement” likely violated the Inflation Reduction Act, and pointedly noted the EPA gave no assurance it would leave the money alone if the injunction were lifted. This should sound familiar—it’s the same principle we saw when a judge blocked the administration from canceling grants it deemed inconsistent with its priorities. The significance is the recurring constitutional boundary of this era: when Congress appropriates money for a purpose and an agency awards it, a new administration generally can’t just unwind those commitments because it dislikes the policy. The EPA says it’s reviewing the decision and may take it to the Supreme Court—which would tee up a definitive answer on just how much power a president has to stop spending money Congress told him to spend. EPA cannot block billions in climate grants, US appeals court rules | ReutersUS News This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.minimumcomp.com/subscribe

Ver todo (891)

4.8
de 5
12 calificaciones

Acerca de

Minimum Competence is your daily companion for legal news, designed to bring you up to speed on the day’s major legal stories during your commute home. Each episode is short, clear, and informative—just enough to make you minimally competent on the key developments in law, policy, and regulation. Whether you’re a lawyer, law student, journalist, or just legal-curious, you’ll get a smart summary without the fluff. A full transcript of each episode is available via the companion newsletter at www.minimumcomp.com. www.minimumcomp.com

Información

  • Creador
    Andrew and Gina Leahey
  • Años de actividad
    2023 - 2026
  • Episodios
    891
  • Clasificación
    Apto
  • Copyright
    © Andrew Leahey
  • Mostrar sitio web
    Minimum Competence

También te podría interesar