By: Emma Staller ‘26
Volume XI – Issue I – Fall 2025

I. INTRODUCTION

The 1949 Geneva Conventions and their Additional Protocols are international treaties that establish the core rules limiting the barbarity of war. [1] They protect people who do take part in the fighting, including civilians, medics, and aid workers, as well as those who can no longer fight, such as wounded, sick, and shipwrecked troops and prisoners of war. Many scholars consider the Geneva Conventions one of humanity’s most significant achievements of the last century, as they form the foundation of International Humanitarian Law (IHL), the body of international law regulating armed conflict and seeking to mitigate its effects. [2] The Conventions and their Protocols prescribe measures to prevent or halt breaches, define “grave breaches,” and outline consequences for those who commit them. [3]

As artificial intelligence (AI) technology continues to advance, opportunities for its large-scale application in warfare have expanded dramatically, creating novel and precarious challenges for IHL. Among the greatest threats posed by AI in warfare is the rise of Lethal Autonomous Weapon Systems (LAWS), often called 'killer robots' for their destructive potential. [4] Machines, and by extension killer robots, currently cannot bear responsibility for violations of international law. [5] As it stands, when a machine decides who lives and who dies, the Geneva Conventions become ceremonial relics, not enforceable law. IHL assumes humans make decisions with intention and conscience; autonomous weapons systems disrupt this assumption, creating a legal “black hole” whereby nobody can be held accountable. [6]

By: Shaina Wolkenberg ‘29
Volume XI – Issue I – Fall 2025

I. COPYRIGHT PRINCIPLES

Article 1 Section 8 of the US constitution grants the United States Congress the right to “promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts, by securing for limited Times to Authors and Inventors the exclusive Right to their respective Writings and Discoveries.” [1] This clause serves as the foundation of The Copyright Law of the United States, codified in Title 17 of the United States Code. It establishes US copyright law as a code of laws intended to promote creativity by protecting original expression. United States copyright law protects original works of authorship by granting automatic legal ownership over a variety of creative works, including music. [2] However, copyright law may need to evolve to align with developing technology and modes of creativity in order to continue advancing the progress of the arts.

Under §106 of Title 17, copyright holders assume protections that last for the duration of the owner’s lifetime plus seventy years. If the work was made for hire—and, therefore, technically belongs to an employer or commissioning party instead of the creator—the copyright protections automatically last for 95 years. All copyright holders maintain the following exclusive rights: reproduction, derivation, distribution, public performance, and public display. [3] By automatically granting these rights to original works, the government aims to maximize creativity and incentivize the creation of intellectual goods. Individuals are more likely to create if there is personal gain (i.e., economic incentive) and reason to believe that their creations can not be legally reproduced, derived, distributed, performed, or displayed by someone other than the creator themself. [4]

By: Tatiana Avdienko ’28
Volume XI – Issue I – Fall 2025

I. INTRODUCTION

On August 19, 1973, tribal police on the Port Madison Indian Reservation arrested Mark Oliphant for assaulting an officer and resisting arrest. [1] He was charged before the Provisional Court of the Suquamish Indian Tribe, incarcerated, and released. [2] Before his trial, Oliphant petitioned for a writ of habeas corpus to the United States District court under the belief that Indian tribal courts have no jurisdiction over non-Indians. [3] Oliphant’s case made its way to the Supreme Court, which in 1978 ruled that tribal courts could not try non-Indians, even if the crimes were committed on tribal land or against a tribal member. [4]

The ruling in Oliphant v. Suquamish set a precedent for future Supreme Court cases regarding tribal sovereignty that led to further restrictions on tribal courts, often hindering the already ineffective justice process on tribal land. Additionally, the ruling has directly compounded the disproportionate violence that tribal members face, along with the continuation of the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women Crisis in the United States. While more recent laws have attempted to give more power back to tribal courts in criminal cases, the system created as a result of Oliphant v. Suquamish remains a significant roadblock in tribal sovereignty and criminal jurisdiction. Amidst tribal jurisdictional restrictions, the navigation of an increasingly complex law enforcement relationship with the United States government has disillusioned Indigenous communities seeking to bring victims to justice.

By: Neal Goturi ‘29
Volume XI – Issue I – Fall 2025

I. INTRODUCTION: COAL PLANT CLOSURES AND THE CHALLENGE OF A JUST TRANSITION

The structural decline of coal power plants across the United States risks harming the workers who rely on the industry for employment and economic welfare. Although existing federal and state labor and employment statutes attempt to protect workers' livelihood through early notification and collective bargaining requirements for employers, economic challenges, narrow bargaining subjects, and preemption objections make existing law unlikely to provide redress for affected workers. As such, I argue the solution to this problem lies outside the constraints of labor law and within the fiduciary duties that guide corporate governance itself.

Fiduciary duty refers to the legal obligations among a corporation, its agents, and shareholders. This essay will articulate the principles of fiduciary duty and demonstrate how current board practice during plant closures does not capture the full architecture of the doctrine, as directors primarily interpret the duty of loyalty as a negative mandate to avoid conflicts of interest and minimize short-term costs. This perspective overlooks the duty of loyalty’s positive obligations, which require directors to take affirmative steps to durably and prudently maximize shareholder value.

In the unique circumstances of a burgeoning clean energy economy facing chronic labor shortages, this affirmative obligation warrants a newfound consideration of workforce transition and retraining programs during plant closures and the creation of monitoring programs for workforce development. Given that nearly all major energy companies operate or plan to operate diversified generation portfolios, such informed consideration is neither irrational nor extraneous, and the outcome of the consideration provides robust protection from judicial scrutiny. The informed consideration of workforce transition has numerous positive effects for both shareholder value and worker livelihood, creating a more productive, resilient, and cooperative economy.

By: Arjun Sarkar ‘29
Volume XI – Issue I – Fall 2025

I. INTRODUCTION

Copyright law, to this day, remains one of the most complicated legal fields in United States history. Copyright law also remains one of the most rapidly developing legal fields in the nation, as it exists at the crossroads of rigid legality and expressionist creativity. As the nation’s arts and sciences progressed, so has copyright law. With the rise of generative AI, it must be seen whether the current copyright law is able to properly evaluate the issue of AI copyright infringement. The answer to that question will be found in the landmark ruling held in Andy Warhol Foundation For The Visual Arts Inc. v Goldsmith, which established the framework for how modern copyright law will be used in the future.

Copyright law is fundamentally intertwined with artists' liberties. In fact, since 1790, the Constitution has ensured that “the author of a work may reap the fruit” of his or her labor for a limited span of time. [1] The origin of the first modern copyright law lies prior to the founding of the United States, with the passage of the Statute of Anne (1710) in Great Britain. [2] The Statute stated that the act of publishing authors' works without their consent had proved a “great detriment” to the livelihood of the authors. [2] In response to this detriment, the statute enforced a fourteen-year length of copyright that authors held over their works. In passing this statute, the British Government helped pave the way for intellectual property protection.

A few decades after the initial passage of the Statute of Anne, the then-newly formed United States government used the statute as a framework to develop the Copyright Act of 1790, the first federal copyright law. Notably, the initial act was relatively narrow in scope. The law originally applied only to “books, maps, and charters” and, like the Statute of Anne, imposed a fourteen-year copyright protection. [3] Over the next century, Congress amended the Copyright Act of 1790 to encompass a wider range of works, including: “historical and other prints (1802), dramatic works (1856), photographs (1965), and visual arts (1870).” [4] An 1831 amendment also increased the period of copyright protection from “fourteen years to twenty-eight years.” [28] The evolution of the initial Copyright Act, as new forms of media developed, also applied to the manner in which intellectual property was borrowed. The Supreme Court demonstrated this evolution in Folsom v. Marsh, with the introduction of the fair use doctrine, which established the proper manner a work could copy from and derive from previous works. During the tail end of the 20th century, the principles of the fair use doctrine were further developed with emphasis on transformative use, a core aspect of fair use.

By: Callum McArthur ’28
Volume XI – Issue I – Fall 2025

I. INTRODUCTION

The rise in the prevalence and legitimacy of Decentralized Finance systems reflects a new era of digitalization and changing legal sphere. Better known as “DeFi” systems, this emerging financial ecosystem is one that allows users to send, purchase, and exchange financial assets without relying on banks, brokerages, or exchanges to do so. In essence, DeFi allows users to side-step the traditional means of financial exchange by operating in a solely online peer-to-peer environment. Here, exchanges are filled out automatically by self-executing code known as smart contracts, and recorded on a public ledger called a blockchain. [1] The assets traded in ecosystems like these are cryptocurrencies, digital tokens or currency that exist only in the decentralized system from which they belong.

Cryptocurrencies such as Ethereum or Bitcoin, the latter boasting a near six-figure market value for a single token, have become popular mediums for individuals to invest and make secure transactions in recent years. However, they have one glaring problem: their value is extremely volatile. This volatility makes them unsuitable for financial functions that require more stability, such as acting as a medium for loans, savings, or even pricing for goods and services. This would severely limit the scope of uses for digital coins if it were not for specialized cryptocurrencies designed to maintain a stable value, typically pegged to fiat currencies like the U.S. dollar, called Stablecoins. These stablecoins are vital elements for an effective DeFi ecosystem, and serve many different purposes, ranging from users lending them to earn yield or borrowing them against other cryptocurrency collateral to yield-generating protocols distributing returns denominated in stablecoins, among many others. While these applications and many more will be explored in more detail to come, the most significant function of stablecoins is to act as a stable medium of exchange, store of value, and to ultimately bridge the gap between DeFi systems and traditional finance.

By: Maya Schmaling ‘28
Volume XI – Issue I – Fall 2025

I. INTRODUCTION

On January 14th, 2025, the Better Business Bureau (BBB) released a scam alert warning consumers about an eerie new advertising strategy. It had received numerous reports of instances in which consumers had bought a product because they had seen a well-known celebrity endorsing it, only to discover that the product did not exist. In fact, the endorsement did not exist either; the celebrity was generated by artificial intelligence, which, as the BBB warned, is now sophisticated enough to make the endorsement look real. [1] The alert aligns with a growing number of high-profile cases involving AI-generated celebrity endorsements. In 2023, Tom Hanks debunked the authenticity of a video advertisement featuring an AI version of himself promoting a dental plan. [2] In a series of advertisements, Oprah Winfrey and high-profile doctors appeared to recommend a weight loss supplement. [3] Despite the general dubiousness of the products, the attachment of a familiar face to the advertisement led at least some viewers to lose their money. [4]

A product approved by a celebrity tends to be more tempting to potential buyers. In purchasing such products, buyers are faster and more confident in their decisions, and the celebrity presence often outshines the product itself in grabbing attention. [5] The impact is significant: a Harvard Business School study found an approximate 4% increase in sales, or an average of $10 million annually, amongst brands that had used celebrity endorsements. [6] Commissioning an endorsement with a high-profile figure can cost millions, but the commercial advantage offered in advertising provides a strong incentive for those who can afford it. [7] The featured celebrity can also benefit by profiting from their persona, so long as it remains a limited and marketable commodity.

By: Skylar Kleinman ‘27
Volume XI – Issue I – Fall 2025

I. INTRODUCTION

In July 2025, President Donald Trump filed a lawsuit in Florida federal court seeking $10 billion in defamation damages from The Wall Street Journal and its parent companies, Dow Jones and News Corp., for alleging that Trump wrote a birthday letter to convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein in 2003. The article, “Jeffrey Epstein’s Friends Sent Him Bawdy Letters for a 50th Birthday Album. One Was From Donald Trump,” described the contents of the letter as “reviewed by the Journal”: lines of typewritten text surrounded by the outline of a naked woman, footed by Trump’s signature. [1] In September, the Journal published an image of the letter itself and reported that the House Oversight Committee had received it in its ongoing Epstein investigation. [2] While the article’s editorial merits remain unclear—the Journal motioned to dismiss Trump’s claims, contending that the article is true, while Trump continues to deny ever writing any birthday letter—the claim itself significantly marks Trump’s first defamation suit as sitting president, and the first time a sitting president has ever sued for defamation. [3]

Legal commentary predicting the outcome of Trump v. Wall Street Journal (WSJ) (1:25-cv-23232 (S.D. Fla. 2025)) defers to the “actual malice” standard established in New York Times Co. v. Sullivan (376 U.S. 254 (1964)), [4] in which the Court held that plaintiffs, as public officials, must prove that statements were made with “actual malice,” or “knowledge that it was false or with reckless disregard of whether it was false or not.” [5] Per Sullivan’s high-bar standard, Trump, like most plaintiffs, is unlikely to prevail. [6] However, this article aims to shift the scope of analysis from Sullivan toward modern standards that balance journalistic interests in both virality and integrity in reporting on matters of government accountability. [7] The application of the fair report privilege against political plaintiffs in Gubarev v. BuzzFeed, Inc. (0:17- cv-60426 (S.D. Fla. 2018)) specifically protects a strong public interest in maintaining government transparency and accountability in the context of reporting related to governmental and quasi-governmental documents, an aim further enabled by contemporary digital reporting with the capacity to reach mass audiences. [8] The fair report privilege effectively protects journalists from incurring damages for inflicting reputational harm produced as a byproduct of reporting, as long as potentially defamatory statements are accurate to official events or proceedings. Gubarev, like WSJ, considers whether political plaintiffs may prosecute such harm, inviting potential application and further discussion of the opportunities and risks for reporters in an unprecedented era of high-stakes journalism that must carefully balance First Amendment rights, reputational blowback, and public trust.

First, I will explain the application of the fair report privilege in Gubarev. Second, I will examine the prominent arguments in WSJ. Finally, I will consider legal and social arguments linking Gubarev to the calculus of the court in WSJ.

By: Stella Kozielec ‘27
Volume XI – Issue I – Fall 2025

I. INTRODUCTION AND DECISION

On June 26, 2025, the U.S. Supreme Court deliberated over the scope of 42 U.S. Code Section 1983 in Medina v. Planned Parenthood South Atlantic (606 U.S. 357 (2025)). [1] Section 1983 is a federal statute granting individuals the ability to take judicial action against local or state government officials when their enumerated rights are infringed upon. [2] This right provides an essential legal pathway to citizens when they feel that government officials have violated proper procedures. The case at hand concerns the conditions set by Congress for states to access funding for medical assistance. Planned Parenthood and Julie Edwards, a recipient of Medicaid, had sued South Carolina’s State Department of Health and Human Services because they believed that the exclusion of Planned Parenthood from Medicaid coverage violated the “any-qualified-provider” provision inscribed within the Medicaid Act. [3] This provision mandates that an individual is allowed to choose their preferred provider as long as the provider is qualified to perform the services. [4] The central issue debated in this case is whether the “any-qualified-provider” provision, Section 1396a(a)(23)(A), bestows upon an individual access to sue via Section 1983. [5]

Though there are a variety of previous rulings that could have served as precedent for determining whether a Section 1983 right was created, the Court decides to rely on a test outlined in Gonzaga Univ. v. Doe (536 U.S. 273 (2002)). [6] This test states that the statute must establish “an unmistakable focus on individuals” and utilize “clear” and “unambiguous” “rights-creating” language. [7] The Court argues that the Gonzaga test is cemented as the standard test after its application onto a provision in Health and Hospital Corporation of Marion City. v. Talevski (599 U.S. 166 (2023)), identifying Talevski as the case where precedent is officially established. [8]

Applying the Gonzaga test in Medina v. Planned Parenthood, the majority opinion of the Court rules that the “any-qualified-provider” provision does not confer an individual right that permitted legal action under Section 1983 because it does not utilize “clear” and “unambiguous” “rights-creating” language. [9] This decision means that Julie Edwards does not have the right to sue the South Carolina state government officials for exclusion of Planned Parenthood, effectively reneging Planned Parenthood’s status as a Medicaid provider.

By: Rebecca Herzberg ‘26
Volume XI – Issue I – Fall 2025

I. BACKGROUND

i. Section 340B of the Public Health Service Act (42 U.S.C. § 356)

a. Overview

In 1992, the 340B Drug Discount Program was established under the Public Health Service Act under section 602 of the Veterans Health Care Act (P.L. 102-585). [1], [2] Overseen by the Health Resources and Services Administration (HRSA), this program was created and has continuously worked to support hospitals serving vulnerable populations with less financial resources. [3] As the cost of prescription drugs continues to rise, the 340B program is viewed by many hospitals as invaluable. [4] Under the program, drug manufacturers must enter a purchase price agreement (PPA) with the Secretary of the Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) to participate. They are then required to follow the predescribed maximum price calculated from the statutory formula. Notably, providers are not required to pass drug discounts on to patients. [5]

To qualify for the 340B program, hospitals must serve patients who are a majority low-income and/or uninsured. After meeting this criteria, hospitals can purchase outpatient drugs at reduced prices. [6] These discounted rates are calculated by taking the average manufacturer price (AMP) and subtracting the unit rebate amount (URA) to determine the maximum price drugs can be sold at to all hospitals participating in the 340B program. [7] Qualifying organizations, referred to as “covered entities” include health care providers that serve vulnerable populations and have limited resources, such as federally qualified health centers, rural hospitals, disproportionate share hospitals (DSH), and specialized clinics, among many other facilities. [8] Many of these hospitals are considered safety net hospitals, meaning that these hospitals’ patient populations are predominantly uninsured or Medicaid beneficiaries. [9], [10]

The 340B program is intended to reduce the financial burden covered entities face. For example, in 2023, 44 percent of rural hospitals—a primary target of the 340B program—had negative operating margins. [11] The savings generated from the 340B program are intended to enable hospitals to support their communities through free health care, free vaccines, mental health services, medication management, and community health programs. [12] While the intention of the 340B program is to support hospitals serving vulnerable populations, it is important to acknowledge the significant purchasing role the 340B program plays in the pharmaceutical market. Drug sales from the 340B program make up approximately 7.2 percent of the overall U.S. drug market. To ensure covered entities are meeting requirements for the 340B program, HRSA and drug manufacturers are allowed to audit covered entities to ensure they meet requirements for the program. Furthermore, they have the ability to fine noncompliant entities with civil monetary penalties (CMP) and govern alternative dispute resolutions (ADR) surrounding overcharges of drugs. [13]

By: Lorenzo Blanco ’27
Volume XI – Issue I – Fall 2025

I. INTRODUCTION TO ELECTRIFIED MOBILITY AND ITS POLITICAL PERCEPTION

Acknowledging and mitigating the climate crisis is undoubtedly one of—if not the most—pressing issues facing global society today. Far more than an existential threat, the climate crisis represents one of the most profound trials of global collaboration, communication, and scientific innovation. Conversations about climate change on the world stage have historically focused on accountability, where countries are forced by increasingly frequent and severe climate disasters to acknowledge their roles in perpetuating environmental harm via exploitative sociocultural international relations. The forty-six countries that the United Nations classifies as Least Developed Countries (LDCs), such as Myanmar, Madagascar, and the Solomon Islands, [1] have been unduly subjected to carry the gravest burdens of the climate crisis; systemic economic inequality as a result of centuries of colonization, subjugation, and exploitation leaves these countries underfunded and underprepared to face off against disastrous climate events. Astoundingly, these countries are responsible for a mere 3.3 percent of global greenhouse gas emissions, [2] yet more than twothirds of global lives claimed by climate change have been citizens of these countries. [3] Evidently, however, this unmistakable inequality amidst the climate crisis has not gone unnoticed by global citizens. The 2024 Peoples’ Climate Vote survey, the world’s largest standalone public opinion survey about climate change, [4] noted that almost 86 percent of the world’s population demanded increased global unity and commitment to cast away geopolitical disagreement while mitigating the climate crisis. [5] As global concern and commitment toward mitigating climate change increases, 63 percent of the world’s population noted in the survey that they are “starting to take climate change impacts into consideration when making decisions about where to live or work and what to buy.” [6]

Evidence of increased commitment to climate change education and environmentally conscious decision-making abounds in recent years, particularly amongst concerned citizens of the world’s wealthiest and most developed countries who have the socioeconomic privilege and responsibility to do so. In the United States, one of the most highly popularized and publicized examples of “climate conscious” behavior has been the transition to electric or alternative fuel vehicles. The electric vehicle “revolution” has given rise to a manufacturer arms race from titans like Tesla, Mercedes-Benz, Ford, and General Motors to bring alternative vehicles to the market. However, companies faced one almost insurmountable obstacle in introducing their products to the mass market: the cost to consumers. Consequently, state and federal actors tirelessly crafted environmental policy to engineer economically competitive strategies for emissions reduction through the incentivization of electric vehicles. These incentivization programs directly addressed the steepest challenge of immense price gaps between electric and internal combustion engine vehicles and made the electric vehicle revolution not only a revolution in technology, but a democratization of accessibility to sustainable lifestyle choices across the country. Families barred by cost from purchasing a new internal combustion vehicle had, through programs like California’s Drive Clean Assistance Program (DCAP), direct and dynamic financial support in making environmentally beneficial choices toward reducing emissions. A United States Energy Information Administration’s study results spoke to the efficacy of such programs, finding that electric vehicle sales hit a historic record in quarter three of 2024 while internal combustion vehicle sales fell proportionately, [7] despite the average price of a new electric vehicle being 42 percent higher than its internal combustion counterpart in the same year. [8]

By: Ally Lichtman ‘29
Volume XI – Issue I – Fall 2025

I. INTRODUCTION

On June 22, 1970, President Richard Nixon signed the first set of amendments to the Voting Rights Act of 1965, reauthorizing and expanding its protections against discriminatory voting practices. Critically, he issued a signing statement questioning Congress’s authority to enact Title III, which lowered the voting age to 18 in all elections. [1] Previously, states reserved the power to set their minimum voting requirements, most often at 21 years of age. Nixon’s statement, although not legally binding, foreshadowed that the voting age provision would face constitutional review. [2] The Supreme Court of the United States ruled in Oregon v. Mitchell, 400 U.S. 112 (1970), that Congress has the authority to regulate voting age qualifications for national but not state and local elections. [3] In response, Congress proposed an amendment to the U.S. Constitution establishing a national minimum voting age, and the state legislatures ratified the resulting 26th Amendment on July 1, 1971. [4] Thus, within a year, all three branches of the federal government and the state legislatures participated in the political and legal process of lowering the voting age to 18.

The path to the 26th Amendment reveals the dynamics of social change, the role of federalism in election law, and the complex relationship between the judiciary and legislature. Although there is no clear framework for litigating the 26th Amendment, it has significant implications for youth participation and the expanded electorate today. Therefore, courts should adopt a uniform standard for interpreting legal claims in order to protect citizens against voting rights violations consistently. This article first discusses the legal history of voter qualifications in the United States and the public mobilization that pressured Congress to lower the voting age. Next, it examines the nuances of the Supreme Court’s ruling in Oregon v. Mitchell and its reversal in part via the constitutional amendment process. Finally, this article analyzes the current status of litigation under the 26th Amendment and recommends judicial and legislative reforms to fill the gaps in implementation. Indeed, revisiting the 26th Amendment is a necessary step to realize the fundamental right to vote in the 21st century.

By: Song Lee ‘26
Volume XI – Issue I – Fall 2025

I. INTRODUCTION

On February 5, 2025, President Trump made headlines with Executive Order 14201, aimed at “Keeping Men Out of Women’s Sports” or barring transgender women from women’s sports “to oppose male competitive participation in women’s sports more broadly, as a matter of safety, fairness, dignity, and truth.” [1] Trump’s claims largely drew from his previous Executive Order 14168, defining “sex” as an “immutable biological classification as either male or female,” with female constituting “a person belonging, at conception, to the sex that produces the large reproductive cell.” [2] In this new era of American policy, Trump moved to remove federal financial backing for educational programs with transgender women in women’s sports teams, prompting a policy movement to remove funding at all levels of government. [3]

These changing tides in sports law merit an investigation into past legal action on transgender athletes. A transgender woman known as a trailblazing “sports pioneer,” as the first openly transgender player in tennis, was at the forefront of Richards v. U.S. Tennis Association in this New York State Supreme Court case. This impactful state case revolving around Reneé Richards competing in the US Open remains largely relevant in today’s national discourse around transgender women in competitive sports.

By: Siddharth (Sid) Bajaj ‘29
Volume XI – Issue I – Fall 2025

I. INTRODUCTION

In June 1954, the CIA facilitated a covert operation to overthrow the democratically elected government of Jacobo Árbenz in Guatemala. [1] The mission, Operation PBSUCCESS, was framed as a defense against communism, which relied on U.S. supplied arms that ultimately installed a military dictatorship amenable to U.S. interests. [2] This regime change violated core principles of the United Nations Charter, including the prohibitions on the use of force and intervention in the internal affairs of sovereign states. [3] Yet no international tribunal adjudicated the matter, and no sanctions were imposed.

What happened was not an anomaly. In the wake of World War II, the U.S. repeatedly subverted unfriendly governments abroad through the belief that covert force would carry fewer legal and reputational consequences than open military invasion. [4] Over decades, this pattern of clandestine intervention effectively rewrote how international law operated. The norms against aggression were not formally abrogated, but they were bent and blunted through constant circumvention. As one scholar observed in 1970, the “high-minded resolve of Article 2(4) mocks us from its grave.” [5] Today, U.S. exceptionalism continues to shape global norms: if one of the world’s most prominent powers treats the rules as optional, can those rules truly command universal respect?

This article examines how U.S. covert actions during the Cold War and beyond redefined the application of international law. Part II provides the legal framework of the U.N. Charter’s use-of-force and non-intervention principles. Part III analyzes case studies, from Iran (1953) and Guatemala (1954) to Chile (1973) and Nicaragua (1980s), where American operations contradicted legal norms. Part IV offers a legal analysis, discussing how these actions were judged under international law (like in Nicaragua v. United States) and how the United States sought to justify them. Part V considers the broader implications: the erosion of U.N. Charter norms, the expansion of self-defense claims, and the precedent set for other states. I conclude that while the rules against force remain in writing, U.S. conduct substantially weakened their authority in practice, redefining the post-war international legal order in the process.

By: Caitlin Gallagher ‘26
Volume XI – Issue I – Fall 2025

I. INTRODUCTION

Chances are, if you are involved in the Internet or if you are even a casual music enjoyer, it is almost certain that you have heard a song that includes sampling. Senior Lecturer at the Abbey Road Institute, Jason O’Bryan, defines sampling as “when you include an element of a pre-existing recording by someone else in your composition.” The sample can be anything that you’ve ‘sampled’ from another track; a rhythm, a melody, a beat, vocals or speech, which you then manipulate, edit, chop up, or loop to fit creatively within your work.” [1] Popular examples include Drake’s “Nice For What,” which sampled Lauryn Hill’s 1998 “Ex-Factor,” and Beyonce’s “Crazy in Love,” which sampled the Chi-Lites’ song released in 1970, titled “Are You My Woman (Tell Me So).” These songs are just two of hundreds of examples of hit songs that use the practice of sampling. Taking pieces of old songs is a way to introduce younger listeners to the hits of an older generation, but it also often provides a gateway for older listeners to connect with music being produced by younger generations.

Given the number of artists and producers who have taken to using this popular technique, it is hard to imagine the music industry as we know it today without the history of sampling, but new technological trends might reframe the way we understand what it means to sample and who or what is allowed to do so. We know some things about how courts think about originality as it relates to sampling and artists taking inspiration from one another, but how might that change in the age of artificial intelligence? Understanding the legal history of sampling in the music industry, coupled with analyzing the current legal landscape of artificial intelligence and copyright law, suggests that clear restraints will be placed on the use of artificial intelligence in sampling. Whether or not those restraints will be harsher than the ones that exist for human artists remains to be seen. To understand what shape those restraints might take, this paper will first seek to understand the history of the role of the legal system in music sampling, and then will turn to analysis for what implications that history, in addition to a growing body of legal scholarship on the topic, might reveal for how artificial intelligence will be treated when it comes to music copyright.

By: Gabriella Ayzidor ’27
Volume XI – Issue I – Fall 2025

I. BACKGROUND

The Willowbrook State School was originally founded in 1948 to house and treat people with disabilities. Located in Staten Island, New York, it was initially viewed as a safe institution where individuals could receive what was considered proper care for their disabilities at the time. However, due to chronic understaffing, along with a limited understanding of and marginalized views toward individuals with diverse disabilities, residents received a “one-size-fits-all” approach to care and were mistreated by their caretakers. Senator Robert Kennedy first exposed the inhumane treatment of Willowbrook State School Residents when he visited the institution in 1965. In an interview, he described the facility by stating,

“We have a situation that borders on a snake pit, and that the children live in filth, that many of our fellow citizens are suffering tremendously because of lack of attention, lack of imagination, [and] lack of adequate manpower.” [1]

By: Allison Wong ‘27
Volume XI – Issue I – Fall 2025

I. BACKGROUND

From 1998 to 1999, over 30 U.S. cities and counties filed suit against firearm manufacturers and dealers. [1] The complaints alleged industry practices fueled illegal gun trafficking, placing an undue burden on municipalities in addressing violent crime. First, manufacturers focused innovation efforts on concealability and lethality, while failing to design weapons with feasible safety mechanisms. Second, dealers used porous distribution methods accessible to illegal gun traffickers in criminal markets. Third, industry advertising marketed powerful assault weapons as necessary for basic self-defense, appealing to broader consumer bases. [2] As a result of gun violence, municipalities experienced rising law enforcement and hospital treatment costs, in addition to public safety concerns. [3] In 1998, federal law-enforcement data indicated that nearly half of firearms involved in crime had been purchased from federally-licensed dealers within the previous three years. [4] The rapid movement of firearms from manufacturer to dealer to criminal suggested a more direct relationship between the industry and gun violence.

As these suits proceeded, the National Rifle Association (NRA) and firearms industry lobbied Congress for protection against liability. [5] Congress passed the Protection of Lawful Commerce in Arms Act (“PLCAA”), signed into law by President George W. Bush on October 26, 2005. [6] The PLCAA generally shields licensed firearm and ammunition manufacturers and dealers from civil liability action seeking damages for harm resulting from third-party unlawful or criminal misuse of their products. [7] The PLCAA effectively dismissed the majority of pending city and county lawsuits, while enhancing U.S. firearm manufacturer and dealer protection against future suits.

By: Tess O’Donoghue ’28
Volume XI – Issue I – Fall 2025

I. INTRODUCTION

A functioning democracy relies on clear, timely communication between elected officials and the people. The President has a duty to engage with his constituents through presidential briefings, during which he makes critical announcements about public health, the economy, and impactful policy changes. Yet millions of Deaf Americans—who have been disproportionately affected by the policies of the Trump administration—are denied access to this communication daily.

In August 2020, the National Association of the Deaf (NAD) sued the Trump administration for failing to provide American Sign Language (ASL) interpretation during coronavirus-related press conferences and briefings. The complaint named President Trump, the Executive Office of the President (EOP), the White House Office, the Office of the Vice President (OVP), and Press Secretary Kayleigh McEnany as Defendants. The District Court for the District of Columbia issued a preliminary injunction in Plaintiffs’ favor, ordering the White House to include a qualified ASL interpreter in the White House Communications Agency feed for all coronavirus briefings. [1] Although the Trump administration appealed the order, the newly inaugurated Biden administration withdrew the appeal and instituted a policy that went further than NAD’s requests, providing ASL interpretation at all White House press briefings.

By: Tayten Han ’28
Volume XI – Issue I – Fall 2025

I. INTRODUCTION

In June 2024, the Supreme Court’s decision in Loper Bright Enterprises v. Raimondo (603 U.S. 369 (2024)) overturned Chevron U.S.A. v. Natural Resources Defense Council (467 U.S. 837 (1984)), ending four decades of judicial deference to federal agencies on ambiguous statutes. [1] Under Chevron, federal courts were required to defer to agency interpretations in cases where congressional intent in a statute was unclear, reflecting a belief in the necessity of specialized expertise and autonomy in the pragmatic application of complex regulatory laws. [2] For this reason, Chevron had become foundational in regulatory cases, being cited over 18,000 times in both the lower courts and the Supreme Court. [3] It served as a cornerstone separation of powers framework by explicitly defining the extent of federal agency power relative to judicial authority. Over the past decade, however, the Chevron deferral doctrine had significantly waned in influence, with Supreme Court litigators even growing reluctant to invoke its principles. [4] Loper Bright marked the culmination of this long decline, formally shifting interpretive authority of statutes primarily to the judicial system, signaling a shift in authority from specialized federal agencies like the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) to the judicial branch.

The Loper Bright ruling emerges amongst a broader series of Supreme Court cases over the past five years that may signal a philosophical shift in the Court’s approach to agency authority. Recent decisions such as Securities and Exchange Commission v. Jarkesy (603 US _ (2024)), West Virginia v. EPA (597 US _ (2022)), and Seil Law v. Consumer Financial Protection Bureau (591 US _ (2020)) demonstrates a growing trend of judicial skepticism towards agency authority. These cases have each substantially weakened federal agencies by questioning their structural independence and policymaking discretion—a stark contrast to the Chevron ruling, which required courts to defer to agency interpretations of statutes. Collectively, these cases reflect a modern Supreme Court increasingly intent on reasserting judicial supremacy, even if agencies may be better equipped for the practical application of an ambiguous statute. As Justice Kagan writes in her dissenting opinion, “this very Term presents yet another example of the Court’s resolve to roll back agency authority, despite congressional direction to the contrary.” [5]

By: Ethan Y.C. Yang
Volume X – Issue II – Spring 2025

I. INTRODUCTION

Fierce courtroom battles have challenged nearly every clause of the Constitution since America’s founding. That is, except for the Ninth Amendment: the “forgotten amendment.” [1] For instance, although the Ninth Amendment seems to directly address unenumerated rights, it is no peer to the Fourteenth in the great battles over civil rights, gay marriage, abortion, and so on. Rather than shaping authoritative judicial decisions, debate over the Ninth Amendment instead occurs mainly in the pages of law reviews and the halls of academia. According to Stanford Law Professor Michael McConnell, “the [Supreme] Court has never squarely based a holding on the Ninth Amendment and has scarcely even discussed its meaning.” [2]

In contrast, legal scholars have paid far more attention to the Ninth Amendment. These scholars have produced a great body of academic literature regarding its meaning, implications, and potential— and for good reason: No part of the Constitution should be treated as an “inkblot,” as Supreme Court appointee Robert Bork once described it. [3] Georgetown Law professor Randy Barnett argues in Restoring the Lost Constitution that the Ninth Amendment establishes a “presumption of liberty” for all unenumerated rights. This fringe opinion in American jurisprudence would upend almost every aspect of rights-related constitutional litigation. As such, this paper will discuss the viability of Barnett’s theory by examining the political, historical, and philosophical origins of the Ninth Amendment within the context of America’s founding. Then, this paper will analyze the current implementation of the Ninth Amendment and competing theories. Finally, it will deliver a “verdict” for Barnett’s theory alongside historical, textual, and jurisprudential considerations.