In 2019, a plea agreement was reached on the eighth floor of the Durham District Attorney’s office. Donald Fields Jr. murdered his father three years prior over a seemingly innocuous fight about the placement of the TV.[1] After consulting from the family, the parties agreed that Fields would plead guilty to second-degree murder and receive a 20-year minimum sentence.[2] The Assistant District Attorney handling the case, Kendra Montgomery-Blinn, took the first step toward restorative justice. She asked Alex Fields, the victim’s brother and the offender’s uncle, if he would like to read the psychological evaluation of Fields that the defense had prepared. Alex read the report detailing Fields’ anger management issues, lack of mental maturity, history of witnessing violence, and recent violent propensities.[3] Alex said that “it read true”; he didn’t “want to lose him [] to the system.”[4] Alex agreed to a restorative justice alterative—one sanctioned by a court but not within one.[5] Over the next four years, the family participated in restorative justice circles where they discussed the effect of Donald’s actions.[6] At first, the family participated in the circle without Fields while Fields received therapy during his pre-trail incarceration. Fields eventually joined the circle and conversation began to unfold.[7] Over time, the family felt that Fields had changed and taken accountability; they felt that sufficiently healed and that Fields could return home.[8]
Restorative Justice (RJ) programs and techniques have been making their way into the American criminal justice system for over three decades.[9] As of 2020, 264 total laws had been passed in 46 jurisdictions spanning 45 states and the District of Columbia.[10] There is, however, a stark lack of uniformity across jurisdictions as they legalize restorative justice.[11] Leading scholars in the field warn that “in present form, restorative justice cannot be viewed as a panacea for all the ills that plague the criminal justice system.”[12] The incorporation of RJ in the criminal system is still in its infancy, and many questions remain unanswered. One of the largest, perhaps, is whether RJ processes should be used for violent crimes, such as homicide. As proponents of legalizing RJ continue their research and incorporation efforts, violent crimes should be included in RJ because the need for and benefits of these alternatives are especially crucial for the individuals affected by violent crime.
Restorative Justice does not offer a uniform blueprint to criminal justice reform; rather, it employs a “radically different way of viewing, understanding, and responding to the presence of crime within our communities.”[13] It is an alternative approach. The retributive criminal justice approach serves justice by punishing the offender. In contrast, the restorative justice approach serves justice by healing the individuals—both victim and offender. [14] The umbrella of RJ covers a variety of techniques, philosophies, and practices; but there is no universal theory of restorative justice or agreed upon method of enacting it.[15] In the criminal context, however, it typically involves a meeting or series of meetings between the stakeholders where the offender expresses remorse and the victim has the opportunity to the heard.[16] As a group, a set of actions are decided upon that could “repair the harm and prevent re-offending.”[17]
One version of this approach that has been used in the United States since the late 1980s is Victim-Offender Mediation (VOM) programs. VOM aims to provide victims the chance to confront the person that harmed them and participate in the process of reaching a restitution agreement. VOM allows the offender an opportunity to acknowledge the harm they caused and express true remorse.[18]
Traditionally, the goal of VOM programs was to reach a restitution agreement, but a more recent “humanistic” VOM approach re-orients the goal to be healing for all parties.[19] This new approach—falling squarely within RJ principles—resulted in the Victim Sensitive Offender Dialogue (VSOD) model. The VSOD model has three phases.[20] First, all parties involved are consulted on multiple occasions as to whether mediation could be a possibility.[21] If all parties agree to participate in mediation, then an agreement is made between the parties regarding the expectations of the mediation.[22] Second, an actual dialogue between the parties occurs, including a pre-dialogue briefing and a post-dialogue de-briefing.[23] Third, the facilitators meet with the parties to discuss any needs that were not met, collect feedback, and hopefully close the case.[24]
VOM is typically used in violent criminal cases post-conviction to achieve therapeutic goals for victims and offenders.[25] The general trend across the country is to exclude more violent crimes—like domestic violence and homicide—from RJ processes.[26] Post-conviction VOM and similar RJ practices, however, result in higher reports of victim and offender satisfaction after serious violent crimes.[27] This indicates that VOM and similar practices have potential to improve victim and offender experiences during earlier stages of litigation.
Some proponents of providing RJ alternatives in cases of serious crimes argue that this is a space where restorative justice is crucially needed.[28] Violent crimes, due to their nature, can result in increased shame for both parties.[29] RJ practices provide a path for the offender to take responsibility for their actions and rely on their community to hold them accountable. This can often transform the offender’s shame into something more productive.[30] RJ can also help victims process common feelings of was this my fault by giving them space to express those emotions.[31]
Another success of RJ is the potential to deliver a result that feels more just. When a violent crime has occurred, the need for “fairness” in the process of delivering justice is crucial.[32] A foundational principle of RJ is respect for the parties throughout the process.[33] The voluntary nature of participation, opportunity to be fully heard, and reliance on mutual agreement for reconciliation maintain the dignity of participants and ensure transparency in the process.[34] Research shows that people who have participated in RJ processes felt they were more “fair and legitimate” than criminal court processes.[35]
Efforts to incorporate RJ into the criminal system have primarily focused on low-level, nonviolent crimes.[36] While there are legitimate concerns to including serious crimes in this effort, the victims and offenders of violent crimes should not be forgotten in restorative efforts. Instead, the activists, scholars, legislators, and jurists that are currently shepherding RJ through its infancy in our criminal system must keep its applicability to violent offenses front of mind. Alex Jones will never fully recover from the grief of losing his brother. But because one District Attorney believed that Don was worthy of a RJ alternative, Jones didn’t have to lose his nephew in addition to his brother. Instead, Jones was empowered by the chance to heal his family.
[13] Mark S. Umbreit et al., Restorative Justice: An Empirically Grounded Movement Facing Many Opportunities and Pitfalls, 8 Cardozo J. Conflict Resol. 511, 518 (2007).
[14] Linday Fullham et al., The Effectiveness of Restorative Justice Programs: A Meta-Analysis of Recidivism and Other Relevant Outcomes, 00 Criminology & Crim. Just. 1, 2–3 (2023).
In 2025, Utah passed House Bill 77 (“HB 77”) without the Governor’s signature. HB 77, a controversial bill, is the first in the nation to ban non-sanctioned flags[1] from all public schools and government property. HB 77’s professed goal is to make classrooms neutral spaces but the bill’s sponsor “repeatedly constructed the bill to specifically ban pride flags in schools.”[2] Several key legal issues arise as to the constitutionality of HB 77 including but not limited to the First Amendment,[3] school speech doctrines, the Equal Protection Clause, and compelled neutrality versus speech suppression.
Historically, the Supreme Court utilizes different tests for determining if actions are unconstitutional.[4] One First Amendment test has distinguished between government and private speech.[5] A central question in determining the type of speech, one must first determine whose speech is HB 77 affecting? Even then, courts may determine that allowing certain symbols while banning others is discriminatory. Further legal analysis is required to compare which type of test the Supreme Court may utilize for this issue and if HB 77 would qualify as unconstitutional.
The School Speech Doctrine is a series of cases the Supreme Court decided that allow schools to regulate speech without violating the First Amendment.[6] Under the Hazelwood standard, schools can regulate speech in school sponsored activities if their actions are reasonably related to legitimate pedagogical concerns.[7] Thus, schools have greater deference to regulate speech that appears to be part of a school’s curriculum. Here, it is difficult to ascertain if HB 77 falls within any of the school speech doctrine standards. Additional case law is needed to determine when the action taken in HB 77 is protected or unconstitutional.
The HB 77 also implicates the Fourteenth Amendment. The Equal Protection Clause under the Fourteenth Amendment in part states “[n]o State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States.”[8] HB 77 must have disparate impact or animus towards LGBTQ+ students or staff to be successful under this claim. Parties must also show they are part of a protected class, but generally courts are hesitant to allow claims that involve facially neutral policies.[9]
In a legal and philosophical framework, tensions arise when faced with the issue of neutrality versus censorship. Critics argue that there is a selective enforcement of neutrality that disproportionality affects minority groups.[10] To further agitate this issue, a potential loophole in HB 77 exists. Historic flags used in school curriculum, such as a Nazi or Confederate flags, may be permissible.[11] Additionally, lawmakers in Arizona, Alaska, Florida and North Carolina have recently introduced similar bills.[12] Idaho has also passed a similar ban—HB 41.[13]
Ultimately, several legal issues questioning the constitutionality of Utah’s HB 77 and other similarly worded bills persist. Related issues extend much further than flag bills and can include a student’s appearance, speech inside classrooms, transgender rights in sports, and bans on gender-affirming healthcare.[14] Both the U.S. Supreme Court and lower courts have ruled on both sides of the isle. For example, in United States v Skrmetti, the Supreme Court upheld a Tennessee law banning gender-affirming care and medical treatments for transgender minors.[15] Whereas the Supreme Court still has cases challenging transgender rights in sports under review.[16] During this interim, Utah’s Governor has suggested that HB 77 should be repealed because it creates a cultural war that doesn’t “solve problems [the bill] intends to fix.”[17]
[1] HB 77 states, in part, that it “prohibits a government entity or employee of a government entity from displaying a flag in or on the grounds of government property except certain exempted flags” and does not apply to the following exceptions: (a) official flag of the United States, (b) the official Utah state flag, (c) the official flag of another country or state, (d) a flag representing a city or official municipality, (e) a flag for an official branch of the U.S. military, (g) a flag representing an Indian tribe, (h) an official flag of a college or University, (i) historic versions of a flag, (j) an official public school flag, (k) official flag of the United States Olympics.” H.B. 77, 2025 Gen. Sess. § 3 (Utah 2025).
[3] U.S. Const. amend. I. “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.” Id. (emphasis added).
[5]See Shurtleff v. City of Bos., 596 U.S. 243, 260 (2022).
[6] Broadly this includes 3 categories including the Tinker, Fraser, and Hazelwood standards. See generally Tinker v. Des Moines Indep. Cmty. Sch. Dist., 393 U.S. 503, 515 (1969); Bethel Sch. Dist. No. 403 v. Fraser, 478 U.S. 675, 688 (1986); Hazelwood Sch. Dist. v. Kuhlmeier, 484 U.S. 260, 277 (1988).
[9]See generally Bostock v. Clayton Cnty., Georgia, 590 U.S. 644, 684 (2020).
[10] The Utah Pride Center expressed a similar view in relation to Utah’s HB 77 quoting “it is a deliberate attempt to erase LGBTQIA+ visibility from the public sphere.” Addy Baird, Pride flags banned from Utah schools and government buildings—if Gov. Cox agrees with lawmakers, THE SALT LAKE TRIBUNE (Mar. 6, 2025, 2:00 PM), https://www.sltrib.com/news/politics/2025/03/06/pride-flags-banned-utah-schools/.
[13] H.B. 41, 2025 Leg., First Reg. Sess. (Idaho 2025).
[14] Dara E. Purvis, Transgender Students and the First Amendment, 104 B.U. L. REV. 435, 502 (2024).
[15] United States v. Skrmetti, 145 S. Ct. 1816, 1838 (2025).
[16] The Fourth Circuit found a law in West Virginia banning transgender women from participating on women’s sports teams as being unconstitutional under Title IX. See B.P.J. v. West Virginia, 98 F.4th 542 (4th Cir. 2024), cert. granted, No. 24-43 (2025).
On October 7, 2025, the United States Supreme Court heard oral argument on whether Colorado’s law banning conversion therapy violates the First Amendment. The Court’s conservative majority seemed eager to strike down Colorado’s law, a decision that would endanger similar laws enacted in over twenty other states. However, there is still hope. Even if the Court strikes down Colorado’s law, State governments, Congress, and individual citizens retain alternative means of challenging conversion therapy.
Conversion therapy, also referred to as Sexual Orientation Change Efforts, is a set of practices aimed at changing an individual’s sexual orientation or gender identity.[1] Most often, practitioners conduct conversion therapy through talk therapy, or a combination of talk and aversion therapies.[2] Whatever form it takes, conversion therapy is ineffective; sexual orientation and gender identity are fundamental and fluid parts of human nature that cannot be “corrected.”[3] Furthermore, when society pathologizes non-conforming sexual orientations and gender identities, queer people suffer.[4] Unsurprisingly, people who undergo conversion therapy in their youth face significantly increased risks for attempted suicide, depression, self-harm, substance abuse, anxiety, and social isolation.[5] Minors are especially vulnerable to conversion therapy harms, reporting nearly double the rates of suicidal ideation and depression.[6] In response to the well-documented dangers this treatment poses, numerous states enacted laws banning conversion therapy for minors.[7]
Despite medical and academic consensus, many therapists continue to practice conversion therapy, challenging bans. This includes Kaley Chiles, a Colorado-licensed therapist who claims the law violates her First Amendment right to freedom of speech.[8] The claim that conversion therapy bans violate therapists’ rights to free speech is at the heart of the legal dispute.[9] The First Amendment protects individuals from government interference in their right to express themselves.[10] This, however, does not mean those with professional expertise can use speech as a means of delivering substandard or harmful care.[11] The challenge then lies in determining whether conversion therapy should be classified as protected speech or as conduct. Regulations that target protected speech are subject to strict scrutiny, which is often the kiss of death for such laws.[12] However, if a law only targets conduct with an incidental burden on speech, it is subject to lesser scrutiny.[13]
In light of this, Chiles filed a lawsuit against Colorado in the Colorado District Court.[14] Chiles’s argument hinges on the fact that her therapeutic practices are verbal, so a law banning her from performing this therapy impedes on her freedom of speech.[15] Conversely, Colorado contends that its statute does not violate Chiles’s right to free speech, because it only regulates her performance of a specific treatment, regardless of the treatment’s vehicle.[16]
The Colorado District Court upheld Colorado’s ban on conversion therapy, ruling that the law regulated conduct rather than speech and, on appeal, the Tenth Circuit affirmed.[17] These courts ruled that Colorado’s law did not infringe on the First Amendment because it merely prohibited the conduct of attempting to change someone’s sexual orientation or gender identity, not the speech used in therapeutic settings.[18] The court emphasized that the law applied only to professional conduct, not to the broader array of speech in the public sphere.[19] Unsatisfied, Chiles petitioned for certiorari Supreme Court, which seemed largely sympathetic to Chiles’s position.[20]
Suppose the Tenth Circuit’s decision in Chiles v. Salazar stands and Colorado’s conversion therapy ban is upheld. In that case, it will set a significant precedent in favor of state-level regulation of professional conduct. However, even if the Supreme Court rules that conversion therapy bans are unconstitutional, other avenues exist to protect queer youth from the harms of conversion therapy.
One promising way legislatures could reduce First Amendment challenges is to label conversion therapy as a fraudulent practice. Then, legislatures could include conversion therapy in a larger ban on fraud. In fact, this alternative is well on its way to fruition. On May 5, 2025, Representatives Ted Lieu and Cory Booker introduced the Therapeutic Fraud Prevention Act (TFPA) in the House of Representatives.[21] The TFPA targets conversion therapy as a commercial activity, whereas other conversion therapy bans (like Colorado’s) regulate it as a medical procedure.[22] This change is significant because it allows States to circumvent the First Amendment issues raised by challengers like Kaley Chiles. After all, fraud regulations address commercial activity without regard for the distinction between conduct and pure speech.[23] Therefore, under the TFPA, therapists who claim to “treat” sexual orientation or gender identity would be subject to civil penalties.[24] Additionally, the TFPA’s labeling of conversion therapy as fraud creates a civil violation imposable by the federal government and a private right of action and legal remedies for individual plaintiffs.[25] Thus, the TFPA expands recourse for victims of conversion therapy and states seeking to regulate the practice.
The legal battle over conversion therapy bans, as exemplified by Chiles v. Salazar, underscores the tension between protecting public health and safeguarding constitutional rights. While the Supreme Court’s ruling on the case could set a critical precedent for state-level regulation of harmful professional conduct, it is essential to recognize that alternative legislative avenues, such as the Therapeutic Fraud Prevention Act, may offer a pathway to circumvent First Amendment challenges. Even if the Court rules against conversion therapy bans, these legislative efforts could provide renewed protections for minors by framing conversion therapy as a fraudulent practice rather than a legitimate therapeutic method. Ultimately, the ongoing legal battle against the dangers of conversion therapy highlights the importance of the collective struggle for LGBTQ+ rights. Continued advocacy and creative legislative solutions are essential in this political moment.
[1] M. Williams, Conversion Therapy on LGBTQ+ children as a Form of Torture and the Rights of the Child in the Face of the United States Constitution’s Free Speech and Religious Free Exercise Clauses, 26 J. Gender Race & Just. 393, 393 (2023).
[25] Jordan Hutt, Note, Anything but Prideful: Free Speech and Conversion Therapy bans, State-Federal Action Plans and Rooting out Medical Fraud, 92 Fordham L. Rev. 255, 283 (2023).
Technology is a fast-changing and elusive reality of today’s society. In recent years, Artificial Intelligence (AI) has made its way into the general population’s lives.[1] AI is a technology involving computer systems that perform complex tasks like reasoning, decision-making, or solving problems traditionally done by humans.[2] Common examples used by the general public include ChatGPT, Google Translate, and Apple’s Siri.[3] As these programs become more ingrained in the lives of average individuals, there is a question of how this new technology will affect the judicial system. The question is whether these AI programs will integrate into existing electronics, specifically regarding criminal harassment and stalking laws.
On the federal level, the use of electronic communication systems with the intent to harass or intimidate another individual is criminalized.[4] Accordingly, 18 U.S.C. § 2261 includes interactive computer service or electronic communication system, but artificial intelligence is notably absent.[5] State governments are becoming more aware of the gaps in AI legislation.[6] In the 2025 legislative session, all 50 states, Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands, and Washington, D.C., have introduced legislation on the topic.[7] Notably, North Dakota’s new law prohibits individuals from using an AI-powered robot to stalk or harass other individuals, expanding current harassment and stalking laws.[8] These state efforts serve as important models for others to follow. State governments can lead the way in tackling these rapidly evolving issues by ensuring that technological progress does not compromise personal safety.
The mens rea element of intent is critical to stalking and harassment charges. True threats of violence lie outside the bounds of the First Amendment’s protection.[9] The State is not required in these instances for the defendant to have had any more specific intent to threaten the victim.[10] But the State must prove the defendant had some understanding of their statements’ threatening character.[11] The analysis becomes more complicated when no “true threat” exists. Furthermore, it becomes more unclear when electronics are used as the primary way of stalking and harassment.
The Supreme Court previously addressed electronic means of communication that were allegedly used to stalk and harass a victim.[12] The case, Counterman v. Colorado, involved an individual’s Facebook posts concerning his soon-to-be ex-wife, police officers, and an FBI agent.[13] The Court held that the statute’s mens rea element requires proof that a defendant transmits communication to threaten, or with knowledge it will be viewed as such threat.[14] To establish criminal liability, a defendant must have the subjective intent that the transmitted communication contained a threat.[15] The Court reversed the lower court’s decision and decided the jury instructions were an error.
If AI software falls under “interactive computer service or electronic communication service,” would subjective intent still matter if delivered via third-party software?[16] What burden must the government prove to meet the same standard used by social media and electronic communications?
While AI and its impact on criminal litigation are uncertain, the same does not apply to potential product liability and tort claims. In Garcia, a mother filed several claims on behalf of her deceased son against AI-software creators.[17] Additionally, the lawsuit named Google as a defendant because the software creators first worked as engineers there.[18] The plaintiff’s son, suffering from an anxiety and mood disorder, had become addicted to Characters imitating fictional persons created initially by Character A.I.[19] The addiction worsened until he tragically took his own life, just minutes after his final communication with the AI Character.[20] The defendant moved to dismiss the claims. However, the court only granted the dismissal of the intentional infliction of emotional distress claim because the mother lacked standing.[21]
Moving forward on appeal, defendants will need to argue that large language models function more like services rather than physical products.[22] The defense’s key argument is that AI software functions similarly, so strict liability should be applicable.[23] Tech companies must now consider that AI systems could be scrutinized not only as expression tools but also as potentially dangerous products.[24]
Technological advancements over the past few decades have had an immense impact on younger generations.[25] As technology and AI grow and society adapts, the judicial system will face pressure to determine liability, criminal or not. These pressures could give vulnerable individuals additional chances for judicial remedies. These pressures might also prompt AI software developers to enhance safety measures to lower liability risks. While criminal liability for stalking and harassment using AI might seem distant, product liability and tort claims are not. Ultimately, how society tackles the gaps in AI legislation will influence the legal options available to plaintiffs and the ethical limits imposed on AI developers.
Vermont’s housing shortage is no longer a future concern; it is a present crisis. Across the state, rental vacancies hover near zero, and home prices have soared beyond the reach of working Vermonters.[1] Yet even as the state pours millions into affordable housing initiatives, local zoning ordinances often stand in the way of building the homes that Vermont needs. Vermont’s land use provisions, designed to preserve scenic beauty and small-town identity,[2] now serve as a barrier to urgent housing needs.
The resulting tension between local control and statewide necessity defines Vermont’s affordable housing debate. While state lawmakers have passed legislation like S.100 (2023) to streamline housing development, the patchwork of municipal zoning codes under Title 24, Chapter 117 of the Vermont Statutes still dictates who gets to live where.[3] The state’s deep commitment to home rule and environmental preservation, though admirable, risks reinforcing class and racial segregation through law.[4]
Under Vermont’s Municipal and Regional Planning and Development Act, each town wields broad power over land-use decisions.[5] These local bylaws, often drafted by volunteer planning commissions, determine minimum lot sizes, density caps, and permissible housing types.[6] In theory, this allows communities to tailor growth to local needs. In practice, however, these bylaws often restrict affordable housing. For example, large-lot zoning in rural areas effectively excludes multifamily units and raises per-unit costs. Scholars have long identified this phenomenon as exclusionary zoning: a system in which seemingly neutral land-use regulations yield exclusionary outcomes by making housing unaffordable or inaccessible to lower-income residents.[7]
The Supreme Court cemented this framework in Village of Euclid v. Ambler Realty Co., where the Court upheld a zoning ordinance that segregated land uses in the name of order and aesthetics.[8] While Euclid’s rationale still anchors modern zoning, it has evolved into a tool of exclusion. The same logic that once protected residential tranquility now enables towns to reject the duplex next door.
Vermont’s strong environmental laws, especially Act 250, amplify this tension.[9] Enacted in 1970 to regulate large-scale development and protect natural resources, Act 250 requires detailed environmental review for most new projects.[10] Although it remains a cornerstone of Vermont’s environmental identity, critics argue that it unintentionally limits affordable housing construction by adding cost, delay, and uncertainty.[11]
Similarly, wastewater and septic regulations under Title 10 often limit higher-density housing even in suitable areas.[12] The paradox is striking: laws meant to preserve Vermont’s rural charm now contribute to its demographic decline. Vermont has preserved its landscape but priced out its people.
Recognizing these barriers, the Legislature passed the so-called “HOME Act” to reduce municipal gatekeeping.[13] The Act mandates that certain municipalities allow duplexes or triplexes in residential districts previously zoned only for single-family homes.[14] It also requires towns with designated downtowns or village centers to ease parking and lot-size restrictions and accelerates permitting for infill housing.[15]
Yet even this modest reform sparked intense backlash from local officials and residents, who viewed it as a serious threat to Vermont’s tradition of town control.[16] The debate exposed the fragility of Vermont’s home-rule ethos: when statewide needs collide with local autonomy, even minor reforms can trigger constitutional anxiety.[17]
From a policy standpoint, S.100 is progress. From a structural standpoint, it may be too little. Without a deeper rethinking of how local zoning power interacts with state goals, Vermont’s housing crisis will persist as a legal, not just economic, problem.
Many Vermont municipal zoning codes emphasize the importance of maintaining a town’s existing character. While the phrase character of the area appears neutral, scholars argue that community-character zoning operates as a subtle form of exclusion in land-use regulation.[18] Courts generally defer to local boards’ interpretations of character, rarely demanding evidentiary rigor.[19] This deference compounds structural bias: older, wealthier residents dominate public hearings, while renters, young families, and newcomers are rarely present.[20] The process thus replicates inequity under the guise of deliberative democracy.
Here, principles like facilitated dialogue and collaborative problem-solving could improve procedural equity in zoning processes.[21] Vermont’s existing mediation culture suggests a path for designing inclusive zoning deliberations that reduce the adversarial tenor of public meetings.[22] Just as mediation fosters understanding between disputants, structured facilitation may help bridge tension between ‘growth’ and ‘preservation.’
Vermont is hardly alone in grappling with exclusionary zoning. Oregon’s HB 2001 preempts local zoning to legalize “missing middle” housing statewide.[23] Massachusetts’ MBTA Communities Act links transit-oriented zoning compliance to state funding, pressuring municipalities to allow multifamily development.[24] California’s ADU reforms override local bans on accessory units entirely.[25]
Each model narrows the scope of local control in favor of statewide equity; a principal Vermont resists. As housing scarcity worsens, Vermont may have to adopt similar measures. Preemption need not mean abandoning Vermont’s participatory culture; it can mean redefining participation to include those historically excluded by process itself.
Vermont prides itself on community, yet its zoning laws too often privilege nostalgia over need. “Preserving character” should not mean preserving exclusion. A modern interpretation of Vermont’s land-use ethos would recognize that diversity is part of the state’s character.
State laws can no longer treat housing as a purely economic good or zoning as a purely local affair. Act 250 must expand to include housing justice; the future of Vermont’s landscape, and its communities, depends on it.
[2] 10 V.S.A. § 6086(a)(8) (2025) (“intended to preserve the aesthetics or scenic beauty of the area”).
[3]An Act Relating to Housing Opportunities Made for Everyone (HOME Act), 2023 Vt. Acts & Resolves 47; 24 V.S.A. §§ 4382(a)(1)–(2), 4411(a) (2023) (empowering municipalities to determine land-use patterns, residential density, and population distribution through planning and zoning bylaws).
[17]See Duffort, supra note 17 (discussing legislative resistance rooted in concerns over municipal autonomy); see also Berlin, supra note 17 (noting resident fears that infrastructure would bring unwanted state-driven housing growth).
[18]See Michael Lewyn, The Case Against the Case for Zoning, 35 Geo. Envt’l. L. Rev. 249 (2023).
[19]In re Appeal of JAM Golf, LLC, 185 Vt. 201 (deferring to zoning board’s interpretation of “character of the area” standard).
[20]See Sara C. Bronin, Zoning by a Thousand Cuts, 50 Pepp. L. Rev. 719, 761–62 (2023).
[21] Anika Singh Lemar, Overparticipation:Designing Effective Land Use Public Processes, 90 Fordham L. Rev. 1083, 1118 (2021).
[22] Patrick Field, Kate Harvey, & Matt Strassberg, Integrating Mediation in Land Use Decision Making, Land Lines Jan. 2009.
Generative artificial intelligence (GAI) is currently ubiquitous in the news and in the wider public discourse. Conversations range from optimistic speculation about how GAI can help humans to the pessimistic predictions of robot overlords taking charge—ok, the latter may just be the science fiction readers.[1] There is no doubt, however, that most people who are thinking seriously about using GAI recognize both its potential benefits and its potential dangers.[2] The legal profession is also currently exploring how GAI can both enhance representation of clients and raises concerns that lawyers must consider.[3]
This blog post examines lawyers’ adoption of GAI first through the lens of the American Bar Association (ABA) Standing Committee on Ethics and Professional Responsibility’s Formal Opinion 512 (the “Opinion”).[4] It then considers Everett M. Rogers’s innovativeness and adopter categories. Finally, this blog post argues that most lawyers should take the early majority or late majority approach to AI rather than seeking to be innovators or early adopters.[5]
Opinion 512, issued in 2024, uses the Model Rules of Professional Conduct to interpret the ethical responsibilities of lawyers who use GAI.[6] The Opinion states that lawyers’ responsibilities to their clients remain the same when using GAI as for other tools.[7] It then goes on to analyze how those responsibilities can be applied to the use of GAI in practice.[8] The Opinion discusses GAI in light of the duties of competence, confidentiality, communication with clients, supervision of non-lawyers, advancing meritorious claims, candor toward the tribunal, and charging reasonable fees.[9] This blog post will focus on the three duties of competence, confidentiality, and supervision.
One common area of concern for attorneys using any kind of technology is the duty of competent representation, which “requires the legal knowledge, skill, thoroughness and preparation reasonably necessary for the representation.”[10] Although technology is not mentioned in the text of the rule, Comment [8] notes that keeping up with technology is part of the requirement of competence.[11] The fast-changing nature of GAI may make this requirement more difficult, such that the Committee on Ethics and Professional Responsibility recommends consulting with technology experts, if needed, for help understanding the abilities and risks of a GAI tool.[12] Whatever means are chosen to better understand GAI tools under consideration, lawyers must recognize that they are accountable for the results those tools generate.[13]
Lawyers who use GAI must also ensure that they do not compromise clients’ confidential information.[14] The way that GAI develops and learns from past data also makes this responsibility more difficult.[15] Submitting one client’s information to a GAI tool may inadvertently lead to the disclosure of that information when the tool is used by another employee in the law firm, or even a person in a different firm who uses the same tool.[16] This can lead to an ethical temptation for lawyers—GAI tools that are built to protect client data will most likely be proprietary tools, which tend to cost more.[17] The motivation to keep costs down by using less expensive or free tools could lead to a costly result if client information is inadvertently disclosed.
Another area of obligation that lawyers must consider with GAI is the duty to supervise subordinate lawyers and non-lawyers.[18] Opinion 512 focuses on how this might impact required training of firm employees and considerations when hiring outside services.[19] A recent webinar presentation went further by describing AI as a “legal assistant.”[20] If firms begin to use GAI in the role of legal assistant, the nature of GAI may complicate the supervisory responsibilities of lawyers. Computer scientist Josephine Wolff noted that one of the differences between past technologies and GAI is the relative inability to predict what results a GAI tool will produce, even with extensive testing.[21] If attorneys and firms rely on a technology that produces unpredictable outcomes, they must consider instituting robust review procedures before making use of the work generated.
Competence, confidentiality, and supervision are all ethical duties of an attorney that may be complicated by using GAI.[22] Both GAI’s status as a newly evolving technology and its unpredictable nature require lawyers to exercise care in using this technology while still fulfilling their ethical obligations.[23] For these reasons, it may benefit lawyers who wish to use GAI to take a slower, deliberate approach to adopting this innovation in practice.
In Diffusion of Innovations, communications professor Everette M. Rogers considers how people react to new ideas and technologies and how innovations spread.[24] Within his work, Rogers describes five “ideal types” of “adopter categories,” or groups of people classed by the rate at which they are likely to embrace a new idea or technology.[25] The adopter categories are innovators, early adopters, early majority, late majority, and laggards or late adopters.[26] The categories range from those who not just adopt but seek out innovations to those who are the last to adopt an innovation, often well after it is an accepted practice within a community.[27] The position of this blog post is that most lawyers who are interested in GAI should wait to adopt it as part of the early majority or late majority.
The “majority” titles in both early majority and late majority provide one reason for taking this approach. In Rogers’s characterization, each of these categories make up about one-third of members in a community, so the two categories together make up two-thirds.[28] This means that once early majority and, especially, late majority adopters take on an innovation, it has gained wider acceptance within the community. This wider acceptance usually comes with more infrastructure, such as multiple options for well-developed tools and more resources for understanding the technology. More well-developed GAI tools may include a variety of options designed specifically for the practice of law, with safeguards related to confidentiality and supervision built in. More professional development resources will make it easier for lawyers to use GAI in a competent way. Rogers also shows a correlation between earlier adoption and a greater tolerance for risk and uncertainty.[29] In general, the ethical obligations of lawyers require reducing risk, such as ensuring the required knowledge of law, taking measures to avoid inadvertent disclosure of confidential information, and taking responsibility for the actions of subordinates.[30] Taking a later adoption mindset towards GAI naturally lowers the potential risk threshold for eventual adoption. Finally, there is a correlation between larger financial resources and earlier adoption.[31] For those who are solo practitioners or in small firms on a tight budget, waiting for the infrastructure to develop around GAI may make financial sense.
It should be noted that the innovator adopter category ideal types are descriptions of how people behave within a community.[32] While it makes sense for many lawyers to wait before adopting GAI, the innovators and early adopters within the legal community will pave the way for later adopters. Still, for those lawyers who are either worried about GAI taking their jobs or worried about the risks GAI poses, the recognition that a slower approach to innovation is a normal part of most innovation cycles may quiet fears about “keeping up.” Choosing to take a more deliberate approach will also empower lawyers to explore GAI tools in a manner that best upholds their ethical obligations.
[1]See,e.g., David Martin, AI in the Military: Testing a New Kind of Air Force, CBS NEWS (Oct. 5, 2025), https://www.cbsnews.com/news/ai-in-the-military-testing-a-new-kind-of-air-force/; For an example of a compelling science fiction novel in which an AI character both destroys and protects human life (sometimes at the same time), see Amie Kaufman & Jay Kristoff, Illuminae (2015).
[21] Josephine Wolff, Professor of Cybersecurity Pol’y & Comput. Sci., The Fletcher Sch., Tufts Univ., Panel on AI and the First Amendment at Vermont Law Review Symposium: Free Speech on Trial (Oct. 4, 2025).
[22] ABA Standing Comm. on Ethics & Pro. Resp., supra note 3, at 14–15.
The federal estate tax has long stood at the intersection of wealth, fairness, and public policy. When Congress first enacted the tax in 1916, it was rooted in a progressive ideal—ensuring the wealthiest Americans contributed to the public good and curbing the concentration of dynastic wealth that threatened democratic institutions.[1] Over a century later, the law’s structure and effect have drifted far from that purpose. Today, fewer than one in a thousand estates pay any estate tax at all.[2]
The original estate tax, created under the Revenue Act of 1916, imposed a base rate of one percent and a top rate of ten percent on estates over $5 million, with an exemption of $50,000.[3] By 1976, rates ranged from 18 to 77%, and the exemption had fallen to $60,000.[4] This steep progressivity reflected a belief that inherited wealth should serve the public rather than accumulate unbounded.
The trend reversed in the late twentieth century. The Tax Cuts and Jobs Act of 2017 (TCJA) lowered the top rate to 40% and doubled the unified gift and estate tax exemption to roughly $14 million.[5] The One Big Beautiful Bill Act (OBBBA) of 2025 then made both provisions permanent and indexed the exemption for inflation.[6] These changes dramatically shrank the number of taxable estates—from about 50,000 in 2001 to roughly 4,000 in 2023.[7] The Internal Revenue Service notes that the proportion of estates subject to tax is now the smallest in the law’s history.[8]
Although the estate tax was designed to be progressive, its modern structure produces the opposite effect. For 2025, the exclusion is $13.99 million per individual, rising to $15 million in 2026.[9] The top statutory rate remains 40%,[10] but because of the bracket structure, the effective rate declines for ultra-large estates. Analysts at the Brookings Institution describe this as a “regressive inversion,” where billion-dollar estates face a smaller proportional burden than smaller taxable estates.[11]The fiscal consequences are striking. In 2023, total estate tax liability amounted to $24 billion—less in real terms than the $24.6 billion collected in 2007.[12] In short, as wealth inequality has soared, the estate tax has contracted in both reach and revenue.
A central reason for this erosion lies in the step-up in basis rule, first adopted in 1921.[13] When a decedent passes property to heirs, the basis of that property resets to its fair market value at the time of death. This means decades of unrealized capital gains vanish for tax purposes.[14] For the wealthy, this feature effectively eliminates capital gains taxation on inherited assets.
This “angel of death” loophole allows the ultra-wealthy to hold appreciated assets indefinitely, borrow against them tax-free during life, and pass them to heirs who owe neither capital-gains nor income tax upon sale.[15] Both the Congressional Research Service and the Congressional Budget Office (CBO) have found that the step-up in basis results in tens of billions of dollars in forgone annual revenue and deepens intergenerational wealth concentration.[16] Yet repeal is politically difficult. The CBO has cautioned that taxing unrealized gains at death could create liquidity problems for heirs inheriting illiquid assets such as farms or small businesses.[17]
Policy debates generally revolve around two levers: (1) lowering the exclusion or raising the rate, and (2) modifying or eliminating the step-up in basis. Each approach has tradeoffs. Reducing the exemption would raise revenue quickly but could burden family-owned enterprises that are “asset rich but cash poor.”[18] Conversely, taxing unrealized gains at death would target only the wealthiest estates but introduce administrative complexity.[19] Empirical analyses suggest that addressing the step-up rule would yield the most progressive results over time, while rate or exemption adjustments would have more immediate but politically contentious effects.[20]
A pragmatic reform would preserve the step-up in basis for small and middle-class estates—protecting family farms, homes, and closely held businesses—while sharply increasing the top marginal rate for ultra-wealthy households. A 77% rate on estates exceeding hundreds of millions or billions of dollars would affect only the richest 0.01% of taxpayers while restoring fairness and fiscal capacity.[21] Historical precedent supports this approach: during the mid-twentieth century, when the top estate-tax rate reached 77%, the United States experienced both strong economic growth and high social mobility.[22]
The goal is not to punish success but to ensure that inherited wealth contributes proportionally to public needs. As the Brookings Institution notes, a reformed estate tax could “limit the transfer of vast quantities of wealth through generations” and serve as an effective tool for equality and revenue generation.[23] Reform requires both legislative coordination and public framing. Success would depend on coalition-building among legislators, economists, and advocacy groups—including the Brookings Institution, the Tax Policy Center, and labor organizations—to counter predictable opposition from high-net-worth lobbying groups such as the U.S. Chamber of Commerce.[24]
Framing the issue around fairness and fiscal responsibility, rather than partisanship, may offer the best path forward. Restoring a truly progressive estate tax would reaffirm its original purpose: ensuring that wealth serves the republic, not the other way around.
[1] Darien B. Jacobson, Brian G. Raub, & Barry W. Johnson, The Estate Tax: Ninety Years and Counting, 27 Stat. Income Bull. 118 (2007).
[16] Gravelle, supra note 9; Change the Tax Treatment of Capital Gains from Sales of Inherited Assets, Congressional Budget Office (Dec. 7, 2022), https://www.cbo.gov/budget-options/58691.
The recent increase in electric-vehicle (EV) use shows a promising future for carbon-free transportation, but it also generates hazardous waste through end-of-life lithium-ion batteries.[1] By 2030, millions of tons of EV batteries will reach the end of their use, posing risks of combustion, soil contamination, and metal toxicity in drinking water if improperly managed.[2] From a legal perspective, addressing this challenge requires more than increased recycling infrastructure. It also requires up-to-date legislation and legal frameworks capable of governing transboundary waste management, producer responsibility, and circular end-of-life resource economies. The European Union and United States currently outline two distinct regulatory frameworks. The EU internalizes its waste industries and adheres to the goals of international legal frameworks such as the Basel Convention, while the U.S. resists the global shift towards circular economies and strays away from international cooperation.
The Basel Convention and the U.S. Enforcement Gap
Adopted in 1989, the Basel Convention establishes a global regulatory structure to ensure that hazardous waste is disposed of “in the State where [it was] generated.”[3] In 1999, the Basel Convention added a supplementary agreement, the Protocol on Liability and Compensation, which aimed to create a legal structure for accidents involving transboundary movement of hazardous waste.[4] The Protocol established a system which identifies global actors liable for environmental damage through improper waste dumping and ensures compensation for personal and property damage along with providing costs of preventive measures to stop improper waste dumping.[5] Basel also introduced a 2019 Ban Amendment which prohibits exports of hazardous waste from Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) to non-OECD countries.[6] The Convention’s ultimate goal is for each State to have a sovereign right to ban foreign waste imports and take on a duty to manage waste in an environmentally conscious manner.[7]
The United States signed but never ratified Basel and therefore it is not bound by the Ban Amendment nor the 1999 Protocol on Liability and Compensation.[8] Instead, the U.S. relies on the Resource Conservation and Recovery Act (RCRA) as its primary document dictating hazardous waste management.[9] Under § 6938, RCRA permits hazardous waste exports pursuant to bilateral or OECD agreements, such as with Mexico or Canada.[10] RCRA requires exporters of waste to provide advanced notice and obtain consent from the receiving country, identifying the facility and shipment details.[11]
At the federal level, there is no statute specifically governing end-of-life EV batteries. The Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) regulates them under RCRA and the Universal Waste Program, which consolidates collection and transport of certain hazardous material to ease the “regulatory burden on . . . generators that wish to collect these wastes.”[12] Several states are beginning to adopt their own methods to waste management akin to those we see on a national scale. California created the Lithium-Ion Car Battery Recycling Advisory Group in 2018,[13] which helped set up statutory frameworks like the Responsible Battery Recycling Act of 2022, establishing producer-responsibility programs for batteries and battery-embedded products, signaling a gradual shift toward circular waste management.[14] While such state initiatives signal progress, the absence of a unified federal framework leaves the United States without the cohesive, circular model emerging in other major economies.
Under its current regulatory framework, the United States continues to perpetuate downstream disposal in developing countries while also participating in the global waste economy primarily as a producer; thus, undermining both the global environmental justice efforts and the economic opportunity of end-of-life material recovery markets.
The European Union Circulatory Framework
Within recent years, the European Union has embedded Basel’s principles within its legislative scheme. The Waste Framework Directive, amended in 2018, shifts EU waste policy from disposal toward resource recovery and reuse, establishing Extended Producer Responsibility (EPR) programs that make producers financially and operationally responsible for managing products at the end of their life cycle.[15] Recital (7) of the directive explicitly highlights the circular-economy objective of reducing dependence on imported raw materials and increasing recycling and recovery of pre-used resources.[16] Pertaining specifically to EV batteries, the EU’s Battery Regulation 2023/1542 executes these principles through enforceable lifecycle regulations for EV battery producers.[17] By 2031, EV batteries sold in the EU must contain minimum percentages of recycled cobalt, lithium, and nickel.[18] Each battery must also carry a digital “battery passport” disclosing its composition, recycled content, and carbon footprint.[19] In doing so, the EU is on its way to creating a cohesive, unified, legal model for greener circular waste economies, especially for end-of-life EV batteries; a system that contrasts sharply with the United States’ fragmented approach under RCRA.
Comparative Analysis
When viewed side-by-side, these regimes reveal a clear legal divergence of the intended future of renewable materials. The European Union codified circular-economy principles into binding law that applies uniformly across Member States, integrating strict export controls, producer responsibility, and hazardous waste minimization. The United States, by contrast, continues to regulate under a statute (RCRA) drafted in and designed for a 1970s industrial economy. Despite its recent amendments, RCRA continues to promote a linear, disposal-based waste management that treats hazardous waste primarily as an endpoint rather than a potential resource.[20] Under the current structure, U.S. regulations remain fragmented by states, nationally dependent on export markets to manage its waste, and ultimately will rely more foreign markets for recycled materials.[21]
This divergence draws up legitimate economic concerns. U.S. recyclers and manufacturers are increasingly becoming excluded from Basel-compliant supply chains, while compliant nations, such as the EU and Canada, have moved to internalize their waste markets and develop new industries around recycled content, material recovery, and closed-loop manufacturing.[22] China’s 2020 Solid Waste Law banned most foreign waste imports, reflecting a broader shift toward domestic waste management systems, specifically from nations who used to be wase importers.[23] Other nations, including Malaysia and Thailand, have also started to reject global waste shipments on environmental grounds, turning their waste industries inwards.[24] These global policy shifts show how the United States could be isolated with its outdated, export-dependent model.
By continuing to externalize the environmental costs of its own production and consumption, the United States also risks eroding its credibility in international environmental governance. As the global waste sector transitions toward traceable, closed-loop waste recovery systems, the absence of a cohesive, federal circular framework may weaken its position in the emerging green-technology economy and suppress domestic innovation in the renewable energy sector.[25]
Conclusion
The EV revolution cannot credibly be called sustainable if the batteries that power it become the next generation of hazardous waste harming both people and the planet. As EV adoption accelerates, millions of lithium-ion batteries will reach end-of-life in the U.S. and simply be disposed without a cohesive national framework for collection, recycling, or reuse. By ratifying the Basel Convention and adopting legislation modeled on the EU’s Battery Regulation, Congress could transform the RCRA into a modern piece of legislation that looks towards clean-energy accountability and economic innovation. Such reform would establish a national extended-producer-responsibility program, create digital traceability for EV batteries, and promote domestic recycling industries to recover materials which can be reused for U.S. manufacturing, limiting material imports while also making the US a recycled material exporter. Whether the circular economy method ultimately offers the most efficient or equitable model for waste governance remains to be seen as the EU, China, and other global superpowers are just beginning their shift towards a circular structure. But the fact remains that inaction risks leaving the United States out of a growing industry born from its own waste.
[1]Amjad Ali et al., Sustainable Recycling of End-of-Life Electric Vehicle Batteries: EV Battery Recycling Frameworks in China and the USA, 10 Recycling 68, 76 (2025).
[2] Jay N. Meegoda et al., End-of-Life Management of Electric Vehicle Lithium-Ion Batteries in the United States, 4 Clean Technol. 1162 (2022).
[3] Basel Convention on the Control of Transboundary Movements of Hazardous Wastes and Their Disposal, Mar. 22, 1989, 1673 U.N.T.S. 57, Preamble.
[17] Regulation 2023/1542 of the European Parliament and of the Council of 12 July 2023 on Batteries and Waste Batteries, 2023 O.J. (L 191) 5, Annex I.
[25] Fazal Ur Rehman et al., The Nexus Between Circular Economy Innovation, Market Competitiveness, and Triple Bottom Line Efficiencies Among SMEs: Evidence from Emerging Economies, 30 Envt’l. Sci. & Pollution Res. 122274, 122277 (2023).
Book bans have far-reaching negative effects that threaten individual rights, educational integrity, and societal progress. They silence important voices and ideas, depriving students of stories that help them understand themselves and others—especially those about race, gender, or sexuality—thus erasing marginalized communities from the educational landscape.[1] Such bans undermine the fundamental right to read, a cornerstone of democracy, by restricting access to information and limiting the free exchange of ideas essential for personal growth.[2] Historically, censorship has been used as a tool of oppression—erasing dissent, hiding truths, and maintaining control—patterns that continue today through efforts to silence challenging or uncomfortable topics.[3] In education, particularly within school libraries, censorship hampers critical thinking and the ability to grapple with complex issues like mental health, social justice, and identity, impeding students’ development as independent thinkers.[4] Further these censorship efforts violate international human rights, which protect the right to access diverse ideas and information worldwide, directly undermining global principles of free expression and cultural diversity.[5]
The Case That Started It All: Island Trees v. Pico
The origins of contemporary book bans can be traced back to landmark legal cases that set the stage for ongoing censorship debates. A pivotal moment was the 1982 Supreme Court case Island Trees Union Free School District No. 26 v. Pico.[6] In Pico, a school board removed books from its library because they disliked their ideas—calling them “anti-American,”[7] “anti-Christian,” and “filthy.”[8] The Supreme Court ruled that such political or ideological censorship was unconstitutional.[9] The Court affirmed that students have a right to access diverse ideas, even if those ideas are controversial or unpopular, and that censorship motivated by disagreement with content violates the First Amendment.[10] This decision sent a clear message: schools cannot suppress ideas just because they find them inconvenient or uncomfortable.[11]
The ruling protected the fundamental right to access a broad spectrum of information and ideas, especially within the educational context where students’ rights and parents’ concerns intersect.[12] It emphasized that education, particularly through school libraries, should remain a space for free thought and inquiry, safeguarding the ability of young minds to explore complex issues and develop critical thinking skills.[13]
The Irony of Banning Books for “Vulgarity” and the Paradox of Parental Monitoring
A common argument against certain books is that they contain “vulgar” language or sexual content and are therefore inappropriate.[14] But here’s the irony: many of these bans target books that depict real-life issues—mental health struggles, grief, sexual violence, or identity—topics that are often discussed openly in health classes, textbooks, and online media.[15] For example, some schools ban books because they contain words or themes related to sexuality or violence, yet those same schools might have health textbooks with explicit images or descriptions. How can they justify banning a novel with honest portrayals of adolescent experiences while allowing explicit images in a health class? The inconsistency reveals that these bans are less about protecting children and more about controlling the narrative.
The inconsistency in how society or certain institutions approach censorship—such as banning some books while allowing explicit content elsewhere—reveals an underlying motive. If the primary goal was genuinely to protect children from harmful or inappropriate material, then the standards and actions would be consistent across all platforms, including school curricula, textbooks, media, and online content.
However, the fact that many banned books contain honest portrayals of complex, real-life issues—like mental health struggles, sexuality, or violence—while other sources, such as health textbooks or online media, include explicit images or descriptions without similar bans, suggests otherwise. The selective nature of these bans indicates that the real aim is not solely about shielding children from harm.
Some may suggest that parents want control in what their children read and that certain books should be banned or monitored. That’s understandable; parents want to shield their children from harmful content. But here’s the catch: children have access to the internet and tablets that expose them to far more explicit, harmful, or misleading content than anything found in schoolbooks.[16] Social media platforms are filled with images, videos, and messages that are often far more age-inappropriate than the books targeted in censorship campaigns.
If parents are genuinely concerned about content, shouldn’t they also scrutinize what their children are exposed to online? This inconsistency underscores an important point: banning books in schools does not shield children from uncomfortable or mature topics. Instead, it pushes those conversations into secretive, unregulated spaces online where children may encounter even more harmful material without guidance or context.
Why Censorship Is Dangerous for Society
Book bans are not merely about restricting access to individual titles; they pose a fundamental threat to the principles of a free and democratic society.[17] Suppressing ideas hampers the development of critical thinking, moral reasoning, and empathy.[18] By banning books that challenge traditional power structures or reveal uncomfortable truths, authorities can manipulate public perception and marginalize voices that question the status quo.[19] Moreover, the practice fosters a culture of fear and conformity, discouraging open dialogue and curbing curiosity.[20] Ultimately, this undermines core principles of free expression and diversity, which are vital for societal progress and the protection of individual rights.
What Can We Do?
Understanding the importance of the right to read is the first step in safeguarding intellectual freedom. The Pico case underscores that local school boards may not remove books from libraries simply because they dislike the ideas contained within them.[21] Such actions violate students’ First Amendment rights and threaten the open exchange of ideas essential to education and democracy.[22] We must actively oppose censorship efforts and support librarians, educators, and organizations fighting to preserve access to diverse ideas. Advocating for transparent, fair policies around book selection and challenge processes is essential. Recognizing that exposure to complex topics, when handled appropriately, is a vital part of education helps foster an environment where open dialogue, critical thinking, and understanding can thrive—principles reaffirmed by the Supreme Court in Pico.[23]
Conclusion
The fight over books is more than a debate about literature; it’s about the kind of society we want to be. Do we want a society that values free speech, diversity, and critical thinking, or do we accept a future where ideas are silenced, voices marginalized, and ignorance prevails? The landmark case Pico v. Island Trees reminds us that censorship motivated by disagreement with ideas is unconstitutional and unjust.[24] As we witness a wave of book bans today, it is more important than ever to stand up for the fundamental rights to read, think, and learn without fear or censorship. Protecting these rights is essential to preserving a free and open society.
[4]See generally Bd. of Educ. v. Pico,457 U.S. 853, 857 (1982).
[5] Censorship efforts, like banning books, directly contradict these principles by limiting individuals’ exposure to different perspectives, cultures, and beliefs. This restriction undermines efforts to promote free expression and cultural diversity worldwide, both of which are essential for fostering understanding, tolerance, and progress in an increasingly interconnected world. G.A. Res. 217 (III) A, Universal Declaration of Human Rights (Dec. 10, 1948).
Restrictive covenants in employee contracts—especially non-compete agreements (NCAs)—have become a focal point in recent employment law debates. NCAs restrict an employee from taking on a role that competes with their current employer.[1] Critics claim these covenants suppress wages, hinder worker mobility, and reinforce employer protections.[2] In response, the Federal Trade Commission (FTC) issued a 2024 ruling banning NCAs for many workers.[3] Despite the FTC’s decision, Florida’s Contracts Honoring Opportunity, Investment, Confidentiality, and Economic Growth (CHOICE) Act moves in the opposite direction.
Florida enacted House Bill 1219, also known as the CHOICE Act, in 2025.[4] The Act does not eliminate Florida’s existing restrictive covenant law,[5] but rather adds a new employer-friendly rule that presumes the enforceability of noncompete and garden leave agreements for certain employees.[6] The Florida Legislature enacted this bill to protect business investments, promote training and knowledge sharing, and provide greater certainty for employers in a competitive market.[7] Specifically, it seeks to clarify enforceability and extend protections for employers.[8]
Under the Act, a “covered employee” is one whose salary exceeds twice the annual mean wage for the Florida county where (1) the employer’s principal place of business is located, or (2) if the employer is out of state, the county in Florida where the employee resides.[9] Although the wording seems neutral, using county-level mean wage data to determine employee coverage is problematic. Two counties—Miami-Dade and Liberty—demonstrate how the CHOICE Act’s county-based wage threshold results in unequal outcomes for similarly situated employees. The legislature should replace the county metric with a uniform statewide wage standard to promote fairness and consistency in how Florida regulates noncompete agreements.
II. The Choice Act Creates Incidental Problems
A. Unequal Coverage by County
Consider two Florida workers, both earning $100,000 annually in similar roles. In 2024, Miami-Dade’s average annual wage was roughly $79,000.[10] Two times this amount is approximately $158,000—meaning the CHOICE regime does not cover this worker. In Liberty County, the average annual wage was roughly $48,150.[11] The threshold is approximately $96,000, making the same $100,000 earner a “covered employee” subject to up to four years of noncompete restrictions. Thus, employees with identical roles can face significantly different post-employment limits based on their geographic location. By tying legal exposure to local wage data, the CHOICE Act effectively turns county borders into determinants of worker rights.
B. Equal Protection Under State Law
Florida’s Constitution guarantees equal protection for its citizens and prohibits impairment of the obligations of contracts.[12] While the Court typically applies rational basis review to economic legislation,[13] it is difficult to see a logical link between a worker’s county wage averages and the Act’s legitimate interest in promoting trade and business within the state. This logical discrepancy also undermines Florida’s commitment to equal protection of all its citizens. Identical agreements will yield different outcomes across counties, undermining the aims the Act was designed to promote. The disparity falls hardest on workers in low-wage counties—those with fewer resources and who cannot afford to challenge employment contracts in court.[14]
C. Policy Consequences
In practice, the Act has at least three consequences. First, the Act deepens inequality. Rural and low-wage counties—those most in need of financial assurance—become subject to stricter noncompete rules. This process can concentrate economic advantages in more affluent regions while leaving struggling communities behind. Second, the Act permits employers to move their principal place of business to other counties, expanding their coverage under the Act. In a process analogous to forum shopping,[15] employers can expand coverage and suppress wages in lower-income areas. Third, the Act breeds ambiguity in an era of remote work; CHOICE never clarifies which county’s data applies when an employee resides in one location but performs services elsewhere. Together, these consequences undermine the Act’s stated goal of fostering statewide economic growth, instead entrenching existing disparities and limiting opportunities for the very workers and communities it claims to support.
III. A Statewide Standard for a Statewide Workforce
Florida can preserve the CHOICE Act’s legitimate aims while eliminating geographic inequity. The most effective reform is to replace the county mean wage test with a uniform statewide threshold.
A. Rationale for a Statewide Threshold
Currently, whether a worker is bound by a stricter noncompete depends not on the sensitivity of their position but on where they live. A statewide threshold—set as twice the statewide mean wage or a fixed salary cutoff (for instance, $100,000)—would preserve the Act’s intent to target higher-earning employees, while ensuring equal treatment across Florida’s 67 counties.
B. Advantages of UniformApplication
Equal Treatment: Every employee, regardless of geography, faces the same legal standard.
Predictability: Employers and workers avoid disputes over which county’s wage data applies, particularly for hybrid or remote employees. Predictability can also prevent overburdening court dockets, allowing for more efficient litigation.
Protection of Employer Interests: Employers still have tools to safeguard trade secrets and client relationships, ensuring all companies are on equal footing.
C. Implementation
The Legislature could amend the CHOICE Act to replace the county averages with the statewide mean wage, updated every two years by the Florida Department of Commerce (FloridaCommerce). Existing “covered” contracts could be grandfathered to minimize disruption, and courts should interpret the “principal place of business” provision flexibly to prevent abuse. This single statutory change would restore fairness and predictability without weakening employer protection.
Conclusion
Florida’s CHOICE Act attempts—but fails—to enforce restrictions on employees while promoting the economy. The primary issue is the Act’s reliance on county-specific wage data, which restricts the employment opportunities of certain employees. By coupling noncompete enforceability with local wage averages, the Act measures an employee’s worth to their zip code. This approach favors those in wealthier neighborhoods and disadvantages those in poorer areas, thereby limiting economic mobility. Reforming this Act with a statewide standard can bring consistency and fairness, while also protecting employer interests. Employers can still protect trade secrets, but employees now have more opportunities for economic mobility. This statewide baseline would reflect the realities of the modern workforce, where people are interconnected. Only with statewide standards can the Florida Legislature achieve its intended goal.
[2] Matthew S. Johnson, Kurt J Lavetti & Michael Lipsitz, The Labor Market Effects of Legal Restrictions on Worker Mobility, NBER Working Paper No. 31929 1, 6, 16 (2023).
[13] Williamson v. Lee Optical of Okla., Inc., 348 U.S. 483, 488 (1955) (holding state law regulating opticians did not violate the due process clause because economic regulations are presumed constitutional if plausible rational basis supports them).
[14]See Emery G Lee, Law Without Lawyers: Access to Civil Justice, 69 Univ. Miami L. Rev. 499, 502 (2015). (reporting median civil litigation costs of about US$15,000).
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Submissions The Vermont Law Review continually seeks articles, commentaries, essays, and book reviews on any subject concerning recent developments in state, federal, Native American, or international law.
