Timothy Egan in the NY Times recently sighed at the lack of reasonable discussion on immigration policy.  Agreed (sigh).  I also agree with the general conclusion to which he offers a nod.  But, there are some premises on display in Egan’s arguments, echoed in other immigration discussions, that I don’t accept.  He reported that in states with new, strict immigration laws, migrant workers had disappeared from fields and farmers couldn’t reap what they’d sowed:

Meanwhile, jobs go begging: in Alabama, which passed the nation’s harshest anti-immigrant law; in Georgia, where the governor suggested using convicts to work in the fields after 11,000 jobs went unfilled; and in the orchards of Washington, where the flow to the far north has diminished mainly because of the recession.

Well then, why not hire only people with full citizenship? One farmer in Colorado, John Harold, tried doing just that, hoping to fill harvest positions with jobless locals looking for extra cash. But as my colleague Kirk Johnson reported, many of those locals did not last even a full day; they complained of the hard work in the onion fields of Colorado.

The problem, through good times and bad, is that there are millions of jobs that Americans will not do. The solution, some combination of path to citizenship with guest worker programs, should be within the grasp of the better political minds.

A reasonable conclusion from this premise is that we should allow immigrant to perform work that, if not by law than by some social or physical prohibition, consists of conditions too treacherous for American citizens. Rather than addressing those conditions, we should let these folks seeking citizenship do it. So, before laws improved the conditions of factory jobs from, say, what we read about in Sinclaire’s The Jungle, it would have been appropriate to allow Russian folks to die in those factories that were too treacherous for Americans.

I cannot accept that conclusion.  Rather, there are only two morally appropriate conclusions that, in turn, allow fairly straightforward responses:

1) The work is too treacherous for anyone to perform.

Thus: The farm work should be better regulated.  If work is not safe enough for Americans it is not morally appropriate to benefit from such work from non-Americans, and it is especially inappropriate to allow Americans to facilitate such work.

2) American citizens are too weak or snobbish to perform perfectly acceptable and available work.

Thus: Social norms need to adjust toward acceptance and appreciation of farm work.  If people seek unemployment benefits where farm work is available, they should be required to accept the work or not accept benefits if that work is otherwise within whatever parameters the unemployment folks set out.

As for immigration policy, it should be reasonable and be enforced.  So, regarding those not already in the country, we should debate the policy for entrance.

One last premise with which I disagree: the conflation of immigration and deportation policies.

Immigration policy is different than deportation policy.  So we should also have a clear headed deportation debate.  My proposal: folks that are are fairly established in the country should be allowed to seek legal citizenship if willing to do so.  In that respect, I agree with Timothy Egan’s conclusion while disagreeing with the premise.

By the end of the 19th Century, Gilmore writes, several “rules” of Contract law had been attached to what were once specific cases.  The rules “had been generalized into abstractions that had little or nothing to do with the cases themselves.”  (Ch. 1).

In the case of Stilk v. Myrick, two seamen deserted a ship and the master promised the remaining men the divided wages of the deserters if those remaining would continue on without additional help.  When the master ultimately refused that promised payment and the seamen sued, the judge ruled that the plaintiffs were entitled to no more money than they originally signed on for.

In 1920, Professor Williston, in his treatise on Contracts, used the case name to label a rule on contract modifications, stating that no new contract can be formed based on work already required by a contracting party.  Gilmore complains that Williston’s rule from Stilk v. Myrick makes no sense in light of the facts from the case, as, indeed, the seamen presumably took on much more difficult and different roles down two men.  Gilmore dedicates 7 pages to the question: How did the name from one case came to stand for an abstract and un-fully-related rule?  He explores maritime law and the “vagaries of early nineteenth century English case-reporting.”  My impression from Gilmore’s telling is that something like a conventional wisdom built up around the reasoning in Stilk.  By the time Williston used the case, the facts had dissolved and a common understanding remained – a nugget-sized principle that sparked in heads when hearing the case name arose.  Sort of like Marbury‘s sparking the notion of judicial review.

In any event, Gilmore runs the reader through a couple more case-to-rule transformations.  As the cases become rules, the forgotten facts seem to rub akwardly against the rules.  Also, the rules conform with the theory of consideration that Williston believed essential to contract formation.  In his second lecture, Gilmore discusses Justice Holmes’ belief that “the inevitable process of legal development” was from subjective to objective; from particular cases to generaly applicable rules.  The trend amplifies what Gilmore noted in his first lecture as he described cases becoming rules.  It is also clear that, if subjective/specific cases become objective/general rules, someone does the synthesizing – someone objectifies the legal principles.  Gilmore makes that point, though I didn’t notice him making the point outright.  Rather, we see consideration, a general avoidance of damages, and a hesitation to contract formation as what must have been biases among those that cemented Contract rules.

The forward’s writer to my edition wonders whether Grant Gilmore might have parodied the central criticism of the book: creating legal theory with oversimplified and fabricated legal history.  To be sure, Gilmore presents, in Death of Contract, an approximately 100-years’ history of the law.  And, his account of contract theory is tidy  (the chapters are telling: Origins, Development, Decline and Fall, Conclusions and Speculations).

Gilmore’s history of contract law sets up, ultimately, his broader statement that the law reflects its socio-political environment.  That, alone, is not spectacularly insightful.  Gilmore couples the thought, though, with his observation that legal theoretical structure swings between classical and romantic trends–between, that is, tidy categorization (classical) and improvised chaos (romantic).  In the law of “civil obligation,” Gilmore believes contract law was shaped into a classically organized theory beginning shortly after the Civil War, and then, after that order decayed, reached the height of romanticism in the late 1970s.  The book ends with a predicted return to order.  Gilmore, as I read him, did not appear dedicated to either.  But before we tackle the substance of that debate, it is worthwhile to linger on Grant Gilmore’s account of legal history.  And, as history requires characters to manifest a story, Contract is the protagonist in this tale.

A hundred years before Gilmore’s lectures, “classical” contract theory arose.  That it arose irks Gilmore, and he dedicates the tone and asides in the first two lectures to emphasizing his disapproval.  The first lines refer to Professor Langdell’s casebook on Contracts, published in 1871; the first casebook on the subject, and the beginning, according to Gilmore, of an unnecessary and damaging exercise in legal categorization.  Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. and Samuel Williston carried, cleansed, and made absolute the theory of Contract with publications in 1881 and 1920, respectively.  But, by 1950, Professor Corbin was dismantling the artificial edifice of Contracts theory.

Langdell, then, did little more than launch the idea that there was – or should be – such a thing as a general theory of contract.  The theory itself was pieced together by his successors – notably Holmes, in broad philosophical outline, and Williston, in meticulous, although not always accurate, scholarly detail.  At this point it is necessary to give some content to what we may call the Holmes-Williston construct – which I shall attempt to do impressionistically rather than scientifically.  Having accomplished that chore, we can return to the far more interesting business of speculating on why Langdell’s idea, brilliantly reformulated by Holmes, had the fabulous success it did instead of going down the drain into oblivion as a hundred better ideas than Langdell’s do every day of the week.

Gilmore refers to the Langdell/Holmes/Williston line as “classical contract” theory, and I’ll do the same.  What is classical contract theory, and why jurists create it?  In his chapter, the “Origins,” of classical contract theory, Gilmore goes into the details of a few cases that were picked up in early Contracts treatises “because … the devious process by which the ‘cases’ became the ‘rules’ of the general theory of contract can be understood only microscopically.”  Indeed, that transformation of “cases” to “rules” is crucial element to the artificial building up of contract theory.

(I’ll continue this post presently.)

A good conversation starter from Froomkin.

In today’s Globe, Savage writes: “President Bush this week declared that he has the power to bypass four laws, including a prohibition against using federal funds to establish permanent US military bases in Iraq, that Congress passed as part of a new defense bill.

“Bush made the assertion in a signing statement that he issued late Monday after signing the National Defense Authorization Act for 2008. In the signing statement, Bush asserted that four sections of the bill unconstitutionally infringe on his powers, and so the executive branch is not bound to obey them.”


The Supreme Court has not looked squarely in the face of our second amendment since 1939. Back then, the Court ruled that it was OK for the
National Firearms Act to ban the interstate transport of sawed-off shotguns. The defendants argued the law was unconstitutional, pointing to…

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

But the Court, in US v Miller, didn’t agree that the amendment gave these folks an unfettered ability to carry around sawed-off shotguns. The right of gun possession had to have a “reasonable relationship to the preservation or efficiency of a well regulated militia.” The Court suggested that, to be within the scope of the second amendment, the weapon would have to be part of the ordinary military equipment.

With one 20th century visit to the amendment, we will this term get our first second amendment visit of the 21st century. The Court will decide if the DC Circuit was right to rule that the amendment deems DC’s handgun ban unconstitutional.

Maybe we can talk about how the case ought to come out on this web space. But let’s begin on a lighter note.

Adam Freedman wrote the joke of the day in his column in today’s Times. His piece is on the grammar of the amendment, namely its orgy of commas. Quickly, his point is that comma use in the late 18th century was willy nilly and that it would a folly to stake much interpretive weight upon the commas. In the end, it’s best to take them out altogether and see what you get.

In reading his point, I thought this was a hilarious nod to the whole gun/2nd amendment debate…

“The best way to make sense of the Second Amendment is to take away all the commas (which, I know, means that only outlaws will have commas).”

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