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Whose Body?

Emily Ratajkowski, My Body (2021).

Who owns one’s body? What kinds of intimate activities generate value? These questions appear in a number of discrete family law subjects, like whether to remunerate housework, or to compensate surrogacy, but they also shape the very existence of family law as a field, defined by opposition to the exchanges that take place in the market.1 This opposition, it turns out, is illusory: while legal rules construct the family as a site of altruism and affection, they also explicitly and routinely recognize economic exchanges. Indeed, family law is deeply implicated in the project of determining what has quantifiable value, who gets to decide, and who benefits as a result.2

Emily Ratajkowski’s My Body provides a nuanced, deeply personal, and unexpectedly moving take on these core questions. Her book — part-memoir, part-cultural critique — struck me as relevant for family law scholars and teachers for its treatment of the gendered ways one can lay claim to one’s body; the precarious boundary between professional and personal relationships, or between “work” and everything else; and the double-edged sword of commodification.

Ratajkowski “catapulted to [] global fame” after her appearance “writhing–and almost naked” in the 2013 music video for the song “Blurred Lines” (P. 41) (which was later held to infringe on Marvin Gaye’s “Got to Give it Up”). At the time, Ratajkowski made headlines not only for her nearly-nude antics, but also for confidently riding the bumpy third wave of feminism, defending her choice to undress as “empowering” and not “anti-feminist” (P. 2), and decrying anyone arguing otherwise as controlling and “anti-woman.” (P. 3.) Now, she is a famous model; a founder of a clothing company offering “easy body-conscious essentials”; a writer; and a mother. Since her rise to celebrity, Ratajkowski has also complicated her understandings of her body and her work.

Ratajkowski’s book, which she dedicates to her son, is divided into twelve essays, each an attempt to process and to name her experiences. They are also attempts to reclaim them as her own. As Ratajkowski details, ownership is ascribed and value is assigned to the detriment of already-vulnerable groups – in her case, young women. In her essay titled “Buying Myself Back,” she describes her experience with a photographer who sexually assaults her and, years later, publishes a book with the Polaroid pictures he took of her that same night. She did not consent to his touch, nor did she consent to his using and selling her images. (Pp. 171, 174.) Yet she is powerless to stop him. “I watched,” she recounts, “as [his book] Emily Ratajkowski sold out and was reprinted once, twice, and then three times.” (P. 176.) The theme recurs. She is repeatedly prevented from controlling her self, her image, and her worth. When she posts a picture on Instagram – of her walking outside her apartment in New York City, taken by paparazzi – she is sued. The photograph, as it happens, is not hers. (Pp. 154-55). In the most meta of these examples, the contemporary artist Richard Prince copies an image from Ratajkowski’s Instagram, prints it onto a large canvas, and then sells it for $80,000. Ratajkowski details the incongruity of it all: “I make a living off posing for photographs, and it felt strange that a big-time, fancy artist worth a lot more money than I am should be able to snatch one of my Instagram posts and sell it as his own.” (P. 156.) Nevertheless, she decides to purchase one of the prints he made of her (there are several) and splits the cost with an ex-boyfriend; she also requests and receives a smaller study of another of her Instagram pictures. She ends up having to pay for that too. When she and her ex separate, he claims she owes him $10,000 for it, “a price he’d arrived at from his ‘knowledge of the market’” – even though, she exclaims, the study “was a gift to me!” (P. 159.) Men (and they are all men), repeatedly profit from her, mostly without her consent and at times from her directly. “I have learned,” Ratajkowski deplores, “that my image, my reflection, is not my own.” (P. 155.)

This mechanism – preventing individuals from accessing material goods in predictably gendered ways – ought to be familiar to any family law scholar. Courts regularly refuse to distribute property, or otherwise apportion wealth, and in so doing cleave apart who does the work from who gets to benefit from it. Outside of marriage, for example, courts often decline to distribute property at the end of a relationship. One reason they provide is that certain activities – namely, homemaking and childrearing – are rendered gratuitously, without expectation of pay.3 Despite the use of non-market rhetoric, these decisions do not prevent an exchange from taking place, nor do they deny that such activities have economic value; rather, they prohibit the individual who undertook the work to recuperate its worth. Ratajkowski’s experience, it turns out, is the rule, not the exception.

But injecting money into these relationships, without more, does not appear sufficient to improve unequal conditions. Ratajkowski shows how money touches all interactions and establishes a hierarchy of control that few can escape. As Ratajkowski observes, “in my experience, all the friends of famous men seem to be on their payroll.” (P. 209.) What exactly Ratajkowski herself is getting paid for, and what her work entails, is a shifting proposition. Ratajkowski recounts a trip where she was flown from Los Angeles to London for a “job opportunity” that ended with her in the backseat of a car, watching a video of the “famous man” who invited her, having sex. (P. 209.) Another work event involved Ratajkowski being paid $25,000 to “go to the Superbowl” with Jho Low, the Malaysian businessman and current international fugitive. (P. 137.) Upon receiving her assignment, she asks: “I don’t have to, like, do anything specific, right?” Lines are never explicitly drawn, which means that consent is also a moving target. When the sexualization that underlies her job comes close to materializing into actual sex, Ratajkowski struggles to understand what she, and others around her, are expected to do, and which relationship categories, like employer-employee, they might fit into.4 On an all-expense paid trip to Coachella, she realizes that some of her traveling companions have a more specific set of responsibilities. Ratajkowski describes an interaction where the man who organized the outing tells a fellow model to entertain the male guests; wondering what that might entail, Ratajkowski asks “Was Sacha Kim’s boss? Or were they cohorts? And what was she expected to go and do exactly?” (P. 148.)

Personal and professional relationships collide in other ways that defy neat categorization. One of the most important relationships that enables the women Ratajkowski works with to succeed is marriage. As she explains, it is a direct vector to achieving professional goals: “I watched models and actresses guarantee themselves financial success and careers by dating or marrying rich and famous men. . . . The Vogue cover they thought they’d never have? After a wedding and a big diamond ring, there it was on newsstands, the model softly wrapped in her high-flying partner’s arms.” (P. 150.) That marriage is the relationship that secures access to wealth and opportunity is entirely consistent with a legal regime that makes marriage the locus of so many material benefits. But it is only one of many sites where money and sex coexist. Ratajkowski places her work along “the same spectrum of compromise” as marriage – while some women marry rich men, she “post[s] paid Instagram ads for skincare and clothing brands owned by rich men,” all of which are variations on “commodifying [one’s] physical presence.” (P. 151.) The primacy of marriage in this space also reveals how achieving recognition for women is still limited: “The world celebrates and rewards women who are chosen by powerful men.” (P. 150.)

Ratajkowski is well-aware that she has benefitted from the ability to sell her body and capitalize on her particular set of attributes. She sits uneasily with this fact. On a fancy vacation in an exclusive resort in the Maldives, for which she is getting paid, she tries to convince herself that she has “worked the system” – as opposed to being a part of it. (P. 91.) She never, however, questions the conditions that make her body so marketable in the first instance. Instead, she mostly naturalizes her figure, and provides only glimpses of the pressure she feels to look a certain way (“At Ford Models, a woman in her late thirties with curly hair measured my hips over [] jeans . . . [t]hen she said more quietly, just so I could hear, ‘We’ll take a few inches off because of these pockets.’” (P. 72); “I fastened a thin belt as tightly as I could around my midsection—punching new holes in the belt’s fake leather with a pen and cinching it so that it dug into my flesh when I exhaled.” (P. 107); “I recently started smoking cigarettes and skipping meals to maintain a tiny waist.” (P. 206)).

While Ratajkowski, a succinctly self-described “white girl” (P. 10), does not pay any sustained attention to the shape of what sells, or reflect on how the images she posts of herself online might be contributing to the harm that teenagers especially seem to be experiencing, she convincingly shows how she has been trapped by her body in a way that defies derision or dismissal. Ratajkowski’s experience might seem unique and, insofar as she is a successful model, unrepresentative. But it is far from it. “Model or influencer or actor or not, all women know what it’s like to use their sexuality for security in some capacity, I thought.” (Pp. 89-90.)

My Body provides a poignant example of how women’s roles are still limited by the men who look at them, and how sheer commodification is an incomplete response to the problem of inequality. Ratajkowski asks, “What is the power of my body? Is it ever my power?” (P. 206.) These are questions I will continue to consider as I teach how family law defines value, distributes wealth, and allows – or, as more often the case, denies – women the ability to exert control over their bodies.5

  1. See, e.g., Frances E. Olsen, The Family and the Market: A Study of Ideology and Legal Reform, 96 Harv. L. Rev. 1497 (1983).
  2. Take sex. Within marriage, sex has quantifiable value; outside of it, the presence of sex foils attempts at property distribution. See Albertina Antognini & Susan Frelich Appleton, Sexual Agreements, 99 Wash. U. L. Rev. (forthcoming 2022) __ (identifying the different legal rules that regulate agreements for sex within and outside of marriage). Even in the latter situation, effect of the law is not to prevent sex from being subject to a market exchange, but rather to define who gets to secure its value.
  3. See, e.g., Morone v. Morone, 413 N.E.2d 1154, 1157 (1980) (“The major difficulty with implying a contract from the rendition of services for one another by persons living together is that it is not reasonable to infer an agreement to pay for the services rendered when the relationship of the parties makes it natural that the services were rendered gratuitously.”).
  4. Sex work, which Ratajkowski does not describe herself directly engaging in, further challenges the division between affective and economic activity, and thus also what counts as family law. Lorelai Lee describes their experience of sex work as work, which also shapes their decision to engage in it: “I did sex work for the same reason I had always done wage labor: because I needed the money. There was no glorifying that. And yet I knew that needing the money did not feel the same as not choosing.” Lorelai Lee, Cash/ConsentN+1 Mag. (2019).
  5. “The destiny of the woman must be shaped to a large extent on her own conception of her spiritual imperatives and her place in society.” Planned Parenthood v. Casey, 505 U.S. 833, 852 (1992) overruled by Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization, No. 19-1392 (S. Ct. June 24, 2022).
Cite as: Albertina Antognini, Whose Body?, JOTWELL (July 28, 2022) (reviewing Emily Ratajkowski, My Body (2021)),

Let Kids be Kids

In the introduction to her book, Kristin Henning writes: “We live in a society that is uniquely afraid of Black children.” (P. xv.) The Rage of Innocence shows just what that means for Black children – and the rest of us.

In bleak chapters, Henning examines the criminalization of Black youth. A chapter contrasting the experiences of white and Black American adolescents sets the table. The next three chapters examine how “play,” clothing and hip-hop, and sexuality transform into markers of crime. A set of chapters examining policing-based activities follows, while the penultimate two chapters explore the “dehumanization” of Black children and Black families. Henning shows how the police and school “resource officers” treat the normal behaviors of childhood, when exhibited by Black children, as illegal activities while the same behaviors of white children are unnoticed – or rewarded. She starts almost every chapter with the story of a particular child or youth, and then embeds those stories in social science data and legal analysis that back up and illustrate her point.

Growing up Black, she shows, means the constant and “excessive intrusion” by the police (xvii) into the lives of Black youth, and the criminalization even of giggling: “four twelve-year old Black and Latina girls were strip-searched” at their middle school for laughing, because they were seen as “’hyper’ and ‘giddy.’” (P. 32.)

Or consider hoodies, which were designed to help high school athletes stay warm. When white high school girls wear them to yoga, they are unremarkable. By contrast: “A Black boy in a hoodie is viewed as a threat and a menace. His clothing causes shopkeepers to call 911.” (P. 51.)

While juvenile justice is a distinct discipline, it straddles family law as well as criminal law. As Henning shows, the criminal apparatus stands in for, or overlaps with, the parental function of shaping children’s lives and instilling certain values; the book provides perspective on how children come of age in in a setting outside of their families or the abuse and neglect system, in the third system of incarceration. Those of us in the family law sphere may include a unit on juvenile justice in a child, parent, and state course, or discuss it in the basic family law course. Henning’s book provides the tools to include more material in our courses on how juvenile justice intersects with the family, and the book shows the critical importance of doing so.

The chapter on Black families is titled “Things Fall Apart,” and looks at how incarceration affects not just the targeted children but other family members. The chapter starts with stories of Black youth who have died, whether at the hands of the police (Michael Brown), or self-appointed vigilante (Trayvon Martin), or suicide. Henning traces how parents are told that their children have been arrested – “the calls are usually perfunctory” (P. 274) – what it feels like to see a child shackled, and the arbitrariness of bail-setting. Once children are incarcerated, visitation can be difficult: it’s not just that the parents might work; the child might be placed in facilities far from their homes. Henning, who was a public defender in Washington, D.C. before joining the Georgetown law faculty, has represented clients who have been sent away to Florida. (P. 278.) Although youth who maintain familial relationships through visitation seem to “fare better” while they are imprisoned (such as lower incidence of “misbehavior”), the system does “little”, Henning explains, to facilitate such connections. (P. 278.)

And then there is the impact of the criminalization of Black youth on their siblings. Henning tells the story of her own brother, who was arrested for the first time when she was a teenager. (P. 283.) She notes that while there is little research on how children experience the imprisonment of a sibling, what does exist shows that children feel “considerable trauma from the complex array of feelings.” Those feelings range from worry about their sibling, sorrow about losing the companionship, and also include, potentially, “shame and embarrassment about having a sibling in the ‘system.’” (P. 287.)

A child’s involvement with the criminal justice system might also cause a family to be evicted. The federal “One Strike” housing policy essentially allows public housing authorities to evict an entire family when one member – or a guest – is involved in drug-related acts.1 She tells the story of her client, “David,” who lived with his mother and two brothers in a two-story public housing unit. His mother, who was paralyzed from the waist down, could not get to the second floor; the city’s representatives, including social workers, could. They found drug paraphernalia. Although David’s mother asked to be moved into a one-story unit so she could better supervise her sons, David and his brother were arrested, the entire family was threatened with eviction, and a child neglect investigation was opened into the situation of the youngest brother, Jerrod. When Jerrod was sent to a group home for children who were neglected, Henning writes: “Until then, David had been one of my toughest clients. Not hard. Not mean. Not angry. Just strong. But when the judge decided to remove his little brother from their home, David collapsed on the floor, crying uncontrollably.” (Pp. 293-94.) The story also has powerful resonance with Dorothy Roberts’s indictment of the child “welfare” system, expressed recently in her 2022 book, Torn Apart, and another institutional setting in which children come of age.

The Rage of Innocence is hard to read. Henning’s account is often shocking in its careful cataloguing of the ways in which a deep-seated fear and distrust of Black adolescence leads to an outsized criminalization of Black youth, with long-term negative psychological, social and economic effects for the individuals, families, and communities involved. The contrast with the treatment of white youth shows why there is a disproportionate number of Black youth represented in the juvenile justice system: according to the Department of Justice, in 2019, the detention rate for non-Hispanic black juveniles was 139/100,000, compared to 41 for Hispanics and 22 for non-Hispanic whites. But that contrast also shows that Black youth do not need to be treated in this way.

Somehow, at the end of the book, Henning offers hope. She celebrates the resilience of youth. She offers a series of potential reforms that can improve that resilience. For example, she emphasizes supportive family relationships and the need to ensure that each child has at least one supportive “’irrationally caring adult’” in their lives – if not a network of such strong relationships. (Pp. 289-91.) She notes that parents can promote their children’s self-esteem. Building resilience also includes helping “youth develop a strong racial identity” (P. 304), which can, in turn, help them navigate adverse experiences and create achievement goals.

In advocating for “police-free schools,” she calls for better mental health services, with professionals who are trained in antibias techniques; she sees a role for the police in responding to violence, just not in the daily surveillance of schoolchildren. (Pp. 313-14.) She also suggests providing police training that teaches officers about adolescent brain development, that gives police a range of tools to respond to typical adolescent behavior, that informs them of juveniles’ legal rights, and that makes de¬-escalation a priority. (Pp. 318-320.) And she argues for law reform, such as through requiring “racial impact statements” that show how different races will be affected by any particular law. (P. 330.)

Ultimately, she counsels us to let children be children.

  1. See Ann Cammett, Confronting Race and Collateral Consequences in Public Housing, 39 Seattle U. L. Rev. 1123, 1140-44 (2016).
Cite as: Naomi R. Cahn, Let Kids be Kids, JOTWELL (June 28, 2022) (reviewing Kristin Henning, The Rage of Innocence: How America Criminalizes Black Youth (2021)),

Parentage, Identity and DNA

Sean Hannon Williams, DNA Dilemmas, __ Yale L. & Pol’y Rev. __ (forthcoming 2022), available at SSRN.

The expansion of direct-to-consumer DNA tests and databases that retain vast DNA data enables almost unlimited access to genetic information and leads to situations in which people make surprising discoveries about their genetic origins. Sometimes people learn that a person who is identified on their birth certificate as their parent is not their genetic parent. Occasionally, people faced with such findings want the law to take account of this discovery, inter alia by amending their birth certificates. In DNA Dilemmas, Sean Hannon Williams uses such cases as a basis to kick off a provocative intellectual journey into the meaning of legal parentage and the relationship between self-identity and state recognition, and he offers fresh insights on these issues with broad implications for further research.

Williams first offers a new conceptual framework for post-majority parentage. Existing family law doctrines are largely focused on the parent-child relationship when the child is a minor, and in this context, the meaning of legal parentage is one of the most debated topics in legal scholarship today. Williams exhorts the law to recognize parentage beyond a child’s minority as a significant and distinct legal category that is grounded in different normative justifications and thus should be governed by different rules from those that apply during a child’s minority. Williams’s argument in this regard is powerful, since for all that the law focuses on parentage during the child’s minority, the reality is that the parent-child relationship generally lasts much longer after the child reaches adulthood than it does during the child’s minority.

During minority, parentage is governed by general rules that are intended to serve children’s interests, but that do not give children a voice in deciding who their legal parents are (and rightly so). Williams argues not only that parentage is meaningful after children reach adulthood, but also that each adult child should have a say in who his or her parents are, and the weight, if any, that genetics, functional parenting, or other factors play in this regard. This privatization of parentage post-majority is one of the most provocative arguments that Williams makes. It intends to challenge the state’s monopoly on deciding parentage and to “[open] up a space to contest and shape what it means to be a parent.” (P. 45.)

In justifying his challenge to the state’s monopoly, Williams argues powerfully that any interest the state has in either deciding parentage or controlling the information contained in the birth certificate fades away after the child becomes an adult. The state’s compelling interest in identifying who is responsible for a minor child’s emotional and financial stability justifies clear rules that define parentage and set limits on the ability to challenge or change it. According to Williams, none of these interests justifies regulating parentage after the child becomes an adult. Williams argues that the only relevant interests after the child reaches the age of majority are those of parties involved: the adult child, the existing legal parent(s), and the potential new parent(s).

Though he challenges the state’s monopoly on defining parentage, Williams acknowledges the complex interactions between the state and the individuals involved, as well as the significant role the state plays in the process of constructing self-identity. Legal recognition of self-identity has been the subject of rich legal scholarship, including with respect to the law’s treatment of intimate partnerships (recognition through marriage), its recognition of one’s gender, and its regulation of parentage through actions (by parents) to claim or disclaim parental rights vis-à-vis minor children. Williams argues convincingly that because our parents are a meaningful part of our self-identity, the ability to define our parentage should create a basis for legal claims children may bring to authenticate, and thus to vindicate, their self-identities through state recognition.

In the end, Williams translates his rich theoretical analysis into a concrete proposal for reform, targeting amendments to birth certificates. In the U.S. today, birth certificates are the primary official record of one’s identity; they list one’s name, gender and parentage. Williams sets aside comprehensive reforms, such as those that would create new and separate official parentage documentation or change existing birth certificates to include multiple categories of parentage. Instead, Williams focuses on what he perceives to be a politically feasible targeted reform: “eliminating statutes of limitation for paternity suits brought by the child herself after she becomes an adult” and creating a consent-based regime that would allow changes to parentage registration at least when all parties agree (the adult child, the registered legal parents, and the potential new parents).

Thus, though discoveries about genetic origins are the starting point for William’s analysis, his proposal goes beyond merely eliminating statutes of limitations to enable children to amend the identity of their “true” genetic parents. Williams offers an elective parentage regime as a response to concerns about genetic essentialism that may arise if his proposal were confined to instances involving genetic surprises about parentage.

Williams then addresses challenges his proposal might trigger. First, he considers possible unanticipated collateral implications for legal doctrines that use parentage as a foundation for rights or obligations. Williams’ motivation for allowing adult children to modify their own parentage is grounded in these individuals’ identity interests, rather than in any specific legal consequence. Therefore, he leaves detailed legal solutions to potential “ripple effects” to amendments in legal parentage to be designed over time. He does endorse a contextual view of parentage, however, so a “parent” for one purpose (e.g., birth certificate) might not be a parent for another purpose (e.g., inheritance or immigration). Williams then discusses other dilemmas that may arise when not all parties agree to the change in parentage, or when amendments are sought after the death of an existing parent or a potential new legal parent.

I do not agree with all of the specific resolutions Williams endorses. For example, I would hesitate to allow an adult child to delete a legal parent who actually functioned as such. Though it is laudable to empower children in the parent-child relationship, I find it problematic to allow the will of the adult child to prevail in all cases of disagreement (though I confess it may be the parent in me that resists this suggestion). I am wary of a contextual approach to legal parentage (even post-majority parentage) and its potential to erode legal parentage. I also would not wholeheartedly endorse an atomistic vision of an autonomous-self and would pause before allowing people to be legally parentless, even when they are adults.

But these disagreements only underscore the value and contribution of DNA Dilemmas as a bold example of scholarship that goes beyond criticism and lays out a concrete normative proposal for reform. It sheds new and refreshing light on debates in existing scholarship on parentage and on the complex relationship between identity and state recognition, and it forces us to revisit and rethink normative conventions on these issues.

Cite as: Ayelet Blecher-Prigat, Parentage, Identity and DNA, JOTWELL (May 25, 2022) (reviewing Sean Hannon Williams, DNA Dilemmas, __ Yale L. & Pol’y Rev. __ (forthcoming 2022), available at SSRN),

Judging in the Shadow of Gender

Jeffrey J. Rachlinski & Andrew J. Wistrich, Benevolent Sexism in Judges, 58 San Diego L. Rev. 101 (2021).

Jeffrey Rachlinski and Andrew Wistrich begin their article, Benevolent Sexism in Judges, with an epigraph that, in its pithiness, cannot be improved upon: “The pedestal upon which women have been placed has all too often, upon closer inspection, been revealed as a cage.” Perhaps the most infamous proof of this claim can be found in Justice Joseph Bradley’s concurring opinion in Bradwell v. Illinois, which points to “the natural and proper timidity and delicacy which belongs to the female sex,” as well as her “paramount destiny . . . to fulfil the noble and benign offices of wife and mother,” as reasons to deny Myra Bradwell a license to practice law in Illinois. The stereotypes that women are natural caregivers, more nurturing and attentive to their children than men, persist to this day, undergirding unequal treatment in the workplace, burdening nonconforming individuals, and discounting efforts of men who are excellent parents.

In some instances, however, these same stereotypes may favor women. Rachlinski and Wistrich set out to test this phenomenon, which they term “benevolent sexism.” They study whether judges are affected by gender bias in two contexts where women regularly experience better outcomes than men: child custody disputes and criminal sentencing. Judges are supposed to be impartial in their decisions and are typically forbidden from relying on gender when determining outcomes.1 The confirmation of gender bias would therefore be an important (albeit unsurprising) finding.2

As the authors note, the mere fact that women experience systematically better outcomes in some contexts, like custody disputes, cannot prove the existence of gender bias among judges, as other factors unique to those individual cases might influence outcomes. For instance, women seek sole custody more frequently than men, which partially explains why they get sole custody more of the time. Moreover, any given mother might be better situated to assume custodial responsibilities than the child’s father. Controlling for individual differences between male and female parents in real cases is practically impossible. (Pp. 112, 121.)

To tease out gender bias in the custody context, the authors presented judges with a hypothetical child relocation case. In the hypothetical, a parent with primary custody over two young children (ages four and six) petitions to relocate, with the children, to a city two-hundred miles away to pursue a work opportunity. The other parent, who spends three weekends per month with the children and sees them several times per week, opposes the move. Half of the judges received a version in which the parent seeking to relocate was the mother; the other half received a version in which the parent seeking to relocate was the father. A total of 355 judges in the United States and Canada participated in the study while attending four different judicial education conferences.  Because some of the judges were generalists and were coming from different jurisdictions, the authors provided a rough summary of the law governing relocation decisions.

To test gender bias in the sentencing context, the authors provided two groups of judges, 141 trial judges from Ohio and 210 federal judges, a one-page sentencing hypothetical in which the defendant, either “Frank” or “Lisa,” sends a threatening letter to a caseworker who denied the defendant disability benefits. The defendant, who had told the caseworker that he or she could not work and needed the benefits to remain in the home and to keep his or her child from starving, is charged and pleads guilty. The Ohio materials told the judges that the defendant pleaded guilty to the felony of retaliation against a public official, which carries a prison term of one to five years. The federal materials told the judges that the defendant was charged with sending threatening communications through the U.S. mail, and provided the relevant federal sentencing guidelines.

The authors found bias in favor of women in both contexts. Regarding custody, in the combined sample of 355 responses, 56% of the judges allowed the female parent to relocate in contrast to 42% of judges who allowed the male parent to relocate. This difference was statistically significant. Regarding sentencing, the authors found that judges sentenced a male defendant to an average of 14.2 months, whereas judges sentenced a female defendant to 11.3 months, again a statistically significant disparity.

In their discussion of these findings, the authors observe that custody and sentencing law permit the exercise of a significant amount of judicial discretion, which increases the possibility that stereotypes may influence decision making. Rather than proposing to constrain discretion, a solution amply explored in the family law literature, they assume the good faith of judges and propose a series of debiasing techniques. For instances, judges can remind themselves of stereotype-incongruent models “such as esteemed professional women and devoted fathers”; engage in thought experiments in which they change the gender of the litigants; keep themselves honest by tracking of the outcomes of male and female litigants; and implement practices to facilitate deliberate thinking at the expense of intuitive thinking, like adhering to checklists or rubrics. (P. 135.)

These suggestions seem sensible and easy to implement through judicial education programs. What interested me most, however, were several aspects of the authors’ findings that did not merit sustained attention in the article but beg to be studied in greater depth.

When examined more closely, the data show that family court judges exhibit less gender bias than the overall results suggest. Of the overall pool of 355 judges presented with the custody relocation problem, approximately one third were family court judges attending either the National Council of Juvenile and Family Court Judges annual conference in 2015, or the New York State Association of Judges of the Family Court of New York conference in 2019. In other words, one-third of the judges were family court specialists and two thirds were generalists. 70% of the generalists would have allowed the mother to relocate while only 48% would have allowed the father to do so: a significant disparity. However, the specialists were much less likely to be affected by the gender of the relocating spouse: 30% would have granted the mother’s request, compared to the 26% who would have granted the father’s. (P. 125) The parent’s gender did not have a statistically significant effect on the specialists. (P. 126) These findings suggest that family court judges, by virtue of their training, experience, or other factors, may be reassuringly gender egalitarian.

In another interesting wrinkle, female judges exhibited less bias in both the custody and sentencing contexts. When it came to sentencing, male judges imposed an average sentence that was 3.7 months shorter for female defendants. Female judges, however, imposed an average sentence that was only 0.7 months shorter for female defendants. In the custody context, male judges granted a mother’s relocation request 61% of the time, in contrast to 43% of the time for the father. Female judges showed a smaller spread, granting a mother’s request 51% of the time in contrast to 43% for the father.3These results indicate that female judges might be less inclined to exhibit bias in favor of women in these contexts. It would be interesting to see whether further studies could confirm this result, and also whether they might reveal the reasons why female judges are less susceptible to unequal rulings.4

The law has come a long way in eliminating explicit sex-based classifications in the family context. Yet stereotypes and social norms continue to produce unequal outcomes. Benevolent Sexism in Judges is a reminder that gender bias can be documented, quantified, and better understood.

  1. As the authors point out, the Model Code of Judicial Conduct prohibits judges from “‘manifest[ing] bias or prejudice’” based upon sex or gender. (P. 103) (citing Model Code of Judicial Conduct r.2.3(B) (Am. Bar Ass’n 2020)).
  2. The authors speculate that stereotypes related to caregiving may produce results that favor women, but they also note that a woman who moves to take a better job or pursue a new relationship may provoke unconscious judicial retaliation in contexts like child relocation disputes, which is one of the two hypothetical scenarios they tested in their study. (P. 110-11.) There may also be additional stereotypes that judges in their study brought to the table. The studies in this article did not test the existence or influence of particular stereotypes, just outcomes.
  3. The authors note that the disparity between male and female judges in this context was not statistically significant.
  4. For instance, the result could be explained by the mitigating effect of countervailing stereotypes or biases rather than an imperviousness to stereotypes.
Cite as: Kaiponanea Matsumura, Judging in the Shadow of Gender, JOTWELL (April 25, 2022) (reviewing Jeffrey J. Rachlinski & Andrew J. Wistrich, Benevolent Sexism in Judges, 58 San Diego L. Rev. 101 (2021)),

An Institute of One’s Own: Polly Bunting’s “Messy Experiment” of Helping Women Navigate Work-Family Conflict

In 1960, Mary (“Polly”) Ingraham Bunting, newly-appointed President of Radcliffe College, wrote an essay for The New York Times Magazine to encourage applications to the new Radcliffe Institute for Independent Study. In the essay, Bunting connected the Institute’s goal of ending the “waste of highly talented, educated womanpower” to helping women as well as to better realizing America’s “heritage” and “aspirations.” The Institute would help “intellectually displaced women”—mothers whose homemaking and childcare responsibilities had interrupted their careers—get back on track through a financial stipend of up to $3,000, access to Harvard’s library resources, a private office, and formal and informal exchange.

As Maggie Doherty recounts in her engaging book, The Equivalents: A Story of Art, Female Friendship, and Liberation in the 1960s, Bunting, a microbiologist and educator, first conceived this “messy experiment” in “a national war room populated almost entirely by men”: she served on a Cold War-era committee formed by the National Science Foundation after the Soviet Union’s launch of Sputnik to study education in the U.S. and steer more resources and students into science and engineering. (Pp. 58-59.) Publicity for the Institute echoed Cold War rhetoric about the national risk of not utilizing women’s talents, but also stressed the risk to families and marriages: “This sense of stagnation can become a malignant factor even in the best of marriages . . . when the gifted woman must spend her time inventing ways to employ herself mentally and failing, or only half-succeeding, may turn against the marriage itself in sheer frustration.” (P. 68.) If this rhetoric brings to mind Betty Friedan’s famous articulation of “the problem that has no name,” in The Feminine Mystique, it may be because Bunting and Friedan initially planned to collaborate on the book. However, the collaboration ended because Bunting resisted Friedan’s approach of viewing the dynamic “in terms of men against women,” instead of (as Bunting perceived it) a “climate of unexpectation” about women’s roles “in which both men and women were trapped”: that women could not have both family and career so that any pursuit of intellectual goals would be at a cost to their personal lives. (Pp. 63, 65.) Bunting viewed the Institute as a way to change that climate. (P. 63.)

Doherty argues that the Radcliffe Institute’s emergence is a “crucial and yet often overlooked event in the history of American feminism,” which sometimes treats The Feminine Mystique as the launching point of second-wave feminism and the prior decade as a “dead zone for liberation politics.” (P. xviii) Instead, efforts by “women reformers, educators, and artists of the 1950s and early 1960s” helped to lay “the groundwork for feminist revolt”—even though many of those women viewed themselves as neither revolutionaries nor feminists. (P. xix.) Referencing Virginia Woolf’s famous A Room of One’s Own (1929) and Woolf ‘s imagining a world in which generations of generous female benefactors had (similar to their male counterparts) left money “to found fellowships and lectureships and prizes and scholarships appropriated to the use of their own sex,” Doherty observes: “The Institute made Woolf’s supposition into something real.” (Pp. xix-xx.)

The Institute provided the crucial resource of time away from caring for home and children. Drawing on her own experience of combining motherhood with laboratory research (in a relatively egalitarian marriage to a husband who was the primary earner), Bunting believed both that most women desired to combine family life with professional life and could do so with the right supports. Bunting envisioned that the Institute would provide “a place to work free from the unpredictable distractions of family life, the compulsion to pursue the daily routine at the expense of a half-finished conception or dream, and the guilt over children rebuffed, or questions unanswered.” (P. 70.) Bunting believed that this small group of female scholars could inspire Radcliffe undergraduates, but also inspire other colleges to adopt similar programs. (P. 65.)

To show the Institute’s impact on the women it supported, Doherty focuses on the friendships, artistic creations, and careers of five writers and artists who were “associate scholars” at the Institute during 1961-1963, its first two years: poets and close friends Maxine Kumin and Anne Sexton, painter Barbara Swan, sculptor Marianna Pineda, and writer Tillie Olsen. These five called themselves “the Equivalents” because their applications had to demonstrate that they had the “equivalent” to a doctorate through “success in an artistic field.” (Pp. xvi, 57.) Drawing on archival material, Doherty recreates an otherwise “lost world” that is engaging, illuminating, poignant, and sometimes tragic (in the case of Sexton, who took her life in 1974). Family law and gender law scholars and teachers will find rich nuggets to help convey what marriage, family, and work/family conflict looked like prior to the “gender revolution” spurred on in part by the Supreme Court’s shift to a more skeptical look at laws classifying by sex throughout the 1970s. Feminist and Critical Race scholars will appreciate Doherty’s insights about the initial whiteness of the Institute and the implicit race and class assumptions about its likely applicants.

The vital role the Institute served in providing space and money for the Equivalents and other talented women is made evident from Doherty’s sketch of the “ambient” misogyny in the late 1950’s world of poetry, when Sexton and Kumin, along with Sylvia Plath, sat in the classroom of poet Robert Lowell at Boston University. (Pp. 22-27.) Lowell divided writers into two categories, “major” and “minor;” “almost every female poet was a ‘minor’ writer, with a few exceptions.” (P. 28.) Further, when the Institute opened its doors in 1961, full coeducation at Harvard and other traditionally male-only Ivy League Schools was controversial and years away. The Institute’s woman-centered world, by comparison, provided “the Equivalents” and their colleagues the opportunity to hold seminars to discuss their work.

Among the first class of 24 women, the “vast majority” had children. There was only one single woman, Alma Wittlin, an educational psychologist. Doherty reports: “it was a rare thing to be a single woman in 1960—only 8 percent of women over twenty-five had never been married—and it was not easy,” given “social convention.” (P. 93.) There were no women of color in the Institute’s first class of scholars: they were “white, well-off, and except Sexton, highly educated,” although from diverse disciplines. (P. 92.) As Doherty observes, a program “pitched as part-time employment” did not have in its purview the needs of women who were full-time (underpaid) wage-earners eager for financial assistance or child care. (P. 69.) Doherty suggests that imagery of avoiding “stagnation” and taking “initiative” reflected a “default white perspective” that would have seemed inapt to many Black women. By comparison to White women, in the 1950s, the number of Black professional women was increasing—outpacing Black men, proportionally—and “upwardly mobile” Black women faced different challenges in combining work and performing domesticity. (Pp. 69-70.) The selection committee did not explicitly consider either race or economic circumstances. Nor was there comment on the racial dynamics of the care economy that “facilitate[ed] female creativity”: “stipends . . . often passed from the white women receiving Radcliffe’s largesse to women of color, who provided child care and household help so that scholars could work.” (P. 264.)

Of the five “Equivalents,” Tillie Olsen, the most “politically conscious—and politically active,” was “unnerved” by the Institute’s whiteness. Her time at the Institute helped to germinate her later book Silences, about how the various obstacles women writers experienced contributed to their comparative absence; her working-class background led her to champion neglected working-class female writers as well as women of color. By the second half of the 1960s, as Black female students at Radcliffe protested for “increased racial representation,” the Institute also “diversified its group of associate scholars,” beginning in 1966, with playwright and novelist Alice Childress. (Pp. 264-65.) In 1971-73, while at the Institute, 27-year old Alice Walker worked on her novel Meridian and discovered and began championing Zora Neale Hurston. Olsen and Walker, who became correspondents, shared a commitment to researching and teaching women writers missing from the canon. In what became her essay, In Search of Our Mother’s Gardens: The Creativity of Black Women in the South, Walker turned to Woolf’s A Room of One Own to ask about the “genius” that must have existed among “enslaved people and among the wives and daughters of sharecroppers.” (P. 276.)

By examining the lives of “the Equivalents” before the Institute, Doherty powerfully conveys how the demands of mothering—and, in Olsen’s case, wage-earning—took them away from their art, even as they often made women’s bodies, motherhood, children, and the emotional rhythms of family life the subject of their poetry, painting, and sculpture. (P. 146.) Their time at the Institute would open doors for new opportunities and new funding, as well as greater legitimacy of this artistic focus on the personal.

The Institute ceased to exist as a woman-only program in 1999, when Harvard and Radcliffe merged and Radcliffe’s existence as a separate college ended. The well-funded successor was the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study, open to women and men. Doherty ponders whether the need for such women-only spaces had ended by then, noting conflicting reactions, including a recollection of the “magic” and “comfortable community” of the all-female Institute. (P. 310.) Doherty persuasively concludes that the “most important” insight of Bunting, Friedan, Walker, and “the five Equivalents” was that “women’s creative and intellectual lives are shaped by their material conditions and that those conditions must change if women are to be the artists, the writers, the mothers, and the minds that they want to be.” (P. 315.) While “a women-only space like the Institute might not be right for the twenty-first century, a time when the gender binary is increasingly challenged,” Doherty argues for adapting the Institute’s approach to the present day, asking how educational and other institutions could “better support women” and “work to eradicate gender disparities.” (P. 315.) She issues a call for “another messy experiment.” It’s a call worth heeding.

Cite as: Linda C. McClain, An Institute of One’s Own: Polly Bunting’s “Messy Experiment” of Helping Women Navigate Work-Family Conflict, JOTWELL (March 23, 2022) (reviewing Maggie Doherty, The Equivalents: A Story of Art, Female Friendship, and Liberation in the 1960s (2021)),

Accommodating Parents

Sarah H. Lorr, Unaccommodated: How the ADA Fails Parents, 110 Calif. L. Rev. __ (forthcoming 2022), available at SSRN.

The child protection legal system is supposed to work towards the reunification of parents and children in foster care through individualized services to help parents raise their children safely. But that legal system has long been criticized for frequent and severe invasions into the family integrity rights of parents with disabilities and their children, treating parental disabilities as grounds for permanent separation instead of individual characteristics to be accommodated. Several years ago, it seemed that the law was turning. In 2015, the U.S. Departments of Health and Human Services and Justice issued joint guidance stating that the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) applied to parents with disabilities in child protection cases. The joint guidance urged states to more effectively help reunify families with a disabled parent and prevent their separation in the first instance. A small number of state courts issued decisions requiring truly individualized accommodations for parents with disabilities.1 But those cases remain outliers. Sarah H. Lorr has done the child protection legal field an excellent service by outlining just how far it has left to go in her forthcoming article Unaccommodated: How the ADA Fails Parents.

Since the 2015 guidance, state courts have only inconsistently applied ADA protections to parents with foster care cases. Lorr documents how the largest set of reported state appellate decisions since the 2015 guidance “remain completely hostile to parents raising discrimination-based claims under the ADA,” (P. 38), often directly contradicting the federal guidance. (P. 39.) Nor do federal courts provide a meaningful remedy. As Lorr shows, a variety of doctrines – Rooker-Feldman,2 various abstention doctrines, and collateral estoppel – have made federal court vindication of the rights of parents with disabilities very difficult to obtain. (Pp. 40-49.)

The resulting harms are significant. Families with disabled parents are separated when accommodations could have kept them together. Families are kept separated when accommodations could speed reunification. Lorr identifies one leading case (Pp. 33-34) whose facts illustrate how: A child protection agency demanded that a parent with an intellectual disability attend parenting classes, participate in therapy, earn a GED, and find her own employment and housing. The parent, struggling to take care of herself as her family support system collapsed, could not meet the demands of the child protection agency, which were “geared toward a parent of average cognitive functioning.”3 Through her lawyer, the parent sought individualized assistance so she could understand and participate in those services, including asking the agency to obtain help from an organization which could provide intensive supports to accommodate her disability.4 After failing to take those steps, the agency petitioned the family court to terminate her relationship with her children, which the trial court granted.5

Those trial-level facts demonstrate what can and does happen when, as Lorr documents, state courts fail to apply the joint guidance. (In one of the few decisions to follow the joint guidance, the termination was reversed on appeal – a decision that, as Lorr demonstrates, remains an outlier). Lorr aptly builds on scholars who have documented how parents with disabilities, especially intellectual disabilities, are more likely to have their children placed in foster care, remain in state custody, and face the system’s most severe consequence, termination of the parent-child relationship. (Pp. 5, 8.) Moreover, as Lorr points out, parents with disabilities of which child protection agencies are unaware face a catch 22: they must disclose their disabilities if they want an accommodation, but doing so is not likely to lead to meaningful legal protection and may worsen the state’s intervention in their families, discussing a Sixth Circuit case where that result seems to have occurred. (Pp. 50-51, citing Marble v. Tennessee, 767 F. App’x 647 (6th Cir. 2019).)

Lorr points to discrete solutions for lawyers defending parents with disabilities. Consistent with the joint guidance, she urges more assertive family court action to demand accommodations for disabled parents. (Pp. 54-56.) She goes further, urging more access to and meaningful remedies from federal courts. (Pp. 51-54.) Finally, Lorr urges closing of significant gaps in state data reporting about families with disabilities. (The federal government’s primary system for tracking information about children separated from their parents and placed in foster care, known as AFCARS, tracks when children enter foster care, how long they stay, and whether they reunify with their parents or leave foster care to a new family. But it does not track when parents have a disability, and other data systems fail to fill the void.) (P. 18.)

Lorr also invites more transformational steps, seeking to “radically alter” the present system from “a corrective, judgmental force brought upon Black, Brown, poor, and disabled parents” to one providing meaningful supports. (P. 62.) This call identifies a problem at the core of the present child protection system: it makes demands of families in its ambit without adequate or individualized support to help parents raise their children, thus undermining the law’s commitments to respecting family integrity and prioritizing reunification with families of origin. This project is larger, of course, than a single article – but that project needs Lorr’s contribution and analysis to succeed.

  1. See, e.g., In re Hicks/Brown, 893 N.W.2d 637 (Mich. 2017) (finding that by failing to accommodate parent’s disability, CPS agency failed to make reasonable efforts to reunify family, thus invalidating termination of parental rights). Lorr points to a Colorado case that followed Hicks/Brown, In re S.K., 440 P.3d 1240 (Colo. Ct. App. 2019) (cited in Lorr at 34-35). Citations to Lorr’s article are to the version posted to SSRN.
  2. As the Supreme Court later described it, the Rooker-Feldman doctrine provides that federal courts lack subject matter jurisdiction over “cases brought by state-court losers complaining of injuries caused by state-court judgments rendered before the district court proceedings commenced and inviting district court review and rejection of those judgments.” Exxon Mobil Corp. v. Saudi Basic Industries Corp., 544 U.S. 280, 284 (2005).
  3. In re Hicks/Brown<, 890 N.W.2d 696, 701 (Mich. Ct. App. 2016).[/note] The agency did not seek out specialized services intended to help individuals with intellectual disabilities.[note]Id. at 701-02.
  4. Id. at 702.
  5. 702-03.
Cite as: Josh Gupta-Kagan, Accommodating Parents, JOTWELL (February 10, 2022) (reviewing Sarah H. Lorr, Unaccommodated: How the ADA Fails Parents, 110 Calif. L. Rev. __ (forthcoming 2022), available at SSRN),

Against Functional Approaches

Katharine K. Baker, Equality and Family Opportunity, __ Univ. of Penn. J. of Const. Law __ (forthcoming), available at SSRN.

As Katharine Baker recounts in her excellent article, Equality and Family Autonomy, functional analysis was once part of a positive progressive narrative within family law: it was through a functional analysis that scholars and courts (and some legislatures) found a way to give legal recognition – and legal protection – to individuals and families whom legal formalities would not protect. As Baker writes: “Contemporary family law scholarship … often assume[s] that a functional approach to family law … is the best way to secure equal treatment for people who live in relationships that have not been recognize legally as familial.” (P. 2.)

However, functional approaches always had their disadvantages, and now that same-sex partners and parents can generally protect their interests through marriage or adoption after Obergefell v. Hodges,1 Baker shows how those disadvantages – “pluralistic, self-determination and privacy values that can be lost” (p. 4) – often outweigh the benefits for the legal treatment of parenthood. Functional analyses require state evaluation of the family, which is too often “invasive, ineffective, and . . . damaging” (p. 4). Baker argues that “[a]s family forms grow more diverse, judges become ever less qualified and less capable of assessing what constitutes appropriate family behavior.”2 (P. 5.)

Baker emphasizes the tension within the doctrines of family privacy and family autonomy: The Constitution and the common law give certain protections to families, but do not define “family.” Where once this was defined in terms of legal and traditional family forms, many scholars (and some courts and legislatures) urged a functional understanding of family – “those who act like a family should be treated as family” (p. 3, footnote omitted) – to protect LGBTQ families and the various “kinship structures” (p. 3) found in economically marginalized communities. Functional arguments are effectively equality arguments (if they act like a family they should be treated no different), but equality arguments have “an inevitable comparator problem.”3 (P. 3.) What do (unconventional) families need to be like, to warrant the special protections the constitution grants to families? The answer tends to be: conventional families (“dyadic, nuclear famil[ies]” (p. 4)).

To conclude under a functional analysis that someone is “acting like a parent,” a couple is “acting like a married couple,” or a household is “acting like a family,” courts need a standard, an express or unstated understanding of what parents, couples, and families, act or look like. And the judiciary, which is often not especially diverse, may bring a fairly conventional (white, wealthy, suburban, middle-class) understanding to such things. So, family forms that may be common in some communities (e.g., BIPOC4 and LGBTQ communities5 ), but less conventional according to establishment views, may be rejected by the courts.6 Baker comments: “To assess whether a group functions as a family in order to decide whether they should be treated as other families invades the liberty families are supposed to enjoy as a unit.” (P. 4.) Functional approaches are intrusive: to gain rights, couples claiming that their relationships were “like marriage” may need to testify in detail about their sexual, financial, and social life, and have all of these evaluated by strangers.7 (P. 6.) This parallels the way that state benefit rules already authorize the state to intrude on the lives and domestic decision-making of poorer families.8 (Pp. 23-24, 28-30.)

Under Baker’s analysis, if functional analysis now has a better reputation than it deserves, the idea of family autonomy perhaps has a less good reputation than it deserves. The poor reputation comes in part from its association with the way it has been used to block abuse, neglect, and exploitation from public scrutiny. (P. 23.) As Baker (pp. 7-9), Frances Olsen,9 and others have argued, it can also be misleading to speak of the government’s “non-intervention” in the family, as the government always sets the rules of engagement (e.g., what counts as abuse, neglect, abandonment, inadequate support, and grounds for divorce; and who controls property during the marriage and how is property divided on divorce and at the death of one spouse; etc.), and “non-intervention” may simply serve the more empowered spouse. (Pp. 22-23.) Still, there remains real value to family members being able to make significant decisions for the family, without those decisions having to be publicly justified or being subject to government overruling, and to have interactions in the family largely shielded from judicial or agency review. Also, Baker adds, “[r]especting family autonomy is a means of respecting diversity.” (P. 26.)

Baker sees the high value of family autonomy reflected in many long-term trends in family law: e.g., the demise of fault divorce (neither the judges nor the parties wanted the judges “interrogat[ing] the behavior in a marriage” (p. 14)), and the move towards less judicial discretion in property division, spousal support, and child support.10 (Pp. 14-19.)

What then to put in the place of functional analysis? After all, there needs to be some definition of “family” for any doctrine of family autonomy or family privacy. Baker urges greater uses of formalities11: “Registration system for both parent-like and marriage-like relationships offer alternatives that can protect relative autonomy while honoring non-traditional families.”12 (Pp. 6-7, footnote omitted.)13 Along with license-plus-ceremony for marriage,14 some states have “opt in” registration to grant rights to nonmarried cohabitants, and there are “Voluntary Acknowledgement of Parentage” and guardianship papers for parental rights. (Pp. 38-39, 47.) These and similar straightforward forms could and should be expanded and (if possible) made more uniform across jurisdictions.

Of course, even granting Baker all the points she raises about the problems of functional approaches, it is far from clear that it would be wise to rid family law of all the functional and equitable principles relating to marriage and parenthood (which include important resources, like the putative spouse doctrine and the in loco parentis doctrine). Baker’s work is best seen as a corrective, showing us the real benefits, both from the perspective of judges and that of affected families, of a significant retreat from functional approaches, and a higher valuation of formalities and family autonomy.

  1. 135 S. Ct. 2584 (2015).
  2. She concludes, from the child welfare system, that “when judges do not recognize what is before them as a family, they feel free to destroy it.” (P. 5; see also Pp. 23-24, 28-30.) Baker sums up a detailed argument on court intervention in custody fights and determinations of abuse and neglect as follows: “in practice … courts are not effective caretakers of children.” (P. 30.)
  3. This is analogous to the point Catharine MacKinnon makes in critiquing sex equality doctrine. Catharine A. MacKinnon, Reflections on Sex Equality Under Law, 100 Yale L. J. 1281 (1991).
  4. Baker observes: “For over 20 years, scholars of color have warned of the dangers of excessive state interference into the intimate lives of people in communities of color.” (P. 5, footnote omitted.)
  5. Baker notes that children in minority communities “are much more likely … to be raised in ‘kinship groups,’ which include multi-generational households related by blood or marriage and can also include ‘fictive kin’ ….” (P. 44, footnote omitted.) She adds: “Studies indicate that 25 to 44% of Black Americans live in kinship groups, compared to only 11 percent of white Americans” (pp. 44-45, footnotes omitted), and that higher percentages are also found in LatinX and Native American communities. (P. 45.)
  6. By contrast, as Baker and others — e.g., Mary Anne Case, Marriage Licenses, 89 Minn. L. Rev. 1758, 1765 (2005) — point out, married couples generally do not have to show that they live like conventional couples or conventional parents to have the attendant legal rights. (One of the few contexts where married couples may need to show that they are acting like a married couple is immigration, where the state can ask intrusive questions to determine whether the marriage in question is real or a sham, intended only to gain citizenship status for one of the spouses. See also Kerry Abrams, Marriage Fraud, 100 Cal. L. Rev. 1 (2012), discussing other contexts where the legal rights and duties can turn on the sincerity of the marriage (or the divorce).)
  7. One might imagine one line of response: functional/equitable arguments are used when formal/legal arguments are not available, and those who use them want that option to be available and can hardly complain about its intrusiveness. This response works when a couple is bringing a claim together (e.g., to have their relationship recognized or to have a partner recognized as a parent); however, often one member of a couple is resisting the claim (of a partner to property post-dissolution or to have parenting rights shared), and the resisting partner will not want the claim recognized and will almost certainly not want the intrusiveness of the inquiry.
  8. See, e.g., S. Lisa Washington, Survived and Coerced: Epistemic: Injustice in the Family Regulation System, Colum. L. Rev. (forthcoming, 2022) (describing state welfare and social services agencies as “an intrusive, disempowering surveillance system”).
  9. Frances E. Olson, The Myth of State Intervention in the Family, 18 U. Mich. J. L. Reform 835 (1985). Baker cites and quotes Olsen at p. 7.
  10. While child custody decisions do involve judicial interference and evaluation, Baker concludes that our current practices continue because alternatives that might reduce judicial discretion are worse for other reasons. (Pp. 19-22.)
  11. Until a registration processes is in place, Baker would continue to support functional approaches. (P. 38.)
  12. Baker comments that “[a] full explication of how registration systems could work is beyond the scope of this article.” (P. 7.)
  13. Baker also argues that a combination of non-interference and a greater understanding of the nature of intimacy would justify the reluctance of courts to enforce “vague, oral and incomplete” (p. 34) agreements between spouses and cohabitants, and their reluctance to impose tort duties in those contexts. (Pp. 32-37.)
  14. Baker is critical of common law marriage, treated it as another misguided functional approach to treating some nonmarital cohabitants as if they were married. (Pp. 55-58.)
Cite as: Brian Bix, Against Functional Approaches, JOTWELL (January 12, 2022) (reviewing Katharine K. Baker, Equality and Family Opportunity, __ Univ. of Penn. J. of Const. Law __ (forthcoming), available at SSRN),

Can the FDA Save Early Abortion?

Greer Donley, Early Abortion Exceptionalism, 107 Cornell L. Rev. __ (forthcoming 2021), available on SSRN.

In Early Abortion Exceptionalism, forthcoming in the Cornell Law Review, Professor Greer Donley addresses the regulation of medication abortion by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA). Almost 40% of abortions are completed by taking two drugs at or before 10 weeks of gestation. Mifepristone is the first drug and, the second drug, misoprostol, is taken 24 to 48 hours after. The FDA issues a Risk Evaluation and Mitigation Strategy (REMS) for drugs it deems risky and in need of monitoring. Professor Donley focuses on two requirements this drug safety program imposes on providers seeking to prescribe mifepristone. For one, all providers must be certified to prescribe mifepristone, which requires submitting a form to the drug sponsor attesting that the provider can “assess the duration of pregnancy accurately,” “diagnose ectopic pregnancies,” and “provide surgical intervention” or “have made plans to provide such care through others.” (P. 11.) For another, the FDA requires that patients collect mifepristone at a healthcare facility – in-person at a hospital, clinic, or medical office. The effect of the FDA’s dispensation requirement has been to prohibit retail pharmacies and mail order prescription services from distributing mifepristone.

Professor Donley explains the complexities of the FDA regulation with clarity. But detailing the rules that govern medication abortion is not the point of her novel piece. Rather, Professor Donley assesses these restrictions in light of their ineffectiveness – medication abortion has been subject to strict controls even though it is comparatively safer than less regulated drugs. And she demonstrates why lifting these regulations would greatly expand access to early abortion. To make this case, her article offers three important insights.

First, Professor Donley shows how medication abortion, like other matters important to women’s reproductive health, has been singled out among drugs and subject to an overly politicized process. Professor Donley compares the FDA’s treatment of medication abortion to the agency’s regulation of Plan B (the “morning after” pill), female sex drugs, and medical research in women and female animals. Together, these examples reveal “a troubling history of implicit bias that harms women, especially when considering reproductive health.” (P. 36.)

Second, Professor Donley brings together legal arguments with public health research to demonstrate that medication abortion is safe and effective, highlighting that the FDA’s requirements – certification and in-person dispensation specifically – are unnecessary at best and counterproductive for patient safety at worst. For example, of the 3.7 million women who took mifepristone between 2000 and 2018, the FDA’s website notes that there were 24 deaths. Viagra, by contrast, has a fatality rate of 4 deaths per 100,000, nearly six times higher than that of mifepristone; but unlike mifepristone, Viagra is not subject to the same restrictions.

The COVID-19 pandemic highlights the mismatch between the safety of medication abortion and the burdensome FDA restrictions. Along with the expansion of telemedicine in numerous other areas, the pandemic has been a catalyst for the wider introduction of telehealth for medication abortion. In July 2020, a federal district court temporarily enjoined, for the course of the pandemic, the FDA restrictions on how patients collect the drug regimen.1 Professor Donley weaves together the arguments marshalled by the district court in suspending in-person dispensation with the proven benefits of “teleabortion” to urge the FDA to lift or to modify the REMS – an action that the FDA may take by the end of this year.

Third, Professor Donley reflects on the future of abortion care given the emergence of virtual clinics providing medication abortion services. Professor Donley argues that anti-abortion activists would have trouble challenging the FDA’s removal of the REMS in court. More practically, despite clear limitations on the expansion of teleabortion – including state-specific restrictions on the delivery of medication abortion and bans on telemedicine for abortions – more people will receive medication abortions because of remote delivery. Mailing a two-drug regimen opens all manner of possibilities for abortion access, within and outside the law.

Professor Donley provides a fascinating and timely account of the changing legal landscape for medication abortion, blending various perspectives – from empirical research to agency review to litigation strategies – that are not often in conversation with each other. Removing federal restrictions will increase access to medication abortion; yet how big a difference remains to be seen. If pharmacies were to carry mifepristone, for example, Professor Donley suggests that more providers would administer medication abortion because they could avoid the costs of storing it. Professor Donley, however, may underestimate the various impediments to abortion care, which include limited medical training, stigma, or costly impact of state regulations. For instance, 19 states require some in-person component of having a medication abortion (such as in-person counseling or a mandated ultrasound); these state laws will impede the expansion of virtual medication abortion even if federal oversight is relaxed. States also are attempting to regulate mifepristone more strictly than the FDA; these efforts raise questions of federal preemption that are the subject of ongoing litigation. This is all to say that removing FDA restrictions would go a long way in expanding access to medication abortion, but it is only one piece of a complicated puzzle.

To be sure, Professor Donley recognizes the challenges ahead for expanding access to medication abortion. Her work is prescient while staying grounded in the history of the abortion debate at federal and state levels. But her optimism about the capacity of medication abortion to shore up gaps in access is contagious, particularly given the role that portable, inexpensive medication abortion might play in a country where some states double down on anti-abortion legislation. As the country awaits a 2022 Supreme Court decision on whether states may ban abortion before viability – a  decision that likely will overturn or further eviscerate constitutional protection for abortion decisions — the legal landscape for abortion promises to shift further in the near future. Early Abortion Exceptionalism invites the federal government, as seems to be its direction, to solve the already-severe problem of how people gain access to abortion services, rather than to continue to exacerbate it.


  1. Am. Coll. of. Obstetricians & Gynecologists v. FDA, 472 F. Supp. 3d 183 (D. Md. 2020).
Cite as: Rachel Rebouché, Can the FDA Save Early Abortion?, JOTWELL (December 7, 2021) (reviewing Greer Donley, Early Abortion Exceptionalism, 107 Cornell L. Rev. __ (forthcoming 2021), available on SSRN),

Obstetric Racism and the Limits of Family Law Reform

This year, the law journals at the University of Michigan Law School published a collective joint special issue focusing on racism and the law. One essay included in the volume, selected and edited by the Michigan Journal of Race and the Law, was Colleen Campbell’s Medical Violence, Obstetric Racism, and the Limits of Informed Consent for Black Women. Professor Campbell’s essay concisely describes and explains how, as she puts it, “Black women are simultaneously overmedicalized and medically neglected” in obstetrics. Physicians see Black women as innately high-risk, so that they are overmedicalized by disproportionately common surgical interventions during pregnancy and birth. At the same time, racism that continues to devalue Black lives leads medical professionals to disregard Black women’s choices and agency around their reproductive health. In both cases, the ability of Black women to determine or even consent to their medical treatment is undermined.

Professor Campbell’s project is an ambitious one, as she traces treatment of Black women by the medical establishment in the context of obstetrics from the exploitation of enslaved women to higher rates of Black maternal mortality today, and she ably synthesizes the works of a wide range of scholars and literatures to do so. In the earliest days of “professionalized” gynecology, white male physicians took over a practice that had been largely conducted by women such as midwives. One way that the field became professionalized and masculinized was by greater reliance on surgical procedures. And a key, disturbing part of the development of surgical procedures was surgical experimentation on enslaved women, the most extreme example of medical violence in Campbell’s account. Campbell points to the example of James Marion Sims, considered the father of modern gynecology through his surgical treatment of fistulas, who operated on conscious and unanesthetized enslaved women. Adding insult to unfathomable injury, Sims described enslaved women with no choice or control over what happened to their bodies as happily consenting to these procedures, and relied on the racist belief that Black people did not feel pain the way that white people did to justify not using anesthesia.

This blithe assumption of consent is also illustrated in Professor Campbell’s discussion of mass sterilizations performed on Black women and other women of color in the early twentieth century, a more recent example of medical violence that inflicts surgical interventions in the absence of patient consent. Such practices grew from two racist beliefs: first, seeing women of color as hyper-fertile in a way that threatened white dominance, and second, physicians’ willingness to perform life-altering surgery based on the judgment of a state agency or employee, which was deemed more important than the lack of consent of the actual Black woman or girl being operated on.

Demonstrating the weakness of the idea of informed consent anchors the final portion of Professor Campbell’s essay. The concept of informed consent is that physicians must give their patients any information that a reasonable patient would take into account when deciding upon a course of treatment.1 In practice, however, physicians are seen as objective experts while patients are expected to defer to medical knowledge. This dynamic is magnified in the context of obstetrics, which Campbell points to as one explanation for higher rates of c-sections performed on Black women, a subset of medical violence known as obstetric violence.

The intersection of obstetric violence, which many women experience during birth, is magnified by medical racism: where obstetric violence results from a belief that doctors know best about medical care, medical racism further asserts that Black women are incapable of directing their care so that their consent is even less necessary. As a result, Black women face worse health outcomes and experiences than White women, even if they hold other characteristics such as higher socioeconomic status that would typically correlate with better medical treatment. Professor Campbell bookends her essay with the example of Serena Williams, one of the most famous athletes in the world, who nearly died after giving birth to her daughter. The day after she gave birth, Williams correctly recognized symptoms of embolisms, which she had been treated for in the past. She immediately alerted hospital staff and requested the proper diagnosis and treatment protocol of a CT scan and blood thinner – but instead a nurse simply assumed that she was confused due to pain medication and delayed giving her the proper treatment for what turned out to be pulmonary embolisms, just as Williams had predicted. Williams had given birth by c-section, characteristic of overmedicalization, and then her well-informed medical knowledge and requests for care were ignored, characteristic of medical neglect.

Professor Campbell’s focus is on the obstetric space, and her essay enriches a vein of recent scholarship into obstetric violence. Her broader analysis, however, is also relevant far beyond medical decisions around reproduction, as the tenuousness individual agency undergirding informed consent is pervasive throughout family law. Professor Campbell refers to the sterilization campaigns at the start of the last century, but incarcerated women – themselves disproportionately Black and Brown – are still subjected to sterilization procedures, and long-term birth control methods have been imposed as conditions of supervised release.2 Yesterday’s enslaved Black women exploited to refine surgical techniques later used to improve the lives of white women are today’s home health care workers deprived of employment and health protections even as they are deemed essential workers who must continue working during the COVID-19 pandemic.3 The lack of agency that Professor Campbell criticizes in the context of informed consent is the same lack of agency that criminalizes the choices of low-wage Black mothers. 4

The essay is a welcome reminder, therefore, for family law scholars who focus on the promise of individual choice that not all people experience that choice in the same way. For all of the increased flexibility that family law can offer today – recognition of more relationships, more paths to parenthood, different ways to structure family life – the unequal history of American law means that flexibility is a tool of privilege. And even though some Black women and members of other historically excluded groups attain high economic or educational privilege, Professor Campbell points out that such status does not correlate with even as basic an improvement as better obstetric health outcomes. Meaningful reform of family law must take account of systemic racism and other prejudice that prevents theoretical change from having practical effect in the lives of all Americans.

  1. Citing Canterbury v. Spence, 464 F.2d 772, 787 (D.C. Cir. 1972).
  2. See Dara Purvis, The Rules of Maternity, 84 Tenn. L. Rev. 367, 431-34 (2017).
  3. See Ruqaiijah Yearby & Seema Mohapatra, Structural Discrimination in COVID-19 Workplace Protections, (May 29, 2020),
  4. See Ann Cammett, Welfare Queens Redux: Criminalizing Black Mothers in the Age of Neoliberalism, 25 S. Cal. Interdisc. L.J. 363, 370-75 (2016).
Cite as: Dara E. Purvis, Obstetric Racism and the Limits of Family Law Reform, JOTWELL (November 9, 2021) (reviewing Colleen Campbell, Medical Violence, Obstetric Racism, and the Limits of Informed Consent for Black Women, 26 Mich. J. Race & L. 47 (2021)),

Fair Housing for a Non-Sexist Household

Noah M. Kazis, Fair Housing for a Non-Sexist City, 134 Har. L. Rev. 1684 (2021).

Noah Kazis opens his new article Fair Housing for a Non-Sexist City with an ambitious question: “What would a non-sexist city be like?”1 (P. 1684). America’s “built environment,” Kazis explains, is a stubbornly sexist one. (P. 1687.) Examples abound. Women—as both child-care users and child-care workers—are economically burdened because of land use restrictions on in-home day care in residential areas. (Pp. 1710-20.) Men—as the predominant users of economically-desirable shared housing models—are rendered homeless because of building code and zoning restrictions on single room occupancy units. (Pp. 1720-35.) Women and men—as partners—fall into traditional sex roles (that redound to the financial detriment of both) because of land use restrictions that make it harder for a parent (traditionally the woman) to be at home for children in one area and at work for a high-paying job in another. (Pp. 1735-45.) Kazis uses these examples—among others—to illustrate the problem his article targets: the entrenchment of Victorian America’s separate spheres ideology in today’s material landscape.

Fair Housing is a treasure trove of facts that will interest scholars of family law and of gender relations, including the fact that “[t]en percent of the gender pay gap between husbands and wives without children can be attributed to commute variables” (P. 1739), and the fact that cities historically excluded apartment houses and boarding “hotels” from residential areas in order “to preserve the ‘character and quality of manhood and womanhood.’” (P. 1726.) However, one of the most interesting facts that Fair Housing unearths is that neither litigants nor enforcement agencies have used the Fair Housing Act—a federal law dedicated to ensuring fair housing, after all—to challenge our built environment’s housing and land use practices; nor have scholars dedicated much attention to sexism in our material and architectural ecosystem. Kazis’s aim in Fair Housing is not so much to explain why that is so as to elaborate on what role the FHA might play moving forward. To that end, Fair Housing offers concrete examples and explanations of the ways in which the FHA can facilitate “fair housing for a non-sexist city” through its relatively robust disparate impact theory of liability and its statutorily unique provision requiring state and local governments to “affirmatively further” fair housing (P. 1692.)

Fair Housing is right: sex discrimination in the American-built environment is a huge problem that the law has ignored, either because it is “too big to fail” or too big to apprehend. Complicit in this erasure, I rarely do a deep dive into the FHA in my family law course, using my property course instead to elaborate on the FHA’s meaning and applications. Thanks to Kazis, the FHA will now be required reading in both courses.

Fair Housing provokes as many questions as it answers, but one is whether the FHA could be used to bring more men into the caregiving space, a question that Kazis gestures at but never makes central to his inquiry. Rather than focus on how land use practices keep men outside the domestic sphere, Kazis’s primary focus in Fair Housing is on land use practices that keep women within it—not working. Consider the limits on in-home child care, which burden two classes of women: in-home child care providers, 95% of which are women (P. 1712), and in-home child care consumers, most of whom are mothers, who “still bear the primary responsibility for child care in most American families, even in an era when most mothers work” (P. 1711) and for whom “[a]ccess to good child care … is essential for [their] ability to enter and advance within the workplace.” (P. 1712.) Another is land use limits on urban size and density, whose sexist effects are more complicated but which ultimately keep a certain class of women closer to the domestic sphere (where the kids are) and far from the city center (where more lucrative work opportunities sit). As Kazis says, “[t]here is a deep reservoir of intentional discrimination sitting underneath the design of modern suburbia – an intent to cordon off a female, domestic sphere through physical distance from the city center.” (P. 1741.)

Kazis argues that the FHA is an under-utilized (indeed, unutilized) tool to challenge these restrictions, which disproportionately affect women and which are grounded in a Victorian gender ethos that modern anti-stereotyping jurisprudence—of which the FHA is an essential but unappreciated part—repudiates. I love the idea of applying the anti-stereotyping principle to new terrain, and would argue that the principle is capable of doing more work on this field than Kazis admits.

For example, Kazis maintains that property law has made it harder for women to enter the breadwinning sphere, both by restricting in-home day care (run by women) and by keeping mothers far from lucrative city employment. But if that is right, then property law has also made it harder for men to enter the caregiving space, either as paid caregivers or as fathers. If density restrictions mean that mothers will be the parents who respond to their children’s needs during the school day, then those same restrictions mean that fathers will not be the parents to do so, creating a gendered division of labor in (and outside) the household that “sticks” well after the work day is done. Lifting density restrictions—as Kazis suggests—could therefore have not just one effect but two: encouraging more women to work outside the home (which Kazis enthusiastically supports) and encouraging more men to work within it (which Kazis does not mention).

At the end of Fair Housing, Kazis says that the FHA’s “integrationist intent with respect to race, color, and national origin” does not carry over to “sex discrimination” under the Act because “men and women live in the same neighborhoods—and in the same homes.” “If the Fair Housing Act is read always and only to demand integration, for each protected class,” he continues, “it will not adequately speak to sex discrimination.” (P. 1752.) For that reason, Kazis contends, “[a] specialized theory of fair housing for sex … is needed” (P. 1753), by which I understand a theory that recognizes that “integration” means something different for sex than it does for race.

I respectfully disagree. On a macro level Kazis is of course right: our neighborhoods and external spaces remain woefully segregated by race but not by sex. But on a micro level Kazis is less correct: our homes and internal spaces remain as sex-segregated as ever, as Kazis himself persuasively shows throughout Fair Housing, with women as primary caretakers and men as primary breadwinners.2 Fair Housing might not say so, but the FHA’s “integrationist intent” has as much application to the segregation inside our walls as it does to the segregation outside of it.

  1. P. 1684 (quoting and citing Dolores Hayden, What Would a Non-Sexist City Be Like? Speculations on Housing, Urban Design, and Human Work, 5 Signs 170 (1980)).
  2. That is, in the heterosexual households on which Fair Housing tends to focus.
Cite as: Courtney Cahill, Fair Housing for a Non-Sexist Household, JOTWELL (October 11, 2021) (reviewing Noah M. Kazis, Fair Housing for a Non-Sexist City, 134 Har. L. Rev. 1684 (2021)),