There is an awkward bit of bride's-side/ groom's-side stage business to navigate this morning, in bypassing protesters outside the Supreme Court. For some reason, the NOW protesters are blocking the whole right side of the sidewalk, while the anti-abortion demonstrators, mouths sealed with red tape, occupy the left. Nobody seems to want to get too close to the building itself—which has seen some freaky Amityville Horror action of late, including blasted light bulbs at oral argument and the spontaneous hurling of marble chunks onto the plaza.
Once inside, there is no big woolly policy discussion of the competing rights at issue in Ayotte v. Planned Parenthood—the right of a young woman to obtain an abortion versus the right of her parents to know that she is doing so. Instead, the discussion focuses on a flaw—and virtually everyone today concedes it's a flaw—in New Hampshire's parental notification law. The statute requires a doctor to notify parents before performing an abortion on a minor, and contains an exception for cases in which the life of the teen is in peril. But it offers no exception when only her health is at risk. There is an option to bypass the parents via a judge, but that's not completely helpful in medical crises. Prior Supreme Court cases—notably Planned Parenthood v. Casey and Stenberg v. Carhart—have required such a health exception for similar statutes. The question before the court today is a lawyer's question: What to do about New Hampshire's flaw?
There's a second, technical issue in the case. Until now, when the court found that an abortion regulation imposed an "undue burden" on the mother—by requiring, for example, that she notify a spouse before obtaining an abortion—it held the statute unconstitutional "on its face." That meant the court struck down the law altogether—a broad remedy that's been rejected in most other contexts. Most of the time, a law can't be junked altogether unless a plaintiff who has been harmed by it can show that there is "no set of circumstances" in which it could be validly applied. The normal rule is known as the Salerno standard (from the 1987 case United States v. Salerno). If Salerno became the rule in abortion cases—a step the high court has refused to take thus far—then restrictions on abortion would have to be challenged after they'd gone into effect, by plaintiffs facing actual harm. It's clear today that several justices wouldn't object to such a switch. Chief Justice John Roberts, for one, plainly rejects the notion of striking down a whole statute because of a few unconstitutional applications. Justice Sandra Day O'Connor sounds almost like she agrees.
Kelly Ayotte, the New Hampshire attorney general, defends her state's parental notification statute. In her opening sentence, Ayotte characterizes a minor who might seek an abortion as a "child." Just so you know where her head is at.
Justice David Souter immediately challenges Ayotte on something he's found in her brief. He waits for her to find the place in the document and read along as he questions her assertion that in the unlikely event a doctor couldn't obtain parental consent and performed an abortion to protect the health of a minor, that doctor would not be subject to liability because his conduct is "constitutionally protected and independently justified." Souter asks how the doctor's conduct would be constitutionally protected. Ayotte doesn't have an answer. "Doesn't that mean there's a constitutional health exception?" asks Souter. His point: How can the doctor be constitutionally protected unless there is a constitutional right to protect? Ayotte replies that the doctor would be protected from liability under a "competing harms doctrine." Also, her office would be "prepared to issue an opinion" in such cases on the doctor's behalf. Perhaps a note like the one pinned to Paddington Bear: "Please exempt this doctor from liability."
Justice Stephen Breyer wants to talk real-life horror stories (click here to listen), like when a pregnant 15-year-old with high blood pressure walks into an emergency room at 2 a.m. on a Saturday. She's not about to die, but absent an abortion right now she will not bear more children. She refuses to tell her folks. The doctor who sees the girl "doesn't want to risk prosecution," says Breyer. "And he happens to have his lawyer with him." So, what does his lawyer advise? Ayotte cites the competing harms defense. Says Breyer: "But how do you know that's actually the law? Lots of people say this isn't a competing harm. Many say in good faith that the life of the fetus is more important than the possibility of the mother having more children."
Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg adds that for a doctor whose license is on the line, the prospect of a possible "defense" is pretty cold comfort. The doctor doesn't want an opinion from the attorney general. He needs to know in advance that he's not violating the law. Justice Antonin Scalia needs to change the subject fast and he does, advising Ayotte to make her other argument—the one about why courts shouldn't find entire statutes invalid based on a few unconstitutional applications. This leads Roberts to ask, for the first of many times this morning, whether Ayotte would accept a "pre-enforcement as-applied challenge" to the statute, brought by doctors facing prosecution.
I am sure that "pre-enforcement as-applied challenge" means something. Perhaps that the doctors facing potential prosecution could come forward to challenge the statute as applied to all of them before the cops actually knock on their doors. What I can't quite figure out is how Roberts' characterization truly differs from the position of the plaintiffs here. Ginsburg makes this point better than I can (she is talking to Ayotte because she can't just ask Roberts, at least not until they get behind closed doors): "You characterize this as an 'as applied' challenge. But how is it 'as applied' if the doctor doesn't have to wait for an emergency?" Justice John Paul Stevens adds, "Do you have to wait until the doctor has an actual patient in his office?" The nice thing about finding a whole statute unconstitutional up front, as the district court and the 1st Circuit Court of Appeals did in this case, is that doctors needn't wait for some woman to be bleeding on a gurney before finding out what they are and aren't allowed to do.
Solicitor General Paul Clement gets 10 minutes to argue on New Hampshire's side. He says the statute shouldn't be gutted based on hypothetical health emergencies—which he characterizes as "literally one case in a thousand." He and Breyer then step all over each other for a while, with Clement curiously refusing to give ground. When Scalia suggests the court should defer to the New Hampshire legislature, Souter notes that what the legislature wanted was clear: It wanted no health exception because that is seen as a big fat loophole. Souter points out that the court should hardly graft it back onto their statute.
Jennifer Dalven has half an hour to argue for Planned Parenthood, and she is in the unenviable position of defending the court's decision in Casey against attacks from the justices who signed the majority opinion in that case. When she suggests that delays in performing abortions might lead to liver and kidney damage or strokes or infertility, Justice Anthony Kennedy (one-third of the trio that saved the core of Roe v. Wade in Casey) cuts her off to ask whether the time taken by a doctor's mere "telephone call to a judge" would really lead to all these awful results. Dalven replies that "every minute is critical."