by Tad Heuer
Judges are often remembered for either their landmark opinions or their incisive dissents, and Chief Justice Ralph Gants wrote both. But over his twelve terms on the Supreme Judicial Court, he wielded adroitly a third option, more frequently than any of his fellow justices. On forty-three occasions — first as an Associate Justice and then as Chief — Justice Gants authored a concurrence.
Concurrences are a legal curiosity. Unlike a dissent, where a judge explains why his colleagues got it wrong, a concurring judge believes the opposite: that his colleagues got it right. Moreover, with each SJC justice writing roughly the same number of majority decisions each term, a concurring justice is voluntarily taking on additional and avoidable work. Yet it is precisely because concurrences are arguably unnecessary that they are so valuable. Concurrences can signal the potential limits of the majority opinion, indicate whether the majority reached the right result but for the wrong reason, or warn where a statute — while clear — creates an unintended result. And when used wisely, and unencumbered by the formal strictures of a majority opinion, a concurrence can illuminate a judge’s perspective on how the law could be more fair and more just.
With a nod to his beloved Boston Red Sox, Chief Justice Gants’ penchant for concurrences is best illustrated by turning to the SJC’s own box score. Chief Justice Gants served with fourteen other justices during his time on the Court and authored 260 opinions, 17 dissents, and 43 concurrences (including six instances when he added further nuance by concurring in part and dissenting in part). While Chief Justice Gants dissented on average about as frequently as his fellow justices (8% of his decisional writings, versus an average of 5% for his colleagues), 13% of his decisional writings were concurrences, compared with only 5% of those of his colleagues. With an average of nearly four concurrences per term, Chief Justice Gants nearly doubled the average of his next closest colleague, while more than tripling the one-concurrence-per-justice-per-term average of his colleagues generally. In raw numbers, he wrote 17 more concurrences than his next-closest colleague, Justice Robert Cordy, who served for four more years than Chief Justice Gants. Indeed, as of the time of his passing he had penned more concurrences than eight of his 14 colleagues combined.
While Chief Justice Gants concurred at least once in every year on the Court, his concurrences became more frequent in recent years with six each in 2017 and 2018, and eight in 2020. Yet he had a knack for attracting company. Of his 43 concurrences, only eleven were on his own: Thirteen brought along one other justice, sixteen brought along two other justices, and one even brought along three others. With 30 concurrences in criminal cases and 13 in civil, his topics ranged widely from homicide instructions and trial procedure to child custody and spendthrift trusts. But examining why he concurred so frequently provides a window into the jurist Chief Justice Gants was.
He used concurrences to point out where the Legislature may wish to revise statutes that compelled counterintuitive results that he perceived as unintentional. In a pair of cases involving the state wiretap statute, Commonwealth v. Tavares, 459 Mass. 289 (2011) and Commonwealth v. Burgos, 470 Mass. 133 (2014), he discussed the problematic practical consequences arising from the statutory requirement of a “connection with organized crime” as a prerequisite for its use, noting:
electronic surveillance is unavailable to investigate and prosecute the hundreds of shootings and killings committed by street gangs in Massachusetts, which are among the most difficult crimes to solve and prosecute using more traditional means of investigation.
“If the Legislature wishes to avoid this result,” he suggested, “it should amend [the statute] to delete those words.” Tavares at 305; Burgos at 149. Similarly, in Commonwealth v. LeBlanc, 475 Mass. 820 (2016), Chief Justice Gants used his concurrence to encourage the Legislature to harmonize contradictory statutory provisions (about when a driver needed to remain at the scene after causing an accident), while in Commonwealth v. Almonor, 482 Mass. 35 (2019) he wrote separately to “underscore the need for the Legislature to give careful consideration to amending G. L. c. 276, § 2B, to permit warrants to be applied for and approved remotely through reliable electronic means.” Id. at 69.
He used concurrences to signal the direction he felt the common law should go. This approach was most prominent in his four-member concurrence in Commonwealth v. Brown, 477 Mass. 805 (2017). In that case, the Court unanimously agreed that the felony-murder rule (permitting a conviction of murder in the first degree for the commission of an underlying violent felony resulting in a death) was constitutional. Chief Justice Gants nonetheless saw the opportunity through concurrence to narrow prospectively the scope of the rule to require actual – not constructive – malice inferred from the underlying felony:
When our experience with the common law of felony-murder liability demonstrates that it can yield a verdict of murder in the first degree that is not consonant with justice, and where we recognize that it was derived from legal principles we no longer accept and contravenes two fundamental principles of our criminal jurisprudence, we must revise that common law so that it accords with those fundamental principles and yields verdicts that are just and fair in light of the defendant’s criminal conduct.
Id. at 836.
This attention to ensuring that the development of the common law reflect the practical reality of the contemporary world pervaded other concurrences as well. In Commonwealth v. Berry, 466 Mass. 763 (2014), then-Justice Gants concurred to identify “an apparent inconsistency in our common law of homicide that we should confront when the issue next arises, i.e., whether a defendant’s state of mind must be considered in determining whether a murder is committed with extreme atrocity or cruelty.” Id. at 778. And in Miller v. Miller, 478 Mass. 642 (2018), involving a contentious child custody dispute, Chief Justice Gants concurred to argue that in future, the Court should consider discarding what he termed the “artificially binary decision-making framework” cobbled together from prior cases, and establish a “single, uniform standard — the best interests of the child — to be applied to all [custody] removal cases,” id. at 659. He expressed concern that the existing “formalistic approach” could have “serious consequences for the parties involved.” Id. at 662.
And in a technical mortgage foreclosure case, U.S. Bank National Association v. Schumacher, 467 Mass. 421 (2014), then-Justice Gants’ concurrence was arguably more important than the majority opinion. The Schumacher Court held that because the statutory pre-foreclosure requirement (notice and a cure period) was not part of the exercise of the power of sale and foreclosure, failure to comply with the statute could not be raised as a defense in a post-foreclosure eviction action. Justice Gants agreed that the statute controlled the facts of the case, but wrote separately to express his concern about the “practical consequences of this opinion.” Id. at 431. His concurrence laid out his view of when it was appropriate to raise the statute as a defense: if the failure to comply with the statute “rendered the foreclosure so fundamentally unfair that [the defendant] is entitled to affirmative relief, specifically the setting aside of the foreclosure sale.” Id. at 433. This “fundamental unfairness” standard is now applied routinely in post-foreclosure actions.
He used concurrences to provide guidance to the lower courts. Sometimes his concurrences signaled that lower courts should be cautious about applying a majority decision too broadly. For example, he concurred in Flagg v. AliMed, Inc., 466 Mass. 23 (2013), primarily to “emphasize the limited scope of [the majority] holding, because I fear that ‘associational discrimination’ might otherwise be interpreted more broadly than the court’s opinion intends.” Id. at 39. Similarly, he concurred in Commonwealth v. Lopez, 458 Mass. 383 (2010), to clarify the “distinction between a search of a home and entry into a home, which, although it does not affect the outcome of this case, may have bearing on the validity of consent in other search cases.” Id. at 399.
In other instances, his concurrences provided frameworks for how lower courts might evaluate rapidly-changing areas of the law, particularly involving technology. These ranged from offering detailed thoughts on “how electronic automatic license plate reader data could be used by law enforcement consistent with constitutional rights to a reasonable expectation of privacy” (Commonwealth v. McCarthy, 484 Mass. 493, 512-13 (2020)), to clarifying his view that the law provides no “safe harbor to conduct a search incident to arrest of text messages or electronic mail messages” found on a cell phone (Commonwealth v. Phifer, 463 Mass. 790, 799 (2012)). Chief Justice Gants used concurrences to encourage his former trial court colleagues — faced with applying existing laws to new and novel factual scenarios — to think thoughtfully about how the Court might view those efforts on appeal.
He used concurrences to give voice to both the challenges and humanity inherent in the complex work of getting justice right. In Schumacher, he began his concurrence by acknowledging that “many mortgage borrowers who will claim such violations will not have the benefit of legal representation, and that our jurisprudence in this area of law is difficult for even attorneys to understand.” 467 Mass. at 431. In Commonwealth v. Williams, 481 Mass. 443 (2019), concurring in a case involving race and jury selection, Chief Justice Gants admitted that from his own experience as a trial judge “there are times, with the benefit of additional thought and the wisdom of hindsight, in which a judge will recognize that a discussion with a juror could have been handled more artfully.” Id. at 458. And he concurred to urge the Court to ensure that its decisions would be understood by the public as being consonant with justice. As he wrote in his concurrence in Commonwealth v. Johnson, 461 Mass. 1 (2009), “[w]e neither ensure that we do justice in a case of murder in the first degree nor ensure the public’s confidence that justice is done where we fail to address on the merits an issue that was never fairly considered because the underlying facts were mistakenly presented by the court on direct appeal.” Id. at 9.
Perhaps most importantly, he used concurrences to highlight what he saw as unfairness. In Commonwealth v. Baez, 480 Mass. 328 (2018), he concurred “to encourage the Legislature to consider the wisdom and fairness of the mandatory minimum aspect of [certain] enhanced sentences, especially where the predicate offenses were committed when the defendant was a juvenile.” Id. at 332. In Deal v. Massachusetts Parole Board, 484 Mass. 457 (2020), he used his concurrence to levy forceful criticism of the failure of the Parole Board to provide “meaningful individualized consideration” to the “distinctive attributes of youth offenders” when making parole decisions. While concurring in the denial of parole because such guidance did not exist at the time of Deal’s hearing, he warned that in future, “we would expect meaningful individualized findings that are far less conclusory and perfunctory than here.” Id. at 470. While only a concurrence, it signaled a disapproval for the Parole Board to ignore at its peril. And it was not only litigants whom Chief Justice Gants sought to protect from unfairness. In Commonwealth v. Leiva, 484 Mass. 766 (2020), he agreed with the Court’s revision of the protocols governing the conduct of defense counsel when their clients intend to testify falsely, but took issue with the majority’s “assumption . . . that defense attorneys will not abide by their ethical obligations to the court when hard decisions have to be made. . . .” He concurred to emphasize that such an assumption “is unfair to the defense bar.” Id. at 798.
Chief Justice Gants concurred up to the very end. Indeed, his last concurrence came in Commonwealth v. Long, 485 Mass. 711 (2020), released just days after his passing. Long addressed the charged issue of racial profiling in traffic stops, and although unanimous, generated multiple concurring opinions. Chief Justice Gants used his four-paragraph concurrence in Long to do three different things. First, he wrote as a justice, to emphasize that the motive of a law enforcement officer matters, and to reiterate that an officer cannot conduct an “inventory” search as a pretext for a more invasive “investigatory” search. Id. at 736. In so doing, he signaled that he would be watching closely in future cases for whether form was being exalted over substance. Second, he wrote as a colleague, explaining why he agreed in part with the more expansive concurring opinion of a colleague, but felt it unnecessary for the Court to reach certain additional constitutional questions identified therein. Id. And third, he wrote as the Chief Justice, in an effort to prevent intramural disagreements over the details from clouding the legal importance of the majority opinion in the eyes of the public: “[D]espite our jurisprudential differences reflected in the various opinions in this case, the court is unanimous in concluding that a motor vehicle stop that arises from racial profiling is unconstitutional . . . .” Id. This keen awareness of the subtle power of the concurrence—from the legal to the practical—demonstrates Chief Justice Gants’ acumen for the form at its finest.
In 1822, Thomas Jefferson complained in a letter to Supreme Court Justice William Johnson that the trend of the collective majority opinion disguised “whether every judge has taken the trouble of understanding the case, of investigating it minutely, and of forming an opinion for himself, instead of pinning it on another’s sleeve.” Chief Justice Gants was never at risk of such remonstration: his numerous concurrences reveal a justice who took the trouble to understand cases, who investigated cases minutely, and who took seriously his responsibility to offer the bench, bar, Legislature, and general public his own insights on how to do better justice.
Tad Heuer is a partner at Foley Hoag LLP, where his administrative law practice focuses on appellate litigation and on advising clients regarding complex federal, state, and local regulatory matters ranging from land use to energy. He clerked for Supreme Judicial Court Chief Justice Margaret H. Marshall during the 2006-07 term, and is a member of the Boston Bar Journal Board of Editors.
by Hon. Hélène Kazanjian
Voice of the Judiciary
We find ourselves during these difficult times trying to operate court business without parties actually coming to court. This is likely the “new normal.” In the short term, while we have begun to open courthouses for some in-person business, the court still encourages virtual hearings for most matters. In the longer term, it is possible that we will continue to handle some court business virtually for quite some time, if not forever.
Courts throughout the Commonwealth have been conducting virtual hearings for several months. It has unquestionably been an adjustment for everyone. Lawyers and judges have had to be flexible and patient as we have grappled with video and audio problems. Many have had to learn how to use virtual conferencing programs such as Zoom. We most certainly have had to keep our sense of humor as the occasional cat, dog, or young child makes a fleeting appearance at a hearing.
In light of these challenges and the limitations of the technology, how can lawyers most effectively advocate for their clients in a virtual environment?
First, it is important that lawyers understand how hearings are being conducted at the courthouses. The short answer is that it differs throughout the Commonwealth because technological capabilities vary. Despite these differences, in all instances, hearings have to be officially recorded, which generally requires the presence of a clerk in the courtroom. Judges will either be physically present in the courtroom or joining the hearing virtually. In some courtrooms, the clerk is able to connect the in-court For the Record (“FTR”) recording system to the virtual platform. Where that technology is not available, FTR will record the sound in the courtroom, which will ordinarily come out of small computer speakers built in or connected to the judge’s or clerk’s laptop.
With this backdrop, here are some suggestions to enhance your ability as lawyers to effectively advocate during a virtual hearing:
- Technology, technology, technology: First and foremost, make sure you have working technology. Minimally you need a computer or tablet with a camera, microphone, and speakers. You also need fast and reliable Wi-Fi. It is not ideal to be calling into a hearing from your cell phone. Cell phone callers often cannot join by video or cannot be heard well enough. You also may not be able to see all of the participants on your phone.
- Settings: Once you sign into a hearing, make sure the correct microphone is selected on your device. For example, if you are using an external webcam, you have to select the webcam as your operating microphone. The audio settings on your microphone and speakers must be loud enough. In Zoom, there are microphone and audio settings within the Zoom program. That means that in addition to checking the settings on your device, you need to check the program’s audio settings.
- Virtual workspace: Make sure you have a workspace that is conducive to a virtual hearing; that is, a place that allows you to participate without distraction. Trying to join a hearing from a cell phone in your car or from a computer in a room where there is other activity is not effective. Look directly at your camera and speak loudly into the microphone. Make sure your background, whether it is real or virtual, is presentable. Likewise, if you use a pin photo, which is an image that appears on your account when you shut down your video feed, make sure it is court appropriate. We know that many of you are juggling a lot. You may be working at home with other family members present who need your attention. That being said, do your best to set aside the scheduled time to focus on the hearing.
- Practice: Practice before you appear for your first virtual hearing. Find out in advance if your equipment and Wi-Fi work. Learn how to sign in with both video and audio, and how to adjust the microphone and speaker settings. Because the sound is sometimes better when the parties who are not speaking are muted, make sure you know how to mute and unmute yourself quickly.
- Identify yourself: So the record is clear, you should identify yourself each time you speak during the hearing, unless the court addresses you by name.
- Documents: If you have documents, pleadings, photographs or other items that you would like to use or “hand” to the judge during the hearing, or if you are planning to offer exhibits into evidence, make sure to get them to the clerk and the other participants in advance. Check with the clerk several days before the hearing about how he or she will accept these items (e.g. email, e-file, mail). Screen sharing can be an effective way to display documents during a hearing. Attorneys should check with the clerk in advance to make sure the host (the judge and/or clerk) is comfortable with that aspect of the technology.
- Other participants: In criminal cases, defendants will be present, or virtually present, unless their presence has been waived. Victims, witnesses, clients in civil cases, and members of the public should also be able to attend proceedings virtually, and, in some instances, give testimony. It is advisable to check with the clerk in advance if others want to attend a hearing. Make sure the individuals wanting to attend have the required technology to sign into the virtual call. If you are going to be questioning a witness about documents, pleadings, photographs, or other items, make sure the witness and all parties have copies of those items in advance. Speak to your client and/or witnesses before the hearing about how they should conduct themselves during the hearing so as to not distract from your arguments. It is not helpful to your case if your clients are rolling their eyes or shaking their heads during the hearing.
- Breakout rooms: If you and your client are in different locations and you need to speak privately during the hearing, if the court has the capacity you can ask the judge to send you to a virtual breakout room, where you can have a private/unrecorded conversation. This also can be done when multiple lawyers representing a single party or lawyers of different parties want to consult privately during a hearing. Alternatively, parties can mute themselves and briefly communicate with each other off-line.
- Demeanor: Conduct yourself in the hearing just as you would if you were in court. Address the judge not the other parties. The usual back and forth is not as easy so be prepared with a short presentation. At the same time, there is sometimes a sound delay, so be aware if the judge is trying to ask you a question. Finally, wear court appropriate attire.
The sudden switch to virtual hearings has required patience and a touch of ingenuity. In the end, virtual hearings can only work if we all accept and adjust to this new way of conducting court business, and if we commit to taking the necessary steps, including technology upgrades and individual training.
Judge Hélène Kazanjian has served as an Associate Justice of the Superior Court since 2016. Previously she served as the Chief of the Trial Division at the Massachusetts Attorney General’s Office, and as an Assistant United States Attorney in Washington, D.C. and Maine.
by Jessie J. Rossman
In this age of increasing government monitoring of citizens in public spaces, the use of automated license plate readers (ALPRs) by law enforcement agencies has significantly increased the capacity for government surveillance of Massachusetts drivers on the roads and streets. A recent case decided by the Supreme Judicial Court suggests some limits on this surveillance.
ALPR systems capture and retain photographs of every license plate number that comes into view, along with the time, date and location. These systems can retain millions of historical records for months or years on end, and send real-time alerts on any license plate number entered into a “hot list.” According to one recent national survey, in 2016 and 2017 alone 173 law enforcement agencies scanned a total of 2.5 billion license plates.
In Commonwealth v. McCarthy, 484 Mass. 493 (2020), the Supreme Judicial Court addressed ALPRs for the first time. Although the Court affirmed the denial of defendant Jason McCarthy’s motion to suppress the warrantless search of data from four fixed ALPR units that captured information about his vehicle, the Court made clear that it would reach a different conclusion in cases involving more pervasive ALPR systems.
McCarthy joins a growing line of SJC and United States Supreme Court cases addressing the privacy implications of evolving surveillance technology. The Fourth Amendment of the United States Constitution and Article 14 of the Massachusetts Declaration of Rights protect an individual’s reasonable expectations of privacy from warrantless government intrusion. Technology has dramatically increased police officers’ surveillance capacity, overcoming the practical constraints and civilian oversight that historically checked such powers, and in doing so, has provided access to categories of information previously unknowable.
Mindful of these dangers, the SJC and SCOTUS have responded to ensure scientific advancements do not destroy traditional expectations of privacy. As the SJC emphasized in Commonwealth v. Almonor, 482 Mass. 35, 41 (2019), “both this Court and the United States Supreme Court have been careful to guard against the power of technology to shrink the realm of guaranteed privacy by emphasizing that privacy rights cannot be left at the mercy of advancing technology but rather must be preserved and protected as new technologies are adopted and applied by law enforcement.” Reflecting this understanding, the highest courts in the Commonwealth and the country have held that the police must obtain a warrant based on probable cause to conduct long-term GPS tracking of a car (Commonwealth v. Rousseau, 465 Mass. 372 (2013) and Commonwealth v. Connolly, 454 Mass. 808 (2009)), to obtain more than six hours of historical cell site location information (CSLI) from a cellphone, (Carpenter v. United States, 138 S. Ct. 2206 (2018), Commonwealth v. Augustine, 467 Mass. 230 (2014), and Commonwealth v. Estabrook, 472 Mass. 852 (2015)), and to use electronic surveillance of a cellphone to obtain real-time location information (Almonor).
McCarthy applied these established principles to a different surveillance-technology: ALPRs. Since 2015, the Massachusetts State Police has operated four ALPRs on the Sagamore and Bourne Bridges. Their cameras automatically feed images into a database maintained by the Executive Office of Public Safety and Security (EOPSS). As part of a narcotics investigation, the Barnstable Police Department searched for the appearance of McCarthy’s license plate in historical and real-time ALPR data from these four cameras without obtaining a warrant. In his motion to suppress, McCarthy argued that this warrantless access violated his constitutionally protected reasonable expectations of privacy, while the District Attorney suggested that art. 14 and the Fourth Amendment did not apply to these images because McCarthy knowingly exposed them to the public. Denying the motion, Superior Court Judge Robert Rufo opined, “[p]erhaps the defendants’ argument would be stronger if the ALPR Hot List was set to issue an Alert every time McCarthy’s vehicle passed any of the ALPR cameras installed at a multitude of locations statewide,” before noting that, “such a scenario is not in keeping with the facts before this court[.]”
The SJC took Judge Rufo’s reasoning one-step further. It affirmed that accessing ALPR data from “four cameras placed at two fixed locations on the ends of the Bourne and Sagamore bridges” did not trigger constitutional protections. But the Court went on to emphasize “[w]ith enough cameras in enough locations, the historic location data from an ALPR system in Massachusetts would invade a reasonable expectation of privacy and would constitute a search for constitutional purposes.” While the SJC did not demarcate the specific threshold that would require a warrant, it did provide some helpful guidance.
First, applying case law developed through cases involving GPS and CSLI, the SJC made clear that its precedents were anchored not in the particular type of technology used to conduct surveillance, but in the type of information collected via that technology. To that end, the SJC confirmed that technology which allows the police to “travel back in time,” obtain “real-time location data,” or conduct surveillance for a period of time that “drastically exceeds what would have been possible with traditional law enforcement methods,” will trigger constitutional protections.
Second, the SJC set forth some guideposts for future ALPR cases. It noted that EOPSS’ year-long retention period for ALPR data “certainly is long enough to warrant constitutional protection.” It also indicated that even a limited number of ALPRs may still trigger constitutional protections when they are placed “near constitutionally sensitive locations” such as “the home [or] a place of worship” that “reveal more of an individual’s life and associations[.]”
Finally, Chief Justice Gants’ concurrence proposed an “analytical framework that might prove useful in future cases.” He suggested a warrant could be required for ALPR data that created a sufficiently detailed picture to be “the type of mosaic that would constitute a search,” and reasonable suspicion could be required for ALPR data that was less revealing of the individual’s movements “but greater than the four location points established in this record[.]” This “would mean that law enforcement agencies would need to obtain court authorization more often before retrieving targeted individual historical locational information in their possession because queries that would not require a showing of probable cause might still require a showing of reasonable suspicion.” Chief Justice Gants also warned that, “unless the law enforcement agency has sought prior court approval to search for particularized locational data in its possession, the agency will have to preserve each and every search query for the retrieval of historical locational information regarding a targeted individual” and make it “available in discovery when sought by the defendant.”
McCarthy does not provide all of the answers regarding ALPRs. Additional clarity will ultimately come from future Court cases or new legislation to confer explicit privacy protection on data gathered by ALPRs and other caches of aggregated personal information. McCarthy already makes clear, however, that ALPR data can—and at a certain threshold does—trigger constitutional protections and the warrant requirement.
Jessie J. Rossman is a staff attorney at the American Civil Liberties Union of Massachusetts (ACLUM) and one of the authors of an amicus brief submitted in Commonwealth v. McCarthy on behalf of ACLUM, the Committee for Public Counsel Services, the Electronic Frontier Foundation, and the Massachusetts Association of Criminal Defense Lawyers.
by Eric A. Haskell
As great quantities of data have come to repose in electronic devices, obtaining access to the content of those devices has come to be greatly important to law enforcement in many criminal investigations. It sometimes happens that law enforcement has a right—typically pursuant to a search warrant—to search for data on a particular device, but is prevented from doing so by the presence of a password or other “key” that makes the data inaccessible or unreadable. Law enforcement sometimes can bypass the password on its own. See generally O.S. Kerr & B. Schneider, Encryption Workarounds, 106 Geo. L.J. 989 (2018). But, other times, the only practical way law enforcement can execute the search is with the help of a person who knows the password. Because the person who knows the password often is the suspect, their help generally is available only if compelled by court order. Such “compelled decryption” implicates not only the constitutional requirement that the search of the device be “reasonable,” but also the suspect’s constitutional privilege against compelled self-incrimination.
Basic Principles of the Privilege Against Self-Incrimination
The Fifth Amendment to the federal Constitution provides that “[n]o person . . . shall be compelled . . . to be a witness against himself . . . .” Article 12 of the Massachusetts Declaration of Rights similarly provides that “[n]o subject shall . . . be compelled to accuse, or furnish evidence against himself.” Decisional law has interpreted these privileges to bar the government from: (1) compelling a person; (2) to make a testimonial communication; (3) that is incriminating. Fisher v. United States, 425 U.S. 391, 408 (1976); Commonwealth v. Burgess, 426 Mass. 206, 218 (1997).
The privilege does not protect against compelled provision of a physical identifier such as fingerprints, a blood sample, or a handwriting exemplar. See generally Schmerber v. California, 384 U.S. 757, 767 (1966); Commonwealth v. Brennan, 386 Mass. 772, 776-83 (1982). This is because such identifiers do not “extort . . . information from the accused” or “attempt to force him to disclose the contents of his own mind,” and thus are not viewed as sufficiently “testimonial” for the privilege to attach. Doe v. United States, 487 U.S. 201, 210-11 (1988). Nor does the privilege shield documents from being disclosed pursuant to compulsion, even if their contents are incriminating. United States v. Hubbell, 530 U.S. 27, 35-36 (2000). This is because “the creation of those documents was not ‘compelled’ within the meaning of the privilege.” Id.
The privilege may apply where the mere act of producing a document or a thing is “testimonial” in that it implies an incriminating assertion of fact, such as: that the demanded object exists; that the object produced is authentic; or that the suspect possesses or controls the object. Fisher, 425 U.S. at 410; Commonwealth v. Hughes, 380 Mass. 583, 588-93 (1980). But this “act of production” doctrine does not apply where law enforcement already has independent evidence of the incriminating assertions that the act of production would imply. In other words, if the act of production “adds little or nothing to the sum total of [law enforcement’s] information,” then any facts implied by the act of production are “foregone conclusions” and the privilege does not apply. Fisher, 425 U.S. at 411; Hughes, 380 Mass. at 592.
Commonwealth v. Gelfgatt
In Gelfgatt, the defendant was arrested in connection with a complex fraud scheme that involved the creation and recording of forged mortgage assignments. Commonwealth v. Gelfgatt, 468 Mass. 512, 514-15 (2014). On the day of his arrest, investigators seized several encrypted devices from his home and also interviewed the defendant, who asserted that he was capable of decrypting them. Id. at 516-17. After the defendant was charged with forgery, uttering, and attempted larceny, the Commonwealth filed a motion seeking to compel him to enter the passwords into the encrypted devices. Id. at 517-18 & n.10. The Superior Court denied the motion and reported the case to the SJC.
The SJC determined that the contents of the devices were not privileged on self-incrimination grounds because they had been “voluntarily created by the defendant in the course of his real estate dealings.” Id. at 522 n.13. The SJC then held that the defendant’s act of entering the passwords would be a testimonial act of production, because it would implicitly acknowledge his “ownership and control of the computers and their contents.” Id. at 522. But, the SJC continued, the defendant had already acknowledged as much in his statement to the police; thus, any facts implied by his entering the passwords were foregone conclusions. Id. at 523-24. In doing so, the SJC commented that the “foregone conclusion” exception would apply where law enforcement already was aware of “(1) the existence of the evidence demanded; (2) the possession or control of that evidence by the defendant; and (3) the authenticity of the evidence.” Id. at 522 (citing Fisher, 425 U.S. at 410-13).
Commonwealth v. Jones
In Jones, the defendant was arrested and later charged with sex trafficking and deriving support from prostitution. Commonwealth v. Jones, 481 Mass. 540, 543-44 (2019). At the time of his arrest, he possessed a cellular telephone that, the police learned from other sources, he had used to facilitate prostitution transactions. Id. The Commonwealth filed a motion seeking to compel him to decrypt the telephone (although, as discussed below, the motion imprecisely described what it sought to compel him to do). The motion judge demurred, interpreting Gelfgatt to require the Commonwealth to establish “(1) the existence of the evidence demanded; (2) the possession or control of that evidence by the defendant; and (3) the authenticity of the evidence,” and concluding that the Commonwealth had failed to demonstrate those propositions with “reasonable particularity.” Id. at 545, 548, 553 n.14. The Commonwealth subsequently made a renewed motion, furnishing additional evidence that, it argued, showed that the defendant’s knowledge of the telephone’s password was a foregone conclusion. Id. But the motion judge declined to consider the newly-furnished evidence without a showing that it had been unknown or unavailable to the Commonwealth at the time of the initial motion. Id. at 545, 558-59. The Commonwealth then sought relief before a single justice of the SJC, who reserved and reported the case to the full Court on three questions: (1) what burden of proof the Commonwealth must bear to establish the “foregone conclusion” exception to the privilege under Gelfgatt; (2) whether the Commonwealth had met that burden; and (3) whether the Commonwealth was required, in a renewed Gelfgatt motion, to show that any newly-furnished evidence had been unknown or unavailable at the time of the initial motion.
Before answering those questions, the SJC addressed a threshold issue: What factual assertions must the Commonwealth demonstrate are “foregone conclusions” in order to obtain a Gelfgatt order? The SJC answered that, when the Commonwealth seeks to compel a defendant to enter a password into a device, “the only fact conveyed . . . is that the defendant knows the password, and can therefore access the device.” Id. at 547-48. The Court rejected the proposition that the compelled entry of a password also asserts the defendant’s ownership and control of the device, observing that “individuals may very well know the password to an electronic device that is owned and controlled by another person.” Id. at 547 n.8. Accordingly, the SJC concluded, the Commonwealth may invoke the “foregone conclusion” exception simply by showing that the defendant knows the password. Id.
Turning to the reported questions and relying on article 12, the SJC held that the Commonwealth must make that showing beyond a reasonable doubt. Id. at 551-55. Applying that standard, the Court found that the Commonwealth had shown the defendant’s knowledge of the password beyond a reasonable doubt, where: (1) the defendant possessed the telephone at the time of his arrest; (2) one month before his arrest, when asked by the police for his number, the defendant had provided the telephone’s number; (3) a woman told the police that the defendant used the telephone to facilitate prostitution transactions; (4) the telephone’s subscriber records were associated with a second number that was associated with the defendant; and (5) the telephone’s cellular site location information (CSLI) placed it in the same locations at the same times as another telephone that was confirmed to belong to the defendant. Id. at 555-58 (“[S]hort of a direct admission, or an observation of the defendant entering the password himself and seeing the phone unlock, it is hard to imagine more conclusive evidence of the defendant’s knowledge of the [telephone’s] password.”). Finally, the Court found that the motion judge abused his discretion by declining to consider evidence presented in the Commonwealth’s renewed motion that was not shown to have been unknown or unavailable at the time of the initial motion. Id. at 558-61. The Court observed that a Gelfgatt motion, “[m]uch like a search warrant application,” is an “investigatory tool,” the factual support for which may evolve over the course of an investigation. Id. at 559-60.
The Future of Compelled Decryption
Although Gelfgatt and Jones mark the SJC as a national leader on compelled decryption issues, important questions remain to be answered.
- Non-Gelfgatt Decryption Procedures
The order in Gelfgatt required the defendant to appear at a digital forensic lab, to enter the password into each device, and “immediately [to] move on . . . .” 468 Mass. at 517 n.10. It also forbade the Commonwealth from viewing or recording the password entered by the defendant. Id. In contrast, the order sought in Jones was “not perfectly clear” as to what it would require the defendant to do, but “suggested that it sought to require the defendant to make a written disclosure of the actual password.” 481 Mass. at 546 n.9. Acknowledging the possible infirmity with such a procedure, the SJC construed the order sought in Jones as tracking the one sought in Gelfgatt, and approved its issuance on that basis. Id.
The SJC was correct to hesitate when faced with a request to compel the defendant to disclose his password to law enforcement. This is because the compelled disclosure of a password is not a testimonial act of production to which the “foregone conclusion” exception might apply: Rather, it is a “pure” testimonial statement to which the “foregone conclusion” exception cannot apply. See id. (acknowledging as much in dicta); see also United States v. Oloyede, Nos. 17-4102, 17-4186, 17-4191, & 17-4207, — F.3d —, 2019 WL 3432459 (4th Cir. Jul. 31, 2019) (distinguishing between suspect’s typing password into device and giving password to law enforcement).
Furthermore, in both Gelfgatt and Jones, the suspect was not compelled to produce any particular files from the device after decrypting it; that was left to the analyst executing the warrant. In Jones, the SJC highlighted this aspect of the decryption procedure, observing that “the analysis would have been different” if the suspect had been compelled to produce particular files, because doing so “would implicitly testify to the existence of the files, [the suspect’s] control over them, and their authenticity.” 481 Mass. at 548 n.10. In that situation, the Commonwealth would have been obligated to prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that those additional assertions were foregone conclusions before it could obtain a corresponding Gelfgatt order. Cf. Hubbell, 530 U.S. at 44-45 (act of production is privileged where grand jury subpoena would require recipient to produce documents whose existence and location were previously unknown to government).
- Cloud-Based Storage
Gelfgatt and Jones both involved a tangible device that was in the physical possession of law enforcement. But their holdings as to the privilege against compelled self-incrimination can also be applied to a request to compel decryption of a cloud-based digital space. Such a request would follow the same analysis, with law enforcement required to: (1) have a right to search the cloud location; (2) show beyond a reasonable doubt that the suspect knows the password to access the cloud location, thereby availing itself of the “foregone conclusion” exception; and (3) allow the suspect to input the password in a way that law enforcement does not see or record.
- Biometric Keys
In both Gelfgatt and Jones, the sought-after “key” was an alphanumeric password. But a key can also take the form of a biometric such as a facial scan, retinal scan, or fingerprint. Biometric keys introduce two novel questions: (1) is compelled biometric decryption properly viewed as a testimonial act of production, and thus within the scope of the privilege against compelled self-incrimination?; and, if so, (2) what must law enforcement show is a “foregone conclusion” before it can compel such biometric decryption?
Courts have answered the first question both ways. Some have viewed the compelled biometric decryption as no different than compelled provision of a traditional physical identifier, and thus nontestimonial. See, e.g., State v. Diamond, 905 N.W.2d 870, 875-76 (Minn. 2018); In re Search of [Redacted], 317 F. Supp. 3d 523, 535-37 (D.D.C. 2018); In re Search Warrant Application for [Redacted], 279 F. Supp. 3d 800, 803-05 (N.D. Ill. 2017); Commonwealth v. Baust, 89 Va. Cir. 267, 2014 WL 10355635 (Va. Cir. Ct. Oct. 28, 2014). Others have reasoned that, unlike providing a physical identifier, compelled biometric decryption implies factual assertions about the suspect’s relationship with the device. See, e.g., Seo v. State, 109 N.E.3d 418 (Ind. App. 2018), vacated and transferred to Ind. Supreme Court, 112 N.E.3d 1082 (Ind. 2018); In re Application for Search Warrant, 236 F. Supp. 3d 1066, 1073-74 (N.D. Ill. 2017); In re Search of a Residence in Oakland, Cal., 354 F. Supp. 3d 1010, 1015-16 (N.D. Cal. 2019); In re Search of White Google Pixel 3 XL Cellphone, No. 1:19-mj-10441, 2019 WL 2082709 at *3-4 (D. Idaho May 8, 2019). No Massachusetts court has yet issued a published opinion on this issue.
In this author’s view, law enforcement should be prepared for a Massachusetts court to depart from the traditional treatment of compelled provision of a physical identifier, and instead to view compelled biometric decryption as a testimonial act of production. Compelled provision of a physical identifier has been deemed nontestimonial not because it does not assert facts, but rather because the facts that it does assert are so “self-evident” as to be “[in]sufficiently testimonial for purposes of the privilege.” Fisher, 425 U.S. at 411 (compelled handwriting exemplar is nontestimonial for purposes of the privilege, despite its asserting both that handwriting belongs to suspect and that suspect is literate); accord Commonwealth v. Nadworny, 396 Mass. 342, 363-64 (1985) (fact that defendant is right-handed, unlike handwriting exemplar itself, is testimonial, although “trivial”). But, when law enforcement seeks to compel biometric decryption, its object is not merely provision of the biometric standing alone: If it were, the method of capturing the biometric would not matter, and investigators could just as well take a photograph of the suspect’s face, or ink-and-paper impressions of his fingerprints. Rather, the object of compelled biometric decryption is the interaction of the biometric, in a pre-programmed fashion, with a particular device. The successful interaction of biometric and device, in contrast to the biometric standing alone, asserts at least one fact that neither is trivial nor is self-evident from the biometric—specifically, it asserts that the suspect’s biometric is capable of decrypting the device. See In re Application for Search Warrant, 236 F. Supp. 3d at 1073. In other words, compelled biometric decryption asserts facts that are basically similar to those asserted by compelled decryption using a password.
This reasoning simultaneously answers both the first question of whether compelled biometric decryption should be viewed as a testimonial act of production (it should) and the second question of what law enforcement must establish is a “foregone conclusion” before it can compel such a biometric. If the assertion implied by the compelled biometric decryption is that the suspect’s biometric is capable of decrypting the device, then, pursuant to Jones, that is what the Commonwealth must prove beyond a reasonable doubt. As in Jones, the Commonwealth can do so through either direct evidence (e.g., that the suspect actually used his biometric to decrypt the device) or circumstantial evidence (e.g., that the suspect used the device in a manner indicating that he must have had the ability to do so).
As a practical matter, the utility of compelled biometric decryption to law enforcement may be circumscribed. This is because some biometric-based security technologies—including Apple’s popular fingerprint-based Touch ID—self-disable if, since the last time the device was unlocked, too much time has passed, or the device has been restarted or has lost power, or multiple attempts to unlock the device have been unsuccessful. See About Touch ID Advanced Security Technology. In addition, law enforcement may have limited ability to both maintain power to a biometrically locked device and to secure it from network activity (i.e., to minimize the risk of remote wiping or deletion of data). Perhaps for these reasons, federal practice has often encountered requests to compel biometric decryption made as part of an application for an omnibus search warrant to also authorize law enforcement: (1) to seize the device; and (2) to search the device for particular data after it has been seized and decrypted using the compelled biometric. See, e.g., In re Search of a Residence in Oakland, 354 F. Supp. 3d at 1013; In re Search of [Redacted], 317 F. Supp. 3d at 525-26; In re Search Warrant Application for [Redacted], 279 F. Supp. 3d at 801-02; In re Application for Search Warrant, 236 F. Supp. 3d at 1066-67.
- Ex Parte Gelfgatt Proceedings
Gelfgatt and Jones each arose in the posture of a motion filed in a criminal case in the Superior Court. This posture suggests that, in those cases, any evidence contained on the encrypted device was not necessary to support charges against the defendant. But some investigations will require a compelled decryption before charges can be brought. It thus seems likely that some Gelfgatt motions will arise in an ex parte posture.
The Appeals Court has already addressed a Gelfgatt motion arising out of a grand jury investigation, concerning a device that the police had previously obtained a warrant to search. See In re Grand Jury Investigation, 92 Mass. App. Ct. 531 (2017), further appellate review denied, 478 Mass. 1109 (2018). The Commonwealth filed a sealed Gelfgatt motion in the Superior Court and attached documents containing grand jury evidence that, the Commonwealth argued, satisfied its burden under the “foregone conclusion” exception. Id. at 532. The Commonwealth served the motion, but not the attachments, on counsel for the individual whom it sought to compel. The Appeals Court affirmed the Superior Court’s issuance of a Gelfgatt order, concluding that the attachments showed that it was a foregone conclusion that the individual knew the password, among other things. Id. at 534-35; see also Burgess, 426 Mass. at 215-16 (Fifth Amendment applies in same way to grand jury witness/target as to indicted defendant). The Appeals Court also specifically affirmed the non-disclosure of the attachments to counsel, reasoning that grand jury materials are secret, and that both the Superior Court judge and the appellate court could review the attachments on an ex parte basis. Id. at 535-36.
It is a small step from In re Grand Jury Investigation to think that at least some Gelfgatt orders may be sought as part of a search warrant application. Indeed, search warrant applications bear similarities to the motions sustained in Gelfgatt, Jones, and/or In re Grand Jury Investigation: They are ex parte, they rely on affidavits rather than live testimony, and they form an “investigatory tool that aids investigators in obtaining material and relevant evidence related to a defendant’s conduct.” Jones, 481 Mass. at 559. As noted, search warrant applications seeking compelled biometric decryption have appeared in federal practice. See, e.g., In re Search of a Residence in Oakland, 354 F. Supp. 3d at 1015-16; In re Search of [Redacted], 317 F. Supp. 3d at 535-37; In re Search Warrant Application for [Redacted], 279 F. Supp. 3d at 803-05; In re Application for Search Warrant, 236 F. Supp. 3d at 1073-74. Nonetheless, a search warrant application seeking a Gelfgatt order in state court would entail innovations to Massachusetts search warrant practice that the applicant must be prepared to address.
The applicant must be prepared to show that the act sought to be compelled is of a type of evidence for which the Legislature has authorized issuance of a search warrant. See G.L. c. 276, § 1 (enumerating categories of evidence that may be sought by search warrant). Compelled biometric decryption likely will fall into that category. See, e.g., In re Lavigne, 418 Mass. 831, 834-35 (1994) (statute authorizes use of warrant to procure bodily sample from suspect); cf. In re Search of [Redacted], 317 F. Supp. 3d at 540 n.13 (declining to decide whether Fed. R. Crim. P. 41 authorizes issuance of warrant to compel biometric decryption, and instead issuing warrant under All Writs Act, 28 U.S.C. § 1651). Compelled decryption using a password, on the other hand, might not.
The applicant must also be prepared to show that the application does not trigger an adversarial hearing, which the SJC has required as a prerequisite for issuance of warrants for some especially invasive searches. E.g., Lavigne, 418 Mass. at 835 (warrant to extract blood sample from suspect must be preceded by adversarial hearing at which court can weigh intrusiveness of procedure against need for evidence); Commonwealth v. Banville, 457 Mass. 530, 539-40 (2010) (warrant to obtain suspect’s DNA using buccal swab would have been preceded by adversarial hearing if it had occurred in Massachusetts). So long as compelled biometric decryption “[does] not involve penetration into [the suspect’s] body,” Banville, 457 Mass. at 539 n.2, it likely will not trigger such a hearing. See also Commonwealth v. Miles, 420 Mass. 67, 83 (1995) (ex parte order compelling suspect to appear and have his body inspected for poison ivy need not be preceded by hearing).
The applicant must take care to particularly identify the person whose biometric is to be compelled, perhaps by including a photograph and/or detailed physical description of that person in the warrant application papers. This stems in part from the “particularity” requirement applicable to any search warrant. See G.L. c. 276, § 2. It also follows from this author’s view (above) that compelled biometric decryption may be analyzed under the “foregone conclusion” exception to the “act of production” privilege: If that view is accepted, the identity of the person whose biometric is to be compelled would form one aspect of the “foregone conclusion” that, under Jones, the Commonwealth must prove beyond a reasonable doubt. The need for particularity in identifying the person whose biometric is to be compelled likely precludes law enforcement from obtaining a warrant to compel “any person present” at the warrant execution to apply his/her biometrics to a device. Cf. In re Search of a Residence in Oakland, 354 F. Supp. 3d at 1014 (denying such authorization); In re Application for Search Warrant, 236 F. Supp. 3d at 1068-70 (same).
And the applicant should be explicit about the different burdens it must sustain to obtain such a warrant. That a crime has occurred and that evidence related to the crime reasonably may be expected to be found in a particular place—requirements for issuance of any search warrant—need be demonstrated only to the level of probable cause. That it is a foregone conclusion that a particular person’s biometric is capable of decrypting the device, however, must be demonstrated beyond a reasonable doubt in accordance with Jones. The applicant should consider explicitly articulating the applicable burdens in the warrant application papers, for the benefit of the reviewing judicial officer.
Eric A. Haskell is an Assistant Attorney General and a member of the BBJ Board of Editors. This article represents the opinions and legal conclusions of its author and not necessarily those of the Office of the Attorney General. Opinions of the Attorney General are formal documents rendered pursuant to specific statutory authority.
 To ensure that even the act of placing a finger on the screen of a device does not disclose the suspect’s thoughts, the orders in some of those cases have required the police—not the suspect—to select the finger that the suspect must place on the screen. See In re Search of [Redacted], 317 F. Supp. 3d at 537, 539; In re Search Warrant Application for [Redacted], 279 F. Supp. 3d at 804.
 It also strongly implies that the suspect was the person who previously programmed the device to decrypt in response to his biometric; unlike an alphanumeric password, a biometric is unique and non-transferable. Contrast Jones, 481 Mass. at 547 n.8 (suspect’s knowledge of password to device does not necessarily imply that he owns or controls device, because password can be transferred between persons).
 An additional showing might be required to authorize the suspect’s temporary detention for the purpose of compelling his biometric, although that showing may well be subsumed by the two discussed in the body text. See Hayes v. Florida, 470 U.S. 811, 816-17 (1985) (holding that police cannot transport suspect to station for fingerprinting without probable cause or prior judicial authorization, but suggesting that seizure of suspect in field for fingerprinting may be permissible based on less than probable cause in some circumstances); see also In re Search of [Redacted], 317 F. Supp. 3d at 532-33 (applying Hayes to authorize warrant to detain person for compelled biometric decryption if: “(1) the procedure is carried out with dispatch and in the immediate vicinity of the premises to be searched, and if, at time of the compulsion, the government has (2) reasonable suspicion that the suspect has committed a criminal act that is the subject matter of the warrant, and (3) reasonable suspicion that the individual’s biometric features will unlock the device, that is, for example, because there is a reasonable suspicion to believe that the individual is a user of the device”); cf. Commonwealth v. Catanzaro, 441 Mass. 46, 52 (2004) (search warrant implies authority to detain occupants of premises while search is conducted).
Modern technology allows individuals to conduct an ever-increasing number of activities through websites and internet-connected smartphone apps. The proprietors of those platforms frequently make their use subject to terms and conditions, some of which—such as arbitration clauses, forum selection clauses, waivers, licenses, and indemnification provisions—carry potentially significant legal consequences. Most users will not have read the terms and, in some instances, may not have even seen the terms or any reference to them. Do these terms amount to an enforceable contract? In at least some circumstances, the answer may be “no.” Answering the question in particular cases involves fact-intensive analysis and potential evidentiary challenges. Businesses offering such platforms, and their counsel, should be aware of these complexities and take precautions to maximize the likelihood that courts will enforce their terms.
The First Circuit and the Massachusetts Appeals Court have addressed this issue in cases involving the terms and conditions of a ride-sharing app and an email account. See Cullinane v. Uber Techs., Inc., 893 F.3d. 53 (1st Cir. 2018); Ajemian v. Yahoo!, Inc., 83 Mass. App. Ct. 565 (2013). In each case, the court concluded that users were not bound by the terms and conditions. Cullinane, 893 F.3d at 64; Ajemian, 83 Mass. App. Ct. at 575-76. Both courts employed a two-part test to assess whether the terms at issue amounted to an enforceable contract, asking: (1) whether the terms were “reasonably communicated” to the user, and (2) whether the terms were accepted by the user. Ajemian, 83 Mass. App. Ct. at 574-75; Cullinane, 893 F.3d at 62 (citing Ajemian). This two-part test is consistent with the approach taken by other courts around the country. E.g., Meyer v. Uber Techs., Inc., 868 F.3d 66, 76 (2d Cir. 2017) (applying California law and articulating the test on a motion to compel arbitration as whether “the notice of the arbitration provision [contained in the terms] was reasonably conspicuous and manifestation of assent unambiguous as a matter of law.”).
A Spectrum of User Interfaces
Analysis of whether the requirements of “reasonable communication” and “acceptance” are satisfied begins with the interface presented to the user. While the possible variations are endless, interface designs tend to fall within three general categories, often referred to as “clickwrap,” “browsewrap,” and “sign-in-wrap” (sometimes called “hybridwrap”). In “clickwrap” interfaces, the user is required to take a distinct, affirmative action to indicate assent to the terms, such as checking a box or clicking a button stating “I agree.” Courts considering this category of interface generally have little trouble finding the necessary notice and assent. E.g., Wickberg v. Lyft, Inc., 356 F. Supp. 3d 179, 184 (D. Mass. 2018).
On the other end of the spectrum is “browsewrap,” where a user receives notice of the terms only by means of a link at the bottom of the webpage (often undifferentiated from other links) or buried in the menus or settings of an app. A typical browsewrap interface does not offer any notice outside of the terms themselves that the user is purportedly agreeing to be bound. Nor does it offer the user any reason to follow the link and read the terms. Courts generally find that browsewrap interfaces do not create enforceable agreements. See Ajemian, 83 Mass. App. Ct. at 576 (“[W]e have found no case where [a forum selection clause] has been enforced in a browsewrap agreement”).
The question becomes more complicated and fact-intensive in the case of “sign-in-wrap” interfaces, where the user is informed that signing in, creating an account, or taking some other specified action (but not an action distinct from the user’s intended use of the website or app) will signify assent to the terms, which are often available by following a link within or adjacent to the text of the notice. In such cases, the enforceability of the terms depends on how clearly the interface design notifies the user that he or she will be bound by taking the specified action. Compare Cullinane, 893 F.3d at 64 (finding that the design of Uber’s account creation interface did not provide adequate notice to user) with Meyer, 868 F.3d at 79 (assessing a different version of Uber’s account creation interface and finding that the design did provide adequate notice).
The Importance of Good Design
Several common design features of “sign-in-wrap” interfaces have received judicial attention in determining issues of enforceability. While courts do not demand perfection, incorporating multiple design features that promote notice of the terms and make clear the user’s manifestation of assent will increase the likelihood that the terms will be enforced.
Clearly important are the size and color of the language informing the user that proceeding will signify agreement to the terms and the link to the terms. Making these elements as large as other elements on the screen (preferably larger) and in a color that contrasts with the background so as to promote their readability will bolster the argument that the terms were reasonably communicated to the user. A perception that the notice or link is hidden in tiny or otherwise difficult-to-read font may cause a court to find that the user did not have adequate notice. Compare Meyer, 868 F.3d at 78-79 (enforcing terms where text notifying user that creating account would signify assent to the terms, although small, was clearly visible, in contrasting color on an uncluttered screen) with Cullinane, 893 F.3d at 62-64 (holding terms unenforceable in part because the notification appeared in a dark gray, small, non-bold font on a black background and because the screen contained many other elements in equal or larger font size).
The design of the interface should also make obvious to the user that the full content of the terms are available to read by following a link. See Cullinane, 893 F.3d at 63 (questioning “whether a reasonable user would have been aware that the gray rectangular box was actually a hyperlink”). Although blue underlined text may be the quintessential indicator of a hyperlink, other appearances may also be adequate, so long as they are sufficiently differentiated from the surrounding text. E.g., Wickberg v. Lyft, Inc., 356 F. Supp. 3d 179, 181 (D. Mass. 2018) (pink, non-underlined link); Selden v. Airbnb, Inc., No. 16-cv-00933 (D.D.C. Nov. 1, 2016) (red, non-underlined links).
The placement of the notice and link are also important. If the notice and link appear above the button a user clicks to proceed, a user reading from top to bottom would encounter these elements, and have an opportunity to investigate the linked terms, before encountering the button to proceed. Courts have also enforced terms where the notice and link are placed below, but in reasonable proximity to, the relevant button. Compare Meyer, 868 F.3d at 78 (finding that placement of the notification text and link directly below the relevant button, immediately visible without any scrolling, contributed to enforceability of terms) with Specht v. Netscape Communs. Corp., 306 F.3d 17, 23 (2d Cir. 2002) (not enforcing terms where reference to the terms would have been visible “only if [the user] had scrolled down to the next screen”); see also McKee v. Audible, Inc., No. CV 17-1941-GW(Ex), 2017 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 174278, at *27-28 (C.D. Cal. July 17, 2017) (placement of notice and link to terms at the bottom of the screen “approximately 30-40% of the screen’s length below” the button to proceed, separated by a horizontal line, contributed to inadequate notice).
Placing the notice and link below the relevant button creates another potential obstacle to enforcement of the terms: if the screen prompts the user to enter information such as a username, password, or email address, users on a smartphone or tablet may see a software keyboard appear on the screen when they begin to enter the requested information. Because this software keyboard generally appears at the bottom of the screen, it may obscure the notice and link. At least one court has found that this contributed to lack of the necessary notice, see McKee, 2017 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 174278, at *27-28, although it is reasonable to argue that what matters is what the user sees before he or she engages the keyboard.
Courts also give attention to the particular words used to inform the user that proceeding will signify assent to the terms. If the user is not required to take any action to assent to the terms other than the actions inherent in the ordinary use of the website or app (such as signing in or creating an account), the consequences of that action should be clear to the user. One way to accomplish this is to match the language of the notice to the action the user takes. For example, if the user is required to click a button labelled “Create Account,” the notice should inform the user that “by clicking ‘Create Account’ you indicate acceptance of our terms and conditions.” Where the words used for the notice do not parallel the description of the action, a court may question whether it is sufficiently clear to a user that he or she is assenting to the terms by taking that action. See, e.g., TopstepTrader, LLC v. OneUp Trader, LLC, No. 17 C 4412, (N.D. Ill. Apr. 18, 2018) (declining to enforce terms where user clicked a button labelled “Sign Up,” accompanied by a statement reading “I agree to the terms and conditions,” because the website “gave the user no explicit warning that by clicking the ‘Sign Up’ button, the user agreed to the [t]erms”); see also McKee, 2017 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 174278, at *22-23 (identifying lack of parallel wording as a factor weighing against enforcement of the terms); but see Meyer, 868 F.3d at 80 (“Although the warning text used the term ‘creat[e]’ instead of ‘register,’ as the button was marked, the physical proximity of the notice to the register button and the placement of the language in the registration flow make clear to the user that the linked terms pertain to the action the user is about to take.”).
Finally, the timing and context in which the terms are presented can also contribute to the enforceability of the terms. Several courts have observed that, where the terms are presented in conjunction with a purchase or the creation of an account involving a transactional relationship, an average user is more likely to understand that the transaction or relationship will be subject to the terms. See Meyer, 868 F.3d at 80 (“The transactional context of the parties’ dealings reinforces our conclusion.”); Selden v. Airbnb, Inc., No. 16-cv-00933 (D.D.C. Nov. 1, 2016) (“The act of contracting for consumer services online is now commonplace in the American economy. Any reasonably-active adult consumer will almost certainly appreciate that by signing up for a particular service, he or she is accepting the terms and conditions of the provider.”).
Litigating the question of whether a user is bound by the terms of a website or app can present challenges beyond analyzing the interface type and design choices. Because the party seeking to enforce the terms bears the burden to prove adequate notice and manifestation of assent, that party (often the proprietor of the website or app) will need to present evidence of what the user actually saw and did. Where that party is seeking to enforce an arbitration or forum selection clause, it will likely want to satisfy this burden early in the case, before conducting discovery.
The proponent of the terms thus should maintain records of when the user accessed the website or app and what it looked like at those times. Because websites and apps are occasionally redesigned, and terms are occasionally updated, simply presenting screenshots of the current version of the website or app is unlikely to satisfy the burden of establishing what the user saw and did. Instead, the proponent of the terms must be prepared to establish when the user took the relevant action on the website or app, what the operative version of the website or app looked like at that time, and which version of its terms were presented to the user. Providing such evidence may be particularly challenging depending on the amount of time that has passed and the ability of the proponent to access or recreate historic versions of the website or app.
Presenting evidence of how the interface appeared to a particular user may be further complicated if the appearance varied based on the device used to access it. A website, for example, may appear differently when viewed on a laptop or desktop computer screen than when viewed on a smartphone. The differing screen size may affect what is immediately visible to the user without scrolling and the relative conspicuousness of the notice and terms vis-à-vis other elements. In the case of smartphone users, there might also be meaningful variation in the appearance of the interface depending on the size of the phone used. See, e.g., Cullinane, 893 F.3d at 56 n.3 (noting the 3.5 inch screen size of the iPhone used to access the app in question and reproducing the screenshots in the opinion to correspond to that size). Inability to identify the device used could prevent early enforcement of an arbitration clause or forum selection clause and require further discovery. Conversely, the party challenging the terms might argue insufficient notice by offering competing evidence as to what he or she saw when using the website or app. For example, even if the proponent can establish that the user accessed the website on a desktop computer, the user may have done so in a browser window that occupied less than the full screen, changing the appearance of the interface and potentially the adequacy of the notice. A user will not, however, avoid enforcement of the terms simply by asserting that he or she does not recall seeing notice of the terms or did not read the terms.
Given the potential consequences of enforcement of terms, such as application of an arbitration clause foreclosing a class action, challenges to enforcement will likely continue to arise. Prudent counsel will do well to guard against such challenges through recommending careful design choices and electronic records retention.
John A. Shope is a partner in the Boston office of Foley Hoag, where he specializes in class action defense, consumer law, and commercial arbitration. He also serves as an arbitrator for the AAA and CPR.
Kevin J. Conroy is a litigation associate Boston office of Foley Hoag. Kevin focuses on complex business disputes and shareholder disputes.
by José P. Sierra
During the Spring and Fall legal conference seasons, emails addressing “data breaches,” “improving cyber defenses,” and “what you (or your general counsel/board) need to know about cyber security/insurance,” hit our inboxes on an almost weekly basis. Although it took some time, everybody now wants a slice of hot “cyber” pie, and law firms have been quick to jump on the cyber security bandwagon and form cyber-practices. What hasn’t gotten the same rapt attention of conference organizers, tech vendors, and the legal community is the coming age of artificial intelligence, or “AI.” There are at least two reasons for this. First, although large-scale deployment of self-driving cars is just over the horizon, most of the bigger, life-changing AI products are still years away. Second, most laypeople (including lawyers) do not understand what AI is or appreciate the enormous impact that AI technology will have on the economy and society. As a result, those in the “vendor” community (which includes lawyers) have yet to determine how their clients and their clients’ industries will be affected, and how they themselves can profit from the AI revolution.
AI and What It Will Mean for Everyone
AI may be defined as a machine or super computer that can simulate human intelligence by acquiring and adding new content to its memory, learning from and correcting its prior mistakes, and even enhancing its own architecture, so that it can continue to add content and learn. A few years ago, AI development and its celebrated successes were limited to machines out-playing humans in games like chess (e.g., IBM’s Watson beating world chess champion Gary Kasparov and winning on the show, Jeopardy). And while most of us are now familiar with “intelligent” assistants like “Siri,” “Alexa,” and other “smart” devices, for the average person, the full import of AI’s capabilities and potential hasn’t been grasped (though the advent of autonomous cars has given us some glimpse of things to come).
Already, AI can do many things that people can do (and in some cases better). In addition to driving cars, AI can detect and eliminate credit card payment fraud before it happens, trade stocks, file insurance claims, discover new uses for existing drugs, and detect specific types of cancer. Then there is the work that most people think can be done only by humans, but which AI can do today, including: (1) predicting the outcome of human rights trials in the European Court of Human Rights (with 79% accuracy); (2) doing legal work – numerous law firms have “hired” IBM’s Ross to handle a variety of legal tasks, including bankruptcy work, M&A due diligence, contracts review, etc.; and, more disturbing than possibly replacing lawyers, (3) engaging in artistic/creative activities, like oil canvas painting, poetry, music composition, and screenplay writing. In short, almost no realm of human endeavor – manual, intellectual, or artistic – will be unaffected by AI.
What AI Will Mean for Lawyers
Some legal futurists think that AI simply will mean fewer jobs for lawyers, as “law-bots” begin to take over basic tasks. Other analysts focus on the productivity and cost-savings potential that AI technology will provide. Two other considerations of the impending AI revolution merit discussion: revenue opportunities and the role lawyers can and should play in shaping AI’s future.
How AI May Shape the Legal Economy
Some of the most profitable practice areas in an AI-driven economy are likely to be:
- Patent Prosecution and Litigation. This one should be obvious and already has taken off. Fortunes will be made or broken based on which companies can secure and defend the IP for the best AI technologies.
- M&A. Promising AI start-ups with good IP will become targets for acquisition by tech-giants and other large corporations that want to dominate the 21st century economy.
- Antitrust. Imagine that Uber, once it has gone driverless, decides to buy Greyhound and then merges with Maersk or DHL shipping, which then merges with United Airlines. How markets are (re)defined in an AI-driven economy should keep the antitrust bar very busy.
- Labor and Employment. AI technology has the potential to disrupt and replace human labor on a large-scale. To take just one example, in an AI-created driverless world, millions of car, taxi, bus, and truck drivers will find themselves out of work. What rights will American workers have when AI claims their jobs? How will unions and professional organizations protect their members against possible long-term unemployment? Labor and employment lawyers will be at the forefront of labor re-alignment issues.
- Tax. If AI reduces the human labor pool, as expected, and there is a corresponding loss in tax revenue, the tax code will most likely need to be revised, which will mean new strategies for the tax bar.
- Cyber-law/compliance. The importance of protecting IP, proprietary, and confidential information, and the legal exposure of not doing so, will be even greater in the higher-stakes world of AI.
- Criminal Defense. Will AI help law enforcement solve crimes? Will AI be used to commit crimes? If so, both prosecutors and the defense bar will be busy prosecuting and representing more than the typical criminal defendant.
How Lawyers May Help Shape AI
Is there a role for the legal profession in the coming AI age other than helping our clients adapt to a “brave new world?” In my view, lawyers should play a necessary and leading role. For if AI has the potential to affect every industry and occupation and permanently eliminate jobs along the way, society’s leaders cannot afford to leave the decisions about which AI technologies will be developed in what industries (and which ones won’t) to sheer market forces. Private industry and investors are currently making these decisions based on one overarching criterion — profit — which means everything is on the table. Although that approach propelled the industrial and digital revolutions of the last two centuries, jobs lost by those revolutions were eventually replaced by higher-skilled jobs. For example, teamsters of horse-powered wagons were replaced by modern teamsters, i.e., truck drivers. That won’t be the case following an AI revolution. The ultimate question, therefore, in the coming AI century is what areas of human endeavor do we, as a society, want to keep in human hands, even if such endeavors can be accomplished faster, cheaper, and better by AI machines? As the profession responsible for protecting society’s interests through law and policy, lawyers cannot afford to take a back seat to the free-for-all development of AI, but instead must lead and help shape the AI century to come.
José P. Sierra is partner at Holland & Knight. He focuses his practice in the areas of white collar criminal defense, healthcare fraud and abuse, pharmaceutical and healthcare compliance, and business litigation.
We have seen the marketing. According to a recent report by a top consulting firm, the Internet of Things will have an annual economic impact of between $4 trillion and $11 trillion by 2025. Another firm has announced that there will be 50 billion internet-connected devices globally by 2020. And companies already have rebranded in grand fashion, declaring the arrival of “Smart Homes,” “Smart Cities,” the “Smart Planet,” the “Industrial Internet” (the contribution of the author’s company), and even the “Internet of Everything.” We also have seen the reality of Fitbits that record our activity and suggest changes to our exercise and sleep patterns, cars that accept remote software updates, and airplane engines that communicate maintenance issues from the tarmac. For all of this potential, and even greater claimed potential, our shared late-night admission is that none of us has a well-defined picture what, precisely, the Internet of Things is or does.
This combination of wide promise and shared confusion is not a trivial matter. Companies are setting long-term strategy based upon Jetsons-like glimmers of the future; consumer expectations and fears are being set in an environment of rapidly-evolving offerings and — most critically for attorneys providing advice to clients considering investments in this area — legislators and regulators are being asked to set legal and enforcement frameworks without a clear picture of the future product landscape or whether products still in their infancy will create anticipated harm. In order to advise properly in this area, and to avoid regulatory frameworks getting far ahead of actual product development, it is important that lawyers appreciate the scope of Internet of Things technology and the policy implications of internet-connected goods and the data they create and use.
So what is the Internet of Things? Simply put, the Internet of Things, or IoT, is a set of devices that connect to and send or receive data via the internet, but not necessarily the devices people most often think of as being connected to the internet. In the consumer world, IoT includes smart meters that measure home energy use, refrigerators that can report back on maintenance needs or whether the owner needs more eggs, and monitors that can record blood sugar results and communicate via Bluetooth to a connected insulin pump. It also increasingly includes cars that sense other cars in close proximity and record and report on driver speed, location and music listening choices. And in the industrial space, offerings include an array of sensors and networks that measure and manage the safety and efficiency of oil fields or the direction, speed and service life of wind turbines and airplane engines; X-ray and CT machines with remote dose monitoring; and badge-based radio-frequency identification systems that analyze whether medical providers are washing their hands in the clinical setting and the resulting impact on infection rates. This definition generally does not include computers, tablets and other computing devices, although — with smartphone apps advancing to the point of measuring movement and heart rate and reading bar codes to compare prices at local retailers — one could argue that the iPhone and Android phone are the Swiss Army Knives of personal internet-based data collection and use. In turn, IoT devices generate large sets of sensor-based data, or Big Data, which can be aggregated and analyzed to generate observations concerning the world around us and to improve products and services in healthcare, energy, transportation and consumer industries.
These developments have not been lost on government. The White House has commissioned two major studies on the potential of Big Data. The Federal Trade Commission held a full-day workshop to discuss IoT in the home, in transportation and in healthcare, and FTC staff subsequently issued a comprehensive report discussing benefits and risks of IoT. Branches of the European Commission are encouraging companies to establish European research and development footholds for internet-based devices. The European Commission noted the development of internet-based devices and the prospect of a Digital Single Market as inspirations for the anticipated replacement of the European Data Privacy Directive. And European Data Protection Commissioners have boldly asserted their authority, declaring that in light of the risk presented by sensor-based devices, “big data derived from the internet of things . . . should be regarded and treated as personal data” under European data privacy law. Unfortunately, the Commissioners did not distinguish industrial uses such as wind turbines and oil wells from consumer goods that actively collect personal information.
The FTC report above summarizes many of the practical and policy challenges presented by emerging IoT technologies and the views of advocates for industry and consumers. Security is, for many, the most compelling issue. Internet-connected devices must collect data accurately; those data sets need to be communicated securely to data centers; and devices and back-end computing systems need to be protected against hackers, both to protect the data collected from devices and to protect the networks and devices against hijacking. Recent stories of rogue engineers using laptops to break into parked cars and controlling car brakes remotely, and the dystopian nightmare of a hacked pacemaker on the TV drama Homeland, have not helped mitigate these concerns. This risk is compounded by the prospect of “big data warehouses” that can store and analyze zettabytes of data in support of technological breakthroughs.
Separately, there is the question of notice and consent for the collection and use of IoT data. As the FTC staff report notes, it is significantly easier to provide notice about a company’s data practices on a computer screen than on a piece of medical equipment or in a friend’s car that already is collecting and reporting a wide array of data. This problem is compounded in industrial settings, for example, where passenger weight is analyzed to optimize airplane engine function, or where data sets from and surrounding an MRI machine are communicated to the hospital network to read the scan and to the device manufacturer to facilitate maintenance and product improvement.
Other questions abound. Will data from an internet-connected device be used for unanticipated purposes, such as devising large consumer medical or credit reports, without the consumer having the ability to know what is being done or how to correct or delete data? Will providers use data to discriminate improperly, or will better use of data create a more level playing field, facilitating new services at lower prices for a wider swath of consumers? And are some issues already addressed by current regulatory frameworks like HIPAA or the Fair Credit Reporting Act, related standards like the Payment Card Industry security rules, or extensive regulatory frameworks governing security and data use for government contractors, transportation providers and energy providers?
In turn, certain baselines have emerged. First, “security by design” and “privacy by design,” the practices of building security and privacy protections into the development lifecycle of goods and networks, are essential. These requirements become even more compelling in light of the recent decision of the Third Circuit in FTC v. Wyndham Corporation Worldwide, holding, among other things, that the FTC has authority to bring claims alleging “unfairness” for a company’s purported failure to properly secure networks and data. Second, companies collecting data from IoT devices must carefully consider how much data they need and whether it can be de-identified to minimize privacy risk, whether the data will be aggregated with other data, and whether consumer choice is needed to make specific use of the resulting data set. And in light of privacy and national security laws around the world — including recent data localization and national security laws in Russia and China — companies will need to evaluate where data is transferred globally and where to locate the associated databases and possibly even global computing, service and engineering staff.
Much of the promise and peril of the Internet of Things and Big Data are in the future. Google and Dexcom, a maker of blood sugar monitoring devices, recently announced an initiative to make a dime-sized, cloud-based disposable monitor that would communicate the real-time glucose values of diabetes patients directly to parents and medical providers. No date has been announced, although recent advances in remote monitoring suggest hope. And the journal Internet of Things Finland recently published an article announcing the proof-of-concept for a “wearable sensor vest with integrated wireless charging that . . . provides information about the location and well-being of children, based on received signal strength indication (RSSI), global positioning system (GPS), accelerometer and temperature sensors.”
Thus far, rule-making has focused on security standards for connected devices and related computing networks. The FDA has issued detailed security guidance for connected devices and systems, and the Department of Defense has issued security standards for contractors that include an expansive definition of government data subject to coverage under the U.S. Department of Commerce’s NIST 800-171 standard for protecting sensitive federal information. However, there has not been a push in the U.S. for comprehensive legislation governing internet-connected goods and services. As the FTC staff report explained: “[t]his industry is in its relatively early stages. Staff does not believe that the privacy and security risks, though real, need to be addressed through IoT-specific legislation at this time. Staff agrees with those commentators who stated that there is great potential for innovation in this area, and that legislation aimed specifically at IoT at this stage would be premature.”
The marketplace for internet-connected goods and services surely will continue to expand, and the product and service landscape will advance rapidly. Whether we will see more than $10 trillion dollars of annual economic impact has yet to be determined. In this fast-moving environment, companies considering investment in the Internet of Things and Big Data and the attorneys who advise them would be well served to monitor the evolving regulatory and legislative landscape.
Peter Lefkowitz is Chief Counsel for Privacy & Data Protection, and Chief Privacy Officer, at General Electric. Mr. Lefkowitz previously served on the Boston Bar Journal’s Board of Editors.