Some thoughts on the Ho-Thapar debate on federal judicial clerkship boycotts

Imagine this: you grew up in rural Texas to a lower-income family, and no one in your family attended college. But you’re attending college, as best you could figure out, and attend a nearby regional public university. You excel and thrive. You choose political science because you find it fascinating, and you’re interested in law school. There isn’t much of a pre-law program at your school. No one in your family has gone to law school, and outside a couple of family members who had brief encounters with the criminal justice system, you’ve never met a lawyer, to your knowledge.

But you study for the LSAT and score well—very well. You have a high GPA, too. And so you apply broadly. Not knowing much else, you look around for law school rankings, and the same schools are always at the top, so you apply to them. You are accepted at Yale, which offers generous financial aid given your socioeconomic status. Yale is very far from home, but you realize the opportunity means something. You attend. And very quickly, you hear people talking about “clerkships,” jobs that can really help you in your career and really outstanding experience.

After one semester at Yale, you learn that judges are already hiring. In something of a panic, you follow the lead of other students and start to apply. You’re from Texas, so you look to Texas. And you’re told, still learning, of course, that the federal courts of appeals—one step below the United States Supreme Court—are the most desirable. So you send out applications to some of those judges, including one particular federal appellate judge in Texas.

Sorry, the judge says in a reply letter, I won’t hire you, because I don’t hire from Yale because of some things that happened before you ever applied.

*

The background story is, in many respects, not unlike my own (but I did not attend Yale—for that, perhaps instead consider Clarence Thomas or JD Vance…), a first-gen law student who never traveled far from home and had little concept of the legal profession or “clerkships” before entering law school. And it’s here to highlight the significant student-oriented cost of any “boycott” that federal judges might impose on law schools.

I haven’t really weighed in on this debate, because it was playing out very publicly more than two years ago, and I didn’t know it would stretch very far or or last very long. I did note that the whole debate was focusing on a very narrow sliver of clerkships and would not affect very many people.

But it’s recently come back into the public consciousness, as Judge James Ho has given multiple talks in the last several days, including a recent Advisory Opinions podcast, in defense of the boycott—a boycott he initiated. His new tour takes aim at the critics, including, on the other side, Judge Amul Thapar, among others. I use them as the sides of this “debate,” but one could easily construct other ways of setting up the debate (and the debate is on quite amicable terms).

I do know I am adequately positioned to weigh in. I’ve worked at three law schools, including playing significant roles with clerkships institutionally at all three; I’ve had extensive examination of legal education and employment outcomes, and specific studies on federal judicial clerkships. This blog is filled with discussions of clerkship figures and statistics, along with the market of legal education and legal employment. So I can speak much more confidently about the overall economy of legal education and judicial clerkships.

To set the stage. From Sarah Isgur’s interview at Advisory Opinions with Judge Ho (around the 11:30 mark, lightly cleaned up):

Ho: The main argument that I’m hearing from some of the judges on your podcast, and Judge Thapar, his most recent remarks, is that, we shouldn’t do this, because it will hurt students. And with respect, I don’t understand that argument. And let me explain why. I would regard that as what I’ll call a “losing” attitude when we should have a “winning” attitude. And let me explain what I mean by that.

Every boycott throughout history, just the very concept, by definition, it’s people refraining from engaging in transactions they would otherwise want to because of some larger goal that they have in mind. So if you just assume, 100% chance it’s not going to work, it’s not going to change anything, then all you do is calculate the losses, the consequences. Under that theory, nobody would ever boycott, the word wouldn’t exist, nobody would every do this. I think you should have a winning attitude. What that means is, actually do what rational decisionmakers do, figure out the benefits of success, the costs of failure, and then measure that against the probability of a certain tactic succeeding or failing.

So let me ask you a simple question, I appreciate you quoting my earlier speech, when I talked about the customers of a big company, so I don’t have to go through that again. Just a very simply question. If a dozen, two dozen federal circuit judges, agree that, you know, this school is adding more toxicity to our future leading class, class of leaders in the future, if we decide we’re going to hire from other schools from now on, what would the law school do? Would they say, no sweat, we’ll just send our kids to other law firms, other employers, no big deal? Or would they change? Honestly, what do you think?

Isgur: I don’t know. It depends on the school.

Ho: That’s the first time I’ve heard that. Every time I’ve asked that question, everybody’s agreed, no, every school cares deeply about this.

Isgur: Ten years ago I would have agreed. Now I wonder if we’ve gotten to the point where—I don’t know, maybe they shoot themselves in the foot and just be like, well, you shouldn’t be around those bad people anyway.

. . .

Ho: What they’re saying is, what happened is terrible. We regret all this. Please keep hiring our students. You don’t need to do this. Et cetera et cetera. So they're not acting as if you know, no big deal. They don’t care.

Isgur: Will you give us an update on the boycott, like where it stands right now? What schools are included in your boycott? How effective do you think it’s been based on what you just said?

Ho: Sure, well, so I’ll tell you in terms of effectiveness, quick story justice, William Brennan. . . .

I don’t know what the future will hold. My hope is that they will change.

Isgur: Is Yale the only school you’re not hiring from right now?

Ho: Yale. A year later, there was an incident at Stanford that was, that was, that was, let’s say, universally described as has a bad development. And then, of course, Columbia, that became essentially ground zero for all the post October 7 intolerance. So those are the three schools we've talked about.

And so we’ll see, I mean compared to the three year boycott that Justice Brennan did, this is still in its infancy.

Respectfully, I think Judge Ho doesn’t quite grasp the current economy of law schools with respect to employment for their students, and the overall economy for judicial clerkships, especially in the present moment.

Let’s start with the “clerkship.” It’s true that a clerkship has long been deemed a valuable experience and an important part of a new lawyer’s entry in the profession, particularly for elite law schools, both as a credential and as a learning opportunity. For a wide variety of reasons—some of which are directly attributable to federal judges’ behavior—that is much less the case.

The market for federal judicial clerkship opportunities is quite large. Between 1100 and 1200 new graduates each year take a federal judicial clerkship. And there are many more positions filled by other graduates. And as that linked post shows, a generation ago, many more students took clerkships directly out of law school than today. Many judges prefer clerks with work experience, and now take them after a prior clerkship or after working. The value of the clerkship, in and of itself, has somewhat diminished. The clerkship is no longer the signaling or credentialing mechanism that it once was. It is still important, but less so.

Judge Ho suggests that a “dozen” or “two dozen” court of appeals judges could move the needle. I don’t think that’s quite right. The first, of course, is that there aren’t two dozen judges on the boycott. Those judges hold would, at most, around 90 of the more than 1500 positions (with caveats of multi-year clerkships, career clerks, and the ratio of judicial assistants and clerks in a chambers). It’s true that appellate clerkships are more coveted. But even there, there are 179 federal appellate judgeships, and many more senior status judges, for something like 700 or so clerkship positions.

This is a stark contrast to the anecdote involving Justice Brennan (an interesting choice of exemplar, to say the least), which involved (1) Supreme Court clerkships, which are more prestigious and far more scarce (~36/year); (2) withdrawal from one school for three years (Ho here suggests this boycott is in its “infancy”; and (3) the return to choosing Harvard clerks. But that’s really not the whole story—Justice Brennan used to hire exclusively Harvard clerks before his “boycott,” and after that he did hire clerks, but at a much lower rate than before. The damage was, essentially done.

There is quite obviously not the same leverage in these circumstances. And it’s quite clear that there’s a massive collective action problem. Judge Ho puts the terms of a “dozen” or “two dozen,” but in order to reach scale for effectiveness, you’d probably need a majority of federal appellate judges to even dent the clerkship economy market. Isolated actions will not alter the market in a meaningful way. (More on who it does affect in a moment.)

Another is the nebulous definition of “toxicity.” The ad hoc decisions to include Yale, Stanford, and Columbia [ed.: few Columbia law students pursue federal clerkships, anyway] do not seem particularly coherent. At Yale and Stanford, there were administrative problems at the law school; at Columbia, the university. The latter is much more problematic to manage from a boycott like this. Other schools, like UCLA had very public problems very similar to Columbia. Why is UCLA not included? I won’t pick on other schools (and there are many that could be named); I just mean to suggest, the categories of “toxicity” worthy of a boycott do not seem to track particularly helpful criteria.

It’s also not clear when the “end” will arrive for the boycotts or what that “end” game is. Take Yale. In recent months, it has hired Professors Keith Whittington and Garrett West, among others, and two faculty, I think, someone like Judge Ho would quite strongly approve of as reducing the “toxicity” of the faculty (again, to use his term). Why isn’t that enough to drop the boycott? What steps must the school take?

Regardless, it seems quite clear, to me, anyway, that the “boycott” has expanded to more schools, of indefinite time and scope, and that there are not particular actions any schools have yet taken that have assuaged the concerns of boycotting judges.

The ever-expanding list and non-responsiveness of schools suggests, I think, that the employment economy suggests a boycott will not be effective.

For rankings purposes, clerkships do not mean anything. A job is a job in those rankings. For career advancement, as I’ve mentioned, clerkships are less valuable. Additionally, the sheer enormity of the law firm salary makes clerking less attractive, even with a clerkship bonus—and the mere lack of opportunities will only mean more students earn more money. Indeed, we’ve seen stories about law students affirmatively failing to apply for clerkships because of a lack of interest. And more schools are appreciating the value of state court clerkships in ways they did not before.

So the market for clerkships is fairly large; there are high quality replacements for clerkships (i.e., a lucrative law firm salary); the opportunities are fairly fungible for students; and the schools do not suffer from employment-related or rankings-related metrics for a loss of clerkships.

In short, there are lots of reasons to think the market won’t particularly respond to a boycott—indeed, it has not.

But let’s get back to my opening anecdote. The burden here will fall on someone. There are intensity of preferences concerns that individual law students bear, but the school does not. A student greatly desires a particular clerkship; for the school, another clerkship will suffice, because, after all, clerkships are largely fungible, and the market can be idiosyncratic. A student wants to go back to Texas; for the school, there are other ways of getting there, or other desirable regions.

Maybe this student in my opening hypothetical will land on his feet. He’ll apply a little more and find the clerkship he wants. Or maybe he’ll skip the clerkship altogether. But the point is, I’m not sure the benefits, whatever they are, will be terrible measurable, and the tactics do not strike me as ones likely to succeed.

Let me close with this. Judge Ho in the interview notes, “What they’re saying is, what happened is terrible. We regret all this. Please keep hiring our students. You don’t need to do this. Et cetera et cetera. So they're not acting as if you know, no big deal.”

That’s assuredly right. Anytime someone has a very public rift with the school, especially somebody in a position of authority, the school’s reaction will naturally be—in private if not public—how can we fix this? They do care.

But “caring” is a very different matter from making major institutional choices in reaction to the boycott. I’m not convinced thing will change as a result of this boycott, as opposed to other institutional pressures (e.g., major donors threatening to withhold funding). And given that there appear to have been insufficient changes at these three boycotted schools in the last couple of years to appease the boycotting judges, so far, this view may end up being right.

It's time for the AALS to bring back the Faculty Recruitment Conference

The Association of American Law Schools’ annual Faculty Recruitment Conference—sometimes the “Meet Market” (or “Meat Market”)—was a longstanding complaint among legal academics. It took place at a now-demolished hotel in Washington, DC, known for its “towers” across the complex and challenging means for interviewees to race from interview to interview. It was an expensive endeavor for everyone involved. It was a draining experience. Covid disrupted the status quo—now, screening interviews could take place leisurely, over Zoom, with less cost and more flexibility.

But… it’s time to bring the FRC back.

I’ve run appointments on both sides of Covid, and I’ve seen the appointments process play out several times on both sides of it, too. There are major costs to the absence of the FRC.

Let’s start with how the process works for candidates now.

AALS sends out the Faculty Appointments Register to interested law schools in mid-August. Schools review candidates, then extend invitations to candidates to interview. Because of time zones, windows of opportunity may reasonably range from 5 am Pacific, to 9 pm Eastern, depending on one’s time zone. Suppose you secure an interview at 10 am on a Tuesday. You might need to cancel or move a class if you are currently teaching, or you might need to block out time on your work calendar. A 30-minute screening interview probably needs more than 30-minute block from you. You are preparing for that interview well before the interview—perhaps an hour before, and perhaps the night before. The brief screening interview becomes a fairly sprawling episode. And suppose your next interview is 9 am Friday. You do it all again a couple of days later.

These are early schools, calling in September. And one of them asks you to visit for a callback in late September. Great! But you still have screeners to juggle, one this week, another the next week. It’s possible that some schools are extending offers in mid-October—while others are still scheduling screening interviews. It becomes challenging to juggle a very drawn-out screening process over three months, in conjunction with offers extended and questions about timing of those offers in relation to other stages of the process. Candidates have no real knowledge of what a “normal” timeline is or how schools are behaving except by anecdote or rumor.

For law schools, it is likewise a drawn-out process, as rarely do schools schedule all interviews on a single day but have to stretch it out. That makes it more challenge to compare candidates head to head when they are taking place over a longer period of time. Likewise, it makes it a challenge to coordinate around candidates given time zones or the erratic nature of callback interviews.

(There are other soft advantages, too, like in-person interviews being a somewhat more meaningful way of interacting with a candidate, but I’ll put that to the side. There are other advantages I find better, like the informal conversations among candidates at receptions during the interview process, which I found very rewarding both as a candidate and as an interviewer, but I know that can be a high cost that is less appreciated.)

To me, this process is now needlessly prolonged and draining. The purported “efficiencies” from having a virtual set of screening interviews on an irregular timeline have not yielded the promised payoff. (As an addendum, it is not unlike some of the deficiencies in the law school clerkship hiring market, when federal judges went “off-plan” resulting in a dramatic reduction of information for candidates and a much longer window for hiring, rather than a limited couple of weeks with ample opportunities for comparison and for information for students; or the on-campus interview process for law firms, which now get ever-earlier with virtual screening interviews in an ever-sprawling timeline, rather than a condense fall 2L semester of comparison and information for students.)

I understand that returning to the FRC is a costly endeavor. But it should also help both candidates and faculty compress the “pain,” if you will, to a couple of days, with better comparisons of candidates, a more consistent timeline, and some of those other soft advantages.

I also know that no one can “force” schools to attend AALS. But it would be nice to see—even as simply as an AALS survey to hiring chairs!—if a critical mass of schools were interested in attending a scaled-down version of the FRC. It would not preclude schools from using Zoom interviews, either exclusively or to supplement in-person recruiting (e.g., for candidates with too few interviews to make the FRC trip economically feasible or with other commitments).

If the FRC were moved up to early October or late September—in the past, it was often mid- to late-October—it would also help the trend from schools to move hiring earlier when possible.

Professor Brian Leiter (no fan of the FRC!) offers some thoughts on the generalized trends in hiring here. It does seem quite spread out, and there is certainly a lack of information (see Professor Paul Horwitz’s comment) for candidates.

I’m sure there will be opponents to the FRC and prefer the status quo. That’s fine, but I just close with two reflections. The first is that while the FRC might be better for (some!) law school faculty, I’m not sure it’s better for (some!) candidates, and it’s worth reflecting on those tradeoffs in a meaningful way. The second is that a return to the FRC does not preclude some remote interview opportunities—even opponents might admit that the flexibility to format, in-person and remote, might allow different schools and candidates express different preferences in a way that (largely!) suits everyone. (The timeline is not mandatory, of course, to assuage any “antitrust” concerns; it is simply a coordinated and convenient activity run by the AALS for law schools.)

Recent trends in law school lateral hiring, 2019-2024

I recently pulled data from Professor Brian Leiter’s extraordinarily helpful list of law school hires. I looked at the last six years, 2019-2024, to see if there were any interesting trends. His reports capture the vast majority of law school lateral hiring, but perhaps misses a few. I tried to clean the data as best I could. This included de-duping, removing hires who changed their minds, and identifying the right year for a hire.

There are 706 laterals in the data set. There has been a sharp uptick in lateral hires, from 68 in 2019, to 99 in 2020, up to 153 in 2022 and 155 in 2023, tapering off a bit last year.

It’s also worth noting a significant amount of laterals do not end up in a U.S. law school, or did not come from a U.S. law school. Many land as university presidents or provosts, or into other departments, or into foreign schools. I report 617 coming from U.S. law schools and 657 going to U.S. law schools.

Of course, some of those laterals are law deans coming and going, which are different in kind, but I didn’t differentiate among those types.

Schools with the biggest migration out:

Brooklyn 11
Florida 11
Irvine 11
Duke 10
UCLA 10
Alabama 9
American 9
Arkansas 9
Colorado 9
Georgia 9
Houston 8
Ohio State 8
Penn State University Park 8
USC 8

And schools with the biggest migration in:

Boston Univ. 17
Virginia 17
Florida 16
Irvine 16
Emory 15
Georgetown 14
Michigan 14
UCLA 14
Berkeley 12
Texas A&M 11
USC 11
Brooklyn 10
Columbia 10
Wayne State 10

A few schools appear on both lists. A few others stand out (Boston University, Virginia, and Michigan) for some rather significant numbers of hires in recent years.

There are assuredly subtleties to these figures—for instance, as a percentage of overall faculty, it may be a large or small percentage.

Among top 100-ish schools that saw zero laterals out in six years, there were four: Harvard, NYU, Baylor, and Catholic. (Baylor is also distinctive in having zero laterals out and zero laterals in.)

Below is the aggregate data for the top 100-ish schools. Any data entry mistakes are my own!

Out In
Stanford 3 6
Chicago 7 8
Yale 1 6
Virginia 5 17
Penn 6 9
Harvard 0 9
Michigan 3 14
Duke 10 9
Northwestern 4 9
Columbia 3 10
NYU 0 5
UCLA 10 14
Berkeley 6 12
Vanderbilt 3 3
Washington Univ. 6 8
Georgetown 5 14
Texas 5 9
North Carolina 3 6
Cornell 6 5
Notre Dame 5 4
Minnesota 7 7
Boston Univ. 7 17
Wake Forest 5 5
Georgia 9 3
USC 8 11
Texas A&M 5 11
Boston College 3 6
Florida 11 16
William & Mary 5 5
Alabama 9 5
Ohio State 8 9
George Mason 4 3
BYU 2 0
Washington & Lee 6 5
Utah 6 4
Irvine 11 16
Florida State 6 5
Iowa 7 9
George Washington 6 9
Emory 6 15
Baylor 0 0
Fordham 4 9
SMU 4 1
Arizona State 6 5
Wisconsin 4 6
Illinois 2 2
Colorado 9 9
Indiana 7 6
Villanova 3 3
Davis 5 4
Connecticut 6 3
Pepperdine 2 0
Kansas 3 2
Washington 5 2
Temple 3 8
Tennessee 1 2
San Diego 3 2
Missouri 4 4
Penn State University Park 8 4
Arizona 4 3
Penn State Dickinson 3 5
Oklahoma 6 8
Maryland 3 7
Wayne State 3 10
Kentucky 3 1
Loyola Los Angeles 4 4
Pittsburgh 5 5
Houston 8 2
Cardozo 6 8
South Carolina 4 2
UNLV 2 1
Cincinnati 4 4
St. John's 7 8
Tulane 3 4
Seton Hall 4 4
Nebraska 5 1
Catholic 0 2
Northeastern 5 7
Florida International 5 1
Richmond 2 2
LSU 3 2
Drexel 2 1
Georgia State 2 1
Maine 4 0
Loyola Chicago 3 6
Belmont 1 0
Marquette 2 1
Texas Tech 2 2
Miami 6 6
Denver 5 3
UC Law SF 5 3
Drake 1 1
Duquesne 3 0
Stetson 1 0
Lewis & Clark 1 3
Oregon 1 1
Saint Louis 4 7
Chapman 1 0
American 9 6
Buffalo 5 3
Dayton 2 0
Rutgers 4 9

Some figures are lightly revised as schools share new information with me.

Four (unlikely) ways the 2024 presidential election ends up in the House of Representatives

Following up on a post I wrote in 2020, there’s been some discussion that the 2024 presidential election could be thrown to the House of Representatives.

But how does this work? And how likely is it?

It happens when no candidate wins a majority of the Electoral College. The House (the new House, which is sworn in January 3, then joins the Senate to count electoral votes on January 6) then chooses among the top three vote-getters, with each state casting one vote. Vermont gets one vote; California gets one vote. It takes a majority (here, 26 states) to choose the next president. As occurred historically, a tie vote in a state’s delegation (say, one state with 26 representatives is 13-13) did not count toward that majority.

A so-called “contingent election” is rare. It happened in 1800, when it took 36 votes in the House before Thomas Jefferson was chosen as President. Since the Twelfth Amendment, it happened only once, after the 1824 election, when Andrew Jackson won a plurality of the electoral vote but John Quincy Adams carried the House vote in the contingent election. (The vice presidential election of 1836 was also thrown to the Senate.)

So, how can it happen? Briefly, there are four ways to look at it (with some sub-scenarios noted, and some even more unusual outliers omitted).

First, there’s a tie in the Electoral College. The 12th Amendment requires that the president receive “a majority of the whole number of electors appointed.” If two candidates tie at 269-269, the House chooses between those two candidates.

When did this last happen? Since the Twelfth Amendment, which separated presidential and vice presidential votes, never. (A tie did happen in 1800 under different presidential election rules.)

How is this scenario possible? Presidential electors are based on each state’s Senate and House delegation. The Senate always has an even number of Senators, because each state receives two. The House is currently fixed at 435 members, an odd number. The District of Columbia is guaranteed a number of presidential electors, but no more than the least populous state (which, at the moment, is three, two senators plus one representative). Even number (Senate) + odd number (House) + odd number (DC) = even number. (We could increase the size of the House to 436….)

What are the odds? Very low. Nate Silver, for instance, puts the odds of no one winning a majority (which includes a tie scenario and others, below) at less than 1 in 200.

Second, three or more candidates divide up presidential electoral votes on Election Day, and no one gets a majority.

When did this last happen? In 1824, four presidential candidates divided up the electoral votes. The top three vote-getters were then sent to the House. While Andrew Jackson had 99 electoral votes to John Quincy Adams’s 83 (but neither crossed 131, the number needed for a majority), the House ultimately backed Adams.

How is this scenario possible? It requires one or more strong third-party candidates. Because all states award their presidential electors on a winner-take-all basis (except for Maine and Nebraska, where it’s winner-take-all for two statewide, and winner-take-all, or really winner-take-each, per congressional district), a third-party candidate would need more votes than both the Republican and Democratic candidates in a state, and end up depriving those candidates of a majority in the Electoral College. Strong third-party candidates like Ross Perot in 1992 won zero electoral votes. Others, like George Wallace in 1968, won a substantial number of electoral votes but did not deprive a candidate of the majority in the Electoral College.

What are the odds? Very low—and here I’ll add, exceedingly low. I’ve seen no state polling to suggest that any third-party candidate is close to exceeding even 5% of the statewide popular vote total in any state. That is particularly true since the once-viable Robert F. Kennedy Jr. has withdrawn from the race.

Third, faithless presidential electors deprive the apparent majority-winner of electoral votes, and no one gets a majority.

When did this last happen? Never.

How is this scenario possible? When we vote for the president and vice president on Election Day, we’re actually voting for a slate of presidential electors who later formally vote for president and vice president. Those electors are typically “faithful” to the popular will of the people of the state. Sometimes, however, electors vote for someone else, behaving as “faithless” electors. Historically, however, faithless electors have been rare. They’ve been rarer still to defect from the majority vote-getter to someone else. A few years ago, the Supreme Court in Chiafalo approved of state moves to cabin the discretion of presidential electors. And the faithless electors in 2016 likely have prompted the parties to look closely at how they vet electors in 2020. So there aren’t many faithless electors in the first place, and by law there cannot be in some places.

What are the odds? Very low, likely exceedingly low. It requires a narrow electoral vote victory (certainly plausible), and faithless electors denying a majority (not just faithless electors generally). If the margin is 275-263, for instance—a seemingly-close election—you’d need six faithless electors from the winning candidate to defect to someone else. And Chiafalo reduces those odds further.

Fourth, the House rejects some number of electoral votes that denies any candidate of a majority.

When did this last happen? Never.

How is this scenario possible? There are a few ways it could occur, because Congress formally counts the vote. A state might not send electors to Congress (which seems unlikely in the present day). It could send a slate of electors, but Congress refuses to count them (like it did in Louisiana in 1872)—perhaps because Congress deems the votes not “regularly given.” It could choose between multiple slates of electors (which has only happened once since 1876, Hawaii in 1960), and end up with a tie (which has never happened). One wrinkle is that the winning candidate under the Twelfth Amendment is among those from “a majority of the whole number of electors appointed” (emphasis added). If Congress throws out votes, it depends on whether it includes those votes in the denominator of “electors appointed.” (In other words, if it throws out 20 electoral votes, it might go from a majority requirement of 270 of 538, to 270 of 538—with 20 votes not counting—or, instead, and easier to meet, 260 of 518.) In short, there are a number of complicated things that might happen in Congress, which would be unusual and historic decisions in Congress.

Congress has also clarified under the Electoral Count Reform Act that is a state refuses to send its electors to Congress or if its votes are not “regularly given,” those votes also come out of the denominator. In other words, it becomes harder to “throw” the election to the House on this basis, because you would need to have a much larger margin. It is instead more likely that one candidate or another simply holds a majority (unless they happen to tie). Throwing out the winning candidate’s votes because Congress concludes the candidate is not qualified, however, creates the greater risk of an election being sent to the House.

What are the odds? Well, again, likely on the verge of exceedingly low. It takes a majority of both houses of Congress to vote to throw out votes. Congress has been reluctant to throw out electoral votes since Reconstruction. Recent attempts to do so in Congress—Florida in 2000, Ohio in 2004, and a slate of states in 2016 and in 2020—lacked even modest support in Congress (only Ohio 2004, and Arizona and Pennsylvania 2020, went to a congressional vote, where objections were soundly defeated and the votes were counted). It all depends on the complexity of the decisions left to Congress and Congress’s trust in the electoral outcomes—all with the added condition that these decisions ultimately deny any candidate a majority.

*

In short, the 2024 presidential election could end up in the House, as it could have done for any presidential election in the last 200 years. There are plausible reasons to think up any one of these scenarios. But, I think, it’s worth thinking through, with some precision about these scenarios, and how they may or may not occur.

Multistate Bar Exam scores for July 2024 rebound to highest level since 2013

The Multistate Bar Exam scores for July 2024 have been released, and they show promising signs. The mean scaled score is a 141.8, the highest since 2013’s 144.3 (before the grim numbers that started in 2014). That score is slightly higher than some other recent years (2014’s 141.5 and 2017’s 141.7), but a good bit higher than the 139- and 140-range scores in some other recent years.

We are now through the COVID-19 pandemic cohort, so the vast majority of Class of 2024 students taking the July 2024 exam had in-person instruction and a somewhat “normal” legal education experience. But it’s hard to draw many conclusions from small cohorts like this.

The figures suggest overall bar passage rates will increase in most jurisdictions. That may also portend slightly stronger employment outcomes for some students. Time will tell.

Law students, you can (and, maybe increasingly, should) say "no" to (some) judicial clerkships

A generation ago, a typical federal judicial clerkship experience looked like this:

A student would graduate from law school around May and begin a one-year (or sometimes two-year) clerkship in August. The graduate would then enter into legal practice—a firm, the government, or public interest practice—and begin a career in the second or third year out of law school. The graduate might have to move twice (to a clerkship, and then to a job) as opposed to once (to a job). The graduate at 25 years of age might begin the “ordinary” legal career at 26 (or 27). The clerkship was a “learning” opportunity—judges mentored clerks and helped develop their writing in that first year out of law school. (This was a system common in state courts, too.)

The system has radically changed in a generation.

Total placement into federal judicial clerkships among recent graduates has slid roughly 10% in the last decade.

And that’s despite the fact that the federal judiciary is very well staffed—judicial vacancies peaked around 2018, but they at recent stable lows and consistent with staffing a decade ago.

That means a comparable number of federal judges are hiring fewer recent law school graduates.

So, how are they filling positions? It could be an uptick in career clerks, but that doesn’t appear to be all of it.

A generation ago, virtually all Supreme Court clerks had just one prior clerkship experience. Now, nearly all of them have two, and sometimes three, clerkship experiences. We’re starting to see “stacking” of clerkships as an increasingly common practice. More students than ever are clerking for multiple federal judges. And more are clerking after graduation. Yale Law, for instance, has gone so far as to include an asterisk beside its clerkship statistics to add the number of clerkships for graduates that begin after graduation. For the Class of 2022, that’s 51 among graduates and another 30 after graduation. That was 42 and 43 for the Class of 2021—yes, more graduates had clerkships that began at least one year after graduating than in that initial year.

These two practices appear to be diverging by the type of judge. And here, this is something more anecdotal to report. And this report is overwhelmingly about court of appeals judges, a smaller cohort of all federal judges but who tend to hire three or four clerks each year as opposed to one or two more common for district courts.

Republican-appointed judges, particularly those appointed by President Trump, have had a fairly aggressive hiring plan. They have increasingly relied on interviewing and hiring first-year law students—and sometimes hiring them not for immediately after graduation but for some years out. And they are increasingly interested in “stacking” clerkships, as many of them are young, ambitious, and style themselves “feeders.” Given how many of them have appeared on one of Trump’s many “lists” of potential Supreme Court nominees, it is not a great surprise that they are vying over a small pool of clerks—not just outstanding students, but sufficiently credentialed to be potential Supreme Court clerks. It also reflects some desire to hire clerks who have already been trained elsewhere—in effect, making the job more efficient for the judge, who can spend less time “training” the clerk and more time managing the clerk’s work product.

Democratic-appointed judges, particularly those appointed by President Biden, have stuck more closely to the “plan,” which means that students must have at least two years of grades before being considered. But these judges increasingly prefer work experience—which means, hiring fewer clerks directly out of law school. They are not as aggressively “stacking,” but there are more appellate+district clerks than a generation ago (whereas many Republican judges are moving toward appellate+appellate clerks), although the combinations can of course vary. Like the Republican-appointed judges, hiring clerks with more work experience is more efficient.

This change has shifted a lot of costs.

For one, judges used to play a greater role as mentors training new law school graduates. If law school graduates are starting their careers elsewhere before clerking for a judge, the model has shifted away from that judge-led training and mentorship model. Not entirely, of course—clerks who are only a year or two removed from law school still have much to learn. But there is an expectation that the earliest training may well happen elsewhere. Sometimes that’s other judges. And sometimes that’s law firms. I suppose as long as law firms are willing to accept that role—spending the earliest years training and seeing those associates (who cannot practically be staffed on major long-term matters) leave for a clerkship (or two or three), perhaps to return—then the model will work.

For another, judges often had clerks serve as “ambassadors” for their chambers, and for the bench more generally, as attorneys go practice in the legal profession. If “stacking” is increasingly common, then there are simply fewer such ambassadors out in the world.

And a major cost is on law school graduates. At the beginning, I noted that 25-year-old graduates might move twice after graduating law school and begin their careers at 26. Now, the expectation is increasingly to move three or four times and push of the true beginning of a career path until perhaps 30, depending on how many years the interim jobs take place. And that can of course be later for students who are not 25 but older, who perhaps took a few years off between college and law school.

This is a significant burden for law school graduates. The moving costs are high. The pressure to postpone personal or family decisions given the itinerant nature of serial jobs is significant (a point I’ve raised relatedly in the law school teaching market, too).

The opportunity and financial costs of missing or disrupting years of typical legal service can be high. On the financial front, it used to be a generation ago that starting salaries were $160,000 (excluding bonuses) and a clerkship salary was around $50,000 with an expected bonus of $50,000. That gap has widened significantly. Starting salaries are now $225,000 (excluding bonuses) and a clerkship salary is around $65,000 with an expected bonus of $75,000 (potentially more for multiple clerkships).

But a graduate who clerks for three judges enters as fourth-year associate… essentially has the litigation skills of a first-year associate and a long ramp-up. Yes, a graduate can hit the ground running and ramp up more quickly than a first-year associate. But some skills (including navigating firm culture, and building trust and relationships with clients) cannot be short circuited. A graduate who works at a firm for a year or two, then heads off to clerk for a couple of judges before returning, likewise returns as a fourth- or fifth-year associate with a kind of soft reboot at the firm. And at some firms, non-share partnership arises in the sixth or seventh year, and pressure to perform well in a shorter period of time is high. Client development is trickier if grads are serially clerking or interrupting their practice to clerk.

For first generation law school graduates, these pressures can be particularly acute. They are navigating the legal profession with greater uncertainty, and they have the opportunity to make substantial money in practice, but then face countervailing pressure to give that opportunity up and move, perhaps repeatedly, with increasing uncertainty—and increasing questions about the value proposition.

It would be interesting if NALP or some other researcher could track future longitudinal outcomes of judicial clerks. Does stacking clerkships reduce the likelihood that someone remains in “big law” or makes partner? Or, maybe my intuition is wrong and it has no effect. Does it means people are more likely to head into government or become a judge themselves sometime? What are the longitudinal effects that we can expect?

But law students do need to ask hard questions. The first is, what’s the value of the clerkship? It is valuable, to be sure. It is the experience, the credential, seeing what goes on inside a judicial chambers. But students might want to ask hard questions about the value add of a second or third clerkship. Does the varied experience of district v. appellate or state v. federal offer enough potential value, or is the incremental benefit much smaller after having worked in a judicial chambers? Is being connected to two sets of judicial clerk alumni in their network of sufficient value? What are the lifestyle costs for family or personal life if these one-year serial positions in different cities stack up? If I want to clerk for the Supreme Court, what are my true odds in getting there with a third as opposed to just two clerkships, or a second as opposed to just one? What opportunity costs am I losing at my law firm, and am I willing to give that up?

Career development offices have every incentive to place students into clerkships. Students have great desire to obtain clerkships. Judges want the most capable and qualified candidates.

But we may be at a breaking point for the current system. Students should be asking hard questions, the kind of questions that didn’t need to happen a generation ago. Students can—and sometimes should—say no to certain clerkships. There are material tradeoffs worth considering. (And for more, see former Judge Gregg Costa, here.) But they are hard tradeoffs, and ones not always intuitive to law students barely a semester into law school.

I’m sure this post will not be popular with judges. But, on the flip side, I might suggest that law students in 2024 have much more to consider when committing to a job that takes them into the year 2030, and perhaps some recallibration is in order.

UPDATE August 2, 2024: I’m very grateful for the extended feedback I’ve received on the post, with a lot of mixed feelings! I thought a few additional thoughts might be in order.

First, as I emphasize, I think judicial clerkships are a great thing! I think they add tremendous value for the bulk of law students, particularly those who are interested in litigation. As I write, “It is valuable, to be sure. It is the experience, the credential, seeing what goes on inside a judicial chambers.” Do not lose sight of the good things! The post, however, focuses on “some” clerkships, particularly stacking clerkships, and some of the tradeoffs that come.

Second, I think the decision of many judges to move away from hiring new grads to grads with work experience is a suboptimal thing. I highlight some of the reasons for the tradeoffs in the post, and I entirely understand why judges would prefer to do it. But I think it is worth exploring—in another lengthy blog post, perhaps!—about what the temporary clerkship role is and what it ought to be. That is, what is the reason for temporary as opposed to career clerks? What is the mentorship that is expected, or preferred, in the temporary role, if any? It’s another heavy exchange worth considering.

Third, things are heavily context-specific. It is quite possible that a second or third clerkship, stacking clerkships, moving frequently, will be good things for you in your individualized situation. But, I think, the value is probably less than many anticipate, and there are hard questions and tradeoffs that should be asked and answered. I cannot give complete guidance because every situation is different—quite literally idiosyncratic. But it is worth having an honest conversation, and I think these are some of the questions that can help students figure things out.

Fourth, it would be nice to have a lot more data than the limited data sets I have and the anecdotal compilations I have here. It would be nice to know how students with one clerkship v. multiple feel about it after the fact. It would be nice to track their careers. It would be nice to evaluate whether clerking immediately after graduation or taking time to work is helpful. It would be nice to know if people didn’t have to move but could clerk in the same city as their job, or clerk twice in the same city, made the experience better. I just don’t know. But these are questions that, I think, are worth asking and exploring.

How did more than 30 law schools survive class actions concerning allegations of misrepresentations in employment statistics?

The third in an occasional series I call “dire predictions.”

March 2012 was a turning point for law schools. 14 law schools were facing consumer protection class actions on allegations that they misrepresented their employment statistics, deceiving prospective law students and current law students on the value proposition of a legal degree.

From a feature in February 2012 in New York Magazine’s “Intelligencer”:

“We believe that some in the legal academy have done a disservice to the profession and the nation by saddling tens of thousands of young lawyers with massive debt for a degree worth far less than advertised,” David Anziska, wrote in a statement today. “[I]t is time for the schools to take responsibility, provide compensation and commit to transparency. These lawsuits are only the beginning.”

So do Anziska, Strauss, and Raimond actually have a shot at making these lawsuits stick? Well, yes, says Paul Campos, a professor at the University of Colorado Law School — particularly if the law schools are compelled to turn over their internal job placement data, which could prove so embarrassing that the law schools would decide to settle with the plaintiffs.

From a lengthy feature in March 2012 by the same author in New York Magazine:

It’s not yet clear whether the lawyers have proof that NYLS and the other defendants are cooking their numbers. What they do have is at least one favorable precedent: Last year, San Francisco’s California Culinary Academy was sued for misleading applicants about their chances of landing gainful employment in the gastronomic arts, leading to a settlement under which the school reportedly issued tuition refunds to as many as 8,000 students. Anziska, Raimond, and Strauss hope to use the discovery process to compel their targets to turn over all their internal data on their graduates’ livelihoods and to see how that data squares with the claims posted on websites and in recruiting literature—or, barring that, to show that the schools aren’t really trying to keep complete, accurate figures to begin with.

“In that case, the schools will have to disclose a lot of potentially embarrassing information,” predicts University of Colorado law professor Paul Campos, a prominent skeptic of law schools’ self-reported placement numbers. That is, if the schools don’t cut deals to make their cases go away. As you learn in Intro to Civil Procedure, lawyers can win without going all the way to trial.

As of March 15, 2012, the plaintiffs announced they’d file claims against “20 more law schools,” in addition to the first 14.

But that never happened. Those 20 schools were never sued.

And by March 21, 2012, a decidedly different result came from a New York court:

A state judge on Wednesday threw out a class-action lawsuit against New York Law School, one of the first of 15 schools hauled into court for allegedly inflating their job-placement and salary statistics to attract applicants.

The sweeping ruling, which could have an effect on the 14 other lawsuits filed since last summer and 20 others that have since been threatened, was issued by Judge Melvin L. Schweitzer, of the Supreme Court of the State of New York (a trial-level court in spite of its name).

In a 36-page ruling, the judge found that the plaintiffs had failed to prove that the law school had misled them "in a material way." Judge Schweitzer also said applicants to New York Law School had plenty of information available to them about their realistic chances of getting a job.

Courts continued to reject these claims. None of these lawsuits “stuck.”

Winning the press release (i.e., the filing of a complaint) is quite different from getting to the merits—much less surviving the motion to dismiss stage. And it turns out that legal education is quite different as a value proposition than, say, culinary school.

That’s not to say all schools made it out of the recession unscathed. Many closed. But losses in the class action domain never materialized.

Projecting the 2025-2026 USNWR law school rankings (to be released March 2025 or so)

Fifty-eight percent of the new USNWR law school rankings turn on three highly-volatile categories: employment 10 months after graduation, first-time bar passage, and ultimate bar passage. USNWR has tried to smooth these out by using a two-year average of these scores. (Next year, it might well use a three-year average or three-year weighted average.)

Because USNWR releases its rankings in the spring, at the same time the ABA releases new data on these categories, the USNWR law school rankings are always a year behind. This year’s data include the ultimate bar passage rate for the Classes of 2019 and 2020, the first-time bar passage rate for the Classes of 2021 and 2022, and the employment outcomes of the Classes of 2021 and 2022

We can quickly update all that data with this year’s data (as I made an effort to do, with some modest success, early last year). And given that the other 42% of the rankings are much less volatile, we can simply assume this year’s data for next year’s and have, within a couple of ranking slots or so, a very good idea of where law schools will be. (Of course, USNWR is free to tweak its methodology once again next year. Some volatility makes sense, because it reflects responsiveness to new data and changed conditions; too much volatility tends to undermine the credibility of the rankings as it would point toward arbitrary criteria and weights that do not meaningfully reflect changes at schools year over year.) Some schools, of course, will see significant changes to LSAT medians, UGPA medians, student-faculty ratios, and so on relative to peers. Some schools have significantly increased school-funded positions after the change in USNWR methodology. And the peer scores may be slightly more volatile than years. Likewise, lawyer and judge scoring of law schools appears to be more significantly adversely affecting the most elite law schools, and that trend may continue.

But, again, this is a first, rough cut of what the new (and volatile) methodology may yield. High volatility and compression mean bigger swings in any given year. Additionally, it means that smaller classes are more susceptible to larger swings (e.g., a couple of graduates whose bar or employment outcomes change are more likely to change the school’s position than larger schools).

If you are inclined to ask, “How could school X move up/down so much?” the answer is, bar and employment, bar and employment, bar and employment.

Here’s the early projections. (Where there are ties, they are sorted by score, which is not reported here.)

UPDATE: I continue to have difficulty assessing Wisconsin’s two law schools due to diploma privilege and how USNWR purports to measure bar passage statistics, so their rankings may be lower than would be expected.

School Projected Rank This Year's Rank
Stanford 1 1
Chicago 2 3
Yale 3 1
Virginia 3 4
Penn 5 4
Harvard 5 4
Michigan 7 9
Duke 7 4
Northwestern 9 9
Columbia 9 8
NYU 9 9
UCLA 12 13
Berkeley 13 12
Vanderbilt 14 19
Washington Univ. 14 16
Georgetown 14 14
Texas 14 16
North Carolina 18 20
Cornell 18 14
Notre Dame 20 20
Minnesota 21 16
Boston Univ. 22 24
Wake Forest 22 25
Georgia 24 20
USC 24 20
Texas A&M 24 26
Boston College 27 28
Florida 28 28
William & Mary 29 36
Alabama 29 33
Ohio State 29 26
George Mason 29 28
BYU 33 28
Washington & Lee 33 33
Utah 33 28
Irvine 33 42
Florida State 37 48
Iowa 37 36
George Washington 37 41
Emory 40 42
Baylor 40 46
Fordham 40 33
SMU 43 42
Arizona State 43 36
Wisconsin 45 36
Illinois 45 36
Colorado 45 48
Indiana-Bloomington 48 42
Villanova 48 48
Davis 48 55
Connecticut 48 55
Pepperdine 52 52
Kansas 52 46
Washington 52 48
Temple 52 54
Tennessee 56 52
San Diego 56 68
Missouri 58 61
Penn State Law 58 68
Arizona 58 55
Penn State-Dickinson 58 75
Oklahoma 58 55
Maryland 63 55
Wayne State 63 55
Kentucky 65 61
Loyola-Los Angeles 65 61
Pitt 65 91
Houston 65 68
Cardozo 65 61
South Carolina 65 66
UNLV 71 78
Cincinnati 71 78
St. John's 71 68
Tulane 71 78
Seton Hall 71 61
Nebraska 71 82
Catholic 71 94
Northeastern 71 68
Florida International 71 68
Richmond 80 66
LSU 80 91
Drexel 80 75
Georgia State 80 75
Maine 84 120
Loyola-Chicago 84 78
Belmont 86 91
Marquette 86 68
Texas Tech 88 82
Miami 88 82
Denver 88 89
UC Law-SF 88 82
Drake 92 82
Duquesne 92 94
Stetson 92 98
Lewis & Clark 95 82
Oregon 95 82
St. Louis 95 94
Chapman 98 108
American 98 98
Buffalo 98 108
Dayton 98 108
Rutgers 98 103
This content was stolen from ExcessOfDemocracy.com

(Any mistakes are my own. One data collection note. I often transpose some schools due to inconsistencies in how the ABA reports school names. Schools beginning with Chicago, Saint, South, or Widener are most susceptible to these inconsistencies.)

Will an earlier big law firm recruiting calendar change the market for prospective law school transfer students?

Back in 2018, the National Association for Law Placement loosened some of its calendar and deadlines for on-campus recruiting for law schools and law students. The concern was largely antitrust, coordinating behavior from large law firms that could affect the labor market. Law firms continued the inertia from early practices, but they also began to move recruiting earlier: on-campus interviews (OCI) still happened in fall of 2L, but some were moving to August or flirting with summer dates. The Covid-19 pandemic in 2020 helped accelerate the move: rather than investing in laborious and time-intensive OCI, screening interviews could happen quickly over Zoom, and could be pushed earlier into the summer.

This inevitable unraveling continues. Bloomberg reports that some OCI is moving to spring 1L year. The bulk of OCI will be be complete at many firms by July 1, although many will still have some spots available for later placement, but surely a minority of spots.

This is, on the whole, bad for law students, as one semester of grades, minimal writing samples, no appearance on journal, and the like make for thin resumes. Employers likely will increasingly rely on proxies like undergraduate institutions and undergraduate grades. Relatedly, it can create additional pressure for first generation law students, who may not be as attuned to how early the law firm hiring process takes place and might miss opportunities that students with attorneys in the family might know about. It puts pressure on schools to have additional education and career development awareness (perhaps with more such staff) for students.

But an interesting Reddit thread raised a different concern. How does this change in market affect transfer students?

One of the big perks of students transferring “up,” if you will, is taking advantage of the new school’s OCI. If your new school has more robust OCI opportunities for the fall of 2L year, it redounds to your benefit to transfer and take advantage of them immediately. Students often give up significant scholarships at lower-ranked schools to take on significant debt at higher-ranked schools. Part of that tradeoff is the benefits of OCI.

But what if OCI moves to spring of 1L or that early summer of 1L year—well before transfer applications are accepted and completed? The benefits of OCI would seem to be lost—as would a major reason to take on additional debt, switch schools (and sometimes moving states), and transfer.

To be sure, there are other benefits of a school—the alumni network, the reputation benefits, and so on. There are many reasons a transfer might be deemed beneficial. But if one of the major reasons for transferring disappears, I wonder if we might see a change in student behavior. And for schools that have previously heavily relied on transfer students for budgetary purposes or to keep 1L admissions classes look a certain way for LSAT and UGPA medians, it could be quite disruptive.

This might be why more schools are moving to early transfer applications, too. If schools realize that the benefits for transferring students are moving earlier, they need to incentivize students to apply earlier, accept them earlier, and give them the potential benefits earlier.

It might also be why we see declining transfer applications overall as well. But there are many market forces at work (a good economy for a few years makes the urgency for transferring less, I would assume), and it’s possible this changes as we see softening recruitment.

It’s one interesting relationship between two things I hadn’t thought much about (the moving OCI window and the transfer market), and one I’ll be watching in the years ahead.