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Volume 111, Issue 1, October 2001
5
Articles
  • 1
    The Rise of Dispersed Ownership The Roles of Law and the State in the Separation of Ownership and Control
    John C. Coffee Jr., Sunday, 30 September 2001
    111 Yale L.J. 1 (2001)

    Deep and liquid securities markets appear to be an exception to a worldwide pattern in which concentrated ownership dominates dispersed ownership. Recent commentary has argued that a dispersed shareholder base is unlikely to develop in civil-law countries and transitional economies for a variety of reasons, including (1) the absence of adequate legal protections for minority shareholders, (2) the inability of dispersed shareholders to hold control when the private benefits of control are high, and (3) the political vulnerability of dispersed shareholder ownership in left-leaning social democracies. Nonetheless, this Article finds that significant movement in the direction of dispersed ownership has occurred and is accelerating across Europe.

    What, then, are the legal and political precondiitons to the emergence of strong securities markets? Examining the origins of dispersed ownership in both the United States and the United Kingdom during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and contrasting their experiences with the contemporaneous failure of securities markets to develop in Continental Europe, this Article finds little evidence that the existence of strong legal protections for minority shareholders is the explanatory variable that best accounts for the divergent evolution of common-law versus civil-law economies. During this era, particularly in the United States, the private benefits of control were high, controlling shareholders regularly exploited minority shareholders and manipulated markets, and political corruption undercut the effectiveness of those legal remedies that existed. Yet, ownership and control gradually separated in the largest U.S. corporations. The critical factors explaining early market development in the United States appear to have been the private efforts of investment bankers to develop credible bonding mechanisms plus enlightened self-regulation of the New York Stock Exchange. In this light, the decisive difference between the common-law countries, in which securities markets developed, and the civil-law countries, in which they did not, appears to have been less their divergent legal rules than the early emergence of a relatively autonomous and decentralized private sector in the former countries, in which competition could flourish and self-regulation was encouraged. In contrast, market development was impeded in Continental Europe by pervasive state intervention and a view of the securities market as an appendage of the state.

    Ultimately, the correlation between strong securities markets and strong legal standards seems real, but the causal sequence may be the reverse of that suggested by recent commentators. Rather than strong legal protections engendering strong markets, securities markets appear to develop first through private initiatives and then create political constituencies that demand stronger legal proetections. "Crash then law" is a recurring cycle. Hence, although law contributes to market growth and particularly market stability, it appears more to follow than precede economic development.

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  • 83
    A Dilution Mechanism for Valuing Corporations in Bankruptcy
    Barry E. Adler and Ian Ayres, Sunday, 30 September 2001
    111 Yale L.J. 83 (2001)

    This Article proposes a new mechanism for valuing firms in bankruptcy. Under the "senior dilution" mechanism, a court would dilute the reorganized stock issued to senior claimants by issuing additional shares to junior claimants until there was no excess demand for the stock at a price that would implement absolute priority. A "junior diluation" mechanism could also be implemented to provide a market test for proposed reorganization plans of junior claimants by having a court issue additional debt to senior claimants until there was no excess supply of the debt at a price that would implement absolute priority. We show that these mechanisms harnass the private information of the claimants and of third parties to produce distributions consistent with absolute priority. Dilution mechanisms can be superior to other information-harnassing devices (such as an option or auction approach) because they (1) are less susceptible to the problem of junior illiquidity than an option approach proposed by Lucian Bebchuk, (2) are less susceptible to the problem of market manipulation and may better allocate control premia than a partial float proposal by Mark Roe; and (3) may produce fewer transaction costs than a full auction approach proposed by Douglas Baird. Moreover, as a response to the Supreme Court's recent admonition in LaSalle that bankruptcy courts employ market tests more often when creditors dissent to a reorganization plan, the junior dilution mechanism provides a uniquely workable solution within the current statutory framework.

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Essay
  • 151
    Drug Designs are Different
    James A. Henderson Jr. and Aaron D. Twerski, Sunday, 30 September 2001
    111 Yale L.J. 151 (2001)

    In an essay published in this Journal entitled Is There a Design Defect in the Restatement (Third) of Torts: Products Liability?, George Conk criticizes the American Law Institute and the Reporters of the new Restatement for immunizing prescription drug manufacturers from liability for defective design. In doing so, he joins other commentators who have been critical of this aspect of the new Restatement, upon which we served as Reporters. Because Conk claims to have history on his side, and because this most recent criticism may prove to be disproportionately influential, we offer a response both to him and to other critics.
     
    Conk praises the general product-design standard adopted by the Restatement, which predicates liability for almost all nonprescription products upon proof that a reasonable alternative design could have been adopted that would have avoided or reduced harm to the plaintiff. However, he criticizes the Restatement's provisions relating to defective drug design for not applying the same "reasonable alternative" standard. (The Restatement deems a drug defective in design only if it would not be prescribed for any class of patients.) In his view, the Restatement test for defective drug design would protect prescription drug manufacturers from liability even if a plaintiff could show that an alternatively designed drug would have avoided unnecessary risk. Conk argues that during the late 1970s and early 1980s, the absence of a reasonable alternative design standard for prescription drugs allowed distributors of blood to escape liability for supplying blood products contaminated with the hepatitis C virus and that the Restatement test would condone such noxious results in the future. Claiming this regrettable history as support for his position, Conk urges that the defectiveness of prescription drug designs should be determined by the same standard as is generally applicable to nonprescription products.
     
    Our critics have misread the prescription drug design provision of the new Restatement. It does not immunize prescription drug manufacturers for defective design. Plaintiffs may establish defectiveness by showing that safer alternative drugs were available on the market that reasonable health care providers would have prescribed in place of a defendant's drug for all classes of patients. Moreover, Conk's premise that the blood cases in the 1980s would have been decided differently if blood products had been subject to the reasonable alternative design rule of the new Restatement is false. Finally, the purportedly pro-plaintiff approach he advocates, which would require courts to deny classes of patients access to a particular drug that provides them unique benefits in order to protect other patients from the risks of misprescription by negligent physicians, is both unfair and inefficient. In short, the Restatement is quite correct in treating prescription drug designs differently from other product designs, although it does not treat them as differently as Conk supposes. Drug designs are different from other product designs, and they deserve different treatment under the new Restatement.
     
    Part I of this Essay summarizes Conk's thesis, including his interpretation of the new Restatement. Part II identifies significant errors in Conk's critique: He has read the Restatement incorrectly, and his reliance on the blood cases is misplaced. Part III explains and justifies the substantive differences between the new Restatement's treatment of prescription drug design and its treatment of defective product design generally. These differences include the Restatement's refusal to allow courts to consider alternative, safer prescription products that have not yet received FDA approval (under the general design provisions, courts routinely consider not-yet-marketed alternative designs) and its refusal to sacrifice the welfare of one class of patients to enhance the welfare of another class of patients (under the general design provisions, such cross-consumer sacrifices of welfare are routinely condoned). Part III also explains why drug design litigation cannot legitimately be made more plaintiff-friendly by reducing its complexity and why the rule in the new Restatement should not significantly reduce manufacturers' incentives to discover new and safer prescription products.
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Note
  • 183
    Abolition Without Deliverance: The Law of Connecticut Slavery 1784-1848
    David Menschel, Sunday, 30 September 2001
    111 Yale L.J. 183 (2001)

    According to American public memory, slavery in the United States was peculiar to the South. Unless explicitly reminded of the North's history of slavery, most Americans associate the North with abolitionists rather than slaveholders. Alongside this public memory is the work of professional historians that recognizes that slavery existed in the North during the colonial era but asserts that it was abolished during the late eighteenth century. According to such scholarship, as the Revolutionary War brought ideas of natural rights to the forefront of the American consciousness and as economic realities made Northern slavery increasingly unprofitable, states north of Maryland eliminated slavery through a series of legal measures. Some scholars who advance this narrative portray the abolition measures adopted by most Northern states as immediate and comprehensive, as though these measures effectuated the near-instantaneous eradication of slavery in each state that adopted them.
     
    In fact, though the number of slaves in the North declined after the Revolutionary War, slavery continued to exist there well into the nineteenth century. Between 1777 and 1804, all of the states north of Maryland did take steps that would eventually doom slavery within their borders. But only in Massachusetts, Vermont, and New Hampshire were slaves emancipated relatively swiftly, and even in these states abolition measures were ambiguous and their implementation inconsistent. In Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, and Rhode Island, state legislatures adopted gradual abolition legislation, which dismantled slavery over a period of half a century.
     
    Even histories of the North that distinguish gradual from immediate abolition tend to depict the former as an event rather than as a process. Some accounts elide the decades between the enactment of gradual abolition laws and slavery's actual extinction, as though slavery during this period were unworthy of remark because it was in decline. Other works minimize or foreshorten the history of Northern slavery after the adoption of gradual abolition through imprecise language and sweeping generalities. Still other works ignore the mechanics of gradual abolition laws and their effect on slaves entirely. Historians' cursory treatment of this transitional era insinuates that gradual abolition laws produced slavery's straightforward and timely demise and promotes the image of Northern slavery as fleeting and anomalous.
     
    Using Connecticut as a case study, this Note begins where the traditional narrative concludes. Unlike the standard histories of African Americans and of slavery in Connecticut, this Note probes the law of slavery between 1784, when the state adopted gradual abolition, and 1848, when the state's last slaves became free. In particular, this Note challenges the standard account of Connecticut abolition in three respects. First, it presents evidence that Connecticut's 1784 Gradual Abolition Act did not remove slavery from the state in a prompt and orderly fashion. In Connecticut--as in all of those states north of Maryland and south of Massachusetts that enacted gradual abolition laws--slavery's termination was protracted and idiosyncratic. Second, the Note demonstrates that Connecticut's Gradual Abolition Act, while central to the decline of slavery in the state, was only one of several legal and extralegal developments that together caused slavery to disintegrate. Third, this Note considers the experience of Connecticut slaves and their children in the wake of gradual abolition; it examines slavery's stubborn hold on people even as it slowly decayed.
     
    Part I examines Connecticut's Gradual Abolition Act of 1784 and reveals that the law freed no slaves. It did promise eventual freedom to the future-born children of slaves, but, under the law, even these beneficiaries remained in servitude until the age of twenty-five. The law reflected the legislature's intent to end the institution of slavery in the state in a way that respected property rights and preserved social order. Part II challenges the notion that the 1784 law alone extinguished slavery in Connecticut. The population of slaves did decrease after 1784, but only because the Gradual Abolition Act was combined with other legal developments, both legislative and judicial, that so cut off the supply of new slaves as to ensure slavery's atrophy. Despite these legal restrictions, individuals continued to introduce new slaves into Connecticut through a variety of means, both lawful and unlawful. Furthermore, neither the 1784 law, nor any other law, emancipated living slaves. These slaves' sole hope for freedom was the voluntary acts of slaveholders. To the extent that statutory law addressed such manumissions, it discouraged rather than promoted it.
     
    Part III explores the effect of the Gradual Abolition Act on Connecticut slaves. Even after the enactment of gradual abolition, slaves remained subject to the wills of their masters and constrained by a slave code, a legal regime that controlled and managed slaves. In some senses, the 1784 law made slave life more uncertain because the law created incentives for slaveholders to export their bondspeople from Connecticut. Part IV shows that even the future-born children of slaves, to whom the Gradual Abolition Act promised freedom, did not experience unmitigated salvation. For twenty-five years, such individuals remained "in servitude," bound to their mothers' masters in a state of near-slavery, the contours of which were unsettled. Part V concludes with a summary of the Note's principal arguments and seeks to orient its analysis of abolition in Connecticut within the context of scholarship about Northern abolition more generally.
     
    The Gradual Abolition Act of 1784 did not neatly lift slavery from the social landscape of Connecticut. Nor did the Act initiate a linear process of abolition. If one keeps an eye on the law and an eye on those whom its vagaries affected, one begins to discover a turbulent story. Certainly, when measured against the alternative of perpetual slavery, the 1784 statute was a monumental achievement. However, through the eyes of both slaves and free black people, and of those who existed--as this Note will show--in between, the decades following the 1784 Act were bittersweet at best. The slaves who lived during these generations lived in a world of social limbo; for them, "abolition" ushered in an era of confusion and ambiguity rather than unqualified deliverance.
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Comment
  • 223
    The Kabuki Mask of Bush v. Gore
    Nick Levin, Sunday, 30 September 2001
    111 Yale L.J. 223 (2001)

    Is law merely Kabuki politics? Many critics consider the Supreme Court's recent foray into electoral matters, Bush v. Gore, as resounding evidence that it is, with concerns for equality and electoral deadlines constituting the "conservative" Justices' masks. These critics point to flaws in the equal protection argument, the "conservative" Justices' decision not to remand the case to determine appropriate vote-counting standards, and the irony of the pro-federalism Rehnquist Court's intervention in a state supreme court's interpretation of state law. They conclude that political animus must explain the result.
     
    In this Case Note, I assume arguendo that the equal protection critiques are valid (even though some disagree ). I nevertheless seek to justify the Court's equal protection holding, not as correct on its own terms, but as a vehicle through which the Court addressed a likely First Amendment freedom of association violation. The real problem was not that the difference between standards was inherently too large but rather that political partisanship (i.e., viewpoint discrimination) may have caused it.
     
    In particular, I focus on how the absence of specific standards guiding permissible legal votes--when the instrumental effect of a county's choice of recount standard was immediately apparent--provided counties with an opportunity to try to manipulate the election results. The risk of viewpoint discrimination arose because the county canvassing boards in predominantly Democratic counties, such as Broward (on which I focus in this Case Note), knew that Gore would lose if the pre-recount vote held. There was a substantial possibility that Broward's Democratic agenda may have caused it to choose a more lenient vote-counting standard in order "to maximize the number of recovered votes." Even if the resulting standard were applied equally to Bush and Gore votes (which I presume to be true), this partisan choice of standards would--for reasons that I explain--unconstitutionally restrict Bush voters' freedom of association by intentionally providing Gore with a relative gain.
     
    Part I explains the bare-bones facts pertinent to this Case Note and briefly restates the Court's equal protection holding. Part II discusses the doctrinal underpinnings of freedom of association analysis. Part III describes how Bush v. Gore would have presented a unique but cognizable--and potentially meritorious--relative restriction of association.
     
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