If no settlement can be reached in Dominion Voting Systems' $1.6 billion defamation lawsuit against Fox News, the ensuing trial will prove to be one of the most important in the history of First Amendment law. On Sunday, the start of the trial was delayed by 24 hours, and reports of a possible settlement spread.
Defamation cases are notoriously difficult to win against media outlets because the plaintiffs must prove both that a claim was false and that it was made with "actual malice" — that is, either "with knowledge that it was false or with reckless disregard of whether it was false or not." In this case, a number of factors favor Dominion. First, because Fox News' claims that Dominion had rigged the 2020 election against then-President Donald Trump were false, as with the other tenets of the Big Lie, Davis ruled that Dominion only needs to prove that Fox News acted with "actual malice." Second, there is a wealth of evidence that the key figures at Fox News knew that their public accusations against Dominion were false, yet made them despite that knowledge to please their audience. Finally, Fox News has already been scolded by the judge for withholding important information about the title of board member Rupert Murdoch.
It is easy, amidst the high drama of a landmark free speech case, to lose sight of how we got where we are. The First Amendment of the United States Constitution states that "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances." So what does it mean to "abridg[e] the freedom of... the press"? How can courts and policymakers remain faithful to the Constitution while protecting those who may be wronged by a dishonest or corrupt media outlet?
In this case, a number of factors favor Dominion.
Below are some key cases from American history that either have helped shape how that question is answered — or which help illustrate the nuances of First Amendment law.
When Salon reached out to Leonard M. Niehoff, a professor at the University of Michigan Law School who specializes in the First Amendment, he replied that "it's tempting to answer your question not by citing three cases but by suggesting reading Sullivan three times. The decision casts a lot of light on the Dominion case."
Niehoff is alluding to New York Times Co. v. Sullivan, a landmark Supreme Court decision that simultaneously protected America's free press and stopped white supremacists from using frivolous litigation to silence their critics. The case's roots can be traced back to 1960 when The New York Times ran a full-page piece by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s supporters that criticized the police in Montgomery, Alabama for engaging in racist violence against civil rights protesters. White supremacists often responded to critical newspaper coverage by filing frivolous defamation lawsuits, usually by nitpicking an article's factual errors and suing to intimidate publishers into not running pro-civil rights content.
On this occasion, however, the wealthy right-wingers who lined up to back Montgomery police commissioner L. B. Sullivan's intimidatory litigation found their money was wasted. Despite winning early trials due to pro-Southern audiences that were openly hostile to civil rights — first in an Alabama jury trial, then with the Supreme Court of Alabama — the segregationists were shocked when the Supreme Court unanimously ruled against them in 1964. It found that in order to sustain a defamatory accusation, the plaintiffs must prove that the claim was false and that the individual(s) making it did so with either "actual malice" or recklessly.
"Consider: Sullivan seeks to create room for the media to make good faith mistakes when telling important stories," Niehoff explained. "Is this a case of good faith mistakes? Were these journalists trying to get the story right but getting it wrong for understandable reasons? Or is this a different kind of case altogether?"
Niehoff also noted that, as with Sullivan, the Dominion case is also a microcosm of where America is at this point in its history. "Sullivan had its origins in the civil rights movement and recognized the threat that southern officials would weaponize libel cases to resist it," Niehoff wrote to Salon. "Sullivan is a case about a great social struggle and the role of the media in advancing it. The Dominion case has its origins in a lie about an election outcome. It is a case about a great fraud, where the plaintiff claims the media helped perpetuate it. One can appropriately wonder what the Dominion case says about where we've strayed to as a society."
"The decision is a bit of a libel buffet, offering up lots of principles that are somewhat disconnected from each other," Niehoff told Salon about the Gertz decision. "But it seems to me possible that the case's approach to damages and other issues could prove important [to Dominion]."
The story behind Gertz begins in 1968, when a lawyer named Elmer Gertz decided to represent the family of Ronald Nelson, who had been gunned down by Chicago police officer Richard Nuccio. Because Nuccio was ultimately convicted of second-degree murder, Nelson's family was suing him for damages. The John Birch Society opposed Gertz's advocacy, however, and falsely published that he was actually working for Communist front organizations as part of a conspiracy to destroy America's police force. They also falsely claimed that Gertz had rigged the trial to get Nuccio's conviction and that he himself had a criminal record. Gertz sued American Opinion (the publication which advanced these Bircher ideas) and, although he won a jury verdict and $50,000 award, lost his libel suit because a judge found he had not proved "actual malice." The Supreme Court later affirmed the lower court's ruling. As a result, America does not apply the standard of "strict liability" (holding someone accountable for the consequences of their actions regardless of their intentions) in defamation cases.
As the Gertz case helps illustrate, one of the key variables in determining whether defamation occurred is ascertaining the presence or absence of "actual malice." While the courts found that Gertz did not meet that standard, the same was not true for Daniel Connaughton, a candidate for Hamilton, Ohio Municipal Judge in 1983. When it looked like Connaughton was going to win the election because the incumbent's Director of Court Services was arrested on bribery charges, a local newspaper owned by Harte-Hanks Communications that supported the incumbent decided to change that. Soon they ran a front-page story that falsely accused Connaughton of orchestrating the arrest through "dirty tricks." Among other things, it dishonestly stated that Connaughton had offered a member of the grand jury bribes in exchange for her assistance with the investigation. Connaughton sued Harte-Hanks and won both in a district court and in a Court of Appeals, as the evidence proved Harte-Hanks had intentionally published something false in order to harm Connaughton's reputation — a clear example of "actual malice."
When Niehoff was asked to list important First Amendment cases, he made a point of singling Connaughton.
"There, the Supreme Court clarified the kinds of evidence that can show the presence of actual malice," Niehoff told Salon. "It turns out that the evidence looks a fair amount like the same sort of evidence a plaintiff would use in a simple negligence case. The actual malice standard provides important protection, but, once you get to trial, it's probably less protection than is generally understood. The case also clarifies how appellate courts should review adverse jury verdicts, which may ultimately be a factor here."