Over the past two years, courts have begun to address a vital question at the heart of the First Amendment: what level of scrutiny should apply when states restrict a doctor’s speech to a patient? In Pickup v. Brown,1 the Ninth Circuit upheld a ban on sexual orientation conversion therapy (SOCT) as applied to minors, exempting from First Amendment protection all medical speech classifiable as treatment.2 One year later, in King v. Governor of New Jersey,3 the Third Circuit upheld a parallel ban, this time applying intermediate First Amendment scrutiny.4 Last year, in Wollschlaeger v. Governor of Florida,5 the Eleventh Circuit provided its answer. Upholding a Florida law banning doctors from questioning patients about firearm ownership, the court held that because the ban restricts only speech uttered by a doctor in the examination room, it is exempt from First Amendment scrutiny.6 In June, the Supreme Court denied certiorari in Pickup,7 leaving it to the circuits, for now, to develop a doctrinal answer to this emerging question. It is thus critical that other circuits recognize the problems at the heart of the Eleventh Circuit’s approach: Wollschlaeger not only removes First Amendment protection from an unprecedented amount of speech, but does so on the basis of a problematic normative premise — that doctors have no “generalized interest in being able to speak freely” to their patients within the context of the doctor-patient relationship on subjects irrelevant to medical care.8 If allowed to flourish, this premise could lead not only to the vast expansion of government power over professional speech, but to a fundamental alteration of American citizenship.
In 2011, Florida passed the Firearm Owners’ Privacy Act,9 subjecting doctors to disciplinary measures for, inter alia, making a “verbal or written inquiry” into patients’ firearm ownership when doctors do not “in good faith believe[]” such inquiries to be “relevant to the patient’s medical care or safety, or the safety of others.”10 Citizens and legislators had complained that doctors were repeatedly asking about gun ownership, orally and in questionnaires,11 in part as a result of the American Medical Association’s suggestion in its policy guides that such questions were important to child safety and public health.12
Four days after Governor Rick Scott signed the Act into law, a group of medical professionals filed suit, alleging that the Act facially violated the First and Fourteenth Amendments as a content-based, overbroad, and unconstitutionally vague restriction on speech.13 The district court agreed and enjoined enforcement of the law,14 and the State appealed, arguing that the Act was a permissible regulation of professional conduct, not speech, and thus exempt from First Amendment scrutiny.15
The Eleventh Circuit reversed. Judge Tjoflat,16 writing for a two-judge majority, upheld the Act as a permissible regulation of professional conduct with only incidental effects on speech. After finding that the plaintiffs had standing,17 the majority synthesized the State’s concerns into an interest in protecting patients’ privacy.18 Given this interest and the power imbalance inherent in the doctor-patient relationship,19 the court found that the Act “merely reaffirms” the “common-sense proposition” that “the practice of good medicine should not require inquiry into private matters” irrelevant to medical care.20 The court then extended this logic beyond inquiry to all speech: “Insofar as [doctors] claim a generalized interest in being able to speak freely to their patients, such conversation (if not relevant to medical care) is outside the boundaries of the physician-patient relationship.”21
Having described the Act as a presumptively reasonable regulation of conduct, the court then found that the Act does not impermissibly restrict protected speech. The court began by explaining that the Act’s restrictions on a doctor’s ability to engage in “unrestricted debate” on matters of “public concern”22 solely affect speech uttered “within the confines of the physician’s examination room, where the physician exercises his or her judgment to deliver professional treatment and advice to a particular patient . . . in private.”23 Because the First Amendment concerns implicated by professional speech in this context “approach a nadir,”24 the Act’s impact on protected speech is merely incidental25: it “implicates physicians’ speech only ‘as part of the practice of medicine.’”26 The court thus conducted no content- or viewpoint-neutrality inquiry27 and upheld Florida’s ban.28
Judge Wilson filed a vehement dissent. The majority had upheld not only a clear restriction of speech, rather than a mere regulation of professional conduct, but also a content-, speaker-,29 and viewpoint-discriminatory30 one: Florida’s ban silenced doctors on a single topic to prevent them from communicating an unpopular message to Florida’s citizenry.31 More dangerously, the majority reached this result not after subjecting the Act to First Amendment scrutiny, but by issuing a new rule, unsupported by precedent,32 that all speech within “the confines of a one-on-one professional relationship” between doctors and patients was, and would now be, exempted from First Amendment scrutiny.33 Rejecting this withdrawal of protection, the dissent would have invalidated the law under either intermediate or strict scrutiny.34
Wollschlaeger serves as the Eleventh Circuit’s contribution to an emerging judicial inquiry: what degree of First Amendment scrutiny should apply when a state restricts a doctor’s speech to a patient? Exempting virtually all speech uttered in the examination room from First Amendment scrutiny, in part on the basis of the normative premise that doctors have no expressive interest in speaking to patients on subjects irrelevant to medical care, Wollschlaeger should be understood as a deeply problematic contribution to this emerging body of opinions. If followed, it would do more than simply permit the state to regulate a vast amount of speech with no meaningful judicial check: it would fundamentally alter a doctor’s status as a professional citizen.
Nearly two years ago, in Pickup, the Ninth Circuit considered to what degree a doctor’s speech to a patient is protected by the First Amendment. Faced with a ban on the application of SOCT to minors, a ban supported by California’s interest in “protecting the well-being” of those minors,35 but nevertheless directly regulating a doctor’s speech, the court created a First Amendment bifurcation: speech that could be classified as medical treatment would receive no First Amendment protection, permitting the state wide latitude to regulate dangerous or ineffective therapies,36 but speech merely related to medical care or unrelated altogether would retain intermediate First Amendment protection.37 Dissenting from a denial of rehearing en banc, Judge O’Scannlain, reserving judgment on the merits, lambasted the construction of this exemption.38 Nevertheless, the court’s decision constituted a sincere attempt to balance the State’s needs against a doctor’s rights: in applying intermediate scrutiny to much of a doctor’s speech, the court implicitly recognized that doctors have some right to speak freely to their patients on subjects of political or moral concern.
One year later, the majority in Wollschlaeger eviscerated this balance.39 Approaching the question of how much First Amendment protection to afford to medical speech, the court eschewed Pickup’s treatment/speech dichotomy in favor of a blanket context-based withdrawal of protection: if a regulation restricts only speech uttered “within the confines of the physician’s examination room,”40 its “burden . . . on speech is . . . incidental to its legitimate regulation of the practice of medicine.”41 In other words, in the Eleventh Circuit, the First Amendment now ends at the examination room door.42
Of course, the Wollschlaeger court disclaimed this broad reading of its rule.43 Invoking the limitation of Florida’s ban to medically irrelevant speech,44 the majority suggested its holding might similarly be limited — or at least reasonable — because it did no more than recognize the “common-sense” normative “proposition” that doctors have no “generalized interest in being able to speak freely to their patients . . . [on subjects] not relevant to medical care.”45 Even if one accepts that the court’s holding is indeed so limited,46 analysis of this supposedly limiting principle reveals not the reasonableness of the court’s rule, but its unprecedented breadth and problematic normative implications.
To understand the breadth of the court’s withdrawal of protection, it is first necessary to understand what the court, and Florida, mean by “irrelevant.” Seeking to define the medical relevance requirement for purposes of the petitioners’ vagueness challenge, the court explained that “[i]f . . . the physician seeks firearm information to suit an agenda unrelated to medical care or safety, he or she would not be making a ‘good faith’ inquiry.”47 There is little mystery as to what “agenda” means: it is the court’s, and the legislature’s, pejorative term for a doctor’s desire to communicate a political opinion to her patients.48 Indeed, the majority not only referred to the banned speech as animated by a political agenda, but also went so far as to acknowledge that speech on firearms may indeed be speech on a “matter of public concern.”49 To the court, then, “irrelevant speech” is not simply irrelevant: it is political speech or speech on a matter of public concern — speech that Pickup excluded from its sphere of First Amendment exemption, and crucially, speech that precedent holds receives the highest degree of protection under the First Amendment.50
Analyzing the Wollschlaeger court’s supposedly limiting principle, then, reveals the opinion’s problematic breadth: Wollschlaeger removes all protection from even the most protected form of communicative speech51 simply on the basis of where and by whom it is uttered. More troublingly for purposes of precedent, the court, in emphasizing the ban’s limitation to irrelevant speech, seems to have removed protection in part because, not in spite of the fact that the speech is communicative expression on a matter of public concern. Thus, whereas Pickup exempted speech because it had the characteristics of therapy,52 Wollschlaeger exempted speech from any First Amendment protection in part because it had the expressive characteristics of speech.53
More problematic than the breadth of the court’s rule is the normative premise its so-called limiting principle reveals: that it is mere “common sense” that a doctor, as a professional, has no right to express to a patient her religious, political, or moral beliefs — all irrelevant to medical care — no matter how central those beliefs may be to her citizenship. On the one hand, this premise is flawed in and of itself: it reflects a highly regimented54 vision of American professionalism that the High Court has increasingly disclaimed, that a person’s expressive life may be — even must be — firmly separated from her professional one.55 On the other hand, even those who would agree with this bifurcated vision of professional and expressive speech — who would choose it as their own standard — should balk at the court’s decision, in eliminating protection from such speech, to impose this vision on all doctors. Doctors surely have some right to define and delineate the boundaries of their own professional and expressive lives.56 As all people do throughout their careers, a doctor must decide how important it is for her to communicate her personal beliefs to clients, what she is willing to risk in order to do so, and whether she is willing to pay the market price for her choice.57 This right of expressive self-definition is not absolute,58 yet it demands some recognition. In failing to accord any value to a doctor’s nonmedical expression to a client, the Wollschlaeger court effected a broad transformation of a doctor’s rights as a citizen through a simple, unexamined admonishment: it is not a doctor’s job to talk to her patients about politics.
Perhaps to many this criticism sounds idealistic: conceptions of citizenship notwithstanding, the intimacy of a doctor’s office is no place for political speech.59 Yet it is vital to recognize that in exempting this speech from scrutiny, the Wollschlaeger court did more than just deny the expressive rights of doctors: it handed the state — the very entity the First Amendment cautions the court to distrust60 — the power to censor a doctor’s expression with almost complete judicial deference. Even those who would agree with the court’s premise, then, should recognize the independent normative dangers of its rule61: Wollschlaeger handed the state a “new and powerful tool to silence expression”62 — one far more powerful than that constructed in Pickup itself.
There is no question that the Wollschlaeger court faced a difficult question: with what doctrinal frame should courts balance a doctor’s expressive rights against the regulatory interests of the state? The answer to this question is not obvious: though Pickup, Wollschlaeger, and King offer valuable insights,63 the ultimate determination is beyond the scope of this comment. Nevertheless, it is imperative that future courts recognize not just the precedential flaws but also the normative dangers lurking in Wollschlaeger’s answer. The blurred lines between citizenship and professionalism in American society are not inconveniences to be erased by the state64: they are a vital element of American citizenship — and not only for doctors. There is a reason that the American Bar Association has petitioned the Eleventh Circuit for en banc review of Wollschlaeger.65 When it comes to professional regulation, doctors are not the end but the beginning, the canary in the coal mine for the rest of us.