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The Seventh Circuit's analysis of the automatic stay is 180 degrees off course. This provision advances both federalism and the separation of powers. Too many prisoner civil rights cases have degenerated into judicial micromanagement of penal institutions through continuing injunctions or consent decrees. These court orders give prisoners far more relief than the Constitution requires. The automatic stay therefore strikes a blow for the separation of powers and the equally important principle of federalism, by freeing federal and state prisons from the excesses of some Article III courts. Although the motive behind the policy is not relevant to the separation-of-powers issues, see Plaut v. Spendthrift Farm, Inc., 514 U. S. 211, 228 (1995), a statute's effect is. Any analysis of the automatic stay must take into account the fact that it promotes these important constitutional policies by providing the necessary check on the courts. See Part II, supra.
The PLRA is Congress's response to one of the greatest sustained intrusions into federalism and the separation of powers by the federal Judiciary. Traditionally, courts did not interfere with the management of prisons. See J. DiIulio, No Escape 148 (1991) (cited below as "No Escape"). The balance of power between the federal courts and the prisons changed dramatically in the mid-60's and early 70's, as federal district courts entertained prisoner-initiated suits over prison conditions. See M. Feeley & E. Rubin, Judicial Policy Making and the Modern State 39-40 (1998); No Escape, supra, at 148. What began with a trickle soon became a torrent, with a "dramatic proliferation of prison decisions." Feeley & Rubin, supra, at 39. These cases typically involved courts refashioning prisons or jails after finding that the totality of the conditions violated the Constitution. See DiIulio, Enhancing Judicial Capacity, in Courts, Corrections, and the Constitution 4 (J. DiIulio ed. 1990).
The breadth of federal judicial involvement in the correctional system is startling. Forty-one states have had prisons under comprehensive court orders. All 50 states have had jails under court orders and 10 states have had their entire prison systems under judicial interdiction. See Feeley & Rubin, supra, at 13 (footnotes omitted).
Not all district courts approach prison litigation in this manner. Some judges did not take an activist approach to prison litigation, keeping their rulings narrow, and often in the government's favor. See Cripe, Courts, Corrections, and the Constitution: A Practitioner's View, in Courts, Corrections, and the Constitution, supra, at 270-271. Unfortunately, too many district court judges were not so restrained. These courts would render decisions covering entire prisons or even prison systems. This level of intervention would often be justified by finding that the conditions of the prison as a whole was a "shock to the conscience" and thus violated the Eighth Amendment's prohibition of cruel and unusual punishment. See id., at 271-272.
The level of judicial intervention in these cases is breathtaking, in both its extent and detail. A 52-page consent decree concerning the New York City jails signed by Mayor Ed Koch eventually "spawned more than 1,500 pages of court orders . . . ." M. Boot, Out of Order 138 (1998). The ensuing micromanagement is too typical.
"For starters, the order guaranteed every inmate free access every day to newspapers, telephones, and television sets. But it went much further than that. The 'Sanitation Order' prescribed that certain areas of the jails must be cleaned with a particular type of detergent, Boraxo, in a specified strength (half a cup per gallon of water). New York faced fines if it didn't follow this order's 'floor care procedures'--for instance, if prison janitors failed to stay six inches away from baseboards and corners when applying the first two coats of floor finish." Ibid. (emphasis in original).
The case of Guthrie v. Evans shows how a suit from a handful of inmates can turn into a judicially-mandated transformation of a prison. What started as an in forma pauperis complaint by 51 black inmates in the Georgia State Prison at Reidsville turned into one of the most detailed judicial interventions into the administration of a prison. Chilton & Talarico, Politics and Constitutional Interpretation in Prison Reform Litigation: The Case of Guthrie v. Evans, in Courts, Corrections, and the Constitution, supra, at 117. The "extensive changes . . . covered everything from racial discrimination to the right to retain up to six issues of monthly magazines for up to six months." Ibid. The litigation lasted from 1972 to 1985, involving over two hundred witnesses before a special master and "nonprocedural orders and consent decrees . . . too numerous to itemize." See id., at 118-119. A special monitor was appointed to implement the numerous orders and decrees, and was given "broad powers beyond mere oversight of decree implementation and acted as fact-finder, mediator, manager, and planner." Id., at 119. His fees exceeded the salary of Georgia's governor. The litigation was so long and so grueling that it drove personnel out of the prison, see id., at 125, and caused the parties' positions to change as key personnel entered and left this seemingly endless case. See id., at 124-125.
Judicial management of prisons is not limited to Eighth Amendment cases. A 1973 complaint filed by Arizona prisoners alleged that prison mail policies violated their First Amendment rights. This right was alleged to include the "constitutional right to subscribe to certain magazines, including Playboy and Bachelor Beat . . . ." Hook v. State of Arizona, 120 F. 3d 921, 923 (CA9 1997). In response, the state proposed a consent decree, accepted by the prisoners and the court, which promulgated comprehensive mail regulations, including a right for prisoners "to receive three twenty-five pound packages between December 10th and 31st of each year." Ibid. The Department of Corrections moved to modify the decree in October 1992. Ibid. After settlement negotiations broke down, Judge Carl A. Muecke denied the motion, while granting the prisoners' motion "to change the title of the list of people authorized to send holiday packages, and to permit inmates to possess and use hot pots in their cells to heat and cook items." Ibid.
Fortunately, the Ninth Circuit reversed in this case. It found that the considerable expense and security risk posed by the nearly 25,000 packages a year justified modifying the order. See id., at 924-925. Unsurprisingly, the court also found that the Constitution does not confer upon inmates a right to a hot pot in their cells. Id., at 925. A concurring judge noted that Judge Muecke "entangled [himself] in the administration of the Arizona penal institutions," a role the District Court should "severely limit." Id., at 927 (Beezer, J., concurring).
The Ninth Circuit has not always supervised Judge Muecke adequately. In Casey v. Lewis, 43 F. 3d 1261 (CA9 1991), the Ninth Circuit largely affirmed the bulk of Judge Muecke's detailed reordering of Arizona's prison library system in the name of protecting their right of access to the courts. See id., at 1266. This
"order specified in minute detail the times that libraries were to be kept open, the number of hours of library use to which each inmate was entitled (10 per week), the minimal educational requirements for prison librarians (a library science degree, law degree, or paralegal degree), the content of a videotaped legal-research course for inmates (to be prepared by persons appointed by the special master but funded by ADOC), and similar matters." Lewis v. Casey, 518 U. S. 343, 347 (1996).
This Court struck down the order because the prisoners had suffered no actual injury to their right of access. Ibid.
These are not isolated cases. "Rather, the prison cases constitute a rapid, inexorable procession of discrete decisions formulated by federal trial courts throughout the nation and affirmed repeatedly at the appellate level." Feeley & Rubin, supra, at 19. "The Constitution charges federal judges with deciding cases and controversies, not with running state prisons. Yet, too frequently federal district courts in the name of the Constitution effect wholesale takeovers of state correctional facilities and run them by judicial decree." Lewis, supra, 518 U. S., at 364 (Thomas, J., concurring). These cases often do not make it to the appellate level, as the prison authorities decline to appeal in exchange for concessions from the District Court. See, e.g., Chilton & Talarico, supra, at 130 (describing purported negotiations between the Governor of Georgia and the District Court in the Guthrie case).
Consent decrees pose particular problems in prison litigation. Although the consent of the prison officials to the final order would seem to deflect criticism of judicial management of prisons, the consent is often not what it seems. Prison officials confronted with a hostile District Court, the threat of personal liability, and with an uncertain, expensive, and lengthy appeal as the only alternative, can find a consent decree the least bad option. See Decker, Consent Decrees and the Prison Litigation Reform Act of 1995: Usurping Judicial Power or Quelling Judicial Micro-Management, 1997 Wis. L. Rev. 1275, 1278. Furthermore, consent decrees are a wonderful aid to bureaucratic empire building. The new facilities, vast increases in funding, and more staff associated with comprehensive prison decrees can persuade prison officials to put up with the indignity of judicial micromanagement of their institutions. See Bleich, The Politics of Prison Crowding, 77 Cal. L. Rev. 1125, 1156-1158 (1989); Hagedorn, The Consequences of Federal District Court Intervention into Prisons and Jails: Philadelphia, Texas, and Arizona 34-35 (Brookings Institution 1995). Because "[p]rison litigation makes it easier for administrators to obtain additional funding," Bleich, 77 Cal. L. Rev., at 1157, any consent decree that substantially raises prison funding is suspect. Congress recognized the separation-of-powers implications of this interference with the state budgeting process and expressly gave legislators standing to challenge certain orders. See 18 U. S. C. §3626(a)(3)(F).
A consequence of this immense expansion of federal judicial power is that many prisons and jails are now subject to detailed court orders that go beyond the scope of what the Constitution requires. There is no constitutional mandate for the type of cleaner to be used in cleaning the prison, see supra, at 12, or the size, location, and design of prisons. See Ruiz v. Estelle, 503 F. Supp. 1265, 1388-1389 (S.D. Tex. 1980).
This is not judicial review, it is judicial management.
"In the process of defining and imposing standards, courts undertook the management and micromanagement of these institutions. The appointment of special masters, working full-time in the prisons and answerable directly to the court, was only the most dramatic manifestation of this general trend. Even when courts acted without appointing subordinate officials, they maintained an ongoing, detailed supervision of the institution that diverges from our traditional image of judicial action and judicial standard-setting." Feeley & Rubin, supra, at 18.
It is unacceptable, both as a matter of public policy and constitutional law, for courts to involve themselves so deeply in our penal institutions. Judges lack the training, resources, and perspective to manage prisons. While judges are generally quite capable of applying the law to resolve disputes between the parties, they are often poor managers. See Cripe, in Courts, Corrections, and the Constitution, supra, at 274. There are many examples of unintended, but disastrous consequences of the judicial management of prisons. Inflexible and improperly designed population caps in Philadelphia created an effective "get out of jail free card" for many of its criminals, devastating the city. See Hagedorn, supra, at 2-7. Because certain crimes could not be punished by imprisonment, these laws were unenforceable. Thus, drug dealers migrated to Philadelphia from other cities because " '[t]he town's wide open.' " Id., at 6. Eventually, "there were instances where individuals were being arrested who had ten or more bench warrants and were saying things like 'You can't hold me, the caps on tonight.' " Id., at 3.
The Ruiz litigation provides a particularly infamous and well-documented example of the dangers of judicial prison management. This case transformed a controversial, but safe and well-run system into an expensive nightmare for the inmates and staff. See DiIulio, The Old Regime and the Ruiz Revolution: The Impact of Judicial Intervention on Texas Prisons, in Courts, Corrections, and the Constitution, supra, at 53-53, 69-70; Hagedorn, supra, at 12-14. Courts do not have to actively mismanage prisons for their intervention to harm the institution. In Ruiz, the suit itself, and Judge Justice's reputation for sympathy to prisoner claims, led to a breakdown of discipline as inmates exploited the shift in the balance of power between themselves and the administration. See id., at 15. Litigation also intimidates guards, making them wary that disciplining inmates will lead to personal liability. See Engel & Rothman, The Paradox of Prison Reform: Rehabilitation, Prisoner's Rights, and Violence, 7 Harv. J.L. & Pub. Pol'y 413, 431 (1984). Continuing judicial management risks an endless degradation of the administration's authority.
This is an affront to both federalism and the separation of powers. "It is difficult to imagine an activity in which a state has a stronger interest, or one that is more intricately bound up with state laws, regulations, and procedures, than the administration of its prisons." Preiser v. Rodriguez, 411 U. S. 475, 491-492 (1973). Judges should not make prison policy, but instead must defer to the prison administration's evaluation of penological objectives. See O'Lone v. Estate of Shabazz, 482 U. S. 342, 349-350 (1987). Courts, which lack both the knowledge and resources to administer prisons, are better suited to safeguarding basic principles; the details of prison life are better left to the executive and legislative branches. See Procunier v. Martinez, 416 U. S. 396, 404-405 (1974). Any remedy must therefore be narrowly tailored to what the Constitution minimally requires. A court "may not use the totality of all conditions to justify federal intervention requiring remedies more extensive than are required to correct Eighth Amendment violations." Wright v. Rushen, 642 F. 2d 1129, 1133 (CA9 1981). As two proponents of judicial intervention admit, "the prison reform cases . . . violated nearly every accepted principle for controlling the judicial branch." Feeley & Rubin, supra, at 18. The authors did not conclude that the courts were wrong, however, but rather that "there is something seriously wrong" with "federalism, separation of powers, and the rule of law . . . ." Id., at 20.
This Court knows better, see Part II, supra, as does Congress. The PLRA is Congress's effort to correct the excesses of the federal courts in prison litigation. As Senator Abraham said during the debate over the PLRA, "judicial orders entered under federal law have effectively turned control of the prison system away from elected officials accountable to the taxpayer, and over to the courts." 141 Cong. Rec. 26,554 (1995). The PLRA is Congress's exercise of its constitutional obligation to check another branch. The automatic stay provision is an important component of this policy and any analysis of its constitutionality must take this into account.
The PLRA seeks to restore the balance between the Judiciary, on one hand, and the States, Congress, and the Executive, on the other, by placing strict limits on the federal courts' power to issue injunctive relief in prison cases, and applying these limits to existing court orders. This later portion is particularly important since many prisons and jails are still operating under longstanding judicial decrees. See supra, at 14. The automatic stay is a necessary component for liberating the penal system from unnecessarily broad court orders.
If there is one constant in prison litigation, it is the length of the major cases. Any attempt to remake a prison system is going to take a long time. The Ruiz case started with a complaint filed in 1972, while the District Court's decision was not issued until 1980 after an "epic trial." Ruiz v. Johnson, 37 F. Supp. 2d 855, 860 (S.D. Tex. 1999). This Court has addressed a prison reform case that entailed similarly epic litigation, with numerous court orders and appeals snaking through the federal courts for over 20 years. See Rufo v. Inmates of Suffolk County Jail, 502 U. S. 367, 372-378 (1992).
Although it may take time for a court to reorder a prison, Congress has determined that the courts should not be dilatory in undoing any excesses. These cases are a source of continuing harm to the extent that the court orders exceed the constitutional minimum. Federalism and the separation of powers are continually violated, the administration's authority erodes, guards are deterred from disciplining inmates, and innovation is stifled so long as the system operates under the specter of continued judicial intervention. See supra, at 16-17. Until the court rules on the continued validity of the stay, justice delayed will be justice denied. Cf. In re Blodgett, 502 U. S. 236, 239 (1992) (delay in ruling on habeas petition in capital case causes "severe prejudice to the state").
Unfortunately, not all district courts can be expected to rule promptly on these motions. The judge ruling on the motion to modify under the PLRA will typically be the same judge who issued the order in the first place. Given the considerable time and effort that went into these orders, and the high stakes of the initial litigation, courts may be loath to undo their handiwork. While district judges are constitutional officers who can and should be expected to execute their legal duties, they are also human beings. The power and notoriety that comes with these cases may be difficult to give up. See Cripe, supra, at 270. Thus a judge may not wish to see his handiwork undone during his lifetime. See Pasadena City Bd. of Education v. Spangler, 427 U. S. 424, 433 (1976). A judge confronted with a motion to modify an order that goes well beyond the constitutional minimum has a strong personal incentive to delay ruling on the case, thereby keeping in force an order which is now illegal. 18 U. S. C. §3626(e)(2) is Congress's device to prevent this from happening.
Without a specific directive from Congress, it is truly difficult to compel a federal court to rule on a case. A two-and-one-half-year stay of execution without any ruling was not enough to support a writ of mandamus in a habeas corpus attack on a capital conviction. See Blodgett, supra, 502 U. S., at 240. Although this Court's stern warning to the Ninth Circuit, see id., at 240-241, was warranted, prison authorities should not have to face the prospect of two rounds of interlocutory appeals, or a long wait to get the expedited ruling they deserve. Since the law underlying these injunctions has changed, "it would be particularly inequitable" to make the taxpayers and prison authorities labor "under a continuing injunction" that is no longer valid while the district court "bide[s] [its] time . . . ." Agostini v. Felton, 521 U. S. 203, 240 (1997). The automatic stay places the federal courts on a schedule in order to restore federalism and the separation of powers. After 30 to 90 days, it restores the normal state of affairs, in which prisons are run by prison administrators and not special masters, until a court actually rules that the order is legal. Nothing in the Constitution prevents this rule of procedure.
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