“This authority derives from the International Emergency Economic Powers Act,” he said, “and from longstanding national‑security statutes.” He invoked Section 232 of the Trade Expansion Act, the same law presidents have used to shield the steel and aluminum industries. Emergencies don’t wait for committee votes, he argued, and this one—economic manipulation by hostile actors—was already in motion.
Katyal didn’t flinch. If Congress truly meant to give the president power to rewrite tariffs, he said, it would have said so clearly. IEEPA was designed in 1977 to let presidents freeze assets and block wire transfers from hostile regimes, not redesign the import structure of the entire economy.
“IEEPA is a scalpel for emergencies,” Katyal said, “not a chainsaw for the tariff code.”¹
That line hit like a dropped gavel. Justice Kagan scribbled something. Gorsuch leaned forward. Even Chief Justice Roberts narrowed his eyes when Sauer pressed the argument that the phrase economic measures covered nearly everything the president had done.
“If IEEPA permits a ten‑percent baseline duty on nearly everything,” Justice Barrett asked, “what’s to stop twenty? Or fifty? Or a permanent tariff regime?”²
Her tone wasn’t hypothetical. It was structural.
To readers, the difference between these statutes can sound academic. But it’s the difference between checks and silence. The Trade Act delegates authority under congressional oversight; IEEPA lets a president act alone during a declared emergency. This case asks whether that emergency power can permanently replace legislative will.
While the lawyers sparred, the consequences were already unfolding far from Washington. In East Boothbay, Maine, the Winfield Boat Company had just paid six dollars more per square foot for marine‑grade aluminum than it did in March. “We’ll eat that cost through the winter,” said Sam Ellis, a fourth‑generation shipwright. “But by spring, we’re either raising prices or laying someone off.”
In Portsmouth, New Hampshire, a brewery known for its witbier had quietly dropped two can sizes—aluminum tariffs hit both sheets and lids. In Burlington, Vermont, a Korean‑hybrid dealership was running exclusively on pre‑orders. “We can’t warehouse cars we don’t know how to price,” said the manager. “The tariffs move faster than the software.”³
“We just need rules we can plan around,” he added, shaking his head. “That’s it.”³
Back inside, Sauer circled back to principle. Emergencies justify decisive action. But several justices pressed the definition itself. What emergency? And how long does it last? IEEPA requires a declared national emergency—but this one had been in place for nearly a year and renewed twice. It began as a currency issue, morphed into an opioid crisis response, and by fall had become a catch‑all for “foreign disrespect.” The Court smelled drift.
“If an ‘emergency’ can last as long as it is useful,” Justice Jackson asked, “then hasn’t the exception become the rule?”⁴
Her voice wasn’t angry. Just weary, like someone who’d read this script before.
Outside the courthouse, the line moved through drizzle. A man from the American Apparel Importers Council explained the case to a woman who sold Turkish linen at a farmer’s market. A 70‑year‑old winemaker from Quebec, whose U.S. orders had dropped forty percent, held her printed pass like a ticket to a verdict.