Supreme Court Warned: 'Criminalizing the Past' Risks America's Energy Future

Paul Riverbank, 1/12/2026Supreme Court clash over oil, environment, and legal boundaries could reshape America’s energy future.

Years back, parish governments—frustrated and staring at eroding coastlines they say are disappearing by the hour—decided to sue some of the world’s biggest oil and gas firms. Chevron makes most of the headlines, but it isn’t alone in the dock. What the parishes accuse these companies of is straightforward, at least on the surface: by dredging, drilling, and building up the coast, oil giants allegedly set in motion the tidal forces gobbling up Louisiana's socks of land. These lawsuits, climbing steadily in volume and cost, are now about much more than local property or even state pride.

The oil companies have a very different recollection. They argue—sometimes almost incredulously—that everything they did in Louisiana was above board, if not explicitly directed from Washington. Their lawyers point to the 1940s, when the country faced global war, and say the government all but ordered the industry to produce. “You can’t punish defense contractors for tanks they built in 1942,” one industry insider told me, “and you can’t come after oil drillers who answered the nation’s wartime call.” These companies now want the federal courts, not Louisiana’s state benches, to sort things out. The hook? Federal supremacy—meaning, in this case, that you shouldn’t face state-level lawsuits for actions stemming from federal directives.

Liz Murrill, Louisiana’s attorney general, doesn’t buy it. She’s cast as a relentless conservative, known for sharp elbows in local politics, and here, she’s gone somewhat off-script. In lockstep with groups like Earthjustice and EDF—organizations she’s clashed with for years over the very notion of fossil fuel responsibility—Murrill insists these companies ought to answer for the environmental mess, regardless of whatever marching orders the Roosevelt administration (or anyone else) handed down. For those following Louisiana politics, that’s an eyebrow-raiser; alliances here don’t always follow predictable lines.

It’s not an accident that environmental advocates have latched onto state courts. Over drinks in Baton Rouge, a partner at a local law firm—one with skin in the game—remarked that federal benches remain a steep, nearly insurmountable climb for creative climate claims. “State court is where the action is,” he said. “When federal institutions shut the door, you look for another window.” Groups like ATRA say this tactic isn’t limited to Louisiana: it’s about circumventing national policy hurdles, stretching liability in directions the federal judiciary has resolutely resisted.

National political figures have noticed. Louisiana’s Republican network, with no love lost for trial lawyers but an almost religious devotion to ‘energy independence,’ frames the fight as a test of economic sovereignty. Jason Isaac, a well-known energy analyst, warned in a recent column against allowing “today’s politics to rewrite yesterday’s history.” Chevron’s coalition is formidable: former AG Bill Barr, the America First Policy Institute, even the ever-present U.S. Chamber of Commerce. Their anxiety is that a ruling against oil companies on this principle could one day haunt every major American industry, rendering the notion of legal clarity—or even fairness—moot.

Money, of course, is a constant undertow. Louisiana’s oil and gas sector generated north of $54 billion in 2021. The politics get especially murky when you trace campaign donations, especially from aggressive local law firms like the one led by John Carmouche. Their fingerprints are all over both the legal briefs and the campaign finance disclosures.

One can’t quite say these suits are only about patching up wetlands or holding industry to account. They’re also about power—who gets to wage these wars, and where those battles are fought. Critics say the swirl of alliances and money proves Louisiana’s lawfare is as much a high-stakes poker game as it is a crusade for environmental justice.

The Supreme Court isn’t picking at the details of coastal erosion or climate science—at least not directly. Instead, their forthcoming decision asks whether decades-old, federally sanctioned activities can be litigated in local courts decades later. As George Landrith, writing for the Frontiers of Freedom Institute, bluntly warned, if retroactive lawsuits become the norm, nobody will ever know where to stand on legal ground again.

Whatever the outcome—whichever bench claims jurisdiction—the reverberations won’t fade quietly into Louisiana mud. There’s every reason to expect this moment to set the tone for how future generations will argue about responsibility, justice, and who, in the end, must face the past.

This week, the country’s highest court found itself drawn into what is, at heart, an old Louisiana feud that suddenly carries the weight of national energy policy, legal boundaries, and state-federal dynamics. If you wander into the parishes hugging the Louisiana coast, you don’t see courtrooms or judge’s benches—you see battered marshland, muddy estuaries, and, if you ask locals, the tangible scars left by decades of oil activity. Yet, far from the bayous, the arguments unfolding in the Supreme Court could shape who picks up the tab for all this damage—and possibly redraw the lines for states and corporations going forward.Years back, parish governments—frustrated and staring at eroding coastlines they say are disappearing by the hour—decided to sue some of the world’s biggest oil and gas firms. Chevron makes most of the headlines, but it isn’t alone in the dock. What the parishes accuse these companies of is straightforward, at least on the surface: by dredging, drilling, and building up the coast, oil giants allegedly set in motion the tidal forces gobbling up Louisiana's socks of land. These lawsuits, climbing steadily in volume and cost, are now about much more than local property or even state pride.The oil companies have a very different recollection. They argue—sometimes almost incredulously—that everything they did in Louisiana was above board, if not explicitly directed from Washington. Their lawyers point to the 1940s, when the country faced global war, and say the government all but ordered the industry to produce. “You can’t punish defense contractors for tanks they built in 1942,” one industry insider told me, “and you can’t come after oil drillers who answered the nation’s wartime call.” These companies now want the federal courts, not Louisiana’s state benches, to sort things out. The hook? Federal supremacy—meaning, in this case, that you shouldn’t face state-level lawsuits for actions stemming from federal directives.Liz Murrill, Louisiana’s attorney general, doesn’t buy it. She’s cast as a relentless conservative, known for sharp elbows in local politics, and here, she’s gone somewhat off-script. In lockstep with groups like Earthjustice and EDF—organizations she’s clashed with for years over the very notion of fossil fuel responsibility—Murrill insists these companies ought to answer for the environmental mess, regardless of whatever marching orders the Roosevelt administration (or anyone else) handed down. For those following Louisiana politics, that’s an eyebrow-raiser; alliances here don’t always follow predictable lines.It’s not an accident that environmental advocates have latched onto state courts. Over drinks in Baton Rouge, a partner at a local law firm—one with skin in the game—remarked that federal benches remain a steep, nearly insurmountable climb for creative climate claims. “State court is where the action is,” he said. “When federal institutions shut the door, you look for another window.” Groups like ATRA say this tactic isn’t limited to Louisiana: it’s about circumventing national policy hurdles, stretching liability in directions the federal judiciary has resolutely resisted.National political figures have noticed. Louisiana’s Republican network, with no love lost for trial lawyers but an almost religious devotion to ‘energy independence,’ frames the fight as a test of economic sovereignty. Jason Isaac, a well-known energy analyst, warned in a recent column against allowing “today’s politics to rewrite yesterday’s history.” Chevron’s coalition is formidable: former AG Bill Barr, the America First Policy Institute, even the ever-present U.S. Chamber of Commerce. Their anxiety is that a ruling against oil companies on this principle could one day haunt every major American industry, rendering the notion of legal clarity—or even fairness—moot.Money, of course, is a constant undertow. Louisiana’s oil and gas sector generated north of $54 billion in 2021. The politics get especially murky when you trace campaign donations, especially from aggressive local law firms like the one led by John Carmouche. Their fingerprints are all over both the legal briefs and the campaign finance disclosures.One can’t quite say these suits are only about patching up wetlands or holding industry to account. They’re also about power—who gets to wage these wars, and where those battles are fought. Critics say the swirl of alliances and money proves Louisiana’s lawfare is as much a high-stakes poker game as it is a crusade for environmental justice.The Supreme Court isn’t picking at the details of coastal erosion or climate science—at least not directly. Instead, their forthcoming decision asks whether decades-old, federally sanctioned activities can be litigated in local courts decades later. As George Landrith, writing for the Frontiers of Freedom Institute, bluntly warned, if retroactive lawsuits become the norm, nobody will ever know where to stand on legal ground again.Whatever the outcome—whichever bench claims jurisdiction—the reverberations won’t fade quietly into Louisiana mud. There’s every reason to expect this moment to set the tone for how future generations will argue about responsibility, justice, and who, in the end, must face the past.