On June 30, a deeply divided Supreme Court upheld state laws banning transgender athletes from competing on girls' and women's sports teams. At least 27 states have enacted such restrictions in recent years, many driven by the high-profile case of Lia Thomas, a transgender swimmer who won an NCAA title in 2022. Sports Illustrated called Thomas "the most controversial athlete in America," and her victory spurred a wave of legislation limiting participation to "biological females."
In her dissent, Justice Sonia Sotomayor argued that the court's ruling assumes transgender women always have "an inherent athletic advantage, even if the facts show that they do not." She added, "Sports are often zero sum, but the law need not and should not be."
This pattern of legislating based on a single, emotionally charged incident is not new. Congress has a history of passing so-called "apostrophe laws"—bills named after victims—often with little debate or empirical analysis. A 2020 study found that from 1990 to 2016, at least 47 such laws were enacted, most in election years. More than half were originally introduced without a victim's name; lawmakers later attached a compelling story to advance pre-existing agendas.
The consequences can be severe. The "Len Bias Law," passed in 1986 after the basketball star's cocaine overdose, imposed harsh penalties for drug-related deaths. Critics say it fueled mass incarceration and racial disparities while doing little to curb drug abuse. Similarly, Megan's Law, enacted after the murder of seven-year-old Megan Kanka, requires public disclosure of sex offenders' addresses. Yet studies show registries are ineffective, harm offenders' families, and can even increase recidivism by making it harder for offenders to find jobs.
Other examples include California's three-strikes law, inspired by the murders of Kimber Reynolds and Polly Klaas; the TSA's shoe-removal requirement, after Richard Reid's failed 2001 bombing attempt; and recent laws regulating teen AI chatbot use following several suicides. In each case, a vivid story overshadowed careful analysis.
The Laken Riley Act, one of the first bills President Trump signed after returning to office, mandates indefinite detention of undocumented immigrants accused of minor offenses and allows states to sue the federal government over immigration enforcement. Critics argue the law exploits the death of a 22-year-old nursing student, whose killer was already sentenced to life in prison. They say it scapegoats immigrants, who commit violent crimes at lower rates than native-born citizens, violates due process, and wastes resources. Senator Katie Britt (R-Ala.) claimed Riley's murder was "a direct, preventable consequence of willful open border policies," suggesting the law's real aim is to deter immigration, not fight crime.
As the American Psychological Association notes, both lawmakers and voters tend to "prioritize emotion over evidence" when presented with a named victim. This availability bias leads people to overestimate the frequency of rare events, while the identifiable victim effect amplifies responses to individual stories over statistics.
In the case of transgender athletes, the data tell a different story. The NCAA president testified in 2024 that fewer than 10 of 510,000 college athletes were transgender. Scientific studies show transgender women do not always have a competitive advantage. Yet blanket bans, even on prepubescent girls, have replaced case-by-case assessments.
Before passing legislation inspired by a specific case, Congress should ask: How common is this problem? What does the evidence say? And what unintended consequences might follow? Otherwise, emotional appeals will continue to drive flawed policy.
