Justice Delayed, Lies Delivered: Why Section 230 Needs Reform

Rebecca Scofield won a $10 million defamation verdict. Before we congratulate ourselves on a justice system that worked, we should ask what it took to get there. And what, exactly, did that victory give her back?

Did it restore the nights she spent sleeping instead of worrying about her children? Did it give her back the ability to walk onto campus without fear? Did it erase the accusations from the minds of strangers who had encountered them online?

In an October 12 New York Times essay, Scofield, the chair of the University of Idaho’s history department, described what happened after a TikTok tarot reader falsely accused her of orchestrating the murders of four students. She described withdrawing from campus, moving her course online and living with consequences that continued long after the accusations began.

I recently wrote about the darker view of technology and its leaders appearing on our screens. Scofield’s account brings that conversation home. An ordinary person can become the subject of a horrific online story without knowing the storyteller, participating in the discussion or having any connection to the events.

And once that happens, “you can always sue” is a pretty poor answer.

Scofield did sue. Her experience should force us to examine what that answer actually means.

Ashley Guillard’s accusations were grounded in tarot readings. Scofield had never met the murdered students. Yet Guillard posted more than 100 videos, and cease-and-desist letters did not stop her. The court record describes accusations appearing on TikTok and later YouTube.

Scofield filed her lawsuit in December 2022. In June 2024, the court ruled that Guillard was liable for defamation. The jury did not award damages until February 2026: $2.5 million in compensatory damages and $7.5 million in punitive damages.

More than three years from filing to the damages verdict. Even the ruling establishing liability came roughly a year and a half after the lawsuit began.

Justice delayed is justice denied. When the injury involves continuing public accusations, the delay can become part of the injury itself.

There is another problem with treating a large verdict as the end of the story. A judgment is an obligation to pay. It is not proof that the money has been paid or that the defendant has the assets to pay it.

I do not know what Guillard can pay or what Scofield has collected. We should not pretend otherwise. But this case raises a question that reaches far beyond these two people: What happens when someone can inflict millions of dollars’ worth of damage without having anything close to the resources needed to compensate the victim?

That is the judgment-proof problem. The defendant can lose in court while the victim remains substantially uncompensated.

The size of an online audience has no necessary relationship to the creator’s ability to answer for the harm they cause. Someone with a phone can reach people across the country. Their bank account may be considerably smaller.

Meanwhile, the company operating the platform controls the systems that distribute the content. It decides what to recommend, what to monetize and how to respond to complaints. Those decisions deserve their own accountability.

This is where Section 230 needs to change.

The law generally prevents an online service from being treated as the publisher or speaker of information supplied by someone else. Courts have interpreted that protection broadly, including in cases where a service was notified that third-party material was allegedly defamatory.

Section 230 does not immunize every act by a technology company. Nor does removing it automatically prove that a platform committed a wrong. But it can prevent a victim from pursuing the platform over the publication of someone else’s defamatory statements.

For the victim, that can leave an enormous gap between the person legally responsible and the company with the practical ability to limit continued distribution.

There are sound reasons to protect services that host other people’s speech. An online forum cannot investigate every comment before it appears. Smaller publishers and community sites also rely on those protections. I run media businesses. I understand why a system that exposes every website to liability for every user’s statement would create problems.

But those concerns should not end the discussion about what happens after a specific, serious accusation has been challenged with evidence, or after a court has determined that it is defamatory.

Even getting that determination may not resolve the platform question.

In Hassell v. Bird, California’s Supreme Court in 2018 overturned an order requiring Yelp to remove reviews adjudicated defamatory in a case against their author. Yelp was not a party to that case. The divided opinions addressed both Section 230 and the limits on binding someone who was not a party to the proceedings.

The procedural protections matter. A company should have an opportunity to be heard before an order binds it. But the case illustrates why telling a victim to get a court order is not a complete solution.

Congress needs to create a workable route from a finding of defamation to effective relief.

We already have an example of Congress placing direct obligations on platforms. The TAKE IT DOWN Act, signed in May 2025, addresses qualifying nonconsensual intimate imagery, including digital forgeries. It requires covered platforms to remove reported material within 48 hours of a valid request and make reasonable efforts to identify and remove known identical copies. The Federal Trade Commission enforces those platform obligations.

That law does not cover Scofield’s situation. Determining whether an accusation is defamatory can involve questions different from those involved in an intimate-image complaint. We cannot simply replace “image” with “statement” and declare the problem solved.

But Congress has accepted the principle that a platform can have an affirmative duty to respond to a defined harm. Victims do not have to be left entirely to their pursuit of the original poster.

Earlier bipartisan Internet PACT Act proposals also contemplated complaint procedures and deadlines for removing court-determined illegal content. We have been discussing elements of this approach for years.

Here is what I believe a meaningful reform should deliver.

First, a person facing serious, targeted accusations needs a functioning way to reach the platform. Require an accessible complaint process, preservation of relevant evidence, prompt review by a person with authority to act and a clear explanation of the decision. A complaint should start a review. It should not automatically establish that the speaker lied.

Platforms can also act under their own rules while a dispute proceeds. Where their review establishes a violation, they can remove content, stop recommending it or stop paying its creator. A years-long damages trial should not become an excuse to ignore conduct their own policies prohibit.

Second, we need a faster, affordable route to a judicial determination about specific accusations. The question of whether particular statements are defamatory should, where procedurally appropriate, be addressed separately from the longer accounting of damages.

This requires resources. A new legal right is of little practical use if exercising it costs more than an ordinary person can afford. Expedited proceedings need court capacity and access to legal assistance. Both sides must have a meaningful chance to present evidence.

Third, once a court has made the necessary determination, there should be a clear procedure for imposing narrowly drawn obligations on a platform, with notice and an opportunity to contest them. Section 230 should not defeat those obligations.

A platform that breaches them should face consequences for the additional harm its breach causes. That could include victim compensation and appropriate attorney-fee recovery, alongside public enforcement. Fines paid to the government may encourage compliance. They do not necessarily help someone rebuild a damaged life.

We should tie that liability to proven conduct and harm. Having a large balance sheet is not itself a legal wrong. Ignoring an enforceable duty should have a price.

As a publisher, I also want safeguards against turning this process into a weapon against legitimate reporting. Powerful people call accurate stories defamatory. Companies would love a cheap way to make damaging coverage disappear.

A demand letter cannot become a veto over publication. Any reform needs evidence requirements, narrow orders, a meaningful opportunity to challenge claims and consequences for knowingly abusive complaints. Constitutional limits on restraining speech still apply. Rewriting Section 230 does not erase them.

We should be able to protect an innocent person from fabricated murder accusations while protecting journalists, whistleblowers and ordinary people who tell inconvenient truths. That requires careful legislation and a fair process. It does not justify leaving victims with a remedy that arrives years after much of the damage is done.

Scofield did what we tell people to do. She challenged the accusations. She went to court. She won.

In her essay, she still describes living with the consequences.

The $10 million figure makes a headline. Her experience should make us ask whether our measure of justice is adequate. Did the process stop the harm soon enough? Can the judgment provide meaningful compensation? What obligations should apply to the companies capable of limiting the damage?

Congress needs to answer those questions. The next person falsely accused of murder online should not have to spend years finding out how little “you can always sue” may offer.