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Foreign-law restriction bills—sometimes branded “No Sharia,” sometimes packaged as “American Laws for American Courts”—keep resurfacing because the concern behind them is real. And pretending it isn’t real is how you end up with slow-motion “workarounds” that only get noticed after somebody gets hurt.
Start with first principles: when an American walks into a courthouse, the Constitution is supposed to be the floor. Due process. Equal protection. Basic fairness. That’s not negotiable, and it’s not something parties can sign away for convenience. A statute that makes this explicit can serve as a clean, simple firewall: our courts will not enforce any rule, judgment, or arbitration outcome that strips away core constitutional rights.
That’s not paranoia. It’s prudence.
Why these laws have a stronger case than critics admit
1) They put a bright line in writing.
Yes, courts already have “public policy” doctrines that can block enforcement of rights-violating foreign judgments or contracts. But “already can” and “will, consistently, under pressure, in edge cases” are not the same thing. A narrowly written statute gives judges clearer direction and gives citizens clearer expectations—especially in family-law and custody situations where people are vulnerable and power imbalances are real.
2) They address a predictable channel: private agreements + arbitration + foreign judgments.
In a global economy, cross-border contracts and arbitration happen every day. Most of it is normal commerce. But the same machinery can be used to smuggle in rules that would never survive direct scrutiny in a U.S. court—particularly in disputes involving divorce, custody, inheritance, or coercive “agreements.” The UK’s experience is instructive: the government’s independent review concluded that “sharia councils” have no legal jurisdiction and their decisions aren’t legally binding under civil law—yet the review still raised concerns about how these councils can function in practice, especially around religious marriage/divorce and women’s rights.
3) They respond to the real “parallel system” problem—without pretending it’s always official.
The strongest warning sign in Europe hasn’t been Parliament literally replacing national law with religious law. It’s been the growth of informal or community-based dispute resolution that operates alongside the official legal system and can pressure people—again, often women—into outcomes they wouldn’t freely choose. Germany has wrestled publicly with the concept of “Paralleljustiz” (parallel justice) and what it means for the rule of law in a plural society.
And German courts, like other European courts, sometimes apply foreign law in family or inheritance matters under conflict-of-laws rules—meaning law “shaped by Islam” can enter the analysis in certain cases, even as public-order limits still apply.
So if the point is “make sure our courts never enforce outcomes that violate constitutional rights,” that’s a defensible legislative goal.
Where lawmakers still screw this up
Being more favorable doesn’t mean pretending the bad drafts don’t exist—because they do.
1) Overreach can punish ordinary commerce.
If a bill is written so loosely that any foreign element becomes suspect, it can destabilize normal choice-of-law clauses and arbitration—raising costs, inviting litigation, and chilling investment. That’s not limited government; that’s lawmakers playing lawyer.
2) Naming a religion is a self-inflicted wound.
If you write a statute that singles out Islam by name, you’re asking for constitutional trouble and you’re handing opponents the easiest narrative imaginable. Worse, it shifts focus away from the only thing that should matter: rights. Even the UK’s own public discussion has been plagued by exaggerations and sloppy language (calling councils “courts,” inflating their number, etc.), which muddies the issue and makes serious policy harder.
3) Don’t accidentally outlaw voluntary religious practice.
Adults are allowed to seek religious counseling and mediation. The state should intervene only when coercion, fraud, or rights violations are in play. A good bill protects liberty; a bad bill tries to micromanage private life.
A better, more liberty-minded model
If a state is going to pass one of these laws, here’s the clean way to do it:
Make it “as-applied”: courts may not enforce outcomes that violate constitutional rights—period.
Avoid religion-specific language: write it as a neutral rights firewall.
Protect voluntary private ordering: mediation and arbitration are fine so long as they meet due-process standards and do not produce rights-denying results.
Be explicit about existing federal limits (treaties, federal arbitration rules, supremacy issues), so you don’t create a new mess while trying to prevent one.
Bottom line
Liberty doesn’t require us to wait until the worst-case headline happens. A narrowly drafted foreign-law restriction can be a legitimate defensive measure: not a culture-war trophy, not a smear job, and not a new excuse for government to reach into contracts—but a clear statement that constitutional rights are not up for bargaining, importing, or “creative” arbitration.
Done right, these laws don’t undermine freedom. They reinforce the one thing the state is actually supposed to do: protect rights.

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