# Haaland v. Brackeen/Opinion of the Court

Notice: This opinion is subject to formal revision before publication in the preliminary print of the United States Reports. Readers are requested to notify the Reporter of Decisions, Supreme Court of the United States, Washington, D. C. 20543, of any typographical or other formal errors, in order that corrections may be made before the preliminary print goes to press.
SUPREME COURT OF THE UNITED STATES
Nos. 21–376, 21–377, 21–378 and 21–380
DEB HAALAND, SECRETARY OF THE INTERIOR, ET AL., PETITIONERS 21–376v.21–376 CHAD EVERET BRACKEEN, ET AL.
CHEROKEE NATION, ET AL., PETITIONERS 21–377v.21–377 CHAD EVERET BRACKEEN, ET AL.
TEXAS, PETITIONER 21–378v.21–378 DEB HAALAND, SECRETARY OF THE INTERIOR, ET AL.
CHAD EVERET BRACKEEN, ET AL., PETITIONERS 21–380v.21–380 DEB HAALAND, SECRETARY OF THE INTERIOR, ET AL.
ON WRITS OF CERTIORARI TO THE UNITED STATES COURT OF APPEALS FOR THE FIFTH CIRCUIT [June 15, 2023]
Justice Barrett delivered the opinion of the Court.
This case is about children who are among the most vulnerable: those in the child welfare system. In the usual course, state courts apply state law when placing children ​in foster or adoptive homes. But when the child is an Indian, a federal statute—the Indian Child Welfare Act—governs. Among other things, this law requires a state court to place an Indian child with an Indian caretaker, if one is available. That is so even if the child is already living with a non-Indian family and the state court thinks it in the child’s best interest to stay there.
Before us, a birth mother, foster and adoptive parents, and the State of Texas challenge the Act on multiple constitutional grounds. They argue that it exceeds federal authority, infringes state sovereignty, and discriminates on the basis of race. The United States, joined by several Indian Tribes, defends the law. The issues are complicated—so for the details, read on. But the bottom line is that we reject all of petitioners’ challenges to the statute, some on the merits and others for lack of standing.
I A
In 1978, Congress enacted the Indian Child Welfare Act (ICWA) out of concern that “an alarmingly high percentage of Indian families are broken up by the removal, often unwarranted, of their children from them by nontribal public and private agencies.” 92 Stat. 3069, 25 U. S. C. §1901(4). Congress found that many of these children were being “placed in non-Indian foster and adoptive homes and institutions,” and that the States had contributed to the problem by “fail[ing] to recognize the essential tribal relations of Indian people and the cultural and social standards prevailing in Indian communities and families.” §§1901(4), (5). This harmed not only Indian parents and children, but also Indian tribes. As Congress put it, “there is no resource that is more vital to the continued existence and integrity of Indian tribes than their children.” §1901(3). Testifying before Congress, the Tribal Chief of the Mississippi Band of Choctaw Indians was blunter: “Culturally, the chances of ​Indian survival are significantly reduced if our children, the only real means for the transmission of the tribal heritage, are to be raised in non-Indian homes and denied exposure to the ways of their People.” Hearings on S. 1214 before the Subcommittee on Indian Affairs and Public Lands of the House Committee on Interior and Insular Affairs, 95th Cong., 2d Sess., 193 (1978).
The Act thus aims to keep Indian children connected to Indian families. “Indian child” is defined broadly to include not only a child who is “a member of an Indian tribe,” but also one who is “eligible for membership in an Indian tribe and is the biological child of a member of an Indian tribe.” §1903(4). If the Indian child lives on a reservation, ICWA grants the tribal court exclusive jurisdiction over all child custody proceedings, including adoptions and foster care proceedings. §1911(a). For other Indian children, state and tribal courts exercise concurrent jurisdiction, although the state court is sometimes required to transfer the case to tribal court. §1911(b). When a state court adjudicates the proceeding, ICWA governs from start to finish. That is true regardless of whether the proceeding is “involuntary” (one to which the parents do not consent) or “voluntary” (one to which they do).
Involuntary proceedings are subject to especially stringent safeguards. See 25 CFR §23.104 (2022); 81 Fed. Reg. 38832–38836 (2016). Any party who initiates an “involuntary proceeding” in state court to place an Indian child in foster care or terminate parental rights must “notify the parent or Indian custodian and the Indian child’s tribe.” §1912(a). The parent or custodian and tribe have the right to intervene in the proceedings; the right to request extra time to prepare for the proceedings; the right to “examine all reports or other documents filed with the court”; and, for indigent parents or custodians, the right to court-appointed counsel. §§1912(a), (b), (c). The party attempting to ​terminate parental rights or remove an Indian child from an unsafe environment must first “satisfy the court that active efforts have been made to provide remedial services and rehabilitative programs designed to prevent the breakup of the Indian family and that these efforts have proved unsuccessful.” §1912(d). Even then, the court cannot order a foster care placement unless it finds “by clear and convincing evidence, including testimony of qualified expert witnesses, that the continued custody of the child by the parent or Indian custodian is likely to result in serious emotional or physical damage to the child.” §1912(e). To terminate parental rights, the court must make the same finding “beyond a reasonable doubt.” §1912(f).
The Act applies to voluntary proceedings too. Relinquishing a child temporarily (to foster care) or permanently (to adoption) is a grave act, and a state court must ensure that a consenting parent or custodian knows and understands “the terms and consequences.” §1913(a). Notably, a biological parent who voluntarily gives up an Indian child cannot necessarily choose the child’s foster or adoptive parents. The child’s tribe has “a right to intervene at any point in [a] proceeding” to place a child in foster care or terminate parental rights, as well as a right to collaterally attack the state court’s decree. §§1911(c), 1914. As a result, the tribe can sometimes enforce ICWA’s placement preferences against the wishes of one or both biological parents, even after the child is living with a new family. See Mississippi Band of Choctaw Indians v. Holyfield, 490 U. S. 30, 49–52 (1989).
ICWA’s placement preferences, which apply to all custody proceedings involving Indian children, are hierarchical: State courts may only place the child with someone in a lower-ranked group when there is no available placement in a higher-ranked group. For adoption, “a preference shall be given” to placements with “(1) a member of the child’s extended family; (2) other members of the Indian ​child’s tribe; or (3) other Indian families.” §1915(a). For foster care, a preference is given to (1) “the Indian child’s extended family”; (2) “a foster home licensed, approved, or specified by the Indian child’s tribe”; (3) “an Indian foster home licensed or approved by an authorized non-Indian licensing authority”; and then (4) another institution “approved by an Indian tribe or operated by an Indian organization which has a program suitable to meet the Indian child’s needs.” §1915(b). For purposes of the placement preferences, an “Indian” is “any person who is a member of an Indian tribe,” and an “Indian organization” is “any group … owned or controlled by Indians.” §§1903(3), (7). Together, these definitions mean that Indians from any tribe (not just the tribe to which the child has a tie) outrank unrelated non-Indians for both adoption and foster care. And for foster care, institutions run or approved by any tribe outrank placements with unrelated non-Indian families. Courts must adhere to the placement preferences absent “good cause” to depart from them. §§1915(a), (b).
The child’s tribe may pass a resolution altering the prioritization order. §1915(c). If it does, “the agency or court effecting the placement shall follow such order so long as the placement is the least restrictive setting appropriate to the particular needs of the child.” Ibid. So long as the “least restrictive setting” condition is met, the preferences of the Indian child or her parent cannot trump those set by statute or tribal resolution. But, “[w]here appropriate, the preference of the Indian child or parent shall be considered” in making a placement. Ibid.
The State must record each placement, including a description of the efforts made to comply with ICWA’s order of preferences. §1915(e). Both the Secretary of the Interior and the child’s tribe have the right to request the record at any time. Ibid. State courts must also transmit all final adoption decrees and specified information about adoption proceedings to the Secretary. §1951(a).
B
This case arises from three separate child custody proceedings governed by ICWA.
1
A. L. M. was placed in foster care with Chad and Jennifer Brackeen when he was 10 months old. Because his biological mother is a member of the Navajo Nation and his biological father is a member of the Cherokee Nation, he falls within ICWA’s definition of an “Indian child.” Both the Brackeens and A. L. M.’s biological parents live in Texas.
After A. L. M. had lived with the Brackeens for more than a year, they sought to adopt him. A. L. M.’s biological mother, father, and grandmother all supported the adoption. The Navajo and Cherokee Nations did not. Pursuant to an agreement between the Tribes, the Navajo Nation designated A. L. M. as a member and informed the state court that it had located a potential alternative placement with nonrelative tribal members living in New Mexico. ICWA’s placement preferences ranked the proposed Navajo family ahead of non-Indian families like the Brackeens. See §1915(a).
The Brackeens tried to convince the state court that there was “good cause” to deviate from ICWA’s preferences. They presented favorable testimony from A. L. M.’s court-appointed guardian and from a psychological expert who described the strong emotional bond between A. L. M. and his foster parents. A. L. M.’s biological parents and grandmother also testified, urging the court to allow A. L. M. to remain with the Brackeens, “ ‘the only parents [A. L. M.] knows.’ ” App. 96.
The court denied the adoption petition, and the Texas Department of Family and Protective Services announced its intention to move A. L. M. from the Brackeens’ home to New Mexico. In response, the Brackeens obtained an ​emergency stay of the transfer and filed this lawsuit. The Navajo family then withdrew from consideration, and the Brackeens finalized their adoption of A. L. M.
The Brackeens now seek to adopt A. L. M.’s biological sister, Y. R. J., again over the opposition of the Navajo Nation. And while the Brackeens hope to foster and adopt other Indian children in the future, their fraught experience with A. L. M.’s adoption makes them hesitant to do so.
2
Altagracia Hernandez chose Nick and Heather Libretti as adoptive parents for her newborn daughter, Baby O. The Librettis took Baby O. home from the hospital when she was three days old, and Hernandez, who lived nearby, visited Baby O. frequently. Baby O.’s biological father visited only once but supported the adoption.
Hernandez is not an Indian. But Baby O.’s biological father is descended from members of the Ysleta del Sur Pueblo Tribe, and the Tribe enrolled Baby O. as a member. As a result, the adoption proceeding was governed by ICWA. The Tribe exercised its right to intervene and argued, over Hernandez’s objection, that Baby O. should be moved from the Librettis’ home in Nevada to the Tribe’s reservation in El Paso, Texas. It presented a number of potential placements on the reservation for Baby O., and state officials began to investigate them. After Hernandez and the Librettis joined this lawsuit, however, the Tribe withdrew its challenge to the adoption, and the Librettis finalized their adoption of Baby O. The Librettis stayed in the litigation because they planned to foster and possibly adopt Indian children in the future.
3
Jason and Danielle Clifford, who live in Minnesota, fostered Child P., whose maternal grandmother belongs to the White Earth Band of Ojibwe Tribe. When Child P. entered ​state custody around the age of three, her mother informed the court that ICWA did not apply because Child P. was not eligible for tribal membership. The Tribe wrote a letter to the court confirming the same.
After two years in the foster care system, Child P. was placed with the Cliffords, who eventually sought to adopt her. The Tribe intervened in the proceedings and, with no explanation for its change in position, informed the court that Child P. was in fact eligible for tribal membership. Later, the Tribe announced that it had enrolled Child P. as a member. To comply with ICWA, Minnesota placed Child P. with her maternal grandmother, who had lost her foster license due to a criminal conviction. The Cliffords continued to pursue the adoption, but, citing ICWA, the court denied their motion. Like the other families, the Cliffords intend to foster or adopt Indian children in the future.
C
The Brackeens, the Librettis, Hernandez, and the Cliffords (whom we will refer to collectively as the “individual petitioners”) filed this suit in federal court against the United States, the Department of the Interior and its Secretary, the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) and its Director, and the Department of Health and Human Services and its Secretary (whom we will refer to collectively as the “federal parties”). The individual petitioners were joined by the States of Texas, Indiana, and Louisiana—although only Texas continues to challenge ICWA before this Court. Several Indian Tribes intervened to defend the law alongside the federal parties.
Petitioners challenged ICWA as unconstitutional on multiple grounds. They asserted that Congress lacks authority to enact ICWA and that several of ICWA’s requirements violate the anticommandeering principle of the Tenth Amendment. They argued that ICWA employs racial classifications that unlawfully hinder non-Indian families from ​fostering or adopting Indian children. And they challenged §1915(c)—the provision that allows tribes to alter the prioritization order—on the ground that it violates the nondelegation doctrine.
The District Court granted petitioners’ motion for summary judgment on their constitutional claims, and a divided panel of the Fifth Circuit reversed. Brackeen v. Bernhardt, 937 F. 3d 406 (2019). After rehearing the case en banc, the Fifth Circuit affirmed in part and reversed in part. 994 F. 3d 249 (2021) (per curiam). The en banc court concluded that ICWA does not exceed Congress’s legislative power, that §1915(c) does not violate the nondelegation doctrine, and that some of ICWA’s placement preferences satisfy the guarantee of equal protection. Id., at 267–269. The court was evenly divided as to whether ICWA’s other preferences—those prioritizing “other Indian families” and “Indian foster home[s]” over non-Indian families—unconstitutionally discriminate on the basis of race. Id., at 268. The Fifth Circuit therefore affirmed the District Court’s ruling that these preferences are unconstitutional.
Petitioners’ Tenth Amendment arguments effectively succeeded across the board. The Fifth Circuit held that §1912(d)’s “active efforts” requirement, §1912(e)’s and §1912(f)’s expert witness requirements, and §1915(e)’s recordkeeping requirement unconstitutionally commandeer the States. Ibid. It divided evenly with respect to the other provisions that petitioners challenge here: §1912(a)’s notice requirement, §1915(a) and §1915(b)’s placement preferences, and §1951(a)’s recordkeeping requirement. Ibid. So the Fifth Circuit affirmed the District Court’s ​holdin that these requirements, too, violate the Tenth Amendment.
We granted certiorari. 595 U. S. ____ (2022).
II A
We begin with petitioners’ claim that ICWA exceeds Congress’s power under Article I. In a long line of cases, we have characterized Congress’s power to legislate with respect to the Indian tribes as “ ‘plenary and exclusive.’ ” United States v. Lara, 541 U. S. 193, 200 (2004); South Dakota v. Yankton Sioux Tribe, 522 U. S. 329, 343 (1998) (“Congress possesses plenary power over Indian affairs”); Washington v. Confederated Bands and Tribes of Yakima Nation, 439 U. S. 463, 470 (1979) (Congress exercises “plenary and exclusive power over Indian affairs”); Winton v. Amos, 255 U. S. 373, 391 (1921) (“It is thoroughly established that Congress has plenary authority over the Indians and all their tribal relations”); Lone Wolf v. Hitchcock, 187 U. S. 553, 565 (1903) (“Congress possesse[s] a paramount power over the property of the Indians”); Stephens v. Cherokee Nation, 174 U. S. 445, 478 (1899) (“Congress possesses plenary power of legislation in regard to” the Indian tribes). Our cases leave little doubt that Congress’s power in this field is muscular, superseding both tribal and state authority. Santa Clara Pueblo v. Martinez, 436 U. S. 49, 56 (1978) (“Congress has plenary authority to limit, modify or eliminate the powers of local self-government which the tribes otherwise possess”); Dick v. United States, 208 U. S. 340, 353 (1908) (“Congress has power to regulate commerce with ​the Indian tribes, and such power is superior and paramount to the authority of any State within whose limits are Indian tribes”).
To be clear, however, “plenary” does not mean “free-floating.” A power unmoored from the Constitution would lack both justification and limits. So like the rest of its legislative powers, Congress’s authority to regulate Indians must derive from the Constitution, not the atmosphere. Our precedent traces that power to multiple sources.
The Indian Commerce Clause authorizes Congress “[t]o regulate Commerce … with the Indian Tribes.” Art. I, §8, cl. 3. We have interpreted the Indian Commerce Clause to reach not only trade, but certain “Indian affairs” too. Cotton Petroleum Corp. v. New Mexico, 490 U. S. 163, 192 (1989). Notably, we have declined to treat the Indian Commerce Clause as interchangeable with the Interstate Commerce Clause. Ibid. While under the Interstate Commerce Clause, States retain “some authority” over trade, we have explained that “virtually all authority over Indian commerce and Indian tribes” lies with the Federal Government. Seminole Tribe of Fla. v. Florida, 517 U. S. 44, 62 (1996).
The Treaty Clause—which provides that the President “shall have Power, by and with the Advice and Consent of the Senate, to make Treaties”—provides a second source of power over Indian affairs. Art. II, §2, cl. 2. Until the late 19th century, relations between the Federal Government and the Indian tribes were governed largely by treaties. Lara, 541 U. S., at 201. Of course, the treaty power “does not literally authorize Congress to act legislatively,” since it is housed in Article II rather than Article I. Ibid. Nevertheless, we have asserted that “treaties made pursuant to that power can authorize Congress to deal with ‘matters’ with which otherwise ‘Congress could not deal.’ ” Ibid. And even though the United States formally ended the practice of entering into new treaties with the Indian tribes in 1871, this decision did not limit Congress’s power “to legislate on ​problems of Indians” pursuant to pre-existing treaties. Antoine v. Washington, 420 U. S. 194, 203 (1975) (emphasis deleted).
We have also noted that principles inherent in the Constitution’s structure empower Congress to act in the field of Indian affairs. See Morton v. Mancari, 417 U. S. 535, 551–552 (1974) (“The plenary power of Congress to deal with the special problems of Indians is drawn both explicitly and implicitly from the Constitution itself”). At the founding, “ ‘Indian affairs were more an aspect of military and foreign policy than a subject of domestic or municipal law.’ ” Lara, 541 U. S., at 201. With this in mind, we have posited that Congress’s legislative authority might rest in part on “the Constitution’s adoption of preconstitutional powers necessarily inherent in any Federal Government, namely, powers that this Court has described as ‘necessary concomitants of nationality.’ ” Ibid. (quoting United States v. Curtiss-Wright Export Corp., 299 U. S. 304, 315–322 (1936)).
Finally, the “trust relationship between the United States and the Indian people” informs the exercise of legislative power. United States v. Mitchell, 463 U. S. 206, 225–226 (1983). As we have explained, the Federal Government has “ ‘charged itself with moral obligations of the highest responsibility and trust’ ” toward Indian tribes. United States v. Jicarilla Apache Nation, 564 U. S. 162, 176 (2011); Seminole Nation v. United States, 316 U. S. 286, 296 (1942) (“[T]his Court has recognized the distinctive obligation of trust incumbent upon the Government in its dealings with these dependent and sometimes exploited people”). The contours of this “special relationship” are undefined. Mancari, 417 U. S., at 552.
In sum, Congress’s power to legislate with respect to Indians is well established and broad. Consistent with that breadth, we have not doubted Congress’s ability to legislate across a wide range of areas, including criminal law, domestic violence, employment, property, tax, and trade. See, e.g., ​Lara, 541 U. S., at 210 (law allowing tribes to prosecute nonmember Indians who committed crimes on tribal land); United States v. Bryant, 579 U. S. 140, 142–143 (2016) (law criminalizing domestic violence in Indian country); Mancari, 417 U. S., at 537 (policy granting Indians employment preferences); United States v. Antelope, 430 U. S. 641, 648 (1977) (law establishing a criminal code for Indian country); Yankton Sioux Tribe, 522 U. S., at 343 (law altering the boundaries of a reservation); Sunderland v. United States, 266 U. S. 226, 231–232 (1924) (agency action removing the restrictions on alienation of a homestead allotted to an Indian); Warren Trading Post Co. v. Arizona Tax Comm’n, 380 U. S. 685, 691, n. 18 (1965) (law granting tribe immunity from state taxation); United States v. Algoma Lumber Co., 305 U. S. 415, 417, 421 (1939) (law regulating the sale of timber by an Indian tribe). Indeed, we have only rarely concluded that a challenged statute exceeded Congress’s power to regulate Indian affairs. See, e.g., Seminole Tribe, 517 U. S., at 72–73.
Admittedly, our precedent is unwieldy, because it rarely ties a challenged statute to a specific source of constitutional authority. That makes it difficult to categorize cases and even harder to discern the limits on Congress’s power. Still, we have never wavered in our insistence that Congress’s Indian affairs power “ ‘is not absolute.’ ” Delaware Tribal Business Comm. v. Weeks, 430 U. S. 73, 84 (1977); United States v. Alcea Band of Tillamooks, 329 U. S. 40, 54 (1946) (“The power of Congress over Indian affairs may be of a plenary nature; but it is not absolute”); United States v. Creek Nation, 295 U. S. 103, 110 (1935) (plenary power is “subject to limitations inhering in such a guardianship and to pertinent constitutional restrictions”). It could not be otherwise—Article I gives Congress a series of enumerated powers, not a series of blank checks. Thus, we reiterate that Congress’s authority to legislate with respect to Indians is not unbounded. It is plenary within its sphere, but ​even a sizeable sphere has borders.
B
Petitioners contend that ICWA exceeds Congress’s power. Their principal theory, and the one accepted by both Justice Alito and the dissenters in the Fifth Circuit, is that ICWA treads on the States’ authority over family law. Domestic relations have traditionally been governed by state law; thus, federal power over Indians stops where state power over the family begins. Or so the argument goes.
It is true that Congress lacks a general power over domestic relations, In re Burrus, 136 U. S. 586, 593–594 (1890), and, as a result, responsibility for regulating marriage and child custody remains primarily with the States, Sosna v. Iowa, 419 U. S. 393, 404 (1975). See also Moore v. Sims, 442 U. S. 415, 435 (1979). But the Constitution does not erect a firewall around family law. On the contrary, when Congress validly legislates pursuant to its Article I powers, we “ha[ve] not hesitated” to find conflicting state family law preempted, “[n]otwithstanding the limited application of federal law in the field of domestic relations generally.” Ridgway v. Ridgway, 454 U. S. 46, 54 (1981) (federal law providing life insurance preempted state family-property law); see also Hillman v. Maretta, 569 U. S. 483, 491 (2013) (“state laws ‘governing the economic aspects of domestic relations … must give way to clearly conflicting federal enactments’ ” (alteration in original)). In fact, we have specifically recognized Congress’s power to displace ​the jurisdiction of state courts in adoption proceedings involving Indian children. Fisher v. District Court of Sixteenth Judicial Dist. of Mont., 424 U. S. 382, 390 (1976) (per curiam).
Petitioners are trying to turn a general observation (that Congress’s Article I powers rarely touch state family law) into a constitutional carveout (that family law is wholly exempt from federal regulation). That argument is a nonstarter. As James Madison said to Members of the First Congress, when the Constitution conferred a power on Congress, “they might exercise it, although it should interfere with the laws, or even the Constitution of the States.” 2 Annals of Cong. 1897 (1791). Family law is no exception.
C
Petitioners come at the problem from the opposite direction too: Even if there is no family law carveout to the Indian affairs power, they contend that Congress’s authority does not stretch far enough to justify ICWA. Ticking through the various sources of power, petitioners assert that the Constitution does not authorize Congress to regulate custody proceedings for Indian children. Their arguments fail to grapple with our precedent, and because they bear the burden of establishing ICWA’s unconstitutionality, we cannot sustain their challenge to the law. See Lujan v. G & G Fire Sprinklers, Inc., 532 U. S. 189, 198 (2001).
Take the Indian Commerce Clause, which is petitioners’ primary focus. According to petitioners, the Clause authorizes Congress to legislate only with respect to Indian tribes as government entities, not Indians as individuals. Brief for Individual Petitioners 47–50. But we held more than a century ago that “commerce with the Indian tribes, means commerce with the individuals composing those tribes.” United States v. Holliday, 3 Wall. 407, 416–417 (1866) (law prohibiting the sale of alcohol to Indians in Indian country); United States v. Nice, 241 U. S. 591, 600 (1916) (same). So ​that argument is a dead end.
Petitioners also assert that ICWA takes the “commerce” out of the Indian Commerce Clause. Their consistent refrain is that “children are not commodities that can be traded.” Brief for Individual Petitioners 16; Brief for Petitioner Texas 23 (“[C]hildren are not commodities”); id., at 18 (“Children are not articles of commerce”). Rhetorically, it is a powerful point—of course children are not commercial products. Legally, though, it is beside the point. As we already explained, our precedent states that Congress’s power under the Indian Commerce Clause encompasses not only trade but also “Indian affairs.” Cotton Petroleum, 490 U. S., at 192. Even the judges who otherwise agreed with petitioners below rejected this narrow view of the Indian Commerce Clause as inconsistent with both our cases and “[l]ongstanding patterns of federal legislation.” 994 F. 3d, at 374–375 (principal opinion of Duncan, J.). Rather than dealing with this precedent, however, petitioners virtually ignore it.
Next, petitioners argue that ICWA cannot be authorized by principles inherent in the Constitution’s structure because those principles “extend, at most, to matters of war and peace.” Brief for Petitioner Texas 28. But that is not what our cases say. We have referred generally to the powers “necessarily inherent in any Federal Government,” and we have offered examples like “creating departments of Indian affairs, appointing Indian commissioners, and … ‘securing and preserving the friendship of the Indian Nations’ ”—none of which are military actions. Lara, 541 U. S., at 201–202. Once again, petitioners make no argument that takes our cases on their own terms.
Finally, petitioners observe that ICWA does not implement a federal treaty. Brief for Petitioner Texas 24–27; Brief for Individual Petitioners 56–58. This does not get them very far either, since Congress did not purport to enact ICWA pursuant to the Treaty Clause power and the ​Fifth Circuit did not uphold ICWA on that rationale.
Presumably recognizing these obstacles, petitioners turn to criticizing our precedent as inconsistent with the Constitution’s original meaning. Yet here too, they offer no account of how their argument fits within the landscape of our case law. For instance, they neither ask us to overrule the precedent they criticize nor try to reconcile their approach with it. They are also silent about the potential consequences of their position. Would it undermine established cases and statutes? If so, which ones? Petitioners do not say.
We recognize that our case law puts petitioners in a difficult spot. We have often sustained Indian legislation without specifying the source of Congress’s power, and we have insisted that Congress’s power has limits without saying what they are. Yet petitioners’ strategy for dealing with the confusion is not to offer a theory for rationalizing this body of law—that would at least give us something to work with. Instead, they frame their arguments as if the slate were clean. More than two centuries in, it is anything but.
If there are arguments that ICWA exceeds Congress’s authority as our precedent stands today, petitioners do not make them. We therefore decline to disturb the Fifth Circuit’s conclusion that ICWA is consistent with Article I.
III
We now turn to petitioners’ host of anticommandeering arguments, which we will break into three categories. First, petitioners challenge certain requirements that apply in involuntary proceedings to place a child in foster care or terminate parental rights: the requirements that an initiating party demonstrate “active efforts” to keep the Indian family together; serve notice of the proceeding on the parent or Indian custodian and tribe; and demonstrate, by a heightened burden of proof and expert testimony, that the child is likely to suffer “serious emotional or physical damage” if the parent or Indian custodian retains custody. Second, petitioners challenge ICWA’s placement preferences. They claim that Congress can neither force state agencies to find preferred placements for Indian children nor require state courts to apply federal standards when making custody determinations. Third, they insist that Congress cannot force state courts to maintain or transmit to the Federal Government records of custody proceedings involving Indian children.
A
As a reminder, “involuntary proceedings” are those to which a parent does not consent. §1912; 25 CFR §23.2. Heightened protections for parents and tribes apply in this context, and while petitioners challenge most of them, the “active efforts” provision is their primary target. That provision requires “[a]ny party” seeking to effect an involuntary foster care placement or termination of parental rights to “satisfy the court that active efforts have been made to provide remedial services and rehabilitative programs designed to prevent the breakup of the Indian family and that ​these efforts have proved unsuccessful.” §1912(d). According to petitioners, this subsection directs state and local agencies to provide extensive services to the parents of Indian children. It is well established that the Tenth Amendment bars Congress from “command[ing] the States’ officers, or those of their political subdivisions, to administer or enforce a federal regulatory program.” Printz v. United States, 521 U. S. 898, 935 (1997). The “active efforts” provision, petitioners say, does just that.
Petitioners’ argument has a fundamental flaw: To succeed, they must show that §1912(d) harnesses a State’s legislative or executive authority. But the provision applies to “any party” who initiates an involuntary proceeding, thus sweeping in private individuals and agencies as well as government entities. A demand that either public or private actors can satisfy is unlikely to require the use of sovereign power. Murphy v. National Collegiate Athletic Assn., 584 U. S. ___, ___–___ (2018) (slip op., at 19–20).
Notwithstanding the term “any party,” petitioners insist that §1912(d) is “best read” as a command to the States. See id., at ___ (slip op., at 21) (whether a federal law directly regulates the States depends on how it is “best read”). They contend that, as a practical matter, States—not private parties—initiate the vast majority of involuntary proceedings. Despite the breadth of the language, the argument goes, States are obviously the “parties” to whom the statute refers.
The record contains no evidence supporting the assertion that States institute the vast majority of involuntary proceedings. Examples of private suits are not hard to find, so we are skeptical that their number is negligible. See, e.g., Adoptive Couple v. Baby Girl, 570 U. S. 637, 644–646 (2013) (prospective adoptive parents); In re Guardianship of Eliza W., 304 Neb. 995, 997, 938 N. W. 2d 307, 310 (2020) (grandmother); In re Guardianship of J. C. D., 2004 S. D. 96, ¶4, 686 N. W. 2d 647, 648 (2004) (grandparents); In re ​Adoption of T. A. W., 186 Wash. 2d 828, 835–837, 850–851, 383 P. 3d 492, 494–495, 501–502 (2016) (en banc) (mother and stepfather); J. W. v. R. J., 951 P. 2d 1206, 1212–1213 (Alaska 1998) (same). Indeed, Texas’s own family code permits certain private parties to initiate suits for the termination of parental rights. Tex. Fam. Code Ann. §102.003(a) (West Cum. Supp. 2022); see Reply Brief for Texas 27. And while petitioners treat “active efforts” as synonymous with “government programs,” state courts have applied the “active efforts” requirement in private suits too. See, e.g., In re Adoption of T. A. W., 186 Wash. 2d, at 851–852, 383 P. 3d, at 502–503; S. S. v. Stephanie H., 241 Ariz. 419, 424, 388 P. 3d 569, 574 (App. 2017); In re N. B., 199 P. 3d 16, 23–24 (Colo. App. 2007). That is consistent with ICWA’s findings, which describe the role that both public and private actors played in the unjust separation of Indian children from their families and tribes. §1901. Given all this, it is implausible that §1912(d) is directed primarily, much less exclusively, at the States.
Legislation that applies “evenhandedly” to state and private actors does not typically implicate the Tenth Amendment. Murphy, 584 U. S., at ___ (slip op., at 20). In South ​Carolina v. Baker, for example, we held that a generally applicable law regulating unregistered bonds did not commandeer the States; rather, it required States “wishing to engage in certain activity [to] take administrative and sometimes legislative action to comply with federal standards regulating that activity.” 485 U. S. 505, 514–515 (1988). We reached a similar conclusion in Reno v. Condon, which dealt with a statute prohibiting state motor vehicle departments (DMVs) from selling a driver’s personal information without the driver’s consent. 528 U. S. 141, 143–144 (2000). The law regulated not only the state DMVs, but also private parties who had already purchased this information and sought to resell it. Id., at 146. Applying Baker, we concluded that the Act did not “require the States in their sovereign capacity to regulate their own citizens,” “enact any laws or regulations,” or “assist in the enforcement of federal statutes regulating private individuals.” 528 U. S., at 150–151. Instead, it permissibly “regulate[d] the States as the owners of data bases.” Id., at 151.
Petitioners argue that Baker and Condon are distinguishable because they addressed laws regulating a State’s commercial activity, while ICWA regulates a State’s “core sovereign function of protecting the health and safety of children within its borders.” Brief for Petitioner Texas 66. A State can stop selling bonds or a driver’s personal information, petitioners say, but it cannot withdraw from the area of child welfare—protecting children is the business of government, even if it is work in which private parties share. Nor, of course, could Texas avoid ICWA by excluding only Indian children from social services. Because States cannot exit the field, they are hostage to ICWA, which requires them to implement Congress’s regulatory program for the care of Indian children and families. Id., at 64–65; Reply Brief for Texas 27.
This argument is presumably directed at situations in ​which only the State can rescue a child from neglectful parents. But §1912 applies to more than child neglect—for instance, it applies when a biological mother arranges for a private adoption without the biological father’s consent. See, e.g., Adoptive Couple, 570 U. S., at 643–644. And even when a child is trapped in an abusive home, the State is not necessarily the only option for rescue—for instance, a grandmother can seek guardianship of a grandchild whose parents are failing to care for her. See, e.g., In re Guardianship of Eliza W., 304 Neb., at 996–997, 938 N. W. 2d, at 309–310. Petitioners do not distinguish between these varied situations, much less isolate a domain in which only the State can act. Some amici assert that, at the very least, removing children from imminent danger in the home falls exclusively to the government. Brief for Academy of Adoption and Assisted Reproduction Attorneys et al. as Amici Curiae 14 (“Amici are aware of no state in which a private actor may lawfully remove a child from his existing home”). Maybe so—but that does not help petitioners’ commandeering argument, because the “active efforts” requirement does not apply to emergency removals. §1922. If ICWA commandeers state performance of a “core sovereign function,” petitioners do not give us the details.
When a federal statute applies on its face to both private and state actors, a commandeering argument is a heavy lift—and petitioners have not pulled it off. Both state and private actors initiate involuntary proceedings. And, if there is a core of involuntary proceedings committed exclusively to the sovereign, Texas neither identifies its contours nor explains what §1912(d) requires of a State in that context. Petitioners have therefore failed to show that the “active efforts” requirement commands the States to deploy their executive or legislative power to implement federal Indian policy.
As for petitioners’ challenges to other provisions of ​§1912—the notice requirement, expert witness requirement, and evidentiary standards—we doubt that requirements placed on a State as litigant implicate the Tenth Amendment. But in any event, these provisions, like §1912(d), apply to both private and state actors, so they too pose no anticommandeering problem.
B
Petitioners also raise a Tenth Amendment challenge to §1915, which dictates placement preferences for Indian children. According to petitioners, this provision orders state agencies to perform a “diligent search” for placements that satisfy ICWA’s hierarchy. Brief for Petitioner Texas 63; Reply Brief for Texas 24; see also Brief for Individual Petitioners 67–68. Petitioners assert that the Department of the Interior understands §1915 this way, 25 CFR §23.132(c)(5), and the Tribes who intervene in proceedings governed by ICWA share that understanding—for example, “the Librettis’ adoption of Baby O was delayed because the Ysleta del Sur Pueblo Tribe demanded that county officials exhaustively search for a placement with the Tribe first.” Reply Brief for Texas 24–25. Just as Congress cannot compel state officials to search databases to determine the lawfulness of gun sales, Printz, 521 U. S., at 902–904, petitioners argue, Congress cannot compel state officials to search for a federally preferred placement.
As an initial matter, this argument encounters the same problem that plagues petitioners with respect to §1912: Petitioners have not shown that the “diligent search” requirement, which applies to both private and public parties, demands the use of state sovereign authority. But this argument fails for another reason too: Section 1915 does not require anyone, much less the States, to search for alternative placements. As the United States emphasizes, petitioners’ interpretation “cannot be squared with this Court’s decision in Adoptive Couple,” which held that “ ‘there simply ​is no “preference” to apply if no alternative party that is eligible to be preferred … has come forward.’ ” Brief for Federal Parties 44 (quoting 570 U. S., at 654); Adoptive Couple, 570 U. S., at 654 (“§1915(a)’s preferences are inapplicable in cases where no alternative party has formally sought to adopt the child”). Instead, the burden is on the tribe or other objecting party to produce a higher-ranked placement. Ibid. So, as it stands, petitioners assert an anticommandeering challenge to a provision that does not command state agencies to do anything.
State courts are a different matter. ICWA indisputably requires them to apply the placement preferences in making custody determinations. §§1915(a), (b). Petitioners argue that this too violates the anticommandeering doctrine. To be sure, they recognize that Congress can require state courts, unlike state executives and legislatures, to enforce federal law. See New York v. United States, 505 U. S. 144, 178–179 (1992) (“Federal statutes enforceable in state courts do, in a sense, direct state judges to enforce them, but this sort of federal ‘direction’ of state judges is mandated by the text of the Supremacy Clause”). But they draw a distinction between requiring state courts to entertain federal causes of action and requiring them to apply federal law to state causes of action. They claim that if state law provides the cause of action—as Texas law does here—then the State gets to call the shots, unhindered by any federal instruction to the contrary. Brief for Individual Petitioners 62–63, 66–67.
This argument runs headlong into the Constitution. The Supremacy Clause provides that “the Laws of the United States … shall be the supreme Law of the Land; and the Judges in every State shall be bound thereby, any Thing in the Constitution or Laws of any state to the Contrary notwithstanding.” Art. VI, cl. 2. Thus, when Congress enacts a valid statute pursuant to its Article I powers, “state law is naturally preempted to the extent of any conflict with a ​federal statute.” Crosby v. National Foreign Trade Council, 530 U. S. 363, 372 (2000). End of story. That a federal law modifies a state law cause of action does not limit its preemptive effect. See, e.g., Hillman, 569 U. S., at 493–494 (federal law establishing an “ ‘order of precedence’ ” for beneficiaries of life insurance preempted state law); Egelhoff v. Egelhoff, 532 U. S. 141, 151–152 (2001) (Employee Retirement Income Security Act preempted state law regarding the economic consequences of divorce); Wissner v. Wissner, 338 U. S. 655, 660–661 (1950) (federal military benefits law preempted state community-property rules).
C
Finally, we turn to ICWA’s recordkeeping provisions. Section 1951(a) requires courts to provide the Secretary of the Interior with a copy of the final order in the adoptive placement of any Indian child. The court must also provide “other information as may be necessary to show” the child’s name and tribal affiliation, the names and addresses of the biological parents and adoptive parents, and the identity of any agency with information about the adoptive placement. Section 1915(e) requires the State to “maintai[n]” a record “evidencing the efforts to comply with the order of preference” specified by ICWA. The record “shall be made available at any time upon the request of the Secretary or the Indian child’s tribe.” Petitioners argue that Congress cannot conscript the States into federal service by assigning them recordkeeping tasks.
​The anticommandeering doctrine applies “distinctively” to a state court’s adjudicative responsibilities. Printz, 521 U. S., at 907. As we just explained, this distinction is evident in the Supremacy Clause, which refers specifically to state judges. Art. VI, cl. 2. From the beginning, the text manifested in practice: As originally understood, the Constitution allowed Congress to require “state judges to enforce federal prescriptions, insofar as those prescriptions related to matters appropriate for the judicial power.” Printz, 521 U. S., at 907 (emphasis deleted). In Printz, we indicated that this principle may extend to tasks that are “ancillary” to a “quintessentially adjudicative task”—such as “recording, registering, and certifying” documents. Id., at 908, n. 2.
Petitioners reject Printz’s observation, insisting that there is a distinction between rules of decision (which state courts must follow) and recordkeeping requirements (which they can ignore). But Printz described numerous historical examples of Congress imposing recordkeeping and reporting requirements on state courts. The early Congresses passed laws directing state courts to perform certain tasks fairly described as “ancillary” to the courts’ adjudicative duties. For example, state courts were required to process and record applications for United States citizenship. Act of Mar. 26, 1790, ch. 3, §1, 1 Stat. 103–104. The clerk (or other court official) was required “to certify and transmit” the application to the Secretary of State, along with information about “the name, age, nation, residence and occupation, for the time being, of the alien.” Act of June 18, 1798, §2, 1 Stat. 567. The clerk also had to register aliens seeking naturalization and issue certificates confirming the court’s receipt of the alien’s request for registration. ​Act of Apr. 14, 1802, §2, 2 Stat. 155.
Federal law imposed other duties on state courts unrelated to immigration and naturalization. The Judiciary Act of 1789, which authorized “any justice of the peace, or other magistrate of any of the United States” to arrest and imprison federal offenders, required the judge to set bail at the defendant’s request. §33, 1 Stat. 91. Congress also required state courts to administer oaths to prisoners, to issue certificates authorizing the apprehension of fugitives, and to collect proof of the claims of Canadian refugees who had aided the United States in the Revolutionary War. Act of May 5, 1792, ch. 29, §2, 1 Stat. 266 (“any person imprisoned … may have the oath or affirmation herein after expressed administered to him by any judge of the United States, or of the general or supreme court of law of the state in which the debtor is imprisoned”); Act of Feb. 12, 1793, ch. 7, §1, 1 Stat. 302 (“governor or chief magistrate of the state or territory” shall “certif[y] as authentic” an indictment or affidavit charging a “fugitive from justice”); ​Act of Apr. 7, 1798, §3, 1 Stat. 548 (“proof of the several circumstances necessary to entitle the applicants to the benefits of this act, may be taken before … a judge of the supreme or superior court, or the first justice or first judge of the court of common pleas or country court of any state”).
There is more. Shortly after ratification, Congress passed a detailed statute that required state-court judges to gather and certify reports. Act of July 20, 1790, §3, 1 Stat. 132. The Act authorized commanders of ships to request examinations of their vessels from any “justice of the peace of the city, town or place.” Ibid. The judge would order three qualified people to prepare a report on the vessel’s condition, which the judge would review and “endorse.” Ibid. Then, the judge was required to issue an order regarding “whether the said ship or vessel is fit to proceed on the intended voyage; and if not, whether such repairs can be made or deficiencies supplied where the ship or vessel then lays.” Ibid.
These early congressional enactments “provid[e] ‘contemporaneous and weighty evidence’ of the Constitution’s meaning.” Bowsher v. Synar, 478 U. S. 714, 723 (1986). Collectively, they demonstrate that the Constitution does not prohibit the Federal Government from imposing adjudicative tasks on state courts. This makes sense against the backdrop of the Madisonian Compromise: Since Article III established only the Supreme Court and made inferior federal courts optional, Congress could have relied almost entirely on state courts to apply federal law. Printz, 521 U. S., at 907. Had Congress taken that course, it would have had to rely on state courts to perform adjudication-adjacent tasks too.
We now confirm what we suggested in Printz: Congress may impose ancillary recordkeeping requirements related to state-court proceedings without violating the Tenth Amendment. Such requirements do not offload the Federal Government’s responsibilities onto the States, nor do they ​put state legislatures and executives “under the direct control of Congress.” Murphy, 584 U. S., at ___ (slip op., at 18). Rather, they are a logical consequence of our system of “dual sovereignty” in which state courts are required to apply federal law. See Gregory v. Ashcroft, 501 U. S. 452, 457 (1991).
Here, ICWA’s recordkeeping requirements are comparable in kind and in degree to the historical examples. Like the naturalization laws, §1951(a) requires the state court to transmit to the Secretary a copy of a court order along with basic demographic information. Section 1915(e) likewise requires the State to record a limited amount of information—the efforts made to comply with the placement preferences—and provide the information to the Secretary and to the child’s tribe. These duties are “ancillary” to the state court’s obligation to conduct child custody proceedings in compliance with ICWA. Printz, 521 U. S., at 908, n. 2. Thus, ICWA’s recordkeeping requirements are consistent with the Tenth Amendment.
IV
Petitioners raise two additional claims: an equal protection challenge to ICWA’s placement preferences and a nondelegation challenge to the provision allowing tribes to alter the placement preferences. We do not reach the merits of these claims because no party before the Court has standing to raise them. Article III requires a plaintiff to show that she has suffered an injury in fact that is “ ‘fairly traceable to the defendant’s allegedly unlawful conduct and likely to be redressed by the requested relief.’ ” California v. Texas, 593 U. S. ___, ___ (2021) (slip op., at 4). Neither the individual petitioners nor Texas can pass that test.
A
The individual petitioners argue that ICWA injures them by placing them on “[un]equal footing” with Indian parents ​who seek to adopt or foster an Indian child. Northeastern Fla. Chapter, Associated Gen. Contractors of America v. Jacksonville, 508 U. S. 656, 666 (1993). Under ICWA’s hierarchy of preferences, non-Indian parents are generally last in line for potential placements. According to petitioners, this “erects a barrier that makes it more difficult for members of one group to obtain a benefit than it is for members of another group.” Ibid.; see also Turner v. Fouche, 396 U. S. 346, 362 (1970) (the Equal Protection Clause secures the right of individuals “to be considered” for government positions and benefits “without the burden of invidiously discriminatory disqualifications”). The racial discrimination they allege counts as an Article III injury.
But the individual petitioners have not shown that this injury is “likely” to be “redressed by judicial relief.” TransUnion LLC v. Ramirez, 594 U. S. ___, ___ (2021) (slip op., at 7). They seek an injunction preventing the federal parties from enforcing ICWA and a declaratory judgment that the challenged provisions are unconstitutional. Yet enjoining the federal parties would not remedy the alleged injury, because state courts apply the placement preferences, and state agencies carry out the court-ordered placements. §§1903(1), 1915(a), (b); see also Brief for Individual Petitioners 63 (“There is no federal official who administers ICWA or carries out its mandates”). The state officials who implement ICWA are “not parties to the suit, and there is no reason they should be obliged to honor an incidental legal determination the suit produced.” Lujan v. Defenders of Wildlife, 504 U. S. 555, 569 (1992) (plurality opinion). So an injunction would not give petitioners legally enforceable ​protection from the allegedly imminent harm.
Petitioners’ request for a declaratory judgment suffers from the same flaw. See Skelly Oil Co. v. Phillips Petroleum Co., 339 U. S. 667, 671–672 (1950). This form of relief conclusively resolves “ ‘the legal rights of the parties.’ ” Medtronic, Inc. v. Mirowski Family Ventures, LLC, 571 U. S. 191, 200 (2014) (emphasis added). But again, state officials are nonparties who would not be bound by the judgment. Taylor v. Sturgell, 553 U. S. 880, 892–893 (2008). Thus, the equal protection issue would not be settled between petitioners and the officials who matter—which would leave the declaratory judgment powerless to remedy the alleged harm. 994 F. 3d, at 448 (Costa, J., concurring in part and dissenting in part) (“What saves proper declaratory judgments from a redressability problem—but is lacking here—is that they have preclusive effect on a traditional lawsuit that is imminent”). After all, the point of a declaratory judgment “is to establish a binding adjudication that enables the parties to enjoy the benefits of reliance and repose secured by res judicata.” 18A C. Wright, A. Miller, & E. Cooper, Federal Practice and Procedure §4446 (3d ed. Supp. 2022). Without preclusive effect, a declaratory judgment is little more than an advisory opinion. Ibid.; see Public Serv. Comm’n of Utah v. Wycoff Co., 344 U. S. 237, 242–243 (1952).
The individual petitioners do not dispute—or even address—any of this. Instead, they insist that state courts are likely to defer to a federal court’s interpretation of federal law, thus giving rise to a substantial likelihood that a favorable judgment will redress their injury. Brief in Opposition for Individual Respondents 19–20; Reply Brief for Individual Petitioners 29. They point out that, in the Brackeens’ ongoing efforts to adopt Y. R. J., the trial court stated that it would follow the federal court’s ruling on the Brackeens’ constitutional claims. Ibid. Thus, they reason, winning this case would solve their problems.
​But “[r]edressability requires that the court be able to afford relief through the exercise of its power, not through the persuasive or even awe-inspiring effect of the opinion explaining the exercise of its power.” Franklin v. Massachusetts, 505 U. S. 788, 825 (1992) (Scalia, J., concurring in part and concurring in judgment) (emphasis in original); see also United States v. Juvenile Male, 564 U. S. 932, 937 (2011) (per curiam) (a judgment’s “possible, indirect benefit in a future lawsuit” does not preserve standing). Otherwise, redressability would be satisfied whenever a decision might persuade actors who are not before the court—contrary to Article III’s strict prohibition on “issuing advisory opinions.” Carney v. Adams, 592 U. S. ___, ___ (2020) (slip op., at 4). It is a federal court’s judgment, not its opinion, that remedies an injury; thus it is the judgment, not the opinion, that demonstrates redressability. The individual petitioners can hope for nothing more than an opinion, so they cannot satisfy Article III.
B
Texas also lacks standing to challenge the placement preferences. It has no equal protection rights of its own, South Carolina v. Katzenbach, 383 U. S. 301, 323 (1966), and it cannot assert equal protection claims on behalf of its citizens because “[a] State does not have standing as parens patriae to bring an action against the Federal Government,” Alfred L. Snapp & Son, Inc. v. Puerto Rico ex rel. Barez, 458 U. S. 592, 610, n. 16 (1982). That should make the issue ​open and shut.
Yet Texas advances a few creative arguments for why it has standing despite these settled rules. It leads with what one might call an “unclean hands” injury: ICWA “injures Texas by requiring it to break its promise to its citizens that it will be colorblind in child-custody proceedings.” Reply Brief for Texas 15; id., at 14 (“ICWA forces Texas to violate its own constitutional obligations”). This is not the kind of “concrete” and “particularized” “invasion of a legally protected interest” necessary to demonstrate an “ ‘injury in fact.’ ” Lujan, 504 U. S., at 560. Were it otherwise, a State would always have standing to bring constitutional challenges when it is complicit in enforcing federal law. Texas tries to finesse this problem by characterizing ICWA as a “fiscal trap,” forcing it to discriminate against its citizens or lose federal funds. Brief for Petitioner Texas 39–40. But ICWA is not a Spending Clause statute—Texas bases this argument on a vague reference to a different Spending Clause statute that it does not challenge. And Texas has not established that those funds, which the State has accepted for years, are conditioned on compliance with the placement preferences anyway. See 42 U. S. C. §622; Brief for Federal Parties 49, n. 6.
Texas also claims a direct pocketbook injury associated with the costs of keeping records, providing notice in involuntary proceedings, and producing expert testimony before moving a child to foster care or terminating parental rights. Reply Brief for Texas 13–14. But these alleged costs are not ​“fairly traceable” to the placement preferences, which “operate independently” of the provisions Texas identifies. California, 593 U. S., at ___ (slip op., at 15). The provisions do not rise or fall together; proving that the placement preferences are unconstitutional “would not show that enforcement of any of these other provisions violates the Constitution.” Ibid. In other words, Texas would continue to incur the complained-of costs even if it were relieved of the duty to apply the placement preferences. The former, then, cannot justify a challenge to the latter.
Because Texas is not injured by the placement preferences, neither would it be injured by a tribal resolution that altered those preferences pursuant to §1915(c). Texas therefore does not have standing to bring either its equal protection or its nondelegation claims. *** For these reasons, we affirm the judgment of the Court of Appeals regarding Congress’s constitutional authority to enact ICWA. On the anticommandeering claims, we reverse. On the equal protection and nondelegation claims, we vacate the judgment of the Court of Appeals and remand with instructions to dismiss for lack of jurisdiction.
It is so ordered.
* ↑ Petitioners raised several other challenges that are not before this Court, including that ICWA’s implementing regulations are arbitrary and capricious in violation of the Administrative Procedure Act.
* ↑ Hernandez and the families, the State of Texas, the federal parties, and the Tribes all filed cross-petitions for certiorari. After the cases were consolidated, Hernandez, the families, and Texas proceeded as petitioners before this Court, and the federal parties and the Tribes proceeded as respondents.
* ↑ Justice Alito’s dissent criticizes the Court for “violating one of the most basic laws of logic” with our conclusion that “Congress’s power over Indian affairs is ‘plenary’ but not ‘absolute.’ ” Post, at 3–4. Yet the dissent goes on to make that very same observation. Post, at 4 (“[E]ven so-called plenary powers cannot override foundational constitutional constraints”).
* ↑ Texas floated a theory for the first time at oral argument. It said that, taken together, our plenary power cases fall into three buckets: (1) those allowing Congress to legislate pursuant to an enumerated power, such as the Indian Commerce Clause or the Treaty Clause; (2) those allowing Congress to regulate the tribes as government entities; and (3) those allowing Congress to enact legislation that applies to federal or tribal land. Tr. of Oral Arg. 55. According to Texas, ICWA is unconstitutional because it does not fall within any of these categories. We have never broken down our cases this way. But even if Texas’s theory is descriptively accurate, Texas offers no explanation for why Congress’s power is limited to these categories.
* ↑ All petitioners argue that these provisions violate the anticommandeering principle. Since Texas has standing to raise these claims, we need not address whether the individual petitioners also have standing to do so.
* ↑ To bolster their claim that the “active efforts” requirement is aimed at the States, petitioners point to a statement from the Department of the Interior asserting that the reference to “active efforts” reflects Congress’s intent “to require States to affirmatively provide Indian families with substantive services and not merely make the services available.” 81 Fed. Reg. 38791 (emphasis added). This statement does not move the needle. Neither §1912(d) nor the regulations limit themselves to States; moreover, the regulations plainly contemplate that services will come from private organizations as well as the government. 25 CFR §23.102 (“Agency means a nonprofit, for-profit, or governmental organization … that performs, or provides services to biological parents, foster parents, or adoptive parents to assist in the administrative and social work necessary for foster, preadoptive, or adoptive placements”). The Department’s statement is thus consistent with the plain language of §1912, which applies to both private and state actors.
* ↑ Though §1915(e) does not specify that the records be retained by state courts, as opposed to state agencies, context makes clear that a “record of each such placement” refers to the state court’s placement determination. See Mississippi Band of Choctaw Indians v. Holyfield, 490 U. S. 30, 40, n. 13 (1989). True, the provision leaves it up to the State whether to keep the records with a court or agency. See 25 CFR §23.141(c) (“The State court or agency should notify the BIA whether these records are maintained within the court system or by a State agency”). But allowing the State to make that choice does not transform the documents into something other than a court record.
* ↑ Printz noted uncertainty about whether the naturalization laws applied only to States that voluntarily “authorized their courts to conduct naturalization proceedings.” 521 U. S., at 905–906. But on their face, these statutes did not require state consent. See Act of Mar. 26, 1790, ch. 3, §1, 1 Stat. 103 (providing that an alien could apply for citizenship “to any common law court of record, in any one of the states wherein he shall have resided for the term of one year at least”); Act of Apr. 14, 1802, ch. 28, 2 Stat. 153 (referring to “the supreme, superior, district or circuit court of some one of the states, or of the territorial districts of the United States, or a circuit or district court of the United States”). And as Printz recognized, this Court has never held that consent is required. 521 U. S., at 905–906; see Holmgren v. United States, 217 U. S. 509, 517 (1910) (holding that Congress could empower state courts to conduct naturalization proceedings, but because California had already authorized jurisdiction, reserving the question whether its consent was necessary); but see United States v. Jones, 109 U. S. 513, 520 (1883) (stating in dicta that the naturalization laws “could not be enforced” in state court “against the consent of the States”). In any event, while the naturalization laws are certainly not conclusive evidence, they are nonetheless relevant to discerning historical practice.
* ↑ Respondents raise other objections to the individual petitioners’ standing, including that the alleged injury is speculative because it depends on future proceedings to foster or adopt Indian children. Brief for Tribal Defendants 46–50; Brief for Federal Parties 49–52. Because we resolve the standing of all individual petitioners on the ground of redressability, we do not address respondents’ other arguments.
* ↑ Of course, the individual petitioners can challenge ICWA’s constitutionality in state court, as the Brackeens have done in their adoption proceedings for Y. R. J. 994 F. 3d 249, 294 (2021) (principal opinion of Dennis, J.).
* ↑ Texas claims that it can assert third-party standing on behalf of non-Indian families. This argument is a thinly veiled attempt to circumvent the limits on parens patriae standing. The case on which Texas relies, Georgia v. McCollum, 505 U. S. 42 (1992), allowed a State to represent jurors struck on the basis of race, because (among other reasons) “[a]s the representative of all its citizens, the State is the logical and proper party to assert the invasion of the constitutional rights of the excluded jurors in a criminal trial.” Id., at 56. But McCollum was not a suit against the Federal Government; moreover, it involved a “concrete injury” to the State and “some hindrance to the third party’s ability to protect its own interests,” neither of which is present here. Id., at 55–56.
* ↑ Although the individual petitioners join Texas’s nondelegation challenge to §1915(c), they raise no independent arguments about why they would have standing to bring this claim. Brief for Individual Petitioners 41, n. 6; Brief for Federal Parties 79, n. 14.