By Isaac Beck, Op-ed contributor
Hollywood has spent decades warning us about the dangers of time travel. From “Back to the Future” to “The Butterfly Effect” and countless other films, the character who reaches back into the past to “fix” something invariably unleashes chaos in the present. Change one detail in 2009 and the future unravels in ways no one intended.
The lesson is always the same: meddling with history produces severe and unpredictable consequences. Yet California’s Senate Bill 934 asks legislators, and the public, to ignore that lesson.
Supporters package the bill as a straightforward measure to give “survivors of conversion therapy” more time to seek justice. The real issue is not whether one agrees with California’s existing counseling restrictions. It is whether the state should revive long-expired claims and impose new civil liabilities on people and institutions for conduct that was not subject to this exposure when it occurred.
California law already prohibits licensed mental health professionals from engaging in sexual orientation change efforts with minors. That law remains the subject of constitutional debate following the Supreme Court’s recent decision in Chiles v. Salazar, which reaffirmed broad First Amendment protections for counselors engaged in talk therapy with their clients.
Rather than waiting for those legal questions to be resolved, SB 934 takes a different approach. It creates a new civil cause of action with nearly two decades of retroactive reach. The legislation allows claims to be filed over two decades after counseling occurred and, more significantly, revives lawsuits that had already expired under existing law. Conduct dating back to January 1, 2009 would once again become actionable; conduct that participants quite reasonably believed was no longer subject to litigation.
That is an extraordinary exercise of legislative power.
More importantly, the principle established here would not remain confined to this controversy. Once the Legislature demonstrates that expired civil claims can be revived whenever a new political consensus exists, there is little standing in the way of limitations. Future lawmakers could apply the same reasoning to any number of contentious debates, reviving liabilities for conduct involving anything from environmental policy to education, or public health to religious liberty. The identities of future plaintiffs and defendants may change, but the continual erosion of legal certainty would nonetheless remain.
The bill reaches far beyond licensed counselors themselves. It also permits lawsuits against employers and organizations alleged to have negligently hired or supervised those counselors. For churches, ministries, and faith-based organizations that have long provided counseling consistent with their religious convictions, the implications are far-reaching. A congregation could find itself defending decisions made nearly two decades ago. Long after records have been destroyed, insurance policies have lapsed, possible witnesses have dispersed, and memories have inevitably faded.
Those practical difficulties are exactly why statutes of limitation exist. They are not mere procedural technicalities. They reflect a fundamental judgment that justice depends on reliable evidence, fair notice, and the ability of both plaintiffs and defendants to present their cases while facts remain accessible. When legislatures revive claims long thought settled, they are using a retroactive legal time machine that jeopardizes everyone’s future.
Supporters argue that extraordinary circumstances sometimes justify extending filing deadlines, particularly for victims of sexual abuse. That argument deserves serious consideration. But SB 934 does something different. It revives expired claims while simultaneously expanding liability to organizations that may have had only an indirect relationship with the counseling itself. In doing so, it changes the legal consequences of actions taken years before anyone could have anticipated this new exposure.
The result is likely to extend beyond the courtroom. Churches may discontinue counseling ministries. Faith-based organizations may hesitate to employ licensed professionals. Counselors will surely self-censor to avoid conversations that clients voluntarily seek because the legal risks become too unpredictable. Regardless of one’s views about the underlying subject matter, that chilling effect should concern anyone who values both liberty and freedom of speech.
Today’s political majority may believe retroactive liability is justified because it advances a cause they support. Tomorrow’s majority may reach a different conclusion about a different issue altogether. The precedent SB 934 creates will outlast the controversy that created it. Once lawmakers become comfortable rewriting yesterday’s legal rules to achieve today’s policy objectives, every contested viewpoint becomes vulnerable to retrospective punishment.
California can continue debating how counseling involving sexual orientation and gender identity might be regulated. Reasonable people will disagree. But everyone should agree on one principle: the law should provide notice before conduct occurs, not impose new liabilities after the fact.
Good intentions aren’t enough for good law. The rule of law depends on the confidence that yesterday’s legal conduct will not be rewritten into tomorrow’s crime simply because the political climate has changed.
SB 934 invites Californians to climb into a legislative time machine and rewrite the legal consequences of the past. They should refuse the ride.
Isaac Beck is a writer and the project director of advocacy and government affairs for the Changed Movement. Rooted in small-town Michigan and shaped by a spirit of adventure, he now resides in Northern California. Go Blue!