That's essentially what happened last week in FreeState Justice v. EEOC.
The case arose from the EEOC's response to President Trump's January 2025 executive order recognizing only two sexes, male and female. Following that order, then Acting EEOC Chair Andrea Lucas announced that the agency was rolling back what it characterized as the prior administration's "gender identity agenda."
Words turned into actions.
According to the lawsuit, the EEOC stopped processing certain categories of gender-identity discrimination charges. The agency resumed investigating some claims involving hiring, firing, and promotion decisions. But it allegedly continued refusing to process claims alleging harassment based on gender identity and retaliation against employees who complained about such discrimination.
In practical terms, transgender employees could still file certain discrimination charges with the EEOC. But if a transgender employee alleged workplace harassment or retaliation, the agency allegedly would not investigate those claims.
The lawsuit also alleged that the EEOC directed state fair-employment agencies that it would no longer reimburse them for investigating gender-identity charges on the agency's behalf.
The plaintiff, an LGBTQ+ legal-services organization called FreeState Justice, argued that these policy changes effectively denied transgender workers access to protections that Title VII guarantees.
They have a point.
In 2020, the Supreme Court held in Bostock v. Clayton County that discrimination because of transgender status is discrimination because of sex under Title VII. Since then, the EEOC has treated gender-identity discrimination claims as falling within the statute's protections.
The lawsuit essentially alleged that the EEOC had decided to stop enforcing part of Title VII for a particular group of employees.
That's why Chief Judge George Russell's opinion contains a remarkable phrase.
Describing the EEOC's actions, he called them "deeply troubling."
Judges don't casually insert language like that into opinions. It's hard to read those two words as anything other than an acknowledgment that the court saw serious issues with what the agency was doing.
But then the judge did something that infuriated the plaintiffs and anyone who agrees with them. He dismissed the case without ever deciding whether the EEOC's conduct was legal.
The problem wasn't the merits. The problem was standing.
The court relied heavily on the Supreme Court's 2023 decision in United States v. Texas. That case reaffirmed a basic principle about separation of powers: courts generally do not get to tell executive agencies whom to investigate, whom to prosecute, or how aggressively to enforce the law.
Those decisions belong to the Executive Branch.
The plaintiff wasn't asking the court to stop the government from doing something. It was asking the court to require the government to do something — namely, investigate and process more discrimination charges. Under Texas, that's usually a bridge too far.
And so the court never reached the underlying question that everyone actually cares about: whether the EEOC's policy violates Title VII. Instead, the case ended at the courthouse door.
It's easy to find that outcome frustrating. After all, if a court believes government conduct is "deeply troubling," shouldn't it decide whether that conduct is lawful?
Not necessarily.
One of the most important principles in our legal system is that courts are courts of limited jurisdiction. They don't get to decide every dispute. They don't get to answer every important question. They don't get to issue advisory opinions simply because an issue matters. They can decide only the cases the Constitution and Congress authorize them to decide.
That's where standing comes in. Standing doctrine often feels like legal housekeeping. Lawyers love arguing it. Clients hate hearing about it. But standing serves an important function. It prevents courts from becoming roving commissions empowered to supervise every policy disagreement between citizens and the government.
Without those limits, judges could effectively become policymakers. That's a dangerous road regardless of whose policies are at issue.
The lesson from FreeState Justice is not that the EEOC was right.
The lesson is not that the EEOC was wrong.
The lesson is that sometimes a court never gets that far.
Sometimes a case is decided on the merits.
Sometimes it's decided on procedure.
And while it can be maddening to watch procedure trump substance — especially when the court itself describes the underlying conduct as "deeply troubling" — procedural rules are what keep our legal system functioning. They define the boundaries of judicial power. They preserve the separation of powers. They ensure that courts remain courts rather than political actors.
The alternative is a system in which judges decide whichever disputes they think deserve an answer. That might sound appealing when the judge agrees with you. It becomes a lot less appealing when the judge doesn't.
That's why procedure matters. Not because it's exciting. Because it's what stands between the rule of law and the rule of whoever happens to hold judicial power.
The lawsuit essentially alleged that the EEOC had decided to stop enforcing part of Title VII for a particular group of employees.
That's why Chief Judge George Russell's opinion contains a remarkable phrase.
Describing the EEOC's actions, he called them "deeply troubling."
Judges don't casually insert language like that into opinions. It's hard to read those two words as anything other than an acknowledgment that the court saw serious issues with what the agency was doing.
But then the judge did something that infuriated the plaintiffs and anyone who agrees with them. He dismissed the case without ever deciding whether the EEOC's conduct was legal.
The problem wasn't the merits. The problem was standing.
The court relied heavily on the Supreme Court's 2023 decision in United States v. Texas. That case reaffirmed a basic principle about separation of powers: courts generally do not get to tell executive agencies whom to investigate, whom to prosecute, or how aggressively to enforce the law.
Those decisions belong to the Executive Branch.
The plaintiff wasn't asking the court to stop the government from doing something. It was asking the court to require the government to do something — namely, investigate and process more discrimination charges. Under Texas, that's usually a bridge too far.
And so the court never reached the underlying question that everyone actually cares about: whether the EEOC's policy violates Title VII. Instead, the case ended at the courthouse door.
It's easy to find that outcome frustrating. After all, if a court believes government conduct is "deeply troubling," shouldn't it decide whether that conduct is lawful?
Not necessarily.
One of the most important principles in our legal system is that courts are courts of limited jurisdiction. They don't get to decide every dispute. They don't get to answer every important question. They don't get to issue advisory opinions simply because an issue matters. They can decide only the cases the Constitution and Congress authorize them to decide.
That's where standing comes in. Standing doctrine often feels like legal housekeeping. Lawyers love arguing it. Clients hate hearing about it. But standing serves an important function. It prevents courts from becoming roving commissions empowered to supervise every policy disagreement between citizens and the government.
Without those limits, judges could effectively become policymakers. That's a dangerous road regardless of whose policies are at issue.
The lesson from FreeState Justice is not that the EEOC was right.
The lesson is not that the EEOC was wrong.
The lesson is that sometimes a court never gets that far.
Sometimes a case is decided on the merits.
Sometimes it's decided on procedure.
And while it can be maddening to watch procedure trump substance — especially when the court itself describes the underlying conduct as "deeply troubling" — procedural rules are what keep our legal system functioning. They define the boundaries of judicial power. They preserve the separation of powers. They ensure that courts remain courts rather than political actors.
The alternative is a system in which judges decide whichever disputes they think deserve an answer. That might sound appealing when the judge agrees with you. It becomes a lot less appealing when the judge doesn't.
That's why procedure matters. Not because it's exciting. Because it's what stands between the rule of law and the rule of whoever happens to hold judicial power.