Archive for September, 2010
Deconstructing the arguments for and against the death penalty
Sep 30th
A commenter left a very lengthy, insightful and thought-provoking comment to my recent post on the death penalty. The comment, in my opinion, is worthy of its own forum and so I’ve received permission to reproduce it here as a “guest post” of sorts. The name of the commenter will not be disclosed, for reasons relating to employment, but I do know this person in real life and all our interactions have left me thoroughly impressed. It is long, but I do hope you take the time to read through it all. Of course, if you disagree, the comments are open for further discussion.
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Alright, look. If someone asks me “why” I oppose the death penalty, my answers all ultimately reduce down to “because it’s just wrong, and that’s all there is to it.” Ultimately, that’s no better reasoned, no more intellectually sound, and no more compelling than the “I’d fry ‘em myself–let me at ‘em” folks who inhabit the comments sections of the Register, the Courant, and (fewer) this post. I acknowledge that–and I can’t, try as I might, articulate the reason that I oppose the death penalty in any coherent manner; just as the vast majority of the vocal proponents can’t articulate any coherent reason for their fervor.
(I will note, at the outset, that I most emphatically do NOT believe that it is wrong to take a life in all circumstances. Lethal self-defense/defense of others, certain instances of warfare, and even certain other instances certainly, in my mind, justify taking another person’s life. But that’s not a conclusion that any of us should take lightly, or treat as a given.)
So, stepping back from a viewpoint of belief, what are we left with?
Giving death penalty proponents the most credit possible, let’s lay out every conceivable argument in favor of the penalty (besides, of course, “fry ‘em! They’re animals! And let’s do it as cruelly as possible!”, since that’s not, in fact, an argument).
1. Vengeance makes us feel good.
2. This sends the clearest possible message that we, as a society, do not approve of the conduct of those we execute.
3. This is an effective deterrent against other potential future murders.
4. This is the only way we can guarantee that these specific individuals won’t kill again.
5. It costs less than incarcerating these people for the rest of their lives.
6. Death is ultimately more humane than the only other available (and often, only other reasonable) punishment; that is to say, life imprisonment.
7. They have, by virtue of taking another life in one of a certain set of ways, forfeited their own right to continue to live and enjoy day-to-day existence.
Let’s bracket #1 for a moment, and move to #2.
#2: It is not clear to me whether or not this is correct. It’s probably true, but I also think it’s possible that it sends no more clear a message than life in prison. It may send a less clear message, if those who buy into #6 are to be believed, or if the point of some of Gideon’s discussion of the irony of killing people to send a message that we don’t approve of killing people is well taken. In any event, continuing to give proponents as large a benefit of the doubt as possible, let’s say that capital punishment–both in sentencing and execution–sends a clearer message of condemnation than a true life sentence. I would simply ask: of what value is that marginal increase in message? What is accomplished by our society saying “we condemn this murder to the degree of death” that isn’t accomplished by saying “we condemn this murder to the degree of life in prison”? Accepting as a given (which it is not), that there is a difference in the strength of those statements, what is the real-world impact of that difference? I would contend that there isn’t one. This does not even begin to address the problems with a “means-to-an-end” approach to criminal justice which would need to be embraced to defend capital punishment on these grounds.
#3: This has been statistically disproven to a degree of scientific/mathematical certainty. The death penalty does not effectively deter violent crime or murders, and there is good evidence to suggest that, at the margins, it may in fact lead to more murders. Given the existence, however, of competing (though biased and methodologically flawed) studies on this point, I will once again give proponents the largest possible benefit of the doubt on this point–at best, there is competing evidence that would tend to support a conclusion suggesting there is no change, a conclusion that there is a slight deterrent effect, and a conclusion that there is a slight counter-deterrent effect. Taking those facts, which are as favorable as they can be for death penalty proponents, it would seem to me that the wisest course is to avoid taking lives on the basis of statistical conjecture that is, at best, ambiguous, and even if favorable, provides only a marginal benefit. Once again, reliance on this point requires an acceptance of an instrumental view of criminal justice with all of the problems that entails.
#4: The reasonable solution to this concern (which is, in some isolated instances, a valid one,) is twofold: 1) more effective administration of prisons. It is, in fact, possible, to ensure that individuals will a) not escape from prison and thus have the opportunity to kill again and b) not have opportunity to kill prison employees or fellow inmates. And 2) legal reform (probably legislative–and this should be a very popular initiative for legislators and governors nationwide to champion, in those states that haven’t already), ensuring that an individual sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole in fact serves life in prison without the possibility of parole. (There is, parenthetically, no reason why such a sentence cannot be imposed consistently with guarantees that later evidence of actual innocence, etc. would be properly considered.) I think even death penalty proponents would agree that killing people because we have flaws in our system is not an acceptable solution compared to the option of fixing the flaws in our system.
#5: Empirically false. In the vast majority of instances, it costs less to incarcerate a convicted capital murderer for the remainder of their natural life than it does to execute them. The only possible solution to this (because I assume people don’t favor arbitrarily increasing the cost of incarceration,) is to reduce the cost of executions. In order to do that, however, something will have to be sacrificed. The actual costs of an execution itself are quite small–the expense here comes from the legal proceedings that precede an execution. In other words, the only effective way to make an execution less expensive would be to either remove or seriously downsize a) the quality of legal assistance provided, b) the trial and sentencing themselves, or c) the appeals afforded to a person sentenced to die. Realize, first and foremost, that all three of these things are directed at significantly more than the determination of the binary question of guilt or innocence. In addition to being constitutional rights, (which should count for something), these three types of safeguards serve to ensure accuracy in a guilty verdict (the majority of capital cases are not nearly as clear a guilt question as the Hayes/Komisarjevsky trials), to protect against bias in prosecution and in sentencing, to ensure that a person sentenced to death “deserves” that penalty (as defined by the legislature, no less), to ensure that trials are in fact conducted fairly and in accordance with the principles of law, and to protect a host of other values that are, like it or not, integral to not only our criminal justice system, but also essential to ensure (ostensibly) the protection of each individual who stands as a defendant in that process. (Supposedly, anyway–the great irony here is that as most death penalty proponents decry what they view as the excessive protections and appeals in the process, many opponents bemoan what we consider to be the meaningless cursory review and rubber-stamping that constitute the death penalty assembly line from start to finish.) In any event, it would be wholly impossible to remove those protections and still support the death penalty as “fair” or “just”–setting aside my belief (and the belief of most other opponents) that the system is neither of those things, the legitimacy of those claims depends on the continued existence of these safeguards.
#6: Setting aside the practical problems with this argument, (most of which stem from the finality and irreversibility of capital punishment, as opposed to even the lengthiest period of incarceration), this argument still suffers from two major problems: it’s mutually exclusive to everything else, and it’s wrong. First of all, it is cannot co-exist with the other justifications for the death penalty–if one supports the death penalty for reasons of humanity to a convicted murderer, they necessarily cannot buy into any of the other (largely instrumentalist) justifications for killing that same person. To do so is, at best, intellectually inconsistent, and at worse, intellectually dishonest. Far more problematically, however, the argument just doesn’t hold water. It is, first of all, factually incorrect: the enormous majority of capital defendants fight their sentences. Why? Precisely because the instinct of self-preservation is among our most fundamental human characteristics. Those few who do not fight it (the widely touted-by-proponents Michael Ross, Hayes himself for a few brief days), have been nearly universally (if not universally) suffering from so-called death row syndrome: to whit, they have been mentally incapable of rationally making the decision to die. Our entire legal system protects individuals from the consequences of decisions that we believe them unfit to make–there is no intelligible reason why this situation should be any different.
#7: Believing that convicted murderers have the opportunity to “enjoy” their day-to-day existence is a bit of an exaggeration. And by a “bit of an exaggeration,” I mean that it is a colossal exaggeration. Despite what many death penalty and other “law-and-order” proponents believe, the existence of an inmate in prison–particularly those in the maximum security facilities that house convicted murderers–is (and probably should be) a highly unpleasant and Spartan one–to say nothing of the reality of living with the reality of having killed other human beings. “Ah-ha,” you say. “You said that you’re OK with lethal self-defense or defense of others! Someone who takes a life (or is trying to take a life) has lost their right to live, by your own admission.” Nope. Lethal self-defense or defense of others is justified, not because of the actions of the “target”, but because of its ability to preserve innocent life. In the calculus where we are presented with a choice between the life of an innocent and the life of someone who is anything but innocent, it follows naturally that we should protect the life of the innocent. That is not, however, the situation here: killing the person who is wholly morally culpable does not serve to protect any innocent life at all (see #3 above). Lethal self-defense and defense of others is justified to prevent a certain set of harms; the same “exemption” for killing someone does not extend to allow us (in my mind), to use lethal force against someone who has already committed that harm as, for example, they walk away from their victim. So to buy this argument, you simply must believe that an individual can, by virtue of a single choice, forfeit their right to continue to live on this planet.
So let’s consider that argument, along with the now-unbracketed #1 from above. The two arguments in favor of the death penalty that remain are: by taking a life in a prohibited manner, you forfeit your right to live; and that vengeance makes us feel good. Does vengeance make us feel good? I’d say the jury’s still out on this one–the survivors of murder victims, and those who have themselves survived attacks that murdered others (Dr. Petit would fall into both of these categories), don’t have a consistent answer. For every survivor who claims some sort of “closure” or other benefit from the moment of vengeance, there is another survivor who belongs to a group like www.mvfr.org.
So I don’t think we know that vengeance really does feel good. But let’s say that it does. It’s not clear to me that “feeling good” is the goal of our criminal justice system. The goal of our criminal justice system should be, first and foremost, to protect the members of our society who choose to remain within the boundaries of our laws, and second, to punish, and where possible, rehabilitate those who do not. Both of those goals are served by a true life sentence–neither is better served by the death penalty. I can’t find an articulable reason why vengeance and its possible psychic benefit should be justifications for doing something (though if you have one, please tell me–I’d be genuinely interested to hear it, and I think this discussion could be better for it), and it seems to me that allowing ourselves to pursue such a base and animalistic instinct flies in the face of a civilized society. (Note, please, that “they did it first,” is not an argument against this–what true murderers like Mr. Hayes did is unquestionably terrible, but that in and of itself is not a justification for us to behave in an animalistic way in our own conduct.) This seems closely linked with the argument that certain murderers have simply forfeited their right to live–to this claim, I would simply ask: “why?”
To deprive a human being of the most basic and precious right they have, a stronger logical argument should be required than “because they did something terrible and we’re really angry about it.” As I think I’ve established at this point, there’s no instrumental value to stripping that right, meaning that the justification must be something other than utilitarian—that, as far as I can tell, leaves only a vision that we strip the right because some of us would feel better by virtue of stripping the right. If that’s the standard by which we can strip others of their rights, however, society truly would crumble; I would feel better by stripping the rights of people wealthier than I to keep their money and taking it for myself—but the whole point of being in society is that I don’t get to do that. (In fact, if we think about it, the very people who death penalty proponents want to kill stripped other people of their right to live simply because killing those people benefitted in some way.) So either this argument doesn’t hold water, or I’m missing another explanation—once again, if someone has another good explanation, please share it.
I acknowledge, however, that my answers to the preceding two arguments aren’t entirely satisfying on an intellectual level. I think they get us part of the way there, but maybe not the whole way–I’d love to hear responses from people on both sides, especially on those points. But let’s say that there aren’t good answers to those two arguments, and so they’re left standing. Opposing them, as arguments against the death penalty, we have:
1. A broken system. Little, if anything, of the capital process and the lives of the defendants is fair. Capital defendants frequently begin life without favorable prospects–whether due to mental deficiencies, the conditions of their upbringing, or mental disorders; capital defendants of average or better intelligence, raised in stable, healthy environments, and free of mental disorders are, at best, rare, and in all probability, non-existent. The selection of which disadvantaged murderers will face the death penalty isn’t fair either. The race of the defendant and the race of the victim will have significantly more to do with the decision to prosecute than will any element of moral “desert” of the ultimate punishment in the crimes or the criminal. And once the decision to seek the death penalty has been made, the defendant will, (unless they are the rare capital defendant who can afford counsel,) generally be represented by an overworked public defender, who, even with all the best intentions and most serious effort, can never do everything possible to try to spare their client’s life. (There is no slight intended to public defenders here–it’s a simple statement of the reality that the vast majority of capital defendants will not receive adequate representation; there are certainly exceptions among both private and public counsel.) On the other side of the courtroom, the defendant will likely face a prosecutor who will have tremendous resources on his side. (In one case, that prosecutor will already have the faces of seven condemned men hanging on the wall of his office like hunting trophies (note that this is true–and while not universal, highly indicative of the mentality of many death-hungry prosecutors; people out for convictions and death sentences, in place of justice, truth, or appropriate punishment)). To help make sure that the prosecutor gets that sentence, he then gets to ensure that the jury impaneled to decide whether the defendant lives or dies is ready to condemn him to death as soon as they follow their likely predisposition to conviction—and this is, in fact, the only context in our criminal system where such a predisposed jury not only can be impaneled, but as a matter of law must be and will be impaneled. In their considerations, statistics indicate, the jury is often unlikely to give significant weight to the sorts of mitigating arguments that best explain the conduct of many capital defendants–things like mental illness, an abusive childhood, or drug addiction (studies indicate that fewer than half of jurors would consider the latter two as mitigation.) Following the likely death sentence, the defendant is faced with an appeals process that is notoriously reluctant to grant relief. Even in the face of atrocious misconduct, grievous procedural errors, and serious doubt as to guilt, the appeals process almost never vacates a death sentence or revisits the issues raised by the defendant. In short, once the death-qualified jury sentences the defendant to death, the death sentence is more than likely the final judgment on a defendant’s place in the human community.
2. I already got ahead of myself a little bit, but capital defendants, far more so than any other group of criminal defendants, almost universally, suffer from all sorts of mental and developmental challenges, and almost to a person, are from our lowest socioeconomic classes.
3. There is a well-documented virtual guarantee of bias and arbitrariness in the selection of who is sentenced to die and who is not.
4. The ever-present risk of executing an innocent person. Saying that we should limit the death penalty to cases of clear guilt does not solve this–clear guilt to many of us (Hayes) is not the same as clear guilt to many other (Cameron Todd Willingham, Larry Griffin, who knows how many other innocents)?
And I’m only giving brief lip service to the problems with capital punishment as a system here–that says nothing about the moral conundrums that it raises; the most powerful argument against capital punishment is one, that like the two proponents’ arguments I concede are hardest to address, that is not rooted in hard numbers. The simple reality of the death penalty is that no matter how you slice it, society is declaring that an individual is not fit to continue to live—and then meting out that punishment. Given that this is almost certainly the worst (and definitely the most final and irreversible) thing that a person can do to a fellow human being, the justifications for doing so should, in my mind, and the minds of many other abolitionists, be absolute and beyond reproach—that simply is not the case with capital punishment. Nor have I done justice to the full host of problems that plague the system and make it–even if you believe the death penalty to be totally acceptable as a concept–wholly unworkable and unfair. My point is simply that there is much sitting on the side of the scale that weighs against the death penalty, and very little (if anything) sitting in its favor. Besides, of course, raw human emotion–and obviously, I don’t discount that, given my admission that I don’t need to consider everything I’ve just said in reaching my conclusion that the death penalty is “just plain wrong.” But for all of us–myself included–I think we would be better off if we stopped relying on that emotion (be it anger, sympathy, or something else,) and approached this question from a place of logic and reason.
Of course, at the end of the day, none of this stuff matters to my ultimate conclusion–I never get past my unshakable belief that “it’s just wrong. End of discussion.”
“Watch this! Cuff him up”
Sep 30th
Well, let’s take this New Haven police officer at his word and “watch this”:
Quinnipiac student arrested after filming another student’s arrest from The Quinnipiac Chronicle on Vimeo.
If only someone had the technical know-how to turn that first 16 seconds into a repeating GIF and set it to music, it’d surely become the latest meme.
But all dancing cop jokes aside, this is yet another example of the burgeoning battle between officers and the public’s right to videotape their interactions with law enforcement. A recent example that I blogged about is now no longer facing criminal charges. In CT, it still is legal to videotape interactions between the police and citizens in public (but still illegal to record conversations between private individuals without consent).
In this case, it seems the videotaping escalated the incident from a ticket to an arrest:
According to multiple witnesses, within minutes of Hartford beginning to film a Quinnipiac student being arrested outside of Toad’s Place in New Haven, an officer tackled and handcuffed him. Hartford was charged with Disorderly Conduct and Interfering with a Police Investigation. He went on to spend the night in jail at 24 Union Avenue.
Was he truly interfering and being a douche, or just an aware citizen trying to catch the ordeal on camera is up to you to decide. What’s clear is that officers were uncomfortable from the get-go with the presence of the camera (look at the officer on the right and how he looks so awkward, just standing there).
“As soon as I took out the camera they were uncomfortable because they knew what they were doing was wrong,” Hartford [the student, not the city] said.
Quinnipiac senior Kevin Hillier saw the whole incident, and thought that the officers’ response was unwarranted.
“They claimed [Hartford] taking the video of the arrest was interfering with their interrogation when they arrested him, but the only reason him filming was an issue was because they made a big deal out of it,” Hillier said. “If the police didn’t start dancing in front of the camera and yelling at him, there would be no interference.”
The video taken by Hartford appears to show that the officers only arrested the original student because Hartford began filming. One officer, who began dancing when the camera was turned on, looked into the camera and said, “Watch this.” He then asked the student who they were questioning whether he was with Hartford. When the student replied yes, the officer turned to another officer and said, “Cuff him up.”
Okay, fine, I lied. Someone chop up this clip and send it to ytmnd.com ASAP.
Liveblogging ‘The Defenders’ Ep. 2
Sep 29th
Well, The Whole Truth was completely unbearable last week, so I caught the first episode of The Defenders on On Demand and it was actually enjoyable and closer to real life practice than The Whole Truth, so I’m making the switch to that show tonight. Join me as John Jim Belushi and that guy who looks sorta like the guy from The Practice engage in more craziness in Sin City.
The questions you should be asking about the death penalty (updated)
Sep 27th
The trial of Steven Hayes (more popularly called the Cheshire or Petit trial), currently nearing the end of the guilt phase, has caused a state-wide sensation. Reporters have packed the courtrooms from the beginning of jury selection, with their numbers swelling well into the teens by the this point. Coverage of the trial is the headline for almost all news and media outlets. The death penalty question has also begun to infiltrate the all-important November gubernatorial election, with the Democrat staunchly opposed and the Republican in favor.
Posts have sprung up and tweets have been written to answer the question: has the Hayes trial changed your views on the death penalty? One reporter tweeted, wondering out loud what the lessons to be learned from this trial were. Lessons from what part of the trial and for whom, is the natural follow up, but that’s perhaps for another post on another day.
We’re never going to get honest answers in the death penalty debate, if we don’t ask the right questions. The first, taken from this tweet in the aftermath of the execution of Teresa Lewis (update: added this link to an editorial on Lewis’ execution and the response to that execution and what the death penalty says about us, which mirrors to some extent the views expressed in this post):
the state kills people, who have killed people, to prove that killing people is wrong
Think about it, mull it over and decide if you agree with that statement or disagree. And if you disagree, ask yourself, what part of the statement do I disagree with? Is it that the State doesn’t “kill” someone? So, what then, does the State do? And is the State not trying to prove that it is unacceptable in society to take someone else’s life? The hypocrisy in that statement – and its pointed message – is inescapable.
And then one must further ask: am I okay with that hypocrisy? One commenter to my previous post about the Cheshire case wrote:
The problem with administrative law
Sep 20th
Is that it doesn’t matter what the rest of this sentence is. As someone who knows next to nothing about administrative law, I wouldn’t even hazard a guess, lest someone with intimate knowledge of that field or someone with Googling skills or someone with intellectual honesty and a blog would point out how and why I was wrong.
But this guy doesn’t seem to care. In an op-ed laden with original ideas, he writes:
The National Center for State Courts maintains a database of Case Processing Time Standards, which lay down guidelines for how much time should elapse between indictment and disposition of a case. Like many states, Connecticut’s voluntary guidelines for Class A felonies call for 100 percent of cases to move from arrest to disposition within 180 days.
Hayes faces 17 felony charges ranging from murder to burglary, including 14 Class A felonies, two Class B felonies, and one Class D felony. Alleged accomplice Joshua Komisarjevsky is accused of 14 Class A felonies, 5 Class B felonies, and two Class C felonies.
According to a June 2000 research brief by the National Institute for Justice, the American Bar Association sets a goal of resolving all felony cases within one year from the date of arrest.
Using either of these measures, justice in the Cheshire case is more than two years overdue.
Either he doesn’t understand the fatal flaw in his argument or he does and ignores it. I don’t know which is worse. But I’m sure you, dear reader, have already seen the problem with using that “statistic” to support the argument that the Hayes trial has taken too long: that none of those “guidelines” or “goals” apply to death penalty cases. [He also (erroneously?) misquotes the "voluntary guidelines" statistic. The voluntary guidelines for Class A felonies call for 18 months between arrest and disposition, not 180 days. These were also adopted in 19-frickin'-94.]
He quotes William Gladstone saying that “justice delayed is justice denied”. Quoth Justice Thurgood Marshall:
This especial concern is a natural consequence of the knowledge that execution is the most irremediable and unfathomable of penalties; that death is different.
Ford v. Wainwright. So how long do capital cases take, on average, from offense to the start of trial? Here’s a report from the Office of Legislative Research, dated March 3, 2009. There’s more:
The same study, in which criminal courts in nine different states were studied to assess case processing speed, found that 68 percent of felony cases were resolved within 180 days. Interestingly, it also found that the pace of proceedings often depended as much on the local legal culture as it did on the particulars of the cases involved.
This evidence suggests that the process can be sped up without significant additional investment of resources and without sacrificing the fairness and quality of the trials. Given the magnitude of the horror in the Cheshire case and the slow process that has carried its suspects to trial, cultural changes seem like a small price to pay for much-needed improvement.
I’m not sure that the assumption that a quicker resolution of criminal cases implies the operation of the system in a favorable manner is correct: to me, it implies the opposite: that defense attorneys are less likely to vigorously advocate for their clients, to investigate defenses and to fulfill their constitutional duty to represent the interests of the defendant. If anything, it suggests to me that there is a greater need for resources and for training.
There also isn’t – and shouldn’t be – an inverse correlation between the “magnitude of horror” in a criminal case and the length of time it takes for resolution of the case. If anything, it should be the opposite. The criminal justice system cannot be held hostage to the emotions of victims.
Yet despite all this, it has taken more than three years to deal with Hayes while Komisarjevsky’s trial has not even started. And, if the trials conclude as most everyone expects that they will, with guilty verdicts and death penalty sentences, justice is almost certain to stretch out even further. Michael Ross, the last man put to death by the state of Connecticut, spent 17 years on death row before his execution on May 13, 2005.
Complaining that Komisarjevsky (the co-defendant) has yet to be brought to trial is yet another glaring example of the holes in the logic of this “op-ed” piece: that a joint capital trial for two men accused of committing terrible crimes, who will inevitably have inconsistent defenses, is an almost certain recipe for disaster and reversal should be obvious to anyone with even a passing ability to think critically.
You don’t need me to point out that the chorus of calls for the “reform” of our criminal justice system are tied directly to the concert-like atmosphere surrounding this one specific case. But isn’t these very cases that test our mettle as a society and that push our system of justice to the limit, to see if we are weak enough to let it break under the pressure of sensationalism and blind anger?
Can anyone tell me how many other capital prosecutions are currently ongoing in Connecticut and how long they’ve taken from offense date to trial?
Of course, there is a very easy way to solve the immediate problem of the “lengthy delay” in the prosecution of Hayes, one that would have resolved this case almost three years ago: take the death penalty off the table. But some want to have their cake and eat it too.
KISS your jury (updated)
Sep 16th
Update: I mean, you could end up looking like this guy
Earlier this week, Scott and I engaged in a mini-discussion of sorts about the tweaking of the format of a trial to better help jurors understand the issues and reach their decisions. The most popular analogy for the decision making process is the black box. You know what goes in, you know what comes out, but you have no clue what the hell goes on inside. In order to alleviate that a bit, I ran with the Windypundit’s idea that jurors be permitted to ask questions of lawyers during closing argument. In that post, I also wrote:
The changes we must make as lawyers and judges, in the way we treat jurors and the way we treat them to the evidence in a case are perhaps best left to another, lengthier post.
What I was referring to then, and what I hope to summarize now, is one change that I fully intend to make in my style. Juxtaposed with this latest study from the UK that 66.67% of jurors don’t understand a damn thing told to them by judges, the idea becomes clear that we’ve got to keep it simple, stupid. (and you thought I was advocating flirting with jurors. Sheesh.)
The two-year study, led by Professor Cheryl Thomas of University College London, analysed 68,000 verdicts across Crown courts in England and Wales, and also staged simulated trials.
In relation to judge’s directions – where a judge gives crucial guidance to jurors about what they have heard – the research team asked jurors at Winchester Crown Court to recall two key questions that the judge gave in a case where a defendant was charged with violence.
Only 31% of jurors accurately identified both questions, it was found.
A further 48% correctly identified one of the two questions, and a fifth did not correctly identify either question.
Researchers found a written summary of the judge’s directions on the law for jurors improved their comprehension of the law.
And by simple, I don’t mean simply picking one issue in the case to pound home (which some lawyers have made a successful career out of), but changing the way we approach cases, the way we structure every word we say when we are in front of that jury.
The legal universe is a complex and intricate one. Experienced lawyers often don’t have straightforward answers to questions. We write voluminous briefs on questions of law; we argue over the syntax of jury instructions. If we don’t get it and can’t agree on definitions and explanations and instructions, how the hell can we expect lay jurors to?
As lawyers, we become invested in our clients’ cases: we live them, we breathe them, we become them. In the heat of the trial battle, we are the client. We know (or should know) the case and the facts like they happened to us. While that’s great for preparing for trial, it’s also our biggest handicap in dealing with jurors. They don’t have that background, that intimate knowledge with every nuance and every event. They don’t know the law, they haven’t argued the motions we have and most importantly, they don’t know our strategy.
It is often said that it is clear if a 5 year old can understand it. While you run the risk of alienating a juror or two, I think there’s a lot to be gained by taking that approach with the jury. Put yourself in their position; pretend that you don’t know anything about the case and commence your examination in that fashion. Ask basic questions, dole out morsels of information at a time. Juries tune out when they see two people – you and the witness – engaged in some protracted battle over semantics and nuances. I should know. I’ve done it and failed miserably.
Wouldn’t it be better if you led them down the path you want to go, but in the manner that they would walk? The law is a complex thing and the application of the law to the facts of a case an even more daunting task. If we want juries to find that reasonable doubt, we must lay it out for them in as simple terms as possible. Forget the drama, forget the yelling, forget the feigned outrage. Keep it simple.
I’m going to try it next time I’m on trial. I’ll let you know how it goes.
An undignified farce (now with video)
Sep 16th
Update: video below
Astute, long time readers will have noticed two things: 1) the death penalty trial of Steven Hayes, defendant in the brutal murders of 3 people in idyllic Cheshire, CT has wrapped up its first week; and 2) that I haven’t blogged about it yet.
I’ve resisted adding to the 5-ring circus, but what I’ve seen and read over the last week in the press have driven me to the point of breaking my silence.
A trial of a man implicated in the most horrendous of crimes in recent memory, the most inhuman acts, if one believes in such things, has also robbed all of us of our humanity and sense of dignity.
I’m assuming you all know the basics, so I won’t rehash them here. This is the stuff that millions are made out of; enough fodder to keep the presses printing and the airwaves buzzing for months and months to come. Judging by the coverage of this trial on Twitter and the press, you’d be forgiven for thinking that the entire State had come to a standstill. It’s a good thing nothing else newsworthy is happening anywhere in Connecticut presently.
As the tweets start every morning at 6am and continue with alarming regularity well past 5pm, I cannot escape the mental image of a horde of vultures circling a sad, deteriorating carcass, pecking away at it, tearing off pieces of flesh, bit by bit and then those vultures morphing into hyenas, cackling wildly.
Sure, the crime is offensive. Sure the crime is heinous. I’ll accept whatever adjective you choose to throw at me. But there is an unmistakable stench of race and class politics emanating from that courthouse in New Haven. Out of curiosity, I called a source who is familiar with the goings on in that courthouse. “Are there any other trials going on currently?”, I asked. Sure enough, there is one other, just a floor below the Cheshire spectacle: State v. Brandon Bellamy.
By the information provided at that link, Mr. Bellamy is accused of two murders. That’s two victims, two families devastated, multiple lives ruined. Mr. Bellamy is also black. Perhaps his alleged victims are too, I don’t know. “How many reporters there?”, I followed up.
None.
Not a single one. While the Cheshire trial needs a horde of media vans lining the streets and every able-bodied reporter in the State to cover it, just 20 feet below is a possible capital felony trial that no one gives a shit about.
The Cheshire case is often called “the Petit case”, after the last name of the victims. Can anyone here tell me the first or last names of the victims in the Bellamy case? Had you even heard of Bellamy? I sure hadn’t.
A Google News search for Brandon Bellamy turns up abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Why? Because no one gives a damn. Black man accused of two murders? Pshh. Inner-city business as usual. Three white women murdered? Every news outlet must abide.
The Cheshire case is every white person’s nightmare. The Bellamy case is every city-dwelling black person’s reality.
The blame, of course, lies with the reporters and the news media. “Hayes leans over to lawyer and talks”. “Petit looks at screen”, “Hayes scratches his nose”. Okay, I made that last one up. But these are the tweets being sent out at a furious pace to thousands of followers (myself included).
As trials go, the Hayes trial is a boring one. It is a tedious one. He admitted guilt during the opening statement of his lawyer. There’s really no question that he had a hand in this brutal massacre. The question – the only question – in this trial is whether he’ll get life without the possibility of release or will he be murdered by the State.
I blame the reporters for something else: I blame them for turning our justice system into American Idol, for turning the murder of 3 women and the anticipated murder of another man into a spectator sport, for not having any sense of journalistic integrity to put things in context and for not taking their responsibility to inform the public seriously. Anyone can be a reporter – all you have to do is report the facts. It takes more skill to actually convey some meaning and emotion and context by using the facts.
I avoid the websites of the leading newspapers in Connecticut like the plague. The Hartford Courant, the New Haven Register and others of their ilk have become the cesspools of the angry and ignorant. And the authors of the articles in whose comment sections unmitigated rage is spewed and spread don’t seem to care. Take a look, if you can, at the comments to today’s story in the various papers. The big news of the day wasn’t the fact that firefighters testified about the evidence of arson in the home or the pictures of the home burning, but rather it was that the defendant had suffered a seizure last night (or “seizure-like symptoms”) and despite sitting through the morning’s proceedings, apparently deteriorated during the lunch hour to the point that his health became a concern and the rest of the day’s proceedings were suspended. Here’s a sampling of the reaction:
” So the freak had a “seizure” and wee-wee’d on himself? Tough s**t. Why does he get this kind of consideration? A pox on him and the s**mbag [New Haven's chief public defender] Ullman who stands up for the freak’s “rights.” “
I wonder what Randall Beach, the author of the piece to which those comments are posted, thinks about that. Is that the level of discussion he hopes to foster when he writes? Is that who he’s writing for? Here’s one from the Courant:
notsocurrent you are absolutely right!! This sorry excuse for a human being was man enough to rape and pillage, but not man enough to face the music? Did anyone actualey see this seizure? I’ll bet not.
Lets skip the trial and get right to the penalty phase!
I’m sure that’s exactly the reaction that Alaine Griffin, who penned the Courant piece, wanted to provoke. In my years of reading these articles and the comments that follow, I’ve seen maybe 5 sensible comments that show any humanity or even a basic understanding of the criminal process. I’ve long complained that reporters and journalists themselves don’t understand the process, the rights and the importance of the application of those rights in even the most extreme cases, so how can one expect them to convey that to their readers. But that’s just a damn cop out. They know exactly what brings eyeballs to the website and that’s sensationalism.
One of Hayes’ attorneys, Thomas J. Ullmann, said at the start of today’s session that Hayes had a seizure last night and urinated all over himself. However, he said at the time that he thought Hayes was well enough to be in court.
But after the lunch break, he said he did not think Hayes could continue because of his medical condition.
Judge Jon C. Blue agreed to halt proceedings until Monday. Friday had already been scheduled as a day off.
Would it have been so difficult to include that the State didn’t object to the continuance? The high irony of this is that the one entity that wants to – and can – kill Mr. Hayes is the only one that seems to want to proceed with dignity. The rest just want a show.
Is it that difficult to understand that we have become the very monster we are condemning when we forsake the basic human values of dignity and compassion? That we are undermining the foundations of our system of justice when we want to “skip the trial and hang ‘em already”? Have we devolved to the point that intelligent discourse is left to fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants networks like Twitter? Oh wait.
Mr. Hayes will be found guilty of several crimes and then 12 people will have the task of deciding whether to let him rot in jail for as long as he lives or to spill blood on all our hands. Some are licking their lips at that prospect. I don’t see the difference between them and Hayes.
Maybe it hasn’t occurred to all who are riveted to the trial, but what they’re witnessing is the slow murder of one man. All the reporting, the jeering, the condemning is nothing but spectatorship of the slow build up to the execution of a human being. Talk about macabre.
Murder is a terrible thing. It is not to be relished, enjoyed or anticipated. Let us not make a mockery of justice and of the value and dignity of all human lives.
Rant over. I thought I’d feel better, but really, I still feel sick to my stomach.
[And, of course, I must reiterate that these are my personal views only.]
How apropos is this video from the Daily Show:
| The Daily Show With Jon Stewart | Mon – Thurs 11p / 10c | |||
| Rally to Restore Sanity | ||||
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Q&A in closing arguments
Sep 12th
In a recent string of posts around the ‘sphere, the jury trial system has come under some scrutiny, mostly in the area of unanimous verdicts. I wrote this post, and then a few days later Volokh had these posts, which prompted Scott to write this.
That the jury trial system is imperfect has been known for ages and commentators have struggled with ways to improve it, if at all. For instance, take a look at this tantalizing teaser of an article written by the great Wigmore in 1929 (I’d love to get my hands on the rest). Here’s a more recent article on the ills plaguing the jury trial system and what can be done about it.
But as Wigmore said in that 1929 piece, the arguments against the jury trial system are either simple problems that can be remedied or are made in the absence of a better alternative. It seems, then, that we’re stuck with this system for the foreseeable future. And one can trumpet the “best legal system in the world” all we want, in some sort of mindless obeisance, but we’d all be better served if we thought of ways to improve the system, tweak it to better fulfill the goals it was established for.
Part of the problem with the jury system, from what I can tell in my limited experience, is not a problem with the system itself, but with how it is utilized. And by that I mean how the players in the system – lawyers and judges – employ the mechanisms. A lot of the common ills: complex laws, jurors voting their gut can be traced or blamed in part to the failure of the participants to understand the nature of the system.
We like to say that people are tried by a jury of their peers. Yet we lawyers treat these peers as if they were our own, not that of the defendant. The language we use is archaic, complicated and downright stupid and confusing. The format of the jury trial is usually a patchwork of testimony that may or may not be tied up in the end by lawyers depending on their level of competence. Sometimes, I watch trials with which I have no connection and marvel at the fact that jurors are able to reach verdicts of any sort at all. A juror must feel like he’s getting a quick glimpse into an intensely technical and complicated and petty world and the first instinct must be to run in the opposite direction as soon as possible. Trials are cumbersome, which only add to the desire to not participate.
The changes we must make as lawyers and judges, in the way we treat jurors and the way we treat them to the evidence in a case are perhaps best left to another, lengthier post.
The point of this one, taken from this comment, is to tweak the system a bit to give jurors additional tools in reaching the correct decision. I’m against permitting jurors to ask questions of witnesses during the pendency of the trial, because in my view it interferes with the State’s burden of proof – at least in criminal trials.
But the idea of permitting jurors to ask questions of the lawyers during closing argument – a la oral argument before an appellate bench – is an intriguing one.
It is often said that you can make or break a case in closing argument: the key piece of evidence left unexplained, the big problem with the defense untouched, leaving jurors no choice but to convict or acquit, simply because you didn’t address it. So why not take the one hour of closing arguments that most courts permit and turn 15 or 20 minutes of that into a free-flowing back and forth between the jurors and the lawyers? Let jurors ask questions about the application of the law to the evidence, explore their doubts about the meaning of evidence presented, clarify their understanding of the import of a particular piece of evidence.
After all, if we want the jurors to decide the case based on the evidence presented to them, then at least let us help them understand the evidence presented.
On the flip side, of course, a defense lawyer like myself may argue that doing so would only permit the State to fill in the gaps left by their case-in-chief and if they haven’t provided enough evidence to the jury, they should be allowed to fall on that omission. But it might also provide an opportunity for the defense lawyer to take that doubt expressed by a juror and exploit it, to drive it home and to further widen that gap in their mind.
A 15-20 minute session of questions and answers and rebuttals may help to clarify the evidence that has been presented to the jury, to focus the closing argument on the issues that the jury is truly wrestling with and it partially lift the shroud of secrecy that surrounds the jury’s decision making process.
Because every day needs to be Caturday
Sep 12th
If you don’t enjoy this, goddammit, you have no heart. Monster.
H/T Colin Samuels
Not my town-itis
Sep 9th
Connecticut, for some reason I have not yet uncovered, has thus far been immune to the sex offender hysteria that has gripped our nation for well over a decade now. Sure, we have mandatory minimums and calls to classify sex offenders on the same level as murderers, but the legislature, in an exemplary show of good sense, has resisted the urge to enact residency restrictions and has now twice rebuffed the implementation of the horrid Adam Walsh Act.
But, as I wrote back in December, the State hasn’t taken any positive steps either. There’s still nowhere for sex offenders who need treatment to get it. And if the residents of Montville, CT have their way, there won’t be anywhere for a while.
Montville, already home to two correctional facilities, was identified by the State as the prime location for a sex offender residential treatment facility, with an allocation of 24 beds. Frankly, 24 beds is nothing. Me and the 5 other attorneys in my office could come up with a list of 24 people before you finish reading this sentence, never mind the 100 other attorneys in the public defender system and their clients from just this year alone. But it’s a start and we have to start somewhere.
Yet, just like there are peas in a pod and two of a kind and how Garfunkel needed Simon, “sex offender treatment facility” seems incomplete without “not in my town”. And that’s exactly what the residents of Montville are arguing. Today, the town committee voted to seek an injunction to block the building of said treatment facility.
The state Department of Correction plans to create a 24-bed facility at the Corrigan-Radgowski Correctional Center for sex offenders about to be released from prison and those who have already been released. Creation of a residential sex offender program was part of a 2008 criminal justice reform law passed after the 2007 Cheshire home invasion.
Oh wait, this facility was to be created at the two jails that already exist in your little town? Perhaps they don’t realize these are the very jails that these sex offenders come from. It’s like moving them from one wing of the jail to another. But then again, it’s called hysteria for a reason…
In all the objections to constructing treatment facilities or the arguments in support of residency restrictions, I haven’t heard a single legitimate reason for excluding these from a particular locality or any justification that acknowledges the realities of banishing an entire group of people. Folks, “not in my town” isn’t a reason, it’s a position. You should explain, logically, why.
And as if that wasn’t enough, the town committee also voted to set a public hearing to consider an ordinance that would create a “sex offender free zone”. Montville isn’t the only town considering such an ordinance in CT. Greenwich, that bastion of purity and wholesome values and more BMWs than all the dealerships in the state combined, is also considering such an ordinance to ban its five (count ‘em – 5) sex offenders from places that are “frequented” by children.
Yet it is town officials in Greenwich who have been debating since February whether to approve an ordinance that would prohibit sex offenders from being near schools, parks, playgrounds and other places children congregate. The ordinance would not limit where sex offenders can live, as similar laws in other states do, but it would impose a $100 fine on a registered offender caught in the wrong place for a second time.
After unanimous approval by the Board of Selectmen, the measure moved on to the Representative Town Meeting, the city’s 230-member legislative body, where it failed twice, most recently on Sept. 21.
The quote speaks for itself. What needs addressing, however, is the mindless repetition of what should properly be considered pure fabrication by the Republican members of the state legislature:
“Look, there is obviously an extremely delicate balance between protecting the public and the constitutional rights and freedoms of individuals, whether they are convicted sexual predators or not,” [State Senator McKinney] said. “The difficulty comes with the fact that this type of crime has an extraordinarily high recidivism rate, which justifies us in government taking greater steps toward protecting the public than we would with other crimes.”
As is noted in the article linked to above, and as I’ve cried myself hoarse on this blog, that’s just not true. McKinney knows that too, because he’s been on the Judiciary Committee when these residency restrictions have been proposed and he’s been given the studies that show it’s not true. But of course, acknowledging the truth doesn’t further the fearmongering agenda and so here we are. Again.
Coincidentally, and that’s how these things usually go, today’s episode of the local NPR program “Where We Live” was devoted to sex offenders in Connecticut and these “loitering ordinances”.
Here’s my question, that I wish these proponents of the Scarlet Laws would answer: do you believe that we can completely eradicate sex crimes against children? If your answer is yes, then you’re either a liar or you don’t understand anything about how crimes are committed and why. If you answer no, then I have a follow up question: What is the most effective use of resources? Police loitering around parks and schools and enforcing these possibly unconstitutional ordinances or creating facilities for offenders to reintegrate into society, in a productive manner, so as to prevent future occurrences?
The answer is clear. The only question that remains is whether you want to be honest with yourselves or lie to everyone in order to win a vote.
The obscenity of risk of injury
Sep 6th
Connecticut General Statute 53-21 states, in relevant part:
a) Any person who (1) wilfully or unlawfully causes or permits any child under the age of sixteen years to be placed in such a situation that the life or limb of such child is endangered, the health of such child is likely to be injured or the morals of such child are likely to be impaired, or does any act likely to impair the health or morals of any such child, or (2) has contact with the intimate parts, as defined in section 53a-65, of a child under the age of sixteen years or subjects a child under sixteen years of age to contact with the intimate parts of such person, in a sexual and indecent manner likely to impair the health or morals of such child
is guilty of “Risk of Injury to a Minor”. A conviction under subsection (1) is a Class C felony carrying a maximum prison term of 10 years and a conviction under subsection (2) is a Class B felony, carrying a maximum prison term of 20 years.
The motivation behind the enacting of this statute is noble:
The general purpose of § 53-21 is to protect the physical and psychological well-being of children from the potentially harmful conduct of adults.
State v. Payne, 240 Conn. 766. Yet the statute is so poorly worded and generally vague, that it has required years upon years of judicial interpretation and gloss to enable it to pass Constitutional muster:
We then proceeded to review the general features of § 53-21, noting that, “on its face, § 53-21 fails to articulate a definite standard for determining whether the conduct of [Schriver was] permitted or prohibited. ‘Any act’ may violate the statute so long as it is ‘likely to impair’ a minor’s health or morals. Standing alone, the phrase ‘any act’ provides no guidance to potential violators, police officers or juries, particularly because specific intent is not an element of the offense as charged in this case. . . . Nor is the focus of the statute measurably narrowed by the phrase ‘likely to impair.’ In its ordinary meaning, this phrase would seem to authorize police officers and jurors to determine culpability subjectively, on an ad hoc basis. Rather than providing objective certainty, this phrase compounds the vagueness of the statute because it invites jurors to base criminal liability on their own moral [predilections] and personal predictions of likely harm.” (Citations omitted.) Id., 461-62. After observing that other jurisdictions had deemed similar statutes unconstitutional, we concluded that, “in like fashion, § 53-21 fails to manifest minimal guidelines by which innocent acts can be objectively and foreseeably distinguished from conduct that violates the statute. . . . [Consequently], the constitutionality of § 53-21 depends upon a determination of the extent to which prior decisions of this court have supplied sufficient guidelines to save the statute from its facial invalidity.” (Citation omitted.) Id., 462.
Although the risk of injury statute was amended in 1995 to forbid expressly the sexual and indecent touching of intimate parts, the more general statutory language that proscribes an “act likely to impair the health or morals of . . . [a] child,” in subdivision (1) of § 53-21, has remained unchanged since this court’s decision in Schriver. Compare General Statutes § 53-21 (a) (1) with General Statutes (Rev. to 1987) § 53-21. The passage of time alone has not cured the facial vagueness of § 53-21 (1), nor has it altered the need to adhere to constitutional principles of due process of law in the application and enforcement of that statute. Cf. State v. Schriver, supra, 207 Conn. 459-61. Thus, the constitutionality of § 53-21 (1), as that statute is applied in any given case, continues to depend predominantly “upon a determination of the extent to which prior decisions of this court have supplied sufficient guidelines to save the statute from its facial invalidity.” Id., 462. In order to render § 53-21 (1) constitutionally viable, the decisions of this court must state with reasonable particularity the conduct that is proscribed by that statute.
State v. Robert H. The extent to which the Connecticut Supreme Court has gone to save an admittedly infirm statute is staggering. A statute that, upon fair reading, gives notice that a very limited set of actions are proscribed, has been judicially expanded to cover every perceived slight against a minor that a prosecutor with an infertile imagination can be counted upon to summon.
But that’s not my particular peeve with this statute and its judicially emboldened meaning. My grudge lies with the (lack of) meaning of the all-too-important phrase “likely to impair”.
Good enough for government work
Sep 2nd
The Blagojevich trial (and subsequent mistrial) has provided plenty of fodder for discussion among the press, the blogosphere and the nation in general. But it seems as though a bit of the madness that allows him to polish his hair using shoe-polish has seeped into the rest of the world as well. Take this Time article for instance, which uses the fact that the government was unable to convince 0.004% of the population of Chicago, to describe the ill that ails our criminal justice system: hung juries
After coming up with only a single conviction on 24 counts of corruption, federal prosecutors eager to send former Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich to prison will in January 2011 begin his second trial with what they hope will be a more effective strategy. What won’t change is the fact that the 12 jurors who will hear the case will be bound by the same ancient — and some argue outdated — rules for criminal juries that have changed just a little since King John signed the Magna Carta in 1215.
So, just what are these “outdated” rules? Jury unanimity, juries not being allowed to take notes or ask questions and jurors not being permitted to discuss the case before all the evidence is complete.
I’ve written about the phenomenon of permitting jurors to ask questions during a trial before and I still disagree with the practice. But how bored are we with the concept of criminal trials – and how convinced are we that those who are arraigned, indicted and tried are guilty – that we are willing to forgo the simple notion that if society is going to convict, condemn and incarcerate on of its own, then it must be done only after a small representative sample of its members agree?
“Much of the elements of jury reform has reflected on the phenomenon of hung juries,” says Chief Justice Randall T. Shepard of the Indiana Supreme Court, a former trial judge in Evansville. “And what happened [in Chicago] is akin to what would have happened in most state courts 15 years ago — but wouldn’t happen in a great many places today.”
Even unanimity, the most cherished rule of all — and the one that spared Blagojevich on the charge that he tried to sell a seat in the U.S. Senate — is open for debate in the states. While the Supreme Court has insisted that federal criminal trials have a unanimous verdict, states have been permitted to experiment. Unless a defendant’s life is on the line, criminal juries in Oregon and Louisiana need only 10 votes or nine, respectively, to convict. “I describe this in general as treating jurors like adults,” says Shepard, who has helped lead major changes in Indiana but credits the states of Arizona and New York with giving momentum to jury reform. “We want to give them room to make decisions like adults typically make decisions.”
That quote made my head spin when I first read it and I’m not sure it’s stopped spinning yet. In other words, Justice Shepard, we can’t be bothered that the State’s evidence is so flimsy that it can’t convince 6 or 12 people of a man’s guilt, but heck, he’s probably guilty anyway, so we’ll take 5, because you really can’t account for that lone crazed juror.
Close enough for government work.
The underlying theme in this non-unanimity movement seems to be that mistrials are an inconvenience. An inconvenience to the court, to the prosecutors, to the staff and to everyone but the one person to whom a trial matters most: the defendant.
How are we to have faith in a system where you are tried by a large governmental entity, your guilt or innocence to be decided by a not-really representative portion of “your” community and then that very government tells the representative portion: it doesn’t matter if you all agree or not, as long as a majority does.
Most of these “reforms” seem to miss the fundamental (and cherished) aspects of our criminal justice system – save perhaps the one about note-taking, which seems like common sense. We require jurors to not deliberate until the end of evidence so they don’t make up their minds in advance, so they can be fair and balanced and consider all the evidence in its entirety. We don’t permit them to ask questions during testimony because it isn’t their burden to prove or disprove anything at all. It is the State’s burden and their burden alone. Jurors are not investigators; they’re arbiters of evidence.
And we ask for unanimity in their decision making because that unanimity reflects the soundness of the decision to prosecute an individual. A conviction and subsequent incarceration is one of the harshest actions taken by the abstract Government against its citizens. If we can’t get a miniscule portion of the citizens that it purports to represent to agree on the guilt of a man, then the government has failed.
It may be close enough for government work, but when it comes to justice, there should be no such thing.



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