it matters not, the Court said
if an error wasn’t preserved
if certain conditions are met
we’ll give it the review it deserved

And so the court issued
its seminal holding
in the case of
State v. Monica Golding

The State huffed and puffed
and fumed and schemed
to get the court to ignore these errors
it daily dreamed

In every case
the State cried foul
“but that precise claim wasn’t raised”
it bleated with a scowl

And then the Court changed
as members came and went
the State continued to try
to put in Ms. Golding a dent

And as the years went by
the Court became less receptive
to these pleas of error
the State considered defective

Lo, it finally came to pass
in Kitchens, Akande and Mungroo,
that to instructional error
the Court would now say
“sorry, no can do”

If you do not object
or even stand silently by
as erroneous instructions
the jury must apply

If you do not state
with exacting precision
the specific problems
with the court’s instruction

The court will deem that you have waived
the client’s right
Due Process? Fair trials?
you cannot seek this constitutional might

The court can err
confuse and mislead
but for this Constitutional infirmity
only you will bleed

You must be prescient
You must be attentive
because the Court has become
anal retentive

And now that Ms. Golding’s
been sent to the Kitchens sink
What are we to do?
What are we to think?

Ask for copies
and then ask for time
and if you forget
just remember this rhyme

One thing is certain
One thing is sure
For our clients’ ills
We are the only cure.

And now the prose version for those who either tl;dr-ed the above or who just didn’t understand what the hell it meant:

We’ve all been there: the trial has just concluded, you’ve delivered the closing argument that you spent many nights working on and frankly, you’re exhausted. The judge starts giving the long, boring instructions to the jury – you know what I mean – which they’ll rely on to analyze the evidence and apply it to the law of the land. You tune out, your eyes glaze over, you just want a damn drink.

And in the midst of your reverie, the judge instructs the jury that the defendant has the burden of proof beyond a reasonable doubt to prove his innocence. Since you were preoccupied with visions of a drunken sleep, you didn’t notice. The jury, obviously, convicts, since there was no defense case in chief. You are upset, the client is led away and you go home to curl up in the fetal position and bemoan juries predisposition to convict.

Then your client appeals and the sharp, astute, awake appellate attorney notices the erroneous instruction. Oh no! This was instructional error! The judge gave the jury incorrect instructions! But you didn’t object! And so the error wasn’t preserved! Are we doomed?

Recognizing the problems that would arise with turning a blind eye to this obvious mistake of Constitutional magnitude that impacted the right to due process and a fair trial, the appellate courts in Connecticut issued a decision back in 1989: State v. Golding. The Golding decision created a 4-pronged test to deal with scenarios like these:

1. The record is adequate to review the alleged claim of error;
2. The claim is of constitutional magnitude alleging the violation of a fundamental right;
3. The alleged constitutional violation clearly exists and clearly deprived the defendant of a fair trial; and
4. If subject to harmless error analysis, the state has failed to demonstrate harmlessness of the alleged constitutional violation beyond a reasonable doubt.

(note that Golding applied to all errors of constitutional magnitude, not just jury instructions). This test worked – albeit not perfectly – but it worked. Obvious errors that implicated constitutional rights received the appellate review they deserved. But the State, cloaked in its self-righteous veneer of finality over justice, was unhappy. It fought for years to reverse Golding, because dammit any trial is a fair trial. And if your lawyer is asleep at the wheel, or just plain misses something, you must pay for it.

Most defense lawyers weren’t that worried about the Court overturning Golding because, well, how could they? How could they justify punishing a defendant for an obvious Constitutional error? How could they justify depriving a defendant of his/her right to due process and a fair trial?

Blame the lawyer, that’s how. This year, in a trio of cases – State v. Kitchens, State v. Akande and State v. Mungroo – the Connecticut Supreme Court made jaws drop by holding that if a lawyer fails to object to the exact same language of a jury instruction that is later challenged on appeal, the defendant is deemed to have waived the right to appeal that error. Part of the reasoning is that it will be considered a tactic on the part of the lawyer to not object to that erroneous instruction. Like we’re all that smart.

Yes. So under my scenario above, the appellate lawyer cannot argue that the defendant’s right to a fair trial was violated, because the lawyer did not object to the incorrect reasonable doubt instruction. Think of it as that portion of a wedding vow where the officiant looks at the crowd and asks if anyone objects to the union and warns them to speak now or forever hold their peace.

Now, the example I gave is an extreme one – hopefully no matter how asleep you are, you would notice that the defendant doesn’t have to prove a damn thing. But what of other less noticeable errors? What of erroneous instructions that a particular lawyer just wasn’t aware of? But that’s apparently a tactical decision.

The burden this places on the defense lawyer is tremendous – and misplaced. The court has an independent obligation to ensure that the jury is instructed correctly. This removes that obligation on the trial court, which, after all, is in charge of courtroom procedure, evidence and instructions, and places it on the shoulders of the defense lawyer. And what if the lawyer is just plain wrong and incorrectly agrees to the erroneous instruction? How do you make a defendant pay for that lawyer’s mistake? And why must that defendant wait years and years for vindication that may never come? Why has the Supreme Court abrogated its basic function: to ensure that justice is delivered in Connecticut courtrooms and to preserve the Constitutional right to due process and fair trials? The Court seems more interested in arguing that defense lawyers will choose to knowingly ignore Constitutional errors so as to set up appellate claims – something that is highly unethical and detrimental to the client.

I refuse to cite from the majority opinion because it is just so vile. But, in the interest of making this post somewhat productive and instructive, I will cite only this one paragraph that provides some sort of guideline:

We conclude that, when the trial court provides counsel with a copy of the proposed jury instructions, allows a meaningful opportunity for their review, solicits comments from counsel regarding changes or modifications and counsel affirmatively accepts the instructions proposed or given, the defendant may be deemed to have knowledge of any potential flaws therein and to have waived implicitly the constitutional right to challenge the instructions on direct appeal.

As far as I can see, here’s what we need to do:

1. File a motion with the trial judge for a written copy of the proposed jury instructions prior to the start of jury selection. In fact, demand them. Cite Kitchens over and over again.
2. Make a record every time you ask the Court for the written instructions.
3. Ask for a continuance of at least 48 hours if you receive the instructions during the evidence portion of the trial. Realistically, you need that much time to absorb, understand and critique the instructions.
4. Make a record of what else you have to do in the midst of trial and why you need that time.
5. Demand the time. Make a record and use the words “I will not have had a meaningful opportunity to review the instructions if you do not grant this continuance, Your Honor”.
6. The court will not usually grant you this time; expect that.
7. Share the instructions with other lawyers. Ask them to read them and provide feedback.
8. Start keeping a repository of your own instructions.
9. Always submit your own proposed instructions in writing.
10. Always ask the Court to give your version of the instructions, no matter how closely they track the Court’s.
11. Always object to the Court’s instructions and suggest that the Court give yours instead.
12. Make sure you don’t have something stupid or wrong in your proposed instructions.
13. Make a record that you have not shared your proposed instructions with your client, that he is not trained in the law and he is relying on you to get it right.
14. State on the record that your client is not waiving any right to review of errors contained in the jury instructions.
15. State on the record that you have perused the Court’s proposed instructions to the best of your ability and that there are no errors that you are intentionally not bringing to the Court’s attention.
16. Pray that the Court gets it right.

The State and the courts of this State don’t seem to give a damn about its citizens Constitutional rights. Now, more than ever, we defense lawyers are the only ones that stand between the individual who has all the might of a government thrown against him and a summary, lawless judgment being pronounced. This is not the time to tuck our tails between our legs and scamper off. Fight. Stand up and assert our rights. Your rights. My rights. Because if we don’t, soon, there won’t be any left.

———-

And because every post of this length needs a video, here’s a song about rhymes (language decidedly adult):

see end of post for info on this picture

I feel compelled to start, once again, with one of my favorite quotes:

Ammianus Marcellinus relates an anecdote of the Emperor Julian which illustrates the enforcement of this principle in the Roman law. Numerius, the governor of Narbonensis, was on trial before the Emperor, and, contrary to the usage in criminal cases, the trial was public. Numerius contented himself with denying his guilt, and there was not sufficient proof against him. His adversary, Delphidius, “a passionate man,” seeing that the failure of the accusation was inevitable, could not restrain himself, and exclaimed, “Oh, illustrious Cæsar! if it is sufficient to deny, what hereafter will become of the guilty?” to which Julian replied, “If it suffices to accuse, what will become of the innocent?” Rerum Gestarum, L. XVIII, c. 1.

Coffin v. United States. And yet, in these days, I look around and see more of Delphidius than of Caesar. Surely, you have heard of Casey Anthony and the verdict of not guilty rendered in her capital trial, that has sent a million heads spinning and the veins of nearly half the population of the country pumping with boiling blood calling for vengeance and murder.

The appreciation of a system which presumes an individual innocent unless the State can prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt seems to be shrinking to a select few who make their living in that system. For the rest, the pure exhilaration of having a pre-determined verdict of guilt (and isn’t it always guilt?) announced, confirming their increasingly myopic and monochromatic view of the world is the only expectation.

Do we want a system that protects the individual or do we want a system that confirms our view of the guilt of those arrested? Do we want a system that lifts the substance of the accusation up to the light – and upon finding  it wanting – discards it? Or do we want a system that goes by the smell test? Do we want a system where no one who is arrested is not guilty? Do we want so much to believe in the infallibility of our so-called protectors? Do we want a system that allows us to so easily and hypocritically create an artificial divide between the mob and the mobbed?

Does the system only work when the guilty are convicted and the innocent are acquitted, or does it work when some who may be guilty are nonetheless set free? Does the system work when some who are likely innocent are not?

we are mindful that it may seem unjust to allow a conviction to stand when the evidence on which the conviction rested has been discredited. It must be remembered, however, that, once properly convicted, the petitioners no longer are cloaked in the mantle of the presumption of innocence.

Gould v. Commissioner of Correction, while doing just that. Gould is a case I wrote about some time ago, where a habeas court reversed Gould’s (and his co-defendant Taylor’s) conviction for murder on the grounds that they were actually innocent. From that decision:

“A senseless, cold-blooded, execution style murder was committed in the early morning hours of July 4th, 1993,” Fuger begins. Eugenio Deleon Vega went to his small Fair Haven bodega, La Casa Green, to open shop at 5:08 a.m. “Before the hour of six AM, before he could even arrange the morning newspapers, he was dead.  He had been executed, shot once in the left temple with a projectile from a .38 caliber semiautomatic pistol. These are indisputable facts.”

Fuger sets the scene for his sharp reproof with a blazing sub-header on Page One.

“This case rises and falls on the testimony of Doreen Stiles,” the sub-header reads, quoting New Haven’s Senior Assistant State Attorney James Clark’s words during Taylor and Gould’s 1995 Superior Court trial.

“No truer statement has ever been spoken,” Fuger wrote.

Stiles, a drug-addicted police informant, was the only supposed eyewitness who placed the defendants at the murder scene. DNA evidence found at the murder scene did not match Gould or Taylor. The state’s case rested on Stiles’ testimony, as Clark openly admitted during the trial. Stiles came forward and recanted her statement in 2006, allowing the defendants to open a joint habeas corpus claim of actual innocence, based on new evidence.

It is “crystal clear,” wrote Fuger, “that the sole piece of evidence, the only thread that links George Gould and Ronald Taylor to this senseless murder is the testimony of Doreen Stiles. If this tether breaks, then there is absolutely nothing that implicates these two men.”

“At the trial of the case in 1995, the case rose because Doreen Stiles made that linkage; at the trial of the habeas petition in 2009, the case must fall, once again, based upon the testimony of Doreen Stiles,” Fuger wrote.

The Supreme Court in its desire to so respectfully uphold the notion of finality, trips over itself to make absolutely clear that they seems somewhat squeamish about writing this decision, but in the end, they really have to. They don’t, really. I know it, they know and you should know it too. The verbal gymnastics are impressive:

In sum, the recantations by Stiles and Boyd may demonstrate that there no longer is any credible evidence that the petitioners did commit the crimes of which they were convicted. What the habeas court’s decision lacks is any discussion of affirmative evidence that would prove by clear and convincing evidence that the petitioners did not commit the crimes. We therefore conclude that the habeas court’s judgments must be reversed…

Emphasis added by me to point out the subtle use of words to support their conclusion.

So, if the only testimony which links the defendants to the murder is now discredited, and that’s not enough, then what must someone do to convince a court of their innocence? I’m glad you asked:

First, taking into account both the evidence produced in the original criminal trial and the evidence produced in the habeas hearing, the petitioner must persuade the habeas court by clear and convincing evidence, as that standard is properly understood and applied in  the context of such a claim, that the petitioner is actually innocent of the crime of which he stands convicted. Second, the petitioner  must establish that, after considering all of that evidence and the inferences drawn therefrom, as the habeas court did, no reasonable  fact finder would find the petitioner guilty.

Not only does one have to prove to the system that they affirmatively did not commit this crime, but they also have to prove that a jury would not find them guilty. It isn’t enough, here, that one presents evidence proving that they did not commit the crime – although how that is to be applied as a universal standard is beyond me.

Are we to decide on the innocence of individuals who are caught up in our system based on their their sheer luck that there exists some physical evidence such as DNA that proves they did not commit the crime? Must we require such a circumstance beyond their control? And what do we say to those who are lucky enough to completely undermine the State’s case against them, yet unlucky enough to have no independent corroborative evidence of their “alleged” innocence? Finality trumps innocence? Form over substance? Perhaps.

It really doesn’t come as any surprise, though, to me – and perhaps to you as well – that our rules are such. That there is a bias toward convicting and keeping people convicted. I sit here, day after day, reading as cases and reports of cases come flooding across my line of sight – and every day it’s the same: we love pronouncing judgment on others and love our moral indignation and our self-assumed superiority. We are better. They are guilty. And how dare anyone disagree with us:

A red-haired woman in her 60s who moved to Florida from Michigan, she told the court she worked at a Publix Grocery when she was questioned as a potential juror.

Now, she’s in hiding.

Juror number 12 left Florida. Her husband, fighting back tears, tells NBC News he’s not sure when she’ll return to her home in Florida.

Why? He says she fears half of her co-workers want her head on a platter.

The other may understand what she did, but she didn’t want to face them.

She was due to retire in the fall, but Juror number 12, after being released from sequestration, chose to call her boss to announce she couldn’t come to work. She didn’t feel safe.

She retired over the phone.

The husband, who sat with two NBC News producers, glanced repeatedly at his blood pressure monitor on the coffee table and the Bible next to it.

One day they’ll come for you and there’ll be no one left to speak up for you.

What do we want from our system? A rubber stamp, apparently.

[For an interesting local connection to the image above, see here.]

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”.

For something that forms the crux of the criminality of actions in this statute, there is precious little guidance on the legal meaning of that phrase and the evidence that is required to sustain proof beyond a reasonable doubt on that element. The only explanation of “likely to impair” is as follows:

The term “likely” and the phrase “likely to impair” are defined neither in § 53-21 (a), nor in any related provision of our General Statutes. In the absence of statutory guidance as to the meaning of a particular term, it is appropriate to look to its dictionary definition in order to discern its meaning in a given context. Lombardo’s Ravioli Kitchen, Inc. v. Ryan, 268 Conn. 222, 232, 842 A.2d 1089 (2004). Our review of such sources reveals that, depending on the context, the term “likely” most commonly is understood as an adjective that denotes when particular subject matter will probably come to be or when its chances of realization are more probable than not. Oxford English Dictionary (2d Ed. 1989) (defining “likely” as something “that looks as if it [will] happen, be realized, or prove to be what is alleged or suggested”); The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language (3d Ed. 1992) (defining “likely” as “possessing or displaying the qualities or characteristics that make something probable”).

In contrast, dictionary sources indicate that the term “possible,” again, depending on the context, primarily has a lower degree of probability or certitude of realization. Oxford English Dictionary, supra (defining “possible” as “that may be [i.e. is capable of being]; that may or can exist, be done, or happen”); The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, supra (defining “possible” as something that is “capable of happening, existing or being true” [emphasis added]). The common understanding of the term “likely” therefore ordinarily conveys a degree of certitude as to realization that is in conformity with a definition of “probable,” but that counsels against an understanding of its meaning as merely “possible.” Indeed, at oral argument before this court, the state conceded that it would be “hard-pressed” to contend that the term “likely” reasonably may be understood as meaning “possible.” Accordingly, with no persuasive argument to the contrary, the trial court’s jury instructions that the term “likely” was to be understood as meaning “in all probability or possibility” and “possible or probable,” were improper.

State v. Romero. Got that? Likely to impair means “more probable than not” and (heh) more likely than possible. And yet there is precious little on exactly how the State is to go about the business of proving that an act or situation is likely or more probable than not to impair the morals of a child. There, of course, is no requirement that the morals be actually impaired, merely the probability that they might be. This results in nothing more than that which the Supreme Court said it was avoiding in Robert H. above:

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.

Take the court’s reasoning for its rejection of the defendant’s claims in Romero (and repeated verbatim in subsequent opinions):

Once the jury determined that the anal intercourse and mutual sexual touching took place, as described by D, it is difficult to imagine a finding that this conduct could not be deemed likely–in the context of probably–to impair D’s morals. Put another way, the defendant has made no claim, and we can conceive of no justification for one, that the defendant’s conduct in relation to his abuse of D, conduct which the jury found to have occurred, is not conduct that is “likely to impair” the health or morals of a child.

Leaving aside the obvious examples quoted involving “acts” as opposed to “situations” (for no one should reasonably argue that it should be legal to force a minor into sexual intercourse), consider the slightly more nuanced scenario where a defendant is charged with showing pornography to a 2 year old child, and thus is said to have violated the Risk of Injury statute. How can one, beyond a reasonable doubt, prove that such an act is likely to impair the morals of a minor? Isn’t this essentially taking for granted that any act involving sexual conduct or placing a child in any situation which has a hint of sexual innuendo is always likely to impair the morals?

What is the functional difference between my example of the 2-year old being exposed to pornography and an 8-year old who walks into his parents’ bedroom while they are engaged in intercourse? To those of you who’ve had the misfortune of experiencing the latter, would you say your morals were impaired?

My point isn’t that we should show pornography to 2-year olds, but rather that the State should be put to its burden of proving beyond a reasonable doubt that such acts or situations are likely to impair the morals, rather than simply taking it for granted.

Sex offenders and sex offenses aren’t popular people and crimes and we’re all a bit squeamish about the topics and the ideas. But this is the top of the very, very, slippery slope. If we can’t confront the inadequacies in the state of the law in this area, then how soon is it before the burden starts slipping in other areas of the law?

Or perhaps it is time to revisit the actual statute itself and rewrite it such that it doesn’t require 20-odd years of judicial gloss to make it Constitutionally acceptable.

And doesn’t this all oddly reek of the same logical fallacies underlying the obscenity laws? You’ll know when your morals are impaired, because my morals are the same as yours.

[For a fascinating read on obscenity trials, be sure to look at this article on the trial of Lady Chatterly's Lover.]

You can’t. It’s impossible. 44 years have passed since 1966 and 38 since 1972. Yet, for “G.R.H.” of Louisiana it is this lack of photographic memory and the inability to have the foresight to note and document his whereabouts on all those days in those 6 years decades ago that has landed him in jail for the rest of his life.

In 2006, GRH [opinion here] was accused of sexually assaulting a minor, as you may have guessed, between 1966 and 1972. The complainant, 44 at the time of the accusations, had an alleged clear memory of the assaults perpetrated by the defendant, some 40 years ago.

There was no corroboration, no contemporaneous disclosure, no other instances of sexual abuse by this defendant, nothing. Just the say-so of a 44 year old woman, almost an entire lifetime after it allegedly occurred.¹

Imagine, as Justice Douglas did, dissenting in United States v. Marion, that the 44 year delay occurred after GRH was arrested and not before. Certainly, none would argue that his right to a speedy trial was not violated. And the concerns with such a delay are certainly mitigated after the institution of a criminal prosecution: you know there is an action pending, so you hire an investigator, document your memories, speak to witnesses and firm up their recollections. When someone is not prosecuted and doesn’t sense one coming (having done nothing wrong), there is no reason why anyone would keep track of whatever alibis they might have had or whatever witnesses may have had to offer.

Justice Douglas, quoting Baron Alderson in 1844:

Baron Alderson said in Regina v. Robins, 1 Cox’s C. C. 114 (Somerset Winter Assizes 1844), where there was a two-year delay in making a charge of bestiality:

“It is monstrous to put a man on his trial after such a lapse of time. How can he account for his conduct so far back? If you accuse a man of a crime the next day, he may be enabled to bring forward his servants and family to say where he was and what he was about at the time; but if the 329*329 charge be not preferred for a year or more, how can he clear himself? No man’s life would be safe if such a prosecution were permitted. It would be very unjust to put him on his trial.”

What would he have thought of a 44 year delay, I wonder.

Yet, the Louisiana Court of Appeals (not even their Supreme Court, mind you, who declined to review the case) squarely placed the burden on the defendant to prove that he suffered actual prejudice; that the 44 year delay did, in fact, somehow prejudice him. The treatment of this important issue by the Louisiana Court of Appeals is very telling: the actual discussion of the issue is limited to two pages at best and is as summarily dispensed with as one can without being called trite.

We find that P.B. did not have problems recalling the inappropriate acts committed by Defendant. However, she did not recall the dates on which these acts occurred. We further find that Defendant cannot prove he was prejudiced by the delay in this case.

This, in polite circles, is called getting f*cked over. The defendant cannot prove the very thing that would help him, because of the very thing that made him unable to prove it. Also known as legal fiction or “how to convict a sex offender in 2 easy steps”.

And some, like me, would argue that the there really needn’t even be a showing that the defendant was prejudiced. Rather, the burden should shift squarely to the State. If they wish to prosecute someone after as gargantuan a delay as in this case, let them prove good reason for waiting so long. Let them prove the reliability of the witnesses and the testimony. Let them prove that this is not some recently concocted scheme by an upset individual.

How easily does the court dispense with that argument? I’ll show you:

Defendant also asks this court to assume prejudice because of the forty-year delay. This has never been the law. and we decline to adopt such a rule. See  U.S. v. Beszborn, 21 F.3d 62 (5th Cir. 1994), cert. denied sub nom. Westmoreland v. U.S., 513 U.S. 934, 115 S.Ct. 330 (1994). Defendant further asks this court  to issue a bright-line rule that prohibits prosecutions for “offenses such as these” without both corroboration and contemporaneous report to the  authorities. We also decline to adopt such a bright-line rule based on the provisions of La.Code Crim.P. arts. 571 and 571.1.

No explanation, no rationale, nothing. A man, charged after a 44 year delay, about to spend the rest of his life in jail, deserves more than that. Our justice system deserves more than a dismissive, impatient wave of the hand.

I’m obviously not passing judgment on whether she was telling the truth or not. She may well be and he may well have done it. That’s not the point. The point is due process. And could this have happened to anyone but a “sex offender”?

That, really, is the rub here. He’s a sex offender. She must be believed and we, the courts, must do everything in our power to ensure that this man doesn’t get set free. Law and justice be damned. The witches shall burn and we shall light the fires.

GRH has filed a petition for writ of certiorari with the Supreme Court. The state did not deign to file a response.

————————————————-

1. The court had to jump through other hoops to even get to this point. It reasoned that even though at the time of offenses, the death penalty was no longer applicable, it remained a capital offense and thus there is no applicable statute of limitations for rape. The court then also uses recently enacted statutes to justify its decision to not apply the due process clause. Judicial bullshit activism at its best.

all your DNA are belong to us

The story of the role of DNA in the criminal justice system is quite interesting. Heralded as the ultimate in crime solving, DNA has slowly infiltrated the collective consciousness of the entire nation and infected our lawyers, judges and jurors. It’s a double-edged sword, to be sure: DNA can accurately (or maybe not) identify an individual who leaves behind some trace materials at or in a crime scene, thereby implicating or exculpating a suspect. Fueled by DNA based shows like CSI, jurors became more demanding and mistakenly over reliant on the science, producing the “CSI effect”, DNA, on the other hand, has drawbacks that defense lawyers try to highlight – which I’m not sure have sunk in yet – like the fact that you it can’t tell you when it was deposited. DNA is most famous for high-profile exonerations of people already convicted of crimes and serving lengthy prison sentences.

But DNA is much more than that. As the science grows, the uses and implications of the genetic markers grows by leaps and bounds (see here and for the future, see here).

Which is why DNA, and the collection of DNA, is so attractive to law enforcement agencies. Unfortunately, as is often the case, the evolution of science and technology and the desired application of these new uses conflicts to some degree with the core protections of the Constitution.

Just yesterday, a 3 judge panel of the 9th Circuit heard an appeal in a lawsuit filed by the ACLU challenging the legality of California’s DNA-collection-upon-arrest law. That’s essentially all there is to the law: collect the DNA of everyone ever arrested. (Connecticut tried to pass a similar bill two years ago and it was ultimately rejected.) Under some circumstances, the DNA may never be deleted from their database:

Under the law, [an arrestee] must wait at least three years from the time of her arrest before seeking to remove her genetic information from the database, a request that either a judge or a prosecutor can veto.

Putting aside the capacity for intrusion into one’s privacy – law enforcement having access to you and your history, your health risk, who you’re related to (and again the issue isn’t that they would, but that they could) – and the racial implications, the possession of such power by the state is repugnant to many of us for the simple reason that it seems to stand at such odds with that basic of principles: the presumption of innocence. If you are to be presumed innocent up until the time of a conviction, then why must the State get to intrude upon your person in such a permanent manner? What is the need to collect your genetic markers, so you may be tagged forever as a potential criminal, when up to that point, you’re guilty of nothing?

Asked by Judge William Fletcher why the state keeps the DNA of people who were not convicted, Powell said those who know their samples are in the database are “less likely to commit future crimes.”

Indeed. Criminals – hard and soft – are kept awake at night by the idea that their DNA might be left behind at the scene, and thus are frightened into living the straight life. It might happen on CSI, but not in real life. In real life, DNA testing takes months due to backlogs; in a lot of cases the DNA isn’t even tested before a case is resolved.

The use of the deterrent argument to justify the preservation of the DNA of innocent people is simply a shield to hide behind. I’m surprised they didn’t tie it in to 9/11 and terrorism somehow. Is it too late to invoke Godwin’s Law? But sadly, these days, anything goes in the name of “safety”.

And it’s quite ironic that the State in this case is all for the preservation of DNA and testing and matching of that DNA to find the suspect that they are otherwise unable to do so, when they routinely stonewall and object to requests to test DNA by convicted inmates seeking to prove their innocence.

Courts have long held that convicted felons have fewer rights than the rest of us, that the fact of conviction necessarily means that they’ve given up some rights. The right to privacy and the right not to be suspected for the rest of their lives are two of them. So it’s easier to justify the taking of the DNA of a felon: once a criminal, always a criminal, so let’s keep tabs on him.

Taking the DNA of people merely arrested seems to extend that terrible generalization to all who are unlucky enough to be arrested, thus furthering the presumption of guilt.

In the end, the equation always seems to include two mutually exclusive concepts: more freedom or more safety?

He died in 2007, more than 40 years after the shooting. The Commonwealth, already having exacted 26 years from Barnes, now 74,  for the attempted murder, now seeks to exact some more for the eventual death of Ofc. Barclay.

Barnes’ second trial for the act of shooting Barclay began today in Philadelphia. The Commonwealth will attempt to prove that the gunshot wound suffered by Barclay in ’66 – which left him wheelchair bound – caused the urinary tract infection in 2006 that ultimately killed him.

The defense will seek to show the jury that the Commonwealth cannot prove the causal link, relying in part on the fact that Barclay, despite being confined to a wheelchair:

was able to drive a specialized car, walk with braces, earn a college degree, marry and divorce three times and perform sexually, had been in three car accidents and had fallen out of his motorized wheel chair twice during the 41 years that he lived after being shot

Mark Bennett, in a comment to Scott’s post above, asked in 2007:

I must be missing something, because those articles don’t even discuss this question: How does a conviction for attempted murder not jeopardy-bar a prosecution for murder when the victim dies?

A very important question, for it should be quite obvious that whatever the terminology attached to the formal charge, the act for which Barnes is being exposed to further punishment is the same: that he fired a weapon with the intent to cause the death of Ofc. Barclay.

Having already been punished once for that act, how is it permissible for the Commonwealth to seek to punish him again? I decided to delve into the quagmire of Double Jeopardy law, a muck from which I’m not quite sure that I’ve yet emerged. Nonetheless, I found this quote from a LawProf in another article covering the start of the trial:

Temple University Law Professor Jim Strazella says he believes the charges are permissible, and don’t violate any double jeopardy laws.

Since there is no further explanation in that article, or any other that I could find, you are left to my devices and I am to yours.

The fifth amendment to the United States constitution declares that no person  shall be subject for the same offense to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb . . . . This amendment is fully applicable to the states through the due process clause of the fourteenth amendment to the United States constitution. Benton v. Maryland, 395 U.S. 784 (1969).

One of the protections flowing from the double jeopardy guarantee is that against a second prosecution for the same offense after acquittal; North Carolina v. Pearce, 395 U.S. 711, 717 (1969); or conviction. Illinois v. Vitale, 447 U.S. 410 (1980).

The constitutional prohibition against ‘double jeopardy’ was designed to protect an individual from being subjected to the hazards of trial and possible conviction more than once for an alleged offense. . . . The underlying idea, one that is deeply ingrained in at least the Anglo-American system of jurisprudence, is that the State with all its resources and power should not be allowed to make repeated attempts to convict an individual for an alleged offense, thereby subjecting him to embarrassment, expense and ordeal and compelling him to live in a continuing state of anxiety and insecurity, as well as enhancing the possibility that even though innocent he may be found guilty.

Green v. United States, 355 U.S. 184 (1957). The most famous double jeopardy case is Blockburger v. United States, which laid out the test for determining if multiple convictions arising out of the same incident violated the prohibition against double jeopardy:

[t]he applicable rule is that where the same act or transaction constitutes a violation of two distinct statutory provisions, the test to be applied to determine whether there are two offenses or only one, is whether each provision requires proof of a fact which the other does not.

Blockburger v. United States, 284 U.S. 299, 304 (1932). This analysis ‘precludes examination of the evidence.’ Illinois v. Vitale, 447 U.S. 410, 416 (1980). Instead, an examination of the elements of the two crimes is essential. Brown v. Ohio, 432 U.S. 161, 166 (1977).

Quoth Justice Stevens, in Illinois v. Vitale:

In Harris v. Oklahoma, 433 U.S. 682, we held that a conviction on a felony-murder charge barred a subsequent prosecution for robbery, where the robbery had been used to establish the requisite intent on the murder charge. Cf. Whalen v. United States, 445 U.S. 684. Since it was theoretically possible that a different felony could  have supported the murder charge, such a result may not have been required by a literal application of the Blockburger test, see Whalen v. United States, supra, at 708-711 (REHNQUIST, J., dissenting). However, the entire Court agreed that it was required by the Double Jeopardy Clause.

Of course, it is the interpretation of state law by a state court that controls and under PA law, attempted murder may not be a lesser included offenses of murder. There is a line of cases that suggests that the treatment of those crimes intended by the legislature plays an important role in determining whether they are the same for double jeopardy purposes. Perhaps the differing sentencing ranges for attempt and the completed act (for murder at least, at least here in CT) may give some weight to that argument.

Stepping back from the legal mumbo-jumbo, there is a certain appeal to the argument that Barnes should not be permitted to reap the benefits of a lesser sentence merely because Barclay did not die immediately.

This, however, is not unavailing, especially in light of the fact that the Commonwealth was willing to have Barnes plead to a lesser degree of murder, exposing him to a potential maximum sentence of 10 to 20 years, with credit for 16 years already served.

The Commonwealth is not interested in the legal issues here, especially when you consider the fact that Barclay’s body wasn’t autopsied for 7 months and after Barnes had been charged with murder. To me it seems more like grandstanding and putting on a show in light of the death of a member of law enforcement. Which is fine, except Barnes has already paid a pretty steep price for that very crime.

[As you may have noticed, my DJ analysis was pretty half-baked. That's because I am unwilling to embark on writing a brief on this subject just yet. If I've missed a key case, I'm sure you'll let me know about it.]

A defendant entering a guilty plea waives several fundamental constitutional rights. Boykin v. Alabama, 395 U.S. 238, 243 (1969). “We therefore require the record affirmatively to disclose that the defendant’s choice was made intelligently and voluntarily.” (Internal quotation marks omitted.) State v. Andrews, supra, 253 Conn. 503. To satisfy that requirement, a defendant must be fully aware of the direct consequences of his or her plea. See Brady v. United States, 397 U.S. 742, 755 (1970). Direct consequences are generally defined as consequences that are “definite, immediate and [that have] largely automatic effect[s] on the range of the defendant’s punishment.” Cuthrell v. Director, 475 F.2d 1364, 1366 (4th Cir.), cert. denied, 414 U.S. 1005 (1973).

State v. Groppi. The Boykin canvas is limited to three Constitutional aspects: First, is the privilege against compulsory self-incrimination.. . [s]econd, is the right to trial by jury… [t]hird, is the right to confront one’s accusers.’ Boykin v. Alabama, [supra].

In fact, the Boykin canvass is now part of most state statutes or rules of court. Here, in CT, it is codified in Conn. Prac. Bk. S. 39-19, which provides:

The judicial authority shall not accept the plea without first addressing the defendant personally and determining that he or she fully understands:

1. The nature of the charge to which the plea is offered;
2. The mandatory minimum sentence, if any;
3. The fact that the statute for the particular offense does not permit the sentence to be suspended;
4. The maximum possible sentence on the charge, including, if there are several charges, the maximum sentence possible from consecutive sentences and including, when applicable, the fact that a different or additional punishment may be authorized by reason of a previous conviction; and
5. The fact that he or she has the right to plead not guilty or to persist in that plea if it has already been made, and the fact that he or she has the right to be tried by a jury or a judge and that at that trial the defendant has the right to the assistance of counsel, the right to confront and cross-examine witnesses against him or her, and the right not to be compelled to incriminate himself or herself.

But even there, strict compliance is not required:

While the federal constitution requires that the record of the plea canvass indicate the voluntariness of any waiver of the three core constitutional rights delineated in Boykin, it does not require that the trial court go beyond these “constitutional minima.” United States v. Dayton, 604 F.2d 931, 935 n.2 (5th Cir. 1979) (en banc). A defendant can voluntarily and understandingly waive these rights without literal compliance with the prophylactic safeguards of Practice Book §§ 711 and 712. Therefore, although the Practice Book provisions were designed to reflect the principles embodied in Boykin; State v. Godek, 182 Conn. 353, 357 (1980), cert. denied, 450 U.S. 1031 (1981); Blue v. Robinson, 173 Conn. 360, 373 (1977); precise compliance with the provisions is not constitutionally required. Thus, our analysis will focus on whether the federal constitutional principles of Boykin were satisfied rather than on meticulous compliance with the provisions of the Practice Book.

State v. Badgett. But enough with the primer and onto my idle thought. Here, as part of the plea canvass, a judge will routinely ask defendants the following question: “Are you satisfied with your attorney’s representation of you?” This question, to me, is distinctly different from the practice book requirement that the defendant be aware that he is entitled to the effective assistance of counsel. The latter is directed at informing the defendant that if he proceeds to trial, he will have available an attorney to conduct the trial for him.

The question of satisfaction, on the other hand, seems to have no basis in any Constitutional requirement (at least none that I can see on this idle Friday afternoon).

You can imagine the gamut of responses to this question: A perfunctory “yes”; a begruding or resigned “yes”; a hesitant “yes”; some hemming and hawing followed by “yes” and the rare “no”.

Most defendants view this as asking whether they are satisfied with the outcome of the case, rather than the performance of the specific attorney (in fact, some judges will follow up with that clarifying statement, if they notice any hesitation in the defendant). Their thought process is obvious: “I’m not thrilled with this deal, so how can I be satisfied that my attorney did the best job?”

Which brings me to my question(s): What, exactly, is the point of this question? It certainly cannot be to prevent any future habeas corpus litigation alleging ineffective assistance of counsel. The administration of a Boykin canvass hardly precludes future arguments that the plea was not voluntary. I’ve seen prosecutors attempt to question habeas petitioners whether they answered the question in question in the affirmative, as if it were evidence of a lack of IAC. But they are not serious arguments and don’t hold much weight in the eyes of even the most pro-state judges.

Everyone realizes that most defendants are aware of the dance. They know the questions to be asked and they know the pat responses. Some are truly satisfied with the sentences they are receiving; most are resigned to them. After all, who wants to go to jail?

So, why then, do we ask this question at all? Is it habit? Is it really designed to truly determine if the plea is voluntary? If that is the case, there would be no need for the follow up clarification that judges tend to employ. Rather, we would see a judge exploring the basis for any hesitation on the part of the defendant. But that’s rare.

Now, I’m not saying that we need to do away with this question, or re-work the Boykin canvass (at least not in this post); I’m merely following a train of thought out loud, as is my wont.

Those of you in other states: do your judges ask this question? If so, any insight on why it is necessary?

Fast forward a number of months. Where do you think you are now, Paul?

Awaiting sentencing for possession of a shotgun Sentenced to 12 months suspended, that’s where. An offence which carries a mandatory-minimum penalty of 5 years. Jack of Kent, a British blougger, has written extensively on this case and it’s well worth the read (via the deadly Charon). As with all strict liability crimes and crimes that involve mandatory-minimum sentences, the befuddling question here is the exercise of discretion to prosecute Mr. Clarke. While the police were unwilling to comment on the case, Jack of Kent was able to enter into a lengthy e-mail exchange with the Crown Prosecution Service, who explained their decision to prosecute thusly:

Paul Clarke claimed that he found the shot gun in his garden and decided to bring it to the police station. Evidence showed that he was in possession of the gun and the cartridges for some days earlier and that at that time he did not try to contact the police, for them to collect the weapon. He could not explain why he waited some days before bringing the gun to the police station and why he did not contacted the police for them to come and collect the gun.

So it seems that the entire crux of their decision to prosecute was based on the lack of a “satisfactory” explanation from Mr. Clarke as to how he got the gun and why he waited two days to turn it in. Nevermind the fact that the same police department distributed a leaflet encouraging people who find guns to bring it to the police station.

Perhaps an adroit bobby might have thought to test the gun to see if it was linked to any crimes, but it doesn’t seem that occurred. So all we’re left with is the tale of Mr. Clarke, that he found the gun. Unfortunately, as with all per se crimes, the jury had no choice but to convict.

There are two points in this saga that have raised the hackles of the genial British populace: one that Mr. Clarke is required to receive 5 years in jail for a seemingly civic act and two, the implications this might have for all in general.

My rants on mandatory-minimum sentences are well known, so I will leave that be here. It is the second, of course, that is far more interesting. The implications of not criminalizing, but actually prosecuting behavior that on its face is not criminal.

As noted correctly by the British blouggerati, prosecuting Mr. Clarke would really be counterproductive to the stated police intention of taking guns off the streets. Who, in their right mind, would bring a gun into the police station if they’re likely to be charged for possession of it. Not even those crazy Brits.

Whatever happens to Mr. Clarke will happen and I do hope that he will not be sentenced to any jail time As per CharonQC, Mr. Clarke was sentenced to 12 months suspended via a provision for exceptional circumstances. But I am still curious as to the defence mounted by his barrister/solicitor/lawyerperson. The first thing that occurred to me, is whether this offence might be void for vagueness here in these United States.

VfV is a constitutional law doctrine that renders statutes unenforceable in particular circumstances:

To demonstrate that [a statute] is unconstitutionally vague as applied … the [defendant]… must … demonstrate beyond a reasonable doubt that [he] had inadequate notice of what was prohibited or that [he was] the victim of arbitrary and discriminatory enforcement…. [T]he void for vagueness doctrine embodies two central precepts: the right to fair warning of the effect of a governing statute … and the guarantee against standardless law enforcement…. If the meaning of a statute can be fairly ascertained a statute will not be void for vagueness since [m]any statutes will have some inherent vagueness, for [i]n most English words and phrases there lurk uncertainties….

State v. Sorabella. The key here, in Mr. Clarke’s case, is whether the statute is void as applied to the facts of the particular case:

“The general rule is that the constitutionality of a statutory provision being attacked as void for vagueness is determined by the statute’s applicability to the particular facts at issue…. To do otherwise, absent the appearance that the statute in question intrudes upon fundamental guarantees, particularly first amendment freedoms, would be to put courts in the undesirable position of considering every conceivable situation which might possibly arise in the application of [the statute]…. Thus, outside the context of the first amendment, in order to challenge successfully the facial validity of a statute, a party is required to demonstrate as a threshold matter that the statute may not be applied constitutionally to the facts of [the] case.” (Internal quotation marks omitted.) State v. Lewis, 273 Conn. 509, 514-15, 871 A.2d 986 (2005). Furthermore, “[a] statute is not unconstitutional merely because a person must inquire further as to the precise reach of its prohibitions….” Packer v. Board of Education, 246 Conn. 89, 101, 717 A.2d 117 (1998). “[N]or is it necessary that a statute list the exact conduct prohibited.” Id. In light of these principles, “our fundamental inquiry is whether a person of ordinary intelligence would comprehend that the defendant’s acts were prohibited under [the pertinent provisions of our Penal Code].” (Internal quotation marks omitted.) State v. Jason B.,supra, 248 Conn. at 557, 729 A.2d 760.

Is it reasonable to assume that someone in Mr. Clarke’s position would have known that the act of turning in the shotgun to the police would result in a criminal prosecution? I think not. Additionally, the fact that the CPS engaged in an exercise of discretion in choosing to prosecute Mr. Clarke would seem to be a prime example of “standardless law enforcement”. In this particular case, they chose to prosecute Mr. Clarke merely because they found his explanation “unsatisfactory”.

As Justice Powell wrote:

Statutory language of such a standardless sweep allows policemen, prosecutors, and juries to pursue their personal predilections. Legislatures may not so abdicate their responsibilities for setting the standards of the criminal law. E. g., Papachristou v. City of Jacksonville, 405 U. S. 156, 165-169 (1972). In Gregory v. City of Chicago, 394 U. S. 111, 120 (1969), Mr. Justice Black, in a concurring opinion, voiced a concern, which we share, against entrusting lawmaking “to the moment-to-moment judgment of the policeman on his beat.” The aptness of his admonition is evident from appellant’s candid concession during oral argument before the Court of Appeals regarding state enforcement standards for that portion of the statute under which Goguen was convicted:

“[A]s counsel [for appellant] admitted, a war protestor who, while attending a rally at which it begins to rain, evidences his disrespect for the American flag by contemptuously covering himself with it in order to avoid getting wet, would be prosecuted under the Massachusetts statute. Yet a member of the American Legion who, caught in the same rainstorm while returning from an `America— Love It or Leave It’ rally, similarly uses the flag, but does so regrettably and without a contemptuous attitude, would not be prosecuted.” 471 F. 2d, at 102 (emphasis in original).

Where inherently vague statutory language permits such selective law enforcement, there is a denial of due process.

Smith v. Gougen. Indeed, in this case, Mr. Clarke seems to have been subject to the “moment-to-moment-judgment of the policeman on his beat”.

Consider alternate scenarios to drive this point home. What is one to do upon the finding of a shotgun in a local park littered with children? Is one to turn it in and risk prosecution for possession of a gun or is one to leave it there and risk prosecution for risk of injury to a minor or some variation thereof? What if there is a good samaritan law that requires one to act in a way that prevents danger to others? Quite the pickle, eh?

[Bonus: Mr. Clarke, it seems, is not the only one. There's this fellow who's going to jail for beating up an intruder and then this awfully sad story.]

1. What are you asking for, exactly?
2. Is this a case of getting too greedy or too literal?
3. Did anyone consider the ramifications of an unfavorable decision in this case? (Let me spell it out for you: it could spell complete evisceration of a well-established and solidly pro-defense line of cases starting with Santobello)
4. How do you get selected to argue in front of SCOTUS and then produce a complete clunker [pdf] (and not just one counsel – both!)?
5. Does anyone think either lawyer has any clue as to what is being asked of them?

I fear that Puckett might win the battle, but lose the war. That would be bad news for all of us.

It is an FBI law enforcement bulletin from 2002, which describes in some depth the 5th and 6th Amendment Rights to Counsel and their respective scopes. It’s a good refresher, if nothing else. Though you do have to wade through the “tips to law enforcement”.

Enjoy.