Remember, back in junior high school, when you read that classic of American literature, “The Lottery” by Shirley Jackson? In the story, a small town ritualistically draws straws each summer to see who among them will be stoned to death, to ensure a good harvest later that fall. (Goes the local proverb, “lottery in June, corn be heavy soon!”) As the lottery begins, the townspeople gather in the public square and begin to collect rocks. The head of each family draws a slip of paper from the box, hoping not to see an inky black dot. The family that draws the black dot advances to the next round, in which one member is selected for sacrifice the same way. Tessie Hutchinson, a wife and mother of young children, draws the condemning dot, and the story ends as the terrified woman is stoned by her neighbors while she frantically protests.
Now, looking around your own world, does this dystopian game of chance seem at all familiar? Thankfully not, you are probably thinking – but if we’re really being honest, it should. On the anniversary of the soul-wrenching Newtown shootings, it’s time to concede that we, too, are participants in a lottery of our own making – one so horrifying that we mostly choose not to see it. But let’s face the grim reality. We are all living in that same nightmare town, where innocents are mindlessly sacrificed in service to ideals that don’t require this kind of sacrifice. When it comes to gun violence in America, we play the nightmare lottery every time we send our children off to school, each time we visit a public place, walk the streets, and in some cases, live in our homes.
A year ago this week, twenty-six first graders and their teachers were gunned down at the Sandy Hook elementary school in Newtown, Conn. Only days earlier, two people were killed and ten thousand terrorized by a gunman at a mall in Clackamas, Ore., where I live. A few months before that, a man walked into an Aurora, Colo., movie theater and opened fire on hundreds of people, shooting eighty-two and killing twelve. Just last week, hundreds of terrified teens were led out of a suburban Denver high school with hands on their heads after a fellow student shot two classmates and then killed himself while seeking revenge on a teacher. The mass shootings are particularly wrenching, but nearly 100 children under ten years old were killed by deliberate gunfire in 2012 alone, often by adults they knew.
The Justice Department announced last month that JP Morgan Chase would pay a record $13 billion for its role in the mortgage crisis that produced the Great Recession of 2008. The Justice Department deserves praise for reaching a civil settlement that will restore billions to investors and homeowners who were misled by JP Morgan Chase and Washington Mutual, the failing savings and loan that JP Morgan Chase bought in the midst of the financial crisis. In addition, if there is sufficient evidence, the Justice Department still can bring criminal charges against the individuals involved in the corporate wrongdoing.
It is unlikely that JP Morgan Chase will face criminal charges, however, despite causing billions in losses and untold more in collateral damage to the global economy. Instead, if the bank pays anything more, it almost certainly will be the beneficiary of a disturbing shift in corporate prosecution policy that began in the Bush administration and has accelerated during the Obama administration: the increased use of deferred prosecution and non-prosecution agreements to address corporate wrongdoing. Under these agreements, corporations can avoid criminal charges if they pay large penalties, improve their compliance programs, and cooperate in investigations. Yet plea agreements -- the preferred approach to corporate crime before the last decade -- offer the same benefits without making it appear that justice can be bought.
The Justice Department’s embrace of deferred prosecution and non-prosecution agreements has been dramatic. From 2004 through 2012, the Justice Department entered 242 deferred prosecution and non-prosecution agreements with corporations, after entering just 26 in the preceding 12 years combined (half of which occurred from 2001 to 2004). The use of the agreements has become so routine that the Justice Department’s Criminal Division now resolves most of its corporate criminal cases using “non-criminal alternatives” to prosecution. From 2010 to 2012, the Criminal Division entered more than twice as many deferred prosecution and non-prosecution agreements with corporations (46) as plea agreements (22).
Nor are these small cases involving technical violations of the law. The Justice Department agreed to a deferred prosecution with HSBC even though the bank was involved in nearly a trillion dollars of money laundering, much of it from drug trafficking. The Justice Department entered a non-prosecution agreement in the Upper Big Branch Mining disaster even though 29 miners died, and the Labor Department found that Massey, the company that owned the mine, committed over 300 violations of federal mine safety laws and kept a double-set of books to hide its misconduct from safety inspectors.
The failure to prosecute corporations like HSBC and Massey sends the wrong message about how our society views corporate misconduct and sows doubts about the Justice Department’s commitment to address corporate crime. The Justice Department would never allow individuals who committed such serious crimes to escape prosecution. So why the double-standard for corporate defendants? Why has the Obama administration continued the questionable corporate crime policies of the Bush administration?
This year should be a cause for celebration, as we mark the 50th anniversary of the right to counsel for indigent defendants recognized by the Supreme Court in Gideon v. Wainwright. Sadly, in the last year we have seen that critical right threatened by sequestration and budget cuts that jeopardize the stability of Federal Defender organizations, and that undermine the ability of Criminal Justice Act (CJA) counsel to represent these clients most in need.
Federal Defender organizations and CJA panels represent clients charged with federal offenses in over 200,000 cases each year – 90% of the defendants in federal court. This system of funded Defender organizations and private CJA counsel have together represented a model of quality and cost-effective representation, and have been protecting the adversarial system of justice for the past forty years.
This successful model is now at risk. In Fiscal Year 2013, Federal Defenders suffered a 10% cut to their budgets due to sequestration. Hundreds of full-time positions were lost, with over 10% of staff being terminated or lost to early retirement. The Defender offices were also forced to impose over 160,000 hours of unpaid furloughs. While Federal Defenders’ budgets were slashed, the Justice Department avoided furloughs for all of its employees. These cuts create greater long-term expenses through delays in litigation and longer pretrial detention.
At the end of Fiscal Year 2013, the Executive Committee of the Judicial Conference of the United States adopted emergency measures to save the Defender programs from the severe impacts of sequestration. Unfortunately, those measures required the deferral of CJA payments for up to four weeks, and the temporary reduction of $15 per hour of the CJA panel rate. This rate cut to CJA counsel undermines a rate that was secured after years of effort, and poses a real threat to the ability of private counsel to continue their vital service to the Court by providing indigent defense.
In our criminal justice system, we ask jurors to make incredibly difficult decisions about life and death, guilt and innocence, all without much training, preparation or support. One day you are a mother, father, employee, ordinary citizen; the next, you are deciding whether someone should be executed by order of the State.
This is the American system. Citizens become jurors and are suddenly entrusted with the most important decisions a society is required to make. Jurors are elevated to a constitutional role and given more power than ever before, all in the name of keeping the democratic legitimacy of citizen representation in our criminal justice system.
Just not in Alabama when it comes to the death penalty.
For the ninety-fifth time, a duly constituted local Alabama jury spared the life of a defendant facing the death penalty. In Woodward v. Alabama, the jurors voted 8-4 to sentence Mario Dion Woodward to life in prison without the possibility of parole. A single judge overrode the decision and sentenced Mr. Woodward to death.
In her dissent from a denial of certiorari, Justice Sonya Sotomayor raised significant Sixth and Eighth Amendment concerns about the practice of allowing judges (facing the political pressure of reelection) to impose the death penalty because those judges disagree with the jury’s assessments of the facts. Such reasoning runs directly against the logic of Ring v. Arizona and may violate the constitutional rights of the accused.
However the Supreme Court ultimately decides the constitutional issue, I see a broader problem focusing not on the accused but on the citizen. Simply stated, a judicial override process devalues civic participation and threatens to undermine the legitimacy of the jury system. By disrespecting the jury verdict, the judge is disrespecting the juror’s role in the criminal justice system.
by Meagan S. Sway, Associate, Paul, Weiss, Rifkind, Wharton & Garrison LLP
On Monday, Justice Sotomayor illuminated what many Alabama defendants and their lawyers have long known: the closer it gets to election season, the less the Sixth and Eighth Amendments matter in capital cases. While only Justice Breyer joined Justice Sotomayor’s dissent, the practice of granting elected judges power to override jury sentences in capital cases should trouble all nine justices, as Alabama’s capital sentencing scheme undermines our entire justice system.
While a majority of the justices do not appear to accept that Alabama’s sentencing scheme violates a defendant’s Sixth Amendment right to trial by jury, the defendant is not the only player who loses as a result of granting a judge the power to override a jury’s recommendation—jurors also suffer. The Supreme Court has recognized in its Batson jurisprudence that discrimination against a veniremember deprives the defendant of his Sixth Amendment right to a jury and also denies the individual veniremember his “most significant opportunity to participate in the democratic process.” Powers v. Ohio (1991). Alabama’s judicial override system has the same problem. As shown in Bryan Stevenson’s mini-multiple regression analysis, there is a statistically significant relationship between a judge facing an election year and his exercise of judicial override. Thus, a person who serves on a jury, whose judge is facing an election, will see her vote count less than a person serving on a jury whose judge is not. This has the additional negative effect of causing jurors to lose faith in the system, because of the sense that whatever decision they reach it is subject to apparently arbitrary review (and potential reversal) by a judge. A juror may well ask herself, why bother?
The Court should be concerned with the startling appearance of impropriety that results from Alabama’s capital sentencing scheme. Judges are – and should be – supremely concerned about guarding against any appearance of impropriety, as it undermines society’s trust and confidence in the justice system. The Second Circuit’s recent sua sponte removal of Judge Shira Scheindlin from New York City’s stop-and-frisk litigation comes to mind. There, the court removed Judge Scheindlin because she directed related cases to her docket and granted media interviews while the stop-and-frisk litigation was pending. Judicial overrides in Alabama provide much more damning evidence of judicial impropriety: Stevenson’s analysis demonstrating an overwhelming correlation between judicial elections and overrides; 92% of all judicial overrides result in death sentences; states where judges are not elected but have the power of override do not exercise that power; and Alabama judges themselves have admitted that elections have influenced their decisions to override a jury’s recommendation of a life sentence.