Topics

The path to financial compensation for the wrongfully convicted can be complex and time-consuming. Exonerees often struggle to make ends meet and function in free society, let alone navigate serpentine processes while waiting years for the recovery they deserve. Securing the assistance of an attorney is often a critical step, but too few lawyers are willing to risk accepting these complicated cases on a contingency-fee basis—the only way that exoneree-clients can likely pay their lawyers without outside help.

Litigation finance—an important tool for increasing access to justice in tort cases—could help close this access to justice gap for exonerees. In a practice called client-directed financing, litigation funders have provided a relative handful of exonerees with cash advances, often leading to greater recoveries in the long run. After considering the benefits and burdens of client-directed financing, we argue that litigation funders ought to consider lawyer-directed financing as well. Through lawyer-directed financing, financiers provide funds directly to private lawyers (instead of to their clients), which mitigates the lawyers’ contingency-fee risk and thereby encourages more lawyers to represent exonerees. If more lawyers were to handle more exoneration compensation matters, the secondary benefits could be significant: securing more money for more exonerees, enhancing public safety, developing a more experienced bar, and increasing the likelihood that some police and prosecutors will alter their behavior towards future suspects and defendants.

For lawyer-directed financing to emerge, many states would have to make two changes to their laws: First, state supreme courts would need to interpret their attorney-client privilege laws to allow for necessary information to be shared with the financier without constituting waiver. Second, laws prohibiting champerty and sharing fees with non- lawyers would need to be removed. Even with those changes, we believe that ethics rules should properly constrain the financier’s ability to control the legal matter and that the risks presented by outside financing are outweighed by the gains in access to justice for the many exonerees who don’t presently have lawyers. For these reasons, we believe the expansion of litigation finance for exonerees merits serious consideration.

Data makes the world go round. Now more than ever, routine police work depends on the collection and analysis of digital information. Law enforcement agencies possess vast sums of intel on who we are, where we go, and what we do. The proliferation of digital technology has transformed federal criminal procedure—from how police investigate crimes to how prosecutors prove them at trial. Courts and commentators have written much about the first part, but less so about the second. Together, they represent two sides of the same problem: constitutional doctrine lagging behind new technology, leading to suboptimal constraints on law enforcement conduct.

This Note explores the effects of digital technology on the nature and scope of federal prosecutors’ disclosure obligations under Brady v. Maryland. As police pass along more data to prosecutors—usually terabytes at a time—prosecutors face the difficult task of sifting through mountains of evidence to determine what is exculpatory or otherwise favorable to the defense. Often, prosecutors turn over their entire case file, knowing full well that defense counsel will fare no better. This state of affairs puts our adversarial system on shaky ground. This Note urges district courts to exercise greater oversight of the discovery process, requiring prosecutors to take reasonable precautions so exculpatory evidence comes to light.

The American carceral state has grown exponentially over the last six decades, earning the United States a place of notoriety among the world’s leaders in incarceration. That unprecedented growth has been fueled by a cultural addiction to carceral logic and its tools—police, prosecution, jails, prisons, and punishment—as a one-size-fits- all response to the myriad vectors of socioeconomic disadvantage that drive people into the jaws of the criminal legal system. The system operates in the shadow of endemic racial inequality, feeding on the conflated amalgam of race, criminality, and dangerousness. For those who experience the worst of what the system has to offer, it is little more than a purveyor of harm and injustice, deepening the inequality that characterizes America.

The modern public defender was born before the rise of mass incarceration and criminalization and has evolved ever since, from helpmate to the criminal system to a zealous advocate for the accused. The last major evolutionary turn transformed public defenders into a bulwark against America’s penal impulses, defending people against the state while working holistically to address the range of legal and social needs that drive criminal legal system involvement. Recent years have witnessed a growing willingness to grapple with abolition as a strategy and vision, and with it an increasing recognition that being a bulwark—while an essential feature of public defense—is simply not enough to upend the status quo. In this Article, I contend that public defense can and should embrace an abolitionist ethic. I do so because I believe that an abolitionist ethic orients the work of public defenders more pointedly at the interlocking structural causes that lead people into the clutches of the criminal system, and it directs sustained energy at its oppressive nature, ultimately benefitting the people and the communities that public defenders serve.

What does an abolitionist ethic mean for a public defender? Fundamentally, it is a merger of retail-scale zealous criminal defense with wholesale structural change aimed at dismantling the criminal system. Beyond that, it means building a world in which police, jails, and prisons are obsolete. And it employs frameworks and advocacy tools that are accessible to public defense. A public defender’s abolitionist ethic combines a racial justice lens informed by Critical Race Theory to understand the forces that animate the criminal system; zealous holistic defense of individuals infused with the spirit of resistance lawyering; movement lawyering to support social justice advocacy aimed at reducing the size, scope, and scale of the system on the way to dismantling it; and organized efforts to render the carceral state dispensable.

Shifting the paradigm of public defense and the work of public defenders is no easy task. Indeed, it is laden with challenges. Inadequate funding, the skepticism that travels with abolition, the sheer difficulty of criminal defense work, and the seemingly intractable nature of the criminal system can make the turn to an abolitionist ethic seem like a fruitless pursuit. For the public defender, those challenges cannot be the end of the story. The lessons that flow from the centuries-long struggle for racial justice, where abolition was born, teach us that—as organizer and activist Mariame Kaba says—“hope is a discipline.” By nature, public defense work rests on that discipline. Defenders fight against long odds in an unforgiving system. They do so for a host of reasons, among them the hope that what they do will make a difference in the broader fight for the dignity and humanity of those they represent. Defenders must draw on that same sensibility in pursuit of the world that those whom they defend—and all of us—deserve.

We document and discuss the implications of a striking feature of modern American policing: the stasis of police labor forces. Using an original employment dataset assembled through public records requests, we show that, after the first few years on a job, officers rarely change employers, and intermediate officer ranks are filled almost exclusively through promotion rather than lateral hiring. Policing is like a sports league, if you removed trades and free agency and left only the draft in place.

We identify both nonlegal and legal causes of this phenomenon—ranging from geographic monopolies to statutory and collectively bargained rules about pensions, rank, and seniority—and discuss its normative implications. On the one hand, job stability may encourage investment in training and expertise by agencies and officers alike; it may also attract some high-quality candidates, including candidates from underrepresented backgrounds, to the profession. On the other hand, low labor mobility can foster sclerosis in police departments, entrenching old ways of policing. Limited outside options may lead officers to stay in positions that suit them poorly, decreasing morale and productivity and potentially contributing to the scale of policing harms. In turn, the lack of labor mobility makes it all the more important to police officers to retain the jobs they have. This encourages them to insist on extensive labor protections and to enforce norms like the “blue wall of silence,” which exacerbate the problem of police misconduct. We suggest reforms designed to confer the advantages of labor mobility while ameliorating its costs.

Although legal scholars have over the years developed an increasingly sophisticated account of policing in the largest cities, they have largely overlooked the thousands of small departments that serve rural areas and small towns. As this Article makes clear, small departments are hardly immune from the various problems that plague modern policing. But their sheer number—and relative obscurity—has made it difficult to get a handle on the magnitude of the difficulties they present, or the ways in which familiar reform proposals might need to look different in America’s small towns.

This Article begins to fill this gap. It does so by blending together empirical analysis of various dimensions of small-agency policing, with in-depth case studies that add much-needed texture to the patterns that the data reveal. It argues that the problems of small-town and rural policing differ in important ways from those that plague big-city police, and that there are predictable patterns that explain when and why small agencies are likely to go astray. In particular, it shows that small agencies are susceptible to two types of systemic failures—those that reflect the inherent limitations of small-town political processes and those that are driven by the capacity constraints that some small governments face. It then draws on the data and case studies to provide a preliminary sense of how prevalent these problems are likely to be.

This Article concludes with the policy implications that follow from this richer and more nuanced account of small-town and rural police. It begins with the oft- made suggestion that small agencies be made to “consolidate” with one another or simply dissolve, and it explains why consolidation is not only highly unlikely, but also potentially counter-productive. It argues that states should instead pursue two parallel sets of reforms, the first aimed at equalizing the dramatic disparities in police funding across municipalities, and the second focused on a set of regulatory measures designed to address specific small agency harms.

The American criminal justice system is exceptional, characterized by uniquely high sentences and uniquely large numbers of incarcerated individuals. This regime is perpetuated by a political system that fetishizes Americans’ short-term pushes for increased punitiveness when crime rates increase. Drawing on political process and representation reinforcement theories, this Note argues for a novel statutory solution that would help place a brake on retributive short-term preferences, while prioritizing criminal statutes that would challenge mass incarceration. This Note posits that by adopting state budgetary laws that mirror PAYGO budgetary rules and statutes, state legislatures can control the spiraling costs of administering local prison systems without jeopardizing legislators’ political futures. Criminal sentencing PAYGO, like Minnesota’s famous sentencing guidelines, would force policymakers to view criminal sentencing as a complete system, requiring tradeoffs and compromises. Through criminal sentencing PAYGO, states and their citizens can realize democratic and criminal justice administrative gains.

Federal and state court decisions over the past year are reshaping the contours of juvenile justice litigation. At the federal level, the Supreme Court’s recent decision in Jones v. Mississippi left intact the Court’s current commitment to treating age 18 as the dividing line between youth and adult criminal sentencing. If a youth commits a crime at age 17 years, 364 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes, and 59 seconds old, that youth cannot be put to death or receive mandatory life without parole (LWOP). One second later, these constitutional protections disappear. Calling into question this line drawing, litigants across the country are actively leveraging neuroscientific research to argue that emerging adults ages 18 through early 20s should receive the same constitutional protections as those under 18. While federal courts have not been receptive to this argument, some state courts are. Groundbreaking recent cases in Washington, Illinois, and Massachusetts state courts may signal a potential path forward. In light of these many recent developments, this Essay provides the first empirical analysis of how courts are receiving the argument to raise the age for constitutional protections and introduces a publicly accessible, searchable database containing 494 such cases. The data suggest that at present, Eighth Amendment arguments to categorically extend federal Miller protections to those 18 and above are unlikely to win. At the same time, however, state constitutions and state-level policy advocacy provide a path to expand constitutional protections for emerging adults. We discuss the implications of these trends for the future use of neuroscientific evidence in litigation concerning the constitutionality of the death penalty and LWOP for emerging adults. As this litigation moves forward, we recommend further strengthening connections between litigants and the scientific and forensic communities. Whether at the state or federal level, and whether in courts or legislatures, the record should contain the most accurate and applicable neuroscience.

The American public is slowly recognizing the criminal justice system’s deep defects. Mounting visual evidence of police brutality and social protests are generating an appetite for something different. How to change this system is still an open question. People across the political spectrum vary in their conceptions of the pressing problems and how to solve them. Interestingly, there is one consequential and overlooked area of the criminal justice system where there is broad consensus: police quotas.

Police quotas are formal and informal measures that require police officers to issue a particular number of citations or make a certain number of arrests. Although law enforcement leadership typically denies implementing quotas, courts, legislators, and officers have all confirmed the existence of this practice and linked it to odious criminal justice problems such as racial profiling, policing for profit, and overcriminalization. These problems have led legislators in many states to implement statutory prohibitions on quotas. Some of these statutes are of recent vintage and others are decades old. Nevertheless, these prohibitions and their attendant litigation have escaped sustained analytical scrutiny. Legal scholars typically overlook police quotas, subsume them within other categories (e.g., broken windows policing), or give pat acknowledgment of their existence without explaining how they work.

This Article corrects these omissions and makes two arguments. First, it contends that police quotas are a significant but undertheorized feature of criminal law and procedure. Quotas make police rewards and sanctions significant features of punishment in ways that can trump criminal offending and pervert due process principles. Second, it argues that quota-based policing is a unique area where there is widespread agreement and possibilities for change. Liberals, libertarians, conservatives, police officers, police unions, and racial minorities have all criticized police quotas. These vastly different constituents have argued that quotas distort police discretion and produce unnecessary police-civilian interactions. This Article supplements these arguments with a novel descriptive, statutory, and jurisprudential account of police quotas in the United States. It offers a framework for under- standing the arguments for and objections to quotas, and proposes some normative strategies that could build on statutory and litigation successes.

No one doubts that prosecutors may sometimes decline prosecution notwithstanding factual guilt. Everyone expects prosecutors to prioritize enforcement based on resource limitation and, occasionally, to decline prosecution on a case-by-case basis when they deem justice requires it. Recently, however, some state prosecutors have gone further, asserting the right to refuse categorically to enforce certain state laws. Examples include refusals to seek the death penalty and refusals to prosecute prostitution or recreational drug use. When may a single actor render inert her state’s democratically enacted law in this way? If the answer is anything other than “never,” the vast reach of American state criminal law demands a pertinent framework for ascertaining legitimacy.

In offering one, this Article provides the first extended analysis of the normative import of the locally elected status of the state prosecutors who make such pledges. If legitimacy is the problem, local elections can be the solution. That is, there may well be something suspect about unilateral prosecutorial negation of democratically enacted law. Yet that same negation can be justified as distinctly democratic when the elected prosecutor can wrap it in popular sanction.

This Article first unspools a once-robust American tradition of localized, populist nonenforcement of criminal law, best seen in jury nullification. It then draws upon democratic theory to construct a normative basis for reviving that tradition in the context of state prosecutors’ categorical nonenforcement. These moves uncover a before-now unappreciated connection: At least where the prosecutor ties her categorical nullification to the polity’s electorally expressed will, she accomplishes wholesale what nullifying juries could once do retail. I thus dub that wholesale action “populist prosecutorial nullification.” Building upon that analogy and my normative analysis, I set out a novel framework for evaluating state prosecutors’ categorical nonenforcement that is keyed to the concept of localized popular will, while accounting for populism’s well-known downsides.

Beginning in the 1970s, politicians and the public began to view individuals who committed violent offenses as irredeemable dangers to the public whose incarceration was necessary to ensure the public’s safety. As a result, state legislators enacted sentencing statutes that increased the punishment of violent crimes, which include offenses such as murder, rape, and robbery. This Note explores what led lawmakers to adopt sentencing statutes that single out individuals convicted of committing violent offenses for enhanced punishment and then shows that those lawmakers operated on the basis of inaccurate or incomplete conceptions of violent crime. Drawing on recent sociological and other empirical work, it shows that there is no neat dividing line between people who commit violent and non-violent offenses and argues that lawmakers made their decisions on the basis of false or incomplete information. In response, this Note advocates for the elimination of sentencing statutes that impose enhanced sentences on individuals convicted of violent crimes. Lawmakers should instead determine the appropriate criminal punishment for those convicted of violent crimes through the holistic, evidence-based approach that has become popular in the last decade with respect to non-violent crimes.