TERROR TRIALS IN NEW YORK : DO WE REALLY CARE ABOUT FAIRNESS?

AN ESSAY

On Friday, the U.S. Department of Justice announced that it would try several key al-Qaeda suspects for their alleged role in the 9/11 attacks. That was big news; under President Bush's direction, the Justice Department deferred exclusively to the military for handling so-called "enemy combatants" captured in the "War on Terror." Unlike President Bush, Obama decided to heed the United States Constitution and prosecute these suspects before U.S. civilian courts. After all, these detainees are not "soldiers captured in War" under the Geneva Convention, because al-Qaeda did not sign the treaty. Yet American authorities hold them on American territory for breaking American laws. In such circumstances, there is only one lawful alternative: Try them in domestic courts.

This was a significant step. But the Justice Department announced something even more significant: It would try the suspects in New York.

From a legal perspective, it makes little difference where the sovereign chooses to try a criminal defendant for violating the law. Here, the United States seeks to convict terrorists for plotting to attack the World Trade Center and ultimately destroy it. As long as the sovereign holds the defendant in his realm, he can prosecute him under the ancient principle of "personal jurisdiction over the body." If you are present in a country and you commit a crime there, you can be prosecuted for it in that country--it is very simple.

It also makes sense to try 9/11 conspirators in New York from a practical perspective. In criminal trials, venue is proper when it is easy for witnesses to get to the courthouse. Certain districts have a greater interest in trying a case than others, especially when all the "sources of proof" lie in those districts. Venue is also proper when the crime has a direct connection to the locale. Even the United States Constitution says: "In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial by an impartial jury of the State and district wherein the crime shall have been committed." U.S. Const. Amd. VI. This makes common sense as well as constitutional sense. It is practical--and somehow just--to try cases in the places where the crimes happened. Every jurisdiction has a public interest in punishing wrongdoing in its own borders.

Yet there are times in which it does not make sense to try cases in the most logical places. New York seems the most fitting place to try those accused of destroying the World Trade Center. All the witnesses are there, and obviously New York has a burning local interest in punishing those who caused such havoc in its borders.

But these practical advantages spawn larger concerns. After all, the Sixth Amendment guarantees criminal defendants "a speedy and public trial by an impartial jury." U.S. Const. Amd. VI. It is also guarantees that "no State shall deny any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law." Id. at Amd. IV, s. 1 The Supreme Court has held repeatedly that a State deprives "a person" of "due process of law" if it does not afford him a "fair trial." For obvious reasons, 9/11 conspirators may not get a "fair trial" by an "impartial jury" in New York. That is why it might not make sense to hold the trial there.

How can any New York jury be impartial about 9/11? Daily newspapers routinely run stories about "dangerous Muslims." Bitter memory about 9/11 runs deep. Many people knew individuals who died in the attacks, or they know their families. 9/11 is a focal point for national anger; and it burns hottest in New York.

These are the people who will sit in the "New York jury pool" when the conspirators step into court in New York. Can they be impartial? Can they render a judgment free from passion, excitement, resentment, anger or emotion? Trials are fair when they are based on evidence admitted under law in open court. They are not fair when they are based on emotional reaction, prejudice or bias.

And how can New Yorkers insulate themselves from pervasive press coverage about the trial? As soon as the Justice Department announced that it would try the suspects in New York, the New York Post published a blaring headline: "NOW DIE! 9/11 Fiends Coming Back to New York for Trial--Next Stop Hell."

That headline reminded me about the famous Supreme Court case about trial publicity and Due Process: Sheppard v. Maxwell, 384 U.S. 333 (1966). Sheppard held that every criminal defendant has a right to a "fair trial free from massive, pervasive and prejudicial news coverage" that is "reasonably likely" to lead the jury to find against him based on inadmissible evidence and emotion. The case also concluded that the trial judge has a duty to control press access to the trial, and to monitor every juryman's out-of-court attention to news comment about the case. After all, according to the Court, the State provides trials in order to "adjudicate controversies, both civil and criminal, in the calmness and solemnity of the courtroom according to legal procedures." Id. at 350, 351, quoting Cox v. Louisiana, 379 U.S. 559, 583 (1965). Those "legal procedures" include the requirement that the jury base its conclusions on evidence admitted in court, not on outside sources or emotion. Id. Prejudicial and pervasive press coverage undermines these goals when it poisons an entire population against a criminal defendant. And it undermines another key goal in our justice system: Fairness.

Many people discount fairness in legal questions. Law professors used to scoff at me when I suggested that certain results in cases were "unfair" or that legal forms resulted in "unfairness." After all, the law attempts to introduce scientific certainty into the maelstrom of human existence. It attempts to govern the ungovernable. In many ways, humans are ungovernable because nothing can control their emotions. Emotions are not reasonable; they are intuitive. Sometimes they flow from perceptible evidence. At times they do not. Legal formalism fails when it refuses to accept just how important emotion and intuition are to the human mind. Like emotion, it is difficult to quantify fairness. We know it when we feel it. We know when a process is unfair, even if we cannot articulate why. Fairness is important to the law, even if it draws ridicule from law professors. And sometimes even the law recognizes how important it is. In more hopeful moments, even the Supreme Court sees that no legal rule can survive unless it comports with intuitive fairness: "[O]ur system of law has endeavored to prevent even the probability of unfairness." Sheppard v. Maxwell, 384 U.S. 333, 353 (1966), quoting In re Murchison, 349 U.S. 133, 136 (1955).

I doubt whether the 9/11 suspects will receive a "fair trial" anywhere in the United States. But I am certain they will not receive a fair trial in New York. The fact that the New York Post blared a headline telling the suspects (who are not convicted) to "Go Die" and mentioned "hell" indicates how New Yorkers feel about the case. True, not everyone reads the Post. But it voices a very popular sentiment, and it is almost impossible to avoid seeing such headlines each day. And these are the people who will receive jury duty summonses. Can we expect them to be "unbiased, calm and serene" as they consider "only evidence produced in court" in this case? I think not.

All this begs a question: Why even bother holding a trial at all for these suspects? In theory, the State and the individual should be equally matched at trial. The State attempts to divine the "truth" about the individual's "criminal act," while the individual--whom our system presumes innocent--is free to cast doubt on all the State's claims. As long as he produces a reasonable doubt about his guilt, he must go free.

But this is all theory. Few Americans presume everyday criminal suspects innocent, let alone the 9/11 conspirators. These men have been demonized in the press for over eight years. They have been held in orange jumpsuits at Guantanamo Bay. We have all seen the pictures. Can any American truly presume them innocent? Can any American reflect on them without bias or prejudice? Yet we now expect Americans--in New York, no less--to put aside all their emotions about 9/11, as well as all the negative publicity they have heard about it for the past eight years. We now expect that they will calmly and serenely reflect solely on evidence produced in court. We expect them to drop all their emotions, preconceptions and prejudices. We expect them to magically forget all the horrible things they have been told in the press since 2001. And we even expect them to respond to a judge's command to "exclude any information I deem inadmissible," including confessions induced by torture.

If our jury actually acts in the way the law expects, the 9/11 suspects will get the "fair trial" to which the Constitution entitles them. But people do not simply shut off their bias or emotion. Nor can they erase a fact from their memory simply because a judge says: "Disregard that fact, please." In short, national hysteria surrounding 9/11 for the last decade has so inflamed the American public that there is no way the 9/11 conspirators will get anything approaching a fair trial.

In this case, emotion, prejudice and a rabid press have already made the decision.

As guilty as the conspirators may be, we should step back and ask ourselves how "fair" our process truly is. And while we're at it, perhaps we should wonder whether we even want "fairness" for "monsters."

But if we sacrifice fairness in one case, what happens in the next one?

BEYOND A REASONABLE DOUBT : WHY IS IT SO HARD TO GRASP?

AN ESSAY

Legal doctrine abounds with verbal formulae. In law school, students memorize these shibboleths. They are the “magic spells” that allow them to “correctly” analyze any fact pattern. They rarely get a chance to reflect on what these “spells” mean from a grammatical perspective, or even whether they are prudent. Rather, law school students act under immense time pressure; they can do little but learn the formula and move on the next one. I doubt that many lawyers ever really ponder famous “legal formulae,” either. But since leaving the profession, I think about them all the time. And I see that there is nothing intrinsically prudent or sacred about them. They are merely administrative tools intended to bring illusory order to the nebulous disorder of human experience.

Everyone knows the phrase “beyond a reasonable doubt.” It appears all the time in movies, plays and even rap songs. Jay-Z named his debut album Reasonable Doubt. It has a mythical ring to it; it sounds appealing, even majestic. But does anyone really understand it? What is it? People assume that lawyers and judges understand it. They even think that it leads to the truth. Yet this is error. “Beyond a reasonable doubt” is an invention. It is a good invention because it seeks to protect individual liberty from wrongful criminal conviction. But it remains invention. It does not magically entitle judges and lawyers to find the truth.

“Beyond a reasonable doubt” is a “standard of proof” that governs criminal trials in the United States. In 1970, the Supreme Court famously held that the Constitution’s Due Process Clause requires every State government to apply the standard in every criminal trial. In re Winship, 397 U.S. 358 (1970). Unless the State proves “every fact necessary to constitute the crime charged beyond a reasonable doubt,” said the Court, it denies the defendant Due Process. Id. at 364 (emphasis added). This is hopeful language. After all, “beyond a reasonable doubt” means that a jury must indulge virtually every inconsistency in the evidence in the defendant’s favor. If there is a “tie,” it goes to the defendant—and individual liberty. It forces the government to put all “reasonable doubt” to rest about the defendant’s guilt before it can take away his liberty—or life.

But today I am not writing about constitutional law. I wrote about the law on this subject as a law student. “Beyond a reasonable doubt” interests me now because it impinges upon much larger concerns, like reason, truth, evidence and belief. Unlike many other legal doctrines, this one deals with facts: What do we believe about someone? What “actually happened?” More importantly, how “certain” must we be before we condemn someone to prison or death? And because “beyond a reasonable doubt” is a “verbal formula,” it has grammatical weaknesses. Lawyers do not think about these things. They just look to see what courts said about past cases.

What is the real issue, then? The real issue is evidence at trial. The State seeks either to imprison someone or execute him. It charges him with a crime, a written definition encompassing certain “bad behavior.” To convict him, it must put forward evidence proving that his conduct falls within the written definition. The prosecutor, jury and judge were not there to see this alleged “bad behavior.” There might be rumors about it. Perhaps there are witnesses; perhaps not. For better or worse, those called upon to decide a defendant’s fate must evaluate evidence to formulate the “truth” about “what actually happened.” No juror actually sensed or perceived the alleged event. They must engage in second-hand observation and decide whether something happened. Evidence gives them sensory fodder with which to judge “the truth.” They might hear a witness’ account or see a video recording. They might hear about footprints, or bloody gloves or even confessions. Yet they might also hear that witnesses have an interest in condemning the defendant, or that they have poor eyesight, or that they were distracted, or that the police coerced a confession. All these things constrain their Herculean task: To decide “the truth,” even if they were not there to perceive it.

Yet juries cannot simply speculate on the evidence. “Beyond a reasonable doubt” is an attempt to prevent juries from simply “imagining” things about the defendant. Rather, it forces them to look solely at the evidence. Remarkably, many courts over the centuries have not understood this, let alone the “everyday folk” who comprise juries. As recently as 1994, the Supreme Court dedicated an entire opinion struggling to explain what “reasonable doubt” actually means. Victor v. Nebraska; Sandoval v. California, 511 U.S. 1 (1994). There, the Court said that “reasonable doubt” does not mean “merely possible doubt,” but rather doubt that, “after consideration of all the evidence, leaves the jury with an abiding conviction, to a moral certainty, that the charge against the defendant is not true.” Id. at 8 (quoting Commonwealth v. Webster, 59 Mass. 295, 320 (1850)). It also said that “reasonable doubt:” “[W]ould cause a reasonable person, in one of the graver and more important transactions in life, to hesitate before accepting certain facts as true…it is doubt that, after full and fair consideration of the evidence, leaves you with and abiding conviction, to a moral certainty, that the accused committed the crime charged…you may be convinced beyond a reasonable doubt yet be fully aware that possibly you may be mistaken…you may find a defendant guilty upon the strong probabilities of the case, provided they are strong enough to exclude any doubt of his guilt that is reasonable…it is an actual and substantial doubt.” Victor v. Nebraska, 511 U.S. at 18.

Did the Court really need to spend so much time on the question? After all, it would have been easier to simply look at the phrase from a grammatical perspective. “Beyond” is a preposition that implies “movement past” a particular point. It implies linear motion: One moves along a path; one reaches a point on the path; one moves beyond the point. Anything before that point is not “beyond” the point. A jury can only convict a defendant if it decides that the evidence moves beyond “reasonable doubt” about his guilt. That is the magical point on the path. The evidence must move “past reasonable doubt” in order for the State to condemn the accused.

This is the point at which the Supreme Court should have considered “reasonable doubt.” The word “reasonable” appears everywhere in the law. Unfortunately, very few courts apply a consistent definition. In many cases, judges simply use the word to impose their own standards on certain behavior, namely, standards demanding steady living, hard work and “contribution to society with regard to the property rights of others.” Yet this “normalizing” definition really misses the point. After all, “reasonable” derives from “reason,” specifically, the human capacity to find truth through the senses. A person is “reasonable” if he believes only what his eyes, ears, nose and skin nerves tell him. It is “reasonable” to believe that snow fell last night if one awakes to see the ground covered in snow. It is verifiable. It is possible to infer the fact that snow fell while you slept from the fact that you see snow on the ground now. It is based on perceptible evidence. But it is not “reasonable” to believe that God exists, because no one sees God. Well, some people say they do, but do “reasonable people” believe them? No, they don’t. “Reasonable people” believe in their senses. They are empirical. They doubt anything that their senses do not perceive. For a person who trusts reason, “truth” is a matter of perception. If the person is not there to perceive an event, he listens to what others say about it, looks at physical residue concerning the event, then decides what “reasonably happened” based on things that can be perceived. This is “reasonable thinking.”

Reasonable doubt, then, is any doubt warranted by perceptible evidence. It rules out all speculation. It is purely evidence-based. The Supreme Court did not need to introduce extraneous concepts like “hesitancy” and “important life decisions” in order to explain “reasonable doubt.” It should merely have said that “reasonable doubt” refers solely to sensory evidence. It is doubt that arises from things we perceive. As long as the evidence permits us to doubt something, we have “reasonable doubt.” Doubt is not “reasonable” if we simply “imagine” it. And if we have “reasonable doubt” in any way, we have not moved “past” or “beyond” reasonable doubt. This is the grammatical way to understand the formula “beyond a reasonable doubt:” If we have it, we are not beyond it. We must acquit the defendant. But if we don’t have it and merely imagine it, we are beyond it. That means we must convict him.

I write all this because I think many lawyers and judges merely learn verbal formulae without seriously considering what the words mean. It is one thing to mouth phrases in order to score points on a test. It is quite another to genuinely ponder what those phrases mean in both grammatical and philosophical terms.

“Beyond a reasonable doubt” is a compelling phrase for several reasons. For one, it reinforces the law’s commitment to “reason” above all else. There is no faith in the law. Spirit is irrelevant. There is only body, property, the senses and “tangible things.” Reason can govern these things; yet it is banal. After all, there is nothing remarkable or spiritually uplifting about arguing over who saw what and who owes whom what dollar amount. These are the concerns of both reason and the law.

Second, “beyond a reasonable doubt” represents the law’s attempt to sort out facts. Courts have an immensely hard time doing this because facts are elusive. No matter what courts say, facts are never determinate. Facts merely represent belief based on second-hand evidence. When courts compose long “fact sections” in their opinions, they do not recount “exactly what happened.” They are merely reciting what the court below them “believed” after applying an arbitrary standard. Put simply, courts do not like talking about facts. Facts are messy. And in the end, they are arbitrary. Once one court believes a fact, it is almost impossible to alter that fact on appeal. This has nothing to do with “truth.” It has everything to do with “administrative convenience” and “interpretation.” Judges don’t reopen factual disputes because they inevitably degenerate into “he said she said” wars long after the event. Judges get to say: “OK, this is what happened,” even if their version is not really true. Interpretation is power: The power to announce the truth, even if untrue.

Reason can help us answer many questions about our existence. I trust it in all situations in which it is valid. I think it is valid in criminal law, because criminal law addresses matters to which reason applies: External behavior that can be “directly perceived” or “inferred.” It does not involve faith or belief; at least, in should not. “Beyond a reasonable doubt” is a good standard in criminal trials because it forces juries to apply only their reason, not their passions or their prejudices. Sensory evidence produces belief or doubt in the mind. When it produces doubt in a criminal case, the defendant must go free. In this sense, the standard favors liberty. As long as jurors understand what the words “reason” and “beyond” mean, they should never have a problem understanding the “beyond a reasonable doubt” standard.

But perhaps this is exactly the problem. After all, jurors—like all human beings—do not always use their reason at times when they should. Perhaps it is too much to expect that people will always be reasonable.

JUSTICE THOMAS ON TROY DAVIS : "WHEN IT COMES TO EXECUTIONS, I DON'T GIVE A BROTHER A CHANCE"

WISDOM FROM OUR LEARNED SUPREME COURT JUSTICES

By : Mr. Clarence Thomas, Associate Justice, United States Supreme Court (1991-present) (appointed by President George H.W. Bush; confirmed by the United States Senate 51-48); Chairman, Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (1982-1990); J.D., Yale Law School (1974); Affirmative Action Beneficiary; Affirmative Action Opponent; Republican; Champion, Supreme Court Building Cafeteria Cheeseburger n’ Fries Eating Competition (1998, 2003, 2005)(Runner-Up to Sandra Day O’Connor (1999); Runner-Up to William H. Rehnquist (2004)); Member, The Federalist Society; Republican.

Early this week, my colleagues issued an extraordinary order granting Troy Davis—a Georgia death row inmate—an opportunity to challenge his conviction for a murder that happened 20 years ago. Three courts have already reviewed his conviction. A Georgia jury found him guilty in 1991. Georgia wants to just get the show on the road and put him to death. My good friend Justice Scalia dissented from this madness and I joined him. He basically said that the law requires some finality in death penalty cases. He said the law does not permit us to free convicted killers because we think they are “actually innocent.” And he said that the Constitution allows States to execute people even if they are “actually innocent.” After all, if you’re guilty “in law,” it doesn’t matter if you’re not guilty “in reality.” Here at the Supreme Court, we only care about the law, not reality.

I joined Justice Scalia’s well-reasoned dissent. But I have a right to add my own thoughts about this case. All too often, Justice Scalia gets to say all the fun stuff and I just silently sign on. This time I want to say a few things myself because I care deeply about this issue. This is a case about black men on death row. I just want to say for the record: I don’t give a brother a break. If a brother wind up on death row, shee-yit, he ain’t gonna get no love from old Uncle Thomas. That be what it is.

Justice Scalia did a fine job explaining what the law says about so-called “postconviction relief.” But Justice Scalia can be a little technical. I like simpler language, even if it involves the law. So today I’m going to explain what Justice Scalia meant in laymen’s terms. I’m also going to talk about why I don’t give a brother a break. Bottom line: When States want to execute black men, they can count on my full support. After all, the law says that States can execute convicted black men. The law says that black men can only appeal their convictions under certain circumstances. If they don’t follow the procedures—or the appeals court affirms the conviction—that’s it: Dead playa walking. I respect the law in this area. And the law says we need finality after juries speak, innocence or not. Not just that, I’m a Federalist. States have a right to execute black murderers. As a Federal judge, who am I to stand in their way?

Let’s start with the Constitution. Let’s get rid of the argument that the death penalty is unconstitutional. Like Justice Scalia, I believe the text provides the answers here. We just need to look it up. First, the Constitution doesn’t use the words “death penalty,” “execution,” “innocent” or “actually innocent.” All it says is: “..nor shall any State deprive any person of life…without due process of law…” (U.S. Const. Amd. XIV, § 1). Well, if it says the State has to give “due process of law” before “depriving life,” that necessarily implies the State can deprive life. There wouldn’t be a rule qualifying how the State deprives life it couldn’t deprive life in the first place. So the text says States can execute people. That’s enough for me.

American tradition allows executions, too. Justice Scalia always likes writing about colonial history and 17th Century England to make sense of what the Constitution says. I like it, too. I basically just follow his lead. He is right that States used to execute people in 1787. In fact, they executed lots of people, even for stealing and adultery. They just hanged them from a sour apple tree and buried them in the pasture. They even burned and whipped slaves to death. But back in those days, killing a slave wasn’t even capital punishment, because slaves weren’t people by law. You can only execute a person. Life sure was easier back then.

Of course, liberals like to say that capital punishment is “cruel and unusual” under the Eighth Amendment. Well, we resolved that argument in Gregg v. Georgia, 428 U.S. 153 (1977). Call me old fashioned, but I’m all about precedent. When we decide a case, we need to stick by the result. In that case, we said that the death penalty was not “cruel and unusual;” so out goes that argument. Who am I to contradict the Court? We need to follow what we said in the past, and in 1977 we said that capital punishment is not “cruel and unusual.” That’s enough for me to throw out any liberal contention to the contrary. Precedent is precedent.

Being a Supreme Court justice is not as hard as you think. You just look at the text, listen to Justice Scalia’s lectures about American tradition and check to see if the Court has already said something about the issue in the past. If it has—and you agree with the result—you follow it. If it hasn’t, you do whatever you want. In some tougher cases, the Court says something in the past and you don’t agree with it, like in Roe v. Wade, 410 U.S. 113 (1973). In those cases, you need to overrule the law. But that’s not the case here.

This case involves a Federal law called the Antiterrorism and Effective Death Penalty Act of 1996 (AEDPA). Although Justice Scalia discusses the statute at length in his dissent, I want to discuss it in simpler terms. Basically, AEDPA makes it tough for convicted black murderers to throw out their convictions. Congress enacted the law because black guys were gumming up the system by filing hundreds of Federal petitions asking for “writs of habeas corpus.” For those who don’t know, “writs of habeas corpus” allow black guys to challenge their State convictions in Federal court (don’t ask me anything else, like what it means in Latin, because I don’t know; ask Justice Scalia about that). This took up way too much time. I’m talking decades; executioners got out of practice. Some black dude might have committed murder in 1978, yet the State wouldn’t get around to strapping him down to the lethal injection table until 2007. I echo Judge Joe Brown when I say: “Justice delayed is justice denied.”

Thankfully, the AEDPA cut down on these delaying tactics. Now, black guys get one shot at habeas corpus. And Federal courts can’t overturn a State conviction unless it rests upon a “clear violation of constitutional law as construed by the Supreme Court.”

Basically, AEDPA says: “Screw you” to all black guys who think they can land a “Get out of Jail Free Card” from some Clinton appointee in Federal court. And there is nothing wrong with that. After all, the law is the law. Who am I to question the law?

But this is where Troy Davis comes in. Troy Davis is a convicted black man. He appealed all the way through the Georgia State courts, then applied for habeas corpus in the Federal courts. He lost every time. In every case, the appeals courts said that the “evidence was sufficient” to sustain his conviction. Under AEDPA, he had his one shot at habeas. He lost. Now, he’s trying to appeal directly to the Supreme Court. After losing three times, his lawyers dredged up some new evidence. They say that all the witnesses who said he killed the security guard perjured themselves. These witnesses have even sworn out affidavits recanting everything they said about Davis; they all say the accomplice killed the guard, not him. In other words, Davis is trying to say that he is “actually innocent,” and that it would be unconstitutional for Georgia to execute an “actually innocent man.”

No it wouldn’t. Like I said before, the Constitution doesn’t say anything about “innocence” and “execution.” Rather, the law requires us to allow Georgia to carry out the execution as scheduled. This is not about innocence. This is about law and procedure. Procedure says that black guys get only one shot at habeas under AEDPA. Davis got it. Our court rules say that black guys can appeal directly to the Supreme Court only in “exceptional circumstances.” U.S. Supreme Court R. 20.4(a). Yet these are not “exceptional circumstances.” Davis is not the only black murderer who says “he’s innocent.” I don’t care whether all the witnesses recanted their testimony. This is not a new argument. AEDPA bars federal courts from rehearing any argument that has already been made. Davis is just repeating himself, no matter what affidavits he’s shuffling. Procedure says Davis is done. Who am I to question procedure?

I fully join Justice Scalia’s remark: “This Court has never held that the Constitution forbids the execution of a convicted defendant who has had a full and fair trial but is later able to convince a habeas court that he is ‘actually innocent.’ Any claim based on ‘actual innocence’ is not constitutionally cognizable.” In re Davis, 557 U.S.___ (2009)(slip op. at p. 2). Let’s be honest here. Troy Davis had a full and fair trial. It does not matter that all the witnesses recanted their testimony and that police investigators admitted they coerced people to accuse Davis. Georgia paid for the trial; are we going to make Georgia pay for another one? Nor does it matter that Davis’ attorney bordered on ineffectiveness. Davis had a fair trial. The jury found him guilty. By law, that verdict subjected him to Georgia’s criminal code. Georgia’s criminal code prescribes the death penalty for murder. The jury imposed that sentence. The State afforded Davis all the procedures it could possibly give him. Not only that, Davis took his innocence claim all the way through both Georgia’s court system and the Federal courts, despite the AEDPA’s prohibition.

Put simply, Davis has had too many chances. The State has paid exorbitant sums defending against Davis’ frivolous arguments. He has exhausted all his legal remedies. It’s time to let Georgia inject this guy with some potassium bromide. This is what the law requires. I follow the law.

I also join Justice Scalia’s observation that Davis’ case represents a “capital conviction in full compliance with law.” In re Davis, 557 U.S. __(2009)(slip op. at p. 5). Here on the Supreme Court, we look no further than the law, provided we agree with it. In this case, the law is the AEDPA. The AEDPA prescribes procedures intended to stop black guys from gaming the criminal justice system with frivolous “innocence claims” decades after they shoot police officers. Additionally, the AEDPA preserves the State’s interest in quickly executing black criminals, as well as protecting the finality of jury verdicts. Remember, we’re talking about law. Under law, we must believe the jury. Juries decide facts, not judges. In this case, the jury said that Davis killed the security guard. Who are we to question a jury, even if we later learn that the jury heard perjured testimony? We need to put our foot down on appeals like this. Every black guy on the planet is going to say “it wasn’t me.” Does this mean we have to grant a new trial every time?

I can tell you this: “Not on this negro’s watch.” From where I’m standing, juries are always right, especially when they sentence black guys to death. I’m not going to contradict a jury, nor am I going to stop a southern State from executing a black man. Federalism says that States have a right to execute black men in their own borders according to local law. There’s nothing unconstitutional about that. States have rights, too, not just black murderers. The Constitution gives you the right to fair trial, not the right to escape execution for “innocence.” Like I said, the Constitution doesn’t use the words “innocent” or “execution.”

I need to say a few more things about “innocence.” All these liberals are up in arms about Justice Scalia’s remark that the Constitution does not prevent the State from executing “actually innocent” black guys. They say it shocks the conscience to allow States to execute people who may be “guilty in law” but are “actually innocent in fact.”

I disagree. On the Supreme Court, we deal with the law, not with facts. From where we sit, there is no truth beyond what the law prescribes. I don’t care if a convicted defendant totally undermines the basis upon which the jury found him guilty. In law, we must trust the jury. We need some finality in our system. As judges, we cannot philosophize about “truth” and “facts.” And we don’t need to: Who needs “truth” when you have law? Law provides all the answers, even if they are fictional. We don’t listen to conscience. We listen to law. Conscience is uncertain; law is crystal clear. In Troy Davis’ case, the law clearly dictates that he “had his chance.” It does not matter what “actually happened.” If we had to weigh the “truth” in every death penalty case, States would never get to lethally inject, shoot, hang, electrocute or gas anybody, black, Hispanic or Cherokee. As judges in a Federal system, we cannot tolerate that result. We must follow the law, not the truth.

Truth is for philosophers. Law is for administrators. We are just trying to settle on some orderly administration here. That’s all Justice Scalia was trying to say. I agree with him. I’d also like to add one personal comment about Troy Davis’ “actual innocence” argument: “Playa, pleeze.”

Now would you please excuse me? I have more important things to do. It’s lunch time and there’s a cheeseburger n’ fries competition today. If I don’t practice now, I might lose to Justice Alito.

GEARING UP FOR TROY DAVIS

Today I'm taking a break from posting so I can study the Troy Davis case. Earlier this week, the United States Supreme Court issued an "extraordinary" order directing a lower Federal court to review a convicted death row inmate's claim that he is "actually innocent." To untrained ears, it may sound strange to call such an order "extraordinary." After all, if the man is innocent, it is hardly "extraordinary" to save him from execution. But we're talking about law here, not humanity or even common sense. Once written, positive law muddles a question; even the most ordinary, obvious things suddenly become "extraordinary" and "unprecedented." Justice, as ever, has nothing to do with it. You learn how to forget justice in law school.

It is also "extraordinary" for the Supreme Court to do anything at all during the sleepy summer recess, let alone intervene to save potentially innocent black men from southern lethal injection tables. Supreme Court justices have more important things to do in the summer, like go on safaris and watch operas. After all, they work hard from October to June. They need some down time. All that talk about collateral estoppel and jurisdiction is exhausting.

Justice Antonin Scalia wrote a dissent to this "extraordinary" order. In essence, he wrote that the Constitution poses no barrier to a State executing an "actually innocent man," as long as he receives a "full and fair trial on the merits." After all, the words "innocent" and "execution" don't appear in the Constitution. And we need some finality in our justice system; we can't just free people who say they're innocent, even if all the State's witnesses recant their testimony and there's no direct physical evidence linking the defendant to the crime. Actual innocence, in other words, does not save you from "legal guilt." It doesn't matter how tainted the legal process might be; once a jury speaks--even on the basis of admittedly false testimony and perjured facts-- you're pretty much done.

Yes, you read it right. And yes, you might even wonder whether satire is even necessary in these circumstances.

But satire is necessary. It is necessary to combat foolishness like this. It is necessary to illustrate how counterintuitive the law can really be. That is why I am taking my time to grasp Justice Scalia's latest ode to positive law and procedure. Tomorrow, I plan to castigate this madness with vigor.

Moments like these make me realize that I will never exhaust the satirical well. As long as people like Justice Scalia breathe, I will have ample opportunity to mock callous absurdity.

INSCRIBING TRUTH : DO WE EVER KNOW "WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED?"

AN ESSAY

We believe what we see with our own eyes. At least, skeptics and empiricists do. When it comes to everyday belief, our senses reign. More particularly, our vision reigns. We must be present to observe something to say for certain that it happened. And if we are not present to observe something, we will only believe it if we can visualize it in our minds as “having reasonably or likely happened.” That is a more complicated endeavor than merely seeing something. But we do it all the time. Our minds constantly alternate between belief and unbelief. Belief reflects our conscious decision whether or not something happened, or whether something exists. We constantly weigh whether or not we believe things. We nurture our beliefs. We express both trust and judgment with belief. If we deem something “worthy of our belief,” we believe it. If not, we say it is “not credible” and dismiss it.

Our eyes and ears have limited range. Our noses and skin nerves have an even more limited range. For better or worse, our immediate ability to sense things is strictly limited to the relatively small size of our bodies. In that light, we have precious limited ability to truly “perceive” things in order to “truly” believe them. Yet our observations and experiences provide us the most reliable pathway to “truth.” We know something is true when we perceive it ourselves. But because our senses are so limited, there are very few things in life we can verifiably believe “true.” For everything else, we must rely on reports. We must accept others’ accounts about “what happened,” then decide for ourselves whether to believe them. Unlike “sensory belief,” this is “second-hand belief.” It does not directly involve the senses. It requires far more intellectual effort than merely seeing something and remembering it.

In general, we can say that we are not bound to believe anything that we do not perceive. If our senses do not directly observe an event, condition or act, there is no way we can say it “actually happened” or “it actually exists.” Rather, we decide whether to believe things we do not observe. Still, we readily believe things we do not observe as long as we satisfy ourselves that the report is “reliable.” What makes stories reliable? This is the core of evidence law. Evidence law aims to regulate the information juries hear in order to provide them only those details that are “most worthy of belief.” In the law—as well as in life—the question for any listener is: What is the truth? That, of course, is the monumental inquiry. And it is not easy, because truth is a tricky subject.

Truth relates to belief. Leaving metaphysics to one side, truth in the law means “what actually happened” in a particular case. That sounds simple, but it is actually immensely complex. After all, “sensory truth” and “sensory belief” only exist in the minds of those who personally experienced an event or perceived a condition. They were “there.” They know “the truth.” But for everyone else—and that means the judge, jury and lawyers—truth is a matter of belief. They were not there. Thus, they must decide for themselves what the “truth” is. It is not what “actually happened.” Only those who perceive something know that. For the listeners, truth becomes a simple question of belief. More to the point, it becomes a subject for judgment. Listeners only believe what they decide “probably happened.” That may be completely different from what “actually happened.” In short, truth in court means nothing more than what the jury is willing to believe.

My evidence professor in law school should have focused on sense and belief before he began teaching us all the Byzantine rules that govern whether particular information is “admissible as evidence” in a court case. If he had begun with belief—and what makes people believe whether something “actually happened”—it would have rendered all the rules easily understandable. The Federal Rules of Evidence methodically screen what information juries may hear before deciding whether to believe a story. In the end, it all comes down to belief. The evidence rules merely channel the information that leads to a jury’s decision whether or not to believe something. No one in the jury has access to “sensory truth” when listening to each side’s story. Rather, like any listener, it must rely on reports. The evidence rules monitor the substance of those reports. In short, they make sense and perception dominant. They allow jurors to hear about what witnesses saw, because vision is supposedly most worthy of belief. Yet the rules carefully restrict a jury’s access to reported language (“hearsay”), because language can distort as much as it can enlighten. And when someone’s life or fortune is on the line, the evidence rules presume that a witness will more likely distort words for his advantage than candidly report what he actually heard. In sum, jurors are free to believe whatever they want. The evidence rules simply try to feed them the “most reliable information” before they decide what is “true.”

But there is more to truth than what a jury decides. Human beings constantly struggle with truth because so much happens that they cannot perceive. They have no choice but to evaluate others’ words. In life, there are no evidence rules to screen out supposedly “unreliable” reports about events, acts and conditions that occur beyond our sensory range. We want the truth, but there is no way we can say it “actually happened.” We must believe things despite imperfect information. We make decisions on imperfect information every day. We judge things “true” even if we cannot verify them.

Still, there are certain institutions that help us believe things we do not perceive. The law provides a ready example. In fact, the law wields a disproportionately large influence on our willingness to believe things we do not perceive. In our legal system, for instance, we theoretically subject suspected criminals to exhaustive procedures designed to affix “truth” to their alleged misdeeds. The State begins by accusing the suspect. Is the accusation “true?” Does the verbal form match what “actually happened?” That is the question. Obviously we cannot know whether it is true for the same reason we cannot know whether anything is true if we are not present to observe it. Yet legal machinery does its utmost to assure us that accused suspects “truly” broke the law. It requires prosecutors to prove “beyond a reasonable doubt” that the suspect committed every single element of the crime. By that requirement, the law seeks to assure the public that the criminal “truly” did what the State says he did, even though the jury never perceived the act. This machinery really has no greater claim on truth than anyone else who was not there to perceive the suspect. Yet it reassures us. It inscribes truth on the offender. After all, truth is persuasive because it reflects belief. If we believe that someone committed a crime, we feel justified in punishing him. Still, just because the law inscribes “an official truth” on a criminal does not verify that he actually did what the State says. We weren’t there. Our senses did not perceive what we believe. To say that the criminal “truly” committed a crime, then, really represents a judgment, not a perception.

Truth is essential to maintain government authority. It is no accident that the State expends maximal effort to affix truth to a criminal’s acts. In so doing, it reminds the people that it not only has the power to punish, but it also has the power to say what “actually happened” without ever perceiving the event. The law, in other words, manipulates public belief and controls truth. Most people readily believe that a convicted criminal did the act for which he received punishment. After all, from a listener’s perspective, there is no reason to doubt the jury’s findings. The listener was not there to witness the criminal’s act. He has no “sensory access” to truth. So he relies on “official channels” to truth. If the State says he committed the crime, and the jury found “beyond a reasonable doubt” that he did, then suddenly the charge becomes “true,” although no one saw it. Listeners comfortably conclude that a convicted criminal did act as charged. They cannot say they know for sure. But they rely on the State’s truth-branding authority. They reward the State with their belief. This is a substantial reward. For when people believe a report, they implicitly approve and respect the person who gives it. The State, then, maintains its control by inspiring belief in its listeners. If the State can cause people to suspend their skepticism and believe things they never see, it truly wields power. In sum, “actual truth” does not really matter. Again, the real question is belief, not “what actually happened.”

Should “actual truth” really matter? I would like to think it does. But that may be asking too much. We cannot sense everything. In fact, considering all the events, acts and conditions that occur and have occurred on this planet, we sense virtually nothing. Everything else comes to us second-hand. We hear, we weigh, we judge, we believe. We make our own truth based on the information before us. Yet many vie for our belief, including the State. We are not bound to give it, but we do. Procedures and rituals awe us. Trials and executions write truth on their subjects. We believe things as long as the State takes the time to grind through the ritual. Does it make an event any more likely to have happened than it would have without the ritual? Not really. If we weren’t there, we can’t really know. Every report is tainted by the bias and perspective of the person who gives it. But we can choose whether or not to believe reports. The State has numerous mechanisms intended to win our belief. And they are quite effective. After all, when we hear that a person has a criminal record, do we believe he committed the crimes, even though we never met him and never saw him do anything? Yes. We have no sensory access to truth in this situation, but we assuage our doubts because the State has written truth upon the man.

In virtually every case, we judge truth. We rarely know it.

ANOTHER DAY IN COURT ; ANOTHER OPENING STATEMENT

IN THE UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURT FOR THE EASTERN DISTRICT OF PENNSYLVANIA

Docket No. 09-1006

In the matter of:

The United States of America

v.

Tom Biltmore

CHARGE: (1) “Knowingly transmitting materials dangerous or injurious to life, health or property by the mails” under 18 U.S.C. § 1716(b), and (2) “conspiring to knowingly transmit materials dangerous or injurious to life, health or property by the mails” under 18 U.S.C. § 846.

BEFORE: Hon. Harold H. Hennessey, District Judge

OPENING STATEMENT: Mr. George D. Pullings, Esq., Associate United States Attorney

Good morning. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury and Judge Hennessey, my name is George D. Pullings. I represent you, ladies and gentlemen. I represent the United States of America. It’s my job to put bad men behind bars. It’s my job to enforce your laws every single day. And today it’s my job to prove to you that that man sitting over there, Tom Biltmore, abused our mail system by knowingly sending pictures of hamsters to his friend, Fred Jackson, in Columbus, Ohio. By the end of this trial, the evidence will show that Mr. Biltmore not only knew what he was doing; it’s also going to show that he did it intentionally. And I’m confident that you will return a verdict against him.

This is not a case about hamsters. It’s not even a case about pictures. This case is about safety. You’re going to hear a lot of excuses and explanations from Mr. Biltmore. He’s going to tell you he didn’t know he was sending pictures. He’s going to tell you he didn’t know that pictures of hamsters were dangerous. But let’s focus in on what’s really important in this case: Safety. Without safety, our country could not function. If our country were not safe, our children could not go to school. Our schools could not function without safety or the mail system. Thus, our mail service demands safety, and as citizens we have a duty to make sure that our mail system is safe. When men like Tom Biltmore knowingly send hamster pictures through the mail, we not only endanger our mail system; we also endanger our children. Basically, ladies and gentlemen, we cannot tolerate people who abuse our mail system.

Today, we will show you evidence that will prove that Tom Biltmore owned hamster pictures. We will call an acquaintance to the stand—Phil Parker—who will testify that he saw Tom put hamster pictures in an 8 ½ X 11 inch Handi-Mailer® envelope. Phil is also going to tell you that he saw Tom put that envelope in a mailbox, and he is going to tell you that Tom said: “I can’t wait until Fred sees those hamster pictures” as they walked back home. You are going to hear that Phil has nothing to gain by testifying. In fact, Phil and Tom have been friends for years. But he is not a snitch. He is not testifying in exchange for lenient treatment. Indeed, he does not even have a criminal record and has never been arrested. When you hear from Phil, you can trust him. He is just going to tell you what he saw. And what he saw is enough to find Tom Biltmore guilty.

But that’s not all. As prosecutors, we have a duty to establish that the defendant violated the law. In our system, it’s important for you, ladies and gentlemen, to believe beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant did what we say he did. We respect people’s rights in this country. We do not want to send people to prison unless we know beyond a reasonable doubt that they broke the laws that protect us all. Believe me, we don’t like sending people to prison. We do not prosecute people unless we feel virtually certain that they broke the law. But we believe that Tom Biltmore is a danger to society. And we believe the evidence will show you—beyond a reasonable doubt—that he broke the law.

You are also going to hear from Mr. T.J. Boneweather, Tom’s boss at Fred’s Fireball Tire Shop in Camden. He is going to tell you about Tom’s obsession with hamsters. He is going to tell you that Tom decorated his workstation with hamster pinups and had a hamster screen saver on his computer. He is going to tell you that he often overheard Tom making phone calls to acquaintances about hamsters. And he is going to tell you that Tom owned both a camera and hamsters. Like Phil Parker, you’re going to hear that T.J. has nothing to gain, either. You’re going to hear that Tom never quarreled with his boss. In fact, you are going to hear that Tom was a good employee. The evidence will show that there was never any tension between T.J. and Tom. We are certain that you will trust T.J., too.

We are confident that the evidence will show you that Tom Biltmore knew he had hamster pictures. It will show you—beyond a reasonable doubt—that he knew he was transmitting them through the mails. And we will show you that he knew hamster pictures were “dangerous and injurious to life and health.” Finally, we will present evidence to show that Tom Biltmore agreed with his acquaintance in Columbus, Ohio—Fred Jackson—to send hamster pictures through the mails. That will prove that Tom conspired to send dangerous materials through the mail, endangering us all and breaking the law. When you hear all these stories and all this evidence, you will see that Tom Biltmore violated the statute in this case. And when the evidence shows—beyond a reasonable doubt—that a person violated a statute, you must find him guilty.

You might be thinking: So Tom sent some hamster pictures: What’s the big deal? We can understand your concern. From your perspective, ladies and gentlemen, sending hamster pictures through the mail doesn’t seem like a serious offense. But from the law’s perspective, it is a serious matter. The law does not like hamsters. Judge Hennessey will explain to you that our courts have repeatedly determined that hamsters are “dangerous and injurious to life and health” under the statute involved in this case. You, ladies and gentlemen, must faithfully respect the law when you decide the facts. It is not for you to decide whether the law is “inappropriate,” “silly” or “harsh.” It is not for you to make policy judgments about hamsters. That is Congress’ job; and Congress has already decided—in the People’s name—that hamsters are dangerous. You must merely decide whether Tom Biltmore knew he possessed hamster pictures, whether he knew the pictures depicted hamsters, whether he agreed with Fred Jackson to send them to Columbus and whether he knew he placed those pictures in a mailbox. If you find that Tom Biltmore knew these things and did these things, you must find him guilty.

I’m from Tennessee. We have a saying down there: A barn is not the same thing as a henhouse. I’m sure you know what I mean. I trust you, ladies and gentlemen, to make a fair and informed decision because you are fair, honest and decent people. The law entrusts you with a great responsibility in our system because the law respects the people. The law respects you because your common experience, memory, intuition and sense are the best way to ensure fair decisions in legal cases. Heck, even George Washington knew that juries made better decisions about everyday experience than some government official. In our system, we don’t need lawyers and judges to decide facts; we just need you. I myself applaud you, ladies and gentlemen, because I know you know that barns and henhouses aren’t the same thing. I know your experience, judgment and intelligence will lead you to view in the evidence in the only sensible way. And the evidence will show you that Tom Biltmore knowingly sent dangerous hamster pictures through the mails. The evidence is going to show you a lawbreaker.

Remember that this case is about more than just Tom Biltmore and hamsters. This case is about safety for all Americans. This case is about safe schools and safe children. Remember that when you weigh the testimony. And no matter what you hear from Tom’s lawyers, remember that you must merely decide a few simple facts. This is not about hamsters or pictures; and it is not about “fairness.” This is about law and safety. Don’t let Tom’s lawyers shake you from that. He either knowingly sent the hamster pictures or he didn’t. That is all you must decide.

You are about to perform a vital service, ladies and gentlemen. You are about to show once again why our legal system is the best in the world. By the time this trial is over, you will decide whether Tom Jones knew he sent hamster pictures through the mail. That is a monumental achievement. And the law will respect your decision. We are confident that you will answer “yes” to the question before you. Thank you.

HOW TO GET OFF JURY DUTY

Did you get the dreaded jury summons in the mail? "Oh, God," you're thinking. "I need to waste four whole weeks at $4.00 per day listening to lawyers in bad suits argue whether someone signed something or not.

Not so. If you follow these easy steps, you will never serve on a jury. Here at Reason, Commerce, Justice & Free Beer, we believe in employment. To that extent, we believe that we have a duty to publish information that will allow employees to honor their private obligations to their employers. When public service interferes with private enterprise, economic prudence demands that private enterprise prevail. After all, without private enterprise, there would be no government. In that spirit, please learn and use these jury avoidance procedures. And make sure you get back to work quickly. Our economy needs more work days, not more jury trials.

We salute Employers Against Worktime Excuses for their generosity in sharing these procedures. Although we believe in the rule of law and fair trials, we must be prepared to sacrifice both when they impact workplace productivity.

JURY AVOIDANCE PROCEDURES - SPONSORED BY EMPLOYERS AGAINST WORKTIME EXCUSES, A FOR-PROFIT ADVOCACY GROUP

Here are some tips on how to be excused if you are not an attorney: (1) If it is a criminal case, say: "I support the police in every single case, no matter the facts. My father was a cop, his father was a cop and my grandfather was a cop back in Ireland. Criminals must be punished and I strongly support the death penalty for every crime, including shoplifting;" and (2) If it is a civil case, say: "I work for an insurance company. I support insurance companies in every case, no matter the facts. I think all private individuals are liars and no one deserves money for an injury. I only trust insurance companies. Other than that, I can be fair and impartial."