Category Archives: criminal procedure

Daredevil: Born Again

Today we have a quick legal ethics note from the classic 1986 Frank Miller Daredevil storyline, Born Again (which is available collected in trade paperback).  At the outset of the story, Wilson Fisk (aka the Kingpin) sets out to destroy Matt Murdock’s life.  One of the first steps is to get him disbarred.  To do this, Fisk frames him for bribing a witness to perjure himself (aka subornation of perjury).  A brilliant defense by Foggy Nelson keeps him out of prison, but Murdock nonetheless loses his license to practice law.  But how does that work?  Can a lawyer be ‘sentenced’ to losing their license?

The answer is ‘sort of, at least in New York.’  First, let’s take a closer look at the facts.

I. Bribery and Perjury

In New York, bribing a witness is a class D felony. N.Y. Penal Law § 215.00.  Subornation of perjury is not a separate offense, but rather the person doing the suborning is guilty of perjury by accomplice liability.  See Staff Comments of the Commission on Revision of the Penal Law. Revised Penal Law. 292-93 (1965).  First degree perjury (i.e. swearing falsely and making a material false statement as part of one’s testimony) is also a class D felony.  N.Y. Penal Law § 210.15.  Class D felonies are punishable by up to 7 years imprisonment with a mandatory minimum of at least one year, unless:

the court, having regard to the nature and circumstances of the crime and to the history and character of the defendant, is of the opinion that a sentence of imprisonment is necessary but that it would be unduly harsh to impose an indeterminate or determinate sentence, the court may impose a definite sentence of imprisonment and fix a term of one year or less.

However, it is not clear to me whether there was any mandatory minimum provision at all in 1986, and the court may have had discretion to sentence Murdock to probation only.  So that could explain why Murdock didn’t end up in prison despite what happens next.

II. Disbarment

As Fisk narrates, “Even as he hears the much-tempered verdict of the court that he will not face a prison sentence, as I had planned—that all he will lose is his license to practice law…whatever reactions he has are hidden—even, I suspect, from himself.”  So Murdock doesn’t receive a prison sentence, but he does lose his license.  But how could a criminal court do that?

This is a fair question.  Disbarment is not a criminal punishment per se.  In New York, for example, attorney discipline is ordinarily handled by the Appellate Division (i.e. the intermediate courts of appeal).  However, in New York, a felony conviction results in an automatic disbarment.  N.Y. Judiciary Law § 90(4)(a).  We discussed this  last year with regard to She-Hulk’s disbarment.  So while the trial court wouldn’t technically sentence Murdock to losing his license, a conviction on either felony count would result in immediate, automatic disbarment with no action from the Appellate Division necessary.  Since the court undoubtedly knew this would happen, it could take that into account when deciding not to sentence Murdock to prison.

III. Conclusion

The circumstances of Matt’s disbarment are a little odd, but it actually hangs together pretty well due to New York’s unusual felony disbarment rule.  Since Murdock loses his license right off the bat, there’s not a lot of legal issues in the rest of Born Again, but it’s a great story in its own right.

However, we will quibble with the fact that Matt is summoned to a grand jury hearing “and not as a witness” (i.e. as the defendant).  Lots of comic books get this wrong, so we’ll say it again in the hope that comic book authors won’t keep making the same mistake: grand jury hearings are secret.  There’s no judge, no public gallery, and the defendant (technically only a suspect at that point) is not present or represented by an attorney.  There’s just the prosecutor, a court reporter, the grand jury, and one witness at a time.  We know that means grand jury scenes sometimes have to be depicted without the main character present, but on the other hand “a grand jury would ‘indict a ham sandwich,’ if that’s what you wanted,” so we recommend not bothering.  Just assume that the grand jury handed down an indictment and move on to the actual trial.

Hancock

Hancock is the 2008 superhero movie starring Will Smith and Charlize Theron about the interesting intersection of the superhero and the… homeless?

Or something like that. The movie is actually way more interesting than it has any right to be, not only for the obvious premise, i.e., a superhero who has to deal with property damage and people not being thrilled to see him, and the more mythological premise, which is a surprisingly creative take on the superhero concept. It also has the rather unusual benefit of not being an origin story. We first see Hancock passed out on a public bench, apparently mid-way through a multi-day drunk. We eventually learn his background, but it’s not the point of the movie.

But this being the blog that it is, we’re more interested in the former than the latter. Mythology is great and all, but we’re interested in the nitty, gritty, legal logistics. We’ll try to keep this mostly spoiler-free, but you have been warned.

I. Hancock Goes to Jail

There are an unknown impliedly large number of outstanding warrants for his arrest, only no one’s figured out how to do that, or to serve him with one of the hundreds of subpoenas he faces. As a plot point, Hancock voluntarily surrenders himself to the police. This is supposed to be a first step towards rehabilitating his image. And it’s probably what would need to happen for a superhero who has been acting outside the law before he could become “legit”.

The process is a bit abbreviated, as we basically just see Hancock go from a press statement at his surrender straight to jail. There are a few steps missing here, but with one exception, the process could go about as quickly as it seems to.

First, turning yourself into the police, even if you have an outstanding warrant, is not a ticket straight to jail. It is, at best, a ticket straight to a holding cell. In the United States, there’s a difference between “prison” and “jail”. “Prison”, which is where Hancock goes, is typically where you go after you’ve been convicted (or pled guilty to) a crime, and generally a felony. You need to be serving a sentence of at least a year. So the fact that Hancock ends up here before he’s even sentenced—he has a conversation about what his sentence is going to be after he’s in prison—is a mistake. He’d probably go to “jail” first, which is where you sit if you’re waiting to be tried or you’re serving a sentence of less than a year, often a misdemeanor conviction. Even people who are going to plead guilty to a felony don’t go to prison before that happens.

But it can happen pretty quickly. The movie doesn’t discuss exactly what charges Hancock is facing—nor does it deal with the civil side of things at all—but the DA has presumably got charges all drawn up. If, as in Hancock’s case, the defendant doesn’t intend to contest the charges, even a little, one can go from indictment to prison pretty quickly.

Still, it may well take a few days, even if everyone’s trying to speed things along. The issue of bail would then come up. Hancock would seem to be the very definition of a “flight risk”. But his lawyer, whom we don’t meet, could point out that if Hancock decided he wanted to leave, all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t do jack about it. He’s there because he wants to be. Bail is specifically and solely intended to create an incentive for defendants not to flee before trial. Hancock doesn’t have any money, so it’s not like it’s going to matter to him. And the fact that the cops couldn’t really arrest him even if they wanted to might be good reasons to just let him out on his own recognizance. Then again, because Hancock is cooperating, he may just have waived any request for bail, which would get him into jail immediately.

So other than the fact that Hancock seems to start serving a sentence before he even pleads guilty to anything, the process seems more-or-less okay. Most of the legal stuff happens off camera, but the results are mostly plausible.

II. Necessity

The other thing the movie does really well is show the limitations of the “necessity defense.” We discussed this in the context of Superman stealing a bunch of iron bars to shore up a burning chemical plant in March.  Necessity is often described as a “lesser of two evils” defense.  The basic idea is that there are many actions which are tortious or even criminal which can be “justified” by the circumstances.

But however conceived, necessity isn’t going to work for Hancock in most of the property damage claims that have been leveled against him. Why? Because he didn’t really have to cause the vast majority of the damage he causes. He doesn’t need to shatter the pavement when he takes off or lands. He doesn’t need to crash into and through buildings when he flies around. And when he saves Ray from the train? He totally didn’t need to smash his car onto three others or cause a train wreck because he was too lazy to get out of the way.

This is something that more superheroes should probably take into account. Hancock is an obvious example because he’s a jerk about it, but even characters like Superman and the X-Men would be well-advised to take note. Just because you’re “fighting crime” or whatever does not automatically justify property damage. Nor is the fact that lives are in danger. It can serve as a justification, but there has to be some proportionality and connection with the underlying crime-fighting. At root, property damage has to be reasonably necessary to preclude liability. So if there is any less-destructive way of accomplishing the goal, a superhero could potentially be liable for any damage he causes, particularly if the damage is out of proportion to the threat. The movie really picks up on that, and the writers deserve credit for it.

III. Other Issues

The movie also raises several other issues which we’ve talked about previously. For example, Hancock is apparently immortal. We’ve done several posts on the subject. We’ve also done quite a few posts on insurance for superhero-related property damage. This seems like a situation where there probably would be coverage because Hancock’s activities would be really hard to characterize as war, civil unrest, nuclear-related, terrorist, or any of the other common exclusions found in property insurance policies. We’ve even got one on superhero spouses, which is not entirely unrelated.

IV. Conclusion

If you didn’t catch the movie the first time around, you really should. It’s one of the more under-rated superhero movies out there, and one of the very few that isn’t connected to either Marvel or DC. Its take on the relationship of superheroes to society is refreshing, and its mythology is compelling. It’s not a perfect movie, and the tone shifts rather abruptly in places, but in a genre that’s given us Green Lantern and Electra, it more than holds its own.

Batman: Dark Victory I: Violations and Remedies

Batman: Dark Victory is the 1999-2000 fourteen-issue limited series which picks up where Batman: The Long Halloween left off, which is in turn a continuation of Frank Miller’s Batman: Year One story. It deals with the aftermath of the Holiday murders. Specifically, some of the legal aftermath of the Holiday murders. We’re going to take a look at one of the major legal plot points here—spoilers within, regarding both The Long Halloween and Dark Victory—and one of the tangential issues that comes up in that setting. Specifically, we’re going to look at allegations of the violation of the civil rights of a criminal defendant and potential remedies for such violations.

I. Violations

The new District Attorney, Janice Porter, says that she’s going to reopen the Holiday file. Alberto Falcone, son of the crime lord Carmine Falcone, was arrested, tried, and convicted for the Holiday killings. But during the arrest, Batman severely beats him, to the point that his right hand becomes essentially useless, permanently. Porter suggests that this is a violation of Falcone’s civil rights.

She’s almost certainly correct. The Supreme Court discussed excessive force by police officers in Graham v. Connor, 490 U.S. 386 (1989). It held that the determination as to whether an officer’s use of force is “reasonable” is a Fourth Amendment question—not a Fourteenth or Eighth Amendment one, as had been suggested—and that the analysis is objective. First of all, for us even to get to this question, there has to have been some kind of state action. There are two possible routes here. One could argue that Batman was a state actor. He was working very closely with Commissioner Gordon at the time, so this is plausible. One could also argue that Gordon standing by and letting Batman hand out the beating amounts to tacit police approval of Batman’s actions, making that a state action regardless of any prior relationship.

Assuming state action and given the severity of the beating, saying that Falcone’s civil rights have been violated seems patently obvious. But what happens next is… not.

II. Remedies

So Falcone’s civil rights have been violated. In real life, most of the time what happens in these cases is that the criminal defendant gets to sue for damages. The Civil Rights Act of 1871 contains a provision, now codified as 42 U.S.C. § 1983, which creates a private cause of action for violations of one’s civil rights by state or local officials.  This means a suit against both the officials and potentially also the state or local government.  Monell v. Dept. of Social Servs., 436 U.S. 658 (1978).  Notably, the suit can be both for damages and for an injunction designed to prevent future harm of the same type.  One wonders whether Falcone could have sued to prevent the Gotham City Police Department from working with Batman in the future.

But damages and possibly an injunction to prevent future harm are pretty much it. Unless the beating lead to the discovery of evidence which was critical in procuring the conviction (e.g. a forced confession), the conviction itself will stand. And in the absence of any change about the defendant’s guilt, any modification or reduction in a convict’s sentence is unlikely. Or rather not just unlikely, but pretty much unheard of. In the story, Porter reopens the Holiday file and somehow gets a Gotham City judge to modify Falcone’s sentence from incarceration in Arkham Asylum to house arrest in the custody of his brother. In real life, it’s difficult to see how something like this might work. Falcone is guilty. There were no irregularities with his prosecution. He got the snot beat out of him during his arrest, but as far as criminal procedure goes, there isn’t anything all that interesting going on.

So this part of the story just doesn’t work. DAs rarely reopen cases, and usually only when there’s new evidence suggesting the defendant’s innocence. But we’re not sure there’s even a mechanism whereby a DA could seek a reduction in a convict’s sentence just because he was maltreated prior to prosecution. If the prosecution wants a lighter sentence, they can ask for that during sentencing. But later prosecutors don’t get to go back and muck about with prior prosecutors’ convictions.  It is possible that a prosecutor could request that the governor commute the prisoner’s sentence, but there’s no sign of that here.

III. Immigration

As an aside, the judge, Judge Harkness of Gotham City, says that if there is any funny business with Alberto Falcone after he is released to house arrest that “I will make it my personal business to see that immigration takes another look at you, sir,” meaning Mario Falcone, who is trying to take his family legitimate. Are there any teeth to this threat?

One is reminded of the ongoing controversy in Arizona and elsewhere about state efforts to get involved in immigration activities. The federal government is, to put it mildly, not amused. The Supreme Court recently struck down parts of Arizona’s SB 1070 law as unconstitutional encroachments on an area of law reserved for Congress. The outcome, while disappointing to some, wasn’t all that surprising to anyone, as immigration is an explicitly federal subject under Art. I, sec. 8, cl. 4.

But that isn’t really what’s going on here. This isn’t an example of a state government making explicit and systematic moves to affect immigration policy. Rather, it’s an example of a state official saying he’s going to use what influence is his to wield to affect the outcome of a particular case for what are arguably legitimate reasons. If a state court judge in a state and community not really known for its immigration problems were to call up his local U.S. Attorney or regional ICE office, he might well be able to get some attention. Not as a matter of law, mind you, but as the sort of consideration that governmental agencies frequently show each other. So while the judge doesn’t have the authority to deport Mario, the story doesn’t suggest that he does, merely that he might be able to make a few phone calls. And he just might.

IV. Conclusion

Dark Victory is absolutely right that Alberto Falcone’s civil rights have been violated. But how that’s supposed to add up to him being released from Arkham Asylum—where he was sent after a successful insanity plea—into his family’s custody is far from clear. And Judge Harkness’ little threat to Mario, while not necessarily describing a formal legal process, may actually have teeth. Informal teeth, but not necessarily any less real.

The Amazing Spider-Man: Warrants and Assault

As we discussed in our background post, most of the issues in The Amazing Spider-Man aren’t new, but there are two stand-outs.  There are some  minor spoilers ahead for anyone who hasn’t seen the trailers, and a couple of very minor spoilers for anyone who hasn’t seen the film.

Continue reading

The Joker

We’re not talking about The Joker in general here, but rather the [amazon_link id=”1401215815″ target=”_blank” container=”” container_class=”” ]2008 graphic novel[/amazon_link] by Brian Azzarello and Lee Bermejo. It’s got two legal issues up for discussion, one major, one minor. First, there’s the issue of a specific outcome of an insanity proceeding. Second, there’s the matter of what appears to be divorce papers. We’ll discuss each in turn. Continue reading

Harvey Birdman, Attorney At Law (Ep. 1-4)

Harvey Birdman, Attorney At Law is one of the original Adult Swim programs, similar in style and concept to the truly classic Spage Ghost Coast to Coast and produced by the same company. But instead of re-purposing old Hanna Barbera cartoons to make a surrealistic talk show, they’re re-purposing old Hanna Barbera cartoons to make a surrealistic legal sitcom of sorts.  In this post we’re talking about the first four episodes of the first season, which are available on DVD. Continue reading

Time Travel, Resurrection, and Double Jeopardy

This is an issue raised tangentially by The Kingdom, a sort of spin-off storyline from Kingdom Come. The basic premise is that a villain kills Superman, then goes back in time and kills him again. And does this at more-or-less regular intervals back down the timestream.

The set up suggested at least a possible interaction with double jeopardy, prohibited by the Fifth Amendment, in that we’re looking at a situation where a defendant could potentially be charged more than once for killing the same person. On that note, we’re also going to look at the possibility of a defendant killing someone, the victim rising from the dead, and the defendant killing them again, as it seems factually similar. Continue reading

Snakes on a Plane

Snakes on a Plane is a terrible, terrible movie (see for yourself, if you don’t believe us).

It’s also bad on the law.

The premise of the movie is that Samuel L. Jackson (who basically plays the movie version of himself, so we’re going to call him Jackson instead of “Neville Flynn”) is escorting a witness from Honolulu to LA to testify in a murder trial there. This is weird in and of itself, but so’s the way they travel: the FBI commandeers the first class cabin of a commercial flight. This is all kinds of wrong. Continue reading

Castle: 47 Seconds

In the March 26, 2012 episode of Castle, “47 Seconds,” the police use a rather snazzy bit of technology to identify their suspect: a recording of real-time GPS data tracking all cellphones. We already discussed GPS tracking in reference to Batman: Noel, but this seems to be another situation which would implicate U.S. v. Jones, the recent Supreme Court case dealing with this sort of thing and its interaction with the Fourth Amendment. Continue reading

Superheroes and Jury Duty

Today’s post was inspired by an email from Marcus, who asks “what would happen if a superhero was summoned for jury service in his/her secret identity, and the case turned out to be one where the character had been involved as a crimefighter and might even be expected to appear as a witness?”

As Marcus points out, this is more of a problem for some superheroes than others.  For example, Peter Parker often photographs Spider-Man in action, so he couldn’t serve as a juror in such a case, since he would be a potential witness.  But what about a case he didn’t cover as a photographer?  And what about other superheroes like Batman who generally maintain significant distance from their secret identities?  To set the scene here, let’s talk a little about jury trials and the jury selection process.

I. Jury Trials

Unlike most of the world, the United States is big on jury trials for both criminal and civil cases.  The Sixth Amendment gives criminal defendants the right to a trial by jury, though not all criminal charges qualify.  “Petty offenses” (i.e. misdemeanors with a maximum penalty of six months imprisonment) don’t qualify for a jury, at least under the federal Constitution.  Duncan v. Louisiana, 391 U.S. 145 (1968).  So superheroes who bust only very small time crooks wouldn’t have so much to worry about, but most superheroes go after serious criminals.

A defendant could also waive his or her right to a jury trial, but most criminal defendants don’t do that.  That is, they often waive their right to a trial entirely by a plea bargain, but if they do go to trial they usually go with a jury rather than a bench trial conducted by the judge alone.

The Seventh Amendment gives the right to a jury trial in civil cases, but that right is more limited than the Sixth Amendment right.

II. The Jury Selection Process

So, now that a jury has been called for, how do they get picked?  The answer is: it’s complicated and varies from jurisdiction to jurisdiction, but most states are modeled after the federal system.  Under the Federal Jury Selection and Service Act of 1968, each district court must develop a jury selection plan, which must

(1) either establish a jury commission (consisting of one citizen and the clerk of the court) or authorize the clerk to manage the jury selection process;

(2) specify whether the names of prospective jurors are to be selected from voter registration lists or the lists of actual voters of the political subdivisions within the district or division, and prescribe other sources when necessary to achieve the objectives stated above; 

(3) specify procedures for selecting names from those sources designed to ensure that each political subdivision is substantially proportionally represented in the master jury wheel;

(4) provide for a master jury wheel into which the names of at least one-half of one per cent of the names on the source lists are placed;

(5) specify those groups of persons or occupational classes whose members shall on individual request be excused from jury service because such service would entail undue hardship or extreme inconvenience;

(6) specify that active members of the armed forces, members of fire or police departments, and members of the executive, legislative or judicial branches of government who are actively engaged in the performance of official duties are barred from jury service on the ground that they are exempt;

(7) fix the distance beyond which jurors shall on individual request be excused from jury service on the ground of undue hardship in traveling to where court is held;

(8) fix the time when the names drawn from the jury wheel shall be disclosed to the parties and to the public; and

(9) specify the procedure for assigning persons whose names have been drawn from the jury wheel to jury panels.

Wayne R. LaFave et al., 6 Crim. Proc. § 22.2(a) (3d ed.).

Already we can see a couple of potential ways out for our superheroes.  First, they can decide not to register to vote, although that’s not very heroic, and it may not help if the district supplements the jury rolls with driver’s license records, utility company lists, and other sources.

Alternatively, superheroes could live and register to vote in a different district than the one they fight crime in.  For example, supposing Gotham is actually New York City, then if Wayne Manor were located on eastern Long Island then it would be in the Eastern District of New York rather than the Southern District, which is where the city is (here’s a map).  Thus, Bruce Wayne wouldn’t get called for jury duty in the Southern District, and presumably there are a lot fewer supervillains on the eastern half of Long Island than in the city, so the odds of him getting called up for a supervillain case in the Eastern District are slim. Alternatively, if Gotham is in New Jersey, then Wayne Manor could be in New York, or vice versa.  A similar approach can work for state courts.

Of course, this depends on cooperative geography and having enough money and resources to “commute to work,” so to speak.  Another possibility is to have an exempt occupation.  The federal courts exempt active duty armed forces, professional fire and police departments, and full-time public officers of federal, state, and local governments.  State jury exemptions vary, but most are similar to the federal ones.  Historically there were exemptions for attorneys, doctors, and other occupations, but those have mostly been done away with, which eliminates most of the easy outs for superheroes.  Most superheroes can’t juggle being a superhero with being an active member of the armed forces, a full-time cop or firefighter, or a full-time public officer, so this route probably won’t work.

As a last resort, a superhero (or in this case more likely a super-antihero) could intentionally incur a felony conviction.  Most states and the federal government permanently exclude convicted felons from serving on juries.  Obviously this is a drastic step, and very few superheroes would do such a thing just to avoid the possibility of jury duty, but some superheroes may have secret identities that have run afoul of the law already for other reasons, and they may not have to worry about jury duty, depending on where they live.  For the record, we do not recommend this approach, even to fictional characters.

But assuming our superhero hasn’t avoided being selected in the first place, what do they do once they’re called up?

III. Summoned for Jury Duty.  Now What?

At this point, we’re afraid there isn’t much to be done.  The superhero could try to plead hardship or inconvenience (e.g. by claiming that they are needed at work or by feigning illness), but that often results in a delay rather than an exception.  They could refuse to show up, but that’s a good way to get fined or worse, which hardly seems very heroic.

They do have one last way out, and that’s the voir dire process.  Voir dire is the process by which the parties (e.g. the prosecution and the defense) ask prospective jurors questions and, optionally, eliminate them.  Each side gets a certain number of “peremptory” challenges, which are prospective jurors they can dismiss for whatever reason they like.  After that they can challenge an unlimited number of prospective jurors “for cause,” but each challenge for cause requires the assent of the judge.  Exactly what constitutes adequate grounds is beyond the scope of this post, but it’s usually cases of serious bias (e.g. a belief that the defendant is guilty until proven innocent) or a refusal to follow the law (e.g. would refuse to find the defendant guilty even if the case was proven beyond a reasonable doubt).

If our superhero has an honestly held belief that might get them tossed out, then that could work.  The problem is that most superheroes clearly believe in the justice system, at least in theory.  They could lie, but again that doesn’t seem very heroic, and it’s a crime anyway, since prospective jurors are put under oath.  One possibility is to raise the point that they don’t believe that the police are capable of handling crime effectively.  This is clearly true, or else why would they be a superhero?  And it may show sufficient bias against the police that the superhero would get tossed out of the jury pool.

IV. Conclusion

Avoiding jury duty is difficult, even for a superhero.  Some may be able to avoid it by separating where they live and where they “work,” but those who do get called up may find it very tricky to get out of it.  Faced with a situation in which their secret identity may be called as a witness in the same case, feigning illness might be the least bad option.  The result would probably be a delay rather than an exception, but hopefully lightning wouldn’t strike twice.