Category Archives: constitutional law

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.

Superman, Kryptonite, and Treason

Today we’re continuing to clear out the mailbag, this time with a question from Jon, who asks about the 2008 Superman/Batman story arc “The Search for Kryptonite” (now available as a trade paperback):

[In the story], a Kryptonite meteorite has landed, making the element common all over the world. People are putting it in jewellery, using it as paperweights – it’s everywhere. Superman decides that the only way he can be effective as a hero is to gather it all up and get rid of it, arguing that people die when he’s incapacitated. “I can only save as many people as I can be there for.” What right does Superman have to do this?

Aquaman calls it arrogance, when Supes and Batman are collecting a large chunk of green K from the seabed – “You do as you will, and expect people to thank you for it”. Amanda Waller calls it treason, when they break into a government facility to take K-based weapons (a multi-billion dollar facility specifically created to stop Superman, should he go rogue) – “You boys justified the need for this facility the minute you broke into it”.

There are two aspects to this question: first, does Superman have any right to go rounding up kryptonite and second, did Superman and Batman really commit treason?

I. Self-Defense?

The answer to the first part is “no,” for two reasons.  First, Superman isn’t in any imminent danger from the vast majority of the kryptonite, so self-defense doesn’t apply (and thus defense-of-others doesn’t apply to Batman’s actions either).  Second, like everyone else, Superman doesn’t have a general duty to prevent crime or rescue others.  Thus, although an abundance of kryptonite may be unfortunate for both Superman and the general public, it isn’t interfering with a legal obligation and so Superman can’t really claim a legal right to remove the kryptonite.  Even if he could, his remedy would be in court, not taking matters into his own hands.

II. Treason?

The answer to the second part is also “no and yes.”  While Superman and Batman no doubt broke multiple federal laws by breaking into the Last Line facility, it couldn’t have been treason for Superman, though it might conceivably have been for Batman.

In the US, treason is defined by the Constitution thus: “Treason against the United States, shall consist only in levying War against them, or in adhering to their Enemies, giving them Aid and Comfort.” U.S. Const. art. 3 § 3 (emphasis added).  That ‘only’ means that Congress has no power to redefine treason.  “This definition is meticulously exclusive and that it was so intended is indicated by the use of the adverb ‘only.’  The Constitution has left no room for constructive treason and Congress could not and has not undertaken to restrict or enlarge the constitutional definition.”  Stephan v. United States, 133 F.2d 87, 90 (6th Cir. 1943).

Arguably, neither Superman nor Batman has levied war against the United States.  Levying war requires that “a body of men be actually assembled for the purpose of effecting by force a treasonable purpose.”  Ex parte Bollman, 8 U.S. 75, 126 (1807).  I’m not sure how many men it takes to make “a body,” but I suspect it’s more than two.  Otherwise any two people who committed or intended to commit a violent crime against the United States could be charged with treason.

That leaves adhering to and giving aid and comfort to the enemies of the United States.  The problem is that the only possible enemy aided or comforted here is Superman himself.  And if Superman is an enemy of the United States, then it stands to reason that he cannot owe the United States a duty of loyalty and thus cannot commit treason.  If there were some larger entity that Superman was assisting (e.g. a Kryptonian separatist group), then that would be different, but as it stands he appears to be the only direct beneficiary, which makes it difficult to call him a traitor rather than a run-of-the-mill self-interested criminal (albeit one with superpowers).

The same cannot necessarily be said of Batman, however.  If Superman is an enemy of the United States (as proven when he broke into a military base), then Batman is arguably committing treason by helping him.  “Aid and comfort” are read very broadly, and includes “an act which weakens or tends to weaken the power of the [sovereign] and of the country to resist or to attack the enemies of the [sovereign] and the country.” Cramer v. United States, 325 U.S. 1, 29 (1945) (quoting Lord Reading in the Casement trial).  Since the Last Line was created specifically to defend against a possible rogue Superman, helping Superman destroy that facility seems like a pretty clear example of “weakening the power of the United States to resist or to attack the enemies of the United States.”

Superman’s citizenship is not an issue, by the way.  One does not have to be a citizen to commit treason; even a resident alien owes the United States a kind of loyalty, and Superman is definitely at least a resident alien (if not necessarily a lawful one).  See Carlisle v. United States, 83 U.S. 147, 154 (1872) (“The alien, whilst domiciled in the country, owes a local and temporary allegiance, which continues during the period of his residence.”).

III. Conclusion

So is Superman just completely hosed here if he wants to follow the law?  Not necessarily.  At a minimum, he could keep his Clark Kent alter ego safe by claiming to have developed a kryptonite allergy.  This would probably qualify as a disability under the Americans with Disabilities Act, with the result that the Daily Planet (or at least the part of the office where Kent works) would become a kryptonite-free zone.  Since there’s no real need for kryptonite there, that seems like a reasonable accommodation.

This may seem like a pretty poor consolation, but on the other hand Superman’s kryptonite-resistant “K-suit” managed to survive a pretty severe beating before giving out, so he’d probably be able to continue fighting crime effectively.  He’d just have to be a bit more careful.

Arkham Asylum and Liability for Private Prisons

In February 20th’s post regarding Knightfall, a number of commenters wondered if the fact that Arkham Asylum is presented as a private entity in some stories might affect its liability for escaping prisoners. This is actually a really good question, and one that’s becoming increasingly important as more and more states experiment with privatized prison systems. Arizona is something of a leader here, and its practices have come under pretty intense criticism on a number of fronts. But here, we’re going to look solely at whether private prisons can be sued for damages caused by escaped prisoners.

As discussed in the first post, for our purposes, it really doesn’t matter whether we’re talking about a jail, prison, or mental institution, provided the inmates are there as the result of a court order. That order could be a sentence for a crime or simply protective custody. The fact is that they’re there at the requirement of the state and not allowed to leave, so escape would be a crime. The question is whether the operator of a private prison would be more or less liable for actions an inmate takes after escaping than the state would be.
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Grimm: Game Ogre

[Note! This post is the subject of Law and the Multiverse Retcon #11. The 2020 U.S. Supreme Court decision Ramos v. Louisiana has reversed the law in Oregon (and Louisiana) and also my analysis of this case!]

It’s been a while since we’ve done a post on Grimm, and today we have a brief post about an interesting quirk of Oregon law brought up by episode 8, “Game Ogre.”

I. The Setup

The villain of the episode is, unsurprisingly, an ogre.  Nick’s partner Hank helped put him in prison 5 years before the episode, and after escaping from prison the ogre comes after Hank.  In the episode, Hank admits that he “misplaced” a faked security camera tape that might have established an alibi for the ogre.  Hank’s reasoning was that the ogre had a really good lawyer, and if only a single juror felt that the tape established reasonable doubt, then the ogre would have walked.

Interestingly, Oregon—where the show takes place—is the only state in the country for which that isn’t necessarily true.  The Oregon Constitution provides that “in the circuit court ten members of the jury may render a verdict of guilty or not guilty, save and except a verdict of guilty of first degree murder, which shall be found only by a unanimous verdict, and not otherwise.”  Ore. Const. art. I § 11.  Oregon has since replaced first degree murder with aggravated murder, but the unanimity requirement applies to aggravated murder.  See, e.g., State v. Sparks, 336 Or. 298 (2004) (en banc).  We’ll come back to aggravated murder in a moment; first a discussion of jury verdicts and the Constitution.

II. Unanimity and the Constitution

Federal statutory law requires a unanimous verdict in federal cases (Fed. R. Crim. Pro. 31).  However, this requirement is not necessarily rooted in the Constitution, and the states can permit convictions on less than unanimous verdicts.  Apodaca v. Oregon, 406 U.S. 404 (1972).  There was not a clear majority in Apodaca, so depending on which Justice you want to believe, the reason for this is either because the Sixth Amendment simply doesn’t require it or because that part of the Sixth Amendment isn’t incorporated by the 14th Amendment.

So just how much less than unanimous is okay?  The Supreme Court hasn’t drawn an exact line, but the Apodaca case upheld 11-1 and 10-2 convictions, though a later case held that 5-1 was impermissible.  Burch v. Louisiana, 441 U.S. 130 (1979).  Justice Blackmun, concurring in Apodaca, said that he’d be okay with 9-3 but not as far as 7-5.

So that’s the constitutional law aspect.  Now let’s turn to the facts of the case.

III. Aggravated Murder and Lesser Included Offenses

The show isn’t specific, but the ogre was probably charged with aggravated murder.  From the definition of aggravated murder in ORS § 163.095:

 “aggravated murder” means murder as defined in ORS 163.115 which is committed under, or accompanied by, any of the following circumstances:

(e) The homicide occurred in the course of or as a result of intentional maiming or torture of the victim.

In this case the ogre tortured his victim for two days, which would surely count.  So a guilty verdict would have to be unanimous, right?  Not necessarily, via the magic of lesser included offenses.  Basically, the concept of a lesser included offense recognizes that many crimes consist of “committing crime X, plus some other stuff.”  Thus, if someone commits the more serious crime, they’ve necessarily committed the lesser included offense of crime X.  A classic common law example is that robbery is larceny plus assault (i.e. stealing something by force or the threat of force).  So if someone commits a robbery, they’ve necessarily also committed both a larceny and an assault.

This has a few different practical effects.  For one, a defendant can’t be convicted of both an offense and a lesser included offense for the same criminal act.  So for example someone who forcibly steals a purse can’t be convicted of both robbery and larceny, since the larceny was part of the robbery.  Of course, if they forcibly steal a purse and then non-forcibly shoplift some jewelry, then that’s two separate acts and they could be convicted of both a robbery and a larceny.

Another practical effect of this doctrine is that a defendant can, however, be convicted of any lesser included offense of the crime charged.  Keeble v. United States, 412 U.S. 205 (1973).  In fact, in a capital murder case, the Constitution requires the jury to be given instructions for lesser included offenses like manslaughter.  Beck v. Alabama, 447 U.S. 625 (1980).

So, in the ogre’s case, the jury would have been instructed that they could find him guilty of aggravated murder, which requires a unanimous verdict, or they could find him guilty of a lesser included offense, which would require only 10 guilty votes, or they could acquit him.  So if one or two jurors believed the faked alibi tape, but the other 10 or 11 still thought the ogre was guilty of aggravated murder, the jury could still find him guilty of regular murder or manslaughter, the one or two votes to acquit notwithstanding.

In just about any other jurisdiction, the jurors who believe the alibi would vote to acquit and the result would be a hung jury.  Of course, if three or more jurors believed the alibi then all bets are off, even in Oregon.

IV. Conclusion

“Game Ogre” wasn’t the strongest Grimm episode, but more recent ones have been better.  We’ll definitely cover those in future posts, but we couldn’t resist the opportunity to make a post out of what is ordinarily a piece of legal trivia (although maybe it’s not so trivial to criminal defendants in Oregon!).

Aquaman’s Citizenship

We’ve written previously about Superman’s U.S. citizenship (and his brief flirtation with renouncing it), but he isn’t the only superhero with potential citizenship issues.  Believe it or not, Aquaman has troubles of his own, even if they aren’t addressed explicitly in the comics.  As astute reader Frank asked, “[DC New 52] Aquaman is half-American, on his father’s side. As a citizen, can he hold a title of nobility, namely “King of Atlantis,” in a foreign country?”  As the question implies, there are two issues here: Can Aquaman be King of Atlantis while remaining a U.S. citizen?  And can a U.S. citizen hold a foreign title of nobility?

I. Renunciation

As discussed previously, 8 U.S.C. § 1481 provides several ways in which someone can lose their U.S. citizenship, if they are done “with the intention of relinquishing United States nationality.”  In Aquaman’s case, subsection (a)(4)(A) is the most likely route to renunciation:

accepting, serving in, or performing the duties of any office, post, or employment under the government of a foreign state or a political subdivision thereof, after attaining the age of eighteen years if he has or acquires the nationality of such foreign state

Since Aquaman is an Atlantean citizen, assuming the office of King of Atlantis would seem to be sufficient.  Strictly speaking, he would also have to do so with the intention of relinquishing United States nationality, but intent can be inferred from actions.  Perkins v. Elg, 99 F.2d 408, 412 (D.C. Cir. 1938) (“expatriation is a matter of intent on the part of the person concerned, which intent must be shown by some express act or some other act from which it can be gathered”).  In fact, the State Department considers accepting a policy-level position in a foreign government to be prima facie evidence of intent to relinquish citizenship.  The fact that Aquaman remains a citizen of Atlantis means that he is not at risk of becoming stateless, which is one of the major policy reasons prohibiting the involuntary imposition of expatriation.  Tropp v. Dulles, 356 U.S. 86 (1958).

Notably, Aquaman later abdicated the throne to be a full-time superhero based in Boston.  Could this abdication signal that he never intended to relinquish his American citizenship?  Probably not.  “After an American citizen has performed an overt act which spells expatriation under the wording of the statute he cannot preserve for himself a duality of citizenship by showing his intent or understanding to have been contrary to the usual legal consequences of such an act.”  Grassi v. Acheson, 101 F.Supp. 431, 432 (D.D.C. 1951); see also Terrazas v. Muskie, 494 F.Supp. 1017, 1020 (N.D.Ill. 1980) (“plaintiff’s struggle to retain his citizenship is likely evidence of his realization of the gravity of his earlier decision to relinquish his citizenship”).

So is there any hope for Aquaman?  There is a slim thread.  Any doubts or ambiguities in these kinds of cases must be resolved in favor of retaining citizenship.  Dulles v. Katamoto, 256 F.2d 545, 548 (9th Cir. 1958) (“in construing § 401(d) as to such a dual national … the facts and the law should be construed as far as reasonably possible in favor of the citizen.”); Nishikawa v. Dulles, 356 U.S. 129, 133 (1958) (“when a citizenship claimant proves his birth in this country or acquisition of American citizenship in some other way, the burden is upon the Government to prove an act that shows expatriation by clear, convincing and unequivocal evidence”).  Unfortunately for him, the only issue is whether Aquaman intended to relinquish his citizenship: the fact that he voluntarily assumed the throne of Atlantis is established beyond doubt.

II. Titles of Nobility

The Title of Nobility Clause of the U.S. Constitution forbids both the federal government and the states from granting titles of nobility.  U.S. Const. art. 1 § 9 cl. 8; U.S. Const. art. 1 § 10 cl. 1.  Furthermore, “no person holding any office of profit or trust under [the United States], shall, without the consent of the Congress, accept of any present, emolument, office, or title, of any kind whatever, from any king, prince, or foreign state.”  But these clauses do not prohibit private citizens from holding such titles,  so Aquaman is in the clear in that regard.  He could hold a title of nobility as long as he did not “accept, serve in, or perform the duties of any office, post, or employment under the government of” Atlantis.

By the by, the reason why U.S. citizens are granted honorary knighthoods rather than proper ones (e.g. Bill Gates, who is a KBE but may not use the title “Sir”) is not because of the Title of Nobility Clause but rather because proper knighthoods are only granted to British subjects.

There is a proposed constitutional amendment to prohibit private citizens from holding titles of nobility, on pain of expatriation, but it has not been ratified by three-fourths of the states.  Interestingly, the twelve ratifications it has received so far still “count,” and so if 28 more states ratified it then it would become part of the Constitution.  Such a long period between proposal and adoption is not unheard of: The Twenty-Seventh (and currently last) Amendment was adopted 203 years after its proposal in 1788.

III. Conclusion

Once again Aquaman has been overshadowed by better-known superheroes, even when it comes to fictional legal troubles.  Where was the Fox News outrage that the former King of Atlantis was allowed to roam the streets of Boston without being deported?  Where are the Republican candidates on this issue?  Superman merely threatened to renounce his citizenship in a non-canon side-story, whereas Aquaman actually went and did it, as far as the law is concerned, yet there is only silence.  Aquaman just can’t catch a break.

Preacher: Salvation

We already had one fairly popular post on Preacher, exploring the legal ramifications of Jesse’s use of The Word. Here we’re going to talk about something a little more down-to-earth: Jesse’s installation as the sheriff of Salvation, Texas. Or possibly his assumption of said office. The legality of the job is one of the things at issue in the story itself. This time we’re going to be looking at the implications of improper inauguration for the state actor doctrine. Continue reading

Law and the Multiverse Retcon # 4: Batman: Noel (Revisited)

On Christmas Day, 2011, we discussed Batman: Noel, mentioning that one of the issues present was actually the subject of a then-pending Supreme Court Case, U.S. v. Jones.

Well, the Court has just handed down its opinion in that case. SCOTUSblog has an excellent analysis of the opinion, which was only unanimous to the extent that all the justices agreed with the appellee’s contention that the use of this wireless GPS device to track his vehicle violated his Fourth Amendment rights.

The justices disagreed, however, on exactly what “Fourth Amendment rights” meant in this case. The majority opinion (Scalia, Roberts, Kennedy, Thomas, Sotomayor) was the narrowest and seems to mostly stand for the proposition that law enforcement agencies would be well advised to get a warrant before doing this sort of thing, but it stops short of holding that a warrant is categorically necessary. They essentially held that the physical intrusion of the device on the car was a “search” but punted on the use of the technology. The four-justice concurring opinion (Alito, Ginsburg, Breyer, Kagan), wanted to talk more about whether or not there was a reasonable expectation of privacy with respect to the use of GPS tracking and suggested that the longer the tracking goes on, the more of an expectation there is. Sotomayor also filed her own concurring opinion which actually criticizes the majority opinion—which she joined—suggesting that if the cops try to get too funky with warrantless, wireless tracking, she may well side with the other bloc of justices and opt for a ban.

While we certainly didn’t predict how this was going to play out in terms of the justices voting patterns, this is basically what we predicted would happen overall.  As we said, “The Justices seem likely to say that while there isn’t necessarily a reasonable expectation of privacy in one’s movements in public places, the police still can’t directly track your movements without either your consent or a warrant.” So ultimately, the Court didn’t decide the former issue but suggested that the latter is probably true. At the very least, using a physical device attached to one’s person or property now constitutes a “search” under the Fourth Amendment.

So this isn’t precisely a “retcon” as much as it is an update. The original post suggested that Batman probably needed a warrant to use that tracer on Bob Cratchit, and today’s opinion in Jones says that this is correct.

Grimm – Let Your Hair Down

The past couple of episodes of Grimm have not been especially fertile grounds for legal issues, but the most recent one did raise a couple of interesting questions related to warrantless searches, which seems to be a running theme in the series.  Spoilers below.

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