Category Archives: constitutional law

Mailbag for June 27, 2011

Today’s mailbag is a grab bag of questions from astute reader Jessica.  We have questions about rogue superheroes, more on the Negative Zone and the Eighth Amendment, and personal jurisdiction and The Dark Knight.  As always, if you have questions or post suggestions, please send them to james@lawandthemultiverse.com and ryan@lawandthemultiverse.com or leave them in the comments.

I. Rogue Superheroes and RICO

For the first question, Jessica asks “[A]re the X-Men or the Avengers complicit or in any way culpable if [Wolverine kills someone or uses excessive force] while out with a team, given that they know he does this?”

This is a great question and one we’ve been thinking about for a while.  We’ve talked about how RICO statutes could be used against supervillain organizations but we haven’t considered how the laws might apply to a superhero organization with rogue members.

First, a brief summary of RICO (Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations) laws.   The original RICO law is the federal version, 18 USC 1961-1968, although many states have passed their own similar laws.  The general pattern of the law is that a person who is a member of an organization that has committed any two of a list of 35 crimes within a 10 year period can be charged with racketeering, which is a serious felony.  To be charged with racketeering the member must have done at least one of the following (paraphrased from 18 USC 1962):

  • have invested income derived from racketeering activity in an organization engaged in or affecting interstate or foreign commerce
  • acquired or maintained an interest or control in such an organization through a pattern of racketeering activity
  • conducted or participated in the affairs of such an organization, directly or indirectly, through a pattern of racketeering activity
  • or conspired to do any of the first three

It’s important to note the phrases “derived from racketeering activity” and “through a pattern of racketeering activity.”  Merely investing income derived from an organization doesn’t count: it has to have come from racketeering activity (e.g. counterfeiting, theft, drug trafficking, securities fraud).  Similarly, merely controlling or participating in an organization doesn’t count: the control or participation has to be accomplished through a pattern of racketeering activity (e.g. extortion, bribery, murder).  These requirements prevent innocent members of an organization from getting swept up in a RICO action.

The practical upshot of this is that even if a member of an organization (Wolverine, for example) commits the required crimes (e.g. murder), the other X-Men may not be criminally liable under RICO if their own activities (investment, control, or participation) were unrelated to racketeering activity.  It’s not like Professor X routinely asks Wolverine to murder people or the other X-Men routinely assist Wolverine in committing murder.  Perhaps the biggest issue is if any of Wolverine’s unlawful activities brought money into the organization.  X-Men who invested those ill-gotten gains could find themselves facing charges (and a civil suit) under RICO.

Basically, RICO doesn’t work very well if applied to a fundamentally law-abiding organization, and this is by design.

II.  The Negative Zone and the Eighth Amendment Revisited

The second question is about the emotional effects of the Negative Zone: “Would [the effects] be a factor in determining the conditions for the purposes of Eighth Amendment compliance?”  In other words, does imprisoning someone in the Negative Zone violate the Eighth Amendment because of the Zone’s effects on people’s emotions and mental health?

In short, we think the answer is no.  The fact is that even regular prisons are seriously depressing, so it’s already going to be difficult to prove that a prison in the NZ is worse enough to be considered cruel or unusual punishment.  As the Supreme Court has said:

“The unnecessary and wanton infliction of pain . . . constitutes cruel and unusual punishment forbidden by the Eighth Amendment. We have said that among unnecessary and wanton inflictions of pain are those that are totally without penological justification. In making this determination in the context of prison conditions, we must ascertain whether the officials involved acted with deliberate indifference to the inmates’ health or safety.”  Hope v. Pelzer, 536 U.S. 730, 737-38 (2002) (holding that handcuffing an inmate to a hitching post outdoors for several hours with inadequate water and restroom breaks violated the Eighth Amendment) (quotations and citations omitted).

Furthermore, “a prison official’s act or omission must result in the denial of the minimal civilized measure of life’s necessities.”  Farmer v. Brennan, 511 U.S. 825, 834 (1994).  Prison officials “must provide humane conditions of confinement; prison officials must ensure that inmates receive adequate food, clothing, shelter, and medical care, and must take reasonable measures to guarantee the safety of the inmates.”  Id. at 833.

In the Negative Zone case the emotional effects are not really part of the punishment but just a side effect of the place.  Because the Negative Zone is the only suitable prison for many supervillains, the side effect is arguably necessary.  Further, the side effects are not controlled or intentionally inflicted by anyone.  Thus, the effects are not inflicted wantonly (i.e. deliberately and unprovoked).  A charge of deliberate indifference could probably be eliminated by offering the inmates adequate living conditions and mental health care to offset the effects of the Negative Zone.  Finally, it would be difficult to argue that imprisonment in the Negative Zone denies the minimum civilized measure of life’s necessities.  “The Constitution does not mandate comfortable prisons,” as the Farmer court noted, only humane ones, and the Negative Zone is probably not bad enough to run afoul of the Eighth Amendment under the circumstances.

III. The Dark Knight and Forcible Personal Jurisdiction

The last question is about The Dark Knight (spoilers if you haven’t seen the movie yet, which you really should).

“In the Dark Knight, a Chinese national commits crimes on American soil, or at least against American citizens (even if they were all money-related crimes), and then returns to China knowing he won’t be extradited.  Batman follows him, kidnaps him, and dumps him back in America in police custody.  What are the basic legal repercussions of this, given Batman’s pseudo-status with the police?  What if it had been a completely free agent instead of Batman?”

As it turns out, the Chinese national is out of luck, assuming the prosecutor wants to file charges against him.  The Supreme Court has consistently held that “the power of a court to try a person for crime is not impaired by the fact that he had been brought within the court’s jurisdiction by reason of a forcible abduction.”  Frisbie v. Collins, 342 U.S. 519, 522 (1952).  This is true even if the abductors were government agents (in the Frisbie case the defendant Collins was allegedly abducted by police officers and taken to another state to be tried).  This rule, known as the Ker-Frisbie doctrine, has been upheld quite recently at the circuit level.  See, e.g., United States v. Arbane, 446 F.3d 1223 (11th Cir. 2006).

However, the abductor may still be liable under the Federal Kidnapping Act, 18 USC 1201.  And if the abductor were a state actor (or at least seen to be one politically), then China would likely take a very dim view of it, to say the least.

That’s all for today’s mailbag.  Keep your questions coming in!

Marvel Civil War IV: The Draft and Posse Comitatus

Continuing our series on Marvel’s Civil War event, we come to the issue of whether or not the SHRA amounts to a kind of conscription. We briefly discussed the draft and the SHRA in the comments to an earlier Civil War post, and conscription was discussed in a Mailbag a while back. We concluded there that drafting particular people, even on a named-individual basis, may be within congressional authority under the Constitution. But turning to the issue of the SHRA, we run into problems. Specifically, because the SHRA and related Initiative are pretty clearly intended to promote domestic security, and operate almost entirely within US borders, the Posse Comitatus Act comes into play.

The Act was passed in 1878 in the aftermath of Reconstruction, which followed the actual American Civil War. The thrust of the Act is that the United States armed forces—Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines (the Coast Guard is excepted by case law)—are significantly limited in their ability to conduct operations on US soil. There have been very, very few times when the federal government has used actual soldiers to carry out its will on US soil.

Perhaps the most famous such event was when President Eisenhower ordered the 101st Airborne Division of the US Army to provide an armed escort for the Little Rock Nine, in one of the most dramatic incidents in the fight for public school integration during the late 1950s. Eisenhower also federalized the Arkansas National Guard, because then-governor Faubus was using it to attempt to block the integration of the schools. But it was really only the intervention of the governor that provoked this kind of armed federal response. Congress and the President have significant constitutional authority to use the National Guard and even the regular army to put down “insurrection,” and a state governor’s open, armed defiance of federal law surely counts. This power derives from the Insurrection Act, which gives the President the authority to use the regular army to put down insurrection and lawlessness.  The Act is in turn derived from Congress’s constitutional power “To provide for calling forth the Militia to execute the Laws of the Union, suppress Insurrections and repel Invasions.”  The Insurrection Act was also invoked to quell the 1992 Los Angeles riots.

Apart from those incidents and the Civil War, the number of times the regular army has been deployed on US soil is pretty low. This is because the Posse Comitatus Act prohibits the domestic use of US soldiers without the express authorization of Congress. The Insurrection Act is one such authorization, but any circumstance which falls outside that mandate will require additional legislation, either dealing with a specific situation or creating a broader grant for a particular kind of activity.

In fact, in the real world, shortly after the Marvel Civil War event began, Congress passed an amendment to the Insurrection Act that would arguably authorize the use of the federal armed forces to deal with the threat of supervillain violence.  The 2006 amendments to the Act give the President the power to 

employ the armed forces, including the National Guard in Federal service, to restore public order and enforce the laws of the United States when, as a result of a … terrorist attack or incident, or other condition …, the President determines that domestic violence has occurred to such an extent that the constituted authorities of the State or possession are incapable of maintaining public order; and such violence results in a condition that … so hinders the execution of the laws of a State or possession … and of the United States within that State or possession, that any part or class of its people is deprived of a right, privilege, immunity, or protection named in the Constitution and secured by law, and the constituted authorities of that State or possession are unable, fail, or refuse to protect that right, privilege, or immunity, or to give that protection; or opposes or obstructs the execution of the laws of the United States or impedes the course of justice under those laws.

In the wake of the Stamford Disaster it could be argued that a “terrorist incident or other condition” had occurred, the regular state authorities were incapable of maintaining public order, and the level of violence rose to the level of depriving people of their rights.  This broader authority under the amended Insurrection Act may authorize the Initiative’s activities, but it would not authorize the registration and conscription parts of the SHRA.  Thus, the SHRA would still have to be passed, and so it would make sense to include a more specific authorization for the Initiative rather than relying on the Insurrection Act.  Note, though, that the 2006 amendments were later repealed.  They were in force during most of the Civil War event, however.

It’s worth pointing out that the National Guard, as such, is really under the control of the respective states. The Guard has a close relationship with the regular armed forces, operates on a federal level under the Department of Defense, and is composed largely of inactive or reserve federal soldiers, but remains distinct from the regular army in that it answers ultimately to state governors, not the President, unless the President exercises his constitutional authority to take control of the Guard. Most notably, one cannot be drafted into the National Guard. Congress cannot draft people into state agencies, and though the states can theoretically mandate some kind of conscription into their own services, none have tried.

The issue with the SHRA is that if the Initiative is an activity of the US military, it runs into the Posse Comitatus Act, and if it is not, it is far from clear that Congress could use the draft to staff it. Again, while Congress has broad authority to conscript men into the military, that authority is limited to the military, as it is an implied power of Congress’s explicit ability to raise armies. If conscripts are not to be used for the army, the conscription power would not seem to apply.

How can one get around this seeming catch-22? Well, one could posit that the SHRA included specific authorization for the Initiative, which would meet the requirements of the Posse Comitatus Act. Remember, the Act does not say that the Army cannot be used on US soil, it says that the Army cannot be used on US soil without congressional authorization, which Congress is naturally free to grant. However, one wonders just how popular such a move would be given that the immediate justification for the SHRA was the Stamford Disaster, in which a bunch of superheroes acting irresponsibly resulted in the destruction of an elementary school. Subsequent stories indicate that the Initiative remains far from popular, and the Initiative training camp seems to be subject to organized protest just about around the clock. One can imagine that congresscritters would be reluctant to deviate so strongly from established US custom, particularly in light of popular opposition. The SHRA itself is frequently said to be popular, but the Initiative somewhat less so.

Some of the uncertainty here stems from the general confusion surrounding the SHRA itself. But the Posse Comitatus and related draft issues seem to be something that the writers could have gotten right if they’d wanted to. Congress is entirely free to authorize military action on US soil, and given that superhero teams would probably be limited to fighting problems which require their particular talents, one can see how certain members of Congress could think that would be a good idea. Whether or not there would be enough support for that provision to pass it is an open question, but it would have made this aspect of the Civil War even that much more consistent.

Smallville III: Doppelgängers and Direct Democracy

This marks the third post in our series on Smallville (1, 2), which ended its run a week ago. This time we’re looking at two plot elements in Season Ten: Lionel Luthor’s reappearance and the vote to overturn the Vigilante Registration Act. Spoilers, as always, follow.

I. Dopplegängers

Early in Season Ten, Clark accidentally activates a “Mirror Box,” which transports him to Earth-2, an alternate universe where Lionel Luthor, not Jonathan and Martha Kent, discover Clark the day of the meteor shower. The world is a rather bleak and terrifying place, and the alternate version of Clark is really quite a monster. Of interest for us is that the alternate version of Lionel manages to cross back into the “real” world when Clark returns. Of course, the “real” Lionel died several seasons ago, so Evil Lionel represents something of a surprise for our heroes.

Lionel goes about reclaiming the assets and property disbursed upon “his” death several years before. We talked about resurrection and probate law a while ago, and this winds up being pretty much the same analysis. The key here is that Evil Lionel is passing himself off as Real Lionel, and no one has any reason to suspect otherwise. The only way to really prove that he’s a doppelgänger is to have Real Lionel make an appearance, and that’s not going to happen. Even exhuming the body wouldn’t be conclusive proof, given the apparent state of cloning technology in the Smallville universe. Remember Lana faking her own death a few seasons ago? Using a clone. Lionel could have done the same thing here, and it’d be very, very difficult to prove otherwise. And really, a court is going to have a much easier time believing that someone like Lionel faked his own death than it will believing that he’s from an alternate reality.

Furthermore, other than Tess and Oliver, most of the LuthorCorp execs, i.e. the people with the most vested interest in Lionel’s status, are probably pretty excited to have him back, seeing as the business always seemed to do better when he was in charge. Lex did okay, but he’s still dead, and the Oliver/Tess administration seems to be mostly a series of disappointing quarterly reports and inconveniently fatal explosions. A return to the old guard would plausibly be welcomed.

So ultimately, while it may take some explaining, the mere fact of Evil Lionel’s presence will probably speak for itself, and it’s entirely possible that after some months, he could wind up getting most of his assets back. Particularly as the estate seems to still be winding down, given the continuing discovery of artifacts like the Mirror Box. Assets still in the estate would be his merely for the asking.

II. Direct Democracy and the VRA

A fairly serious plot arc in season ten is the Vigilante Registration Act, which seems to be pretty similar to the Superhuman Registration Act we’ve been discussing over here. This Act is even less worked out than the SHRA, but the show spends a lot less time playing with the details, so this winds up being less of a problem than it is in the Marvel Universe, particularly as the act seems to have been in force only for a few months, and with only a few dozen targets. But the same kind of constitutional issues are present, and the analysis is basically the same, so we won’t duplicate that discussion here.

The new wrinkle is that midway through the season, there is a popular vote to overturn or repeal the VRA. While Law and the Multiverse has, we hope, demonstrated itself as having a charitable eye for Acceptable Breaks from Reality where getting the law right would make for bad television, we are here coming to an exception: this portrayal of the legislative process is spectacularly, unforgivably wrong.

Why? Because there is absolutely no mechanism, constitutional or otherwise, for direct democratic referendum on any piece of federal legislation. Never has been, and unless the Constitution is amended, there never will be. The Constitution explicitly and self-consciously creates a system of representation and permits no direct participation of the people in the legislative process.

The federal constitutional amendment process, for example, is initiated by either Congress or the state legislatures.  Unlike many states, the people are never directly consulted about amendments.  Even more, despite the massive hype surrounding the Presidential election, direct election of the President is actually a myth: the fact that the popular vote matters at all is a feature of political custom and state law, not constitutional law. The Constitution provides that the President shall be elected by the Electoral College, not by the popular vote, and though states may determine their own means for choosing their Electors–including popular vote–Electors are under no constitutional obligation to vote the way their state’s popular vote goes, and state laws attempting to punish “faithless electors” have yet to be ruled on by the Supreme Court (probably because it’s never made a difference). So for starters, the federal government of the United States is way less democratic than most people probably think.

Getting the mechanics of the Presidential or congressional elections wrong is one thing, and probably excusable. Not everyone is a policy wonk. And in other cases, we’ve been pretty forgiving about authors and editors who don’t have the details of administrative law figured out. A lot of lawyers are pretty fuzzy there too. But making up an entirely new, unprecedented, and quite probably unconstitutional political form goes beyond the pale. This is high school civics stuff, not high-level political theory. Citizens of the United States have absolutely no opportunity to vote upon federal legislation. None. Zero. Nada. So a vote to “repeal” the VRA is completely meaningless.

Okay, theoretically, it’s possible for a repeal bill to be written that has as its trigger the results of the popular vote.  Triggers are a common feature of legislation, but they are usually based on either time or a future action of the legislature (e.g. a declaration of war).  Using a popular vote as a trigger would likely be so politically and legally controversial that the debate over the legitimacy of the procedure would probably overwhelm the debate over the underlying issue.  And of course the repeal bill would still have to be passed by Congress and signed by the President.

It’s also not clear under which enumerated power of Congress the popular vote could be taken under.  Remember, regular federal elections are handled by the states, though somewhat regulated by the federal government through laws like HAVA.  It’s quite possible that Congress would have to ask or bribe the states to handle the voting.  If any state abstained from participating in the vote that would call into question the legitimacy of the whole process.  The whole thing is, at best, a giant mess.)

If the writers wanted to come up with a high-stakes vote on the legislation, they could have. Witness the drama and wrangling that went into getting the ACA passed last year. It did come down to a few key votes, some of which were late at night or right down to the wire, and the drama dominated the news cycle for weeks at a time. But it was all representatives and senators doing the voting, responding to pressure from the public, not citizens voting on their own behalf. This would have made Martha Kent’s role even bigger, as instead of simply giving a stump speech here and there, she’d have been actively involved in the process. Of course, that would have meant paying Annette O’Toole more, and while that’s no bad thing for the episodes she’s been in, it may not have been possible for budgetary or logistical reasons.

Still, shame on the writers for not finding a way to do this even within the bounds of the Hollywoodland legal system. Even if they’d fudged the process of actually getting a bill through Congress, that’d have been okay. Congressional procedure is notoriously arcane, and in the light of the ACA last year, any writer worth his salt should be intimidated by the thought of getting that right. Any TV show that gets bicameralism and presentment down gets a free pass on legislative procedure as far as we’re concerned, as that’s the about as much legislative procedure as adult Americans can be expected to know. But this? Bad writers! No biscuit!

III: Conclusion

So with this post we’ve got one thing the authors get basically right, i.e. Evil Lionel can probably claim Real Lionel’s assets without too much difficulty, and one outrageously wrong, i.e. there is absolutely no provision in the American political system for direct popular referenda on federal legislation. There’s plenty more to look at in this series, so we’ll probably return to it at least once or twice more.

Marvel Civil War III: The SHRA and the Constitution

For the third post in our series on Marvel’s Civil War event (1, 2), we’re looking at the constitutional validity of the Superhuman Regstration Act (SHRA). This will revisit some topics we’ve already talked about in other contexts.

I. The SHRA and Federalism

One of the biggest questions about the SHRA is whether Congress can do it at all. The Act was clearly and explicitly supposed to be an analog of the Patriot Act, passed in the aftermath of the September 11 attacks and widely viewed as a significant expansion of federal power at the expense of civil rights. Whether or not the Patriot Act is a net positive for society is a pretty good litmus test for one’s political leanings, and the SHRA—had it been planned out in detail—might have been too.

But the SHRA does more than the Patriot Act does, and even (or perhaps especially) when it is deliberately seeking to expand the reach of federal power, Congress must still  deal with the Constitution, at least nominally. Whereas the Patriot Act mostly has to do with anti-terrorism intelligence gathering and transportation security, the SHRA targets a rather ill-defined category of American citizen for special treatment. One of the biggest ambiguities is exactly who counts as a “superhuman” under the Act. Mutants fairly clearly do, as do people who can, e.g. fly under their own power, leap tall buildings with a single bound, etc., but why technology-based heroes should need to register at all is never quite explained. Either way, something like the SHRA runs up against the limits of the powers Congress has been granted by Article I.

We talked about a similar fictional federal law—Watchmen’s Keene Act—way back in December. There, we discussed the constitutional validity of a federal act outlawing costumed vigilantes and concluded that while this may represent a rather unusual implementation of the Commerce Power, current jurisprudence suggests that such an act might well be permitted to stand by the Supreme Court. Given that the SHRA was passed in the aftermath of the Stamford disaster (which resulted in the deaths of over 600 civilians including dozens of children), popular opinion was strongly in favor of the SHRA, and the Court has proven reluctant to play the heavy when faced with a Congressional action which could go either way constitutionally but carries strong popular support.

II. The SHRA and Congressional War Powers

But the SHRA has something going for it that neither the real Patriot Act nor the fictional Keene Act do: Congress is explicitly empowered to “raise and support Armies. . . . to provide and maintain a Navy; to make Rules for the Government and Regulation of the land and naval forces,” etc. In other words, Congress has the power to raise armed forces for the national defense, and there is very, very little limit on its powers in this area. Indeed, the Supreme Court ruled unanimously that Congress’s power to raise and support an army gives it the right to link federal educational funding to the presence of military recruiters on university campuses. So if, as is sometimes indicated in the comic books, the SHRA was intended to form a kind of special branch of the federal armed forces, under the auspices of S.H.I.E.L.D. or something else, Congress has a lot of authority here. It certainly has the ability to authorize and fund a superhuman branch of the military.

But does it have the ability to force superhumans to register and work for the government? Maybe. Conscription is never directly addressed by the Constitution, but it has long been held that conscription is part of Congress’s power to raise armies, and the Supreme Court tends to unusually strong statements of congressional power when faced with this particular issue. See, e.g. Lichter v. U.S., 334 U.S. 742 (1948). But while the power of Congress to draft people into the armed services is generally beyond question, the power of Congress to draft specific individuals is something different.  For the most part, since World War II the draft has basically applied to all men equally.  Prior to World War II there was significant class discrimination, most exemplified by the paid substitute system of the Civil War.  But directly targeting specific individuals raises due process implications far beyond the skewed drafts of the 19th and early 20th Centuries. The draft is a pretty huge imposition upon civil rights, and while it is an imposition Congress is permitted to make, the Supreme Court might balk at permitting Congress to go so far as to shed even the pretense of fairness.

We talked about this in a Mailbag post and came to the conclusion that while this is an untested area of law, Congress’s sweeping war powers may permit them to target specific individuals for the draft. Again, the courts are very unwilling to restrict congressional authority where it is explicitly granted, and even though Amendments to the Constitution can and do curtail those powers, as there is no indication that any of the constitutional Amendments were specifically intended to affect the draft, it’s a fair bet that the Supreme Court would find that they do not.

III. Conclusion

Really though, what we have here is more evidence that the Civil War event could have been a lot better if the staff had simply decided what they wanted the law to do. The SHRA, or at least some form of it that does what the story needs it to do, probably would be constitutional. It is probably within Congress’s power, either the Commerce Power or the war powers, depending on how the authors want to spin that. And as we’ve said before, the story would have been a lot more balanced if the pro-reg side had been able to argue that the law was fair, constitutional, and well implemented. C’est la vie, we suppose.

Thor

So Thor is out. And it’s pretty good. I mean, it’s no Dark Knight, or even Iron Man, but neither is it The Fantastic Four (which, let’s face it, just sucked).

But you aren’t here for a review of the movie as a movie. You’re here for a review of the movie as it pertains to the legal system! At first glance, one might wonder exactly how a movie about an Asgardian major deity might have anything whatsoever to do with the American legal system. You’d be surprised! Spoilers, as always, follow after the break.

Continue reading

Marvel Civil War II: Deadlines and Due Process

This is the second in our series on Marvel’s Civil War event. We started with some framing issues, namely that there are problems with the way the series treats the law in general. Now we’re going to look at some of the specifics about how the stories implement the law as a plot point.

I. The Deadline

For the first few months of the event, much of the drama centered on what would happen at the stroke of midnight when the Superhuman Registration Act (“SHRA”) went into effect. Civil War #2 actually shows a screen in what is probably Times Square announcing “Registration Act Becomes Law” at midnight on that day. The gist is that it seems that Congress passed the bill and the President signed it into law, and the text of the bill said that it was slated to go into effect at some point in the future. Is that really how laws work?

Sort of. Yes, it’s entirely possible for a law to incorporate a delay in its effectiveness. The 2010 health care reform law contains numerous provisions which will not go into effect for years, and even the ones that are currently operative did not generally become so the instant the bill was signed. There are dates, specified in the bill, when certain provisions go into effect. This is actually pretty common, as at the very least, Congress tends to like at least some lead time to permit the Library of Congress to update the United States Code before the new code sections are to be effective. Having bills become effective as soon as they’re signed can be useful, but where time is not of the essence, picking a date in the near future tends to make the logistics of the process run a bit more smoothly.

So yes, if Congress were to pass a version of the SHRA, there would be a deadline beyond which superhumans would be required to register, and something big would likely go down on that day. But the deadline for registration would probably not be the date the law became effective. Why? Because before the law becomes effective, there is no way for anyone to register. The law which creates the need for registration also creates the process for registration, so before the law is effective, a superhuman who wanted to register would have no way of doing so. This is actually inadvertently hinted at in the way registration is portrayed in the stories. We never see superhumans headed down what amounts to the superhuman DMV. Instead, they’re all approached, in person, either individually or in small groups, by agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., asking them to sign the paperwork. Where that paperwork came from is never really addressed—Who wrote it? When? If it was before the bill became law, under whose authority?—but it’s all a pretty ad hoc process. We’ll talk about the constitutional problems with this in a minute, but that aside, even if Congress were silly enough to pass a the SHRA, it’s highly doubtful that they’d require each and every superhuman to be served with papers personally. The DMV may suck, but it does basically work, and there’s no reason to think that Congress wouldn’t create an analogous agency (or empower an existing one) to take care of this.

Still, though the portrayal is rather inconsistent and not without its problems, with two relatively minor tweaks the writers could still create a situation where the country was holding its breath as the clock ticks towards midnight on Registration Day. First, the law would go into effect without much fanfare, and it would authorize a federal agency to promulgate the rules and develop the process whereby superhumans could register. The agency would probably have a fixed—and short!—amount of time to do this. Second, the law would specify another date after the agency deadline, probably 30, 60, or 90 days, by which all superhumans would be required to register. It would be that date, not the date the bill became law or first went into legal effect, which would be the focus of the drama. And it would be that date, not the date when Tony Stark shows up at your door with a bunch of papers for you to sign, beyond which an unregistered superhero would be in violation of the law. That’s just how these things work.

II. Due Process

The reason they work that was isn’t just logistical. There’s also a very good constitutional reason for having things work this way: The Fifth Amendment right to due process.

Due process is basically the constitutional doctrine that no one can be punished or have their legal rights adversely affected without there being some kind of procedure. For example, if the government wants to imprison someone for committing a crime, there must be a trial, the defendant must have the option of a jury trial, the defendant must have access to competent counsel, and the prosecution must prove its case beyond a reasonable doubt—among other things. Similarly, in the civil context, no one can have a judgment enforced against them unless they were properly served, i.e. notified of the lawsuit.

So if the SHRA were to work the way it seems to in the comics rather than in the way outlined above (which, you will note, still lets the story proceed largely intact), a superhuman arrested for failure to register would have a number of arguments that this violated his constitutional right to due process.

First, there’s the fact that the law requires superhumans to register by a certain date without actually giving them any opportunity to do so. There do not appear to be any logistical structures in place to permit registration before the stroke of midnight when the bill became law, so arresting people ten seconds later is just unfair. Any hero who wasn’t served with papers could plausibly argue that he’d love to register if only someone would tell him how.

Second, there’s the timing issue. Cars must be registered, but most states give you a week if not a full thirty days to register a car after you buy it. Why? Because the DMV isn’t always open, because people have jobs, and because there’s just no good reason to insist that it happen right away. So when the cape-killers come to knock down his door at five seconds past midnight, why can’t a hero just say, “Gentlemen, my wife is sleeping, my kids are sleeping, and until you so rudely awakened me, I was sleeping. Can this not wait until morning?” Really, there doesn’t seem to be any reason why not. Heck, why not just make the deadline noon instead of midnight? But even that wouldn’t really solve the problem. People, even superhumans, have lives, things to do, obligations, responsibilities, the whole nine yards. If the government’s going to come along and add another thing to that neverending list, the least it can do is give people a chance to work it into their schedule. Complete failure to do that would almost certainly constitute a due process violation. Again, even if this were done right, there’s still plenty of drama to be had here. It would only have taken a panel or two to show that a month had gone by since the act become law, and that any superhuman who was going to register had his chance to do so. On with the cape-killers and the fighting and the angst.

III. Conclusion

Ultimately, this issue is kind of a toss-up. The writers got it wrong, but they did so in the name of drama, and as it turns out, a few relatively minor tweaks to the way the law was conceived would have permitted most of that drama. But what’s disappointing is that if they had adopted those tweaks, the pro-reg side would have seemed a lot more reasonable. Luke Cage wouldn’t have been able to make his rather overwrought comparison to race lynchings in the 1960s if instead of Iron Man and a squad of cape-killers, he had gotten a registration packet in the mail and a month to think about it. If he defies the law then, he looks less like someone who just wants to get a good night’s sleep without having his home invaded by federal troops and more like someone who really is taking a principled but morally ambiguous stance. And when Stark does show up, he’d be able to take the position that Cage had plenty of opportunity to trundle on down to the local registration office (or file a lawsuit opposing the law!), that he’d had every chance to do this like a civilized adult, but was now choosing the hard way. As the event seems to have wanted to explore those issues, getting the law wrong leaves the story more than a bit lop-sided.

The Legal Side-Effects of Amnesia

Characters in comics frequently come down with amnesia, whether induced by superheroes, supervillains, or more pedestrian causes.  This post considers one legal side-effect of amnesia: loss of competency to stand trial.

We’ve talked about supervillains and competency before in the context of the mental illnesses that many supervillains (and even some superheroes) arguably suffer from.  But what about amnesia?  If a telepathic superhero (e.g. Professor X, Psylocke) erases a supervillain’s memories in order to stop an attack or prevent future crimes, could that interfere with the government’s ability to try the supervillain for the crimes he or she already committed?  Or if a superhero’s memories are erased by a supervillain, leading the superhero to commit crimes, could the superhero argue incompetency to stand trial for those crimes?  In some jurisdictions, the answer may be yes.

I. Competency and Due Process

In the US, competency is part of the constitutional right to due process.  “It has long been accepted that a person whose mental condition is such that he lacks the capacity to understand the nature and object of the proceedings against him, to consult with counsel, and to assist in preparing his defense may not be subjected to a trial.”  Drope v. Missouri, 420 U.S. 162, 171 (1975).  The Court noted that “the prohibition is fundamental to an adversary system of justice.”  Drope, 420 U.S. at 172.  In other words, in an adversarial system it’s simply not fair to pit the entire weight of the state against an incompetent defendant.

II. Amnesia and Competency

So then, does amnesia—specifically, amnesia regarding the alleged crime—render a defendant incompetent to stand trial?  The general rule is that it does not.  “[T]here is no record of any court holding a defendant incompetent to stand trial solely on the basis of amnesia.”  Amnesia: A Case Study in the Limits of Particular Justice, 71 Yale L.J. 109 (1961) (emphasis added).  Courts are reluctant to allow a defense of amnesia because it can be faked and because it is often de-coupled from an ongoing mental illness or defect, which means the amnesiac may be clearly competent in many ways.

However, while no courts have adopted a bright line rule that amnesia necessarily implies incompetence, several courts have allowed amnesia to be considered in the usual competency analysis.  See, e.g., Wilson v. United States, 391 F.2d 460 (D.C. Cir. 1968); United States ex rel. Parson v. Anderson, 481 F.2d 94 (3d Cir. 1973); Morris v. State, 301 S.W.2d 381 (Tex. Crim. App. 2009).  Severe amnesia—to the point of interfering with a defendant’s ability to consult with and assist his or her lawyer—may lead to a finding of incompetency.

The Wilson court went one step further and gave a list of six factors a trial court should use at the post-trial stage in considering whether a defendant’s amnesia has affected the fairness of the trial:

(1) The extent to which the amnesia affected the defendant’s ability to consult with and assist his lawyer.

(2) The extent to which the amnesia affected the defendant’s ability to testify in his own behalf.

(3) The extent to which the evidence in suit could be extrinsically reconstructed in view of the defendant’s amnesia. Such evidence would include evidence relating to the crime itself as well as any reasonably possible alibi.

(4) The extent to which the Government assisted the defendant and his counsel in that reconstruction.

(5) The strength of the prosecution’s case. Most important here will be whether the Government’s case is such as to negate all reasonable hypotheses of innocence. If there is any substantial possibility that the accused could, but for his amnesia, establish an alibi or other defense, it should be presumed that he would have been able to do so.

(6) Any other facts and circumstances which would indicate whether or not the defendant had a fair trial.

In general, the worse the amnesia and the weaker the external evidence—including the government’s case—the more likely that the trial will be found to violate due process.  However, the D.C. Circuit is essentially alone among jurisdictions in taking this approach, which has been explicitly rejected by many other courts.  See, e.g., State v. Peabody, 611 A.2d 826 (R.I. 1992).

III. The Wilson Test In Practice

So let’s apply this to a few examples. For starters, in X-Men #3 from 1963, Professor X winds up erasing the Blob‘s memory of the X-Men and his attack on them. But the Blob only winds up losing a few hours of memory, maybe a day at the worst. So while he wouldn’t be able to testify about what he did, if the state decided to press charges for something he did during his rampage, he’d probably wind up passing a competency hearing.  His amnesia is not so severe that he has forgotten who he is or why he might have been motivated to do what he did.  Further, there’s enough extrinsic evidence that it’s unlikely that any of his defenses would require him to testify from memory.  Courts routinely reject this kind of short-term amnesia as an impediment to competence in cases where defendants have forgotten the crime itself because of substance abuse (e.g. blacking out after a bar fight) or trauma.

But what about Magneto in Defenders # 15-16? Magneto is regressed to infancy by Alpha. That right there raises significant competency questions, not only to do with memory, but rationality and maturity. Again, proving Magneto’s mental state could be tricky, but the fact that he does not remember anything about what happened before his encounter with Alpha should not be hard to establish. Here, the fact that Magneto possessed essentially no record of his prior life should produce a very different outcome from the Blob’s case above, as the “old” Magneto could have presumably raised affirmative defenses—such as necessity—for his actions, while the new one cannot even understand why he would have done the things of which he is accused, something the Blob probably would be able to do.

IV. Conclusion

Superheroes should think twice about erasing a villain’s memories.  While it may be an effective way to stop a villain in his or her tracks, it may also render them incompetent to stand trial.  In general, the worse the amnesia, the more likely the defendant is to be found incompetent, so go easy on the mind wipes, guys.

Mailbag for April 8, 2011

This week we’re taking a look at reader questions about the legitimacy of certain kinds of punishment and whether doctors or veterinarians would be legally licensed to treat extraterrestrials.  As always, if you have questions or post suggestions, please send them to james@lawandthemultiverse.com and ryan@lawandthemultiverse.com or leave them in the comments.

I. Modification/Mutilation of Supervillains as Punishment

Joe asks about the punishment meted out to Sabbac, basically an evil version of Captain Marvel who, like his counterpart, could transform into a superbeing by uttering a word of power. When Sabbac was apprehended, he was sentenced to having his larynx removed to prevent him from speaking this word. Joe’s question is whether this would be a constitutional punishment, given the 8th Amendment prohibitions against “cruel and unusual punishment.”

The most obvious parallel is to chemical castration, where convicted sex offenders, usually pedophiles, are treated with what amounts to Depo Provera, a hormone drug usually used as a contraceptive. In women, that’s basically its only use, but in men, the drug generally results in a massively reduced sex-drive. Which, for pedophiles, is no bad thing.

About a dozen states use chemical castration in at least some cases, and there does not appear to have been a successful challenge on constitutional grounds. This may in part be due to the fact that a significant percentage of the offenders who are given the treatment volunteer for it, as it offers a way of controlling their urges. If the person being sentenced does not object, it’s hard to come up with standing. Either way, despite health and civil rights concerns, this appears to be a viable sentence in the US legal system.

Fair enough. But it should not be hard to see that physically and permanently removing someone’s ability to speak is not exactly the same as putting a reversible chemical damper on their sex drive. It’s entirely possible to live an otherwise normal life with a low sex drive, but being mute is a little harder both to deal with and to hide. So while the idea of physical modification to the human body is not unconstitutional on its face, it remains to be seen whether this degree of modification would be permitted. For example, while chemical castration appears to be constitutional, it’s pretty likely that physical castration would not be.  We can only say “pretty likely” because Buck v. Bell, a 1927 Supreme Court case that upheld (8 to 1!) a Virginia statute instituting compulsory sterilization of “mental defectives,” has never been expressly overturned, and tens of thousands of compulsory sterilizations occurred in the US after Buck, most recently in 1981.

On the other hand, Sabbac isn’t your run-of-the-mill offender here. He’s possessed by six demonic entities and capable of wreaking an immense amount of destruction. Part of the analysis in determining whether or not a punishment is “cruel and unusual” is whether or not the punishment is grossly disproportionate proportional to the severity of the crime.  Ewing v. California, 538 U.S. 11, 21 (2003).  This is, in part, why the Supreme Court has outlawed the death penalty for rape cases, i.e. if no one is dead, execution seems to be a disproportionate response. Coker v. Georgia, 433 U.S. 584 (1977).

The 8th Amendment also prohibits “the unnecessary and wanton infliction of pain,” including those “totally without penological justification.” Hope v. Pelzer, 536 U.S. 730, 737-38 (2002).  Here, though, there is a clear penological justification, namely the prevention of future crimes, and the laryngectomy could be carried out in a humane manner without the infliction of unnecessary pain.

There are other criteria by which a punishment is judged, including whether it accords with human dignity and whether it is shocking or violative of fundamental fairness, but in a case like this necessity goes a long way, especially because the purpose of the operation is not retributive punishment.

So then, if the only way to prevent Sabbac from assuming his demonic form is to render him mute, then it’s possible that the courts would go along with that, particularly if it proved impossible to contain him otherwise and the operation was carried out in a humane manner.

II. Medical Treatment for Aliens

Jona asks whether it would be more proper for an alien to seek treatment from a physician or a veterinarian. This question revolves around the extent of the license under which each profession operates. Like law, the medical professions are all fairly well regulated and require practitioners to be licensed by the state. This serves both to ensure that professionals are competent, but it also permits the state to keep at least minimal tabs on those professionals in the event one of them should do something bad. It also permits the state to prohibit a professional who has engaged in egregious misconduct or is otherwise unfit to practice from doing so. There’s a lot in this, and we’ll probably return to it for a full post down the road a ways, but here’s some preliminary thoughts.

The question here is which license would provide the authority to treat an extraterrestrial. Whether or not the alien is intelligent is not actually part of the analysis, because that isn’t how the MD and DVM licenses are distinguished. Physicians are licensed to treat homo sapiens, and veterinarians are licensed to treat pretty much everything else. So at first glance, it would seem that vets would be better positioned to treat aliens than physicians, particularly aliens of the non-rubber forehead variety.

This isn’t really a matter of competence mind you: both a physician and a vet would presumably be equally out of their depth if faced with truly alien biology, if only because neither would actually have any idea what’s going on in there. Even analogizing to known species’ physiology would be impossible without a significant amount of study, and depending on the circumstances under which treatment was necessary, there might not be time for that. So if, for example, aliens crash-land and injured survivors are located, time may well be of the essence. In that case, it would probably wind up being a measure of which kind of professional could be located first.

On the other hand, physicians have two things going for them that vets tend not to. First, military and government agencies (outside departments of agriculture) are more likely to have institutional ties with physicians than with vets, and such agencies are likely to be first on the scene.  Second, physicians work in hospitals, while vets work mostly in the field or in their own clinics. Most veterinary clinics don’t have anything resembling an ICU, as when it comes right down to it, animals aren’t really worth the expense. There aren’t many people who can afford to have their dog put on a ventilator, let alone livestock, the latter of which are raised for explicitly economic purposes. There’s just no odds in it. So as a matter of practice, physicians may well be more likely to be involved, licensing issues aside.

Ultimately, the question is probably moot. If we are operating under the assumption that this is an unexpected and potentially one-off occasion, licensing matters aren’t likely to even come up. They usually only do in malpractice situations, and most stories involving emergency treatment of extraterrestrials don’t seem to permit the aliens a sufficient degree of integration with human society to file lawsuits. And if aliens are that common and integrated, the medical professions would adapt to figure out which professions would wind up being licensed to treat them. Depending on their physiology, it could go either way.  There’s more to consider about this, though, so look forward to a follow-up post in the future.

That’s all for this week. Keep sending in your questions!

Law and the Multiverse Mailbag XIII

Lots of good questions this week. Today we’re looking at two issues: extra-planetary jurisdiction and conscription of specific superpowered individuals.  As always, if you have questions or post suggestions, please send them to james@lawandthemultiverse.com and ryan@lawandthemultiverse.com or leave them in the comments.

I. Extra-planetary jurisdiction

Bob asks “Do the laws of a country apply in space?  Perhaps if they are on a NASA spaceship then the laws of the USA would apply.  But how about if a crime is committed on the Moon (and not in any country’s Moon-base)?”

As mentioned in our interview earlier this week, Earth-bound legal systems don’t normally extend beyond the Earth’s atmosphere. Indeed, individual nations’ legal systems don’t extend much beyond their borders, but we’ve already got a terrestrial example: the high seas.

Oceans outside the territorial claims of any particular country are already pretty lawless. The UN Convention on the Law of the Sea has been ratified or at least signed by almost every country, but apart from addressing piracy it is mostly concerned with mundane issues like establishing territorial boundaries and exclusive economic zones. Admiralty law is a little more detailed (and one of the oldest continuously operating bodies of law in the world) but even that has mostly to do with the conduct of vessels, salvage rights, etc.

But even there, national courts are widely held to be able to exert jurisdiction over persons for actions they commit while at sea once the person is brought to shore. One of the most famous cases in every law student’s criminal law class is R. v. Dudley & Stephens, about some sailors who cannibalize the cabin boy. The defendants were brought to trial and convicted once they returned to their native country, and jurisdiction was not one of the real issues. But if they had been rescued by, say, an American ship, it’s possible they could have been brought to trial in an American court. Crimes committed on the high seas can generally be tried everywhere, e.g. Somalian pirates are being tried in New York City. The theory is that crimes committed outside national boundaries are, in a sense, crimes against civilization, and thus may be tried anywhere. The controversial doctrine of universal jurisdiction has some of its origins in this concept.

There is a limit here: the acts in question need to be obviously criminal by anyone’s standards. Murder is a pretty easy example. So is piracy. But what about things that are only illegal by statute, like gambling? Well the ferry that runs between Maine and Nova Scotia passes through international waters, and the on-board casino is only open when outside both the US and Canada’s territorial waters. There really hasn’t been all that much law here, but it’s unlikely that any given nation would be able to enforce its particular regulatory regime on the high seas over anything but a ship registered under that nation’s flag.

Outer space is quite similar. There is, in fact, a statute which extends federal jurisdiction to spacecraft flying the US flag (18 U.S.C. § 7(6)), which also discusses maritime jurisdiction with similar results. State laws do not apply, but federal laws do. But again, note that enforcement would require bringing a defendant back to US soil for trial, just like it would for crime on the high seas.

The same statute, specifically subsection 7, also grants US jurisdiction over “any place outside the jurisdiction of any nation with respect to an offense by or against a national of the United States.”  This is kind of a catch-all clause.  If no one else has jurisdiction and a US national is either the suspect or the victim, then the US has jurisdiction.  So if a supervillain commits a federal crime against an American superhero on, say, Mars, then the supervillain can be hauled into federal court once he or she is brought back to Earth.

II. Conscription

Samuel asks “Given that an American superhero like Superman can be a tremendously valuable military asset, as both a frontline combat supersoldier and as a propaganda tool, is there any legal basis for the U.S. government to conscript Superman, specifically, into the Armed Forces?  What about drafting all superheroes in general?  Is there any legal way for Superman and other superheroes to ‘dodge the draft’?”

The law here is less clear than it is for law in outer space, only because it does not appear that the government has ever tried to draft a specific individual outside a wider draft program. As far as draft programs go, the courts have been exceptionally deferential to congressional power. The Supreme Court has held that “The constitutionality of the conscription of manpower for military service is beyond question. The constitutional power of Congress to support the armed forces with equipment and supplies is no less clear and sweeping.” Lichter v. United States, 344 U.S. 742 (1948).  As John Quincy Adams said in a speech before the House of Representatives, “[The war power] is tremendous; it is strictly constitutional; but it breaks down every barrier so anxiously erected for the protection of liberty, property and of life.”

More recently, the D.C. Circuit has held that “the power of Congress to raise armies by conscription is not limited by either the Thirteenth Amendment or the absence of a military emergency.” United States v. Chandler, 403 F.2d 531 (D.C. Cir. 1968). The Thirteenth Amendment, prohibiting involuntary servitude, is perhaps the most obvious potential constitutional issue with the draft, and the federal courts have unanimously and consistently held that it does not limit the draft power at all.

Similarly the federal courts have held that the First Amendment is no barrier to the draft.  Conscientious objector status is the product of statute, not the Constitution.  “The conscientious objector is relieved from the obligation to bear arms in obedience to no constitutional provision, express or implied; but because, and only because, it has accorded with the policy of Congress thus to relieve him.”  United States v. Macintosh, 283 U.S. 605, 623 (1931).  If Congress wanted to, it could conscript everyone, regardless of any religious or moral objection.  It’s unlikely it would do so, given that it would likely lead to civil disobedience, but it’s a theoretical possibility.  In the same case the Court lists a whole host of constitutional rights that may be superseded by the war power, culminating in “other drastic powers, wholly inadmissible in time of peace, exercised to meet the emergencies of war.”

However, this is still an untested area of law, because as far as we can tell Congress hasn’t actually tried to do this, there being no compelling reason to use the draft power this way. The only times a draft has been imposed have been in times of incredible demand for manpower—it is a pretty drastic step, after all—so going after a handful of specific individuals wouldn’t make sense in the real world. But if the draft of specific individuals or classes of individuals is to be attacked, it would have to be on some kind of due process argument, i.e. Congress can draft everyone in a certain age group, but it can’t draft specific people.

Should Congress go after a regular guy this way, the courts might be persuaded to intervene, but if the target is a superhero? It may well be that the courts would permit such an action, as the draft power is pretty sweeping, and the courts have not really displayed any willingness to limit that power before. If Congress thinks it needs the assistance of a uniquely capable citizen to fight a war, then that may well be something Congress is allowed to do.

III. Conclusion

Law in outer space would probably work pretty similarly to law on the high seas: a particular nation’s courts could probably enforce basic laws against things like murder, but only once the defendant was brought to Earth. And Congress may well be able to draft the services of specific people, particularly if there’s a reason for their unique services to be used.

Thanks for reading. There’ll be more next week!

Mercenaries and Bounty Hunters

Today’s post is inspired by David, who wondered about mercenary characters like Deadpool and Deathstroke, and a comment by John, who wanted to know about bounty hunters (in the “wanted poster” sense).  We touched on some of the legal issues surrounding bounty hunters, particularly the bail bondsman type, in the comments to our post on Superheroes and Citizen’s Arrest, but there are some more topics to discuss.  We’ll address mercenaries first, then bounty hunters.

I. Mercenaries

The term mercenary doesn’t really have a particular legal meaning outside the international law context (i.e. “a professional soldier hired by someone other than his or her own government to fight in a foreign country,” Black’s Law Dictionary (9th ed. 2009)).  Mercenary is also used to describe military security contractors like Blackwater/Xe.  But in comics the term is usually used to describe a “gun for hire” or private security typically employed by private individuals or companies rather than governments.  Frequently comic book mercenaries are hired to steal things or kill people, which leads us to two criminal law concepts: solicitation and conspiracy.

A. Solicitation

Solicitation is one of the inchoate offenses, and at common law consisted of soliciting, requesting, commanding, or importuning another person to commit a felony or serious misdemeanor.  These days solicitation is typically defined by a statute such as 18 USC 373(a):

Whoever, with intent that another person engage in conduct constituting a felony that has as an element the use, attempted use, or threatened use of physical force against property or against the person of another in violation of the laws of the United States, and under circumstances strongly corroborative of that intent, solicits, commands, induces, or otherwise endeavors to persuade such other person to engage in such conduct, shall be imprisoned …

Something to notice here: the solicitor must intend that the other person actually commit the felony, so it’s not solicitation if, for example, an undercover police officer ‘solicits’ the commission of a crime in a sting operation.  Related to the intent requirement, the federal statute (like some state statutes) provides a defense of abandonment in 373(b):

It is an affirmative defense to a prosecution under this section that, under circumstances manifesting a voluntary and complete renunciation of his criminal intent, the defendant prevented the commission of the crime solicited.

So what happens if the mercenary agrees to take the job?  Then the solicitor and the mercenary are guilty of conspiracy (some jurisdictions also require that the solicitor or mercenary take an affirmative step towards completing the crime; more on conspiracy later).

And if the mercenary finishes the job, committing the crime he or she was hired to do?  Then a curious thing happens: the solicitor and mercenary both become guilty of the crime (e.g. theft, murder) but the solicitation charge goes away.  In legal terms, the crime of solicitation merges with the underlying offense.  The solicitor can be charged as a principal (i.e. as though he or she committed the crime himself or herself) because he or she acted as an accessory to the crime.  See, e.g., 18 USC 2.

Fun Fact: In many jurisdictions, contract killings are automatically first degree or capital murder for the solicitor and the killer. See, e.g, N.Y. Penal Law § 125.27(1)(a)(vi).

B. Conspiracy

Like solicitation, conspiracy is generally defined by statute these days.  The general federal conspiracy statute is 18 USC 371:

If two or more persons conspire either to commit any offense against the United States, or to defraud the United States, or any agency thereof in any manner or for any purpose, and one or more of such persons do any act to effect the object of the conspiracy, each shall be fined under this title or imprisoned …

However, unlike solicitation and attempt, conspiracy does not merge with the underlying offense if the underlying offense is completed.  Instead, it’s a separate crime.  The usual rationale for this is that criminal conspiracies are especially dangerous because two or more people can do far more damage than one person acting alone and because people are more likely to go through with a crime if they are in agreement with others.

Like solicitation, some jurisdictions provide for a defense of abandonment or withdrawal in conspiracy cases, but it usually requires more than just ceasing one’s involvement in the conspiracy.  The defendant must also show that he or she tried to stop the commission of the crime, and that can be difficult to prove.

The practical upshot of all of this is that most comic book mercenaries are criminals, as are the folks that hire them.  Although we’ve seen that self-defense, defense of others, and citizen’s arrest are all useful legal tools for superheroes, those looking to stay on the right side of the law should probably look for work as bodyguards rather than mercenaries.

II. Bounty Hunters

First, some nomenclature: Strictly speaking, most bounty hunters are actually seeking a reward rather than a bounty.  A bounty may be claimed by multiple people performing the same service, while a reward may only be claimed by one person performing a unique service.  For example, a bounty may be offered for the destruction of dangerous animals (e.g. coyotes), whereas a reward may be offered for the arrest and return of a particular fugitive.

States generally have the power to post rewards as part of their general police power.  However, political subdivisions of states usually do not have general police powers, and so cannot post rewards without statutory authorization.  See, e.g, Brite v. Board, 21 Cal.App.2d 233 (Cal. Ct. App. 1937).  Courts have generally held that when statutes authorize rewards, the language of the reward has to hew pretty closely to the language of the statute.  See, e.g., Smith v. Vernon County, 188 Mo. 501 (1905).  Many statutes still have reward laws on the books.  See, e.g., Mo. Rev. Stat. 544.150, 145.  And those statutes do get a work out, even today.

Note, though, that the reward statutes generally only allow rewards for the capture or arrest of fugitives or felons, not their killing or the production of their bodies.  So “wanted: dead or alive” won’t work these days.  Frankly, I doubt it would work even with statutory authorization, since it amounts to a reward for an extrajudicial killing that couldn’t possibly survive modern due process analysis.

Private individuals and organizations can also offer rewards so long as the reward doesn’t request or require anything illegal (that would be solicitation, as discussed above).  In that case the reward is simply a unilateral contract (i.e. a contract that is accepted by performing the requested service).

Most states require that someone seeking a reward knew about the reward before they did whatever it is the reward requires.  See, e.g., Smith.  So going around arresting fugitives in hopes that a reward has been or will be posted is a good way not to get a reward.  Professional bounty hunters should wait for a reward to be posted first, then go get the bad guy.

As a final note, most modern “bounty hunters” are actually bail bondsman, i.e. people whose line of business is posting bail for criminal defendants and then rounding them up if they fail to appear in court when required. There isn’t really a public reward posted in these cases. Rather, a defendant contacts a bail bondsman when arrested, and the bondsman agrees to post bail in exchange for a commission, usually 10-15% of the bail amount. If the defendant fails to appear, the bond is forfeit, so the bondsman has an incentive to make sure that he does. But there isn’t any sort of general bounty or reward posted which would incentivize other persons to go after the defendant. Rewards are usually only posted for the most dangerous and notorious criminals. Bail bondsmen deal with mostly lower-end offenses and are thus far more common and far less interesting, story-wise.

III. Conclusion

Under the right circumstances, bounty hunting is a legally sanctioned way for a superhero to make money while fighting crime.  Mercenary work, by contrast, is usually more legally questionable, at least in the comics.