Category Archives: criminal procedure

Manhunter, Volume 4, Part 3

We’ve made it to the last part of our series on Manhunter volume 4. This is also the penultimate entry in our larger series on Manhunter, since volume 5 is pretty light on legal issues. To celebrate wrapping up this series, we’re giving away a complete set of volumes 1-5 of the Marc Andreyko run of Manhunter. To enter, simply send an email with “Law and the Multiverse Manhunter Giveaway” in the subject to james@lawandthemultiverse.com.  Please note that you must be 13 or older to enter.  We’ll choose a winner at random from among all of the entries we receive and announce it with the final Manhunter post.  (In the future we’ll probably give away books before we start writing about them, but we only had the idea for this recently.)

Now on to today’s post.  The remaining issues to talk about in volume 4 are some evidentiary problems and the “elephant in the room” jurisdictional issue.  Spoilers ahead!

I. Evidence, Grand Jury Procedure, and More Legal Ethics

After Spencer obtains Superman’s agreement to testify and to allow the use of the videotape proving that Superman was acting under Lord’s psychic control, she arranges a meeting at the judge’s home with the judge, the prosecutor, Superman, and herself.  There she shows the judge and prosecutor the videotape.  As we’ve discussed, there would ordinarily be no judge involved at the grand jury stage of things.  Curiously, the comic gets several things right at this point that almost make up for things it got egregiously wrong earlier.

First, the judge correctly remarks that she can’t speak to Spencer without the prosecutor present.  California Rule of Professional Conduct 5-300(B) states that attorneys cannot communicate with a judge regarding the merits of a case except

(1) In open court; or
(2) With the consent of all other counsel in such matter; or
(3) In the presence of all other counsel in such matter; or
(4) In writing with a copy thereof furnished to such other counsel; or
(5) In ex parte matters.

So Spencer was right (so far as it goes) to call the prosecutor into the meeting.

Second, the comic correctly shows that both the judge and the prosecutor are not at court while the grand jury is deliberating.  As mentioned in the last post in this series, no one except the jurors and any necessary interpreters may be present for federal grand jury deliberations.

Third, the judge correctly tells Spencer that the evidence can only be offered at trial.  The prosecutor can choose what evidence to present to the grand jury, and once the grand jury has begun deliberating it is too late for the prosecutor to offer any new evidence.  Of course, it’s highly unlikely that the prosecutor would show such evidence to the grand jury anyway.  Although prosecutors may have an ethical duty to give the defendant any evidence tending to prove the defendant’s innocence (ABA Model Rule 3.8(d)), it’s up the defendant to actually use that evidence.  The prosecutor has no obligation to do the defense’s job for it.

Although the comic gets a lot correct there, there’s still a significant error here.  Specifically, a judge would look at the video or listen to what Superman had to say outside of the proper context (i.e. a trial or at least a pre-trial hearing).  For one thing, Superman wasn’t under oath, and for another the prosecutor wasn’t given an appropriate opportunity to contest the admissibility of the video (he made a lame show of opposition but the judge told him to shut up).  So we’ll have to give this part a mixed review: kudos for getting some of the ethical and procedural issues right but minus points for trying to present evidence outside of court.

II. Jurisdiction

We saved this issue for last because it actually makes almost everything else in this case moot: the United States has no jurisdiction over Maxwell Lord’s murder because Wonder Woman killed Lord at Checkmate’s headquarters in Switzerland, which is outside both the US’s territorial boundaries and the federal government’s special maritime and territorial jurisdiction.  The fact that Lord is a US citizen doesn’t change the result.

Of course, Wonder Woman could have been charged and tried in Switzerland.   It’s not entirely clear where Checkmate headquarters is located within Switzerland, so we’re not sure which canton’s laws would apply.  In some cantons, Spencer could represent Wonder Woman but it would require the permission of the local authorities and the assistance of a local attorney.  See, e.g., Article 23 of the Geneva Loi sur la profession d’avocat.  In cantons that allow non-lawyers to represent people in court she could certainly represent her.  See, e.g., §§ 2-3 of the Basel Advokaturgesetz.  But in other cantons there doesn’t seem to be any provision for a foreign, non-EU attorney to represent a client in court.  See, e.g., the Bern Kantonales Anwaltsgesetz.

However, even if she could represent Wonder Woman we don’t think it would be a good idea.  Spencer doesn’t appear to speak any of Switzerland’s official languages, and she presumably knows little or nothing about Swiss law, which is a civil law system and thus fundamentally different from US law.  Even if Wonder Woman requested her services, Spencer would have to consider whether she could competently represent Wonder Woman as required by the California Rules of Professional Conduct.  Those rules still apply even if Spencer is outside of the country.  Rule 1-100(D)(1).

Since we know about as much about Swiss law as Spencer, we will not speculate as to what the result might have been had Wonder Woman been tried in Switzerland.  If there are any Swiss lawyers in the audience we’d love to hear from you in the comments.

That’s all for this issue.  Be sure to enter the drawing!

Manhunter, Volume 4 Part 2

Today we’re continuing our analysis of Mahunter vol. 4.  In Part 1 we discussed conflicts of interest, fee arrangements, and client gifts.  For Part 2 we have more legal ethics issues and a note about grand juries.  These are some of the same ethical issues we discussed during our recent legal ethics CLE program.  Spoilers abound.

I. Trial Decorum and Grand Juries

During Wonder Woman’s grand jury hearing, Kate Spencer objects to a statement made by the prosecutor.  After being admonished by the judge, Spencer uses a feigned apology to plant seeds of doubt in the minds of the members of the grand jury (“I apologize your honor.  It was just reflex.  I’d almost forgotten how different grand juries were from real ones…how low the burden of proof, how geared in favor of the prosecution they are…”).  After a remark from the prosecutor the judge threatens them both with contempt.  Spencer admits to Wonder Woman that the disruption was intentionally calculated to anger the judge, causing her to forget to tell the jury to disregard Spencer’s statement.

There are many problems with this scene.  First, the potential defendant and his or her attorney are not present at a grand jury hearing, except that the potential defendant could be called as a witness.  The comic book sort-of acknowledges this with a line by the judge saying that an exception was allowed for this unique case.  The problem with this explanation is that there isn’t a judge at a grand jury hearing, either.  Grand jury hearings are led by the district attorney, who acts as both legal advisor to the grand jury and as the prosecutor.

Federal Rule of Criminal Procedure 6(d) explicitly spells out who may attend a grand jury hearing: “The following persons may be present while the grand jury is in session: attorneys for the government, the witness being questioned, interpreters when needed, and a court reporter or an operator of a recording device.  No person other than the jurors, and any interpreter needed to assist a hearing-impaired or speech-impaired juror, may be present while the grand jury is deliberating or voting.”  There is no room for a judge to make an exception.  Heck, there’s no room for a judge at all.  Even the witnesses are only allowed in one at a time (hence “the witness being questioned”).

This may seem unfair, but remember that a grand jury is convened in order to indict someone; the adversarial process has not started yet.  Thus, there is only a potential defendant, who is no different from any other witness.  However, after an indictment has been returned the defendant may challenge the composition of the grand jury (e.g. on grounds of bias).  28 USC 1867.  But this is after the fact, not during the hearing.

Of course, Spencer’s claim that she’d “almost forgotten” how grand juries work is ridiculous.  Not only is it basic criminal procedure, Spencer was a federal prosecutor herself for some time before moving to defense and would have conducted many grand jury hearings.  So her claim is either a lie or an admission of incompetence.  That’s the kind of nonsense that judges do not suffer gladly.

Second, Spencer’s outburst was also an unethical intentional disruption of the hearing.  ABA Model Rule 3.5(d) states “A lawyer shall not … engage in conduct intended to disrupt a tribunal.”  (And in case you’re wondering, the comments to Model Rule 3.5(d) together with Rule 1.0(m) show that a grand jury hearing is a ‘tribunal’ for purposes of the rule, judge or no.)

(On a more minor point, the comic portrays the wrong number of grand jurors.  A federal grand jury “must have 16 to 23 members.”  Fed. R. Crim. P. 6(a)(1).  The comic shows a typical jury of 12.)

II. Allocation of Authority Between Lawyer and Client

Spencer discovers that Wonder Woman killed Maxwell Lord because Lord was psychically controlling Superman, making him believe that his friends and allies were actually villains.  In fact, Spencer obtains video evidence proving as much.  However, Wonder Woman forbids Spencer to use that evidence out of concern for Superman’s reputation as a force for good.  Spencer agrees to the constraint even though it will make her job much harder.

As it happens that’s exactly right.  ABA Model Rule 1.2(a) states that “a lawyer shall abide by a client’s decisions concerning the objectives of representation and, as required by Rule 1.4, shall consult with the client as to the means by which they are to be pursued.”  Rule 1.4(a)(2) essentially reiterates the obligation to consult with the client: “A lawyer shall … reasonably consult with the client about the means by which the client’s objectives are to be accomplished.”  Furthermore, the comments to Rule 1.2(a) specify that “lawyers usually defer to the client regarding … concern for third persons who might be adversely affected.”

So here Spencer is definitely doing the right thing.  If for some reason she felt that she couldn’t represent Wonder Woman under those constrains the solution would be to withdraw as her attorney.

III. Media Rights

In order to work around Wonder Woman’s prohibition against using the video as evidence, Spencer decides to contact Superman, apparently on the assumption that if he agrees to testify then Wonder Woman will be okay with it.  Since Spencer doesn’t exactly have Superman’s home phone number she contacts Lois Lane and asks her to relay the message.  The plan works but “[Lois] almost made me sign over exclusive media rights to ‘my story’ in this case.”

Spencer was right not to sign any such deal.  ABA Model Rule 1.8(d) says: “Prior to the conclusion of representation of a client, a lawyer shall not make or negotiate an agreement giving the lawyer literary or media rights to a portrayal or account based in substantial part on information relating to the representation.”  The policy here is that lawyers with media deals will feel tempted to sensationalize or play up the entertainment value of the case to the client’s detriment.

Strictly speaking, this Rule is about agreements between the lawyer and the client regarding the client’s media rights.  However, Spencer’s duty of confidentiality means that she would almost certainly need Wonder Woman’s permission in order to sign media rights over to Lois Lane.  The result is the same.

Further, this also raises issues of inappropriate trial publicity, at least if the story was published while the case was ongoing.

IV. Conclusion

Today was a mixed bag for Spencer.  She got some things right and some things wrong.  Unfortunately, the writers sort of painted themselves into a corner by framing the story around the grand jury hearing instead of a trial.  At that point they had little choice but to contrive a way to put Spencer and Wonder Woman in the court room.  We guess they didn’t want Wonder Woman to even be indicted, but that led to some compromises.  We say stick to trials.  They’re more dynamic, and most people have at least a general sense of how they work.

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!

The Trial of Captain America

The Trial of Captain America was a 5 issue Captain America story arc covering the trial of James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, who took over as Captain America following Steve Rogers’s apparent death.  There are a bunch of legal issues here—mostly handled pretty well—so let’s get right to it.  Spoilers ahoy.

I. The Charges

By way of background: In 1945 Bucky was found by the Russians after the plane he was in exploded, plunging him into the icy North Atlantic.  The Russians revive Bucky and take advantage of his amnesia to reprogram him as an assassin.  During his career as the Winter Soldier, Bucky kills numerous US citizens.  When word of this leaks out decades later, Bucky submits to a criminal trial in order to clear his name.

So, are these charges appropriate?  There’s no statute of limitations for murder, so when they occurred is unimportant.  But what about where?  No doubt some of the murders occurred “within the special maritime and territorial jurisdiction of the United States” as required by the federal murder statute, 18 USC 1111.  But what if Bucky murdered a US citizen abroad?  Could he still be charged in a US court for that?  As it turns out, maybe.  18 USC 2332 criminalizes, among other things, the murder of US nationals abroad, but it was only enacted in 1986.  Bucky could potentially dodge being charged for a few early crimes that way, but it only takes one successful murder charge to make for a serious prison sentence.

II. Legal Ethics

Steve Rogers asks a friend (and former girlfriend) of his, Bernie Rosenthal, to act as Bucky’s defense attorney.  That’s not the problem.  The problem is that Steve not only sits in on Bucky’s first meeting with Bernie but actively participates in discussion of trial strategy.  We don’t see them discuss anything too sensitive, but this is a great way to waive attorney-client privilege.  Only the client can waive the privilege, but the simplest way to do it is to let a non-privileged person (like Steve) in on the confidential information.  To protect against this, Bernie probably should have asked Steve to leave the room lest he be called to testify about their discussion.  At the very least she should have informed Bucky that letting Steve stay in the room would risk waiving the privilege.

As Kate Spencer did in Manhunter vol. 2, Bernie goes on a Larry King Live-esque talk show to argue her case in the court of public opinion.  Unlike in  Manhunter, this comic doesn’t show her saying anything particularly problematic.  In fact, the host says “many would argue [Bucky] has already been tried in the media”, to which Bernie replies “And that’s why I’m here, Barry.  For weeks we’ve had a 24 hour-a-day bashing of my client with no balance whatsoever.”  This could be seen as an invocation of ABA Model Rule 3.6(c):

a lawyer may make a statement that a reasonable lawyer would believe is required to protect a client from the substantial undue prejudicial effect of recent publicity not initiated by the lawyer or the lawyer’s client. A statement made pursuant to this paragraph shall be limited to such information as is necessary to mitigate the recent adverse publicity.

(A side note: Steve, Bernie, and Bucky discuss whether to put Bucky on the stand, with Bernie against it, Steve initially for it, and Bucky agreeing with Bernie.  While most issues of trial strategy are ultimately at the discretion of the attorney, whether or not a criminal defendant takes the stand is up to the defendant.  ABA Model Rule 1.2(a).  So while Bernie can (wisely) counsel Bucky not to take the stand, Bucky could have gone against that advise.  The same is true of the decision to waive the right to a jury trial, which Bucky does.)

III. Cameras in the Court Room

The judge in the case bars cameras from the courtroom in order to avoid a media circus.  This is a curious thing to mention because it’s a federal case, and cameras are forbidden in federal courts, outside of a very recent pilot program.  Still, a judge has pretty much complete control over the court room, and even if cameras were potentially allowed he could easily prohibit them instead.

IV. “Doctor-Patient Confidentiality”

Sin, daughter of the Red Skull, leaks a video of a interview from a psychiatric hospital in which she accuses Bucky of being the Red Skull’s willing accomplice (and not, as Bucky claimed, mind controlled).  It’s strongly hinted that Sin made up the accusations on the tape knowing that they would be used in the trial.  In any case, the prosecution submits the video as evidence.  While Steve and Bernie are discussing the tape (another ethically shaky move), Steve asks “is it even admissible?”  Bernie replies “I don’t know.  Leaking your own psych interviews to the press probably invalidates doctor-patient confidentiality.”  This is a pretty serious misstatement of the physician-patient privilege for two reasons.

First, doctor-patient confidentiality refers to a doctor’s ethical obligation to keep what a patient tells them confidential.  The physician-patient privilege is the evidentiary privilege that allows a patient to prevent a physician from testifying as to certain things in certain circumstances.

Second, yes, leaking the tape to the press would waive the privilege, but as the holder of the privilege Sin was always free to do so.  The privilege prevents no problems with regard to the tape’s admissibility as long as it is clear that Sin was responsible for the leak.

It’s also worth noting that the federal courts do not recognize the physician-patient privilege.  See, e.g., United States v. Bek, 493 F.3d 790, 801-02 (7th Cir. 2007) (“we can find no circuit authority in support of a physician-patient privilege … and we can find no reason to create one now”).  However, they do recognize the psychotherapist-patient privilege.  See Jaffee v. Redmond, 518 U.S. 1 (1996).  So depending on who Sin was talking to in the interview, a privilege might or might not have existed in the first place, at least as far as the federal courts are concerned.

However, all of this misses the real reason the tape is very likely inadmissible: it’s hearsay because the tapes are Sin’s out of court statements offered to prove the truth of what she’s saying (i.e. that Bucky was a willing accomplice of the Red Skull).  Further, none of the hearsay exemptions or exceptions apply.  Sin isn’t discussing the details of a conspiracy with Bucky that she was a part of while she was a part of it, so Federal Rule of Evidence 801(d)(2)(E) doesn’t apply.  Although it’s a quasi-medical interview these particular statements don’t seem like they were made “for purposes of medical diagnosis or treatment,” so 803(4) doesn’t apply.  Sin is unavailable to testify, but her testimony doesn’t meet any of the 804(b) exceptions.  The 807 / 804(b)(5) catchall exception could apply, but we find it extremely hard to believe that Sin’s interview has the necessary “equivalent circumstantial guarantees of trustworthiness.”  She is, after all, a delusional psychopath with a known vendetta against Captain America.  It’s hard to get less trustworthy.

There are more legal issues  in this storyline to talk about.  Check out part 2 here!

Manhunter, Volume 2

(Note: We’ll have a review of the new X-Men movie up soon.)

This is the second post in our series on the Marc Andreyko run of Manhunter (here is the first).  The second volume contains some interesting legal issues, including prosecutorial ethics and subpoenaing a superhero.  Spoilers follow.

I. Prosecutorial Ethics

Kate Spencer (aka Manhunter) is a federal prosecutor.  In advance of the trial of Shadow Thief for the murder of Firestorm, Kate appears on a Larry King Live-esque TV show to talk about the trial, which she is litigating.  A caller asks Spencer if she thinks Shadow Thief will plead out or offer to turn state’s evidence against other supervillains.  Spencer responds “Well, I can’t get into specifics about the prosecution’s plans, but Mr. Carl Sands has many connections in the supervillain community, so I would, theoretically, be interested in hearing what information he would have to offer” (emphasis in original).

This is a somewhat problematic statement.  California Rule 5-120—California’s version of ABA Model Rule 3.6—governs trial publicity, and it specifically applies to prosecutors and defense attorneys.  The general rule is that

A member who is participating … in the … litigation of a matter shall not make an extrajudicial statement that a reasonable person would expect to be disseminated by means of public communication if the member knows or reasonably should know that it will have a substantial likelihood of materially prejudicing an adjudicative proceeding in the matter.

Here, Spencer is participating in the litigation of a matter and has made an extrajudicial statement (i.e. out of court) that will definitely be disseminated by means of public communication (she’s on a live national TV show).  The question is, does the statement have a substantial likelihood of materially prejudicing the trial?  That’s hard to know.  Certainly the statement could be prejudicial because it suggests the defendant’s guilt by association.  However, if it can be proved in court by admissible evidence, then that’s less of a problem.  Unfortunately, we never see such evidence introduced, so it’s hard to say.  This kind of statement is indicative of the careful line prosecutors and other litigators must walk when talking about a case, and Spencer’s other public comments (at least the ones we see) are carefully measured.

II. Serving Superman a Subpoena

Actually, Superman, Hawkman, and Batman are served, although we only see Superman and Hawkman testify.  The interesting thing is, they are served at Justice League headquarters on the Moon.  Naturally this raises a question: is such service of process effective?  After all, it’s for a federal court case, but the Moon is explicitly not the territory of any nation.

Federal Rule of Criminal Procedure 17 states:

A marshal, a deputy marshal, or any nonparty who is at least 18 years old may serve a subpoena.  The server must deliver a copy of the subpoena to the witness….If the witness is in a foreign country, 28 U.S.C. § 1783 governs the subpoena’s service.

The process server delivers the subpoenas in person the three recipients.  But what about this “foreign country” business?  We think a court would consider this to include the Moon, despite its non-territorial status.  The Rules make a distinction between the United States and “foreign countries,” and a court could easily read this to mean “the rest of the universe.”

As the Supreme Court has said “Nor can it be doubted that the United States possesses the power inherent in sovereignty to require the return to this country of a citizen, resident elsewhere, whenever the public interest requires it, and to penalize him in case of refusal. … It is also beyond controversy that one of the duties which the citizen owes to his government is to support the administration of justice by attending its courts and giving his testimony whenever he is properly summoned.”  Blackmer v. United States, 284 U.S. 421, 437-38 (1932).  It is unlikely that the courts would allow a witness to escape this duty simply by fleeing to unclaimed territory, especially when service of process was otherwise carried out properly.

So on to 28 USC 1783:

(a) A court of the United States may order the issuance of a subpoena requiring the appearance as a witness before it … of a national or resident of the United States who is in a foreign country … if the court finds that particular testimony … by him is necessary in the interest of justice

(b) The subpoena shall designate the time and place for the appearance …. Service of the subpoena … shall be effected in accordance with the provisions of the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure relating to service of process on a person in a foreign country. The person serving the subpoena shall tender to the person to whom the subpoena is addressed his estimated necessary travel and attendance expenses, the amount of which shall be determined by the court and stated in the order directing the issuance of the subpoena.

Superman, Hawkman, and Batman are all identified as nationals or residents of the United States (“Superman of Metropolis, Hawkman of St. Roch, Batman of Gotham”), and presumably the court is satisfied that their testimony is necessary.  And since the JLA has a teleporter, Superman and Hawkman can fly, and Batman owns his own plane, we’ll assume that either travel and attendance expenses were waived by the witnesses or that the court found them to be zero.

In sum: if you can find them, you can subpoena a superhero pretty much anywhere.  And if they don’t show up, then the court can find them in contempt, fine them up to $100,000, and sell their stuff to pay the fine under 28 USC 1784.

III. Superheroes on the Stand

Hawkman and Superman both testify at the trial as witnesses for the prosecution.  Hawkman testifies about the defendant, Shadow Thief, and Superman testifies about Firestorm, the victim.  We want to address two issues raised by their testimony.  First, Hawkman gives a good example of common hearsay issues, and Superman gives a good example of the practical reality of asking a superhero about their identity on the stand.

Spencer asks Hawkman “And did you, in your many confrontations with [the defendant], ever warn him of the dangers of prolonged use of the device [that gave the defendant his powers]?”  Hawkman answers “When he wasn’t trying to kill me, yes, but [the defendant] wouldn’t hear of it.  He believed that he was stronger than the belt and ignored my multiple warnings.”

There are two issues here.  First, Hawkman is recounting his own out of court statements to the Shadow Thief (i.e. the warnings).  This is not hearsay, however, because the statement is not offered to prove that the belt was, in fact, dangerous (Hawkman’s own expert testimony regarding the belt is sufficient for that).  Instead, the statement is offered to prove only that Shadow Thief was on notice.  This is a classic non-hearsay use of an out of court statement.

Second, Hawkman says “[the defendant] wouldn’t hear of it.  He believed that he was stronger than the belt.”  This is problematic.  If Shadow Thief had made some statements to that effect (e.g. “I’m strong enough, Hawkman”), then Hawkman’s testimony as to those statements would be admissible under FRE 803(3) as “a statement of the declarant’s then existing state of mind.”  As it was, though, the defense really should have objected to that answer.

Finally, the defense asks Superman point blank “what is your legal identity?”  Naturally, Superman refuses to answer.  Then the defense does the smart thing and simply notes that the witness is refusing to answer a direct question under oath, thus impeaching Superman’s credibility as a witness.  Theoretically the defense could press the issue, and the court could even find Superman in contempt, but everybody knows that would be a pointless distraction.  This is probably how things like this would actually play out in court.

IV. Conclusion

There are more legal issues to cover in the next three volumes, so stay tuned for the rest of this series!

Daredevil: The Trial of the Century Part II

For the first part of our series on this Daredevil storyline we discussed the charges against Daredevil’s client and evidentiary procedural issues.  This post will address a variety of issues and observations about the trial.  We’ll begin with evidence gathering.  As with the prior post, spoilers follow.

I. Evidence Gathering by the Defense

The defense team hires Heroes for Hire to track down and interrogate the gang that actually committed the murder.  Apart from entering the house by busting in the door, this isn’t particularly unusual.  Although the defense can use the criminal version of discovery to obtain a wealth of information from the police and prosecution (see, e.g., Fed. R. Crim. P. 16), a criminal defendant can’t direct the police investigation.  If the police don’t want to follow a particular lead or theory, that’s within their discretion.  As a result, it is common for criminal defendants to hire investigators, including expert witnesses and more traditional private investigators.

II. Legal Research

This storyline has the first conventional legal research scene we’ve encountered on the blog.  It’s true that the She-Hulk’s law firm (Goodman, Lieber, Kurtzberg & Holliway) maintains a law library, but in a bit of Fourth Wall-stretching, the library consists of comic books, which in the Marvel universe are a legally admissible record of the activities of Marvel superheroes and supervillains.

By contrast, the law library at the offices of Murdock and Nelson is pretty typical, if a bit old-fashioned even by 2002 standards.  Although there is a laptop in the scene, most of the work seems to have been done using printed sources.  There’s even the classic Wall O’ Case Reporters (here’s a real-life example), which you might recognize as a common background in law firm advertisements.

These days, most attorneys use electronic sources for the majority of their research.  The two main legal database companies are Westlaw (part of Thomson Reuters) and LexisNexis (part of Reed Elsevier).  Both are expensive, but they’re cheaper than maintaining an up-to-date print library.  Case reporter and statute book subscriptions aren’t cheap.  For example, a not-quite-complete set of federal case reporters costs about $44,000 plus another $2,400 per month to keep them up to date.  It would be much cheaper for Murdock and Nelson to switch to electronic databases.

One tiny nitpick: when listing potential cases to cite, Nelson offers Illinois v. Steve Rogers and Utah v. Banner as possibilities.  Those would actually be People v. Rogers and State v. Banner.  It’s possible that Nelson was indicating a particular case by giving the state name, but he also lists People v. Tony Stark, and we find it hard to believe that Stark has only been a defendant in one criminal case.

III. Witness Examination

There are two issues we’d like to address with regard to witness examination: objections and the examination procedure itself.

On multiple occasions during the trial the prosecution and the defense object to questions asked by the other side.  Like countless other fictional courtroom scenes, the attorneys simply say “objection,” the judge says “sustained,” and that’s that.  In reality, a party must give a brief reason for the objection (e.g. “objection, hearsay”).  A judge may allow an objection without an explanation, but if the judge overrules the objection then the party’s failure to state the basis for the objection may lead to the issue being waived on appeal.  At one point in the trial the prosecutor asks questions over Murdock’s repeated objections without any ruling from the judge.  Again, in reality trials are usually fairly calm affairs and the prosecutor would wait for a ruling from the bench before continuing.  But we’ll give the writers a pass on these, since almost everybody uses these tropes and for the most part they don’t affect the story.

The more important issue is that the writers shortened the examination process.  Most people are familiar with the first two stages, examination and cross-examination.  But the process can go further: redirect, recross, further redirect, and further recross.  At one point both Murdock and Ayala give pained expressions when the prosecutor seems to have trapped Reed Richards with a question without allowing Richards to explain his answer.  In reality, Murdock could have given Richards a chance to elaborate.  This is a bit less excusable than the other issues, but it can still be justified in the name of pacing and the length limitations of the medium.

IV. Putting the Defendant on the Stand

This case is a good illustration of the dangers of putting a criminal defendant on the stand.  Here the problem was that the defendant’s emotions got the better of him in the face of heated questioning from the prosecutor, and he said some things that didn’t reflect well on his character.  This is one of the many reasons why criminal defendants are rarely put on the stand.  The benefits rarely outweigh the risks.

V. Conclusion

All in all, Trial of the Century is a better courtroom storyline than The Trial of Marvel Boy, although that one isn’t too shabby itself.  We’ll analyze more comic book trials as we come across them, but if there’s one in particular you’d like to see us discuss, let us know!

Daredevil: The Trial of the Century Part I

It’s taken us a while to get around to it, but we’re finally going to talk about Daredevil, aka Matt Murdoch, one of the most famous superhero lawyers.  This will be the first in a series of posts discussing the Trial of the Century storyline, which ran from Daredevil vol. 2 #38 – 40.  Be warned: there will be significant spoilers throughout this series.

We’d like to start by saying that this is one of the better written trial storylines we’ve encountered in the comics.  It’s not perfect, but we definitely want to give writer Brian Michael Bendis credit for getting the broad strokes as well as many of the details correct.  However, there are a few issues to address, starting with the charges against the defendant.  But first a quick synopsis of the facts:

A couple of gang members are interrupted by a police officer while robbing a pawn shop.  In the ensuing scuffle, the police officer’s gun is taken and he is shot.  Hector Ayala (aka the White Tiger) arrives and attempts to stop the criminals, but they overpower him.  When backup arrives, they find Ayala standing over the dead police officer holding a television.  Certainly, it looks bad for Ayala.  Matt Murdoch takes the case despite the fact that the media is hounding him after allegations surface that he is Daredevil.

I. The Charges — and a Lesson on Lesser Included Offenses

The charges against Ayala are never fully described, although Murdoch describes them as “the crimes he stands accused of,” so we assume there are multiple charges, presumably including some kind of attempted robbery.  What we know for sure is that the jury returns a guilty verdict for the charge of manslaughter in the first degree.  This is strange to say the least.  In New York, where the crime was committed and where the trial takes place, the most relevant definition of first degree manslaughter is this:

A person is guilty of manslaughter in the first degree when:
1. With intent to cause serious physical injury to another person, he causes the death of such person or of a third person. N.Y. Penal Law § 125.20.

However, because Ayala was accused of killing a police officer engaged in performing his official duties it would make more sense to charge him with aggravated first degree manslaughter:

A person is guilty of aggravated manslaughter in the first degree when:
1. with intent to cause serious physical injury to a police officer …, where such officer was in the course of performing his or her official duties and the defendant knew or reasonably should have known that such victim was a police officer…, he or she causes the death of such officer … . N.Y. Penal Law § 125.22

It’s possible that the prosecution intentionally declined to bring an aggravated first degree manslaughter charge, but that seems very strange in a highly visible case involving the death of a police officer allegedly at the hands of a superhero who is being defended by famous attorney Matt Murdoch, who is himself fending off allegations that he is Daredevil.  Indeed, it’s more likely the prosecution would have gone straight to first degree murder.  We’ll stick to manslaughter for our analysis, but bear in mind that a similar analysis would apply to an alternative charge of murder.

Now, it is entirely possible for the prosecutor to bring separate charges for first degree manslaughter and aggravated first degree manslaughter because the prosecution may charge the defendant in the alternative.  People v. Gallagher, 69 N.Y.2d 525, 528 (1987).

However, the doctrine of merger dictates that Ayala could not be guilty of both manslaughter charges simultaneously: the regular charge merges with the aggravated charge because regular manslaughter is a lesser included offense of aggravated manslaughter, i.e. “that it is an offense of lesser grade or degree and that in all circumstances, not only in those presented in the particular case, it is impossible to commit the greater crime without concomitantly, by the same conduct, committing the lesser offense.”  People v. Glover, 57 N.Y.2d 61, 63 (1982).  In this case the only difference between the two crimes is that in one the victim is “another person” and in the other it is a police officer.  Since a police officer count as “another person,” it is impossible to commit aggravated first degree manslaughter without committing regular first degree manslaughter at the same time.  The merger doctrine prevents ‘double-dipping’ multiple charges for the same criminal act.

The weird thing is that the prosecution offered the alternative charge at all.  It’s undisputed that the victim was a police officer performing his official duties.  The defense could try to argue that the defendant did not know and should not reasonably have known that the victim was a police officer, but the victim was killed with his own gun.  It’s pretty hard to take a cop’s gun from him and shoot him without, at some point, realizing that it’s a cop.  So we would expect the prosecution to go straight for the more serious charge.

Now, frequently a defendant will request that a lesser included charge be presented to the jury so that it has the option of finding the defendant guilty of the lesser included offense rather than the greater offense.  But such an instruction requires “a determination that there is a reasonable view of such evidence which would support a finding that, while the defendant did commit the lesser offense, he did not commit the greater.” Id.

As described above, though, we don’t think there’s a reasonable view of the evidence that would support that, and certainly that’s not part of Murdoch’s defense strategy.  So the alternative charge would have to come from the prosecution, weird as that would be.  But if that’s the case, then being found guilty of regular first degree manslaughter is actually a slight win for Ayala.  It’s far from the worst crime he could have been convicted of, given the prosecution’s allegations.

II. Cumulative Evidence, Expert Testimony, and Motions in Limine

Twice during the trial the prosecution and defense debate evidentiary issues.  First, after a police officer who arrived at the scene relates what he saw, Murdoch’s law partner Foggy Nelson states “Your Honor, if the defense stipulates that all seven officers witnessed the same events as Officer Snipes and came to the same conclusions from it…Will the prosecution spare the court the tediousness and move on with the trial?”  The prosecution declines the offer, apparently leading to a series of police officers being called to testify to essentially the same facts.

Second, when the defense calls Reed Richards as an expert witness the prosecution “strongly objects” on the basis that the witness “has had no direct contact with the accused.”  The judge reluctantly allows the witness over the prosecution’s continued objections.

In reality, both of these evidentiary issues would have been fought out via motions in limine rather than in full view of the jury.  More specifically, rather than politely asking the prosecution not to call the other witnesses, the defense would have made a motion to exclude their testimony as cumulative.  And rather than object to Richards as a witness in the middle of trial, the court would have conducted a Frye hearing to determine whether Richards’ testimony would be admissible as expert opinion on the psychological makeup of superheroes.

(Because New York has not adopted the Federal Rules of Evidence, it, along with a few other states, continues to use the older Frye standard for admissibility of expert testimony rather than the more common Daubert standard.)

These are fairly minor points, and we understand that the writers didn’t want to break up the action and the chronology by presenting pre-trial motions.  However, at a minimum the attorneys should have approached the bench or withdrawn to the judge’s chambers to discuss the issues outside of the jury’s hearing.  Besides, it’s a great excuse to use impressive lines like “Counsel, approach the bench” and “Counsel, in my chambers. Now.”

III. Conclusion

The writers did a good job with this storyline, but we think some of the details could have been tightened up without hurting the plot.  In fact, a little more attention to legal detail might even have improved it.  A charge of first degree murder is much more dramatic than first degree manslaughter, after all, and we’ve already discussed how the proper way to handle evidentiary issues can give rise to some nice lines. We’re not done with this storyline yet, though, so keep an eye out for more posts in this series!

She-Hulk #3

Slight change of plans from Friday’s usual Mailbag—today we’re looking at She-Hulk #3.

This issue raises one main legal question, plus a sort of “meta” issue which is interesting in its own right. The main story is that Jen Walters’ firm has been hired to defend a man accused of murder. The reason this is a superhuman case is that the alleged victim happens to be the main witness. Which is a little bit weird, we think you’ll agree.

I. Testimony From Beyond the Grave

We’re going to just ignore the fact that the evidentiary issues are being tried in open court instead of being fought out via motions in limine, the way they would in a real court case. That aside, the prosecutor objects to the admission of the victim’s testimony arguing that “as a dead man he has no rights in a court of law.”  This is more or less true: legal claims survive the death of the claimants and become the property of the estate (this is how a claim for wrongful death works, for example). Similarly, in New York the next of kin of the deceased have several rights with regard to the autopsy and disposition of the body.  So what we might intuitively think of as the rights of dead people are actually held by the living, usually the next of kin or heirs.

But this is beside the point.  The ghost of the deceased victim doesn’t need any rights to testify as a witness, rather the living defendant has a right to call any competent witness to give relevant testimony.  The testimony the ghost offers is plainly relevant (he’s the victim, after all), and “[a]ll adults are presumed competent to testify” under New York law.  Brown v. Ristich, 36 N.Y.2d 183, 188 (Ct. App. 1975).  It takes a lot to show that a witness is so incompetent that they shouldn’t be allowed on the stand:

A witness is said to be capable when he has the ability to observe, recall and narrate, i.e., events that he sees must be impressed in his mind; they must be retained in his memory; and he must be able to recount them with sufficient ability such that the presiding official is satisfied that the witness understands the nature of the questions put to him and can respond accordingly, and that he understands his moral responsibility to speak the truth.

Brown, 36 N.Y.2d at 189.  The victim meets this standard just fine, so the prosecutor is left with trying to attack the witness’s identity (i.e. is he really the victim’s ghost?) and impeach his credibility (more on that in a moment).

The witness’s identity is a problem of authentication, i.e. exactly who and/or what is this thing that is attempting to testify? We’ve got Dr. Strange kind of doing his thing and then… I mean, if you tried that in a court of law today the judge would probably sanction the attorney, the person standing next to the attorney, and everyone in a ten foot radius. Judges don’t like being played for fools.

But that’s just the thing: the defense’s argument goes not only to the authenticity of the witness specifically, but the idea that people cease to exist when they are dead. To this effect, they call The Thing to the stand as an expert witness. What is his expertise? The fact that he’d recently come back from the dead. So, as it turns out, had about half of the people in the room, including the deputy prosecutor (much to the lead prosecutor’s annoyance). So the judge was forced to take note of the fact that in the Marvel Universe, coming back from the dead is something that happens, and happens relatively frequently. So frequently, in fact, that the legal system is forced to come up with some way of dealing with it.

At this point, putting a ghost on the stand becomes like any other witness. Every single time testimony is offered the jury needs to decide, and the attorneys need to establish (or attack!) the credibility of the witness. In a world where ghosts are a verifiable fact of life, having a ghost as a witness simply adds another layer to that story, and the opposing side will have its chance to discredit the testimony just like they would attempt to discredit any other witness. More time might be spent on the identity and mental integrity of a ghost than would for a living witness, but ultimately, that’s something the jury is going to have to decide for themselves. Remember, just because you get testimony admitted does not put the jury under any obligation to believe a word of it. Sure, it’s always good to try to keep out testimony which could be bad for your side, and many cases turn on motions in limine, but just because one side can get something admitted does not guarantee anything.

II. The Normalization of the Supernatural

Which brings us to the second issue: this is actually a pretty decent look at how the law might actually develop if faced with an issue like this—allowing for the acceptable departures from reality to which all depictions of the legal system are prone. A lot at what we do on this blog is look at how existing law, without modification, might handle supernatural issues. But really, the way it would handle these things is by establishing precedent and ultimately probably legislation intended to cover these issues. This issue looks at how one might go about trying to establish that precedent. Essentially, one would need to convince the court that the fantastic claim one is advancing, whether it be that one’s client can walk through walls or that the defendant can control people’s minds, is, in fact, true. And one could plausibly do this by bringing in a bunch of people to testify, unrelated to the factual issues at hand, about similar experiences they’ve had, as such would be relevant to establishing a key element of one side’s case. So when the defense in this issue asks for a show of hands about how many people in the room have been brought back from the dead, well, they’d all probably have to be sworn in, meaning this would take all damn week, but that’s not all that far off. Besides, defense counsel get paid by the hour anyway.

III. Conclusion

This issue shows a rather interesting possibility, one which criminal attorneys on both sides might salivate over, as well as getting at some of the issues about how one might get such testimony admitted into evidence. Basically, the question is whether one can convince the judge that what is being proffered is sufficiently part of everyday experience—or supported by adequate expert testimony. In the case of ghosts, the question really becomes one of verification. In our world… yeah, good luck with that. But in the Marvel Universe? Or in ours, should ghosts suddenly become common? If counsel can come up with something plausible enough to convince the judge, there’s no law that says such testimony could not be admitted.

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.

The Trial of Reed Richards

Several readers have inquired about The Trial of Reed Richards (aka The Trial of Galactus), which is a great John Byrne-era Fantastic Four storyline.  There are several legal issues to discuss here, but we’ll start with a brief synopsis of the story line.  Readers who are already familiar with the story can skip to section II.

I. The Story

In Fantastic Four #243-44, Reed Richards saved the life of Galactus, a powerful creature with a nasty habit of devouring inhabited planets.  Later, in Fantastic Four 261-62, the survivors of Galactus’s prior attacks put Reed on trial for the deaths caused by Galactus after Reed saved him, most notably the deaths of 7 billion Skrulls when Galactus consumed the Skrull throneworld.

(Actually, first the survivors sentence Reed to a summary execution, but after a brief fight between the rest of the Fantastic Four and Reed’s would-be executioners, the Watcher intervenes, and then the survivors decide to hold a trial.)

Princess Lilandra of the Shi’ar Empire appoints herself prosecutor.  Apparently Lilandra had appeared to Reed after he saved Galactus and warned him “Should [Galactus] consume any world known to us you will be in part responsible…and will be held responsible for it…to the full extent of Shi’ar law!”

Lilandra first calls a survivor of the destruction of the Skrull throneworld.  Following that, she calls innumerable survivors of prior Galactus attacks to establish that Reed knew full well of Galactus’s pattern of planet-eating.

In the face of the prosecution’s evidence, Reed pleads guilty—but not to a crime, rather to the fact of saving Galactus’s life.  Reed argues that doing so was no crime because Galactus is a force of nature and part of some greater plan for good in the universe.  To this end, the god Odin is summoned by the Watcher to testify as to Galactus’s origin, as told to him by Thor, who was told by Galactus himself.  Odin testifies that Galactus was created at the beginning of the universe, the lone survivor of the end of the prior universe, and thus Galactus is a natural force.

Alas, Odin’s testimony fails to persuade everyone.  And so Galactus himself shows up to testify that Reed’s act was “honorable and good.”  Unsurprisingly, the testimony of an alleged mass murderer whose life was saved by the defendant is unpersuasive.  So the Watcher and Galactus combine powers to summon Eternity, the embodiment of the entire universe.  Eternity links the minds of all of the creatures in the court room, allowing them to see the Cosmic Truth that Galactus is a necessary force in the universe.  In the face of such overwhelming evidence, Reed is exonerated and the Fantastic Four return to Earth.

So that’s the story.  We don’t know anything about Shi’ar law or M’ndavian procedure, so we’ll analyze the case from an earthly legal perspective.

II. The Legal Issues

A. Preliminary Issues

There are a whole host of legal issues here, but we’ll stick to the big ones.  Right off the bat we can say that the appeal of Reed’s summary execution is a kind of habeas corpus petition, essentially a demand that the authorities prove that they have the right to detain (and for that matter execute) Reed.

Next: the issue of Reed’s extradition.  Here we can take some issue.  The alleged crime (saving Galactus) occurred on Earth, Reed is a citizen of a nation of Earth, he was on Earth at the time of his forcible extradition, and it doesn’t appear that the US or UN have agreed to any kind of extradition treaty with the Shi’ar or the ad hoc Galactus-survivor court.  On the other hand, Reed seems to waive the jurisdictional issue and accept the legitimacy of the trial, which by Reed’s choice is conducted under M’ndavian procedures, “the most perfect legal system in the galaxy.”

B. The Prosecution’s Case

Now we get into the trial proper.  Lilandra’s argument is that Reed saved the life of someone he knew would go on to kill others, and therefore Reed is guilty of a crime, though the specific crime is not named.  We can’t speak to Shi’ar law, but under the US legal system Reed’s actions would probably not be a crime.  There are three main theories under which Reed might be liable: conspiracy, accomplice or accessory liability, and facilitation.  However, the first two require a level of intent that Reed did not possess (i.e. he did not intend for Galactus to go on to commit any crimes).

That leaves facilitation.  In New York, where we believe the alleged crime took place, facilitation is, in general, “a kind of accessorial conduct in which the actor aids the commission of a crime with knowledge that he is doing so but without any specific intent to participate therein or to benefit therefrom.” Staff Notes of the Commission on Revision of the Penal Law. Proposed New York Penal Law. McKinney’s Spec. Pamph. (1964), p. 328.  Here’s the definition of the most general form of facilitation:

A person is guilty of criminal facilitation in the fourth degree when, believing it probable that he is rendering aid to a person who intends to commit a crime, he engages in conduct which provides such person with means or opportunity for the commission thereof and which in fact aids such person to commit a felony.

N.Y. Penal Law § 115.00.  At first glance this looks pretty bad, and it is a closer case than conspiracy or accomplice liability.  Again, the answer turns on intent, but in this case it’s Galactus’s intent that matters, not Reed’s.

At the time Galactus’s life was saved, Galactus did not have the required intent to commit a crime.  Sure, at some point Galactus was likely to get hungry and eat a planet, but at that particular moment he did not have the intent to eat any particular planet.  Without that intent element, Reed couldn’t commit the crime of facilitation.

But even supposing Reed’s conduct would have been a crime, he may still offer the defense of necessity, which we’ll discuss below.

C. The Defense’s Case

First off, Reed’s guilty plea is completely backwards.  Rather than pleading guilty to the fact of saving Galactus’s life but arguing that his conduct was not a crime, it would make more sense to say that he stipulates to the facts but maintains a plea of not guilty.  But that’s a pretty technical point.  There are bigger problems with the defense’s case, specifically Odin’s testimony.

Odin’s testimony is a gigantic ball of hearsay problems, and we don’t think there’s any answer to it.  Odin is trying to offer the rare double hearsay: the words of Galactus as spoken to Thor as spoken to Odin.  It would also have been hearsay if Thor had been the one to testify, since there’s no exception that would apply there, either.  What’s more, all of the hearsay issues could have been circumvented since Galactus himself showed up and so could have given the same testimony properly.

Finally we have Eternity’s testimony, which basically amounts to the defense of necessity mentioned above: saving Galactus was a lesser harm to the universe than allowing him to die, even though he would go on to destroy other planets.  So even if Reed’s conduct would have been a crime, he may still claim the defense of necessity.  We’re not so sure that his actions were actually reasonable under the circumstances (i.e. an ordinary reasonable person would probably not have made the same choice), but who’s going to argue with Eternity?

III. Conclusion

The Trial of Reed Richards is a classic and enjoyable Fantastic Four story, and we’ll take John Byrne’s word for it that M’ndavian procedure and Shi’ar law were followed in the comic.  It’s interesting to note, though, that roughly the same result would probably have been achieved under US law, in some cases for the same or similar reasons.