Dorf on Law

Mostly law-related musings by Cornell Professor Michael Dorf and some of his lawyer/professor friends

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

The Supreme Court's Make-Believe World

I just read the Supreme Court’s decision in Ayers, and I have to say that Justice Kennedy’s majority opinion is one of the most bizarre exercises in after-the-fact speculation I have read.

As Mike notes below, the defendant argued that the jury instructions precluded jurors from considering mitigating evidence that he would lead a constructive life if sentenced to prison rather than executed. Taking the instructions at face value, the defendant seems right. Factor k (the instruction at issue) says jurors may consider “any other circumstance which extenuates the gravity of the crime,” but says nothing about mitigating evidence unrelated to the crime, such as the possibility of future good conduct. In two previous cases, however, the Court rejected the argument that factor k necessarily precludes consideration of mitigating evidence unrelated to the crime. Instead, the Court ruled, factor k is invalid only if “there is a reasonable likelihood” that the jury understood the instructions in that way.

The question for the Court in Ayers, therefore, was how the jury had understood factor k. In the real world, someone trying to answer this question would ask the jurors themselves. But in the make-believe world of the Supreme Court, Kennedy answers the question by examining the statements of the lawyers and trial judge in the case. For instance, Kennedy notes that although the prosecutor told jurors he did not think the defendant’s religious experience fit within factor k, he also said it was a “proper subject of consideration.” Based on other statements by the prosecutor, Kennedy concludes that “the jury would have realized that, when the prosecutor suggested [defendant’s] religious experience did not fit within factor (k), he was discussing the persuasiveness of the evidence, not the jury’s ability to consider it.” Maybe. Or maybe the jurors, at the end of a long trial, did not follow the nuances of the prosecutor’s argument as closely as Justice Kennedy. Kennedy also notes that “the judge told the jury to consider ‘all of the evidence’ and ‘all of the evidence’ included [defendant’s] forward-looking mitigation case.” True. But the judge qualified this command with the words “except as you may be hereafter instructed.” Kennedy says the jury would not have interpreted factor k as a limitation on what evidence it could consider. But how does he know that? Jurors are lucky if they understand half of what the judge says. Expecting them to follow the twists and turns of a judge’s instructions with the precision of an attorney reading a cold record is ridiculous.

My criticism here is not so much with Kennedy’s analysis. Given the Court’s precedents, he had no choice but to speculate about the jury’s understanding of factor k. But the Court never should have made the constitutionality of that instruction turn on such a speculative inquiry. The question should be “what does the jury instruction say?” not “how would the jury have understood it?” If the instruction does not make clear that the jury can consider all mitigating evidence, whether related to the crime or not, it should be invalid. Fortunately, California now appears to get this point; it has revised factor k to make clear that all mitigating evidence can be considered. Perhaps the Court will someday get the point, too.

8 Comments:

  • At 9:02 AM, Blogger Michael C. Dorf said…

    This reminds me of an experience I had as a law student in my trial advocacy class, the culmination of which was a mock trial with junior high school students as jurors. My "client" was being tried for murder, and I argued that he was at most guilty of manslaughter for acting recklessly. The "judge" (a trial lawyer in real life) instructed the "jury" rapidly and confusingly. They came back with a manslaughter conviction. After the verdict, we got to talk to the jurors and one of the other "lawyers" asked them why voted for manslaughter rather than murder or acquittal. One of the girls said more or less "Oh, we thought he meant to kill but he was angry when he did so." We followed up by asking whether they figured out this legal test from the instructions from the judge, to which the same juror replied, "No, we didn't know what that meant but she [another juror] knew about manslaughter." Make-Believe indeed!

     
  • At 1:36 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    I've been combing the internet for days looking for someone with whom to argue this case. I'm glad I found you guys.

    When I first read the syllabus, my initial reaction was, "he got the evidence in, so what's the problem?" After I read the facts and realized I had misunderstood the question presented, I still came back to my "what's the problem" position.

    If I'm a juror, and I watch the defense attorney put on witness after witness discussing the guy's religious conversion, and then the prosecutor goes on and addresses the conversion at length, and then the defense attorney discusses the conversion at length, and the judge doesn't seem to have any problem with this, I can reach one of two conclusions: (1) the evidence is relevant, or (2) the evidence is irrelevant, I have a better understanding of the text of factor (k) than the judge and two lawyers, and our legal system is really keen on letting capital defendants go on and on with irrelevant testimony.

    Given that, as Thomas points out, Kennedy was essentially engaged in educated guesswork about what the jurors were thinking (Stevens does the same thing, he just reaches a different conclusion), in light of the two assumptions I posited, I think Kennedy has the better argument by far.

    My conclusion is bolstered, to my thinking, by Stevens' patent appeal to emotion. For example, a footnote to People v. Easley isn't an ordinary footnote, it is "critical" (p. 3). That same court "evinced considerable discomfort" with the statute. Id. The prosecutor opened his closing statement with "the unyielding admonition" that the jurors had to apply the law (p. 11; is Stevens suggesting that jurors have the right to disregard the law?). He describes the Boyde case by noting that "over the dissent of four justices..." (p.16). What is the significance of noting the 5-4 split? A five-person majority is still the law (for better or for worse), and I'm reasonably certain Stevens knows that. Along those same lines, he cites "Justice Souter's powerful reasoning in Payton" (p. 18), although apparently it wasn't so powerful that he was in the majority.

    In a "critical" footnote, Stevens observes that "the judge told the jury that it could not consider [psychiatric treatment] evidence in making its decision. The judge's answer, while legally correct..." Wait, is there any way to answer that sentence without sounding completely insane? Is Stevens suggesting that the judge could have avoided the problems here by giving an incorrect statement of the law?

    He's also got several appeals to some mysterious subtext that contradicts the actual text. "Factor (k)'s restrictive language sent the unmistakeable message" (p. 3). Yeah, a message that conflicts with what the statute actually says. "Although the Boyde opinion does not state so explicitly, it assumes that..." Right, judicial opinions make assumptions. Especially assumptions that have no apparent support in the actual text. He can't believe the jury considered evidence "they were all but told they were forbidden from considering" (p. 22), a surprising acknowledgment that they were not, in fact, told they could not consider it.

    Any doubts I had about this case vanished when I read the dissent, and thought, If this is the best they can do, then the case is a no-brainer.

     
  • At 1:41 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Oops, I just saw in a comment to another post that you have a three-paragraph limit (I don't know if that's for comments or just blog posts). I apologize for the length of my previous.

     
  • At 10:58 AM, Blogger Thomas Healy said…

    Since you're looking for someone to argue with, let me oblige.

    I agree that it's plausible, maybe even probable, that the jury thought it could consider the defendant's forward-looking mitigation evidence. And Kennedy may have the better argument as to what the jury likely understood. But to reject the defendant's claim, Kennedy has to show that there's no reasonable likelihood that the jury thought it was precluded from considering the defendant's evidence of future good conduct -- in other words, no reasonable likelihood that the jury was confused. That's a pretty high standard, and I'm not sure Kennedy meets it.

    In any case, my main point is that this kind of speculation about what the jury likely understood is absurd. In retrospect, we can carefully analyze the statements of the lawyers and judge and reach a well-reasoned conclusion about what their words meant. But we have no idea what it was like to sit in the jury box, with no legal experience, after a long trial, and listen to hours of arguments and instructions that all blur together in the end. To assert with any confidence that we know how the jury must have understood the instructions is absurd.

    As to the three-paragraph rule, I think it only applies to posts, not comments. And as you can see, it's not always observed.

     
  • At 12:13 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    "Kennedy has to show that there's no reasonable likelihood..."

    That's precisely the point I would have beaten into the ground if I were writing Stevens' dissent, yet he doesn't make it at all.

    On the other hand, even granting your point that we don't know what the non-professional jurors were really thinking, the law presumes that jurors do what they are told, for better or for worse.

     
  • At 6:10 PM, Blogger Orin said…

    Thomas,

    I'm curious what you think the alternatives are to trying to speculate as to what a jury was thinking.

    It seems to me that if we don't do that, we have two main alternatives: 1) a rule that erroneous instructions are irrelevant, and that no matter how bad the error is, the defendant can get no relief, or 2) a rule that an erroneous instruction is everything, and that no matter how minor the error is, the defendant always gets relief.

    It seems to me that both options (1) and (2) are troublesome; (1) excuses major errors, and (2) could grind the system to a halt based on technical errors that we know didn't actually impact the outcome. The existing approach tries to distinguish minor errors from more major ones, which at least seems like a sensible goal.

    It can always be misapplied, but I'm not sure this test is worse than the alternatives. Or are there alternatives beyond (1) and (2)?

     
  • At 2:14 PM, Blogger Thomas Healy said…

    There was a time not so long ago when all errors were grounds for automatic reversal, so I'm not sure that possibility is so unthinkable. We might also distinguish between constitutional errors and non-constitutional errors, providing automatic reversal for the former and a harmlessness test for the latter --as the Court did prior to its 1967 decision in Chapman.

    Another possibility is to automatically reverse constitutional errors of a certain magnitude, without regard to what effect they actually had on the jury, on the assumption that they would have an effect in most cases. How would we determine what errors are sufficiently great to justify this treatment? I'm not sure, but I think one could make a strong argument that an error in instructing the jury on mitigation in a capital case would qualify under most formulations.

    Even the Court's "no reasonable likelihood" test is not all that bad in theory. If applied honestly, it would not involve the kind of speculation involved in Kennedy's opinion. Instead, the court would look at the circumstances, and if there was any possibility of jury confusion, it would invalidate the instruction. As applied by Kennedy, however, the inquiry took on the quality of fiction.

     
  • At 2:49 AM, Blogger Orin said…

    Got it.

    I would add one thought, though: Although harmless error review wasn't formalized until the 1960s, wasn't the state of constitutional rights for defendants dramatically less developed up to that period? It seems to me that the dramatic expansion of constitutional rights in the 1960s was accompanied by the introduction of new mechanisms for limiting their effect; harmless error review was a response to a then-ongoing dramatic expansion of constitutional rights. All errors led to reversal in an era when there were few rights to begin with; I assume that's not a world anyone would like to see back.

    Or am I missing something?

     

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