Distress Call: Suicide Rates in California Prisons

A couple of years ago, Michael Bien alerted us at his keynote speech at WSC to an alarming trend: mental illness was on the rise in CA prisons even as they were getting decrowded. He and his lawyers ran the numbers lots of possible ways, and couldn't find a comprehensive explanation.

And now, we have some distressing data about the suicide rates in CA prisons. The Chron reports:

Last year, an average of three California inmates killed themselves each month in state cells — 34 total suicides in a system with 129,000 inmates. That amounts to an annual rate of 26.3 deaths per 100,000 people, the highest rate in California since at least 2006. 

That figure is higher than the national average for state prisons (20 per 100,000 in 2014) and federal prisons (14.7 in 2018, according to the Washington Post). From 2001 to 2014, according to the Bureau of Justice Statistics, twice as many people killed themselves in California cells than in the entire federal system, which contains more prisons and inmates. There were 448 total suicides in California prisons during that period and 222 in federal prisons. 

The inmate suicide rate has now increased for four straight years in California, and it may rise again in 2019. According to the state, 16 inmates committed suicide during the first six months of this year. Michael Bien, an attorney who represents mentally ill prisoners, said he knows of 10 more inmate suicides since then, for a total of 26 so far in 2019. A state spokeswoman said she couldn’t confirm the 10 recent deaths because “some investigations are still ongoing.”

Read the article in its entirety: it exposes a disturbing pattern of neglect and cover-your-asses mentality and the futility of the ongoing Coleman litigation. What is wrong? and how can we fix it?

The Impeachment of Andrew Johnson

Theodore R. Davis' illustration of Andrew Johnson's impeachment trial in the Senate, published in Harper's Weekly.

Much has been made in the last couple of days of Nixon and Clinton comparisons to, ahem, the current brouhaha. But as I was prepping this slideshow for a virtual talk at Manny's, I was struck by the surprising similarities between our, ahem, situation, and the context of Andrew Jackson's impeachment in 1868. A quick read of this lucid and helpful Wikipedia article will bring you up to speed. It's a rather obscure chapter in American history; as early as 1896, Edmund Ross commented that "little is now known to the public" about it. After Ross's book, three more books were written about the impeachment trial: David Miller DeWitt's in 1903, Michael Les Benedict's in 1999, and David Stewart's in 2010. What is palpable in all of them (perhaps most so in Stewart's book) is the context: a bitter, partisan, no-holds-barred fight between Lincoln's successor, a moderate Southern Republican seeking reconciliation with the South, and Congress, which sought more sanctions against Southern States during Reconstruction.

Johnson's unbridled anger at Congress will remind you of someone we know: He actively campaigned against Congress, which included a massive speaking tour to "fight traitors in the North." This campaign backfired spectacularly when the election yielded two Republican houses determined to thwart his agenda, and when he tried to get rid of Edwin Stanton, the Secretary of War he inherited from Lincoln and a staunch Unionist. Congress tried to thwart these efforts by passing the Tenure of Office Act, and Johnson, determined to get rid of Stanton, did so nonetheless. Nine of the eleven articles of impeachment revolved around this effort.

Through the prism of 2019, I can't help but read this story as that of a small man with no hope of filling the giant shoes of his predecessor, conciliatory and sympathetic to a grim racist heritage, determined to spite anyone placing limitations on his power to appoint and discard people as he chose. It might cheer you up (or not) to learn that the Senate came one vote short of removing him from office. It might also be useful to keep in mind that the failure to secure the additional vote came from four Republicans voting against their own party out of concerns that the evidence presented against Jackson was one-sided--and a good reminder that, in order to garner legitimacy for the impeachment process, it is important to conduct a thorough and objective investigation that might assuage the concerns that some of today's hesitant Republicans about "witch hunts" and "kangaroo courts." If Democrats want to secure removal in the senate, which for obvious reasons will be an uphill battle, the process has to be fair and also to be perceived as fair.

Hunger Strike in Calaveras County Jail

Calaveras County Jail, courtesy
The Calaveras Enterprise.

Chapter 6 of Cheap on Crime dealt with a transition with our perception of inmates--from wards of the state, who need to be clothed and fed and taken care of for the duration of their sentence, to capitalist consumers, whose every need beyond the very bare minimum (and sometimes even the bare minimum!) is monetized. The consumer label, of course, is ironic

Well, the shit finally hit the fan at Calaveras County Jail, where inmates are fed up with the endless monetization of their lives. The Calaveras Enterprise reports:

Seventeen inmates at the Calaveras County Jail have announced their plan to initiate a hunger strike in protest of “outrageous prices” for telephone calls and commissary items including soup and ramen noodles. 

“Not only are we afflicted, but our families as well,” the inmates wrote in a letter to the Enterprise. “We have made attempts at every other level to have this situation resolved, to no avail. We are hoping that the public can get involved and know the real situation that is going on here.” 

According to the inmates, local calls cost $2.91 for the first minute and 41 cents for each additional minute, while long-distance calls cost only 21 cents per minute. A soup from the jail’s canteen currently costs $1.23. They claim that those prices are far higher than those at other California facilities in which some of them have been detained. 

Nineteen-year-old inmate Marc Holocker told the Enterprise on Monday that prices have gone up at the jail since he was incarcerated in May, and that his weekly allowance of $20 provided by his family is no longer sufficient to meet his needs. Outside of the telephone calls to his lawyer, which are free of charge, Holocker no longer calls family members, he said, opting instead to spend his money on food items.

Just recently I posted about how the prison food industry is one small, often unnoticed "piecemeal privatization" that escapes the gaze of the anti-private-prison crowd. The awfulness and meagerness of prison food (nutraloaf anyone?) feeds (no pun intended) directly into the commissary business. The phone call gauging is an ongoing scandal, in CA and elsewhere (and that's before we even ask hard questions about the calls' privacy). In Cheap on Crime I bitterly commented that people in prisons and jails who review their institutions on Yelp have drawn the natural conclusions about how they're being treated, and it seems the people striking in Calaveras are taking to more direct action.

Crimmigration Meets Sentencing: Assimilating the Apprendi Doctrine to Simplify the Categorical Analysis

As part of my visitorship at Harvard, I'm having the great pleasure of auditing Philip Torrey's terrific Crimmigation class and learning a lot about this relatively new, but hugely important, legal field. After Padilla v. Kentucky, knowing the immigration consequences of criminal convictions are not just "nice to know"--they are an ethical obligation for criminal attorneys, and our shameful immigration policy means that many, many criminal cases will have immigration consequences.

Because removal from the U.S. is one of the most severely destructive things you can do to a person's life--far more destructive than the domestic sentences for many offenses--it is imperative that these consequences be foreseeable. Indeed, when you read caselaw written about crimmigration the judges will often say "this is obvious", but it is not obvious at all. The categories are nebulous and complex, the overlap between federal and state law is far from complete, and on the receiving end of this are people who have to figure out their criminal case strategy with an eye toward the immigration consequences. So, simplifying the analysis is overall a good thing.

In this post I'm presenting one idea/suggestion on a possible simplification of crimmigration, which in the grand tradition of the field, requires importing an idea from the criminal to the immigration realm--namely, planting the Apprendi analysis regarding the definition of an "element" of the offense to the categorical analysis done in immigration removal cases. Let's explain.

When a person is removable from the United States on criminal grounds--whether as "inadmissible" (having not been legally admitted into the country) or "deportable" (having initially arrived here legally)--the law governing the removal can be found in sections 212 and 237 of the INA. These sections enumerate the sorts of criminal consequences that trigger removal. In general--and this is hugely simplified--"inadmissible" noncitizens can be removed following a conviction for a "crime of moral turpitude", a controlled substances offense or two or more convictions of some seriousness, or for being known as a controlled substance trafficker or a trafficker in persons or engaging in prostitution or other commercialized vice. "Deportable" noncitizens can be removed following a conviction for a recent crime of moral turpitude (or a combination of older crimes of moral turpitude), an "aggravated felony" (which need not be aggravated nor a felony), high-speed flight from an immigration checkpoint, failure to register as a sex offender, or an offense involving controlled substances, firearms, or domestic violence (more detail on all this in my colleague Richard Boswell's excellent book.)

The challenge in applying these categories lies in that the federal definition of these offenses, as well as of the concept of "conviction", can differ from the state definition where the person was tried and convicted. Setting aside the issue of "conviction", which in itself is complicated, how can we tell whether a state conviction for a violation of a particular state statute is the equivalent of a conviction for an "offense involving controlled substances" as per immigration law?

To resolve this question, immigration courts recur to the "categorical approach": the analysis focuses on the content of the relevant statutes (the state criminal statute and the federal immigration statute) rather than on the facts that gave rise to the incident. Basically, the court will analyze the offense from the immigration statute, analyze the elements of the criminal statute, and if the former is narrower or equal to the latter (at its least culpable version), the person is deportable on criminal grounds. This kind of analysis is reminiscent of the analysis of several criminal procedure and sentencing doctrines, starting with the application of the ACCA (Descamps, despite having nothing to do with immigration, is regarded as precedent for immigration cases) and continuing with the Blockburger test for "same offense" in the double jeopardy context.

But wait! Things get complicated, because state statutes are seldom straightforward. They often include several alternative actions, circumstances, or mental states. When faced with such complexity, immigration judges have to figure out whether it is a "divisible" or an "indivisible" statute. A "divisible" statute is a statute that includes several alternative elements, in which the jury has to find positively, beyond a reasonable doubt, that a particular subset of these alternatives (as opposed to the other alternatives) occurred. If that's the case, the "modified categorical approach" allows the court to go beyond the face of the statute and look at actual documents from the case--say, the indictment, the plea colloquy, the jury instructions--to figure out which version of the divisible statute the person was convicted of. Then, the court proceeds with the categorical analysis with respect to that particular subdivision. By contrast, some statute will enumerate alternative features, but those don't rise to the level of "elements"--they are merely "means", which is to say, a criminal jury is not required to specify which of these they found occurred in the case. If so, the regular categorical analysis stands and the court won't be permitted to go beyond the language of the statute.

Corollary: It is very important, for immigration law purposes, to know whether the alternative wording in the statute constitute "elements" or "means".

For an example of this analysis, look at the Ninth Circuit decision in Rendon v. Holder (2014). The case involved the California burglary statute, which prohibits entry with intent to commit “grand or petit larceny or any felony.” Because not any felony is larceny, there's a possible argument that this is a divisible statute; but the Ninth Circuit analogized this case to Descamps, which deals with the exact same statute in the ACCA context, to say that it is not a divisible statute. The reason? A California jury deliberating a burglary case would not be required to unanimously decide between “larceny” versus “any felony,” or to unanimously agree as to the “felony.”

How do we know this? One tell-tale sign would be if the burglary statute affixed different sentences to people entering to commit "larceny" and people entering to commit some other felony. That would be an indication that these elements have to be found by a jury. But this is not the case here, so the courts in Descamps and Rendon have to go into the statute and into jury instructions etc.

The thing is, we don't actually need the middle man. In 2000, SCOTUS decided Apprendi v. New Jersey, which is not an immigration case but a sentencing case. The story was as followed: Apprendi fired several shots into the home of an African-American family and made a statement–which he later retracted–that he did not want the family in his neighborhood because of their race. He was charged under New Jersey law with second-degree possession of a firearm for an unlawful purpose, which carries a prison term of 5 to 10 years. But New Jersey also had a hate crime statute, which was not mentioned in Apprendi's charge, and which doubles the sentence of a crime if a trial judge finds, by a preponderance of the evidence, that the defendant committed the crime with a hate motive. Apprendi pleaded guilty, the prosecutor filed a motion to enhance the sentence, and the judge found by a preponderance of the evidence that the shooting was racially motivated. As a consequence, Apprendi got 12 years - 2 more than the maximum sentence for the basic firearms conviction. On appeal, Apprendi argued that the hate motive should have been mentioned in the charging document and proven to a jury beyond a reasonable doubt--in other words, according to the classification that was valid at the time, that the "hate motive", despite appearing in a separate statute, was an "element of the offense" and not merely a "sentencing enhancement." Writing for the majority of the Court, Justice Scalia found that the distinction between an "element" and an "enhancement" was unclear and unnecessary, and that the 6th Amendment, as well as the principle of legality, required a jury decision beyond a reasonable doubt regarding "any fact that increases the penalty for a crime beyond the prescribed statutory maximum, other than the fact of a prior conviction."

Apprendi yielded a whole series of cases dealing with the question of what counts as an "increase in penalty", but that's not of concern here: what I argue is that the same test can be used in the immigration context, and it renders unnecessary the whole distinction between "elements" and "means." If the ruling in Apprendi is adopted in the immigration context, immigration judges looking at a complex statute need only ask about a particular part of the statute: does this part impact what sentence the person's going to get? If so, the statute is divisible, and this fact is the subdivision we have to apply the modified categorical approach to. If not, the statute is indivisible, and we don't have to worry about this part and we apply the straightforward categorical approach.

Why is this a good suggestion? Well, for one thing, it makes things simpler. This in itself is a virtue in immigration, and the reason why the categorical approach was adopted to begin with: clear administrative decisionmaking and uniformity. This is especially important, because while the logic behind not getting into the facts was supposedly to make things easier, it hasn't, and courts bumbling through doctrinal analysis don't necessarily do a better job than courts bumbling through case facts. If there's something we can do to simplify the doctrinal analysis, we're actually helping.

In addition, adopting Apprendi in immigration removal cases the trend of adopting criminal law logic in immigration contexts, and would do something to correct the imbalance in the interface between the two areas of law. It would also harmonize the tendency to prefer these kind of clean, element-based analysis with other areas of criminal law, such as double jeopardy. 

Finally, this is not a bleeding-heart-open-borders suggestion: presumably, if you are the "you do the crime, you do the time, you leave the country" type, without fair warning as to what the "crime" consists of, you don't have much of a moral basis for your retributive stance.

I'd love to hear your thoughts.

We Have Lost Joan Petersilia

.

.

... and by "we", I don't mean academics, activists, abolitionists, rehabilitation people, professional do-gooders. I also don't mean prison guards, bureaucrats, politicians, paper pushers. And I don't even mean prisoners and their families.

I mean all of us.

Joan was one of those rare academics who managed to find common language with everyone involved in corrections without compromising her ideals. I had read her scholarship before meeting her in person in the early 2000s, when she gave a talk at Berkeley about how she convinced then-CDC officials to add the "R" for rehabilitation to CDCR's mission. I was young and naive and thought she was compromising to even sit at the table with them. I didn't quite understand that the way to get things done is to forge coalitions, and the compromise and incrementalism are necessary. It's a wisdom that comes with age and experience, but Joan seemed to be precocious at implementing its lessons throughout her career.

Joan knew California prisons inside and out. Her early work in 1978 was an interview-based examination of criminal careers, in the fine tradition of Shaw and McKay--15 years before "life-course criminology" was even on the horizon. She studied racial disparities in criminal justice when David Baldus' study was fresh off the presses and broadened his work in a systematic, quantitative way far beyond the death penalty. She collaborated with people of all political stripes, including J.Q. Wilson. She knew that being kind, generous, and collaborative with politicians and administrators meant access to the things we crucially needed to know about our prisons, and that actually researching and exposing truth was more important than empty posturing about integrity. Many of us in the field would do well to follow her example.

Much of her later work was devoted to issues of reentry, rehabilitation, and parole. She conducted excellent quantitative studies on probation and parole release. She was a pioneer in thinking about the fact that most people in prison eventually return to their communities and thinking about what would work best to address their needs. Joan collaborated with colleagues and students to offer a series of sensible recommendations that would make parole so much better by depoliticizing it and making it about hope and support, rather than about emotion and hysteria.

And at the same time she was producing an astounding volume of high-quality scholarship, Joan encouraged and mentored everyone around her, including her students. She was unfailingly kind and generous. She followed Yesterday's Monsters since its inception with good advice (I believe she's the first name listed in the acknowledgments) and inspired much of its inquiry. A few weeks ago I sent her an email inviting her to write a blurb for the back cover. She wrote back right away:

This book sounds incredibly exciting and path breaking. I’m afraid I have to decline providing a blurb, as my health is just not up to it. I’m back on chemo and it really affects my brain. What they say about this is really true! I have a very hard time reading and remembering what I have read, or composing anything literate. The doctors say this will pass and my prognosis is good, but it is what it is for now and I have no way to gauge how long this will last but likely for more than a year. I hope you understand, as I am sorry about this and would have done it in a minute under normal circumstances. I can’t wait to read your book and hope it’s a bestseller! You can count on me to buy one of the first copies available!

That Joan was so sick and yet took the time to write me such a kind email is emblematic of her unfailing kindness and generosity. She was such a class act. Little did we know that things were going to turn around and we were going to lose such an important and precious colleague and friend. Joan, the first signed copy of the book is in the mail on its way to heaven. What is remembered, lives, and by that measure, your goodness and wisdom is immortal.

Progressive Punitivism in the Animal Protection Movement

Juno, the dog from Oregon v. Newcomb. Image
courtesy BarkPost.

A while ago, I read and commented on Oregon v. Newcomb, a Fourth Amendment case involving animal cruelty charges. The case was very interesting both from an animal rights perspective and from a search-and-seizure perspective: A cop was called to a woman's house following complaints of abuse and neglect of her dog. Upon arriving, the cop found the dog emaciated, seized him, and took him to the police vet. The vet took a blood test, found out there was nothing wrong with the dog except he was being starved, and charges were filed against the woman. She filed a motion to suppress the blood test results, arguing that it was a warrantless search of her property. 

The Oregon Supreme Court wrote a wonderful opinion from an animal rights perspective: Even though the Fourth Amendment protects people's "effects" from unreasonable search and seizure, some "effects" differ from others in that they are sentient. From a Fourth Amendment perspective the decision was more nebulous; it is unclear whether the court meant that the blood test was not a "search", or a permissible search due to exigent circumstances because of Juno's condition. 

But there was one thing that caught my eye as I was reading the decision, and I highlighted it in my review:

It's not difficult to read between the lines in Newcomb, even though the Court doesn't really do that. Newcomb said to the police officer that she fed the dog WinCo food bought in small packages. WinCo is a low-grade kibble that sells in bulk at Costco, chock-full of grains, chemicals, and artificial fillers. It's telling that the defendant did not buy the kibble in bulk, but rather in small packages: poor people can't afford to spend on bulk and reap the savings, which is true for every product. As Yesim Orhun and Mike Palazzolo found in a study based on Nielsen data, frugality is hard to afford. 

Hastings is located in San Francisco's Tenderloin neighborhood, which is a window into the lives of people ravaged by extreme poverty. We frequently see folks who live in the streets with pets, which almost always seem groomed, well-fed, and very much loved. But since homeless people's lives, by their very nature, are exposed to the eyes of strangers, the ability to detect animal welfare and neglect is heightened, to the point that the police might intervene more frequently than when it gets reports of neglect in houses. Obviously, Newcomb was not homeless. But the reason she provided for the dog's emaciated condition is very telling, and might also explain the police's zealousness in following up on the complaint. 

Don't get me wrong: I think the court's decision is 100% correct. The rights of an animal that is mistreated should trump the "ownership" rights of whoever owns him or her, regardless of social class. But I think it does raise questions as to whether we enforce these laws equitably, and whether we should develop means to report and expose animal abuse and neglect in other settings. 

Happily, my colleague Justin Marceau from Denver University has addressed this issue much more thoroughly in his excellent new book Beyond Cages. Marceau's main argument is that, amidst the diverse and varying opinions and philosophies underpinning human enthusiasm for protecting nonhuman animals, the movement, such as it is, tends to coalesce around the lowest common denominator: crying out for harsher and harsher punishments for animal cruelty. And, just so that we understand, this rarely manifests in thorough investigations against corporate giants propagating animal cruelty, such as Smithfield Foods or Sunrise Farms (suppliers of the so-called 'humane meat/eggs' to Whole Foods and Amazon): much more common is taking out our collective ire at individuals, because, as both Marceau and Sherry Colb argue, this allows us to keep engaging in everyday complicity in cruelty to animals (via consuming animal products, visiting zoos and circuses, wearing leather, etc.,) while pretending that cruelty to animals is an aberration, a personal pathology of deranged, psychopathic individuals who abuse and neglect the animal we most care about as a society: our beloved, anthropomorphized pets (for a fascinating critique of pet ownership, see Jessica Pierce's fantastic and thoughtful book.)

One of my students wrote a marvelous seminar paper last spring about touch deprivation in the lives of the homeless and, among her other arguments, she highlighted how we dehumanize homeless people while purporting to care for the welfare of their pets. I'm not 100% on board with her (well made) arguments, because I don't see the animals raison d'être as providing companionship to people, but I loved that she problematized the criminalization of poverty through arguments of animal cruelty.

As an animal rights person, I am so glad people are making this point, because I think this recurrence to punitivism weakens, rather than strengthens, the animal rights movement; but it seems that Marceau sees this as an aberration of the animal rights movement compared to other civil rights movements. Marceau writes:

The animal protection movement - on an organizational and individual level - regard the fight to secure protections for animals as a civil rights issue. Analogies to women's rights, LGBTQ legal victories, and even the abolition of slavery and the fight against racism are common tropes. But is the movement seriously interested in civil rights and broad social change? Incarceration is a most unlikely ally for a movement that might earnestly desire far-reaching social reform. Never has a social change or civil rights cause been so thoroughly immersed in the coercive, prosecutorial arm of the State. Indeed, the animal protection movement's commitment to ever harsher criminal punishments and more aggressive enforcement of the criminal law may serve as a case study for understanding how other movements should conceive of their relationship with the carceral state.

Unfortunately, if other movements have not managed to co-opt the "coercive, prosecutorial arm of the State" for social justice ends, it's not for lack of trying. As I explain here, here, here, here, and here (coming soon to a database near you via Vol. 68 of the Buffalo Law Review), a considerable thrust of the social justice struggle's energy has been devoted to shaming, discrediting, obliterating, calling for prosecution and incarceration of, and taking away due process protections from the people these movements dislike. The latest example (for shame!) is the absurd and obscene persecution of Judge Persky; the scorched-earth mentality knows no bounds and has followed him off the bench as well. If anything, the animal rights movement is an example of what happens when this animus, which enjoys considerable success in destroying and ruining people's lives via the cyber-guillotine of social media, is coupled with state cooperation.

Indeed, that we see this phenomenon operating in distinct and separate activist spaces such as the animal rights movements and, say, #metoo, is proof of what I argue in my Progressive Punitivism piece: that this is not some isolated pathology of the left, but rather part of the collective disease we all suffer from--across the entire political spectrum--as a consequence of marinating in the carceral state logic for the last fifty years. When we've been consistently taught, since Nixon (and perhaps even before), that all problems are criminal justice problems, and that all of them can and should be solved by locking people up, is it really any surprise that we see this logic operating in entirely different spheres of the social activism world?

Precisely because the animal rights movement regularly makes comparisons to other social justice causes (which I, for one, see as perfectly apt and insulting only if one views them through a speciest lens), it should lead the way in seeking to liberate, not to incarcerate. The true meaning of intersectionality lies in finding common ground and uniting struggles, not in hairsplitting the left apart. If this movement wants to expend energy in the direction of the criminal process, it must do so by providing strong support to open rescuers arguing for a necessity defense; for people who are facing the carceral state, not propping it up. 

People with Felony Records Approved to Serve on Juries in CA

KTVU reports:

The California Legislature approved "The Right to a Jury of Your Peers," allowing people with a prior felony conviction to serve on juries in California for the first time. 

Current California law excludes from jury service people who may have had a graffiti conviction when they were 18 or a marijuana conviction from high school.  

Under SB 310, those with a felony record would be eligible to serve on a jury, unless the person is on parole or probation, or a registered sex offender for a felony conviction.

Here's the text of SB 310, which suggests that there's now an overlap between voting and serving on juries--with the exception of registered sex offenders.

CA Divests from Private Prisons: Realistic? A Good Thing?

Hailed, and partly for good reasons, as a positive development, the Guardian today announces:

The private prison industry is set to be upended after California lawmakers passed a bill on Wednesday banning the facilities from operating in the state. The move will probably also close down four large immigration detention facilities that can hold up to 4,500 people at a time. 

The legislation is being hailed as a major victory for criminal justice reform because it removes the profit motive from incarceration. It also marks a dramatic departure from California’s past, when private prisons were relied on to reduce crowding in state-run facilities. 

Private prison companies used to view California as one of their fastest-growing markets. As recently as 2016, private prisons locked up approximately 7,000 Californians, about 5% of the state’s total prison population, according to the federal Bureau of Justice Statistics. But in recent years, thousands of inmates have been transferred from private prisons back into state-run facilities. As of June, private prisons held 2,222 of California’s total inmate population.

What does this mean, exactly? Keep in mind that there are no actual private prisons on California soil--and yet, California is one of the private prison industry's best clients, as it houses thousands of its inmates in Arizona and other states that have a flourishing array of private facilities (mostly owned by CoreCivic, formerly the CCA, and the Geo Group.) The bill, AB 32, changes this relationship by barring the state from contracting with private providers outside the state. This includes, importantly, the use of private prisons for holding undocumented immigrants: “Detention facility” is defined in the bill as "any facility in which persons are incarcerated or otherwise involuntarily confined for purposes of execution of a punitive sentence imposed by a court or detention pending a trial, hearing, or other judicial or administrative proceeding."

Is it realistic for CA legislature to divest from private prisons? It is, to the extent that "private prison" is, as defined in the bill, "a detention facility that is operated by a private, nongovernmental, for-profit entity, and operating pursuant to a contract or agreement with a governmental entity." But what about the many functions provided inside so-called governmental prisons in CA through private subcontractors? This interesting magazine article about prison food in Chino depicts what is an atypically good reality; prison food is hard to provide without recurring to private contracting, and is awful whether provided through public or private means. Similarly, the much-maligned CA prison healthcare system, which has been for years in the hands of a federal receiver, extensively contracts with private health care providers. This stuff is not the alternative to a public prison economy: it *is* the economy. How do we make sure that prisoners have beds to sleep on, doctors and nurses to take care of them, and two or three (meager, yucky) meals a day? In the neoliberal capitalist world, there aren't a lot of options out there. So divesting from private prisons completely is not a particularly realistic premise, nor is it particularly desirable (private providers are not categorically worse for the inmates than public providers, and everyone is motivated by greed, as I explain here.) It does have one important, unqualified positive effect: we are not building new public prisons, and we are not housing people in private prisons anymore, so we should incarcerate less people, period. That in itself will be a success.

But there's something else I find somewhat fishy here, and that's the supposed divestment of CA from private detention of immigrants. The picture here is much more complicated, because undocumented immigrants are primarily the responsibility of DHS and ICE, the latter of which incarcerates and prepares people for removal as the federal arm of law enforcement (Richard Boswell explains this separation of powers very well here.) What the feds do is contract with states such as CA to house undocumented immigrants, over whom Congress has plenary power and ICE has enforcement prerogatives. Some CA cities house immigrants in their public jails; others contract with private subcontractor providers to meet ICE's demand. CA's complicity with awful federal policies is not so much in the fact that they deal with private contractors; its in the awful conditions in both private and public facilities and in poorly supervising the conditions in these places. To be fair, it's not all CA's fault - their inability to supervise more effectively stems largely from the general chaos in immigration detention and from hurdles placed by ICE. But I'm unclear on whether these undocumented minors are worse off in private facilities than they are in post-Plata public jails, which do a notoriously poor job distinguishing between immigrants and "real criminals" (whatever the heck that means.)

In short, before dancing a jig about divestment from the public industry, let's ask ourselves some hard questions about the market itself and how it incentivizes public and private institutions alike to do a poor job locking people up (including people whose only supposed "crime" is saving themselves and their families from the conditions in Central America.)

Politics and Penality

In addition to being engrossed in my animal rights/criminal justice project, I have the happy and challenging obligation of writing an encyclopedia entry for the Oxford Research Encyclopedia of Criminology and Criminal Justice on "politics and penality." This is a daunting project because it calls for a preliminary working definition of what current scholarship means by "politics" and what it means by "penality." Critical writings on punishment and society, especially on the macro level and especially recently, tend to examine punishment within a reality of political priorities, and particularly in the context of power and inequality in their many forms. This calls for a loose, broad definition of “politics”. Moreover, scholarship has come to understand penality as a broad regime, beyond obvious and visible representations of penal power such as criminal courtrooms and prisons.

I'm still thinking about how to conceptualize the project (this post is part of that reflection), but it seems to me like there are at least three trends in recent literature on politics and penality that are particularly interesting:

1. The Separation and Overlap of Politics and Penality and the Importance of Neoliberalism as an Explanatory Factor

As I mentioned, one of the major novelties of the literature is observing and reporting on manifestations of penality outside the prison. In that respect, the work of critical geographers, economists, and public policy scholars has been most instructive. The notion of "million dollar blocks" has brought prison planning and expense out of the prison and into neighborhoods. The work on the impact of incarceration on families expands the circle affected by mass incarceration beyond the prison. The work on the conflation of ghetto and prison shows not only exclusion and confinement operating in and out of the prison, but also the inexorable link between the decline in welfare and the rise in incarceration as economic factors. Work that sees the hand of incarceration in landscape and industry; this "carceral term" is especially linked to the overall rise in importance of neoliberalism in explaining penality. It seems like neoliberalism is now at the heart of any macroanalysis of politics, and penality is no exception: what emerges from the literature is the sense that the tyranny of capitalism, miserly manifestations of shrinking welfare, and in general, the lack of care for the bottom 15% (20%? 50%? 99%?) of the population is what drives penality. This school of thought, which sees penality as the product of a grander political program, manifests itself not only in the context of class, but also race (particularly in North American writings that see punishment as part of a "racial project"). These big picture analyses tend to suggest a grand and sinister plan, in which punishment serves as a tool for a larger political economy scheme (echoing radical Marxist criminology) and has been criticized by some as imposing current notions of neoliberalism and capitalism rather than taking historical or contemporary actors on their own terms. There are also big questions as to the extent to which grand political trends (such as managerialism/actuarial justice) trickle down to actual actors. Neoliberalism also means that, popular progressive calls for abolitionism aside, it's hard to imagine what abolitionism would actually look like, though some try.

2. The Association of Punitivism with Particular Political Positions

Critical literature of the 1970s through the 1990s that looked at the emergence of mass incarceration in the United States tended to associate classic association with conservatism, and with good reason. The classic bogeymen of this period are Nixon and Reagan--both associated with one of the major bogeymen of mass incarceration, the war on drugs. But more recent literature tends to view Nixon and Reagan not as aberrations, but rather as a continuation of trends that involved pathologization, criminalization, and marginalization, particularly of young black men. This literature ranges from arguments that particular liberal groups unwittingly contributed to disastrous circumstances (including opponents of harsh punishment) to arguments that see liberals as having "built prison America", including welfare-minded professionals espousing paternalism toward the "pathologies of the black family." These new writings are not unrelated to agonistic perspectives on criminal justice, which show that, rather than "seismic shifts" to and away from punitivism, criminal justice policy is the product of constant negotiation between political forces and movements.

Most recently, literature has drawn attention to the fact that punitivism is alive and well even within progressive and radical movements. Most of this literature looks at carceral feminism, in the context of human trafficking,  violence against women, and #metoo campaigns (see here and here), as indivisible from the overall neoliberal frame; but some literature links it to other progressive movements' inconsistent calls to dismantle the carceral state while applying its logic to enemies of the movement (see also here and here).

3. Geopolitical Penality, Penality and Protection, Penality and National Security

New literature sees penality beyond the context of the domestic, as a manifestation of growing nationalism and security trends in a variety of countries around the world. The idea of border criminologies looks at how penality, xenophobia, and national security intersect, as does the relatively new field of crimmigration. As recession-era politics in the global north curbed incarceration, they affected a shift in resources and private investment toward immigration enforcement, the use of criminal logics in the immigration context, and the introduction of criminal technologies in managing immigration. Also important is the penal manifestation of political shifts in postcolonial and developing settings.

Please, let me know if there are other hot topics in politics and penality that you think are relevant!

Facing Criminal Charges to Save Animals, Part V: The Meaning of Doing Time for the Animals

Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV

There are lots of interesting cases involving animal welfare, animal rights, and the complicated terrain of animal personhood. But what is unique to the criminal process is that at the center of the proceeding is a human defendant facing a possible incarceration sentence. An interesting aspect of this project involves the way activists perceive, and make meaning, of this prospect, and one possible way to think about this is to rely on Idit Kostiner's typology of legal mobilization schemas.

Kostiner, who interviewed social justice activists, found that they related to what the law could do for their movement in three primary ways: instrumentally (whether they might "win" their rights through an effort to legislate or through impact litigation), politically (whether the very effort of participating in a mobilization project will bring the movement together, give it a political direction, galvanize it), and culturally (whether constructing the struggle in a rights perspective offers avenues of change in thought and perception.) While Kostiner found evidence of all three schemas in her interviews, she also hypothesized that there's a progression from one to the other - that people move from the instrumental to the political to the cultural.

I found Kostiner's work helpful in 2004, when I started working on the opposite question: why the polyamorous community in the Bay Area was not mobilizing for legal recognition of nonmonogamous relationships. Like Kostiner, my interviewees were influenced by considerations belonging in the three schemas. The instrumental perspective was served by the fact that many activists had found other ways to secure their rights, such as contracts, power of attorney documents, wills and trusts, and others found that keeping their relationships under the legal radar served them well in terms of rights. Politically, some of my interviewees were averse to the notion of damaging the LGBT marriage equality struggle, which was nascent at the time, by association, and wanted to give their gay and lesbian brothers and sisters their moment in the sun (my later work with Gwendolyn Leachman showed the wisdom of this approach, as well as how poorly it paid off for the poly activists later.) And culturally, many interviewees were averse to the idea that they would have to appeal to the mainstream, to be digested into "normality", to appear bourgeois, to eschew their interests in sacred sexuality and BDSM, all of which seemed too dear a price to pay for legal recognition.

Studying animal rights activists using the same framework is useful in the sense that the three schemas can reflect attitudes toward a prospective conviction and jail time. Instrumentally, activists may work toward an acquittal in the hopes of preventing conviction and incarceration. Such a victory, whether through a jury acquittal or through an appellate reversal, would be a double win: for the human defendant, who won't be going to prison, and for the nonhuman animals, if the win will be interpreted as some legal recognition of the value and moral weight of animal suffering (if not an acceptance of a weak or strong theory of animal personhood.)

But short of such an instrumental win, the prospect of incarceration could carry some important political implication. A normative, principled, ideological young person behind bars is a powerful motivator for movements to unite. There are some serious fractures within the animal rights movement, not only regarding strategies and action but also regarding activist styles, dispute resolution, and questions of intersectionality that have arisen in a variety of progressive movements and communities in the last few years. Some of these may heal in the face of a person unjustly incarcerated for bringing animal cruelty to light.

Incarceration also has a powerful cultural symbolism. It creates an important analogy between the animals, for whose conditions incarceration might be even regarded a euphemism, and their human protectors, now behind bars. In my years of studying and advocating about prison conditions, I've often heard the conditions described as "like animals." Since here, helping animals is the point, there is something very powerful about analogizing incarceration. There is also a sense of cultural continuity with other movements for civil rights, particularly with incarcerated nonviolent activists fighting for compassion and equality. This is particularly important for movements building their action program around concept of Kingian nonviolent resistance. 

There's plenty more to say, but this should give you an idea of the project - and now, I'll get to work!

Facing Criminal Charges to Save Animals, Part IV: Planning Legal Strategy

Australian animal rights activists protesting during a criminal
trial of an activist for trespassing an animal culling operation.

Part I
Part II
Part III

Trials of animal rights activists can be seen as the site of convergence for two very different legal events: a criminal process against an individual charged with a crime, in which the individual faces the prospect of conviction and punishment (and the dilemmas involved in going to trial vs. pleading guilty), and a landmark case for animal rights. By contrast to impact litigation on issues of animal cruelty, though, the latter meaning is a bit more indirect: the accused are pointing the finger at their own accusers as lawbreakers (of anti-cruelty laws), perpetuators of illegalities (through the pursuit of ag-gag laws that might be struck down as unconstitutional), and moral transgressors (through engaging in cruelty.) This duality in the function of the trial has complicated implications as to the legal strategy employed by the activists.

To begin, there is the choice of legal representation. Cases pursued as impact litigation might attract the attention and services of organizations such as the Animal Legal Defense Fund (ALDF) or animal law clinics at law schools (such as the program here at Harvard.) As Bruce Wagman explains here, there's often a crossover between the litigation and the academic world in this field (Also see this great piece by Kathy Hessler). But most of what these organizations do is litigate with the animals as clients, as it were (now there's an interesting issue of animal personhood), against factory farms, laboratories, zoos, amusement parks, etc., and they might find it difficult to litigate with a human lawbreaker as a client. This problem might reflect a more general rift in the animal rights community between the "moderates" and the "radicals": Taimie Bryant writes about this rift, and the hesitation of the former to get behind the latter to provide legal representation, in this piece. There is also the more mundane issue of legal specialization: is it best to hire a criminal lawyer, or an animal rights advocate, for a criminal case involving animal rights advocacy? And how might the choice of representation inform the issues to highlight at the trial? This might also bring out interesting attorney-client conversations (and potentially disputes) as to the value of provocative strategies. 

The activists on trial seek support, financial and otherwise, and the emphasis on one aspect of the case over another might impact the sources of said support. Presenting oneself as an idealistic, otherwise normative person in risk of a considerable prison sentence might be a persuasive strategy in obtaining support on a personal basis from sympathetic people, but it also centers the person, rather than the suffering animals, in the debate. Presenting the criminal case as an effort to produce a landmark outcome is also fairly complicated. If the activists are seeking a jury trial, even in the happy event that they are acquitted, they will not obtain a reasoned, written decision supporting animal personhood and rights (or even animal welfare), and it might be anyone's guess whether the acquitting verdict is the product of legal analysis or jury nullification due to sympathy for the defendants. So, is the desired outcome a conviction, followed by a reversal on appeal with a written judicial opinion? And if so, how might that affect the ways in which support is sought? 

Activists packing the court at Rachel Ziegler and Jon Frohnmayer's
trial for open rescue activities, Sep. 9, 2019.
Photo credit: Paul Picklesimer on Facebook.

And what about behavior during the criminal trial? Is filling the courtroom with supporters wearing animal rights t-shirts a winning strategy, or might it prove a turnoff to a jury, especially in a rural farming area? Again, the answer might lie in the question what the activists are trying to achieve at trial.

And then there is the legal strategy itself. The endgame for some (albeit not all) animal liberationists is some recognition of animal personhood. There are fierce debates in the literature about how to conceptualize animal personhood, of course. The granddaddy of animal liberation theory, Peter Singer, seemed revolutionary when the book came out, but in light of later writings on the topic, his writing on food and medical experimentation does allow for some exceptions. Tom Regan's take on animal personhood relies on the animals' cognition. In their provocative comparison of the animal rights and pro-life movements, Sherry Colb and Michael Dorf rely on the concept of sentience. And  perhaps the most radical formulation of animal personhood is Gary Francione's abolitionist theory, which finds no exceptions to the prohibition against using animals for any purpose. And against these philosophical theorists, whose views are, perhaps best articulated as biocentric, we have the ecocentric views of environmental ethical thinkers, for whom the perpetuation of a species or an ecosystem might be more valuable than the protection of individual animals (see more about this debate in a post I wrote a while ago in my oft-neglected cooking blog, of all places.) The big question is - to what extent would prospective jurors need to "buy" any of these formulations of animal personhood, be they strong or weak, to find that the necessity defense applies and the activists were justified in saving the animals? Since the necessity defense requires a balance of harms, is it necessary that the harm be suffered by someone who has some sort of legal status, some sort of claim to rights? Or are rights and suffering fundamentally different? And to what extent will the activists' lawyers expect jurors to parse out these different theories? Again, Helena Silverstein's wonderful Unleashing Rights is relevant here: as she points out in other legal contexts, “lawyers in the movement rarely speak of animal rights in the courtroom.” But importantly, “rights talk itself is not out of bounds in the courtroom. When rights talk is used, however, it is not in the form of animal rights but in the form of human rights. . . lawyers and movement organizations advance human rights claims such as the First Amendment right to freedom of speech in order to promote animal rights.” Is this true in the criminal context as well?

Finally, given the jury's power to nullify (big debates here about what jurors should do when confronted with unjust laws or their application), there is the question of whether the activists' lawyers should invest in crafting their arguments within existing law (that is, arguing that the necessity defense, as currently framed, applies to open rescue) or changing the law (that is, arguing that the necessity defense should change because the current conceptualization of animal suffering/rights/personhood in law is insufficient or unjust.) What the lawyers choose to do is also a question of jurisdiction: there might be some states in which it is easier to work within the interpretation of the necessity defense, and those might, ironically, be places in which the defense is not codified, which might create a first-impression situation that gives the lawyers an interesting blank canvas to argue rights and personhood. 

But underlying these important considerations is an important feature of the criminal process: pursuing animal rights through the criminal process means that there is a human individual who might face conviction, and even incarceration, at the end of the day. My last blog post on the project discusses that.

Part V

Facing Criminal Charges to Save Animals, Part III: Planning Open Rescue in the Shadow of the Law

Arrest during a protest in Petaluma. Photo credit: DxE.

Whether or not the necessity defense applies, or should apply, to open rescue, is a doctrinal legal question. As a law and society scholar, I ask myself questions about the interaction of the law with people, institutions, and movements. Because I have a special interest in social movements, I ask myself: How do animal rights activists understand and perceive the role of the criminal process in their lives? The extent to which the law is present in people's lives is its own field of study, known as legal consciousness. 

Part I
Part II

In their classic book The Common Place of Law Patricia Ewick and Susan Silbey present three schemas of relating to the law in everyday lives: before the law, with the law, and against the law. People's experience of the law extends farther than their involvement in official legal institutions, such as calling the police on someone, visiting a courtroom, or hiring a lawyer. While some scholars have supported the idea that the law is present everywhere in everyday lives (see Austin Sarat's study of the welfare poor) others have found people so busy surviving that they are not even conscious of the law or so skilled and privileged that they can structure even oppressive legal experiences, such as incarceration, as "games", "experiments", or "educational experiences", outside of the legal framework.

But what about social movements? An entire area of study is devoted to this question, looking at the way advocates and activists perceive the law. Idit Kostiner, who studied social justice activists, found that they see the law's value through three main schemas: instrumental (obtaining rights), political (galvanizing activists and organizing) and cultural (relying on the law to change perceptions.) In expanding the understanding of legal consciousness beyond merely obtaining rights, she follows Michael McCann, who argues that legal mobilization helps social movements even if they don't get exactly what they advocate for, because it provides them with a framework that is helpful for advancing their cause.

How do animal rights activists map onto all this? The animal rights movement operates within the constraints of a legal order that completely ignores, or negates, what the movement believes in. The law sees animals as property, and much of our economic system is structured around the exploitation of animals (often in conjunction with the exploitation of others.) This could make the activists very cynical about the law. Indeed, a beautiful interview-based study conducted by Erik Fritsvold found that radical environmental activists tend to perceive their relationship to the law as "under the law" and their primary engagement with it through lawbreaking.

Fritsvold's subjects and mine are not that different from each other. The activists he studies also define their actions as direct action, which, according to Noel Sturgeon, is "a series of 'actions' engaged in by groups that organize themselves in a decentralized, nonhierarchical manner . . . which use a participatory, democratic, decision-making process . . . and which prefer direct action to institutionalized, electoral, or interest-group politics. Frequently, such groups are involved in civil disobedience, that is, the principled breaking of the law in the process of political protest."

For direct action environmentalists, the law is an instrument of injustice to fight against. This schema differs from Ewick and Silbey's category of "against the law", because to the activists, "the law veils the illegitimacy of the existing social order and actively represses dissent. Against the Law observes that the law often fails as an asset to achieve justice; Under the Law views this failing as intentional and perceives law as an active agent of injustice."

Nonetheless, it seems that animal rights activists in general, and DxE activists in particular, somewhat differ from Fritsvold's interviewees. Helena Silverstein's wonderful 1996 book Unleashing Rights about animal rights activism shows that, despite thorny philosophical difficulties with the concept of "rights", which activists saw as anthropocentric, they did not shy from employing this concept when it served their purpose--or from hiding it from sight when it did not. Indeed, my own subjects, when planning open rescues, display some important markers of legal sophistication. Until fairly recently, DxE was led by Wayne Hsiung, an attorney and former legal academic, who is very well-versed in the legal status of animal rights nationally and internationally. Other members of DxE are lawyers, law students, or aspiring law students, and very well aware of the role the law plays in their activism.

Important questions regarding DxE's legal consciousness involve how open rescue operations are planned. In anticipation of a direct action, do activists reach out to legal authorities to report animal cruelty? Do they expect the authorities to intervene, and on whose behalf? When entering the facility, do activists try to seek detection, avoid detection, or a mix of both? If and when they encounter the facility owners or workers, do they attempt to alert the media or resolve things quietly? When encountering law enforcement in the field, how do they interact with them?

Answers to these questions are strategically tricky, because there are two different legal outcomes looming ahead: the short-term one consists of a possible arrest of the activists, perhaps followed later by a court case. The long-term outcome consists of changing the laws of the animal products industry and, perhaps in our lifetime, even eradicating it. What activists might do to promote one of these outcomes could harm the other, and requires careful thinking ahead. It is also the case that, even with carefully planned actions, unexpected circumstances can change the nature of the encounter and enhance, or diminish, the clash with law enforcement. I plan to look at these questions as well.

The next post in the series will address preparations and strategies for criminal trials, involving both strategic and tactical considerations.

Part IV
Part V

Facing Criminal Charges for Saving Animals, Part II: The Necessity Defense

Activist rescuing pigs. Photo courtesy DxE.

Part I here

The necessity defense is recognized in common law as a situation in which a person violates the law in order to prevent or mitigate harm. One way to understand the principle behind necessity is to think of a car swerving off the road to avoid an accident and then running into someone's fence. Ordinarily, the driver would be responsible for the damage to property, but because she caused it in order to avoid a greater harm, we do not hold her responsible. Necessity belongs to a family of affirmative defenses known as "justifications": rather than merely excusing an individual for a particular set of circumstances that absolve them of responsibility (because they are insane, too young, or intoxicated, for example), a justification applies more universally, and might be regarded as a legal statement that, when faced with these circumstances, the law wants people to choose the lesser harm.

As Jenni James explains in this excellent article, the necessity defense can be elusive, because over the years judges have narrowed its scope. Most states do not even have it codified into their penal code: for example, to find California's necessity defense, you'd have to recur to the California jury instructions. The elements vary somewhat across jurisdictions, but for the most part they conform to some general principles:

1. Serious harm (in CA, defendants have to prove that they acted "in an emergency to prevent a significant bodily harm or evil to (himself/herself/ [or] someone else)"
2. No adequate legal alternative.
3. Proportionality between the harm committed and the harm avoided ( in CA, "[t]he defendant’s acts did not create a greater danger than the one avoided). In other words, the opposite of what the Cowboy Fireman did in this terrific Faith Petric song.
4. A genuine, subjective belief that the act was necessary to prevent the threatened harm or evil.
5. Objective support for the subjective belief: In other words, that "a reasonable person would also have believed that the act was necessary under the circumstances.
6. Lack of culpability on the part of the defendant for the emergency in the first place (CA law requires that the defendant "did not substantially contribute to the emergency.")

As James argues in her article, the ability to even present the necessity defense in court depends on judicial discretion (typically exercised in the context of a motion in limine to prevent the presentation of the defense.) In one decision, U.S. v. Schoon, the Ninth Circuit held that the necessity defense will only be available to activists who engage in "direct civil disobedience"--that is, directly challenging the rules they protest--and not "indirect civil disobedience" activists, who violate a law that is "not, in itself, the object of protest." As James explains, open rescuers engage in both forms of civil disobedience, because they challenge both the exploitation and cruelty of the animal industry (indirect) AND ag-gag laws (direct.) But the upshot of the decision was that protesters, by definition, were to be denied the necessity defense--even though lower courts sill allow it on occasion. And of course, as James points out, the necessity defense can be a poor fit for these premeditated and planned operations, because by its very nature it is designed to address emergencies.

This means that activists encounter some serious hurdles in presenting the defense. The first and foremost issue that might come up is the big question whether the suffering of animals constitutes "serious harm," and also, a harm that is proportional to the harm they cause when they enter the facility or remove an animal. Part of this debate is factual: the activists would have to prove the imminent harm to the animals, and to come up with a way to show that this harm is equal or greater to the harm that their actions caused to the farmers. Video evidence showing sick or dying animals might prove their marginal monetary worth to the farmers as well as the harm and suffering to them (but requires, of course, that activists engage with the legal framework that sees animals as property.) As to how harm and suffering are to be measured, one thing I plan to look at is the extent to which potential jurors are open to considering evidence of animal emotions and theories of animal personhood.

I'm reading Frans de Waal's Mama's Last Hug, whose point of departure is the animal behaviorist's skepticism about proof. De Waal argues that we can, and should, be able to assess and measure animal emotions, which human and nonhuman animals can both exhibit and control. The examples he provides show nonhuman animals as imbued with a sophisticated understanding of their social world, as well as a sense of justice, as well as fairness. Larry Carbone's interesting What Animals Want, which is set at a lab, raises important questions about assessing physical suffering of animals held in labs for experimentation. My hope is to expand my reading on animal emotion, feelings, and suffering, and think about which theory of animal agency would be persuasive to a jury.

Then, there are questions about the subjective and objective intents of the activists, as well as the extent to which they recurred to legal means before taking illegal action (reports to the police, etc.) - this element can be difficult to handle, because often one can know of the specific harms that are occurring only via illegal means. In short, as James argues in her article, "[j]udges seldom have to overtly pit commercial privacy interests against an animal’s right not to suffer. Instead, judges often assume the practice causing the animal’s suffering was legal and thus not harmful for purposes of the necessity defense balancing of harms. Rescuers who wish to remove animals from industrial facilities, then, should be careful to select only animals suffering from clearly illegal activity, which, ideally, should also be documented. However, to avoid the appearance of vigilantism, rescuers might consider using this documentation sparingly and perhaps even sharing it with law enforcement promptly."

But that raises other questions, which are a proper subject for ethnographic research: How do animal rights activists relate to the law, and to the prospect of criminal justice in their activities? More on that in Part III.

Part III
Part IV
Part V

Facing Criminal Charges for Saving Animals, Part I: Open Rescue

DxE activists with rescued birds. Image courtesy Indybay.

Hello, friends! I'm writing this from the Harvard Animal Law Policy Program, where I am a Visiting Fellow this fall. My plan for this fellowship is to examine the intersection of criminal justice, social movements, and animal rights--in other words, what happens when animal rights activists engaging in open rescue are criminally charged for their actions?

A brief primer: the conditions of confinement experienced by animals--cows, pigs, chickens, turkeys, and others--in factory farms are beyond atrocious, and this is true not only for conventional farms, but also for so-called "humane" or "cage-free" facilities. I have seen footage that has torn my heart apart. In one video, from a chicken farm, I saw emaciated and sick chickens, some of which were barely moving and clearly close to death. The animals trampled upon each other to breathe and carcasses of trampled chickens were clearly visible on the ground. Parts of the animals’ bodies were torn, likely by other animals trying to push through to obtain food and air. There were some indications that the animals, starving and parched, had turned to cannibalizing each other.

These are difficult things to see and experience, partly because opening our eyes and hearts to animal suffering requires seriously reconsidering our consumption habits that contribute to this cruelty. But the first step is, of course, to raise public awareness to these conditions, and there are very few legal avenues to doing so. Because of that, activist organizations turn to a technique called open rescue.

The Animals and Society Institute defines open rescue as "[t]he process of giving aid, rescue, and veterinary treatment to animals confined in typical factory farm living conditions. The immediate aim of the rescuers, who identify themselves even when trespass is necessary, is to save lives, while documenting the animal suffering inherent in large-scale industrialized food production." This definition has several important components.

First, it is a "rescue" mission, and therefore often involves not only documenting conditions at the farm, but also removing sick and endangered animals. The activists I spoke to explained that they seek to identify animals that might imminently die or suffer irreparable harm unless they are removed from the facility (this, in itself, requires them to do some selection, because all animals subject to factory farm lives are in dire circumstances.) They also do this because working for animal rights can be emotionally devastating and demoralizing, and rescuing animals provides an optimistic element to the experience.

Second, open rescue is "open". In an article about the need for solidarity and cooperation in the animal rights movement, Taimie Bryant quotes Paul Shapiro, formerly of Compassion over Killing, who explains that, by contrast to other animal liberation actions in which participants “go to great lengths to conceal their identities”, the point of open rescue is to rescue the animals “completely openly… you videotape yourself doing it, you take full responsibility for the fact that you did it and you openly publicize the fact that you did it.” Shapiro argues that the overt nature of the action garners much more sympathy for the activists and focuses attention away from the morality of their own actions (“should we treat them like orderly criminals, or like political prisoners?”) and toward the conditions suffered by the animals.


--> But, as it turns out, you can't really avoid the question of how to treat the people, even in the face of the serious question how to treat the animals. Entering factory farms to document conditions does not only violate garden-variety penal code provisions against trespass (and, if animals are rescued, larceny), but also a slew of ag-gag laws--laws lobbied for by the agricultural industry prohibiting entry to, and documentation of, animal factory farms.

As an aside, saving animals turns out to be a fairly dangerous proposition in general. During Hurricane Katrina, the Animal Legal Defense Fund composed a memo offering legal guidance for the brave people who broke into abandoned, flooded homes to rescue animals left behind. Even in the face of the heartbreaking story of Snowball-- reportedly, the inspiration behind legislation requiring states to come up with animal rescue planning as a condition for FEMA assistance--the law offered (and still offers) little to no protection even for people who rescue the most sympathetic animals of all: domestic pets. Good Samaritan Laws, which protect emergency rescuers from criminal and/or civil liability, either do not refer explicitly to animals or explicitly use the term "person." Local animal cruelty laws do not go as far as offer coverage for rescuers.

This is especially true for farmed animals: as reported by the Animal Welfare Institute, several states explicitly exclude farmed animals from the definition of "animal" in their animal cruelty laws, so that these laws do not apply to them. Moreover, the aforementioned ag-gag laws were designed specifically to protect agricultural interests, as exemplified in this Intercept story by Glenn Greenwald. So, from the perspective of the farmers, the legislature, and the prosecutors, open rescuers are trespassers (when they step on the premises) and thieves (when they remove animals from the premises.)

My project involves a study of an organization called Direct Action Everywhere (DxE) which, among other avenues, pursues open rescue and documentations. DxE activists use sophisticated technology--drones, virtual reality filming--to present the horrors of factory farms to the public. And, the organization often rescues animals, whom they name and care for with the help of vets and sanctuaries. Such acts have resulted in several criminal cases against activists. Some of these have been dismissed (such as the case against a woman who gave water to thirsty pigs on their way to slaughter) but some are still pending, in California (Sonoma County), Utah, and North Carolina.

The activists facing trial have, so far, declined plea bargains in favor of jury trials, and they plan to argue for a necessity defense.

The next installment in this blog post series will examine the elements and feasibility of relying on a necessity defense in open rescue cases.

Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V