A few years ago, Roseberline Turenne, an 18-year-old aide at a Maryland day care center, used her cellphone to take photographs showing "the naked genitals and pubic areas" of eight little girls. Seven of the girls were lying on changing tables, while the eighth was standing in a bathroom. Turenne later claimed she was documenting preexisting diaper rashes, lest she be blamed for allowing them to develop while the girls were in her care.

Turenne was fired after the pictures were discovered because they violated the day care center's policies, which prohibited staff members from photographing children. She also was charged with eight counts each of child sexual abuse, production of child pornography, and possession of child pornography.

Discounting Turenne's explanation of her motive for taking the pictures, a jury convicted her on all 24 counts, resulting in a 126-year prison sentence. Last Friday, the Maryland Supreme Court upheld Turenne's convictions, concluding that the jury reasonably rejected her account, that her conduct met the elements of the three crimes, and that "the evidence was sufficient for the jury to conclude that Ms. Turenne took the photos of the children for the purpose of sexual gratification."

Although Turenne's astonishingly severe sentence was not at issue in this appeal, it vividly illustrates how laws related to child pornography can generate penalties that make little sense. Even if you join the jurors, the intermediate appeals court, and the Maryland Supreme Court in disbelieving her account of why she took the pictures, she did not share them with anyone, and she was not accused of assaulting the girls. Yet under Maryland law, Turenne will have to serve at least a quarter of her 126-year sentence—nearly 32 years—before she is eligible for parole.

People convicted of violent crimes in Maryland have to serve at least half of their sentences before they are eligible for parole. But someone who was convicted of voluntary manslaughter and received the maximum 10-year sentence still would have a shot at parole after five years. Even someone convicted of first-degree rape, which triggers a mandatory 25-year minimum, could end up serving less time than Turenne faces for noncontact offenses that consisted of nothing more than taking pictures.

That reality is especially troubling because it is not clear that Turenne committed the crimes with which she was charged. Just four out of seven justices agreed that all of her convictions were valid. In a partial dissent joined by Justice Brynja Booth, Chief Justice Matthew Fader concluded that there was insufficient evidence to convict Turenne of producing and possessing child pornography. Justice Shirley Watts concurred, and she filed a separate dissent arguing that Turenne's sexual abuse convictions also should be overturned.

As relevant here, Maryland law defines child pornography as a "visual representation" that "depicts a minor engaged as a subject…in sexual conduct," which includes the "lascivious exhibition of the genitals or pubic area of any person." Although the statute does not define "lascivious exhibition," the Maryland Supreme Court settled on a "content-plus-context" test for determining "whether the image is objectively sexual in nature."

The production and possession charges, in other words, did not hinge on Turenne's personal motivation. In concluding that Turenne's pictures were "objectively sexual," the majority noted that "all eight girls were partially or fully nude," that "all had nude genitals and pubic areas on display," that "none of the children's faces are visible in the photographs," that the picture "were all very similar to one another," and that several girls were in "poses that resemble what one might see in some adult pornography: the subject on her back, her legs spread, displaying her genitals."

Fader agreed with the test used by his colleagues but argued that they misapplied it. "I would conclude that none of the eight photographs at issue depicts a 'lascivious exhibition of the genitals,'" he writes. "Seven of the photographs depict a child on a diaper-changing table, naked, in a position that is fully consistent with a child having her diaper changed. The final picture depicts a child in a standing position in a bathroom, naked from sternum to the knees. None of the children are posed in anything resembling a sexual position. There are no other people in any of the photographs, nor are there any objects that are sexual in nature or that change the nature of the images from children getting diaper changes to anything objectively sexual."

Although "the framing of the photographs is a relevant consideration," Fader says, "the
framing here still makes clear that the pictures are of children during the process of a diaper change." And contrary to the majority's claim that the girls' "poses" are reminiscent of adult pornography, he adds, "the children are situated in the midst of diaper changes—a perfectly ordinary, nonsexual event—not posed in sexual positions. That an image of an adult posed in a similar manner might be viewed as an objectively sexual image—perhaps viewed as sexual because the position is unnatural for an adult in the ordinary course of a day, or perhaps just because of anatomical development—is irrelevant, because these are images of infants, not adults."

Fader says other "contextual elements" cited by the majority—including the photos' similarity to each other, the fact that "they were all taken at a daycare center," the fact that "they were all taken in the center's bathroom, where Ms. Turenne was secluded," her initial statement that the photos had "no meaning," and her "implausible documentation-of-diaper rash explanation"—were "relevant to the jury's consideration of Ms. Turenne's likely purpose in taking and keeping the images." They therefore were "proper considerations for the jury in determining whether Ms. Turenne exploited the children for her own benefit in connection with the child sexual abuse charges." But the test that the majority applied in upholding the child pornography convictions is supposed to be "objective," making her motivation irrelevant.

"The only contextual element that is relevant to the jury's understanding of what is depicted in the images themselves, to the extent it is unclear in any of them, is that the children in seven of the eight images were lying on a changing table and the eighth was in a bathroom," Fader writes. "But knowledge of the setting in which the pictures were taken does not add any element of objective sexuality to them, separate and apart from Ms. Turenne's subjective motivation. The other contextual elements identified by the Majority speak to Ms. Turenne's subjective motivation, not what is depicted in the images themselves."

To convict Turenne of the sexual abuse charges, the prosecution had to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the photos constituted "exploitation of a minor," meaning she "took advantage of or unjustly or improperly used the child for…her own benefit." That "benefit," according to the prosecution, was "sexual gratification." Fader agreed with the majority that "there was sufficient evidence for the jury to infer that Ms. Turenne took the eight pictures at issue for her own benefit."

Watts, however, dissented on that point too. She notes that the prosecution made much of Turenne's sexual orientation, which Watts thinks improperly figured in the verdict.

During Turenne's trial, a prosecutor asked her if she was attracted to women. "I wouldn't say attracted to women," she replied. "I'm bisexual, like, I'm still confused about what I like between men or women. But not children, no."

The prosecution, which noted that all the photographs featured girls and presented testimony from a co-worker who said Turenne had told her "she was gay," argued that her sexual orientation was relevant in assessing why she took the pictures. Prosecutors also noted that Turenne had adult pornography featuring both men and women on her phone—although, contrary to what you might expect given the charges against her, there was no indication that she had "conducted any internet searches for child pornography."

The Maryland Supreme Court explicitly declined to consider that evidence. But Watts argues that it played an important role in the case. Turenne "was prejudiced by the admission of the evidence," Watts says. And "with these circumstances omitted, the remaining evidence is insufficient to support Ms. Turenne's convictions for child sexual abuse."

Watts suggests that Turenne's explanation of her behavior is more plausible than her colleagues think. "Some of the photos show redness or darkened areas—i.e., consistent with diaper rashes—near the genital area and/or in the fold of the buttocks, and one of them shows diaper cream in and around the fold of the buttocks," she writes. "Ms. Turenne testified that she took the photos to prove that children had diaper rashes before she started watching them. Although the jury evidently did not find this part of Ms. Turenne's testimony credible, the nature of the photos and the circumstances surrounding them being taken do not alone establish that the photos were taken for the purpose of sexual gratification."

The majority emphasized that Turenne initially denied taking the pictures, later said they had "no meaning," and did not offer the diaper-rash explanation until her trial. But Watts thinks Turenne's evasiveness and reticence are understandable in the circumstances, even without accepting the prosecution's theory of why she took the photos.

"Although the photos were taken clandestinely in violation of the daycare center's no-photo policy and Ms. Turenne initially denied having taken them, these facts were not sufficient for a rational juror to infer that the photos were taken for sexual gratification," Watts writes. "A rational juror could have inferred that Ms. Turenne took the photos because she was concerned about being blamed for diaper rashes and lied about having taken them because she knew doing so was against the daycare center's policy. A rational juror also could have inferred that Ms. Turenne took the photos while she was alone with the children because she knew that taking the photos was against the center's policy….Without consideration of evidence admitted at trial concerning Ms. Turenne's sexual orientation and possession of adult pornography, no rational juror could have found beyond a reasonable doubt based on the appearance of the photos that they were taken for sexual gratification."

Although Turenne did not challenge her sentence in this appeal, Watts notes that "the circuit court imposed an aggregate sentence of 280 years of imprisonment, with all but 126 years suspended, followed by 5 years of probation and lifetime registration as a sex offender." While "criminal offenses against children are heinous and must be dealt with appropriately," she says, "it is disproportionate and draconian to impose an aggregate sentence of nearly 3 centuries of imprisonment, with all but 126 years suspended, under the circumstances of this case." Whatever you make of Turenne's defense, that much seems clearly true.

The post A Day Care Worker Who Says She Was Documenting Diaper Rashes Got 126 Years for Taking 8 Photos appeared first on Reason.com.

An April 1 federal indictment charged two men, Antonio Venti and Michael Kuilan, with supplying the drugs that killed transgender activist Cecilia Gentili in February. Among other things, Venti and Kuilan are accused of causing Gentili's death by distributing a mixture of heroin and fentanyl, a felony punishable by a mandatory minimum of 20 years in prison and a maximum of life.

Gentili "was tragically poisoned in her Brooklyn home [by] fentanyl-laced heroin," Breon Peace, the U.S. attorney for the Eastern District of New York, said in a press release. "Fentanyl is a public health crisis. Our Office will spare no effort in the pursuit of justice for the many New Yorkers who have lost loved ones due to this lethal drug." The indictment "delivers a strong message to anyone who profits from poisoning our communities with illicit drugs," New York City Police Commissioner Edward Caban added. "It is imperative that we continue to hold distributors accountable for their callous actions."

That self-righteous stance obscures the role that drug warriors like Peace and Caban played in killing Gentili. If Venti and Kuilan were "callous," how should we describe public officials who are dedicated to enforcing laws that predictably cause tens of thousands of deaths like this one every year?

Those laws create a black market in which the composition and potency of drugs is uncertain and highly variable. They also push traffickers toward highly potent drugs such as fentanyl, which are easier to conceal and smuggle. As a result, drug users like Gentili typically don't know exactly what they are consuming, which magnifies the risk of a fatal mistake. The "poisoning" that Peace and Caban decried therefore is a consequence of the policies they were proudly enforcing in this very case.

In this context, it would be perverse to hold Gentili responsible for causing her own death. Peace and Caban instead blamed Venti and Kuilan, which might seem more plausible until you consider the complexities of illicit drug distribution. As the Drug Policy Alliance (DPA) noted, "People who sell drugs rarely know the exact contents of their drug supply or a given dose. Research shows drug mixing is typically done at much higher levels of the supply chain."

It is clear neither Kuilan nor Venti intended to kill Gentili. Yet the mandatory penalties they face are much more severe than the federal penalties for voluntary or involuntary manslaughter and New York's penalties for criminally negligent homicide. That distinction hinges on the legal status of the drugs they sold, as opposed to their culpability in Gentili's death.

Prosecutions like these make a mockery of justice. "Drug-induced homicide laws, mandatory minimum laws, and other severe penalties that people face when they sell or share drugs that result in a fatal overdose primarily punish people involved with low-level selling who often use drugs themselves," the DPA noted. The New York Times reported that Venti, who was previously convicted of "petty larceny and attempted drug sales," is an electrician who has "struggled with drug addiction." Even drug users who merely share purchases with friends or relatives have been prosecuted for causing their deaths.

These attempts to convert accidental overdoses into homicides are dangerous as well as morally dubious. They "cost lives because fear of prosecution deters people from seeking help in an emergency," the DPA argues. "Drug-induced homicide prosecutions may have the unintended consequence of people failing to seek medical help in a drug overdose situation, resulting in increased likelihood of death."

Prohibition, in short, created the hazard that killed Gentili. It compounded that hazard by fostering the use of additives such as fentanyl and the animal tranquilizer xylazine (which was also detected in Gentili's blood). And it made the resulting overdoses more perilous by discouraging prompt intervention. The answer, according to Peace and Caban, is zealous enforcement of the same laws that produced this disaster.

Frank Tarentino, special agent in charge of the Drug Enforcement Administration's New York Division, concurred. "Fentanyl is a deadly drug that dealers mix into their product and has accounted for 70% of drug related deaths nationwide," he said in Peace's press release. "Drug poisonings take too many lives too soon from communities nationwide and DEA is committed to bringing to justice those responsible."

If Americans truly demanded accountability from "those responsible" for drug-related deaths, they would start with the politicians and law enforcement officials who are perversely committed to making drug use as dangerous as possible.

The post Don't Blame Dealers for Fentanyl Deaths. Blame Drug Warriors. appeared first on Reason.com.

After black-clad demonstrators protested Donald Trump's inauguration in an "Anti-Capitalist/Anti-Fascist Bloc" march on January 20, 2017, federal prosecutors in Washington, D.C., charged more than 200 of them with rioting. While 21 defendants pleaded guilty, all of the other cases ended in acquittals, mistrials, or charges dismissed with prejudice. One reason for that fiasco, according to recently filed disciplinary charges, was the discovery that the federal prosecutor who oversaw the cases persistently withheld exculpatory evidence and repeatedly lied about it to judges and defense attorneys.

In a "specification of charges" filed with the D.C. Court of Appeals Board of Professional Responsibility last month, Disciplinary Counsel Hamilton P. Fox III alleges that Jennifer Kerkhoff Muyskens, who is now a federal prosecutor in Utah but previously worked at the U.S. Attorney's Office for the District of Columbia, violated six rules of professional conduct while trying to convict "DisruptJ20" protesters, including many who had not participated in vandalism or violence. Muyskens "knew that most defendants did not commit violent acts themselves," Fox notes, but "she argued that these defendants were still liable for felony rioting and felony property destruction because they joined a criminal conspiracy to use the protest march to further the violence and destruction that occurred."

To support that theory, Muyskens presented video of a DisruptJ20 planning meeting that had been clandestinely recorded by an "operative" from Project Veritas, a conservative group that frequently has been accused of using misleadingly edited videos to portray progressive and leftist organizations in a negative light. Although Muyskens "understood Project Veritas had a reputation for editing videos in a misleading way," Fox says, she initially concealed the source of the video, saying in court that "who provided it is irrelevant." And although Muyskens "knew that Project Veritas had omitted and edited some of its videos" before releasing them, Fox adds, she "did not request or obtain Project Veritas's missing videos or unedited footage."

According to Fox, Muyskens and Metropolitan Police Department (MPD) Detective Greggory Pemberton edited the meeting footage in ways that bolstered the prosecution's case, and Muyskens covered up the extent of those edits. Fox says Muyskens also withheld Project Veritas videos of other DisruptJ20 meetings that would have been helpful to the defense, pretending that they did not exist. And she allegedly concealed the fact that Pemberton, in testimony to a grand jury, had erroneously identified one of the DisruptJ20 defendants as a woman who appears in the video of the planning meeting.

According to the Supreme Court's 1963 ruling in Brady v. Maryland, due process requires prosecutors to share potentially exculpatory evidence with the defense. Fox says Muyskens violated that rule by excising footage and withholding videos that could have been useful in rebutting the prosecution's case.

The material that Muyskens and Pemberton excised from the planning meeting video included footage that would have revealed its provenance. They also cut footage of a phone call in which a Project Veritas infiltrator told a colleague, "I don't think they know anything about the upper echelon stuff."

The excised footage "revealed that the video was filmed as part of Project Veritas's infiltration of DisruptJ20, which tended to undermine the credibility and reliability of the government's evidence," Fox writes. "In addition, the operative's post-meeting report indicated that some DisruptJ20 protest organizers did not know anything about plans or decisions that were being made by an 'upper echelon.' This lack of knowledge supported the non-violent defendants' theory that, assuming a plan to riot existed at all, only a small group was involved, which they knew nothing about. Alternatively, if the operative was discussing protest organizers being unaware of Project Veritas's 'upper echelon' plans, the statements supported…claims that Project Veritas conspired to frame DisruptJ20 defendants for third-party violence, including by possibly inciting violence themselves. Both judges who later considered the issue…found that the complete, unedited footage was exculpatory."

The videos that Muyskens withheld included evidence that, contrary to the prosecution's narrative, the DisruptJ20 protest was supposed to be peaceful. Those videos "were exculpatory," Fox explains, "because they showed that DisruptJ20 planning meetings consistently involved training and instructing protesters how to participate in its unpermitted 'Actions,' including the anti-capitalist march, as non-violent protests, using nonviolence and de-escalation techniques, which supported the non-violent defendants' claim that their intent was merely to peacefully protest."

The undisclosed videos also "showed Project Veritas operatives discussing their infiltration operation of DisruptJ20, which supported the defense's theory that Project Veritas conspired to blame DisruptJ20 for others' misconduct," Fox notes. "For example, the undisclosed videos showed Project Veritas operatives discussing—before the Inauguration protests—how they were providing information on DisruptJ20 to the FBI, how there was likely to be violence from 'outside influencers,' and how DisruptJ20 would 'catch the blame' for outsiders' misconduct because the FBI was 'going to say' that they incited it."

In court, Fox says, Muyskens "falsely said that the government had made only two edits, which were both to redact the identity of the videographer and an undercover officer," and "that, other than the two redactions, the defense had the same videos as the government." She "falsely told the court that she had provided defense counsel with 'the full entirety of those videos from that day.'"

According to Fox, "Pemberton testified falsely that Project Veritas had produced only the four disclosed video segments of the [planning meeting video]" and that "the only editing the government did was to combine the first three video segments into one exhibit to be played at trial." Muyskens and Pemberton "did not disclose how they had edited the original videos they received from Project Veritas," and they did not "disclose that they had omitted from discovery many other videos Project Veritas videos of DisruptJ20's planning meetings."

Muyskens told a judge that Project Veritas had "provided unedited video" at Pemberton's request and that "we posted the video" to the discovery portal. Those statements, Fox says, "were false and misleading." Muyskens also "falsely said that other than redacting the identities of the Project Veritas operative and [the undercover officer], 'the defense has the exact video we have.'" The judge "later found that [Muyskens] 'left a clear impression' that she had disclosed everything that Project Veritas had produced."

Muyskens told another judge that "the government had 'provided the clips as we have them'" and that "'the only editing' by the government 'was to combine the three clips' of the anti-capitalist 'breakout' into a single video exhibit for trial." Those statements also "were false and misleading," Fox says.

Muyskens eventually "acknowledged that the government had additional, undisclosed Project Veritas videos of DisruptJ20's planning meetings." But she "mischaracterized them and falsely suggested that they were irrelevant."

During the investigation of her conduct, Fox says, Muyskens "repeated her false statements and material omissions" regarding the video edits, the withheld videos, her suppression of "relevant information and evidence," her failure to produce grand jury transcripts from the misidentified defendant's case, her "misrepresentations and omissions to the grand jury, the defense, and the court," and her failure to "correct known misrepresentations to the court." She also "made additional false statements and material omissions to falsely explain her conduct." She claimed, for example, that the undisclosed videos "were irrelevant and did not discuss the anti-capitalist march."

Fox says Muyskens' actions violated the District of Columbia's Rules of Professional Conduct in half a dozen ways:

1. She allegedly violated Rule 3.3(a) by "knowingly making false statements, offering false evidence, and failing to correct material false statements to the court."

2. She allegedly violated three sections of Rule 3.4 by "obstructing the defense's access to evidence and altering or concealing evidence, or assisting another person to do so when she reasonably should have known that the evidence was or may have been subject to discovery; knowingly disobeying the court's direct orders to produce information in the government's possession without openly asserting that no valid obligation existed; and/or failing to make reasonably diligent efforts to comply with the defense's discovery requests."

3. She allegedly violated two sections of Rule 3.8 by "intentionally avoiding pursuit of evidence and information because it may have damaged the prosecution's case or aided the defense; and by intentionally failing to disclose to the defense, upon request and at a time when use by the defense was reasonably feasible, evidence and information that she knew or reasonably should have known tended to negate the guilt of the accused or mitigate the offense."

4. She allegedly violated Rule 8.4(a) by "knowingly assisting or inducing another to violate the Rules of Professional Conduct and/or doing so through the acts of another."

5. She allegedly violated Rule 8.4(c) by "engaging in conduct that involved reckless or intentional dishonesty, misrepresentations, deceit, and fraud, which misled the grand jury, the defense, the court, the government, and disciplinary authorities about the
evidence in the government's possession and the government's conduct."

6. She allegedly violated Rule 8.4(d) by "engaging in conduct that seriously interfered with the administration of justice."

Possible sanctions against Muyskens range from "temporary suspension of her law license to full disbarment," Washington City Paper notes. The Washington Post reports that lawyers for Muyskens did not respond to requests for comment and that "Pemberton also did not respond to an inquiry." The U.S. attorney's offices in D.C. and Utah "declined to comment." So did the MPD, which "would not say whether the department has opened an investigation of Pemberton, who now chairs the police labor union."

The failed prosecutions and the disciplinary charges against Muyskens are not the only embarrassments stemming from the Inauguration Day march. In 2021, the Post notes, "the D.C. government agreed to pay $1.6 million to settle two lawsuits" by protesters who argued that the police response to the DisruptJ20 march violated their First Amendment rights.

"It speaks volumes that the District has chosen to settle rather than defend MPD's obviously unconstitutional actions in court," Jeffrey Light, one of the protesters' attorneys, said when the settlement was announced. Scott Michelman, legal director at the American Civil Liberties Union of the District of Columbia, added that "MPD's unconstitutional guilt-by-association policing and excessive force, including the use of chemical weapons, not only injured our clients physically but also chilled their speech and the speech of countless others who wished to exercise their First Amendment rights but feared an unwarranted assault by D.C. police."

The post Prosecutor of Anti-Trump Protesters Allegedly Withheld Exculpatory Evidence and Lied About It appeared first on Reason.com.

The Supreme Court on Friday ruled that the right to a trial by jury and to due process apply to people who face a steep sentencing enhancement under federal law, in a ruling that transfers some power from the hands of judges to the public and will affect many criminal defendants' future punishments.

The procedural history of the case is a bit of a whirlwind. But at its center is Paul Erlinger, who was charged in 2017 with being a felon in possession of a firearm and sentenced to 15 years under the Armed Career Criminal Act (ACCA), which increases the punishment for that offense—felon in possession of a firearm—from a 10-year maximum to a 15-year minimum if the defendant has been convicted previously of three violent felonies or serious drug offenses on separate occasions.

At sentencing came one of the initial twists, when the judge who handed down the 15-year punishment made clear it was inappropriate. Erlinger, who pleaded guilty, had gained steady employment, started a family, and remained drug-free in the more than a decade since his previous convictions, so a five-year sentence, the judge said, would be "fair." But under the ACCA, the court's hands were tied.

Then came the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 7th Circuit, which said shortly thereafter that two of Erlinger's offenses considered for the purposes of the ACCA did not actually qualify as violent felonies or serious drug crimes. Prosecutors, however, were undeterred. They returned to court and invoked convictions related to burglaries Erlinger committed 26 years before the felon in possession of a firearm charge, when he was 18 years old. Erlinger countered that the burglaries in question had been a part of one criminal episode—not distinct events as the ACCA requires—and that, most importantly, a jury would need to make the consequential determination about the separateness of those offenses.

The sentencing court disagreed, ruling it was the judge's decision and that the court was bound by the ACCA, thus reimposing the 15-year sentence that it once again called "unfortunate" and "excessive."

But Justice Neil Gorsuch, writing for the 6–3 majority opinion, explained that Erlinger did indeed have the 5th Amendment and 6th Amendment right to ask a jury whether those offenses were committed separately and if he is therefore vulnerable to the massive increase in incarceration that the sentencing court itself characterized multiple times as unjust. The outcome was at least somewhat predictable when considering yet another twist: After Erlinger appealed on the grounds that his constitutional rights had been violated, the government agreed. But the 7th Circuit still refused to reconsider his sentence, leaving Erlinger to ask the Supreme Court.

Core to Gorsuch's opinion is Apprendi v. New Jersey (2000), a Supreme Court precedent that ruled it was unconstitutional when a judge sentenced a defendant more harshly on the basis that a shooting had allegedly been motivated by racial animus, because no jury considered or made any determination beyond a reasonable doubt on that factor. A jury and a jury only, the Court ruled, may find "facts that increase the prescribed range of penalties to which a criminal defendant is exposed" when it will cause the penalty to exceed the prescribed statutory maximum.

But Gorsuch also says the Court has something else on its side today: history. "Prominent among the reasons colonists cited in the Declaration of Independence for their break with Great Britain was the fact Parliament and the Crown had 'depriv[ed] [them] in many cases, of the benefits of Trial by Jury,'" he writes. "The Fifth and Sixth Amendments placed the jury at the heart of our criminal justice system" in order "to mitigate the risk of prosecutorial overreach and misconduct" and serve as a check on the government.

This is not a novel area for Gorsuch, who has made clear his respect for the right to a trial by jury. Last month, he rebuked the Court's demurral from hearing a case concerning Florida's use of six-person juries as opposed to the traditional, historical practice of using 12-person panels.

Though much has been made of the ideologically fractured nature of the current Court, the decision in Erlinger did not fall neatly along partisan lines. Among the dissenters were Justices Samuel Alito, Brett Kavanaugh, and Ketanji Brown Jackson, the latter of whom argued that Apprendi—and, as an extension, the case law that has sprung from it—was wrongly decided. "I recognize that many criminal defendants and their advocates prefer the Apprendi regime, which provides some defendants with more procedural protections at sentencing," Jackson writes. "In my view, however, the benefit that some criminal defendants derive from the Apprendi rule in the context of their individual cases is outweighed by the negative systemic effects that Apprendi has wrought," which she says has hamstrung judges and increased sentencing disparities.

"The only thing judges may not do consistent with Apprendi is increase a defendant's exposure to punishment based on their own factfinding," counters Gorsuch. "Does Justice Jackson really think it too much to ask the government to prove its case (as it concedes it must) with reliable evidence before seeking enhanced punishments under a statute like ACCA when the 'practical realit[y]' for defendants like Mr. Erlinger is exposure to an additional decade (or more) in prison?"

The post The Supreme Court Again Strengthens the Right to a Jury Trial in Criminal Sentencing appeared first on Reason.com.

A powerful New Jersey businessman has been accused of Mafia-like behavior in order to enrich himself and his associates on the taxpayer's dime. But is it all that different from business as usual?

At a press conference this week, New Jersey Attorney General Matt Platkin announced a 13-count indictment, with charges including racketeering and extortion, against six defendants—chiefly George Norcross III, whom the New Jersey Monitor referred to as "a Democratic kingmaker widely regarded as New Jersey's most powerful unelected person." In an impressively bold move, George Norcross attended the press conference and sat in the front row, apparently even refusing to switch seats when asked by someone from Platkin's office.

According to the indictment, George Norcross has "led a criminal enterprise" since 2012, whose members "would extort others through threats of economic and reputational harm" in Camden, New Jersey. Specifically, in 2012–13, George Norcross and other indicted co-conspirators "used their political influence to tailor New Jersey economic development legislation to their preferences."

The Economic Opportunity Act of 2013 expanded the state's existing economic development grant programs, allowing a developer to claim "a credit of up to 35 percent of its capital investment, or up to 40 percent for a project located in a Garden State Growth Zone," defined as "the four New Jersey cities with the lowest median family income"—which would include Camden, the state's poorest city. The credits were intended to bring companies to the state or keep them from leaving. Recipients could claim the credits or sell them to other New Jersey taxpayers.

In 2019, The New York Times found that before that law passed, one attorney "was allowed by lawmakers to edit drafts of the bill in ways that opened up sizable tax breaks to his firm's clients." That attorney's firm was Parker McCay—whose CEO was George Norcross' brother, Philip Norcross, who is also indicted. The indictment alleges that after the law passed, Philip Norcross told a group of people, "We re-wrote a tax credit law…that says in essence, if you come to Camden, we're going to give you one hundred percent tax credit for all capital and related costs" over 10 years. "It will cause real havoc, it's unlimited."

Once the law passed, according to the indictment, the defendants "extort[ed] and coerce[d] others" in order to obtain their property along the Camden waterfront, "then occupied the properties they obtained interests in and sold the tax credits they obtained for millions of dollars."

George Norcross also apparently leaned on members of the Camden city government—including then-Mayor Dana Redd, who is also indicted—to pressure owners and developers to sell by denying necessary building permits or publicly disparaging them.

In one given example, George Norcross allegedly threatened a developer who refused to sell, saying he would "f**k you up like you've never been f**ked up before." City officials also denied him a permit to redevelop another site he owned, at Philip Norcross's insistence.

In the end, that developer apparently sold the rights to tax credits that eventually totaled $240 million, for a fraction of that amount. On one property, he sold credits for $1.95 million that would eventually total $18 million.

If this all sounds like a plot from The Sopranos, well, it basically is: For much of its run, the mobsters at the center of that show made money from a waterfront rejuvenation project in Newark, obtained through underhanded dealing with a crooked state official and which afforded plenty of no-show jobs and opportunities for graft.

The allegations against George Norcross are shocking, and yet also unsurprising. After all, the entire affair originated with a state economic development program, which already bears at least a passing resemblance to a Sopranos-style racket.

In 2019, The New York Times found that "over five years, 12 companies threatened to leave New Jersey" for New York—with each company even listing the exact same office complex as its intended destination—"unless the state provided tens of millions in tax credits." In each case, the New Jersey government agreed, totaling over $100 million in taxpayer money, and each company stayed. But the Times found that "nearly all of the 12 companies never seriously considered moving to New York." The leasing agent for the New York office complex even acknowledged, "We are aware that often times the tenant has no intention at all of relocating."

State economic development incentive programs are often sold on these sorts of "but for" incentives—as in, but for this tax break or grant, this company would go elsewhere. But these are rarely actually the deciding factors in a company's decision: In a 2018 paper, Timothy Bartik of the W.E. Upjohn Institute for Employment Research found that "typical incentives probably tip somewhere between 2 percent and 25 percent of incented firms toward making a decision favoring the location providing the incentive. In other words, for at least 75 percent of incented firms, the firm would have made a similar decision location/expansion/retention decision without the incentive."

Companies lobby for state-level handouts, even if they were likely to set up shop in that state anyway. And even by the state agencies' own numbers, the expenditures are rarely worth the cost.

"Beyond the state-specific political ramifications, the case also highlights a persistent problem in corporate subsidy programs that extends well beyond New Jersey: They're too easily corruptible, and they create a vicious feedback loop between political actors and politically connected corporations," writes Pat Garofalo in the Boondoggle Substack. "There's a very clear connection in academic literature between corporate subsidies, political donations, and ultimately corruption."

The George Norcross case, Garofalo writes, "highlight[s] the nexus between corporate tax handouts and corruption that is very often there but not usually this blatant."

Ultimately, the entire affair would just be a lurid story but for the fact that it involved hundreds of millions of dollars in state incentives which will ultimately be borne by New Jersey taxpayers.

The post N.J. Businessman Indicted for <i>Sopranos</i>-Style Economic Development Racket appeared first on Reason.com.

"It was a very safe city." So said Mike Waters, owner of a pub in D.C.'s long-gentrified Dupont Circle area, in a neighborhood Zoom meeting this past January, neatly encapsulating a seemingly sudden deterioration in public safety.

Violent crimes rose 39 percent in Washington, D.C., last year, including a 67 percent jump in robberies. Homicides increased a stunning 35 percent. Property crime rose 24 percent, with 3,756 motor vehicle thefts in 2022 becoming 6,829 in 2023. The city's 911 system struggled to handle 1.77 million calls, more per capita than anywhere else in the country.

The trend did not spare the powerful. In February 2023, an attacker in an apartment elevator grabbed Rep. Angie Craig (D–Minn.) by the neck. In October, three masked gunmen carjacked Rep. Henry Cuellar (D–Texas) in the trendy Navy Yard neighborhood. And in February, a former D.C. election official, Mike Gill, was shot dead in his car while picking up his wife just off K Street. Business owners citywide deal with brazen thefts.

This did not reflect a national trend. The rest of the country saw a 13 percent drop in homicides in 2023, a reduction evident in many major cities: New York (down 11 percent), Chicago (down 13 percent), Los Angeles (down 16 percent), Atlanta (down 18 percent), Philadelphia (down 21 percent), Baltimore (down 25 percent). But in Washington, crime went up and up and up, peaking in summer 2023 and now declining somewhat but still elevated.

If your image of Washington was shaped by the urban decline of the 1970s, the crack trade of the 1980s, or the municipal bankruptcy of the 1990s, you might not realize that until recently the city has been generally prosperous, growing, and safe. Construction cranes dotted the city as population grew from 572,059 in 2000 to 689,545 in 2020. Neighborhoods that burned in the riots of the 1960s became places to be. Zip codes 20002 and 20003 recently topped the country for new apartment construction. D.C.'s budget went from basket case to record surpluses and rainy day funds, even enabling some income and business tax cuts.

What caused this crime spike? Several narratives are competing, some more compelling than others. One year on, there is now strong evidence of two things that didn't cause it—and two things that did.

Criminal Justice Reform Didn't Cause the Crime Spike

Mayor Muriel Bowser, a Democrat now in her 10th year on the job, oversees 40,000 government employees alongside a 13-member D.C. Council (11 Democrats, two independents). The Metropolitan Police Department (MPD), the local police force, reports to her. But the city is also home to the U.S. Capitol Police, the U.S. Marshals Service, the Secret Service, Park Police for National Park Service jurisdictions, the Metro Transit Police, various university police forces, and even the Smithsonian Office of Protection Services and U.S. Mint Police. Juvenile prosecutions are handled by the local elected attorney general, but adult prosecutions are the job of the U.S. attorney for the District of Columbia, who is appointed by the president and confirmed by the Senate with no involvement by the local population.

The mayor's narrative on the crime crisis goes like this: She's doing everything she can to be tough on crime, but a series of D.C. Council actions since 2016 have changed the public safety "ecosystem"—her favorite word here—for the worse. Among the actions: shifting the focus of juvenile facilities toward rehabilitation (2016), reducing nonviolent offender sentences (2016), changing fare evasion from a criminal to a civil matter (2018), allowing release of adults convicted as juveniles after they served 15 years (2019), prohibiting police chokeholds and removing restrictions on officer discipline (2020), a cut in proposed MPD funding (2021), an aborted effort to pull police officers out of schools (2021), reducing mandatory minimum sentences (2022–23), and easing street vendor licenses (2023). As crime took hold in 2023, the Republican-controlled U.S. House of Representatives persuaded Senate Democrats and President Joe Biden to overturn the sentencing reform and officer discipline measures. (Because the District of Columbia is a federal jurisdiction, the U.S. government has tighter control over it than it does over other cities.)

This theory has gained traction, spurring two ongoing recall efforts of sitting council members. But left unanswered, to quote the D.C. crime blogger Joe Friday, is "why laws passed in roughly 2016–2020 would have no effect until 2023." Also, other U.S. cities have passed many similar laws, even more sweeping ones, and not seen a crime spike. Sentencing reform advocates, perhaps stung that years of their Revised Criminal Code effort were reversed in one congressional vote, have argued that there is little evidence that carjackers will be more deterred by a 45-year maximum sentence than a 20-year maximum sentence. They said their reform merely aligned statutory sentences with the actual sentences being given by judges, and they pointed out that D.C. still had longer carjacking sentences than many of the states that sent the objecting Republicans to Congress. Even the 2021 MPD budget "cut" was a classic government sleight-of-hand: $559 million in 2020 spending was proposed to be cut to $545 million in 2021, but after later adjustments actual MPD spending that year was up to $575 million.

Indeed, as the public opinion pendulum swung in favor of tough-on-crime measures in 2023, Bowser's wish list of changes was very limited. Her "Safer Stronger" bill in May asked for more surveillance cameras, enhanced penalties for assaulting bus drivers, and a crackdown on guns. By October, Safer, Stronger 2.0 wanted to criminalize loitering, create a new crime category for organized retail theft, expand pretrial detention, and prohibit mask wearing. The Secure DC law, which she signed with fanfare in March 2024 after a cowed D.C. Council passed it unanimously, included Safer Stronger 2.0; it also eased police vehicular pursuit rules, expanded DNA collection from arrestees, and changed when police officers can review their body camera footage. These sound more like a scattershot grab bag of ideas than any fundamental reworking of what caused the 2023 crime wave.

Ignoring 'Root Causes' Didn't Cause the Crime Spike

Fare evasion on Washington's WMATA subway system jumped along with other crimes, increasing fivefold in the early months of 2023. WMATA has been sensitive about enforcement of nonviolent crimes since transit cops searched, handcuffed, and booked a 12-year-old girl for eating french fries on a station platform in 2000, earning them national condemnation for overkill. In 2018, the D.C. Council (along with some other cities) changed fare enforcement from a criminal matter (like robbery) to a civil matter (like a parking ticket).

As the sight of people hopping faregates became common in 2023, reaction polarized. One group pressed for enforcement. The anti-crime tweeter Potomac Fever wrote that otherwise, the "rest of us were suckers for following the rules and paying our fares everyday." WMATA—both wanting the fare money and hoping to persuade suburban jurisdictions to increase subsidies—successfully pressed the D.C. Council to tweak its law, began installing tougher faregates, and deployed Metro Transit Police at some exits. On the other side of the issue, progressive activists argued that stronger enforcement would likely cost more than the uncollected fares, that it would primarily target people of color, and that a better approach would be enhanced social programs such as making Metro free of charge.

The dynamic plays out in D.C. repeatedly. Is the answer to grocery store theft more police or more food stamps? Should teens awaiting trial for violent crimes be jailed or counseled? Should the first responders to many incidents be police officers or social workers? Perhaps the difference is overstated: Both "root cause" policies such as job training and "enforcement" policies such as more police win more than 80 percent support in polls. But by September, crowds were anxious for action and less interested in underlying long-term causes. "They did not want to hear another word about how I was going to fix crime in five years," observed Democratic Councilmember Robert White.

Part of the frustration likely stems from the fact that D.C. already spends a lot on "root cause" solutions. In every fare-evasion crackdown announcement, WMATA made sure to note that it offers reduced fares for low-income individuals. The Brookings Institution ranks D.C.'s cash assistance to needy families to be ninth-most generous among the states. D.C. Medicaid spending per enrollee is fifth-highest. Overall, the city spends $7 billion a year on human support services, for a place of just under 700,000 people. If spending on poverty solved crime, D.C. should be one of the best-performing states.

One prominent "root cause" public safety effort is violence interruption, modeled after a successful program in Oakland, California. This identified the 1 percent of people driving much of the violence and located individuals (clergy, former gang members, community leaders) best positioned to intervene and offer resources for those interested in an alternative path. D.C.'s spending on violence interruption grew sharply from $2 million in 2018 to $27 million in 2023. But again, sharply rising crime rates meant, at best, that the program was not impactful enough.

The Kids Helped Cause the Crime Spike

On July 12, 2022, TikTok user @robbierayyy uploaded a video showing how to use a USB cable to bypass the ignition and start certain Kia car models. The video quickly went viral, and the "Kia challenge" sparked a nationwide rash of thefts of Kias (and also Hyundais) not otherwise equipped with immobilizers.

In D.C., carjackings began to spike in late 2022 into early 2023, at a pace of three a day. This was followed by a spike in robberies and other crimes. Joe Friday, the anonymous crime blogger, hypothesizes that "violent criminals (adults and juveniles) realized that they could easily use stolen cars to move around undetected, escape from robberies and even use them to facilitate carjackings of other vehicles." D.C. carjackings finally eased after the summer, after new MPD Chief Pamela Smith adopted a more proactive strategy—and after manufacturers distributed immobilizers and steering wheel locks.

By then, carjacking and other crimes had become normalized for many D.C. juveniles. MPD officers say most carjackers were younger than age 20—sometimes much younger. An MPD lieutenant reported that most arrested suspects say they did it for fun with friends, often using them to commit other crimes. A viral Instagram video showed two D.C. teens arguing about whether committing carjacking and armed robbery was worse than murder, clearly not worried about the consequences.

Truancy also rose in the same time period, with 43 percent of students chronically absent (missing 10 or more days) in 2022–23, up from 27 percent in 2019–20. At the high school level, 60 percent were chronically absent; in the poorest schools in Wards 7 and 8, the rate was more than 75 percent. An October 2022 study of D.C. children found that above-average unexcused school absences is a risk factor highly associated with future criminal arrest, and in early 2024 neighborhood commissioners began pressing the mayor for better monitoring of this "early warning sign."

Government Mismanagement Helped Cause the Crime Spike

In D.C., mismanagement has plagued the U.S. attorney's office, the crime lab, and the city police department—and this may deserve the lion's share of blame for the crisis.

Let's start with the prosecutor. When congressional Republicans complain that "woke" D.C. is "soft on crime," they usually leave out that all adult prosecutions in the city are done by the U.S. attorney for the District of Columbia, Matthew Graves—a federal appointee that local residents have no role in hiring, firing, or overseeing. In most other cities, elected district attorneys or attorneys general have this job, and they must follow public demands or face consequences.

In the first decade of the 2000s, the U.S. attorney for D.C. prosecuted more than 70 percent of arrests. In 2016 the percentage began to slide downward, falling below 50 percent in 2021 (Graves took the job that year) and hitting 33 percent in 2022. After some attention was drawn to the decline, the number recovered a bit to a still-low 44 percent in 2023. Felony prosecutions fell from more than 80 percent to about 50 percent in 2022, then rose to 60 percent in 2023. The U.S. attorney declined to prosecute 58 percent of all arrests for theft in 2021 and 2022, which as Joe Friday said "undermined the certainty of punishment for theft in DC."

Precisely why the prosecution rate has been falling is less clear. Graves has variously claimed that the statistic is unimportant, blamed the crime lab or the MPD, noted that victims do not always press charges, or referenced tough case law or defendant-friendly D.C. juries and judges. But Graves usually offers no explanation at all, even in brazen cases. For example, a man arrested after exposing himself to 24 preschoolers on a public street and bloodily assaulting their two teachers had been arrested three weeks earlier for indecent exposure, two months before that for punching a restaurant employee, the year before that for trespassing, and in 2018 for attempted murder. The system keeps freeing him. Graves has yet to explain why.

But just as the drop in prosecution rate coincided with the rise in crime, the stepped-up prosecution rate after mid-2023 did coincide with the decline in crime. Increased or decreased likelihood of being charged has an impact. David Muhammad of the National Institute for Criminal Justice Reform said lack of consequences came up "over and over again" in interviews and "needs to be taken seriously."

D.C. is an outlier on its low prosecution rate: Philadelphia's is 96 percent, Chicago's is 86 percent, Manhattan's is 84 percent, Detroit's is 67 percent, and so forth. Unless Congress is willing to let the city assume control of prosecutions, D.C. citizens will have little recourse to change Graves' mind beyond public pressure and media attention.

Now consider the city crime lab. In April 2021, it lost its accreditation and stopped processing evidence for prosecutions. It has yet to fully regain it.

The loss of accreditation came after years of endemic problems, including faulty results, prosecutors interfering with test results, and firings of whistleblowers. The Bowser administration promised to promptly pursue reaccreditation, but it then got bogged down in a dispute with the D.C. Council about whether the lab should be part of the MPD (Bowser's view) or not (the council's). That matter was not resolved until June 2023—the peak of the crime surge—and the lab finally regained its biology and chemistry accreditations in December. Firearms accreditation remains in work.

During this entire period, processing of evidence for the MPD and the U.S. attorney has had to be outsourced to other labs, public and private. Many of these labs had little spare capacity, so the result has been backlogs, and probably dropped prosecutions. As of April 2023 770 DNA samples from violent crime cases sat in a backlog. Fingerprint "hits," one measure of testing, fell from 1,828 in 2020 to 601 in 2022. The number of rape kits tested within three months dropped from 98 percent to 81 percent.

The 2023 crime wave arguably ended the political dysfunction that held up the crime lab's reaccreditation. But the lack of a functioning crime lab likely contributed to the sense that you could get away with crimes. Prosecutions are hard, after all, without evidence.

Then there's the MPD. Bowser has attributed some of the crime wave to the long-term drop in MPD staffing, which fell from 4,010 sworn officers in 2013 under her predecessor to 3,337 in 2023. But again, the most considerable drop (in 2021, from 3,799 to 3,580) predated the spike in crime. To identify the more important problems at the MPD, look at what changed for the better when Smith took over.

When Smith took the job in June 2023, the crime spike was already apparent. Word quickly spread through the force that the new chief wanted to see changes. Area commanders were expected to do weekly walks in the community with residents, patrols would be proactive rather than just waiting in cars for a call, and greater efforts would be made to deter repeat offenders. Smith unveiled a Real-Time Crime Center connecting D.C.'s myriad federal police forces with hers. Arrests per officer nudged upward after halving in 2020.

These perhaps feel like obvious actions for a city police force, especially one in the middle of a crime wave. But they were not happening before June.

One lingering issue may be one of the hardest to tackle: The best officers with the most seniority can choose to stay in the "easiest" parts of the city (Wards 1 and 3), leaving the greenest or least proactive officers to get sent to where crime is heaviest (Wards 7 and 8). This leads to skills mismatch and a community sense of being neglected.

We in D.C. now wait to see what 2024 will bring. No one wants to see yet more death and mayhem. But that means asking serious questions of all our officials and insisting on thorough answers, enabling us all to learn the right lessons from the recent spike in crime.

The post What Caused the D.C. Crime Wave? appeared first on Reason.com.

"In 2016," Harvard law professor Laurence Tribe writes, quoting Democracy Docket's Marc Elias, "Donald Trump seemed to pull an inside straight by narrowly winning" Michigan, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin "while losing the popular vote by 3 million. We now know Trump committed 34 felonies to win that election. Without these crimes, he seems almost certain to have lost to Hillary Clinton. She would have been sworn in on Jan. 20, 2017. She would have filled two Supreme Court vacancies and enacted her legislative agenda."*

Since those 34 felonies involved falsified business records that were produced in 2017, that claim is logically impossible. Yet this gloss on the former president's New York conviction echoes similarly puzzling claims by many smart and ostensibly well-informed observers. In their eagerness to embrace the prosecution's dubious "election fraud" narrative, they nonsensically assert that Trump retroactively ensured his 2016 victory by disguising a 2017 hush-money reimbursement as payment for legal services.

Shortly before the 2016 presidential election, Michael Cohen, then Trump's lawyer, paid porn star Stormy Daniels $130,000 to keep her from telling her story about sex with Trump at a Lake Tahoe hotel during a celebrity golf tournament in July 2006. When Trump paid Cohen back in 2017, prosecutors said, he caused the falsification of business records to cover up the arrangement with Daniels by misrepresenting the reimbursement as compensation for legal work. However you view that misrepresentation, it obviously had no impact on the outcome of the election. Yet Tribe, Elias, and other people bizarrely insist that it did.

"Two years shy of this country's 250th birthday," Rice University historian Douglas Brinkley said on CBS last Sunday, "12 New York jurors have convicted former president Donald Trump on 34 counts of falsifying business records in an attempt to influence the outcome of the 2016 presidential election." The dates of those records—11 invoices, 11 checks, and 12 ledger entries—ranged from February 14, 2017, to December 5, 2017. All of them were created after Trump was elected. You might expect that a historian would pay attention to chronological consistency.

You might expect the same from editorialists at major newspapers. Yet according to a May 30 Washington Post editorial, the jury found Trump "guilty of felony falsification of business records in order to influence the 2016 election." A New York Times editorial published the same day likewise claimed the jury found Trump "guilty of falsifying business records to prevent voters from learning about a sexual encounter that he believed would have been politically damaging." Barring time travel, of course, nothing Trump did in 2017 could have "influence[d] the 2016 election" or "prevent[ed] voters from learning about" that "sexual encounter" before they cast their ballots.

The same temporal difficulty is apparent in news coverage of Trump's trial. "Prosecutors will attempt to make the case that Trump falsified business records to tip the 2016 race," Al Jazeera said in April. "Trump faces 34 felony counts alleging that he falsified New York business records in order to conceal damaging information to influence the 2016 presidential election," NPR reported a week later.

Judging from some accounts of the trial's outcome, prosecutors succeeded in proving that the 2017 records reached back in time to influence the 2016 election. "Former President Donald Trump has been found guilty of 34 counts of falsifying business records to influence the outcome of the 2016 presidential election," NPR reported. The subhead of a Times story published the day after the verdict said, "The former president was convicted of 34 felony counts of falsifying business records to cover up a sex scandal that threatened to derail his 2016 campaign." The Associated Press reported that the jury found Trump "guilty of all 34 charges in a scheme to illegally influence the 2016 election through a hush money payment to a porn actor who said the two had sex."

These confounding characterizations reflect the bait and switch at the heart of the case against Trump. "We allege falsification of business records to the end of keeping information away from the electorate," Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg said in January. "It's an election interference case." In his opening statement, lead prosecutor Matthew Colangelo claimed the case was about "election fraud, pure and simple."

There was nothing "pure and simple" about the case, which did not involve "election fraud" at all. Although the prosecutors repeatedly insinuated that there was something inherently criminal about trying to hide potentially damaging information from voters, that is not true. And although they averred that Cohen's payment to Daniels amounted to an illegal campaign contribution under the Federal Election Campaign Act (FECA), that interpretation of the statute is controversial. In any case, fronting the hush money did not constitute "election fraud," which is usually understood to mean interfering with the casting, counting, or reporting of votes.

Trump was not charged with violating FECA by soliciting Cohen's "contribution." The Justice Department declined to bring that case, probably because it would have been hard to prove that Trump "knowingly and willfully" violated the statute, given the fuzziness of the distinction between personal and campaign expenditures. Even if the deadline for prosecuting Trump under FECA had not passed, Bragg would have no authority to enforce that statute. So instead he resorted to an elaborate workaround that relied on various possible combinations of interacting statutes and questionable assumptions about Trump's knowledge and intent.

The FECA claim was just one of three dueling theories for treating Trump's alleged falsification of business records as a felony rather than a misdemeanor. The other two theories did not hinge on the assumption that the Daniels payment was illegal. And since the jurors were told they did not have to settle on any particular theory, it is not clear which one they found most compelling. Even if they split three ways on that crucial point, they were still allowed to reach a guilty verdict.

All of this is pretty confusing, so it is not surprising that many people have inaccurately described the meaning of the verdict, especially since Bragg and his underlings repeatedly misrepresented the nature of the case. But it is surprising that so many people who should know better have described the verdict in a way that could not possibly be true.

*CORRECTION: This post has been revised to clarify that Tribe was quoting Elias.

The post Laurence Tribe Bizarrely Claims Trump Won the 2016 Election by Falsifying Business Records in 2017 appeared first on Reason.com.

Last January, Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg summed up his case against Donald Trump this way: "We allege falsification of business records to the end of keeping information away from the electorate. It's an election interference case."

That gloss made no sense, because the records at the center of the case—11 invoices, 11 checks, and 12 ledger entries that allegedly were aimed at disguising a hush-money reimbursement as payment for legal services—were produced after the 2016 presidential election. At that point, Michael Cohen, Trump's lawyer, had already paid porn star Stormy Daniels $130,000 to keep her from talking about her alleged 2006 sexual encounter with Trump, and Trump had already been elected. The prosecution's case against Trump, which a jury found persuasive enough to convict him on all 34 counts yesterday, was peppered with temporal puzzles like this one.

A New York Times editorial concedes that "many experts" have "expressed skepticism about the significance of this case and its legal underpinnings, which employed an unusual legal theory to seek a felony charge for what is more commonly a misdemeanor." Yet the Times also claims the jury found Trump "guilty of falsifying business records to prevent voters from learning about a sexual encounter that he believed would have been politically damaging." How did records created in 2017 "prevent voters from learning" about the Daniels tryst before they cast their ballots the previous year?

The editorial's characterization of Cohen's payment to Daniels is confounding for a similar reason. "A payoff like this is not illegal by itself," the Times concedes. "What makes it illegal is doctoring business records to mask its true purpose, which prosecutors said was to hide the story from the American people to help Mr. Trump get elected." Again, the "doctoring" of business records happened in 2017. Contrary to what the Times claims, it did not retroactively make the Daniels payment "illegal."

The Times also says the verdict "establishes that Mr. Trump committed crimes in hiding pertinent information about himself from the American people for the purpose of influencing the 2016 presidential election." The verdict does not establish that. Trump was not charged with breaking the law by instructing Cohen to pay off Daniels. And while the contentious characterization of that payment as an illegal campaign contribution figured in one theory for treating the falsification charges as felonies rather than misdemeanors, the other two theories did not hinge on the assumption that the payoff was illegal.

Since the jurors were instructed that they did not need to settle on any particular theory, it is not clear that they unanimously accepted the idea that Trump "committed crimes in hiding pertinent information about himself from the American people for the purpose of influencing the 2016 presidential election." That description, however, is consistent with the prosecution's dubious "election fraud" narrative, which falsely implied that "hiding pertinent information about himself" was inherently criminal.

Although it seems clear that the jury accepted that narrative, even the prosecutors sometimes forgot what they claimed the case was about. They argued that Trump violated an obscure, rarely invoked state law by conspiring with Cohen to influence the presidential election "by unlawful means." They further argued that Trump caused the falsification of business records with the intent of aiding or concealing that crime, which is the element that transformed the charges into felonies. But some versions of that theory were logically impossible.

According to one theory of "unlawful means," Trump facilitated a violation of New York tax law by allowing Cohen to falsely report his reimbursement as income. But since Cohen filed those allegedly fraudulent tax returns in 2018, after Trump had been president for more than a year, his misrepresentation could not possibly have helped Trump win the election.

Under another theory, Trump falsified business records to conceal the falsification of other business records, including the 1099-MISC forms in which the Trump Organization inaccurately described Cohen's reimbursement as income. Since the 1099 forms were issued after the election, it is hard to see how they could have been aimed at ensuring Trump's victory.

These logical difficulties were just one of several reasons to question the prosecution's case, which relied on convoluted theories involving interacting statutes and questionable assumptions about Trump's knowledge and intent. But instead of zeroing in on those weaknesses, Trump's lawyers, presumably at his behest, were determined to deny everything, starting with Daniels' story about sex with Trump at a Lake Tahoe hotel during a celebrity golf tournament in July 2006.

That strategy invited embarrassingly detailed testimony by Daniels, who described a presumptuous Trump abruptly disrobing while she was in the bathroom before engaging in a "brief," condomless sexual encounter "in the missionary position." Contrary to her previous accounts, Daniels implied that the sex was less than fully consensual, citing "an imbalance of power," noting the presence of a bodyguard at the door to Trump's hotel suite, saying Trump's failure to use a condom worried her, and describing her own mental state as hazy, although she added that she was not drunk and had not been drugged.

None of this was legally relevant. When it came to the questions of whether Trump had caused the falsification of business records and his intent in doing so, it did not matter exactly what happened in that hotel suite. Even if Daniels had made the whole thing up, Trump still would have been keen to keep her quiet, whether for personal reasons, business reasons, political reasons, or some combination of the three.

The defense team also insisted that Trump really thought he was paying Cohen for legal work, even though Trump had publicly admitted that he reimbursed Cohen for the Daniels payment. And Trump's lawyers disputed that he "knew about this payment" at the time, even though it defies belief to suppose that Cohen, who was eager to please Trump and conferred with him frequently, would have hatched this scheme on his own, or that he would have fronted $130,000 of his own money without the promise of reimbursement.

Whether Trump approved the misleading records related to Cohen's reimbursement, as Cohen claimed, is less clear. Trump's lawyers hammered at Cohen's credibility on that point, saying jurors should not trust a convicted felon, disbarred lawyer, and admitted liar with a powerful grudge against his former boss. But because they were also implausibly claiming that Cohen lied when he said Trump approved the Daniels payoff, the jurors may have discounted any doubts about the veracity of Cohen's account.

If Trump had been willing to concede some of the prosecution's allegations, his lawyers could have focused on the shaky legal argument for charging him with felonies. They not only failed to do that in a cogent way; they insisted on jury instructions that ruled out convicting Trump of misdemeanors rather than felonies.

"Instead of telling a simple story, Mr. Trump's defense was a haphazard cacophony of denials and personal attacks," defense attorney and former federal prosecutor Renato Mariotti observes. "That may work for a Trump rally or a segment on Fox News, but it doesn't work in a courtroom. Perhaps Mr. Trump's team was also pursuing a political or press strategy, but it certainly wasn't a good legal strategy. The powerful defense available to Mr. Trump's attorneys was lost amid all the clutter."

The post The Prosecution's Story About Trump Featured Several Logically Impossible Claims appeared first on Reason.com.

After deliberating for a little more than a day, a Manhattan jury on Thursday found Donald Trump guilty of falsifying 34 business records to aid or conceal "another crime," an intent that turns what would otherwise be misdemeanors into felonies. If you assumed that the jury's conclusions would be driven by political animus, this first-ever criminal conviction of a former president is the result you probably expected in a jurisdiction where Democrats outnumber Republicans by 9 to 1. But in legal terms, the quick verdict is hard to fathom.

That's not because there were so many counts to consider, each related to a specific invoice, check, or ledger entry allegedly aimed at disguising a hush-money reimbursement as payment for legal services. Once jurors accepted the prosecution's theory of the case, it was pretty much inevitable that they would find Trump guilty on all 34 counts. But that theory was complicated, confusing, and in some versions highly implausible, if not nonsensical. Given the puzzles posed by the charges, you would expect conscientious jurors to spend more than an afternoon, a morning, and part of another afternoon teasing them out.

Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg's case against Trump stemmed from the $130,000 that Michael Cohen, then Trump's lawyer and fixer, paid porn star Stormy Daniels shortly before the 2016 presidential election to keep her from talking about her alleged 2006 sexual encounter with Trump. When Trump reimbursed Cohen in 2017, prosecutors said, he tried to cover up the arrangement with Daniels by pretending that he was paying Cohen, whom he had designated as his personal attorney, for legal work.

Cohen testified that Trump instructed him to pay off Daniels and approved the plan to mischaracterize the reimbursement. Cohen was the only witness who directly confirmed those two points, and the defense team argued that jurors should not trust a convicted felon, disbarred lawyer, and admitted liar with a powerful grudge against his former boss. But even without Cohen's testimony, there was strong circumstantial evidence that Trump approved the payoff and went along with the reimbursement scheme.

The real problem for the prosecution was proving that Trump falsified business records  with "an intent to commit another crime or to aid or conceal the commission thereof"—the element that was necessary to treat the misleading documents as felonies. Prosecutors said the other crime was a violation of Section 17-152, an obscure, little-used provision of the New York Election Law. Section 17-152 makes it a misdemeanor for "two or more persons" to "conspire to promote or prevent the election of any person to a public office by unlawful means." But prosecutors never settled on any particular explanation of "unlawful means," and Juan Merchan, the judge presiding over the trial, told the jurors they could find Trump guilty even if they could not agree on one.

According to one theory, Cohen made an excessive campaign contribution, thereby violating the Federal Election Campaign Act (FECA), when he fronted the money to pay Daniels. Cohen pleaded guilty to that offense in 2018 as part of an agreement that also resolved several other, unrelated federal charges against him. Cohen therefore had a strong incentive to accept the characterization of the Daniels payment as an illegal campaign contribution. While jurors heard about Cohen's guilty plea during the trial, CNN notes, Merchan instructed them that they should consider it only "to assess Cohen's credibility and give context to the events that followed, but not in determining the defendant's guilt."

It is unclear whether Trump violated FECA by soliciting Cohen's "contribution," a question that hinges on the fuzzy distinction between personal and campaign expenditures. Given the uncertainty on that point, it is plausible that Trump did not think the Daniels payment was illegal, which helps explain why he was never prosecuted under FECA: To obtain a conviction, federal prosecutors would have had to prove that he "knowingly and willfully" violated the statute.

The New York prosecutors said Cohen and Trump conspired to promote his election through "unlawful means." Under New York law, a criminal conspiracy requires "a specific intent to commit a crime." Trump's understanding of FECA was relevant in assessing whether he had such an intent, meaning he recognized the nondisclosure agreement with Daniels as "unlawful means." Trump's understanding of FECA therefore also was relevant in assessing whether he falsified business records with the intent of covering up "another crime."

That theory assumed three things: 1) that Trump recognized the Daniels payment as a FECA violation; 2) that he knew about Section 17-152, a moribund, rarely invoked law; and 3) that he anticipated how New York prosecutors might construe Section 17-152 in light of FECA. The first assumption is questionable, the second is unlikely, and the third is highly implausible. Yet you would have to believe all three things to conclude that Trump approved a plan to misrepresent his reimbursement of Cohen as payment for legal services with the intent of covering up a FECA-dependent violation of Section 17-152.

According to a second theory, Trump facilitated a violation of New York tax law by allowing Cohen to falsely report his reimbursement as income. Although that violation is described as "criminal tax fraud," Merchan said it did not matter that Cohen's alleged misrepresentation resulted in a higher tax bill. The judge noted that it is illegal to submit "materially false or fraudulent information in connection with any return," regardless of whether that information benefits the taxpayer.

Putting aside that counterintuitive definition of tax fraud, this theory required believing that Trump, when he reimbursed Cohen, not only contemplated what would happen when Cohen filed his returns the following year but also thought that "unlawful means" somehow would influence an election that had already happened. The logic here was hard to follow.

Likewise with the third theory of "unlawful means." Prosecutors suggested that Trump's falsification of business records was designed to aid or conceal the falsification of other business records. CNN reported that the latter records could involve, among other things, the corporate bank account that Cohen created to pay Daniels, Cohen's transfer of the money to Daniels' lawyer, or the Trump Organization's 1099-MISC forms for the payments to Cohen.

Since the 1099 forms were issued after the election, it is hard to see how they could have been aimed at ensuring Trump's victory. And although the other records predated the election, this theory involves a weird sort of bootstrapping.

Prosecutors said the records related to Cohen's dummy corporation, for example, were falsified because they misrepresented the nature and purpose of that entity, which by itself is a misdemeanor. That misdemeanor was the "unlawful means" by which Trump allegedly sought to promote his election, another misdemeanor. And because Trump allegedly tried to conceal the latter misdemeanor by falsifying the records related to Cohen's reimbursement, those records are 34 felonies instead of 34 misdemeanors.

The theory that Trump falsified business records to conceal the falsification of business records was "so circular as to produce vertigo in the jury room," George Washington University law professor Jonathan Turley said. If so, the jurors seem to have quickly recovered from their queasiness. They accepted either this dubious theory, one of the others, or possibly some combination of them. Since unanimity was not required, it is possible that some jurors bought the FECA theory, some preferred the double falsification theory, and some concluded that the case was clinched by a tax fraud with no pecuniary benefit.

To disguise the difficulties with its dueling theories, the prosecution averred that Trump committed "election fraud" when he directed Cohen to pay Daniels for her silence, thereby concealing information that voters might have deemed relevant in choosing between him and Hillary Clinton. "This was a planned, coordinated, long-running conspiracy to influence the 2016 election, to help Donald Trump get elected through illegal expenditures, to silence people who had something bad to say about his behavior," lead prosecutor Matthew Colangelo told the jury in his opening statement. "It was election fraud, pure and simple."

During his summation, prosecutor Joshua Steinglass called the nondisclosure agreement with Daniels "a subversion of democracy." He said it was an "effort to hoodwink the American voter." He told "a sweeping story about a fraud on the American people," as The New York Times put it. "He argue[d] that the American people in 2016 had the right to determine whether they cared that Trump had slept with a porn star or not, and that the conspiracy prevented them from doing so."

Did the American people have such a right? If so, Trump would have violated it even he had merely asked Daniels to keep quiet, perhaps by appealing to her sympathy for his wife. If Daniels had agreed, the result would have been the same. As the prosecution told it, that still would amount to "election fraud," even though there is clearly nothing illegal about it.

The jurors evidently bought this cover story. During deliberations, they revisited the testimony of former National Enquirer publisher David Pecker, a Trump buddy whom prosecutors implicated in that "long-running conspiracy to influence the 2016 election." Pecker's arrangement with Trump, which he described as mutually beneficial, was not the basis for any of the charges against Trump. But his testimony reinforced Bragg's legally dubious claim that Trump engaged in "election interference" when he sought to avoid bad press.

Pecker said he agreed to help Trump in several ways. He would run positive stories about Trump and negative stories about his opponents. He also would keep an eye out for potentially damaging stories about Trump and alert Cohen to them. The latter promise resulted in two agreements that the Enquirer negotiated with Dino Sajudin, a former Trump Tower doorman who falsely claimed that Trump had fathered a child with a woman hired to clean the building, and former Playboy Playmate Karen McDougal, who described a year-long affair with Trump. After paying $30,000 to Sajudin and $150,000 to McDougal for exclusive rights to their stories, the Enquirer sat on them.

Again, Trump was not charged in connection with any of this, and much of what Pecker did was constitutionally protected, albeit journalistically unethical. The fact that the jury nevertheless wanted to be read excerpts from Pecker's testimony suggests they accepted the prosecution's commodious understanding of "election fraud," which did not necessarily require any actual lawbreaking, let alone any attempt to interfere with the casting, counting, or reporting of votes.

In short, there was a glaring mismatch between the charges against Trump and what prosecutors described as the essence of his crime, which is not a crime at all. Since they could not charge him with "election fraud" merely because he tried to hide embarrassing information, they instead built a convoluted case that relied on interacting statutes and questionable assumptions about Trump's knowledge and intent.

That approach suggests several possible grounds for appeal. It is not clear, for example, whether a violation of federal campaign finance regulations, even when filtered through Section 17-152, counts as "another crime" under the state law dealing with falsification of business records. Nor is it clear that Section 17-152 applies in the context of a federal election, where federal law generally pre-empts state law. There are also questions about what is required to prove that Trump had "an intent to defraud" when he signed the checks to Cohen.

Bragg's predecessor, Cyrus R. Vance Jr., after lengthy consideration of possible state charges based on the Daniels payment, decided they were too legally iffy to pursue. Mark Pomerantz, a former prosecutor in Vance's office who worked on the Trump investigation, concluded that "such a case was too risky under New York law." In a 2023 book, Pomerantz noted that "no appellate court in New York had ever upheld (or rejected) this interpretation of the law."

Last week, New York Times columnist David French worried about the consequences of a conviction that is overturned on appeal. "Imagine a scenario in which Trump is convicted at the trial, Biden condemns him as a felon and the Biden campaign runs ads mocking him as a convict," he wrote. "If Biden wins a narrow victory but then an appeals court tosses out the conviction, this case could well undermine faith in our democracy and the rule of law." In his desperation to prevent Trump from reoccupying the White House, Bragg has already accomplished that.

The post Trump's Conviction Suggests Jurors Bought the Prosecution's Dubious 'Election Fraud' Narrative appeared first on Reason.com.

To convert a single hush payment into 34 state felonies in the New York case against former President Donald Trump, prosecutors are relying on several interacting statutes, which makes their legal theory convoluted and confusing. Juan Merchan, the judge presiding over Trump's trial, added to the confusion on Wednesday when he instructed the jurors on the conclusions they must reach to find Trump guilty.

Shortly before the 2016 election, Michael Cohen, then a lawyer working for Trump, paid porn star Stormy Daniels $130,000 to keep her from talking about her alleged 2006 sexual encounter with Trump. When Trump reimbursed Cohen in 2017, prosecutors say, he caused the falsification of 34 business records—11 invoices, 11 checks, and 12 ledger entries—that were aimed at disguising the reimbursement as payment for legal services.

Ordinarily, falsification of business records, which requires "an intent to defraud," is a misdemeanor. But it becomes a felony when the defendant's "intent to defraud" includes "an intent to commit another crime or to aid or conceal the commission thereof." The prosecution's theory of "another crime" relies on Section 17-152 of the New York Election Law—a statute so obscure that experts said they had never seen another criminal case based on it. That provision makes it a misdemeanor for "two or more persons" to "conspire to promote or prevent the election of any person to a public office by unlawful means."

Merchan laid out three possible candidates for "unlawful means" to which prosecutors have alluded. One is debatable, while the other two make little or no sense in the context of Section 17-152. Merchan said the jurors need not settle on any particular theory of "unlawful means," provided they agree that Trump was trying to aid or conceal a violation of Section 17-152.

By fronting the hush money, prosecutors say, Cohen made an excessive campaign contribution, thereby violating the Federal Election Campaign Act (FECA). Cohen pleaded guilty to that offense in 2018 as part of an agreement that also resolved several other, unrelated federal charges against him. While jurors heard about that guilty plea during the trial, CNN notes, Merchan instructed them that they should consider it only "to assess Cohen's credibility and give context to the events that followed, but not in determining the defendant's guilt."

It is unclear whether Trump violated FECA by soliciting Cohen's "contribution," a question that hinges on the fuzzy distinction between personal and campaign expenditures. Given the uncertainty on that point, it is plausible that Trump did not think the Daniels payment was illegal, which helps explain why he was never prosecuted under FECA: To obtain a conviction, federal prosecutors would have had to prove that he "knowingly and willfully" violated the statute.

The New York prosecutors say Cohen and Trump conspired to promote his election through "unlawful means." Under New York law, a criminal conspiracy requires "a specific intent to commit a crime." Trump's understanding of FECA is relevant in assessing whether he had such an intent, meaning he recognized the nondisclosure agreement with Daniels as "unlawful means." Trump's understanding of FECA therefore also is relevant in assessing whether he falsified business records with the intent of concealing "another crime."

This theory assumes three things: 1) that Trump recognized the Daniels payment as a FECA violation; 2) that he knew about Section 17-152, a moribund, rarely invoked law; and 3) that he anticipated how New York prosecutors might construe Section 17-152 in light of FECA. The first assumption is questionable, the second is unlikely, and the third is highly implausible. Yet you would have to believe all three things to conclude that Trump approved a plan to misrepresent his reimbursement of Cohen as payment for legal services with the intent of covering up a FECA-dependent violation of Section 17-152.

The other two theories that Merchan mentioned seem even less promising.

According to one theory, Trump was facilitating a violation of New York tax law by allowing Cohen to falsely report his reimbursement as income. Although that violation is described as "criminal tax fraud," Merchan said it does not matter that Cohen's alleged misrepresentation resulted in a higher tax bill. The judge noted that it is illegal to submit "materially false or fraudulent information in connection with any return," regardless of whether that information benefits the taxpayer.

Putting aside that counterintuitive definition of tax fraud, this theory requires believing that Trump, when he reimbursed Cohen, not only contemplated what would happen when Cohen filed his returns the following year but also thought that "unlawful means" somehow would influence an election that had already happened. The logic here is hard to follow.

Likewise with the third theory of "unlawful means." Prosecutors say Trump's falsification of business records was designed to aid or conceal the falsification of other business records. CNN reports that the latter records could involve, among other things, the corporate bank account that Cohen created to pay Daniels, Cohen's transfer of the money to Daniels' lawyer, or the Trump Organization's 1099-MISC forms for the payments to Cohen.

Since the 1099 forms were issued after the election, it is hard to see how they could have been aimed at ensuring Trump's victory. And although the other records predated the election, this theory involves a weird sort of bootstrapping.

Prosecutors say the records related to Cohen's dummy corporation, for example, were falsified because they misrepresented the nature and purpose of that entity, which by itself is a misdemeanor. That misdemeanor was the "unlawful means" by which Trump allegedly sought to promote his election, another misdemeanor. And because Trump allegedly tried to conceal the latter misdemeanor by falsifying the records related to Cohen's reimbursement, those records are 34 felonies instead of 34 misdemeanors.

"One of the three crimes is so circular as to produce vertigo in the jury room," George Washington University law professor Jonathan Turley observes. "The prosecutors zapped a dead misdemeanor back into life by claiming a violation under New York's election law 17-152. The argument is that the crime was committed to further another crime as an unlawful means to influence the election. However, that other crime can be the falsification of business records. So the jury (or some jurors, at least) could find that some documents were falsified as an unlawful means of falsifying other documents."

Because Merchan said jurors need not agree on which of these theories has been proven beyond a reasonable doubt, the rationale for convicting him is apt to be muddled. "The judge has ruled that the jury does not have to agree on what actually occurred in the case," Turley says. "Merchan ruled that the government had vaguely referenced three possible crimes that constitute the 'unlawful means' used to influence the election: a federal election violation, the falsification of business records, and a tax violation. The jurors were told that they could split on what occurred, with four jurors accepting each of the three possible crimes in a 4-4-4 split. The court would still consider that a unanimous verdict so long as they agree that it was in furtherance of some crime."

Merchan's instructions did include a caveat that could help Trump. "He said mere knowledge of a conspiracy does not make [the] defendant a co-conspirator," Fox News correspondent Lydia Hu notes. "Prosecutors must prove intent. Also, being present with others when they form a conspiracy does not mean that the defendant is a part of the conspiracy."

On its face, Cohen's testimony regarding Trump's participation in the alleged conspiracy seems crucial in establishing his intent. Cohen said Trump instructed him to pay Daniels. He also said Trump Organization Allen Weisselberg described the plan to reimburse Cohen during a January 2021 meeting, and Trump did not object. Cohen was the only witness who directly testified on those points, and Trump's lawyers argued that he cannot be trusted, noting that he is a convicted felon, disbarred lawyer, and admitted liar with a powerful grudge against his former boss.

Merchan said "the jury cannot convict Trump on the testimony of Michael Cohen alone because he is an accomplice, but they can use it if they corroborate it with other evidence," CNN notes. "Even if you find the testimony of Michael Cohen to be believable," Merchan said, "you may not convict the defendant solely upon that testimony unless you also find it's corroborated by other evidence." The other evidence is circumstantial. It includes testimony suggesting that Trump was worried about the impact that Daniels' story would have on the election, that he conferred regularly with Cohen, and that he was a proud penny-pincher who never would have paid Cohen without knowing exactly what it was for.

That evidence supports the inference that Trump knew he was reimbursing Cohen for the Daniels payment (which he has publicly admitted). It also supports the idea that Trump recognized that payment as a campaign expenditure and therefore an illegal contribution. But it does not prove that second claim beyond a reasonable doubt, which helps explain why the prosecution offered jurors two other possible theories of "unlawful means." If they are squeamish about the FECA theory, they can instead rely on the tax theory, despite its temporal difficulties, or they can accept the idea that Trump fabricated business records to conceal the fabrication of business records, even though that proposition makes the mind reel.

Since the jurors do not have to agree on the nature of Trump's "unlawful means," Merchan's instructions invite them to convict him based on a hodgepodge of three dubious theories. But if each of these theories is faulty, mixing them together cannot compensate for their weaknesses.

The post Trump Jury Instructions Invite Conviction Based on a Hodgepodge of Dubious Theories appeared first on Reason.com.

That there are government officials who politicize the law is about as foundational to the discourse as any complaint I can think of. The criticism is sometimes quite fair. And for the latest example of a soft-on-crime politician flouting law and order, we can look to Texas Gov. Greg Abbott.

Abbott, of course, is no self-styled progressive. But his recent decision to pardon Daniel Perry, who was convicted last year of murdering Garrett Foster, channels the spirit of the progressive prosecutors he criticizes for allegedly refashioning the law to suit their ideological preferences. He just has different targets.

The governor, who last year urged the Texas Board of Pardons and Paroles to recommend a pardon for Perry, doesn't see it that way. "Texas has one of the strongest 'Stand Your Ground' laws of self-defense that cannot be nullified by a jury or a progressive District Attorney," he wrote in a statement yesterday, approving the pardon after the board officially obliged his request. (It's worth noting that the board, whose members are appointed by the governor, circumvented its own requirement that "evidence of actual innocence from at least two trial officials, or the findings of fact and conclusions of law from the district judge indicating actual innocence" be submitted to even consider such a pardon.)

It is absolutely true that the right to self-defense is vital. And to argue that Perry—who, prior to killing Foster at a 2020 Black Lives Matter protest, wrote that he wanted to "shoot the [protesters] in the front and push the pedal to the metal"—acted in self-defense is to make a total mockery of that right and those who've had to exercise it.

It is also true that many district attorneys, some of them so-called "progressive" prosecutors, appear to disdain that right. There are the cases across New York City I've covered, for example, where prosecutors are unconscionably seeking lengthy prison terms for people who acted in self-defense but had the audacity to do so with an unlicensed gun. That includes the case of Charles Foehner, an elderly man who shot a mugger in Queens, after which law enforcement brought so many weapons charges against him that Foehner would go to prison for life if convicted on all. That was in June 2023. In November, LaShawn Craig of Brooklyn shot a masked man who'd entered his apartment. Though prosecutors concede the shooting was in self-defense, they also charged him with several weapons offenses, including criminal possession of a weapon, a violent felony.

And then, most famously, there was Kyle Rittenhouse, whose 2021 prosecution for murder polarized much of the nation, despite that, if you knew the facts, it was an obvious example of self-defense—something I made very clear at the time.

There are some interesting parallels between Rittenhouse's case and Perry's case that are hard to ignore. Both men used their guns at protests against police brutality, many of which popped up across the U.S. in the summer of 2020. The shootings happened exactly a month apart. Then their stories diverge considerably, ending in an acquittal and a conviction, because the way they used their firearms was quite different, despite the culture war backdrop being the same. Both of these things can be true.

In July 2020, Perry ran a red light and drove into a crowd of protesters. That in and of itself, of course, is not enough to deduce that he was looking for a fight. His own statements prior to doing so, however, add a great deal of helpful context and show his frame of mind at the time. "I might have to kill a few people on my way to work they are rioting outside my apartment complex," he wrote on social media on May 31, 2020. Also in May, he threatened to a friend that he "might go to Dallas to shoot looters." And then in mid-June, he sent that message about going to a protest, "shoot[ing] the ones in the front," and then careening his car through the hubbub.

This was part of a pattern. Austin police detective William Bursley testified, for instance, that Perry searched on Safari for "protesters in Seattle gets shot," "riot shootouts," and "protests in Dallas live." It is not hard to connect the dots between his searches and messages.

So what about that stand-your-ground defense Abbott alleges the jury nullified? Core to Perry's case and trial was whether he reasonably feared for his life that July evening. Foster indeed had a rifle on him—because open carry is legal in Texas. The Second Amendment does not solely exist for people with conservative views. The big question then: Was Foster pointing the gun at Perry when he approached his vehicle? For the answer, we can go to Perry himself, who told law enforcement that he was not. "I believe he was going to aim at me," he said. "I didn't want to give him a chance to aim at me." But that is not a self-defense justification, as Perry cannot claim clairvoyance.

That the jury reached the conclusion they did is not a mystery, nor is it an outrage. What is outrageous, however, is that a governor who claims to care about law and order has made clear that his support for crime victims is at least in part conditional on having the "right" politics.

The post Daniel Perry's Pardon Makes a Mockery of Self-Defense appeared first on Reason.com.

The job of the prosecutor is to hold the public accountable. But when the tables are turned—when the prosecutor is the one who allegedly flouted the law—it is, paradoxically, enormously difficult for victims to achieve recourse. Lawyers yesterday sparred at the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 5th Circuit over one such barrier preventing someone from suing a former assistant district attorney accused of misconduct so egregious that one judge on the 5th Circuit described it last year as "utterly bonkers."

At the center of the case is Ralph Petty, whose yearslong career included work as both an assistant district attorney and a law clerk—at the same time, for the same judges. In practice, that means his arguments as a prosecutor were sometimes performance art, because, as a law clerk, he had the opportunity to draft the same rulings he sought in court. It doesn't take a lawyer to deduce that the set-up presents troubling implications for due process.

One of Petty's alleged victims, Erma Wilson, would like the opportunity to bring her civil suit against him before a jury. In 2001, she was convicted of cocaine possession after police found a bag of crack on the ground near where she and some friends were gathered. Law enforcement offered to let her off if she implicated the guilty party; she said she didn't know.

Years later, that conviction continues to haunt her. Most notably, it doomed any chance of her fulfilling her lifelong dream of becoming a nurse, because Texas, where she lives, does not approve registered nursing licenses for people found guilty of drug-related crimes.

Wilson's conviction coincided with the beginning of Petty's dual-hat arrangement in Midland County, Texas. Though he was not the lead prosecutor on her case, she alleges he "communicated with and advised fellow prosecutors in the District Attorney's Office" on her prosecution while simultaneously working for Judge John G. Hyde, who presided over her case, giving him "access to documents and information generally unavailable to prosecutors." (Hyde died in 2012.)

"Further undermining confidence in Erma's criminal proceedings, Petty and Judge Hyde engaged in ex parte communications concerning Erma's case," her lawsuit reads. "Consequential motions, such as Erma's motion to suppress, were resolved in the prosecution's favor throughout trial. And despite the weak evidence against her, Erma's motion for a new trial was not granted. Any of these facts by itself undermines the integrity of Erma's trial. Together, these facts eviscerate it." 

Typically prosecutors are protected by absolute immunity, which, as its name implies, is an even more robust shield than qualified immunity. But that issue is not before the 5th Circuit, because Wilson must overcome another barrier: Someone who has been convicted of a crime may not sue under Section 1983—the federal statute that permits lawsuits against state and local government employees for alleged constitutional violations—unless "the conviction or sentence has been reversed on appeal or otherwise declared invalid," wrote Judge Don Willett for the 5th Circuit in December. "The wrinkle here is that Petty's conflicted dual-hat arrangement came to light only after Wilson had served her whole sentence."

But Willett—the same judge who characterized Petty's alleged malfeasance as "utterly bonkers"—did not appear happy with his own ruling, which he said came because his hands were tied by precedent. He invited the 5th Circuit to hear the case en banc, where all the judges on the court convene to reconsider an appeal, as opposed to a three-judge panel (the usual format for evaluating cases).

The court accepted. "The defendants say that [Wilson is] forever barred from invoking that federal cause of action or any other federal cause of action unless she first persuades state officials to grant her relief. If they never do, she can never sue," Jaba Tsitsuashvili, an attorney at the Institute for Justice who is representing Wilson, argued yesterday. "In most circuits, that argument would be rejected, and rightly so."

At the center of the case is Heck v. Humphrey (1994), a Supreme Court precedent that, as Willett noted, forecloses Section 1983 relief for plaintiffs alleging unconstitutional convictions if his or her criminal case was not resolved with "favorable termination." The catch: Most federal appeals courts have established that Heck does not apply when federal habeas relief is no longer available, as is the case with Wilson. The 5th Circuit is an exception.

Perhaps soon it won't be. Yet even if the judges agree with Tsitsuashvili's interpretation of the law, Wilson is not in the clear. She will then have to explain why Petty is not entitled to absolute immunity, which inoculates prosecutors from facing such civil suits if their alleged misconduct was carried out in the scope of their prosecutorial duties. It is nearly impossible to overcome. But Petty may not be a candidate for it, because his malfeasance was technically not committed as a prosecutor. It was committed as a law clerk.

Should Wilson be granted the privilege to sue, it will be the first time an alleged victim of Petty's gets a tangible chance at recourse. There was, of course, the fact that he was disbarred, but defendants whose trials were marred by Petty likely take little comfort in that, particularly when considering it came in 2021—two years after he retired.

The post Can This Woman Sue the Rogue Prosecutor Who Allegedly Helped Upend Her Life? appeared first on Reason.com.

Juan Merchan, the judge presiding over Donald Trump's criminal trial in Manhattan, yesterday denied a second defense motion for a mistrial. Trump's lead attorney, Todd Blanche, has objected to aspects of porn star Stormy Daniels' testimony about her purported 2006 sexual encounter with Trump, saying some of the details were legally irrelevant and "so unduly and inappropriately prejudicial" that a mistrial was the only remedy. Merchan rejected that argument on Tuesday and again on Thursday, saying the problem that Blanche perceives was largely a result of the defense team's failures during Daniels' testimony and cross-examination.

Among other things, Blanche cited testimony suggesting, for the first time, that Daniels' alleged encounter with Trump was not fully consensual. This dispute illustrates the risk that the salaciousness of Daniels' account will overshadow the legal issue at the center of the case.

Trump is not charged with adultery or sexual assault. He is not charged with trying to keep Daniels from talking about what she says happened, although Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg has misleadingly suggested that the essence of Trump's crime was keeping that information from voters during his 2016 presidential campaign. Trump is not even charged with instructing his personal lawyer, Michael Cohen, to pay Daniels $130,000 shortly before the election in exchange for her silence. Rather, he is charged with falsifying business records to disguise his 2017 reimbursement of Cohen as payment for legal services.

Proving those 34 charges does not require demonstrating that Daniels is telling the truth at all, let alone that every detail is accurate. Under the prosecution's theory, Trump would be guilty of falsifying business records even if Daniels made the whole thing up. And assuming that Cohen's payment to Daniels amounted to an excessive campaign contribution (a characterization that Cohen accepted when he pleaded guilty to that offense in 2018), Trump's falsification of business records would be a felony if he was trying to conceal that violation of federal campaign finance regulations.

There are several problems with that theory, including the fuzziness of the distinction between personal and campaign expenditures, the question of whether Trump recognized that the Daniels payoff fell into the latter category (assuming that it did), the uncertainty about Trump's involvement in generating the relevant business records and his motive in doing so, and the attempt to convert a 2016 federal campaign finance violation into a state felony via a moribund New York election law that apparently has never been used before. But one thing is clear: Trump's criminal liability in this case has nothing to do with exactly what happened in his Lake Tahoe hotel suite during a celebrity golf tournament in July 2006.

Jurors nevertheless heard a lot about that. For years, Daniels has said she consented to sex with Trump. But during her testimony on Tuesday, she cast doubt on that characterization, saying "I just think I blacked out," although she added that she was not "drunk" or "drugged." She also noted that "there was a bodyguard right outside the door" and said "there was an imbalance of power for sure," since Trump "was bigger and blocking the way," although she conceded that she "was not threatened verbally or physically."

When Blanche complained that Daniels had changed her story, Merchan disagreed. "I disagree with your narrative that there is any new account here," the judge said. "I disagree that there is any changing story." Yet Blanche's complaint is at least partially valid.

It's true that Daniels has mentioned the bodyguard, Keith Schiller, before. He figures prominently in the account she gave in her 2018 memoir Full Disclosure. In that book, she also mentions that Trump did not wear a condom—another detail that Blanche described as irrelevant and prejudicial.

"I was surprised he didn't even mention a condom," Daniels says in Full Disclosure. "I didn't have one with me anyway, because I wasn't meeting him for sex. If I had been, I always brought my own, because I am allergic to latex. Back then I used Avantis"—a brand of nonlatex condoms. While Daniels' testimony on that point was similar, it introduced an element of concern that is not mentioned in the book:

Prosecutor Susan Hoffinger: Was he wearing a condom?

Daniels: No.

Hoffinger: Was that concerning to you?

Daniels: Yes.

Hoffinger: Did you say anything about it?

Daniels: No.

Hoffinger: Why not?

Daniels: I didn't say anything at all.

That exchange, Blanche noted, came after Daniels' testimony that the men with whom she performed in adult films were always required to wear condoms. On Thursday, the defense described the discussion of condoms as "a dog whistle for rape." While that may be an exaggeration, Daniels' testimony that Trump's failure to use a condom worried her certainly reinforced the impression that Daniels was doing something she did not want to do.

Full Disclosure leaves a similar impression—up to a point. After a conversation in which Daniels felt that Trump was treating her respectfully and taking her seriously as a businesswoman, she says, she emerged from a bathroom where she had touched up her makeup to find Trump sitting on a bed in his underwear.

"I had the sense of a vacuum taking all of the air out of the room, and me deflating with it," Daniels writes. "I sighed inwardly, keenly aware of two thoughts in that one moment. There was the simple Oh, fuck. Here we go. But there was also a much more complex, sad feeling that none of what he said was true. He didn't respect me. Everything he said to me was bullshit."

Daniels says she "should have…let him know this wasn't okay." But she didn't. "So, here we go," she writes. "It was an out-of-body experience….I just kind of lay there. A lot of women have been there. He wasn't aggressive, and I know for damn sure I could have outrun him if I tried, but I didn't. I'm someone who doesn't stop thinking, so as he was on top of me I replayed the previous three hours to figure out how I could have avoided this."

In her book, Daniels describes brief, sad, regrettable, and unsatisfying sex, but she emphasizes that it was an experience she easily could have avoided. Although she never quite explains why she decided to go through with it, there is no suggestion that she was incapacitated. But in her testimony, she said "I blacked out," which she suggested explained why "I don't remember" exactly what happened. Blacking out is not the same as "an out-of-body experience," which involves feeling detached from your body while fully conscious.

"I was not drugged," Daniels said. "I never insinuated that I was on drugs. I was not drunk. I never said anything of that sort." In a sidebar discussion, defense attorney Susan Necheles nevertheless objected that "she is making it sound like she was drugged." Hoffinger suggested that Daniels merely meant that she was "dizzy," possibly because she was hungry for the dinner that was promised but never materialized—a point she emphasizes in her book and mentioned in her testimony.

Merchan sustained Necheles' objection. But that did not stop the jury from hearing Daniels imply that she was not fully aware of what was happening that night. Combined with Daniels' references to the bodyguard and the "imbalance of power," that description strongly suggested her consent was not only passive and unenthusiastic but the product of pressure and incapacity.

Daniels strengthened that impression by saying she could not "remember how your clothes got off." There was Trump in his underwear, she said, and "the next thing I know" she was "on the bed," naked. Hoffinger asked whether she "remember[ed] anything other than the fact that you had sex on the bed." Not really, Daniels implied: "I was staring at the ceiling. I didn't know how I got there. I made note, like I was trying to think about anything other than what was happening there." That also prompted an objection from Hoffinger, which Merchan sustained.

In Full Disclosure, by contrast, Daniels recounts the sex in considerable detail, calling Trump "a terrible kisser," quoting what he said to her, describing the position he used, recalling the size and "unusual" shape of his penis, and remarking on his crotch hair. While these are just the sort of details that the defense (and Merchan) would deem out of bounds, they contradict the idea that Daniels was just "staring at the ceiling," that she didn't know "how I got there," or that she was only dimly aware of "what was happening there."

What does all this have to do with Trump's alleged falsification of business records? "All of this has nothing to do with this case," Blanche told Merchan on Tuesday. "The only reason why the government asked those questions, aside from pure embarrassment, is to inflame this jury to not look at the evidence that matters." He noted that Daniels "has testified today about consent, about danger," which is "not the point of this case."

The prosecution argues that the details of Daniels' story matter because they rebut Trump's contention that she invented the whole episode, which in turn goes to his motivation in arranging her nondisclosure agreement and in trying to keep it a secret with phony invoices, mislabeled checks, and fraudulent ledger entries. "Her account completes the narrative of the events that precipitated the falsification of business records," Hoffinger told Merchan. "Her account is highly probative of the defendant's intent, his intent and his motive in paying this off, and making sure that the American public did not hear this before the election. It is precisely what the defendant did not want to become public."

Merchan agreed with Blanche that "there were some things that would probably have
been better left unsaid." But he said the fault for that lay partly with Trump's attorneys. "The objections, for the most part, were sustained," he said. "Where there was a motion to strike testimony, for the most part, that motion was granted as well. I will also note that I was surprised that there were not more objections at various times during the testimony….So when you say that, you know, the bell has been rung, the defense has to take some responsibility for that."

Merchan was less patient on Thursday, when the defense again moved for a mistrial. "There were many times when you could have objected but didn't," he told Necheles. She objected when Daniels testified that she "touch[ed] his skin" and when she said "we were in the missionary position," for example, but did not object during the condom exchange, which Blanche later argued was prejudicial and irrelevant. Nor did Necheles object when Daniels described the "imbalance of power" or when she noted that Trump was "definitely several inches taller and much larger" than her. And Necheles' objection to "I just think I blacked out" came late, five sentences after Daniels said it.

Merchan also "chided Mr. Trump's lawyers for missteps during their cross-examination of Ms. Daniels," The New York Times notes, "and suggested that the former president's insistence on entirely denying any sexual encounter with Ms. Daniels had opened the door for the prosecution to introduce specific—and graphic—evidence that the encounter did occur." The judge conceded that some details of Daniels' testimony were so needlessly prejudicial that he would have sustained objections to them if the defense had made them. At the same time, he said Daniels could "corroborate her account" by describing details of the encounter because a truthful story "increases the motivation to silence her."

That rationale seems like a stretch, especially since the prosecution has argued that Trump was eager to suppress negative stories even when they were not true. According to testimony that prosecutors presented to establish that pattern, Cohen arranged for the National Enquirer to pay former Trump Tower doorman Dino Sajudin $30,000 for exclusive rights to his story, which alleged that Trump had fathered a child with a woman hired to clean the building. Although the Enquirer investigated that story and determined that it was not true, prosecutors say, Trump was still keen to stop Sajudin from telling it. That suggests Trump would have wanted to silence Daniels even if her story was equally fictitious, making all the quibbling about the details of that story irrelevant.

The post The Details of Stormy Daniels' Story About Sex With Trump Are Legally Irrelevant appeared first on Reason.com.

Dennis Powanda and Vincent Yakaitis are bound together by a common experience: They were both criminally charged in connection with an attempted burglary. Powanda was the burglar, and Yakaitis was the property owner.

Ah, justice.

Indeed, that's not a misprint, parody, or a bad joke (although I wish it were the latter). Powanda was arrested and charged with criminal trespass and burglary, along with other related offenses, for executing the botched raid a little before 2:00 a.m. in February 2023 at Yakaitis' property in Port Carbon, Pennsylvania. The government charged Yakaitis, who is in his mid-70s, with using a firearm without a license after he shot Powanda, despite that it appears prosecutors agree Yakaitis justifiably used that same firearm in self-defense.

Whatever your vantage point—whether you care about criminal justice reform and a fair legal system, or gun rights, or all of the above—it is difficult to make sense of arresting and potentially imprisoning someone over what essentially amounts to a paperwork violation. That injustice is even more glaring when considering that Powanda, 40, allegedly charged at Yakaitis, who happens to be about three and a half decades older than Powanda.

Pennsylvania's permitting regime does carve out a couple of exceptions, one of which would seem to highly favor Yakaitis. Someone does not need a license to carry, according to the law, "in his place of abode or fixed place of business." Yakaitis owned the home Powanda attempted to burglarize. The catch: He didn't live there—it reportedly had no tenants at the time of the crime—opening a window for law enforcement to charge him essentially on a technicality.

If convicted, Yakaitis faces up to five years in prison and a $25,000 fine. Quite the price to pay for protecting your life on your own property. The misdemeanor charge also implies that Yakaitis has no history of using his weapon inappropriately, or any criminal record at all, as Pennsylvania law classifies his particular crime—carrying a firearm without a license—as a felony if the defendant has prior criminal convictions and would be disqualified from obtaining such a license. In other words, we can deduce that Yakaitis was a law-abiding citizen and eligible for a permit, which means he is staring down five years in a cell for not turning in a form and paying a fee to local law enforcement. OK.

Yakaitis is not the first such case. In June, law enforcement in New York charged Charles Foehner with so many gun possession crimes that if convicted on all of them he would face life in prison. Police came to be aware of his unlicensed firearms when Foehner defended himself against an attempted mugger—the surveillance footage is here—after which they searched Foehner's home and found that only some of his weapons were licensed with the state.

Prosecutors classified it as a justified shooting. And then they hit Foehner with an avalanche of criminal charges that would have resulted in a longer prison sentence than his assailant would have received, had he survived.

There's also LaShawn Craig, another New York City man whose case I covered in December. He, too, shot someone in self-defense and he, too, was arrested for doing so without a license. Like Foehner, he was charged with criminal possession of a weapon, a violent felony in New York. For a paperwork violation.

New York is a particularly relevant case study on the subject, as its highly restrictive concealed carry framework was the subject of a landmark Supreme Court case—New York State Rifle & Pistol Association, Inc. v. Bruen—which the majority disemboweled. It wasn't just conservative gun rights advocates who wanted that ruling, although you'd be forgiven for thinking so based on how polarized this debate tends to be. That Supreme Court decision also attracted support from progressive public defenders with The Black Attorneys of Legal Aid, The Bronx Defenders, and Brooklyn Defender Services. As I wrote in June about the amicus brief they submitted to the Court:

[The public defenders] offered several case studies centered around people whose lives were similarly upended. Among them were Benjamin Prosser and Sam Little, who had both been victims of violent crimes and who are now considered "violent felons" in the eyes of the state simply for carrying a firearm without the mandated government approval. Little, a single father who had previously been slashed in the face, was separated from his family while he served his sentence at the Vernon C. Bain Center, a notorious jail that floats on the East River. The conviction destroyed his nascent career, with the Department of Education rescinding its offer of employment.

In many jurisdictions, including New York, it can be expensive and time-consuming to get the required license, which in turn makes the Second Amendment available only to people of a certain class.

So where do we go from here? Those skeptical of rolling back concealed carry restrictions may take comfort in the fact that this doesn't have to be black and white. Governments, for example, can "give eligible persons a 30-day grace period to seek and obtain a permit after being charged, then automatically drop charges and expunge record once obtained," offers Amy Swearer, a senior legal fellow at the Heritage Foundation, or "remove the criminal penalty entirely" and perhaps "make it a fineable infraction," like driving without a license.

Whatever the case, it should be—it is—possible to balance public safety with the right to bear arms, and, as an extension, the right to self-defense. To argue otherwise is to embolden a legal system that incentivizes elderly men like Yakaitis to sit down and take it when someone threatens their life.

The post This Elderly Man Was Arrested After Shooting a Burglar in Self-Defense—for Carrying the Gun Without a License appeared first on Reason.com.

WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange has been imprisoned in London for five years, while Texas journalist Priscilla Villarreal was only briefly detained at the Webb County Jail. But both were arrested for publishing information that government officials wanted to conceal.

Assange and Villarreal argue that criminalizing such conduct violates the First Amendment. In both cases, the merits of that claim have been obscured by the constitutionally irrelevant question of who qualifies as a "real" journalist.

Assange, an Australian citizen, is fighting extradition to the United States based on a federal indictment that charges him with violating the Espionage Act by obtaining and publishing classified documents that former U.S. Army intelligence analyst Chelsea Manning leaked in 2010. He has already spent about as much time behind bars as federal prosecutors say he would be likely to serve if convicted.

President Joe Biden says he is "considering" the Australian government's request to drop the case against Assange. But mollifying a U.S. ally is not the only reason to reconsider this prosecution, which poses a grave threat to freedom of the press by treating common journalistic practices as crimes.

All but one of the 17 charges against Assange relate to obtaining or disclosing "national defense information," which is punishable by up to 10 years in prison. Yet all the news organizations that published stories based on the confidential State Department cables and military files that Manning leaked are guilty of the same crimes.

More generally, obtaining and publishing classified information is the bread and butter of reporters who cover national security. John Demers, then head of the Justice Department's National Security Division, implicitly acknowledged that reality in 2019, when he assured reporters they needn't worry about the precedent set by this case because Assange is "no journalist."

The U.S. Court of Appeals for the 5th Circuit took a similarly dim view of Villarreal in January, when it dismissed her lawsuit against the Laredo prosecutors and police officers who engineered her 2017 arrest. They claimed she had violated Section 39.06(c) of the Texas Penal Code, an obscure law that makes it a felony to solicit or obtain nonpublic information from a government official with "intent to obtain a benefit."

The cops said Villarreal committed that crime by asking Laredo police officer Barbara Goodman to confirm information about a public suicide and a fatal car crash. As interpreted by the Laredo Police Department, Section 39.06(c) sweeps even more broadly than the Espionage Act, making a felon out of any reporter who seeks information that is deemed exempt from disclosure under the Texas Public Information Act.

Gliding over the alarming implications of making it a crime for reporters to ask questions, the 5th Circuit dismissed the idea that Villarreal is "a martyr for the sake of journalism." The majority opinion by Judge Edith Jones dripped with contempt for Villarreal, an independent, uncredentialed journalist who posts her unfiltered reports on Facebook instead of publishing vetted and edited stories in a "mainstream, legitimate" news outlet.

Seemingly oblivious to what quotidian news reporting across the country entails, Jones faulted Villarreal for relying on a "backchannel source" and for "capitaliz[ing] on others' tragedies to propel her reputation and career." But like the judgment that Assange is "no journalist," such criticism fundamentally misconstrues freedom of the press, which applies to anyone who engages in mass communication.

The 5th Circuit's decision provoked four dissents authored or joined by seven judges, and it is not hard to see why. "If the First Amendment means anything," Judge James C. Ho wrote, "surely it means that citizens have the right to question or criticize public officials without fear of imprisonment."

In a petition it filed on Villarreal's behalf last week, the Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression urges the U.S. Supreme Court to vindicate that right. "Villarreal went to jail for basic journalism," it notes. "Whatever one may make of Villarreal's journalistic ethics, they are of no constitutional significance."

© Copyright 2024 by Creators Syndicate Inc.

The post Journalism Is Not a Crime, Even When It Offends the Government appeared first on Reason.com.

A year after Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg announced 34 felony charges against Donald Trump, the former president's trial is about to begin. Yet people are still arguing about how to describe the case. This debate is not merely rhetorical. It reflects the disconnect between the counts that Trump faces, all of which allege falsification of business records, and the essence of his crime as Bragg sees it, which is hiding negative information from voters.

"Although it has long been referred to as the 'hush money' case," says CNN legal analyst Norman Eisen, "that is wrong. We should call it an 'election interference' trial going forward."

The reason people call it a "hush money case," of course, is that it would not exist but for the $130,000 that Trump lawyer Michael Cohen paid porn star Stormy Daniels shortly before the 2016 presidential election to keep her from talking about her alleged affair with Trump. But Eisen, who served as co-counsel to the House Judiciary Committee during Trump's first impeachment, joins Bragg in arguing that the significance of the case transcends those tawdry details.

"We allege falsification of business records to the end of keeping information away from the electorate," Bragg said in a January interview with NY1. "It's an election interference case." That sounds important, and it calls to mind the federal charges based on Trump's audacious attempts to remain in office after he lost the 2020 presidential election. But this characterization, which Bragg started emphasizing after Special Counsel Jack Smith unveiled the federal indictment last August, is hard to take seriously.

"As this office has done time and time again, we today uphold our solemn responsibility to ensure that everyone stands equal before the law," Bragg said when he announced the New York indictment in April 2023. "No amount of money and no amount of power changes that enduring principle." Underlining that point, Bragg added: "These are felony crimes in New York. No matter who you are. We cannot normalize serious criminal conduct."

Bragg was on firm ground in arguing that felonies are felonies. But why was this "serious criminal conduct"? Bragg's explanation was underwhelming: "True and accurate business records are important everywhere, to be sure. They are all the more important in Manhattan, the financial center of the world."

In addition to that eye-glazing gloss, Bragg presented the seed of his "election interference" argument. "We allege Donald Trump and his associates repeatedly and fraudulently falsified New York business records to conceal damaging information and unlawful activity from American voters," he said.

Mary McCord, executive director of the Institute for Constitutional Advocacy and Protection at Georgetown University Law Center, echoes that take in a recent New York Times discussion of the case. "The falsification of business records seems rock-solid based on the documentary evidence," she says. "The question for the jurors will be Trump's knowledge and intent." McCord thinks "it's a very winnable case for the D.A." because prosecutors "will give the jurors plenty of evidence" that Trump's motive in falsifying business records was "to prevent information damaging to candidate Trump from becoming public just weeks before the 2016 election."

If you read the indictment and the accompanying statement of facts, you will notice a glaring chronological problem with that account: The criminal conduct that Bragg alleges all happened after the 2016 election. Since Trump was already president, ensuring that outcome could not have been his motive.

Beginning in February 2017, the indictment says, Trump reimbursed Cohen for the hush money with a series of checks, which he disguised as payment for legal services. The indictment counts each of those checks, along with each of the corresponding invoices and ledger entries, as a distinct violation of a state law that makes falsification of business records "with intent to defraud" a misdemeanor.

Since all of this happened after Trump was elected, it is clearly not true that the allegedly phony records "conceal[ed] damaging information…from American voters" in 2016 or that the "falsification of business records" was aimed at "keeping information away from the electorate," thereby helping Trump defeat Hillary Clinton. Eisen concedes this temporal difficulty:

Election interference skeptics contend the charges here are for document falsification by the Trump organization in 2017, after the 2016 election concluded, to hide what happened the year before from being revealed. How can we call this an election interference trial, they ask, if the election was already over when the 34 alleged document falsification crimes occurred?

Those skeptics, Eisen says, overlook the fact that "the payment to Daniels was itself allegedly illegal under federal and state law" and "was plainly intended to influence the 2016 election." Although Cohen "was limited by law to $2,700 in contributions to the campaign," Eisen writes, "he transferred $130,000 to benefit the campaign, allegedly at Trump's direction. That is why Cohen pleaded guilty to federal campaign finance violations (in addition to other offenses), for which he was incarcerated. And no one can seriously dispute that the reason he and Trump allegedly hatched the scheme was to deprive voters of information that could have changed the outcome of an extremely close election."

Eisen glosses over the difficulty of distinguishing between personal and campaign expenditures in this context, which is crucial in proving a violation of federal campaign finance regulations. That difficulty helps explain why the Justice Department never prosecuted Trump for allegedly directing Cohen to make an excessive campaign contribution. Contrary to what Eisen says, there is a serious dispute about whether Trump "knowingly and willfully" violated federal election law.

In any case, it is too late to prosecute that alleged crime. And even if it weren't, Bragg would have no authority to enforce federal law.

Falsification of business records can be treated as a felony only if the defendant's "intent to defraud includes an intent to commit another crime or to aid or conceal the commission thereof." Bragg has mentioned a violation of the Federal Election Campaign Act as one possible candidate for "another crime." But it is plausible that Trump did not think paying off Daniels was illegal. If so, it is hard to see how his falsification of business records could have been aimed at concealing "another crime," even assuming that phrase includes violations of federal law, which also is not clear.

The legality of the hush payment is uncertain because it turns on whether Trump was trying to promote his election or trying to avoid personal embarrassment and spare his wife's feelings. The same ambiguity poses a challenge for Bragg in trying to convict Trump of felonies rather than misdemeanors: Did he falsify business records to cover up another crime or simply to keep his wife in the dark?

As Bragg sees it, Trump "corrupt[ed] a presidential election" by hiding information that voters might have deemed relevant in choosing between him and Clinton. But there is nothing inherently illegal about that: If Trump had persuaded Daniels to keep her mouth shut simply by asking nicely, the result would have been the same. Bragg's "election interference" narrative, insofar as it makes legal sense at all, requires showing that Trump not only tried to prevent a scandal but committed one or more crimes toward that end.

"People want the hush money case to be the big case that can take down Trump because it may be the only one that goes to trial before the election," UCLA election law expert Richard Hasen, one of the "skeptics" to whom Eisen alludes, writes in the Los Angeles Times. But "the charges are so minor I don't expect they will shake up the presidential race."

Hasen rejects Bragg's "election interference" framing. "Failing to report a campaign payment is a small potatoes campaign-finance crime," he says. "Willfully not reporting expenses to cover up an affair isn't 'interfering' with an election along the lines of trying to get a secretary of state to falsify vote totals, or trying to get a state legislature to falsely declare there was fraud in the state and submit alternative slates of electors. We can draw a fairly bright line between attempting to change vote totals to flip a presidential election and failing to disclose embarrassing information on a government form."

Although "I certainly understand the impulse of Trump opponents to label this case as one of election interference," Hasen adds, "any voters who look beneath the surface are sure to be underwhelmed. Calling it election interference actually cheapens the term and undermines the deadly serious charges in the real election interference cases."

The post Alvin Bragg's 'Election Interference' Narrative Is Nonsensical appeared first on Reason.com.

In England, Swansea Crown Court Judge Geraint Walters wanted to know why prosecutors dropped charges against photographer Dimitris Legakis on the eve of the trial. Legakis had been arrested for taking photos near a crime scene and charged with assaulting an emergency worker, obstructing or resisting a police officer, and using threatening or abusive words or behavior. A prosecutor said charges were dropped because the officer's original statement differed from a later one. But Walters said that after reading the record, he believed that Legakis was arrested because a police officer "took offence" to him taking photos. He said he believed prosecutors knew early on that "there was no evidential basis" to charge Legakis.

The post Brickbat: Freeze Frame appeared first on Reason.com.

In this week's The Reason Roundtable, Katherine Mangu-Ward is in the driver's seat, alongside Nick Gillespie and special guests Zach Weissmueller and Eric Boehm. The editors react to the latest plot twists in Donald Trump's various legal proceedings and the death of Russian opposition leader Alexei Navalny.

00:41—The trials of Donald Trump in Georgia and New York

25:04—Weekly Listener Question

33:23—Sora, a new AI video tool

43:55—The death of Alexei Navalny

49:58—This week's cultural recommendations

Mentioned in this podcast:

"How a New York Judge Arrived at a Staggering 'Disgorgement' Order Against Trump," by Jacob Sullum

"Prosecutor Fani Willis Touts the Value of Cash, but What About the Rest of Us?" by J.D. Tuccille

"Trump Ordered To Pay $364 Million for Inflating His Assets in Civil Fraud Trial," by Joe Lancaster

"Alvin Bragg Is Trying To Punish Trump for Something That Is Not a Crime," by Jacob Sullum

"Alexei Navalny's Death Is a Timely Reminder of How Much Russia Sucks," by Eric Boehm

"Why Is Nike Stomping on Independent Creators?" by Kevin P. Alexander

"Bury My Sneakers at Wounded Knee," by Nick Gillespie

"Creation Myth: Does innovation require intellectual property rights?" by Douglas Clement

"A Private Libertarian City in Honduras," by Zach Weissmueller

"The Real Reasons Africa Is Poor—and Why It Matters," by Nick Gillespie

Bono's Ukraine Speech

"Justice or persecution? The Trump dilemma"

Send your questions to roundtable@reason.com. Be sure to include your social media handle and the correct pronunciation of your name.

Today's sponsor:

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Audio production by Ian Keyser; assistant production by Hunt Beaty.

Music: "Angeline," by The Brothers Steve

• Producer: Hunt Beaty

The post Goodbye, Navalny appeared first on Reason.com.

It's quite a turn when a prosecutor defends the use of cash for financial transactions. After years of authorities treating mere possession of physical money as sketchy and grounds for seizure, this week a law enforcement official claimed there's nothing to see in her alleged cash reimbursements to her boyfriend for an enviable lifestyle arguably funded by the taxpayers. Either Fani Willis and company were right in the past and she should be subject to scrutiny for anonymous transactions, or she's right today and she and her colleagues owe the rest of us a pass on our taste for financial anonymity.

If you haven't kept up on the details, Fani Willis is the Fulton County district attorney overseeing the Georgia election interference case, which has been described as potentially the strongest and most consequential case against former (and maybe future) president Donald Trump. At least, it was described that way until defense attorneys revealed that Nathan Wade, a special prosecutor in the case, is unqualified for the job, was romantically involved with Willis, and is being paid much more than any of his colleagues (around $654,000 in all)—money from which Willis seemingly benefited in the form of expensive vacations and other pleasures of life with Wade.

She Reimbursed Everything in Cash. Of Course.

Well, she benefited unless she reimbursed Wade for her share. Whether or not she did is among the issues raised in a hearing investigating her alleged misconduct in the case.

"I didn't ever make him produce receipts to me," Willis said in response to questions about the couple's significant expenses. "Whatever he told me it was, I gave him the money back."

"You gave him cash before you ever went on the trip?" she was asked to clarify about one vacation.

"Mmm-hmm," Willis replied.

But she not only had no receipts, she also had no ATM slips or evidence the cash existed. It supposedly came from a substantial stash she kept at home on her father's urging.

Dad's Advice and 'Printed Freedom'

"I was trained, and most Black folks, they hide cash or they keep cash, and I was trained you always keep some cash," her father, John Floyd, confirmed. "I gave my daughter her first cash box and told her, 'Always keep some cash.'"

That's great advice. Cash is essential in emergencies, useful when electronic payments systems are down, and (importantly for this case) it's private and anonymous. When central-bank types floated the idea of abolishing physical money in favor of digital currency a decade ago, prominent German economist Lars Feld retorted that cash is "printed freedom" which helps people escape state control.

But that anonymity, which Fani Willis cited as the reason she had no evidence that she'd compensated Wade for his expenses, is exactly why government officials so despise its use by mere mortals.

Governments Hate Cash

"It just was not credible," CNN legal analyst Michael Moore, a former United States Attorney, commented of Willis's testimony about "things as nebulous as cash payments so there's no way to track it." He added: "It reminded me of watching a criminal defendant take the stand."

Cash is increasingly assumed by officialdom to be nefarious in and of itself.

"Cash can play a role in criminal activities such as money laundering and allow for tax evasion," notes Investopedia. "Since 2016, global policies have been implemented to thwart the use of cash in favor of digital currency transactions."

The mere presence of physical money triggers official suspicion and the urge to confiscate.

"It's the presence of paper legal tender—U.S. currency—that underlies nearly all of the thousands of police interactions we reviewed," The Greenville News reported in a 2020 story on civil asset forfeiture, under which money and valuables are seized, often with no charges brought against their owners.

Like Fani Willis, CNN's Moore is from Georgia and served there at both the state and federal level, so his attitude is illuminating. Georgia gets a D- grade from the Institute for Justice (I.J.) for its forfeiture laws.

"Across 15 states for which we have reliable property data for 2018,38 currency—primarily cash—predominates, accounting for an average of nearly 70% of forfeited property," I.J. revealed in the 2020 report, Policing for Profit. Georgia was among those states and "between 2015 and 2018, Georgia law enforcement agencies forfeited more than $51 million under state law. Between 2000 and 2019, they generated an additional $388 million from federal equitable sharing, for a total of at least $439 million in forfeiture revenue."

The 2023 budget for Fani Willis's Fulton County government includes Fund 442, Federal Equitable Sharing, for "proceeds of liquidated seized assets from asset forfeitures."

Willis may have taken her father's excellent advice about keeping cash on-hand. But her office is among those putting the screws to members of the public who abide by similar counsel and rely on physical money for its utility and anonymity. To keep large amounts of cash in Fulton County, Georgia, is to risk its seizure by the authorities. Yet Willis (assuming we believe her) does much business in cash.

If Prosecutors Get To Benefit, So Do We

So, which is it? Was the Fani Willis of the past, along with most of her profession, correct in considering cash to be inherently sketchy and evidence of some sort of criminal activity? If so, the court should view her claims of cash transactions as suspicious in themselves, just as she would treat regular people.

Or is the Fani Willis of last week correct that using cash is just good sense and evidence of homey wisdom handed down through the family? If that's the case, her office should have been treating people with the same light touch she hopes to receive.

The powers-that-be should abide by the same policies they inflict on the rest of us. If they want the freedom and privacy inherent in using cash, they can't keep it as a private privilege; we all get to benefit.

My sentiments are with John Floyd and Lars Feld on this. Cash is freedom and we should always keep some on hand. If that applies to Fani Willis, it must apply to everybody.

The post Prosecutor Fani Willis Touts the Value of Cash, but What About the Rest of Us? appeared first on Reason.com.