Congress has recently authorized military commissions to try enemies not only for violations of the international law of war, but also for domestic-law offenses, such as providing material support to terrorism and conspiring to commit law-of-war offenses. Moreover, President Trump has indicated support for further military trials, including trials against U.S. citizens. Such military tribunals lack the civilian jury and independent judge that Article III of the Constitution prescribes. The constitutionality of such an abrogation of Article III’s criminal trial guarantees has been debated during many of the nation’s wars without clear resolution, and the constitutional question is now at the heart of a potentially landmark case, al Bahlul v. United States, currently before the Supreme Court.
The Georgetown Law Journal
Latest print issue: Vol. 105 Issue 6
There is currently a glaring gap between the economic tools available in antitrust analysis and the practical application of such tools by antitrust attorneys and judges. This disconnect is blatantly evident in the context of hospital mergers, where courts are allowing anticompetitive hospital mergers to go forward and harm consumers by facilitating more expensive, lower quality medical services. For years, courts and lawyers have relied on structural methods of analysis, such as market shares and HHIs, in mergers within all industries. However, such methods are arbitrary and burdensome, primarily because traditional methods typically create overly broad geographic markets that allow anticompetitive mergers to go unnoticed.
This Article identifies and analyzes a new type of specialized “problem-solving” court: status courts. Status courts are criminal or quasi-criminal courts dedicated to defendants who are members of particular status groups, such as veterans or girls. They differ from other problem-solving courts, such as drug or domestic violence courts, in that nothing about the status court offender or the offense he or she committed presents a systemic “problem” to be “solved.” In fact, status courts aim to honor the offender’s experience and strengthen the offender’s association with the characteristic used to sort him or her into court.
The first payday loan that Sandy took out “was for $100, with an $18 fee.” Soon, she found herself with multiple loans, taking out new loans to pay off the fees due on her prior loans. Sandy became trapped in an all-too-common cycle of debt, paying $300 every two weeks on four different payday loans. She continued to borrow for months until she eventually “lost her job and could no longer keep up with the fees” owed on her loans. Eventually, Sandy was forced to file for bankruptcy.
Web-exclusive content: GLJ Online Vol. 106
In popular and political culture, many observers credit nearly twenty-five years of declining crime rates to the “New Policing.” Breaking with a past tradition of “reactive policing,” the New Policing emphasizes advanced statistical metrics, new forms of organizational accountability, and aggressive tactical enforcement of minor crimes. The existing research and scholarship on these developments have focused mostly on the nation’s major cities, where concentrated populations and elevated crime rates provide pressurized laboratories for police experimentation, often in the spotlight of political scrutiny. An additional line of scholarship has looked more closely at how the tactics of the New Policing have become institutionalized in police–citizen interactions in the everyday lives of residents of poorer, often minority, and higher-crime areas of the nation’s cities.
Supreme Court confirmation hearings are vapid. Supreme Court confirmation hearings are pointless. Supreme Court confirmation hearings are harmful to a citizenry already cynical about government. Sentiments like these have been around for decades and are bound to resurface each time a new nomination is made. This essay, however, takes a different view. It argues that Supreme Court confirmation hearings are a valuable form of cultural expression, one that provides a unique record of, as the theater critic Martin Esslin might say, a nation thinking about itself in public.
A gun wielded by a marching white supremacist leads a complicated double life, for it is at once deadly and expressive. Displayed in the context of the August 2017 marches in Charlottesville, the protesters’ firearms expressed something—something too diffuse to call a proposition but still recognizable as a cluster of themes and ideologies: anger, suspicion of the government, white supremacy, a fear of being replaced, admiration of the Confederacy, “sic semper tyrannis,” nativism, and other associated emotions and ideas. In Charlottesville, these and other strands of meaning came together in the glint of muzzles in the mid-morning sun.
More than any other promised police reform, the public would benefit from the government adopting an “open data” philosophy towards police accountability data. “Open data” in the context of public policy is the philosophy that when the government “provides people access to its process, decision-making, and data,” a “more effective ecosystem for innovation and development” results. Body cameras have been introduced across the country as the manifestation of transparent policing meant to restore the public’s trust in police following multiple murders of unarmed young men and women of color nationwide. However, as Professor Simonson writes in her essay, “Beyond the Body Camera: Defending a Robust Right to Record the Police,” the body camera footage is created, stored, organized, and distributed by governmental agencies that continue controlling the narrative about police conduct. In this article, I elaborate on Professor Simonson’s observation about governmental control over the narrative. I also discuss diverging approaches to public access to body camera footage from Seattle, which has embraced an “open data” model, to Minnesota, where restrictions on public access to police data are being introduced for the first time through legislative regulations. On a more optimistic note, I will also discuss non-governmental efforts to subvert that control by cataloging and reporting on police accountability data. The seriousness and wealth of the information collected and shared through these efforts stands in sharp contrast to the dearth of police accountability data being disseminated by the government.