Source: http://sundaysplits.com/category/criminal-law/
Timestamp: 2019-04-23 18:30:35+00:00

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The Tapia Tap Dance: When Does Considering Rehabilitation in Imposing a Sentence Violate Tapia?
In 1984, Congress passed the Sentencing Reform Act, as part of the Comprehensive Crime Control Act. The Act, among other things, abolished federal parole in all but a few instances and created the United States Sentencing Commission. It also required courts to consider the factors outlined in 18 U.S.C. § 3553(a)—which include the nature of the crime, the characteristics of the defendant, the justification for the sentence, the kinds of available sentences, any relevant policies promulgated by the Sentencing Commission, the need for consistency, and the value of any potential restitution to victims.
What is the standard for determining when a sentencing court violates Tapia? When a court considers rehabilitation in imposing a sentence at all, does it violate Tapia? Or is Tapia only violated when a sentencing court uses rehabilitation as the determining factor?
As it turns out, every Circuit in the country—save for the D.C. Circuit—has taken a position on this issue. They’re divided into two camps.
The Seventh, Ninth, Tenth, and Eleventh Circuits apply an easy-to-satisfy standard: they hold that Tapia is violated when the sentencing judge even considers rehabilitation or bases his sentence even in part on rehabilitation. As articulated by the Tenth Circuit in United States v. Thornton (2017), for example, “A rule requiring reversal only when rehabilitation is the sole motivation would not make sense. The federal sentencing statute mandates that judges consider other factors. . . . Therefore, there will almost always be some valid reasons advanced by the district court for imposing the sentence issued.” The Eleventh Circuit in United States v. Vandergrift (2014) arrived at the same conclusion, and based its analysis on an interpretation “faithful to Tapia’s reasoning.” It noted that the Supreme Court held that sentencing courts “‘should consider the specified rationales of punishment except for rehabilitation’” when “determining whether to impose or lengthen a sentence of imprisonment.” Accordingly, any consideration of rehabilitation is improper.
in Tapia the Court made clear that “[a] court commits no error by discussing the opportunities for rehabilitation within prison or the benefits of specific treatment or training programs.” A district court also may legitimately “urge the [Bureau of Prisons] to place an offender in a prison treatment program.” However, when the district court’s concern for rehabilitative needs goes further—when the sentencing record discloses “that the court may have calculated the length of [the defendant’s] sentence to ensure that she receive certain rehabilitative services”—§ 3582(a) has been violated.
Similarly, in United States v. Bennett (2012), the Fourth Circuit focused on looking at the specific error that the Supreme Court was attempting to remedy in Tapia. To glean the Supreme Court’s meaning, it looked at the sentencing court’s proceedings in Tapia and observed that the district court judge said that the “‘number one’ consideration ‘[was] the need to provide treatment.’” It observed that the Tapia decision was a “close question . . . whether the rehabilitation rationale drove the sentencing decision,” despite the sentencing court’s brazen discussion of rehabilitation. Accordingly, the Court couldn’t possibly mean that a district court judge’s mere discussion of rehabilitation ran afoul of Tapia.
Given that virtually every Circuit in the country has arrived at a conclusion on the meaning of Tapia—and that those meanings differ and are supported by different rationales—the Supreme Court has a strong incentive to take an appeal from one of these cases to resolve the split. Even more persuasively, the Sentencing Reform Act was intended to promote consistency in sentencing across the country. It’s a cruel twist of irony for the drafters of the Act that it, in turned, spurred even more inconsistency.
The Self-Incrimination Clause of the Fifth Amendment protects individuals from being compelled to bear witness against themselves in a criminal case. Courts have struggled with the scope of this protection, particularly regarding what comprises a “criminal case.” Does the term extend to pre-trial proceedings, such as a bail hearing? Has a person’s Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination been violated if the compelled statement in question is never used in a court of law?
Over the past thirty years, the Supreme Court has never directly resolved the question of what constitutes a “criminal case.” In dicta from United States v. Verdugo-Urquidez (1990), the Supreme Court indicated that the Fifth Amendment right was merely a trial right. But later, in Mitchell v. United States (1999) the Supreme Court indicated that the right extended to sentencing hearings.
Three other justices disagreed, arguing that self-incrimination is complete the moment a confession is compelled, regardless of whether the statement is used at trial.
After the opinions in Chavez were released, a circuit split developed over the definition of a criminal case under the Fifth Amendment.
Does the Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination include statements compelled in pre-trial proceedings?
The Third, Fourth and Fifth Circuits resolved this question in favor of Justice Thomas’s view, holding that the right against self-incrimination is only a trial right. In Renda v. King (2003), the Third Circuit determined that questioning while in police custody without providing Miranda warnings is not a Fifth Amendment violation if the individual is never charged with a crime and their responses are never used in a trial.
But on the other hand, in Vogt v. City of Hays (2017) the Tenth Circuit resolved this question in favor of a broader reading of the term “criminal case,” allowing the term to include certain pre-trial proceedings. The Second, Seventh, and Ninth Circuits take a similar view of the right against self-incrimination.
The facts of Vogt are unusual. In Vogt, a police officer for the City of Hays admitted during an interview with a neighboring police department that he had illegally retained a knife obtained during his employment as a police officer. The neighboring police department agreed to hire Vogt on the condition that he report the illegal retention of the knife to the Hays police department. Upon Vogt’s admission, Hays initiated a criminal investigation against him. The charges were dropped, but Vogt sued, claiming that the state violated his Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination by inducing him to confess.
Additionally, to determine the meaning of “criminal case,” the Tenth Circuit consulted the most prominent dictionary of the Framers’ era: purportedly Noah Webster’s An American Dictionary of the English Language. In this dictionary, “case” was defined as “a cause or suit in court.” This definition, where “suit” is understood to be nearly synonymous with “cause,” indicates that the Framers understood the criminal case to encompass more than merely the trial. From these facts, Tenth Circuit concluded that the right against self-incrimination is more than just a trial right.
The City of Hays appealed the Tenth Circuit’s decision in Vogt, and the Supreme Court granted certiorari on September 28, 2017. The case was argued before the Court on February 20, 2018; however, whether this split will be resolved by the Vogt appeal is yet to be seen. Justices Samuel Alito and Sonia Sotomayor both noted the case was “odd,” and Justice Breyer even questioned whether the strange and distinguishing facts of Vogt made it an appropriate one for the Court to take. The Supreme Court has the option to dismiss the case as improvidently granted, but it is likely that the Court will publish an opinion resolving this constitutional issue soon.
On a constitutional question of this magnitude, let’s hope the Supreme Court doesn’t choose to plead the Fifth.
Does Pre-Trial Detention Toll a Term of Supervised Release?
For some people who are convicted of a criminal offense, a sentence can include a term of supervised release (also known as special or mandatory parole). Under 18 U.S.C. § 3624, the federal supervised release statute, a term of supervised release begins on the day that a person is released into the custody of a parole officer. The federal supervised release statute also provides that the term of supervised release is tolled during any period where the person is imprisoned in connection with a conviction for a different federal, state, or local crime.
Jason Mont began a five-year period of supervised release on March 6, 2012. On June 1, 2016, Mr. Mont was arrested on state charges and held in pre-trial detention until he pleaded guilty in October 2016. In June 2017, Mr. Mont’s supervised release was revoked, and he was ordered to serve an additional 42 months for violating his supervised release. In United States v. Mont (2018), Mr. Mont claimed that the court did not have jurisdiction to revoke his supervised release, arguing that his supervised release ended on March 6, 2017 (five years after he was initially released). Following circuit precedent established by United States v. Goins (2008), the Sixth Circuit held that pretrial detention that leads to a conviction counts as time “in connection with a conviction,” as described in the federal statute.
Several circuits have spoken to whether time served in pretrial detention counts as time “in connection with a conviction” for the purposes of the federal supervised release statute, in addition to the Sixth Circuit’s previous ruling in Goins. The Fourth Circuit in United States v. Ide (2010), the Fifth Circuit in United States v. Molina-Gazca (2009), and the Eleventh Circuit in United States v. Johnson (2009) have all held that pretrial detention counts for the purposes of the federal supervised release statute. In contrast, the D.C. Circuit in United States v. Marsh (2016) and the Ninth Circuit in United States v. Morales-Alejo (1999) held that time served in pretrial detention does not qualify.
In Mont, the Sixth Circuit explicitly rejected this interpretation.
This case has not attracted much attention within the legal community since the Sixth Circuit’s ruling was handed down this past February, but it does have important ramifications for persons whose sentences include a period of supervised release. With six circuits having weighed in on opposite sides of a matter of federal statutory interpretation, the time is ripe for an aggrieved party to petition the Supreme Court for a definite ruling on this issue. Mr. Mont has ninety days from the date of the Sixth Circuit’s judgment to file a writ of certiorari to the Supreme Court – while this deadline has not passed, it is not yet clear whether he will file a petition. In the alternative, given that this issue arises out of different interpretations of a federal statute, Congress could pass a bill to amend the current statute and clarify whether pretrial detention that leads to a conviction counts as time served in connection with a conviction.
The Fourth Amendment of the Constitution protects against unwarranted searches and seizures, which begs the question—what exactly constitutes a seizure? In California v. Hodari D. (1991), the Supreme Court held that a “seizure” requires either physical force or submission to police authority. In the wake of this decision, circuit courts have struggled to define the phrase, “submission to police authority,” resulting in a split of authority. The emergent view in the Courts of Appeals, although admittedly uneven within the circuits, is that when a suspect does nearly anything more than pausing briefly, including any significant verbal engagement with the officer, that action is strong evidence of submission.” United States v. Camacho (1st Cir. 2011). Some courts have adopted this rather broad interpretation of the term, imparting a low standard for submission. Other courts have adopted a narrow view, requiring additional conduct to meet the standard.
The issue of defining submission is incredibly significant because of its impact on other aspects of a case. For example, whether or not a defendant is deemed to have submitted to police authority can determine what evidence may be presented at trial, which can significantly influence the outcome of a case. The Fourth Amendment serves to protect against unwarranted invasions of privacy by requiring probable cause. The Fourth Amendment “prohibition on unreasonable searches and seizures is enforced through the exclusionary rule, which excludes evidence seized in violation of the Fourth Amendment.” United States v. Camacho (1st Cir. 2011).
The following circuits have adopted the view that brief compliance followed by flight does not constitute submission.
Second Circuit: In United States v. Huertas (2d Cir. 2017), the court held that, in dealing with the police, conduct that amounts to evasion cannot be considered submission.
Third Circuit: In direct contradiction with the Tenth Circuit’s ruling, the court in United States v. Valentine (3d Cir. 2000) held that a brief pause does not make for a submission, and therefore the defendant in this case was not seized within the Fourth Amendment meaning.
The following circuits have adopted the view that brief compliance followed by flight does constitute submission.
First Circuit: In United States v. Camacho (1st Cir. 2011), the court held that once a defendant responds to questions posed by the police, he or she has submitted to police authority.
D.C. Circuit: In United States v. Brodie (D.C. Cir. 2014), the court ruled that when a defendant complies with an officer’s orders by engaging in overt acts, such as putting one’s hands on the car, the defendant has submitted to police authority.
Although the Supreme Court expressly outlined the requirements for a “seizure” in California v. Hodari D. (1991), it still left some questions unanswered—circuit courts were tasked with the responsibility of defining “submission to police authority,” and conflicting rulings resulted. Branden Huertas submitted a petition for writ of certiorari to the Supreme Court in December 2017, in hopes of appealing the Second Circuit’s decision in United States v. Huertas (2017). In the petition, Huertas discusses the split among the lower courts and urges the Supreme Court to review the issue. In his petition for a writ of certiorari to the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Second Circuit, Huertas notes: “The conflict is widely recognized by courts and commentators. It also is deeply entrenched; the courts on either side of the split have acknowledged the contrary reasoning of their peers and have had multiple opportunities to reconsider their positions, but the conflict has persisted. Thus, only this Court can restore uniformity on this important question of Fourth Amendment law.” For further reading, see the petition for writ of certiorari: Huertas v. United States.
It’s a close thing, when watching a crime drama, to see whether the makers of a show thoroughly misunderstand the law or the use of computers. The fantasy of the hacker furiously typing as code streams down a computer screen, and the fantasy of the lawyer defying the judge to give a rousing speech and sway the jury, are equally illusory mainstays of network TV. Occasionally, however, law and computer technology do produce real drama. On January 13th, 2013, a young man named Aaron Swartz faced a lawsuit from the United States. Swartz, a student from MIT, had been accused of downloading over 4,000,000 articles from the online database JSTOR. Swartz had, according to the United States, broken into a network closet at MIT and downloaded the majority of the JSTOR archives, which MIT had licensed, before sharing the millions of scholarly articles on various file-sharing websites. After his breach of the network was discovered, the United States filed suit. During the course of the litigation, after learning that he could face up to seven years in prison, Mr. Swartz committed suicide.
Though this is a dramatic example of information redistribution, many who are currently law students or young lawyers grew up committing, and continue to commit, routine criminal offenses on their computers. Anyone who ever downloaded a song over Napster or Limewire, who got a free version of Microsoft Office or Adobe Photoshop from a friend on a USB drive, or fought through hundreds of pop-up ads to watch a low-res version of a not-on-Netflix movie with a date has committed a crime. Commentators have often worried about statutes that criminalize large swaths of everyday behavior, creating a situation where most people receive no penalty while an arbitrary few face crushing consequences. One such statute under scrutiny is the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act, the statute under which Mr. Swartz was prosecuted.
The Computer Fraud and Abuse Act, ‘CFAA,’ is codified at 18 U.S.C. § 1030. The CFAA criminalizes certain acts by those who have “knowingly accessed a computer without authorization or exceeding authorized access.” The question is, what constitutes authorized access? Courts have split over the proper definition. The narrow view, held by the Ninth and Fourth Circuits, interprets “exceeding authorized access” as referring to only access restrictions on restricted data itself. The broader view, held by the First, Fifth, Seventh and Eleventh Circuits, interprets “exceeding authorized access” as referring to any use of the computer that was not authorized.
This language can be read either of two ways: First, as Nosal suggests and the district court held, it could refer to someone who’s authorized to access only certain data or files but accesses unauthorized data or files—what is colloquially known as “hacking.” For example, assume an employee is permitted to access only product information on the company’s computer but accesses customer data: He would “exceed authorized access” if he looks at the customer lists. Second, as the government proposes, the language could refer to someone who has unrestricted physical access to a computer, but is limited in the use to which he can put the information. For example, an employee may be authorized to access customer lists in order to do his job but not to send them to a competitor.
Minds have wandered since the beginning of time and the computer gives employees new ways to procrastinate, by g-chatting with friends, playing games, shopping or watching sports highlights. Such activities are routinely prohibited by many computer-use policies, although employees are seldom disciplined for occasional use of work computers for personal purposes. Nevertheless, under the broad interpretation of the CFAA, such minor dalliances would become federal crimes. While it’s unlikely that you’ll be prosecuted for watching TV on your work computer, you could be. Employers wanting to rid themselves of troublesome employees without following proper procedures could threaten to report them to the FBI unless they quit. Ubiquitous, seldom-prosecuted crimes invite arbitrary and discriminatory enforcement.
Many tech commentators continue to worry that the CFAA as interpreted as broadly as it is in the Rodriguez case will, as the Ninth Circuit notes, criminalize even basic work slacking. Despite his win, the defendant Nosal found himself in court again for U.S. v. Nosal (9th Cir. 2016), or “Nosal II.” In this case, Mr. Nosal was found in violation of the CFAA, though the Ninth Circuit retained their narrow interpretation. Mr. Nosal appealed to the Supreme Court, and the case was denied certiorari. Until the Supreme Court clarifies the CFAA, courts will continue to disagree on how broadly the statute should be interpreted, and on whether the use of a work computer “without a business reason,” like sneaking some Netflix in during company time, should be a federal crime.
The Speedy Trial Act requires that any information or indictment charging a defendant with an offense must be filed within thirty days from an individual’s arrest or summons in connection with the crime. 18 U.S.§ 3161 (b).
This means that the government has thirty days from the time someone is arrested or summoned to charge that person with a crime.
Delays “resulting from other proceedings concerning the defendant” are automatically excludable from the Speedy Trial thirty days.
But a delay can still be excluded under other provisions in § 3161, such as (hint) 18 U.S. § 3161(h)(7), under which a delay resulting from a continuance granted to serve “the ends of justice” can be excluded. To be excluded, the reasons the delay serves “the ends of justice” must be set in the record.
“'[P]lea negotiations’ are informal discussions between the parties and are directly controlled by the parties, not the court.” (quoting United States v. Lucky (2d Cir. 2009)).
This split is ripe for Supreme Court review and a cert petition is pending.
It is important for the split to be resolved because defendants should be treated the same across jurisdictions. Also, what good is the Speedy Trial Act if defendants are unsure when they will be charged or how the Speedy Trial Act applies to their situation?
Although a look into statutory construction could resolve this split, interesting policy perspectives are at play regarding plea bargaining incentives—how would automatic exclusion of plea negotiations influence the parties to come to an agreement, if at all?
Whether plea agreements are automatically excludable or not, though, it is certainly better that everyone know for sure.
Imagine: a member of your trusted investment club approaches you encouraging you to purchase securities in a new company, which you do because your investment club always has the group’s best interests in mind. Later you learn that this member received a commission from your transaction. You feel betrayed, but did he have a duty to tell you about his stake in your investment?
This rule, like virtually all legal rules, reflects a balancing of competing interests. On one hand, we want to believe that people are trustworthy, particularly when a person has a fiduciary duty to us. The investment adviser industry depends on people trusting that their investment advisers have their best interests at heart. If an individual recommending the purchase of securities is deriving a commission from the sale, a potential investor would want to be wary of a potential conflict of interest.
On the other hand, is it wise to impose a duty to speak on every individual who may share information about a company offering securities? With the growth of technology, communication and the sharing of information have become constant. If such a duty is imposed on every individual who recommends a security or supplies information about a company, the chain of liability would be unending.
On whom do we impose a duty to speak? Three circuits have taken different approaches.
The Second Circuit held in Securities and Exchange Commission v. Dorozkho that a duty to speak should be found wherever there is a fiduciary duty.
Finally, the Ninth Circuit extends the duty to speak to a much broader class in Paracor Finance, Inc. v. General Electric Capital Corp.
While the Ninth Circuit approach allows a judge to balance factors and find whether a duty to speak exists as a matter of fairness, this approach does not seem practical in a world where people are constantly accruing and sharing information. Thus, it makes the most sense for the court to follow the Second Circuit’s approach of only finding a duty to speak where there is a fiduciary duty, which represents the middle ground of who has a duty to speak and promotes predictability.

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