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A defendant was facing several charges related to armed robbery and murder. In correspondence on social media with his alleged co-conspirators, the defendant used the slang terms “lick” and “sweet lick.”1 The state called the investigating law enforcement officer as a lay witness, asking the officer to define the two terms. The defendant objected and claimed the state was improperly attempting to admit an expert opinion. The judge overruled the objection. The officer proceeded, testifying that based on his experience in the robbery unit of the police department, the term “lick” meant robbery and the term “sweet lick” meant an easy robbery or someone easy to rob. The jury convicted the defendant.
Consent – the organizing principle of legal responses to sexual harms – rests on a yes-versus-no binary. Yet, ambivalence is pervasive in sexual life, often eluding binary simplicity. This article assesses the implications of ambivalence for sexual consent jurisprudence. Drawing on interviews with Israeli gay and bisexual men regarding their experiences in (semi-)public sexual venues, it examines a context in which sexual norms have historically developed outside dominant cultural scripts, where ambivalence is particularly salient. Through the men’s testimonies, the conditions under which ambivalence leaves individuals uncertain of how to name sexual harms, identify boundary violations, or assign responsibility are mapped. Grounded in these findings, alongside sociological theories of ambivalence and socio-legal theories of sexual consent, the article adopts dialectical sensibility to capture what binary consent models tend to flatten: the simultaneous presence of agency/coercion, empowerment/vulnerability, and pleasure/danger within a single sexual interaction. Ambivalence in these “gray zones” is therefore reconceptualized here as neither anomaly nor individual failure but as a structuring – and even productive – feature of sexual life, complicating theories that cast ambivalence as primarily suppressive. Finally, the analysis underscores the limitations of prevailing consent paradigms and surfaces new questions about how criminal law might respond to the indeterminate realities of sex.
Prosecutors in England and Wales may start or continue a prosecution only if to do so is in the public interest. No general account has previously been given, however, of what the public interest consists in. This paper aims to provide such an account, drawing on a study of all policies and guidance published by the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS). Its principal conclusion is that, in most cases, CPS guidance imposes on prosecutors an obligation to seek an appropriate penalty for those against whom there is sufficient evidence. In more serious cases, this obligation effectively renders prosecution mandatory. In less serious cases, it may be outweighed by countervailing factors, and out-of-court disposals may constitute an appropriate penalty. However, only a limited range of factors are clearly recognised as counting against prosecution. CPS guidance also lacks clear principles regarding when prosecutors may exceptionally pursue non-punitive aims.
This chapter applies free will skepticism to the realm of criminal justice, challenging the moral legitimacy of retributive punishment. If no one is morally responsible in the basic desert sense, then the practice of punishing wrongdoers because they deserve it is unjustified. The chapter begins by defining punishment and distinguishing legal punishment from other forms. It then presents two arguments – the skeptical and epistemic arguments – for rejecting retributivism. The author proposes an alternative model: the public health-quarantine model, which treats serious criminal behavior not with moral blame but as a threat to be contained for public safety, akin to quarantining carriers of contagious disease. This model is forward-looking, emphasizing rehabilitation, prevention, and social support rather than desert-based harm. It aims to reduce recidivism and address the social determinants of criminal behavior, such as poverty, trauma, and lack of education. The chapter also addresses objections and argues that belief in free will sustains punitive attitudes, obstructing reform. Rejecting such beliefs can foster more humane, effective, and just approaches to crime. In place of retribution, the public health-quarantine model offers a compassionate framework that prioritizes safety, healing, and systemic change.
The article examines the history of British private investigators. Historians and criminologists have shown how the police have never monopolized security or protection. The same can be said about investigation, although this is much less well understood. Private investigators have a key place in the social distribution of investigation, widely portrayed as both heroic uncoverers of the truth and as invasive “snoops.” Their work therefore opens wider questions about who should be able to know what about whom. This article focuses on the period between 1965 and 1975, which saw a range of criminal investigations, public inquiries, and press reports around private investigators, against the background of shifts in data technologies and cultures of “transparency.” This article asks why “invasions of privacy” by private investigators caused so much public concern in this period, but the attempts to restrict their activities largely petered out. It argues that the answer lies in uncertainties of the category of privacy and, more specifically, the unresolved role of the British state. In the context of changing relationships between the state, market, and the wider distribution of investigation, privacy protections did not meaningfully distinguish between who was accessing information and the reasons they were doing so. The article draws on sources including the evidence submitted to the 1972 Younger Committee on Privacy, the papers of the Director of Public Prosecutions, published memoirs, and local and national newspapers.
This article presents conclusions from a study of 1,400 criminal trials in cases involving anti-caste and tribe violence, filed in the trial court of Aurangabad District (Sambhajinagar) in western India. Employing computational analysis upon the metadata and text of decisions filed under the Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes (Prevention of Atrocities) (POA) Act 1989 during a 20-year period (2002–2023), I offer an exploratory socio-legal analysis of hate-crime adjudication in India. This article sheds light on hitherto unexplored questions about criminal adjudication in India such as: Which cases are most likely to result in acquittals and convictions? What kind of evidence does the court consider and in what manner is evidence read? How frequently are cases dismissed due to witnesses turning hostile? What kinds of punishments do Indian courts hand out? How long do criminal trials typically last? What kind of charges are most commonly brought against the accused in these cases? How easy is it to get bail and what conditions do courts typically impose? How long do POA-accused spend in jail before they get bail?. In doing so, this article offers a first-of-its kind phenomenology of ‘hate-crime’ adjudication and, more broadly, of criminal adjudication in India.
Only two cases of migrant trafficking have been successfully prosecuted in Canada (R v. Gonzalez-Valbuena and R v. Domotor). This article considers why by offering a comparison of human trafficking offences defined at section 118 of the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act (IRPA) and sections 279.01-279.011 of the Criminal Code of Canada (CrC). We also assess the application of these provisions to seven publicly reported cases of migrant trafficking. We demonstrate that the anti-trafficking frameworks fail to capture the offence of migrant trafficking. We also confirm that the prosecution of migrant trafficking is undermined by the promotion of racist and gendered ideas of victimization in judicial decision making. Our analysis offers support for the work of Nandita Sharma (2005) on the existence of “global apartheid” in the Canadian context, which operates to sustain the illegalization, criminalization and removal of specifically racialized female migrants from Canada.
This paper critically examines the legal and normative implications of remote AI weapons detection (AWD) systems currently under trial in England and Wales. Positioned as a technological solution to rising knife crime and counter-terrorism challenges, these systems claim to reduce reliance on traditional stop and search practices by identifying concealed weapons without physical contact. We make an original argument that such technologies invert the established logic of stop and search – effectively transforming it into a new concept of ‘search and stop’ – with significant consequences for individual rights and police accountability. Through a doctrinal analysis of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984 (PACE), relevant case law from the European Court of Human Rights and England and Wales, and the directed surveillance regime under the Regulation of Investigatory Powers Act 2000, the paper addresses five core questions: (1) whether AI-generated outputs can satisfy the legal standard of ‘reasonable suspicion’; (2) whether remote scanning constitutes a ‘search’ in law; (3) the implications of these systems under equality law and police duties under PACE; (4) how the technology engages surveillance law and the right to privacy; and (5) what reforms or safeguards are needed for lawful and legitimate use.
On 27 April 2015, Jamie Maynard and Courtney Penix met in a strip mall parking lot in Columbus, Ohio, a city in the Midwestern United States (US). Earlier that day, Courtney had sent Jamie a series of text messages asking if she could get her $150 worth of heroin. Jamie said that she could, plus two ‘rigs’ (equipment to inject the drug), for $175 total. They arranged to meet that evening to make the trade before Jamie headed to work at a local casino. Jamie and Courtney, both White women in their mid twenties, met earlier that spring through a friend-of-a-friend. They initially connected to exchange drugs: heroin, to which both had developed habits, and the pharmaceuticals Suboxone, used to ease painful opioid withdrawal symptoms, and Xanax, used to ease anxiety and sometimes used in combination with opioids to amplify the effects of the drugs. They quickly developed a casual friendship, communicating regularly by text messages and phone calls. They vented about their jobs, shared stories about their struggles to maintain their drug habits, and offered drugs to one another to keep each other ‘well’ (i.e., to stave off withdrawal) (Williams, 2020).
Edited by
Monika Zalnieriute, Law Institute of the Lithuanian Centre for Social Sciences,Agne Limante, Law Institute of the Lithuanian Centre for Social Sciences
The criminal justice system is becoming automated. At every stage, from policing to evidence to parole, AI tools and other technologies guide outcomes. Debates over the pros and cons of these technologies have overlooked a crucial issue: ownership. Developers often claim that details about how their tools work are trade secrets and refuse to disclose that information to criminal defendants or their attorneys. The introduction of intellectual property claims into the criminal justice system raises under-theorised tensions between life, liberty, and property interests. This chapter argues that trade secrets should not be privileged in criminal proceedings. A criminal trade secret privilege is ahistorical, harmful to defendants, and unnecessary to protect the interests of the secret holder. Meanwhile, compared to substantive trade secret law, the privilege overprotects intellectual property. Further, privileging trade secrets in criminal proceedings fails to serve the theoretical purpose of either trade secret law or privilege law. The trade secret inquiry sheds new light on how evidence rules do, and should, function differently in civil and criminal cases.
Alcohol and other drug use (AOD) use tends to hold a privileged position within legal decision-making (Seear, 2020; Flacks, 2023), and the criminal case of R v Taj (2018) was no exception. The defendant, who was – it was agreed by all parties – experiencing paranoia and psychosis, launched a violent attack on a man he suspected of being a terrorist. Mr Taj had been drinking on eve of the incident, and the night before that, but tests on the day found no trace of alcohol in his bloodstream. He was nevertheless unable to plead self-defence on the basis that he honestly believed there was a risk to life and limb because, successive courts argued, he was already at fault for drinking alcohol, which led to the psychotic thoughts. There were some significant and potentially far-reaching claims in the case, including that intoxication-related behaviour does not require the presence of alcohol in the body, and that psychosis can be caused by alcohol alone. This allowed the court to conclude that Mr Taj was wholly responsible for his actions and so could not claim excuse or mitigation.
Moving beyond the structural antagonism of criminal law, this chapter explores the subject positions of actors in scenarios of sexual harm. If the sex offender emerges as a felon bearing the head of a wolf, the victimized white child emerges as the exemplary figure of vulnerability. While tropes of vulnerability are mobilized to justify paternalistic state coercion, they are also a powerful reminder of humans’ interdependence and mutuality. Thinking with vulnerability as an analytical category focuses attention on the lingering traumatic effects of sexual assault, as well as the severe punitiveness toward sex offenders. Addressing sexual violence does not require draconian penalties; conversely, addressing carceral expansion does not necessitate minimizing sexual violence. Centering vulnerability may allow us to rethink the foundations of our social contract in ways that acknowledge both our precariousness and the sovereign violence that holds us in its thrall.
The rise of the #MeToo movement has prompted a public reckoning with sexual consent, with public discourse now squarely focused on issues of sexual coercion and culpability. However, the principle of consent has a much longer history and wider significance beyond recent events. Bolstered by a social contract model that prioritises individual personhood and the protection of private property, consent has been central to the development of modern law and liberal societies (Munro, 2008). As feminist legal scholar Vanessa Munro argues, in Western legal settings, it ‘demarcate[s] the terrain between acceptable and unacceptable intrusions upon property / bodies’ (Munro, 2008, pp. 923–4) and accredits the liberal subject with its defining features of individuality, rationality and autonomy. In the specific context of sexual violence, consent is endowed with significant power (Hindes, 2022): it is used to arbitrate legal disputes over sexual assault and violence, and determine whether violation has occurred.
Campaign contributions – their salience, how they distribute, and their implications for political accountability and local control – have been studied extensively in the executive, legislative, and, increasingly, state judicial contexts. How reported campaign contributions vary across local prosecutor candidates as well as inform prosecutor election outcomes, however, are comparatively less well understood despite an increasing amount of campaign contributions flowing into local prosecutor elections over time. Drawing from a leading and recently released dataset that links campaign information from 3,123 local prosecutor candidates and the most recent election cycles across 2,205 districts between 2012 and 2019, this study seeks to develop an initial accounting of factors which plausibly inform local prosecutor candidates’ campaign fundraising success. To do so, the models evaluate how reported campaign contributions distribute at the individual candidate and district levels and separate contested and uncontested prosecutor elections. When it comes to campaign contribution totals, while findings from contested and uncontested election models, as expected, evidence important differences, these differences are generally stable across the candidate and district levels. Comparing findings from candidate- and district-level models, by contrast, uncovers an important difference involving incumbency status. Taken together, the findings make clear that while campaign contributions inform prosecutor election outcomes, factors that inform fundraising success vary across contested and uncontested elections as well as across candidate- and district-levels. These variations, in turn, raise important distributional concerns.
Criminal Law Perspectives: From Principles to Practice provides a comprehensive and accessible introduction to criminal law for undergraduate and postgraduate students. It takes a comparative approach to the law, focusing on New South Wales, Victoria, the Australian Capital Territory and the Commonwealth Criminal Code, as well as the South Australian jurisdiction. Now in its second edition, Criminal Law Perspectives maintains its logical structure and clear explanations of complex concepts. It has been updated to include major developments in the law, including affirmative consent reforms, the criminalisation of coercive control and industrial manslaughter offences. Comprehensive jurisdictional extracts and relevant case examples are used to illustrate key principles of criminal law explored throughout the book. Students are encouraged to reflect and develop their problem-solving skills by engaging with the various features in each chapter, including review questions, case questions, hints and tips, and long-form end-of-chapter problem questions.
This chapter examines the broad legal framework governing sexual offences by examining the selected offences of rape and sexual assault, which provide a foundation for understanding other sexual offences. This chapter will also briefly discuss sexual offences against vulnerable individuals such as children. Finally, the chapter considers the challenge that technology increasingly poses in the area of sexual offences and considers how technology may facilitate traditional forms of offending or create new forms of offending.
In September 1833, eleven students aged between fourteen and twenty-one were imprisoned and brought before judge Manuel Joaquín Valdivieso in Santiago de Chile. They were accused of leading a rebellion that had rocked the country’s foremost educational institution, the Instituto Nacional, earlier that month. When asked who had initiated the revolt or invited them to join, the students refused to name names, insisting instead that theirs had been “a complot of all.” Their statement echoed similar assertions made by protesters across the Spanish Atlantic, from Castilian peasants to Andean Natives. Tracing the confrontation between the Instituto students and Judge Valdivieso, this article examines how appeals to collective agency and unanimous action disrupted the attribution of penal responsibility. I argue that such strategies served not only to deflect blame but to assert the legitimacy of revolts and other dissident political acts. The article explores how students confronted the judge’s interpretation of their movement, from their motivations to the dynamics of the insurrection. To justify their revolt, it shows, the Instituto students had to mobilize their knowledge of the law—not to claim its protection, but to undermine its capacity to render their actions intelligible.
How do lawyers understand legality in contemporary India? We examine the experiences of lawyers in Delhi, who defend people accused under the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act (UAPA) and Prevention of Money Laundering Act (PMLA), statutes increasingly deployed to target dissent and minority groups. Drawing on in-depth interviews, these trials produce a sense of normlessness—where foundational assumptions about rules, processes, and institutional roles collapse. Lawyers describe an “alien” legal world marked by unpredictability, an absence of established procedure, and blurred boundaries between judges, prosecutors, and police. While ordinary cases retain a sense of normality, UAPA and PMLA cases destabilise imaginations of the legal process, compelling lawyers to speculate on motives and majoritarian influences. We explore how lawyers respond through insistence on procedural norms and strategies to mitigate harm to clients. These narratives illuminate the transformation of legality into a contingent, shape-shifting form of power, challenging deterministic accounts of authoritarian legality
This chapter explores the accuracy of private transcription services when transcribing Black English and Standard American English. Courts and lawyers in the US regularly rely on transcripts from such services, but third-party verification of their accuracy, especially with respect to their quality when faced with nonstandard language varieties, is lacking. This study draws on experimental methods to contrast the quality of transcription services offered by transcribers and AI route. The quantitative results show that transcription by humans and AI resulted in more mistakes when transcribing Black English than when transcribing Standard American English. Furthermore, a qualitative analysis reveals that these mistakes often changed or obscured meaning in legally relevant ways. If these results are generalizable, many transcripts currently in circulation, and crucial both to justice at the trial level and appellate review, contain disproportionately more legally important mistakes for Black English speakers. Given that Black English speakers are a highly overrepresented population in the US criminal system, the chapter proposes ways of redressing transcription shortcomings.
Law students routinely forget that the legal tradition has been concerned with fact finding for centuries. The entire body of evidence law has evolved for two important purposes: ensuring that the evidence presented to a court is legally admissible; and ensuring that the evidence presented to the court is reliable so that the tribunal of fact is able to draw conclusions about whether or not an alleged fact existed in circumstances where the tribunal of fact has not witnessed the event for itself. Legal reasoning is empirically grounded and draws upon centuries of human experience in the examination of materials of this kind. With that in mind, principles from evidence law can be used to help us to think about facts as part of the analysis of a legal problem. Indeed, turning your mind to the rich body of evidence law is essential. It is not possible in a book like this to engage with evidence law in any detail. Evidence law in Australia is comprehensively examined by several authoritative authors, to which the reader is referred to for detail.