Suchergebnisse

This Essay begins by understanding the law school crisis through the framework of disaster capitalism. This framing uncovers the ways in which reformers are taking advantage of the current crisis to restructure legal education. Under the circumstances, faculty may reasonably read the contemporaneous student-led movement to require trigger warnings in the classroom as an assault on academic freedom. This reading, however, clouds the water. Part II attempts to clear the confusion by decoupling the trigger-warning movement from the broader phenomenon of law school corporatization. Trigger-warning demands might alternatively be read as a student critique of traditional law school pedagogy. Especially in the first year, the role of faculty is to indoctrinate students in a system of dispassionate analysis where subjective experiences and emotional reactions have no place. In this light, the trigger warning debate offers an opportunity to fundamentally alter the learning process by inviting students to become partners in the production of knowledge by allowing them to reclaim power in the classroom. Attending to student concerns facilitates robust discussions where the assigned materials are thoroughly dissected and debated, a result that ultimately benefits everyone in the classroom. Part III proposes that law school is still a good option for those students who are interested in both rigorous intellectual exercise and developing the practical skills necessary for the effective representation of clients. This discussion lays the foundation for a reflection on a broader question -- the role of law in a democracy. Although the U.S. legal system falls short of perfect justice and equality, lawyers ought to be vigilant when confronted with market demands that would force law and society to cede ground to powers that represent solely private interests.

This Essay begins by understanding the law school crisis through the framework of disaster capitalism. This framing uncovers the ways in which reformers are taking advantage of the current crisis to restructure legal education. Under the circumstances, faculty may reasonably read the contemporaneous student-led movement to require trigger warnings in the classroom as an assault on academic freedom. This reading, however, clouds the water. Part II attempts to clear the confusion by decoupling the trigger-warning movement from the broader phenomenon of law school corporatization. Trigger-warning demands might alternatively be read as a student critique of traditional law school pedagogy. Especially in the first year, the role of faculty is to indoctrinate students in a system of dispassionate analysis where subjective experiences and emotional reactions have no place. In this light, the trigger warning debate offers an opportunity to fundamentally alter the learning process by inviting students to become partners in the production of knowledge by allowing them to reclaim power in the classroom. Attending to student concerns facilitates robust discussions where the assigned materials are thoroughly dissected and debated, a result that ultimately benefits everyone in the classroom. Part III proposes that law school is still a good option for those students who are interested in both rigorous intellectual exercise and developing the practical skills necessary for the effective representation of clients. This discussion lays the foundation for a reflection on a broader question -- the role of law in a democracy. Although the U.S. legal system falls short of perfect justice and equality, lawyers ought to be vigilant when confronted with market demands that would force law and society to cede ground to powers that represent solely private interests.

This is the first scholarly Article to investigate the inner workings of the Illinois Torture Inquiry and Relief Commission ("TIRC"). The TIRC was established by statute in 2009 to provide legal redress for victims of police torture. Prisoners who claim that their convictions were based on confessions coerced by police torture can utilize the procedures available at the TIRC to obtain judicial review of their cases. For those who have exhausted all appeals and post-conviction remedies, the TIRC represents the tantalizing promise of justice long denied. To be eligible for relief, however, the claimant must first meet the TIRC's strict four-element test for credibility. This Article argues that through its over-reliance on these credibility standards, the TIRC effectively inscribes and reproduces a dominant narrative of police torture, one that promotes a "bad apples" myth and ignores the contributing factors of broader-scale forces such as racism and inadequate police accountability mechanisms. By accepting certain claims of torture as credible and rejecting others, the TIRC engages in the construction of a socio-legal truth about Chicago's police torture crisis. This Article explores the truth-making function of the TIRC, examining its adjudicatory processes under the framework of what Andrew Woolford and R.S. Ratner call "the informal-formal justice complex." The TIRC is an informal justice practice in that it provides a forum for the adjudication of police torture claims in a space created outside the formal legal system. In reality, however, the TIRC straddles the line between formal and informal justice systems, and this awkward position is the source of ongoing tensions. Like other informal justice practices, the TIRC relies on the State to provide the authority to execute its mission; this dependent relationship generates results that tend to ultimately reinforce State power. Fortunately, social movements maintaining a position outside of the complex have cultivated a number of counterpublics as alternate discursive spaces used to challenge State power. The Article ends with a consideration of two alternative forums for justice—the Survivor's Roundtable and the People's Hearings on Police Crimes.

This is the first scholarly Article to investigate the inner workings of the Illinois Torture Inquiry and Relief Commission ("TIRC"). The TIRC was established by statute in 2009 to provide legal redress for victims of police torture. Prisoners who claim that their convictions were based on confessions coerced by police torture can utilize the procedures available at the TIRC to obtain judicial review of their cases. For those who have exhausted all appeals and post-conviction remedies, the TIRC represents the tantalizing promise of justice long denied. To be eligible for relief, however, the claimant must first meet the TIRC's strict four-element test for credibility. This Article argues that through its over-reliance on these credibility standards, the TIRC effectively inscribes and reproduces a dominant narrative of police torture, one that promotes a "bad apples" myth and ignores the contributing factors of broader-scale forces such as racism and inadequate police accountability mechanisms. By accepting certain claims of torture as credible and rejecting others, the TIRC engages in the construction of a socio-legal truth about Chicago's police torture crisis. This Article explores the truth-making function of the TIRC, examining its adjudicatory processes under the framework of what Andrew Woolford and R.S. Ratner call "the informal-formal justice complex." The TIRC is an informal justice practice in that it provides a forum for the adjudication of police torture claims in a space created outside the formal legal system. In reality, however, the TIRC straddles the line between formal and informal justice systems, and this awkward position is the source of ongoing tensions. Like other informal justice practices, the TIRC relies on the State to provide the authority to execute its mission; this dependent relationship generates results that tend to ultimately reinforce State power. Fortunately, social movements maintaining a position outside of the complex have cultivated a number of counterpublics as alternate discursive spaces used to challenge State power. The Article ends with a consideration of two alternative forums for justice—the Survivor's Roundtable and the People's Hearings on Police Crimes.

The repeal of DADT represents the triumph of non-discrimination rhetoric, while the MLDC's report stands for a renewed effort to expand the military's affirmative action policies for the benefit of people of color and women: two historically subordinated groups in the U.S. military. The repeal of DADT may have purchased equality for LGB service members, but at a premium. The strategic decision to rally around the non-discrimination model, I argue in this Article, will reinforce the continued subordination of LGB service members. As an alternative, I propose the application of kakou principles to military policies and programs for integrating LGB service members. Kākou, in the Hawaiian language, literally means "us" or "we."According to the study of clusivity in the field of linguistics, language and word choice can be deployed to communicate either exclusion or inclusion. More figuratively, kakou signifies collective action to address a social problem. Therefore, when one says, "it's a kakou thing" to describe an event, the speaker means that everyone is invited to participate. On a deeper level, "it's a kakou thing" also means that everyone's participation is required to make the event a success. If exclusion is a primary means of subordination, as I will argue in this Article, then the notion of inclusion as manifested in the value of kakou provides a new way of re-imagining anti-subordination justice work. In comparison to the dominant non-discrimination model promoted during the DADT repeal movement, kakou is concerned with substantive equality and requires an awareness of difference for the purpose of gaining collective strength based on individual differences. The history of the DADT repeal exposes the consequences of vocabulary and word choice in progressive social change advocacy. To achieve the goal of repeal, mainstream DADT repeal advocates successfully utilized the narrative of non-discrimination and formal equality--that is, gay soldiers are no different than straight soldiers, according to the rhetoric of the repeal movement, and therefore they should be treated similarly. But under the terms of the repeal, the military will not consider sexual orientation or the history of LGB subordination to be relevant factors in recruitment, retention, promotion, or other personnel decision making. In achieving the repeal under these terms, LGB service members have been deprived of access to and benefits from the military's equal opportunity (EO) and diversity programs. As a result of the strategic deployment of the non-discrimination narrative by repeal advocates, sexual orientation and gender identity has been completely eliminated from the military's discourse about diversity. Part I provides factual background by chronicling the U.S. military's history of unequal treatment of marginalized groups--namely, people of color, women, and LGBTQ people. Part II introduces a new conceptual framework for understanding the harms resulting from the military's historical subjugation of these groups. Borrowing from the field of linguistics, Part II uses the notion of clusivity to describe laws and policies banning or restricting certain groups from military service as exclusionary and, by contrast, describes redress efforts such as affirmative action as inclusive. More specifically, Part II proposes the use of the Native Hawaiian value of kakou as a way to reimagine anti-subordination scholarship and activism. Utilizing the kakou paradigm, Part III describes the military's efforts at remedying the subordination of marginalized groups. Part IV sets forth my proposal that the military should adopt, as it does in the context of affirmative action programs for people of color and women, kakou-imbued programs to repair the historical subordination of LGB service members.

The repeal of DADT represents the triumph of non-discrimination rhetoric, while the MLDC's report stands for a renewed effort to expand the military's affirmative action policies for the benefit of people of color and women: two historically subordinated groups in the U.S. military. The repeal of DADT may have purchased equality for LGB service members, but at a premium. The strategic decision to rally around the non-discrimination model, I argue in this Article, will reinforce the continued subordination of LGB service members. As an alternative, I propose the application of kakou principles to military policies and programs for integrating LGB service members. Kākou, in the Hawaiian language, literally means "us" or "we."According to the study of clusivity in the field of linguistics, language and word choice can be deployed to communicate either exclusion or inclusion. More figuratively, kakou signifies collective action to address a social problem. Therefore, when one says, "it's a kakou thing" to describe an event, the speaker means that everyone is invited to participate. On a deeper level, "it's a kakou thing" also means that everyone's participation is required to make the event a success. If exclusion is a primary means of subordination, as I will argue in this Article, then the notion of inclusion as manifested in the value of kakou provides a new way of re-imagining anti-subordination justice work. In comparison to the dominant non-discrimination model promoted during the DADT repeal movement, kakou is concerned with substantive equality and requires an awareness of difference for the purpose of gaining collective strength based on individual differences. The history of the DADT repeal exposes the consequences of vocabulary and word choice in progressive social change advocacy. To achieve the goal of repeal, mainstream DADT repeal advocates successfully utilized the narrative of non-discrimination and formal equality--that is, gay soldiers are no different than straight soldiers, according to the rhetoric of the repeal movement, and therefore they should be treated similarly. But under the terms of the repeal, the military will not consider sexual orientation or the history of LGB subordination to be relevant factors in recruitment, retention, promotion, or other personnel decision making. In achieving the repeal under these terms, LGB service members have been deprived of access to and benefits from the military's equal opportunity (EO) and diversity programs. As a result of the strategic deployment of the non-discrimination narrative by repeal advocates, sexual orientation and gender identity has been completely eliminated from the military's discourse about diversity. Part I provides factual background by chronicling the U.S. military's history of unequal treatment of marginalized groups--namely, people of color, women, and LGBTQ people. Part II introduces a new conceptual framework for understanding the harms resulting from the military's historical subjugation of these groups. Borrowing from the field of linguistics, Part II uses the notion of clusivity to describe laws and policies banning or restricting certain groups from military service as exclusionary and, by contrast, describes redress efforts such as affirmative action as inclusive. More specifically, Part II proposes the use of the Native Hawaiian value of kakou as a way to reimagine anti-subordination scholarship and activism. Utilizing the kakou paradigm, Part III describes the military's efforts at remedying the subordination of marginalized groups. Part IV sets forth my proposal that the military should adopt, as it does in the context of affirmative action programs for people of color and women, kakou-imbued programs to repair the historical subordination of LGB service members.

In 2007, Professor Eric K Yamamoto acknowledged that reparations theory and practice had reached a crossroads and called for a new strategic framework that reparations advocates could utilize in working to achieve redress for social and historical wrongs. This Article attempts to answer Yamamoto's call. In it, I situate my proposal for a truth commission to redress the post-9/11 torture program in a new Inclusive Model for Social Healing. In the past, reparations advocates have relied on litigation-a strategic model that excludes participants other than the named parties-to obtain redress. By increasing the number of stakeholders in a reparations scheme, the Inclusive Model for Social Healing has the potential to attract more widespread support from the public and is more resilient to criticism than exclusive litigation models. A truth commission that would provide some measure of redress for those who have suffered from the post-9/11 torture program is a critical testing ground for this new model, especially as judicial avenues for relief appear to have been blocked. The federal courts have consistently dismissed civil actions alleging torture and other brutal treatment brought by former detainees against government officials. Attorney General Eric Holder does not seem keen on pursuing charges against CIA agents operating under the Torture Memos, so recourse in criminal court appears to be likewise unavailable. Finally, despite concluding that the authors of the infamous Torture Memos had relied on flawed legal reasoning, the Office of Professional Responsibility's February 2010 report forecloses the possibility that John Yoo, Jay Bybee, and other Justice Department lawyers will be subject to disciplinary action for creating the torture program. The time to press for alternative forms of redress is now. The Inclusive Model for Social Healing is well-suited for the problem that currently faces the nation as it begins to confront the reality that in order to win the military battle against al-Qaeda and other Islamist terrorist groups, it must first win the ideological battle for hearts and minds. The narratology of Islamist terrorist organizations relies on a cosmology that separates actors into two categories-"us" or "them." While U.S. leadership has submitted to a similar world view in the past, it must reject exclusive categorizations like this. The Inclusive Model for Social Healing directly confronts the exclusive terrorist ideology and provides an alternative narrative of inclusion premised upon social healing.

In 2007, Professor Eric K Yamamoto acknowledged that reparations theory and practice had reached a crossroads and called for a new strategic framework that reparations advocates could utilize in working to achieve redress for social and historical wrongs. This Article attempts to answer Yamamoto's call. In it, I situate my proposal for a truth commission to redress the post-9/11 torture program in a new Inclusive Model for Social Healing. In the past, reparations advocates have relied on litigation-a strategic model that excludes participants other than the named parties-to obtain redress. By increasing the number of stakeholders in a reparations scheme, the Inclusive Model for Social Healing has the potential to attract more widespread support from the public and is more resilient to criticism than exclusive litigation models. A truth commission that would provide some measure of redress for those who have suffered from the post-9/11 torture program is a critical testing ground for this new model, especially as judicial avenues for relief appear to have been blocked. The federal courts have consistently dismissed civil actions alleging torture and other brutal treatment brought by former detainees against government officials. Attorney General Eric Holder does not seem keen on pursuing charges against CIA agents operating under the Torture Memos, so recourse in criminal court appears to be likewise unavailable. Finally, despite concluding that the authors of the infamous Torture Memos had relied on flawed legal reasoning, the Office of Professional Responsibility's February 2010 report forecloses the possibility that John Yoo, Jay Bybee, and other Justice Department lawyers will be subject to disciplinary action for creating the torture program. The time to press for alternative forms of redress is now. The Inclusive Model for Social Healing is well-suited for the problem that currently faces the nation as it begins to confront the reality that in order to win the military battle against al-Qaeda and other Islamist terrorist groups, it must first win the ideological battle for hearts and minds. The narratology of Islamist terrorist organizations relies on a cosmology that separates actors into two categories-"us" or "them." While U.S. leadership has submitted to a similar world view in the past, it must reject exclusive categorizations like this. The Inclusive Model for Social Healing directly confronts the exclusive terrorist ideology and provides an alternative narrative of inclusion premised upon social healing.

This volume surveys important political and legal developments in international law during the year 2014.

This volume surveys important political and legal developments in international law during the year 2014.

Frontmatter -- Contents -- Introduction -- Part I COLORISM DEFINED -- 1 Wheatish -- 2 Too Dark -- 3 Sang Duc Ho -- 4 You're So White, You're So Pretty -- 5 You Have Such a Nice Tan! -- 6 Brown Arms -- 7 Hopes for My Daughter -- Part II PRIVILEGE -- 8 Blessed with Beautiful Skin -- 9 Shai Hei -- 10 Whiteness Is Slippery -- 11 Regular Inmates -- 12 Magnetic Repulsion -- Part III ASPIRATIONAL WHITENESS -- 13 Digital Whiteness -- 14 Mrs. Santos's Whitening Cream -- 15 Shade of Brown Noelle Marie Falcis, Filipina American, 27 -- Part IV ANTIBLACKNESS -- 16 Creation Stories -- 17 What It Means to Be Brown -- 18 The Perpetual Outsider -- Part V BELONGING AND IDENTITY -- 19 What Are You? -- 20 Born Filipina, Somewhere in Between -- 21 Invisible to My Own People -- 22 Nobody Deserves to Feel like a Foreigner in Her Own Culture -- 23 Tired -- Part VI SKIN— REDEFINED -- 24 The Very Best of You -- 25 Reprogramming -- 26 Cartographies of Myself -- 27 The Sun Is Calling My Name -- 28 Abominable Honhyeol -- 29 Dear Future Child -- 30 Teeth -- Notes -- Bibliography -- About the Editor -- About the Contributors -- Index