The Michigan Journal of Race & Law presents The Path to Equitable Revitalization in Detroit: A Discussion with Professor Alicia Alvarez Please join us for a discussion with Professor… Read More
By Elliott Gluck
Associate Editor, Volume 23 For years, the startling rates of suspensions and expulsions in America’s public schools have raised concerns for stakeholders across the educational landscape.[1] These disciplinary actions are frequently connected with higher drop-out rates, lower lifetime earnings, and higher rates of incarceration.[2] With African American students facing expulsion and suspension at over three times the rate of their non-Hispanic white peers and American Indian students overrepresented in exclusionary discipline by six times their overall school enrollment, a clear pattern of racial disparity emerges in the current approach to school discipline.[3] Startlingly, in the last few years, research has shown these disparities in school discipline are not confined to K-12, but extend to preschools as well.[4] The first major study exploring suspensions and expulsions in preschools came from Walter S. Gilliam and Golan Shahar in 2006.[5] Their Massachusetts study showed that preschool expulsions occurred at over 34 times the rate of K-12 expulsions and were influenced by larger class sizes, younger enrollees, and elevated “teacher job stress.”[6] While Massachusetts had a relatively low K-12 expulsion rate, these preschool expulsions still occurred at more than 13 times the national K-12 average.[7] Gilliam and Shahar noted that while all states have legal requirements for school attendance starting between ages five and eight, no such law exists for pre-K programs.[8] The authors suggest that, “these laws may reduce expulsion during the K-12 years, because the expulsion would create a legal problem for the parents who would then need to find educational programming for children elsewhere.”[9] Read More
By Cleo Hernandez
Associate Editor, Volume 23 A public square, angry words, angry people, police in riot gear, torches bright against a night sky, flags, homemade signs and banners, summer heat. Some would say that this is what democracy looks like, [1] but perhaps it is the failure of democracy that brings people to the streets. For those whose combined voices, votes, or dollars are too small in number to form a majority capable of effecting political change,[2] or for those of color competing against a white majority, protests and other forms of unconventional political participation may seem more effective at achieving equality goals.[3] The recent incidents in Charlottesville can be characterized as a racial protest.[4] Charlottesville 2017[5] was not a spontaneous outburst of hatred and violence fanned into flame by diverging partisan reactions to the Trump administration,[6] but another battle in America’s longstanding struggle against racism. Early protest scholarship orbited around the assumption that the benefits of protest are undeniable, but that the extreme inherent costs should always prevent people from protesting.[7] Costs of protesting can include anything from the increased likelihood of arrest, to the time required to protest, to the possibility of losing employment because of protest participation. Indeed, the law operates on four different yet interlocked levels to restrict protest and discourage people from protesting.[8] Police officers regulate protestor behavior in the streets with varying degrees of physical force.[9] Legislatures enact laws that restrict protests in time, place, and manner.[10] Administrative agencies sometimes require permits and fees for protests.[11] And finally, the judiciary then operates as a reviewer of these three regulators in freedom of speech concerns, and as a final restrictor for protestors if they face criminal charges.[12] Read More
By Ben Cornelius
Associate Editor, Volume 23
The highest achieving American Indian in U.S. politics was Kaw-Osage-Pottawatomie Charles Curtis. Curtis was the 31st Vice President of the United States serving with President Herbert Hoover.[1] Curtis started his career as a horse jockey, later attending law school, leading to his election to Congress. He eventually became a prominent member of the Republican party and was chosen as Hoover’s Vice-President.[2] Of the current 535 members of Congress, only two are members of federally recognized American Indian tribes. Tom Cole of the Chickasaw Nation is currently serving his 8th term as a Republican U.S. Representative for Oklahoma’s 4th District.[3] “Cole is an advocate for a strong national defense, a tireless advocate for taxpayers and small businesses and a leader on issues dealing with Native Americans and tribal governments.”[4] The other Ameircan Indian Congressman is Representative Markwayne Mullin, a Cherokee Republican representing Oklahoma’s 2nd Congressional District. Mullin is a businessman and a former professional Mixed Martial Arts fighter with a 3-0 record.[5] Given the dire circumstances on many reservations, increased Native American political representation is vital for the future of Indian Country. American Indians have a 28.3% poverty rate, compared to 15.5% for the nation as whole.[6] Lack of access to quality health care has led to huge disparities in health, for example the post neonatal death rate is over twice that of the U.S. white rate, 4.8 deaths per 1000 live births versus 2.2.[7] Education is another roadblock, as only 67% of American Indian students graduate from high school, compared to the national average of 80%.[8] Indian issues typically receive little attention in mainstream political dialogue. If there is any attention, it usually involves hostility to Tribal business ventures,[9] business that are vital to many tribes ability to support themselves and provide for tribal members. Read More
Is Colin Kaepernick the first to use sports as a platform for protest? How is the First Amendment shaping the debate? Does labor law provide protections for athletes who protest? Join Professors Kate Andrias, Sherman Clark and Len Niehoff as they discuss these and other key legal issues surrounding the… Read More
Presented by the Michigan Journal of Race & Law, “A More Human Dwelling Place: Reimagining the Racialized Architecture of America” is a symposium happening on February 16 and 17 at the University of Michigan Law School. Over two days, we will examine five archetypal spaces in America: homes and neighborhoods, schools,… Read More
Congratulations to the Volume 23 Associate Editors! The Michigan Journal of Race & Law is beyond excited to have you join our family. Please give a warm welcome to: Hira Baig David Bergh Morgan Birck Ben Cornelius Shanene Frederick Elliott Gluck Gloria… Read More
By Anonymous Associate Editor Since the U.S. Supreme Court reinstated the death penalty through Gregg in 1976, racial bias has continued to pervade its administration.[1] 34.5% of defendants executed have been Black and 55.6% have been white,[2] despite the fact that only 13.3% of people in the U.S. identify as Black, while 77.1% identify as white.[3] I consider myself an abolitionist regarding the death penalty, as I do not think that it is justified for the state to kill a citizen in any circumstance. However, given these alarming statistics and the dire situation they illuminate, I find that efforts to reform the capital process to reduce racial disparity are also worthwhile. Reformers would do well to focus on the elimination of the death qualification process, as well as Eighth Amendment and Batson challenges to the death penalty. Read More
By Rita Samaan
Associate Editor, Vol. 22 In the wake of the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals’ decision to block President Trump’s Executive Order 13769 (“Executive Order”), the President vowed to issue “a new executive action . . . that will comprehensively protect our country.”[1] The President’s officials have disclosed their intent to advocate more strongly for why the revised ban should apply to the seven listed countries.[2] They hope to overcome the amassing legal scrutiny of the travel ban and make it less of a “Muslim ban” in effect.[3] So, who stood in the way of Trump’s order? Washington and Minnesota brought an action against President Trump, the Secretary of Homeland Security, Secretary of State, and the United States for a declaratory judgment that portions of the Executive Order were unconstitutional.[4] The states filed a motion for a temporary restraining order (TRO).[5] The United States District Court for the Western District of Washington granted the TRO and denied motion for stay pending appeal.[6] The federal government moved for an emergency stay of the district court’s TRO while waiting for its appeal to proceed.[7] The decision on the government’s motion for an emergency stay came before the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals. The court faced two questions: 1) whether the Government had made a strong showing of its likely success in its appeal and 2) whether the district court’s TRO should be stayed in light of the relative hardship and the public interest.[8] The court answered “no” to both questions,[9] listing several reasons for its decision. Read More
By Madeleine Jennings
Associate Editor, Vol. 22 In 1934, Oregon voters amended their Constitution to allow for non-unanimous jury verdicts in all non-first degree murder and non-capital cases.[1] The Louisiana Constitution requires unanimity only in capital cases.[2] Grounded in xenophobia and anti-Semitism, the Oregon law was passed by a ballot measure following the trial of a Jewish man who, accused of killing two Protestants, had received a lesser manslaughter conviction following a single juror hold-out.[3] The Louisiana iteration was crafted post-Reconstruction to increase convictions of then-freed Blacks, thereby increasing the for-profit labor force.[4] The State had, for decades, leased convicts to plantation owners and, in 1869, leased its prison and all of its inmates to a former major in the Confederate Army, who later moved the prisoners to Angola, the site of the former plantation, named for the country that was once home to its slaves.[5] Once an 8,000-acre plantation, Angola now sits on 18,000 acres—roughly the size of Manhattan—and consumes its own zip code.[6] Today, it is one of the nation’s largest maximum security prisons, and has been named “America’s Bloodiest Prison.”[7] Read More