Volume 95, Number 5

Racial disparities in maternal mortality have recently become a popular topic, with a host of media outlets devoting time and space to covering the appalling state of black maternal health in the country. Congress responded to this increased societal awareness by passing the Preventing Maternal Deaths Act at the tail end of 2018. The law provides states twelve million dollars annually, for five years, to fund maternal mortality review commissions—interdisciplinary collections of experts that evaluate and investigate the causes of every maternal death in a jurisdiction. Fascinatingly, although activists, journalists, politicians, scholars, and other commentators understand that the maternal health tragedy in the United States is a racial tragedy, the Preventing Maternal Deaths Act completely ignores race. Indeed, the term “race” does not appear anywhere in the text of the statute. The irony is striking: An effort to address a phenomenon that has become salient because of its racial nature ignores race entirely.

The racial irony embodied by the Preventing Maternal Deaths Act serves as an invitation to investigate not only the Act itself, but the national conversation that is currently taking place about racial disparities in maternal deaths. Indeed, in important respects, if the general discourse that surrounds racial disparities in maternal mortality is impoverished, then we should expect that the solutions that observers propose will be impoverished as well. This is precisely what this Article discovers. The analysis proceeds in four Parts.

Part I provides an overview of racial disparities in maternal mortality, identifying the various elements that have made pregnancy, childbirth, and the postpartum period much more dangerous for black women than their white counterparts in the United States. Part II then offers critiques of the national conversation around racial disparities in maternal mortality and warns of both the marginalizing effects it may have on black women and the possibility that it will lead to blaming black women for dying on the path to motherhood.

Part III describes the Preventing Maternal Deaths Act in some detail. Part IV follows with a critique of the Act, identifying three deficiencies. First, it notes the racial erasure contained in the Act—the fact that the Act nowhere mentions the racial dimensions of the nation’s maternal health debacle. It then observes the predicament created by the fact that erasing race likely was essential to the very passage of the Act. Second, it notes that because the Act does not direct the state maternal mortality review commissions to investigate the structural and institutional forces that produce excess maternal deaths in the United States, it leaves space for maternal mortality review commissions to simply blame the dead for dying. Third, it notes that the Act does no more than fund the gathering of more data about pregnancy-related deaths. However, it observes that there is a strong argument to be made that we do not need more data. We already know why women are dying, and we already know how to save them. In this way, the tragedy of maternal mortality in the United States is not a problem of information; it is a problem of political will. To the extent that Congress chose to intervene in the maternal health debacle not with policy changes, but rather with an attestation that we need more information, the Preventing Maternal Deaths Act demonstrates that we still lack the political will to make the concrete changes that will make pregnancy and childbirth safe.

There is a widely held belief that, in order to delay executions, American death-row prisoners strategically defer litigation until the eleventh hour. After all, the logic goes, the incentives for prisoners who face the death penalty differ from those who do not. Noncapital prisoners typically try to move the terminal point of a sentence (release) forward, and capital prisoners typically try to push that point (execution) back. This theory of litigant behavior—what I call the “Strategic Delay Account,” or the “SDA”—underwrites an extraordinarily harsh institutional response. It primes courts to discount real constitutional grievances and to punish participating lawyers, and it spurs legislatures to restrict crucial remedies.

In this Article, I explain that the SDA inaccurately describes condemned prisoner behavior, both because it assumes a non-existent incentive structure and because it ignores the major structural causes of delayed litigation. First, deferred litigation is risky, and fortune disfavors the bold. Procedural doctrines that operate across post-conviction law strongly incentivize the promptest conceivable presentation of claims. Second, prisoners often omit challenges from early rounds of litigation not because they have done so strategically, but instead because some claims are inherently incapable of being asserted at that time. Third, the volume of end-stage litigation reflects the comprehensive failure of American jurisdictions to provide adequate legal services; condemned prisoners are often functionally unrepresented from the moment early-stage proceedings conclude until the state sets an execution date.

Administering healthcare in prisons and jails has been an exceptionally difficult task for state, county, and city governments for decades. Facing the unprecedented rise in the correctional population, governments began contracting with private correctional healthcare companies in the 1980s for cheaper, higher-quality care. However, in practice, private correctional healthcare companies have been disastrous for inmate-patients and their families. This Note examines the structural deficiencies in the privatization of correctional healthcare, and argues that the market factors required for successful privatization, including choice, competition, and responsiveness to consumer preferences, are absent in the correctional healthcare sector. In addition, the lack of meaningful oversight, protective contractual provisions, and legal hurdles facing prospective litigants compound these structural problems and leave the companies unaccountable for their misconduct. This Note proposes switching from these private companies to publicly-run options, such as government health agencies, partnerships with universities, and private non-profit organizations. These public models increase democratic accountability and transparency, lower costs, and more appropriately treat correctional health as the public health issue that it is. While administering healthcare services in correctional settings will always be challenging, switching to public models is the first step in improving care and treating inmate-patients with dignity.

Autonomous weapons systems (AWS) have been described as the “third revolution of warfare,” after gunpowder and nuclear weapons. Currently in development, these weapons systems are powered by advanced algorithms that can make decisions to target and use lethal force against enemy soldiers on their own, without human intervention. Countries around the world are eager to be the first to develop and capture the advantages of AWS, while scholars and activists have sounded the alarm on the legal and ethical issues of delegating the decision to kill an enemy soldier to algorithms. Described as the dehumanization of war, the unique nature of AWS highlights an unresolved international law issue of whether and how international humanitarian law and human rights law can operate concurrently in armed conflict. Specifically, AWS raise the question of whether international humanitarian law, specialized law that governs the armed conflicts in which AWS would be deployed, would be the sole body of international law that regulates AWS, or whether human rights law would also govern the use of AWS in armed conflict. This Note argues that: 1) Human rights law applies to the use of AWS and prevails over international humanitarian law where the two bodies of law conflict, and 2) AWS’ use of lethal force violates human rights law’s prohibition against arbitrary deprivations of life.

The military is one of the most powerful institutions to define membership in the American polity. Throughout this country’s history, noncitizens, immigrants, and outsiders have been called to serve in exchange for the privileges of citizenship and recognition. At its height, the idea that service constitutes citizenship—which this Note calls “constitutive service”—successfully transformed a group of “perpetual foreigners” to “citizens.” Until 1952, individuals of Asian descent were categorically excluded from the polity, a barrier that ultimately crumbled after Asian Americans rendered a long history of military service, beginning with the War of 1812, to the Civil War, then to the two World Wars. Yet, precisely because military service is so transformative, the United States over the past decade has imposed both formal and informal restrictions barring certain groups of people from serving, among them individuals who are gay, transgender, undocumented—and to a lesser extent—women and Muslim Americans. These restrictions are reminders that the United States continue to debate who is fit to be an “American,” and therefore, an “American soldier.”

Beginning in the 1970s, politicians and the public began to view individuals who committed violent offenses as irredeemable dangers to the public whose incarceration was necessary to ensure the public’s safety. As a result, state legislators enacted sentencing statutes that increased the punishment of violent crimes, which include offenses such as murder, rape, and robbery. This Note explores what led lawmakers to adopt sentencing statutes that single out individuals convicted of committing violent offenses for enhanced punishment and then shows that those lawmakers operated on the basis of inaccurate or incomplete conceptions of violent crime. Drawing on recent sociological and other empirical work, it shows that there is no neat dividing line between people who commit violent and non-violent offenses and argues that lawmakers made their decisions on the basis of false or incomplete information. In response, this Note advocates for the elimination of sentencing statutes that impose enhanced sentences on individuals convicted of violent crimes. Lawmakers should instead determine the appropriate criminal punishment for those convicted of violent crimes through the holistic, evidence-based approach that has become popular in the last decade with respect to non-violent crimes.

Rule 23 of the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure governs the standards for certifying a class action, a type of litigation whose aggregate form is intended to make litigation accessible to large groups of injured plaintiffs and incentivize the vindication of claims that may otherwise go unpursued in the face of high litigation costs. However, while due process requires that a certifying court find that each element of Rule 23 is satisfied through “evidentiary proof,” the federal courts have failed to adopt any kind of consistent evidentiary standard to apply to the record proffered at class certification. This has resulted in the use of class certification as a bargaining chip between plaintiffs’ lawyers and wealthy defendants, rather than as a procedural mechanism that serves to test the propriety of a particular action for class treatment. Ultimately, this dynamic harms the very injured plaintiffs that this mechanism seeks to protect. This Note examines the need for a uniform evidentiary standard and surveys the countervailing interests of absent class members, defendants, class counsel, and the court at this critical juncture in a class action proceeding. It then proposes a novel categorization of the Federal Rules of Evidence as either form- or substance-based, and argues that an evidentiary standard that properly balances the interests of all parties involved in the class action requires a certifying court to apply substance-based evidence rules in determining whether a proposed class satisfies Rule 23. Such a rule, this Note will argue, is essential to ensuring that absent class members are protected, rather than exploited, by the class action mechanism.