Latest news with #FugitiveSlaveAct
The Hill
4 hours ago
- Politics
- The Hill
History shows prosecuting officials challenging ICE raids won't be easy
President Trump's promised retribution against what he has called the 'core of the Democrat Power Center' includes siccing thousands of ICE agents on 'blue cities.' The assault has already led to the prosecution of public officials who challenged his abusive immigration seizures. But the Trump administration will likely lose those cases, thanks to the strong American tradition of jury resistance, sometimes called nullification, dating to before the Civil War. In New Jersey, Rep. LaMonica McIver (D-N.J.) was indicted for allegedly interfering with the arrest of Newark Mayor Ras Baraka during an immigration protest rally at an ICE detention center. If convicted of the two forcible felonies, McIver would face a maximum sentence of eight years. McIver denies the accusations, pointing out that she had a legal right to inspect the facility as a member of Congress. She has raised the Constitution's speech and debate clause as a defense. In Wisconsin, the Trump administration brought criminal charges against Milwaukee County Court Judge Hannah Dugan for allegedly preventing the arrest of a migrant in her courtroom. Dugan pleaded not guilty and moved to dismiss the case on the basis of judicial immunity. McIver's and Dugan's defenses are robust and may well prevail. But even if the prosecutors manage to overcome the immunity arguments, they will still have to face juries in Newark and Milwaukee, two of the heavily Democratic cities reviled by Trump. As detailed in my book, 'Fugitive Justice: Runaways, Rescuers, and Slavery on Trial,' American juries have historically refused to enforce unpopular laws against sympathetic defendants, in cases far more extreme than McIver's or Dugan's. In September 1851, shortly after the passage of the infamous Fugitive Slave Act, a band of slavehunters from Maryland, holding a federal warrant and under the leadership of a deputy U.S. marshal, attempted to apprehend four alleged runaways near the village of Christiana, Pennsylvania. When the posse's presence was discovered, the local Black community, along with some white allies, rallied to the defense of the fugitives and drove it away in a hail of rocks and bullets. One would-be kidnapper was killed in the melee, and the deputy marshal was humiliated. The fugitives escaped to Canada with the assistance of Frederick Douglass. The Millard Fillmore administration obtained indictments against 41 defendants — 36 Black and five white — accusing them of forming a 'traitorous combination' to 'prevent the execution' of the Fugitive Slave Act. The formal charge was treason, which carried the death penalty. The first defendant brought to trial — ironically, in Philadelphia's Constitution Hall — was a white miller named Castner Hanway. The prosecutors wrongly claimed that Hanway had been a mastermind of the rebellion, because they could not believe Black people capable of organizing a successful resistance against heavily armed whites. Hanway was represented by Rep. Thaddeus Stevens (R-Pa.), one of the great abolition advocates of his time and later author of the 13th Amendment. Stevens put on a defense that emphasized the frequent 'kidnapping and carrying away of colored persons' to nearby Maryland. As an explanation for the resistance, he noted the seizure of 'Black people … by force and violence and great injury and malice, without authority from any person on earth.' It took the jury only 15 minutes to acquit Hanway. Recognizing the futility of proceeding, the prosecution eventually dropped the charges against all defendants. Also in 1851, an alleged fugitive named Shadrach Minkins was arrested in Boston by agents operating under the Fugitive Slave Act. He was hustled into a federal courtroom where abolitionist lawyers volunteered to represent him. As the court convened the next day, about 20 Black men shoved their way through the doors and carried Minkins into the street. Onlookers cheered while 'two powerful fellows hurried him through the square,' later to be taken by wagon to Canada. Two of the most important leaders of Boston's free Black community were arrested for violating the Fugitive Slave Act: a prominent merchant named Lewis Hayden and attorney Robert Morris, one of the first Black lawyers in the U.S., as well as a white newspaper editor named Elizur Wright. All three defendants were represented by Richard Henry Dana, author of the memoir 'Two Years before the Mast,' and scion of one of Boston's oldest families. Despite substantial evidence of the defendants' participation in the rescue, there were no convictions, with two acquittals and a hung jury. As tensions increased between North and South, there were fizzled prosecutions in Syracuse, Milwaukee, again in Boston, and elsewhere. Even when prosecutions succeeded, sentencing judges could be unusually lenient. More important than any of the individual outcomes was the political movement built around the Fugitive Slave Act trials. Before the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850, many northerners were content to condemn enslavement from a distance, expressing disapproval but taking no action to oppose it. Afterward, the repeated arrests of alleged runaways and the trials that followed, of both fugitives and rescuers, made it impossible to ignore the federal government's intrusive role in enforcing human bondage. The McIver and Dugan prosecutors will have to contend with potential jurors appalled by Trump's indiscriminate pursuit of migrants, just as jurors in antebellum Boston and Philadelphia were appalled by the kidnapping of fugitives and arrests of rescuers. Defense counsel will surely highlight the hypocrisy of prosecuting McIver and Dugan for minor incidents, versus Trump's mass pardons of the Jan. 6 insurrectionists. In the 1850s, northern opposition to the spread of slavery, sharpened by confrontations with slave hunters and federal marshals, led to Abraham Lincoln's election in 1860. Will the prosecution of Democratic officeholders and the arrests of countless migrants by masked Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents have the same impact on the mid-term elections of 2026? Steven Lubet is the Williams Memorial Professor Emeritus at the Northwestern University Pritzker School of Law. He is the author of 'Fugitive Justice: Runaways, Rescuers, and Slavery on Trial' and other books on abolitionist lawyers and political trials.
Yahoo
13-06-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
The Manhandling of Alex Padilla Was a Red-Line Moment for America
In May 1856, Massachusetts Senator Charles Sumner took to the floor of the Senate to deliver a speech denouncing slavery. Sumner was a fiery abolitionist; in his maiden speech on the floor of the Senate four years earlier, he had called for the repeal of the Fugitive Slave Act, which an Alabama senator disparaged thus: 'The ravings of a maniac may sometimes be dangerous, but the barking of a puppy never did any harm.' Sumner continued to inveigh against slavery and its apologists throughout his first term. Clearly, he suffered from Pierce Derangement Syndrome (Franklin). Among those Sumner attacked directly in his May 1856 speech was his Senate colleague Andrew Butler of South Carolina. His words were, to be sure, impolitic: '[Butler] has chosen a mistress to whom he has made his vows, and who, though ugly to others, is always lovely to him; though polluted in the sight of the world, is chaste in his sight—I mean the harlot, Slavery.' Two days later, in one of the most infamous incidents in American political history, Representative Preston Brooks of South Carolina, a first cousin once removed of Butler's, walked over to the Senate chamber, waited until no women were present in the gallery (Southern chivalry!), and attacked Sumner on the Senate floor with a metal-topped cane, beating him within an inch of his life. Alex Padilla, the Democratic California senator, did not bleed Thursday. He wasn't even hurt. But the sight of a U.S. senator being manhandled by FBI agents was shocking enough. Lawrence O'Donnell said Thursday night that Padilla was the first senator in history to be so accosted by law enforcement officials. I don't know for sure that that's true, but (1) I suspect if there were another, we'd know about it, and (2) even if he's the second or third, that wouldn't make how he was treated any better. The incident didn't last that long. But the real damage came after, when the lie machine reliably revved itself into action. It started with Kristi Noem, the homeland security secretary whose press conference Padilla had interrupted. She went on Fox News within the hour to say he 'burst in' and was 'lunging' toward her and 'did not identify himself.' All lies. As anyone can see from the video, he was a good 10 feet away from Noem. But even if he had lunged—and even if he were not a senator but a mere citizen, or really any human being who is not threatening violence—this is how Donald Trump's FBI treats such people? Escort them away—OK. But push them to the ground and cuff them, when they've left the room and are no longer in any way a plausible 'threat'? And it was in that moment—the decision by the agents to take the matter to a totally unnecessary, completely gratuitous extreme—that we find lurking the essence of Trumpism. The essence of Trumpism is just this: Dig in the heel of the boot; step on the enemy's neck; determine in any situation the action that would be appropriately small-d democratic, and then do the opposite—go intentionally overboard, do something that shocks and offends the democratic sensibility. And then lie about it and try to reverse reality—to convince America that it didn't see what it just saw. That truth is the opposite of what it seems. A few Republican senators, and I mean a precious few, responded appropriately. Like, one: Alaska's Lisa Murkowski said, 'It's horrible. It is shocking at every level. It's not the America I know.' Susan Collins emitted the usual timorous excretion. Otherwise? Democratic Senator Chris Murphy said on Morning Joe Friday that he and colleagues Cory Booker and Brian Schatz waited on the Senate floor—who knows, perhaps not far from Sumner's Desk 29, occupied today by New Hampshire Democrat Jean Shaheen—for their GOP colleagues to appear and denounce what happened. Not only did they not do that, Murphy said: 'They basically said he deserved what he got simply because he was disrespectful to the president.' But Trump was surely most pleased by House Speaker Mike Johnson, who put all the blame on Padilla and called on the Senate to censure him: 'I think that that behavior at a minimum rises to the level of a censure. I think there needs to be a message sent by the body as a whole that that is not what we're going to do; that's not what we're going to act.' Note the 'at a minimum,' which leaves dangling the insane possibility that Padilla should … what? Just be expelled? Again, the essence of Trumpism is found in those three words. This is what they do. All the time. Trump federalizes the National Guard and sends in the Marines; he crows that if he hadn't acted, Los Angeles would have been 'completely obliterated.' Think about the scale of that lie, referring to protests in a four- or five-block area in a city of 500 square miles. He told it over and over in various forms, as did Noem and others. The behavior has its precedents in the United States: Southerners accused Sumner of faking his injuries. They argued that the cane was not heavy enough to cause severe injury. Others, more direct about matters, piped up that Sumner deserved a caning every day. And the right-wing media, like the Southern press in the 1850s, reliably echoed every word Trump, Noem, and the others said. Meanwhile the mainstream media failed dramatically this week by accepting the lazy frame that immigration is a 'winner' for Trump. Two polls came out—this one and this one—showing this emphatically not to be the case. The second poll, from Quinnipiac, was bleak for Trump across the board. Only 27 percent of the country supports the big ugly bill. That's not even all of MAGA America. People are beginning to understand that they indulged themselves last year in some fantasy projection of 'Donald Trump.' They're seeing the real article now, and they're remembering his viciousness, his ignorance, his incompetence, and his lawlessness. And it's going to get worse. Trumpism proceeds by the successive breaking of taboos. Each time a new one is broken, the previous one is normalized, made to look not so bad by comparison. The cuffing of Padilla was a red-line moment. And yet: There's plenty of reason to worry that in four months, we'll look back on it as a moment of comparative innocence. This article first appeared in Fighting Words, a weekly TNR newsletter authored by editor Michael Tomasky. Sign up here.
Axios
02-06-2025
- Politics
- Axios
How Boston remembers Anthony Burns, a man forcefully returned to slavery
On this day 171 years ago, federal officials escorted a man in chains downtown to remove him from Massachusetts. Anthony Burns, then age 20, had escaped bondage in Virginia only to be forcefully returned. Why it matters: Burns' arrest became a flashpoint for Boston at a time when the nation was starkly divided, and historical reenactments and discussions are keeping his legacy alive nearly two centuries later. Between the lines: The nation was starkly divided over slavery. Depending on whom you asked, Burns was either kidnapped by a Virginia slave owner with the help of federal officials or returned to his rightful owner, per National Park Service archives. Anti-slavery activists debated whether the Fugitive Slave Act or a "higher law" should take precedence in a state that had abolished slavery decades earlier, says Shawn Quigley, lead ranger for the National Parks of Boston. State of play: National Park Service rangers in Boston revive that debate in their town meeting programming, including a recent reenactment of a May 26, 1854, meeting anti-slavery activists held in Faneuil Hall. Rangers pass out cards and ask the audience to deliver various arguments, Quigley says. The latest event was at the Old South Meeting House, with support from Revolutionary Space, but the Burns events will resume weekly once a restoration project at Faneuil Hall wraps up later this month. What they're saying: "The history of Faneuil Hall in Boston is not just the American Revolution, and it's a continuation of the American Revolution," Quigley tells Axios. Flashback: While activists debated in Faneuil Hall, they got word that a group of radical abolitionists tried to break down the courthouse entrance to rescue Burns. The abolitionists failed, and a federal marshal was fatally shot. Burns lost his case in court, but the day he was removed from Boston surrounded by federal troops, more than 50,000 people in Boston protested — equivalent to nearly half of the city's population at the time, Quigley says. A far smaller coalition led by the Twelfth Baptist Church in Boston tracked down Burns and paid for his freedom in 1855. Burns returned to Boston briefly before studying at Oberlin College in Ohio and becoming a pastor in Canada. Today, the nation is again divided over its collective identity. Now, instead referring to slave catchers, activists are calling immigration agents " kidnappers," like in the arrest of Tufts international student Rümeysa Öztürk, while supporters hail the detention of pro-Palestinian protesters and call them terrorists. Americans nationwide, including in Massachusetts, can't agree on immigration policies, LGBTQ+ issues, or diversity, equity and inclusion efforts — all at a time when the federal government is embattled over federally funded research, its workforce and national parks resources. National Parks of Boston workers, including Quigley, wouldn't discuss the current political climate, citing restrictions under the Hatch Act. What Quigley did say is that he wants people to consider the programming like the Burns discussions as an example of how the nation's revolutionary spirit has persisted after all these years.
Boston Globe
07-05-2025
- Politics
- Boston Globe
What part of ‘unjust law' don't you understand?
Get The Gavel A weekly SCOTUS explainer newsletter by columnist Kimberly Atkins Stohr. Enter Email Sign Up 'All of them,' Advertisement Yet in other contexts, Trump and his aides are far kinder to those who 'broke our nation's laws.' During the 2024 presidential campaign, for example, Trump repeatedly referred to the prisoners convicted for their role in the Jan. 6, 2021, riot at the US Capitol as ' Advertisement When the government last month Today, of course, virtually everyone would agree that abolitionists like Booth were right to defy an unjust law in the face of federal pressure. The defenders of Judge Dugan regard her as standing firmly in that tradition. Advertisement Those who share Trump's views on immigration, on the other hand, indignantly reject the comparison. ' Yes, that is obvious — slavery and undocumented immigration differ profoundly. But the analogy between the Fugitive Slave Act and contemporary border enforcement doesn't rest on comparing the conditions of the people affected. It rests on the government's role in criminalizing their presence, denying them sanctuary, and punishing those who aid them. More than that, it focuses on a perennial ethical question: Is obeying the law always the moral choice? Again and again, American history provides painful reminders that not all laws are just and legality is not the same as morality. It is easy now to dismiss the Fugitive Slave Act as an assault on human dignity and to applaud those who subverted it. But in its time it was the law of the land, supported even by many Americans who detested slavery. The same is true today. The law of the land allows undocumented immigrants to be deported; the Trump administration claims it has the authority to do so summarily, without due process of law. Yet even if the White House is right about the law, the law itself may be in the wrong. And while the rule of law is deeply rooted in our tradition, so is resistance to bad laws. Law commands respect but not blind obedience — especially when history is watching. Advertisement Jeff Jacoby can be reached at
Yahoo
30-04-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Wisconsin has a history of fighting injustice. Judge Dugan is the latest example.
The federal government arrested and criminally charged Milwaukee County Circuit Court Judge Hannah Dugan last week. The arrest of Judge Dugan, in a state courthouse, is an unfounded power play — an effort to intimidate — by the Trump administration. It raises profound policy questions and threatens the fair administration of justice. It also stirs deep echoes from Wisconsin history — ones unflattering to the administration. More than 170 years ago, in Wisconsin's first years as a state, another dispute about the extent of federal power played out in Milwaukee. Congress had passed a law, the Fugitive Slave Act, requiring states that did not recognize slavery (like Wisconsin) to help facilitate the return of escaped slaves. Joshua Glover had escaped enslavement on a Missouri plantation. He was living and working in Racine. Nearly two years after Glover's escape, in the spring of 1854, the plantation owner learned that Glover was in Racine. He had federal marshals sent to arrest Glover and return him to servitude. Glover never returned to Missouri. Upon his arrest, he was transferred to a Milwaukee jail to await a hearing. (Even at one of our country's lowest points, due process was recognized as essential to the rule of law.) An abolitionist newspaper editor, Sherman Booth, rallied a crowd, which broke Glover out of jail and helped him set sail for Canada, where he lived the remainder of his life in freedom. The federal government arrested Booth on charges of assisting Glover's escape in violation of the Fugitive Slave Act. Booth's lawyer challenged the arrest, both because it was executed based on an administrative warrant rather than one issued by a court (a matter of significant discussion again today) and because Booth deemed the Fugitive Slave Act unconstitutional. A single justice of the Wisconsin Supreme Court heard the case in the first instance. He ruled for Booth. The full Wisconsin Supreme Court reviewed the ruling and affirmed it. That began a showdown about states' rights and the limits of federal power. A federal grand jury was convened and returned new charges against Booth and the individual who had actually broken down the jailhouse door to free Glover from custody. After both men were convicted, the Wisconsin Supreme Court ordered them released. The U.S. Supreme Court reversed both Wisconsin rulings, and a long and complex tug-of-war ensued with Wisconsin's legislature and courts resisting the federal position. The matter was finally resolved, on the eve of Abraham Lincoln's inauguration, when President James Buchanan pardoned Booth. Today, the facts are different, but the instinct to abuse federal power is the same — as is Wisconsin's instinct to resist. Wisconsin has a deep history that favors both demanding due process and protecting individual liberty. The nineteenth century Wisconsinites who stood firm in the face of federal pressure were ultimately vindicated. Judge Dugan now finds herself in that lineage. Based on the limited information publicly available, the government's case against Judge Dugan appears factually and legally flimsy. According to the complaint, Judge Dugan directed federal agents to clear their warrant and activities with the Chief Judge of the Milwaukee County Circuit Court. And she directed the object of the warrant into a public hallway where federal agents were waiting. If the agents had wanted to arrest him immediately, they could have; instead, after a bit of bumbling, they arrested their target outside of the courthouse. At most, Judge Dugan may have caused the administration's agents a minor inconvenience and a slight detour. This inconvenience does not become obstruction of justice — no matter how much the Trump administration pounds the table. Like Samuel Booth generations earlier, Judge Dugan stood up for liberty and due process, and federal efforts to prosecute her are drawing public condemnation. Opinion: Changes to Social Security would cost average Wisconsin resident $7,000 a year Why would the Trump administration charge the case at all on these facts? To create public theater and promote intimidation. The administration, handed one loss after another by federal judges across the country on its draconian and unconstitutional approach to immigration enforcement, has found a flimsy excuse to lash out at a different judge. Attorney General Pam Bondi made this abundantly clear in her remarks about the case, labeling judges opposing Trump as 'deranged' and characterizing Judge Dugan's arrest as 'sending a very strong message.' Like the effort to return Joshua Glover to slavery, this is a bad case, built on bad law, pursued for bad reasons. We don't yet know every detail about the decision to target Judge Dugan. But we know enough. Her lawyer, who was President George W. Bush's appointed U.S. Attorney for Wisconsin's Eastern District, said Friday that Judge Dugan will "defend herself vigorously and looks forward to being exonerated." He also noted that she 'has committed herself to the rule of law and the principles of due process for her entire career as a lawyer and a judge.' In that, she is squarely aligned with a storied Wisconsin tradition. Wisconsin has been here before. Our state didn't fold then. We shouldn't now. Jeffrey A. Mandell is President & General Counsel of Law Forward. Norman Eisen is Co-founder and a Board member of State Democracy Defenders Fund. This article originally appeared on Milwaukee Journal Sentinel: WI shouldn't fold to Trump on Judge Dugan case | Opinion
