Privilege and Punishment: How Race and Class Matter in Criminal Court

Matthew Clair, Assistant Professor of Sociology and (by appointment) Law at Stanford University, studies inequality in the criminal legal system and the legal profession. His work has garnered praise with awards from the American Sociological Association, the American Society of Criminology, Law & Society Association, and the Society for the Study of Social Problems. For more information, please check his website matthewclair.org.

Congratulations on Privilege and Punishment: How Race and Class Matter in Criminal Court. Tell us about this impressive work—how did the topic come about, how did you conduct your research, what was the writing process like, etc.

The book is based on fieldwork conducted in the Boston-area criminal courts, where I spent several years trying to understand how race and class inequalities shape the experience of being a criminal defendant. I interviewed and observed 63 defendants from a range of race and class backgrounds, interviewed scores of legal officials (including judges, prosecutors, and public defenders), spent over 100 hours observing public court proceedings, and embedded as an intern in a public defender’s office.

Unlike much existing research on the courts, my work centers the perspectives of defendants rather than those of judges, lawyers, or policymakers. Much of what scholars have come to know about the criminal courts centers the perspectives of empowered authorities. Consequently, a common narrative is that disadvantaged defendants—poor people of color in particular—are passive and resigned to the legal process. For instance, some studies describe lawyers, especially public defenders, as being frustrated with their clients not returning their phone calls or wondering why they don’t show up to court. Moreover, studies often suggest that court processing affords little room for agency. When we center the perspective of defendants, a more complex story emerges. By talking to and observing defendants with respect to their lives, strategies, and thinking within and outside court, I found that many poor people of color are quite active in resisting legal control, cultivating knowledge of legal rights, and fighting their cases; yet, they are silenced and coerced by lawyers and judges when they seek to advocate for themselves. Moreover, defendants who may at first glance appear resigned are often dealing with far more pressing matters in their everyday lives, such as drug addiction or being unhoused—problems that cannot be solved through the criminal court process.

What were the major findings of your book?

One overarching finding has to do with race and class differences in the experience of being a criminal defendant. As I mentioned above, I intentionally sought to interview and observe defendants from a range of backgrounds. I met nurses, construction workers, an investment consultant, and unhoused people. The privileges and disadvantages people have in their daily lives filter through their experiences in court.

For working-class people of color and the poor, the court process is often one where you feel coerced and are rarely afforded a chance to share your version of events or contest unjust police abuse in your community. Disadvantaged defendants often cultivate their own legal expertise about constitutional rights and procedures through their observation of others’ cases, talking with jailhouse lawyers, or sharing information in their neighborhoods. Yet, they find that legal professionals render their expertise illegible. For instance, many disadvantaged defendants reported wanting to file motions to dismiss or suppress evidence, but their lawyers refused, often deeming them to be frivolous. The kinds of relationships that disadvantaged defendants have with their lawyers are often full of mistrust and disagreement about the ultimate goals of the court process, as well as the steps to realize those goals.

For middle-class and white working-class defendants, attorney-client relationships are characterized by trust and delegation to a lawyer’s expertise. While middle-class defendants are often shocked by the court process (and are far less likely to have prior experience in the courts), they experience many privileges as they make their way through the courts shielded by lawyers they can trust. They often feel heard by lawyers (who are often privately retained). Unlike disadvantaged defendants, privileged defendants rarely feel that they were unjustly treated by police or the courts, making it easier for them to defer to the court’s authority. Moreover, they feel respected by judges and prosecutors who afford them opportunities for rehabilitation, treatment, and second chances because they are perceived to be compliant.

Ultimately, I conclude that these processes are a form of institutional discrimination. I show how lawyers differentiate between clients based on the ways they present themselves in the attorney-client relationship. Disadvantaged defendants’ understandable mistrust and resistance are punished, whereas privileged defendants’ trust, inexperience, and deference are rewarded.

If you were to address an audience of criminal defense attorneys, what would you recommend they do for their clients based upon your research?

In the conclusion of the book, I offer several suggestions for change at three levels—the level of the attorney-client relationship, the level of the institutional norms of the court, and the level of broader society. I think most practicing criminal defense attorneys will find the first level of solutions most useful in their everyday practice. I suggest ways to cultivate trust in relationships with disadvantaged defendants, to experiment with client choice in attorney assignment, and to challenge trial court judges’ deference to police accounts of events. But I recognize that the attorney-client relationship is embedded within a web of other relationships and institutional constraints. Many defense attorneys are aware of the pressures they face from prosecutors and judges. But beyond that, defense attorneys can work alongside broader movements for racial and social justice that seek to reduce the number of people processed in criminal courts by investing in housing, education, health care, violence interruption, and harm reduction. My colleague Amanda Woog and I have an article forthcoming in the California Law Review called “Courts and the Abolition Movement.” In it, we extend on some of the conclusions of the book and offer practical steps for lawyers seeking to work alongside the movement to abolish the prison-industrial complex.