Contrary to popular belief propagated by this blog, I am in fact working this summer. I have an internship with the American Bar Association’s Rule of Law Initiative. Like most things I’ve experienced in law school, this internship is a steady reminder of how much I still have to learn.
After my awkward half day at the office two weeks previous, I was back. The staff seemed astounded that I made it—either because they don’t trust Georgia or safely assumed I would get lost. Anyhow, to everyone’s chagrin I had made it and was ready to work.
The office on the other hand, was not as quick. I arrived at a leisurely 10 AM—the official start time of the office—to find only one other attorney. We spoke a little bit about Armenia and how my time in Georgia was, but there were no other signs of legal life. Around 10:45 or 11, people began to meander in. At about 12, I was given a welcome by the interim-director and told to sit still and she would come back a bit later with my first assignment. A few hours passed, and I was reminded that our frantic work pace in America isn’t exported like Coke and Ford.
Of all the people that introduced themselves to me, I noted two things: this office is all female and it is all Armenian. Both I didn’t expect. The former is surprising simply on account of the strong patriarchic structure of Armenian society. Men lord over women here that would make the opponents of the 19th Amendment uncomfortable. So, to be in a fairly important NGO in Armenia with only female attorneys was something to note about changes in Armenian society. The latter was equally surprising on account of me being the only American at the American Bar Association. I was hired by one American last September and then was confirmed by a different American this past spring. Yet here I was, at the ABA Armenia and I was the sole representative of America. I was America. Which is awesome and an unexpected honor, but it comes with some troubles. Specifically, it comes with the expectation that you know American laws . . . all of them.
Those troubles presented themselves quickly once the first assignments rolled my way. The interim-director sat down with me and said, “Jason, we detain 90% of our defendants during pretrial proceedings. We are going to stop that.” At first, I expected her to hand me a mask, a crowbar and some leather gloves and I was going to aid in some much needed jailbreaks; however, less excitingly she told me I would need to know what America and the European countries have done to combat pretrial crowding.
Now, since coming to law school I have taken one criminal law course. That course was spent being told that I was wrong. As you can imagine, those first year of law school nightmares came pouring back. With very little direction, I felt like this was going to be the most prolonged cold call of my law school existence.
All the same, I dove into the research headfirst and found that you want your pretrial detention to look a lot like Kentucky and not so much like Latvia. Go figure.
Shortly after this assignment was handed down another one of the office’s attorneys invited me to lunch. This would be my first chance to learn from a local advocate about the Armenian legal system, and I was plenty excited.
Like I expected, this system is different and at times confusing. Naturally, there is a trial -> appellate -> supreme court system set up, but the Armenian system has other frills we don’t get in America. In America we have grown used to the US Supreme Court handing down their—oft wrong—rulings and that being the law of the land. While the name “the Armenian Supreme Court”—or Court of Cessation—gives the illusion of it being, you know, supreme, it is in fact not so. If you have an issue in your case regarding a constitutional question, which is easy with a constitution that has 117 articles, you can laterally appeal your Supreme Court decision to the Constitutional Court.
As I was told this, my mind was being blown. “But, why do you call it ‘supreme’ if it isn’t?” The simple answer: corruption. The Supreme Court was seen as lazy and not doing a great job, and so instead of pulling the judges from office—the constitution has made this nearly impossible—the reform minded government just made another court. It is the judicial equivalent to bringing in snakes to deal with your mouse problem only to find out you now have a snake problem. It’s a rather convoluted solution to the issue of corruption, yet here we are.
Of course, if you leave work one day as “supreme” and you go to work the next to slum it as an intermediary appellate judge then you would be kinda angry. And that is exactly what has happened. Like so many of our State v. Fed cases in the States, the Supreme Court and the Constitutional Court keep jockeying for power. This country is in dire need of a Marburry v. Madison or a simple sacking of the Supreme Court.
If two “supreme” courts wasn’t hard enough to understand as I ate my bowl of borscht, I’m then told opinions from the Constitutional Court, a sovereign court of the Republic of Armenia, can then be appealed to the European Court of Human Rights. My little, sovereign, American brain could not handle this. American judges are berated for even mentioning international law in an opinion; here, you can just appeal to an international court and then expect that ruling to be binding on your country. I became physically uncomfortable as she told me this.
All the same, no matter where the final ruling comes from there remains the problem of enforcement. We’ve certainly dealt with this issue in our history: in 1832, Justice Marshall wrote a majority opinion denying President Jackson his Indian Removal policy. Jackson’s famous alleged response was “John Marshall has made his decision, now let him enforce it!" The removal went forth.
It is hard to imagine a situation today where there would be such a brazen rejection of the judiciary by the executive—let’s look past the terror cases for a minute. For the most part, the Court rules and everyone follows or Congress and the executive can change those laws. This isn’t so much the case in Armenia.
Known for decently high corruption levels, although it is admittedly getting better, there is no guarantee that you are going to get what the court says you deserve. Simply put, a nation cannot have a rule of law if rulings are not enforced. The woman who I ate lunch with was more optimistic about the current situation. The most recent Minister appointed to the Ministry of Justice is talked about as if he were a new sheriff come into town to root out corruption and enforce binding rulings. I hope she is right.
After peppering my colleague with questions, she told me to join for the office's coffee breaks to continue our conversation. We went back up to the office to continue our respected projects. After this conversation and armed with my first project, I was excited to be here. My colleagues were welcoming, the work is interesting and the pace is a fantastic break from law school. Along with these policy proposals I'm writing, I will also be a part of the court-monitoring project and will be teaching a legal English class to local lawyers twice a week. Where they got the idea that I'm qualified to teach practicing attorneys anything, I'm not sure. Perhaps it's because I'm the only American at the American Bar Association and they had no better option.
After my awkward half day at the office two weeks previous, I was back. The staff seemed astounded that I made it—either because they don’t trust Georgia or safely assumed I would get lost. Anyhow, to everyone’s chagrin I had made it and was ready to work.
The office on the other hand, was not as quick. I arrived at a leisurely 10 AM—the official start time of the office—to find only one other attorney. We spoke a little bit about Armenia and how my time in Georgia was, but there were no other signs of legal life. Around 10:45 or 11, people began to meander in. At about 12, I was given a welcome by the interim-director and told to sit still and she would come back a bit later with my first assignment. A few hours passed, and I was reminded that our frantic work pace in America isn’t exported like Coke and Ford.
Of all the people that introduced themselves to me, I noted two things: this office is all female and it is all Armenian. Both I didn’t expect. The former is surprising simply on account of the strong patriarchic structure of Armenian society. Men lord over women here that would make the opponents of the 19th Amendment uncomfortable. So, to be in a fairly important NGO in Armenia with only female attorneys was something to note about changes in Armenian society. The latter was equally surprising on account of me being the only American at the American Bar Association. I was hired by one American last September and then was confirmed by a different American this past spring. Yet here I was, at the ABA Armenia and I was the sole representative of America. I was America. Which is awesome and an unexpected honor, but it comes with some troubles. Specifically, it comes with the expectation that you know American laws . . . all of them.
Those troubles presented themselves quickly once the first assignments rolled my way. The interim-director sat down with me and said, “Jason, we detain 90% of our defendants during pretrial proceedings. We are going to stop that.” At first, I expected her to hand me a mask, a crowbar and some leather gloves and I was going to aid in some much needed jailbreaks; however, less excitingly she told me I would need to know what America and the European countries have done to combat pretrial crowding.
Now, since coming to law school I have taken one criminal law course. That course was spent being told that I was wrong. As you can imagine, those first year of law school nightmares came pouring back. With very little direction, I felt like this was going to be the most prolonged cold call of my law school existence.
All the same, I dove into the research headfirst and found that you want your pretrial detention to look a lot like Kentucky and not so much like Latvia. Go figure.
Shortly after this assignment was handed down another one of the office’s attorneys invited me to lunch. This would be my first chance to learn from a local advocate about the Armenian legal system, and I was plenty excited.
Like I expected, this system is different and at times confusing. Naturally, there is a trial -> appellate -> supreme court system set up, but the Armenian system has other frills we don’t get in America. In America we have grown used to the US Supreme Court handing down their—oft wrong—rulings and that being the law of the land. While the name “the Armenian Supreme Court”—or Court of Cessation—gives the illusion of it being, you know, supreme, it is in fact not so. If you have an issue in your case regarding a constitutional question, which is easy with a constitution that has 117 articles, you can laterally appeal your Supreme Court decision to the Constitutional Court.
As I was told this, my mind was being blown. “But, why do you call it ‘supreme’ if it isn’t?” The simple answer: corruption. The Supreme Court was seen as lazy and not doing a great job, and so instead of pulling the judges from office—the constitution has made this nearly impossible—the reform minded government just made another court. It is the judicial equivalent to bringing in snakes to deal with your mouse problem only to find out you now have a snake problem. It’s a rather convoluted solution to the issue of corruption, yet here we are.
Of course, if you leave work one day as “supreme” and you go to work the next to slum it as an intermediary appellate judge then you would be kinda angry. And that is exactly what has happened. Like so many of our State v. Fed cases in the States, the Supreme Court and the Constitutional Court keep jockeying for power. This country is in dire need of a Marburry v. Madison or a simple sacking of the Supreme Court.
If two “supreme” courts wasn’t hard enough to understand as I ate my bowl of borscht, I’m then told opinions from the Constitutional Court, a sovereign court of the Republic of Armenia, can then be appealed to the European Court of Human Rights. My little, sovereign, American brain could not handle this. American judges are berated for even mentioning international law in an opinion; here, you can just appeal to an international court and then expect that ruling to be binding on your country. I became physically uncomfortable as she told me this.
All the same, no matter where the final ruling comes from there remains the problem of enforcement. We’ve certainly dealt with this issue in our history: in 1832, Justice Marshall wrote a majority opinion denying President Jackson his Indian Removal policy. Jackson’s famous alleged response was “John Marshall has made his decision, now let him enforce it!" The removal went forth.
It is hard to imagine a situation today where there would be such a brazen rejection of the judiciary by the executive—let’s look past the terror cases for a minute. For the most part, the Court rules and everyone follows or Congress and the executive can change those laws. This isn’t so much the case in Armenia.
Known for decently high corruption levels, although it is admittedly getting better, there is no guarantee that you are going to get what the court says you deserve. Simply put, a nation cannot have a rule of law if rulings are not enforced. The woman who I ate lunch with was more optimistic about the current situation. The most recent Minister appointed to the Ministry of Justice is talked about as if he were a new sheriff come into town to root out corruption and enforce binding rulings. I hope she is right.
After peppering my colleague with questions, she told me to join for the office's coffee breaks to continue our conversation. We went back up to the office to continue our respected projects. After this conversation and armed with my first project, I was excited to be here. My colleagues were welcoming, the work is interesting and the pace is a fantastic break from law school. Along with these policy proposals I'm writing, I will also be a part of the court-monitoring project and will be teaching a legal English class to local lawyers twice a week. Where they got the idea that I'm qualified to teach practicing attorneys anything, I'm not sure. Perhaps it's because I'm the only American at the American Bar Association and they had no better option.
