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Beagle rescuers may soon join the laboratory dogs in being trapped in a cage.
Moments ago, a jury rendered a guilty verdict in the trial of five beagle rescuers with the animal rights organization Animal Rising (AR), who were charged with burglary after entering a Marshall BioResources (MBR) facility and removing 18 beagles from their cages. Sentencing will occur on February 19, where the defendants face up to 10 years in prison. (Most experienced criminal lawyers say they should expect a small fraction of that, including the possibility of “suspended sentences” that include no jail time at all.)
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Supporters of the activists are shocked because, quite simply, the defendants did not commit the crime. Burglary convictions in the United Kingdom require that the government prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendants acted “dishonestly [ [link removed] ].” Given that the removal of the beagles was done openly—press releases and videos were published by AR everywhere immediately after the rescue—and that the defendants “turned themselves in,” many felt certain that the jurors would side with the defendants.
I was not one of those people. My own experience with criminal trials teaches me that jurors do not really bother with technical legal requirements. For example, the jury in my own Sonoma County conviction was technically required to conclude that I had the intent to break the law to find me guilty of conspiracy in the mass open rescue of 37 hens [ [link removed] ]. There was not a shred of evidence of this presented at trial—in fact, I have devoted my entire legal career to asserting that rescuing animals is legal—but that did not stop the jury from convicting me of the offense. The reason is that juries, and people more generally, make decisions based on emotions and stories more than technical arguments [ [link removed] ]. That was true of the Sonoma case, where my efforts to tell the story were fundamentally disrupted by a hostile judge [ [link removed] ]. And there were a number of key factors in the UK beagle rescue trial that likely undermined their ability to tell the right story, too. Here are a few of those factors, and some of my other takeaways from the trial.
Evidence regarding animal cruelty, and the motive of rescue, was disallowed. The first and most important factor in the verdict is that key evidence regarding cruelty—and thus the defendants’ motive—was forbidden in court. Imagine that you are a lawyer trying to defend Santa of burglary on Christmas, but you are told you can’t say anything about why he’s climbing down the chimney. That would be a hard case to make! A strange old man climbing down a chimney to visit kids doesn’t sound very sympathetic unless you understand his motive.
But that is precisely the position the judge placed the AR defendants in. The defendants were not allowed to present key evidence regarding the cruelty to dogs that was unfolding at MBR, and reports from the courtroom indicate that the judge even shouted down one of the defendants’ attorneys for referencing that abuse in closing argument. That frustrated the defendants’ ability to tell their story effectively.
The government made extraordinary efforts to suppress public discussion of the case. The prosecution repeatedly moved to impose extraordinary restrictions on public disclosure of what was happening in court, including a bizarre and anti-democratic attempt to seal the verdict from public disclosure. While the court overruled this last effort, it agreed to many others, including a ban on discussing its own decisions (such as the decision to exclude animal cruelty evidence). The general thrust of the government’s approach was to silence the movement and media from saying much of anything about the case.
Efforts to suppress transparency such as these, when successful, have an effect on courtroom dynamics because they insulate the government and court from public scrutiny. Secrecy creates an echo chamber in the courtroom that can give confidence to oppressors, and defeat the morale of righteous dissidents.
In my own case in Utah [ [link removed] ], where transparency (including courtroom cameras) was allowed, supportive media boosted the confidence of the defendants, and may have caused stumbles by the judge and prosecutor, including an embarrassing courtroom argument where the prosecutor compared [ [link removed] ] injured piglets to dented soup cans. I was acquitted in the case.
In contrast, in my case in Sonoma County, [ [link removed] ] I was unconstitutionally gagged from speaking to the media, and courtroom cameras were banned. When the judge compared sick chickens to “cellular matter,” no one even noticed the flub.
Justice and truth depend on transparency. Good storytelling does, too. The fact that the entire beagle trial was shrouded in secrecy—even when the judge and prosecutor engaged in legal abuses—prevented the story of justice and truth from unfolding in court.
The animal rights activists were in an echo chamber, too. In my discussions with various activists in the UK movement, I was surprised by the confidence many held in the outcome of the beagle rescue trial. “It’s beagles, the public will be on our side,” many in the movement said. I doubted this. While people in the UK (and the US) do indeed love dogs, they are also willing to support horrifying things when they are told those horrifying things are normal and necessary [ [link removed] ]. This overconfidence likely led to errors in storytelling. The best storytelling is the result of relentless and punishing criticism [ [link removed] ] from diverse sources that makes the final narrative as strong as it can possibly be.
It’s hard to say, from afar, what exactly could have made the story stronger. But one thing I noticed before the trial was that the movement had largely abandoned the necessity defense, i.e., the argument that the rescue was necessary as a last resort given the imminent harm the beagles faced. This was due to legal rulings by the judge, denying the legal applicability of necessity. But necessity, fundamentally, is not a legal defense. It’s a narrative one. “We tried everything. But the government refused to act, so we had to.” It’s a story that moves people.
Most citizens of Western countries, at least for now [ [link removed] ], still have some respect for the rule of law. Jurors, in particular, are selected based on their adherence to this idea. If a potential juror indicates they do not believe in the rule of law, they will instantly be removed from the case. The story of necessity is a way to square the jurors’ commitment to the rule of law with what seems like unlawful action. If the powerful are breaking the law, it upholds the rule of law for the people to act.
I don’t know if this gap in storytelling was crucial. I was not in court. What I can say is that the movement did not do enough to seek harsh feedback on the narratives they were portraying in court, particularly from experienced storytellers and lawyers, before delivering that story to the jury and public.
The defendants still won where it matters. And this is the most important takeaway. The defendants won because they saved 18 beagles from ghoulish experiments. (Many dogs at MBR are sold for the infamous toxic inhalation experiments [ [link removed] ] that first put vivisection on the public’s radar decades ago—and which still have not been stopped.) They won because their case will now be an opportunity for appeal, which could establish the availability of defenses such as necessity. But the most important reason they won is that the stakes were asymmetric. The history of social movements teaches us that courtroom “losses” often end up being the biggest victories in history because they show the public the need for change.
This was true of Rosa Parks, who was convicted of a crime for sitting on a white person’s seat on a public bus. It was true of Susan B. Anthony, who was convicted after being charged for illegal voting in an era where women’s suffrage was considered somewhere between a joke and a crime. And it will be true of these animal rescuers, too, over the long run. Indeed, the entire strategy of nonviolence, as formulated by legendary figures such as Gandhi and King, revolves around direct action to stop injustice— but then accepting unearned suffering without retaliation [ [link removed] ]. The defendants, in their dignity and courage in the face of this conviction, are doing exactly that.
This is the beauty of nonviolent resistance. Heads, we win. Tails, the oppressors lose. There will no doubt be difficulties ahead for the defendants, and for others who face trials ahead. But their sacrifices will inspire others to heed their cause. And for that reason, they’ve already won.
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