Miranda v. Arizona, 384 U.S. 436 (1966), argued 28 Feb. 1966, decided 13 June 1966 by vote of 5 to 4; Warren for the Court, Clark, Harlan, White, and Stewart in dissent. The Warren Court's revolution in American criminal procedure reached its high point (or, depending on one's perspective, its low point) on 13 June 1966. That day the Court handed down its opinion in
Miranda, the most famous, and most bitterly criticized, confession case in the nation's history. To some,
Miranda symbolized the legal system's determination to treat even the lowliest and most despicable criminal suspect with dignity and respect. But to others, especially those who attributed rising crime rates to the softness of judges, the case became a target of abuse.
Background
Prior to the decision in
Miranda, the admissibility of a confession in a state criminal case was governed by the due process “voluntariness” or “totality of the circumstances” test. Under this approach, the courts decided on a case‐by‐case basis whether the will of the person who confessed had been “broken” or “over‐borne” or whether the confession had been voluntary. But it soon became clear that these terms were not being used as tools of analysis, but as mere conclusions. When a court concluded that the “totality” of a suspect's treatment had not been too bad (e.g., although the police had exerted considerable pressure and used some trickery, they had given the suspect a sandwich and permitted him to have a normal night's sleep), it called the resulting confession “voluntary.” On the other hand, when a court concluded that police methods were too offensive or too heavy‐handed (in consideration of such factors as the suspect's youth, poor education, or low intelligence), it labeled the resulting confession “involuntary” or “coerced” (see
Coerced Confessions).
The vagueness and unpredictability of the voluntariness test, its application (or manipulation) by lower courts so as to validate confessions of doubtful constitutionality, and the inability of the Supreme Court, because of its heavy workload, to review more than one or two state confession cases a year, led a growing number of the justices to search for a more meaningful and more manageable alternative approach.
Miranda was the culmination of these efforts.
Facts of the Case
Ernesto Miranda, an indigent twenty‐three‐year‐old who had not completed the ninth grade, was arrested at his home and taken directly to a Phoenix, Arizona, police station. There, after being identified by the victim of a rape‐kidnapping, he was taken to an “interrogation room,” where he was questioned about the crimes. At first, Miranda maintained his innocence, but after two hours of questioning, the police emerged from the room with a signed written confession of guilt. At his trial, the written confession was admitted into evidence and Miranda was found guilty of kidnapping and rape.
Whether Miranda had been told that anything he said could be used against him was unclear. But the police admitted—and this was to prove fatal for the prosecution—that neither before nor during the questioning had Miranda been advised of his right to consult with an attorney before answering any questions or his right to have an attorney present during the interrogation (see
Counsel, Right to).
Miranda's confession plainly would have been admissible under the voluntariness test. His questioning had been quite mild compared to the objectionable police methods that had rendered a resulting confession involuntary or coerced in previous cases. But the confession was obtained from Miranda under circumstances that did not satisfy the new constitutional standards the Court was to promulgate in this very case.
A remarkable feature of the American history of confessions law is that until the mid‐1960s the privilege against
self‐incrimination (the
Fifth Amendment provision that no person “shall be compelled … to be a witness against himself”) did not apply to the proceedings in the interrogation room or to in‐custody police interrogation.
One reason for this situation was that the privilege was not deemed applicable to the states until 1964 and by that time a large body of law pertaining to involuntary or coerced state confessions had developed (see
Incorporation Doctrine). Moreover, and more important, the prevailing pre‐
Miranda view was that “compelling” someone to testify against him‐ or herself meant
legal compulsion. Since a suspect was threatened neither with perjury for testifying falsely nor contempt for refusing to testify at all, it could not be said, ran the argument, that a person undergoing police interrogation was being “compelled” to be “a witness against himself” within the meaning of the privilege—even though under such circumstances a person is likely to assume or to be led by the police to believe that there are legal (or extralegal) sanctions for “refusing to cooperate.” Since the police had no lawful authority to make a suspect answer their questions (although, prior to
Miranda, the police did not have to tell a person that), there was no legal obligation to answer to which a privilege in the technical sense could apply.
Although this reasoning seems quite strained, it prevailed as long as it did probably because of a widely held view that questioning a suspect without advising him of his rights was “indispensable” to law‐enforcement work. Moreover, the invisibility of police interrogation made it easy for society to be complacent about what really took place in the interrogation room.
On the eve of
Miranda, however, there was reason to think that the self‐incrimination clause would finally apply to the police station. In
Malloy v. Hogan (1964), which did not involve a confession, the Court not only held the privilege against self‐incrimination fully applicable to the states, but also stated by way of dictum (see
Obiter Dictum) that the admissibility of a confession in a state or federal court should be controlled by the Fifth Amendment privilege. The confession rules and the privilege had become intertwined in
Malloy—and they would be fused in
Miranda.
Decision
There are three parts to the
Miranda decision:
First, the Fiffh Amendment privilege is available outside of court proceedings and other formal proceedings and serves to protect persons in all settings from being compelled to incriminate themselves. Thus, the privilege applies to informal compulsion exerted by law‐enforcement officers during “custodial interrogation,” that is, questioning initiated by the police after a person has been taken into custody.
Second, “[A]n individual swept from familiar surroundings into police custody, surrounded by antagonistic forces, and subjected to the techniques of persuasion described in the [standard police interrogation manuals] cannot be otherwise than under compulsion to speak” (p. 461). Because the custodial interrogation environment “carries its own badge of intimidation” that is “at odds” with the privilege, “[u]nless adequate protective devices are employed to dispel the compulsion inherent in custodial surroundings,” no statement obtained from a person under these circumstances is admissible (pp. 457–458).
Third, the Constitution does not require adherence to any particular system for dispelling the coercion of custodial interrogation. However, unless the government utilizes other procedures that are at least as effective, in order for a statement to be admissible, a suspect must be given the now familiar four‐fold
Miranda warning (set forth below) before being subjected to custodial interrogation and must effectively waive his or her rights before any questioning.
According to
Miranda, advising a suspect that he has a right to remain silent and that anything he says can be used against him is not sufficient to assure that the suspect's right to choose between silence and speech will remain unfettered throughout the interrogation process. Therefore, a suspect must also be told of her right to counsel, either retained or (if she is indigent) appointed.
Although the warnings need not be given in the exact form described in the
Miranda opinion—indeed, they are not described exactly the same way throughout the opinion—the substance of each of the following four warnings must be effectively given: (1) You have the right to remain silent; (2) anything you say can and will be used against you; (3) you have the right to talk to a lawyer before being questioned and to have him or her present when you are being questioned; and (4) if you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you before any questioning if you so desire.
Miranda has been widely criticized as a case that tilted the balance heavily in favor of criminal suspects. However, as the Court noted in
Moran v. Burbine (1986), the decision “embodies a carefully crafted balance designed to fully protect
both the defendant's and society's interests” (p. 433, n. 4).
Miranda does not require that a person taken into custody first consult with a lawyer or actually have a lawyer present in order for his or her waiver of constitutional rights to be valid. The decision's weakness (or saving grace, depending on one's viewpoint) is that it permits those subjected to the inherent pressures of police custody to “waive” their rights without actually obtaining the guidance of counsel. That waiver, at least in theory, must be “knowing” and “voluntary.”
Miranda allows the police to conduct “general‐on‐the‐scene questioning” without providing the warnings. It also allows the police to interview a suspect in his home or office without advising him of his rights, provided the questioning takes place in a context that does not restrict the person's freedom to terminate the meeting.
Moreover,
Miranda leaves the police free to hear and act on “volunteered” statements even though the “volunteer” has been taken into custody and neither knows nor is informed of his or her rights. “Custody” alone does not call for the
Miranda warnings. It is the impact on the suspect of the interplay between police interrogation and police custody that makes “custodial police interrogation” so corrosive and calls for “adequate protective devices” (
Illinois v. Perkins, 1990).
Even when warnings and the waiver of rights are required,
Miranda permits the police to give the warnings and to obtain waivers without the presence of any disinterested observer and without any tape recording of the proceedings. (This is so even when a tape recording is readily available.)
Whether the promptings of conscience or the desire to get the matter over with usually override the impact of the warnings, or whether the police too often mumble or undermine the warnings, almost all empirical studies indicate that in the quarter century since
Miranda was decided, custodial suspects have continued to make incriminating statements with great frequency. This might not have been the case if a tape recording of police warnings and the suspect's response were required whenever feasible. There is little doubt that it would not have been the case if
Miranda had required that a suspect first consult with a lawyer or actually have a lawyer present in order for his or her waiver of rights to be effective.
Concerns about Miranda's Future
For supporters of
Miranda, an ominous note was struck in
Michigan v. Tucker (1974), in which the Court, speaking through Justice William * Rehnquist, viewed the
Miranda warnings as “not themselves rights protected by the Constitution,” but only “prophylactic standards” designed to “safeguard” or to “provide practical reinforcement” for the privilege against self‐incrimination (p. 444). A decade later, first in
New York v. Quarles (1984), recognizing a “public safety” exception to
Miranda, and then in
Oregon v. Elstad (1985), indicating that the prosecution may make considerable derivative use of
Miranda violations, the Court reiterated Tucker’s way of looking at, and thinking about,
Miranda. Both Quarles and Elstad underscored the distinction between statements that are actually “coerced” or “compelled” and those obtained merely in violation of
Miranda’s “prophylactic rules.”
Since the Supreme Court has no supervisory power over state criminal justice and if
Miranda violations are not constitutional violations, where did the Warren Court get the authority to impose the new confession doctrine on the states? If a confession obtained in violation of
Miranda does not violate the self‐incrimination clause unless “actually coerced,” why are the states not free to admit all confessions not the product of actual coercion? Tucker and its progeny thus may have prepared the way for the eventual overruling of
Miranda.
Nevertheless, it would be surprising if the Court did overrule
Miranda. The Court is well aware of
Miranda’s rather limited scope—indeed, a number of commentators have forcefully argued that it does not go far enough. The Court is also cognizant of the many studies indicating that the decision has had no significant adverse impact on law enforcement. Despite their initial reaction of dismay, the police seem to have adjusted to
Miranda fairly well. Under these circumstances, the Court is probably willing to “live with” a case that has become part of the American culture, especially if it continues to view the decision as a serious effort to strike a proper balance between the need for police questioning and the need to protect a suspect against impermissible police pressure.
The Reaffirmation of Miranda
In
Dickerson v. United States (2000), the Court struck down a federal statute purporting to abolish
Miranda and to reinstate the pre‐
Miranda “voluntariness” or “totality of the circumstances” test for the admissibility of confessions in federal cases. Speaking for a 7‐to‐2 majority, Chief Justice Rehnquist removed any doubt that “
Miranda is a constitutional decision” and thus a decision that “may not be in effect overrruled by an Act of Congress” (p. 432).
Nor did the Court see any good reason to overrule
Miranda on its own: “
Miranda has become embedded in routine police practice to the point where the warnings have become part of our natural culture. [While] we have overruled our precedents when subsequent cases have undermined their doctrinal underpinnings, we do not believe that this has happened to the
Miranda decision. If anything, our subsequent cases have reduced the impact of the
Miranda rule on legitimate law enforcement while reaffirming the decision's core ruling that unwarned statements may not be used as evidence in the prosecution's case in chief” (pp. 443–444).
What may be said about the cases that had encouraged critics of the Warren Court to believe that some day the Court would overrule
Miranda, cases such
Tucker, Quarles, and
Estad? Oddly, although these cases seemed to be based on the premise that
Miranda was
not a constitutional decision, the Dickerson Court had nothing negative to say about them. The reason may be that the exceptions to
Miranda carved out by these cases are going to remain in place.
A conference on the meaning of Dickerson manifested a strong consensus among the eleven criminal procedure experts who contributed articles to the symposium that the majority opinion in Dickerson was a compromise opinion designed to obtain the largest majority possible on the narrow question of
Miranda’s continued vitality. There also seemed to be a consensus that what Dickerson reaffirmed was not the
Miranda doctrine that burst on the scene in 1966, but
Miranda with all the limitations and exceptions it had acquired since 1966 “frozen in time.”
Bibliography
Liva Baker , Miranda: Crime, Law and Politics (1983).
Gerald Caplan , Questioning Miranda, Vanderbilt Law Review 38 (November 1985): 1417–1476.
Yale Kamisar , Police Interrogation and Confessions (1980).
Stephen Schulhofer , Reconsidering Miranda, University of Chicago Law Review 54 (Spring 1987): 435–461.
Yale Kamisar
