Miranda v. Arizona

Explanation and Analysis of the Document

Chief Justice Earl Warren’s Majority Opinion

In the first paragraph of the majority opinion—which was joined by Black, Douglas, Brennan, and Fortas—Warren places the four cases in question securely in the province of the constitutional rights of the accused, or “the restraints society must observe consistent with the Federal Constitution in prosecuting individuals for crime.” The tone Warren adopts in this first paragraph foreshadows the Court's decision—it concerns not a suspected criminal who is questioned by the police but rather “an individual who is subjected to custodial police interrogation.” In these cases the Court deals with “the necessity for procedures which assure that the individual is accorded his privilege under the Fifth Amendment to the Constitution not to be compelled to incriminate himself.” At this point, the reader clearly may anticipate that Miranda has won on appeal.

Warren next aligns the cases in Miranda with the Court's decision two years earlier in Escobedo v. Illinois. In that case, the defendant, who had been arrested and was under interrogation at the police station, asked to see his lawyer. The police refused the request and subsequently obtained from Escobedo a confession that was used at trial to successfully prosecute him. Warren does not recount the basis on which the Supreme Court overturned this case on appeal: The Sixth Amendment right to counsel applies as soon as police focus on a particular suspect; the confession, because it was obtained in violation of this right, was inadmissible at trial.

The results in Escobedo, Warren explains, allowed for interpretation, debate, and speculation regarding issues on “applying the privilege of self-incrimination to in-custody interrogation.” Thus, Warren fashions the ruling in Escobedo to play down the right to counsel (from the Sixth Amendment) and instead emphasizes self-incrimination (as addressed in the Fifth Amendment), the issue on which Miranda will turn. A holding based on the privilege against self-incrimination during in-custody interrogation, Warren assures, does not break new ground. It is “an application of principles long recognized and applied in other settings.” (On this point, the dissenters to this decision strongly disagree.)

In part I, Warren writes that because the four cases under review all involve “incommunicado interrogation of individuals in a police-dominated atmosphere,” this section will survey police methods in that setting. A factual study of police operations and police manuals is quoted at length. Warren stresses that “the modern practice of in-custody interrogation is psychologically rather than physically oriented.” The manuals teach police to isolate the suspect in a setting chosen by authorities, to conduct extended questioning during which the suspect's guilt is assumed, and to deflect requests by the suspect for legal representation. In the cases under consideration, Warren admits, the records contain no evidence of “physical coercion or patent psychological ploys.” The dissenting justices believe that the matter properly turns on whether evidence exists that a particular defendant's statements were made involuntarily. Warren, however, is building a more general case against in-custody questioning. To him, “the very fact of custodial interrogation exacts a heavy toll on individual liberty and trades on the weakness of individuals.” He sees “an intimate connection between the privilege against self-incrimination and police custodial questioning.”

The privilege against self-incrimination is lodged in venerable traditions of English law, Warren says in part II, and was given constitutional status by the framers. “We cannot depart from this noble heritage,” he declares. In the third paragraph, Warren establishes this heritage further: Arising from a right to privacy and “founded on a complex of values,” the privilege against self-incrimination strikes a fair balance between the individual and the state.

These are fine ideals, stated strongly. But because these ideals are expansive and general, it is difficult to make the argument that they require the highly specific Miranda rules that the Court is about to impose on police. These ideals could just as logically and reasonably support rules that do not go as far as those laid down in Miranda or rules that go even further. To support these particular practices, Warren examines the case law to determine “whether the privilege is fully applicable during a period of custodial interrogation.” Predictably, the answer that he will arrive at is that it is applicable.

Warren writes that in Bram v. United States (1897), the Court reasoned that the Fifth Amendment requires that an admissible statement must be voluntary—that is, made by a defendant not compelled by improper influences to make the statement. In Malloy v. Hogan (1964), as Warren notes, the Court reasoned that the voluntariness doctrine “encompasses all interrogation practices which are likely to exert such pressure upon an individual as to disable him from making a free and rational choice.” Finally, in Escobedo v. Illinois, when the defendant chose to speak to the police, Warren writes, “the abdication of the constitutional privilege—the choice on his part to speak to the police—was not made knowingly or competently because of the failure to apprise him his rights; the compelling atmosphere of the in-custody interrogation, and not an independent decision on his part, caused the defendant to speak.”

Thus, for the second time, Warren has cast the Court's holding in Escobedo in a way that smoothly anticipates the result to be arrived at in Miranda. The defendant in Escobedo, during custodial interrogation, asked for an attorney and was denied the request; the constitutional violation in question concerned the Sixth Amendment. As such, Fifth Amendment privilege as delineated in Miranda does not flow as directly from Escobedo, as Warren would have it. Still, the right to an attorney—what Warren calls “a protective device to dispel the compelling atmosphere of the interrogation”—does apply to both Escobedo and Miranda. The presence of counsel “would be the adequate protective device necessary to make the process of police interrogation conform to the dictates of the privilege.”

In part III, Warren states the law that goes forward in Miranda v. Arizona. The first paragraph offers, in general terms, what the Court holds to be required by the Constitution. In the second paragraph, Warren writes that the Court encourages “Congress and the States to continue their laudable search for increasingly effective ways of protecting the rights of the individual while promoting efficient enforcement of our criminal laws.” The invitation can be read two ways: It is modest and amenable but also, at the same time, critical and imperious. On one hand, under the Constitution, Congress and the States are recognized as having the power to pass laws governing police procedures. On the other hand, the Court's ruling in Miranda is intended to correct failures to observe the individual's privilege against self-incrimination, especially such failures by state police. In addition, the Court, because it exercises the power to interpret the Constitution, will pass judgment on any “potential alternatives for protecting the privilege which might be devised by Congress or the States in the exercise of their creative rule-making capacities.”

The remainder of this section fleshes out the warnings that comprise the “Miranda warnings” that defendants are given by police. Warren emphasizes that these warnings are necessary anytime “a person in custody is to be subjected to interrogation.” The capacity or background of the defendant does not matter; rather, the “warning is an absolute prerequisite in overcoming the inherent pressures of the interrogation atmosphere.” The warning of the right to remain silent, “accompanied by the explanation that anything said can and will be used against the individual in court,” puts the defendant on alert “that he is faced with a phase of the adversary system.” The presence of counsel at the interrogation is “indispensable to the protection of the Fifth Amendment privilege” and will sharpen the record of the interrogation to be reported at trial. A defendant may waive his right to counsel, but that waiver is effective only when “made after the warnings we here delineate have been given.” Finally, “the financial ability of the individual has no relationship to the scope of the rights involved here.” An express explanation to an indigent person that a lawyer will be appointed for him is necessary to assure that person that he is in a position to exercise the right to have counsel present during interrogation.

Warren next lays down additional ground rules: An individual, once given the warnings, may assert the rights at any time prior to or during questioning. If he waives his rights and speaks with the police, he may stop at any time and exercise his right to remain silent or his right to have counsel. In either instance, police are required to cease interrogation. Where an individual waives his rights and interrogation follows, “a heavy burden rests on the government to demonstrate that the defendant knowingly and intelligently waived” his rights. Silence from the defendant in response to any question does not constitute a waiver.

In part IV, Warren addresses critics who will claim—or who, in the case of justices dissenting to the decision, do claim—that with its holding in Miranda, the Court is hindering the ability of society, through the efforts of its police, to control crime. He cites the experiences of other law-enforcement agencies employing rules protecting against self-incrimination—the Federal Bureau of Investigation, criminal justice systems in other nations, and the U.S. military—to buttress his view that the Miranda warnings will not unduly hamper police.

Warren's opinion for the Court in Miranda v. Arizona is remarkable for many reasons. The discussion of the Fifth Amendment privilege is so expansive as to constitute an essay on the rights of the individual. The warnings that the Court dictates must be given to defendants by police are highly specific; the Court rarely prescribes policy in such a detailed way. Regarding the actual cases under review, not until part V does Warren finally address the facts of the four cases collected under the rubric of Miranda.

In fact, discussion of the four cases may not appear until the final section for good reason. An important point Miranda makes is that the Court will not consider, case by case, whether a defendant's confession was voluntary. The intent of Miranda is that, absent the necessary warnings or a permissible equivalent, a Fifth Amendment violation has occurred, and statements made by the defendant are inadmissible. As time would tell, however, Miranda did not provide total resolution for questions about the privilege against self-incrimination during police questioning. To close the opinion, in quick order, the Court announces the findings in the four separate cases.

Justice Tom Clark’s Dissenting Opinion

Justice Clark's dissent is short and focused. He objects to the majority's use of police manuals to explain its findings, as “not one is shown by the record here to be the official manual of any political department, much less in universal use in crime detection.” Also, the Court has “not fairly characterized” the efforts made by city and state police to enforce the law. In part I, Clark criticizes the Court's innovation in Miranda, holding that the ruling goes “too far too fast.” In part II, Clark criticizes the Court for “the promulgation of doctrinaire rules” that police must follow when conducting in-custody interrogation. The prior rule to determine whether a statement admitting guilt was voluntary, Clark writes, “depended upon ‘a totality of circumstances.'” He declares in Part III, “I would continue to follow that rule.” He does not object to having police inform detained persons, prior to custodial interrogation, that they have a right to counsel and that counsel will be appointed if they cannot afford one. “In the absence of warnings, the burden would be on the State to prove that counsel was knowingly and intelligently waived or that in the totality of the circumstances, including the failure to give the necessary warnings, the confession was clearly voluntary.”

Justice John Marshall Harlan II’s Dissenting Opinion

In this dissent, which was joined by Justices Potter Stewart and Byron White, Harlan expresses deep and fundamental disagreement with the Court's reasoning and results in Miranda. To Harlan, “the thrust of the new rules is to negate all pressures, to reinforce the nervous or ignorant suspect, and ultimately to discourage any confession at all.” The decision, he says, is not supported by the Constitution, nor does it make good public policy.

With the Miranda rules, Harlan writes in part II, the Court travels far from the due process clause of the Fourteenth Amendment and its “voluntariness” test as a way to determine the admissibility of a statement made during police questioning. A string of Supreme Court cases had fine-tuned the “voluntariness” standard, resulting in “an elaborate, sophisticated, and sensitive approach to admissibility of confessions.” Cases were considered one at a time, the standard was “flexible in its ability to respond to the endless mutations of fact presented,” and lower courts knew how to use the standard. Furthermore, the cases attached ample value “to society's interest in suspect questioning as an instrument of law enforcement.” For Harlan, no precedents exist in cases prior to Miranda supporting the view that the Fifth and Sixth Amendments protect defendants during police interrogation.

The Miranda rules, writes Harlan in part III, are not supported by concerns of public policy, such as by being “plainly desirable in the context of our society.” The rules impair and may even frustrate police interrogation. He notes, “There can be little doubt that the Court's new code would markedly decrease the number of confessions.” With this “hazardous experimentation,” the Court is reaching far ahead of other societal forces that might lay claim to having a say in the determination of proper police practices. Harlan reasons that “this Court's too rapid departure from existing constitutional standards” will discourage criminal law reform that might otherwise occur elsewhere in the political system, particularly in the legislative branches, where the initiative “truly belongs.”

Justice Byron White’s Dissenting Opinion

White's dissent, which was joined by Justices Harlan and Stewart, differs in perspective and tone from Harlan's but comes to the same conclusions. White seemingly accepts the application of the Fifth Amendment privilege against self-incrimination during police questioning. However, he reasons that Bram v. United States, which is cited by Warren, supports only “whether a confession, obtained during custodial interrogation, had been compelled.” White shares with Harlan the conviction that a version of the voluntariness standard, where the question becomes whether the confession was compelled, is better than the Miranda rules, where the question is whether the warnings were given. In part II, White does not dismiss out of hand the Court's innovation in Miranda but asserts that when the Court forges new law and policy, that act invites close examination.

The rules that the Court announces, writes White, are aimed at reducing confessions and guilty pleas. As such, the system of criminal law and “society's interest in the general security” will suffer. Although the Court's rules might appear to give clear-cut guidance as to when a statement is not admissible, White believes otherwise. He predicts that the decision will leave open questions as to whether the accused was in custody, whether his statements were spontaneous or the product of interrogation, whether the accused has effectively waived his rights, and whether nontestimonial evidence introduced at trial is the fruit of statements made during a prohibited interrogation, all of which are certain to prove productive of uncertainty during investigation and litigation during prosecution. White indeed writes presciently here; later Supreme Court cases on self-incrimination following Miranda probed exactly these issues.

Additional Commentary by Karen Linkletter, California State University-Fullerton

Chief Justice Warren begins his decision with an assessment of “American criminal jurisprudence,” or the balance between prosecuting suspected criminals in society and preserving the constitutional rights of those suspected criminals. He refers to Escobedo v. Illinois and the role of the Fifth Amendment, which prohibits a person from being “compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself.” Warren reviews the fact that the Escobedo decision was open to wide interpretation by the lower courts, prosecutors, and police officers; he notes that the Supreme Court had already “granted certiorari” to several related cases, meaning they had been accepted for review. Finally, Warren reinforces his belief that both Escobedo v. Illinois and Miranda v. Arizona are cases whose rulings do not break new ground in terms of the Court's role but rather merely reinforce individuals' rights as stated in the Constitution. Warren quotes the decision in Cohens v. Virginia (1821), in which Chief Justice John Marshall asserted the Court's authority to rule in lower court cases involving the violation of individuals' constitutional rights, to further make this point.

One of the controversial aspects of Warren's decision was his inclusion of specific guidelines for advising suspects of their rights. Justice Brennan asked Warren to allow state legislatures to develop their own language, but Warren declined to remove the instructions from the decision. Warren gives the states room for “creative rulemaking” but provides specific language to be used; this is the origin of the commonly known phrase “You have the right to remain silent.” It is clear from his language that Warren's primary interest is in achieving balance of power between the suspect and his or her interrogators. Knowledge of one's rights, he notes, helps to combat the “inherent pressures of the interrogation atmosphere.”

Warren then turns to the four cases grouped together under the label Miranda v. Arizona. He explains how the cases are similar: The defendants were not advised of their rights while being questioned in a “police-dominated atmosphere.” Warren emphasizes the psychological impact of the interrogation process, particularly the nature of “incommunicado” questioning, where the suspect is isolated from any outside influence. From his years in law enforcement, Warren was highly sensitive to the potential for interrogators to abuse their power, and his language reveals his concern for protecting suspects from questionable interview tactics.

Having established that Escobedo v. Illinois set the precedent for protecting the Fifth Amendment rights of suspects in custody and that the nature of police interrogation lends itself to the potential for self-incrimination, Warren concludes that the accused must be explicitly advised of his or her rights and must be allowed to exercise those rights. He then addresses a criticism of the Escobedo decision, which was also an issue with the cases considered under Miranda v. Arizona. Many, particularly prosecutors and the police, believed that advising suspects of their rights hindered the efforts of law enforcement to combat crime: Notifying detainees that they could retain counsel or refrain from answering questions might result in guilty criminals going free. Warren cites a previous Court decision, Chambers v. Florida, in his response to this concern. Chambers v. Florida was a 1940 case in which the Supreme Court reversed the conviction and associated death sentences of four black tenant farmers whose confessions were coerced by their interrogators. Announcing the unanimous decision in the case, Justice Hugo Black specifically dismissed law enforcement's argument that the well-being of the community outweighed the negative aspects of the questioning tactics. Warren also quotes Justice Louis Brandeis, a member of the Supreme Court who, like Warren, is known for many decisions that advanced causes of social justice. The quotation is from Brandeis's dissenting opinion in Olmstead v. United States, a 1928 case in which the Court ruled that evidence obtained from secret wiretaps planted in the building of Roy Olmstead, a bootlegger, was admissible in court. In his dissent, Brandeis argued that such government activity “breeds contempt for law.” Warren uses these two examples as evidence of legal precedent for his own decision in this case.

Warren briefly reviews the details of the Miranda case before rendering his decision to reverse Miranda's conviction. Ernesto Miranda was a poor, uneducated man with limited English skills. Diagnosed with a sociopathic personality disorder, he had a string of prior arrests for rape and lewd conduct. Police arrested Miranda when they found a vehicle outside Miranda's home that was identical to that owned by a woman who had been raped and kidnapped. The victim identified Miranda as the perpetrator of the crime. As Warren notes, Miranda signed a written admission of guilt stating that he confessed with complete understanding of his rights, despite the fact that the arresting officers admitted that they had not advised him. As an unsophisticated, mentally ill defendant, Miranda was the very kind of person who, Warren believed, needed protection from the sophisticated methods of law-enforcement interrogation. Guilty or not, Miranda was entitled to his constitutional rights.

Law enforcement and many politicians howled over the decision in Miranda v. Arizona, promising that guilty criminals would go free. The public reaction was also not entirely favorable; the Warren Court's reputation for liberal rulings was only reinforced by this decision. Ever the champion of individual rights, Warren stood by his decision. Today, the concept of a “Miranda warning,” or notification of one's right to remain silent, is a cornerstone of the American criminal justice system.