Justice at a Crossroads: The Life-or-Death Stakes of a Number
It’s a scenario that should give any American pause: a man’s fate—literally the line between life and death—hinges on whether his IQ falls above or below a single, stubborn number. Yet this is precisely what the U.S. Supreme Court will confront as it hears the case of Joseph Clifton Smith, an Alabama man sentenced to die for a 1997 murder. The Court’s decision could reshape decades of Eighth Amendment precedent, determining not only Smith’s fate but the standards for assessing intellectual disability in capital cases nationwide.
Smith’s crime was undeniably brutal: the killing of Durk Van Dam, beaten savagely with a hammer and saw during a robbery, his body left in a mud-logged pickup in the Alabama woods. But since 2002, when the Supreme Court declared in Atkins v. Virginia that executing intellectually disabled people is “cruel and unusual punishment,” the justice system has grappled with a core question—how exactly do we decide who is disabled enough to be exempt from the ultimate penalty?
A closer look reveals that Smith’s case is anything but routine. Over years of legal wrangling, he underwent five different IQ tests, all scoring between 72 and 78—seemingly above Alabama’s bright-line cutoff of 70. Yet as every psychologist will tell you, IQ tests aren’t clocks—there’s no precise, universal time. Testing comes with a margin of error, and even the U.S. Supreme Court itself has recognized, in 2014 and 2017 cases, that rigid cutoffs are both scientifically and constitutionally suspect.
The Mirage of Certainty: IQ Scores, Disability, and the Eighth Amendment
Beyond the numbers lies the fundamental question: Can a just society rely on a single test to define a person’s humanity? Alabama insists its five test scores should settle the matter, arguing that all above-70 results trump evidence indicating developmental deficits. Yet both a federal trial judge and the 11th Circuit Court recognized a more nuanced reality—one where Smith’s adaptive shortcomings, documented since childhood, are as decisive as his IQ.
This isn’t simply legal hairsplitting. According to leading disability rights advocates and psychiatric organizations, intellectual disability is about far more than test results. It encompasses deficits in communication, self-care, social functioning, and the capacity to navigate daily life—precisely the factors Smith’s defenders presented. As Harvard psychologist Marcela Almeida recently told NPR, “Relying solely on IQ ignores decades of research and opens the door to grave ethical errors.”
“The stakes of this decision extend far beyond Smith. They’re about whether we as a nation accept the moral consequences of drawing the line with a spreadsheet formula, or whether we commit to looking at the whole human being.”
How did our system get so obsessed with numbers? The problem traces back to a patchwork of state laws and court precedents that too often elevate bureaucratic neatness above lived reality. In 2014’s Hall v. Florida, the Supreme Court warned against “unacceptable risk that persons with intellectual disability will be executed,” insisting that “clinical definitions of intellectual disability, not a simple IQ score, must guide states.” But as Alabama’s petition makes clear, that guidance remains mired in confusion: is the lowest test determinative, the average, the highest, or something else entirely?
The Broader Battle: Disability Rights and the Limits of Conservative Retribution
This case is far more than a dispute over medical numbers; it’s a referendum on how our justice system honors—or fails—our most vulnerable. States led by conservative lawmakers have long resisted expansive interpretations of disability protections, arguing that imprecision hampers the “fair and efficient” administration of capital punishment. But whose efficiency, and at what cost?
The Justice Department, in a rare move, filed a brief underscoring the chaos these ambiguities produce. As their lawyers pointed out, “confusion over multiple IQ tests could hinder states from implementing lawful capital punishment.” Yet such “confusion” often arises from the failure of legislatures to keep pace with science or to see beyond harsh-on-crime politics. What gets called confusion is, in truth, the predictable result of political resistance to meaningful reform.
Research from the Death Penalty Information Center documents that intellectually disabled defendants remain uniquely vulnerable to wrongful execution, bad lawyering, and prosecutorial overreach—problems that strike at the heart of equal justice. In a nation that prides itself on second chances and the dignity of all people, is this the legacy we want to defend?
For progressive-minded Americans, the heart of the matter is clear: true justice means protecting those least able to advocate for themselves, not bending to expediency or partisan demands. The Supreme Court’s coming decision, likely to arrive by next summer, will either reaffirm this commitment or signal a chilling retreat.
History offers a warning. In past moments of national anxiety, deference to state harshness has led not to clarity, but to the slow erosion of rights—seen in Jim Crow sentencing, mass incarceration, and the persistent gaps in disability law enforcement. This seems a dangerous path to revisit, especially now, when the Supreme Court’s legitimacy hinges on its ability to uphold principle over political pressure.
Think about that next time politicians crow about saving money or being “tough on crime.” Will those values mean dignity and justice for all—or just for some?
