In the centuries before the Enlightenment, the law had a literal way of crushing the accused. European courts used judicially sanctioned torture to extract confessions, and in colonial America, the practice of peine forte et dure—piling heavy stones on a defendant’s chest—was used to force a plea. We tell ourselves we have moved past such barbarism. But as we sit in the first quarter of the 21st century, the mechanism has merely evolved. Today, American prosecutors don’t pile boulders on the accused; they pile charges and debt.
This modern conviction machine ensures that the constitutional right to a trial is less a shield and more a gamble with one’s life. If you choose to exercise that right and lose, you face a trial penalty that can turn a few months of offered plea time into decades of prison. It is a system of coercive pressure so absolute that it regularly induces the innocent to condemn themselves.
The story of Ronald Pagliai, which culminated in a landmark ruling by the Iowa Supreme Court last month, adds a financial layer to this coercive landscape. In February 2024, Pagliai sat in a Des Moines courtroom facing low-level theft charges. The state offered him a “deal”: plead guilty to two charges, and they would drop the others. But for Pagliai, who was so broke he required a public defender, this “victory” came with a price tag. The judge ordered him to pay the court costs even for the cases being dismissed, including filing fees and the cost of the “free” lawyer the state was constitutionally obligated to provide because he is indigent.
For over a decade, Iowa had been selling freedom from a criminal record back to the indigent in the form of administrative debt. Between 2012 and 2022, the state charged low-income residents over $151 million for their own defense. Because these individuals are, by definition, penniless, the state only collected about 2.3 percent of that money. Yet the debt remained, a shadow sentence that led to garnished wages and suspended driver’s licenses, effectively managing poverty rather than adjudicating crime.
When the Iowa Supreme Court rightly put an end to this practice, the reaction from the legal community was revealing. Prosecutors and even some defense attorneys argued that losing these fees actually hurt defendants. They view the fees as a bargaining chip—a way to give the state a financial win in exchange for a dismissal. As Alex Kornya of the ACLU of Iowa noted, this logic admits to a “sad world” when a negotiation hinges on how much debt a poor person can carry to buy a dismissal.
Despite judicial intervention, the machine is already fighting to repair itself. Legislators immediately introduced legislation that would undo the ruling and reinstate the use of court costs as a plea-bargaining tool. They argue for efficiency, but that efficiency comes at the expense of the Sixth Amendment. Whether through the threat of decades in a cage or a lifetime of debt, the system has become less about a genuine quest for truth and more about a transaction in which the price of innocence is often higher than the cost of a conviction.
