“We do not really know what we stand for until we know what we will not, in fact, tolerate.” — J. Gahringer
“Every police officer is an arbiter of social values.” — President of the Crime Commission
These are the kinds of quotes that open every one of my Criminal Law classes. My professor starts us out with short, piercing statements that immediately force you to sit up a little straighter and think about the broader implications of the course. As I took my seat in my first Criminal Law class of 2026, those words landed heavily and prepared me to think more critically.
That very morning, I had read an article titled “What the Hell Happened to Police and Criminal Justice Reform?” It was the kind of headline that feels less like a question and more like a collective expression of frustration that so many are feeling. Carrying that context into class made it impossible to treat the material as abstract doctrine or distant history. Criminal law is as real as it gets, and we are seeing it evolve before us in real time.
Later that day, we read one of the foundational cases in criminal law: Regina v. Dudley & Stephens (1884). On its face, it is a story of survival at sea. At its core, it is a confrontation with some of the hardest questions the law can ask: Who decides what constitutes murder? How and why do we label people as criminals? Where did these labels come from? When does necessity excuse the inexcusable?
The case offers no comfortable resolution. Instead, it exposes the fragility of the line drawn between morality and legal rules. It makes clear that criminal law is not just about punishment; it is about values. It is about drawing lines around human behavior and declaring what society will and will not tolerate. This is not always a perfect concept, and judges who are making these decisions are handed great power and responsibility in laying down the law. Even so, there is no real mutual conclusion to find.
There are no clear-cut answers to these questions, and that is precisely what makes this area of law so daunting and so compelling. Criminal law forces us to grapple with history, power, and humanity all at once. It asks us to examine not only what the law is as a principle, but why it became that way and how it functions hundreds of years later.
It has been a troubling week in the news, especially for anyone invested in justice reform and accountability. But I find some grounding in the idea that education itself is a form of action. When we confront these questions together, when we are informed and empowered, we create space for change.
I don’t know all the answers yet. But I do know that understanding what we refuse to tolerate is the first step toward shaping what we stand for.