Welcome to Original Jurisdiction, the latest legal publication by me, David Lat. You can learn more about Original Jurisdiction by reading its About page, and you can email me at davidlat@substack.com. This is a reader-supported publication; you can subscribe by clicking here.
On the morning of Thursday, January 23, while at the gym, I received a frantic call from our au pair, Michelle. Our basement was flooding with water—even though it wasn’t raining that day—and she didn’t know what to do. I tried to explain over the phone how to shut off the main water valve, but she wasn’t able to do it.
In a state of panic myself, I rushed out of the gym, hopped in my car, and drove home as fast as I could. Alas, I drove a bit too fast—35 miles per hour, when the speed limit was 25. To my great surprise (and disappointment), I got pulled over—around the corner from our house.
As I sat in my car and waited for the officer to approach, I could even see our house through the trees. And I could imagine the water level rising in our basement.
When the officer came to my window, I apologized for speeding, but explained that I had simply lost track of my speed, in my haste to get home to address an emergency. Gesturing toward our home, 50 yards away, I told him that our basement was flooding.
Under these circumstances, I was hoping the officer would let me go with a warning—maybe even telling me, “Good luck with your basement.” Instead, he questioned the veracity of Michelle’s story—”well, that’s what she says”—and ticketed me for violating N.J.S.A § 39:4–98, “Exceeding maximum speed, 1-14 mph over limit.”
(I thought about saying, “If you don’t believe Michelle, come to our house—it’s right over there—and see for yourself.” But years of writing about the law have taught me that arguing with the police doesn’t tend to end well.)
What was the penalty for my offense? A fine of $107, plus two points on my license—which I could accept. What I really worried about was the effect the ticket would have on our (already high) auto insurance premiums. Remember that we live in New Jersey, which has some of the nation’s highest car insurance costs—and one of our insured drivers is Michelle, who’s under 25.
I decided that I’d do whatever I could to avoid a rate hike. I began by logging into the New Jersey Courts website, locating my ticket, and requesting a plea offer. In the comments accompanying my request, I explained that I never speed in town—but rushing home to deal with my flooded basement, I didn’t notice my speed. I begged for the prosecutor’s understanding (and hoped he would simply dismiss the ticket).
A few days later, I received the prosecutor’s response: no dismissal, but I could plead guilty to N.J.S.A § 39:4-97.2, “Unsafe operation of vehicle.” This would mean zero points on my license, but would require me to pay $440 instead of $107—which I’d gladly do, if it would leave my insurance premiums unaffected. But would it?
I called my insurance company to ask whether taking the plea would spare our household a rate increase, since it would involve no points on my license. The representative explained that points matter to the State of New Jersey (which can impose a surcharge or even suspend your license if you rack up too many of them). But points don’t matter to insurers—and having either a speeding or unsafe-operation offense on my record would dramatically increase our premiums.
So at that point I thought, “What the heck do I have to lose? I want my day in court!”
After turning down the plea offer, I was given a trial date of Wednesday, May 14, at 3 p.m., in Summit City Municipal Court. The trial would be a bench trial, conducted over Zoom, before Judge John De Massi (who still practices law—as part-time judges in New Jersey are allowed to do, subject to certain limitations).
I wondered: might traffic court be like a court of equity, i.e., a court in which a judge can decide cases based on general principles of fairness, as opposed to a rigid application of the law? In such a low-stakes, informal court, where “trial” takes place over Zoom, might the judge have the discretion to simply dismiss my ticket?
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May 14 arrived. Freshly shaven and sporting a new haircut, I donned a blue button-down shirt and navy blazer, then logged onto Zoom. A few minutes after 3 p.m., I was placed in a Zoom session with Judge De Massi, the municipal prosecutor, and the police officer (who, by the way, was quite handsome—though I hadn’t noticed this on the day he gave me the ticket, given how stressed I was).
I gave my brief presentation to the judge. I acknowledged and apologized for my speeding, explained the exigent circumstances of that day, highlighted my clean driving record, and threw myself on the mercy of the court. I pleaded for outright dismissal of my speeding ticket.
At the end of my spiel, Judge De Massi, shaking his head, basically said, “Sorry, no can do.” At that point, feeling defeated, I broke the fourth wall and ‘fessed up.
“Your Honor, I’m sorry to have wasted the court’s time,” I said. “But I have a confession to make, which also explains why I’m here. I did want to contest my ticket, but I’m also a legal journalist, fascinated by courts—and I wanted to learn more about traffic court, about which not much gets written.” (I left out being the founder of a blog called Above the Law, which I figured wouldn’t help me as a defendant.)
“Specifically, I was wondering what defenses might be recognized in traffic court,” I continued. “Here, I’m not advancing a factual defense; I admit, and apologize for, the offense conduct. I’m trying to make out a defense of necessity: yes, I was speeding, but I was doing so to avoid a greater evil.”
At this point, Judge DeMassi brightened. Seemingly pleased that someone was so interested in the workings of traffic court, he shifted into professorial mode.
“You raise an interesting issue,” he said. “What defenses are cognizable in a traffic-court proceeding? As with so many things in the law, the answer is, ‘It depends.’”
“Let’s say an officer stopped you and ordered you to get home within five minutes—and the only way to do that would be to drive 50 miles per hour in a 25 mile-per-hour zone. You follow the officer’s instructions, and you get a ticket. You could raise an entrapment defense: you had no intention to violate the law, but the government induced you to commit a crime you otherwise would not have committed.”
“Entrapment is what’s called a ‘2C’ defense. Title 2C, the New Jersey Code of Criminal Justice, lists defenses that can be raised in criminal cases—such as entrapment, justification, necessity, and duress.”
“But motor vehicles are governed by Title 39, the New Jersey Motor Vehicle Code—and violations of Title 39 are generally treated as civil infractions. So a number of Title 2C defenses, like justification and necessity, are not available under Title 39.”
“Speeding home to deal with an emergency is not a defense under the Motor Vehicle Code. Even a doctor rushing to the hospital to deal with a medical emergency can’t get out of a speeding ticket.”
“But some 2C defenses are available under the Motor Vehicle Code. I mentioned entrapment; another is duress. Say you get into your car, someone pops out of your backseat, puts a gun to your head, and orders you to drive them to New Providence as fast as you can. If you get a ticket for that, you can invoke duress as a defense.”
“There is, however, another interesting wrinkle. What if you’re driving while intoxicated? If you’re guilty of DWI, you may be precluded from raising certain defenses that would otherwise be recognized.”
“I could say a lot more,” the judge said—looking as if he were about to say something deliciously dishy, but perhaps disparaging, about traffic court. “But I should probably stop here, before I put my foot in my mouth.”
So my necessity defense wasn’t recognized, and there was no way I could claim entrapment, duress, or another cognizable defense. I was stuck with my traffic ticket.
Grateful for Judge De Massi’s time and insight, I thanked him for his patience and told him that I would plead guilty to the original offense. He declared my case resolved, told me to pay the $107 fine (plus $33 in court costs) by Friday, informed me of my right to appeal (within 20 calendar days), and sent me on my way.
Upon further reflection, the judge’s explanation made sense to me: given the sheer volume of cases passing through traffic court, mechanical application of clear legal rules is a must. Traffic court would grind to a halt if the judges sat around trying to “do equity” in every case.
Yes, the venue is casual, and the proceedings are summary—but that’s presumably because the low stakes of traffic court can’t justify or economically support anything more elaborate. Traffic court is a far cry from, say, Delaware Chancery Court (the last court in which I tried a case, a dispute over a multibillion-dollar M&A deal).
My takeaway? Although traffic court is relatively informal, it’s not a law-free zone, and the judges don’t get to do whatever the heck they want.
So no, I couldn’t get out of my speeding ticket, no matter how “unfair” it felt to me—but on the bright side, I now know way more about traffic court than I did before. I just hope I won’t need to learn more for a long, long time.
UPDATES:
1:26 p.m.: A reader wrote, “Too bad you weren’t in Rhode Island. Judge Frank Caprio dispensed equity all the time. See generally Caught in Providence.” This does raise a point worth highlighting: your experiences in traffic court might differ from mine, since there’s a great deal of variation among these tribunals. One reason I decided to try my luck in Summit City Municipal Court is that I came across some Reddit discussions where folks claimed they had gotten tickets dismissed based on appeals to fairness (as opposed to factual defenses like “that wasn’t me”). But these individuals hadn’t been in my municipal court—or even other municipalities in New Jersey, if I recall correctly.
1:42 p.m.: From a second reader: “I can assure you that traffic court in Maryland has much more leeway.” So again, YMMV: Your Mileage May Vary.
11:18 p.m.: A third reader echoes the point about Maryland: “In Maryland, where I practiced for 45 years, judges have enormous discretion in a case like yours, and you would almost certainly have gotten ‘probation prior to judgment’—which would result in no conviction and no points. You might have had to pay a small fine and court costs. Probably no impact on insurance rates.”
8/13/3025, 2:05 p.m.: For more about traffic court, including why my experience was probably not very representative of what traffic court is like across the country, see this follow-up story, Traffic Court: A Prosecutor’s And A Professor’s Perspectives.
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At least it wasn't a traffic camera but a real cop. I've fought them simply because if the cop doesn't show you walk. Finally, arguing with cops is bad--but inviting him into your house to see the problem is a lot worse!
So, you are saying that injustice is a reasonable price to pay for efficiency? I disagree. I believe that we are entitled to justice every single time! That the "system" routinely fails to deliver justice means that it is broken.
The "pressure relief valve" in our legal system is prosecutorial discretion. That dismissive policeman failed in his duty to exercise good judgement.