To Do Nothing?

By Shannon

“Thank you.  I wanted someone to give him a voice besides me and you did that,” the victim’s daughter told me after the capital murder trial.  When people think of the Mexican border they think of drugs.  It’s true this man was murdered because he failed to pay his drug suppliers (tied to cartels) and his drug runners, but there was so much more to his life than drugs.  Eight children wondered for 15 years if it was possible that their father abandoned them.  Now, 17 years and 3 convictions later, they are finally planning a memorial service so they may say goodbye with the dignity stolen from them so long ago.

Prosecutors along the 2000 mile US-Mexican border give voice to more than murder victims.  We also help victims of human trafficking.  Federal Agents discovered a 13 year old girl with a man previously convicted of raping a child because her mother sold her to him for $20.  Because of a jurisdictional technicality they could not hold him or her.  Because I spent months building a relationship with these Agents, they called me.  I came up with a plan, but it had to be executed by another agency.  The territorial pissing contests among law enforcement agencies are legendary.  I’ve worked for years to overcome those boundaries here.  They may not trust each other, but they trust me.  As a result the second agency executed my plan and a child was saved.

That was domestic trafficking, but here on the border we have international human trafficking – and not just Mexican victims.  I’ve worked the case of a child brought here illegally from the Dominican Republic with entry made illegally through Mexico.  She too was sold by her mother, but this time for a green card.  When the green card was obtained, mom went to New York and left her child as the man’s housekeeper, cook, and sex slave.   That man is in prison now.  We’re looking for mom.  The child is in counseling and living with a family who wants to adopt her.

To get into America, people who come by way of Mexico must pay “Coyotes” who work for cartels to transport them here illegally.  If they by-pass the Coyotes the cartels will kill any family that remains in Mexico and/or will kill them here when they find them.  This deters others from by-passing their system.  Since there are cartel cells in every state, finding those who fail to pay is not hard.  When the Coyote brings them here they retain the victims’ things and they tack on an additional charge not discussed beforehand.  They put them in a house with many other illegal immigrants.  They charge exorbitant rent.  They make the women (who comprise 70% of victims) work off the extra money by prostituting them out or forcing them to make porn.  They make the men work it off with forced homosexual prostitution and/or forced manual labor.  The rent is so high and wages are so low that the victims can never purchase their freedom.  To make them easier to handle, the Coyotes will force feed the immigrants illegal drugs which forces them into more debt as they get hooked.  To control the younger ones they give the child a puppy and when the child won’t do what is demanded, the puppy is beaten or killed in front of the child.  The immigrants’ only hope is that law enforcement discovers them.  Of course they won’t call 911 because that could get their loved ones or themselves killed. 

On Monday I referenced a blog that said that border prosecutors are a waste of money.  It talked about a unit in Texas that was funded for 2 years with  $1 million per year for 18 attorneys (according to information I got via telephone) in 16 jurisdictions that cover 1250 miles of the almost 2000 mile US-Mexico border.   That money pays for salaries, training, and educating officers and the community in how to detect human and drug trafficking.  In 2009, the unit’s funding amounted to 0.0010% of the total budget.  $75.5 BILLION (41.5% of the budget) was spent on education.  Under the proposed 2011 budget the unit would be 0.0012% of the total budget.  $70.5 BILLION (42%) is budgeted for education.  In 2010, the federal government spent $3.72 trillion on US-Mexico border security and it was all slated for additional Agents and soldiers.  Without attorneys in the courtroom, the work started by Agents and Soldiers cannot be finished.

Trafficking victims are not kept at the border.  They are in every state because the cartels are in every state.  What I do here affects your neighborhood and our families.  Texas and other states along with the federal government spend billions annually on domestic welfare.  Why shouldn’t 1 state spend 1 million each year to help train, empower, and pay special prosecutors so they may give voice to these most hopeless victims?  Does the welfare of the invisible not matter?

What about those who say it is a waste of time and money to fight the drug problem in America?  Remember the child sold for $20?  She was sold because her mom needed to buy her drug of choice.  It’s not uncommon for drug-addicted parents to sell their children, no matter the age, to get a hit.  Around 85% of the child rape cases I’ve worked had drugs as an underlying factor.  The other 15% were just sickos.  Almost 100% of home invasions, robberies, and burglaries I’ve worked had drugs as an underlying factor.  According to the FBI 80% of crime in America is perpetrated by gangs.  Gangs’ major source of income is running drugs in America and their ties to the cartels are getting stronger every day.  Will we ever be able to completely win the “war on drugs”?  No, but shouldn’t we still fight?  If YOU were for sale would you want me to keep fighting?

“All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.”  ~ Edmund Burke

Cross Examination is Hard!

A lot of people think that a lawyer's job is easy. In fact, many defendants believe they are smarter than their attorney. While this may be true in some cases when it comes to common sense or street smarts, it is not true for the art of cross examination. It is a fact that without experience and training, the art of trial work is not to be taken lightly. This poor thing simply pretended to have a heart attack. He learned two valuable lessons today: 1) He should let a lawyer represent him, and 2) he should never try to be an actor.

To Deport or Not To Deport - That Is The Question

By Shannon

The job description of prosecutors is defined in the criminal statutes of most states.  Each definition includes the word "justice" as in: it is a prosecutor's job "to do justice" - not win or get as many convictions as possible, but TO DO JUSTICE.  As I get older, more experienced and mellow out, I find that I see many shades of grey in between the black-and-white that I saw exclusively in my youth.  Justice is not always clear.  There is a scenario that comes up continually on the border and I'd like to know how you - our readers and fellow citizens - would like it handled.  Understand that no two cases are alike and there are often mitigating and/or aggravating circumstances.  It's hard to design a bright-line rule in matters of law, but there is wisdom in the multitude of counselors, so I'd appreciate your input via your comment on this post.

Very often the crimes I prosecute have illegal immigrants as defendants.  A conviction for most felony crimes will result in deportation.  Though I am sure it varies by jurisdiction, most of the felonies committed by illegal immigrants in my jurisdiction are drunk driving, family violence, and drug possession.  The defense attorneys always want us to reduce the charge to non-violent misdemeanor crimes so that their client may avoid deportation.  This would mean taking a felony family violence case in which someone has real damage to their body and which subjects a defendant to 2-10 years in prison and deportation and reduce it to a minor assault that subjects the defendant to no more than 1 year in the county jail and keeps him near his victim.  It would mean taking someone with 3 or more drunk driving convictions which subject the defendant to 2-10 years in prison and deportation and reducing it to a misdemeanor which subjects the defendant to no more than 1 year in the county jail and keeps him on our roads.  (By the way, illegal immigrants rarely serve a day in prison after a conviction because they are deported almost immediately.)

I'm not always sure what justice requires in these cases.

On the one hand, they are already breaking the law by being here.  When you add a felony offense on top of that, perhaps they deserve to be deported.  Especially when they are putting the lives of citizens - the lives of your parents, spouses, and children - in danger by driving drunk (and to add insult to injury they are also driving without a license or insurance).  There is a right way and a wrong way to enter this country.  One respects our laws and one does not.

On the other hand, with Mexico in the mess it is currently in and with the death toll always climbing it is hard to look someone in the face and send them back.  On top of that they very often have wives and children here who will not be subject to deportation because the only crime they've committed is being here.  I'd have to permanently break up a family.  That is heartwrenching.

The law requires convictions and deportations.  I have to uphold the law, but it is also the law that says my job is to seek JUSTICE.

What does justice require? 

What do you would wish your own public officials would do in these cases?  Please comment.

Fear and Loathing in a Mental Ward

By Ann

After I push through the imposingly heavy door, I have to wait for it to close before I can open the next one because it won’t unlock with another door open. This is to keep "them" out of the rest of the hospital.  The “them”  are the mental health patients who have been committed because they are a danger to themselves or others. Today I have the privilege of representing a patient in a hearing whereby the staff will testify and commit her to the hospital against her will.

 I walk down the hall and see her.  She is a young, tiny, docile woman sitting melancholy in a chair.  I naively assumed the hearing would be your run of the mill type with the doctor stating his opinion that she is suicidal and in need of just a few more weeks of treatment to allow the medicine to accumulate in her system.  

I was wrong!

As soon as I introduce myself to her – everything changes.  Her demeanor and actions erupted in a manner that is so shocking that even though I have never experienced an earthquake, I am confident that I can now identify with victims of any natural disaster.  

She is screaming and yelling and crying and flailing.   She wants a real lawyer.  She wants a paid lawyer.  And she wants to cut me.   The staff cower.  The nurses run for cover and the hospital security is called.  In the meantime, a brave hospital employee ushers us to a room where we can talk privately.   I foolishly allow myself to be led to a room with this tasmanian devil human hybrid.  I use the word room liberally because it was really a cage.  I walk in and look for a chair.  No luck. 

There is just her bed.  It is just a twin sized mattress covered in dirty sheets.  The windows are covered in bars and wire mesh.  I try to find the least offensive corner and rest my bottom half on and half off as I try to appear confident and in control.  

This becomes increasingly hard as she sits right on top of me.  She is yelling and crying and threatening some more. I redirect again and again and assure her that she has done nothing wrong and I hope that she doesn’t have anything in this room to cut me.   I try to explain the hearing to her.  I try to explain the situation and I try to get her position on paper.  I try to do this while tuning out the fact that she is not merely invading my space, but she has completely conquered it and now I can smell her breath.  I try to do this while tuning out the fact that I am sitting on a bed covered in a microcosm of filth, crazy person dander, and that it was the very spot where she was restrained for a period of at least 6-7 hours because she is violent and homicidal.  I am consumed by fear which is why I let myself get into this precarious situation.   I feel the classic signs of fear: heart racing, dry mouth, tunnel vision, and poor judgment (hence the cage room meeting).  Then the spell is broken just as quickly as it came.   She cried on my notepad and her teardrop fell right on the “I” in the word homicidal on the commitment petition.  Time stops as I look at the paper and feel myself in the midst of a rational epiphany.  I realize that everyone in this hospital is crazy.  My client has bona fide organic reasons for her craziness, but the staff are completely bonkers for putting me in this room, on this bed, with a severely agitated and unstable person.  I am no longer afraid.  I am now consumed with impatience and annoyance with the collective imcompetence and lack of judgment exhibited by the “professionals.” With righteous indignation, I stand up and bring her to the next room. I announce to the staff that  this meeting room isn’t working for me and we’re just going to use the room across the hall because it has a table and chairs.  And so we did. 

Border War Zone

By Shannon

A reader sent me this link:  http://gritsforbreakfast.blogspot.com/2011/04/border-prosecution-pork-so-far-remains.html  It is a blog by a Texas prosecutor talking about why border security in the form of prosecution is wasteful.  He doesn't know what he's talking about.  It is true that El Paso has one of the lowest crime rates for a city of its size, but that doesn't mean thousands of miles of border are safe. 

As someone who lives in a southwestern state on the Mexico border and is a prosecutor I can tell you that the border is something that gets too little media coverage and that you must live here to understand what goes on here.  Just because Janet Napolitano declares it safe doesn't mean the border is secure.  There are giant holes along the border that are unmanned and unfenced and therefore are unsecured.  There are middle eastern terrorist cells smuggling their people into Mexico and through those holes into America.  There are whole sections of desert that Americans are told to stay out of because the cartels use those routes to smuggle drugs and humans and will shoot anyone in those areas.  There are sections of the border that require special equipment to be used by Border Patrol Agents because Mexican criminals come over and set booby traps to frighten law enforcement away.  Some of these traps include wires so thin and stretched so tightly that they will instantly decapitate Agents on ATVs if they fail to wear special equipment.  Law enforcement is routinely stoned from the other side of the border - sometimes fatally.  There are always bounties offered for the assassinations of law enforcement officers.  Sometimes those bounties extend to federal and state judges and prosecutors.  The border looks safe because there are tens of thousands of men and women who stand in the gap for you and say to the criminals, "This far - no further." 

I would like to congratulate all those who stand with me on this side of the border and win the war today even if we may lose a battle tomorrow.  I would also like to encourage Grits and the rest of the nation to educate yourselves because the media won't.  There are cartel cells in EVERY state including Alaska and EVERY major city and even in some non-major cities like Fort Collins, Colorado.  We at the border war NOT against those who sneak in yearning for a better life.  We at the border stand between you and the cartels.  We do that in the field AND in the courtroom.  An Agent's efforts are all for nothing if there's not a lawyer standing by to finish what the Agent started.  Here's an excellent article about the border.  It is a starting point.  Please do your homework on this issue.  http://www.aolnews.com/2011/04/22/expert-sylvia-longmire-mexican-drug-cartels-infesting-us-even/

Cartels are here.  Cartel violence is here.  How bad should we let it get before we respond with boots on the ground and shoes in the courtrooms of the American-Mexican border?

Men Have No Idea

By Ann

Men have no idea what women want. 

Today I sat at my desk with a cup of coffee and I opened my file.  And there it was. There on my desk was a picture of a man holding his erect, uncircumcised penis. 

This is not unusual and this is not an isolated case.  Inevitably, when I defend those who are accused of sex crimes, I see evidence of their attempts to woo the objects of their affections online with pictures of their privates. Surprisingly a lot of men do this regardless of age, status, or social class.  Not surprisingly, I have never witnessed a positive outcome to this primitive courting gesture.  

Men just have no idea what women want.  I am not just saying this because I am a woman or that I am a single woman or even that I am a disappointed, chronically single, romantically deprived woman.  While all those things are true, they are not the impetus for my sudden realization that our nation is in desperate need of a real male sex symbol.   One only has to look on Craigslist or any other personals website to see how misled a majority of men are when it comes to my gender’s desires.   Under the men seeking women section you can see that there are men with pictures seeking single women.  Click on those pictures and 9 times out of 10 it is a picture of a hand holding a male organ.  Sometimes there is leg shot, sometimes there is not.  However, there is never a face in the picture.

Why do they do this? 

I have yet to have met an old couple who reminisce about how they met after the woman was won over by a picture of his genitals.   Never. Not once.  And I am confident that I never will.  

I was watching TLC the other night and the topic was the dating lamentation of the worlds “most endowed man.”  Apparently, he has the biggest one in the world.  He is also 35, still lives with his mother, and hasn’t been with another human being in over 10 years.  He is self loathing and is tired of being referred to as a “sex symbol”.

I watched it and wondered… Who is calling THIS guy a sex symbol?  It certainly isn’t women.   

Guilty

By Shannon

Today we finished the capital murder trial I've been writing about.  The jury took a mere 45 minutes to return a verdict of guilty.  That is amazing for such a serious charge.  It means their decision was made before they went to deliberate. 

I always feel a bit sad at the waste of a life.  This verdict means it will be 35 years before the defendant is eligible for parole.  He will be in his late 80s at that time if he lives that long.  What a waste.  It's hard to celebrate that part of the victory.  But then I talk to the family of the murdered man and the friend of the murdered woman.  I talk to them and I feel sad for the lives that were interrupted - lives that this verdict can never give back.  I'm proud of my work.  I feel the verdict was the right verdict under the law.  I'm glad I could help the family find some closure.  They are so greatful.  They kept hugging me and thanking me.  But then I see the defendant's family crying and I watch him hold his tiny granddaughter who he will not be able to hold ever again even if she visits him in prison and I grieve for them. 

Two of his co-defendants are already going to prison because they plead guilty without a trial.  5 lives wasted - and for what?  I want to ask the defendant if it was worth it, but would the answer - either way - bring understanding or peace or healing to anyone involved?

But I Don't Understand What's Going On!

By Ann

"But I don’t understand what’s going on."   

This is generally uttered by a criminal defendant who does not like taking personal responsibility for his or her actions.  I hear it all the time.  They complain and whine and fuss and use this phrase when they try to make it through a guilty plea (you have to admit guilt).  They say these seven ghastly words when I explain their limited options based on the law, their prior criminal history, and the unwillingness of the prosecution to negotiate a better deal.  They say it to the judge in hopes of getting out of their precarious situation.  

This usually backfires and earns both myself and the whiner an extra five minutes in private where they can whine and complain some more. 

The reality is that people overuse this phrase.  There are legitimate times when people actually don’t know what’s going on.  These include natural disasters, sudden onsets of serious medical maladies such as a heart attack or stroke, and sitting through a Shakespeare production.  However, it is generally not true of any criminal proceeding.  You know if you are going to trial.  You know if you are pleading guilty.  You know if you are being sentenced.  You may not like it.  You may not like the law.  You may not like your options but you do know what’s going on.  So let’s stop the charade because it is just plain annoying!

Of course, there are rare instances when you actually don’t know what’s going on in the courtroom and that is when you are represented by Joseph Rakofsky in a murder trial.  

Rakofsky is a private attorney who took on a murder trial as his first case.  He was so incompetent that the Judge declared a mistrial.   Because the standard for lawyer incompetence is exceedingly low, this guy had to be really bad.  The worst part is that he actually bragged about his incompetence on facebook.  I find this to be incomprehensible as I still get nervous when I go to trial on a case that I deeply care about and I am a seasoned trial lawyer.   And this guy represented a man who was on trial for murder!

He is a paid lawyer.  He is a private lawyer.  He is an incompetent lawyer.  But he is what the public percieves as real.  I sometimes wish that some of my ungrateful clients who call me names and verbally abuse me would have their families work a little overtime, pay this guy, and know what it really means to not know what is going on. 

It's a Man's World

By Shannon

I love being a woman.  I love everything about it.  Well... except maybe those yearly exams.  Yuck!  Other than that I love being a woman.  Unfortunately I find that I am sometimes handicapped in my profession because of my gender.  I never believed gender discrimination existed until I became a lawyer.  I find I am a victim of it on a regular basis now that I am surrounded by people who swore to uphold the Constitution.  Ironic considering the Constitution grants the right to freedom from discrimination on the basis of gender.  Here are some excerpts from my current trial:

(You need to know that while most defense lawyers maintain the highest standards of ethics and morality, the one in this case embodies EVERYTHING that makes people hate and distrust attorneys.  He is a disgrace to my profession, but I digress...)

---------------------------------------

Male defense lawyer:  "I'm trying to show how the State bought and paid for this man's testimony by agreeing to let him plea guilty and sentence him to only 20 years in exchange for his honest testimony!"

My male boss and the defense lawyer get into a massive argument because the defense lawyer has crossed the line into unethical behavior by slandering the State without any proof.

Male Judge:  "Well, this is probably my fault.  Everyone's tired and I pushed y'all an extra 5 minutes.  Let's all shake hands and quit for the day."

THE NEXT DAY

Male defense lawyer:  "How did the state buy your testimony?"

My male boss:  "Objection!  I object to the word 'buy'!"

Male Judge:  "Sustained."

Male defense lawyer:  "What did they give you to purchase your testimony?"

My male boss:  "Objection!  I object to the word 'purchased'!"

Male Judge:  "Sustained."

NOW CONTRAST THAT WITH THIS FROM LATER THE SAME DAY:

Male defense attorney to murder victim's daughter:  "How many acting classes have you taken?"

Witness:  "None."

Male defense attorney:  "Then how did you learn to cry on cue for your performance here today?"

ME:  "Objection!  I object to the word 'performance'!"

Male Judge:  "Overruled, counselor.  I cannot tell an attorney what he can or can't say.  Didn't they teach you the First Amendment in law school?!  Shame on you!"

-----------------------------------------

If only I'd remembered my place.

Lawyer Fight !!!!

Lawyers annoy the public. Lawyers annoy each other. But we have a tough time so sometimes it's good for our mental health to laugh at each other. I love this video because it reminds me that there are others in my profession that have bad days too!

It's Not The Same Thing At All

By Shannon

Besides lawyers, only doctors can possibly grasp the stress of law school and of practicing.  In what other profession can you forever lose your right to practice your profession by making a mistake?  In what other profession must you read thousands of pages in a week to do your job?  In what other profession (besides mothering a newborn) are you expected to run on little to no sleep for weeks and months at a time?  The answer?  None.

I'm in the middle of a capital murder trial.  A man's freedom is at stake.  I cannot afford to make mistakes.  I cannot afford to miss a piece of evidence and possibly take away the freedom of an innocent man.  I'm certain of this man's guilt because he confessed, but still I tossed and turned for weeks worrying about the appropriate punishment.  Was what the law prescribed just in this case?  Where in the range was the right number?  The victim has been dead for 17 years.  He and his family deserve justice.  Can I get it for him?  What if I fail him and his family? 

Criminal lawyers do not get up and decide to try a case one day.  In normal cases we spend weeks preparing and a week or so trying the case.  In a capital case we spend MONTHS preparing and at least a month trying the case and if it is a death case then we spend another month just picking a jury.  On top of all that we still have to manage the rest of our cases.  We still have to return phone calls and attempt to find justice in other cases even while we are consumed by the case before us.  There is a reason for the old saying:  "The law is a jealous mistress."  Most of us will tell you she's a bitchy one too.

This murder case has consumed the last 2 months of my life.  At this point I'm just lucky if I still find time to brush my hair and I'm pleased when I remember to do it.  To decompress I went to my book club on Monday.  I've not read the book.  I just needed some fun with friends.  When I arrived I confessed that I had not read even a page.  Our hostess asked why not.  I said, "I'm in the middle of a capital murder trial."  There was dead silence.  Finally the hostess asked with the furrowed brow of someone deeply confused by my seemingly unrelated response, "So you can't read?"  When I told Ann this story she interruped me here with a resounding, "NO!"  I answered my friend with the same word, but spoken more softly.  Another reader tried to offer understanding, "I remember how stressed I would get around finals in school.  Is trial like a big test?"  Ummmmm....  Well....  I tried to explain though my patience was wearing thin (another side effect of trial), "Well, it's like a law school final that goes on for a month.  You see in law school we read around 1000 pages of small print each week.  After 4-5 months of that, we get only one test per class and that is a 3-4 hour final exam in each class.  That is the entire basis of our grade - no pop quizzes - no term papers.  The professors are required to fail a certain percentage of us even if we all get every answer correct.  Trial is the mental, physical, and emotional stress of doing that every day for the duration of trial."  I paused.  I waited.  Only the crickets answered me.  Finally they recovered from their shock and ignored what I said.  Everyone else had read the assigned chapters, so they discussed them and silently judged me for thinking I was too busy to read a few chapters.  After all they are busy too.  Maybe they're right to judge me.  After all they really are busy too.  Who am I to be too busy to read a few chapters?  I mean after all it is only a man's freedom and a victim's justice that is resting in my hands this month.  Maybe I could have found time to read for fun.

Remote Justice

By Ann

I am standing in front of the door.  I press the remote lock two times.  Nothing.  So I press again.  Nothing.  My arms are getting tired because I'm holding my briefcase and umbrella.  Finally, my dog loses his mind as he watches this display of incompetence and begins to yelp which breaks me out of my idiotic and confused trance.  It is at this moment that I realize that I am trying to unlock my front apartment door with my car remote.
It's not my fault.  I'm in trial mode and there is simply no room for anything else.

I am preparing for a trial.  It is not a particularly egregious crime and it isn't even a felony trial.  And yet, I have been haunted with nightmares and anxiety ever since I started reading through the investigation.  This is because I am scared to death.
I'm not new at this.  I have been doing this job for a few years and I have several felony acquittals under my belt. I'm comfortable and seasoned in criminal jury trials.  I shouldn't even be concerned. But I am.  I am more than concerned.  I am dying a thousand deaths.  This is because I should win this case. I should win and my client should go free.
But one never knows what a jury will do.  I don't know what will make them decide my client's fate.  And it doesn't help that my client is not like-able at all.  He looks ghetto and crazy.  But crazy doesn't mean guilty.  And while I can't talk about the specifics because they are not a matter of public record yet - I will say this- there is no bigger burden on a defense attorney that surmounts the knowledge and belief that your client is not guilty and yet you don't  have any control over whether or not the crushing fist of injustice will annihilate him.
I can only prepare.  And prepare.  And prepare.
Then I can hope for the best.

Drug War Madness

By Ann

I stood next to a man who was about to be sentenced.  He committed a crime.  This wasn’t his first time.  He had gotten himself into trouble with the law for decades.  It started in the 70s after he watched his alcoholic father kill his brother.  Not surprisingly, he turned to drugs.  And because of drugs, he was a convicted felon.  Because he was a convicted felon, he could never find a job.  Because he couldn’t find a job, he had to sell drugs and commit crimes to live.  Because he sold drugs, he would go to jail.  The cycle couldn’t stop, not even if he wanted it to.  Still, against all odds, he did stop doing drugs.  He stopped committing crimes for fifteen years.  But in a bad economy without a job prospect and a recent death in the family, he relapsed.  He was with a friend who wanted to get high.  My client called someone so his friend could buy drugs.  He did this because his friend told him he’d get him high if he could find someone to sell it to him.  Unfortunately, the drug dealer came to the scene high, the friend and the dealer shot each other and my client was charged with conspiracy to deliver drugs.  He did not take part in the shooting or the buying of the drugs.

Lest he forget his place as a marginalized, convicted felon, the judge sentenced him to a minimum of four and a half years to nine years in jail.  That means he will be in jail almost 8 years before he is eligible for parole.  He will also be on supervision for a decade which means he will have a probation officer well into his seventies. 

Our war on drugs is getting out of control.  People who do drugs or sell drugs are sentenced more harshly than people who violently assault other people. In fact,some rapists do less time than do the indigent folks who are nothing more than capitalists who sell to consenting adults. 

Yes, drugs are not good for you.  Yes, drugs are addictive.  But so is fast food.  So are cigarettes.  So is alcohol.   This is a video from the famous movie “Reefer Madness” which was propaganda pushed by the government after prohibition was over.    Some people believe that the drug war began once the war against booze was lost.  Some people think the drug war is really a war against the poor underclass to keep them from rising above the ghetto.  Still others believe that we as a society have fallen so far into the hysteria pushed by the drug war propaganda that we have lost any ability to think critically about it.  I won’t say what I think.  I’ll let you watch this clip and decide if you see any parallels to today’s drug war myths.   And I will mourn the life that was robbed by the system simply because he was involved in drugs. 

Wanna mess with me???

By Shannon

I realize that for those who sit at the other table next to defense attorneys I am a threatening figure.  I understand that defendants liken me to the anti-Christ.  I get it.  Each time I go to trial against someone I try to put myself in his family's shoes.  I imagine believing my loved-one is innocent - or if not "innocent" per se, at least undeserving of justice because of mitigating circumstances.  I know that they do not comprehend the lengths I go to in order to make sure I'm not trying an innocent person.  I know they would not believe me if I told them how much compassion I truly feel for them and that for some of them I've even shed a few tears.  I get all of that.  However, I wish they understood that it is really stupid to attack and antagonize me during the process because their bad behavior has a tendency to mitigate any compassion I may have felt.

For instance, in this current trial I gave the opening statement on Tuesday.  It's the only time I've spoken during this week of trial.  My parts come later on.  So, why did this family decide to mock me for being anemic after they heard me speaking to my doctor's office on the phone outside?  Really?  I didn't know anemia was such a hot-button topic!  They also heckled me in the courtroom because an overzealous baliff wrongly chastized me for using the phone when the judge was not on the bench.  This insignificant little man - drunk with the power of suddenly being a baliff - made such a big deal about me emailing the victim's family on my phone that the defendant and his family decided it must be okay to join in and mock me for my chastizement.  The stupid little man drunk with power didn't seem to realize that it was his responsibility to get the family under control despite the fact that he caused the problem.

Would you like to know what all of this accomplished???

Well, this is a capital murder trial.  We're asking for life NOT death.  Even so, I've been trying to convince my boss to give the jury the option of the lesser included offense of murder.  Not anymore.  He clearly is as mean as our case shows because he's raised a mean family.  It will probably be better for his kids and grandkids if he does a little time to learn a little humility.  Maybe he will even understand what it means to be afraid of other people like his 29 year old female victim was afraid of him when she died.

As far as the small man who caused the problem... well, he'll be taking a class now to learn how to be a baliff.  He was also replaced for today and tomorrow by someone who immediately let the family know that outbursts will get them kicked out of court for the duration of the trial.  Oh!  And the new baliff let me email the victim's family on my phone when the judge was not on the bench.  It's amazing what playing the upset wide-eyed woman will get you in the south.

Would anyone else like to mess with me???

Drunkard in the Courtroom

By Ann

Endlessly grueling hours of studying contract law, property law, constitutional law, business law, statute interpretation, legal research and writing, and advocacy skills in law school proved to be a colossal waste of time when it came time to actually practice law.  I didn’t know it at the time and I naively believed that my J.D. was going to save me from the major I had taken up in college.  I majored in psychology and lived in a major city.  In between classes, I would sit on a park bench reading and I would try to drown out the vocalized incoherent rants of the people pushing grocery carts filled with garbage and having conversations with invisible beings.  Sometimes I would look at them and wonder; what is the point of having an imaginary friend who agitates you to the point where you are verbally arguing with them in public?  Personally, I would have a very agreeable friend…but I digress.

Today I represented a man who was charged with public drunkenness.  Before I met him, I looked at the file and wondered why the cops didn’t have anything better to do with their time.  I mean this wasn’t a driving under the influence offense and so what if a man is drunk in public.  I had quite the attitude as I traveled to court.  In my head, I dressed the police officer in a burqa worn by the moral police in the Mideast and I played a game of imaginary wack a mole with the officer in place of the mole.  My indignation lasted all of less than a second once I was confronted with the offender.

pic found at moderndrunkardmagazine.com

We sat in a room and he was clearly drunk.  I don’t mean under the influence.  I don’t mean buzzed.  I mean drunk.  Mean and nasty and perverted and DRUNK.  I couldn’t explain anything to him.  I did  tell him that I think he’s drunk but with the care and caution and artful skill that only a person who lived in a city, studied psychology, and who talked a drunk friend out of driving can do.  He smelled so bad that I got a little lightheaded.  And he wanted a hearing.  And he wanted to testify. 

Nothing in law school could have prepared me for this guy.  There is no mention of the drunken weirdo in the Uniform Commercial Code.  I don’t know what to do so I tell the judge we are ready to proceed and I hope that he smells the guy to spare me from having to take any action.

The judge takes the bench.  He stops writing and asks the Officer- Officer have you been drinking? No, your honor.

Counsel, have you been drinking?  I can’t find my voice, where the heck did it go?  Finally, I push through my angst which is paralyzing me as bad as a waking dream and I mutter, “No, your honor.”  And I try to stifle a laugh as the judge asks every person in the courtroom if they have been drinking.

Ultimately, my client was put in jail to dry out before his hearing.  But before he was taken away, he stared at me, giggled, and rubbed his privates. 

Good thing I got this J.D. - it sure insulated me in a profession where I don’t have to deal with crazy.  

 Good thing.  

Bullies bullies everywhere!

By Shannon

You know that kid who used to bully you on the playground - often for no reason at all.  Remember how your parents (if they were like mine) would tell you to "just ignore them and they'll go away?"  Remember how that only worked for a day or two if it worked at all?  I'm sure you parents are picturing the kid who's mean to your child.  I bet you never knew it was possible for a grown person to hate an 8 year old that much until that 8 year old started bullying your kid.

We had a neighborhood bully - I'll call him Manny for the purposes of this post.  We were in the same grade.  One day Manny and his best friend Cretin decided to steal a little girl's poster board in the school yard and my little sister who was in 1st grade bravely interceded.  The friend she was defending turned tail and ran.  When I came out of 5th grade that day, one of them had my sister with her arms behind her back and a large group of 5th grade boys surrounding her.  They kept us there for what seemed like hours, though I'm sure that less than a half hour passed before my father came looking for us.  (We walked to and from school back then.)  A teacher saw what was going on and offered no help.  In fact, she turned her back and went inside.  Finally we saw my father and tried to run to him.  This next part happened in slow motion.  My father seemed to grow about 3 feet taller while one boy tripped my sister to my right and caused her to scrape both knees.  When my father reached us we each grabbed onto one of his legs as he grabbed Manny's shirt collar in his left and and Cretin's shirt collar in his right and lifted them above his head.  I don't remember what he said, but I know that when he put them down all those boys scattered like roaches.  Later my father went to talk to Manny's father.  (We didn't sue bullies back then.)  I don't know what happened at that "talk" but I do know that Manny's family left the neighborhood when school ended that year and I never had problems with Cretin again.

I've thought about Manny over the years.  I'm sure if I remembered his last name I could find him in the prisoner database for the Department of Corrections.  Then it dawned on me... if bullies don't end up dead or in jail, do you know where they end up?

AS A JUDGE ON THE BENCH

That's right.  Judges often bully for no reason other than that they can.  They belittle you and insult you ESPECIALLY if you accidentally show that you are smarter than they are.  I never realized that judges are just bullies who make six-figures a year until last night when I was telling Ann about a particularly mean thing a judge did to me in court.  She commiserated and then said, "Judges are just bullies!"  Yes, my friend, they can be and are too often.  Power corrupts.

Meet Inmate Number

By Ann

For a spring morning, it is unusually cold.  I stand shivering and ring the rusted buzzer clinging to the concrete wall and wait for the faceless voice to ask me what is my business here.  He buzzes me in and I struggle with the heavy, unwelcoming door.  Even though I feel a burst of warm air, it is less comforting than the freedom of the cold air still clinging to my back.  I am here for a conference with one of my incarcerated clients.  I have some bad news like I do most days and I have to give this information to a person who is residing in a living, institutional hell.

As I step through the threshold, all of my senses are immediately assaulted. 

I can smell sweat, urine, bad breath, and a staleness that can only be experienced and comprehended through the hoarding of human beings in a confined space. 

I see my client.  I see his dirty canvas jumpsuit and his dirty used canvas sneakers without any shoelaces.

I hear the cries of inmates housed like dogs and the barking commands of the faceless correctional officers over the intercom. 

I can feel the eyes of the prison always watching me whether it be in person or through the video cameras mounted all over the place.

As I stand there, I am reminded of a conversation that I overheard between two members of the general public. One was complaining that inmates have it so good on our tax dollars.  The other emphatically lamented that they have it better than most, what with 3 meals a day and a roof over their head.  I so wished they could be here with me.

The Experience of an Inmate with a Number

An inmate comes into the prison and gets a  number.  Inmate number replaces his or her name.  Inmate number is then given a cell.  The cell is smaller than most walk in closets.  In this cell, inmate number shares close quarters with another person.  This person may smell.  This person may be a sociopath.  This person may be a violent gang member.  This person may have a communicable disease.  This person may have nothing in common with inmate number.  But inmate number will spend much time with this person and if this person is lactose intolerant- inmate number will know.  This is because the toilet is in the middle of the cell without doors right next to the sink where inmate number will brush their teeth.  

Inmate number will get to work in prison and get paid for it.  Inmate number earns an average of $.16 an hour.  This is not even enough to buy a toothbrush at the end of the day.  And without money, inmate number will not be given toiletries, snacks, or soap.

Inmate number will wear the prison issued clothes.  The dirty canvas robe can never be cleaned enough.  Inmate number will get a pair of shoes that have holes in them.  Inmate number will get underwear and socks that are stained and soiled from the previous inmate number.  But inmate number cannot opt out of wearing the undergarments.

Inmate number will have to avoid fights, gangs, drugs, sexual predators, and write ups while being housed with other inmates.  Inmate number will be susceptible to sickness, staph infections, and other institutional maladies. Inmate number will have to fight the odds.  

So far all of those people in the dark who complain that inmates have too many rights, or that they have it so good in prison, I invite you to share a cell with inmate number.

Cancel your family vacation and let everyone experience this fun.   Who knows, as an added bonus, you or your family members may get raped, beat up, or come home with MRSA.  

The possibilities are endless.

"I need to know"

By Shannon

My first capital murder trial begins on Monday.  This is a major milestone in an attorney's life.  I've agonized a bit over the case here and here and here with you.  Later this month we should have a verdict very near the 17th anniversary of the murders of this man and this woman.  Today I met with the female victim's best friend and roommate.  It has been almost 17 years since she last heard the victim's voice or saw her face, but her grief has not diminished.  As soon as we began talking about the victim, she began tearing up.  She pulled it together and did a great job.  She will be a fantastic witness.  I let her hold her best friend's 17 year old day planner and journal.  I watched as she caressed both without even realizing it as she told me about her friend.  As soon as I handed her the day planner, she smelled it hoping I guess to feel her friend near her one more time.  I tried to prep her for trial, but she had only one thing on her mind.

"What happened to her?"  she asked me.

I cannot explain or express the deep affinity I felt for this woman who still mourns her friend.  I gave her a glossed-over cliff notes version.

"But what happened?"  she asked when I was done.

I must have looked confused because she began to explain.

"For 17 years people have said that I don't need to know - that knowing could cause nightmares.  I've had nightmares for 17 years!  I kept waiting for her to come back.  I took care of her pets and paid what bills of hers I could.  I kept waiting, but..."  There was a long pause as the tears welled up in her eyes.  "I need to know.  I need to know exactly what happened."

I told the story again with more details this time.  "She didn't suffer," I promised at the end.

"Now I know,"  she said with gratitude.

"Does that help you?"  I asked truly concerned for her emotional well-being.

"Yes.  I always dreamed she'd been tied up and tortured..."

"NO!"  I interrupted.

"...or raped..."

"NO!"

"...or held against her will..."

"NO!"

The woman paused.  I could see the 33 year old in the 50 year old who sat before me.  I could also see one last question brewing.  I waited to see if she could muster the courage to get it out.  Finally she did.

"Was she afraid?"  she asked.

"She didn't have time to be," I lied. 

She didn't need to know.