Hi there,
Thanks for visiting. I'm just getting this site (and the book) up and running, and comments are welcome. A number of friends have asked what inspired me to write this book, so I'll share my thoughts here. After 16 years in public service, it has become clear to me that our economic, social, and justice systems are deeply, inherently, irretrievably flawed and outmoded. Through my experience, research, and soul searching, it has also become clear that the root of the crisis is one of consciousness, and that if that were to evolve on an individual level (aggregating in the collective), humanity could make a quantum leap in creating a more just, humane, equitable world.
So...how to evolve? In many ways it is a simple matter of shifting our beliefs--programmed into us by society, family, and friends--which can allow us to reclaim our personal power and create a different world. In the book I illustrate how I arrived at this understanding, engaged it myself, and effected a complete transformation in my life circumstances. I would be interested in hearing how others may have experienced something similar, or in responding to inquiries regarding my personal process if that's of help. I hope to hear from you.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Chapter 5
The Thug…In a Black Robe
Although clearly there was a humorous aspect to the job because some of the cases were that ridiculous, it wasn’t all funny. One day Rick had called in sick during a whopping load: I handled approximately 70 cases (30 prisoners plus 40 non-custodial defendants) by myself.
Of the 40 non-custodial defendants, approximately 30 had been arrested in a sweep one evening and charged with “attempted possession of a controlled substance,” (trying to buy drugs), a charge many public defenders and judges considered dubious because, without the completed action of drugs in hand, these people hadn’t actually done anything to put another at risk. Some of the more cynical public defenders viewed this charge as an opportunity for cops to sweep the streets of characters they didn’t like the looks of…and throw them in jail for an evening or two.
The judge was unsympathetic to my solo situation, and was one in the minority who believed this to be a viable charge, so the cases were all proceeding. Under serious time constraints, I conducted a shotgun analysis of all 30 of the criminal histories and compared them with the different offers for guilty pleas so I could advise each client of his options. I was allowed eight minutes to complete this task since the judge desired to close the courtroom early that day.
Following the analysis, I herded all 30 out into the lobby, requesting they form a semi-circle around me, and I delivered a speech about their rights—bellowing at the top of my lungs, so all could hear me in the pandemonium. I recommended we demand jury trials in each case. Since my courtroom was not equipped to handle jury trials, such cases were transferred to another courtroom—in which the judge recognized that the charge was dubious, and dismissed these cases.
But in order to fully apprise them of all their options, it was necessary to advise them of the offers for guilty pleas, if they chose to go that route. So I would single out groups of approximately five at a time—still bellowing:
“Ok, Washington (Andre), Esposito, Moore, Jackson, and Jones, your offer on a guilty plea is six months court supervision because you have no criminal background. Next – Cruz, Jefferson, Pena, Smith, O’Connor, Washington (Devon), and Adams, your offer on a guilty plea is one year probation because you have some criminal history.”
The U.S. Constitution guarantees that every defendant in a criminal case is entitled to effective assistance of counsel.
Hmmm.
As it turned out, we “juried” all the cases—which I later learned were indeed all dismissed—and toward the end of the day, even though I wore Birkenstocks with my formal suit, my feet were dead tired. In a rare moment of something approaching friendliness, the judge jokingly threatened to hold me in contempt of court because my shoes were so ugly.
The humor quickly evaporated, however, because what ensued was the icing on the cake of a beastly afternoon. A group of five defendants had been charged with “gang loitering,” (standing on the street and looking “menacing”) and I was appointed to represent all five. Another “street sweep.” The Chicago gang loitering ordinance was later ruled unconstitutional by the Illinois Supreme Court (and ultimately the U.S. Supreme Court) because, as was determined, one can’t be arrested for simply standing on the street. At least not in America, at this time. But on that particular day it had not yet been ruled unconstitutional.
Prior to that day, my judge summarily dismissed gang loitering cases (without appointing a public defender) because he too believed it was a bogus charge. But today was different. These five people had been arrested on the sidewalk next door to my judge’s house. A little too close for comfort equals a lot of different standards, it seems.
As the judge appointed me on all five cases, I offered him an icy stare. My appointment on the case was a signal that he intended to proceed. Just what I needed.
Subtly, because we were in open court and on the record, the judge tried to coerce me to advise these defendants to plead guilty to the charges. “Counsel, I understand the State’s Attorney has made an offer. Do you need time to discuss that with your clients?” By now I knew this judge well, and the signal was unmistakable.
Not on your life you Bozo, I thought to myself, poker face firmly set. He must have perceived my below surface digging in of heels, because he asked to have a moment with me in private conference. We left the courtroom, and in his chambers he dropped a bomb:
“Counsel, I appreciate how thoroughly and vociferously you represent your clients, but these guys are just bad. If you don’t plead them out, I may have to throw you in the lock-up to teach you a lesson.” He stood up and leaned forward toward me, hands on his desk, his beefy red face now a foot away from mine. Blindsided, I watched in stupor as two beads of sweat rolled down then fell from his chin.
He apparently banked on the fact that his stature and power would intimidate me from ever revealing this conversation.
Mentally collecting myself now, on the inside I seethed. I arose and somehow managed to respond calmly: “Judge, these guys are not ‘just bad;’ they’re ‘just people’. You do what you need to do. I will not plead them to this charge.”
Our eyes locked for what seemed like hours. Finally he looked down, then brusquely moved toward the door. We returned to the courtroom and, back on the record now, I informed him that I needed to convey the guilty plea offer to my clients. He seemed pleased, surmising I had changed my mind.
The six of us left the courtroom for the lobby. Once there I advised them that we schedule a long trial date. I believed the charge would be ruled unconstitutional before then, meaning all the cases would be dismissed, since the hearing on the matter was scheduled in front of the Illinois Supreme Court in six weeks. They all agreed to the recommendation.
“Excuse me, but I have to make a phone call before we return to the courtroom.” I asked them to wait for me at the other end of the lobby, out of earshot. I promptly called my boss, explaining the situation. He advised me that he’d check in periodically with the courtroom’s sheriffs, and were I locked up, he’d retrieve me.
We re-entered the courtroom.
“Judge, all five of my clients would like to request a trial date. I’ll need two months to prepare; so two months out, please.”
He glared. A long pause ensued. But he had to agree to our request, or be on record denying all five defendants’ Constitutional rights to a trial.
Finally, he issued a two-month date.
Court was dismissed for the day.
I went home, slipped off my Birkenstocks, and soaked my feet. My head already felt soaked.
The Thug…In a Black Robe
Although clearly there was a humorous aspect to the job because some of the cases were that ridiculous, it wasn’t all funny. One day Rick had called in sick during a whopping load: I handled approximately 70 cases (30 prisoners plus 40 non-custodial defendants) by myself.
Of the 40 non-custodial defendants, approximately 30 had been arrested in a sweep one evening and charged with “attempted possession of a controlled substance,” (trying to buy drugs), a charge many public defenders and judges considered dubious because, without the completed action of drugs in hand, these people hadn’t actually done anything to put another at risk. Some of the more cynical public defenders viewed this charge as an opportunity for cops to sweep the streets of characters they didn’t like the looks of…and throw them in jail for an evening or two.
The judge was unsympathetic to my solo situation, and was one in the minority who believed this to be a viable charge, so the cases were all proceeding. Under serious time constraints, I conducted a shotgun analysis of all 30 of the criminal histories and compared them with the different offers for guilty pleas so I could advise each client of his options. I was allowed eight minutes to complete this task since the judge desired to close the courtroom early that day.
Following the analysis, I herded all 30 out into the lobby, requesting they form a semi-circle around me, and I delivered a speech about their rights—bellowing at the top of my lungs, so all could hear me in the pandemonium. I recommended we demand jury trials in each case. Since my courtroom was not equipped to handle jury trials, such cases were transferred to another courtroom—in which the judge recognized that the charge was dubious, and dismissed these cases.
But in order to fully apprise them of all their options, it was necessary to advise them of the offers for guilty pleas, if they chose to go that route. So I would single out groups of approximately five at a time—still bellowing:
“Ok, Washington (Andre), Esposito, Moore, Jackson, and Jones, your offer on a guilty plea is six months court supervision because you have no criminal background. Next – Cruz, Jefferson, Pena, Smith, O’Connor, Washington (Devon), and Adams, your offer on a guilty plea is one year probation because you have some criminal history.”
The U.S. Constitution guarantees that every defendant in a criminal case is entitled to effective assistance of counsel.
Hmmm.
As it turned out, we “juried” all the cases—which I later learned were indeed all dismissed—and toward the end of the day, even though I wore Birkenstocks with my formal suit, my feet were dead tired. In a rare moment of something approaching friendliness, the judge jokingly threatened to hold me in contempt of court because my shoes were so ugly.
The humor quickly evaporated, however, because what ensued was the icing on the cake of a beastly afternoon. A group of five defendants had been charged with “gang loitering,” (standing on the street and looking “menacing”) and I was appointed to represent all five. Another “street sweep.” The Chicago gang loitering ordinance was later ruled unconstitutional by the Illinois Supreme Court (and ultimately the U.S. Supreme Court) because, as was determined, one can’t be arrested for simply standing on the street. At least not in America, at this time. But on that particular day it had not yet been ruled unconstitutional.
Prior to that day, my judge summarily dismissed gang loitering cases (without appointing a public defender) because he too believed it was a bogus charge. But today was different. These five people had been arrested on the sidewalk next door to my judge’s house. A little too close for comfort equals a lot of different standards, it seems.
As the judge appointed me on all five cases, I offered him an icy stare. My appointment on the case was a signal that he intended to proceed. Just what I needed.
Subtly, because we were in open court and on the record, the judge tried to coerce me to advise these defendants to plead guilty to the charges. “Counsel, I understand the State’s Attorney has made an offer. Do you need time to discuss that with your clients?” By now I knew this judge well, and the signal was unmistakable.
Not on your life you Bozo, I thought to myself, poker face firmly set. He must have perceived my below surface digging in of heels, because he asked to have a moment with me in private conference. We left the courtroom, and in his chambers he dropped a bomb:
“Counsel, I appreciate how thoroughly and vociferously you represent your clients, but these guys are just bad. If you don’t plead them out, I may have to throw you in the lock-up to teach you a lesson.” He stood up and leaned forward toward me, hands on his desk, his beefy red face now a foot away from mine. Blindsided, I watched in stupor as two beads of sweat rolled down then fell from his chin.
He apparently banked on the fact that his stature and power would intimidate me from ever revealing this conversation.
Mentally collecting myself now, on the inside I seethed. I arose and somehow managed to respond calmly: “Judge, these guys are not ‘just bad;’ they’re ‘just people’. You do what you need to do. I will not plead them to this charge.”
Our eyes locked for what seemed like hours. Finally he looked down, then brusquely moved toward the door. We returned to the courtroom and, back on the record now, I informed him that I needed to convey the guilty plea offer to my clients. He seemed pleased, surmising I had changed my mind.
The six of us left the courtroom for the lobby. Once there I advised them that we schedule a long trial date. I believed the charge would be ruled unconstitutional before then, meaning all the cases would be dismissed, since the hearing on the matter was scheduled in front of the Illinois Supreme Court in six weeks. They all agreed to the recommendation.
“Excuse me, but I have to make a phone call before we return to the courtroom.” I asked them to wait for me at the other end of the lobby, out of earshot. I promptly called my boss, explaining the situation. He advised me that he’d check in periodically with the courtroom’s sheriffs, and were I locked up, he’d retrieve me.
We re-entered the courtroom.
“Judge, all five of my clients would like to request a trial date. I’ll need two months to prepare; so two months out, please.”
He glared. A long pause ensued. But he had to agree to our request, or be on record denying all five defendants’ Constitutional rights to a trial.
Finally, he issued a two-month date.
Court was dismissed for the day.
I went home, slipped off my Birkenstocks, and soaked my feet. My head already felt soaked.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
