Adversaries Need Not Apply

To:     Mr. Blaise Trettis, Public Defender

           18th Judicial Circuit Public Defender

           Brevard County, Florida

    

From:    Norm DeGuerre, Esq.

               Deputy Public Defender, County of Santa Asphalt

 

Re:        Recent Job Opening

 

Dear Mr. Trettis:

I hope this letter finds you doing well. My name is Norm DeGuerre, and when I am not exorcising my professional demons through anonymous blogging, I am a trial attorney with the public defender’s office in “Santa Asphalt,” CA. Don’t bother looking at a map, because this is not the name of a real county. Santa Asphalt is my affectionate pet name for my jurisdiction, which makes up for the lack of thriving small businesses by creating a glut of empty, sprawling retail spaces under 3 stories in height.

But I digress.

I understand that you have a position open in your office; I write you this letter to ask that you consider me for the position.

From what I have been told, a member of your local bench named John Murphy physically assaulted Andrew Weinstock, one of your former attorneys. On that fateful day, Mr. Weinstock appeared for at least two defendants and declined to waive his clients’ right to a speedy trial. His Honor then declared that “if [he] had a rock, he would throw it at [Mr. Weinstock].” In a fit of judicial dignity, His Honor then offered to “go outside” with the public defender to settle his differences. Mr. Weinstock followed His Honor into the hallway, and His Honor proceeded to hold Mr. Weinstock’s face in contempt with his fist. His Honor then retook the bench and gave the (now) unrepresented defendant advice on how to schedule his trial date.
On the off-chance that you have forgotten this unfortunate episode, I present you with this link and a reminder that the internet never, ever forgets things:

http://www.floridatoday.com/story/news/crime/2014/07/07/public-defender-in-courtroom-fight-resigns/12292987/

Yesterday, you publicly endorsed His Honor’s ignominious return to the bench, stating that your office asks the court to give “second chances” to your clients on a daily basis, and that it would be only sensible to extend the same courtesy to a judge who suffered the indignity of four-weeks of paid leave before returning to his post.
As mentioned above, I write you this letter as a first step toward applying for Mr. Weinstock’s now-vacant attorney position. Although I have no personal ties to the state of Florida, my hope is that any property I buy in the 18th Judicial District will become beachfront as the oceans continue their inexorable march to swallow man’s hubris. I want to work, live, and play in your jurisdiction, and from your public endorsement of Judge Murphy’s return, I think I have a good idea of what you’re looking for in an employee.

Like you, I too believe that the law should treat everyone equally. You so eloquently noted that your attorneys ask society to give their clients’ second chances, and that this compels you to extend the same courtesy to Judge Murphy. I assume from your sentiment that Judge Murphy was, in fact, treated in the same manner as one of your office’s clients, in that he was brought up on felony charges and held in custody among the general inmate population pending his trial. I also assume that he was given appointed counsel and that his file was placed in the enormous stack of files that one of your lawyers lugs to court every day. I assume that Judge Murphy felt pressured to plead to something in order to avoid your state’s draconian sentencing practices, and that his sentencing judge blithely ignored his long, sad history of childhood abuse and substance abuse.

Because it really wouldn’t be fair to treat him differently from any of your clients.

Like you, I too have realistic expectations of how to be treated by my fellow man, especially my fellow men in positions of authority. The Ivory Tower that gave my my law degree taught me that we have an “adversarial system,” and that such a system does not work unless the accused has a zealous advocate who pushes his client’s best interests against the weight of the state and, in some cases, the weight of public opinion. But really, the public defender is but one grinder plate in the nasty sausage machine that is our criminal justice system. Of course our clients have a right to a speedy trial, but why would I inflict that right on a judge whose calendar is inconvenienced, as though my client’s rights had “value,” and that they should not be given away unless exchanged for something else of value? Such idealistic bullshit warrants a good beat-down in the courtroom hallway for all of the defendants to see, so that they don’t get any uppity notions of inflicting their rights against the state.

Finally, I appreciate the fact that your position is an elected position. You made nice with a man who was so unsatisfied with the power and authority of his office that he had to inflict physical violence upon one of your employees in order to impose his will. Clearly you understand that an elected public defender cannot win re-election by boasting about how many defendants his lawyers walked, or about how many pounds of contraband your lawyers suppressed from evidence through skillful litigation; that would just piss off potential voters. After all, most voters in Florida stopped reading the Constitution after Amendment II, and have yet to realize that half of the Bill of Rights is devoted to rights of the criminally accused. In order to win office in such an environment, you must network with your jurisdiction’s local power brokers. Your decision to endorse the Honorable John Murphy’s return to the bench shows political savvy. In contrast, I would get hung up on how my official actions as Public Defender would benefit my clients; these hang-ups, unfortunately, tend to parallel the ABA’s “model rules” for attorney ethics. Being a stickler for rules will certainly cost me at least one election. I have much to learn from you if you will only give me the opportunity.

Don’t be thrown off by the fact that my attached resume includes a personal interest in Krav Maga, the official martial art of the Israeli Defense Forces. I would never dream of inflicting my right of self-defense against any member of the bench, no matter how much his groin deserves it.

Cordially,

Norm DeGuerre

 

Cry Havoc: Jury Selection in a World Without Civic Virtue (Part I)

 

This is not a manifesto on the virtues of jury duty. I will not wax romantic about the importance of juries in our system of justice or in any system of representative government. I hold no degrees in sociology, and so I do not pretend to be an expert on the behavior of humans in large groups. Jury consultants charge handsome fees to the attorneys who can afford their services; in exchange, these consultants provide detailed profiles on the ideal type of juror for an attorney’s case. What I provide here is information that would cause a “respectable” jury consultant to never be hired again, not because it is not true, but because no one in the legal profession wants it to be true.

But for a public defender in trial, jury selection is war by other means. Victory is rarely a plausible option; all too often, we conduct a jury trial for no other reason than our client’s have refused a plea bargain, or because the prosecution refuses to make your client an offer that is sane or humane. Sometimes my “defense” amounts to quibbling about the number of penile penetrations that the victim received (after all, each penetration that I can disprove means years off my client’s sentence). Sometimes my “defense” is saying that my client did not intend to kill his father by stabbing him in the neck, but merely to wound him grievously. Sometimes my defense will rest on solid legal grounds while repelling every other member of civilized society.

My task is to save this client’s life from that civilized society, if possible. No professional consultant would be able to create a profile of a jury that is sympathetic to my client.

Many of these thoughts came together for the first time during a recent trial, or rather, these thoughts spun wildly in my head as my panel of 75 potential jurors trudged into the courtroom where my client’s trial was being held. This particular client was accused of robbery. His robbery had begun as a simple petty theft when he walked out of the supermarket with two large cans of “malt beverage” (the smelly, affordable wasteland between beer and hard liquor). Things changed when the store security guard demanded a receipt; my client responded by brandishing a pointy weapon and saying something vaguely threatening, but definitely rude.

One by one and two by two the potential jurors filled the courtroom seats. Without fail, the first ones in would take the aisle seats, forcing others to lurch over their knees to get to other seats in that row. No one wants to sit next to each other, so everyone tries to leave 1-3 seats between themselves and the nearest seated person. Unfortunately, none of these people bothered to count the number of people in their group, or compare that number to the number of seats in the courtroom; every seat would be filled, and “personal space” was at best a temporary illusion.
Then a voice spoke to me from inside my head. Perhaps this was the ghost of John Adams, our second president and the man who defended British soldiers on trial for the Boston Massacre to a jury of Bostonians , or Jiminey Cricket, or whoever the embodiment of my conscience is supposed to be.

“You need to defend this man sitting next to you..”

 

Upon further reflection, my conscience was definitely more John Adams than Jiminy Cricket.

“You need to defend this man sitting next to you. If these people are going to put him away, then save your client from them.”

But how?! Not even my prettiest talking could save my from the overwhelming evidence against him. My only hope was that my 12 jurors would dislike and disagree with each other so much that they would not unite against my client.

As the great statesman Jiminy Cricket once said, cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war.

The judge summoned the first 18 people into the jury box. Twelve took the seats in the box, and the next 6 took seats in front of it. The front 6 would replace any jurors dismissed from the twelve in the box, and so the lawyers had a preview of who would take their places. His honor then began his questioning of the 18 potential jurors. I clicked my pen twice – a nervous gesture on my part with the accidental benefit of clearing my head before I prepare to jot down as much information as possible about these total strangers.

The judge began by asking what cities the jurors lived in: 7 out of twelve lived in “Santa Asphalt,” the largest city in my jurisdiction, 4 lived in the generic, contiguous suburbs that surround Santa Asphalt, and 1 lived in the affluent town to the south where people move to get away from Santa Asphalt.
The jurors provided their job titles with pride; unfortunately, most of their job titles gave me no idea of what their daily routines actually looked like. When a potential juror says that he or she is a teacher, nurse, dentist, contractor, or food server, I am able to get at least a vague picture of how this person spends most of his or her day. This was not going to happen with this group. To illustrate, you the reader can produce a potential juror’s job title by choosing one word from each of the collumns below.

Column A                Column B                Column C

chief                             systems                       manager

associate                     project                         vice president

deputy                         data                             engineer

assistant                      sales                           analyst

head                            marketing                  specialist

retired                        resources                    consultant

 

After the first fifteen minutes, I had almost no useful information about the people who could be deciding my client’s fate.

The judge continued by asking the following series of questions:

“Do any of you have moral, religious, or philosophical views that prevent you from sitting in judgement of another person?”

“Do any of you have problems with resolving conflicts in the evidence?”

“Can all of you hold all of the witnesses in this case to the same standard?”

“You cannot return a guilty verdict unless you are convinced beyond a reasonable doubt; does anyone have a problem with this?”

The judge took fewer than 90 seconds to ask these questions. Questions go by quickly when your targets respond with only shrugs and blank stares. If you, the reader, are wondering what some of these questions mean, then you are out of luck; the judge provided no clarification or explanation beyond the questions themselves. To top it off, the judge prefaced his final question with “does anyone have a problem with,” the one phrase guaranteed to throttle any possible response. No one wants to be seen as “having a problem” with a rule laid down by an authority figure in a black robe.

Sixteen minutes and 30 seconds have now passed, and I still had no useful information.

The judge turned questioning over to the district attorney. The DA’s awkward sputtering made the judge’s questions look like a thrilling, insightful Socratic dialogue by comparison. He asked whether the jurors would “follow the law” in as many different ways as he could think of. He made them promise they they would use “common sense” during their deliberation. He tried to illustrate circumstantial evidence by telling a story about a kid with cookie crumbs around his mouth (or something like that, I wasn’t really paying attention). After his analogy, the jurors’ quizzical stares, and his self-effacing attempt at humor, he had them promise to follow the law one last time before sitting down.

I checked my watch. I looked up, but then looked at my watch again. 45 minutes?! How does it take 45 minutes to convince a group of 12 non-felons who have driver’s licenses and current voter registration to obey authority and find my scary-looking client guilty without thinking too much about it?

“Mr. DeGuerre, you may begin,” the judge intoned.

 

To be continued…

 

 

 

 

Brushing Off the Dust

To my readers, passersby, and criminal justice enthusiasts:

Many of you have noticed that Chasing Truth, Catching Hell has been in a state of hibernation for the past few months; it has been too long since I have updated this blog. Without getting into needless detail, I will say that once in a while, my personal life becomes more exciting and eventful than my professional life, and I must divide my attention accordingly.

That being said, nothing “bad” has happened to me. Expect new posts in the very, very near future.

Thank you in advance for your continued interest.

Warmly,

Norm DeGuerre

How Do I Know if my REAL Lawyer is Doing a Good Job?

Dear Norm:

I was arrested recently, and my family pooled their money together to hire a private attorney. He sure sounds persuasive when we talk to him, and we really believed him when he told us that we made the right call hiring him instead of being represented by the public defender. He seemed genuinely outraged for me when I told him that I was being falsely accused, and promised that he had much, much more time to devote to my case than the public defender had. Since he’s bilingual and speaks the same language as the rest of my family, he convinced them too.

But now this lawyer is telling me that I should probably take the deal from the district attorney. I told him again that I did not want to take a plea bargain. He got really frustrated with me and told me that I was risking YEARS in prison if I didn’t. Then he told me to waive some sort of hearing, and then he set my case for jury trial. This week, he told me that my family had not paid him enough to do a jury trial and that he will drop me as a client. After all this, I’m going to be a public defender client anyway.

Did my lawyer screw me? How are people in my position supposed to know if their lawyer is doing a good job for them? And why is this blog the #4 Google search result for this question?

Help,

Abandoned Client

 

Dear Abandoned,

In July of last year, I wrote a post entitled How Do I Know if My Lawyer Is Doing a Good job? This post, with its accurate-but-uncreative title, was meant to give readers an idea of whether their public defenders are actually representing them well even when they fail to practice the niceties of customer service.

Since writing that post, more readers have found my blog by asking the internet “how do I know if my lawyer is doing a good job” than have by any other method. This question is my biggest source of web traffic. The worried defendants who toss this question into the ether find their way to my blog because it appears to be one of the only websites that attempts to answer this question. The American Bar Association has almost nothing on the subject. The other top search results for this question are advertising for private lawyers who so badly want my despondent readers to hire them.  These readers are better served by searching “bad lawyer” on Yelp! and reading the horror stories.

If you or a loved one are being accused of a crime, my heart goes out to you and you have my deepest sympathy. If you don’t have a legal education, knowing whether or not your lawyer is “screwing” you (another popular search query for this site) may be something you find out only after the important decisions have been made and the money has been spent.

An honest lawyer will tell you the truth about your case up front, not just what you want to hear, before any money is exchanged. Public defenders are probably the least likely to “oversell” what they can and can’t do with your case. You can’t compare your public defender to the lawyer on the billboard or commercial who promises to make all your problems go away. If you find your private lawyer is going just a little too out of his or her way to bash public defenders or court-appointed-attorneys, first ask yourself why this person wants to poach public defender clients, and then ask yourself how this person makes any money representing clients who don’t have a large income. It may be possible that this attorney, who appears at first to be a passionate warrior who wants justice, is actually scavenging for dimes by telling frightful canards about their local public defender’s office.

The decision to go with a public defender or a private attorney shouldn’t be that hard; if you can afford an attorney, then you should hire one. Public Defenders are for those who cannot afford their own attorney and who have no other choice. That being said, a public defender client may have a relative who is willing to cash out their retirement account, take out a mortgage on her home, or sell her car in order hire a private attorney who promises (loudly) to give his case more personal attention than the public defender will. The right to court-appointed counsel is meant to prevent this type of financial ruin. Unfortunately, some regions in the US have inadequate resources for indigent defense and clients living in these areas must make this kind of difficult choice.

Although I never intended Chasing Truth, Catching Hell to be a resource for those trying to figure out how to vet legal counsel, the universe has otherwise failed to provide helpful information. I have seen for myself the kind of damage this type of ignorance causes, so I will attempt to add some information to help those going through this difficult task. Remember that I cannot offer any legal advice over the internet. Although I am flattered that this blog has inspired complete strangers to sing the sad songs of their cases, a reader in need of legal advice should not make major life decisions solely based on the word of anonymous internet sources.

The following are all-too-true tales of clients who became clients of the public defender after being used and thrown away by private counsel:

First Tale of Woe

George was on parole after being released on a felony domestic violence charge. Regardless of the stern warnings and urine tests provided by his parole agent, George really, really liked crystal meth. However, crystal meth can be expensive for the regular user, and George soon ran out of TVs to sell; however, buying enough meth to resell solved both his supply and cash flow problems. Furthermore, crystal meth made it very, very difficult for him to interact with his wife in a constructive way during their divorce. Soon, George had another felony domestic violence case that carried a maximum of 8 years state prison. George also picked up a possession-for-sale case; however, although he had been selling, the police only caught him with 3 ½ grams of the stuff (an amount so common that police use the term “eight-ball” to describe it, since it is 1/8th of an ounce).

I represented George on his domestic violence case; since the DA had accused George of several “strike” offenses, no private lawyer would touch it. George also had a top-shelf public defender on his dope sales case; however, any lawyer worth his or her salt could have talked the DA into reducing that charge to possession for personal use. Unfortunately, George’s fantastic public defender failed to visit him at the jail because she had the gall to be in trial on another client’s case for two weeks. In response, George sold his car in order to hire a hack private lawyer. This private lawyer frightened George with awful tales of what happens when a public defender fails to spend enough time with an individual client, swooped in, took his money, and got him the exact same deal that anyone with a passing familiarity with the metric system could have gotten him.

George realized this prior to his sentencing on the case that I had with him, and wholly without instigation from me. George should have watched out for the following red flags:

  • Only a very special type of lawyer makes the bulk of his money by goading public defender clients to pay more than they can afford: the type that can’t market skills and who thus resorts to marketing fear.
  • This same type of lawyer will push hard to be hired for some of a defendant’s open cases but not others: they want the easy ones whose consequences won’t cause them to lose sleep.
  • If a lawyer promises to fight for you but asks for less than $50,000, this lawyer is not actually planning on fighting for you. If you are innocent and you want your day in court, a felony jury trial represents tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of legal services. If a lawyer talks a big game while arranging for a client to pay his $4,000 retainer at $85 per month, this lawyer will dump you before any “fighting” begins.

 

Second Tale of Woe

Joaquin was brought to the United States by his mother when he was 7 or 8 years old. Joaquin started hanging around with gang members in his neighborhood due to the usual combination of too much idle time, absent/abusive family dynamic, and constant threats to his safety in the poor neighborhood in which he lived. When Joaquin turned 18, an older gang member with a prison record coaxed him into helping with a home invasion robbery. Joaquin and this other man barged into a home, threatened the owner with a stun gun, and made off with whatever outdated electronics they could carry. This experience frightened Joaquin enough to inspire him to leave the gang lifestyle; he got a job as a plumber and was soon expecting a baby. However, years later, fingerprints taken from the scene of the home-invasion robbery matched the fingerprints that Joaquin gave when he was arrested for misdemeanor DUI two years after the home-invasion robbery.

Joaquin’s mom borrowed and sold as much as she could in order to hire yet another hack lawyer. This lawyer told Joaquin’s mom that he would explain that Joaquin was “just a kid” when this took place and that his behavior in the interim proves that Joaquin had changed his ways enough for any judge to cut him a break. Months later, Joaquin is a client of the public defender facing a life sentence because thanks to Hack Esquire, the district attorney added “gang” enhancements to the charged home-invasion robbery.  

Joaquin and his mom learned the following lessons much too late to be of any help:

  • It is natural for a defendant who does not speak English to want an attorney who speaks his language; the family finds it comforting for the exact same reasons. Sadly, some lousy lawyers know this and leverage their foreign language skills to earn quick trust.
  • If a lawyer tells a client exactly what he was hoping to hear and then quickly changes his tone when advising the client to take a plea bargain, one of several awful things might be happening. At best, the lawyer’s rosy sales pitch is meeting the jagged shoals of reality; if this is so, the client needs to ask the lawyer to explain why, after promising to fight for the client, he is now yelling at client in court’s attached holding cell that he is “screwing himself” by not taking a 16-year offer by the district attorney. At worst, the lawyer has just then decided that his client’s case requires much, much more work than his client’s meager finances can pay for.
  • A defendant should always get an explanation of all the stages in a felony case and clarify, before ever cutting a check, what stages in this process are covered by his retainer fee.
  • Finally, a defendant should never be afraid to ask why a proposed plea bargain is worth taking. Seek second opinions if necessary.

The following are general tips that do not have accompanying annecdotes:

Lawyers tend to be persuasive, smooth-talking people. Don’t hire a lawyer because he or she sounds convincing; convincing a potential client is easier than convincing a judge or a prosecutor.

Be mindful of prejudices that might steer you away from a great lawyer; younger lawyers, female lawyers, and lawyers of color often run circles around the middle-aged white men who lurk about my local courthouse.

The best private attorneys are often former public defenders.

The number of jury trials that a lawyer has done is not a perfect or complete metric of that lawyer’s skill and experience; however, it is in fact one very good metric. Don’t hesitate to ask.

As noted previously, don’t retain counsel without a clear understanding of the stages of a criminal case and which of those stages are covered by the lawyer’s retainer fee.

Before paying a lawyer anything, have a serious conversation about your goals for the case and how your lawyer will help you reach them. If you don’t like what they say, seek a second opinion. Depending on the advice you receive, be open to revising your goals in the face of reality.

A good lawyer will not ask you surrender any of your Constitutional rights unless you will receive something from the state of equal or greater value. Ask your lawyer what this is before agreeing to “waive” any of your rights. For readers in California, a preliminary hearing (or “prelim” for short) is a particularly important right, and one of the most common rights tossed away by private counsel. A prelim is your first chance to see witnesses testify against you, hear their testimony, and see how it withstands cross-examination from your attorney. After the prelim, the judge will decide whether there is enough evidence to warrant a trial. The right to a prelim is also the last right that many private lawyers convince their client to waive before dumping them on the public defender. Sometimes, waiving prelim is a good idea, primarily in cases where the evidence at prelim would allow the prosecutor to add more or worse charges; for example, an assault with a deadly weapon can very quickly become an attempted murder depending on how the witness testifies. More often, private lawyers encourage their clients to waive prelim for the sake of dropping the client faster. Again, your Constitutional rights are valuable; idealists might even say that they are invaluable. Do not waive any of your rights unless you are receiving something of equal or greater value in return.

If you find yourself becoming a client of the public defender after having been previously represented by private counsel, be prepared for a very different bedside manner. A public defender will almost always have done more jury trials than a private sector counter-part; if she encourages a person to accept a plea bargain, it is probably because she is thinking of how your case will look in front of a jury and not because she just wants to dump your case as soon as possible. The public defender will not be able to see a client as often or return phone calls as quickly as anyone would like, but this is not necessarily a sign of poor representation. Also, be prepared for some bad news in the event that the private lawyer fouled something up in your case.

And one last thing, and this is something that is as difficult to say as it is to hear: feelings, especially those related to unfairness, have no place in the justice system. In my experience, I have found that the more that clients struggle with feelings of unfairness, the worse decisions they make. You can be offered the best legal counsel in the world, but you may not be able to accept or receive it if you are stuck on how “unfair” your situation is. Instead, you may be tempted to give away your hard earned money to a lawyer simply because he or she did the best job sympathizing with your feelings. You may even lose a good plea bargain that you rejected because it felt “unfair.”

 

Good luck,

Norm DeGuerre

Criminology 201: Selected Topics in Disorganized Crime

Criminology 201: Selected Topics in Disorganized Crime

In my last post, I discussed a client whose life experience failed to square with the accepted narratives that are taught to police, probation, and corrections officers during the course of their training. I now have a vision of what it would look like if my client were given the chance to communicate his life experience in a classroom setting. If any criminal justice class actually would let this client teach the lessons that he had learned just by living his life, the final result would probably be a wonderfully educational public relations disaster for the school in question. It might climax in a conciliatory letter of some sort to the aggrieved student body, with a short explanation of how little their textbooks had prepared them to comprehend life on society’s margins.

Like this one:

__________________________________________________________________________________

From the Office of the Academic Dean, William H. Taft Institute of Criminal Justice and Weight Loss:

A number of students who were enrolled in last semester’s Advanced Criminology seminar have petitioned for review of their grades and disclosure of the grading criteria used by last semester’s guest lecturer. Our guest lecturer has provided a complementary set of explanations for the final exam that was given at the end of the term. He hopes that you will then use the lessons contained within his explanation to  figure out what went wrong with the remainder of your assignments, and assures you that “life is hard, but it isn’t complicated.”

__________________________________________________________________________________

Question 1: Multiple choice, choose the correct answer.

You are a probation officer supervising a juvenile ward. He is often truant from school, and his urine has never tested negative for THC, suggesting daily marijuana use. To aid in this minor’s rehabilitation, you should:

a)    Violate the minor’s probation and advocate for his detention in juvenile hall – the

       minor must cease his violations of state and federal drug laws

b)    Order the minor to enter residential drug treatment for what is clearly a crippling

       addiction to a Schedule 1 controlled substance

c)    Get the minor drug counseling and something, anything, worthwhile to do with his day

d)    Wait until he gets arrested for something more serious, and then figure it out

Half of the class chose answer choice (a), the other half chose answer choice (b). Clearly, neither half had experimented with marijuana in high school. If you had, you would know that marijuana is not a reason to skip school; the decision to skip school is made completely independently of the decision to smoke pot. School holds nothing for a huge number of these children. They often have learning disabilities, or anger problems, and largely-inherited substance abuse patterns. They need far more help to succeed in school than they receive, and many predict their own failure early and throw in the proverbial towel. And with all this free time these kids now have, why not smoke pot?

Of course teenagers shouldn’t be smoking pot. It interferes with their brain development, screws with executive functioning (very relevant for someone debating the merits of stealing a car), and creates a lifestyle that makes it very hard for them to interact with professional adults (teachers, employers, customers, etc). But pot isn’t dangerous; in fact, it has no known fatal overdose. Depriving them of freedom for smoking it is counter-productive at best, and completely self-defeating at worst. Of course, some sort of intervention is necessary, and without it, this minor will likely end up in serious legal trouble: not because of marijuana, but because of the people in his life who also happen to smoke it. Those who reside in the real world will answer with choice (c). Those who are already employed in the system might answer with choice (d), but that’s not the right answer either.

Question 2: Multiple choice, choose the correct answer

Which of the following can be considered as proof that a juvenile has joined a gang?

a)    Wearing baggy jeans

b)    Living in a neighborhood that is controlled by a gang

c)    Spraying gang graffiti on a highway overpass

d)    None of the above

To those who chose an answer other than choice (d), consider for a second that the word “gang”suggests a semi-disciplined criminal conspiracy. Wearing certain styles of clothing, even if that clothing bears the colors or logos that gangs use to identify themselves, says nothing about whether a person is a member of any such organization. Anyone can wear a certain color of clothing, and clothing can be shed at will when the social group dynamics cease to reward the teenager for wearing them.

Like conformist fashion tendencies, mindless vandalism is also common to at-risk youth. Anyone can spray anything on any surface; the vandal does not need to have been given orders to do so in micro-writing that was smuggled out of a maximum security cell block in the anus of a corrupt corrections officer.

Finally, while many gang members have the misfortune of growing up in neighborhoods that are already divided into gang rivalries, no sane person chooses to live there. People are born there, stay there, have no hope of ever leaving there, and will probably die there. These kids have roughly the same life expectancy as someone living in the Middle Ages. Gang membership is assumed by rivals just by virtue of that child’s neighborhood. Before the child knows it, he is choosing his bus routes to school so as to avoid “rival” territory. He is already suffering the drawbacks of gang membership; wanting to accept the benefits is an easy sell, especially if they have no other alternative for safety. Again, the correct answer is choice (d).

Question 3: Short answer

What does it mean to “hold someone accountable” for his actions?

__________________________________________________________________

__________________________________________________________________

__________________________________________________________________

Holy shit. As often as I heard you say this during our class discussions, very few of you seem to know what this phrase actually means. Holding someone accountable doesn’t mean showing them that their actions have consequences: anyone who has witnessed a car accident understands this. It doesn’t matter how many years of prison a person receives; the Convicted does not need you to remind him, repeatedly, in varying tones and volumes, that his own actions resulted in tremendous loss to himself and others. I suspect that many of you relied – to your detriment – on the thesaurus, which lists the following as synonyms for this phrase: attack, brand, blame, denounce.

Holding someone accountable for their actions entails building empathy for those affected by their actions; these parts of the brain may have atrophied from years of mistreatment in childhood, so we need to be patient. Holding someone accountable includes teaching them about alternative choices that could have been made. Extensive work needs to be done with those who – with or without reason – felt that they had no choice in their actions. Too many of your answers would have fit on bumper stickers, let alone three lines. Put more thought into phrases that are used so frequently. And for God’s sake, stop thinking in slogans.

Question 4:

Describe a situation where a person might plea “no contest” to a crime that they did not commit.

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Again, a disappointing number of blank answers for this question. The students who confronted me about this question after class insisted that no one in their right minds would do such a thing. During the course of these conversions, I inferred that none had ever been given poor legal advice by an attorney that either did not have the time to care, the ability to care, or the retainer to care about that person’s case. A depressing number of Accused plea because, quite simply, they do not have confidence that their attorney has heard, understood, or investigated their defense. And without a defense, why wouldn’t they plea?

Do not underestimate the frightening penalties that follow trial, especially in jurisdictions where the criminal sentencing laws (and the judges tasked with imposing them) are left to popular vote. Many, many innocent people (or people who have a colorable argument for their innocence) surrender their rights simply to minimize risk.

Finally, don’t underestimate how often the district attorney uses a “devil’s bargain” to coax a plea from a defendant who has a strong defense. In fact, the deals become more irresistible as the prosecution’s case weakens. For example, a defendant who is in custody on the day of trial will find a “credit for time served” offer irresistible. An 18-year-old will plea to terrible things in exchange for minimal time. A good lawyer will sometimes advise him or her not to take the deal, but the defendant will always respond by asking, “But I get to go home today?” In California, an 18-year-old becomes a walking life sentence if the charges to which he pled happened to be “strike” offenses; his next felony case might result in a life sentence. The DA gladly cuts time up front with the expectation that they will get him later; and if his record is made serious enough early on, that “later” can last the rest of his life.

I know that the premise of this question hurt some students’ tender sensibilities, but taking my lectures seriously would have given you plenty of material for to answer this question.

Question 5: Essay

Part I: Consider the the following hypothetical. The minor described below is a ward of the juvenile delinquency court and you are his probation officer:

    Jaime is a 15-year-old high school freshman. His mother probably should not have had children until she had a stable relationship and/or living arrangement. Jaime’s mom probably should have tried to have all of her children with one person, rather than several people. Jaime’s father should have attended his domestic violence classes like his probation officer wanted to. He also shouldn’t have died when Jaime was 9 years old. Jaime’s mother should have finished her drug rehabilitation program and should not have relied as heavily upon her own mother for child care. Jaime’s mom should not have dropped out of high school, because Jaime’s mom should not have had to settle for working a graveyard shift at the front desk of a shady motel by the freeway. Even though she insists upon working this job, Jaime’s mom really should be getting home in time to make sure that Jaime and his little brother are getting to school on time.

    Jaime should never have failed his first semester of high school. Jaime should have studied harder and placed a greater emphasis on his education. Jaime should not have gotten himself suspended for fighting; Jaime should learn to control his seemingly irrational bouts of anger. Jaime should not take his anger out on his family by punching holes in the wall. Most importantly, Jaime should not be cutting class to smoke marijuana.

Part II: Please comment on the following, and show how it would influence the way you would approach Jaime’s supervision:

When you use the word “should,” you are arguing with reality.

Unfortunately, I have no sample answers to discuss because none of you attempted an answer. This was disappointing given the preoccupation that most of the class expressed concerning criminal street gangs. Several students expressed interest in stopping violent gangs, mainly because of some awful episode of Lockdown: Life on the Inside that they insisted upon mentioning in class.  However, none of you realized that little Jaime is a prime candidate for gang membership. Kids love group identity, and young men love a sense of feeling power and control.

Imagine the many, many niches in Jaime’s life that would be filled by a gang. He would have family, safety, financial opportunity, and a steady drug source within one social circle. Eventually, Jaime will get caught. He will be arrested. He will be sentenced according to the astoundingly severe sentencing laws that Californians put on the ballot. As a result, Jaime will possibly serve 10, 15, or 20 years in prison on his first case. And with nothing to do for 10-20 years, and with no social capital other than gang membership, what do you think will happen once he gets to prison? Prison gangs are the Frankenstein of California’s criminal justice scheme, and fixating on what someone should do, taking decades from their lives for things that they should not have done won’t actually fix anything.

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Well, readers? What is your answer to Question 5? How would our approach to criminal justice issues change if we addressed the real world as it is, and not how it “should” be? Anyone? Anyone?

Please share your thoughts in the comments section. I would love to hear some new ideas.

Respectfully Submitted,

Norm DeGuerre

Criminology 101 – Advanced Theories of Street Crime and Hard Time.

“There was crime, but it sure as Hell wasn’t organized.”

This is a quote my client told me in an interview room at the jail while recounting his growing up as a gang member in an agricultural community about two hours away from my county’s Hall of Justice. Nearly all of the adults in his life had been unemployed and/or addicted to something. He and other kids who roamed the streets–instead of going to school–banded together, usually under the influence of some older brother who had just recently been released from prison. They wore the same colors and got the same tattoos. But this was no paramilitary criminal conspiracy; most of this group’s crimes revolved around drugs and fighting.

This client was baffled that the laws that had been passed to catch sophisticated criminal conspiracies were being used on him. He was accused of helping his codefendant sell $1500’s worth of stolen property to an undercover cop. And by “helped,” he actually sat in the codefendant’s living room drinking 40 ounces of something vile while the codefendant sold stolen property to an undercover cop. But because he and codefendant grew up with each other and had been members of the same “gang,” the district attorney believed that he was somehow furthering a criminal conspiracy merely by his presence, which happened to be on the couch, drinking.

Within days of that fateful bout of day-drinking, my client checked himself into rehab. Weeks after, he began the necessary court proceedings to get visitation rights for his daughter, who prior to that had been on the verge of being placed into foster care. He no longer had to live with his old gangbanger friend or rely on his old gang ties as currency for life favors. And then the district attorney indicted him.

He spoke with pride about the two community college classes that he had passed between bouts of incarceration. He mentioned having a fantasy in which he was able to share his life experience with future law enforcement in a classroom setting. And I had to wonder what that would look like.

Few if any of the professionals working in the field of criminal justice have any personal experience that allows them to relate to, let alone understand the people on its receiving end. Communicating that experience to others is a challenge that I will take up in my next post.

Respectfully submitted,

Norm DeGuerre

A Brief Foray Into Self-Promotion

Dear Readers:

Chasing Truth, Catching Hell has been selected to join the ABA Journal’s “Blawg 100,” the Journal’s annual list of the 100 legal blogs that it recommends to its readers. I am honored that someone up there has found things worth reading on Chasing Truth.

And of course, whenever a list is made, a ranking must follow. The Blawg 100 has listed all of its suggested blogs and has encouraged readers to vote for their favorite. For those who have enjoyed Chasing Truth, Catching Hell on at least one occasion this year, consider voting for it on the Journal’s website. You can do that by clicking here or by clicking on the Blawg 100 badge that has just been added to the sidebar of this site.

Chasing Truth has been quiet lately; surely my fellow public defenders understand how busy things get. But the next post is coming soon, and this one will be part one of two.

Thank you again for reading.

Respectfully Submitted,

Norm DeGuerre