Sworn to Silence

The public defender who hired me warned that most of our attempts to help our clients will fail, despite our very best efforts. But she went on to say that even when all of our efforts fall short, a defendant’s public defender can and must always be the client’s voice in the courtroom; even as all the grinding parts of the machine line up against the accused, his or her public defender will always stand beside them and insist, with intelligence and passion, that the person on the receiving end has wants, needs, and interests that must be heard.

This is a story of how I may have failed to be a voice for a uniquely vulnerable client. Let’s call her Letty.

Letty ran away from her parents’ home in Dingy Suburb two weeks after her 18th birthday. Unfortunately, Letty had a less-than chivalrous boyfriend with a pitiful attempt at a moustache (let’s call him Dirt Lip). Dirt Lip promised Letty that they would “make it” on their own with the help of an older friend who lived two-hours away in Big City.

Dirt Lip’s “older friend” was a heavily-tattooed East Coast gang member who had decided to seek his fortune –and meth– out West. Older Friend explained to the young couple that he “looked after” three other girls. By “looked after,” he meant that he kept them stocked with crystal meth, reminded them of the number of Johns they had to service to pay him back for the dope, and handled their money for them to ensure that he was compensated for the hotel rooms, the drugs, and his time as their “security.” Dirt Lip assured Letty that this was nothing at all like pimping, and pointed out that unless they could find some way to pay the older friend back for the hotel room that he had booked for them –without asking first– Letty might have to follow the girls’ lead and make some quick cash.

Thankfully for Letty, Older Friend’s taillight failed to come on as he drove her and Dirt Lip back to their hotel. Before the highway patrolman could even begin to open his book of tickets, Letty blurted out as much of her story as he could to the surprised officer before he told everyone to be quiet and get out of the car. The officer quickly noticed that everyone was high, arrested them, and found Older Friend’s half-ounce of crystal behind the driver’s seat.

Per local custom, our district attorney decided to accuse everyone in the car of possessing the meth with intent to sell or distribute. Dirt Lip was a juvenile, so he never found his way into my courtroom; Older Friend hired a real lawyer, and Letty came to me.

The courtroom stood mostly empty when I arrived for our pre-trial hearing; I was the first lawyer there. Letty sat handcuffed in the jury box, swimming in her ill-fitting orange jail uniform. I began with my well-rehearsed “Trust Me Quickly” routine: handshake, business card, assurances that I am, in fact, a real lawyer, explanations of the charges, and our reasons for being in court that day. Letty responses ranged from “yeahs” to nods without eye-contact; I wasn’t entirely sure that she understood everything or cared about the parts that she did understand.

The DA and Older Friend’s lawyer came in together  before I could begin discussing her options for going forward. Older Friend’s lawyer was laughing at his own joke and he was wearing a tie with golf balls on it. The DA looked to me from across the room, pointed his thumb out the courtroom door, and mouthed something that I took to be “can we talk outside?”

I winced. Even if I included the squirrels fighting over dropped french fries on the sidewalk outside the courthouse, this DA was not my favorite mammal in the area. I promised my client that I would let her know everything that happened outside upon my return. I followed the DA outside.

“So I’ve decided to add pimping and human trafficking charges against the codefendant.”

“I can certainly see why,” I replied. Normally at this point in the conversation, this DA would have threatened to add extra charges against my client if she decided not to plea guilty to something. So I waited to hear what was coming next.

“I’d like your client to testify against him.”

“That can’t happen so long as you’re accusing her of possessing her pimp’s crystal meth,” I said in the blandest tone possible. Despite my attempt to balance diplomacy with candor, the DA still sucked in his lip like he had done whenever a defense lawyer offended him.

“If she testifies today, I won’t object to her being released from custody without bail before her next court date.”

“And…?”

“And I’ll ask my supervisor whether we can reduce her charge to simple possession.”

I’ll ask my supervisor is easily my least favorite phrase that prosecutors give me. The ABA’s model ethics rules assure us that the individual prosecutor is the one who wields the power to decide what charges the state levies at a person; this allows the individual prosecutor to  tailor a just outcome. But individual DAs work for an elected District Attorney, and that elected District Attorney has tough-on-crime campaigns to run. To ensure that no individual prosecutor does something to undermine this stance, he or she must get approval from their supervisors to ensure that their individual actions harmonize with the administration’s marching orders.

“So…you want my client to waive her 5th Amendment rights and testify without any actual promises in return?”

The DA sucked his lip again. “Well, if she doesn’t I’m going to add misdemeanor prostitution charges against her after the hearing.” Here was the threat I was waiting for! On a side note, I have met many men who manage to have successful careers despite a complete lack of people skills, obliviousness to the norms of common courtesy, and deafness to the human consequences that their seemingly-mundane decisions have on others; many titans of the tech world thrive despite and because of these deficits. But during this conversation, I felt a pang of rage at the fact that a person can miss the sick irony of charging someone you believe to be a victim of human trafficking with prostitution and still thrive as a prosecutor. I assured the DA, in my blandest Swiss diplomat tone, that I would convey his “offer” to my client.

I sat beside my client again and resisted my urge to tell her which part of the human body best exemplified our prosecutor. Her eyes widened with fear at the prospect of testifying against her codefendant, but they shone when I mentioned the pre-trial release. “I get to go home today?”

“Hold on, please. It’s not that simple,” I warned, but I feared that I was too late. Her hungry look reminded me of a talk that I had attended some months before, where a doctor told me that the brain chemistry of a person withdrawing from methamphetamine is nearly identical to that of a person who has become delirious from starvation. The DA isn’t actually promising you anything, I told her, and that since the evidence against her was so weak, she should continue to fight the charges against her. If her cooperation is so valuable to the prosecution, she should not give up any of her rights without something equally valuable in return; a promise by the DA to “talk to his supervisor” did not strike me as equally valuable.

I tried so, so hard to persuade without bullying. But I did insist, multiple times, that going along with the DA was not actually in her best interest. When she finally agreed to go forward with the day’s hearing and fight the charges, her shoulders slumped in seeming defeat….and I feared that at that moment, I had become the bully that I thought I was protecting her from.

But I had no time to backtrack; the judge was going to take the bench any minute and I could not afford to have her rescind what I thought was the wiser decision, even if she made it for the wrong reasons. The DA flushed when I told him that my client had decided not to help him.

“All rise.”

Today’s judge left his chambers and took the bench. He called our case and asked whether all three of the lawyers were ready to proceed. The DA then called his first witness.

My client. He called my client as his first witness.

“You honor,” the DA intoned with as much solemnity as he could muster, “We will be asking the court to grant her immunity for the testimony that she is about to give today.” Normally, immunity is a gift; in exchange for testimony, the defendant is granted immunity from having any of that testimony used against her. She would also be immune to any new evidence that law enforcement discovered thanks to her testimony. However, it did not feel like a gift; the DA couldn’t get what he wanted by persuasion or bargaining, so he was going to take it from her.

My client turned to me as though someone had asked her in classical Arabic to perform surgery. “What am I supposed to do?!”

“Nothing bad is going to happen to you,” I whispered, just loudly enough for the other lawyers to hear. “The DA’s deciding he’s going to steal what he wants from you since you’re not willing to just give it to him for free. We’ll go up together, and all you have to do is answer the questions honestly.” I then leaned in closer and lowered my voice to an actual whisper. “Just don’t blurt out anything about anything illegal you did beyond this case.”

I kept pace with my client as she shuffled up to the witness stand. I pulled her chair out for her and sat next to her. I had never sat in a witness stand before; the courtroom looked less like a solemn chamber of justice and more like a big, cluttered, dreary office cubicle. The judge had too many windows open on his computer screen and struggled to find the one that would show him the court reporter’s transcript in real time. The court clerk had bins of paper clips, a half dozen family photos, and a carpet of post-it notes across the surface of her desk; her potted vine seemed oddly perky given its steady diet of fluorescent light. The codefendant’s Real Lawyer scratched his chin very seriously and wrote illegible things on his legal pad even when no one was saying anything. The DA shuffled some things at his desk and began.

Stone by stone, the DA elicited the walkway of sorrows that had brought my client into her current circumstance. However, the DA seemed utterly incapable of asking a non-leading question. “And so Mr. [Older Friend] brought you drugs?” “And later that day your boyfriend made an ad for you on Craigslist?” Being in the witness stand, I was a mere advisor and spectator and could not object to his line of questioning. As my client muttered “yes” to each question, I found myself wondering why exactly his questions angered me so. Was it the sloppy in-court technique? Was I feeling a hyper-competitive urge to shut down my opponent with objections? Was I just irrationally angry at the way the DA’s eyes narrowed at the end of every question, as though he was trying to spot lies in my client’s one-word answers?

Though I would have answered “yes” to all of these questions, the biggest reason came together during our closing arguments after the hearing. “Your honor, I question whether Mr. DeGuerre’s client is telling us the whole truth,” the DA mused as he began to argue why the judge should use her testimony to believe that codefendant was a pimp, but to disbelieve that she had no power or control over the Older Friend’s dope. My client had spent the past hour-and-a-half agreeing to all of the words that the DA had put into her mouth, and he had the unfiltered gall to challenge whether she had told the truth?!

What I realized hit me hard; at no time that morning did my client have her story or wishes spoken out loud. I had assumed that Letty’s first desire was to do whatever it took to free herself from pre-trial custody and blaze another pipe full of crystal, and I had insisted that her rights (in the abstract) were more valuable than the chance to get high sooner. She grudgingly adopted this view long enough for me to it repeat for the DA as my client’s stated position. I don’t necessarily regret having done this, but to this day I do not feel good about it. And then when she did get the chance to testify, she spent her entire time on the witness stand agreeing out loud to another man’s words.

Thankfully, the judge found that the DA did not have enough evidence against my client and set her free; my advice was thankfully in her short-term best interest as well. But if he had decided that the state had presented enough evidence to warrant a jury trial, my client would have sat in custody for months. If I knew with a clean conscience that this is what my client preferred, I wouldn’t waste a second thought. But to this day, no one really knows what Letty wanted because she never really got to tell anybody. From her history of drug use and evident desperation, I assumed that she would have said, “I’ll do whatever lets me open my own jail cell as quickly as possible.” Past experience tells me that when clients with drug histories do whatever gets them them out of jail faster, they inevitably return; they often relapse and either miss court dates or violate the terms of their probation. They end up picking up new charges and, in their renewed desperation, take even worse deals to get out faster. In order to talk someone out of this, I have to assume that the abstract notion of “rights” have actual value, and that this abstraction is more valid than the actual, tangible need to get free and make the withdrawals go away. But is this true? What am I supposed to do when my client’s voice is at odds with her best interest? If that day’s hearing had turned out differently, the abstract notion of “rights” would have meant very little to the real person fighting the shakes in a real jail cell.

Respectfully Submitted,

Norm DeGuerre

Grandma, Should I Plea? (A Largely True Story)

“I have an idea – humor me on this.”

I would never have imagined saying these words to a client on the eve of trial. We were in court for a last-minute settlement conference. The jury panel would show up the next day. My client was about to make the most important decision of his life.

I showed my client a quarter that I had pulled from my pocket: “Heads you go to trial, tails you take the deal and go home today.”

My client’s grandmother sat in the first row of the courtroom. She clearly wanted to see what I was going to do next and she did not look at all alarmed at the proposition I had just made her grandson. Meanwhile, the district attorney paced in the back of the courtroom with his cell phone against his ear, trying to postpone a fundraiser for his upcoming political campaign.

Before we had come back into the courtroom, while we were in the courtroom’s attached holding cell, my client had asked me if he could ask his grandma her opinion on whether he should take the district attorney’s plea bargain or go to trial. I told him that he could, and I offered to tell the DA to do his campaigning outside the courtroom. “Fuck it, I ain’t got anything to hide. I didn’t do this and he can hear me say it.” I considered that a knowing and intelligent waiver of attorney client privilege.

My client’s resolve liquified – more than a little – after discussing his options with his grandma across the courtroom guard rail.

My client expressly asked me to share my impressions of his case with his grandma, so I gave them to her. She understood that my client was so drunk on the night of the incident that he had no idea that his friend was going to pull a knife, or that he was going to stick it in the chest of his sister’s ex-boyfriend who happened to be at that same party. She knew that he fled the scene only because he was afraid that the other people at the party were going to come after him for what his friend had done, and besides, the stabber was also my client’s ride to the party. She understood that her grandson had not heard his friend call out the name of his gang before sticking his knife between the victim’s ribs.

She also knew what the DA was going to argue: the red belt my client had worn in high school, the picture of him beneath a flag depicting a gang-related symbol that he used for his Tinder profile, and the red shoelaces on his Nike Cortez shoes proved that he and his friend were members of the same semi-organized criminal gang, and that they orchestrated this stabbing specifically to spread fear of their gang. She didn’t need me to tell her the tilted ratio of frightened white people swimming in our local jury pool, or that these same white people might believe the DA’s outlandish theory. If the gang enhancement were to be found true on top of the assault charges, my client would spend the next 24 years in prison. The only bright side would be that at his age, my client would be released by the time he was 42, with not an insignificant amount of life left to live.

I explained to the grandma that my client had one key that would let him go home; if he pled to just one of the several violent felonies he was accused of and admitted that he did it “for the benefit of a criminal street gang,” he would be released that day. The catch was that my client would be on gang probation for 5 years, and that gang P.O.s carried side arms and pat-searched the probationer and anyone in the home whenever they came for their unannounced visits. If they found any reason to violate his probation, he could wind up serving those 24 years anyway.

He was hopelessly torn, so I suggested the coin flip.

I tossed the coin into the air. It spun. I caught it as it fell. I slapped it against the top of my left hand. I failed to notice that the DA had hung up the phone and was no longer talking. I began to lift my fingers, as though I was about to pull away my hand and show the coin face underneath, but I did not pull my hand away.

“Now admit it – there is one side that you want to see more than the other.”

My client pulled in his lower lip, and nodded. “I want a trial,” he said. I kept eye contact with him while putting the quarter back in my pocket.

“You’re not going to show me what it was?” My client asked.

“No. Why does it matter? We were never going to decide this with a coin flip.”

My client sighed, straightened his back, and nodded his head again. His grandmother beamed with pride while her hands still clutched the guard rail in fear. Both thanked me for helping with his decision.

I had gotten the coin flip idea from an old episode of Frasier – I doubt that they would have wanted to know that.

Now, if you readers are wondering what happened in this case, whether he won or lost, I ask you whether that matters, and whether a decision that important should be determined by win or loss.

Respectfully Submitted,

Norm

How do I know if my lawyer is doing a good job?

Dear Norm:

I have a public defender, and I have no idea whether he’s doing a good job for me. In fact, several of the things he does in court make me really, really  nervous. Also, the things he hasn’t done make me really, really nervous. I feel like a kitten floating downriver in a basket and I’d like to know whether I’m headed over the falls. What should I do?

Sincerely,

Concerned Consumer

Dear Consumer:

Condolences on the fact of your pending criminal case. As you now know, an arrest is just the start of a long, complicated process. If you were arrested and taken directly into custody, it probably felt like you were plucked out of the life you thought you were going to lead. Dour gendarmes stuffed your belongings into a locker at the jail. Your fingerprints and DNA samples are now cataloged in a computer database (you know, for those many unsolved murders that you might have done). You had your clothing replaced with an ill-fitting jumpsuit with garish colors that almost hide the stains. The monetary value of your freedom was computed, and if you were lucky enough to make bail, when you returned to your old life you found that everything was different. And that’s if you were lucky enough to make bail. All of this happens on or before the first court date, the arraignment.

If you are in custody, you are entitled to a court-appointed lawyer or public defender, no matter how much money you make. If you post bail after having been appointed a public defender or a court-appointed attorney, the PD’s office can ask for an income reassessment if they think you are hiding assets or otherwise trying to scam the system. This rarely happens, primarily because it is rare to have someone scam the system like that, but know that it is possible. If you live somewhere with a good PDs office and you’re on the cusp of being appointed a lawyer, consider the benefits of staying in a few extra days.

After the first court date, you will meet other parts of the justice machine. For example, you will meet a district attorney. Anyone who is offended by the manner in which the district attorney treats him should remember that a typical DA endures an entire career without ever, ever having a client. A successful prosecutor doesn’t have to be a “people person.” In fact, they are probably successful prosecutors because they aren’t. Don’t take it personally when they forget that the target of their in-court sermons are people, albeit people who might have hit their spouse or sold a dimebag.

It is important to realize here that a district attorney isn’t out to get the “truth.” The district attorney is out to get you. The “truth” is not what happened; the truth is what it looks like happened. It doesn’t matter how guilty you actually are, what matters is how much the evidence makes you look guilty. Good criminal defense lawyers operate with this in mind. Good criminal defense lawyers don’t moralize. I don’t care whether or not you actually did what you have been accused of doing; it’s irrelevant to your defense. Please remember this before you choose who you will talk about your case with. I strongly suggest not talking to the cops or the DA — or anyone, really — before you talk to your lawyer.  Your lawyer will help you avoid saying or doing things that make you appear even more guilty than you already do. Your lawyer is also ethically obligated to advise you what is in your best interest, unlike the district attorney, the cops, and that crazy guy you were housed with who wants to turn snitch.

Furthermore, DAs often refrain from even talking to their victims and civilian witnesses until the latest possible time before trial; this spares them from having to memorialize those conversations and hand them over to defense counsel — especially those inconvenient conversations that reveal weaknesses in the district attorney’s case. After all, a civilian can’t be trusted simply to re-read a police report moments before their testimony and recite it as though it were his honest-to-God memory; it takes at least 16 weeks’ worth of police academy training to master that trick.

No public defender ever, ever wants to admit that despite their best intentions, they too are parts of this machine. That being said, a person’s typical experience with a public defender is probably going to fall into a handful of patterns. Also, that person’s public defender may or may not do certain things that make that person nervous. However, none of the following are cause for concern in and of themselves. Only you know your situation, but I can give you some possible explanations for some common complaints.

I. My public defender only sees me in court.

This is a common complaint, but is not necessarily a reason for concern in the majority of “non-life” felony cases. An experienced public defender can diagnose a typical felony case within a few minutes of conversation. Domestic violence cases in particular follow certain patterns. Is there a pending child custody dispute? Was she drunk? On psychiatric medicine? Who hit who first, and with what? Here, you’ll read the police report and tell me which parts are bullshit. We don’t need to set up another meeting to do this. It can be done in court.

Please don’t take this the wrong way – every client’s case is important. But important does not mean the same thing as complicated.

Here are some things that you should do in court to ensure that your public defender is on top of your case outside of court.

  •  Ask for a summary of every investigative report. You might be unpleasantly surprised by the amount of information that has been collected against you. It will also give you an opportunity to guide your lawyer toward information that might rebut the prosecution’s case.
  •  If you have witnesses (that is, anyone who might have helpful information), give your public defender as recent and accurate contact information as you can. Your public defender will be in mild disbelief when you tell him that this witness is someone you have known for years without, somehow, learning his last name.
  • If alcohol was involved, consider going to AA meetings and keeping an attendance record. AA leaders will ask for sign-off sheets at the end of meetings.
  • Start rounding up whatever character references you want the sentencing judge to read. By character references, I mean letters by people describing all of the good things that you’ve been up to in the community aside and apart from this case. These are, effectively, pleas for leniency to be considered by the judge and district attorney at the time of sentencing.
  •  Feel free to ask whether a proposed plea bargain is a “good deal” before deciding whether to take it. Our advice will be quite candid.

II. My Public Defender is Telling Me to Plea Guilty

First of all, she’s probably telling you to plea “no contest.”

Second, your public defender may just be trying to tell you something. A public defender doesn’t suggest a plea bargain because she is “judging” the client; she is concerned with how the evidence against the client will look to a jury. A public defender will typically recommend a plea bargain if the proposed sentence is appreciably better than a likely post-trial sentence. If a public defender repeatedly insists that a client take a deal, it may not be because the public defender does not understand the client’s problems with the deal. What the public defender might be trying to say is that whatever the client’s problems with the deal, the alternative of trial is not likely to solve those problems.

III. My Public Defender isn’t doing anything for me.

Articulate exactly what you would like your Public Defender to do. He cannot make your case go away. He can try to talk some sense into the DA, but he might not be successful at it. Sometimes, the hard truth is that when you are accused of a crime, it’s because “they” want you in jail.

IV. If I had a private attorney, I would be out of this mess by now.

Not necessarily. I know it seems that celebrity clients can get away with murder and maybe you think you could too, if their lawyer was working for you. This is only fantasy.

You don’t get to go back to your pre-arrest reality. The sooner you can accept this, the better decisions you will make. I had a client so in denial of the evidence against her, she refused a plea-bargain that included no jail time and potential for record clearance. It can be difficult to think logically about the evidence against you. Although it is cliche for a public defender to pressure a client into taking a plea deal, consider whether it might actually be a good deal before you refuse.

I know that what I am saying here can be seen as part of the growing field of public defender apologetics, so how do you know if your public defender or criminal defense lawyer isn’t doing a good job? What are some warning signs? How do you know it’s time to mortgage everything you have  in order to get a defense that will keep you out of jail? Isn’t that exactly what you want to know? Of course, I can’t tell you what you should do. Just about the only legal advice I can give you is not to take anonymous advice from over the internet. But I can give you some thoughts to consider:

Know that any kind of no-custody bargain may be the start of a whole new set of problems. Are you going to be on an ankle monitor? You have to pay for that. Counseling? You have to pay for that. Drug tests? You have to pay for that. If you choose probation, make sure you know the terms of your probation and are able to follow those terms. Be honest with your lawyer about any addictions. If you violate your probation, you might be worse off than if you had just accepted jail time in the first place.

Also, know that a trial is a very stressful experience. And juries are weird. Anything can happen; do you still want to roll the dice? That is your decision alone. I’ve had many cases settle right before I was about to pick a jury. It’s okay to listen to your stomach if it’s trying to tell you something.

Do you know what the evidence is against you or is it that you don’t like what the evidence is against you? You will make better decisions if you are informed about your case and know your real options. You can’t go back in time. You must face this problem head-on.

Keep written records of all court appearances, conversations about your case, everything that has happened. If you do think you are getting Ineffective Assistance of Counsel, this will help your case.

Ask yourself what the potential for downside will be before you take independent action in your case, especially against your lawyer’s advice.

And finally (and this should go without saying), don’t intimidate any witnesses! Not only is it a felony in itself, it never helps the case. It’s better a witness says what they have to say and give the jury the opportunity not to believe them than for you to have to explain why you acted like a guilty person if you’re not. So if you have any friends who might talk to a potential witness on your behalf, tell them to knock it off.

When you are accused of a crime, the best thing you can do is keep quiet and mind your business until it’s over, which may be a very long time.

If you do end up going to trial with your public defender and she does get you a “Not Guilty” verdict, be prepared that the judge may order that you pay for attorney’s fees. Sometimes, the DA will even ask on “our behalf.” Although this is transparently vindictive bullshit, you just ducked all of the worse possible fates. Congratulations!

Good luck out there.

Respectfully submitted,

Norm DeGuerre

What do you mean my son is a gang member?

The following is a faithful paraphrase of what I told my juvenile client’s father this morning in response to his protests that his son was not a “gang member.”

Sir, I understand that this is your son’s first time in court on a juvenile case. I also understand that your son is not involved in an organized criminal enterprise simply because he and his friends beat up another kid for wearing the rival gang’s colors. Trust me, I would never label what your son and his friends did as “organized” in any way.

Your son is not a member of a gang; he’s the member of a group – and kids LOVE group identity. High school is even worse now than when you and I were there. Kids still worry about being liked by their peers. They want acceptance, but not from their parents. They want approval and support, but not from adults. Also, high school is DANGEROUS today, much more so than when we were kids. Three decades’ worth of poverty and urban decay have created an entire subclass of high school students who fear for their physical safety at the hands of kids whom they have to see every day in school. They don’t want safety from the police because the police can’t give it to them. They don’t want safety from the school administration because their actions often make things worse. One well-meaning adult can have a devastating effect on a child’s equilibrium with regards to safety and security. In short, teenagers want even less to do with adults now than we did when we were teenagers. But now they don’t just need social acceptance, they need safety and economic opportunity.

And so how do you expect a kid to react when he’s told that so long as he wears the same color as another group of kids, draws the same symbols on his binder, and shares the same hatred for a rival group, that he will have that group’s loyalty and support? The feeling must be intoxicating.

Now some of these kids are, in fact, organized into criminal enterprises. Some may even get orders from friends or relatives who are, in fact, involved in the prison gangs. They may even receive written orders that the prison gang leaders write on scraps of paper in their own urine. And after these leaders bribe prison guards to smuggle them out and these notes find their way to the streets, some kids may actually carry those orders out. However, this is a tiny fraction of the kids who claim any sort of gang affiliation.

But once boys like your son start aligning themselves with the handful of kids who are parts of these gangs, the state machine takes over. Every kid who yells “Norte” during a fight is believed to be part of a disciplined, quasi-military enterprise. The DA then charges these kids with “strike” offenses. When they turn 18 or 19, they pick up their first felony. Because of their strike offenses, they go away to prison for years and years. Once in prison, they join the actual prison gangs that the police claimed they were affiliated with in the first place. Eventually, they return to the streets with faces full of prison tattoos and no source of support or approval outside of the gang.

In short, the State wants to jump your son into the very gang they’re accusing him of having joined.

The good news is that the DA didn’t have the information that I have when he decided what to charge your son with. They don’t know about the victim’s concussion, so they won’t add the “great bodily injury” enhancement. Although I am more than a little annoyed that your son decided to waive his Miranda rights and brag about his gang “affiliations” to his probation officer, the District Attorney did not have any of your son’s boneheaded statements before deciding what to charge him with. Therefore, they didn’t have time to add the “gang” enhancement.

I agree that in an ideal world, your son wouldn’t have to plead to a felony assault charge that will prevent his juvenile record form being sealed; a kid should be allowed to make one non-fatal screw-up without having it hung from his neck forever. But none of that compares to having a strike on his record. If your son pleads TODAY, the DA won’t have time to aggravate the charges. Please, despite the fact that you met me only ten minutes ago, you need to trust me on this.