Three Years Ago Today…

Happy Anniversary to me! Chasing Truth, Catching Hell turns 3 years old today. Year 3 will begin with a different tone and focus. The theme of the blog won’t change, but the style will be more fiction and less polemic. I’ve enrolled in a creative writing class (online, open to all) from the University of Iowa to expand my skills as a writer. I am now trying my hand at short scenes and stories, some of which I will share in the near future. I have noticed more than one literary-minded person follow Chasing Truth within the past year; I would love to hear your honest feedback on what you read.

Wish me luck,

Norm DeGuerre

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A Reluctant Call for Mercy Killing: This Lawyer’s Opinion

The time has come for the criminal defense community to rethink its well-rehearsed response to the following question:

What would happen if every defendant who wanted a trial got one?

Michelle Alexander at the New York Times posed this question in 2012…or more accurately, Ms. Alexander interviewed a former defendant named Susan Burton, and it was Ms. Burton who posed this question. Ms. Burton had served multiple jail terms for drug related offenses. Each time, she got out by accepting the prosecuting attorney’s plea bargain. Each time she got out after serving the sentence she agreed to serve, the state released her back into the under-served, over-policed neighborhood from whence she came. Her status as a convicted felon barred her from job and housing options, and her freedom lasted only as long as it took for the police to find another reason to drag her back in.

Ms. Burton’s story is too common. The criminal court system in the United States jails a larger fraction of its citizens than does any other system in the world. The numbers of imprisoned African American men are the most shocking and shameful; the United States jails more people than were jailed in the Soviet Union during the heyday of Stalinism, and the United States jails a greater percent of its African American men than the percent of Soviet citizens held in the gulag.

Ms. Burton’s question strikes the beast in its one weak spot; the people who promote this mass brutality don’t want it badly enough to pay for it.

Before the federal courts intervened, California’s prisons were stuffed to 175% of their designed capacity. The state later passed several laws designed to reduce the swelling: California’s infamous Three Strikes law now only applies to those whose “third strike” is serious or violent, prisoners can serve their time for property and drug crimes in local jails instead of state prisons, and simple possession of any drug is now a misdemeanor. These reforms came not because California suddenly realized that narcotics had long since won the War on Drugs or that all life was too valuable to take from someone for just any felony; they came because California had neither the money to build more prisons nor the stomach to raise taxes for that purpose..

California’s death penalty will likely share the same fate; Judge Cormac Carney ruled in 2014 that California’s death penalty was unconstitutional because the state did not provide enough funds to hire competent defense counsel who would “exhaust” all of the appellate options for the condemned so that he could be executed. There were no appeals to the inherent worth of every human life, even ones who have taken other lives from us, and California was not overcome with the shame that should come from being among the last regimes in the industrialized world that practices capital punishment. California still wants to kill people, just not enough to pay for the due process that must come beforehand.

At the trial court level, more than 90% of all criminal cases resolve by plea bargain and not by trial. As Ms. Burton pointed out: if every defendant demanded a speedy trial, the courts would collapse under the weight of all those rights happening at once. Cases would be dismissed for lack of court resources and the regime of mass incarceration would become too expensive for the courts to bear. So what would happen if every defendant who wanted a trial received one?

I posed this question on social media (on Twitter @normdeguerreesq): if bringing the system to its knees is in our clients’ best interest, why aren’t we doing it? This got a little bit of attention, but the response makes me think that the question wasn’t interpreted the way I had intended. Mark Draughn at Windy Pundit and Mark Bennett at Defending People wrote answers to a slightly different question: why don’t we just take every case to trial so that the system buckles under the pressure? Both writers responded with the same answer that every young public defender hears from her supervisor when she daydreams aloud about using her massive stack of case files to bring the system to its knees by trying every case.

Both Mr. Draughn and Mr. Bennett seem to interpret my tweets as though I had suggested that every defendant should choose to go to jury trial. Such a tactic would most certainly be unethical if recommended to all defendants regardless of their individual situations. Ethically, a lawyer is bound to pursue the best interests of each individual client and not her clients as a population. There are some philosophical discussions to be had about whether or not the interests of the many would actually benefit the interests of the few, but this is not a conversation for boots-on-the-ground lawyers like myself and it is most certainly not a call to action I advocate. The defendants who will be hurt with a stiffer sentence after trial should be encouraged to plea, as should those who – for whatever reason – are being offered a sweet deal by the DA. I use my experience as a PD to advise my clients whether or not a deal is worth taking.

However, I am not asking whether we should encourage every defendant to go to trial. I am asking, what would happen if every defendant who wants a trial got one? The difference between these two questions is subtle but important.

To answer this question, the lawyer must accept that being a defendant’s attorney entails being his voice of reason behind closed doors and the voice of his client’s best interest in the courtroom. Despite the histories of poor choices that often land a client’s file on our desks, the decision of whether she wants a trial is hers and hers alone, and that choice must be respected so long as the lawyer has shared his honest, candid professional opinion about the merits of any plea deal and the risks of going to trial. If there is a concern regarding client’s competence to stand trial, that decision is referred to medical doctors and judges. So long as my client is competent, as her lawyer, I treat her that way.

Too many lawyers can’t bring themselves to honor a client’s decision with which they disagree. I have heard public defenders and private lawyers yell at their clients in the courthouse hallways and berate them for not accepting their plea bargains. These lawyers win their guilty pleas, but not because the plea bargain was that much better than the likely post-trial sentence and certainly not because the client has finally accepted his lawyer’s wisdom. These clients still want a trial but no longer believe that their lawyers will actually fight for them. It is this situation I am speaking to.

For every client who wants a trial to get one, the defense bar will have to remind themselves that their clients are the ultimate masters of their own fates. The attorneys who fear trial for whatever reason will have to grow a spine and polish their skills or otherwise find a new line of work. The charred and crispy public defenders who have been doing their jobs for too long to try cases will need to step aside, take their pensions, and make room for new blood.

Finally, and most importantly, we must remind ourselves that Constitutional rights have value, and they should not be surrendered unless the accused is being offered something of comparable value. We need to remind ourselves this when we are tempted to tell a client to plea simply because he is guilty. A client’s guilt is largely irrelevant to whether a plea bargain is in his best interest; what matters is whether the state can prove it and whether the proposed plea is lower than the likely post-trial outcome. If the answer to either question is “no,” then the client’s case should be tried.

Frankly, many lawyers need to recalibrate their sense of whether a plea bargain is actually worth taking. Ms. Alexander’s article has a particularly vivid example of a plea bargain that probably looked more attractive than a trial…at first:

Take the case of Erma Faye Stewart, a single African-American mother of two who was arrested at age 30 in a drug sweep in Hearne, Tex., in 2000. In jail, with no one to care for her two young children, she began to panic. Though she maintained her innocence, her court-appointed lawyer told her to plead guilty, since the prosecutor offered probation. Ms. Stewart spent a month in jail, and then relented to a plea. She was sentenced to 10 years’ probation and ordered to pay a $1,000 fine. Then her real punishment began: upon her release, Ms. Stewart was saddled with a felony record; she was destitute, barred from food stamps and evicted from public housing. Once they were homeless, Ms. Stewart’s children were taken away and placed in foster care. In the end, she lost everything even though she took the deal.

Too many lawyers toss aside their client’s misgivings about their plea bargains. “Yet another example of my client’s bad decision making,” they may tell themselves. These lawyers need to remember that unlike their clients, they themselves have never had to live with the consequences of a plea bargain. Probation is no “bargain” if the client cannot or will not jump through the many hoops that come with it. A plea for a short prison term might end up doubling or tripling the client’s next prison term; lawyers may be selling a life sentence on an installment plan. Millions of defendants and their lawyers continue to cooperate with mass incarceration by surrendering their rights, but this amiable cooperation has lead to record numbers of people serving record numbers of years in prison. This tells me that most defense lawyers have been very, very wrong about whether plea bargains are worth taking.

As Ms. Alexander’s article points out, not every defendant needs to go to trial for sparks and flames to fly from the joints of the mass incarceration machine; I believe that the system is so underfunded that defense lawyers could collapse it simply by providing their clients the information and confidence to make their own informed choice and then honoring that choice. What could possibly be controversial or unethical about that?

Many of my peers continue to wring their hands and fret at the idea of making social change through individual representation. “If the police are running amok and if the laws are unjust, then they must be reformed and rebuilt,” these lawyers might say. These lawyers, like Cicero in the days of the old Roman republic, believe that appeals to mercy, decency, and reason will bring out the best in their fellow citizens; justice and reform are just one long dialogue away. But I believe that every institution works they way it does because someone benefits from the status quo, and that someone is most likely in power and will resist any efforts at change. Stabbing the monster in its one weak spot and starving it of resources remains the best tactic; this is why generations of new public defenders continue to ask, what would happen if every client who wanted a trial got one?

Respectfully Submitted,

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: 10 out of 18 lived in “Santa Asphalt,” the largest city in my jurisdiction, 6 lived in the generic, contiguous suburbs that surround Santa Asphalt, and 2 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

Profiles in Happenstance

Chasing Truth, Catching Hell turns one year old today. A surprising amount has happened since then; my cathartic creative writing project is now featured on the ABA Journal’s “blawg” roll and has hundreds (plural!) of readers. An amazing community of bloggers, lawyers, writers, and informed citizens has visited Chasing Truth over the past 12 months.

Many stumble upon Chasing Truth through search engine queries. In furtherance of this blog’s goals of educating and entertaining its readership, I will attempt to answer the questions that many of Chasing Truth’s readers have been trying to answer with the help of the internet.

“How to win a Romero Motion.” This reader is a public defender (or intern) sitting in front of an office computer. His client faces a life sentence under California’s Three Strikes law. In a Romero motion, the public defender will, essentially, beg for mercy in the face of his client’s love of drugs and/or violence. In utter desperation, he has consulted Google for answers. Google doesn’t know how to win a Romero motion. Unfortunately, the only sure way to win a Romero motion is to defy the laws of physics and travel backwards in time to stop your client from having a record. If this is not possible, the public defender will simply have to plumb the depths of his client’s life story, find the shiniest nuggets of redeeming humanity, and convince a judge that the remainder of his client’s human worth is so precious that the drafters of the Three Strikes law would never have wanted the client to serve a life sentence.

In all seriousness, best of luck.

“What happened to Demontes Wright?” This reader is an idealistic young lawyer whose friend has a job in asbestos litigation that allows him to subscribe to HBO. Young Lawyer invites herself over to watch Gideon’s Army, an excellent documentary on public defenders. Gideon’s Army is the story of three intrepid public defenders in the South who war for their clients’ freedom against a drought of resources and a flood of indigent clients. During the climax of the film, public defender Brandy Alexander argues that her client, Demontes Wright, could not have been the man who robbed the liquor store in question. I’m sorry that the plague tornado knocked out the electricity before this reader could see the end, but rest assured that Ms. Alexander won her client’s freedom, despite the ease with which her innocent client could have lost ten years of his life in prison.

Related search: “Travis Williams public defender Georgia.” This reader has the bad luck of being accused of a crime in Georgia, and is desperately hoping that Gideon’s Army super lawyer Travis Williams will be his public defender.

“Are my rights violated if I can’t even go to the bathroom, but they say you’re not even under arrest and police interrogate me without reading me my Miranda rights?” This reader has been questioned by police to the point of physical discomfort. However, in deciding whether his rights have been violated, the question is not whether the reader felt free to leave. The question is whether the reasonable, prudent, Yale-educated Supreme Court justice would have felt free to leave under similar circumstances. If a member of the Ivy League ruling class would feel free to waltz out the door of the police station, this reader should too. If a cop has told this reader that he can’t use the bathroom, he is being detained. If this ever happens to you, stop talking immediately. In all honesty, consider soiling yourself to prove just how trapped you feel.

“Getting help for your client on remand” The good news is that this reader finally got a referral from that business card that he taped above the urinal in the bathroom that adjoins the visitor’s lobby at the local jail. The bad news is that now this client expects his money’s worth. This means that unless the attorney can lower his client’s bail, the client will not be able to make more money to pay the lawyer. This will oblige the lawyer to waive preliminary hearing and then dump his client on the public defender once the case is set for trial.

This reader needs to get his leased Audi out of the nearby parking garage very, very quickly. I know a number of reckless teenage vandals.

“Can a good lawyer get you out of anything?” This reader has hired the lawyer described in the paragraph above. Never underestimate the private bar’s willingness to sell a client an enema of sunshine in lieu of honest legal representation.

“How do you win a Marsden motion?” Unfortunately, I wouldn’t know anything about that. Best of luck to you. Indigent criminal justice reform needs to take place nationwide. People who commit crimes in my county are lucky to have such good representation. But I want everyone in America to have access to the same high quality level of defense. Protecting the rights of our most vulnerable citizens protects the rights of everyone.

“People in jail for drug addictions ‘leave a comment’” County jail is a terrible, smelly, occasionally violent, and perpetually depressing place. Its callow corrections officers are not interested in making any of its tenants into a better person. Maybe this reader needs to write a Yelp review?

“Movies about chasing something and never catching it” Thanks for stumbling upon my blog by accident. I really do appreciate the additional readership. I’m sure that somewhere, out there, is a Zooey Deschanel movie with your name on it.

“Can I add a profile to the Megan’s Law website.” This impish prankster has a great idea for getting his chemistry teacher fired. Unfortunately, these gates of hilarity are blocked by Department of Justice firewalls.

“Crystal meth cannot climax” Not to be an insufferable optimist, but some would say that this is a feature of crystal meth, not a drawback.

“Public defender burnout.” This reader is likely a public defender, and she was probably scheduled to spend a full day cross-examining tearful victims in an all-day preliminary hearing. This reader welcomed the excuse not to check the blinking light on her phone that tells her that she has yet another unhappy call to return. This reader may well be deliberately postponing that life-sentence case that he just cannot bear to try until another attorney takes over his calendar. Or, this reader may have the burden of being someone who works hard without complaining. His public defender’s office may have rewarded this work ethic by giving him some terrible, thankless, high-volume court calendar that the squeakier wheels refuse to do (and somehow get away with doing so).

For what its worth, I’ll bet that this reader is doing a great service to her clients. I will also wager that most of her clients think so too. We love you. Honest. You are why we need student loan forgiveness for government servants. Being able to pay bills every month without excessive anxiety would really help with preventing burnout, would it not?

“Pretenders drink while you’re at it.” This is clearly one of those Zen riddles that one ponders while hoping that his coworkers have not noticed the third vodka soda that he has ordered during the weekly office happy hour. This reader is cheating by searching the internet for answers.

A confession to friends of this blog; I never expected to still be adding to this site one year later. You make me want to keep writing. I reserve the right to broach this blog’s anonymity when I need to plug my first legal thriller; until then, I remain your secret admirer.

Respectfully Submitted,

Norm DeGuerre

It Looks Like You’re Trying to Instruct a Jury…

Good Morning, Your Honor!

It looks like you’re working on a set of jury instructions. How exciting! Clearly you’re in the midst of a jury trial, and you’re almost ready for the closing arguments. Of course, you’re going to warm up the audience by reading a 60-page packet of jury instructions for about 45 minutes. Although the two lawyers in your chambers would prefer working on their closing arguments to watching you argue with MS Word’s automatic formatting decisions, you and I both know that finishing these instructions in their presence is a much more important use of everyone’s time.

Hey! Why did you close me?! For the past twenty minutes, I have watched you mash the left mouse button in a vain attempt to change the line spacing. You clearly need my help!

Wait! Don’t close me again. Did you know that giving an incorrect instruction is reversible error on appeal? Ha, clearly you knew that; these instructions were written by judges for other judges to read, slowly, repeatedly, in chambers and in open court. Who knows whether the jury will actually understand them? That is clearly not the point. Now kindly move that cursor away and get back to reading. We have lots of agonizing to do while these two lawyers drum their fingers.

It looks like you’re working on the “reasonable doubt” instruction. This whole instruction looks risky to me. Didn’t one court of appeal say that trying to define reasonable doubt is like playing with fire, because any attempt at defining “beyond a reasonable doubt” almost inevitably makes the burden of proof sound lower than it is?

Oh, your added instruction makes everything clear: “Proof beyond a reasonable doubt is proof that leaves you with an abiding conviction that the charge is true.” This won’t be a problem, because it gives no definition whatsoever. How does such a solemn phrase manage to convey absolutely no information? How many of your twelve jurors know what “abiding conviction” means? Do you even know what it means? How does it differ, in substance, from just saying, “proof beyond a reasonable doubt makes you really, really, really sure that this guy is guilty?” Refusing to give any information is a great way to make sure that you don’t give wrong information! Also, I especially like the way it avoids comparing “beyond a reasonable doubt” to the other levels of proof in the legal system:

      Too much information for a jury instruction     

This way, if the defense lawyer actually tries to instruct the jury beyond what you’ve written by contrasting “beyond a reasonable doubt” to other levels of proof, the DA can point out, in his rebuttal argument, that YOUR jury instruction gives NONE of this information. The DA gets to hint that the defense lawyer has pulled all of this information from his rectum, even though the DA knows full well that everything the defense lawyer said was true. I love it when lawyers are sneaky!

A tired-ass “guilt-o-meter” chart that also isn’t in the instruction

Oh, it looks like you’ve moved on to jury instruction #355. “The defendant has an absolute constitutional right not to testify … Do not consider, for any reason at all, the fact that the defendant did not testify.” Hey Judge! Whatever you do, under no circumstances are you to think about a giant squid. You didn’t think of a giant squid just now, did you? I just told you not to! How do you expect this jury to follow an instruction not to think about something that you just made them think about?

Hey! Can’t you see that your hanging indents should be set to 0.38, and not 0.5? Don’t worry; I’ve gone back and changed all of the indents in your document. You’re welcome.

It looks like you’re working on the final pre-deliberation instruction. Do you remember that today is Wednesday? Do you understand that you will likely be giving this instruction on a Thursday afternoon? Do you think it might be worth adding something about not jumping to a verdict on Friday afternoon just to avoid having to come back on Monday? When do we get to the instruction that at least acknowledges the real world and its prejudices? Why do all of these instructions read as though they were penned in a hermetically sealed vacuum by people whose professional and personal identities hinge entirely on the presumption that our system is actually fair? Have none of these people ever served on a jury?

Ok, that’s enough for me. I’m done, Your Honor. Let me know when you need help writing a letter in Times New Roman.

[Clippy and his likenesses remain the property of Microsoft Corporation; clearly no one else wants him.]

Respectfully Submitted,

Norm DeGuerre

Where Did All You People Come From?

So I started this blog (or blawg, get it?) with the goal of it being equal parts catharsis and creative writing project. I’ve been pleasantly surprised at the number of people who stumble upon this blog and at the number of truly fascinating individuals who have shown an interest in what I have to say.

So thank you to my community of bloggers, of other public defenders, private lawyers, writers, thinkers and those interested in the US justice system and how it actually works. From whatever side of The Bar or bars you happen to be looking from, I’m glad we can connect here.

Specifically, I appreciate the support of my first blog friend, Dan Mullin, at the Unemployed Philosopher’s Blog; Gideon at A Public Defender; the folks over at Popehat; Scott Greenfield; my appellate friends The Squawk and Jeff Gamso; Windy Pundit; and everyone who has emailed, tweeted, or terrorized Facebook friends with my posts.

And Canada! Canada is home to a surprising number of regular readers. I love the shit out of you, Canada.

And to readers outside of North America: Welcome! Velkommen! Willkommen! Welkom! Maligayang pagdating! Vítejte! Bun venit! Boas-vindas! Bienvenida! and Bienvenue! This blog has had visitors from 22 countries on continents other than my own. I have no idea how many visits were the result of Google-related accidents (at least one reader was looking for “jailbait”), but many have clicked around to different posts upon arrival. I think that’s pretty neat.

Finally, to the folks who googled “Chasing Truth” in search of the Christian metalcore band from Gilroy, California; you’re almost there. The truth you’re chasing can be found at their Myspace page. I can’t promise that all of your future spiritual inquiries will have such tidy answers. Please come back any time. We’ll discuss.

My “Dear Norm” posts are composite questions I’ve been asked over the years, but I am interested in responding to actual reader inquiries, especially from those trying to understand the legal system from the outside and from overseas. You can connect with me via comments on my blog, on twitter @NormDeGuerreEsq, or by email at NormDeGuerreEsq(at)gmail(dot)com. Of course, the only legal advice I can give you is not to take legal advice from someone whose credentials have not been properly vetted.

It’s awfully nice to know that when I look through my computer screen to the internet, there is someone, somewhere on the other side looking back. It makes me want to write stuff worth reading.

Respectfully submitted,

Norm DeGuerre