what you think is love is truly not

what makes a person physically abuse someone they say the love so much?  to put your hands on that person and make them hurt.  bleed.  die....

as i sat and watched one of my co-worker's defend a second degree murder case for the past couple of days, i asked myself these questions.  the defendant was charged with shooting his wife nine times as she sat at a bar around 4:30 in the morning, unwinding with her co-workers after her shift as a cocktail waitress at a local hotel. after he shot her, he turned and shot her young co-worker once in the stomach and then left the bar.

the couple had a history of domestic abuse.  just about a week before her death, the wife had been at that same bar doing the same thing she was the night of her death and her husband had shown up and dragged her out of the bar by her hair.  he'd been arrested and a stay away order had been issued by a local judge.  she and their two kids had left him and were staying with friends.  

my co-worker argued manslaughter: an act that would otherwise be a homicide however the accused is acting under such a heat of blood caused by an act of provocation that a reasonable person under similar circumstances may have acted the same. coming home to find your husband in bed with another woman is the classic manslaughter trope. 

during his videotaped statement with the police, the defendant cried and confessed, blaming the shooting on an uncontrollable fit of rage spurred on by his thought that his wife was cheating on him with another man.  he repeatedly talked about how he loved her, how she was his, and how he couldn't stand to be away from her for one second.

though i hate to admit it, the prosecutor in this case really nailed it during her final arguments to the jury.  the love that the defendant professed for his wife was not that at all.  it was control. he wanted to know where she was and who she was with at all times for control. he hurt her to control her. he killed her to control her. he is now trying to control the jury by getting you to feel sorry for him and vote for manslaughter.  the prosecutor struck such a nerve with her arguments that at one point the defendant got up from the table and proceeded to walk out of the courtroom.  that never happens.  ever.  deputies rushed him.  the proceedings were put on hold.  and he never returned back into the courtroom during the rest of the state's closing arguments.

the jury ultimately found the defendant guilty as charged.  the defense attorney in me was sad for my colleague's loss.  but the black woman that i am always wants justice.  like eve.

links of the day (in the life of a stressed pd)

i was all set to write something fabulous today...something about tall women and short men. but alas, wack ass district attorney slapped an expedited appeals brief on me this am. despite my efforts to get more time to reply, i am now rushing to put something together before 3 cst. thus nothing cute and witty from these parts.

i will link you to this interesting post over at on being a black lawyer. hard times for folks like myself and such.

but in the wow-we-actually-won-that-case column, courthouse killer brian nichols will spend the rest of his days in jail, instead of as georgia's next execution victim. the life without parole, thanks to the 3, verdict from the jury highlights the evilness of prosecutors, who refused to take a guilty plea in exchange for a life sentence and almost bankrupt the criminal justice system in georgia in the process.

legalize it

For the past few days, I've been hooked on weeds, the Showtime dramedy about a semi-rich White suburban housewife who moonlights as her neighborhood dopegirl. After her husband drops dead of a heart attack, Nancy Botwin peddles dime bags to her neighbors and friends in an effort to maintain her lifestyle for herself and her two sons. Initially, I thought the show would be full of unfunny cliches but I actually find it to be quite interesting and hilarious. Afterall, those of us who live in houses without cable can't reject the gift of a dvd. Gotta have something to watch when nothing's on the 3 channels I get for free (until Feb 09).

Anywho, I also like the show because it depicts the widespread usage of marijuana in White affluent communities and because with each episode, I secretly hope that Nancy will get busted and end up doing serious time. A little bit of justice to make things right in the world. In episode 5 of season 1, I almost got my wish when Nancy's brother in law Andy gets popped for simple possession. Andy tries to go into business for himself since Nancy won't let him in on her hustle. On his way back from picking up the product at Nancy's supplier, Andy gets pulled over for running a stop sign. Thankfully it's Agrestic, California and not Any Hood, America and the cop intends to let Andy on his way with a warning to stop and look both ways next time. But Andy gets smart at the mouth so the the cop pulls Andy out of the car, smells the weed and takes him down to the station.

Cut to Nancy and Andy post-arrest meeting with a lawyer played by Alison Janney. Ms. Janney informs Andy that because he had less than an ounce of weed on him, the most he'll get is probation and an anti-drug class. Cause less than an ounce is a misdemeanor. Nosy Nancy starts asking all these questions about penalties for getting caught with more green or for distribution, you know, just in case. Ms. Janney "says that's only if the cop's an asshole; most cops just let you go. "

I laughed at the irony. Really Ms. Janney? Only in tv land or the right side of the tracks would that happen. It makes sense though, kinda sounds about right. You should get a slap on the wrist for having some weed. It's from the Earth, doesn't harm anybody, makes you feel good, etc. But being as how I deal with marijuana cases everyday I shook my head in disgust. Where I'm at, if you're caught with any thing, an ounce, a joint, some stems and seeds, the lingering aroma in your ride, you're facing 6 months in jail plus a fine when you get out. Most judges won't lock you up for that long but they will make you do some probation, often up to a year's time and pay over $400 in fines and fees. Taint so bad when you take that in the abstract.

But if you're picked up again for that same amount, on your second offense you are looking at a felony. 5 years in jail. FOR SOME WEED! And don't get caught a third time, for that same joint, cause its a wrap. 20 years. FOR SOME WEED!

It's estimated that 4.8 million Americans age 12 and up use marijuana at least once a month. On any given day down here, more than 50% of the people arrested are taken down to central lockup not for violent crimes, not for shootings, murders, robberies, but FOR SOME WEED! Usually a joint or less.

Some argue that marijuana is the gateway drug to coke, her-roin, and meth. Pish posh. I know 50 year old weed smokers who have never touched anything stronger in their lives. Old men who take a toke every Saturday evening in the comfort of their own homes to calm they nerves and unwind. When's the last time you heard of a weedhead holding up the corner store? Have you ever heard somebody getting shot over some weed or dying of lung cancer from too much weed inhalation? Yeah, I thought not.

That's why I say let's make it like cigarettes, the real deadly tobacco. Package it up and put it on the shelf right between the menthols and the cloves. Add a 25% tax to it. Think of the tax revenue that legal marijuana sales could generate. 'Bama could fund universal healthcare and national education programs from one year's receipts alone.

Just a thought.

judges behaving badly

Imagine you walk into a bar to meet a friend. You sit down and order your drink. You turn to your friend, preparing to ask him about his sojourn to the holy land formerly known as Denver when all of a sudden you hear...

I HATE YOU! he he I HATE YOU!

You look over and see a...

Black

Female

Criminal Court Judge

Making a fool of herself

Twas me one night last week. Struggling to hold down a conversation over drinks with a friend while witnessing a HOT ASS MESS!

Now I've seen this particular Judge in court before and while she has a reputation for ghettofabulosity on the job (i.e. having her computer speakers playing hip hop music pseudo-softly in the background during a lull in court proceedings, announcing that she had had enough for the day and was leaving the bench to go pick her child up from day care, etc.), I was generally impressed with her. She is a relatively young Black woman who has risen through the ranks to attain the bench and is a pretty fair and knowledgeable arbiter.

So I was not SO surprised when I looked down the bar last week and saw that it was Ms. Judge sitting at the other end talking and laughing quite loudly with another gentleman. I already knew she was LOUD. Judges tend to be that way sometimes. And it is a bar where people might get a little tipsy and forget to use their inside voices. So maybe she liked to drop an F bomb here and there, no biggie.

Well folks, let's just say it got much worse from there. It was clear that Ms. Judge (who is not married) and this gentleman (who happened to be sporting a wedding ring) had been and still were fuck friends for quite some time. "We been f'ing all week what's the big deal?" Yeah, it went there. And so their conversation continued, a play by play rehashing of their past escapades and encounters along with arguments from both sides about why they never were able to make it work. They'd be going back and forth, with "fuck you's" and "bitch please's" coming from BOTH sides and then the words would stop. I'd think to myself, finally, Ms. Judge got some respect for herself. And then I'd hear...

mmmmm......ahhhhh.....[what making out sounds like]

Yes people! I'd sneak a glance out of the corner of my eye and see tonguing and groping action in full effect. It got so bad that my friend and I had to leave the bar. Cause I damn sure was not paying attention to a word he was saying.

I was ashamed for Ms. Judge and for Black women everywhere!

I will give you that silly loud behavior happens in bars, even considering that this was a "nice" upscale hotel bar.

I will give you that some folks "just don't care", enjoy slobbing each other down and groping genitals in public.

But SHAME ON YOU Ms. Judge for: being loud, having inappropriate conversations about your sexual relations, letting a man (who is someone else's huzband) yell at you and call you out your name, then making out with said man, in public, when you are up for re-election, as a criminal court judge. And you a Black woman dog! I can't and will not! (c) Fresh

on the job

Have I told y’all lately how much I love my job? Cause I do, I do, I dooo-oooo. The idea that when you find your passion, getting up every morning and going into the office won’t seem like work at all is SO true.

Most days I’m in a hot smelly jail “multi-purpose room.” Little fruit flies buzzing around. Standing pools of water quite possibly generating malaria in the corner. Talking to people, mostly men, overwhelmingly black men, who have not showered, eaten or brushed their teeth in the last 24 to 48 hours since they’ve been arrested. I already understand the incompetence of management and I've listened as some employees constantly whine and complain about the incompetence of management. I laugh on the inside at the elitist mindsets of the self-righteous white liberal do-gooders who know what’s best for the clients and totally get the local legal system way more than the local judges and attorneys who have been grown up and practiced in this area for more years than many of these people have even been alive.

But I really love the work!

I'm exhilarated at being in the thick of my passion, frustrated at the inequities in the system and the challenges we have to overcome, and optimistic at knowing that I am here, a part of making the system work just a little bit more ______.

The other day, I shadowed one of my colleguges during her morning courtroom duty. Let's call her Donna. She is assigned to Judge Wackadoodle so she goes to court each morning to cover arraignments, parole revocations and whatever else is going on on that morning’s docket to make sure that anyone who is "on" for that day who does not have an attorney or is assigned to an attorney from our office will have representation. Donna warned me that Judge Wackadoodle was a true character. And by "true character" I mean she thinks that she can cure the drug addictions of those folks who come before her by locking them up in jail for a couple days. Yeah....and NO!

Let me paint the picture...

The court reporter calls the next defendants Betty Sue White and Amanda Mae Whiter up to the front. Two lanky white women arise in the back of the courtroom and slowly approach the bench. From the looks of them, they've been lightening it up on the regular for years and undoubtedly took a hit of something within the last 48 hours. Donna gets up, stands beside the two women and informs the judge that the public defender's office represents both women. The prosecutor formally charges both women with something like possession of cocaine or heroin and Donna enters their not guilty pleas.

As the women turn to leave, Judge Wackadoodle asks, are ya’ll using? What ya’ll using? Hmmm, ya'll using huh? Ok, go down and get drug tested and then come back up and let me see what your levels are.

It aint looking good for the ladies.

So Ms. White and Ms. Whiter go down for their drug screens and then come back nervously await their fate. Donna has already told them that Judge Wackadoodle has been known to lock folks up if their drug screens come back too high but the women are confident that the Judge will show mercy.

Finally, Judge Wackadoodle calls the women back up. Ok ladies, let's read the results. Now between O and 300 is somewhat acceptable but Ms. White do you know what your's was?

3000!

Didn't you know you were coming to my court today. And you still used drugs the day before, heck the day of coming to court? Why? Please tell me why?

Of course Ms. White just said she didn't know why she used drugs the day before court. But inside I wanted to scream, CAUSE SHE'S A CRACKHEAD, well an addict is more PC but whatever. She can't help it. She is clearly addicted to drugs. She has a drug problem. She can't stop using. So much so that the threat of getting locked up does not stop her from using. Yet you, crazy Judge, think that sticking her in jail for a day, a week, a month is gonna make her stop? Do you know any one with a chemical dependency Judge? Do you know how hard it is for addicts to kick the habit? Do you know how arbitrary it is to test her for drugs on random court dates? Do you know how rampant substance abuse is among EVERYONE in our society? So much so that I bet one of these prosecutors got high last weekend? Yet because Ms. White has the unfortunate circumstance of living in a neighborhood where police patrol looking for drug users and can't get high behind her gated communities walls like you and your friends can, she's facing a possession charge and is bout to be locked up for gettin high?

Hmmm, yeah I guess you don't. That's why I kept my mouth shut, or I'd be writing this post in my head from behind bars cause I'd be locked up for contempt of court.

But I still love my job...

in response to "round em up now" and the beloved community

i started to comment but i didn't have time to fully articulate my disgust for this "let us search your shit for kicks and we MIGHT not prosecute you" program that's being floated by DC and other cities. my vote is...

hellll to da nawww!

first off just reading the proposal points that bellini outlined yesterday, the program seems way too sketchy for me. as gangsta d pointed out in the comments, the program goes nowhere if there is no community buy-in, no "volunteers" willing to let the police all up and through they residence on a search for guns and drugs. AND they want people to sign consent forms that will most likely (a) allow the police to do whatever the hell they want when they enter your home and (b) waive any responsibilities or liabilities or promises on the police's part to not prosecute, be nice, and not fuck up your shit in the process.

Then the kicker is that if the guns are found to have been involved in a crime of some sort, the police will launch an "investigation" and you best believe charges will be filed and your ass is goin to jail. despite the wishy washy language in the article quote, somebody's gettin locked up! Again, whose gonna sign up for that? knowing as rum punch pointed out the history between the police and our people, dirty cops who plant, manipulate and otherwise twist evidence against us comes to mind.

i'm sorry bellini but i doubt if the aclu has enough "extra" lawyers to cover these random neighborhood sweeps to make sure the law is being enforced. furthermore, who would pay for these attorneys even if they could be found? the city and/or police force is damn sure not gonna fork over the money to provide oversight to a program they concocted.

i really do hear you that the "status quo" is not working but a failure in policing and crime fighting does not warrant an abandoment of folks basic rights, a relaxation of the constitutional freedom from unreasonable search and seizure. how bout the mayor and police force put there heads together to come up with creative LEGAL solutions to reduce crime that respect the humanity of the citizens and communities they interact with. but those are just my thoughts.

this post did get me to thinking about crime and black communities and black folks varied views about the crime in ours and other black communities and how to best tackle the problem. (yea that was quite long but follow me). you see this past weekend, i visited the new city to look for an apartment. i found a gorgeous place in an historically black community in the city. it is in a lovingly restored historic home with a balcony and a view of the city skyline. on a quiet couple of blocks in a historically black community that a native told me was "not some place where i wanted to live" and that i should pick an apartment near one of the white univiersities with white neighbors who would look out for me and my things.

now i took this advice somewhat seriously cause this is a new city that i've never lived in and i'm not trying to get shot walking from my car to my apartment. but the notion that i could only be safe in an area surrounded by whites was quite hilarious, especially coming a black person. i thought about the historically black neighborhoods in cities that i have lived in, like auburn avenue or the west end in atlanta. areas where you can find the most beautiful homes (like the one MLK grew up in) inhabited by upwardly mobile black folks and your obligatory gay white men on one block and crackheads a couple of blocks away.

i think that we should be cautious about fleeing these communities that we have historically inhabited because we percieve there to be more crime in these areas. being the internets slueth that i am, i did of search of both neighborhoods on the city's crime statistics website and found that both areas experienced about the same level of crime (thefts and auto thefts) in the past couple of months. but the perception is that since black folks live over there, the neighborhood is crap. what's white is right, and if you black, stay back!

if i (or we) followed this line of thinking, our most precious cultural gems will be handed over to crime and then to pioneering white folks who come in and gentrify. the difference is that those white folks demand respectful and diligent policing of their neighborhoods and aren't afraid to snitch on dem boys who be slinging on the corner.

i don't have all the solutions but i'm willing to put my head together with those who are willing to work and do something constructive about the problem. are you?

from the belly of the beast

imagine a large room, well-lit but dank, heavy with the misery of those around you. black men and women, ranging in age from the older gentleman with hair graying at his temples to the young woman with the baby dreadlocks crowning her defiant face as she glances around the room, each one seated, some slumped in mix-match plastic chairs. they are all clad in the obligatory orange jumpsuits subdivided into pairs not necessarily partners in crime or friends from around the way but temporarily shackled together, cleaved at the ankles as they await their fate (for the day).

what will be the price on their heads today? how much will their families attempt to scrap together in order to bail them out? what will freedom, even home-monitored freedom, cost today? what will the man do, as he sits in the stately, oak paneled room across town, peering through the peculiar apparatus inserting an ironic touch of technology into this rustic room that looks like the inside of an empty pool or an elementary school cafeteria. if you peer close enough and pay attention to the sheriff in green keeping watch from the back of the room, you'll learn that it used to be the place where police line-ups were conducted. this place, long forgotten after that bitch katrina laid bare the federal government's engineering inadequacies, has been revived.

welcome to bail hearings in orleans parish.

where the magistrate's only link to those whose bail he must determine is a video camera and a flat screen TV up front. a substitute for bringing the accused into the judge's actual presence, lauded for its ability to promote judicial economy and eliminate the supposed inefficiencies of having those whose lives you are so deeply impacting appear before you in real life, real time.

this is how they do it down in the big easy. how they've been doing it for years. the lady sitting at the judge's right hand calls a name. the accused stands. his charges are read. marijuana first. crime against nature. any priors? 96. armed robbery. the judge doesn't miss a best. Bail is set at 5000.

there is no space for the defense attorney to plead her client's case. no regard for the statutory bail factors. the likelihood that he'll return to court for his next appearance. and if one dares to interject, a swift rebuke is sure to follow.

once the spectacle is over, all names having been read, prices set, the men and women in orange are trotted back to their cells to await the next stop on the criminal justice train (wreck).

this image sits with me. reminds me that there are places in this country, the land of the free where every man and woman has certain inalienable rights, that this is the level of criminal (in)justice you receive. sits with me as the election churns on, candidates speak endlessly about their experience in making change, the change they hope to inspire, the change they've spent their life working for. the trail each one is trying to blaze without actually acknowledging that they are this or that, that they don't represent this or that, when we all can see that they are and that they do. no matter who becomes president shit won't change in orleans parish just because [name your favorite candidate] took office. cause these poor people aren't the middle class that so desperately needs preservin' or the rich folks who are searchin' for the tax breaks. talk to these people about the finding jobs that will pay a respectable wage from which taxes can be taken out.

who panders to these people? who sits with them and hears their stories? who truly listens and forces that judge in the little box to consider the bail factors?


who indeed....