court room comparisons

I entered a busy Superior Court house with unfriendly information desk staff. Choosing a room at random, we were redirected by an amicable team of lawyers to the “big case on the 6^th floor.” Where we were issued visitors passes. A surprisingly small court room welcomed us with a warm, lived in feel. I swiped a tissue from one of 3 visible boxes, choosing the one from the prosecution's table. Cameramen fiddled with equipment, and people chattered and moved in and out of the room. E told me that the case before us was high profile case about a MD who hired a hitman to kill his wife or colleague. I asked her if it was ok if I take my sweater off and wear just a tank top, thinking court was kind of like church and it was best to cover your shoulders, quickly realizing how silly that sounded. As I took off my sweater, the man who I suspected as the defendant put a tie on, or rather; his defending staff put a tie on him. The Judge entered suddenly, and I was pleased to recognize her from yesterday’s news. She clearly wanted to get moving with things, but the defense attorney got so wrapped up in his own discussion as to why it was ok with him to continue, that he seemed not to notice that she had already declared that the trial would proceed regardless. I became irritated by his sleazy nature. What was he doing acting as if his approval was the important one!

We waited for half an hour, before we realized that it was just witness questioning today. The women I was with wanted to leave, so we didn't stay to see any of the high profile case. We gave up and walked to Federal Court to test our luck finding an oral argument there.

We maneuvered through cops and the Mexican looking kids out of school, protesting immigration policy and waving Mexican flags. I heard that they were organized by a Mexican student association that wants Mexico to take back the South West. I wonder If that’s true, or if anyone here today actually thinks that or if they are just here because everyone they know is here. How many family members are at risk of deportation? Maybe these students are expressing a love and support of their heritage. Humans acting in flocks- Love makes us lemmings. No bond is stronger than blood.

A teen, waving a blue shirt over his head like a medieval weapon made eye contact with me. He had the power of the pack in his eye as he looked at me, directing his Spanish chant at me. Otherwise unscathed and possibly unaffected, tree white women emerged from the demonstration and proceeded on into the airy District Court.

Certainly the AC in this place would keep my sweater on me, imposing modesty. We walked through expansive corridors and empty halls, pausing at closed doors, uncertain of what was within. Would it be the treasured oral argument? Or would we cause an unpardonable disturbance, our very presence in the door way causing a mistrial. We scurried to the next courtroom, and holding my breath, I opened one door, and then the interior door. Everyone turned to look, but we had already committed ourselves, and I quickly took my place in the back row, followed by my friends. The room was twice as tall as that from Superior Court and the space was primarily used for sound conduction.

Our mistake in scheduling was readily apparent. Three women with low sugar levels watched the sentencing of three Mexican teenagers in orange prison jumpers. A commanding robed presence, sat higher up and further back than the Judge in trial court He explained the consequences of pleading guilty, deportation and/or yada yadda, I couldn't follow the explanation of the American sentencing system that important enough to be rehashed for each defendant. I hoped that the Spanish translator was adding content to the monologue, because the orange suits voiced agreement with great frequency. From what I did comprehend, it sounded serious, deportation, years in jail, all explained in gobbeldy gook. All this was in English, though I suspected that everyone relevant to the hearing spoke Spanish. The only people more bored by the proceedings were the two defense attorneys. One yawned continuously, including when he was referred to as a good attorney by the robed deity. I sat, irritated that this wouldn't count as my oral argument, and wishing I had seen more of the sleazy defense of the murdering MD, then I’d be able to follow the case in the news. I had already seen a sentencing hearing for possession with intent to distribute; they were pretty much the same.

Odd comparisons these two cases make. There are so many explanations, reasons why, at the first trial, the defendant was wearing a white collar, and provided a years supply of tissues, and yet across the street, selling drugs provided you with sleepy attorneys, who don’t question the powerful omnipresence of process. As an aspiring attorney, I realize that these cases are different for important reasons, and that there is a time and a place for active advocacy. But, does this attitude give us the ability to impose judgments with the detached hand?

In Federal Court today I heard the specialized language of the sentencing process recited over and over, to each defendant. The recitation was incomprehensible to me in English, and I’m sure the Spanish translation was just as confusing. Defendants relied upon the wisdom of attorneys and translators, who looked to Judges, Justices, and Legislatures, relying on the Constitution, case law and the underlying process. We believe it on faith. We have faith in the system, and the imperfect people who explain it. We lack personal, tangible proof. We must participate actively in questioning the legal system. It is not good within itself, but must be evaluated on results. THE MEANS DO NOT JUSTIFY THE ENDS.

Blind implementation, Humans acting in flocks- Hate makes us lemmings. No bond is stronger than blood.