It was not until I moved out of Santa Ana, CA back in 1988 when I learned that America was afraid of Brown people. I felt it in the Marine Corps, I felt it when I was living in Washington, DC and I am reminded of it everyday here in Mississippi.
With the creation of the Department of Homeland Security, we had a merging of the United States National Guard, FEMA, U.S. Customs and Border Protection, ICE, United States Citizenship and Immigration Services, the United States Secret Service, the Transportation Security Administration, and Civil Air Patrol who primary purpose is to "keep out the Mexicans" Yet many Latino families can trace their roots to French, Spanish or Mexican decent which lived in the Southwest before it became part of the United States.
For many years Latino-Americans have lived in the "border states" but with a recent growth of migration populations in states such as Ohio North and South Carolina, state legislatures introduced 1400 bills in 2007 targeting immigrants. While only 240 of those bills actually passed, it was an increase of 300% of bills introduced and enacted in the past. Much of this was a result of our federal government failing to pass a comprehensive reform package.
I watch the news and find it promoting this xenophobia by creating the fear of a horde of immigrants crossing the border. Yet current census show that one in five children here today live in immigrant families and is a U.S. Citizen. Data projections already project that 25% of America will be "brown" or of Latino descent, by 2030.
But why is everyone so afraid of a "browning of America"? Its not like we are coming into your homes and taking your children or belongings. Nor are we coming into your communities and kicking you off of your job sites. In actuality even with this mythical "invasion" by immigrants, the number of jobs being "stolen" by Latinos has remained the same.
What people do not understand is that the migration to the United States happens on both sides of the socio-economic spectrum. While we do make up 20% of the agricultural workers, 25% of construction workers and 40% of "home maintenance" we also make up 50% research and development and 25% of those working in the medical field. Yet these are numbers that we turn a blind eye to because it doesn't scare us as much when we think of immigrants as doctors and nurses.
As I look at the debate about access to health care for immigrants, my thoughts are drawn to the times where Blacks were not allowed and refused services at hospitals in the South. I find it extremely offensive because this is very personal when I hear these debates because it is talking about tearing apart members of my own family. When those on the other side of the argument sit there and objectify "them" as "illegal" and "aliens" they are calling my father and grandparents non-human invaders.
I have been to the border and visited the "holding" centers and saw people in cages. There was approximately 300 people in cages. Mothers and children sitting there and when I went to see the "drug traffickers" which were separated in another sector of the detention center, I saw only 20 people locked in cells. We treat the criminal better than the person who is only trying to come here to cut our grass and clean our homes.
I only wish that people who make these offensive statements that they would take a second and think about how history will judge them in 2030? History has already shown us how those who opposed desegregation and apartheid were judged. Lets work together to find solutions to economic factors that effect both Latinos and non-Latinos. Job loss and health care does not discriminate. Lets remember that Social Security will be sustainable for an additional seven years because of the uncollected benefits by "illegal immigrants". Poor is poor whether it is black, brown yellow or white...
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Returning Home...
This evening as I was going to bed my buddy Pimp came home!!! I heard him meow at the back door and at first thought it was the t.v. or my imagination but when I heard the second set of meows I knew he was home.
As I let him in he scurried to the food dispenser and ate as though he had not eaten all day. I then looked him over and he seemed to be physically ok but he is definitely been traumatized emotionally. After eating he has taken to hiding under the beds in the box spring. No matter how much Player tries to interact, all he does is hiss and scratch at him.
This reminds of how it was when I returned from the Gulf War. At the time I did not understand but everyone especially my family seemed to want to rejoice my coming home. But all I wanted to do was sleep and be alone. The more people tried to interact with me the more I wanted to be alone or with my buddies that served over there with me.
As I hear them fighting and hissing under the bed, it gets me to thinking about how it must be to have a loved one come home from prison. Similar to veterans coming home from combat, coming home from prison must be a welcomed respite. The trauma that they face and experience is life altering. Having to eat and sleep in total alertness takes it tole on the body.
Similar to veterans coming home from war, I would think that those returnung home from prison would seek out those who have suffered similarly in order to help them to adjust to being back in the "world".
Maybe that's part of the reason for such high recidivism rates? Maybe this is why so many people get back into drugs? I don't have the answer to these questions, but there is something here that I think needs to be looked into. We spend days and months acclimating and processing our soldiers for combat, maybe its time we spend just as much time and effort in acclimating and preparing our veterans and those who have been incarcerated to be ready for the "world"...
I am glad Pimp is home!!!
As I let him in he scurried to the food dispenser and ate as though he had not eaten all day. I then looked him over and he seemed to be physically ok but he is definitely been traumatized emotionally. After eating he has taken to hiding under the beds in the box spring. No matter how much Player tries to interact, all he does is hiss and scratch at him.
This reminds of how it was when I returned from the Gulf War. At the time I did not understand but everyone especially my family seemed to want to rejoice my coming home. But all I wanted to do was sleep and be alone. The more people tried to interact with me the more I wanted to be alone or with my buddies that served over there with me.
As I hear them fighting and hissing under the bed, it gets me to thinking about how it must be to have a loved one come home from prison. Similar to veterans coming home from combat, coming home from prison must be a welcomed respite. The trauma that they face and experience is life altering. Having to eat and sleep in total alertness takes it tole on the body.
Similar to veterans coming home from war, I would think that those returnung home from prison would seek out those who have suffered similarly in order to help them to adjust to being back in the "world".
Maybe that's part of the reason for such high recidivism rates? Maybe this is why so many people get back into drugs? I don't have the answer to these questions, but there is something here that I think needs to be looked into. We spend days and months acclimating and processing our soldiers for combat, maybe its time we spend just as much time and effort in acclimating and preparing our veterans and those who have been incarcerated to be ready for the "world"...
I am glad Pimp is home!!!
Saturday, November 21, 2009
The Gift of Pain...
This week has been rather hard for me. On Thursday my best friend Pimp went out for his evening walk and never came back. Pimp is my cat and best friend. I rescued him from the local pound a year ago and since then he has been my constant companion. Every morning he would wake me up and every evening he would talk to me as I enjoyed dinner. He even had his own side of the bed where he would sleep and protest when I had someone spend the night.
But it has now been two days since I last saw my friend. Player and I (Player is his step-brother) both find ourselves glancing at the glass panes of the backdoor with the hope that we will find Pimp looking back at us.
Sometimes I think I hear his meow and scurry to see if he finally made it home. Each time that I do, I end up whistling their come home song and gazing out into the yard feeling a tug of emptiness in my heart when there is no sign of Pimp.
I have found myself driving the neighborhood several times this last week praying that I do not find his carcass in the street and at the same time hoping that I hear him calling. I first thought that maybe he is stuck in a tree and just wasn't hungry enough to overcome the fear of jumping down... But last night it started to rain and with the rain came the steady flow of tears when I realized that he is not stuck in a tree.
Again I jumped in my car armed with despair and a flash light hoping that I would again be able to rescue my friend. I drove up and down the street blurry eyed from tears with the windows down and rain coming in. I called out like a crazy man crying "Pimp!!! Pimp!!!" Oh how I was grateful that it was raining and cold and that no one could see my insanity.
After about an hour I returned home my heart crushed and flattened. I cursed out and hoped that my Pimp was truly dead and prayed that he had not suffered. Player could sense my pain as he for the first time ever, cuddled in my lap. We both sat in silence in the dark for about an hour as I pondered on Pimp's demise.
Late into the night I finally felt tired enough and sought the safe haven of sleep, only to hear him calling out and rushing to the door. Again it was my mind yearning for his company and realizing that he is still gone.
As I woke this morning I could feel the cloud of despair suffocating the hope of his return in my heart. In the light rain I walked aimlessly in my neighborhood whistling for my friend. Up and down the empty streets I walked searching high low as the cold bit into my bones.
Throughout my life I like most people have suffered and experienced the Gift of Loss. When I was in the Marine Corps serving in Desert Storm I personally witnessed how indiscriminate Death really is. Until last year, I had always done as I was trained and block out my feelings. Until last year, I had always believed that it was better to live numb and cold than to let myself open up and feel.
It was not until I attended Gerry Spence's Trial Lawyers College where I learned to feel again. More than just feel, I learned that even the feeling of pain and sorrow were God's gift to us. My feelings are a gift from God and a reminder that we are not alone. The pain I am feeling now for Pimp shows that I really did love this small creature of God.
My pain is a testament to my ability to Love. And while it is tearing me apart inside. I thank both God and Pimp for sharing this gift with me...
I am going to go out and drive around and look for him some more. And maybe, just maybe God will find it in his heart to let me share this feeling of Love with Pimp just a little bit longer...
But it has now been two days since I last saw my friend. Player and I (Player is his step-brother) both find ourselves glancing at the glass panes of the backdoor with the hope that we will find Pimp looking back at us.
Sometimes I think I hear his meow and scurry to see if he finally made it home. Each time that I do, I end up whistling their come home song and gazing out into the yard feeling a tug of emptiness in my heart when there is no sign of Pimp.
I have found myself driving the neighborhood several times this last week praying that I do not find his carcass in the street and at the same time hoping that I hear him calling. I first thought that maybe he is stuck in a tree and just wasn't hungry enough to overcome the fear of jumping down... But last night it started to rain and with the rain came the steady flow of tears when I realized that he is not stuck in a tree.
Again I jumped in my car armed with despair and a flash light hoping that I would again be able to rescue my friend. I drove up and down the street blurry eyed from tears with the windows down and rain coming in. I called out like a crazy man crying "Pimp!!! Pimp!!!" Oh how I was grateful that it was raining and cold and that no one could see my insanity.
After about an hour I returned home my heart crushed and flattened. I cursed out and hoped that my Pimp was truly dead and prayed that he had not suffered. Player could sense my pain as he for the first time ever, cuddled in my lap. We both sat in silence in the dark for about an hour as I pondered on Pimp's demise.
Late into the night I finally felt tired enough and sought the safe haven of sleep, only to hear him calling out and rushing to the door. Again it was my mind yearning for his company and realizing that he is still gone.
As I woke this morning I could feel the cloud of despair suffocating the hope of his return in my heart. In the light rain I walked aimlessly in my neighborhood whistling for my friend. Up and down the empty streets I walked searching high low as the cold bit into my bones.
Throughout my life I like most people have suffered and experienced the Gift of Loss. When I was in the Marine Corps serving in Desert Storm I personally witnessed how indiscriminate Death really is. Until last year, I had always done as I was trained and block out my feelings. Until last year, I had always believed that it was better to live numb and cold than to let myself open up and feel.
It was not until I attended Gerry Spence's Trial Lawyers College where I learned to feel again. More than just feel, I learned that even the feeling of pain and sorrow were God's gift to us. My feelings are a gift from God and a reminder that we are not alone. The pain I am feeling now for Pimp shows that I really did love this small creature of God.
My pain is a testament to my ability to Love. And while it is tearing me apart inside. I thank both God and Pimp for sharing this gift with me...
I am going to go out and drive around and look for him some more. And maybe, just maybe God will find it in his heart to let me share this feeling of Love with Pimp just a little bit longer...
Thursday, November 19, 2009
1 In 99...
Last night I was sitting in bed thinking about one of my clients who was just sentenced to serve three years day for day. The more I thought about the idea of prison the more I realized that from a societal viewpoint, prisons are proof of our failure to provide for ourselves.
Prisons are there to house those who our society deems as unacceptable and a risk to the rest of our community. Right now, conservative figures show that more than one in every 99 adults is now confined in an American jail or prison. One in 30 men between the ages of 20 and 34 is behind bars, for Black males in that age group the figure is one in nine and one in 36 for Latinos.
As I watch the national debt grow, why is no one talks about prison costs and their impact on state budgets? More than half of those released end up back in prison within three years. I do not know of any other publicly funded program that would be supported if it had a 50% failure rate.
In 2007 we spent $44 billion of our general funds to fund the costs of incarceration. That was a 127% increase from the amount spent in 1987. By 2011, continued prison growth is expected to cost states an additional $25 billion. Yet in the same period spending on higher education rose just 21 percent.
At the start of 2007 we had more than 2.3 million adults incarcerated. Compared to China with 1.5 million and Russia with 890,000. Here is Mississippi, we were in the top fifth in the nation with a growth rate of +1,267.
In 2005, on an average we spent $23,876 per prisoner to keep them housed and fed. Louisiana had the lowest per inmate cost, $13,009. Conservative 2008 estimates put the same cost at $65,000 per bed for a typical medium security facility. In 2007, 5.4% of the Mississippi State fund and 7.5% of the Louisiana State fund went to pay the cost of incarceration. In the same year for every dollar that MS spent on higher education, it spent 30 cents on prisons. In LA the ratio was 46 cents on prisons.
So how do we lower the admissions to our biggest State funded institutions? The front end approach would could be the expansion of drug treatment programs designed to break the cycle of crime and addiction. Almost all of the people who are going to jail have some sort of drug addiction.
On the back end we could develop day reporting centers for offenders who break the rules of their release rather than the traditional revocation policy. We could also introduce short-term residential facilities for persistent rule violators with substance abuse problems.
For too long, We have chosen prisons as our primary weapon of choice in our war on crime. However, the sustainability of this type of assault has left us with high casualty rates and massive collateral damage. We cannot continue to sustain these kind of losses with this one dimensional answer to this problem. Expanding prisons is already costing us more and more while accomplishing less and less.
As long as legislators, prosecutors and judge continue to use the traditional forms of sanction "jail time" the one in 99 adults behind bars will only continue to grow.
Prisons are there to house those who our society deems as unacceptable and a risk to the rest of our community. Right now, conservative figures show that more than one in every 99 adults is now confined in an American jail or prison. One in 30 men between the ages of 20 and 34 is behind bars, for Black males in that age group the figure is one in nine and one in 36 for Latinos.
As I watch the national debt grow, why is no one talks about prison costs and their impact on state budgets? More than half of those released end up back in prison within three years. I do not know of any other publicly funded program that would be supported if it had a 50% failure rate.
In 2007 we spent $44 billion of our general funds to fund the costs of incarceration. That was a 127% increase from the amount spent in 1987. By 2011, continued prison growth is expected to cost states an additional $25 billion. Yet in the same period spending on higher education rose just 21 percent.
At the start of 2007 we had more than 2.3 million adults incarcerated. Compared to China with 1.5 million and Russia with 890,000. Here is Mississippi, we were in the top fifth in the nation with a growth rate of +1,267.
In 2005, on an average we spent $23,876 per prisoner to keep them housed and fed. Louisiana had the lowest per inmate cost, $13,009. Conservative 2008 estimates put the same cost at $65,000 per bed for a typical medium security facility. In 2007, 5.4% of the Mississippi State fund and 7.5% of the Louisiana State fund went to pay the cost of incarceration. In the same year for every dollar that MS spent on higher education, it spent 30 cents on prisons. In LA the ratio was 46 cents on prisons.
So how do we lower the admissions to our biggest State funded institutions? The front end approach would could be the expansion of drug treatment programs designed to break the cycle of crime and addiction. Almost all of the people who are going to jail have some sort of drug addiction.
On the back end we could develop day reporting centers for offenders who break the rules of their release rather than the traditional revocation policy. We could also introduce short-term residential facilities for persistent rule violators with substance abuse problems.
For too long, We have chosen prisons as our primary weapon of choice in our war on crime. However, the sustainability of this type of assault has left us with high casualty rates and massive collateral damage. We cannot continue to sustain these kind of losses with this one dimensional answer to this problem. Expanding prisons is already costing us more and more while accomplishing less and less.
As long as legislators, prosecutors and judge continue to use the traditional forms of sanction "jail time" the one in 99 adults behind bars will only continue to grow.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
The Traffic Stop...
Last night on my way home from the gym I was pulled over by local law enforcement's finest. It was around 8:00 pm and I was sweaty and tired when I saw the blue lights in my rear view mirror. As I puled over, I began to feel my pulse rise and my hands get nervous. I thought to myself, "Why am I nervous and afraid? I haven't done anything wrong!?
As I was sitting in the car I cracked open the window, turned down the music, turned on lights in the car and placed my hands both on the steering wheel. Out of the corner of my eyes I say a intense bright light come into view and a loud confident voice ask me, "Sir, do you know why I pulled you over?" I felt my heart race a little bit faster and genuinely answered, "No sir, I don't." Inside I was still wondering why I was nervous and afraid...
He went on to explain that I had pulled out of the parking lot pretty fast and that I had swerved into the outer lane when I entered traffic. My first impulse was to explain to the officer that I pulled out quickly because the gym parking lot is located ona major highway and that if I "swerved" it was because there are no street lights and the lanes are painted with cheap non refelctive paint. But I said nothing, because I was nervous and afraid...
He asked me for my license and registration and I nervously asked if I could get it out of my bag in the back seat. He replied, "Sir if you like I can get it for you." (Here was his first attempt to search my car) I said no it was ok and that I would get it. That is when his tone changed and he replied, "Is there something you are rying to hide?" Now here I am supposedly being stopped for a "traffic violation" and I am now being asked if I would consent to having my car searched because I refuse to let a stranger get my wallet out of my gym bag.
I told him that I had nothing to hide but that I would get my wallet myself. He then ordered that I lower the back window, "for his safety". When I cracked it open, he barked for me to lower it all the way. As I cracked the back window I watched as he stuck his head in my car looking into the back and at the floor board of the car. I nervously request that he please respect my privacy and keep his head out of my car.
He refused and told me that he had the right to protect himself and make sure that I was not reaching for a gun. After he watched me get my wallet, he ordered me to set out of the car. When I asked if that was necessary, he told me that it was "for his safety and mine" and bring my license and registration with me. So I followed his directions still nervous and afraid...
When I got out he took me to the passenger side of his vehicle, out of view of the on-board police camera. Then began the interrogation. What was I trying to hide? Why was I nervous and sweaty. Now lets remember, I am not only lawyer but a criminal lawyer. I of all people know my rights and spend countless hours reminding my clients of theirs. Yet here I was in the same situation that most of my clients share with me and I too was nervous and afraid...
As I stood there in the cold fighting off the onslaught of questions with confused yes and nos coming out of my mouth, I finally drew the courage to draw the line when he asked me if the tattoos on my arm were gang related? This was the last draw... I stopped took a deep breath and replied, "I am nervous because I am standing on the side of a highway because of a "traffic stop" have never been taken out of my car and interrogated because of it."
Stepping forward into my face he replied, "Why are you so nervous to let me look in car?" He then informed me that he could have a K-9 unit out here in minutes, etc. etc. This is where I dropped the bomb on him and informed him that I was a attorney and that I was not allowing him to search because it was my Constitutional right and that by taking me out of my car he was in effect detaining me and that such detention was a violation of my Constitutional rights because he had no probable cause...
I no longer needed a light to see because his face first turned beet red and then pale white. This looming giant with a gun, bright lights and a badge seemed to literally shrink before my eyes. I have never been apologized to so many times in my life. He apologized for almost everything but my being fat!
As he escorted me back to my car, he explained that he was not trying to search my car, but that he was trying to ensure that he got home to his family that night. Even with my knowledge and experience in the law I was still nervous and afraid... I had nothing to hide but I was still nervous and afraid...
AS I got back into my car he nervously informed me that he was going to let me off with a "warning" and that in the future I should be more careful. I felt a rod of fire shoot up my spine as the anger pulsed through my veins. I was the one who had just had my rights violated but he was still trying to make it seem like he was doing me a favor!?!
I wanted to spew out a storm of profanity and indignation, but I was still nervous and afraid... On the ten minute ride home I could not forgive myself for being nervous and afraid... I had nothing to hide and yet I was still being pulled out of my car and threatened to have a K-9 unit brought to search my car.
I would like to believe that next time, I will not be nervous and afraid. But I know I will.
As I was sitting in the car I cracked open the window, turned down the music, turned on lights in the car and placed my hands both on the steering wheel. Out of the corner of my eyes I say a intense bright light come into view and a loud confident voice ask me, "Sir, do you know why I pulled you over?" I felt my heart race a little bit faster and genuinely answered, "No sir, I don't." Inside I was still wondering why I was nervous and afraid...
He went on to explain that I had pulled out of the parking lot pretty fast and that I had swerved into the outer lane when I entered traffic. My first impulse was to explain to the officer that I pulled out quickly because the gym parking lot is located ona major highway and that if I "swerved" it was because there are no street lights and the lanes are painted with cheap non refelctive paint. But I said nothing, because I was nervous and afraid...
He asked me for my license and registration and I nervously asked if I could get it out of my bag in the back seat. He replied, "Sir if you like I can get it for you." (Here was his first attempt to search my car) I said no it was ok and that I would get it. That is when his tone changed and he replied, "Is there something you are rying to hide?" Now here I am supposedly being stopped for a "traffic violation" and I am now being asked if I would consent to having my car searched because I refuse to let a stranger get my wallet out of my gym bag.
I told him that I had nothing to hide but that I would get my wallet myself. He then ordered that I lower the back window, "for his safety". When I cracked it open, he barked for me to lower it all the way. As I cracked the back window I watched as he stuck his head in my car looking into the back and at the floor board of the car. I nervously request that he please respect my privacy and keep his head out of my car.
He refused and told me that he had the right to protect himself and make sure that I was not reaching for a gun. After he watched me get my wallet, he ordered me to set out of the car. When I asked if that was necessary, he told me that it was "for his safety and mine" and bring my license and registration with me. So I followed his directions still nervous and afraid...
When I got out he took me to the passenger side of his vehicle, out of view of the on-board police camera. Then began the interrogation. What was I trying to hide? Why was I nervous and sweaty. Now lets remember, I am not only lawyer but a criminal lawyer. I of all people know my rights and spend countless hours reminding my clients of theirs. Yet here I was in the same situation that most of my clients share with me and I too was nervous and afraid...
As I stood there in the cold fighting off the onslaught of questions with confused yes and nos coming out of my mouth, I finally drew the courage to draw the line when he asked me if the tattoos on my arm were gang related? This was the last draw... I stopped took a deep breath and replied, "I am nervous because I am standing on the side of a highway because of a "traffic stop" have never been taken out of my car and interrogated because of it."
Stepping forward into my face he replied, "Why are you so nervous to let me look in car?" He then informed me that he could have a K-9 unit out here in minutes, etc. etc. This is where I dropped the bomb on him and informed him that I was a attorney and that I was not allowing him to search because it was my Constitutional right and that by taking me out of my car he was in effect detaining me and that such detention was a violation of my Constitutional rights because he had no probable cause...
I no longer needed a light to see because his face first turned beet red and then pale white. This looming giant with a gun, bright lights and a badge seemed to literally shrink before my eyes. I have never been apologized to so many times in my life. He apologized for almost everything but my being fat!
As he escorted me back to my car, he explained that he was not trying to search my car, but that he was trying to ensure that he got home to his family that night. Even with my knowledge and experience in the law I was still nervous and afraid... I had nothing to hide but I was still nervous and afraid...
AS I got back into my car he nervously informed me that he was going to let me off with a "warning" and that in the future I should be more careful. I felt a rod of fire shoot up my spine as the anger pulsed through my veins. I was the one who had just had my rights violated but he was still trying to make it seem like he was doing me a favor!?!
I wanted to spew out a storm of profanity and indignation, but I was still nervous and afraid... On the ten minute ride home I could not forgive myself for being nervous and afraid... I had nothing to hide and yet I was still being pulled out of my car and threatened to have a K-9 unit brought to search my car.
I would like to believe that next time, I will not be nervous and afraid. But I know I will.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Where The Magic Comes From...
Yesterday I was in court with two clients and after I resolved their cases one of them turned to me and asked, "Mr. Remy, where does the magic come from?" At first I did not know how to respond. I stood there wondering what she meant. I have always chuckled when clients come into my office and tell me that they came to me because they heard that I am known for "pulling rabbits out of my hat". But this time when I looked into my client's red teary eyes I felt my soul tug at me, as if telling me not to let this moment go.
I guess the "magic" comes from genuinely caring for my clients, not because they pay me, but because they are fellow human beings. Human Beings... I must admit that in this day and age it is very easy to get distracted by fantasy football and reality t.v. Even I find myself shutting myself off from the world on Saturdays to watch SC football. But Monday through Friday, I spend endless hours and late nights anguishing about my clients.
I anguish about the truck driver who used meth to keep himself awake because his boss threatened to fire him if he didn't make his deliveries faster. I loose sleep over my client who has become physically addicted to oxycotin because his doctor prescribed it to him for 6 months and then kicked him to the curb once workers comp stopped footing the bill.
Its easy to look at these two cases and say, "they broke the law..." I will be the first to admit that yes they did, but does that mean they deserve to go to prison for eight years?
When I was a kid, I believed that the purpose of sending people to prison was to lock up poor people. Then in law school, I was taught that the purpose of sending a person to prison was to to promote respect for the law, provide just punishment, provide adequate deterrence to criminal conduct and protect the public from further crimes. But why is it that every time I talk to an ADA or police officer about my clients none of these reasons ever come up?
One ADA recently commented that when he is determining what to recommend in my clients cases that he is guided by the premise that we, "Must respect the crime." Respect the crime, what does that really mean? I understand respect the victim, respect the law, but the "crime"? As a criminal defense attorney I have no concept of what that really means. A crime is an act that has been decided by our laws to be "illegal" I can't feel it, I can't taste it and outside of reading it in a book; I can't see it.
What I do see is my client who comes into my office with a look of despair and loss of hope. What I can feel is my clients' trembling shoulder as she ponders what will happen to her children , when I inform her that the State wants her to serve 10 years for joining her boyfriend on a "ride" to Miami so he could "get his license renewed" and ends up getting pulled over with a kilo of cocaine in his bag. And worst of all, what I can taste is the bad taste in my mouth when a ADA wont acknowledge that "addiction" requires treatment not prison.
So I guess the magic really isn't magic... I guess its more empathy than pain. More caring than love. And more respect rather than pity...
I guess the "magic" comes from genuinely caring for my clients, not because they pay me, but because they are fellow human beings. Human Beings... I must admit that in this day and age it is very easy to get distracted by fantasy football and reality t.v. Even I find myself shutting myself off from the world on Saturdays to watch SC football. But Monday through Friday, I spend endless hours and late nights anguishing about my clients.
I anguish about the truck driver who used meth to keep himself awake because his boss threatened to fire him if he didn't make his deliveries faster. I loose sleep over my client who has become physically addicted to oxycotin because his doctor prescribed it to him for 6 months and then kicked him to the curb once workers comp stopped footing the bill.
Its easy to look at these two cases and say, "they broke the law..." I will be the first to admit that yes they did, but does that mean they deserve to go to prison for eight years?
When I was a kid, I believed that the purpose of sending people to prison was to lock up poor people. Then in law school, I was taught that the purpose of sending a person to prison was to to promote respect for the law, provide just punishment, provide adequate deterrence to criminal conduct and protect the public from further crimes. But why is it that every time I talk to an ADA or police officer about my clients none of these reasons ever come up?
One ADA recently commented that when he is determining what to recommend in my clients cases that he is guided by the premise that we, "Must respect the crime." Respect the crime, what does that really mean? I understand respect the victim, respect the law, but the "crime"? As a criminal defense attorney I have no concept of what that really means. A crime is an act that has been decided by our laws to be "illegal" I can't feel it, I can't taste it and outside of reading it in a book; I can't see it.
What I do see is my client who comes into my office with a look of despair and loss of hope. What I can feel is my clients' trembling shoulder as she ponders what will happen to her children , when I inform her that the State wants her to serve 10 years for joining her boyfriend on a "ride" to Miami so he could "get his license renewed" and ends up getting pulled over with a kilo of cocaine in his bag. And worst of all, what I can taste is the bad taste in my mouth when a ADA wont acknowledge that "addiction" requires treatment not prison.
So I guess the magic really isn't magic... I guess its more empathy than pain. More caring than love. And more respect rather than pity...
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Decompressing...
These last few weeks I have been riding a mental roller coaster where I would prep cases for trials only to have them dismissed on the morning of. Sometimes I believe that the toll is much more intense for the lawyer than the client. Yes the client is the one who is facing the loss of their freedom, but I am the one who spends hours up at night worrying about all of my cases.
Some may say that I am too emotionally attached to my clients, but that is why they come to me in the first place. I like to believe that they come to me because I listen and care about their case. The fact of the matter is, I hate to lose and because of this I actually care, more than I should, about the outcome.
Before I wrote this post, I stopped by my friend and mentor Mark Bennett's blog Defending People. He posted about the same subject and reading his post inspired me to write my own. While Mark calls it "Recharging" I feel for me its more of a decompressing".
I decompress because when I am in trial mode I lock in and am uber-focused. Much like when I was in the Marine Corps, I would mentally prepare myself for the unknown. Muscle memory was key for my survival in battle and now I have adapted that into what I call "Mental Memory". When I was in the Corps we used to say that a plan was only good until the first shot was fired. We relied on our experience and training to pull us from the fray.
I take the same approach with trials, which is nothing more than a battle between myself and the State. When I am in trial mode, I put all my energy into that one case. I guess it is good that I am not married or my wife would probably have me sleeping on the couch during these time. But this is what I chose to do for a living. So while I become very irritable and short with people, I relish actually being in court and proving my case.
But like all good things, even trials come to an end and I go from full intensity and adrenaline to a vacuum of nothing. I generally take a day to sleep and run errands that I had set aside but then I have to go through the entire process preparing to do it all over again, but this time for a whole new client.
I sometimes am embarrassed at how quickly I forget former client's names or what they look like. I was recently approached by a former client at Sam's club and he was genuinely hurt that I did not remember his name or his case. He commented, "Mr. Remy, how can you have forgotten me so quickly, you saved my life!"
I know my face turned red and at first I felt bad, but that is my job. That is what I do...
Some may say that I am too emotionally attached to my clients, but that is why they come to me in the first place. I like to believe that they come to me because I listen and care about their case. The fact of the matter is, I hate to lose and because of this I actually care, more than I should, about the outcome.
Before I wrote this post, I stopped by my friend and mentor Mark Bennett's blog Defending People. He posted about the same subject and reading his post inspired me to write my own. While Mark calls it "Recharging" I feel for me its more of a decompressing".
I decompress because when I am in trial mode I lock in and am uber-focused. Much like when I was in the Marine Corps, I would mentally prepare myself for the unknown. Muscle memory was key for my survival in battle and now I have adapted that into what I call "Mental Memory". When I was in the Corps we used to say that a plan was only good until the first shot was fired. We relied on our experience and training to pull us from the fray.
I take the same approach with trials, which is nothing more than a battle between myself and the State. When I am in trial mode, I put all my energy into that one case. I guess it is good that I am not married or my wife would probably have me sleeping on the couch during these time. But this is what I chose to do for a living. So while I become very irritable and short with people, I relish actually being in court and proving my case.
But like all good things, even trials come to an end and I go from full intensity and adrenaline to a vacuum of nothing. I generally take a day to sleep and run errands that I had set aside but then I have to go through the entire process preparing to do it all over again, but this time for a whole new client.
I sometimes am embarrassed at how quickly I forget former client's names or what they look like. I was recently approached by a former client at Sam's club and he was genuinely hurt that I did not remember his name or his case. He commented, "Mr. Remy, how can you have forgotten me so quickly, you saved my life!"
I know my face turned red and at first I felt bad, but that is my job. That is what I do...
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