My father always used to say that "if I had a nickel for every book I bought for you, I'd be a rich man."
He wasn't wrong. But I think about that whenever someone asks me how I can defend "those people." You know: "If I had a nickel for every time someone scowled at me, formed a facial expression reminiscent of smelling a garbage heap, and asked me how I can defend 'those people' I'd be a rich woman."
I have spent virtually my entire legal career in criminal defense. As a Public Defender. Yes, "THOSE PEOPLE." Poor people who get convicted of crimes.
The events that surrounded, and this week ended, the Duke Rape Fiasco illustrate exactly why I do it.
What a difference a year makes, huh.
A year ago, there was a lynch mob at Durham and beyond, the pitchfork wielders consisting of the Duke University campus and administration, the media, the usual camera hogs like Jesse Jackson, and lots of otherwise perfectly nice people who made certain assumptions based on their feelings about privileged white male college students who use their parents' money to hire strippers for their parties.
Now, the mob participants are pretending like nothing happened. While most never said the accused were guilty, they behaved as though they were.
But most people are guilty of precisely this. One quick look at any response board of any online paper asking the public to comment on some criminal case will prove it.
And this is just plain WRONG. Sadly, not many realize that.
I fear the lesson here will get buried in light of the media's haste to bury their own guilty judgment under the news cycle rug. Not everyone accused of a crime is guilty. And it is immoral to behave in a manner that belies this very simple truth.
Luckily for those three young men in the Duke case, they had money and resources to fight. Most do not. And those who do not often as not find themselves in prison. And once there, it is practically impossible to get out because the appellate system is not designed to release the innocent, and prosecutors and police officers find it absolutely impossible to admit that they blew it. It happens. It is no answer to say that it doesn't happen very often. The fact that it happens to even one person is a travesty of justice.
As saddened as I am by a society and a justice system that behaves this way, I save and heap my scorn on prosecutors who abuse their nearly unfettered power to charge people with crimes, not having the decency to admit they made a mistake, or caring what happens so long as their personal agenda is fulfilled.
The only true punishment for prosecutors who do that is Karma. The only punishment that fits this crime is for Mr. Nifong to find himself at the wrong end of a grand jury, unable to fight the charge, find himself convicted, and then placed in prison. Merely losing a license to practice law is insufficient to right this wrong.
What everyone in this country needs to understand is that if prosecutors can do this to one person, can charge people with crimes even in the face of evidence of their innocence, can suppress exculpatory evidence, and march easily to a conviction, then it can happen to each and every one of us.
Not everyone has the extra thousands and millions of dollars it takes to fight this kind of abuse of process. In fact, few do. Innocence is not just confined to the rich and white. What happened to the young men at Duke happens to the poor, too. Their fight for justice is our fight. The very integrity of our government depends on this.
I hope that anyone reading this now gets it, and loses that judgmental look of disgust when they ask me why I do what I do.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Cruisin'
We were invited to go on a cruise by Andrew's parents (incredibly generous, and I have no idea what to even say to express my awe and gratitude). Being a motion-sick sort, I never considered a cruise. But I'll try almost anything once. So, armed with Bonine (I'm such a motion-sick expert I use this, as opposed to Dramamine), off we go!!
Day ONE, March 23, 2007:
If it's Friday, it must be Miami.
The trip begins with packing bags, trips to the bank, and waiting out the rain so we can take the truck rather than one of the cars. It works out. To Lambert, James!
Andrew's possession of a passport made curbside check in a possibility again (PARENTS: DO NOT NAME YOUR CHILD ANYTHING COMMON. Some terrorist will have done the same thing. Naming your child something common amounts to child abuse. I don't care how many generations the name "John Smith" or "James Moore" has been in your family. Don't do it, for the love of GOD, don't do it.)
Flights to Miami, via Atlanta (three guesses which airline -- first two don't count) were uneventful. We get our bags on those teeny-weeny carousels at MIA, and to the Days Inn.
Two words for that place: Flea. Bag. We were starved, and there's nothing around. We have a choice of the hotel restaurant/bar/salsa joint or ordering a pizza. We opt for the restaurant. The others (Jim, Sue, Jen, Parker) make the alternate choice.
The food was very good, actually. I had a blackened chicken mango salad, Drew had skirt steak. Key Lime pie and cafe con leche finished the meal. We got back and the pizza the others ordered never came, so we convinced them they would not be poisoned if they ate local food. The men still got cheeseburgers (insert eye roll).
Day TWO, Saturday, March 24:
UP and at 'em with a complete rip off of a "continental breakfast." Sheesh. One two-slot toaster, bread, stale Wal-mart pastry, cereal, juice, god-awful coffee. We're told the van will pick us up an hour earlier than originally scheduled. As you no doubt guessed, it showed up when it originally was supposed to show up. So, we and 50 of our newest friends sat around the lobby. We met some lovely people from Chicago who were going to be on the same boat, and we saw them several times during the cruise. Andrew and Parker played video games.
Again, the Days Inn at MIA is a rip-off fleabag. Avoid it.
All ABOARD: Yay! On line check in made that process a breeze. To the buffet for lunch, and then on deck to watch Miami and the traffic jam disappear. No bags, so we opt for afternoon cocktails. Our bags finally get to the room, and we go to din-din.
Day THREE, March 25:
Asea. I start the day with yoga. I'd never really thought about it, but balance poses really don't work on a rocking boat. But the instructor was good, and yoga with a New Zealand accent works well. The weather was cold, gusty, and rainy, so the day was to be spent inside. I read, knitted, napped, fortified by eating all the pineapple the state of Hawaii can provide.
The only thing on the agenda is formal dinner, with portraits beforehand. The backdrop was the Titanic, how utterly cheesy.
Day FOUR, March 26:
If it's Monday, it must be San Juan. Yoga, chow, and to the deck to see the port.
We disembark for the tour of old San Juan. I loved it. The architecture, the history...... the guide was nice and knowledgeable, walking us all around original missions, forts, streets, houses, etc. (I'll refer you to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_San_Juan for the details). I'm going to guess that the junkie twitching in the doorway was not part of the tour. It rained throughout most of the tour, but no big deal.
After the tour, we decide to eat. Our companions were too squeamish to try it, but I figure there's nothing to fear. And there was not. Their loss. We wandered around reading menus, and tried a place that really pushed the pina coladas. It was a good colada, but I'm not all that fond of them. I opted for water, a mojito, and we shared seafood paella. Yum.
I'll definitely go back to San Juan. I want to see more.
But for now, back to the boat to watch San Juan disappear.
Day FIVE, March 27:
On to St. Thomas and Charlotte Amelie. Good GOD they push the duty free jewelry!! No, I do NOT want to spend an entire cruise shopping!! Geez.
Sadly, it's raining, so I end up spending time shopping. Good LORD I've never seen so many jewelry stores in my LIFE. The prices are not that great, by the way. And they charge practically state-side retail for perfume and booze, so big deal if it's duty-free. The only deal is on smokes, but the restrictions make it not worth the effort.
We end up on a skylift to get a panoramic view of the port and surroundings. We watch a ferry sink.
We then take a taxi to downtown Charlotte Amelie. We wander around, amazed at the number of even more duty-free stores. Some rasta tried to sell Andrew weed, and we watched two more get into a fight. Those West Indians need to be more assertive. We stop for a refreshing beverage, and then walk back to the boat.
St. Thomas: eh. Nothing to see there.
DAY 6, March 28:
Yoga, food, and on to Sint Maarten.
Hooray, the weather predictions of rain and storms did not come true. It was a beautiful day in Phillipsburg. We get a taxi to the French side. We alight in Marigot, and begin to wander. It's a bit early for the stores, so we wander to an open market. Arts, crafts, textiles, spices, wow!! We wander into the fish market, where they clean fish fresh off the boat. Stalls and stalls of fresh guava, pineapple, bananas, plaintains. Barrels of cinnamon. The French bakeries smell divine!!
Andrew wanted to walk up to Fort Louis. I nix -- it's too hot. We walk towards an old church, and a nice local tells us that each station of the cross is produced by a different local artist. It was just beautiful. I would have taken a picture, but that would be disrespectful to the worshippers therein.
We decide lunch is in order. We settle on a lovely second-story cafe. Despite the fact kanagroo is on the menu, the owners are French and they can cook!! It was, bar none, the best meal I had on the entire trip. Andrew had a lobster bisque and snails (way to go out on a limb, there). I had the sea bass in puff pastry. It was so good I took a picture of it before I ate it. We drank two big bottles of water and watched a traffic jam.
We get a taxi back to the Dutch side. We wander around Philipsburg, where I find a delft emporium. I cart away some booty. Andrew locates Cuban cigars and carefully selects some.
We walk back via the beach. I have never seen such a beautiful beach. We get a beer, and then back to the boat. As we walked back I planned my next trip to Sint Maarten/St. Martin. I will absolutely return.
DAY 7, March 29:
Asea. Yoga, food, and disappointment when I try to sit on the deck. It's not raining, but it's too cold and windy to read. I knit for a while (several people stop by to discuss my project). The ship library is on the deck with our room, so I read for a while. I sat on deck 4 and wrote. I wander around, get a foo-foo drink, and before I know it, it's dinner time.
DAY 8, March 30:
Nassau, Bahamas. I've been to Nassau and there isn't much there that one can't find in Miami, so I wasn't that impressed the first time. With that and the fact there were about 20 other ships docked, I saw no reason to fight the crowds just to see the same stuff. So, I stayed on the boat. I walked the track on the deck in lieu of yoga, got some breakfast, and then spent my day on the lounge chair at the pool. Sunscreen didn't protect me well enough -- that sun is just too intense.
One final formal dinner, then I have to pack my bags. Boo.
We try to use the express check out, to no avail because Andrew's acursed common name prevents that (see my warnings to all parents above).
THE END, March 31:
We sit in the lounge waiting for our time to get off the boat. Headline News had only three stories in an endless loop: Chocolate Jesus with his naughty bits and the shrill, hysterical Catholic League woman practically stroking out over it, Halle Berry and her suicide attempt after divorcing David Justice, and the only thing remotely resembling news, the Britsh sailors. That got old.
But a quick trip through customs, uneventful flights to St. Louis via Cleveland (three guesses which airline -- first two won't count). And Home.
The cat didn't miss us at all.
Day ONE, March 23, 2007:
If it's Friday, it must be Miami.
The trip begins with packing bags, trips to the bank, and waiting out the rain so we can take the truck rather than one of the cars. It works out. To Lambert, James!
Andrew's possession of a passport made curbside check in a possibility again (PARENTS: DO NOT NAME YOUR CHILD ANYTHING COMMON. Some terrorist will have done the same thing. Naming your child something common amounts to child abuse. I don't care how many generations the name "John Smith" or "James Moore" has been in your family. Don't do it, for the love of GOD, don't do it.)
Flights to Miami, via Atlanta (three guesses which airline -- first two don't count) were uneventful. We get our bags on those teeny-weeny carousels at MIA, and to the Days Inn.
Two words for that place: Flea. Bag. We were starved, and there's nothing around. We have a choice of the hotel restaurant/bar/salsa joint or ordering a pizza. We opt for the restaurant. The others (Jim, Sue, Jen, Parker) make the alternate choice.
The food was very good, actually. I had a blackened chicken mango salad, Drew had skirt steak. Key Lime pie and cafe con leche finished the meal. We got back and the pizza the others ordered never came, so we convinced them they would not be poisoned if they ate local food. The men still got cheeseburgers (insert eye roll).
Day TWO, Saturday, March 24:
UP and at 'em with a complete rip off of a "continental breakfast." Sheesh. One two-slot toaster, bread, stale Wal-mart pastry, cereal, juice, god-awful coffee. We're told the van will pick us up an hour earlier than originally scheduled. As you no doubt guessed, it showed up when it originally was supposed to show up. So, we and 50 of our newest friends sat around the lobby. We met some lovely people from Chicago who were going to be on the same boat, and we saw them several times during the cruise. Andrew and Parker played video games.
Again, the Days Inn at MIA is a rip-off fleabag. Avoid it.
All ABOARD: Yay! On line check in made that process a breeze. To the buffet for lunch, and then on deck to watch Miami and the traffic jam disappear. No bags, so we opt for afternoon cocktails. Our bags finally get to the room, and we go to din-din.
Day THREE, March 25:
Asea. I start the day with yoga. I'd never really thought about it, but balance poses really don't work on a rocking boat. But the instructor was good, and yoga with a New Zealand accent works well. The weather was cold, gusty, and rainy, so the day was to be spent inside. I read, knitted, napped, fortified by eating all the pineapple the state of Hawaii can provide.
The only thing on the agenda is formal dinner, with portraits beforehand. The backdrop was the Titanic, how utterly cheesy.
Day FOUR, March 26:
If it's Monday, it must be San Juan. Yoga, chow, and to the deck to see the port.
We disembark for the tour of old San Juan. I loved it. The architecture, the history...... the guide was nice and knowledgeable, walking us all around original missions, forts, streets, houses, etc. (I'll refer you to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_San_Juan for the details). I'm going to guess that the junkie twitching in the doorway was not part of the tour. It rained throughout most of the tour, but no big deal.
After the tour, we decide to eat. Our companions were too squeamish to try it, but I figure there's nothing to fear. And there was not. Their loss. We wandered around reading menus, and tried a place that really pushed the pina coladas. It was a good colada, but I'm not all that fond of them. I opted for water, a mojito, and we shared seafood paella. Yum.
I'll definitely go back to San Juan. I want to see more.
But for now, back to the boat to watch San Juan disappear.
Day FIVE, March 27:
On to St. Thomas and Charlotte Amelie. Good GOD they push the duty free jewelry!! No, I do NOT want to spend an entire cruise shopping!! Geez.
Sadly, it's raining, so I end up spending time shopping. Good LORD I've never seen so many jewelry stores in my LIFE. The prices are not that great, by the way. And they charge practically state-side retail for perfume and booze, so big deal if it's duty-free. The only deal is on smokes, but the restrictions make it not worth the effort.
We end up on a skylift to get a panoramic view of the port and surroundings. We watch a ferry sink.
We then take a taxi to downtown Charlotte Amelie. We wander around, amazed at the number of even more duty-free stores. Some rasta tried to sell Andrew weed, and we watched two more get into a fight. Those West Indians need to be more assertive. We stop for a refreshing beverage, and then walk back to the boat.
St. Thomas: eh. Nothing to see there.
DAY 6, March 28:
Yoga, food, and on to Sint Maarten.
Hooray, the weather predictions of rain and storms did not come true. It was a beautiful day in Phillipsburg. We get a taxi to the French side. We alight in Marigot, and begin to wander. It's a bit early for the stores, so we wander to an open market. Arts, crafts, textiles, spices, wow!! We wander into the fish market, where they clean fish fresh off the boat. Stalls and stalls of fresh guava, pineapple, bananas, plaintains. Barrels of cinnamon. The French bakeries smell divine!!
Andrew wanted to walk up to Fort Louis. I nix -- it's too hot. We walk towards an old church, and a nice local tells us that each station of the cross is produced by a different local artist. It was just beautiful. I would have taken a picture, but that would be disrespectful to the worshippers therein.
We decide lunch is in order. We settle on a lovely second-story cafe. Despite the fact kanagroo is on the menu, the owners are French and they can cook!! It was, bar none, the best meal I had on the entire trip. Andrew had a lobster bisque and snails (way to go out on a limb, there). I had the sea bass in puff pastry. It was so good I took a picture of it before I ate it. We drank two big bottles of water and watched a traffic jam.
We get a taxi back to the Dutch side. We wander around Philipsburg, where I find a delft emporium. I cart away some booty. Andrew locates Cuban cigars and carefully selects some.
We walk back via the beach. I have never seen such a beautiful beach. We get a beer, and then back to the boat. As we walked back I planned my next trip to Sint Maarten/St. Martin. I will absolutely return.
DAY 7, March 29:
Asea. Yoga, food, and disappointment when I try to sit on the deck. It's not raining, but it's too cold and windy to read. I knit for a while (several people stop by to discuss my project). The ship library is on the deck with our room, so I read for a while. I sat on deck 4 and wrote. I wander around, get a foo-foo drink, and before I know it, it's dinner time.
DAY 8, March 30:
Nassau, Bahamas. I've been to Nassau and there isn't much there that one can't find in Miami, so I wasn't that impressed the first time. With that and the fact there were about 20 other ships docked, I saw no reason to fight the crowds just to see the same stuff. So, I stayed on the boat. I walked the track on the deck in lieu of yoga, got some breakfast, and then spent my day on the lounge chair at the pool. Sunscreen didn't protect me well enough -- that sun is just too intense.
One final formal dinner, then I have to pack my bags. Boo.
We try to use the express check out, to no avail because Andrew's acursed common name prevents that (see my warnings to all parents above).
THE END, March 31:
We sit in the lounge waiting for our time to get off the boat. Headline News had only three stories in an endless loop: Chocolate Jesus with his naughty bits and the shrill, hysterical Catholic League woman practically stroking out over it, Halle Berry and her suicide attempt after divorcing David Justice, and the only thing remotely resembling news, the Britsh sailors. That got old.
But a quick trip through customs, uneventful flights to St. Louis via Cleveland (three guesses which airline -- first two won't count). And Home.
The cat didn't miss us at all.
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