November 18, 2007
Listen to your public defender ...
... And shut the hell up, says an attorney in a post wending its way around the internet. There's more good advice for criminal defendants in the essay -- and based on this P.D.'s lament, most crooks are far too stupid to listen to their attorneys.
First, let me say I love my job and it is a privilege to work for my clients. I wish I could do more for them. That being said, there are a few things that need to be discussed.
You have the right to remain silent. So SHUT THE FUCK UP. Those cops are completely serious when they say your statements can and will be used against you. There’s just no need to babble on like it’s a drink and dial session. They are just pretending to like you and be interested in you.
When you come to court, consider your dress. If you’re charged with a DUI, don’t wear a Budweiser shirt. If you have some miscellaneous drug charge, think twice about clothing with a marijuana leaf on it or a t-shirt with the “UniBonger” on it. Long sleeves are very nice for covering tattoos and track marks. Try not to be visibly drunk when you show up.
Consider bathing and brushing your teeth. This is just as a courtesy to me who has to stand by you in court. Smoking 5 generic cigarettes to cover up your bad breath is not the same as brushing. Try not to cough and spit on my while you speak and further transmit your strep, flu, and hepatitis A through Z.
I’m a lawyer, not your fairy godmother. I probably won’t find a loophole or technicality for you, so don’t be pissed off. I didn’t beat up your girlfriend, steal that car, rob that liquor store, sell that crystal meth, or rape that 13 year old. By the time we meet, much of your fate has been sealed, so don’t be too surprised by your limited options and that I’m the one telling you about them.
Don’t think you’ll improve my interest in your case by yelling at me, telling me I’m not doing anything for you, calling me a public pretender or complaining to my supervisor. This does not inspire me, it makes me hate you and want to work with you even less.
It does not help if you leave me nine messages in 17 minutes. Especially if you leave them all on Saturday night and early Sunday morning. This just makes me want to stab you in the eye when we finally meet.
For the guys: Don’t think I’m amused when you flirt or offer to “do me.” You can’t successfully rob a convenience store, forge a signature, pawn stolen merchandise, get through a day without drinking, control your temper, or talk your way out of a routine traffic stop. I figure your performance in other areas is just as spectacular, and the thought of your shriveled unwashed body near me makes me want to kill you and then myself.
For the girls: I know your life is rougher than mine and you have no resources. I’m not going to insult you by suggesting you leave your abusive pimp/boyfriend, that you stop taking meth, or that your stop stealing shit. I do wish you’d stop beating the crap out of your kids and leaving your needles out for them to play with because you aren’t allowing them to have a life that is any better than yours.
For the morons: Your second grade teacher was right – neatness counts. Just clean up! When you rob the store, don’t leave your wallet. When you drive into the front of the bank, don’t leave the front license plate. When you rape/assault/rob a woman on the street, don’t leave behind your cell phone. After you abuse your girlfriend, don’t leave a note saying that you’re sorry.
If you are being chased by the cops and you have dope in your pocket – dump it. These cops are not geniuses. They are out of shape and want to go to Krispy Kreme and most of all go home. They will not scour the woods or the streets for your 2 grams of meth. But they will check your pockets, idiot. 2 grams is not worth six months of jail.
[...]
And those kids you churn out: how is it possible? You’re out there breeding like feral cats. What exactly is the attraction of having sex with other meth addicts? You are lacking in the most basic aspects of hygiene, deathly pale, greasy, grey-toothed, twitchy and covered with open sores. How can you be having sex? You make my baby-whoring crack head clients look positively radiant by comparison.
"I didn't put it all the way in." Not a defense.
"All the money is gone now." Not a defense
"The bitch deserved it." Not a defense.
"But that dope was so stepped on, I barely got high." Not a defense.
"She didn't look thirteen." Possibly a defense; it depends.
"She didn't look six." Never a defense, you just need to die.
For those rare clients that say thank-you, leave a voice mail, send a card or flowers, you are very welcome. I keep them all, and they keep me going more than my pitiful COLA increase.
For the idiots who ask me how I sleep at night: I sleep just fine, thank you. There's nothing wrong with any of my clients that could not have been fixed with money or the presence of at least one caring adult in their lives. But that window has closed, and that loss diminishes us all.
The only thing I find objectionable in this glimpse into the inner life of a public defender is where she dispenses advice on how her clients could improve their technique, exercising more care when perpetrating violent crimes so as to avoid leaving behind incriminating evidence. This seems like it quite clearly crosses the line from defending her clients and protecting their rights -- an essential part of a functioning justice system -- to instead trying to make them better crooks, which doesn't fit into any definition of "ethical lawyering" with which I'm familiar.
But I do empathize with the rest of her lament.
The stupidity of the crooks I see in court is staggering, beginning with their committing no end of idiotic crimes, and culminating with their reluctance to dress up for court and try to look -- what's the word I'm looking for? -- human? Why don't we settle for presentable.
Back when I was still in the newspaper business, I spent some time with an old friend from high school, who was a public defender. He was in the midst of a two-defendant trial; his client and the client's brother had engaged in a series of brutal takeover robberies targeting Vietnamese-run beauty parlors and manicure shops.
In the months preceding trial, my friend advised his client to let his hair grow out, explaining that the jury pool of middle-class professionals they'd likely draw would be frightened by a couple of shaven-headed, thuggish gangbangers glowering at them, adding that a coat and tie might help, too.
When I sat in the audience, I saw that the two defendants had a five o'clock shadow on their heads, scowls, and matching Pendleton shirts. They looked like the thugs they were, and the jury convicted them before opening statements.
I asked my friend what happened to the advice to soften their appearance. He replied that they'd shaved their heads the night before the trial began, and refused to dress up.
Why was that?
"Because they're idiots," he said.
I think they ended up getting something like 20 to 30 years in the pen.
The comments over at Eugene Volokh's site are interesting, with an assortment of defense attorneys, prosecutors and civilians weighing in on the topic.
Posted by Mike Lief at November 18, 2007 10:57 PM
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