The Injustice System

• The following is an excerpt from Richard Andrew’s upcoming memoir.

The Plea Deal. The cornerstone of our criminal justice system. Sitting third on every aspiring criminal lawyer’s to-do list, just behind graduating law school and passing the Bar Exam, is this well-rehearsed dance between public defenders and district attorneys. Hanging in the balance is the future of the accused. With its proven track record, the system indiscriminately unleashes psychological warfare on all who land on the wrong side of the law.

You’ve no doubt heard the saying, “Innocent until proven guilty” but a more accurate assessment would be “guilty until proven innocent”. You see every single person is processed as if the arrest itself was proof enough of guilt. Literal guilt or innocence has little to do with how the case and the accused are handled. From the moment they put those handcuffs on your wrists, no matter the criminal charges, all are herded toward the plea deal. Now I know this is gonna sound kinda paranoid, but I’m convinced EVERYONE is in on it! Seriously, everyone! From the arresting officer, to the jailer, to the DA, to the PD, to the judge, and so on, EVERYONE is steering you toward the plea deal. Because every single one of them knows, without it, our courts would come to a screeching halt. What do you think would happen if tomorrow every single person in custody with a pending case demanded their right to a speedy trial? Chaos. Utter pandemonium. And that brings me to the first weapon in the system’s arsenal; The Continuance.

Now as with many things, timing is everything. Innocent or guilty, a person simply won’t consider accepting any jail time unless they believe it’s their absolute last resort, and ‘best case scenario”. The process exploits insecurities and anxieties by downplaying your right to a speedy trial and promoting the many benefits of countless delays, or continuances. It’s true, the average public defender’s caseload is overwhelming. And they could actually benefit from more time to prepare their client’s defense. However, my personal experience was that no new evidence or strategy ever came despite my attorney’s many reassurances that another continuance was in my best interest. Eventually I found out where that road paved with delays ultimately lead… yep, you guessed it… a plea deal. It rode in on a white horse, dressed in olive branches, disguised as an answer to my prayers. The district attorney’s timing was perfect. They must have seen the exhaustion and desperation in my eyes that day, or perhaps my public defender told the DA I was ready for it: #paranoia. Whatever the case, like a man overboard, lost at sea with wave after wave crashing down, the plea deal landed like a lifeline. To fully understand my state of mind, you have to try and imagine the hopelessness and humiliation of everything going on behind the scenes… outside of the courtroom.

Consider this, our culture has no shortage of crime shows, right? Somewhere among the countless episodes of CSI and Law & Order, you have no doubt seen a person get arrested and booked into custody. Just like on tv the arrest leads to the interrogation, then to being officially charged, finger printed, dressed in an inmate jumpsuit, etc. Fun Fact: I’m hooked on these television shows today… go figure! Anyway, what we don’t get to see on tv is the depth of despair and degradation within the process. Guilty or innocent, everyone is often treated with the same detest by the majority of our jailers, as if we are all assumed guilty and far beyond hope of rehabilitation. Just a bad seed, forever bad. Understandably this may be an intentional means of defense, to avoid an altercation with the worst among us who potentially pose a ledgitimate threat to them and others. Though their procedures may be justified, the transition from freedom to incarceration really takes a toll on the accused.

Being processed into the county jail, where you’re housed for the duration of our court case, is scarring. The humiliation can be summed up in one command every person will have to submit to, “Bend over, spread your cheeks and cough”. As if stripping down naked in front of total strangers wasn’t enough, they disarm you further with this “procedure”. Admittedly, I realize they’ve implemented this step because some bad-guys will try and smuggle in drugs or contraband via the “keister” method. Despite the fact that the overwhelming majority would never, ever consider transporting anything in our anus, the system definitely benefits by running us all through ‘the process’, because forcing us to this level of submission leaves us utterly embarrassed, powerless, paralyzed, and in some cases, depressed.

Now I’ll spare you the details of daily life behind bars. The metal racks mounted to concrete walls. Each with a 1.5” mattress on it. The cold steel bars. The single stainless steal toilet with a small sink attached to it. All in a four-men cell the size of a broom closet. No sunshine. No freedom. No privacy. No control. No identity. Hour after hour, day after day, month after month. Carving away at your sanity. Sucking every ounce of hope out of you. All while every cell in your body screams at you day in and day out, because you’ve become physically dependent on illegal drugs and literally need them to just get out of bed everyday. All of this and more with no end in sight, because you are still awaiting the outcome of your court case. You endure it all while ‘innocent until proven guilty’. With each continuance and every delay the resolution of your case is pushed further and further away, being replaced by more and more unknown. The uncertainty of not knowing the outcome of your case tares away at you as every possible scenario plays out in your head. Of course it’s the worse case scenario that plays over and over… and over and over again.

The one thing that breaks up this hopeless monotony are the court dates that come once every 2 to 3 months. The bittersweet court dates that fuel both anxiety and longing. The best part of this long day is the bus ride to court. The awkward discomfort of being shackled at the wrists and ankles, and chained to another human being is soon forgotten when you see the outside world passing through the bus’s windows. Freedom so close you can almost reach out and touch it. The worse part of the day is basically everything else.

The day starts well before sunrise as a guard wakes you and gives you enough time to wipe the sleep from your eyes before ushering you into the chow hall for breakfast. No sooner do you get your food tray into your hands and you’re told you have five minutes to eat. From there we were lead down into the basement [where I was held]. There in the bowels of the facility were a series of cells, each lined with floor to ceiling, rusted and worn, metal bars. The only thing in each cell was a stainless steel toilet with a roll of toilet paper on the floor. We were herded into each cell, filled beyond capacity… shoulder to shoulder, standing room only. I’ll never forget my first court date in custody. My body and mind were in agony because I was experiencing debilitating withdrawals from having no drugs in my system. My first time pressed into those basement cells was a horrific experience. I literally had no energy, so I laid on the cold concrete floor, against one of the cell walls. My head was inches from the ‘community’ toilet, but I didn’t care. Looking back I can’t believe how far I had fallen to lay at the foot of a jail-cell toilet in desperate pursuit of rest. I must have looked beyond pitiful to my pears.

At this point the sun still hadn’t even risen yet on the long day ahead. Eventually we were shackled and loaded onto buses. As soon as we reached the courthouse, we were placed into holding tanks to wait for our case to be called. A wooden bench lined three walls of the room where we’d sit and wait. For a chosen few, their cases would be called before lunch and they’d get on an early bus back to the jail. But for the majority, we exited the bus before the courthouse opened for business and we wouldn’t get back onto the bus until well after the courthouse closed for the night. It wasn’t a good place for the claustrophobic among us… or for the weak. Weakness was exploited in these courthouse holding tanks. The aggressors were usually gang members, turning some of the day’s defendants into robbery and assault victims. If you didn’t surround yourself with these types of misfits on the outside, it could be very intimidating and scary. For many of us it was just another day at the office, and I for one rarely even looked up for one of these violent outbursts.

When the time came for your time in the courtroom, you were transferred into another holding tank on your respective courtroom’s floor. It was there that your “attorney” [public defender] would come to speak to you briefly about what to expect that day. It was very fast-paced when you were transferred upstairs. Your lawyer didn’t hide the fact that he or she was very busy, and had little or no time for any questions. Can you imagine your criminal defense attorney having no time to discuss your case at length or answer any of your pressing questions? Now some of you may assume that I am exaggerating or perhaps bitter, considering my criminal record, but I can honestly say this has been my personal experience in the system.

Moments before your case was called, you were cuffed and lead into the courtroom. I’ll never forget my first time; it was very intimidating. The judge seated on his/hers elevated platform, looking down at you. Your public defender and the district attorney chatting about their weekend or lunch plans. The bailiff staring you down, the court clerk disgusted, and the lady on that mini typewriter thing recording every single word spoken in the room, avoiding eye contact. And you, the dirty, rotten scoundrel. Your lawyer tells you what to say and when, and in your ignorance and anxiety, you simply comply. And in the blink of an eye, you’re back in the holding tank. No real changes to speak of, just another continuance to return to court in a few more months. Soon after you’re lead back into the original holding tank you were put in when you arrived. And there you sit until the long day comes to an end. Your thoughts getting the best of you, as you think about what you should have said to your attorney or the judge. Beating yourself up for being so submissive and spineless. Telling yourself you must be more assertive and bold next time.

Eventually as the seconds turn to minutes, and the minutes turned to hours, and the sun starts to fall from the sky, you’re shackled and loaded back onto the bus. This time the bus’s windows are filled with scenes of white headlights and red taillights on the backdrop of a dark, moonlit sky. You’re beyond tired. Mentally and emotionally spent.

Back at the jail you’re offloaded back into those dark and gloomy basement cells. As with everything that day, each step comes with a wait. Some long. Some longer. It’s late, so they give you a brown-bag with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and milk… for dinner. Eventually you’re delivered back to your cell. Before your head hits the mattress, you’re asleep. Literally.

If you’ve never experienced this first hand, it can be hard to imagine the full weight of it. It takes a mental and emotional toll like nothing else I have ever experienced in this life. It’s a perfect storm that drains you of your humanity and leaves your desperate to see the road’s end. The bittersweet court date: sweet because it breaks up the endless minutes of life behind bars, and bitter because you are exhausted at the hopeless day’s end. By the time you’ve endured several of these, that plea deal looks better and better.

Full disclosure, I was guilty of the crimes I was charged with. I deserved to be punished. Now I’m not sure if a small time dope dealer like me deserved four years in state prison, but truth be told, that last arrest trend out to be God’s rescue mission. It was perhaps the very best thing that could have ever happened to me; before or since. But that doesn’t change the fact that the system resembled a meat processing plant to me, with justice being an afterthought.

I was a drug dealer. The guy to my right was accused of being drunk in public. The guy to my left was charged with Murder. And the guy behind me was arrested for shoplifter. Yet we were all ordered to bend over, spread our butt cheeks, and cough, while completely bare-butt naked, in front of total strangers. Oh, and we were all offered a plea deal. In retrospect, I fully understand the need for such an imperfect system, but that doesn’t change the fact that its humiliating and degrading methods come at a pricel. My guess is many are left scarred with undiagnosed PTSD and other invisible wounds of the mind. Addressing them should be a part of the formal justice system so that ‘returning citizens’ succeed. When they win, we all win.

“I was in prison and you visited Me” ~Jesus