L leaves the district, unconquered

Yesterday was the last day of my internship and I'll be back to where I belong on Monday. As to the questions I've posed in my first post, here are my thoughts as of today:

1. What makes the Real World real?
The knowledge of your own mortality and mundaneness. The constant weight of your own responsibilities. And the alienation you feel from strangers.

2. How often are people convicted of crimes they didn't commit?
More often then necessary. More often than I thought.

3. What drives people to crime?
I now believe that anybody is capable great violence, but the circumstances of each are so varied that we can never really pinpoint and eradicate it. In many cases, I think crime is borne of humanness and that desire for others to recognize our humanness.

4. What is public defense and what is its purpose?
In other posts, I have spoken of my answer to this question, which is a mix of the virtues of the adversarial justice system and the recognition of the humanity of those we must defend.

5. Can justice ever really be served in the American criminal law system?
That depends on what justice is. If justice is the ability of a jury to render a verdict of "guilty" upon those who have committed a crime, and "not guilty" upon those who have not committed a crime, it's a question that no longer concerns me. I think my sense of justice is one where all of us recognize the humanness of violence and grant everyone the dignity they deserve as human beings.

As for me, I will be studying diligently for my LSAT and, maybe one day, I will return to these streets I have grown to love as an attorney.

All of this was made possible by my amazing benefactors, whose generosity and vision know no bounds. To them, and my wise friends who have offered me good counsel throughout the summer, I send my love and appreciation.

Thanks for reading,

L

L conquers the original

An inmate once told me that the district is the original. We do everything different, he said. For one, the music is unique, he tells me, citing the go-go movement. And crime is different here too, gangs haven't really penetrated the district, because, as he put it, every man has to stand on his own two feet.

The lack of organized crime, however, is more frightening than comforting. With organized crime, there's a rhythm to violence. You know exactly who you need to appease to survive. You know exactly how much your life is worth to them. And you know when you might die. But the district specializes in random violence that isn't exactly random. Sure, those who live risky lifestyles are in more danger, but there are still too many who stumble onto violence unwittingly. I almost would prefer organized crime, where at least you know where the mines are.

In most ways, however, there is nothing original about violence. It's as old as time itself, and I often wonder if is stitched into our DNA.

L votes no on prison rape

We've made prison rape into a joke. We've turned a traumatizing experience that countless inmates have to endure into a quick laugh. We've turned emotional pain into shame. And we have done nothing to combat it.

The truth is that prison rape happens. Probably often. And it's not just sexual, it's about power and pain and violence. And the consequences are far-reaching: it creates cycles of violence when men who have been traumatized must assert themselves through violence, it creates health problems through the spread of HIV/AIDS and STDs in prison populations, it destroys the rehabilitative penal system we need to strive for.

I don't know what the solution is, but it can't be to smirk and look the other way. As a society, we need to acknowledge that this is neither inevitable nor acceptable. We have to take this seriously.

L sees dead people

The homicides are starting to pile up. I can see now why the cops play a little rough... there's simply too much death in this city. But frustration turns quickly into apathy, which is why I'm glad I'll be out of here before that happens.

Despite all the photos of dead people I've seen, it's the urban memorials that haunt me the most: Stuffed animals are duct-taped to a lamppost, their furs gray and tattered. A pair of shoes are strung on a electric line (also the sign for drug deals). A scrawl on a wall. But it's worse without the memorials, when we stand on the site where someone has disappeared forever, and there is no trace of his demise. I often expect to find the streets stained with blood, and it's saddening to discover that concrete doesn't remember death.

L goes to a methadone clinic.

My internship has brought me to some interesting places: facilities for the criminally insane, jails, STD treatment centers (some convicts seem to find it amusing for us to chase false leads there), hospitals, police stations, school houses, and Maryland.

The crime scene of one of our latest cases happens to be near a methadone clinic in North East. Methadone is used as replacement therapy for those addicted to opiods, often heroin. The crime scene is swarming with people who frequent the area for their medication, any of whom could have seen something. We made an operation out of it; we got a staff investigator (read: legit adult) to come so we'd have more manpower, and we milled around the area, asking questions.

Within a three mile radius, dozens of collegiates are asking passserbys of busy commerical areas questions like, "Are you an environmentalist?" "Registered to vote?" "Got a minute for Obama?"

And I had the pleasure of asking passerbys, "Know anything about that guy who got stuck?" ("Stuck," as irreverent and uneloquent as it sounds, means "fatally stabbed." In the present and future tense, it is a conjugation of "to stick," as in, "I'm gonna stick you.") Yes, my internship rocks.

But whatever strides the clinic is making inside, they are quickly erased only a few feet outside. A man with a heavy jacket approaches passerbys much in the same way we do, only he opens his jacket a little to reveal little plastic bags with white rock-like substances. And now and then, money is passed and a deal is made. I wish I could tell you I thought it was sugar. And I wish I could tell you that the clinic was changing lives and hearts.

Today's lesson: violence and narcotics are always intertwined.

L plays the race card

This is the post I have been dreading. It's that touchy issue of race that has permeated every day of my internship here, but I have tried to avoid. So I'm going to be as frank and candid as I can.

All of our clients are black. Most of them are young and many have spent the majority of their lives in jail. There's a joke that everyone knows the exact number of white inmates at the jail (last I heard, seven out of more than a thousand inmates). The district is as divided racially as it is economically, and along the same lines. You know exactly when it is you've crossed from black to white neighborhoods even without looking at the people; the pavement beneath your feet, the trash on the streets, the buildings beside you... everything clues you in on the lines this city has drawn.

To the people I meet, I'm white (which is odd, because I've never been white before.) But white isn't really a skin color here, it's a way of life. Just like black is. Racial tensions run high here, making every encounter a racial one. Sometimes I feel like shouting, "Look at me! I'm not white! I'm not the enemy!" But, in all the ways that matter here, I am.

Before this internship, I was furiously opposed to affirmative action based on race, for all the basic reasons and traditional arguments. Today... I'm not so sure where I stand. It's an uneasy feeling-- not knowing where you stand on most issues--but, quite frankly, the world is never still, and I'm glad I finally understand it's OK to move with it.

Maybe the politicians that we so often accuse of flip-flopping are not spineless panderers, but simply wise, because they learn and change with every experience.

L hears the magic words, not guilty

One of our attorneys (we have two) started trial last week on a rape charge (there were officially three charges, but let's not get into the details), and she was amazing. I can only fantasize about speaking and thinking half as brilliantly as she does. The trial drew quite a crowd: an assortment of law clerks from both sides, but, to my surprise, no one from either the complaining witness' side nor the client's.

The entire process itself is fascinating. There is so much that goes on when the jury is not present. The judge and counsel set the rules for the game before the trial begins, and when it starts, it becomes a show for these 14 men and women (there are usually 2 alternates). I don't say "show" to cast the trial process as deceptive or trivial, but the trial is a brilliant performance on the part of the legal counsel, who create riveting and compelling arguments that merit strong praise. The trial is taken very seriously because the stakes are high... a man's life is at stake. The lawyers know this and practice their arguments carefully. And they argue not only with expertise but with passion.

There are tears. Testimony of the complaining witness and the defendant are emotional. There are fancy posters and displays. And there are phone records and medical records and experts and detectives.

And after hours of deliberation, the jury found our client not guilty on all three charges. I was happier than I expected upon hearing the verdict. (Contrary to popular belief, after a "not guilty" verdict, the defendant does not walk out, he is actually put back in handcuffs and sent back to jail to sort through paperwork. Quite anti-climatic, eh? Also, the client had served a year in jail before his trial. So much for the right to a fair and speedy trial.) Verdicts like today's are rare, however, I am told. But that doesn't kill our happiness for the day.

Combined with the recent overruling of the handgun ban, this week has reminded me of one of my favorite movies, Runaway Jury. And it's a week that has revitalized an admittedly waning faith in our country's criminal justice system.

Today, I believe in the adversarial criminal justice system more than ever. But I think the truth, that elusive prize, is so much more than "guilty" or "not guilty;" it is neither property of the defense nor the government. I think it lies somewhere in the gray, that in-between that no one can really ever see, not even those involved. And I think the more I am here, the more I have come to understand that the truth matters very little when the lives and hearts of men are concerned.

P.S. Unfortunately, my laptop, Moo, has passed away. I am using a public computer in Georgetown. Shh... don't tell them I'm not a student here.