Home

Follow Countercurrents on Twitter 

Why Subscribe ?

Popularise CC

Join News Letter

Editor's Picks

Press Releases

Action Alert

Feed Burner

Read CC In Your
Own Language

Bradley Manning

India Burning

Mumbai Terror

Financial Crisis

Iraq

AfPak War

Peak Oil

Globalisation

Localism

Alternative Energy

Climate Change

US Imperialism

US Elections

Palestine

Latin America

Communalism

Gender/Feminism

Dalit

Humanrights

Economy

India-pakistan

Kashmir

Environment

Book Review

Gujarat Pogrom

Kandhamal Violence

WSF

Arts/Culture

India Elections

Archives

Links

Submission Policy

About CC

Disclaimer

Fair Use Notice

Contact Us

Search Our Archive

Subscribe To Our
News Letter



Our Site

Web

Name: E-mail:

 

Printer Friendly Version

A View From Inside A Bronx Courthouse

By Billy Wharton

21 December, 2010
Countercurrents.org

The dirty little secret of the American justice system is that its proceedings are mostly conducted in empty courtrooms that become the terrain of the functionaries of this system. I made a minor dent in this wall of silence during my tour of a Bronx courthouse this afternoon. I was on a lunch break from jury duty and the prospect of spending two hours in the freezing cold outside was far from appealing. So, I decided to observe some of the trials. Little did I know I would be doing so as an unwanted guest.

The Sueyo Dilemma

Room 540 was the first door I saw after exiting the elevator. I poked my head in to see if there was a judge on the bench and then filed into the back row. The courtroom was empty less the professionals – two lawyers, half dozen police officers, the judge, his assistant and a court reporter. And, of course, the defendant – a middle-aged Latino man who kept his head down during most of the proceedings.

The defendant, a Mr. Sueyo, had spent the last eleven years incarcerated on a minor drug charge. Once inside, he descended into a pit of drug abuse and mental health problems. This produced a series of infractions, called tickets, that built up to a 2003 suicide attempt that produced a felony charge. Sueyo attempted to kill himself by swallowing a razor. Prison guards saved him and then charged him with promoting prison contraband. The evidence? The razor he was attempting to swallow was illegal.

The failed suicide attempt marked a turning point for Sueyo. He kicked his drug habit in 2006 and hasn’t received a ticket since. Despite this, his continued attempts at parole were denied. Today, he was in court to plead for a re-sentencing based on the Drug Law Reform Act of 2009. A fair ruling under this law might reduce his sentence to time served and secure his freedom.

The state argued strongly against this possibility, sighting Sueyo’s felony conviction while in jail (the above mentioned suicide razor) and his pattern of criminal activity in the late 90s. The state’s attorney attempted to trivialize the fact that his crimes were committed 11 years ago, by suggesting that jail was the only thing that restrained him from carrying out more crimes.

In the end, the judge reserved his decision for a later date. Then, for the first time in the hearing, Sueyo lifted his head up. The judge proposed to hold the next hearing in three weeks. That meant that Sueyo would be shipped to a jail eight hours away upstate. He seemed desperate to prevent that and urged his lawyer on. Eventually, after a long negotiation, a new date that would keep him Downstate was secured. Sueyo stood, was cuffed and escorted out of the courtroom by two corrections officers.

By then, I had drawn the attention of everyone in the court. Why would a fairly smartly dressed middle-aged white man be interested in such a hearing? Why would anyone for that matter? Such events are normally conducted in isolation because the decade long prison stay had destroyed his support network.

I drew looks from the judge. Then the attorney for the state. Even Sueyo’s lawyer shot a quizzical glance back at me. When I whipped out a notebook to capture some notes, the court police officer made his move, gliding into the back row across from me to observe my actions. I was an interloper, an unexpected and unquantifiable factor who held the potential of mucking up a ritualized procedure, normally conducted in a controlled environment.

DOE, ACD or Prison?

My next stop was a busy courtroom that had people streaming in and out of it. Judge Margaret Clancy presided over the hyperactive proceedings. A court clerk conducted, producing yellow folders bursting with papers that represented each person’s case. Cases were yelled out and Clancy made procedural decisions.

At one point a well dressed young African-American man appeared, claimed he had no lawyer and was told to re-appear next week. Next, the clerk announced that a Michael Jordan would be brought to trial – everyone chuckled. One case finally caught my eye.

A clearly unnerved middle-aged African-American woman appeared in the docket, a scatterbrained lawyer at her side. The lawyer proceeded to drop his pen, his pad and presented a general disorganized vibe that drew a gentle ribbing from the court clerk. Eventually a merciful court officer assisted the lawyer in locating his wayward pen.

The woman works in the Department of Education (DOE) and was charged with a minor drug infraction. She was looking for an adjournment in contemplation of dismissal, an agreement that would lead to the charges being dropped, but the state wasn’t in the mood to make a deal. They offered two years, which her discombobulated lawyer quickly refused. Clancy then set a date for the trial. The woman was very nervous, fearful even, as she faced the prospect of serious criminal prosecution. A conviction would certainly lead to being fired by the DOE and heading off to jail. She entered and exited the court alone. No one there to provide emotional support.

An Elvis Sighting

The final case I observed was a far more serious one. Elvis Fuentes, a 28 year old from the South Bronx, stood charged with murdering his neighbor. This jury trial had been going on for quite some time. The jury asked the judge to identify pieces of testimony that might answer a series of questions they had. The court reporter spent most of the session reading back the requested text.

Meanwhile, Elvis Fuentes sat in the defendant’s chair. He seemed fairly at ease, probably from the massive amount of time he had spent in court. He joked with his lawyer, fiddled with a pencil and pretended to look at the transcript that was being read. His grandmother was far less composed. She sat next to me in the back row. As the reporter read the testimony about her grandson gunning someone down, she went into an asthma attack. She alternated mournful sighs in between puffs on an inhaler.

In the juror’s box, my fellow jurists seemed in a daze. Their personal lives had probably been severely disrupted by the long trial and they looked haggard. The questions meant they were interested in doing the right thing, but eyes expressed the need to end this process. As the court reporter read on, a few’s eyes had glazed over and by the time I left the courtroom, three jurors were sound asleep.

It seemed like there were plenty of holes in the prosecution’s case. Their witnesses provided sketchy and contradictory evidence and the police failed to administer a gunpowder residue test. Yet, I could not make a clear judgment in such a short time and had to depart for my own jury duty.

What struck me the most was the presence of the two corrections officers behind Fuentes. They sat there because he was a prisoner of the state. And the state decided it was worth the expenditure to assign two other people to control him. I imagine that in another political system, Elvis Fuentes might have been able to have two different kind of people pay attention to him – perhaps two teachers or two social workers or even two mentors who might open some life possibilities. What an illogical expenditure of public resources.

Challenging the System

Overall, the court structure itself told a sad story about American society. Last week, I had the occasion to be in a New York City public high school. It was old and creaky, roaches infested the bathrooms and I could hear mice scurrying along the walls. Conversely, the courthouse was a beautiful new structure, made of steel and glass with an aura that projected power. Everything was well kept and modern. The two structures - the dilapidated school and the new constructed courthouse - are clear examples of a society that has prioritized incarceration over education.

It may be too late for Sueyo, the unnamed DOE worker and Elvis Fuentes. They are already inside a system that swallows people. However, there are many more behind them – good people who, if given the proper resources and support, might make positive contributions, people who might reverse this system's prison over school logic. It is for them, that we need to act boldly, to demand more of this society and to ensure that the dirty little secrets of the American justice system no longer go unchallenged.

Billy Wharton is a writer, activist and the editor of the Socialist WebZine. His articles have appeared in the Washington Post, the NYC Indypendent, Spectrezine and the Monthly Review Zine. He can be reached at [email protected].