Oh, what a dandy f.ing fellow I am, and by the way this so-called Justice System is seriously broke.

I blogged in February about a domestic case that I’m doing “pro bono,” i.e., without charging a fee. I met my client when I was the volunteer domestic violence shelter lawyer at a domestic violence docket day in Family Court. Not a big deal, I get stuck doing that 3 or 4 times a year. This young mother had a domestic violence petition against a former boyfriend, and she told me a very sordid story based on having a pending Family Court case where he was seeking “joint parenting time” of her 9 year old son even though this guy is not the boy’s biological father. (Oh, but he is a convicted felon.) When she began hesitatingly to catalog a little of the history of abuse and her essentially disabling terror of the Courts, my purely self-aggrandizing so-called “noble instincts” kicked in, and I told her I’d do the Family Court petition case for her, too. What a wonderful human being I am. Great Caesar's Ghost, I'm a sanctimonious bastard, and it’s enough to make you sick.

I talked to this woman several times over the following few weeks. She didn’t trust me a hell of a lot, because nobody in a position of authority had ever really listened to her, and nobody had ever stood still while she dribbled out her story in a parade of non sequiturs. I think I know how to get clients relaxed and talking, and get the facts out of them, and it just takes time. Her story included a ton of sexual abuse, she was embarassed, and let’s face it, I’m not what you would call urbane and tactful, and she was just very uncomfortable telling this stuff to a guy. (I always had a woman representative of the local domestic violence shelter there when I talked with this client. That helped her comfort, my comfort, and gave me another brain to express ideas. I’m not proud, I’ll take suggestions wherever I can get them.) It was her fourth visit to me when she remembered to tell me about 3 nighttime break-in’s plus rapes that this guy had committed against her. And that was the milder stuff. This boyfriend was (is?) one sick puppy.

Doing this case was not a big damn deal. Now, if I stepped into an operating room and took out someone’s appendix, knowing only what I know now, I’d be worthy of some heavy-duty back-slapping. But doing a case? It’s just what I do. I planned it out before and during the first hearing (on Valentine’s Day, I love Family Court hearings on Valentine’s Day), and just followed the plan. Boring. Mind you, I did let the toxins flow during the hearing today, and the abuser left really smoking after the Judge ruled that he was an abuser, and would never have any contact, direct or indirect, with the boy or my client. I think I can safely count him among those who are less than friendly to me. But it’s still just a case. Besides, I piss people off one at a time, while the Judge pisses them off in droves, so he’s more liable to get ambushed than I am.

This woman was in a lot of danger without a lawyer. She hadn’t a clue what evidence was or how to present it. Common wisdom says that Judges collect every important fact, and then make wise rulings. That’s not what happens. They hear disjointed bits of evidence which tell darn little about the life stories of the people involved. They try to make sense of the evidence, get frustrated as hell, do the best they can with limited information and the good ones (this is a good one) then lose sleep and get ulcers. My client is on Social Security Disability, has zip for money, and without someone helping her gratis, she may have lost this case. The Judge couldn’t talk to her privately and find out the facts and determine what helped her case. He does 750 hearings a year, and can’t act as the advocate for 1500 people and, besides, he's not allowed to talk privately with "litigants." (Oh, the abuser was represented by a friend of mine who is a pretty good trial lawyer, and who thrives on aggression.)

What good things can you say about a system where the rich get good lawyers and the poor get dumped into a totally unfamiliar setting? What good things can you say about a system in which money is often the only thing that talks? This woman’s case was an exception, when access to the Courts should be the fucking rule. The monied interests are lying, cheating and stealing to convince the people to emasculate their advocates, to give more and more power to the judges (who are selected in one manner or another by monied interests - the exceptions are few) who by and large are conservative, money-protecting umpires, to convince the people to give away their rights to seek justice. Hell, we are afraid of the word, and I want to stand out on the front steps of the Courthouse and sermonize like a street evangelist that the building should be a place of Justice, where the right thing is always done. But too often the only fucking thing that matters is money. And in most cases (sometimes even in Family Court cases), the only justice I can get for people is money. I can’t fix their back injuries or erase any sorts of scars, I can’t make their spouses faithful, I can’t put love or light or acceptance back into their lives. Money. That’s how I spend most of my days, moving money around and piously taking my cut.

I had a fellow come in the office last week with a MAJOR criminal problem. I quoted him a “retainer” of “eighty-seven-fifty.” He thought that $87.50 was very reasonable for the services. He was the recipient of serious sticker-shock when I told him he misunderstood what I meant by the figure. I don’t have a clue where he went, or what has happened or will happen to him. I feel terrible about not helping him – but the landlord of No. 3 Equity Court doesn’t give me a break for being a dandy fellow. I’m downsizing the workers’ compensation practice because my ability to do those cases and make fees commensurate with the effort has gone down the tubes. I’m turning away several comp cases every week. I temporize with these people about how I “just can’t help you now-a-days like I used to be able to, blame the Legislature, not me” but I’m as much a slave of money as the lowest, meanest whore on the streets.

Like the old Don himself, I’m finding that the windmills are just beating Hell out of me. It’s not fun, and God’s going to have to punch my ticket before I’m off duty.

So, how was your day?

Mizpah.

R