NORMAN FUCKED ME OVER

I originally planned for this week to be an interview with Norman Mailer in Provincetown, but at the last minute, he called to reschedule. When I asked why, he simply grumbled angrily. The only word I actually understood was Capote and it was said with clear hostility.

Then I understood why he was fucking with me. I had interviewed Truman before him. Damn lucky I haven’t yet done Gore Vidal or Norman would have refused my call. Okay, I get it, though I really won’t be pleased if he bails on me again. Hell, I have a DEAD PEOPLE INTERVIEW series to write.

So I was at loss for this week’s post until I began thinking about how many progressive petitions, donation requests, and single issue emails had flooded my inbox—this week, last week, doubtless next week and forever.. I’ve posted about this before in 2011,(http://zacharykleinonline.com/personal-experience/love-me-im-a-liberal/), but after re-reading the column, I’ve come to a less humorous conclusion.

Fact is, I am bombarded by many decent organizations that care deeply about their particular cause. And,rightly so. But now I’ve got some serious questions—and complaints—about this “single issue” notion of change.

I hang with enough progressives in both my real and virtual life to realize there’s a great deal of antipathy about talking to people who disagree with our progressive programs and ideas. Personally, I think this is foolish. Of course, I’d love to change some hearts and minds, although I’m not optimistic about it. I do, however, think I can better understand how conservatives think about the society and world in which we live. And make no mistake, there’s a huge difference between honest conservatives and the right-wing jihadists who populate Congress and the Supreme Court. True conservatives aren’t about hating government per se. Though they do dislike much of the way our government functions.

Sound familiar, progressives? We dislike much of the way government functions.

Another group that progressives often shun is the 30 to 40 percent of the population that doesn’t bother to vote. This significant percentage includes many blue collar workers, working poor, and poor people—people who are alienated, apathetic, and flat out wary of a government whose programs seemed designed to aid everyone but them. (More about this later.)

And finally, if the emails I receive (DemandProgress.Org, Organic Consumers Organization, Ourfuture.org, ProgressivesUnited, Environmental Working Group, UsAction/TrueMajority, ActBlue, Democracy for America, 350.org etc, etc., etc.) are accurate, progressives aren’t even talking to each other! The problem isn’t the organizations’ causes—most are fighting for real and positive change—but rather their apparent willingness to go it alone. Maybe it’s because they fear that the amount of contributors and resources are too small to share. Or, perhaps the attitude is akin to the myth of individualism I wrote about in last week’s column on detective fiction (http://zacharykleinonline.com/writing/detective-fiction-an-american-myth/).

Most of my progressive friends laugh out loud when I bring up Jesse Jackson. They call him a self-aggrandizing publicity hound willing to go anywhere to garner television appearances or newspaper coverage. I don’t think Jackson is funny at all. Never did. Does he have an ego? Yes. Who doesn’t? His willingness to work with any progressive action, be it unrelenting opposition to racist behavior, unswerving commitment to striking workers, or belief in economic justice, gay rights, and a healthy environment is unquestionable—whatever one thinks of the person.

What makes Jesse Jackson even more important to me was his efforts to build the Rainbow Coalition. While that attempt fizzled, I believe it was the road-map for creating a true progressive political party.

I know. At best the most lasting effect that third parties made in American politics was to have their ideas and issues co-opted by a majority party in diluted form. Yes, there was Robert M. La Follette, Eugene Victor “Gene” Debs, and Norman Thomas all third party candidates, but never a lasting legacy of a national progressive party.

That was then, this is now. Never in my lifetime have I seen dysfunction equal to our present political system. Never have seen the money spent on buying an election as I do now. And never imagined I’d be living in a country that has one right-of-center party and one that’s even further in that direction. Truth is, our political choices have boiled down to ugly or uglier.

Jackson’s road-map is an incredible opportunity to actually create a progressive party with national staying power. But—and there’s always a but—we have to begin by talking to each other to find the common causes that will bind us into an honest coalition. Whether it’s Save the Wolves or Occupy Wall Street, we must find ways to form alliances and commitments where the whole really is greater than the sum of its parts.

If we can do that, we might begin engaging those with whom we share some values (e.g., civil libertarian conservatives), and the alienated, apathetic folks who have simply given up on government. The prospect of reaching out with policies and programs that can truly mean something to those who have lost faith in politics is in our hands. These people are our constituency and, unless we make a concerted effort to create a party that speaks to them—we might as well kiss our political asses goodbye. Because if we’ve learned anything over the past fifty years it’s that Republicans and Democrats are only going to work for the rich and powerful.

“As individual fingers we can easily be broken, but all together we make a mighty fist.”  Sitting Bull

HARRY K. HAS SOMETHING TO SAY

(Once again legal columnist Harry K. has graced these pages with another insightful story. Thank you, Harry.)

Powerless, hopeless people sometimes overcompensate for those feelings with anger and rage the court system generally does not tolerate, let alone understand. I learned this from Juanita fairly early in my career of representing poor people accused of criminal activities.

Juanita took $400 worth of merchandise from Filene’s Basement. She admitted her guilt and was placed on probation with a sentence of 60 days in jail if she screwed up. It should have been easy, but for Juanita, it was anything but.

Just a month shy of finishing probation, Juanita was driving her jalopy out to a decidedly white part of Boston in order to braid a friend’s hair. A police officer saw her approaching the parking lot at a “high rate of speed.” He followed her, watched her legally park the car, and then pulled in behind. She was already halfway to her friend’s door when the officer stopped her to request a license and registration. Juanita’s temporary license was at her mother’s. She knew that being stopped without having it might be cause for a problem, so she asked the officer “What for?” in what was probably not a particularly respectful tone–if her voice in the retelling was any indication.

“You were going a little fast back there.”

The cop said Juanita shoved him. Juanita denied it. The cop said he tried to arrest her and she “flailed her arms” screaming all the while. Juanita denied it. The cop said it took two officers to arrest her and that she shoved the second officer too. Juanita denied it.

Juanita was unable to meet with me in advance of her probation violation hearing so we met in the hallway of the courthouse and talked for some time about what had occurred. In the course of our conversation I realized that there was a problem with dates. The police report of the incident said that Juanita shoved the officers on June 9, but the document giving her notice of the probation violation said that she had committed an assault and battery on a police officer on June 10. It turns out there was another police report for another incident on June 10. It involved the same cop and the same parking lot. Supposedly, Juanita had tried to run him down with her jalopy. She was not arrested or charged, but it could NOT have been a charge of assault and battery on a police officer as recited on the notice. So which was it? The notice said the right date but the wrong offense or, the right offense on the wrong date. These due process defects were going to be my reasons to request a continuance.

I started to explain my thinking but she went on and on about how she hadn’t done anything wrong. I told her I believed and understood her, but it was not something I needed to tell the judge at the hearing. I explained that I would ask for a dismissal, but we could really only hope for some more time (during which one hope, among others, would be that she would demonstrate good reasons for not being sent to jail for 60 days). Her back stiffened, her speech switched from play-by-play to color commentary about what had happened. She was especially mad because I was going to argue a legal point rather than telling the judge that she had done nothing wrong and was a good person.

Suddenly she said, “I don’t want you representing me no more. If you ain’t gonna tell the judge I didn’t do nothing wrong, I just don’t want you.” I apologized, realizing that enthusiasm for my own agenda had overshadowed my client’s need to be heard.

“Juanita, I’m sorry, I will tell the judge whatever you want me to, so long as it does not hurt your case.”

She had me practice what she wanted me to say in front of her. “No, no, you ain’t saying it right. You ain’t saying I didn’t do nothing wrong!”

To borrow a term from the police report, she flailed her arms. “You gotta tell ‘em that other charge (she had been charged with hitting a cop several years before) was bullshit and was dismissed.” I, though, didn’t think it should mentioned at all.

“Who ARE you, anyway? Are you my lawyer or what? I want you to tell ‘em that wasn’t nothing and I ain’t done nothing and this here is bullshit too! And you know what? I want another damn lawyer!”

I tried capitulation, cajoling, both to no avail.

Juanita shook her head and walked away waving dismissively, “Yeah, yeah.”

The cop arrived and Juanita approached him in the hall, hand on hip, head cocked to the side. “Did you say I hit you? DID you?” I told her not to speak to the officer. She said, “I’m just asking him a question, I can do THAT, can’t I?”

She had a point.

Her case was called and I moved to withdraw as her lawyer. The judge asked Juanita if that was what she wanted. She hesitated almost imperceptibly, but then said, “I don’t want HER no more, that’s for damn sure.”

A new attorney was appointed and the judge gave him a date to return for a hearing– just one week later. Juanita had apparently liked my plan of getting much more time, because she went ballistic. Her arms truly flailing now, she started yelling, “NO, NO, NO. I want another date. I have two kids. I can’t be here then, I need another fucking date man, this is more bullshit!”

The judge simply said, “Take her into custody.”

Juanita calmed slightly and said, “Ahh, what the fuck. Shit man, okay, okay.” Ramping up again and worried she might not be able to reach her new attorney from jail, Juanita yelled to the assembly, “Don’t I get no piece of paper or nothing? Fucking shit ass bullshit motherfuckers!”

My briefcase was packed and I headed for the door. I heard her shout “Raggedy ass BITCH!” I hoped she was yelling at her probation officer so I kept walking away chagrined, but grateful to Juanita for an important lesson learned. If I planned to remain in this line of work, I’d better learn to listen to my clients–even if their powerlessness speaks with rude profanity.

“The greatest oak was once a little nut who held its ground….”

AFTERMATH

I honestly thought that last week’s post would serve as a transition to get me past the Boston bombings. But what has transpired here since the blasts simply can’t be ignored. Or, more precisely, I can’t ignore it.

When Dzhokhar A. Tsarnaev was in the hospital after his capture, our mayor was asked how Tsarnaev was doing medically. Mennino waved his hand and said, “Who cares?” Everybody laughed; in fact, his response became a joke around town. At the time I didn’t find it particularly funny, but didn’t think much about it. Two weeks later and I’m thinking about it a lot.

For the past week Boston and cities around Massachusetts have refused to provide space to bury Dzhokhar’s brother Tamerlan who died in a shootout with Boston police, the FBI, and ATF.

When I wrote last week’s column I never expected the story to disappear. Did expect a blame game which is, in fact, happening. Expected congressional hearings, expected the bombings would become, as they have, a political football.

What I didn’t expect was the downright ugly about Tamerlan’s burial.

I understand and appreciate the agony and anger of people about these hideous, tragic events. I learned firsthand how a mass murder affects those connected to it when I spent much of a summer investigating the Murrah Building bombing for a consortium of lawyers. Most of that time was spent with people who had lost loved ones or were injured by the blast. They all were injured by wounds that would never heal.

But when a state and its municipalities refuse to allow a burial of an alleged bomber, it makes me sick to my stomach. We’ve had no trouble scattering ashes or burying convicted assassins and mass murderers before. Timothy McVeigh’s ashes were spread in an undisclosed U.S. location. John Wilkes Booth’s body at Green Mount Cemetery, Baltimore, Maryland. Richard Speck cold-bloodedly slaughtered eight nurses and his ashes were spread in the U.S. “Nanny” Hazel Doss, who confessed to killing her four husbands, her mother, her sister, her grandson, her nephew and others, is buried at Oak Hill Memorial Park, McAlester, Oklahoma. Lee Harvey Oswald at the Rose Hill Memorial Burial Park in Fort Worth, Texas. Andrew Kehoe, who murdered 38 elementary school children, six adults, and injured at least 58 other people, was buried at Mount Rest Cemetery, Clinton County, Michigan.

The list is near endless, but I’ll only mention two more. Father John J. Geoghan molested more than 130 children and is buried at Holyhood Cemetery in Brookline, Massachusetts and the good old Boston Strangler, Albert DeSalvo, is buried at Puritan Lawn Memorial Park, Peabody, Massachusetts.  If our state can provide hallowed ground for these criminals…

So why does it matter if a state and municipalities refuse to allow a burial?

My friend Bill often tells me that I rush to defend the worst of our people. He’s not far wrong–though I don’t think he recognizes my compassion for victims. I believe the way a society handles the worst of the worst speaks to the moral fiber of that society. I’m vehemently opposed to state-sanctioned murder (disguised under the benign term capital punishment) for the same reason. It reflects a blood lust for vengeance–something that eats at the decency of our culture.

Earlier I used the word “alleged” to describe the dead Tamerlan. Do I doubt that he colluded to set off those horrific bombs? Not really, but frankly it doesn’t matter. What matters is a cornerstone of the best of our social character. Innocent until proven guilty has, yet again, taken a back seat to the worst of our being. Better to eliminate the protection of rights in the name of hatred and security than to hold those rights up as a beacon to who we are and want to be.

Worse, these eliminations are rapidly becoming the nature of our post 9/11 society. Gitmo, anyone? Islamophobia? Executions? Undeclared Martial Law? Hell, undeclared wars. These aren’t isolated actions, but part of a whole which is successfully shredding what’s left of our ethical and legal fiber. And the greed which permeates our economic life is taking care of the rest.

When I worked for a poor peoples’ criminal defense attorney, or served on juries, I was constantly struck by the number of times judges would remind and remind the jury that the defendant was absolutely presumed innocent, no matter the charge(s). And was always shocked (when on a jury) how often those words fell upon deaf ears.

Furthermore, if Tamerlan was guilty and murdered and hurt all those innocent people who will have to live with their injuries long after he rots in his grave, doesn’t he still deserve to have one? Just as the way a society treats its poor, its criminals, how it treats its dead also shines a bright light upon our humanity.

Only as rich as the poorest of the poor,
Only as free as a padlocked prison door… Phil Ochs