You got the Love

I recently wrote a blog about this prisoner who sat in jail for years, even though he was innocent, because the attorneys for the actual culprit were bound by the attorney-client privilege to say nothing.  I continue to maintain that the lawyers in that case did their job according to the rules of professional responsibility that governs attorneys.  Whether I agree, or not, I understand why they did what they did, how they were smart to preserve the record that would permit them to eventually provide that evidence that would exonerate the condemned innocent man, and I don’t see the privilege going anywhere, under the theory that it promotes honesty between an attorney and his client.

The specific case to which I am referring is that of Alton Logan, who spent 26 years in jail for a crime he did not commit.  The real killer, Andrew Wilson, died in November 2007, but he had confessed to his attorneys that he, not Logan, committed the murder of a security guard, for which Logan was charged, tried, and convicted.  Wilson’s attorneys, Jamie Kunz and Dale Coventry, have known for years that Wilson was guilty, but they could do nothing without violating the Rules of Professional Conduct.  What they did do was preserve evidence of his confession and obtained his permission to reveal that evidence after his death.  Had they not received permission from Wilson, Alton Logan would still be sitting in jail.  Instead, a judge in Illinois recently set aside Logan’s conviction and granted a new trial.

Will there be one?

Probably not.  At this point, the prosecuting attorney has few options:

(1)  He or she can appeal the court’s reversal of Logan’s conviction.

Probably won’t happen.  People want justice, and even though people are hard on criminals, they tend to have more sympathy for one who was wrongly convicted.  When there is some pretty persuasive evidence that Logal is innocent, the attorney general’s office would be very foolish to challenge the judge’s ruling.  How can the government argue that the jury’s finding of guilt was correct, when it was not provided evidence that might have made a difference?

(That’s why a new trial was ordered.  Although the judge, Cook County’s James Schreier, might believe that Logal has been exonerated, he or she is not the appropriate party to determine the guilt or innocence of any defendant.  That’s what the jury is for, and it doesn’t mean that Logan will be acquitted . . . it just means that the jury will be that much more capable of making an informed decision.  The court was right to order a new trial.

(2)  The attorney general’s office could proceed with a new trial.

Well, sure, but what jury would still convict in the face of that well-documented evidence?  This is especially a prominent concern given the fact that other witnesses have come forward after Wilson’s attorney revealed their client’s confession.  That would be a blatant misuse of public funds, and absolute waste of the taxpayer’s dollars.  It would probably also come back to bite the office in the butt around election time.  

(3)  The attorney general’s office could drop all charges and refuse to prosecute Logan altogether.

If I were a betting woman, I would bet the attorney general will take this path.  And good for them.  This man deserves his freedom.

But once the convicted innocent are exonerated, what comes next?

That’s the part I never really considered until this evening.

What does come next for Logan, assuming that the charges against him are completely dropped and he is a free man?

It’s won’t give him those 26 years that he lost while in jail.

While in prison, according to the article I have linked for you, Logal obtained his “GED, an associate’s degree, a welding certificate, a building and maintenance certificate and a heating and cooling certificate.”  Theoretically, he has learned skills that will help him re-enter a society from which he was mistakenly ejected.  Realistically, though, his life will never be what it should have been.

That is, if the accounts of others who have been exonerated of crimes for which they have been convicted serve as some indication of what lies ahead.  

It’s probably one of the most heartbreaking subjects I have read about in recent memory.

The reason Logan’s story is back on my mind this morning is because of Wiley Fountain.

Wiley Fountain is one of 17 men who were convicted in Dallas County, Texas, and who were later exonerated by DNA evidence.  When he was released from prison, he received $190,000 from the state as compensation.  Upon release, he was homeless within five years.  He was reportedly arrested in March of this year for theft.  Upon his release, he disappeared.

A representative of the Texas Innocence project, Jeff Blackburn, said during an interview that  Fountain’s story is not unique.  Where I have trouble though, is Blackburn’s argument that Fountain, and others like him, so often fail upon release because the government does too little to help those who are exonerated re-enter society.  Another problem he cited is that many still think of Fountain and others as criminals, even if their jail time was not of their own making.

There are success stories among the 17 men from Dallas County, but they are rare.  Most are uable to find gainful employment, in part because the convictions for which they are innocent remain on their police record and serve as a red flag to employers.  On top of that, they are competing in a job market with much younger applicants who are so attractive to employers because of the longer time of service employers expect to receive.  I would imagine that some are traumatized by their prison experience (I don’t know how I would wrap my mind around the idea of spending years in prison (not a picnic) for something I know I did not do.  

Still, as heartbreaking as these stories are, is it the government’s job to fix it?

The article about Fountain mentioned that he was given approximately $150,000 dollars.  Is that enough to make up for the years he spent in prison?  What would be enough?  And really, is it the government’s job?

Should the government be required to compensate the innocent for the time they spent in jail.  Don’t misunderstand, I am not referring to those people who are exonerated where there has been misconduct on the part of the police or prosecutor are revealed, where there has been some wrong committed by the government for which there might be some liability.  I am talking about those cases like Logan’s, in which there seems to be little more than a prosecutor who simply did his job in presenting evidence (in good faith) to establish one’s guilt beyond a reasonable doubt and then did so?

Is it the defense’s fault?  Should the defense be made to pay for a conviction despite one’s evidence, under a potential theory that the representation provided was inferior.  Because if one is innocent, how in the world is it possible that there is no reasonable doubt of guilt?  And shouldn’t the defense have been able to establish that on behalf of the client?

Should the prison system compensate the innocent for performing the duties mandated by the state?

To really bring it home, after the taxpayers learn they have been paying for the incarceration of one who is innocent for so long, should the funds to ease the transition back into society come from the taxpayers?

My heart does hurt for people like Logan and Fountain.  They lost part of their lives.  They did nothing wrong.  They can’t do anything about the suspicions that almost instinctively come to mind when one learns about time spent in prison by a job applicant, for example.  They can’t make themselves younger and more attractive to employers.  For those who have children, they can’t go back and be that presence in their children’s life.

Those are some pretty major life events, but is it anyone’s responsibility to “make it right,” to the extent that years spent in prison by an innocent man and the potential ramifications in that person’s life can be “made right.”

I don’t think so.

Which kind of makes me feel, in a sense, like I am part of the problem for not being more of the solution these men really need and probably deserve, because although I don’t think we owe any duty to help them regain their life, I have to wonder how my compassion is so out of whack that I have never considered their plight and why it is that I know that I am joined by the vast majority of people in this country.  

We will spend millions fighting to keep the guilty in jail through all appeals and over years and years, but there is nothing really provided to those who didn’t ask us to, who maintained their innocence, and who were later found to be telling the truth.  

For people like Logan and Fountain, does it really all boil down to a sad shrug of the shoulders and a “sucks to be you?”

I read my friends blog (Lornography)
where she posted this article
It made sense to me
and explained a few things to me
about what i do
ha
i know im a lil out there
and i love this explanation

This is an Annual of New Art and Artists 73-74′
an interview with female photographer Urs Lüthi
the interview is printed below the photo

and Lornography added this … heh heh…
“And yes, I am as crazy as she sounds. There’s a perfectly drawn fine line between insanity and artistry. So go ahead and look closer”..
I love that girl ^

And I  ‘claire’  loved this aritcle … it made all the sense in the world

On the eve of our anniversary, two words dance through my mind.

I do.

Yes, Mr. J, I do . . .

. . . remember our first conversation in the courtyard of the law school we both attended.

. . . regret that we didn’t speak for months after that encounter.

. . . remember that you were there when I competed in Moot Court.  You were the timekeeper.  

. . . recognize the blessing that was . . . I am not sure we would be where we are now, if not for your willingness to serve in the first place.

. . . still marvel that you asked me to dinner the next day, and I do remember that, although I was shocked nearly speechless by your invitation, I got butterflies in my stomach as I said “yes.”

. . . treasure the friendship that developed between us

. . . remember the morphine couch on which I lay while you watched your British comedies.  I rarely appreciated the humor, but I loved watching your enjoyment of those shows.

. . . remember how you held me when I returned from Thanksgiving with my family, as I cried about the news my sister had given our family.

. . . believe with all my heart that you helped me to understand that it wasn’t my fault.

. . . appreciate the years you were my friend before you became my husband.

. . . love your sensitivity, and the emotion you show when listening to a particularly moving song.

. . . thank God that I found my way to you.

. . . pray often that I will never know the pain of losing you.

. . . love the ring you gave me when you asked me to be your wife.  It’s perfect, and I still find myself looking down at my hand periodically and marvel that you asked in the first place.

. . . appreciate the fact that your family has lovingly embraced me.

. . . think it absolutely kicked ass when you sang to me before our friends and family at the wedding.  

The song was perfect and it meant so much to me.

. . . think your cousin’s kids were trying to inflict bodily harm when they threw rice at us, but won’t ever forget the laughs we had over it.

. . . appreciate the fact that you were willing to leave the town in which you lived to come to the city where there were more opportunities for me.

. . . regret snapping at you, sighing meaningfully when I am frustrated, because I know that you would willingly do anything in your power to help me, if I would only ask.

. . . think that I would probably not have remembered very much about this past year because of you.  Who knows how much longer I would have continued down that path of destruction if you hadn’t been there to help me understand that I needed help.

. . . realize that my life is better with you in it.

I do, Mr. J.  I remember our story, which could fill volumes, and that mixed CD you gave to me as a testament to the story of us.

On so many levels, and more and more every day, I do . . .

“’til death do us part.”

Thank you for sharing your life with me, Mr. J . . . and for being not only the man I love and my husband, but also for being, throughout it all, my best friend.

For all the trials and tribulations of the past year, and the growing pains we have experienced as we learned to adapt to living together, the constant is my gratitude that you are here, still.

I still do vow that my life and my love are yours.

“To have and to hold . . . for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish ’till death do us part.”

Happy Anniversary, Mr. J.

As for the rest of you, to make up for all my sentimental ramblings on the eve of my anniversay, there are pictures  from the wedding if you want a glimpse into that day in my life.

Our Wedding

Have a blessed day, y’all.

And sorry for making some of you throw up in your mouth a little.  What can I say?  I get all sentimental at times.

But it IS my first anniversary that I celebrate today and tomorrow (26th).  Don’t I get a free pass for the anniversary?  I think I should.

Meh, maybe not.  

But the link is there for you anyway.

NOTE: Because I am vacationing, I probably won’t be online very much over the next week.  FYI.  Consider those days my completely successful attempt to write shorter blogs.

I do try.