TheBanyanTree: SUB: Lingering Question

[pat.martin]

Lingering Question



            A balding middle-aged man shifted his notes and peered at me
over the top of his eyeglasses.  "How do you feel about criminals?" he
asked.

            Seven Civil Liberties board members were interviewing me for a
bookkeeping position for Legal Aid, a small, busy office with two legal
information counselors and two administrative staff.  To my surprise, the
large number of interviewers and their many questions didn't intimidate me,
and my answers were spontaneous and genuine.  Words poured out of me like
warm honey.

"I'm non-judgmental.  To be honest, I have a brother who has been in trouble
with the law."   Then, realizing I may have been too forthcoming, I looked
around the conference table at the men and women watching me and hastened to
add, "Yes, one of my brothers was in jail but that doesn't mean I am
anything like him."

The interview went well and an hour later, on my way out, I smiled at the
next candidate and chirped, "Good luck."

Two days later, I received the call telling me I was the successful
applicant.  I was thrilled!  Initially, I focused on bookkeeping and
paperwork related to lawyer referrals but a few weeks later, my job
description changed.  During our weekly staff meeting, Gary, one of the
counselors said, "We would like you to begin interviewing the criminal legal
aid clients."

Without expertise on the criminal justice system, it was a big step for me,
a quiet woman who preferred to work alone with figures; however, not wanting
to jeopardize my new, well-paying job, I had no choice but to agree.

"Okay, I'll give it a try.  What about training?"

"Judith and I will spend a couple of hours with you.  After that, you can
come to us with questions as they arise, and once a week you can attend
criminal court to watch and learn."

The counselors informed me that the requirements for legal aid were twofold.
To qualify, a person needed to meet specific financial criteria, and there
needed to be a probability that the person would be incarcerated if
convicted.  Determining financial eligibility was simple; knowing the
possibility of jail time was not.

I was a novice in my new role when I walked into the waiting room one
morning where a thin, red-haired man in his early forties fidgeted in his
chair.  I smiled at him and shook his hand.

"Hello Dave.  I'm Pat."

After we were seated in my office, I reviewed Dave Thomson's (*name changed
to protect his identity) legal aid application and his notice to appear in
court.  I saw that he was married with two sons.  I had processed the
paperwork for his teenaged boys, I realized, who had been in trouble
numerous times and had received legal aid.

Meeting Dave's eyes, I explained, "There are two requirements for legal aid.
You have to qualify financially, and it is clear from your application that
you do.  Also, there must be a likelihood of jail-time if you are sentenced.

I flipped open my criminal code textbook and perused the section on theft.
You have been charged with theft under $1,000.  Can you tell me a little
more about the circumstances of this charge?"

Unable to meet my eyes, he said, "I was caught taking some building
materials from a construction site."

Do you have a criminal record?"

"No.  This is the first time I've been charged with anything."

"I need to check with my supervisor on the likelihood of jail time.  I'll be
right back."

When I returned, I said, "If the court convicts you, it is unlikely you will
go to jail.  Although you qualify financially, I'm afraid I can't approve
your application."

I watched his face blanch.  He leaned toward me and ran his fingers through
his hair.

"Do you mean I can't get a free lawyer?" he asked.

I nodded apologetically and went on to explain his options.  Although he
didn't qualify, he could use the services of duty counsel, a free lawyer who
would be available on court day to speak on his behalf to enter a plea or to
ask for a continuance (time to meet with a lawyer and decide how to plead).
As I walked him to the door, compassion filled me.  "Good luck," I said,
kindly.

Two weeks later, I reviewed the court list and spoke to my co-worker.  "It's
different to see the court schedule and know most of the people listed.
Several of my first clients are scheduled to appear today."  I rattled off a
few names.  When I mentioned Dave Thomson, my co-worker said, "He won't
appear in court.  He's dead."

Stunned, I asked, "What happened?"

"I heard it on the radio this morning.  He was found dead yesterday.  He
drowned."

My stomach lurched.  It was too much of a coincidence that he died the day
before court; I knew it was suicide.

To ease my mind, I reviewed his file and reconfirmed my decision.  I had
done my job properly, according to policy.  Logically, I knew Mr. Thomson's
death wasn't my fault, but emotionally it wasn't so easy to dismiss.
Although I only met the man once, to this day, I still carry the memory of a
jittery man's disappointment as he walked out of the Legal Services office.
I have asked myself many times if part of the reason for his suicide was
being refused legal aid, and I've had to accept that I will never know.

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