clients
Idiocracy
Apr 16th
There is a moderately entertaining movie called Idiocracy, directed by Mike Judge and starring the less-stoned Wilson brother about a man of perfectly average intelligence who goes into cryogenic deep freeze for a long time and emerges 500 years in the future where the stupid have out-reproduced the intelligent and the Earth is ruled by grunts and monosyllables. Reading some reactions to the death penalty repeal here in CT, it seems to me that the future is now.
First, CT News Junkie reported, in a story with the provocative title ‘Lawmaker Guided By Experience As Defense Attorney’, of the tale of Representative David Labriola. Labriola, a Republican, drew upon his experience as a criminal defense attorney to vote against the repeal of the death penalty, in something that can only be described as fzzt-fzzt-does-not-compute-err-ROR-err-ROR.
You see, Attorney Rep. Labriola represented Miguel Roman. Miguel Roman, you might or might not remember, was the fourth man exonerated in CT with the assistance of DNA evidence. Unfortunately, before that happened, Roman spent 20 years of his life in jail for a crime he did not commit. His actual sentence was 60 years for a murder – one of three that the police believed were linked. Having represented a man you believe is wrongly convicted and has spent decades of his life unjustly in prison is not something a defense lawyer gets over quickly and it is certainly not something that builds confidence in the infallibility of the criminal justice system.
Yet, we have Labriola:
He said the sophistication and reliability of modern DNA analysis is one of the reasons he supported the death penalty statute, which a majority of his colleagues voted to take off the books Wednesday. DNA evidence provides the state with greater assurance that offenders handed guilty verdicts are, in fact, guilty, he said.
I suppose that’s somewhat logical so far, if a bit naive. But here’s the key part:
Labriola recalled that he did present DNA evidence in Roman’s case more than 20 years ago. He said it was one of the first DNA cases in the country. Though the DNA clearly didn’t belong to Roman, prosecutor John Massameno was able to argue that presence of another person’s DNA did not mean Roman was not guilty.
[Ideally, at this juncture, I'd like to Professor Farnsworth uttering his signature "Whaaaa? - you can hear it in your head, can't you? - but I can't find it online. So this equally appropriate reaction will have to suffice.]
This is far beyond any timey-wimey plotline that Steven Moffat could conceive of, but I’m going to try and untangle it. Labriola believes:
1. The death penalty is appropriate.
2. Because DNA evidence provides great assurances that offenders are actually guilty.
3. He knows this because he represented an offender.
4. In whose case DNA evidence was presented.
5. And the DNA evidence excluded his guy.
6. And still his client was convicted.
7. And spent 20 years in jail.
8. ????
9. PROFIT!!!!
Labriola concludes with:
“I think working as a defense attorney for the last 25 years gives me insight into a wide range of issues and some crimes are so heinous that the death penalty is the only justifiable punishment,” he said.
It’s almost as if he got to logical step number 8 above, realized that he was going up the down staircase and ended with the handwavium encrusted “well, I know better”. As a fellow criminal defense lawyer, that last quote of his is especially troubling. I’ve often written that in order to do this job well and honestly, one cannot judge one’s clients and one must take the place of the client and view the world through his eyes. We are the client. We are his advocate and his shepherd. Where does Labriola stop? If some clients are deserving of the death penalty, are others deserving of life without the possibility of release? Are others deserving of 60 years in jail, because, in his opinion, they’re bad people? How do we differentiate the role of the prosecutor from that of the defense attorney? At what point do we stop becoming an advocate and start becoming a mouthpiece – a mere messenger?
For many in this field, capital defense is the holy grail. It is the one job that embodies every ideal that leads us to this work: the defense of those who are most undeserving, the fight for another’s life, the pushback against the mightiest weapon the State possesses in its arsenal. Death penalty defense is more than a job. It is the embodiment of an idea. I believe that one can be a great defense attorney and not like all the crimes that our clients are charged with. Great lawyers refuse to represent people accused of sex crimes. I disagree with that, but I can see it. I believe, however, that anyone in favor of the death penalty has no business representing individuals accused of crimes.
It does not compute.
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Lagniappe (a word I have shamelessly borrowed from today’s MLK-themed edition of Blawg Review, hosted by the inimitable Mark Bennett): “Judge” Andrew Napolitano goes on FOX to suggest that CT delay the implementation of the death penalty repeal by, oh, 5 years so we can quickly execute the 11 men on death row. The stupendous idiocy of that position hardly merits the waste of more pixels.
To plead or not to plead: a critical question
Mar 21st
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?
So muses Hamlet in Act 3, Scene 1 of Shakespeare’s play of the same name. So goes the quandary faced by criminal defendants in today’s criminal justice system: to plead or not to plead? Is it more advisable to suffer the ignominy of a conviction and lesser jail time up front than to press the sword of trial and hope that it doesn’t turn on you, often to more deleterious effect?
Hamlet had no one to guide him honestly; the modern criminal defendant, however, does: his lawyer. And it is upon this lawyer that he relies for a frank and learned assessment of the pros and cons of the various options available to him. To argue that the decision to plead guilty or to reject an offer is not a “critical stage” of the criminal process is to disingenuously ignore the realities of this modern day system.
And yet this is precisely what agents of the various States have been arguing for many years. This is a nonsensical fight that I personally have fought for at least 5 years now, without any direct guidance from the United States Supreme Court. Until yesterday.
In two sure to be seminal cases, Lafler v. Cooper and Missouri v. Frye [both PDF], the Supreme Court unequivocally held that the right to counsel at all “critical stages” of a criminal proceeding means the right to effective assistance of counsel at those stages and yes, Dorothy, the plea bargain is a “critical stage”.
The argument for this holding is best explained by stating the position of those against it. The position against is this: so long as a defendant receives a fair trial, it is irrelevant whether – and to what extent – his lawyer erred in the time leading up to that trial. Reductio ad absurdum, to these folks, if a lawyer never speaks to his client prior to the trial and conveys no offer, it doesn’t matter, because the right to effective assistance of counsel only has force in the context of a criminal trial.
To a less absurd degree, take the case of Lafler, whose lawyer told him that he should reject a very favorable pre-trial offer and instead make the State prove its case because there was no way he could legally be convicted of attempted murder, since the victim was shot in the leg.
You don’t need 3 years of law school and a passed bar exam to tell you that’s just wrong. Stupid, wrong and dangerous. But the States would have you believe that it is of no moment that such patently faulty advice was given, because Lafler received a fair trial.
Justice Kennedy, writing for both majorities, explains it well:
The reality is that plea bargains have become so central to the administration of the criminal justice system that defense counsel have responsibilities in the plea bargain process, responsibilities that must be met to render the adequate assistance of counsel that the Sixth Amendment requires in the criminal process at critical stages. Because ours “is for the most part a system of pleas, not a system of trials,” Lafler, post, at 11, it is insufficient simply to point to the guarantee of a fair trial as a backstop that inoculates any errors in the pretrial process. “To a large extent . . . horse trading [between prosecutor and defense counsel] determines who goes to jail and for how long. That is what plea bargaining is. It is not some adjunct to the criminal justice system; it is the criminal justice system.”
While the significant role of plea bargaining cannot be diminished (also why ideas like taking every case to trial are stupid and unethical), I would argue that the right to effective assistance pre-trial is not a product of only that large impact of the plea process. It is also a matter of simple logic and ethical responsibility. As I’ve long argued, we are our clients’ shepherds through this complicated quagmire that we call the criminal justice system. The layman, untrained in the nuances of this system, look to us to proffer advice and most often follow our advice. How would you feel if you were given bad advice by the person whose only responsibility was to give you good advice?
Simply put, the issue boils down to this: if you have a right to have a lawyer give you advice, then you have a right to have that lawyer give you competent advice.
This is an outcome that everyone involved – judges, prosecutors and defense attorneys – should be cheering, because it ensures that the system is fair. That is not to say that all advice given by counsel that a defendant doesn’t like is per se ineffective, as some folks1 would have you believe. Rather that a court should evaluate that advice to determine whether it was sound. I suspect that in the vast majority of cases, the advice will be deemed so. But there will also be cases where, but for the misadvice of counsel, the defendant would have not been worse off.
The problem with these opinions lies – as it often does – with the remedy. Here is where I part ways with Justice Kennedy. He writes, in the context of a sentence after a jury trial and a rejected plea agreement:
The specific injury suffered by defendants who decline a plea offer as a result of ineffective assistance of counsel and then receive a greater sentence as a result of trial can come in at least one of two forms. In some cases, the sole advantage a defendant would have received under the plea is a lesser sentence. This is typically the case when the charges that would have been admitted as part of the plea bargain are the same as the charges the defendant was convicted of after trial. In this situation the court may conduct an evidentiary hearing to determine whether the defendant has shown a reasonable probability that but for counsel’s errors he would have accepted the plea. If the showing is made, the court may exercise discretion in determining whether the defendant should receive the term of imprisonment the government offered in the plea, the sentence he received at trial, or something in between.
This proposed model of determining remedy is fundamentally unsound. The general underlying principle is – and should be – that the defendant, when disadvantaged by the Constitutional violation, should be placed back in the position he was in before the violation so disadvantaged him. See, e.g., Santobello v. New York. To suggest that an appropriate remedy for this Constitutional violation could be the same sentence he received as a result of this violation is incongruent and incomprehensible. In my mind, the only appropriate remedy2 is the first one: if the defendant can establish that the plea was rejected as a result of ineffective assistance and the plea would have been accepted by the judge, the only way to make the defendant whole is to sentence him to the terms of that plea. Anything else would be a band-aid on a gaping wound.
Finally, there will always be naysayers even among the defense bar. To them, I repeat words I wrote just under two years ago:
Ineffective assistance of counsel is a sort of “dirty” phrase in the criminal defense world. It is viewed by many as a personal attack and is met with scorn, anger and derision directed toward those who practice in the post-conviction arena. That this view is prevalent among the bar is alarming. It belies a fundamental misunderstanding of the duties and responsibilities of the defense lawyer in the criminal justice system.
IAC claims are not a taint on your reputation nor is it an indictment of your abilities. It is a recognition of the simple fact that we are all working within a juggernaut of a system that from time to time overwhelms even the best of us. At the end of the day, it is you and I who go home to our comfortable beds. You and I have the ability to walk outside in the free world and to buy what we choose and talk to whom we want, whenever we want. To place our petty egos and some twisted sense of self-worth before the complaints of the convicted client, who has nothing but a badly beaten and bruised writ to use to seek his release from the oppressive conditions of confinement in our penal institutions is pettiness of the ugliest kind.
This may be getting repetitive, but it cannot be said enough that in order to truly serve our clients we must view ourselves as nothing but an extension of the individual client. We must be the client, at every moment that we represent them. We – criminal defense lawyers – are not parties to a criminal case. The client is. We are his representative. We must, at all times, remember that and act like it.
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1. The analogy given by the good folks at C&C is, simply put, stupid and inapposite. This is not a situation where “you offer to buy my car for $10,000. After consulting with my expert, I reject the offer. Turns out my expert gave me bad advice. The next week, I want to go through with the deal. In the meantime, though, I have wrecked the car. Would it be fair to make you pay me $10,000 for the now-wrecked car?” The expert has no duty to give me advice and my “wrecking the car” is not analogous to going to trial with that expert as my advocate.
2. The same good folks at C&C suggest that the appropriate remedy should be that “the defense lawyer should be personally liable for the cost of the trial. If the defense was the public defender’s office, the cost of prosecution should be transferred from the public defender’s budget to the district attorney’s budget.” If it wasn’t clear prior to today that the good folks at C&C were only concerned with obtaining convictions and watching people murdered by the State, it should be now. Such a rigid, simplistic view of the by-its-nature murky and unclear business of assigning guilt does a disservice to everyone.
Free-ish
Jan 12th
Sometimes I think that if it weren’t for Georgia and Justice Thomas, I wouldn’t have much to blog about. Having fulfilled the Thomas quota for the night, I now move on to that rotten peach of a state, which seems to be continually perplexed at the existence of the thing called “the indigent defendant” and completely at a loss to deal with them and their pesky “constitutional” rights.
Why just yesterday, the Georgia Supreme Court heard oral argument in a case where the issue, as framed by the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, was:
whether the state’s public defender system can ethically provide and — and also afford — conflict-free representation for thousands of indigent clients.
Go ahead, shed that tear. More, from the concisely named GeorgiaCriminalAppellateLawBlog (a LexBlog production, natch):
So, it came to pass that Michael Edwards, the leader of a circuit public defender’s office in South Georgia came to oral argument at the Supreme Court yesterday where he sat at the same table with an Assistant Attorney General, a prosecutor. Both the prosecutor and the the “public defender” appeared as co-counsel to argue against a bar rule regarding imputed conflicts in the representation of the poor.
What is this cataclysmic event that brought the two sides together? An ethics opinion [PDF], opining rather uncontroversially that:
Lawyers employed in the circuit public defender office in the same judicial circuit may not represent co-defendants when a single lawyer would have an impermissible conflict of interest in doing so.
In plain-speak-ese, if you – an individual lawyer – can’t represent co-defendants at the same time due to a conflict of interest, then neither can anyone else from your office. Not groundbreaking, not so far beyond the pale that it required the unholy union of a public defender and an attorney general.
The United States Supreme Court has long maintained that “a criminal defendant is entitled to be represented by an attorney free from conflicts of interest”. Wood v. Georgia, Strickland v. Washington, Cuyler v. Sullivan…I could go on and on. In fact, I can’t think of an ethical duty that is more important for the criminal defense attorney than this one to provide conflict-free representation. Just as the prosecutor’s duty is to seek justice (go ahead, chortle), ours is to our client and only to our client.
Yet it is this very duty that seems to give defense attorneys the most trouble. It is this unambiguous, bright line, don’t-touch-with-someone-else’s-10-foot-pole duty that somehow turns into a jumbled, confusing incomprehensible mess when it works its way through the neurons of public defender officials. It was this precise issue that the Connecticut Appellate Court considered last October (albeit erroneously concluding there wasn’t a conflict).
How then, given the Constitutional right and the ethical obligation, could the public defender’s office argue that it shouldn’t be required to provide this conflict-free resolution? The answer, as always, is money.
Stunningly, the explanation from the Georgia public defender isn’t that the right doesn’t exist, but that he can’t afford to provide it:
Mr. Edwards pointed out that he can’t afford to engage in egg-headed “philosophical” or “academic” discussions as a GPDSC bureaucrat. He has to be pragmatic about all this. We can’t afford to get off on this business about right and wrong. If you want conflict-free representation, then either stop getting accused of crime or stop being poor.
He didn’t say that last bit, but he might as well have. Public defenders have enough of a PR problem as it is. Siding with the state on whether to provide our clients conflict-free representation isn’t really helping our cause.
Look, I get it. There is only so much money and there are only so many resources. The answer, however, isn’t to capitulate and argue that our clients should be entitled to conflict-free-ish representation, but instead to do what we’re supposed to: stand up for our clients and demand the State to adequately fund the prosecutions they seem so happy to initiate. If, in this no-brainer of a situation, we public defenders take positions that are clearly contrary to our clients’ interests, then is it any wonder that they refuse to trust us and call us pawns of the prosecution?
The duty isn’t ambiguous or predicated on the availability of funds. Free isn’t free-ish.
Wrong time, wrong battle
Mar 28th
There are several “rules” of practice that all criminal defense lawyers would be well served knowing and understanding. One of them is that we must and should engage in battles with the prosecutors and courts for the sake of our general clientele. But one that is even more paramount, one that goes to the core of our mission to represent each and every client individually, is that you must never fight a battle to the detriment of a specific client.
And I get that this is even more of an issue with public defenders offices across the country, where the ever-increasing pressure of funding cuts leads to the inevitability of “taking a stand” and showing the clueless politicians in the state legislature just how devastating the impact of their poorly thought out budget reductions will go. I get that, even in the relative nirvana of Connecticut, we are severely understaffed in most of our public defender offices. And I get that it’s worse in places like Georgia and Florida and South Carolina.
But just like you’d never forgo a misdemeanor with a suspended sentence in favor of testing out your latest brilliant challenge to the constitutionality of a serious felony statute, there’s a place and a time to fight these fights. And that time isn’t at a critical stage of a criminal proceeding. So it irked me to read Bobby G.’s post today, about a seemingly office wide policy of the public defender’s office in Horry County, SC, to automatically waive all preliminary hearings for clients who are entitled to them.
South Carolina is an odd place to people from the Northeast, like me. They use terms like “general sessions courts” and “solicitors”. They still utilize a grand jury, and – although he doesn’t use it in his post – I bet they have something mechanism whereby cases are “bound over” to some other place.
But the commonality in the language we use this:
Deluding yourself is deluding the client
Mar 15th
Sometimes I wonder what practicing as a criminal defense lawyer would be like if the State only arrested innocent people; if all my clients were, indeed, not guilty. It would be a burdensome practice, for sure. And exceedingly infuriating. As every criminal defense lawyer will tell you, one inevitably comes to believe in the not-guilt of a client with whom you are preparing to go to trial. Every inconsistency in the State’s case becomes magnified, every weakness exaggerated, every defense rock-solid. There is no way to lose, we say to ourselves.
But the reality is, unless you can pick and choose your clients, you will lose. More often than not. Frequently, even. Which is why the inevitable “how many trials have you won” question from an antagonistic client gets under my skin. None, I often respond. But what I really want to add is “that’s because I haven’t had an innocent client yet”. Recognizing that that is nothing more than a hurt ego lashing out, I resist.
But maybe there is something to be learned. Perspective, after all, matters. As defense attorneys, we regularly complain that the state and the man wearing the robes commence discussions and negotiations with the presumption of guilt. Due process, the burden of proof and all the rest of it are fine concepts, in principle and need to be upheld on a daily basis, for without them we would be left with a terrifying shambles of a system.
The reality, though, is that they’re right, for the most part. The system doesn’t just go about arresting perfectly innocent people willy-nilly. And the blind faith in the innocence of each and every client does them a disservice. Clients come to us – or we are thrust upon them – for our expertise, our knowledge and our advice. It is imperative that we consider every possibility and assess it accurately before suggesting the most prudent course of action.
Our job isn’t to “win” or to put on a great trial or to take on the State. It’s to protect the client’s ass, which, most of the times, they have no interest in doing. We fail miserably at our jobs if we adopt the same reckless abandon that they have to their future. We are in the mitigation business, unfortunately and even more so for others, we are akin to actuaries.
What is the most likely outcome, we are required to advise, and what is the best way to minimize negative consequences? Crunch the numbers and viola, we have a recommendation.
Do not, for a second, mistake this to be a growing disinterest or disillusionment with the role of the defense attorney, but the opposite: an expanding awareness of the pragmatism that is needed – required, even – to perform this job well. In the end, I do not sleep in a jail cell; the client does. And if that outcome is more likely than not, is it not my job to ensure that such an undesirable circumstance occurs for the least amount of time possible? And what, then, is the most certain way to achieve that outcome?
Prepare every case as if it were going to trial, because that meticulous preparation will inevitably lead to better offers from the State. But recognize that the plea deal is more often than not the sounder of the two choices. Because, in the end, experience tells us that the defendant almost always gets screwed. How badly he gets screwed is up to us.
Clowning around in Georgia
Nov 12th
Why is it always Georgia? The latest, via Volokh, from the Georgia Peach State:
The record in this case establishes that the prosecutor, in the final moments of her concluding argument on behalf of the State, “clicked” her fingers at which signal one of the deputies in the courtroom turned out the lights and an associate prosecutor “popped out a cake out of a grocery bag” complete with eight candles, which were then lit with a lighter brought into the courtroom; the prosecutor and her associate then proceeded to sing to “dear Josef,” i.e., the deceased victim, the celebratory words to “Happy Birthday.”
This was during the closing arguments of a murder trial, where a couple were charged with the death of their son Josef. The defense lawyer, apparently one of the “top 5 defense attorneys in Georgia” didn’t object. Sorry, Manny “Top 5 defense attorney in Georgia” Arora, but you’re an idiot. How any defense attorney worth the paper his degree was printed on could restrain himself from jumping up from his seat, and protesting the blatant appeal to jurors’ sympathies is beyond me. But maybe I don’t think this way:
Arora testified at the motion for new trial hearing that he made a strategic decision not to object to the “Happy Birthday” song during closing argument. Specifically, Arora thought that the “Happy Brithday” song was so “preposterous,” “absurd,” and “over the top” that “it would turn the jurors off,” and that he should not call any more attention to it by objecting to it.
“Strategic decision” is the language that full-of-themselves lawyers hide behind when they realize that they’ve – to put it simply – royally screwed up, but don’t want to take the hit to their reputation. It’s also the language that courts use to coddle these lawyers. Anyone who’s ever honestly practiced criminal law and who puts the client’s interests before their own will see this for what it is: bullshit. But then again, I guess one doesn’t get invited to be “a legal analyst for Atlanta’s ESPN radio affiliate 680 The Fan and regional television show Sports Nite” and “a frequent guest on CNN, Fox News, ESPN” and be “quoted as a legal expert in the New York Times and USA Today” by admitting that they screwed the pooch while defending the liberty and freedom of two individuals. If you were a real lawyer, Manny “Top 5″ Arora, you’d admit your mistake and not hide behind a legal fiction.
What’s more disturbing is that the court approval of this argument is undermined by the instructions given to the jury by the trial court:
Sometimes a fool is just a fool
Jul 12th
A client who represents himself has a fool for a lawyer. And fools are, by their very description, entitled to make foolish decisions. As those in the legal profession know well, just because a client makes a foolish decision, it doesn’t mean that he’s incompetent. Well, not always anyway.
So recognized the Ninth Circuit in a recent decision in United States v. Johnson. The defendants were tried on a bunch of boring fraud type stuff and they represented themselves, putting for a defense that was gibberish. No, that’s not my characterization, it’s the Ninth Circuit’s:
Defendants Kurt F. Johnson and Dale Scott Heineman were indicted for conspiracy and multiple counts of mail fraud related to their illegitimate debt-elimination business. They were adamant in their desire to represent themselves and assert an absurd legal theory wrapped up in Uniform Commercial Code gibberish.
It always tickles me to read words like “gibberish” in appellate opinions.
Life without possibility of redemption
Jun 17th
I sat in a prison cell yesterday. And not your regular bullpen where they cram in 4 people who’re waiting to go to court. The real deal. Where our clients sleep at night (and often during the day). That of the 60 square foot variety.
There was a bed – a small bed – that was the length of the room. At the foot of the bed a metal toilet, with no cover. Just beyond that the heavy metal door, with a slit for a window. The door was maybe 3 feet wide, if that. At the head of the bed, if you were laying on your right side, you’d be about half a foot away from an ugly metal desk with holes that pretended to be drawers. This could not have been more than a foot long. The bed was flush with one wall. The desk with the opposite.
The bed looked hard, cold and dirty. And that’s it. This particular cell happened to have a window at the head of the bed. A window looking out onto nothing. Any future inhabitant of this particular cell would have it good. It was a single. Across the narrow passageway from this cell was another, identical in every respect except two: it was a double cell and there was no window. (Here’s a post I wrote a while ago about a different take on prisons in a foreign country.)
I didn’t have the courage to ask my escort to have them close the cell door for a minute, locking me in. It was nauseating and claustrophobic enough as it is. Maybe I was having a panic attack, or maybe the air in there was dead, like the spirits of the men that inhabit these cells, but I thought I was going to faint.
I willed myself to stand there, though, for a minute. To look around at the bare walls, the bare desk, the dirty toilet and imagine someone “living” there.
I even briefly closed my eyes and tried to picture myself there, day in and day out, for months, which turned into years, which turned into decades.
That bus is not for your client
Jun 8th
The internet has changed everything. Every fool with no money has a blog, every newspaper website caters to the lowest common denominator and every twit can Tweet for free. A percentage of these are former and current clients, both gruntled and dis.
Back in the old days, when you walked 20 miles to work, uphill, in blizzards, with no shoes, the only medium for clients to express their displeasure was filing a grievance with the state bar. Now, clients are able to air their grievances in a more public forum, with no restrictions that their complaints be made in good faith or sworn to.
And since you are what the internet says you are, how far can (or should) one go in response, asks Mike C:
What if a former client writes: “My lawyer was terrible. He never returned my calls or e-mails. I had a million-dollar case, and she blew it!”
Some prospective clients might read that blog entry, and thus never call the lawyer. Current clients might get nervous. Other lawyers might decline to refer a case to the bad lawyer.
Under the current Rules of Professional Conduct, it would certainly be unethical for the lawyer to write: “John Smith called me 5 times each day. He asked the same questions over and over again. After evaluating his case through discovery, we realized his case was marginal. We told him to settle the case for $25,000 – nuisance value. He refused. The trial court dismissed the case on summary judgment. Now he’s angry. By the way, you can read the case filings here, here, and here to decide for yourself whether we blew a huge case.”
Does that Rule make sense? A lawyer can lose business. Online reputation matters – not for a lawyer’s ego – but for his business. The law offers trademark protection. A brand matters. A lawyer is only as good as her name. Shouldn’t a lawyer be able to breach some aspects of the attorney-client privilege in order to protect her name?
First off, this really is nothing new, at least for those of us in the high-volume criminal defense business. I’ve had clients tell me they didn’t want me to represent them and wanted me to, in the same week, based on what their then-cellmates told them about me. You are as good as your current client’s former cellmate says you are.
Second, the differences between revealing confidences to defend against a disciplinary proceeding and responding to a blog post or newspaper comment are quite obvious. The grievance proceeding requires you to defend against the accusations, for failing to do so affects your livelihood.
But what of Mike’s point of the reputation of the lawyer in this age where more and more people are relying on the internet to secure representation? I have the wherewithal to explore any concerns I might have about a prospective lawyer with real people who know that lawyer and that lawyer’s work, but might a potential client? Why shouldn’t a lawyer have the ability to respond, albeit in a limited fashion to that Festivus tradition?
Scott’s take is similarly multi-faceted. He, too, recognizes the need to permit the attorney to have the ability to respond in some fashion, but cautions us that it is constrained in many ways by our continuing obligation to our clients:
[In response to Mike's hypothetical] I’m not entirely clear that’s accurate. Waiver of privilege is an all or nothing proposition. Once a client discloses confidential communications to others, it constitutes a waiver. It’s the client’s to waive, and there’s nothing to prevent her from doing so. It may be stupid and foolhardy, and the client may not realize the significance of disclosure and waiver, but it’s her right to let the world know what happened within the sanctity of the attorney/client relationship. Once waived, however, the privilege is extinguished. Like pregnancy, it’s not just a little waived. It’s waived. End of privilege.
Thus, while there may be no ethical or legal impediment to the use of privileged communications to fend off an attack, and while waiver means waiver, we nonetheless have a duty to disclose no more than is necessary to respond, and a duty to do no harm to the client in the process. While the best defense may be a good offense under other circumstances, we’re constrained to use the least harmful defense possible.
Clearly, the limits placed on our ability to lash back at those who might lash out at us puts lawyers at something of a disadvantage in a street fight, and certainly an attack on the internet can bear all the indicia of a street fight.
I don’t know much about the grievance process and the extent of confidential communications and privileged information that one can disclose in response to a grievance, but there is another area of the law in which confidences are routinely disclosed and that’s the post-conviction setting.
The blind leading the blind?
Jun 7th
We are counselors, which is a term that is broader than attorney or lawyer. Counseling implies so much more than merely representing someone in court in a criminal or civil matter. It is our job to counsel, to advise. We are not cheerleaders and we are not enablers. I often tell clients that they may not like what they hear from me, but that I will not lie to them or blow smoke up their ass, because it is my responsibility to give them all the information so that they make the best decision for them.
Flowing from that duty – and particularly important in criminal cases – is the ability to accurately assess the strengths and weaknesses of the State’s case against the client and analyzing the risks and benefits of going to trial. Everything we do leads up to that. Some others have written (Bennett I can remember for sure, but I can’t find the post) that their focus from the first court date is preparing for trial. It is through that preparation for an eventual trial that we as counselors can fully understand the intricacies of the matter. Investigate fully and discover that there exist no defenses? Your advice to the client reflects that. Realize that their witnesses are shaky and the evidence questionable but the offer is good enough to hedge against any “wild card” eventuality? The advice varies accordingly.
But a new paper [pdf] suggests that perhaps we’re all a little full of ourselves and overestimate the strength of our case.
Lawyers’ litigation forecasts play an integral role in the justice system. In the course of litigation, lawyers constantly make strategic decisions and/or advise their clients on the basis of their perceptions and predictions of case outcomes. The study investigated the realism in predictions by a sample of attorneys (n = 481) across the United States who specified a minimum goal to achieve in a case set for trial. They estimated their chances of meeting this goal by providing a confidence estimate. After the cases were resolved, case outcomes were compared with the predictions. Overall, lawyers were overconfident in their predictions, and calibration did not increase with years of legal experience. Female lawyers were slightly better calibrated than their male counterparts and showed evidence of less overconfidence. In an attempt to reduce overconfidence, some lawyers were asked to generate reasons why they might not achieve their stated goals. This manipulation did not improve calibration.
There’s no need for me to get into the paper in detail. You can read it for yourself; it isn’t very long. Striking is the fact that there wasn’t much of a difference between civil lawyers and criminal lawyers. Also notable is that attorneys were overconfident regardless of their experience. This sample tended to overestimate their chances of success at the same rate.
There is a cautionary tale here and something to be learned. No matter our desire to test the latest theory or try a new creative challenge or approach to the “type” of case we have before us, we must remember one thing: client’s cases are not grounds for experimentation. In our field, if we are wrong, someone goes to jail – and often for a very long time.
The client is, in a sense, blind. They rely on us to counsel them, to lay out the alternatives, the pitfalls and how best to navigate them. We are useless if we are blinded by overconfidence.
It is incumbent upon us to offer educated advice and only offer that when we are ready. If there’s one thing I’ve learned that I can deign to share with the rest of the world, it is that there is no such thing as a sure fire win in criminal law. If you don’t think you can lose, you will.
When relaying an offer, or advising a client to reject one, I ask myself: “would I do what I am recommending the client do?” Because if I can’t follow my own advice, I have no business suggesting it to someone else.
Of course, the client is free to do as he pleases. It’s his liberty on the line, after all.
If you’re not ready, neither is your client
Jun 3rd
War stories are a great way of passing time. It’s a slow day in the office and you end up in a long conversation with a colleague who’s been there and seen that. While mostly entertaining, the stories are also useful for one other thing: they’re a training tool. A veritable what’s what of what not to do.
I won’t bother you with this particular story, but there’s something to share, something that seems so obvious yet is often neglected by lawyers either because they don’t give a damn or don’t have the damn time.
If you’re not ready to plead, neither is your client.
Simple, isn’t it? Yet in the high-volume courts across the country, offers are routinely made and accepted or rejected on initial court dates or before investigation can be started or before you have the time to learn your client’s name and tell him from a hole in the wall.
If you wouldn’t know enough to take the offer, your client doesn’t either.
It’s difficult to do, resisting the tide that builds up, demanding swift disposition. It gets embarrassing, asking for continuance after continuance because the investigation isn’t complete. The caseload keeps piling up, the numbers look astronomical and ugly. I get it. There just isn’t enough time.
But this is non-negotiable, folks. Would you listen to a lawyer who said: “take this offer. I’m sure it’s a good one, but I can’t tell you why because I don’t know enough”? Obviously not. Yet we ask our clients to place their trust in us, to rely on our judgment and our opinion. The least we can do is take the time to make sure that we are in a position to recommend acceptance or rejection of that offer.
I’ve said it on occasion: “Sorry, judge. I need more time. I’m not ready to convey this offer to my client.” If I haven’t been dilatory in my handling of the case, what’s the judge going to say? After all, no one likes a habeas.
More than that, no one likes a client who’s forced into doing something because his lawyer didn’t take the time to make sure it was the right thing to do.
So the next time you’re being pushed into conveying an offer to a client or have a client who’s being rushed into accepting or rejecting, ask yourself: do you want to become a war story of the instructional kind?
Institutional coddling
Apr 27th
Lawyers are coddled, writes Rick Casey of the Houston Chronicle, because they can’t be sued unless a client’s conviction is overturned. They’re coddled because they’re not monetarily liable for any errors they make that result in a conviction.
Bennett takes a bite at the apple, which in turn causes Greenfield to jump in. Bennett first:
The aim of the legal system—civil and criminal—when someone is sentenced to more time through the fault of his lawyer should be to reduce that person’s sentence, rather than to compensate him for it. Getting lawyers to help fix their own mistakes should take priority over getting them to pay up.
A rule that encourages lawyers who make mistakes that harm their clients to come clean is preferable to one that encourages them to stonewall. Allowing clients to sue lawyers because their sentences are too long encourages lawyers to stonewall. As the law stands, even with no practical sanction, too many criminal defense lawyers treat an ineffective-assistance claim as a personal affront; better lawyers treat it as one last opportunity to help the client get free. Add a financial penalty, though, and it’ll be only the rare (or well-insured) lawyer who tries to help his client get his sentence reduced.
So the rule that a person who hasn’t been acquitted can’t sue his lawyer for negligence, even if that negligence resulted in a lengthier sentence, benefits not only the criminal defense bar but also—and maybe more so—the wrongfully sentenced.
Bennett mentions the problem I have with coddled lawyers, but only in passing. Greenfield places the blame squarely on our shoulders:
The mistake is a problem, but not the most significant problem. The one that undermines our integrity, and gives rise to Rick Casey’s complaint, is our inability to admit our error and correct it. Rather than concede error, lawyers try to bury it. [...]
Rick Casey’s issue is real, and it’s getting worse rather than better. It was a problem before, and is more of a problem today. We are coddled, and we coddle ourselves. No amount of lip service paid to the defendant we failed, who sits in a prison cell while lawyers ingratiate themselves with others to get more twitter love, cares how many followers we have. This mutual admiration society with people we don’t even know is not a substitute for having the guts to own up to mistakes so that human beings don’t spend a second longer suffering for them than they should.
The answer isn’t disclosing whether we possess malpractice insurance. The answer is being a real criminal defense lawyer, warts and all, rather than just pretending to be one for the benefit of being part of the gang. Do the hard work that minimizes the potential for mistakes. But when a screw-up happens, as it invariably will, make it right.
They’re both right. We are coddled. But they don’t focus on the other “third prong”, as it were, of the coddling. It doesn’t just come from the fraternity of lawyers, but from on high. The coddling of lawyers is institutionalized in our jurisprudence. From the collective mistrust and offhand dismissal of allegations of ineffective assistance that pervades the criminal bar to the vast legal opinions that ridicule such claims to the institutional roadblocks to even getting judicial review of the mistakes made by lawyers in their handling of cases.
Ask anyone who’s tried an ineffective assistance of counsel case. The coddling begins at the beginning. First, the community of habeas corpus lawyers are treated as lepers; outsiders on the lunatic fringes of the criminal defense bar. Trial lawyers are dismissive and uncooperative. Clients seeking redress via The Great Writ are viewed as whiners, their lawyers are traitors. Files aren’t turned over, communication is non-existent and the defenses are raised to maximum alert.
Habeas petitioners then have to jump through unmanageable hoops to actually get the merits of their claims heard by courts. Procedural default, deliberate bypass, cause and prejudice are institutional tools designed to protect the “finality” of convictions and to punish the defendant for failing to do that which a lawyer should have done and didn’t: provide effective assistance and own up to mistakes. The jurisprudence places the onus on the pro-se defendant to recognize that a) his lawyer has messed up and b) that he has an avenue for redress.
And if this defendant is somehow able to surmount the gargantuan task of getting a court to consider the merits, he is faced with the three-headed monster: an uncooperative trial lawyer, a skeptical, cynical and weary judge and a veritable landfill of caselaw that is designed to thwart his every effort to ensure that “justice” is done in his case.
Judicial scrutiny of counsel’s performance must be highly deferential. It is all too tempting for a defendant to second-guess counsel’s assistance after conviction or adverse sentence, and it is all too easy for a court, examining counsel’s defense after it has proved unsuccessful, to conclude that a particular act or omission of counsel was unreasonable. Cf. Engle v. Isaac, 456 U. S. 107, 133-134 (1982). A fair assessment of attorney performance requires that every effort be made to eliminate the distorting effects of hindsight, to reconstruct the circumstances of counsel’s challenged conduct, and to evaluate the conduct from counsel’s perspective at the time. Because of the difficulties inherent in making the evaluation, a court must indulge a strong presumption that counsel’s conduct falls within the wide range of reasonable professional assistance; that is, the defendant must overcome the presumption that, under the circumstances, the challenged action “might be considered sound trial strategy.” See Michel v. Louisiana, supra, at 101. There are countless ways to provide effective assistance in any given case. Even the best criminal defense attorneys would not defend a particular client in the same way. See Goodpaster, 690 The Trial for Life: Effective Assistance of Counsel in Death Penalty Cases, 58 N. Y. U. L. Rev. 299, 343 (1983).
Strickland v. Washington, 466 U.S. 668 (1984). Courts are even given the power to deny the petitioner relief on either prong of Strickland:
How hard is too hard?
Apr 25th
In response to my previous post on lawyer misadvice, a longtime PD and friend of the blog asks: when does counseling end and coercion begin? How hard can you push the client to make a certain decision before it crosses the line? To be sure, it is an important question and a difficult one.
The choices that have to be made about all the “big stuff” – whether to take an offer, whether to testify, whether to waive a jury trial – are the client’s domain. We get to unilaterally handle the “other stuff” – what witnesses to call, what questions to ask, what tact to take.
The reality, however, is that most clients will do what their lawyers tell them to. Clients want this and lawyers recognize this: “Ultimately, you have to decide whether to take this deal or not, but…”
This is an awesome power in our hands – which is why I argue that we must exercise it with the greatest care and in the most informed manner possible – that can easily corrupt us and blur the lines between giving advice and making decisions.
There’s a reason that we wield this power: we are the ones trained in the ways of the system, we have the experience and most importantly, the client can never seem to get out of his own way.
So how hard do we push to convince the client to do A when he seems set on doing B, which is detrimental to him?
Clearly, the outer limits of the spectrum are set: one should not take a hands-off approach and merely lay out the alternatives for the client and one cannot make unilateral decisions on the client’s behalf, either by lying or obfuscating or keeping the client in the dark.
It’s the vast expanse in between that’s tricky. When does forceful and repeated advocacy cross the line into impermissible arm-twisting? In true lawyerspeak, I think the answer depends.
It depends on the client himself, the event that you’re counseling the client about and the level of confidence you have in the conclusion you’ve reached.
Take, for example, the decision to testify. It is indisputably the client’s. Yet, most lawyers will tell you that unless the client is compelling, it is usually a bad idea. Clients, on the other hand, will usually have very strong feelings about whether they want to testify. I’ve yet to encounter one who is ambivalent. They either are adamant that they have to take the stand and present their “side” of things, or are experienced enough to know that, in their case, it would be a terrible idea.
If their conclusion is the same as yours, great. If it isn’t, can you do anything to get the client to change his/her mind? Apprising them of the obvious downsides to testifying is a start: their record, lack of any concrete testimony, demeanor, etc. But what if the client is oblivious to these problems or chooses to ignore them? Do you persist? Do you try a different tact?
I don’t know the answer to that question. I believe that if I am convinced it would be a terrible idea for the client to testify, I would state it in no uncertain terms. I would probably have another lawyer in my office talk to the client to provide a second opinion. I may even do a mock direct/cross of the client to demonstrate the pitfalls. Is that pushing too hard? I don’t know. I don’t think so, but others may disagree.
If, after all of that, the client still persists, well, the only thing you can do is damage control.
Getting back to the original question in this post: how hard is too hard? Put another way, how do you know when to stop?
The answer, I think, is this: when you’re convinced that the client fully understands everything that you understand. Only when you are confident that you have explained all the things that led to you to the opposite conclusion, can you let the client make the “wrong” decision.
Again this depends on the client. For some, it may take one meeting. For others, it may take 5. But this is the only way I can put into words the elusive and shifting requirement of effective representation.
You may have a different view. Tell me about it in the comments.
Effective misadvice is ineffective
Apr 23rd
[Or: Leave your ego in law school]
When Ahmed Kenyatta Ebron was told by his lawyer that he should reject the State’s offer and instead plead guilty without an agreement because “he couldn’t do much worse or words to that effect”, he did what all of us usually hope our clients do: take our advice.
At this open plea, armed with the client’s record and an unfavorable pre-sentence investigation report, the judge imposed a sentence of 11 years to serve, 5 more than the State’s offer of 6.
Mr. Ebron, relying on counsel’s advice, is serving 5 more years than he should be. For now, at least. His conviction has been reversed, based on ineffective assistance of counsel, and that reversal has survived the Appellate Court (I’m not optimistic about its chances at the Supreme Court).
The events leading up to Mr. Ebron’s conviction, the habeas itself and the aftermath raise several points.
First, it is easy to forget that at the end of the day, we are in a service industry. As criminal defense lawyers, our job description is limited to the service of another. We are protecting the rights of others, we are helping others make important decisions about their lives and we are, ultimately, representatives of other people.
That this is easy to forget should come as no surprise. Lawyers have famously large egos. But there is a danger in letting the sense of self overwhelm the duty and responsibility that we have.
It is that duty to the client that compels us to treat each case with the attention that we would give to it were we the defendant. There is no greater sin that can be committed by the defense lawyer than misadvising the client.
Clients rely on us to show them the way, to spell out the alternatives and to recommend one over the other, based on our knowledge, skill and experience, keeping their best interests in mind.
It is imperative that we fully inform ourselves of the facts and circumstances of the client’s case and then, and only then, recommend a final course of action.
I am not suggesting that we must force a client to take our advice; the client remains free to make stupid decisions. But the advice that we give clients must be sound. There are some that take the view that our job is to present the alternatives to the client and then accept whatever decision the client makes. I am not of that view. I believe – and certainly I may take some flak for this – that it is our responsibility to do our best to convince the client to choose the course of action that is in his/her best interests, despite the client’s seeming disapproval of that path.
This, however, can only be done if the advice we give is informed. We can only stand behind the advice we give if we are convinced that it is the best alternative and that decision can only be made with a full understanding of all the circumstances and an awareness of the pitfalls of that and every other course of action. If someone else, years down the road, decides that the advice was unreasonable, so be it. No one gets hurt by that and it only helps the client.
Ebron’s lawyer didn’t do that (and to his credit, took responsibility for it). The standard for effective assistance of counsel is woefully low. To scrape by and meet Constitutional scrutiny, a lawyer needn’t do much. But if you’re aiming for the standard, then you’re not really fulfilling your duty. If you truly believe it is sufficient to perform at a minimum level, then there are other areas of law that might be better suited for you. Stop meddling with the liberties and freedoms of fellow men and women.
…
Ineffective assistance of counsel is a sort of “dirty” phrase in the criminal defense world. It is viewed by many as a personal attack and is met with scorn, anger and derision directed toward those who practice in the post-conviction arena. That this view is prevalent among the bar is alarming. It belies a fundamental misunderstanding of the duties and responsibilities of the defense lawyer in the criminal justice system.
IAC claims are not a taint on your reputation nor is it an indictment of your abilities. It is a recognition of the simple fact that we are all working within a juggernaut of a system that from time to time overwhelms even the best of us.
At the end of the day, it is you and I who go home to our comfortable beds. You and I have the ability to walk outside in the free world and to buy what we choose and talk to whom we want, whenever we want. To place our petty egos and some twisted sense of self-worth before the complaints of the convicted client, who has nothing but a badly beaten and bruised writ to use to seek his release from the oppressive conditions of confinement in our penal institutions is pettiness of the ugliest kind.
The local listserve erupted with comments after the release of the Ebron decision: there were voices from both sides – those that praised the decision and those that lamented the additional burdens it seemingly placed on the defense lawyer (based, it seems to me, on a misreading of the case and the responsibilities it underlines).
Why does IAC evoke such polarized reactions among us? Are we that sensitive? Or is it because we view ourselves as separate and distinct from our clients? Do we believe that the players in the criminal justice system are the State, the judge, the defendant and the defense lawyer? If so, that is a terribly misbegotten view.
This may be getting repetitive, but it cannot be said enough that in order to truly serve our clients we must view ourselves as nothing but an extension of the individual client. We must be the client, at every moment that we represent them. We – criminal defense lawyers – are not parties to a criminal case. The client is. We are his representative. We must, at all times, remember that and act like it.
I will not lie to help a client, but I will not add my name to the list of those that violate his Constitutional rights.
Padilla: It’s not that complicated, really
Apr 11th
[Yes, another Padilla v. Kentucky post. Sorry, suck it up.]
Padilla is what some might call a “landmark” case; altering the landscape at least for the defense practitioner. So, with reason, it has generated much discussion among those of us who’ve chosen to make our views and opinions public. And with any such new “landmark” decision, there’s a difference of opinion as to the impact and specifically in this case, the impact on the duties and responsibilities of the defense lawyer.
Scott has written several posts bemoaning the lack of clarity in immigration law and warning us all that we now have this awesome burden that really isn’t one we can bear. In his latest missive, he enlists the help of Darth Vader Justin Bieber Ken “I used to be a defense lawyer” Lammers at KrimLaw.
There’s nothing better than the simple life, where a handy “cheat sheet” gives a laundry list of everything you need to know. Print it out. Carry it to court. Be brilliant. Except…that’s not really the problem. The problem is that the Padilla duty is largely a no brainer at the extremes, where the immigrant defendant pleads to possession of 457 kilos of cocaine with intent to sell (it’s a little large for personal use anyway), or doing 37 in a 35 mile per hour zone, with or without your windows excessively tinted. The problem is toward the middle of the spectrum, where all this mushy information does little to inform.
[That link is inserted by me.] If I understand Scott’s point correctly, he’s saying that the decision places an unfair burden on us to investigate, learn and give advice about a really complicated area of law, in the mushy in-the-middle circumstances of immigration consequences.
I’m not sure that’s what Padilla requires. Let’s go back to the decision and see what Justice Stevens said:
Immigration law can be complex, and it is a legal specialty of its own. Some members of the bar who represent clients facing criminal charges, in either state or federal court or both, may not be well versed in it. There will, therefore, undoubtedly be numerous situations in which the deportation consequences of a particular plea are unclear or uncertain.
This is exactly the scenario that Scott writes about. So what does the Court have to say about it?:
The duty of the private practitioner in such cases is more limited. When the law is not succinct and straightforward (as it is in many of the scenarios posited by JUSTICE ALITO), a criminal defense attorney need do no more than advise a non-citizen client that pending criminal charges may carry a risk of adverse immigration consequences. But when the deportation consequence is truly clear, as it was in this case, the duty to give correct advice is equally clear.
I’m not sure there’s anything complicated about that. Now, one might turn around and argue that it’s difficult to know in which situations the consequences are “truly clear”. Perhaps. But those situations aren’t tough to figure out. Unless you’re saying “hey, I don’t really want to figure out in what circumstances my client will be deported”.
Ken writes:
I can remember talking to State officials and defense attorneys who specialized in Spanish language defendants and hearing the same thing more than once, “Yes, the feds can deport, but they don’t want to be bothered unless there is a violent felony.” Of course, it wasn’t always phrased quite so blandly. So, the attorney in Padilla’s case may have been giving what was basically reality based advice based upon experience. I haven’t seen the feds swoop in and deport people therefore, they shan’t do it to you. Of course, the problem with this is that the feds can alter their behavior randomly and unilaterally. And, in Padilla’s case someone in the federal government thought that transporting a tractor-trailer full of marijuana might just be a reason to deport someone.
There’s quite the difference between “this is a deportable crime” and “yeah, sure you can be deported, but you won’t be, really”. The former is Constitutionally sound advice; the latter is not. Just because the Feds may or may not deport your client doesn’t absolve you of the duty to inform your client that he is subject to deportation.
And that’s all Padilla requires you to do (which makes it seem more and more like an empty decision, the more I think about it): tell the client there’s a chance he will be deported. It does not impose a duty on you to try and figure out how to prevent him from being deported, but certainly no one will complain if you do.
In the comments to Scott’s post, another blogger writes:
The real problem is that none of the cheat sheets are state specific – criminal law is state specific – immigration law is not – and it is here where these two intersect. You’ve got to know the specifics of the state law and most immigration practicioners do not. And the answer is always, it depends.
Personal experience with immigration lawyers varies and the range of skill within the immigration law bar varies just as much as it does in the criminal law field. But any immigration lawyer worth his degree and reputation will absolutely know the intricacies of the law of the state in which he practices. He has to. After all, most people are deported based on state convictions. So find a good one, talk to him or her. Every reputable immigration lawyer I’ve called has been more than happy to not only give me an educated guess on whether the client is deportable but also on how to avoid that deportation and what the client should plead to.
The bottom line, as far as I can see, is this: If the consequences are clear (and they usually are, save for the myriad drug offenses), then tell your client that he will be subject to deportation. If the consequences aren’t clear, then tell your client that he may be subject to deportation. If he wants to know more, find out. Call an immigration lawyer, go to a CLE. Unless you’ve been catering solely to clients who are citizens, this is going to come up again and again. Spending a day or so learning about the immigration consequences or picking up a phone and talking to someone knows will only make you a better lawyer. Maybe some of you can leverage that into a niche practice.
But remember that the obligation is to the client and the client only. The more you know, the better you serve the client.
[What I think will really end up happening here is that courts will start including an "immigration consequences" portion to their plea canvasses, much like that which is required here in CT by statute: "do you understand that this plea may result in deportation or removal?". Which would - and does - satisfy Padilla and everyone's obligation.]
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