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.

making impropriety cool since 1974

It’s prosecutorial misconduct week here at “a public defender” and I’ve finally come across a decision that invokes no other reaction than the aforementioned Fonzie “ayyy!”. In fact, it’s how I imagine the three judges who signed on to the opinion reacting when faced with all the instances of egregious misconduct and yet rendering a decision that – yet again – condoned and sanctioned the behavior.

This time, in State v. Albino, the Appellate Court cannot but agree that the numerous instances of unacceptable behavior, that they gingerly call “improper”, crossed the bounds of acceptable lawyering, yet somehow they find a way to affirm, because the defendant was convicted of murder, after all and he was really, really guilty.

Here’s but a sampling of the key misconduct. From referring to the decedent as a victim and the crime as murder:

The defendant first contends that the prosecutor acted improperly when he ‘‘repeatedly commented on the guilt of [the] defendant and attempted to influence the jury by his persistent use of the terms ‘victim,’ ‘murder,’ and ‘murder weapon’ throughout the trial …’’ The defendant contends that the prosecutor referred to Rivera as the ‘‘victim’’ thirty-one times, referred to his death as ‘‘murder’’ five times, and referred to the firearm as the ‘‘murder weapon’’ eight times during closing argument. He directs us to similar occurrences during the prosecutor’s questioning of trial witnesses where he alleges that the prosecutor referred to Rivera as the ‘‘victim’’ twenty-seven times, referred to his death as ‘‘murder’’ twelve times, and referred to the firearm as the ‘‘murder weapon’’ six times. We agree that in a case such as this, where the defendant has asserted a self-defense claim, it is improper for the prosecutor repeatedly to use the words victim, murder and murder weapon throughout the trial.

To arguing that in order to believe the defendant, the jury would have to find all the witnesses were lying:

The defendant next contends that the prosecutor violated State v. Singh, supra, 259 Conn. 693, when he argued that in order to acquit the defendant, the jury would have to find that every other witness ‘‘was wrong.’’ He argues that there is ‘‘no distinction between a prosecutor using the word ‘wrong’ or ‘mistaken’ instead of ‘lying’—all are equally improper.’’ The state argues that there is a distinction when such words are used during closing argument. We agree with the defendant.

To improper attempts to bolster the credibility of witnesses:

First, the defendant claims that the prosecutor improperly asked several of the state’s witnesses on direct examination and on redirect examination if they were telling the truth or if they were prepared to tell the truth. This, he argues, was an attempt by the prose-cutor to bolster or rehabilitate the credibility of these witnesses before the witnesses were impeached. The state argues that each of the witnesses had testified that they had pending criminal cases and that they did not want to testify in the present case. The questions posed relating to their truthfulness, it argues, merely were attempts to confirm that despite their reluctance to testify, they still were prepared to tell the truth. We conclude that the questions posed on direct examination were improper attempts at bolstering the witnesses.

and finally to finding that these instances were “central to the critical issues of the case”:

We next consider the fourth Williams factor, the centrality of the improprieties to the critical issues in the case. See id. The defendant argues that ‘‘the prosecutor attempted to obtain a conviction by having the jury consider not the evidence and the charge, but instead, by persistently characterizing [the] defendant’s actions as murder and Rivera as a victim, by bringing in sympathy for Rivera and [by] inflaming the jurors’ passions, by repeatedly emphasizing that his witnesses were credible, by denigrating defense counsel and by arguing that every single witness was lying if [the] defendant was innocent.’’ The state concedes that ‘‘the alleged improprieties affected the central issue in this case, which was whether the defendant murdered the victim or acted in self-defense, but not significantly so.’’ We conclude that the improprieties were central to the critical issues of the case.

And yet, these improprieties didn’t deprive the defendant of his right to a fair trial bec-ayyy! Of course, the Court doesn’t bother to name the offending prosecutor, nor does the Court either impose sanctions or refer the matter to the Grievance Committee for sanctions for this conduct it finds to be improper. The lesson here? Go ahead and do all this stuff we said was improper, because in the end, criminals are criminals and we aren’t going to do anything other than mildly chastise you in a way that will preclude anyone from ever connecting you to this behavior and really, you put a really bad guy away, so we should be giving you a damn award.

Ayyy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_Y0gT-ab90

I wrote almost a month ago about the CT Supreme Court’s extraordinary decision in State v. Patrick Lenarz, in whose case the prosecutor received, read and utilized at trial confidential documents from the defendant to his attorney. The Lenarz case is remarkable not only for the strong language in the decision, but the fact that the Court was so troubled by the actions of the prosecutor that it ordered Lenarz released back in November, after oral argument. In fact, the Court found that the violation by the prosecutor was so egregious that it ordered that the prosecution be dismissed.

But still, this is a prosecutor we’re talking about. The Court doesn’t bother to name the offending prosecutor in its decision, but if you know how to read CT appellate opinions, you know that the last prosecutor listed in the “credits” is usually the prosecutor who handled the matter at the trial court. It is a rather tiresome feature of our appellate courts that they will not hesitate to name defense counsel when evaluating claims of ineffective assistance of counsel, but when it comes to conduct by a prosecutor that is “extremely troubling”, they still cannot bring themselves to put the name down in print, even though the significance of the prosecuting arm of the state using illegal and unethical measures to secure convictions against the citizenry is something far more egregious and dangerous.

But I digress.

As if this coddling and protection of prosecutors wasn’t infuriating enough, the laissez faire attitude toward such impropriety gets even worse with the complete failure of any entity to impose sanctions on that prosecutor. It is a common refrain heard around the criminal justice system that prosecutors are rarely – if ever – held accountable for their “extremely troubling” acts of misconduct. I mean, c’mon, if a court isn’t even going to name them, then do you think there’s ever be any sanctions imposed?

That’s the subject of a powerful article in the CT Law Tribune by former Chief Disciplinary Counsel Mark Dubois, who comments on Lenarz and the failure of courts to correct this misbehavior:

One part of the decision troubled me though. In Lenarz, the majority noted that it was “extremely troubled” by the conduct of the state’s attorney because the communications were clearly of an attorney/client nature, even being noted that at the top of some of the pages. Yet despite being troubled, the court imposed no discipline on the prosecutor.

Professor (I took one of his classes once, so he’ll always be “Professor” to me) Dubois then points out something that I was unaware of, that’s rather surprising:

Practice Book 2-32(a)(2)(F) allows the Grievance Committee to screen out and dismiss any case where the alleged conduct occurred in a court, “and the court has been made aware of the allegations of misconduct and has rendered a decision finding misconduct” or has either determined that no misconduct has occurred or has declined to refer the matter to the Grievance Committee. Yes, “or” can be used conjunctively—“would you like cream or sugar in your coffee?” — but the common use of the word is as a disjunctive. The use of “or” instead of “and” in the rule seems to suggest a presumption that if a court finds misconduct, it will impose discipline. The Grievance Committee, being only an “arm of the court,” cannot act where a court has already taken jurisdiction and found misconduct, even if no discipline is imposed.

Here’s the relevant Practice Book section:

(a) Any person, including disciplinary counsel, or a grievance panel on its own motion, may file a written complaint, executed under penalties of false statement, alleging attorney misconduct whether or not such alleged misconduct occurred in the actual presence of the court. Complaints against attorneys shall be filed with the statewide bar counsel. Within seven days of the receipt of a complaint the statewide bar counsel shall review the complaint and process it in accordance with subdivisions (1), (2) or (3) of this subsection as follows:

(2) refer the complaint to the chair of the statewide grievance committee or an attorney designee of the chair and to a nonattorney member of the committee, and the statewide bar counsel in conjunction with the chair or attorney designee and the nonattorney member, shall if deemed appropriate, dismiss the complaint on one or more of the following grounds:

(F) the complaint alleges misconduct occurring in a superior court, appellate court or supreme court action and the court has been made aware of the allegations of misconduct and has rendered a decision finding misconduct or finding that either no misconduct has occurred or that the allegations should not be referred to the statewide grievance committee;

Prof. Dubois interprets that to mean that once a court has found misconduct and imposed no sanction, the Grievance Committee must not take further action against the prosecutor. But I don’t see where in the rule it says that the Committee cannot proceed with disciplinary proceedings against the prosecutor based on the record created by the appellate decision. I’m assuming the professor knows more than I do in this area, so I invite him to correct my mistake.

Even if that is the case, it certainly does not divest the court of its authority to refer the matter to the Grievance Committee for disciplinary proceedings. And we all know that never happens:

A quick Westlaw search reveals many cases where courts have found misconduct by prosecutors, ranging from Brady violations to evidence destruction to calling defendants “fiends” and “rats.” While some of the misconduct has been sufficient to warrant new trials or dismissals, none if it that I can think of has resulted in discipline of the lawyers involved. Perhaps the appellate courts think that the Grievance Committee will clean up that loose end. But it never happens. And as prosecutors are immunized from civil liability, the conduct goes unpunished.

This indifference approach to ethical violations in the most grievous of settings is another symptom of a system that places finality above all else, that condones the erosion of individual rights and liberties in favor of a more authoritarian society. With the legislature unable to act, it will be up to the Courts – well populated with former prosecutors – to bring accountability in an impartial way. If the Chief Justice is indeed serious about restoring faith and integrity in our justice system, she might want to go further than characterizing the conduct as “extremely troubl[ing]” and actually hold those people who undermine that same integrity responsible.

Don’t hold your breath.

too soon?

Lawyers, despite what some would have you believe, are people too. We eat, we breathe, we cry, we laugh and we sleep. And there’s nothing wrong with that and there shouldn’t be. Except that last one – sleep – specifically if a lawyer decides that the cross-examination of his client, in front of a jury, is the perfect opportunity to catch a few winks.

Sleeping lawyers have been mentioned on this space before [and elsewhere], so I would be remiss in not pointing out the latest escapade of one who allegedly decided to shut his eyes for a few minutes during that oh-so-unimportant part of a criminal trial. This one comes courtesy of the 6th Circuit (and via Volokh) in Muniz v. Smith [PDF], in which Muniz alleged through the sworn affidavit of a juror that his attorney was, in fact, asleep.

I won’t bother with the facts of the case or the outcome, because both are quite obvious: there is no presumed prejudice under Cronic because there is no record that the lawyer was asleep for a substantial portion of the trial and there is no Strickland violation because goshdarnit Muniz was overwhelmingly guilty.

But the Court’s perfunctory analysis of the issues raises a greater problem: what is it that we expect of lawyers in our criminal justice system? Why is it acceptable for a lawyer to be asleep for even as little as a minute during a criminal trial?

In Cronic, SCOTUS said:

Most obvious, of course, is the complete denial of counsel. The presumption that counsel’s assistance is essential requires us to conclude that a trial is unfair if the accused is denied counsel at a critical stage of his trial. Similarly, if counsel entirely fails to subject the prosecution’s case to meaningful adversarial testing, then there has been a denial of Sixth Amendment rights that makes the adversary process itself presumptively unreliable. No specific showing of prejudice was required in Davis v. Alaska, 415 U. S. 308 (1974), because the petitioner had been “denied the right of effective cross-examination” which ” `would be constitutional error of the first magnitude and no amount of showing of want of prejudice would cure it.’ ” Id., at 318 (citing Smith v. Illinois, 390 U. S. 129, 131 (1968), and Brookhart v. Janis, 384 U. S. 1, 3 (1966)).

Circumstances of that magnitude may be present on some occasions when although counsel is available to assist the accused during trial, the likelihood that any lawyer, even a fully competent one, could provide effective assistance is so small that a presumption of prejudice is appropriate without inquiry into the actual conduct of the trial. Powell v. Alabama, 287 U. S. 45 (1932), was such a case.

That the cross-examination of the defendant during a trial is a “critical stage” in the proceedings cannot be denied. It can thus also not be denied that during that cross-examination, the defendant must have the assistance of counsel. It surely would not suffice to say that the defendant must have the assistance of counsel during some periods of the critical stage, but not all. The second paragraph certainly illustrates that: Muniz’s lawyer was technically “available”, so it isn’t a situation where there is an actual denial of counsel, but rather an effective denial of counsel. But can any lawyer provide effective assistance when asleep? Obviously not. So why don’t Cronic and Powell apply? Why is it okay, then, for a lawyer to be asleep during the cross-examination of his client, the defendant?

Cronic nowhere mentions the “substantial portion” requirement. That comes from further caselaw from the circuits interpreting and applying Cronic:

The Ninth, Fifth, and Second Circuits have all considered the question of when sleeping by trial counsel becomes the effective denial of counsel and “so likely .. .prejudice[s] the accused” that Cronic applies and prejudice is presumed. All of these circuits have held that the denial of counsel with presumed prejudice only occurs once counsel sleeps through a “substantial portion of [defendant’s] trial.” Javor v. United States, 724 F.2d 831, 834 (9th Cir. 1984); see also Burdine v. Johnson, 262 F.3d 336, 340-41 (5th Cir. 2001) (en banc) (concluding a defendant’s right to counsel was violated where defense counsel was “repeatedly unconscious through not insubstantial portions of the defendant’s capital murder trial”); Tippins v. Walker, 77 F.3d 682, 685 (2d Cir. 1996) (holding the defendant’s right to counsel was violated where defense counsel was asleep for “numerous extended periods of time”).

This still doesn’t answer the question, of course. The answer is, I suppose, that the Court makes a judgment that there are periods of a trial that are inconsequential. That if, for example, the lawyer falls asleep between witnesses, it clearly doesn’t affect the trial itself (now some might rightly argue that it does, but let’s assume that it doesn’t). But what about during the cross-examination of the defendant itself? The court, is in essence, applying a harmless error analysis to the lawyer’s actions. They’re condoning it because it really wouldn’t have made a difference whether the lawyer was awake or asleep. In doing so, in my opinion, the court conflates both Cronic and Strickland. Cronic, as noted above, says that whether it would have made a difference or not is irrelevant. What’s relevant is merely the fact that the defendant did not have access to counsel during a critical stage and that in those situations, because there is a paramount need to preserve the integrity of the system, we will assume prejudice. Strickland, on the other hand, says that where it is the performance of counsel that is under fire, we will see whether that performance made any difference in the outcome.

Cronic becomes useless.

Reading this opinion and its narration of the meaning and import of Cronic and Cronic‘s application, one is left with the distinct impression that it really is okay for lawyers to take brief naps during a criminal trial. That Cronic‘s language about the effective denial of counsel is meaningless and unenforceable.

Coupled with the very low bar of Strickland that one needs to skip over, it sends the message that we are willing to tolerate everything but the most outrageous instances of misrepresentation of clients.

That we do not require of those among the bar who take it upon themselves to protect and defending the liberties of others to be awake during one of the most crucial acts of the criminal trial. Is it too much to ask that lawyers stay awake when their clients are on the stand? Even if the prosecutor is droning ona and on and it’s after lunch and you’re slipping into that food coma?

Is the message a wink and a nod that those who are prosecuted are really guilty, so attorney performance doesn’t really matter?

Here’s a thought experiment: if you were the attorney, would you sign an affidavit saying you were asleep? Would you testify at an evidentiary hearing and admit that you were asleep during your client’s cross-examination?

That this is condoned is only further evidence of the fact that the purpose of the system is no longer to protect individuals, their liberties or their rights, and there is nary a regard for the appearance of justice, but rather the focus is on ensuring that those who go to trial are convicted and remain convicted.

—-

On a similar note, thanks to a commenter at Volokh, I stumbled across these four videos recording a very odd, disturbing and sad courtroom interaction between an allegedly drunk lawyer and a judge trying to make sense of it all and protect the hapless individual seated at the defendant’s table. I’ve embedded Part 4 of the series below, because it gives the most flavor, but be sure the check out Parts 1, 2 and 3 as well.

I wonder about the prosecution, though. The prosecution that has the Constitutional obligation under Brady v. Maryland to disclose potentially exculpatory information, that – being lawyers – has the ethical obligation of candor to the tribunal and to immediately correct erroneous information presented to the court or the jury.

I haven’t paid much – if any – attention to the facts of the case. A girl went missing, the mom partied and didn’t report it, a body was found(?) but the cause of death couldn’t be pinpointed, Nancy Grace said she was guilty and Casey googled “chloroform” 84 times.

Wait, you mean she didn’t? Oh:

Assertions by the prosecution that Casey Anthony conducted extensive computer searches on the word “chloroform” were based on inaccurate data, a software designer who testified at the trial said Monday.

The designer [of the software that the police used to validate their conclusion], John Bradley, said Ms. Anthony had visited what the prosecution said was a crucial Web site only once, not 84 times, as prosecutors had asserted. He came to that conclusion after redesigning his software, and immediately alerted prosecutors and the police about the mistake, he said.

The finding of 84 visits was used repeatedly during the trial to suggest that Ms. Anthony had planned to murder her 2-year-old daughter, Caylee, who was found dead in 2008. Ms. Anthony, who could have faced the death penalty, was acquitted of the killing on July 5.

…

Mr. Bradley said he immediately alerted a prosecutor, Linda Drane Burdick, and Sgt. Kevin Stenger of the Sheriff’s Office in late June through e-mail and by telephone to tell them of his new findings. Mr. Bradley said he conducted a second analysis after discovering discrepancies that were never brought to his attention by prosecutors or the police.

And we all know that the prosecution and the police did nothing. The state’s already weak and nebulous case was actually weaker. And yet onward they pushed, to try and get the death penalty against a woman they “knew” in their hearts was guilty, just didn’t have that pesky “evidence” to back up. I can understand that if this information had come up pre-trial, the prosecution could’ve wiggled out of disclosing it by using the well-worn trope that in their opinion it wasn’t potentially exculpatory, but to let the court and jury continue under the false impression that evidence before it was accurate when it wasn’t is a serious violation of their ethical obligations. (See here for a prior post on the prosecutors’ obligations to pursue a prosecution they know they can’t prove).

Nothing will happen to the prosecutors, obviously, other than a few people shaking their heads and tut-tut-ing. It’s a good thing she was acquitted. Imagine if this came to light after a conviction?

From the “Well, it’s good to know that at least some things are still sacred” files comes this very recent decision of the CT Supreme Court in State v. Lenarz, which held that yes, prosecutors really aren’t allowed to look at confidential communications between lawyers and defendants and then use that knowledge against the defendant at trial.

Just how egregious was this violation of the attorney-client privilege? Judge for yourself:

During its examination of the defendant’s computer, the state laboratory discovered voluminous written materials containing detailed discussions of the  defendant’s trial strategy in the Granby cases. The state laboratory read and copied much of this material and transmitted it to the Simsbury police department along with its report. In turn, the Simsbury police department forwarded the materials and the report to the prosecutor. At a meeting between the prosecutor and defense counsel some time in September, 2005, the prosecutor provided defense counsel with a copy of the materials that he had received  from the Simsbury police department. Defense counsel immediately requested a meeting with Judge Scheinblum in chambers, at which he advised the judge  that the prosecutor had read materials that were subject to the attorney-client privilege.

This was after the judge had already entered orders that confidential materials on the computer were to “remain unpublished and unread”. But that’s not the end of this:

The state admitted that the prosecutor had read all of the materials and did not dispute that the documents contained trial strategy, but claimed that, because the prosecutor had not conducted any additional investigation and had not interviewed any additional witnesses as a result of reading the materials, the defendant had suffered no prejudice. In addition, the state claimed that the prosecutor had not wilfully violated the attorney-client privilege, but had obtained the privileged materials in good faith.

What were these documents, you ask, and just how is a prosecutor to know they’re privileged? I mean, it’s not like the documents said “TRIAL STRATEGY” or “Confidential” on th- :

We must state, however, that we are extremely troubled by the prosecutor’s conduct in this case. Although the privileged documents were not in the form of  letters or e-mails, it could not have been more obvious on the face of a number of the documents that they were intended to be communications to the defendant’s attorney. For example, one of the documents stated near the top of the first page that ‘‘[t]he following material is confidential and I would ask  that you review it. If this is a case you believe you would have success in defending, I would like to schedule [an] appointment to discuss it.’’ Another document was entitled ‘‘Strategy Issues’’ and stated in the first sentence: ‘‘I think that in the short term, especially for the court appearance on June 8, 2004, that our  objective should be threefold . . . .’’ The first two sentences of another document provided: ‘‘We were asked by our original attorney . . . to keep a log of any  events that we thought might pertain to this case. This document is the result . . . .’’

Oh. Well, I’m sure the prosecutor acted as he would have if he hadn’t read them and didn’t alter his strategy at trial as a resu-what’s that?

Indeed, the record strongly suggests that the prosecutor may have revealed the defendant’s trial strategy to witnesses and investigators. In addition,  consciously or unconsciously, the prosecutor’s knowledge of the defendant’s trial strategy may have affected his selection and examination of witnesses during trial, which is now a matter of public record. Again, the record strongly suggests that the prosecutor drew on his knowledge of the privileged communications  when examining the accusing witness in Docket No [XX] to anticipate and thereby neutralize what otherwise might have been a devastating  cross-examination of that witness.

The Court (at least 4 of the 6 members who sat on this panel) is rightly outraged at these actions by the prosecutor. So much so, that the Court creates a new rule: that there is a presumption of prejudice when inherently confidential materials are disclosed to the prosecutor, intentionally or otherwise, and that presumption is rebuttable only by clear and convincing evidence. The Court then places the burden squarely on the trial court to sua sponte conduct an investigation into this violation and fashion an appropriate remedy that would right the wrong.

The Court concludes:

This is a case in which the prosecutor clearly invaded privileged communications that contained a detailed, explicit road map of the defendant’s trial  strategy. Compounding the problem, the prosecutor not only failed to inform the defendant and the trial court of the invasion immediately, but also  continued to handle the case, to meet repeatedly with witnesses and investigators and ultimately to try the case to conclusion more than one year after the invasion  occurred. Under these circumstances, any remedy other than the dismissal of the criminal charge of which the defendant was convicted would constitute a  miscarriage of justice[.]

You can read the nearly-3-times-as-long dissenting opinion here, which basically argues that the majority is creating a new rule and that the violation wasn’t that bad because we really must assume that a prosecutor who receives these materials, reads them and then alters his trial strategy to counter the defendants did so unintentionally and in good faith and oh, I don’t know. I stopped reading after the 10th page or so.

I think it’s particularly telling that the majority opinion was written by the Chief Justice. CJ Rogers has been on a mission since being appointed chief: a mission to clean up the image of the judiciary and the legal profession. It’s abundantly clear that this isn’t an opinion about criminal law, albeit that is the mechanism for the ruling, but rather about the integrity of the profession, the fairness of the courts and the sanctity of our clearly defined roles and the rules that we must abide by.

Rule 3.8 Special Responsibilities of a Prosecutor

The prosecutor in a criminal case shall:

(1) Refrain from prosecuting a charge that the prosecutor knows is not supported by probable cause;

This Model Rule has been adopted by almost every state other than NY and CA. The United States Supreme Court has made it clear that:

In our system, so long as the prosecutor has probable cause to believe that the accused committed an offense defined by statute, the decision whether or not to prosecute, and what charge to file or bring before a grand jury, generally rests entirely in his discretion.

Bordenkircher v. Hayes. The Connecticut Supreme Court echoed much of the same in Massameno v. Statewide Grievance Committee:

Prosecutors have enormous discretion in deciding which citizens should be prosecuted and for what charges they are to be held accountable.

So it is undisputed that in order for a prosecutor to behave unethically, he would have to persist in a prosecution despite “knowing” that there is no probable cause. Is the corollary then true? That as long as a prosecutor knows that there is that bare minimum probable cause, persisting in an otherwise sure-to-be-doomed prosecution is ethical?

We all know that probable cause is a fictional, low-as-you-want-it standard that is barely a whisper above reasonable suspicion, which itself is another phrase for “hunch”.

What if a prosecutor “knows” that there is probable cause to support the charge, but also “knows” or “believes” that the evidence he presented will barely meet a “preponderance of the evidence” standard? Can he still persist with the prosecution? In other words, can there be probable cause to believe the defendant committed the crime, but also certainty that he will be found not guilty beyond a reasonable doubt? It is the clash of two legal fictions, I know, but the question is still worth asking.

Take, for example, the following scenario: the prosecutor relies on an eyewitness as the only evidence in the case. The eyewitness says that she saw the defendant commit the crime. The defense interviews the Pope, the Chief Justice of the United States and the President of the United States who will all testify that the eyewitness was with them the instant the crime was committed and they were all on a diplomatic trip at the Cape of Good Hope. The prosecutor also interviews the three, but then decides to pursue the prosecution anyway, because he’ll “leave it up to the jury to sort out credibility”.

Would any prosecutor reasonably believe that he’ll get a jury to disregard the testimony of the Pope, the CJ and the POTUS? I doubt it. But under the plain language of the rule, it wouldn’t be unethical for him to persist in the prosecution.

A look at the commentary to the rule may or may not cloud the issue, depending on your viewpoint:

[1] A prosecutor has the responsibility of a minister of justice and not simply that of an advocate. This responsibility carries with it specific obligations to see that the defendant is accorded procedural justice and that guilt is decided upon the basis of sufficient evidence. Precisely how far the prosecutor is required to go in this direction is a matter of debate and varies in different jurisdictions.

To me, it is that phrase that introduces a bit of doubt into the plain language of the Rule. What does it mean by “guilt is decided” and “sufficient evidence”? Can one take the view that guilt is “decided” only after a trial and plea agreements are an “acceptance” of guilt? If that is the case, then doesn’t “sufficient evidence” have to mean evidence sufficient to convince a judge or jury beyond a reasonable doubt? CT Supreme Court’s gloss in Massameno also makes this an interesting question. The Court wrote:

The functions of a state’s attorney are not purely those of an executive officer. As a representative of the people of the state, he is under a duty not solely to obtain convictions but, more importantly, (1) to determine that there is reasonable ground to proceed with a criminal charge; State v. Hayes, 127 Conn. 543, 581, 18 A.2d 895 [(1941), superseded by statute on other grounds as stated in State v. Burns, 194 Conn. 469, 473, 481 A.2d 1077 (1984)]; (2) to see that impartial justice is done the guilty as well as the innocent; and (3) to ensure that all evidence tending to aid in the ascertaining of the truth be laid before the court, whether it be consistent with the contention of the prosecution that the accused is guilty. State v. Harris, 147 Conn. 589, 598, 164 A.2d 399 (1960); State v. Zimnaruk, 128 Conn. 124, 127, 20 A.2d 613 (1941).

If a prosecutor’s duties and obligations extend to the impartial administration of justice (yeah, I know), then in what light must one view the prosecutor who does not believe that he has sufficient evidence to convince a jury that the defendant is guilty of a crime, but persists nonetheless. Are we to put up our hands and say, “well, technically, there is no obligation under the rules” and we can all roll our eyes at the prosecutor behind her back and bad-mouth her. Or is there more?

What if a prosecutor were to write a letter to a defense lawyer and in that letter say “I firmly believe that I do not have sufficient evidence to convince a judge or jury of your client’s guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, but since I believe there is probable cause that your client committed the crime, I am under no ethical obligation to dismiss the charges and hence I will see you in court”? Is that merely sleazy on the prosecutor’s part or does it begin to approach an ethical violation?

The plain language of the rule suggests the former; my antiquated notions of justice suggest the latter.

[Note: This is not a discussion of whether a prosecutor could or should dismiss the charges, but rather whether it is unethical for a prosecutor not to do so. I'm sure there are many prosecutors - some of whom I know personally - who would drop charges that they could not prove beyond a reasonable doubt, despite the presence of probable cause. The question is, are they doing anything wrong by persisting? The answer, it seems to me, is no.]

Folks, I cannot stress how absolutely incredible this is. This, if you will allow me the superlative, is unprecedented. Typically, defendants appeal to the Supreme Court and raise all sorts of issues. Depending on who writes the majority opinion, it takes months or years for the court to rule on the claims. Here, the very next day, the court ordered this man’s release from prison.

So what were his claims on appeal? That the prosecutor engaged in extraordinary misconduct (I refuse to employ the current “impropriety”) by reading documents seized from Lenarz’s computer, which the prosecutor agreed were confidential and protected by the attorney-client privilege:

[Lenarz's attorney] Ferry argued that Lenarz was denied his Sixth Amendment right to counsel because the prosecutor in the case, Christopher Parakilas, read five documents that Lenarz had prepared to help his attorney in defending him. Those documents were on Lenarz’s computer, which police had seized.

Those documents, Ferry argued to the court, were protected by attorney-client privilege. Ferry argued at the trial that the case against Lenarz should have been dismissed because the prosecutor read the documents, even after discovering that they were covered by attorney-client privilege. The trial judge, Judge Leslie I. Olear, agreed that the documents were privileged but declined to dismiss the charges.

After hearing the arguments Thursday, the state Supreme Court — in a highly unusual move — ordered Lenarz’s immediate release on a promise to appear in court.

“That order by the Supreme Court directing Mr. Lenarz be released loudly suggests that it believes Mr. Lenarz was a victim of a serious Sixth Amendment violation by the office of the state’s attorney,” Ferry said. The documents “outlined our entire trial strategy, how we were going to attack the credibility of the accusers,” Ferry said.

The documents gave the prosecution an advantage of “knowing our every move at trial,” he said.

This is astounding hubris on the part of the prosecutor and misconduct (yeah, fuck “impropriety”) of the most intolerable kind. To knowingly read something so sacrosanct as communications between the defendant and his lawyer, made in preparation for trial suggest callous disregard for the Constitution and the very basic principles that ensure fair play in our system of justice.

If a defendant is unable to write candidly and share his thoughts and opinions with the one person who is preparing to defend him, then it puts the very system at risk:

On numerous occasions we have reaffirmed the importance of the attorney-client privilege and have recognized the “long-standing, strong public policy of protecting attorney-client communications.” Metropolitan Life Ins. Co. v. Aetna Casualty & Surety Co., supra, 249 Conn. 48; see also Shew v. Freedom of Information Commission, 245 Conn. 149, 157 (1998) (discussing “well established legal principles governing 157*157 communications between attorney and client”). “In Connecticut, the attorney-client privilege protects both the confidential giving of professional advice by an attorney acting in the capacity of a legal advisor to those who can act on it, as well as the giving of information to the lawyer to enable counsel to give sound and informed advice.” Metropolitan Life Ins. Co. v. Aetna Casualty & Surety Co., supra, 52. The privilege fosters “`full and frank communications between attorneys and their clients and thereby promote [s] the broader public interests in the observation of law and [the] administration of justice.’” Id., 52, quoting Upjohn Co. v. United States, 449 U.S. 383, 389 (1981).

Olson v. Accessory Controls and Equipment Corporation, 254 Conn. 145, 156-7 (2000). I cannot even begin to fathom what lead the prosecutor to read these documents, knowing they were privileged communications. I’m glad the Connecticut Supreme Court sees it the same way.

“Well, what do you mean by won. That can mean many things” I sputtered the old refrain. “No, no,” he shook his head, “how many clients were found not guilty?” I obfuscated, because I don’t play that game and because I knew exactly what was coming next: “Are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure you can handle this? I mean, this is my life on the line here.”

It’s times like these that I think it would be nice to be able to say that I’ve won every single case I’ve tried. To be able to boast of a perfect win-loss record (which, actually, I jokingly did after I won my first trial ever). But there are only three ways that any lawyer practicing criminal law can even hope to achieve that record: 1) by being a prosecutor, 2) by flat out lying about it and 3) by being a defense lawyer who picks his cases very carefully.

But as a wise man once said, criminal defense isn’t about picking winners. Picking winners is an idealistic business strategy, one that established lawyers may attempt as a product of their long standing reputation and the desire to build upon that reputation and create an aura. But, in the end, it is nothing more than an ego-boosting business plan.

Which has nothing to do with the reality of criminal defense. The two are at odds, for one shouldn’t become a criminal defense lawyer for the sake of their reputation or win-loss record or to pad their coffers (though that is a necessary by-product). There are some that argue otherwise:

‘Everyone is entitled to be represented by an attorney’ is the idealistic chant often recited by defense attorneys as justification for representing even the most vicious criminals in our society. The concept is unassailable, but idealism is rarely what motivates lawyers who represent guilty defendants. They take the work because trying cases is their livelihood, and they are ambitious to advance their careers. These motivations, while not improper, are clearly not idealistic.

True idealism would be involved in a hypothetical situation such as the following. Suppose a family is brutally murdered in a small town, and none of the six lawyers in town is willing to represent the suspect because the enraged citizens are all convinced of the suspect’s guilt and no lawyer wants to be ostracized in the community for attempting to get the suspect off. Finally, one attorney steps forward and says, ‘I don’t care what my friends at the Rotary Club and the First Baptist Church say. This is America, and everyone is entitled under the Sixth Amendment to our Constitution to be represented by an attorney.’

This, as Mark has already pointed out, is nothing more than the worship of a false God. An attempt to fit the nobler attempts of others into their own baser paradigms. As a public defender, I do not have the luxury of choosing the clients I represent, yet I do my job with no ambitious desire to “advance my career”. The only ambition I have is to become a better lawyer and represent my clients – especially the guilty ones – more effectively.

I may be in the minority here, but it is my opinion that it is easier to represent the obviously innocent client. It takes a much stronger constitution to represent those whose guilt has been presumed in they eyes of all others. It takes more than paying lip service to the greatest fear: that we defend the guilty as well as the innocent because we cannot fathom the horror of an innocent man going to jail.

Because the injustices of the system manifest themselves in more ways than the mere conviction of a man against whom there is little or no evidence. There are the guilty-of-something-lesser, the guilty-but-for-good-reason, those that are deserving of more than cursory process. The ideal is to stand side by side with a man who may well have committed terrible crimes and to say to him: I do not care whether you are guilty or innocent and I will fight to the last to ensure that society treats you with the process and respect that you, as an individual, deserve. Maybe I’m an odd duck, but I want this job because the territory mainly encompasses those that are guilty. To me, they are not the afterthought or the unpleasant tax of doing business.

Until you can truly believe that the guilt or innocence of a client makes no difference to the quality of representation that you provide, you are not a criminal defense lawyer. You are a businessman.

The stereotype of the over-worked, under-paid public defender exists for a reason. Even though I’ve personally fought against the stereotype here on the blog and in real life, I must necessarily admit that in a lot of States, the caricature is not a caricature at all, but an accurate representation of the state of indigent defense. Often, the public defender is only as good as the resources and time available to her. The best lawyer may seem incompetent if overburdened and underfunded.

I noted a while ago that a battle was brewing on the state of indigent defense and two recent news items seem to validate that observation. First, via CrimProf, a troubling decision out of Florida, where the intermediate appellate court reversed a trial court’s ruling granting a public defender’s motion to withdraw from one particular case because he could not adequately represent the defendant due to his high caseload. Then, on July 7, the Third District Court of Appeal reversed the trial court, holding that the mere word of a public defender that he was unable to provide constitutionally adequate representation was not enough to establish that the defendant would suffer prejudice:

Our analysis of the record in this case, however, leads us to conclude that there was no evidence of actual or imminent prejudice to Bowens’ constitutional rights. If the trial court’s order stands, all that the PD11 must do to show prejudice is  swear that he or she has too many cases or that the workload is so excessive as to prevent him or her from working on the client’s case prior to the scheduled trial, and that he or she will be forced to file for continuance, thereby waiving the client’s speedy trial rights. This “prejudice” is not the type of prejudice that this Court referred to in State v. Public Defender. Prejudice means there must be a real potential for damage to a constitutional right, such as effective assistance of counsel or the right to call a witness, or that a witness might be lost if not immediately investigated. And this is the critical fact — the PD11 has not made any showing of individualized prejudice or conflict separate from that which arises out of an excessive caseload.

This conclusion is on the back of Florida statute that explicitly prohibits public defenders from withdrawing from cases because of excessive caseloads or inadequate funding:

(d)  In no case shall the court approve a withdrawal by the public defender or criminal conflict and civil regional counsel based solely upon inadequacy of funding or excess workload of the public defender or regional counsel.

Here’s a statute that so blatantly conflicts with the professional and ethical responsibility of a lawyer to withdraw from the representation of a client if he feels he is unable to provide adequate and competent representation. Court, making the determination of whether to permit counsel to withdraw, do so on a case-by-case basis, but to exclude a very real and prevalent reason for that inability to provide adequate representation seems to be problematic on many levels, not the least of which a violation of the separation of powers.

The problem with the standard articulated by the appeals court is further highlighted when viewed against the backdrop of the facts as found by the trial court:

Mr. Kolsky had between 105 and 164 pending felony cases during 2009.  In fiscal year 2008-2009, he had handled 736 felony cases in addition to 235 pleas at arraignment. Because of his caseload, he cannot meet with in-custody defendants until two months after arraignment, and then usually only for 30 minutes. The judge found that “The unrebutted testimony is that Kolsky has been able to do virtually nothing” on the case for which he was seeking an order of withdrawal. His only meeting with the client was at arraignment. He had not investigated the case or discussed discovery with his client. The client was facing a possible life sentence as an alleged habitual felony offender.

In essence, the appeals court is saying that we cannot say whether the defendant’s rights have been prejudiced because he hasn’t gone to trial yet and the sub-text is: “who knows, he may be really guilty and the lawyer can’t do anything about it even if he spent all year working on the case”. That the prejudice required for arguments such as these is the fact of conviction, it is a duplicitous and misleading argument, as I’ve argued before. From the appeals court’s perspective, there is nothing constitutionally deficient or problematic about a defendant going to trial for a case which could result in a life sentence, assisted by a lawyer who’s met him once over 2 yeas and that too for 30 minutes at arraignment.

The idea that a lawyer’s crippling workload renders him unable to spend any time focusing on a particular defendant and that this in turn renders his representation per se ineffective (because, well, he hasn’t done anything!) and prejudices the defendant, is not a difficult one to grasp at all and shouldn’t be outside the reach of the august minds on appellate courts.

But that they choose to ignore this reflects a dangerous attitude that underscores how deep the “guilty until proven innocent” culture runs in the justice system. There may be some hope, though. The appeals court did certify the question of whether the statute is unconstitutional to the Supreme Court of Florida, which accepted that question. It’s up to the court of last resort in Florida to restore a semblance of dignity to the Constitution and the criminal justice system.

[Here's a collection of excessive workload litigation links and filings from the Miami PD.]

The second story comes from the Constitutionally Confused State of Georgia, whose Supreme Court has remanded a case to the trial court to determine whether there has been a systemic breakdown of the public defender system. In Phan v. State, the GA Supreme Court remanded a capital case to the trial court to determine whether a systematic breakdown exists and if that breakdown deprived Mr. Phan, now on his 6th year of incarceration awaiting trial, of his constitutional right to a speedy trial. The deprivation of Phan’s rights here is caused primarily by the lack of adequate funding:

The defense attorneys had wanted funding to go to Vietnam and search for mitigating factors, the lawyers said in court documents. The sole witness identifying Phan as the shooter, Hoangoah Thai, the wife and mother of the victims, returned to her village there after awakening from a seven-week coma caused by her injuries in the shooting, they said. Also, all of defendant Phan’s family remains there.

Those allegations, the state Supreme Court majority wrote, “are based on the notion that budgetary shortfalls and the lack of funding have caused a systemic breakdown of the public defender system.”

Nor have Harvey and Adams been paid for their work. Adams said he last was paid in August 2008, and is owed about $45,000. Harvey, who the court record indicates has not been paid for his four years on the case, was in court and could not be reached for comment. Adams, noting that the state’s public defender system has a $22 million funding shortfall, said he thought his co-counsel was owed about the same amount.

Adams, who is co-chairman of the death penalty committee for the National Association of Criminal Defense Lawyers, said nationwide data from his group shows capital cases are about 10 times as expensive as non-capital cases. He said the average cost of a Georgia death penalty defense is about $360,000, not factoring in prosecution and court costs, and that the Phan case likely would cost more because of factors such as the sole witness being in Vietnam.

In July 2009, Adams and Harvey filed two motions to dismiss the charges against Phan, who has remained in jail since his arrest more than five years ago. They said that the state failed to fund Phan’s defense against the death penalty, and alleged that his speedy trial rights were violated.

Gwinnett Superior Court Judge Ronnie K. Batchelor denied those motions, agreeing that there was a “systemic failure” and noting that the district attorney had agreed as well.

The dissent argues that the evidentiary hearing before the trial court already determined that there was a systemic breakdown, so let’s get on to Barker already. And then there’s the concurrence, which cuts right to the heart of it:

The trial court may take aggressive action to safeguard the public interest and preclude a speedy trial violation … and the District Attorney has the authority to dismiss the death penalty notice, if that will make adequate funding available to the defense and allow for a speedy trial of this case.

Of course, when a prosecutor gets called out in an appellate opinion, said prosecutor has to respond:

When the portion of Nahmias’ concurrence noting the DA’s authority to dismiss the death penalty notice was read to him, [District Attorney] Porter said, “It’s been suggested at several points along the way, and … I’ve considered it but I have not agreed to it … because I’ve always had more or less the feeling that at that point, it’s a capitulation which I’m not prepared to make. If that’s the solution, then why not just do away with the death penalty? The public defenders at that point have managed to win the war of attrition.

I guess it’s easier to stick your fingers in your ears when faced with an increasingly defeaning chorus that the obstinate desire to stick with a barbaric and expensive mode of punishment is contributing to current and future economic ruin of the State and the wholesale trampling of core Constitutional rights. You’re right, Mr. Porter. Just do away with the damn thing already.

The third story is just an update of sorts on the rotten Georgia peach. Jamie Ryan Weis, whom the Georgia Supreme Court told to “fcuk off, coz it’s all ur fault, u crim1nal” (exact quotes, btw) back in March, is seeking cert. from the Supreme Court.