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| Joined: | Mon Nov 21st, 2005 |
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CUT AND PASTED below from the link above.
How the government solves its cases
So the government wanted to make a deal with me. Little wonder. The government couldn‟t make a case without a deal. I remembered studying “Deals 301″ in law school. Professor George Washington Jones, the only black professor at the University of Wyoming, taught the class.
“The government has merely fallen in line with the preponderant persuasion in America—that deals are what it‟s all about—mergers, takeovers, magical pa-per transactions that reap immediate wealth and make the dull and unproduc-tive instantly rich and famous. F**k this making stuff,” Professor Jones cried as he paced in front of the class. That‟s why Professor Jones always got the high-est student evaluation in the law school. The students loved to hear him use solid words. “F**k this work, for Christ sakes! Work is for (the n-word.)” The kids loved to hear him say the “n-word.” He was the only one who could say it. “The money is in deals. Deals, man! And that‟s how the government sees it too.”
“Today, in modern America, the government pretends to investigate, but many agents tap phones and plant bugs under beds so they can listen to the snor-ing and love-making. They‟d rather hear a couple of (n-words) f**k than make an honest case,” Professor Jones said boost-ing his rating ten points. “Occasionally an agent subpoenas a document, and if things get boring a couple of honkies with the collars of their topcoats turned up and wearing snap-brimmed fedoras and imitation Porsche sunglasses corner a witness and scare the living shit out of him. But they don‟t engage in detective work. They are merely getting things set up to make a deal.
“Now when the guy is „ripe,‟ as the Bureau likes to phrase it, when the pres-sure has been on the suspect for Lord-knows-how-long, and the poor bastard has laid awake for six months staring up at the ceiling wondering how to convince his wife and his kids and the old folks at home that he is really innocent, when he gets up in the morning and the first thing that hits him is a ghastly fear that makes his heart beat out of sync, then like the Chinese water torture, the fear dripping down, the terror of the unknown having captured his mind, the pain of it, minute by minute, hour by hour, day after relent-less day, wearing away at him until he has endured one drip too many, well, then he disintegrates into an inglorious pile of blubbering f**king rubble at the feet of the government , and he‟s ready for a deal!” At the conclusion of the longest sentence uttered by a professor in our law school career, we erupted in loud hoops and applause.
Professor Jones bowed slightly and continued. “The government has several classes of deals available. The Class I deal is made with subjects who are guilty of nothing and against whom the Bureau has no case whatsoever. But they have been harassed so long they think they‟re guilty, or still believing themselves inno-cent, they‟re helpless to defend them-selves, and stupefied by fear, they‟ll tes-tify to anything or against anybody if the Bureau will only leave them alone.
“But the government makes Class II deals, too. The Class II deal is for sub-jects who are actually guilty, but still running at large. Usually the more guilty you are the better deal you can make. The Class II deal might be more guilty than the guy they‟re after, but to nail the „target,‟ the Class II dealee can walk or take ‟short time‟ in exchange for his testimony against the target who will likely get twenty years to life. The target could be innocent. That is not the point. The point is the deal. The gov-ernment isn‟t in business to solve cases. It isn‟t in the business of bringing criminals to justice. The government has but one function and one function only—to make good, solid, saleable deals!”
“Then there are the Class III deals—for inmates. Here the Bureau scrapes the bottom of the deal barrel. Everybody wants out of prison, and if an inmate can conjure up a good enough story against the target, the Bureau will make the inmate a f**king deal. I don‟t use the word loosely but with legal precision, because…” He paused with perfect timing, survey-ing the class. We waited, our hearts pounding with excitement. “Because the deal is to f**k your brother. Deals! Buying and selling!”
That‟s what life in America is all about to-day. After the Class III prisoner testifies he‟ll be placed on the Witness Protection Program. A Class III deal is a peachy deal for convicts who have a good story and are good salesmen. Most crooks are. Most honest people are not.”
We tried to write down every word the professor uttered. “The Class IV deal, the most common deal of all, is one in which the suspect is both the f**kee and the f**kor. He may be guilty or not. If he admits his guilt the government will be easier on him than if he makes the government prove its case by bringing in Class I, II or III deals against him. When you‟re the target it‟s pretty frightening.
You‟ve been rotting in jail awaiting trial for eight months without a single ray of sunshine once touch-ing your sickly black hide, and they‟ve got you charged with something that pulls ten to life, and you‟ve got for a lawyer a honky public defender fresh out of law school with 150 other cases.
You‟re just one more (n-word). You can get out in two if you plead guilty, and you get good time for the eight months you already spent in jail. You make a Class IV deal. I repeat: It doesn‟t make any difference whether you‟re guilty or not. The Bureau doesn‟t care. It‟s another case closed. What counts to the Bureau is that they made a deal! “
I stole a glance at the woman student sitting next to me. Her mouth was open and her lips wet like Marilyn Monroe‟s. Her eyes were filled with love or lust. In the excitement of the moment I couldn‟t tell the difference.
Professor Jones continued, “If you want to be a success, specialize in making deals with the government. Besides, it‟s risky to try a case these days, because jurors know that the last innocent per-son in America was John Wayne.”
~Gerry Spence