I’m doing something I swore never to do again. I am walking into Marion County Juvenile Court dressed as an attorney. I’m doing it for a friend.
My friend’s son forgot he had his pocket knife, and took it to school. I find this easy to believe. They live on a working farm. But he’s been charged with possession of a switchblade and a couple of other offenses and suspended summarily from school.
His mother, called by the school, ran out the door but got there after he’d been taken away. She went to the Juvenile Center last night, but was not permitted to see him. She’s been told that as a juvenile he has no rights. No right to counsel, to see a parent, or anything.
I don’t do criminal law, but I know that’s nonsense, and I want the folks over there to know someone other than a “mere” mother is watching. So I’m going with her. That entails going home and changing clothes first, because, well, it’s casual Friday and I’m in corduroys and a sweatshirt.
Right now I just want to get him out and get him home. I’ve tried the two best attorneys for this I know. One is in a jury trial, and the other in New York for a bat mitzvah. So I’m going myself. No one should walk into that alone. It’s designed to intimidate parents as well as kids, and it works. It’s designed to make people feel helpless, and it succeeds.
I got out of that kind of law because I grew weary of the numbers of families I couldn’t help; of the system that claimed it was there to help kids at the same time it did everything possible to dehumanize them into submission. I burned out from the sheer numbers. But I can do this – take this one step, for this one child. Next week, his mother can talk to one of the other attorneys. Today I’m going into the swamp.
Give ‘em hell, Alisa.
What Dorothea said.