An awesome hush wraps around observers at the Federal Court with its high ceiling, massive walls of windows and rows of empty benches. The dark, somber suits of the lawyers and staff add to the solemnity of the room. Two days of sitting in a courtroom filled with somberly dressed attorneys and I considered adding black outfits to my wardrobe. No one standing or seated before the high court wore any other color. No casual Friday attire demeaned the import of a day in federal court.
Court protocol provides a sense of order for those whose lives have been disrupted with the arrest or whose lives have never been anything except in constant upheaval.
The same is true in other courts in the county. The uniform look emphasizes the seriousness, the lack of wiggle room to excuse behavior for any reason and the role each person plays. Lawyers in solemn suits, judges in dark robes, the accused appear in striped prison garb unless they have bonded out of prison and the sheriff and police in blue and tan uniforms all wear gun holsters heavy with bullets, handcuffs and an assortment of closed pouches. Those who serve on the street often wear a shirt that covers a bullet proof vest.
On first appearances for an accused murderer, I have counted more than a dozen officers or court personnel wearing holsters. They stood at the doors of the court, around the court officers and near the judge. Astonished at the beefed up security, I counted guns and wanted to make myself as invisible as possible. Mentally I considered how I might fit under the chairs if someone unsnapped a holster in response a threatening disturbance.
Forget all those quick hearings on television. A plea can take half an hour as the judge reads through the ritual of “have you had any alcohols or drugs today?” “Do you understand the charges against you?” On and on the plea hearing goes through several pages of mandated information and questions that the judge and attorney must cover with the accused.
Yes, he understands the charges. Yes, he is satisfied with his attorney. Yes, he is guilty. Yes, he waives his right to a jury trial. Yes he waives his right to call witnesses on his behalf and to cross examine them. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.
The negotiations in chambers between the prosecuting attorney and the defending attorney cover much, much more conversation and discussion than will ever be heard in court. Some days I wish I could be a fly on the wall and hear the discussion that precedes the plea agreement. A lot of issues are not heard in court. Any deviation from the ritual of first appearance, arraignment or a hearing on the part of the accused results in an admonition, “You need to discuss that with your attorney.” The admonition implies that the attorney will speak for the plaintiff.
The judge rarely allows more than a few moments for even the briefest of self-justifications or lengthy explanations about extenuating circumstances. All that information will be screened by the probation officers, victim’s assistance staff, arresting officers or the individual’s attorney.
From the announcement of “All rise” as the judge sweeps into the room, the day’s proceedings follow such a predictable pattern, that any deviation is cause for comment. “Excuse me for not wearing a suit, your Honor, I did not know I would be appearing in court today,” the lawyer said before he addressed his client’s issues. Uniformed officers motion observers to remove their hats from their head and restless children from the courtroom.
Absolute total quiet descends as the judge reads his way through the charges or records his decision. That still astonishes me. It can be early in the session of court with the visitors’ benches filled to capacity and a bevy of lawyers waits their turn to speak for their clients. Other times the camaraderie, small talk and chatter between the court staff, the prosecutor and defense attorney flow around the accused who is an island of silence in their sea of noise.
The order, structure and silence contrasts with the upheaval that offenders experience with the arrest that disrupts their lives. Their day in court provides a silent, visible reminder that law and order must be maintained.
Joan Hershberger is a staff writer for the El Dorado News-Times. She can be reached at joanh@eldoradonews.com