“Oh Hon, What Are You Doing Here?”
On my very first day observing Poughkeepsie City Court, I walked hesitantly as I entered the courtroom, unsure of what to expect. Before I could take my seat in the empty pews, the court officer caught my attention with a wave: “Oh hon, what are you doing here?” she asked with a smile. She was an older woman, and the only female officer in the building. Since I was expecting my presence in the courtroom to be questioned, I was a little relieved that I hadn’t been approached by one of the more intimidating male officers I had seen standing around City Hall. While I’m usually a little nervous around the police, this officer greeted me just like any of my older relatives would have back home. Her kind smile reminded me of my aunt’s, making me feel like she was about to invite me into her home for a cup of sweet tea and pecan pie rather than about to handcuff me and throw me in the back of her cruiser. This initially made me optimistic regarding how the Poughkeepsie City Court treats its attendees,
But I quickly learned that not everyone receives such a warm welcome. As I was explaining my involvement with ENJAN’s courtwatching program, someone else entered the room and took a seat a few rows behind me. He was a young Latino man in his late teens or early twenties: college-aged, just like me. The court officer’s demeanor changed suddenly as she turned to address him. Raising her voice she simply asked, or rather, commanded him to give her his name. He looked confused, as if he wasn’t expecting to be addressed. She walked over to her stack of manila folders, preparing to sift through them to find his file: “You’re here for criminal court, right? What’s your last name?” Before the young man could answer, another officer spoke up for him from the back of the room: “He’s our intern.” The court officer grumbled something in response as she shuffled her papers, but I was unable to distinguish her words. As more people filtered into the courtroom, the intern relaxed into his seat and the court officer began taking the newcomers’ names in the same curt manner in which she had addressed him. Whenever there was a pause in the influx of court attendees, she returned to making smalltalk with me while ignoring everyone else in the gallery.
While I began to take note of this encounter and prepare my documents for the upcoming cases, she came over to me one final time before announcing the judge’s arrival. With a wink and a smile, she told me “I hope you’re writing about how good the court officer is.” I gave her a chuckle and said “I sure am,” but in reality, I was doing pretty much the exact opposite. In the same period of time during which she endeared herself to me, I watched her withhold this kindness from the rest of the attendees - even the court’s own intern. Based purely on our appearances, she immediately assumed that the young Latino intern was here as a defendant in criminal court while I, a young white woman, must have been there for some other reason. She was so confident in these assumptions that she never even asked my name to check it against her files (despite this being the only question she asked the other attendees) even as she began searching for the intern’s file before she even knew his name. Not only does this expose racial biases in the Poughkeepsie court system regarding who is or isn’t perceived as a “criminal,” my special treatment by the court officer reflects how this label determines the treatment you receive in society. As the only observer in the room, the court officer identified me as the person that most deserves her kindness and attention while keeping her interactions with the defendants to a bare minimum, even if they had not actually been convicted of a crime.