It was early on a Wednesday morning in Dutchess County Court. In the place of a jury, there sat a local high school class. The teacher for this law lesson was the Special Victims Assistant District Attorney (ADA), who told them the procedures she takes in cases in which little kids are asked to testify on the stand. The Public Defender sat nearby, chiming in when she saw fit, a teacher’s assistant of sorts. The two lawyers discussed the role of the judge in the court proceedings, which is to oversee the conversations between the prosecutor and defense attorney. They emphasized that the judge is not the one to control the outcome of a case; he merely decides if what the prosecutor offers is reasonable. The students stared on, some listening, others checking their phones as if it were a regular school day.
The students perked up when a defendant, who had arrived on his own volition, volunteered to show them his electronic monitoring anklet. As he displayed his bound ankle, a probation officer told (what she thought were) funny stories about how creative people can be in trying to remove their ankle monitors. She mentioned a man who had managed to place his monitor on his cat so he could leave the house unsurveilled. Another man tried to microwave his monitor. She laughed as she told these cautionary tales, but the underlying lesson was that once a person is placed under state surveillance, it is nearly impossible to escape. At the conclusion of this lesson on probation, court began.
A new lesson emerged about an hour into the court proceedings as Judge McLoughlin called up the final defendant before a midday break. A few rows back from where I was sitting, a young boy, 17 or 18 years old, stood and walked to the front of the court for his arraignment. He was accused of assault in the second degree with injury to a victim 65 years or older. He entered a plea of not guilty. As Judge McLoughlin spoke back and forth with the ADA and defense attorney, the defendant was looking down at the table in front of him and avoiding eye contact. Judge McLoughlin called the name of the defendant, to which he responded, “I’m paying attention.” Judge McLoughlin answered, “Please do,” like a strict teacher asking a student to follow along in class.
The ADA mentioned that the defendant had “some developmental issues,” had no permanent address, and that this was one of many run-ins with the police. He also noted that the defendant did not live in Dutchess County, so he was not eligible for electronic monitoring. He suggested that the defendant be remanded (held in jail during his case proceedings) with bail of $15,000 cash and $35,000 bond. The defendant’s attorney—who was filling in for his public defender—quickly came to the boy’s aide, stating that the ultimate question of remanding the defendant relies on his ability and willingness to attend court. She said his original attorney had not even told him of his court date; he was there on his own volition. This alone, to the defense attorney, was enough to prove that he was fit to be released on his own recognizance. If bail was to be set, it should be at least in an amount he had a “miracle” of paying ($15,000 was far, far too much). The defense attorney also noted that the defendant has a level of Autism, so although he may not look the Judge in the eyes, he is in fact paying attention.
Contrary to what the class had been taught about a judge’s role as an overseer, Judge McLoughlin took over as teacher, maybe even as principal. He described the crime the defendant was accused of and emphasized that it was a violent offense caught on video. He noted that a sentence for this kind of crime is usually between two and seven years, and since the defendant has no permanent address and is not eligible for electronic monitoring, he should be remanded. Judge McLoughlin then set a bail of $50,000 cash and $100,000 bond. The defendant was placed in handcuffs and taken through the exit of the courtroom.
A sob was heard from the back of the courtroom. “He has a permanent address, I’m his mom,” cried his mother as she was escorted out by two friends or family members. Judge McLoughlin made no acknowledgement of this disruption to the court. He then turned to the high school class to tell them they would be taking a short break, and the students should ask questions if they have any.
What had the students really learned in class that day? The ADA and defense attorney could only control the lesson plan for so long until Judge McLoughlin took over the classroom. McLoughlin was the true teacher that day, and he taught the class very clearly about how few resources there were for kids their age who may be experiencing homelessness, developmental difficulties, or even Autism. The proposed plan to teach the class about justice was derailed by the heavy hand of Judge McLoughlin, who had a different lesson in mind.
