Legal Spark: I was Heard

One thing that most of us in the legal field have is at least one story about a life experience that sparked your interest in the legal profession. I love to hear other legal professional’s stories. Here’s one of the first things to happen in my life to make me consider legal advocacy as a profession.

Torrington, Wyoming isn’t necessarily known for its fair treatment of Mexican-Americans. So it was no surprise to my family and me when the county attorney charged my cousin for every piece of graffiti in town with no evidence to corroborate the charge. My cousin was already incarcerated for another charge and this additional charge would immediately send him to boot camp two hundred miles away from us.

We were a poor family and my grandmother would save all year just to be able to visit my other cousin Noah who was incarcerated on the other side of the state. Noah is my cousin that has been the biggest motivator in my work as an anti-racist.

My 1st Interpreting Gigs

As my grandmother only spoke Spanish, despite being 16 it was up to my cousin Christi and I to go to the hearing. We expected him to have an attorney, but surprisingly he didn’t. The courtroom was the smallest I have ever seen. My cousin sat on the defendant’s side but not with legal counsel, with an armed deputy.

Once the proceedings got started an officer testified he was an expert in gangs. His testimony was clearly meant to invoke fear. He suggested that allowing my cousin to remain free would essentially give the Sureños 13 gang access to this safe Wyoming town. He even went on to discuss what crimes other gang members in California had been charged with.

Objection!

My cousin, who was 15 at the time, was in juvenile court for graffiti. How could this adult who professes to be a professional in law enforcement go on to bring up hardened gang members from states away who had been charged with violent, organized crimes. I didn’t even understand relevancy as a legal term but I knew these statements were infringing on his rights in some way or another.

Then this specialized gang unit officer went on to tell the judge that each and every piece of graffiti was my cousin’s name “Santos.” If it weren’t for the rage I was feeling over how unfair this was going, I would have rolled over laughing. This “gang expert” couldn’t even read.

Your Honor, If I May?

I knew I was in a court of the law. A place where I would rather not be. Where, at the time, I would rather just blend into the seat and not bring any attention to myself. But I was so upset all I could think of was to raise my hand.

And to my absolute disbelief, the judge called on me. I asked if I could speak on my cousin’s behalf since there was no one representing him. He sort of chuckled and went on to say that considering I was correct there was indeed no one there to represent my cousin, and this was “just” a juvenile proceeding, he allowed it.