Wednesday, June 27, 2012

The Goal of Federal Prosecutors at an Emergency Hearing

     The goal of federal prosecutors at a Hearing, which they did not call for their own benefit, is to say as little as possible.
     In my case the Emergency Hearing for return of my property and an opening of affidavits, held on September 14, 2011, was my idea.  I had a right to have a Hearing, but I did not have a right, it seems, to find out anything about the raid on my clinic on June 16, 2011 or the bank forfeitures on August 6, 2011, both of which were ruining my life.  The FBI had a right to invade my medical clinic and transfer all the money fom my bank accounts into theirs, but were not required by any law on the books to explain why.
     In fact it seemed almost mandatory that the prosecutors at the Hearing use the fewest number of words necessary to show respect to the Court.  Could it be that they would suffer demerits if they were to use language that carried meaning?  Perhaps a loss of points every time something was said that might reveal to me what they were up to?
     It was like a game of poker, only they weren't bluffing.  I had the feeling that this was how they always were, it was part of the training for this high-level position.  Someone like me would never have made it this far in such a profession.  I would have had to have been brainwashed.  I would have had to have all the animation power-blasted out of me a long time ago.  Some of us just aren't designed for that degree of self-possession.
     It's a good thing no one had ever said to me growing up--as I was jumping rope, riding my bicycle through Pennsylvania cornfields, picking wild mulberries, lying in meadows with books by Emerson, Thoreau, and Whitman, canning hot peaches in cinnamon syrup, dreaming my young girl dreams--"Hey, Ona, you really ought to think about becoming a Federal Prosecutor!"  Impressionable as I was, I might have taken this seriously...and now be on the other side of the courtroom, unable to speak.  
     How can people stand not to say what's on their minds?
     I think Prosecutors Corey Smith and Bobby Stinson did a very good job on that day.  I mean, they did the job they set out to do, the job required of them by their station in life, and they were trying their best to protect The United States Government.  They said not one thing of note in the entire six or seven hours reserved for my Hearing.
     They protected their case against me as though it were made of the most delicate, ephemeral substance and one little breath might blow it away like dandelion puffs.  I hardly breathed myself when one of them stepped up to the microphone in the courtroom and said a few words to Judge Jones:  "Yes, Your Honor," "We don't think so, Your Honor," "Our desire is to protect the witnesses, Your Honor."  I was hoping to catch a wisp of meaning in these precious communiques, a bit of meandering intent fraying ever so lightly from the very ends of the prosecutors' muffled syllables.  But there was nothing, not a trace of a feather of a thought that found its way to my sensibility.  The air in the courtroom was empty of meaning.
     Except for what was obvious, and had to be impressed that day onto my consciousness:  You are in deep trouble.  You are the Defendant.  You may not speak.  You have no rights, none at all, not right now, maybe never.  Your petty little doctor-life is irrelevant in our world. You think you're a big shot?  We'll show you.  Wait and see.  You're on our time.  We have power.  We have a lot of power.  Don't mess with us.

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