The Only Way to Move a Monolith of Bureaucracy is Together

A 2.0 version of innocence advocacy has arrived

When a claim of injustice is brought to a court's attention, and instead of addressing the legitimacy of what the claim actually represents, the court instead responds with terms like "judicial economy," or a "colorable showing of actual innocence," or otherwise finds a rule or technical reasoning so as to avoid addressing the claim—that's not justice. More importantly, it's not the action of a government that deserves respect, because the populace for which it governs is no longer free as its apparatus for governing is no longer just, equal, or fair. But then, what is justice? And, what is freedom?

In answering these questions I revisited Henry Thoreau's essay

On the Duty of Civil Disobedience, and there I came across something rather poignant, that "the law never made a man a whit more just; and, by means of their respect for it, even the well-disposed are daily made the agents of injustice." And, by his estimation, if a man is lost at sea and clinging to a plank of wood for dear life, and someone comes along and takes that plank of wood from him, justice is that same someone replacing that plank of wood even if it means that they themselves must drown in his place. And by that same reasoning, freedom is knowing that life can not exist or flourish without the equal protection of a government that spares no expense in the administration of that same justice.

Time and again I have read judicial decisions that deny a wrongfully convicted petitioner's attempt to find justice with conveniently invented obstacles that seemingly hang their hats on "the rule of law" without any consideration as to whether or not what is being done is the right thing to do. In the same essay Thoreau wrote, "[t]he only obligation which I have a right to assume, is to do at any time what I think right." A relevant statement given the impending electoral decision currently facing this nation, but perhaps even more relevant because we seem to have arrived at a point where right and wrong are no longer points of contention or consideration as the nation grapples with the reality of injustice.

Because, the fact that innocence organizations need to exist in a nation that once upon a time ratified the Bill of Rights should raise more than just an eyebrow of concern, it should make every mechanism of government and every cog of the economy and society stop, so that, all eyes are turned to notice what is taking place with what is otherwise the most marginalized and insignificant of individuals. Because how a nation treats such people is the truth as to the character of that nation. And when a marginalized individual is left no other choice but to write repeated letters to innocence organizations for a span of decades with no meaningful response because the judicial apparatus of the government under which he resides is generally unwilling to address legitimate claims, when presented, that individual is not free, protected, or otherwise endowed with rights—that individual has been discarded and the government that has forsaken him cannot command the respect of that individual, nor should it command the respect of anyone else.

For more than a decade New Mexico inmates have been without local representation in instances of wrongful convictions, and even though there exists organizations like Center on Wrongful Convictions at Northwestern University in Chicago or the main Innocence Project in New York, both of these organizations are seemingly too inundated with local petitioners and too detached from the realities of the local legal community to realistically be in a position to help those wrongfully convicted at the southern tip of the Rockies. But, perhaps this vacuum effect of legal advocacy for the wrongfully convicted in New Mexico will change with the a newly branded nonprofit born from the ashes of the Innocence Project that was years ago operating in association with the UNM School of Law: The New Mexico Innocence and Justice Project (NMIJP).

This 2.0 version of innocence advocacy is under the leadership of Jackie Robbins, from all reports a capable and strong advocate for justice who will potentially help to shine light on the reality of wrongful convictions in the Land of Enchantment. Let us hope that she has lived injustice in one form or another because he or she who is effective in combating injustice, is effective precisely because they have experienced injustice against their own person. But as I sit with pen in hand, eager to complete the questionnaire they sent me, I can't help but feel confused by what's being asked of me, as I respond to the very same questions I have been answering for two decades in every other questionnaire from every other innocence organization across the nation. Mostly because, as we all know, to do the same thing over and over again with the anticipation of a different outcome is one of the definitions of insanity. But, is it insanity to persist against a monolith of bureaucracy that is seemingly immovable and likewise indifferent to the injustice it creates?

As I consider how best to respond to the very questions I have answered countless times before, I am confronted with a disconcerting truth: I don't know what the NMIJP, or any other organization, wants to hear from me; and I don't know how to narrate a sequence of circumstances and events in under 300 words (that being in adherence to their rule of "[d]o not write more than one page per question") so as to present myself as worthy of their charitable generosity of time and resources in helping me to find a legal means of once again standing before the courts and saying, "I'm innocent and the reason you don't know this is because my constitutional rights were violated!"

Part of the challenge for these organizations is the fact that people who are neither innocent or wrongfully convicted will write to them, and in doing so take time and resources away from those who actually are wrongfully convicted. The Innocence Project reports on its own website that the majority of the instances in which it expends time and resources to perform DNA testing on evidence that would potentially prove someone innocent, after the fact, actually ends up proving them guilty. So, obviously, I'm sympathetic to any organization that attempts to sift through a pile of 300-word answers to questions that read "Please tell us about the facts of the crime. What happened? When? Where? Who was there? What were you accused of doing?" or "What evidence are you aware of, if any, that would prove your side of the story?" And it's hard not to notice what isn't being asked; for instance, do you believe that your constitutional rights were violated, and, if so, how?

It is not an oversight for an innocence organization to not ask the question of whether constitutional rights were violated. Obviously, some lawyers may be of the opinion that we aren't equipped to answer that question, and therefore they don't ask it. But I believe the question isn't asked because the lawyers who operate these organizations understand that the monolith of bureaucracy, that is the American justice system, is as indifferent to the injustice it creates as it is to the lives of the marginalized individuals it persecutes. There was a time when doing the right thing, in accordance with one's conscience, was the most important thing, but in today's climate of freedom, equality, and justice—truth and facts are not nearly as important as judicial economy, sustaining the narrative of infallibility, and, of course, finality.

So, imagine for a moment, if you will, that the only way to save your own life—from the reality of a terminal medical diagnosis; or a natural disaster that has just decimated life as you know it; or, because you're in a prison for something you didn't do—is to fill out a questionnaire and respond to questions like: what makes the circumstances and facts of your life worthy of our intervention?

What would you write? Essentially, what could you say that everyone else isn't already saying? Other than, please save my life because I want to live. This would be the truth, right? But here's the problem with this truth: life is brief, time and resources are limited; and, a sincere person would say, "I'm sorry to hear about your predicament, but helping you would take too much time and my life is not a long enough. And, I have other obligations, goals, and generally just have other things that I would rather be doing. But you'll have my name on your petition and you'll certainly have my vote."

I have lost count of how many times I have written and rewritten succinct accounts of the facts and contributing circumstances that ultimately led to my wrongful conviction. I have presented the facts plainly, just as they occurred without commentary or explanation. I have done the opposite with logical commentary, showing how detached from reality the state's theory was. I have presented the facts through the lens of the political travesty that was the DA's career at the time of the false accusation that led to my arrest. I have even presented a thorough legal analysis showing the exact ways in which my conviction side stepped all notions of legality and common sense. And regardless of how I present or otherwise frame my case, innocence organizations have remained silent—but, in all fairness, the reality of injustice isn't solely their responsibility to address, it's everyone's—and, since this is my life, it's mine.

I don't know that I will write anything substantially different from anything else I've already written to every other organization, other than to say: I get it—your resources are limited and there is not enough of you to go around—but regardless of whether you help me, my inquiries will not cease because your organization is quite possibly the only one who can help; therefore, so long as your charter exists, I will continue to knock on your door because the injustice I am living is real, and the plank of wood that the government has taken from me must be replaced, because, if it isn't, then, there is no justice and there is no freedom for anyone. Because a monolith of bureaucracy does exist, and the only way we move it is together.

Photo Source: Australia Martime