WHAT HAPPENS WHEN LAW ENFORCERS BREAK THE LAW
Internet newsgroups are teeming with horror stories emanating from states that have enacted forfeiture laws. This is yet another.
The US Constitution was sent on vacation for a month in Pinellas County, Florida, on January 6th, 1997. At least one amendment was flouted, along with international law, by the police, sheriff, and public defender. The result has been an ordeal that still continues almost three years later.
I do not claim total innocence. I was guilty of minor driving infractions. But in no wise was I guilty of that for which I was wrongly and extravagantly penalized.
SEARCH AND SEIZURE ON A TRAFFIC STOP
Recent newspaper stories and leading articles have verified what I had suspected for these two-and-a-half nightmarish years. It is unconstitutional to search and seize a car stopped for a traffic violation. I was stopped because my tag was one month out of date. It remains unlawful even if the search uncovers contraband. One would therefore tend to conclude that seizure is even more unlawful if the search uncovers nothing at all, as in my case.
A search of the state's computer, however, did reveal something highly unusual. It showed that I had no less than four driving suspensions. This came as a surprise to me, for in 44 years of driving I had only one violation of any kind; a DUI in December of '95, for which I had with me my Satisfactory Completion Certificate from June of '96.
Two of the spurious suspensions predated June, so it seemed clear the valid one had not lapsed as it should have. I recognized the dates.
One was the DUI of December '95; the other was the court date of January '96. Each appeared as a separate suspension.
The other two were a mystery, and would remain so for another year. They would turn out to be an out-of-date address on my license, and tags expired by one month. The first two would vanish as mysteriously as they had appeared. Such was my life of crime.
One could belabor these traffic matters further, but they skirt the issue. Inquiring minds will be wondering how any of this even remotely involves the Forfeiture of Contraband Act. It is an excellent question.
PROFILING
What could this young arresting officer have been thinking?
On completing probation in 1996 I moved immediately to Pinellas County from Brevard, where work was scarce. I found work as a night auditor. After a brief stay at another hotel at my manager's personal expense, I found a room at a cheap motel. I was getting back on my feet.
This move was probably the worst mistake of all that were made in this endless tragedy of errors. New to the area, I was unaware that this property was known to the police as a hotbed of drugs use.
My next-door neighbors asked me for a lift to a supermarket which I now know to be on the fringe of an area familiar to the police as unsavory. This is where I was arrested, and my car confiscated.
Many months later, a taxi driver made a point of not driving me through that area at night. He explained that it was an invitation to get pulled over by police for a white guy to be riding in a taxi through there at that time.
Pro filing, which is also illegal, as I understand it, normally involves stopping people based on ethnicity. African-Americans call it DWB -- Driving While Black. Of this I was not guilty. I'm a 59-year-old white Briton. But my passengers were black, and I was in the 'North Greenwood' area. I was guilty of WDB -- White Driving Blacks.
Whatever her motivation, the officer confiscated my car and took me to jail.
OFFICIAL SELF-DOUBT?
Once at the jail the officer sat opposite me, waiting for the booking to start. She studied me carefully, and at last said: "It was real nice of you to give those folks a ride". I was still stunned, and now agape with astonishment. Could it be that the drive over the Bayside Bridge had cleared her head and made her realize the enormity of her error? If so, not in her wildest dreams could she have foreseen the horrors that were to ensue.
FOREIGN CITIZENS' RIGHTS TO CONSULAR REPRESENTATION
The articles I cited have validated my original belief that when a foreign citizen is arrested on suspicion of a felony the law requires that his consul be contacted. This was not done. Bail was set at $2,500. I called my manager, and she said she would be right there with the $250 deposit to get me out. She never showed up, and I entered the inner sanctum of MAXIMUM SECURITY, no less. I found out much later that she didn't show up because credit is not acceptable for bail, and she had to offer real property equity for the $2,250 balance as well.
HELD INCOMMUNICADO, AND STILL NO CONSUL
Once in the bowels of the jail, no further communication was possible, not because it isn't allowed, but because of my circumstances as an alien. I had only one friend on the outside who could act for me, and I could not remember her number. A cell-mate offered to ask his wife to get it from directory inquires. This took three days.
In the interim I went before a judge on a TV screen who granted me release in my own recognizance. The judge's order was ignored by the jail, so over the next week I submitted several written requests to the Public Defender's office for the British Consul to be contacted. These requests too were ignored.
Once I had my friend's number I tried for another eight days to contact her. But one can only make collect calls from the cells, (at $2 a call), and one can't make such a call to an answering machine, at least not the type she had. I also could not call the hotl. Hotels do not accept collect calls. So for the first 11 days I had no contact whatsoever with anyone on the outside who could help me.
ANOTHER CONSTITUTIONAL AMENDMENT FLOUTED?
A few weeks ago the St. Petersburg Times printed a leader expressing distaste over a new Anglo-Irish Act allowing people arrested on suspicion of terrorism to be held for up to six days without charges.
The paper proclaimed solemnly that the US Constitution would never allow such a thing. And others have told me the Constitution requires that charges must be brought within 48 hours.
Yet there I was, held without charges for 11 days. And those days would turn into weeks before the blunder would be admitted to.
There is a dichotomy here, however, for I was assured by many inmates that the State of Florida may indeed lawfully detain people for up to THIRTY-FOUR days without charges. Regrettably, it did not cross anyone's mind that the reason it was taking so long to bring charges was that there were none to bring. The police officer's suspicions had been entirely unfounded.
Could it be that the newspaper is unaware of this 34-day rule? Or is Florida simply disregarding the Constitution with impunity? Or what?
I wrote to the editor that, all things considered, I'd rather be in Dublin, wrongly suspected of terrorism, than in Clearwater, wrongly suspected of trafficking. Under the Irish Act, at least I could be assured of release on the 6th day, of finding my car where I had left it, and of going back to my job. In Florida, I was imprisoned for over a month, and lost both my car and my job as a result.
CONTACT
After the 11th day, my friend became a whirlwind of activity in my behalf. She befriended the sergeant of the police pound, who had good news. If any two of the supposed suspensions were proved false, the $400 charge to get my car back would be waived, since there'd be no felony.
She also made what in retrospect proved to be a grave error. Instead of calling the consul, she went to the P.D's office. There she was told there was no point in calling the consul, as he could surely do no more for me than they could, and in any case as a legal resident of the US I had to forgo the right to consular representation.
With 20/20 hindsight, it is now clear from the words "he could do no more than they could" that the P.D. had come to a cursory presumption of guilt on my part. Furthermore, several high-profile cases have recently removed any doubt but that as a British Citizen, whether a US resident or not, I had not only a right to consular contact, but also the authorities had a legal obligation to make that contact.
"OOPS!"
At last a P.D. arrived, on the 33rd day. "I received your notes", she said, "but I don't know what your consul could do that we can't".
"I had been under the impression that it was an absolute right", I ventured, uncertainly.
"Okay", she said "Let's get down to business. How many times have you been caught driving on a suspended license?"
I was taken aback. "Never!" I exclaimed.
She appeared even more startled than I, and started studying my folder, apparently for the first time. At length she said "Well, you certainly don't belong in here".
She didn't divulge what had so unsettled her about the contents of the folder, but it must have been quite riveting.
"I've been doing this job for ten years", she said, "and I gave up apologizing to people long ago. But I'm apologizing to you now. You'll be out of here today".
A few hours later I stood at her side in a courtroom for what seemed no more than 10 seconds as she told the judge "There is no felony here". Three suspensions being a felony, clearly the four had at least been reduced to two, if not expunged altogether. If any more words were spoken, I heard them not. I knew only that my ordeal was over.
Unfortunately, I was mistaken. The nightmare had barely begun.
THE SEIZURE POUND
On my release I was given a paper which I presumed reflected my innocence not only of trafficking but also of felony driving violations.
I went to the pound to retrieve my car.
However, the officer on duty said the paper was insufficient, and I'd need something more solid. He suggested I call the Pre-trial Release department.
This I did, and they told me the final judgment would come at another appearance a month later, and I'd get the necessary document at that time. Unfortunately, this would prove to be incorrect.
FINAL JUDGMENT
A month later all suspicions of felony had indeed vanished. This court was for minor traffic violations. I no longer had the P.D. who was familiar with my case, but a new one from 'misdemeanors'.
She looked at my file, knitted her brow, and mumbled to herself something like: "Hmm, that's odd". Clearly, once again this was the first time the contents of the file had been examined. She then pronounced: "Anyway, the State is willing to settle for $150".
It would seem that these 'defenders' make a habit of coming to conclusions, in collusion with prosecutors, without meeting the defendant or knowing anything about the case.
I prompted her to ask about the all-important document I needed to get my car back. The judge shrugged, saying "Ask the arresting agency", and it was "Next Case Please". The P.D. said the paper I was given a month earlier would have to do.
BACK TO THE POUND
I presented the same document, saying a new one had not been forthcoming. The officer said he'd call the P.D's office himself and let me know later what they had to say. When I called back, I was horrified to hear that they had told him I had pleaded guilty to a felony. I said I had done no such thing, and called the P.D's office myself.
MORE CLERICAL ERRORS
I asked the secretary to check and double-check, and at last she exclaimed "Aha! I see where the problem is now. I'll call the Clerk's office to have it corrected".
BROKEN PROMISES
I called the pound again to inform them of this development, and to ask when I could pick up my car. The officer replied I could now get it any time I was ready -- at a cost of $400.
I explained that the sergeant had promised this would be waived, had conceded that the car should never have been seized to begin with, and that in any case I no longer had that kind of money due to losing my job. But he insisted that I'd still have to pay "because of the length of time it's been here". (I resisted the temptation to ask who was to blame for that).
The vehicle was worth only $1500 when confiscated, minus about $300 work needed. In two months on the lot, it had deteriorated further. If I found work immediately, by the time I could afford the demurrage it would have increased to far more than the car was worth. It must have ended up being sold for scrap for $200 or so.
But without the car ... well, this is Florida. It is no place to be seeking employment without a car. Indeed it is no place to be without a car, period.
EVOLVING DEFINITIONS OF HORROR ...
Over time I have come to realize that the greatest horror did not lie in these events at all. It was not so much the loss of property and employment. It was not the imprisonment. It was not the drenching, or the heat exhaustion from cycling in scalding humidity.
Nor was it the limited work within reach by cycle or bus. Nor was it even the periods of dependence on the S.A. shelter and the S.V.D.P. Soup Kitchen.
The real horror takes a less tangible form. It lies in the erosion of the human soul when faced with the disbelief of others. Disbelief that these events could happen in the USA. Disbelief that no recourse could be found, thus implying guilt.
It lies in the axiom that "First they take all you have; then they make a crime of poverty". It lies in the realization that loss of property equals loss of credibility. People in reduced circumstances are given very short shrift.
... AND OF FEAR
Now comes fear. Fear of being the first suspect. Redoubled fear of being jailed again, even if found innocent, for fear of two such experiences leading to further false assumptions.
Fear of the dubiety one sees in the eyes of supervisors and co-workers about the incongruity of an otherwise smart-looking professional who has no car and lives in a shelter.
Fear of falling victim to yet another abominable law that trashes the Founding Fathers' tradition of fair play.
I recently worked at a convenience store. Terror gripped my heart when I learnt that sales clerks were being jailed for not 'I/Ding' minors. At 59, my eyes can not focus well on the small print on many licenses. Law enforcement agencies even conduct 'stings' to catch this sort of 'crime'. I was unable to stomach it.
NO RECOURSE
Soon after finally losing the car, I started to look for legal help. Most Floridians I spoke to were convinced that free legal aid is available to the impecunious. They are mistaken. It is available only for limited purposes such as denial of social security benefits.
At the local legal aid office, as soon as I divulged that my case was a civil rights claim against 'City Hall', they declared flatly that they "don't handle that sort of thing". Nor could they suggest who did.
Others suggested the ACLU. I wrote to them. Several weeks later they too did not take the case. It seems that there are insufficient cases exactly like mine to make it worthwhile as a 'class action'.
I also tend to believe that the arresting officer may have been deemed to have had sufficient reason for suspicion. Or to have had the latitude to be mistaken, grievous though the mistake might be.
I then wrote to three civil rights lawyers listed locally, hoping one would take on the case pro bono. One declined, citing a conflict of interest. The others didn't bother to reply.
Social workers told me that based on their experience I might have to write perhaps 300 letters before finding someone, possibly a law student, to take it on.
I muttered darkly about the absurdity of it. Why were there no lawyers on rotation duty? Why was there no Ombudsman? And surely I could do better by using the Internet to reach not hundreds but thousands of lawyers at once. At the time I sure didn't have $100 for postage.
A LOST YEAR
Many months went by. I was renting a room with people who had a PC. But it was a weak one. The only access I had was via the Freenet, which offers a very limited selection of newsgroups. The few 'legal' groups were unpopulated by lawyers, and were more akin to the Jerry Springer Show. I gave up.
It was not until almost a year later that I found out about free Internet access at the library. However, I was at first told there was no access to Usenet groups. It took me many weeks before I discovered a 'back door'.
Now I was talking to lawyers across the country, and those familiar with 'Section 1983' told me I had a very strong case. Unfortunately I was to learn quickly that having a case and bringing one are two quite different kettles of fish.
A civil rights lawyer in Miami expressed great interest, but when I told him the case dated back to January '97, he said this would make it too expensive to pursue, given the elapsed time and the amount of travel involved. But he said I'd better act soon, as there was a statute of limitations on this type of action.
Further pleas to local attorneys proved fruitless. It became evident that the case is too low-profile, offering too little hope of fame or fortune. There would be few crumbs left over from getting an old car replaced, reimbursement of lost salary for a month, and recompense for wrongful imprisonment at a rate of $1 an hour. Again I gave up.
So what am I doing here? Why am I playing Don Quixote, having already been cut to shreds by Florida's legal windmill? Why did I leave the sanctuary of the shelter to hole up in a motel room with a rented computer?
DAMN THE STATUTE -- FULL STEAM AHEAD
I am a merchant marine officer who got stranded shoreside in Brevard County. The events in Pinellas have washed me, like a dying whale, even further up the beach.
Last December I was visited for three days by a former shipmate, a friend for 23 years. On the last day he mumbled, almost as an aside: "There's got to be something more involved here."
It is not so much the expiring statute that now spurs me. It is the skepticism evinced by that comment. What rankles now is the damage to friendships of long standing.
Clearly the story of what happened to me here is now legion throughout the industry. But WHAT story? By the time it comes full circle, no doubt I'll discover that I am a convicted drugs baron, and am possessed of some gruesome contagious disease. Little wonder, then, that I have been beached for so long, and now have to come to terms with loss of career and starting from scratch on shore at the age of 59.
If a story is to be spread, therefore, let it be my own, and not one born of prattle and wild conjecture.
It has also become tiresome trying to explain to others, such as potential employers, how I came into such reduced circumstances. Hence this obra maestra, now intended as much for illumination as for action.
NOT OF IRON BARS THIS CAGE
Events such as these have other effects upon the spirit. I lost some of my former equanimity, becoming somewhat more impatient under stress, thus adding to my woes.
In truth, I never really got out of jail. On the day of my release it seems I stepped into a quicksand, and every movement has sucked me deeper.
Therefore this opus has one final purpose. It is the hope that it will serve as a catharsis, a final release from the swamp, and I can now move forward.
CONCLUSION
Lest it should appear that I have been scornful of the legal system, let me hasten to aver that the US Constitution is probably the greatest treatise of freedom ever written in the English language. Had it not been shunned by those charged with defending it, this lamentable saga never could have taken place.