During this past year- my first year in the MSW program at Georgia State- I have had the amazing opportunity to intern at the Georgia Justice Project with the social workers. As the school year comes to a close, I am forever indebted to Julie and Sanchez for what they taught me . I knew that interning at GJP would teach me about justice, the hardships that so many individuals and families face, and how to fight some of the injustices of our imperfect criminal system, but I had no idea that my experience would be as rich as it was.
While I knew the organization as a whole was effective and helpful, I had no idea to the extent the staff goes to make sure the clients “make it”. The attorneys are quite brilliant in handling the court cases, but it never stopped when a verdict was reached. The attorneys work with the client on their legal plan- probation, reporting, community service, etc- to determine what obstacles the client would have to overcome to complete what the court had ordered. These needs were communicated with the social workers and, together, the team makes sure that the client is successful. Clients are clients for life, even if they haven’t stepped foot in the office in years, and it was amazing how GJP would jump right back in to help with whatever the client needed.
Every day I saw Julie and Sanchez work with clients, using the client’s strengths to help them overcome their weaknesses. If a client came in and needed help finding a job, the social workers used the client’s existing resources -family and friend contacts, past job skills, sense of motivation- to help him develop and work a specific plan for that client. If a client was having some difficulty with family relationships after being released from prison, the social workers would discuss ideas for positive interactions and how to rebuild relationships with one’s children or spouse.
I was able to see firsthand how all this work helps our community. GJP is reducing recidivism rates, creating safer communities and reducing costs to taxpayers who would otherwise have to pay to have more people in the justice system- in court, in jail or prison, or on the streets. I saw GJP fight to give clients a second chance at life, even when the client didn’t feel she deserved one. This makes our fellow community members more motivated , more productive, and more self-sufficient. New Horizons Landscaping employees were perfect examples of this. They were building job experience and skills to use later in life. I learned how an agency can affect policy at the government level, fighting for unjust laws to be changed to make life easier for those who have a criminal history. I saw how businesses, organizations, foundations, and dedicated individuals in our community believe so strongly in the mission of GJP that they give their time and money to support this worthy cause.
I am sad my time is over, but there is no way that the effects of GJP on my life will be forgotten anytime soon!
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Ernesto's Story
This was a mistake. It had to be. He’d been at home all night, drinking and partying with friends in a neighborhood not far from where he’d grown up. “I’m thinking I’m about to get out,” says Ernesto, “that it must be a joke,” because what else could it be?
No joke, Ernesto Green (N.B. Ernesto Green is not our client’s real name) was in serious trouble.
Locked up in the the county jail’s notorious seventh floor, facing felony murder, aggravated assault and armed robbery charges, he had no idea where to turn. “I didn’t know the system,” he says. Why would he? At 42, he had no prior criminal record, and he’d spent the previous 15 years caring for his elderly mother, doing the odd painting job for extra cash. She had died a little over a month before.
The crime was a home invasion, a horribly violent crime in which three men broke into the neighborhood “liquor house,” intent on robbery. As one man stood back and directed, the others ransacked the house, beating and kicking their victims viciously. One later died of his injuries.
When police arrived, the thugs were described as young men between 19 and 30, all unknown to the victims. No one professed to have seen the lead man’s face; they heard only his voice as he directed the other two assailants.
Yet, hours later, the bootlegger called to tell police he knew the main assailant. He named Ernesto Green. In a police lineup, he identified Green, as did one of the other victims, although tentatively. The victims collectively changed their initial descriptions, detailing men in their 40s and 50s and claiming to have seen all three faces clearly.
Green was arrested, denied bond, and sent to prison to await trial.
His first public defender didn’t show for his hearing. Two weeks later, the second did, but had no background on the case, made no appeal for bond, and told Green “not to worry about it.” Back to the seventh floor, where his cellmate was a convicted murderer. “Every day, I felt like my life was on the line,” Green says. “There’s always trouble, people trying to get you to fight. I kept thinking, ‘If I mess up just one time….’”
Then another inmate told him that sometimes lawyers take cases pro bono. Green wrote down everything the man said and passed it to his good friend Sharee, asking her to search out the details. Eventually she stumbled onto the Georgia Justice Project. “I wrote them a long letter,” says Green. “When they took my case, I was so relieved. For the first time I felt comfortable, like I had a family with me.”
He credits his GJP attorneys with helping him keep his sanity. “They connected with me regularly, came to see me, and wrote me letters,” he says. “They focused on my case and communicated everything that was happening.” When other inmates told stories about working with their public defenders, about long stretches with no communications, about feeling like no one was working on their behalf, “They told me I was blessed to have Georgia Justice,” says Green. He agrees. “I had faith in them. They told me there would be obstacles and helped me take it day by day, so I could stay balanced and spiritual. It’s like they were right there with me.”
It took 18 months for his case to come to trial. Green says GJP lead attorney Marissa McCall Dodson and second chair Deborah Poole “handled it like soldiers. I felt like I had an army on my side.” They came in prepared, he says, and explained every point and procedure. They stressed that his case was strong, but that no outcome was certain. As Dodson explains, “He was either going home or going to prison for life. There was no middle ground. That’s pretty scary, because you never know what a jury will do.”
With no physical evidence tying him to the crime and the witnesses’ stories rife with inconsistencies, Green was acquitted in a nerve-fraying four-day trial. As is customary, he was sent back to his prison cell to await final release, which usually takes a matter of days. When he heard the guard call “Green, pack it up!” later that afternoon, he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. “I just couldn’t trust it. I was afraid he might be fooling me.”
Not trusting people is just one of the many long-term side effects of Green’s incarceration. In the year and a half it took for his case to come to court, he lost the home he’d inherited, all his possessions, and his Social Security benefits. With no money even to call for a ride, Green walked the many miles from the jail to his mother’s old neighborhood, where it seemed “so peaceful” he says, “that it’s still hard to believe.”
With help from close friends and family, Green is learning to adjust. Denied adequate medication for months, he’s working on stabilizing his blood pressure. He’s attending church, and trying to look ahead, not behind. Still, he says, “These charges will be on me the rest of my life. Anybody can say my name, pull my name up on the computer, and have reasonable doubts. It’s like a scar on me.”
He’s right. Ernesto Green’s criminal record will follow him for life. In Georgia, acquittal does not clear the record, nor are those records eligible for expungement. From now on, every time a potential employer, landlord or anyone else checks, Green will be identified with those horrible, violent crimes.
A trim, handsome man with a warm smile and a firm handshake, Green admits his future “looks shaky,” but reiterates that he’s not going to focus on the past. “God is my protector, he says. “I’m just going to keep myself clean and stay spiritual. Whatever God tells me, I’ll stick to it, and I hope it will all fall into place. I have nieces and nephews, and I have to be there for them.”
Anyone who had been through Ernesto Green’s experience could be forgiven for feeling dark, depressed or angry, but he works hard to look upward and ahead.
“There’s a beautiful side to it,” he says. “When the sun came out, there was a rainbow.”
No joke, Ernesto Green (N.B. Ernesto Green is not our client’s real name) was in serious trouble.
Locked up in the the county jail’s notorious seventh floor, facing felony murder, aggravated assault and armed robbery charges, he had no idea where to turn. “I didn’t know the system,” he says. Why would he? At 42, he had no prior criminal record, and he’d spent the previous 15 years caring for his elderly mother, doing the odd painting job for extra cash. She had died a little over a month before.
The crime was a home invasion, a horribly violent crime in which three men broke into the neighborhood “liquor house,” intent on robbery. As one man stood back and directed, the others ransacked the house, beating and kicking their victims viciously. One later died of his injuries.
When police arrived, the thugs were described as young men between 19 and 30, all unknown to the victims. No one professed to have seen the lead man’s face; they heard only his voice as he directed the other two assailants.
Yet, hours later, the bootlegger called to tell police he knew the main assailant. He named Ernesto Green. In a police lineup, he identified Green, as did one of the other victims, although tentatively. The victims collectively changed their initial descriptions, detailing men in their 40s and 50s and claiming to have seen all three faces clearly.
Green was arrested, denied bond, and sent to prison to await trial.
His first public defender didn’t show for his hearing. Two weeks later, the second did, but had no background on the case, made no appeal for bond, and told Green “not to worry about it.” Back to the seventh floor, where his cellmate was a convicted murderer. “Every day, I felt like my life was on the line,” Green says. “There’s always trouble, people trying to get you to fight. I kept thinking, ‘If I mess up just one time….’”
Then another inmate told him that sometimes lawyers take cases pro bono. Green wrote down everything the man said and passed it to his good friend Sharee, asking her to search out the details. Eventually she stumbled onto the Georgia Justice Project. “I wrote them a long letter,” says Green. “When they took my case, I was so relieved. For the first time I felt comfortable, like I had a family with me.”
He credits his GJP attorneys with helping him keep his sanity. “They connected with me regularly, came to see me, and wrote me letters,” he says. “They focused on my case and communicated everything that was happening.” When other inmates told stories about working with their public defenders, about long stretches with no communications, about feeling like no one was working on their behalf, “They told me I was blessed to have Georgia Justice,” says Green. He agrees. “I had faith in them. They told me there would be obstacles and helped me take it day by day, so I could stay balanced and spiritual. It’s like they were right there with me.”
It took 18 months for his case to come to trial. Green says GJP lead attorney Marissa McCall Dodson and second chair Deborah Poole “handled it like soldiers. I felt like I had an army on my side.” They came in prepared, he says, and explained every point and procedure. They stressed that his case was strong, but that no outcome was certain. As Dodson explains, “He was either going home or going to prison for life. There was no middle ground. That’s pretty scary, because you never know what a jury will do.”
With no physical evidence tying him to the crime and the witnesses’ stories rife with inconsistencies, Green was acquitted in a nerve-fraying four-day trial. As is customary, he was sent back to his prison cell to await final release, which usually takes a matter of days. When he heard the guard call “Green, pack it up!” later that afternoon, he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. “I just couldn’t trust it. I was afraid he might be fooling me.”
Not trusting people is just one of the many long-term side effects of Green’s incarceration. In the year and a half it took for his case to come to court, he lost the home he’d inherited, all his possessions, and his Social Security benefits. With no money even to call for a ride, Green walked the many miles from the jail to his mother’s old neighborhood, where it seemed “so peaceful” he says, “that it’s still hard to believe.”
With help from close friends and family, Green is learning to adjust. Denied adequate medication for months, he’s working on stabilizing his blood pressure. He’s attending church, and trying to look ahead, not behind. Still, he says, “These charges will be on me the rest of my life. Anybody can say my name, pull my name up on the computer, and have reasonable doubts. It’s like a scar on me.”
He’s right. Ernesto Green’s criminal record will follow him for life. In Georgia, acquittal does not clear the record, nor are those records eligible for expungement. From now on, every time a potential employer, landlord or anyone else checks, Green will be identified with those horrible, violent crimes.
A trim, handsome man with a warm smile and a firm handshake, Green admits his future “looks shaky,” but reiterates that he’s not going to focus on the past. “God is my protector, he says. “I’m just going to keep myself clean and stay spiritual. Whatever God tells me, I’ll stick to it, and I hope it will all fall into place. I have nieces and nephews, and I have to be there for them.”
Anyone who had been through Ernesto Green’s experience could be forgiven for feeling dark, depressed or angry, but he works hard to look upward and ahead.
“There’s a beautiful side to it,” he says. “When the sun came out, there was a rainbow.”
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Our Response to Newt Gingrich's AJC Op-ed piece on 'Cutting Recidivism Saves Money and Lives'
Yesterday, the AJC published an op-ed piece by Newt Gingrich on 'Cutting Recisivism Saves Money and Lives'. Here is our response:
To the Editor:
As Chair of the Georgia Justice Project Board of Directors, I read with interest the guest column by Newt Gingrich and Mark Earley, Cutting Recidivism Saves Money and Lives. I found myself saying “Yes!” I admire the work being done by Prison Fellowship, and agree whole-heartedly that a holistic, relationship-based approach is essential to ensuring that those coming out of jail or prison are successful in changing their lives.
I believe, though, that the work can and should start even earlier. We can make the biggest difference if we begin these supportive relationships as soon as someone is accused of a crime. This is when folks have the most at stake. This is when their efforts to change their lives can keep them out of prison, or shorten the time that they are in prison.
For nearly 25 years, Georgia Justice Project – an unlikely mix of lawyers, social workers, and a landscaping company - has been defending people accused of crimes, and, win or lose, standing with them as they rebuild their lives. And, our approach of early engagement is working. Last year, only 7% of GJP clients spent additional time in jail or prison after their legal case was resolved. And, GJP’s recidivism rate is a remarkable 17% - less than one-third the national average.
Poverty, unemployment, and crime are inextricably linked in our culture and, together, contribute to high recidivism rates. Long-term relationships that hold people accountable for their actions and yet help make personal transformation possible are the only way to break this cycle.
The Prison Fellowship is doing good work and we look forward to the Out4Life partnership. We can make an even bigger difference, though if the hand we hold out is visible as soon as someone feels themselves falling.
Peace,
The Rev. George M. Maxwell, Jr.
Chair of the Board of Directors
The Georgia Justice Project
To the Editor:
As Chair of the Georgia Justice Project Board of Directors, I read with interest the guest column by Newt Gingrich and Mark Earley, Cutting Recidivism Saves Money and Lives. I found myself saying “Yes!” I admire the work being done by Prison Fellowship, and agree whole-heartedly that a holistic, relationship-based approach is essential to ensuring that those coming out of jail or prison are successful in changing their lives.
I believe, though, that the work can and should start even earlier. We can make the biggest difference if we begin these supportive relationships as soon as someone is accused of a crime. This is when folks have the most at stake. This is when their efforts to change their lives can keep them out of prison, or shorten the time that they are in prison.
For nearly 25 years, Georgia Justice Project – an unlikely mix of lawyers, social workers, and a landscaping company - has been defending people accused of crimes, and, win or lose, standing with them as they rebuild their lives. And, our approach of early engagement is working. Last year, only 7% of GJP clients spent additional time in jail or prison after their legal case was resolved. And, GJP’s recidivism rate is a remarkable 17% - less than one-third the national average.
Poverty, unemployment, and crime are inextricably linked in our culture and, together, contribute to high recidivism rates. Long-term relationships that hold people accountable for their actions and yet help make personal transformation possible are the only way to break this cycle.
The Prison Fellowship is doing good work and we look forward to the Out4Life partnership. We can make an even bigger difference, though if the hand we hold out is visible as soon as someone feels themselves falling.
Peace,
The Rev. George M. Maxwell, Jr.
Chair of the Board of Directors
The Georgia Justice Project
Monday, March 15, 2010
Lost Lessons of 'Groundhog Day" : What does an obnoxious Bill Murray have to do with professionalism?
By Doug Ammar
Though I was encouraged to develop a one-hour professional CLE, no one encouraged me to use a movie. My encourager didn’t realize that I was a movie lover. (In fact, I reviewed movies for the law school paper). One of my favorite movies is Groundhog Day – staring Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell, directed by Harold Ramis. But how do I teach professionalism from a movie about a sarcastic weather man who is stuck in the same day? What does a nearly 20-year-old romantic comedy have to say to lawyers about what is most noble in our profession? Before I tell you let me first get you up to speed on this “movie of movies” by reminding you of the plot.
THE PLOT
Phil Connors (played by Bill Murray) is a weather man assigned to cover the most famous groundhog (Punxsutawney Phil in Punxsutawney, PA) on Groundhog’s Day. An unexpected snowstorm traps the Pittsburg based weather crew (Murray, MacDowell as the producer and camera-man Chris Elliot) for the night. The next day is . . well . . . not. It isn’t the next day – it is the same day – February 2 all over again. The day is repeated, over and over. The twist is that everyone else in Punxsutawney doesn’t know they are reliving the same day (and thus have the same experiences). Murray’s character, however, remembers everything. So he is trapped in same day (Groundhog Day), yet he alone remembers reliving each day – carrying forward the lessons and memories, one day to the next.
Phil enters the movie as a selfish, self-important, and arrogant person. He is conceited and a bit hedonistic. He fancies an interest in his new producer, Andie MacDowell. But she is not interested. Faced with re-living the same day, he possesses significant power. Armed with this power, Phil still focuses on his selfish pursuits. Though he begins using this opportunity to get what he wants – money, sex, etc. – it doesn’t help him with Andie. All of his planning fails. Every attempt to win her ends in defeat.
About half way through the movie, Phil reaches the bottom. He becomes nihilistic, defeated and suicidal. His creative efforts employed to off himself are some of the funniest scenes in the movie. From the bottom, as they say, the only way to go is up.
By the end of the movie, Phil Connors is a changed man. No longer arrogant and self-centered, he is humble, other-centric, and fully engaged with all those around him. He is an artist – skilled as a jazz pianist and creating beautiful ice sculptures. He is a humanitarian – saving folks, some from certain injury and others from inconvenience. He quotes poetry and sees potential and warmth in the things he once resisted and despised. And his love interest in Andie MacDowell finally has a future.
What leads to his change? Therein lies the true gem in the movie.
THE THEME
What is this movie about? Is it simply a romantic comedy? Is it just a silly movie about a guy who can’t get out of the same day? It is a wonderful romantic comedy – but it is so much more. I believe the movie is about human maturation: more specifically moral and spiritual development. There is a story of human development buried in this romantic comedy.
My belief in the movie’s profundity was bolstered by a New York Times article a few years ago. A long article on the cover of the Sunday arts section announced that Groundhog Day was the most taught movie in graduate school film classes regarding the intersection of spirituality and films. With the backing of the New York Times and having listened to the director’s comments on the DVD version my wife gave me one birthday, I knew I was onto something.
THE TURNING POINT
When teaching this class, I love to ask folks what leads to Phil’s change. What is the turning point in his moral development? Sure there is his love interest in Andie McDowell. Sure he has the chance to learn. But what leads to his change. Then I show the scene.
The scene I show is less than three minutes long. Yet this scene, when Ramis and his crew presented their finished product to their Hollywood backers, set off an alarm. The money-men in Hollywood extolled Ramis to remove the scene.
You have to take it out. This is America. No one wants to get depressed watching a comedy.
“I can’t” Ramis responded.
Again they protested. “The movie is wonderful but you have to remove this scene.”
Ramis stood his ground. “You don’t understand. This IS the movie!”
What scene am I referring to? It is the scene where, after Phil reaches bottom and starts to come up, after becoming interested in art – he tries to save a homeless man. The homeless man, who has no spoken lines in the entire film, dies each and every time Phil tries to save him. Yet Phil calls the man father and dad. Phil gives him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Phil embraces this man on every level. All to no avail.
Phil’s efforts with this man prove pivotal. Only after this scene is Phil truly humble. Only after this encounter is Phil concerned for those around him. Only after Phil fails to save this man’s life, is he then available to suffering and joy of those around him.
I believe that it is in Phil’s failure that he finds power – power to be a force for good.
And it is only after this lesson, only after this failure with the old man, and only after his actions saving others, that Phil’s own salvation is delivered. After Phil finds this power and uses it power for others, he is freed from his own problem of re-living the same day.
THE LESSONS – FOR THE LEGAL PROFESSION
This movie offers plenty of lessons. It addresses issues of power and suffering and engagement and poverty. How did Phil understand his power? What was his power? For what purpose did he have it? How did he use it? What of those who suffered around him? The poor – was he even aware of them? Was he engaged with the community around him?
To all of these questions the answers change pre vs. post-engagement with the homeless man. He is aware of his power (and uses it for good!) only after he recognizes his powerlessness. He is engaged with those in pain only after he is intimately connected to the one most obviously suffering. And his only suffering is abated when he embraces the suffering of the person most distant from his reality. He is fully transformed by the end of the movie. His transformation was made complete through his engagement with the homeless man.
In the CLE I encourage lawyers to think about their pro bono work. While representing a person pro bono, for instance, is their sole objective to win? Is that how we define our service work in the profession? Or is there another, broader opportunity? What is your relationship to those you serve? Are you open to their humanity, to their suffering, to their reality? And, in your service work are you open to the possibility that your work, your pro bono service, could serve the purpose of changing YOU? Or is your power – even as a volunteer lawyer – wrapped up solely in your bar card . . . versus your humanity, your heart, your vulnerability.
FROM THE LESSONS OF THE GEORGIA JUSTICE PROJECT (GJP)
For 20 years I have been working at the Georgia Justice Project (GJP). GJP is an unlikely mix of lawyers, social workers, and a landscaping company. We represent folks charged with a crime and, win or lose; we stand with them as they rebuild their lives.
We provide free criminal defense. We represent our clients (and others) to help them overcome the debilitating civil consequences of a criminal record. We provide social services when we accept clients. If our clients go to prison, we stay with them by visiting them and arranging prison visits for their families. Once out of jail or prison, we offer some clients a job on our landscaping company to help them re-enter society.
Our legal work, to be sure, is powerful. We keep scores of innocent folks from being convicted. We secure non-incarceration outcomes for all but a handful of our front-end criminal clients.
But, like Groundhog Day, our work is not just about the (legal) result. I believe that at the heart of GJP’s work is a personal embrace that uses legal services not as an end, but rather as a beginning. I believe that lawyers possess power, and though we should use that power in service to others, our power might keep us from a deeper lesson. The opportunity for our redemption, like Phil Connors, might lie in our defeat. Service could open the door to a Hegelian revelation: serving others opens the door to our salvation. The highest use of power might be to lay it down - at the feet of those we serve.
Though I was encouraged to develop a one-hour professional CLE, no one encouraged me to use a movie. My encourager didn’t realize that I was a movie lover. (In fact, I reviewed movies for the law school paper). One of my favorite movies is Groundhog Day – staring Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell, directed by Harold Ramis. But how do I teach professionalism from a movie about a sarcastic weather man who is stuck in the same day? What does a nearly 20-year-old romantic comedy have to say to lawyers about what is most noble in our profession? Before I tell you let me first get you up to speed on this “movie of movies” by reminding you of the plot.
THE PLOT
Phil Connors (played by Bill Murray) is a weather man assigned to cover the most famous groundhog (Punxsutawney Phil in Punxsutawney, PA) on Groundhog’s Day. An unexpected snowstorm traps the Pittsburg based weather crew (Murray, MacDowell as the producer and camera-man Chris Elliot) for the night. The next day is . . well . . . not. It isn’t the next day – it is the same day – February 2 all over again. The day is repeated, over and over. The twist is that everyone else in Punxsutawney doesn’t know they are reliving the same day (and thus have the same experiences). Murray’s character, however, remembers everything. So he is trapped in same day (Groundhog Day), yet he alone remembers reliving each day – carrying forward the lessons and memories, one day to the next.
Phil enters the movie as a selfish, self-important, and arrogant person. He is conceited and a bit hedonistic. He fancies an interest in his new producer, Andie MacDowell. But she is not interested. Faced with re-living the same day, he possesses significant power. Armed with this power, Phil still focuses on his selfish pursuits. Though he begins using this opportunity to get what he wants – money, sex, etc. – it doesn’t help him with Andie. All of his planning fails. Every attempt to win her ends in defeat.
About half way through the movie, Phil reaches the bottom. He becomes nihilistic, defeated and suicidal. His creative efforts employed to off himself are some of the funniest scenes in the movie. From the bottom, as they say, the only way to go is up.
By the end of the movie, Phil Connors is a changed man. No longer arrogant and self-centered, he is humble, other-centric, and fully engaged with all those around him. He is an artist – skilled as a jazz pianist and creating beautiful ice sculptures. He is a humanitarian – saving folks, some from certain injury and others from inconvenience. He quotes poetry and sees potential and warmth in the things he once resisted and despised. And his love interest in Andie MacDowell finally has a future.
What leads to his change? Therein lies the true gem in the movie.
THE THEME
What is this movie about? Is it simply a romantic comedy? Is it just a silly movie about a guy who can’t get out of the same day? It is a wonderful romantic comedy – but it is so much more. I believe the movie is about human maturation: more specifically moral and spiritual development. There is a story of human development buried in this romantic comedy.
My belief in the movie’s profundity was bolstered by a New York Times article a few years ago. A long article on the cover of the Sunday arts section announced that Groundhog Day was the most taught movie in graduate school film classes regarding the intersection of spirituality and films. With the backing of the New York Times and having listened to the director’s comments on the DVD version my wife gave me one birthday, I knew I was onto something.
THE TURNING POINT
When teaching this class, I love to ask folks what leads to Phil’s change. What is the turning point in his moral development? Sure there is his love interest in Andie McDowell. Sure he has the chance to learn. But what leads to his change. Then I show the scene.
The scene I show is less than three minutes long. Yet this scene, when Ramis and his crew presented their finished product to their Hollywood backers, set off an alarm. The money-men in Hollywood extolled Ramis to remove the scene.
You have to take it out. This is America. No one wants to get depressed watching a comedy.
“I can’t” Ramis responded.
Again they protested. “The movie is wonderful but you have to remove this scene.”
Ramis stood his ground. “You don’t understand. This IS the movie!”
What scene am I referring to? It is the scene where, after Phil reaches bottom and starts to come up, after becoming interested in art – he tries to save a homeless man. The homeless man, who has no spoken lines in the entire film, dies each and every time Phil tries to save him. Yet Phil calls the man father and dad. Phil gives him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Phil embraces this man on every level. All to no avail.
Phil’s efforts with this man prove pivotal. Only after this scene is Phil truly humble. Only after this encounter is Phil concerned for those around him. Only after Phil fails to save this man’s life, is he then available to suffering and joy of those around him.
I believe that it is in Phil’s failure that he finds power – power to be a force for good.
And it is only after this lesson, only after this failure with the old man, and only after his actions saving others, that Phil’s own salvation is delivered. After Phil finds this power and uses it power for others, he is freed from his own problem of re-living the same day.
THE LESSONS – FOR THE LEGAL PROFESSION
This movie offers plenty of lessons. It addresses issues of power and suffering and engagement and poverty. How did Phil understand his power? What was his power? For what purpose did he have it? How did he use it? What of those who suffered around him? The poor – was he even aware of them? Was he engaged with the community around him?
To all of these questions the answers change pre vs. post-engagement with the homeless man. He is aware of his power (and uses it for good!) only after he recognizes his powerlessness. He is engaged with those in pain only after he is intimately connected to the one most obviously suffering. And his only suffering is abated when he embraces the suffering of the person most distant from his reality. He is fully transformed by the end of the movie. His transformation was made complete through his engagement with the homeless man.
In the CLE I encourage lawyers to think about their pro bono work. While representing a person pro bono, for instance, is their sole objective to win? Is that how we define our service work in the profession? Or is there another, broader opportunity? What is your relationship to those you serve? Are you open to their humanity, to their suffering, to their reality? And, in your service work are you open to the possibility that your work, your pro bono service, could serve the purpose of changing YOU? Or is your power – even as a volunteer lawyer – wrapped up solely in your bar card . . . versus your humanity, your heart, your vulnerability.
FROM THE LESSONS OF THE GEORGIA JUSTICE PROJECT (GJP)
For 20 years I have been working at the Georgia Justice Project (GJP). GJP is an unlikely mix of lawyers, social workers, and a landscaping company. We represent folks charged with a crime and, win or lose; we stand with them as they rebuild their lives.
We provide free criminal defense. We represent our clients (and others) to help them overcome the debilitating civil consequences of a criminal record. We provide social services when we accept clients. If our clients go to prison, we stay with them by visiting them and arranging prison visits for their families. Once out of jail or prison, we offer some clients a job on our landscaping company to help them re-enter society.
Our legal work, to be sure, is powerful. We keep scores of innocent folks from being convicted. We secure non-incarceration outcomes for all but a handful of our front-end criminal clients.
But, like Groundhog Day, our work is not just about the (legal) result. I believe that at the heart of GJP’s work is a personal embrace that uses legal services not as an end, but rather as a beginning. I believe that lawyers possess power, and though we should use that power in service to others, our power might keep us from a deeper lesson. The opportunity for our redemption, like Phil Connors, might lie in our defeat. Service could open the door to a Hegelian revelation: serving others opens the door to our salvation. The highest use of power might be to lay it down - at the feet of those we serve.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Tuesday Blues
“How can you do that? How can you visit a guy serving a life sentence?”
“What do you mean?” I reply.
“Well, you were his lawyer, right? The client was convicted while he was your client, right?”
“That’s right. Either I or someone else in our office was his lawyer. But, yes we visit our folks in prison,” I answer.
“And you all just keep showing up - years after the case is over? That has to be tough? What do you talk about? Doesn’t he hate you? Doesn’t he want to kill you?”
I get these questions somewhat regularly. They usually come from other lawyers – criminal defense lawyers at that; folks accustomed to resolving tough situations for tough characters. They have forged their own way in dealing with difficult outcomes. Some have learned to confine their passions and expectations to the courtroom (perhaps the safest place to land). Some might want a deeper relationship (or impact) . . . but lack the apparatus to attempt it. And I haven’t even mentioned the dearth of resources.
I work for a grassroots legal organization, The Georgia Justice Project (GJP), which expands the notion of a lawyer’s role past the case. The idea of extending our relationship with clients after the case is over often produces reactions like the one I describe above. I try to explain our approach, our long-term commitment and relationships with clients.
We visit to affirm the potential of our client. We visit to remain connected. We visit to affirm the dignity and worth of our clients. I talk about our landscaping company – started 16 years ago to create jobs for our clients released from prison. I talk about our client gatherings – attempts to create and maintain community with our folks. I talk about our social service staff. I talk about our efforts to transform the initial need for a lawyer into something bigger, something more redemptive, an opportunity past the law.
This week I received a surprise. On Tuesday, during the middle of the day, one of our volunteers walked back to my office and said I had a visitor. “Marvin is here. Blue?” the volunteer said – half asking, half curious about this additional appellation.
Blue is here! My heart skipped a beat. I could not believe it! I heard he was in a Department of Corrections transitional center right outside of the city, but I had yet to see him. And here he was - unannounced, unplanned, a surprise!
There is something about seeing someone you have visited in prison for 20 years walk through your doors as a free man. There is a joy that I can only vaguely experience in comparison to his. But joy nonetheless consumed me when I saw him on Tuesday.
Consistent with his nickname that day he was dressed in blue. Dark blue dress pants and matching vest. A striped blue shirt – buttoned all the way up so show off the tie that brought the outfit together. As I walked up to the chair in the lobby, a wide smile spread across his face. He knew it - he knew he had made my day. He didn’t want anyone to call ahead and alert me. He wanted it to be a surprise and he had succeeded.
GJP’s founder represented Blue in the mid 1980’s. A drug deal gone bad – resulting in a life sentence. He has been in prison more than 24 years – over ½ of his still young life. His case and appeals have long been over. But part of our approach is to stay with our folks – in prison or out. Though only about 3-5% of our clients receive further jail / prison time as a result of the case, our commitment is to stay with them.
Blue was someone I always felt would do well once out. He found an amazing attitude in prison. He was positive and upbeat without being unrealistic. He did the best with where he was. Though confined with no clear hope of ever getting out, he made sense of his life, realizing he has the ultimate power – the power to change himself.
Blue is working. He has a great attitude. Blue, I believe, will do well. He already is. He is, in many ways, already a miracle.
Many lawyers experience the practice of law as a disconnected undertaking. By this I mean that the experience is not simply the result of the rational and dispassionate analysis for which we are trained. The practice can enhance (or even create) a deeper alienation from “the other,” from ourselves, from justice, and from our sense of community.
At the heart of GJP’s work is a thirst for connectedness: relationships that transcend the normal attorney-client bond, relationships that benefit those most forgotten and the broader society. This thirst for using the law as a beginning and not merely an end, is core to GJP’s approach. This thirst has kept me connected to this work for over 20 years. This thirst was satiated a bit this week. Seeing Blue, hugging him as tight as I could, I was reminded that when we seek connectedness with others as part of our law practice, we witness not only to the humanity of those we serve but also to a reinvigorated and fuller understanding of justice.
Douglas Ammar
Executive Director
Georgia Justice Project (GJP)
438 Edgewood Ave., NE
Atlanta, GA 30312
www.GJP.org
Doug@GJP.org
GJP is an unlikely mix of lawyers, social workers, and a landscaping company. We represent people accused of crime and win or lose, we stand with our clients while they rebuild their lives.
“What do you mean?” I reply.
“Well, you were his lawyer, right? The client was convicted while he was your client, right?”
“That’s right. Either I or someone else in our office was his lawyer. But, yes we visit our folks in prison,” I answer.
“And you all just keep showing up - years after the case is over? That has to be tough? What do you talk about? Doesn’t he hate you? Doesn’t he want to kill you?”
I get these questions somewhat regularly. They usually come from other lawyers – criminal defense lawyers at that; folks accustomed to resolving tough situations for tough characters. They have forged their own way in dealing with difficult outcomes. Some have learned to confine their passions and expectations to the courtroom (perhaps the safest place to land). Some might want a deeper relationship (or impact) . . . but lack the apparatus to attempt it. And I haven’t even mentioned the dearth of resources.
I work for a grassroots legal organization, The Georgia Justice Project (GJP), which expands the notion of a lawyer’s role past the case. The idea of extending our relationship with clients after the case is over often produces reactions like the one I describe above. I try to explain our approach, our long-term commitment and relationships with clients.
We visit to affirm the potential of our client. We visit to remain connected. We visit to affirm the dignity and worth of our clients. I talk about our landscaping company – started 16 years ago to create jobs for our clients released from prison. I talk about our client gatherings – attempts to create and maintain community with our folks. I talk about our social service staff. I talk about our efforts to transform the initial need for a lawyer into something bigger, something more redemptive, an opportunity past the law.
This week I received a surprise. On Tuesday, during the middle of the day, one of our volunteers walked back to my office and said I had a visitor. “Marvin is here. Blue?” the volunteer said – half asking, half curious about this additional appellation.
Blue is here! My heart skipped a beat. I could not believe it! I heard he was in a Department of Corrections transitional center right outside of the city, but I had yet to see him. And here he was - unannounced, unplanned, a surprise!
There is something about seeing someone you have visited in prison for 20 years walk through your doors as a free man. There is a joy that I can only vaguely experience in comparison to his. But joy nonetheless consumed me when I saw him on Tuesday.
Consistent with his nickname that day he was dressed in blue. Dark blue dress pants and matching vest. A striped blue shirt – buttoned all the way up so show off the tie that brought the outfit together. As I walked up to the chair in the lobby, a wide smile spread across his face. He knew it - he knew he had made my day. He didn’t want anyone to call ahead and alert me. He wanted it to be a surprise and he had succeeded.
GJP’s founder represented Blue in the mid 1980’s. A drug deal gone bad – resulting in a life sentence. He has been in prison more than 24 years – over ½ of his still young life. His case and appeals have long been over. But part of our approach is to stay with our folks – in prison or out. Though only about 3-5% of our clients receive further jail / prison time as a result of the case, our commitment is to stay with them.
Blue was someone I always felt would do well once out. He found an amazing attitude in prison. He was positive and upbeat without being unrealistic. He did the best with where he was. Though confined with no clear hope of ever getting out, he made sense of his life, realizing he has the ultimate power – the power to change himself.
Blue is working. He has a great attitude. Blue, I believe, will do well. He already is. He is, in many ways, already a miracle.
Many lawyers experience the practice of law as a disconnected undertaking. By this I mean that the experience is not simply the result of the rational and dispassionate analysis for which we are trained. The practice can enhance (or even create) a deeper alienation from “the other,” from ourselves, from justice, and from our sense of community.
At the heart of GJP’s work is a thirst for connectedness: relationships that transcend the normal attorney-client bond, relationships that benefit those most forgotten and the broader society. This thirst for using the law as a beginning and not merely an end, is core to GJP’s approach. This thirst has kept me connected to this work for over 20 years. This thirst was satiated a bit this week. Seeing Blue, hugging him as tight as I could, I was reminded that when we seek connectedness with others as part of our law practice, we witness not only to the humanity of those we serve but also to a reinvigorated and fuller understanding of justice.
Douglas Ammar
Executive Director
Georgia Justice Project (GJP)
438 Edgewood Ave., NE
Atlanta, GA 30312
www.GJP.org
Doug@GJP.org
GJP is an unlikely mix of lawyers, social workers, and a landscaping company. We represent people accused of crime and win or lose, we stand with our clients while they rebuild their lives.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Inside Look into our work - A post from Brandon Hollis Hall, Prison Support Coordinator
My name is Brandon Hollis Hall and I am the Prison Support Coordinator for the Georgia Justice Project. I come to Atlanta and the project through my year-long commitment to live in solidarity with the poor through the non-profit organization Mission Year. Every year, GJP selects a year long volunteer to fill the position of Prison Support Coordinator, so I feel very privileged to fill this role for 2009-2010. I am originally from rural Kentucky, so Atlanta has taken me quite some time to get used to. While here at the project I have met some of the most amazing and intelligent people, and I have met them in the prisons all throughout Georgia.
Each week I travel to different prisons throughout the state, to visit with and correspond with the GJP clients’ unfortunate enough to receive prison sentences. These men open up to me almost immediately as GJP is for some the only outside contact they receive. I have found my faith strengthened, and my heart filled by the stories that these men tell. Some share with me about remorse for the past. Some share stories of gratitude for the visits they receive from the folks at GJP. In every case though, they teach me that for every alleged crime, there is a face, and a story. In America often we strip humanity from those who commit crimes, and write them off, no matter the circumstances or the manner in which the crimes were committed. I have seen with my own eyes, and heard with my own ears, stories of released men not able to find jobs because of a blemish upon their record. Without ANGELS like the folks at GJP, these men would have no hope for job opportunities, or resources with which to find them.
GJP stands by their clients win or lose. The goal is breaking the cycle of poverty, not just simply representing people in court. If our clients win, we celebrate, we help them with employment through our in-house landscaping business NHL, among other things. We offer them much needed support and guidance through our in-house social service department. If our clients do end up serving time in prison, we go to the prisons to visit them. We send Christmas packages, we write, we let them know that there is somebody in the world that refuses to simply write them off. Upon release, all of our different teams within the building band together to best assist a healthy re-entry into society for the newly released. GJP has shown me that the words, JUSTICE, FAITH, and PRESERVENCE are obtainable. They have given a face to stories, and for that I am thankful. Feel free to email me at, Brandon@gjp.org for specific stories, or information.
Thanks. Brandon
Brandon Hollis Hall
Georgia Justice Project
Prison Support Coordinator
Each week I travel to different prisons throughout the state, to visit with and correspond with the GJP clients’ unfortunate enough to receive prison sentences. These men open up to me almost immediately as GJP is for some the only outside contact they receive. I have found my faith strengthened, and my heart filled by the stories that these men tell. Some share with me about remorse for the past. Some share stories of gratitude for the visits they receive from the folks at GJP. In every case though, they teach me that for every alleged crime, there is a face, and a story. In America often we strip humanity from those who commit crimes, and write them off, no matter the circumstances or the manner in which the crimes were committed. I have seen with my own eyes, and heard with my own ears, stories of released men not able to find jobs because of a blemish upon their record. Without ANGELS like the folks at GJP, these men would have no hope for job opportunities, or resources with which to find them.
GJP stands by their clients win or lose. The goal is breaking the cycle of poverty, not just simply representing people in court. If our clients win, we celebrate, we help them with employment through our in-house landscaping business NHL, among other things. We offer them much needed support and guidance through our in-house social service department. If our clients do end up serving time in prison, we go to the prisons to visit them. We send Christmas packages, we write, we let them know that there is somebody in the world that refuses to simply write them off. Upon release, all of our different teams within the building band together to best assist a healthy re-entry into society for the newly released. GJP has shown me that the words, JUSTICE, FAITH, and PRESERVENCE are obtainable. They have given a face to stories, and for that I am thankful. Feel free to email me at, Brandon@gjp.org for specific stories, or information.
Thanks. Brandon
Brandon Hollis Hall
Georgia Justice Project
Prison Support Coordinator
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Should it be this hard to get a second chance in Georgia?
Georgia law and policy pose some of the toughest barriers in the nation to people trying to get their lives back on track long after they've satisfied criminal charges or convictions.At stake: opportunities for housing, employment, public assistance and civic participation. With access to these cut off, the odds of recidivism, poverty, family instability and homelessness are high. And taxpayers foot the bill for these avoidable social and economic strains.These are among the findings of a new Mercer Law School publication, made possible by a grant from the Georgia Bar Association and the gift of time and talent by the authors:
Collateral Consequences of Arrests and Convictions: Policy and Law in Georgia . More than one in every 13 adults in Georgia is affected - well over the entire population of our state's largest city, Atlanta.
To learn more, as well as to explore potential strategies Georgia lawmakers could pursue to break down these barriers, join us for a "town hall" dialogue featuring a distinguished panel:
H. Lane Dennard Jr. Co-author and retired litigation partner at King & Spalding
Patrick C. DiCarlo Co-author and partner at Alston & Bird
Douglas Ammar Executive director of the Georgia Justice Project
Marissa McCall, Dodson Staff attorney and principal of the GJP's Coming Home Program
Milton J. Little Jr. President, United Way Metropolitan Atlanta, will moderate and facilitate participant discussion.
Tuesday December 15
4 PM - 6 PM; reception follows
Loudermilk Conference Center
40 Courtland Street, Atlanta, 30303
Discounted parking available
Copies of the book will be available upon donation to benefit the Georgia Justice Project.
There is no charge to attend and the event is open to lawmakers, state, federal and local government officials, judges,attorneys, employers, low income housing providers, clergy, people working with ex-offenders, the homeless or vulnerable families and others who care, including the media.
RSVP: melissa@gjp.org
Collateral Consequences of Arrests and Convictions: Policy and Law in Georgia . More than one in every 13 adults in Georgia is affected - well over the entire population of our state's largest city, Atlanta.
To learn more, as well as to explore potential strategies Georgia lawmakers could pursue to break down these barriers, join us for a "town hall" dialogue featuring a distinguished panel:
H. Lane Dennard Jr. Co-author and retired litigation partner at King & Spalding
Patrick C. DiCarlo Co-author and partner at Alston & Bird
Douglas Ammar Executive director of the Georgia Justice Project
Marissa McCall, Dodson Staff attorney and principal of the GJP's Coming Home Program
Milton J. Little Jr. President, United Way Metropolitan Atlanta, will moderate and facilitate participant discussion.
Tuesday December 15
4 PM - 6 PM; reception follows
Loudermilk Conference Center
40 Courtland Street, Atlanta, 30303
Discounted parking available
Copies of the book will be available upon donation to benefit the Georgia Justice Project.
There is no charge to attend and the event is open to lawmakers, state, federal and local government officials, judges,attorneys, employers, low income housing providers, clergy, people working with ex-offenders, the homeless or vulnerable families and others who care, including the media.
RSVP: melissa@gjp.org
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