Kindness is the extremity of justice
by SaraKay
Smullens
The Philadelphia Inquirer
The judge asked me exactly how the court was not showing mercy to my
client, a woman who tried to murder her own children.
Beneath a frustrated voice, I could sense kindness and decency. I
told my client's story, and he listened.
It was family court, 1995. The judge had just refused to allow me
to testify, and I'd stood up in court and begged him, much to his
surprise.
Truth was, I was flashing back to a time decades earlier, also in
family court, when I was fighting to save Cynthia (not her real
name), a child with cerebral palsy whose parents' religious beliefs
prevented her from seeing a doctor. But I was silenced in court.
Sickened, I followed the lawyer outside, begging him to carry
Cynthia to a hospital immediately. As he began to walk away,
ignoring me, I vomited on his suit and shoes right there on the
steps of 1801 Vine Street.
Cynthia died a few days later in her crib in her "home."
Fast-forward to 1995. District Attorney Lynn Abraham introduced me
to Mimi Rose, then the chief of the domestic abuse and sexual
violence unit in the District Attorney's office. Mimi was the
rarest of prosecutors: a tough lawyer when she had to be, but able
to distinguish between the truly criminal act and the crime that was
a cry for help.
Now my client was named "Margaret." She had been forced into an
incestuous relationship by her common-law stepfather, the father of
her two daughters. Margaret truly believed that the only way to
protect her daughters from her fate was for all three of them to
find God's protection in heaven. One winter evening, Margaret took
her stepdad's heart medication and mixed it with hot chocolate,
which she gave to her daughters and drank herself. But the three
were found and lived. After they recovered, the court sent
Margaret's daughters to live with their father; Margaret was denied
all contact, and she began intensive psychotherapy with me.
About a year into treatment, Mimi Rose pushed for me to be allowed
to testify that Margaret was ready for supervised visitation with
her daughters. Every other attorney and social worker involved in
this case were vehemently (and understandably) opposed to the
request for visitation by a mother who had tried to kill herself and
her daughters.
The judge refused to let me testify. That's when I flashed back to
Cynthia - her eyes begging for help - and this time I knew I could
not stay silent. I stood up and implored the judge to show mercy
and compassion to my client. The judge declared a recess and
angrily called me forward.
That's when I told my story. And the judge listened.
Thanks to his openness, and that of prosecutor Rose, Margaret was
given supervised visitation and in time, unsupervised visitation.
She found a job and an apartment and later bought her own home.
When her children's father died of a heart ailment, she was awarded
full custody of her daughters. There is love and safety in their
home.
This happened because of a prosecutor with a rare genius, a judge
who could show flexibility and compassion - and my client, Margaret,
who, given just a small taste of kindness, found the strength and
endurance that personifies a mother's love as well as, despite
everything and anything, the hope and magic of the season.
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