The Court of Fools...
Homo praesumitur bonus donec probetur malus
This means that one is innocent until proven guilty. Proven guilt. That is the principle that our judiciary system is supposed to uphold. They are given the responsibility to make judgments upon what is proof and what is fabrication. Unfortunately, some judges don't understand their place.
I was in court yesterday. In mid February I was pulled over by a temperamental Lombard police officer in an undercover squad car. We were both sitting in traffic at a stop light, I in the left lane, he in the right. When the light turned green he changed into my lane and turned on his lights. I was very curious as to why I was pulled over. As far I as knew I didn't violate any rule of the road.
Well this adult world hall monitor walked up to my car. I had the license and registration in my hand, and I asked him what he pulled me over for. He said that I changed lanes without signaling. I asked him if he was sure about that. He said he was. I repeated the question and he reaffirmed his stance...
I am an avid signaler. I signal in parking lots, I signal when nobody is around, I even signal when I travel down a one-way street that suddenly veers a different direction. But let's ignore my enthusiastic signaling, because everybody can forget from time to time. I was shocked by his reason because I didn't change lanes until he pulled me over. So did I signal? When he told me that I didn't, I immediately looked at my dashboard, and what was blinking? A little green light in the shape of right arrow.
I was confused with the officer's utter lack of attention and blatant disregard for reality. Was he lying to me? This wasn't my first encounter with moronic police officers, but I've never been pulled over based upon a police officer's fabrication. Once, in Lombard, I was pulled over during a heavy blizzard for having snow covering my license plate. But that was real, I did in fact have snow covering my plate, so did the squad car, but that's not the point. The point is that my previous tickets always had an element of truth, and this one had none.
After my last question, he was irritated and bluntly stated that I was getting a ticket. He was obviously upset that I asked him anything, I guess he never heard of habeas corpus. He was expecting me to act like a lamb, frightened at the power entrusted to him. Fuck no, not me!
I find it hard to respect suburban police officers. Their main purpose is to generate revenue for government by punishing people for victimless crimes like speeding, parking illegally, and failing to signal. I've visited foreign countries, where police are there to protect the innocent, where they don't waste their time and people's tax money acting like hall monitors, and guess what, people get along fine.
So anyway, he came back to my car and handed me a ticket written upon with sub-third-grader handwriting. I told him I plan on fighting the ticket. He said good. I told him that I would write a complaint. He said good. I was curious to find the extent of his vocabulary and asked him his name. He said "Erikson". I guess his parent's didn't think he deserved a first name, they were right.
I asked him if he would follow me back to his station so that I could speak to his superior in his presence. He said he couldn't. I asked him the name of his superior. He grunts to me, "Sergeant Kundrot." I told him that I would write a letter of complaint. He said good and started to walk away, following me with his eyes and giving me his best "look at my gun, I'm a tough guy" look all the way back to his squad car.
I was livid and only able to calm myself with the notion that I was going to fight this ticket and that he would most likely get lost on the way to the courthouse. I was wrong, he came, driven by a buddy.
I arrived in court early and sat near the back. The bailiff commanded silence in the court room and the judge came to the bench. He laid out the rules. "No talking, no cell phone use, no pager, no radio, have documents ready upon approaching the bench..." The clerk then told everyone that they were to form a single-file line upon hearing their name called. I was one of the first called, stood in line and eventually made the plea of "not guilty". I then sat down in the front row to await my trial.
I spent the next couple of hours cataloguing officer Eriksons behavior. At first he spent his time staring at me menacingly, occasionally twitching an eyebrow, flashing his teeth and scratching under his chin. I think he was trying to intimidate me. He eventually lost focus of me and started to draw on a piece of paper (the movement of his arm was far to large to be for the purpose of writing). He nearly rested his head on the desk as he drew with his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth like a kindergartener.
He then became talkative. He was the only person outside of the bench that was talking. He was making comments to the other police officers that were there for a trial. The bailiff kept on turning around and trying to make eye-contact with Erikson but the young cop was too busy making jokes about the people walking up to the bench. The looks of the other officers were as plain as day; "shut the fuck up asshole" written all over them. He missed the message.
He finally did shut up when a couple of lawyers started to talk next to me. The prosecutor came over and told them to be quiet or else they'll get tossed in jail. This got Erikson's attention and he began his itchy twitchy stare in their direction. They ended up leaving the room and returned only to sit as far away from Erikson as possible.
The plea hearings were now finished and the bailiff announced a recess. The prosecutor followed with an announcement that anyone that wanted to see her could do so at that point. I rushed up there and was cut in front off by several large and dangerous looking people. They were very rude to the prosecutor and I was impressed by how she maintained her composure. These men of various race and appearance never seemed to get her upset.
I noticed that I was the only Caucasian in the line. I thought to myself that most of these people in the court were probably victims of racial profiling, and what a shame that was. Finally it was my turn. I went up to her and stood a comfortable distance away from her desk. The moment I opened my mouth she started to get angry. I never once raised my voice, said an off-color comment nor was I anything except respectful and cordial. That did not seem to matter. She had a goal, to release all of her frustrations out upon the one person that couldn't use that action against her. She started to raise her voice, spoke shrilly and called me arrogant and that I "talked my way into a ticket". I was confused and told her that I was only trying to explain to her what happened.
The bailiff finally came to intervene. He told me that the judge was on his way and that it was my place to sit back down in my seat. He walked me back and told me that the judge was a much better listener. I asked him if I was still in America or if this was Iran? He simply smiled and walked away. I noticed that Erikson was smiling at me. Then I knew the outcome, but I still decided to maintain my plea of not-guilty and fight.
The judge arrived back in court and the trials were started. Several people went up to the bench and made their case. Those with lawyers won, those without paid. I was the last case.
My name was called and both Erikson and I approached the bench. His demeanor had changed. His brow was no longer scrunched into a Neanderthal-like expression. Instead he looked more like an innocent alter boy on his way back from choir practice. I knew I was screwed.
The rules were laid out, the prosecutor begins with her remarks, and I follow with mine. The prosecutor had Erikson explain the situation. He stated that I changed lanes twice without signaling near Division and Westmore/Myers road. He added that I was "uncooperative" during the stop.
I then had the opportunity to ask him questions. The entire time the prosecutor was smirking and shaking her head. I asked him if I immediately gave him my license and registration upon his arrival at the side of my car. He said I did. I then asked him how I was being uncooperative. He said I was asking questions. I then explained to him about habeas corpus and then asked him again how I was being uncooperative. The judge intervened and said that we could argue for hours about that subject. I was told to move on and did so.
I asked him if he was certain that I actually did change lanes. He said he was. I told the judge that I disagreed and that I hadn't changed lanes. The judge said that was immaterial. I was a bit shocked but moved on.
I asked him if he could have been mistaken about the violation. He said he was sure it was me. I asked him if there was heavy traffic and he said there was. I then asked him if we were stopped at a light when the violation occurred. He said he didn't remember. I asked him if "hypothetically" I changed lanes, could he have blinked and missed the signal. He assured me that he didn't blink. I told him that people blink about 40 times a minute, and asked him if he positive he didn't blink. Once again he assured me that he didn't blink. I said that he couldn't remember if we were stopped in traffic or not but he could remember not blinking. The judge told me that I should move on.
I was done questioning. The officer wasn't going to tell the truth if it would hurt his case against me. I told the judge that there was absolutely no proof against me, no surveillance, no corroborating eyewitness accounts, nothing. All there was that pointed to a violation was one word against another and that words alone don't imply guilt, only proof can point to guilt.
The judge asked if I had anything else to state. I declined. He then said that he had no reason not to believe the police officer and that he was "forced" to find me guilty. I had to pay $50 to the clerk.
While I was writing a check for the clerk he was counting the money already paid. There were several stacks of twenties. I asked the clerk if he worked there long. He said "over twenty years." I asked him, "In all that time has there ever been a case where it was a cop's word versus the defendant and the defendant ended up winning?" He paused and looked up from the piles of cash and said "of course, but the defendants tended to have lawyers."
I rest my case...
This means that one is innocent until proven guilty. Proven guilt. That is the principle that our judiciary system is supposed to uphold. They are given the responsibility to make judgments upon what is proof and what is fabrication. Unfortunately, some judges don't understand their place.
I was in court yesterday. In mid February I was pulled over by a temperamental Lombard police officer in an undercover squad car. We were both sitting in traffic at a stop light, I in the left lane, he in the right. When the light turned green he changed into my lane and turned on his lights. I was very curious as to why I was pulled over. As far I as knew I didn't violate any rule of the road.
Well this adult world hall monitor walked up to my car. I had the license and registration in my hand, and I asked him what he pulled me over for. He said that I changed lanes without signaling. I asked him if he was sure about that. He said he was. I repeated the question and he reaffirmed his stance...
I am an avid signaler. I signal in parking lots, I signal when nobody is around, I even signal when I travel down a one-way street that suddenly veers a different direction. But let's ignore my enthusiastic signaling, because everybody can forget from time to time. I was shocked by his reason because I didn't change lanes until he pulled me over. So did I signal? When he told me that I didn't, I immediately looked at my dashboard, and what was blinking? A little green light in the shape of right arrow.
I was confused with the officer's utter lack of attention and blatant disregard for reality. Was he lying to me? This wasn't my first encounter with moronic police officers, but I've never been pulled over based upon a police officer's fabrication. Once, in Lombard, I was pulled over during a heavy blizzard for having snow covering my license plate. But that was real, I did in fact have snow covering my plate, so did the squad car, but that's not the point. The point is that my previous tickets always had an element of truth, and this one had none.
After my last question, he was irritated and bluntly stated that I was getting a ticket. He was obviously upset that I asked him anything, I guess he never heard of habeas corpus. He was expecting me to act like a lamb, frightened at the power entrusted to him. Fuck no, not me!
I find it hard to respect suburban police officers. Their main purpose is to generate revenue for government by punishing people for victimless crimes like speeding, parking illegally, and failing to signal. I've visited foreign countries, where police are there to protect the innocent, where they don't waste their time and people's tax money acting like hall monitors, and guess what, people get along fine.
So anyway, he came back to my car and handed me a ticket written upon with sub-third-grader handwriting. I told him I plan on fighting the ticket. He said good. I told him that I would write a complaint. He said good. I was curious to find the extent of his vocabulary and asked him his name. He said "Erikson". I guess his parent's didn't think he deserved a first name, they were right.
I asked him if he would follow me back to his station so that I could speak to his superior in his presence. He said he couldn't. I asked him the name of his superior. He grunts to me, "Sergeant Kundrot." I told him that I would write a letter of complaint. He said good and started to walk away, following me with his eyes and giving me his best "look at my gun, I'm a tough guy" look all the way back to his squad car.
I was livid and only able to calm myself with the notion that I was going to fight this ticket and that he would most likely get lost on the way to the courthouse. I was wrong, he came, driven by a buddy.
I arrived in court early and sat near the back. The bailiff commanded silence in the court room and the judge came to the bench. He laid out the rules. "No talking, no cell phone use, no pager, no radio, have documents ready upon approaching the bench..." The clerk then told everyone that they were to form a single-file line upon hearing their name called. I was one of the first called, stood in line and eventually made the plea of "not guilty". I then sat down in the front row to await my trial.
I spent the next couple of hours cataloguing officer Eriksons behavior. At first he spent his time staring at me menacingly, occasionally twitching an eyebrow, flashing his teeth and scratching under his chin. I think he was trying to intimidate me. He eventually lost focus of me and started to draw on a piece of paper (the movement of his arm was far to large to be for the purpose of writing). He nearly rested his head on the desk as he drew with his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth like a kindergartener.
He then became talkative. He was the only person outside of the bench that was talking. He was making comments to the other police officers that were there for a trial. The bailiff kept on turning around and trying to make eye-contact with Erikson but the young cop was too busy making jokes about the people walking up to the bench. The looks of the other officers were as plain as day; "shut the fuck up asshole" written all over them. He missed the message.
He finally did shut up when a couple of lawyers started to talk next to me. The prosecutor came over and told them to be quiet or else they'll get tossed in jail. This got Erikson's attention and he began his itchy twitchy stare in their direction. They ended up leaving the room and returned only to sit as far away from Erikson as possible.
The plea hearings were now finished and the bailiff announced a recess. The prosecutor followed with an announcement that anyone that wanted to see her could do so at that point. I rushed up there and was cut in front off by several large and dangerous looking people. They were very rude to the prosecutor and I was impressed by how she maintained her composure. These men of various race and appearance never seemed to get her upset.
I noticed that I was the only Caucasian in the line. I thought to myself that most of these people in the court were probably victims of racial profiling, and what a shame that was. Finally it was my turn. I went up to her and stood a comfortable distance away from her desk. The moment I opened my mouth she started to get angry. I never once raised my voice, said an off-color comment nor was I anything except respectful and cordial. That did not seem to matter. She had a goal, to release all of her frustrations out upon the one person that couldn't use that action against her. She started to raise her voice, spoke shrilly and called me arrogant and that I "talked my way into a ticket". I was confused and told her that I was only trying to explain to her what happened.
The bailiff finally came to intervene. He told me that the judge was on his way and that it was my place to sit back down in my seat. He walked me back and told me that the judge was a much better listener. I asked him if I was still in America or if this was Iran? He simply smiled and walked away. I noticed that Erikson was smiling at me. Then I knew the outcome, but I still decided to maintain my plea of not-guilty and fight.
The judge arrived back in court and the trials were started. Several people went up to the bench and made their case. Those with lawyers won, those without paid. I was the last case.
My name was called and both Erikson and I approached the bench. His demeanor had changed. His brow was no longer scrunched into a Neanderthal-like expression. Instead he looked more like an innocent alter boy on his way back from choir practice. I knew I was screwed.
The rules were laid out, the prosecutor begins with her remarks, and I follow with mine. The prosecutor had Erikson explain the situation. He stated that I changed lanes twice without signaling near Division and Westmore/Myers road. He added that I was "uncooperative" during the stop.
I then had the opportunity to ask him questions. The entire time the prosecutor was smirking and shaking her head. I asked him if I immediately gave him my license and registration upon his arrival at the side of my car. He said I did. I then asked him how I was being uncooperative. He said I was asking questions. I then explained to him about habeas corpus and then asked him again how I was being uncooperative. The judge intervened and said that we could argue for hours about that subject. I was told to move on and did so.
I asked him if he was certain that I actually did change lanes. He said he was. I told the judge that I disagreed and that I hadn't changed lanes. The judge said that was immaterial. I was a bit shocked but moved on.
I asked him if he could have been mistaken about the violation. He said he was sure it was me. I asked him if there was heavy traffic and he said there was. I then asked him if we were stopped at a light when the violation occurred. He said he didn't remember. I asked him if "hypothetically" I changed lanes, could he have blinked and missed the signal. He assured me that he didn't blink. I told him that people blink about 40 times a minute, and asked him if he positive he didn't blink. Once again he assured me that he didn't blink. I said that he couldn't remember if we were stopped in traffic or not but he could remember not blinking. The judge told me that I should move on.
I was done questioning. The officer wasn't going to tell the truth if it would hurt his case against me. I told the judge that there was absolutely no proof against me, no surveillance, no corroborating eyewitness accounts, nothing. All there was that pointed to a violation was one word against another and that words alone don't imply guilt, only proof can point to guilt.
The judge asked if I had anything else to state. I declined. He then said that he had no reason not to believe the police officer and that he was "forced" to find me guilty. I had to pay $50 to the clerk.
While I was writing a check for the clerk he was counting the money already paid. There were several stacks of twenties. I asked the clerk if he worked there long. He said "over twenty years." I asked him, "In all that time has there ever been a case where it was a cop's word versus the defendant and the defendant ended up winning?" He paused and looked up from the piles of cash and said "of course, but the defendants tended to have lawyers."
I rest my case...
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