WE SPEND PLENTY ON THE REVOLVING DOOR – by Cynthia Hall Clements 

The defendant sat in the witness box, dressed in a blindingly orange jumpsuit, testifying on his own behalf why he should have a bond reduction. After the judge declared a mistrial on evidence of jury tampering by the defendant’s family, this young black man, barely 23 years old, was in county jail in a small East Texas town awaiting his second trial on narcotics possession. In this case, it was crack cocaine with intent to deliver in a drug free school zone, some 200 yards from a neighborhood Head Start program. 

The judge had set his bail at $250,000, since the local police had arrested him on a subsequent drug charge, marijuana possession, while he was out on a lower bail before his first trial. The defendant testified he needed a lower amount now, perhaps $100,000, to get out of county jail since his grandfather was in poor health and his grandmother needed him to help her with his niece, who lived with them. His girlfriend, a petite, young white woman sitting in the audience, started weeping when the deputy brought him to the courtroom and she saw him shackled and handcuffed. 

During testimony, the district attorney asked on cross-examination, “How many times have you been arrested in your adult career as a criminal?” The defendant had just stated he never had held legal employment to-date. 

“I don’t know,” mumbled the defendant, which I’m certain was his way of saying, “It’s too many too recall.” 

“Does 34 times sound right?” the D.A. asked, reviewing the defendant’s rap sheet. 

“Sure,” he admitted, nonchalantly, whatever. His answer stunned me, though. 

The judge denied the defendant’s motion for a bond reduction, which was not unexpected. The deputies gathered up and escorted Mr. Defendant back to county jail, and his girlfriend wailed even harder. This endeavor in futility wasted 30 plus minutes of court time, not including the legal effort before it got there.  

It’s the process that counts, not those charged with a crime, any been-around lawyer will tell you. It’s justice by checklist. Read defendant his rights. Check. Defense argument. Check. Prosecution cross-examination. Check. 

Divorces, drugs, and drama reign; only the faces are different in the blur of the busy courtroom. The stories are shockingly similar to the novice observer. It’s mind numbing at times, emotionally overwhelming at others, but the system perseveres, regardless of the participants.  

But 34 previous arrests for this baby-faced, seemingly innocuous in appearance, African-American man? That number stuck with me. Even when not including juvenile offenses, it’s too many. Basic math shows his arrest average is about seven a year, approximately once every other month, consistently, for the past five years. My fear, though, is that he’s like too many others, since almost 45 percent of Texas’ inmate population is black, even though African Americans are just 12 percent of the state population. 

The state of Texas is wasting its resources on this guy. We’ve arrested him “34 times.” He’s had countless motions before the court, numerous trials, and lived in county jail and the Texas Department of Corrections for a good part of the past five years, not including his juvenile delinquencies and time spent for them. 

For the amount Texas taxpayers have spent on processing this young man through various encounters with the system, he likely could have attended community college, or a technical school to learn a vocation, also paid for by us. 

“But some people just don’t want to help themselves,” I hear the eye-for-an-eye crowd clamoring, eager for blood —sometimes literally — and retribution. Fine. Let’s just continue to pay for prison for this guy until the legal players change, until he’s broken and thoroughly defeated in and by life, and then we’ll release him. We’ll still be supporting him, however, through Medicaid and food stamps. 

That’ll show him. Or will it show us?