A Tale of Two Prosecutors

This week the Duke-Nifong drama oozed to its finale, with a payout to
the victims, a confidentiality agreement, the usual salutes to the
healing process, and plans on the part of the principals to begin
putting the case behind them. Missing from these declamations was the
core reality that had brought this day to pass. No one expected
participants in this peace-and-resolution ceremony to find a moment to
recall the rightful fury and amazement this case engendered across the
nation and outside of it -- but such a moment would not have been out
of place.


Out of control: Mike Nifong
The story about the Duke athletes and District Attorney Nifong was not
simply a riveting drama. It was in its searing way an educational
event, not just about prosecutorial ambition run amok, but about a
university world -- reflective of many others -- where faculty
ideologues pursued their agendas unchecked and unabashed. Here was a
nearly successful legal lynching, applauded by a significant chunk of
the Duke faculty, proud to display their indifference to questions of
guilt or innocence.

Duke President Richard Brodhead was doubtless disturbed by the charges
and the plight of the accused athletes. But that didn't prevent him
from firing the lacrosse coach, in deference to the reigning hysteria
-- or treating the team members as though they merited shunning. For
the most part, he kept his head down while the fires raged around him.
His was, it should be said, not unusual behavior. The great consuming
career goal of our college and university presidents -- with the
exception of oddities like Harvard's Larry Summers -- has for more
than two decades been the same: to avoid any word or deed that might
incur the wrath of their gender- and race-obsessed faculties and
allied campus activists. University presidents once had higher
ambitions.

It was a noteworthy week on the justice front. Even as Mr. Nifong was
facing ethics hearings in North Carolina, Scooter Libby's attorneys
came before trial Judge Reggie Walton, in Washington, to plead for a
delay in the beginning of the 30-month sentence the judge had handed
down. Special prosecutor Patrick Fitzgerald's project -- the
construction of a major case of obstruction of justice out of a
perjury rap against Mr. Libby -- had come to a satisfactory
conclusion.

For Mr. Fitzgerald, whose prosecutorial zeal and moral certitude are
in no small way reminiscent of Mr. Nifong's, the victory was complete
with those two final judgments: the severe sentence for Mr. Libby, and
the judge's refusal, last week, to allow its postponement pending
appeal. The prosecutor's argument for a heavy sentence emphasized Mr.
Libby's alleged serious obstruction of justice -- a complicated
effort, considering that there was no underlying crime, or evidence
thereof, and that this case, which had begun in alleged pursuit of the
leak of a covert agent's identity was, as the prosecutor himself would
finally contend, not about that leak at all.


Patrick Fitzgerald.
Just what serious obstruction of justice Mr. Libby could have been
guilty of, then, was, at the least, a heady question, though not one,
clearly, that raised any doubts in the judge. Neither did Mr.
Fitzgerald's charge -- also in pursuit of a heavy sentence -- that the
defendant had caused, by his obstruction, no end of trouble and
expense in government effort.

The obligation to truth, the prosecutor argued, was of the highest
importance, and one in which Mr. Libby had failed by perjuring
himself. It would be hard to dispute the first contention. It is no
less hard to avoid the memory of Mr. Fitzgerald's own dubious relation
to truth and honesty -- as, for example, in his failure to disclose
that he had known all along the identity of the person who had leaked
the Valerie Plame story. That person, he knew, was Richard Armitage,
deputy to Colin Powell. Not only had he concealed this knowledge -- in
what was, supposedly all that time, a quest to discover the criminals
responsible for the leak of a covert agent's name -- he had instructed
both Mr. Armitage and his superior, Colin Powell, in whom Mr. Armitage
had confided, not to reveal the truth.

Special prosecutor Fitzgerald did, of course, have a duty to keep his
investigation secret during grand jury proceedings, according to the
rules. He did not have the power to order witnesses at those
proceedings not to disclose their testimony or tell what they knew.
Instead, Mr. Fitzgerald requested Messrs. Armitage and Powell to keep
quiet about the leaker's identity -- a request they understandably
treated as an order. Why the prosecutor sought this secrecy can be no
mystery -- it was the way to keep the grand jury proceedings going, on
a fishing expedition, that could yield witnesses who stumbled, or were
entrapped, into "obstruction" or "lying" violations. It was its own
testament to the nature of this prosecution -- and the prosecutor.

That prosecution was abetted by the draw of Reggie Walton, a trial
judge not disposed to sympathy for the defense. Still, even for a
judge with a reputation for toughness and a predilection for severe
sentences, the court's behavior was -- there is no other word for it
-- strange.

There were bouts of regularly expressed irritation when it occurred to
Judge Walton that his conduct of the trial was being challenged -- as
when the defense, arguing for postponement of the sentence, cited the
existence of grounds for a successful appeal. And Judge Walton was
impelled, at frequent intervals, to hold forth on the need for the man
in the street to be persuaded that he receives equal justice. Defense
lawyers must do what they must do, but at a certain point it was
obvious that letters of support testifying to Mr. Libby's service to
the country would avail nothing. Given a judge enamored of the image
of his courtroom as an outpost in the class struggle -- a judge
obviously determined that this government official had to be sent to
prison now -- the outcome of this plea hearing was clear. It would
have been the same, one understood, if Mr. Libby had been a Medal of
Honor winner in a wheelchair.

At one point the judge delivered an outraged denunciation running to
several paragraphs, about a footnote to an amicus brief filed on
behalf of the defendant: One, he complained, in which the brief
writers cited white collar cases. This indicated, the judge concluded,
their indifference to the principle that blue collar criminals were
entitled to the same rights as white collar ones. The writers had put
the names of these white collar cases out there, the fugue continued,
"solely in the hope that it would cause me to feel pressured. . ."

Finally, the judge dismissed the amicus brief filed by 12
distinguished law professors as "not something I would expect from a
first-year law student." Nothing, however, quite equaled the court's
flow of resentment toward the brief writers as his jeering
observations about "these eminent academics" and how he trusted they
might be moved in the future to "to provide like assistance" for
litigants around the nation who lacked financial means.

The judge of course knew nothing about the signers of the brief or
their pro bono work, nor did he have any need to, as he knew. A judge
with life tenure doesn't have much to fear. Among the signers of the
brief dismissed as unworthy of a first-year law student was Alan
Dershowitz, more than half of whose cases are done pro bono. As to the
merits of the case for allowing Mr. Libby to remain free pending
appeal, Mr. Dershowitz, a liberal Democrat, notes that one of the
other signers is Robert Bork: "I agree with Robert Bork on nothing --
but on this we're of one mind."

The prospects for Mr. Libby's success in an appeal hinge on three
points, two concerning the court's refusal to allow the defense to
present certain witnesses. The other potentially powerful issue
relates to Mr. Fitzgerald. The Special Prosecutor was given, on his
appointment (by his long-time friend, acting Attorney General James
Comey) a remarkable freedom from accountability to any higher
authority or Justice Department standards. This unique freedom was
made explicit in his appointment letter. Such unparalleled lack of
control, the appeal will argue, is a violation of the principle of
checks and balances.

However it comes out, both the case mounted against Mr. Libby, and the
sentence delivered, have plenty of parallels. It is familiar stuff --
the fruits of official power run amok in the name of principle and
virtue -- and it's an ugly harvest. Mr. Libby is another in the long
line of Americans fated to face show trials and absurdly long
sentences -- the sort invariably required for meritless prosecutions.

There was at least one bright spot in the events of the last week,
specifically, Mr. Nifong's removal from office -- a case, at long
last, of a prosecutor called to account. It will be some while we can
guess, before any such wheels of justice grind their way to the
special prosecutors.

Ms. Rabinowitz, a member of the Journal's editorial board, won a
Pulitzer Prize for commentary on prosecutorial abus

.Mr. Libby is another in the long
line of Americans fated to face show trials and absurdly long
sentences -- the sort invariably required for meritless prosecutions.
....
Earl Evleth's alter ego

Does it not seem extraordinary that a man can be prosecuted,
and now be condemned to a long term of imprisonment,
because of an alleged minor inconsistency of testimony in a case
where it is admitted that there was no crime and no victim?

Christopher Hitchens

Only extraordinary if you happen to be a Republican being tried by a
jury of your "peers" by a jury in Washington DC which supports
DemocRATS by cult- like
proportions.





Tuesday, June 19th, 2007
On Jun 22, 1:22 pm, Earl Evleth wrote:
This week the Duke-Nifong drama oozed to its finale, with a payout to
the victims, a confidentiality agreement, the usual salutes to the
healing process, and plans on the part of the principals to begin
putting the case behind them. Missing from these declamations was the
core reality that had brought this day to pass. No one expected
participants in this peace-and-resolution ceremony to find a moment to
recall the rightful fury and amazement this case engendered across the
nation and outside of it -- but such a moment would not have been out
of place.

Out of control: Mike Nifong
The story about the Duke athletes and District Attorney Nifong was not
simply a riveting drama. It was in its searing way an educational
event, not just about prosecutorial ambition run amok, but about a
university world -- reflective of many others -- where faculty
ideologues pursued their agendas unchecked and unabashed. Here was a
nearly successful legal lynching, applauded by a significant chunk of
the Duke faculty, proud to display their indifference to questions of
guilt or innocence.

Duke President Richard Brodhead was doubtless disturbed by the charges
and the plight of the accused athletes. But that didn't prevent him
from firing the lacrosse coach, in deference to the reigning hysteria
-- or treating the team members as though they merited shunning. For
the most part, he kept his head down while the fires raged around him.
His was, it should be said, not unusual behavior. The great consuming
career goal of our college and university presidents -- with the
exception of oddities like Harvard's Larry Summers -- has for more
than two decades been the same: to avoid any word or deed that might
incur the wrath of their gender- and race-obsessed faculties and
allied campus activists. University presidents once had higher
ambitions.

It was a noteworthy week on the justice front. Even as Mr. Nifong was
facing ethics hearings in North Carolina, Scooter Libby's attorneys
came before trial Judge Reggie Walton, in Washington, to plead for a
delay in the beginning of the 30-month sentence the judge had handed
down. Special prosecutor Patrick Fitzgerald's project -- the
construction of a major case of obstruction of justice out of a
perjury rap against Mr. Libby -- had come to a satisfactory
conclusion.

For Mr. Fitzgerald, whose prosecutorial zeal and moral certitude are
in no small way reminiscent of Mr. Nifong's, the victory was complete
with those two final judgments: the severe sentence for Mr. Libby, and
the judge's refusal, last week, to allow its postponement pending
appeal. The prosecutor's argument for a heavy sentence emphasized Mr.
Libby's alleged serious obstruction of justice -- a complicated
effort, considering that there was no underlying crime, or evidence
thereof, and that this case, which had begun in alleged pursuit of the
leak of a covert agent's identity was, as the prosecutor himself would
finally contend, not about that leak at all.

Patrick Fitzgerald.
Just what serious obstruction of justice Mr. Libby could have been
guilty of, then, was, at the least, a heady question, though not one,
clearly, that raised any doubts in the judge. Neither did Mr.
Fitzgerald's charge -- also in pursuit of a heavy sentence -- that the
defendant had caused, by his obstruction, no end of trouble and
expense in government effort.

The obligation to truth, the prosecutor argued, was of the highest
importance, and one in which Mr. Libby had failed by perjuring
himself. It would be hard to dispute the first contention. It is no
less hard to avoid the memory of Mr. Fitzgerald's own dubious relation
to truth and honesty -- as, for example, in his failure to disclose
that he had known all along the identity of the person who had leaked
the Valerie Plame story. That person, he knew, was Richard Armitage,
deputy to Colin Powell. Not only had he concealed this knowledge -- in
what was, supposedly all that time, a quest to discover the criminals
responsible for the leak of a covert agent's name -- he had instructed
both Mr. Armitage and his superior, Colin Powell, in whom Mr. Armitage
had confided, not to reveal the truth.

Special prosecutor Fitzgerald did, of course, have a duty to keep his
investigation secret during grand jury proceedings, according to the
rules. He did not have the power to order witnesses at those
proceedings not to disclose their testimony or tell what they knew.
Instead, Mr. Fitzgerald requested Messrs. Armitage and Powell to keep
quiet about the leaker's identity -- a request they understandably
treated as an order. Why the prosecutor sought this secrecy can be no
mystery -- it was the way to keep the grand jury proceedings going, on
a fishing expedition, that could yield witnesses who stumbled, or were
entrapped, into "obstruction" or "lying" violations. It was its own
testament to the nature of this prosecution -- and the prosecutor.

That prosecution was abetted by the draw of Reggie Walton, a trial
judge not disposed to sympathy for the defense. Still, even for a
judge with a reputation for toughness and a predilection for severe
sentences, the court's behavior was -- there is no other word for it
-- strange.

There were bouts of regularly expressed irritation when it occurred to
Judge Walton that his conduct of the trial was being challenged -- as
when the defense, arguing for postponement of the sentence, cited the
existence of grounds for a successful appeal. And Judge Walton was
impelled, at frequent intervals, to hold forth on the need for the man
in the street to be persuaded that he receives equal justice. Defense
lawyers must do what they must do, but at a certain point it was
obvious that letters of support testifying to Mr. Libby's service to
the country would avail nothing. Given a judge enamored of the image
of his courtroom as an outpost in the class struggle -- a judge
obviously determined that this government official had to be sent to
prison now -- the outcome of this plea hearing was clear. It would
have been the same, one understood, if Mr. Libby had been a Medal of
Honor winner in a wheelchair.

At one point the judge delivered an outraged denunciation running to
several paragraphs, about a footnote to an amicus brief filed on
behalf of the defendant: One, he complained, in which the brief
writers cited white collar cases. This indicated, the judge concluded,
their indifference to the principle that blue collar criminals were
entitled to the same rights as white collar ones. The writers had put
the names of these white collar cases out there, the fugue continued,
"solely in the hope that it would cause me to feel pressured. . ."

Finally, the judge dismissed the amicus brief filed by 12
distinguished law professors as "not something I would expect from a
first-year law student." Nothing, however, quite equaled the court's
flow of resentment toward the brief writers as his jeering
observations about "these eminent academics" and how he trusted they
might be moved in the future to "to provide like assistance" for
litigants around the nation who lacked financial means.

The judge of course knew nothing about the signers of the brief or
their pro bono work, nor did he have any need to, as he knew. A judge
with life tenure doesn't have much to fear. Among the signers of the
brief dismissed as unworthy of a first-year law student was Alan
Dershowitz, more than half of whose cases are done pro bono. As to the
merits of the case for allowing Mr. Libby to remain free pending
appeal, Mr. Dershowitz, a liberal Democrat, notes that one of the
other signers is Robert Bork: "I agree with Robert Bork on nothing --
but on this we're of one mind."

The prospects for Mr. Libby's success in an appeal hinge on three
points, two concerning the court's refusal to allow the defense to
present certain witnesses. The other potentially powerful issue
relates to Mr. Fitzgerald. The Special Prosecutor was given, on his
appointment (by his long-time friend, acting Attorney General James
Comey) a remarkable freedom from accountability to any higher
authority or Justice Department standards. This unique freedom was
made explicit in his appointment letter. Such unparalleled lack of
control, the appeal will argue, is a violation of the principle of
checks and balances.

However it comes out, both the case mounted against Mr. Libby, and the
sentence delivered, have plenty of parallels. It is familiar stuff --
the fruits of official power run amok in the name of principle and
virtue -- and it's an ugly harvest. Mr. Libby is another in the long
line of Americans fated to face show trials and absurdly long
sentences -- the sort invariably required for meritless prosecutions.

There was at least one bright spot in the events of the last week,
specifically, Mr. Nifong's removal from office -- a case, at long
last, of a prosecutor called to account. It will be some while we can
guess, before any such wheels of justice grind their way to the
special prosecutors.

Ms. Rabinowitz, a member of the Journal's editorial board, won a
Pulitzer Prize for commentary on prosecutorial abus

"Pajamas O'Donovan" wrote in message news:
...
.Mr. Libby is another in the long line of Americans fated to face...
snip
Make your picks, Tweezy
Your final four seconds
Build a super athlete
Back to Story--Help

I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in
and stops my mind from wandering
where it will go
I'm filling the cracks that ran though the door
and kept my mind from wandering
where it will go

And it really doesn't matter if I'm wrong
I'm right where I belong
I'm right where I belong
See the people standing there
who disagree and never win
and wonder why they don't get in my door

I'm painting my room in a colorful way,
and when my mind is wandering
there I will go

And it really doesn't matter if I'm wrong
I'm right where I belong
I'm right where I belong
Silly people run around
they worry me and never ask me
why they don't get past my door

I'm taking my time for a number of things
that weren't important yesterday
and I still go

I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in
and stops my mind from wandering
where it will go
where it will go

I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in
and stops my mind from wandering
where it will go...

"Fixing A Hole"
Lennon/McCartney

***************
joninokc007 wrote:

"I commend the man for not living on grates.

"Unfortunately, this type of life does not just draw responsible dudes
who work for a living, and are living an monk's simple life, but
fugitives on the lam, criminals who are homeless and who prey on kids,
the usual drug and alcohol addict crowd, and the down low fraud
artists, who make big money in panhandling and grifts and scams.

"It also draws illegal aliens who have taken over a lot of open areas
and canyons in Southern California, and who will attack any law
enforcement or park officials who try to run them out, and OTM's who
come across the border, but are not Mexicans and who are trying to
blend in to the country while hiding Middle East or Red Chinese
backgrounds.

"Oklahoma City has many wild areas near rivers that have both bunkers
and trash sourced housing that allows hundreds of men from many
backgrounds to live off the land or cheap, and who form lawless gypsy
camps where violence and thievery can be commonplace.

"I understand the desire to have somewhere out of the weather, and
hidden from harrassing law and other transients, but this housing
underground or in the woods can be a bad thing for the neighbors who
deal with shady types who use it."

(Where it will go...)