Mother's Day Juvenile Justice

The sound of laughter of my nephews and their cousins fills the backyard. The kids are clambering on top of the balls, the dogs running after the balls, the mothers after the toddlers, and my own boys engaged in a fierce battle of kick dodgeball. The men hover around the grill. One is doing the Kabob, the other the lobster tails. Another is in charge of pouring the drinks. The women, today, are seated. Mothers, mother in laws, sister in laws, all around. Edith Piaf is singing Padam Padam Padam on top of her lungs.

Pandora keeps getting interrupted. I walk over to the sound system thinking something is wrong with my phone, and i see that i have received a text from a client that i represented years ago. He wrote: "Ms. Kamran, on this mother's day, i wanted to let you know that i am thinking of you. You were like my 2nd mom. Here is a picture of my wife and newborn child. Thank you for not giving up on me when they wanted to throw me away in Juvenile hall."

I stood there for a minute, staring at the picture, and for the life of me, i could not remember the teen ager that he was, nor his case. All i was looking at was the picture of a handsome man in his late 20's. Was it that kid who was arrested for assault with a deadly weapon, a gun? or was it the kid who tried to smuggle 35 kilos of pot across the Mexican border? Was it the other kid who tried to beat up his dad with a tire iron when he learned that his dad wouldn't buy him new tires? or the one who got so drunk, drove a car and almost killed a pedestrian? Was it the tagger? the computer hack? the scoundrel who threatened to blow up his high school? or the kid who was selling oregano as weed? or maybe it was the one that used a stolen credit card for an all expense paid vacation in a Malibu hotel & Bar.

Padam Padam Padam....

i quickly catalog 23 years of criminal defense in my head, trying to identify this man... and the rolodex of pictures that flips in my head at a lightening speed, forces me to sit down. For 23 years, i have had the privilege of representing teen agers who, for one reason or another found themselves caught up in the teeth of the Juvenile Justice System for charges ranging from murder to bicycle theft. For 23 years i have spoken at temples and churches and high schools, giving seminars on Teenage Sex, Drugs and Alcohol.

All these years, my passion has been the convoluted and misunderstood lives of teen agers struggling with multi cultural assimilation, divorce and domestic violence. And every time, i have picked up a new juvenile case, i have learned a new lesson in love, in tolerance, in compassion, in understanding, in abundance and in forgiveness.

No child ever grows up with ambitions of becoming locked up in Juvenile hall. No child ever falls asleep at night hugging his Teddy Bear and chasing away the monsters under his bed dreaming of becoming an outlaw. We all want to be good. We all want to be successful. We all want to be happy. But we each make mistakes, and make bad choices, and sometimes, unfortunately go down a one way path. But a bad choice, does not a bad person make. It is however, the inability to learn from that one mistake in one's teenage years that distinguishes between the man who looks at himself in the mirror in his 30's and says: "shit, that was a close call", and the man who has to look up at the sky to find the horizon, because the prison walls block his views.

My attention quickly shifts over to my calendar tomorrow. My client sits in Juvenile hall. He is 16 and has the most gorgeous blue eyes i have seen in years. He is small, frail and this is his first brush with the law, and tomorrow we have a detention hearing on whether or not the Court will release him home pending his trial in Juvenile Court. The charges are serious. i want to believe that i can win the hearing tomorrow and bring him home to his dad. I want to believe that these past few days in Juvenile hall have given him a glimpse of what he NEVER ever wants to experience AGAIN. i am well aware of my limited capabilities, and know that my dreams and wishes do not have magical powers of making reality. But i also believe in the power of love and of compassion.

xxxxxxx

My inbox and my wall today are full of messages of gratitude and love from many of those Juveniles who are now men and women of valor. I know some of you who are reading this are the parents of those once teen-age clients of mine. And i know some of you ARE those once teenage clients of mine. On this Mother's day, i wish you well and i thank you for having given me the privilege of having represented you. I thank you for allowing me to play an integral role in your life and i hope that all that i have learned over the course of these past 23 years helps me tomorrow, as i take on yet another child as my own.

May 10, 2015

Mothers Day.

Lines, Rhymes and Internal Monologues:  Uncollected Writings.

Alaleh Kamran, Attorney at Law

A Professional Corporation

15760 Ventura Blvd, Suite 1010

Encino, Ca  91436

ph: 818-986-6222

Lecturer, Radio Host, Citizen Journalist, Blogger

Los Angeles

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The Pickle Factory that is the Mental Health Courthouse.

I'd rather be anywhere but here today... Parking is hell.. and there are no available spots for at least 3 blocks... I squeeze my car into a tiny hole, on badly mangled asphalt disfigured by mighty root trees that refuse to change their nature in the construct of man-made civilization.   I stumble out of the driver seat by catching my heel on the ground. 

The weight of my client's case carries heavier in my heart than my huge briefcase stacked with Jail records, Mental Hospital and psychiatrist reports.  I walk by the railroad tracks, on my way to get to Courthouse.  The train drags by along the tracks, lingering & hesitant... It too, is loathing arrival at the destination point. 

I walk into this building, an old pickle factory, now transformed into the Mental Health Court.  The hallways are packed with patients from different mental hospitals, accused of some type of a crime, or being placed on hold for being either a "danger to self" "danger to others" or "unable to provide for their own food shelter & clothing"....

Some are disheveled... others talk to themselves and respond to internal stimuli.  Yet another is catatonic and is staring into the dead space... There is a distinct smell to Mental Illness, permeated in the hallways by the pungent odors of disillusionment and the putrid smells of confusion, disappointment and desperation.

I made the mistake of becoming emotionally involved with this case.  I made the humoungous mistake of meeting family members in this wretched case of mine, and allowing my mothering instincts to gel with that of the mother.   I am now twined to the case, twined to the defendant who is facing a life sentence, twined to his mother, and his family members ....  and I have lost my footing.

I was up all last night.  My insides writhing with anguish, struggling with strategy, policy, morality, and law.     Yes, after 22 years of practice, there are still some cases that grapple my soul, and etch themselves to my inner fibers... 

The tragedy of Mental Illness occurs when it collides with the defunct, bankrupt and dilapidated criminal justice system... Years ago, in an effort hailed by the Republicans as Reaganomics, all fundings were stripped from Mental Hospitals, Mental programs, outpatient and inpatient programs much like the way ISIS strips its prisoners dignity prior to killing them.

I walk to the back of the Courtroom towards that long hallway that leads to the holding areas.  Walls are painted an ugly forest Green and the familiar smell of jail burns my nostrils.  It smells like a dirty meat shop.  The heart of this courthouse is the testament of our failure as a society.   Alexis de Tocqueville, the French political philosopher of the 19^th Century once said that the best way to judge the success of any democracy is to measure how it treats the mentally ill and the incarcerated.  And by what I have seen in the last 22 years and having worked a great part of my law school career in the mental health units of the criminal justice system, I know that we have failed.  Utterly, absolutely, unequivocally and without a single doubt. 

September 4, 2014

CDAK

Alaleh Kamran

Alaleh Kamran, Attorney at Law

A Professional Corporation

15760 Ventura Blvd, Suite 1010

Encino, Ca  91436

ph: 818-986-6222

Lecturer, Radio Host, Citizen Journalist, Blogger

alalehkamran@alalehkamran.com

Los Angeles, Las Vegas

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The Color of My Black

Every once in a while, something stirs from deep within me... it manifests itself as a yearning somewhere near my heart... it has magic slippery tentacles that slowly but palpably expand and wrap their hungry grips around my heart, my stomach, my insides and as it grows it consumes my soul .... and i yield... all that i can do is yield. To take a step back, to sit, and to breathe ... to breathe deep. to close my eyes and listen to the beast within. 

Because words breathe and they're alive... because they are conceived in the deepest troves of my heart, and come to life with each heart beat, and gain strength and slowly move up to my lips as I slowly bat my eyes and try to maintain composure... Because words are born on my tongue and finally, they take flight as my tears irrigate my soul...

And so.. the stories write themselves...words one by one, slowly at first, and then with a rush, like a spring shower, ... 

"get in Girl,... we're rolling out to the scene". 

Handsome and gray, with his sharp blue LAPD uniform, pressed as if he was presenting himself to the US President... His shoes, recently waxed, buffed and shined, reflected the light of the overhead street lights... I, the young law clerk, barely 24 years old, with my coffee in my hands, and my note pad, eager to see, eager to learn, eager to meet the world, was hanging on to every word of this Sargent who was going to be my mentor for the next 12 hours.

"victim on the ground, single gun shot wound, paramedics on their way...." the voice from the black & white's radio updated us as we rolled out to the scene. 

A short ride later, in the Northeastern part of LA, we rolled out to a neighborhood i never knew existed. ...Yellow tape delineating the crime scene, people gathering all around, and the sound of clatter, crying sounds and noise associated with doom. 

"Get out of the car. Breathe slowly,... look, don't touch, and don't let it get inside your heart" He ordered me. A lesson that i have often forgotten over the years. The black of the criminal defense world, is blacker and darker than any other black one will ever see.

We slowly walked up. a bicycle on the ground... blood slowly running in a rivulet on the asphalt to the side of the street, ... looking up to see where the blood was coming from laid a yound man, on the ground, on his back, single gun shot to his forehead, at close proximity leaving a star shaped pattern, grey matter splattered all around. 

....................

The contents of my stomach crept up slowly to the edge of my throat, and i, lost in the acrimony of the moment, could not find any air to breathe... so i ended up swallowing the black that has forever placed itself inside of my soul....

Uncollected writing of CDAK. 

February 1, 2014

Alaleh Kamran, Attorney at Law

A Professional Corporation

15760 Ventura Blvd, Suite 1010

Encino, Ca  91436

ph: 818-986-6222

Lecturer, Radio Host, Citizen Journalist, Blogger

Los Angeles

http://alalehkamranlaw.blogspot.com/

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Alaleh-Kamran-Criminal-Defense-Fan-Page

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Destruction of Enemies is a good thing.

They never found the body... but the forensic evidence and the suspect's statements led the LAPD to believe that he had shot his brother and disposed of the body.

The cadaver dogs had positively reacted to the backyard... There were purchases made from Home Depot for all sorts of tools, including a shovel, an axe, 30 pounds of briquets, and a hammer.

The bottom lining of the living room couch was missing, there were human hair stuck in the nails at the bottom.

We stood in court, face to face, the prosecutor and I... she had charged my client with 1st degree murder, seeking a life sentence. The detectives standing behind her, holding the 2 volume murder book, spanning the 1.5 year murder investigation, looked at me with a poker face, trying to gauge my ability and fortitude...

....

In the process of defending the case, and defending my client's life, in the process of finding justice between a Murder and a Manslaughter, in the process of matching the facts and deleting the suppositions, the prosecutor and i tested each other's mettle. I took her to task. I challenged her theories, her suppositions, and she returned the favor.

.....

A few short years have passed since then. And Madame prosecutor, who took me to task, and whom i fought hard and long in that battle is now a Judge. I walked into her Court today... She saw me, she lit up, and she smiled. Her eyes sparkled. She got off the bench, hugged me and i hugged her back.

I am reminded of Abraham Lincoln's quote: Am I not destroying my enemies when I make friends of them?"

Someday, before i am old and grey, before i have lost my wits to senility, i will write about this one case that cored my soul, hollowed me of breath, and hallowed my practice. But until that day comes, ... i am the luckiest girl who practices what she loves and her passion for her work has translated into a tale of 1001 stories that would put Sheherzad to shame.

On a glorious morning, ...

CDAK.

1/27/2014

Los Angeles

Lecturer, Radio Host, Citizen Journalist, Blogger

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Vertical Horizons: A medical student's battle with Heroin.

The solitude of evening has finally arrived. The staff has left for the evening. The phones are switched over to the answering service. And, for a while, my world has paused. The lights in my office are off. I am staring at the lights that flicker from here to the end of the horizon. Life seems at times suspended here, on the twenty second floor. As the CD changer flips back and forth between Pink Floyd, Dire Straits, Leonard Cohen and Kitaro, I come back to reality only to drift away again. I am tired and my soul hurts. Sometimes, I wish I could take an enormous brush and paint the world with peace and calm.

You see, the life of a criminal defense attorney is saturated with unhappy stories and frequently tragic endings. My client was just raped in a California state prison. We both knew it was bound to happen sooner or later. We just hoped it would be later. Fate wasn't kind to him. He was no kinder to himself than fate.

He is, or I should say, he used to be gorgeous. Salt and pepper hair, tall, handsome, and well-spoken. He used to be a medical student at one of the nation's most prestigious medical schools. He was popular, friendly, warm and sunny, with a smile that could win you over.

He was a creature of the night. He'd done the scene, the clubs, the raves, the underground. He'd smoked a joint here and there, popped a "lude", done some "shrooms" and "mesc". By his own definition, he'd sucked the juice out of life. Then, one fateful night he met the cleanest high of them all. He met his true love: Heroin. And little by little, it sucked the life out of him.

Soon, he was kicked out of school. With no job, no qualifications and student loans in repayment, he started liquidating assets. So he says. I think he started liquidating because he had an expensive lover. The condo, the BMW, the trinkets, stereo, etc. Little by little, there was nothing left. When you run out of money, you beg. When you're a junkie, stealing becomes easy.

Sometimes, when you are too impatient to beg and too tired to steal, you'll even sell your body.

His friend called me. He'd been caught for burglary and grand theft. His friend had bailed him out. He had to go back to court and kept begging me to keep him out. Said he'd die on the inside. I told him if he kept it up he'd die on the outside. I fought with the district attorney, used every procedural and substantive tactic that I knew, begged and pleaded for my client. Finally, the charges were reduced, and he got off lightly.

It wasn't long after that when my answering service paged me at 4:00 a.m. on a Saturday, and said Jimmy (not his true name) had called from the West Valley jail. It was raining and cold. I was tired. My client needed me. I slipped my jeans on, threw on a jacket and drove down the deserted path which had become so familiar to my car. More often than not, the cops let you visit your client immediately. Sometimes, they don't. Sometimes, when they see you are a woman attorney, they harass you a little bit. And when they feel they have proven their manhood, they allow you to see your client.

Jimmy sat waiting behind the glass partition. His head and hands were weakly resting against the glass which separated us. As I walked in, he gently lifted his head. His hands slid slowly down the glass leaving a wet trail behind. Sweat rolled down his eyebrows. His throat and neck were damp with perspiration. He was wearing a T-shirt also damp with perspiration. The tracks on the inside of this arms were more marked than ever. This time, I could clearly see the brand new tracks on the back of his hands.

The brown circles under his eyes had grown larger, and the sparkle of life dimmer. A grin, maybe even a smirk took shape on his trembling lips. As he slowly nodded up and down to acknowledge my presence, he closed his eyes. He spoke slowly, faintly. "They picked me up ... I don't know why... I told them everything. I want to come out... Please, Ms. Kamran, please bring me out ... Call your bail bondsman ... Get me out ... Get me out ... Please help me. I promise I'll clean up. I promise I'll do what the judge orders. I gotta smoke ... Get me out. Can you get me out."

The list of charges filed against him included no less than three felonies and several misdemeanors. He'd confessed. There had been witnesses. He was even on video tape. He couldn't afford to go to trial and lose. The jury is not very sympathetic and understanding around Los Angeles. They are even less sympathetic to foreigners who have "invaded" their land and are committing crimes in their communities. Remember, to them, we are not Whites. We are camel jockeys who practice terrorism as a hobby. If convicted of the charges, the judge could have sent him to state prison where he'd be kissing "Bubba" for a long time to come. I got him a deal: less than one year in county jail and by the time the case was done, he was practically out on time served.

I met him by Men's Central Jail on Bauchet Street when he was released. I told him to stay in touch with me on a weekly basis. I asked him to call me if he got in trouble. I warned him about the consequences of his habit. I said "Jimmy, I can't call your parents in Iran telling them to send me money to bury you. If you insist on killing yourself, please make the arrangements and save me the difficult task of telling your parents why you had to die."

He's learned his lesson and served his time, I thought naively. He knows the consequences of a probation violation. He has had time to clean up. His system is clean. He's not going to go back.

Life went on as it usually does. Winter had melted into spring and the trees were in full bloom. I dropped him off wishing never to see him again. Unlike other attorneys, a criminal defense attorney hopes she'll never see her client again. My hopes were in vain. Before long, I got a collect call from San Diego. He'd been picked up on new drug charges. With a probation violation and a brand new case, the judge shipped him off to state prison for nine years.

Sitting here on a calm and quiet evening, I can see the Santa Monica Bay on my horizon. And I wonder how far Jimmy's horizon stretches beyond those barbed wires and the grey skies. He told me once, if he laid flat on his back and stared at the sky, he could see the end of the universe. 

And that is his horizon. 

I guess, in the world of the convicted, the horizon spreads vertically.

Alaleh Kamran

Century City
April 7, 1999

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Heroin and Meth

Breaks my heart.. he is barely 20.. arrested again for Heroin and Meth. Again. His mom sits in my office, not knowing what else to do. Dad tells me that he will kill the motherfucker that introduced his son to Heroin, he will kill him.

I look at the dad... stare him in the eyes and i know he is serious. i recognize the look. It is the look that a man dons when he has lost all that was worth living for. It is the look of a man whose only reason for living is the revenge for the death of the one they love.

My client calls from jail... Collect. Mom and Dad hold their breath while i talk to him. Do they think i can solve their issues here and now? do they think i am some kind of miracle worker? How can i fight Heroin? How can i win over Meth? What kind i possibly do or say to change anything?

He is going thru withdrawals.... stomach pains, diarrhea, joint pains, nausea, vomiting, shakes, sweating, runny nose, agitation, fear, .... The cops left him in the cell, by himself. What can they do? what can anyone do while someone is going thru detox.

I listen, we talk, we discuss plans of what may or may not happen in Court. I hang up. Give mom and dad the phone numbers that they need to deal with Co-dependency. Mom looks at me,... she wells up. i look at her, i well up too.... She says: "my son is your son"... i get up from my desk, hug her and tell her: "your son is my son, help me help him"...

My sons are home, safe. And may God keep them so, from bad friends, from bad choices, from bad events. May God save them all... May no parent mourn for a child lost to drugs...

I need to go home and smell my children....

Signing off

CDAK.

Lecturer, Radio Host, Citizen Journalist, Blogger.

Encino

June 9, 2013

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The Life of a Criminal Defense Lawyer.

I have seen men of iron will collapse to their knees; 

I have seen women of steel fall apart like chalk.   

I have seen tears of blood, shattered hearts, broken lives, and lives cut short... i have seen it all... 

i have seen dead bodies on the ground because of drugs, guns or accidents... 

i have seen zombies, who were alive while their soul was dead...

My soul has lived a thousand lifetimes.. 

i have woken up drenched in sweat, my heart pounding, at times because i found a viable defense while i was sleeping... 

at times, because i was dreaming of the innocent teen-age client who is doing a triple life sentence on contaminated evidence. 

Mothers have entrusted me with their children. Others have said: "first god, then you"... Loved ones have sat in my office picking up pieces of their shattered lives...

Like Sisyphus, i have carried this stone up the mountain, to watch it roll down time and again. Like Alexander, i have faced the Gordian knot time and again... 

i have tried to bring light where there was nothing but darkness. There are times that i won, .. and so often, i have failed. In the process, i have been polished like a mirror, buffed by adversity.

All those who look at me watch with wonder and amazement... yet very few see the pain, and the awesome burden that is part of my daily routine... With every case, my soul is spliced. With every defeat, i am ripped apart... 

There is no victory that is sweet enough to wash down the bitterness of those cases that should have been won, and yet were lost because the government was corrupt, the cop dirty, or the judge biased.

Protect your liberties. Cherish your rights. Soon enough, there will be none left. 

My name is Alaleh Kamran.

  

I am a Criminal Defense Attorney.

I am Constitutional Defender.

I am a Citizen Journalist.

And this is my blog. Welcome to my world. 

CDAK

11/27/2012

Encino

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