Closing argument

I have once again danced with a long sleepless night, watching the grey sky outside of my bedroom window... I guess the sun, too, doesn't feel like shining and like a disheveled mental patient needs to wrap itself in the comfort of blankets to find solace in the chaos of the Universe. 

The rhythm of my slightly worn heels, clippitty clop against the sidewalk, as i try to organize my thoughts...  my bland & monochromatic world today is slightly accented by the Purple Jacaranda trees... And like an old picture from the 1920's where everything is black & white, i am the sole moving object in this still picture. 

The criminal justice courtroom is the amphitheater of life complete with tragedies, ironies, failures, success, salvation and redemption... 

And, i ponder once again, my own existence, my own role, and the significance of my own color in this mosaic, on this day, in this courthouse...  

Perhaps it is the sheer magnitude of the responsibility that rests on my shoulders.   The recognition and the knowledge that somebody's freedom rests in my hands.  That it is my job, my responsibility to secure my client's freedom and liberty.   

There exists no greater violence on liberty than the taking of it... and like a soldier i march on to the battlefield, my closing argument in hand, pumped by adrenaline. One thing that i have learned over the course of practicing law in these halls of justice over the course of the last 25 years, is that there is NO Karma.  But there IS balance in the Universe.   The abundance that we share with others is that which nourishes us and the pain we inflict upon others is that which in time comes back to haunt us...  

My legal arguments are ready…. My passion for my work is flowing like the Ganges ….  My need to find absolution and harmony in a world that is sadly lacking in such empowers me more than my legal arguments.  With any luck, I will find strength  from within…with any luck, once again my desire for perfection, for lust of words, and most importantly, my yearning for yet another epiphany will endow me with the power of speech to deliver justice.  

I am for now, a criminal defense attorney, a constitutional defender… that is until such time as I find my true identity.

Alaleh Kamran

Uncollected Writings. 

April 30, 2015

Encino.

Wanderlust

I lose myself to find myself.

And I wind and I twist 

and I turn and I bow 

and 

I bend. 

I know not whence I came from, 

nor I know where I will go.  

And yet I know I am no where near home.  

Alaleh Kamran

Uncollected Writings.  

April 17, 2014 

In the skies above San Francisco. 

The Conundrum of Kim Kardashian's derriere!!

The conundrum circling around Kim Kardashian’s ass has split the opinions on my Facebook literally  in two.  The one half are grossed out, disgusted and revolted so violently, you’d think we’re witnessing a public dismemberment and quartering in the middle of a town square during the Middle Ages.  The other half express emotions of delight, adoration and adulation as if a lost member of the family has suddenly reappeared after having been lost at sea for years.  

And a few including myself are ambivalently stuck in between the left and the right, firmly held in place by the belief that no opinion is needed on Kim Kardashian’s ass.  Excuse the tongue in cheek, I have a hard time escaping the deliciousness of the play on words.

Why is Kim’s ass of such gigantic consequence for me to have to pull over to the side of the road, on my way back from Court to write these few lines??  While we may have been overwhelmed by the glitz, glamour and shine of the maxim that “sex sells”, it is not Kim’s ass that is at issue.  

Ladies, OUR collective ass is on the line.  How dare we judge one of our sisters' figure, lest we allow others to judge OUR thighs, our stomachs, our boobs, our nose, our chin, and other body parts?  How dare we attach measurements, calibrations and standards of “beauty” and “ugliness” to body parts that are what they are?  Have we not suffered enough by being told to be thin, to be svelte, to be lithe, to be this and to be that?   Have we not driven ourselves into madness by going from one diet to another, from one surgery to another, from a nip and a tuck, to a lipo and a suction? From Botox, to fillers, to implants, and ….  

Have we not pushed our daughters into conforming to ridiculous concepts of  THINNESS and beauty that is only achieved through starvation, surgery and photoshop??  Has the fashion industry not enslaved and objectified us enough?  

Which one of us has a god given perfect figure? WHAT is a perfect figure?  Who is there to say that an ass must be small or big? Or giggly or tight?  Who is there to tell me or YOU, or your daughters what the definition of beauty is? Why do we sit in judgment of ONE of our own and become so violent in critique??  how many of us can stand in front of the mirror and look at our own body and say:  "i am gorgeous as i am" without comparing ourselves to the Angelina's, the KK's, the Sophia Lorens etc...

We, as women have rightfully bemoaned, loathed and hated our servitude to men.  Our bodies have been used over several millenia in war as trophies, in battle as a refuge, in fights as resting places, in anger as punching bags, in trade as booty, in booty as objects...  With blood, tear, and our lives, slowly over thousands of years, we have finally achieved freedom, over our bodies, our heads, our thoughts and our actions.  

Why are we sitting in judgment of our sisters?   You think she is dumb?  How is she dumb?  She is on the front page of every magazine, and has made a fortune and is living a life grander and larger than many of us can imagine.  She has done so by having business savvy.   How is that wrong?  How is it wrong for her to have claimed her body, her mind and her intelligence to create an empire?  Why is it OK for VOGUE, HARPER'S BAZAAR, W, GLAMOUR or other fashion magazines to use and abuse and take advantage of models to make millions?  But it is NOT ok for KIM to use her own assets to create an empire?  

Isn’t the whole definition of empowerment the ACTUAL ability and power to do as one wishes to do?  It may not be what you and I may do, but we, as women, do not have the luxury to sit in judgment of those amongst us who have chosen to live by their own standards.  PERSONAL FREEDOM & LIBERTY are the cornerstones of our constitutional Republic.   Do not curtail your sister’s rights… by doing so, you are implicitly allowing others to curtail YOURS and Mine.  … 

Such cannot be.

Stepping off the Pulpit

Alaleh Kamran, Attorney at Law

A Professional Corporation

15760 Ventura Blvd, Suite 1010

Encino, Ca  91436

Copyright 11-13-2014

Lecturer, Radio Host, Citizen Journalist, Blogger

Los Angeles, Las Vegas

http://alalehkamranlaw.blogspot.com/

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The gift from Hell.

"Can't you read the writing on the wall?  Can't you see the law is not for you?  You'll never pass the Bar.  No one will ever give you a job!! Why don't you drop out of law school now, while you're ahead of the game.  You'll be more successful at a truck driving school, than you ever will be as an attorney".

I sat at the Dean's office, peeling the skin around my nails until they were bleeding, shaking my right knee nervously, and biting my lip to stop my self from throwing up.  The tirade was relentless.  I can't remember what else he said.  He was evil incarnate, sitting in a wheelchair, spewing venom...  The words that i do remember have managed to etch themselves in every nook and cranny of my brain and have repeated themselves in my head a million times since that fateful Spring day in 1989.  Every time I came face to face with a challenge and i thought i was going to lose, every time i prevailed and survived; every time i got knocked out of the game, and pulled myself up by the bootstraps and got back in the game, in my head, in my mind, in the deepest crevices of my fears, i came face to face with the words of Dean Gordon Schaber.

 "Can't you read the writing on the wall?  Can't you see the law is not for you?"

 How could a wheelchair bound old man facing death be so heartless?? "YOU'LL NEVER PASS THE BAR... no one will ever give YOU a job".  He hissed like a snake with spit flying all over the room.

And thus, this is how, Dean Gordon Schaber of McGeorge School of Law, in the spring of 1989 told me to get the fuck out of McGeorge Law School and move on with my life, because in his esteemed mind, i was NEVER going to pass the Bar, i was never going to become a lawyer, and no one was ever going to give me a job.  A month before the end of my second year, discouraged, kicked down and beaten to the ground, bloodied up and humiliated like a rape victim on the side of the road, suicidal and heavily loaded up by student debt, i dropped out of McGeorge School of Law.

Twenty-five years have passed.  You see, Dean Gordon Schaber, I went back to law school at night while i worked at the Los Angeles County District Attorney's Office.  You see, you sexist racist piece of whatever, in my darkest hour, Justice Bernard Jefferson, the first black man to graduate Harvard Law School and the author of the Evidence Benchbook, lifted me from the ground, shook the dirt off of me, wrapped me up in a security blanket, and gave me the courage to overcome my obstacles.

You see, I did pass the bar.  I did become an attorney.  and you know what?  i don't need anyone to give me a job, I GIVE jobs.  And over the last 25 years, hundreds of chapters have written themselves.  I have touched thousands of lives, and in the process of going through victory and defeat with my clients, i have been forged like iron, sharpened, polished and hardened.

 Countless times, the night before a huge hearing, when a person's life and future was resting in my hands, i have woken up, silently screaming, drenched in sweat with my heart pounding, having just fallen out from an airplane, or fallen into a precipice, or having been lost in an airless capsule in deep space... the only words that ever echo, repeatedly are: "The law is not for you".... There is a part of me that wants to damn the soul of Gordon Schaber to eternal hell.  And yet, there is a part of me that celebrates that absolute and utter moment of failure, defeat, and humiliation.  

So why take the pen, and regurgitate the most painful part of my past?  why today?  why now?  Why look back when i am now flying like an Eagle, the wingspan of my practice spreading itself from Coast to Coast?  You see Dean Gordon Schaber... while you were like the black hole and represented nothing but evil ... I, on the other hand, have become the candle that lights a thousand other candles.  Someday, perhaps a lot sooner than later, i will finally write my stories... but for now, i sit at my desk, staring at an envelope that just arrived, with a hundred Thank You notes from a local high school.

And all i did was to stand in front of them... look them in the eye and say:  "Don't let anyone EVER stand in front of YOUR dreams.  Don't EVER turn your back on YOURself.  and To Thine Ownself Be True"...

You see, Dean Gordon Schaber, you tried to beat me to the ground, because you were a beaten man, and while you were sinking deeper into the hell that has now become your eternal resting place, I, on the other hand, elevate and empower those i touch, and raise them to the arches of the heavens.

CDAK, Uncollected Writings. 
Lines, Rhymes and Internal Monologues: 2014

November 11, 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

https://twitter.com/AlalehKamranLaw

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The Chambers of my Heart

My pen has never been dryer than it is tonight despite the flow of the wine. 

The words balk at the paper. My thoughts rebel. I can't contain their movements. And like wild fire, the flickers reach to burn the dried out recesses of my being The embers explode in a luminous cadence and slowly descend to settle on thoughts and stories hiding in the folds of my soul.

My life is composed of rapidly moving snapshots of other peoples' lives clumsily choreographed in badly composed diorama sets … The dichotomies within which I move seamlessly leave me constantly mesmerized, perplexed, confused and often in pain by the inherent absurdity of life, the unfairness of destiny, and the incongruity of what we may otherwise believe to be Karma…

I stare at the coroner’s report describing the death of a 4 month old child due to a freak accident, SIDS maybe, a faulty heart maybe, ..who knows.. No one!! … All I know, is that I am the captain of this boat, of this destiny, of these folks, of this case. And that while their life hangs on the mighty fine balance of what we call the scales of justice, I know that “justice” will mean absolutely nothing, if I am not at my brightest, sharpest, smartest and bestest… This is my row to hoe. This is my field to plow, and my crop to harvest.

I move from the Coroner’s report, to re-assemble, re-construct, and re-plan a multi million dollar theft matter. Dead body on the ground suddenly vanishes from the brain. Focus is honed in, all wires tied up and circling around the papers and the trail of the money. At all times, guards are up, at all times, looking for the knife that is going to cut my jugular, and defeat me and sending my client to prison.

The sun sets. I am lost in the mountain of paper that has overtaken my desk. My role as an attorney is briefly paused so that I can morph back into being a mother, a wife, a regular human being with regular social duties. I gather my stuff, my keys to take me to my dearest ones, my briefcase to remind me of my never ending Sisyphean task and my make up bag, holding my treasured red lipstick that reminds me I am alive.

We are ushered into an enormous mansion. The fountain in the back yard flows 100 yards down the hill, and the property boundaries are vaster than my mind can stretch itself tonight. I am worn down and weary from the day’s work and yet, my lipstick gives me the power to smile and vests me with the smoothness that I need to slowly mingle with this crowd that wheels and deals with billions, and moves the economy of the land. The hostess’ diamond ring is as big as the heart of the 4 month old baby whose coroner report I was reading earlier this morning. And there is more money invested in the fountain flowing 100 yards down, that my all my clients have allegedly embezzled…

I am dizzy…. 4 chambers to my heart is not enough for me to compartmentalize all that I feel…

Alaleh Kamran, Attorney at Law

A Professional Corporation

15760 Ventura Blvd, Suite 1010

Encino, Ca  91436

http://alalehkamranlaw.blogspot.com/

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

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Heroin's lover: a choice of death.

Open Letter to my doe-eyed client who was so high in court today, he could not stand up in front of the Judge….

I know you are reading this.  I know your mom will be reading this.  There are hundreds like you on my page as they’re getting ready to shoot up, snort up, smoke out, or pop a pill.  And there are hundreds like your mom, silently reading this, weeping and wondering how much more she could have done.

You are right.  Life is not fair.  Death of loved ones is not fair.  The pain, neglect and abuse inflicted on us as children is not fair.  I get it.  I understand your pain.  I understand how badly you need to numb yourself to extricate yourself from that painful existence which is your reality.  The tracks on your arms are a road map of your pains and struggles.  I am not minimizing them.  I honor your pain.  I recognize your struggles.  I understand how you have bowed down, on your knees, to your addiction.  I understand how desperate and lonely and lost you are.  

I have seen you for years now.. I have walked with you from Juvenile court, into adult court… I have walked with you through felony arrests after strike arrests, … And through each case, with luck, with academics, with chambers conferences, with bamboozle, with motions, with tactics, I have walked you out of the doors of the courthouse,  unscathed, untouched, and with a mere misdemeanor conviction.  

Every time you’ve come to court, you were high.  Heroin is your lover.  Your mom is killing herself to keep you safe. You are burying your mother alive in your lust and passion for Heroin.  You’re an addict. You know it.  I know it.  There is no escaping it.  This is your life, and as fucked up as it, it is YOUR life, your gift on this earth for a short time, to make what you want of yourself. 

Years ago,  you sat in my office, excited over the fact that I had just obtained a dismissal on your transportation of a shit ton of Xanax, I looked at you and said:  “you think it’s easy, ‘cause you got off easy… but be careful how you get slammed, because if you don’t clean up, you’ll pay karmic wages”

Your karmic wages are here… Today, I couldn’t save you… you were so fucking stoned, your eyes were floating, your body was rolling, you were flying so high in court, that the Bailiff’s eyes welled up.  

The judge asked us to approach… she was going to ask the DA the charge you for being under the influence.  She was going to kick up the bail on your open case, and increase the case on your pending probation violation.  All I said was:  “He has been like a son” because you have.  Because I have seen you turn from a teen ager into a man, and because like how you love your fucking drugs, I have become fond of you… And it breaks my heart to see you spit your life away, as if you’re going to get a second chance at this merry go round….

You are now in the big boys’ court.  This is big league.  You either clean up your act, and decide that no matter how strong your addiction, you will be stronger.  If you don’t clean up you have two choices.  Either 1) You will do prison time.  I guarantee that.  You are a pretty boy.  Prison will not suit you well.  You won’t do well as someone’s bitch.  You won’t survive the violence, sexual or otherwise. Or the other choice is 2)  You will kill yourself and/or someone else.  Chances are you will overdose on your own vomit and we’ll be left to bury you.  

You are NOT a bad person. You are NOT a failure.  You are NOT evil.   You just have an addiction.  And until such time as you learn to forgive yourself and love yourself, you cannot move on.  I know there have been times you have hated me… Please know that regardless of your lies, deceptions, games, manipulations, all of which I have read through, I have loved you, as has your mother, unconditionally.  

Please know that the world needs you.  You have so much to give.  You have so much to teach… Hug yourself.  Look at yourself in the mirror, and make yourself the promise, that if not for your mother, then for the one person you miss the most, you will go to rehab… 

Let me know when you’re ready, and we’ll check you in.  

CDAK

Alaleh Kamran 

9/5/2014

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

alalehkamran@alalehkamran.com

Los Angeles, Las Vegas

Follow my blog: http://alalehkamranlaw.blogspot.com/

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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

Follow my blog:  http://alalehkamranlaw.blogspot.com/

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