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People don’t like being manipulated or controlled by other people. They will bridle and resist if they think you are trying to convince them to do something. The harder they think you are trying, the harder they will push back.
But trial advocacy is the practice of convincing people to do things.
So ideally, trial advocacy should be transparent. At the end of the case the jurors, having ruled for your client, should think that they came to their decision without regard to anything that you did. They should believe, when they free your client, that they were compelled by the facts and the law to do so, and that your only role was to bring them those facts and explain to them that law.
If asked in jury selection the jury,1 given the accusation, suggest the possible defenses they can think of; ideally one of these defenses will be your defense. If a panel of laypeople doesn’t think of your defense as a possibility, that defense a stretch.
If you can show the jury how the prosecutor is manipulating them, you’re doing two things: you’re creating resentment in the jurors toward the prosecutor, and you’re creating trust in the jurors toward you. Think about the tricks the prosecutors in your jurisdiction use to get jurors to say the things they want to hear, and in your voir dire (it’s good to go last) pull back the curtain on them.
If you object in voir dire to the prosecutor’s misstatement of the law and the judge sustains the objection, the prosecutor might as well start filling out a dismissal.
You can earn even more trust by showing the jurors (in voir dire) a way in which you are manipulating them. Sometimes I’ll start communicating with the panel non-verbally, and get them to respond non-verbally. Then I’ll make sure to explain to them what I was doing, and why. (If advocacy were a confidence game, this would be the short con.)
Asking jurors post-verdict why they decided what they did is a good way to be lied to. Almost always, the answer is “the evidence just wasn’t there” on a not-guilty verdict and “there was just too much evidence” on a guilty verdict. But they’re not just lying to you; they’re lying to themselves as well.
Here’s the theory on which I try cases: jurors make their decisions early (during opening statements if not during voir dire) and then, throughout trial and beyond, apply all of their cognitive biases to support and rationalize those decisions. For their minds to be changed between opening statement and deliberation, what happens during the testimony has to be so extreme that it shakes the foundation of their beliefs. Less-extreme developments that might challenge their beliefs won’t get through their selection bias.
Most evidence is important to the advocate not because it’s going to change jurors’ minds, but because it is going to give jurors who are already on the advocate’s team evidence when they go into jury selection. Whichever way the split goes when deliberations begin is most likely the way the verdict is going to end up—if the jury is 7–5 for conviction, they’ll likely convict; if they’re 8–4 for acquittal they’ll more likely acquit. That’s not a function of the evidence, but rather of the personalities of the jurors.
Closing argument is the time to show your jurors what ammunition they have, to suggest how they might use it, and to sabotage the prosecutor’s jurors’ ammunition. If you are ahead going in to deliberations, you want your jurors to have plenty of ammunition to get the other jurors to change their minds without losing face. And if you are behind when deliberations begin you want your jurors to have plenty of ammunition to resist the pressure from other jurors to change their minds.
A trial lawyer shouldn’t always be trying cases, any more than a professional fighter should always be fighting. Doing it right requires training and practice and conditioning. Defending a criminal case takes a lot out of a lawyer. Working yourself to exhaustion or worse benefits nobody.
Put on your own oxygen mask first.
Take a vacation.
Get some rest.Copyright © 2013 Houston criminal-defense lawyer Mark Bennett. This feed is for personal, non-commercial use only. The use of this feed on other websites breaches copyright. If this content is not in your news reader, the page you are viewing infringes the copyright. (Digital Fingerprint: 9fddc86334d71f22cfdb4b70fe23bb0e (18.104.22.168) .)
I tend to use “jury” and “jury panel” interchangeably in the context of jury selection. The jury is a subgroup of the panel, and will treat the ideas of the panel as its own ideas. The jury will also remember your treatment of the panel, and will respond as though it was your treatment of the jury. Beware. You can’t mistreat a member of the panel and expect the jury to forgive you because that panel member didn’t make it on the jury. ↩
I do not write I’m sorry I haven’t written more lately; here’s why; I promise to do better blog posts.
The first part strikes me as narcissistic—as though it matters to the world that any particular blogger hasn’t written more lately; the third part is usually a lie—people who write these posts almost always return to silence shortly afterwards. And I don’t figure readers generally care much about the why of silence. But Scott Greenfield has called me out:
As for those of you who have paid only rare attention to your blawgs, let your posts dwindle, left the heavy lifting to others, this might be a good time to explain why. You know who you are. I know who you are too. Is the genre dead? Is it not worth the effort? Are things so wonderful that there is nothing left to write?
So here’s why:
In 2014 I tried three jury trials and won all three. Two of them saved clients from certain deportation and the other saved the client from a felony conviction, a lifetime of sex-offender registration, and a possible prison term. Three jury trials is not a lot for a criminal-defense lawyer in Houston to try, but it’s fifty percent over my yearly average.
I also got part of a statute held unconstitutional. No, check that. Two statutes. Two-hundred-plus people were on probation or in prison because of their convictions for violating Texas’s “dirty-talk-to-a-minor” statute. After I killed that statute on First Amendment grounds in the Court of Criminal Appeals a few of them found their way to me, and I got them out of prison or off probation and off the sex-offender registration list, and started the process of clearing their names.
One of those whose name I am clearing was the first client for whom I had argued (unsuccessfully at the time) the unconstitutionality of the statute. I got to tell the trial judge, “I told you so.”
I took on several civil First Amendment cases on behalf of web publishers and a newspaper, and won.
Throughout this professional triumph, it was the voices of the many clients I haven’t been able to save whispering in my ear, “memento mori.” I have three cases set for jury trial in the first three months of this year, and I’m not going to let the distinct possibility that I will break my short streak by losing one of them stop me from fighting like hell.
I have First Amendment challenges pending against Texas’s Online Impersonation statute, the remainder of its Online Solicitation statute, the remainder of its Improper Photography statute, and its Fraudulent Use of Identifying Information statute. These should all be winners according to U.S. v. Stevens and U.S. v. Alvarez, but I’m not letting the possibility that Texas courts will fail to follow Stevens and Alvarez stop me from prosecuting these appeals, especially since I do it better than the other lawyers I have seen challenging Texas statutes on First Amendment grounds. I may not win, but I have the best chance. And, unlike many in this profession, I am not my record.
I’m debating whether to jump into the fray and try to get the Texas Legislature not to pass any of the unconstitutional speech-restricting statutes that have been proposed, or to lie behind the log.
I taught jury selection, ethics, legal writing, and constitutional law to groups of law students and lawyers across Texas and farther afield, and scheduled more of the same for this year.
Personally, I got my family through 2014 with no surgery, serious illness or death. I couldn’t say the same about the three years before. I reconnected with old friends whom I hadn’t heard from in up to three decades. I took my family on a three-week European vacation, showing the kids a part of the world they hadn’t seen before. I spent some quality time with them, watched my oldest play some lacrosse, started building an AR-15 with my youngest, and spent some time at the shooting range.
I took Jen to Eric Clapton, Eric Taylor, and Greg Trooper concerts. Held the fort while she got through her through the first semester of the University of Houston’s post-baccalaureate accounting program.
I made dinner for my family almost every night. I got my oldest to school almost every day.
I declared victory in my war with TSA, and resumed air travel: to DC (for a reunion of my cohort from the American Embassy School in New Delhi in the mid 80s, Columbus (where I hung out with Scott Greenfield, Brian Tannebaum, Mirriam Seddiq, Jeff Gamso, and Appellate Squawk), Miami (where I celebrated with Brian and his family the release of Brian’s book), and Colorado (where my brother and some high-school buddies took a couple of hikes, broke bread, and drank some good whiskey). Not to mention Beaumont, Lake Charles, Fort Worth, Austin, Odessa, and Round Top. (Next Friday I’m flying to Abilene! Woohoo!)
I also resumed my psychodrama and improv training. I found the synergy between the two, applied it to my advocacy, and taught others to do the same. I went back (after a few-year hiatus) to the National Psychodrama Training Center’s Round Top training, and I attended staff training for TCDLA’s psychodrama-based Fourth Annual Advanced Skills course (but was, unhappily, prevented by circumstances from attending).
I found a new improv home, Station Theater, took two groups of young lawyers there for introductory classes, performed twice before paying audiences, and joined a troupe that will do four shows in the next two months.
I don’t imagine that I’ll be long-remembered. I consider my protégés, and their protégés, my professional legacy. Three of my protégées started taking regular improv classes.
I wrote a few brilliant briefs. Came to terms with the existential loneliness inside my head. Perfected my prime rib and my dark chocolate cake. Drove cool cars. Rode motorcycles. Made new friends. Cried a little. Laughed a lot.
In short, I’m sorry I haven’t written more lately. I’ve been busy living and lawyering. I promise to do better.Copyright © 2013 Houston criminal-defense lawyer Mark Bennett. This feed is for personal, non-commercial use only. The use of this feed on other websites breaches copyright. If this content is not in your news reader, the page you are viewing infringes the copyright. (Digital Fingerprint: 9fddc86334d71f22cfdb4b70fe23bb0e (22.214.171.124) .)
In the name and by authority of the State of Texas:
The Grand Jury for the _______ term of the ___ Judicial District Court of Williamson County, Texas, having been duly selected, empaneled, sworn, charged, and organized, presents that before the presentment of this indictment, on or about the ___ day of ____, 2013, in Williamson County, Texas, X, hereinafter “defendant”, with the intent to arouse or gratify the defendant’s sexual desire, over the Internet, knowingly solicited Jessica, a minor and undercover persona of Gary Marquis, to meet the defendant with the intent that Jessica would engage in sexual contact, sexual intercourse, or deviate sexual intercourse with the defendant, and Jessica was an individual whom the defendant believed to be younger than 14 years of age at the time of the commission of the offense.
Against the peace and dignity of the State.
Got it? The State is charging X with committing online solicitation of a minor with Jessica, who is “a minor,” an “undercover persona of Gary Marquis,” (who is presumably a cop), and “an individual whom the defendant believed to be younger than 14 years of age at the time of the commission of the offense.”
“Minor” means: (A) an individual who represents himself or herself to be younger than 17 years of age; or (B) an individual whom the actor believes to be younger than 17 years of age.
“Individual” means a human being who is alive, including an unborn child at every stage of gestation from fertilization until birth.
Jessica, a “persona” of Gary Marquis, is not alive, and therefore is not an individual, and therefore is not a minor. So the indictment on its face does not charge X with a crime. The appropriate way for the State to charge the crime would be to allege that X solicited Gary Marquis, whom X believed to be younger than 14 years of age.
Unfortunately, X pled guilty to this non-crime. His lawyer should have filed a motion to quash the indictment, forcing the State to replead.
Why would this do any good? Why—in other words—would the State want to rely on its incorrect pleading?
Because there’s a defense built in to the online-solicitation statute that would prevent X’s conviction for soliciting Gary Marquis:
It is a defense to prosecution under this section that at the time conduct described by Subsection (b) or (c) was committed…the actor was not more than three years older than the minor and the minor consented to the conduct.
If the minor (the living person whom X believes to be younger than 17) is Gary Marquis, then X is not more than three years older than the minor. The transcripts of conversations between X and Marquis will show that Marquis consented to the solicitation—Marquis was trolling for solicitation.
It cannot be argued that the age of the minor referred to in the defense is the age that the defendant believed the minor to be: the Texas Legislature in subsection (f) of section 33.021 showed that it knows the difference between the age of the minor and the believed age of the minor:
[Online solicitation of a minor] is a felony of the second degree if the minor is younger than 14 years of age or is an individual whom the actor believes to be younger than 14 years of age.
X has an excellent ineffective-assistance-of-counsel claim against his trial counsel, who didn’t consider the existence of the defense. But even an excellent IAC claim is a long shot. Nobody should take deferred-adjudication probation in hopes of getting relief on habeas corpus. Other defendants charged with online solicitation in Williamson County (or other counties that use the same pleading form) should talk to their lawyers about the indictment and the defense before they decide to plead guilty. And their lawyers should, of course, talk to me.Copyright © 2013 Houston criminal-defense lawyer Mark Bennett. This feed is for personal, non-commercial use only. The use of this feed on other websites breaches copyright. If this content is not in your news reader, the page you are viewing infringes the copyright. (Digital Fingerprint: 9fddc86334d71f22cfdb4b70fe23bb0e (126.96.36.199) .)
Here (pdf) is the Bureau of Justice Statistics’ report on Rape and Sexual Assault Victimization Among College-Age Females, 1995–2013.
Some highlights (all statistics are for women aged 18–24 unless otherwise noted):
This is much lower than the 1–in–5 statistic that is widely bandied about by those who think there is an epidemic of rape on American college campuses. Even if we multiply 6.1 by five (for five years in college), the rape rate in American colleges is 3.5%.
A few years ago Chad Hermann crunched the numbers of reported sexual assaults at three Pittsburgh Universities, applied a 10X multiplier for 90% of sexual assaults being unreported, and came up with a number of the same order of magnitude (1 in 44, assuming a four-year college career).
I ran the numbers for my alma mater, which has had two alleged sex offenses reported every year for the last three years, and has about 2,190 female students. That’s a rate of 0.91 reported sexual assaults per thousand female students. If we assume that 90% of sexual assaults go unreported and multiply by ten, we have 9.1 sexual assaults per thousand female students per year, and if we multiply by five years we have a 4.5% chance that a Rice woman will be sexually assaulted during her five years at Rice3
That “90% unreported” assumption is probably not valid, though. The BJS report found that 20% of “sexual assault victimizations” were reported to the police by college women. If instead of 10X we use a 5X multiplier, we have 4.6 sexual victimizations (reported or otherwise) per thousand female Rice students per year. The reasons victimizations went unreported were:
- Reported to other official, 4%;
- Personal matter, 26%;
- Not important enough to respondent, 12%;4
- Police would not or could not do anything to help, 9%;
- Did not want to get offender in trouble with the law, 10%;
- Advised not to report, <0.5%;
- Fear of reprisal, 20%; and
- Other reason, 31%.5
(The first six of these, covering 61% of cases, seem to me like reasonable reasons not to report sexual victimization as defined by the study (including attempted rape,6 grabbing, and fondling) to the police, but fear of reprisal should never stop anyone from reporting a crime—that’s just bad policy.)
Nonstudents, by the way, report 32% of their sexual victimizations rather than 20%. They are also are 20% more likely to experience rape, attempted rape, sexual assault, or the threat of rape or sexual assault. And those victimizations are 50% more likely to be completed sexual assaults.
Breaking down the student/nonstudent differences even further,
18-to-19-year-old nonstudents are 1.6 times as likely to experience sexual victimization as students are.
White nonstudents are 1.4 times as likely to experience sexual victimization as students are.
Northeastern nonstudents have the lowest rate of sexual victimization, followed by rural students and southern students.
Midwestern nonstudents (the group with the highest rate) are about 130% more likely to experience sexual victimization than southern students (with the lowest rate).
Men are, as you would expect, raped at lower rates than women, but male students are four times as likely as nonstudents to experience sexual victimization.
The “one in five” number will probably never go away. It’s been challenged and debunked before, and still it gets trotted out as gospel truth. But the actual numbers are much smaller and would be smaller still if respondents got to define “sexual victimization” themselves.7Copyright © 2013 Houston criminal-defense lawyer Mark Bennett. This feed is for personal, non-commercial use only. The use of this feed on other websites breaches copyright. If this content is not in your news reader, the page you are viewing infringes the copyright. (Digital Fingerprint: 9fddc86334d71f22cfdb4b70fe23bb0e (188.8.131.52) .)
“Rape is the unlawful penetration of a person against the will of the victim, with use or threatened use of force, or attempting such an act. Rape includes psychological coercion and physical force, and forced sexual intercourse means vaginal, anal, or oral penetration by the offender. Rape also includes incidents where penetration is from a foreign object (e.g., a bottle), victimizations against males and females, and both heterosexual and homosexual rape. Attempted rape includes verbal threats of rape.” ↩
“Sexual assault is defined across a wide range of victimizations separate from rape or attempted rape. These crimes include attacks or attempted attacks usually involving unwanted sexual contact between a victim and offender. Sexual assault may or may not involve force and includes grabbing or fondling. ↩
But realistically, who can afford five years at Rice anymore? ↩
Some victimization! ↩
Miscellaneous is always the largest category.
— Walter Slovotsky, The Warrior Lives by Joel Rosenberg ↩
Question: If you define rape to include sex by psychological coercion, does that make trying unsuccessfully to convince someone to have sex “attempted rape”? ↩
Here is where most people would put in obligatory mealy-mouthed statement to prove their anti-rape bona fides, but my readers are smarter than most. ↩
When I first saw the Rolling Stone UVA rape story by Sabrina Erdely, I’d been thinking about satanic ritual abuse stories because Fran and Dan Keller were in the news. I tweeted:
Speaking of satanic ritual abuse: http://t.co/MyO2bC2Cjm
— Mark W. Bennett (@MarkWBennett) December 1, 2014
The story was unbelievable to me. Not “unbelievable” in the loose sense of “sensational,” but literally unbelievable. I knew that the story was false
The Erdely UVA story is going to turn out to be a long rambling joke. “Journalism!” will be the punchline. — Mark W. Bennett (@MarkWBennett) December 2, 2014
I say that “I knew it.” For you to know something, three conditions must be met: you have to believe it, it has to be true, and you have to have reason to believe it.
I believed that Erdely’s story was false.
The story—of a violent gang rape—was false. It appears from the rereporting performed by the Washington Post that the alleged victim made up the story as part of an elaborate scheme to win the love of her friend “Randall.”
So to have known the story to be false, I have to have had reason to believe that the story was false. Did I? Nonlawyers asked me why, as a criminal-defense lawyer, I found the story so incredible.
As a criminal-defense lawyer, I ask three big questions when trying to get to the truth of a story:
• What else must be true for this to be true?
• What if things had gone a little differently?
• What’s really going on here?
If Erdely’s story were true, seven men violently raped a sober woman on broken glass upstairs in a house for three hours while a party was going on downstairs. Two men watched. Then the nine men left the woman lying there alone, “face beaten, dress spattered with blood” to make her own way out of the house ((With her cellphone? “Disoriented, Jackie burst out a side door, realized she was lost, and dialed a friend, screaming, ‘Something bad happened. I need you to come and find me!'”)) while the party was still going on downstairs. Then when, that very night, the woman reported the rape to her three best friends on campus (two men and a woman), the three “launched into a heated discussion about the social price of reporting Jackie’s rape,” and decided not to report it.
What else must be true for this story to be true? Each of these twelve people who knew what happened to Jackie that night must have valued his or her own interest above the principle that men shouldn’t rape women.
Violent rape is abhorrent to the American male.1 There are men who are exceptions to this rule, who have no compunction against violent rape, but they are few and far between, and they don’t advertise the fact—talking about it could be lethal—so the odds against finding nine of them in one room outside of a prison are slim.
Erdely’s story was intended to demonstrate that violent rape of women is accepted in American culture. But for the story to be believable the reader would have to already believe a) that violent rape of women is accepted in America; and b) that because of this acceptance eleven men and one woman who knew about a violent rape kept the secret for two years.
It’s all very circular—if you believe that we live in a “rape culture” with a callous attitude toward rape then the story is perfectly believable, and it proves that we live in a rape culture. If you don’t believe that American men are okay with violent rape then the story is unbelievable and it proves nothing.
If you believe that three college freshman would count the “social price” of reporting a violent rape that had just happened higher than than the ethical, moral, justice, and safety costs of not reporting it, Erdely’s story is credible. If you don’t believe that—and I don’t—the story is incredible.2
I didn’t believe that American men are okay with violent rape, I didn’t believe that the nine conspirators could keep the secret for two years, and I didn’t believe that three college freshman would count the social cost of reporting a violent rape that had just happened higher than the myriad soul-bankrupting costs of not reporting it. “What must be true for this to be true” gave me reason to disbelieve the story.
“What if things had gone a little differently?” is a truth-seeking question to ask when the story involves a deliberate plan or conspiracy. The more ways the plan could have gone wrong but didn’t, the more likely it is that the plan was fabricated after the fact.
For the imaginary man’s imaginary plan to succeed, a thousand things had to go just right; if any one of them had gone even a little bit wrong he would have landed in prison. His plan depended on (among other things):
- None of the conspirators getting cold feet that night;
- All of the conspirators keeping their secret, not spilling the beans while drunk or remorseful;
- Jackie not calling the police while the room was still strewn with physical evidence;
- No decent human being seeing Jackie leaving the party injured and intervening;
- The people she told not themselves calling the police;
- Jackie not reporting the rape to the police later, or the conspirators not rolling over on each other when threatened with prison time; and
- Jackie not telling her story within the statute of limitations to a competent reporter.3
There are two explanations for how this plan succeeded so well for two years. Either the conspirators walked between raindrops, or the rape never happened. The second explanation is the most likely.
The third question, “What’s really going on here?” sets the allegations against known facts, verisimilitude, and plausibility, and finds the most probable explanation. “What’s really going on here?” led the Washington Post to evidence that “Jackie,” the alleged victim in the Erdely story, had fabricated the man whom she was supposedly going out with on the evening of her claimed rape. Not having the benefit of the Washington Post’s reporting at first, “what’s really going on here?” led me to the conjecture that something bad had happened to Jackie—that perhaps she had been sexually assaulted by her date at the fraternity house—but that she had blown the story up for Rolling Stone.
My three questions—What else must be true for this to be true?, What if things had gone a little differently?, and What’s really going on here? didn’t lead me all the way to what now appears to be the truth—that Jackie was catfishing Randall and fabricated the rape to try to win his heart—but each led me in the right direction and made me disbelieve the story as published.Copyright © 2013 Houston criminal-defense lawyer Mark Bennett. This feed is for personal, non-commercial use only. The use of this feed on other websites breaches copyright. If this content is not in your news reader, the page you are viewing infringes the copyright. (Digital Fingerprint: 9fddc86334d71f22cfdb4b70fe23bb0e (184.108.40.206) .)
I say “violent rape” to try to prevent quibbling here over things that not everyone would agree are rape—sex while all parties are drunk, for example. The assault described in Erdely’s article would fit anyone’s description of “violent rape,” so we don’t have to argue about sex with implicit but not explicit consent, nor about gaze rape. Yes, I know that there are those who think that any unwelcome sexual attention from a man is violence. I recommend that they get out more. ↩
A digression: what is required for us to believe these things about human nature that Erdely would have us believe? We would have to either a) accept them uncritically; b) be inclined toward callousness ourselves, so that callousness in others makes sense; or c) not be inclined toward callousness ourselves, but think that we are superior to most other people in this regard. Why “most other people”? I’ll get to that in a second. I believe that the credulity with which Erdely’s article was met was a result mostly of (a). People accept rape narratives uncritically. That so many people are shocked that the story is not true helps disprove Erdely’s rape-culture narrative. ↩
Some people think that Erdely believed her source; I think this is too generous to Erdely. If Erdely had believed Jackie she would have done the investigation that she would have expected to corroborate her story. That she didn’t do that investigation suggests that she didn’t expect it to corroborate her story, which suggests that she knew that Jackie’s story was a fable. Journalism! ↩
It started with criminal First Amendment litigation. I fought for five years against a speech-restricting penal statute, learning the law along the way and finally punching a hole in the dam last year, freeing a lifetime’s worth of people who had already given up hope.
Naturally, I went on the hunt for other statutes to kill. My friend and fellow TLC alumnus Don Flanary of San Antonio beat me to the improper-photography statute, but he only killed (in Ex Parte Thompson) the part dealing with photography in a public place, leaving the part dealing with photography in a restroom or dressing room, as well as the parts dealing with publication of images. I’ve got challenges pending to those, as well as to the fraudulent-use-of-identifying-information statute, the online-impersonation statute, and some others.
In the course of working on these cases—and pointing out on this blog how many ways proponents of penal revenge-porn statutes get constitutional law wrong—I realized how little most lawyers actually know about free speech. I also got sued for hurting Joseph Rakofsky’s feelings, and had to pay Marc Randazza gobs of money to kick Rakofsky’s ass across the courtroom. It could probably have been done cheaper, but if it’s worth doing it’s worth overdoing, and Randazza provides entertainment value that I’m happy to pay for. Further, I had a friend file an ill-advised suit against someone for statements that were absolutely privileged, and I pulled his bacon from the fire.
Then Randazza had a client who had been sued by a Houston lawyer for hurting his feelings, and had had a default judgment entered against him, in Harris County. I’d done a good job of avoiding civil court since about my second year of practice, but I can read the rules and write a brief (a lawyer in the Piney Woods once called me “slick big city lawyer who uses the rules to his advantage”), so I signed on to carry Randazza’s bag and do the Texas Rules of Civil Procedure stuff. We got the default judgment undone, and Randazza got the case dismissed. A codefendant in that case hired me to carry his lawyer’s bag as well, and we were able to get the same result for them.
For most people, being sued is a big deal. Censorious asshats know that, and will threaten to drag people into court, or actually sue them, for hurting their feelings. Defending the First Amendment in civil court is little different than defending it in criminal court. Different rules and less money, is all.
So when the editor-in-chief of a Vietnamese newspaper reached out to me after being sued for libel by Al Hoang, a former Houston City Council member and sometime Republican candidate for the Texas Legislature because the newspaper called him a communist, I didn’t hesitate to sign on. I filed an anti-SLAPP motion, briefed it up, had a hearing last Friday, and this morning got this:
The only thing that I didn’t get was sanctions. The plaintiff, Al Hoang, a lawyer, had sued people at least four times before for hurting his feelings, but none of those cases had been dismissed under the anti-SLAPP statute, so the judge in my case didn’t sanction him. You can bet that he’ll try again, and you can bet that next time he’ll get whacked even harder.
That was fun, so I’m going to do more of it. I’ve always prided myself on doing one thing—criminal defense—really well. After almost twenty years of practice, though, there’s room in my practice to be really good at two things, and maybe in another couple of decades I’ll add another practice area and be really good at three.Copyright © 2013 Houston criminal-defense lawyer Mark Bennett. This feed is for personal, non-commercial use only. The use of this feed on other websites breaches copyright. If this content is not in your news reader, the page you are viewing infringes the copyright. (Digital Fingerprint: 9fddc86334d71f22cfdb4b70fe23bb0e (220.127.116.11) .)