Arraignment Day

I don't usually like to post twice in a day. But I've been having trouble with my internet and can't always get it to work so I can post when I want. Besides, I'd like to get caught up on this story. I wish I had pictures of this day.

This is long one.  August 7, 2018:

We had to be at Gibson's office by 8:45 so he could walk over with us to the federal courthouse and surrender to the IRS Special Agent, Stephanie Byrd.  So, it was an early morning for us because we had to drive into Dallas from Athens in the morning rush hour.  Going on what I was told by Gibson, expecting a fairly quick affair in the courthouse, I chose to wear a charcoal colored skirt, white blouse, bare legs, and black pumps.  Seemed appropriate for a court appearance to me.  I left my hair hanging loose and wavy.  I had rose-gold colored waist length hair at the time.

We talked to Gibson for a few minutes and left all of our belongings in his office since we couldn't take anything into the courthouse with us.  Gibson did say we could keep our wedding rings on and carry our DL, which we did.

So, we showed up at the IRS office at 9:00.  It took them a few minutes to finish setting up for our processing.  It turned out we couldn't keep our wedding rings on and Tom and John also had to remove their belts and watches.  We gave our belongings to Gibson and he left.  To begin, they read us our Miranda Rights.  There were six agents - two for each of us, Tom, me, and John.  One asked questions and entered the answers into a computer (pretty much the same questions that the pretrial interviewer asked).  The other sat by and prepared a little kit that contained the stuff to take our fingerprints and DNA.  We were told by Gibson to not make any waves and that the most important thing was for us to get through this and come out the other end of it without being taken into custody. But, John balked at the DNA.  He wanted proof that they had the authority to do it.  I really don't know if he ever got the information that he was seeking, but I complied without question and John eventually did, too.

Stephanie Byrd, who was one of the agents processing me (Tom and John both had two men), seemed nervous.  Frankly, I was glad that she was nervous.  Her hands were shaky and she messed up one of the forms she was writing on and had to open a whole new kit to get a new form.  She also was criticized by one of the other agents there for handling my DNA stick without gloves on.

All of that took about half an hour, then Byrd told us that we were to be taken to the marshal's office upstairs to be processed and would wait there until our court appearance at two.  She said she would get us some lunch from Subway and bring it to us at lunch time.  She asked if we had any dietary restrictions.  Because of John's heart condition, he cannot eat carbs (bread, sugar, etc.) and because of my celiac disease, I can't eat bread either.  I never eat at Subway because, well, they're a sandwich shop and I never even liked their sandwiches anyway.  It was agreed that John and I could eat a lettuce wrap with meat and cheese in it and she would bring Tom a sandwich.

Then Byrd told me to stand up, turn around, put my arms out and she did a cursory pat down, then told me to put my hands behind my back while I saw her reaching for a pair of handcuffs.  I said, "Are you serious?!"  She said, "Yes, I have to do this to take you to the marshal's office."  Of course, I complied.  I suppose otherwise, they would have wrestled me to the ground and put the cuffs on me anyway.  That would have been unladylike, to say the least.

Tom and John were handcuffed as well, although, John was handcuffed in the front. I can only guess that it was because of his recent open heart surgery.  Byrd walked with me with her hands fluttering here and there, touching my arm occasionally to direct me or steady me or something. 

We were led to the elevator to go upstairs  Tom and John stood facing the wall, but if I was told to do that, I didn't hear it and I didn't do it, then into the entry of the marshal's office where we had to stand, cuffed, facing the wall for several minutes.  Then a marshal came in and led us each to a small holding cell, each was about 4x6 with one metal stool attached to the floor and a metal platform above which was a screen and beyond the screen another room just like that one.  I guess it was for inmates and lawyers to talk.

We sat there for quite some time in handcuffs - there weren't any clocks and we had no way to tell how much time passed.  I heard Tom and John being taken away.  The same marshal came back later to tell me that he was waiting for a woman deputy to do my pat down.  He had a heavy accent and people called him "the Cuban", so I guess he was from Cuba.  But, he was very kind and respectful to me.  He tried to explain everything that was going on.  He was apologetic, but told me that he had to do his job.  Then he moved me to a larger holding cell because he thought it would be more comfortable.  It wasn't.

After some time, the woman deputy came to get me out of the cell.  She made me put my hands up on the wall and patted me down thoroughly, even sticking her hands up my skirt to feel my legs, fingers all in my waistband and thoroughly around my bra strap.  I had to take off my shoes and she felt all over them and checked the soles of my feet; pull my hair back so she could look behind my ears, then flip my head down and shake out my hair.  After that, I put my shoes back on, hands against the wall again, then "lift your right foot up and back" and she clamped a metal shackle onto my ankle, "other foot", another shackle with a short chain between the two.  Then I was put in a cell, probably about 12x12 with one other woman.  There was a toilet in the cell with a partition, about 3 1/2 feet tall that shielded the toilet from the hallway, but it was open to the rest of the room.  I'm so glad I went to the bathroom before going in there.  I did NOT want to have to use that toilet. 

I could occasionally hear Tom and John talking down the hall so I new they were pretty close.  They were in a cell with several other men.  We stayed in those cells until just a few minutes before 2:00 when we were led up to the courtroom.

The Cuban marshal came by every once in a while to check on me and explain things further.  I couldn't understand everything he said, but I got the gist of most of it and every once in a while I caught a clearly spoken phrase.  He explained to me that AFTER we went to court, we would be photographed and finger printed, then he'd receive our release papers and we'd be free to go.  I said that I was told we'd be processed BEFORE the court appearance.  He shook his head, "no, this is the way I have to do it because there is an arrest warrant, blah, blah, blah."  So, that little tidbit tells me that somehow the IRS obtained an arrest warrant between late afternoon Monday and early morning Tuesday.  I don't know how these things work, but I strongly believe this is how they were able to detain us in the way that they did and have us treated like we had already been tried and convicted.  Of course, I know the motivation for it...maximum shock and awe, maximum terrorism to break us down and beg to do anything to not have to go back there.

So... lunch.  Cuban brings a little plastic take-out box and tells me this is what Byrd brought for lunch.  It was about a cup of iceberg lettuce, two cherry tomatoes, and about a tablespoon of shredded carrots, a packet of dressing, and...no fork.  He looked rather sheepish and was apologetic.  He said, "we tell them not to bring salad because we can't have forks".  I kind of laughed and mimed eating a salad with my hands like a barbarian.  He also brought me a plastic bottle of water.  I wasn't sure but I think he said they aren't really supposed to give us plastic bottles and he told me just don't flush it down the toilet because it will get stopped up.  I said, "I'm pretty sure I'm not going to flush a water bottle down the toilet."  I didn't touch the salad.  It turned my stomach just thinking about it.  I sipped the water a little bit because I knew it was important for me not to get dehydrated because I'd then be nauseous.  But, I didn't want to drink much because I didn't want to have to pee in that toilet.

After a while, Cuban came and unlocked my door and motioned for me to come out.  Let me tell you, it is hard to walk with those shackles on and heels.  He helped me straighten them out and held my arm so that I wouldn't fall.  He told me, "I'm going to process you".  He took me to a little room, fingerprinted and photographed me.  Then took me back to the cell when we were done.  I don't know why he relented and processed me before going to court, but I'm glad he did. I found out from him that it was 12:45.  I passed that little morsel of information on to my cellmate because she had been there all day and had no idea of the time.  We had talked a little about it before, so I knew she was wondering as much as I was.

So, I knew I only had about an hour to go before I was taken to court.  And, I thought it couldn't get worse, but it did.  When it was time, Cuban came to get me.  He wrapped a chain around my waist twice, put handcuffs on me, then chained the handcuffs to the chain on my waist.  By then, the leg shackles, which were quite heavy, had rubbed a red dent on the front and back of my ankles.  It really hurt to walk because each step, in addition to making me feel like I was going to fall, would dig that metal into my skin.  By the time it was over, I thought if I had them on much longer, my ankles would be bleeding.  I had to walk very slowly, so everyone else did, too.  I figured if they said anything to me, I'd tell them, "well, if you're going to hobble me like a horse, you're just going to have to put up with walking slow."  The Cuban handed me over to the woman deputy and she, with several other men, escorted us to the elevator and up to the courtroom.  Woman deputy warned us very meanly while we were waiting to get on the elevator that we weren't allowed to talk to each other and if there was any family in the courtroom (Keith and Tina came) that we could not talk to them either.  There was some severe penalty for doing so, but I tuned her out by then.  Nobody helped me walk.  I was left to maneuver walking down the hall stepping over thresholds and even walking up and down steps. in heels. in shackles. and not one of those people offered a steadying hand.  If I had tripped, I would have fallen on my face because my arms were pinned to my waist.

When we got to into the courtroom, we were directed to sit in the jury box.  There was one other prisoner there.  He looked to be a Mexican and was in a prison jumpsuit.  Tom was arraigned first, then me, then John.

We each stood at the lectern with Gibson.  He wanted us to just answer the questions with yes or no, don't rock the boat, just get your release and get out of here.  I can't really blame him for that.  It would be nearly impossible to be on trial while locked up because Tom and John wouldn't be able to fully participate in their defense and their input is absolutely critical.  I'm sure the prosecutor knows this and threatening jail is a motivator to get people to lie just to move the process along.

We were each asked if we had read the indictment "yes" and do we understand it "pause".  Do I understand it?  I wanted to answer that question in the most truthful way possible.  The answer formulated in my head was, "To the extent one can comprehend false allegations against oneself, then yes".  But Gibson was by my side urging me to simply say "yes", so I did.  It was not a lie because I can understand the words that are written.  I just can't understand their meaning.  So, there's that.

After a few other questions and admonishments, we each entered a plea of "not guilty", stated emphatically.  Everyone agreed that we'd be released on the conditions that we surrender our passports (already done), submit to supervision by a probation officer, and that Tom and I can talk to each other (obviously, since we are married), but neither one of us communicate with John.

Of course, that is very problematic since it's critical for John and Tom to communicate with each other to prepare for our defense.  Gibson said we can file a motion so that John and Tom can communicate with a lawyer present and that will probably be allowed.  But, for now...no communication.

After the court appearance, we were led, still shackled, back to the marshal's office, put back in the cell for about an hour while they did their paperwork.  When that was done, they came and took us out of the cell, took the shackles off and we walked away free.  Well, free minus a few Constitutional rights.

Tell me.  Is there a presumption of innocence in our justice system today?  No.  No there is not.  We were treated like maniac murderers by our government that is supposed to be serving us. 

Leading Up to Arraignment Day

There is so much to tell, so many emotions to convey, so much horror that it keeps me from writing because I just don't know what to write first. So I'll pop back to what I wrote three years ago which was leading up to a horrible, horrible day.

August 2018

Mike Gibson (Tom's lawyer) had arranged with "whoever" for us to self-surrender and the date was set for August 7, 2018.  What happened leading up to this is important.  Mike wanted to make it as uneventful and easy as it could be, so he arranged for us to have our pretrial interview the week prior to arraignment. 

The pretrial interview was for the purpose of deciding if there should be a bail requirement, if we're a flight risk, and what kind of restrictions should be placed on us (travel restrictions, etc.)  The interviews were done by phone in Gibson's office.  I should mention that there was discussion amongst the lawyers about the questions that might be asked and if they would be considered "inextricably linked" to the case and probably shouldn't be answered (maybe "take the 5th") because whatever we say in those interviews will be seen by the prosecution and could be used against us. 

When Tom asked Mike about it, he talked to Kimmens (the Dallas prosecutor), and Kimmens to Fahey (prosecutor who Kimmens reports to).  We were told that Fahey said if we don't answer every question, he will seek to have us immediately put in jail.  So, there flew our 5th amendment rights out the window. Yeah, you have a right not to answer, but they have the power to take away your freedom if you don't.

We were told that some of the standard restrictions were that we would have to surrender our passports, which we did to Gibson the day of the pretrial hearings.  He would later turn them over to the court.   Freedom to travel...out the window.  Also, that we would not be able to keep our guns.  It's not like we have an arsenal, but we did own some guns for our own protection and for protecting the livestock if need be.  So, before the interviews, Tom packed up the guns and rifles and put them in safe keeping with a lawyer/friend.  Right to bear arms and protect ourselves...doesn't exist when you've been accused of a crime by the government.

Oh, did you think that in the United States of America, you were innocent until proven guilty?  Ho, ho, you are so naive.  There is no presumed innocence in our "justice" system, as you'll see in what's to come now and on arraignment day.

So, we did our interviews.  They were relatively painless - just simple questions about our address, our employment, our family members, etc.  I didn't have a problem answering them.  But, what was ironic was that the interviewer (a very nice guy, BTW) read a statement to me before we began.  A bunch of blah, blah, blah that I don't remember, but I do clearly remember that part of it said, "I understand that I do not have to answer any of these questions".  Oh yeah?  That's a laugh.  No, you don't have to answer the questions.  Instead, you can go to jail.  Tell me, did I have the right to not answer those questions under threat? 

So, we're all set for arraignment.  Gibson tells us it'll be pretty quick, we should be out of there in just a few hours, just go get processed (mug shots, fingerprints), then appear before the judge and the prosecutor had agreed to have us released on our own recognizance.  Sounds pretty simple. Boy, was I wrong.

We still didn't have any notification of the time we were supposed to be in court, so when Tom had his interview (with a separate interviewer), Gibson asked her if she knew what time it was going to be.  I wasn't there and didn't hear, but something about what she said tipped Gibson off about what the IRS agent might have planned.  And, that was, that we would have to surrender to her in the morning, then she would make us sit in the marshal's office all day and have us taken to the court in handcuffs.

So, there was a new fear that I had to worry about over the weekend.  Gibson said he'd try to get it sorted and that he wasn't going to let that happen and that, if nothing else, we would just come early and sit in his office until 45 minutes before court, then he'd take us over there.  That is not what happened, as I will tell you in the next post.

Since I was afraid about the handcuffs, on Monday, the 6th, I texted my lifelong friend who has worked in the federal courts for about 30 years and asked her.  She said, no way, they won't take you in cuffs because you are already scheduled to self surrender and there are no warrants issued for your arrest.  I said, "What if the IRS agent does it just because she can?"  She said, "the judge won't put up with that nonsense".  She has not had her Sydney Powell moment yet.

So, let's review:  As of Monday, Aug. 6th, we were scheduled to self surrender on the 7th, there were no warrants out for our arrest, the prosecutor had agreed that he wouldn't ask for bail requirements or remand and that he was fine with us being released on our own recognizance.  Remember, the IRS has been investigating us for years and years.  They already know what our lives are like and that we have never been in trouble with the law, we're going to show up to court when told to, that we are honorable people and not violent.  I mean, if they thought anything other than that, they would not have agreed to letting us go after arraignment.  Right?  I mean, am I missing something here?

Up next, arraignment day.

Public Service Announcement

 After the month of August, Blogger will no longer be offering the email notification feature.  That means if you've signed up for email notifications from my blog for when there is a new post, that will no longer be happening.  So if you're interested in reading what I have to say, you'll have to just check daily to see if there's anything new because you won't be notified.

Bureaucracy

The prison (BOP) website https://www.bop.gov says, "The BOP encourages inmates to write to family, friends, and other community contacts to maintain these ties during incarceration," and "With the inmate's eventual release, maintaining family ties will improve the likelihood of a successful reentry into the community, thus reducing the potential for recidivism," (not that recidivism is even a consideration since Tom hasn't broken any laws and doesn't intend to).  

So, as I said, I've written to my husband every day and each of my letters have been returned because of the return address label.  As soon as I received the first one back and found out they don't allow labels, I printed out all of the letters I had sent, put them in separate envelopes (because only five sheets of paper are allowed in one envelope) and sent them all at once.

  The BOP website also says, "§ 540.13 Notification of rejections.  When correspondence is rejected, the Warden shall notify the sender in writing of the rejection and the reasons for the rejection. The Warden shall also give notice that the sender may appeal the rejection. The Warden shall also notify an inmate of the rejection of any letter addressed to that inmate, along with the reasons for the rejection and shall notify the inmate of the right to appeal the rejection." And, "The Warden may not delegate the authority to reject correspondence or sign notification letters below the level of Associate Warden."  

Since I was desperate to get letters to Tom who was in isolation, I had scoured the correspondence rules on the website multiple times to try to find these obscure rules.  When I called the prison, they said the rules were on the website.  But they weren't.  So I emailed the prison asking where I might find the rules.  They sent me a pdf of a memorandum that listed all the rules about no colored paper, no labels, etc.  How were we supposed to know that?  How were we supposed to find that memorandum?  In that email, I also told them that I saw on the website that the warden was supposed to be notifying the inmate of the rejected mail and was that being done?  Their response was "yes".  Well, that was a lie.  Tom didn't receive one piece of mail from me until August 3, which was 15 days after he went in.  To this day, he has not received word from anyone, much less the warden, that he had received mail that had been rejected.

It just broke my heart in pieces that he sat there in that tiny cell for two weeks without a word from me as if I didn't care that he was gone.  Either the prison system is run by imbeciles, or diabolically cruel men.

I know it may not seem like much...he didn't receive mail from his wife, nor she from him (because he didn't have stamps, for goodness sake) for two entire weeks.  But, when you're an innocent person and you love your spouse, for him or her to just disappear into a black hole for two weeks, unable to comfort each other in any way, that is torture.  This is America, not communist China...yet.