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.