Monday, July 27, 2009

"Pro Se" is Not a Disease

This is not an attack on lawyers (after all, a few are among my real friends [and real friends are scant in my life]); but it is what it is.


In case you're not familiar with the term pro se, it is a Latin phrase meaning "for oneself." In courts of law in the United States, one has the right to represent oneself without a lawyer. One is referred to as a pro se party. I am one.


Since February I have been involved in a very unpleasant case. I was sued by a person who made an agreement with me in very specific terms and from day one chose not to honor the agreement. I am even enjoined by a court order from speaking of my adversary, even though what I have spoken of my adversary has been the truth. My adversary retained counsel who repeatedly broke rules of our local courts, rules of disciplinary conduct and the rules of civil procedure of our state. I repeatedly called attention to that counsel's disregard of the rules. Yet, who gets the blame when we stand at the bench for the "umpteenth" time? Why, the pro separty of course. Me.


So what's the big deal? Well, consider the cost. And not in terms of money. We all know most legal matters are very expensive and beyond the ability of most folks with modest means to pay for. Consider the cost in terms of your rights as a citizen of this country. Consider your peace of mind and that of your family and friends, and how you, and by extension they, live your legal skirmishes. Consider how the folks who write our laws (more often than not, lawyers), have made them so convoluted and difficult to understand that most folks simply cannot. In fact, our statutes and codes are so needlessly wordy that one has to chop them up into little pieces to attempt to grasp the meaning of the whole. (They're kind of like the gibberish those purportedly well-meaning rich-but-socially-conscious idiots in Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged offer up as fodder for why doing business and making profits are to be considered with so much disdain.) Consider that just a few weeks ago one of my lawyers and I toiled over a particular section of the Texas Business Corporations Act for more than an hour, arguing about the establishment of a time line, and trying to make sure that we "got it." We could not help ourselves, as we marveled at the stupidly twisted verbiage that our lawmakers passed. (They must have had a really bad day that day.) Alright -- I'm getting off topic here. But if you have read my blogs, you know that getting off topic just happens all too often. Chalk it up to my unprofessionalism (more about that later) -- after all I am a lowly amateur writer. But . . . I'm really not that far off base. Here's why:


This is one of those instances where ignorance is not bliss. Think about this: we elect people to our legislature. They spend their time doing God only knows what -- that is to say any, and every thing not in the best interest of their constituents (that's you and me [note to self: write a blog about the American people]) but for the betterment of their buddies and themselves. Then, they regurgitate some garbage that would put most teachers and professors of English or any writing course in cardiac arrest. So . . . when you have that little conflict, and you take it upon yourself to take care of it without consulting a lawyer (how dare you!!), you are castigated for exercising your right to do so -- by 1) the judiciary (those folks who were first lawyers and now sit on the bench and selectively enforce the rules their peers have promulgated); 2) the members of the bar (those folks, most of whom lied, cheated and stole their way through law school, somehow managed to pass the bar exam and get an 8-digit number [in Texas] from the State Bar, and who selectively follow the rules their peers have promulgated, and who condescend to those who did not lie, cheat and steal their way through law school, but still manage to have a modicum of understanding with regard to the verbiage their peers have spewed forth and tagged as law). And then, there are the folks who think they have the upper hand because they have retained a lawyer. I will speak only of one -- my adversary.


By the way, my adversary no longer has a lawyer. Why? Well, I'm glad you asked. It was all my fault, of course. Opposing counsel withdrew, stating in her motion to withdraw that I am unprofessional and belligerent (translated: I did not allow counsel to interrupt me when we conferred, and I called to the attention of counsel and the court every broken rule -- especially when the breaking of such a rule was to give counsel an unfair advantage over this writer. The bottom line is that counsel thought this case would be a cakewalk. Fortunately for me, I am very comfortable with my belligerence and unprofessionalism -- that is, if it means that I persist and leave no stone unturned (including citing all rules broken by the enemy) and I follow the rules and exhaust all possibilities to sustain my cause. AND --- if it means I refuse to allow anyone to condescend to me or even speak over me because she managed to pass the bar. Whoop-de-doo.


This blog was started a few months ago, but today, July 27, 2009, is a fitting day to finish it, because today for the umpteenth time I have stood at the bench and been told to get a lawyer. The funny thing about it is that I had all my ducks in a row -- pre-trial motions, current pleadings, a cheat sheet for objections, three sets of exhibits, rules of civil procedure, rules of evidence, my entire file -- everything. I was cool, calm, collected and all of that good stuff. The butterflies I have experienced at hearings previously were nonexistent. I could actually look at my adversary without my stomach flipping. If I were clueless as to how to proceed (like my adversary), I could well understand the Court telling me to "get a lawyer." But competence could not possibly have anything do with such a mandate that in itself attempts to deprive me of my constitutional right to represent myself. The only thing I can think of is that by not having a lawyer, I am depriving a member of the bar the right to my truly-hard-earned dollars. News flash: that right has not been conferred by me upon any member of the bar; therefore, thatright simply does not exist, nor has it ever.


Why is this so important? Consider the way of laws and regulations these days. They are monstrous tentacles ferreting through every aspect of our society -- going to and fro seeking some weak spot in the membrane of our very being -- some place to which they can attach and suck dry the very essence of what lies beyond. Watch out for what might come in the future. The day may come when it is mandatory for all to have a lawyer for even minor traffic offenses. (Note to self: find a lawyer to defend against photo traffic ticket.) The county law library will be closed to all except card-carrying members of the state bar. It will be illegal to own even a Black's Law Dictionary -- especially the older editions that have not been purged and bastardized.


Am I writing of all lawyers? Absolutely not. But lawyers are just like everyone else -- they come in all shapes, sizes, colors and degrees of good, bad, mediocre, competent, expert, lazy, unethical -- blah, blah, blah. Just as I'd rather have a friend's husband do a "brake job" on my Jeep (because he's honest about whether or not my Jeep really needs a brake job), or I'd rather ride out a bout of sinusitis instead of running to see my doctor, I ought to have a choice as to whether or not I want to spend money on a lawyer.


The bottom line is this: the fruits of my labor are mine to consume as I wish. If I do myself harm in the courtroom, it is the bed I make and the one in which I will lie. On the other hand, if a lawyer, through incompetence or carelessness, causes me harm in the courtroom, it is the bedhe makes, but still the one in which I must lie. It is often said that the person who represents himself in court has a fool for a client. That may be so, but as I am my own woman, I'd rather be my own fool than the fool of one for whose services I have paid. Take my adversary, for instance . . .

Friday, July 24, 2009

It's Not Just About Henry Gates, and Unfortunately, it Really is a Black Thing

Recently I expressed to a friend that the first thing people see when they see me is the color of my skin. He probably will never understand my saying that -- but he'll never have to live in my skin (or any like it). But every now and then unspoken truths have a way of finding voice and amplification, taking shape, becoming flesh and dwelling among us. Then the world hears -- and sees their beauty -- or in this case, their ugliness.


Sometime ago I wrote on my Facebook page that I am comfortable in my skin, but I wish it was just one shade of brown. I still wish it was just one brown. Parts of me are like black coffee with a hint of creamer while others are like the chocolate chip cookies I make with dark brown sugar, and still others are more like caramel. There's a little patch under my lower lip that is quite light. Chalk that up to my stereotypical Negroid lips providing that little patch with shade 24/365 . (I wonder if the Afrocentrists among us will protest my use of the adjective Negroid.) Years ago, my mom was as fair as any one of the paler nation.* And while quite brown, my father's legs were as light as my mom's face. I often wonder how they bore this chocolate bunny and her two siblings. And we are truly their children in every sense of the word. And, as usual, I digress. Moving right along . . .


One might ask why bring this issue to the forefront at all? I ask, why not? To go from one day to the next, pretending that all is well, is like living at the base of a volcano. Things have a way of heating up. And erupting. And spreading. And leaving death and devastation all around. And that is not to have anyone in fear of his life; we all have the capacity for many deaths other than physical: mental, psychological, emotional, aspirational, spiritual (the big one), etc. So much for shotgunning;** let's get to the point.


The point is this: for all of my different hues, and there are many, my skin does not define me.


The problem is this: for all of my different hues, and there are many, there are folks (lots, in fact) who not only define me (and people like me) by my skin, they also indict, try, condemn, sentence and execute me (and people like me) before I have flashed them a smile with time-worn but twinkling eyes, or opened my mouth to use tongue, teeth and lips to demonstrate my command of my native language (English), which is generally as good as most and better than others.


And why is this a problem? Well, I'm glad you asked. This problem affects every facet of my life (and the lives of people like me). People of the darker nation, while going about their daily tasks, often mentally absorbed in the same cares that haunt the thoughts of everyone else (you know, the mortgage, the environment, marketing strategies, business development, lesson plans, causes of action, the kids -- stuff like that), are often blindsided by some overt or covert act that reminds them of the singular distinction of their dark skin. It is that singularity that for many of the rest of the world indicates we are unintelligent, unambitious, foul-speaking, unqualified, less studious, dishonest, untrustworthy, belligerent, lawless, and lest I start shotgunning again, any other negatively descriptive word one might want to assign. (However, I simply must add "undeserving", as no matter how qualified we are, often we do not get the job, the promotion, the bonus, or even the recognition or credit for doing well that we have rightfully earned.) For purposes of discussion, consider these two examples:


1. In the past I have spent considerable time searching for a job in my field. I have not had a viable job offer in more than a decade. First it was because even though I had the right experience I didn't have a college degree. After I ticked that minor inconvenience off my "to-do" list, the reason morphed into my having too much experience. Duh --- how can one have too much experience? Does that mean that after 10 years or so one should change professions -- or retire -- lie about it -- or just die and get life over with??? Solution to problem: nix the job search. (Still, if anyone is interested in a seasoned paralegal, I am not opposed to being contacted.)


2. Even in volunteer situations the black thing is problematic. As a member of a non-profit organization, I once expressed a desire to volunteer my time and skills for a particular project and was asked for a resume. I walked away wondering if the Toms, Dicks and Harrys of the group were ever asked for their resumes. Solution to problem: don't volunteer. I now share what time, talent and skills I can with those who ask for my help.


Another aspect of the problem: Have you ever been told that you (or something about you) are "too white for black and too black for white?" If so, welcome to my world. My interests and proclivities span broadly spaced points on most spectra. I am open to listening to most music except rap, heavy metal, and meaningless gospel. To this writer rap and heavy metal are not valid forms of music, and meaningless gospel may have good rhythm, structure, harmonies and all of the elements of music, but its message (a snippet of the "Good News") is either Scripturally invalid or just plain, well, meaningless. I love singing Handel's Messiah and Glen Burleigh's Order My Steps. In years past I've had season tickets for the opera but not any team sport. For the record, I grew up on Mozart, The Supremes, Dorothy Norwood, Beethoven, James Cleveland, The Righteous Brothers, Haydn, Debussy, The Temptations, Bach, Aretha Franklin, Art Blakey, Roy Head, Cannonball Adderly, Lou Rawls, Gene Chandler, Gladys Knight and James Cleveland. My reading (or most often now, my listening) includes Josephus, Shakespeare, Patterson, Sheen, Gibran, Millay, the Brownings, and my all time favorites, David, John and the Apostle Paul. I dare you to not see some diversity here.


So what am I saying? Simply this: my skin, like everyone's, is the largest organ of my body. It is a network of portals to my body and protects the inner works as only God created it to work. However, other than its physiological functioning, it has no bearing on how I live, except to the extent that others make it a factor.


The bright side to this dilemma is there is a solution. The drawback is that the solution is about as effective as Nancy Reagan's "JUST SAY NO" mantra. Historically we have been conditioned to make skin a factor. JUST IGNORE IT is just not that easy. How about being mindful that it could be a factor, and making a decision for it not to be.


And finally, there are people on both sides of the equation who tend to stigmatize others thusly. Darker nation folks look at paler nation folks and do to them what paler nation folks do to darker nation folks: they prejudge. We all have something to work on.


The last word: What happened to Henry Gates is an abominable bastardization of authority by the police. I pity the darker nation police who stood in support of their coworker. It is sad to be so beholden to a job, and to so desperately fear the loss of that job, or worse, to be brainwashed into thinking that James Crowley was right, that one would stand in support of Crowley's behavior. How pathetic is that? I cannot help but wonder: how would that officer, a person of the darker nation, feel if police arrested him in his own home as they did Professor Gates?


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Footnotes ...

*Again I thank Stephen Carter for the terms darker nation and paler nation, which I find more palatable, and more accurate, than black person or white person, as none of us is either. Carter is the author of a work of fiction [The Emperor of Ocean Park, commended to me by a wonderful woman of the paler nation, and which I recommend to whomever reads this footnote] and truly substantial works of nonfiction [including Integrity, which I am now reading on occasions of my sitting down to dinner]. Evidently folks who tend to prejudge on the basis of skin color have not read The Emperor of Ocean Park. And, sadly, some elected officials and rabbis in New Jersey no nothing of Integrity.

**shotgunning -- in paralegal school this is something I was warned to avoid -- and something lawyers do all the time -- the stringing along of words ad nauseum when one or two will do. For example: instead of saying produce all the documents (pretty concise, don't you agree?), another way of saying that would be produce any and all documents of every kind and character, whether handwritten, typewritten, printed, engraved, mimeographed, photographed, photocopied or by any other means created. That's shotgunning.



Tuesday, July 21, 2009

There Ain't No Such Thing as UNJOY!

For those of you who cannot abide another's reality, you may want to skip this one; it is intensely personal. One might ask Why would she want to write something so personal? Well, I'm glad you asked. Consider that if I were a so-called celebrity -- you know -- celebrity -- one of those women who has babies out of wedlock and it makes the news because she's been on television or in a movie (all action, no acting) or made a recording that while commercially successful, there was more substance in the accompaniment than the words to the song, and the video was much more successful because she had an opportunity to bare her buttocks, gyrate her body and make a lot of little girls and young teens want to emulate her behavior -- you know -- a celebrity -- folks would be dying to know. Sad, sad, sad commentary. It is not that I desire to air my personal affairs -- quite the contrary. In fact, when I was young I wanted to be involved in local politics. I really believed I had something to offer other than hot air puffery -- some actual solutions instead. My unwillingness to reveal when I lost my virginity and bounced my first check stifled my political ambitions. Those tidbits of information would have been far more interesting to media and electorate, rather than substantive solutions.


Yes, this writing is personal. But on the other hand, this writing is necessary. It is more than a purification ritual for me. It's not even part of the grieving process (that ended a long time ago). This is so personal that when I started it on December 19, 2008, I decided to put it away. Since then I have looked at the title but continued to write other stuff. But today, July 21, 2009, is the day this blog will be published.


Why today??? Why not? So much has happened since December 19 last year, and still this transition is not quite over. In fact most of the events between then and now I am not even allowed to write about. It would be a violation for me to say something disparaging, even if true. Now, how sad is that? Is it my fault that there may be one who is so ashamed of his actions that he doesn't want others to know of them? Are we to coddle and protect those who trespass against others because it humiliates them for others to know of their infractions??? Are the rights of the trespassers superior to those whom they trespass against? Let's get real here. I'm not talking about a minor; I'm talking about a supposed adult - definitely old enough -- way old enough -- even though that particular adult's behavior is more representative of a juvenile.


Because of those prohibitions, you, the reader, will be spared the gory details. So you are invited to use your imagination and think of all the ugly, truly ugly occurrences that might transpire between two people when one seeks a peaceful resolution of a dispute based on what is fair and the other's attitude is what makes you think life is fair?


Have you ever felt as if you were lying on the ground while others took turns kicking you -- the blows to your legs, hands, chest, back and head continuing relentlessly as you lay, helpless and unable to defend yourself? Earlier this year I actually envisioned such a spectacle, and in my vision I was the recipient of the Well-Placed Foot. But somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, I eventually remembered (not soon enough, but at least I remembered) that as a Believer, my fight is not with the foot or the person to whom it belongs; nor is it with the one who strikes blows for which no physical contact is made, the emotional blows that can be even more painful than ones to the body.


I am reminded of an often quoted passage of scripture: For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. (Ephesians 6:12, NIV).


Perhaps you're more comfortable with the KJV: For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, againstspiritual wickedness in high places.


But if the Word is not something you're accustomed to reading, check out this paraphrased version, courtesy of John Peterson's The Message: This is no afternoon athletic contest that we’ll walk away from and forget about in a couple of hours. This is for keeps, a life-or-death fight to the finish against the Devil and all his angels.


As usual, I walk around the tree (would one rather I say beat around the bush?) before I sit. This is what I'm saying: Every facet of our lives represents a possibility for pain and conflict, as well as joy, a sense of well-being, and a lot of other warm fuzzy stuff. Sometimes the pain and conflict are self-inflicted when we make wrong choices. But sometimes the pain and conflict are instigated by others who make wrong choices. Whether by our own choice, or that of someone else, we can be subjected to excruciatingly painful experiences. The key, at least for me in the midst of this year's unpleasantries, is to remember that my struggle is not with the "kicker" but rather with the spirit of the one with the Well-Placed Foot. In the moments of absolute agony experienced this year, I am blessed to have been reminded by folks who care for me, that neither physically or spiritually am I alone. At the core of not being alone, whenever the clouds were blackest and thickest, the silver lining revealed the One who always listens and reminds me of the joy that transcends being kicked, literally and figuratively, whether by one imp of the enemy or the man-contrived system we call justice (talk about the bastardization of a word -- but I'll save that for another time).


So despite there being, from time to time, an absence of happiness, the joy is always there. The happiness -- the contentment and satisfaction of the moment or circumstance, can be pivotal. I see the "h" word as conditional. One can be happy one moment, and unhappy the next. But then there is the "J" word. Joy is not for the moment. Joy is despite the moment. It is despite the blows to one's body and one's mind. The Joy in knowing that there is One Who grants us new mercies each morning, Who never changes, whose faithfulness is sooooo great, Who is strength for today and gives us hope for tomorrow, and that will dwell in you, if you let Him, makesunhappy pale in comparison, for there is no such thing as unjoy.


The bottom line is this: stuff happens in life all the time. Before the fecal matter hits the circular rotary blades, may I suggest latching onto the One Who won't leave you in those unhappy moments, and Who will give you a measure of grace, peace, and a huge dose of Joy to carry you through the times when the stuff stinks?


Many thanks to Phyllis T for planting the seed that compelled me to finish this writing.

Monday, July 20, 2009

It's Not in Your Incantations

For too long I have suffered through e-mails from well-intended folks (at least on the surface they appear to be), badgering and bullying me to 1) read it (if we can take the time to read long jokes, stories, etc., we should give the same respect to this prayer); and 2) share it (forward this to 20 people). As I scan the message, written in various colors and a 40 pt. typeface, I see that the writer prays for 1) those who will delete it without passing it on; and 2) those who do not believe. And then the writer thanks God that he/she believes. And for a final flourish, the writer then says "Don't ignore this and God will bless you."

Well, I confess. I deleted it. I did not share it. I suppose, though, that since a discusssion of "it" is the introductory paragraph of this writing, I cannot say I ignored it. Perhaps I am disqualified because my not ignoring it adheres to the letter of the admonition, but not its spirit.

To the well-intentioned folks who send this stuff, please understand that:
  1. many folks receive literally HUNDREDS of e-mails everyday, and many of them merely scan the subject matter or a little snippet to see if it merits a thorough reading. No offense, but there are only so many hours in the day and only so much of it can be devoted to reading e-mails that, for folks like me, are not work or business related;
  2. if your emails are not shared as you wish them to be, that does not mean you are not loved;
  3. if your emails are not shared as you wish them to be, that does not mean the recipient does not love God;
  4. if your emails are not shared as you wish them to be, that does not mean they are not appreciated;
  5. no incantations suggested in your emails are magic words that will make the remainder of anyone's life rosey. It is not in the "rosey" that we achieve anything --rather, it is the labor of violent changes and how we adapt to them or transcend them that matters. While the prayers of the righteous availeth much, faith without work does not cut it.
As for this writer, I am blessed beyond measure by the mere fact that I woke up this morning. My prayers each night, regardless of what other content there may be, always end with "help me keep my home, and bless me so that I may be a blessing to others." The remaining content of my prayers, as is this standard, is whatever comes from my heart.

Well, what am I saying? Just this: God knows your heart. Speak to Him from your heart. If you get in a tight squeeze (as I was earlier this year), and cannot form the words to say to Him, He still knows your heart. But if it will help you, call a friend and ask him/her to pray for you. And if you cannot find anyone, call me.