The Ruling Class
Prosecutes Jane Doe
October 28, 1999
On Behalf of
Adam Charles Maclean
of Wrox Press
My Day at the
Justice Factory

How To Get a Reaction Out of
Automaton, Anal Rententives

By Little Janey Doe

This persecution against me is my first experience going through the courts pro se. Here's what I learned through my observations and from my mistakes made by lack of experience:

1. Get everyone's name, the assistant DA who is prosecuting on behalf of the Big State DA, the court appointed attorney that takes you off in a corner to speak to you, the name of your adversary's lawyer. The only one with an obvious name tag is the judge.

2. Do not leave the courtroom ahead of your adversaries.

3. Stay through the session and count the number of cases processed through the period, and note the defendants by class and race.

4. Talk and pump everyone as much as possible, the court appointed attorney, the DA, the adversary's attorney.

Here's the scene: courtroom 44 at 3150 W. Flournoy. The courtroom is filled with black and Hispanic defendants, a few whites are here and there. The judge, the DA and all court appointed attorneys are white. The bailiffs and security are all black and Hispanic.

Here's how this day began: Wait, actually, the day began a month ago when I first learned of the charges. So for a month, I'm in pain, agony and uncertainty with the force of the courts over my head. All thanks to an unconscionable ruling class greedhead who first steals from me, then sics his attack dogs on me rather than stand up and fight me like a man. Of course, as I've mentioned elsewhere, it was delusional of me to expect someone who's not a man to fight like one. I was certain our case wouldn't make any headway this day, short of me taking a plea. But were they going to require me to make bail to stay free? If so, what would that process entail? They did not, but still, in case of future problems, I intend to find out.


Court begins at 1:30 p.m., NOT sharp. When I enter the courtroom at about 1:27 or so, I see Adam's already there, sitting with a woman -- and it' s NOT Amy! It's his lawyer. And I hope when you read that word you pronounce it liar, as Andy Griffith does as Matlock. I see lots of open seating in the pew in front of Adam so I choose this as my spot. I pause an instant to face Adam, and suck my thumb in front of him to make a statement about how he continues to treat me as a child, while he is the one who hasn't advanced beyond kindergarten. After all, when he faces trouble, he runs to mommy judge (the one in the skirt) and daddy prosecutor (the strict disciplinarian), along with a special bad witch guardian (his attorney). 

I pull out of my decidedly non-yuppie purple translucent "brief case", an enlarged copy of the "$136 Million"

article and fan myself with it throughout the process, making sure Adam and lia-wyer can get a good look at it.

I sit and sit, (so does Adam and his attorney -- ha! ha! He's no doubt paying by the hour), listening as case after case is announced and "disposed of" one way or another. There were at least 15 people called ahead of me, and I have no idea how many cases were called after me, because I got out of there as fast as I could. That was a mistake.

I finally get to appear before the judge.

It goes like this: my name and case number are called. I have to say, "here" and go before the judge. So I do. Adam also comes forward, with attorney.

I hear Adam giggle. Perhaps his lawyer said something? Or, perhaps he caught the subtlety of my "little Catholic school girl" fashion statement.


I hope my fashion statement was not lost upon the court, but figure it was. They're very busy with the hurried machinery of processing people, mostly poor blacks and Hispanics.

This first appearance before mommy judge is to acknowledge that I am there and that Adam is there. I'm told to sit, someone would be with me. So in the justice factory, my first experience is to have seconds in front of the judge.

The person who comes to me is a Court Appointed Attorney, (CPA) a young woman. She doesn't introduce herself to me by name but by title, and I don't think to ask her her name. She wants to know if I want her as representation, if I want a trial and if so, a judge or jury.

Now the really good part starts. I say I want to represent myself, but would appreciate a court appointed lawyer as co-counsel, with me having ultimate power of attorney. CPA tells me that I'll have to ask the judge but it's

usually all or nothing, if you're going pro se -- you have to go all the way. Maybe in Illinois, maybe not -- I have yet to ask the judge or do the research. In some states, co-counsel is given and I'm not going to take the word of a young public defender. I've talked and questioned plenty of attorneys on a number of issues and I get more "I don't knows" than anything else.

CPA asks me how much time I would like -- a week, a few weeks, a month. "At least a month, I have to do lots of research," I say. CPA says, " You're being charged with harassment by telephone."

"I know," I say. CPA walks away. I chase after her, finding her in a huddle already with the DA prosecuting me. I conspicuously show the "$136 Million verdict for wrongful termination" article I have with me. All of them eye it. I ask her, "Can I go now?"

"No," says CPA. "You have to go before the judge again."


Not amazingly, the judge, the CPA, the DA, Adam and lawyer are all of the same type of anal retentive. The highlight of the experience is watching each, one at a time like dominoes, experience the anal retentive bug-eye look at the news: "Jane wants a jury trial and wants to represent herself." I had unwittingly thrown a monkey-wrench into their perfectly greased machine.

So, next, here we all are again, with CPA at my side and Adam with lawyer and DA at his side -- going before the judge

again. The judge bug-eyes when he hears what I want. Then a new court date is agreed upon. No one can tell me if I can have co-counsel. I ask the CPA about how to get the paperwork, the judge comments that we have substantial things to talk about and to take it to the side. So we do. CPA tells me to talk to the OTHER judge about getting access to the evidence against me, because jury trials are held somewhere else -- 13th and Michigan. Who this judge is to be is not revealed to me at this point. I have lots of work ahead of me! My next court date: November 18 at 9 a.m. 


Some asides: I arrived early for court because I had taken the train out and wasn't sure how long this trip would take. So I found a place in the neighborhood to have lunch. It's in what Daley and his soulless yuppie entourage would consider a "blighted" neighborhood. But I enjoyed it because thanks to Daley and his citywide regentrification-ization plans, blight in the city may soon be a thing of the past. As long as there are poor people, homeless people and unemployed people, I am all for urban blight or any other kind and think there needs to be lots more of it.

It's not easy to find a restaurant, since most of the places offer only food to go. I do find a sit-down restaurant though and am thankful. At this time of day, most of the patrons are black males. There are three or four white restaurant workers and the owner of the restaurant is white, I think.

In court, this judge, Judge Edward O'Brien doesn't require an "all rise" when he enters the room, yet Adam's attorney rises automatically when the judge enters, catches herself mid-rise and then sits again. Adam's got himself another automaton yuppie idiot, and I'm sure feels himself "in good hands".

His "good hands" gave me one hell of a lot of legal strategy in their General Release Document. His "good hands" just might cost him his fortune, in fact, I'm counting on that.

When I left, Adam and attorney remained. I should have stuck around to find out why. Sure, I'd expect Adam to try and bribe these folk. Except he's so damned cheap he probably won't. That's too bad, because I'm doing my best to make sure this case gets monitored in the old Greylord tradition.

Oh yes, and when I left the courtroom, I conspicuously showed the article in front of Adam's face, the one about the $136 million verdict. He giggled. Tomorrow, he'll call it harassment.

As I work on these pages, evidence pops up someone is hacking me again! An "importing files" message comes on screen, when I am not the one to be doing anything of the kind. So, who is? Having my legal strategy won't help you thugs.

And if you're the INjustice folk, well, maybe you'll learn something. The tide is turning, we the people are remembering who is king in this country-- and it ain't you corrupt thugs.

No Justice No Peace




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