Opinion

Victims' rights can often illustrate court system's wrongs as well

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

In case you missed the memo, it's National Crime Victims' Rights Week.

Don't expect any parades. Nor any white sales at J.C. Penney. And the Postal Service is actually delivering mail all week, so there must not be any real holiday within that April 21-27 timeframe.

But that doesn't make the observance any less significant. After all, the designated week offers an opportunity to raise awareness about such noble attributes as victims' rights, protection and supportive services.

Even the theme this year, "New Challenges, New Solutions," is timely, reflecting increasingly complex challenges facing victim advocates like Putnam County Victims Assistance Director Tracy Bridges and others.

Certainly a recent day in Putnam Superior Court offered a glimpse at the human element in what otherwise can often seem a cold, heartless system.

It was an unusual day in court anyway. Ladies Day, we termed it, what with five females among the nine suspects before Judge Denny Bridges in court that afternoon.

One of them was a 49-year-old southern Putnam County mother of two. "Very humiliated and embarrassed," she said, for her family and herself as she appeared for an initial hearing in a domestic battery case.

With nothing previous on her record to embarrass anyone, our defendant stood before the judge and had a not-guilty plea entered on her behalf, as is standard practice.

But what came next surprised the victim, shocked most of the courtroom gallery and seemed unfair in the least.

Judge Bridges' words seem to hang in the courtroom air as the realization of their meaning settled in.

"You realize if I release you today," the judge said, nodding in our offender/victim's direction, "you can't go home."

That was because in a Putnam County domestic battery case, especially an incident occurring in front of children, an automatic no-contact order is issued by the court. And that no-contact edict means just that, no contact in person, via telephone or email with those at the home.

"I don't care if the two of you meet at Motel 6 and spend the weekend together," the judge said for emphasis, "you just can't go home."

Judge Bridges appeared apologetic in expressing that to the woman, who was in a quandary over her employment status as well. She explained she typically works 50-60 hours a week locally to provide for her family with her husband having been laid off for the past couple of years.

The Catch 22 was that in order to get to work, she needed her car. And her car was at her residence, where she could not go home to get it.

The case is "so typical," (except perhaps for the tables being turned with a female defendant and a male victim) allowed Tracy Bridges, in her fifth year as Victims Assistance director.

The husband called the police after reaching the point of frustration with his highly intoxicated wife. Physical contact, however, was little more than a shove at the end of an argument, Tracy Bridges explained.

"He really didn't want her to go to jail, he just wanted her to go away," she perceived.

What people fail to realize is once the police are involved in a situation like that and there is any kind of physical evidence of battery, black eye, scratches, bruises, etc., someone's going to jail.

"You don't get a mulligan," Tracy Bridges assured.

But back to that automatic no-contact order in Putnam County domestic violence cases. It's a "safety precaution," the Victims Assistance director said, noting that the court must have authorization from the victim to forego the order.

In this case, the Prosecutor's Office couldn't get the erstwhile victim to return its calls. So the other victim had nowhere to go and no one to help.

"She would have been a victim of the system, too, because she had no place to go," Tracy surmised.

And just as the judge was wavering about whether it was best to impose a no-contact order or a no-trespassing order, his wife, the Victims Assistance director, adjourned upstairs to her courthouse office to try to contact the victim again.

"I thought I'd try to call one more time before they released her to go back to jail."

Cue the governor. Sign the pardon. The last-ditch effort worked just like in the movies.

Tracy got through, and the defendant was more than happy to agree to let his wife come home.

"He said, 'Oh, God, no, I don't need that,'" she reported, explaining that he wasn't even aware she was being brought before the judge that particular day.

Buoyed by that word from the spouse, Tracy Bridges ran back down to Superior Court, where proceedings had moved on to another case.

She stepped up to the prosecution table and whispered to Deputy Prosecutor Jim Ensley that there now was no need for either a no-contact or no-trespass order. Ensley approached the bench and so informed the judge.

Dramatically, Judge Bridges had the woman stand amid the second row of orange-clad inmates as he addressed her directly.

Announcing that he was rescinding the no-contact order, the judge calmly told her she was free to go home.

She wept, sobbing openly, in turn setting off a chain reaction of tears among the other women in court.

"Yes," Tracy Bridges smiled in confirming that scenario, "and then everyone cried."

Deflecting any notion she was any kind of heroine for efforts nonetheless above and beyond, Tracy claimed instead she was "just trying to run interference."

But because of that, a local family has been able to stay together.

As expected, the Victims Assistance director has had contact with the victim since his wife was released from jail, and everything seems to indicate things are progressing. The woman has reportedly stopped drinking and is getting counseling.

"She seems truly remorseful," Tracy added, "and hopefully she's getting the help she needs."

Happily ever after?

Not sure that's ever possible in the court system. But during Victims' Rights Week it's especially good to know we can at least get close.