Robed in black

I showed up in the sala of a judge to find out what the traffic citation I got was for. I had a code number I cannot decipher but the lawyer in the plaintiff’s table informed me that by the summons, I did a sudden swerve in traffic. She figured it was a $25 fine. I would have gladly paid the fine and skip the audience with the judge save that I was broke. I showed up and am glad as none appearance costs a $500 fine.

It was more than two hours before I walked up to the judge through the prosecutor; the judge did not have a folder on me. It turned out the police officer did not prepare a folder against me and someone in the audience said that I was issued a “quota” traffic violation; the officer just expected me to pay without appearing in court.

Because there was no folder, and the officer did not appear in court, my offense was dismissed and the only cost was more than two hours of listening and watching the administration of justice. This was what the two-hour banter was worth. On this day, the wrangling was on the precise and proper definition of procedure.

But first, let me get to how my man-in-blue wrote me a ticket.

I turned left off Antonio Apa Road fronting the Northern Marianas College into Msgr. Guerrero’s busy lane. The stop lights were not working the day before, giving out only a blinking red light, so when it turned green, I dashed into the road heading for the lagoon on the steep incline.

Living in Finasisu, I usually take the Joaquin Doi Road to the CK Post Office to go into town since the road incline is not too steep. The one at NMC is, but I rushed home from town to retrieve a document I forgot so I hurried back down to Oleai before an office closed for lunch. I let the car pick up speed without pushing the accelerator, swerving in the process. Like a jolt in a sleep, a light suddenly swirled behind me.

I was going at 62 miles per hour, the officer said. Recognizable. Without trying, the traffic usually runs at 56 miles per hour going down hill. So I was prepared to receive a ticket and go to the courthouse to pay the fine. I got a summons instead with illegible code violation and no indication of fine. So I took it home, entered it into my calendar and forgot about it until my laptop alerted me to go to court.

I went to court and “here come the judge.” The judge looked familiar, not only because his likeness was always in the papers but also because he showed up once in a group I helped start; his child has the same medical condition as two of mine. His wife is also a well-connected lawyer that I had been tempted to go see in my desperate search for an income-generating activity. One of her legal interests is associated with the casino industry, which I experienced in the CNMI lately as parading blithely dressed in fancy camouflage of the resort hotel cum casino Singapore type, so unless I really hit bottom on food, I will defer from seeking employ in her domain.

For the day though, the judge was in a black robe, and I was holding summons on a traffic violation. But the judge had to first hear a procedural motion and make a ruling before he dealt with traffic violations. The case before him had been in the papers of late about an elderly gentleman accused by his own wife of no longer being mentally competent to run his Saipan business. The prosecution wanted permission to engage in “discovery” to prove that the accused is, in fact, incompetent.

Defense said, “Whoa, not too fast” (my language). The prosecution was on a fishing expedition, bypassing the normal procedure to have the client be legally declared incompetent, but relying on medical opinions without the force of law. Prosecution went for the drama and thundered: What have they got to hide? Not pertinent to the matter at hand, it was dramatically made anyway.

The judge found the defense presentation more persuasive. My experience of being an observer to both parties was fun and instructive. To begin with, I knew the defense lawyer and the one supporting the prosecution with documents, so it was nice to see them again; the other three were prominent ones whose names and photos are familiar, often in the ST. But their banter ate up more than an hour; the judge walked out into his chamber past nine. I was in Court a good part of the morning.

After the banter on procedures, the judge delved with a pile of files prepared for him, injecting humor in the proceedings as one defendant after another received fines for traffic violations. The judge asked each how they earned their living to know how much time he would give a defendant to pay the hefty fine. When he exhausted the files, I went up to the prosecutor who called the judge’s attention, and finally, got my case dismissed.

I am now more cautious about speed traps, intentionally observing road rules. I defer from the flow when everyone is over speeding, take the slow lane. The court is precise on rules. I don’t intend to be in court ever again.