This week I wrote a news story about former state Rep Kevin Mannix’s bonkers ballot measure that would send crack dealers, identity thieves, and felony property criminals to jail for at least three years on a first conviction—without the option of drug treatment.

The measure would also remove judicial discretion on sentencing. At the moment, if someone agrees to plead guilty, their lawyer gets to argue with the DAs in front of a judge over the appropriate sentence, instead of going to trial. A couple of weeks ago, I went to what’s called “drug call”—the Friday afternoon session at the Multnomah County Courthouse where defendants decide which way to plead.

In theory, if Mannix’s measure passes, plenty more defendants will plead not guilty because the mandatory 3-year sentence for their crimes means they’ll have nothing to lose by going to trial. That could mean the court system grinding to a halt.

As for “crack taxis”: I’ve been unable to find the expression anywhere on Google, which means I’m hereby claiming it for the Mercury. But a crack taxi, it turns out, is a stolen car, sold on by a crack addict to pay for the drugs. Often the purchaser of a crack taxi will know where it came from, but occasionally, such a vehicle will end up in the hands of somebody who isn’t aware of its origins. Like the bloke in this advert:
1989 CAMRY: The US’s most stolen car, according to insurers…

I first learned about crack taxis from public defender Joe Hagedorn, who gave me the tour of drug call. More after the jump.

Hagedorn, who has been an attorney for nine and a half years, is the supervising attorney in charge of felony property cases for Metropolitan Public Defender. He is also a self-confessed sentencing wonk:
HAGEDORN: Knows Oregon's sentencing law inside out...

Hagedorn and I showed up in Judge Jerry B.Hodson's court on Friday afternoon, February 15. The back three benches of the courtroom are laid out like a Greek theater around the Judge's table, and they were all full, with 30 or so reasonably hardened-looking people. Most were between 20 and 40, and I'd say around 20 per cent were African American—higher than Portland's census average. Many of the defendants were what Hagedorn described as "frequent fliers."

At the front of the room, a line of criminal defenders was waiting to talk in front of the Judge, and a wipe board sat next to them. On it was a tally of those who had agreed to plead guilty and move to sentencing negotiations, and a tally of those who wanted to go to trial. Roughly 20 people wanted to plead guilty. 3 were going to trial.

Before we'd arrived, Hagedorn had shown me his sentencing book. It's a complex grid showing all the different sentences someone can get based on their past convictions and a whole host of mitigating factors. Right now, someone found guilty of four identity thefts gets 13 months in prison, although judges are open to negotiation. If a defendant did the crime because they are addicted to drugs, for example, judges will often give a shorter sentence and combine it with drug treatment.

Under Mannix's measure, someone found guilty of identity theft for the first time would get 3 years. There would be no judicial discretion over sentencing, and the person would not be given drug treatment.

"It's crazy," says Hagedorn. "The increased cost of incarceration would be dramatic."

Back to the courtroom: The environment was pretty intense. All the defendants stayed quiet, shifting occasionally on the benches. The defense lawyers, meanwhile, bantered back and forth. This is their office—they act more relaxed. From a door in the back corner of the courtroom came occasional loud shouting every four or five minutes. Hagedorn showed me in.

Inside, district attorneys were lined up on one side of a bench. On the other, criminal defenders were sitting with all their case files. The atmosphere was informal and cheekily adversarial, although as I came in, people calmed down. A couple of people cracked wise, someone complemented Hagedorn on his new haircut. He said "thanks." This is where the negotiation over cases happens, and it's all done off the record. As we were shown out, the shouting started back up again, reasonably quickly. It was chaotic and yet, very important. I couldn't help thinking I'd enjoy it.

"When you've been a defense attorney for a while you start to believe that everyone has used meth at some point," said Hagedorn, when I asked him how many felony property crimes are connected with drug addiction. "Mannix seems to think that people don't commit crimes because of drug addiction, but that's absolutely incorrect.

Generally, a client might go to trial because the defender believes they have a good chance of beating the case.

"I had a case recently where the officer didn't have permission to search my client," says Hagedorn. "So we went to trial."

Police officers are always pushing the line of what's legal to make a case, says Hagedorn, although he's used to losing in court.

"Jurors just hate property crime, especially identity theft," he says. "After all, we used to hang horse thieves in this country. And it's the same with meth. People don't like drug dealers either."

Hagedorn he says he believes 100% in the integrity of every single one of his clients.

"You have to. Even though we've been called public pretenders," he says.

Sometimes Hagedorn works only to get his clients off on a lesser charge. An officer, for example, may bust someone with a large quantity of drugs and lots of small plastic bags, and try to charge them with delivery of a controlled substance. But under the law, there's no proof. The person can argue they were only carrying the bags for another reason, and the cops have to prove the person was selling by observing a hand-to-hand. The legal term for such a defense is a "Boyd Delivery."

Asked whether there's racial profiling going on, Hagedorn is sure. He says the cops do pull more black people over in Portland. "I don't know what the solution is, but I think the facts show that," he says.

"Also, I think people really don't know their rights," he continues. "The first contact a lot of these people are going to have with a police officer, they don't know what to say. They should just shut up and ask for a layer, because a lot of police officers act like they want to be friends, say they're going to help the suspect out, and they can be very aggressive about that, about pulling people over and getting consent to search, for example."

Hagedorn says he would like to see all conversations between officers and suspects recorded, as currently happens in Minnesota. He thinks that would remove the he said-she said ambiguity that can sometimes emerge when officers say a suspect "admitted something" to them before coming to trial.

He also admits being a criminal defender is a stressful job.

"But you learn to handle it," he says. "And really, the stress is all on the district attorneys. It's their job, once they've decided to prosecute a case, to win."

Thanks to Joe for showing me around.