Joel Jacobsen

In Cleveland, a prosecutor was late for court and the judge responded by dismissing the case.  Here's how Judge Eileen Gallagher explained her action:

"You don't show up - too bad. Don't treat me like a punk and not show up in court without giving us the courtesy of notifying us where you are."

Gee, think she might have been acting out of anger?  Or spite? - because the article suggests she knew  exactly where the prosecutor was: he was preparing a petition to get her removed from the case. 

I actually agree with Judge Gallagher up to a point.  You can't be 45 minutes late for a trial.  If nothing else, it's terribly rude to all the other people who made sure to be there on time, and inconsiderate of everyone whose cases could have been heard during the down time.  But there's an easy way for a judge to deal with such rudeness: contempt of court. 

Just a week earlier, Judge Gallagher sentenced a 17-year-old to 30 days in juvie for attacking a deputy in court (he was protesting his big brother's sentence, and his outburst reminded the judge that the panic button beneath her bench no longer functioned).  Thirty days might be a bit stiff for showing up 45 minutes late for trial, but a substantial fine would have gotten the prosecutor's attention, and that of his boss.

Instead, she dismissed the case, even though the prosecutor wasn't a party to it.   The prosecutor wasn't even harmed by the dismissal, unless you count the rage he undoubtedly felt.   In the long run he received a personal benefit from it: a nearly iron-clad guarantee that he will never have to appear in front of Judge Gallagher again, because after such a public spitting match, complete with newspaper editorial, it would be unethical for her to fail to recuse herself from his cases. 

That doesn't mean nobody was hurt by the judge's pique.  There was the victim,  a 16-year-old girl.  And the people of Cuyahoga County, what few there are left, who lost a little more of their power to decide for themselves how much sexual violence against children to tolerate in their community. 

The question for the judge was simply: which was more important, (1) her sense of being treated with insufficient respect, or (2) the people's right to enforce democratically-enacted laws against sexual violence?

While the experience makes it less likely the victim, or her parents, will continue to cooperate with the prosecution - the way we treat child victims of sex crimes, it's only a matter of time before some judge concludes that cooperating with the legal system is per se child abuse - at least it appears that the prosecution isn't barred by the double jeopardy clause.

In March, 2001, prosecutors in an Atlanta vehicular homicide trial thought the judge said she would begin the next day's session at 9:30.  They showed up at 9:15, but unfortunately for them the judge had been ready since 9:00.   Forced to choose between upholding her sense of her own importance and upholding the law against one person killing another, since-retired Judge Alice D. Bonner dismissed the homicide charge.

(Seemingly leavening her self-importance with cynicism, Bonner responded to the public uproar by ordering a new trial, although jeopardy had attached in the prior trial when the jury was sworn in.  She then recused herself, leaving it to the next judge to spot the obvious double jeopardy violation.)

In that case, the victim's second-grader wrote a letter that might have reminded the judge that, under one view of the matter, some things are actually more important than her amour-propere.   It's a reminder many other judges could use.