The Abuse Excuse and Other Cop-outs, Sob Stories and Evasions of Responsibility.

Having argued the only syndrome defense - urban psychosis - not maligned in Professor Alan Dershowitz's book is both a blessing and a slight, but it leaves this writer uniquely qualified to review The Abuse Excuse: And Other Cop-outs, Sob Stories, and Evasions of Responsibility. The popular thesis endorsed by Dershowitz is that lawyers for criminal defendants will try anything to get their clients off As my grandmother would say, "And your point is?"

Part One of this book summarizes a variety of syndrome defenses. These summaries are insulting to the reader because the author unilaterally condemns everything from Vietnam veteran syndrome to battered woman syndrome as an evasion of responsibility. The rest of the book is a broadside attack on the atmosphere of politically correct justifications. Though Part Two and Part Three certainly appeal to the intelligentsia among us, nothing is done to inform the reader about the historical origins of politically responsive advocacy. Professor Dershowitz has reduced notions of tragedy to sleazy vignettes not terribly applicable to today's world.

The practice of criminal law has changed, and this is acknowledged only in the book's subtext through the selection of the syndrome defenses that have been highlighted for special treatment. Those who represent the indigent and the working poor know that afl searches are reasonable, afl statements are voluntary, all line-ups are fair. Do we lay down our swords and briefcases and say, "Take my client, please"?

What motivates the best in our profession is the knowledge that our clients didn't start out as guests of the criminal justice system and that all human beings have inherent goodness - even if they do really bad things. The criticism from vine-covered academe is but symptomatic of the comfortable ignorance that is endemic to both sides of the courtroom. As public health epidemiology has taught us, victims and offenders frequently share the same risk factors. Yesterday's syndrome victim is tomorrow's syndrome defendant. And we know it.

As evening falls in my town, I wonder how many of my clients will die tonight. As evening falls on my town, I wonder how many of my clients are homeless; as evening falls on my town, I wonder how many children will not be able to finish their homework because of the interruption of gunfire. Recent criminal defendants have confessed: "I have been to 20 funerals"; "I hid behind the refrigerator when my stepfather was shot to death"; "My life is like running through hell with a gasoline suit on."

Juries will be instructed that intent can be formed in an instant, but unless schooled throughout the trial they will not understand that lethal fear may take a lifetime to develop. And we as practitioners of abuse defenses approach our cases as tragedians. We start at the end and work our cams backward, so that juries understand how sublethal victimization prior to an actual charged act escalates into demonstrable and palpable fear allowing the practitioner to raise creative variations of self-defense.

Recently, a client was asked if he was afraid of going to hell. He said he had a dream where hell was a long room filled with beds with names above them, and that the names were alphabetized above the beds. He dreamed he would spend eternity lying between his mother and grandmother. It was later learned his mother had killed his stepfather; his grandmother had killed two and possibly four people. When asked why he killed his friend, he said, "I've been afraid all my life." Doesn't the jury have a right to hear that? Don't we have an obligation to tell our clients' stories? Or should we just say, "Take him away, please"?

This client had just turned 15.

At our best, we criminal lawyers are tragedians who are skilled at presenting a scenario in which a jury is given legal permission to see and feel the anguish of our clients. It is not our job to sanitize the life experiences of our clients so that judges and jurors and lawyers are comfortable. Dershowitz has performed "legal cleansing" in many of the stories in his book so the reader does not experience nausea and fear, but rather has been given permission by the author to feel smug and judgmental.

And so with a heavy heart, I bid a fond farewell to the author and say, "You've sold out, Professor."