My Big Mouth

 by Robin Sax

I went to law school because I knew I wanted to use my voice to help others, as well as to express myself. I saw the law as a way to get my voice heard.

Unfortunately, I was really miserable during my first year of law school. I hated every minute of my studies and was terrified that I was going to be forever in debt for a career that wasn’t right for me. But one spring day during my first year of law school, everything shifted for me. It was a Saturday, with only a month of classes left. I was arguing Fourth Amendment Search and Seizure in a moot court presentation to a mock panel of appellate lawyers. They grilled me on the law, questioned my analogies, and forced me to think on my feet.

As I was arguing my position, I realized I was actually enjoying myself. I was opinionated and passionate, and everyone was actually listening to my ideas. I realized that not only could I do good work as a lawyer, but it could actually be fun and fulfilling.

My second and third years flew by. Now I knew I was going to be a trial lawyer! I wanted to see the inside of a courtroom and stand up for justice for the underdog or victim. I decided to become a prosecutor. Then I could do the two things I love — educate and advocate. Even better, I could remain committed to always doing “the right thing.” Every decision I made revolved around one central question: “Is what I am doing in this case, with this defendant, in the best interest of the people I represent?”

I began working for the Los Angeles County District Attorney’s Office in 1999. Although I received a great deal of satisfaction handling each of my cases, eventually I wanted to seek justice in other lawyers’ cases, in other cities, counties, and countries. Each and every day in court, I watched the wheels of justice move at pace slower than molasses in winter.  I would listen to arguments in court and feel some frustration. I saw things that seemed unjust and unfair. 

As a prosecutor, though, I could not speak out on cases being prosecuted in Los Angeles; I could only discuss cases in other jurisdictions. In order to make sense of what I was observing in Los Angeles, I began examining sexual assault and abuse cases around the country. I looked at best practices and missed opportunities to help me understand the victims I was working with. 

What shocked me most was how many cases were filled with mistakes, injustices, and plain old mediocre work. It was tough to sit in court and watch these injustices happen day in and day out. So, I thought, “Well, Robin, don’t just think about it, do something!” I did. I began writing, teaching, and advocating.  As I did this, I was always mindful of my responsibilities and duties as a representative of the Los Angeles County DA’s Office.

As I was contemplating writing a book about the inner workings of the system (which I later did), I was assigned the case of Thomas Beltran.  Beltran was a 30-year veteran Lincoln Middle School teacher from Santa Monica who sexually assaulted a large number of his female junior high students.  While the case became an example of best practices (in terms of the sexual assault investigation and coordinated efforts between law enforcement, prosecutors, social workers, etc.), it also presented one of the saddest examples I'd seen of modern-day parents-gone-bad. 

Beltran was arrested on a Friday. Through the course of that weekend, top notch Santa Monica Police Department detectives and I worked together. They interviewed a number of teenagers who came forward, contained the classroom, secured the defendant's whereabouts, and obtained his confession to committing all acts with all victims.

As disturbing as the case was, the silver lining was that Thomas Beltran took responsibility early. He confessed both in interview and via lie detector. But that Monday, during a town-hall meeting at Lincoln Middle School, I witnessed parents standing up for him. I heard murmurs of “he’s not guilty,” and cries that the victims weren't telling the truth.  I couldn't believe this.  In my mind, I thought there were only one of two possibilities: Either these parents were the cruelest I have ever seen, or they were the most naïve parents I have ever seen.  I preferred Option Two.  

Yet it dawned on me that if the default response of these parents was to doubt the victim, what would happen if their own kids came to them?  It was then that I knew I needed to use my experiences to educate and speak out instead of processing justice one case, one victim at a time. Armed with that story, I convinced Prometheus Books to allow me to write Predators and Child Molesters: A Sex Crimes DA Answers 100 of the Most-Asked Questions.

In February 2009, two months before the release of that book, I delivered notice to the DA's Office that I wanted to resign. Though it was a difficult decision, I wanted to pursue a career in the media.  After my experience with the Beltran case, I was driven more then ever to support victims on a macro level.

My boss suggested I wait to resign (to see how I liked being away from the office), so I instead took an official leave of absence from the DA’s office to write books, teach classes, do public speaking, and appear on television as a guest analyst and commentator.

My leave of absence was for a maximum of six months. I had until September to decide whether I was going to pursue justice as a prosecutor or as an author and advocate. During my time away, I blogged, wrote articles, spoke and lectured, and I realized the huge impact one can make on society through the power of the media. 

Thanks to my experience as a courtroom prosecutor, public speaking and "performing” are not new for me. Many of the same reasons I love being a trial lawyer -- using my strong voice to share a particular point of view -- apply to my love of communicating via television, radio, and the Internet.  I could educate, pontificate, and ensure change.  For the first time, I could say it as I saw it was with no censorship, no fear of angering my boss -- just expressing how I felt, purely, simply, and honestly.

I found my public voice growing and actually being heard. People appreciated seeing a prosecutor shaking things up, calling out lawyers, police officers, and others who weren’t living up to the requirements of their positions, letting down the people they were supposed to protect.  

The biggest difference between working in the popular media versus the courtroom is that people watch TV, listen to the radio, or read because they want to -- not because they received a jury summons in the mail.  They want to hear what I have to say as a spokesperson in the public eye

My other frustration as a prosecutor was seeing how completely different public life is from private sector life. So often I went to work and was amazed that justice was ever dispensed, considering the many shortcomings inherent in the system. I didn’t understand the lack of accountability, the lack of diligence and the overall complacency of a justice system that was supposed to exist to protect our society. 

Without even realizing it, I was traveling a new career path as an outspoken advocate and legal commentator.  No longer a DA, I'm now a watchdog of the very system I once worked in. Instead of following policy and accepting my marching orders and memoranda, I'm doing what I've always done, one way or the other: "saying it like it is." Only this time, there’s no one hanging over my shoulder vetting my words.

When I officially resigned from the DA’s office in July 2009, I told them it was better for me not to try to walk the extremely tight line between being a prosecutor and an outspoken advocate. I wanted to use my voice in the media without worrying whether it was inconsistent with the beliefs or philosophies of the Los Angeles County District Attorney.

Still, while I had not always been able to  speak out and reveal my opinions, as a prosecutor I  had a great deal of latitude and discretion in terms of how I handled my own cases. In them, I was making a difference and changing the lives of children who were being abused. 

I never actually got in trouble, but I always felt that I was teetering at the edge. That was part of my decision: I wanted to leave before I blew it, while I still had a good relationship with the DA’s office, law enforcement, etc.  Besides, I loved the people I worked with. I just wanted us to do better!

Now, I represent "the people,” but in a whole new way. Every lawyer has her own story and her own inspiration.  Mine just happens to have been written by my big mouth.

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It Never Ends: The Trauma of Sexual Assault

By Robin Sax

Is it hard to believe that a victim of sexual assault still feels vulnerable 22 years later, at the age of 82? I don’t think so at all. But when I read an article in the LA Times (August 17, 2009) about Arline Mathews, who is fighting the release of the serial rapist who attacked her in 1987, I was struck by her words: "I have a responsibility to my sisters in the world to do what I can to prevent his going free.”

Arline Mathews is still fearful of her attacker, Lloyd Anthony Roy, and still worries he might rape her or someone else once he's released. The article describes her as feeling brushed off, or dismissed as paranoid, because she's afraid Roy will come back to get her. She's convinced the justice system won't protect her. In the L.A. Times, she said, “He told me many times that he would kill me, that he'd killed others.”

The Times article focuses on a question that puzzles many: how a serial rapist who targets seniors was allowed to plea-bargain to a sentence short enough to let him re-offend? I, too, want to know why he was sentenced to so little time, given what seemed like a tight case against a really bad dude. The prosecutor bundled eight sexual assaults pinned on Roy, allowing him to only plead guilty on only three.

Besides the seemingly unjust sentence, I was struck even more by the brutal impact of the sex crime on Arline Mathews. Roy repeatedly and believably threatened to kill her, saying he'd done so to others. He rambled on about preferring to assault older women because, he said, they are weaker and less likely to struggle. At one point, he whispered, "I usually smother my victims."

Roy has a mental-fitness hearing set for August 2011, after which he will most likely be released into society. Under previous California sentencing rules, invalidated by the U.S. Supreme Court two years ago, inmates are released,without a parole hearing,after they serve half their sentences. For Roy, now 57, that means he'll have served 22 years of his 44-year sentence. The only hope of keeping him in custody is for Department of Corrections mental health experts to find that he has a mental disorder making him so dangerous to others that he must be confined to a mental hospital.

You may think, “Of course the Department of Corrections will find that he’s still a danger to society,” but don’t bank on it. The mental-health evaluators in such hearings rely on the inmate’s case file and use standard psychological tests, which measure a violent predator’s likelihood to re-offend. His victims won't be interviewed, nor their pain taken into consideration, during the evaluation. That's not very comforting to Arline Mathews -- or to me. Nor should it be; state records show that in the last 13 years, only two percent of the 27,000 sex offenders evaluated were confined to a mental hospital after release from prison.

A small consolation for Mathews is this: if her attacker is set free, he may have to register as a sex offender. His name on a sex-offender registry would allow her to find out where he is living. Although it may do little to help ease her personal fears, it will alert others.

Mathews may also choose to get a restraining order against her attacker – but understandably, that may not help to ease her fears.

What are the lasting effects of a sexual assault on the psyche of the victim? It may seem obvious that victims continue to suffer at any age, even many years after the attack. The American Journal of Psychiatry finds rape victims are significantly more depressed, generally anxious, and more fearful than people who haven't experienced a sexual attack.

What are the raw numbers telling us? According to U.S. Department of Justice document, Criminal Victimization in the United States, victims reported close to 200,000 rapes or sexual assaults the past year. But it's estimated that only 16% of rapes and sexual assaults are actually reported to the police (“Rape in America: A Report to the Nation”). One in six American women has experienced an attempted or completed rape. The U.S. Bureau of Justice Statistics estimates 93 percent of rape victims are female.

Mathews was attacked by a stranger. But the notion that strangers attack women in shadowy parking lots or slip in through windows at night is exaggerated. The reality: attackers are often acquaintances, friends of friends, or colleagues -- people whom victims know and may even trust. In one survey, only two percent of those who said they were sexually assaulted also said the attacker was a stranger.

The Trauma Intervention Program (TIP) is a national non-profit organization that provides emotional and practical support to trauma victims. It reports that almost all rape victims suffer severe and long-lasting emotional damage -- from rape and from attempted rape.

In fact, the sexual aspects of rape aren't the most shocking and damaging. TIP lists five distinct, lasting shocks of rape: 1) It is sudden and arbitrary. 2) It seems life-threatening. 3) It's meant to violate the target physically and/or render her helpless. 4) The victim is forced to participate in the crime. 5) The victim cannot prevent the assault or control the assailant; her normal coping strategies fail. She is a victim of someone else's rage and aggression.

Besides the physical violation, sexual assault violates basic beliefs and assumptions about her environment (that it is safe and predictable), about other people and relationships (that she can trust others and share mutual respect), and about herself (her competence, self-confidence, and self-esteem). She comes face-to-face with her vulnerability to serious harm.

Therefore, sexual assault is emotionally expensive: it usually costs the victim her sense of safety, control, trust, autonomy, integrity, and self-esteem.

Arline’s case is an example of the worst of the worst. It’s the worse type of crime, the worst type of predator, with the worst emotional result. Like Arline, I feel it's my duty to make you aware so that you, too, can do your part to ensure that Lloyd Anthony Roy stays in prison, where he belongs.

What can you do? Send a letter to the California Department of Corrections, the Los Angeles County District Attorney, the governor, the state attorney general, and blog, advocate, and let your voices be heard!

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A Double Life, A Single Mission: A True Believing Prosecutor

by Robin Sax

OK, I’ll admit it. My kids know that they can’t pull any of the usual tricks when it comes to their Mom. Why? Because I happen to be a D.A. At the end of the day when I arrive home, my briefcase stuffed with cases of wayward children and adults, I have to shift gears from “Robin Sax, D.A.” to become, simply, “Mom” to three kids, ages 5 through 17.

Except that in some ways, I don’t shift gears.

I guess the force that drives me to be the best I can be at what I do –seeking justice for my clients, L.A. County’s residents—also drives me to be the best (but not perfect, 'cause there is no such thing) parent I can be. After fifteen years on the job, I’ve seen enough examples of flawed parenting and its consequences to have a good idea of what works, and what doesn’t when it comes to kids.

But these flaws don’t just pop up in court—I’ve seen the same mistakes and their outcomes in every community I traverse, regardless of income bracket. And I traverse a lot!

If you follow me after I drop off my kids each morning, you’ll understand why they toe the line –even when they don’t necessarily want to—and show me the love and respect that, as a parent, I deserve, just as you do.

After I leave the kids at school, I head east to L.A.’s Criminal Court Building (the CCB). As I drive, the landscape changes dramatically--Starbucks is replaced by bail bonds shops; billboards shift from English to Korean, to Spanish, to Japanese; people go from waiting at bus stops to being passed out at bus stops. During this ride, I think about how lucky I am that my kids have no concept of the life I am about to enter—that is, assuming I get to court on time!

Few people can wrap their minds around how a Los Angeles west side mom can go downtown, work in the trenches of the Los Angeles crime scene, and come back to “safe territory,” then go back out and do the same thing the next day.

My “co-madres” (other moms) in my personal life cannot picture my court life and my colleagues cannot fathom the details of my private life. And yet, in both of these environments, I find myself dealing with complaints about the growing problems adults are having with kids today. I’ve come to realize that there are far more similarities between these seemingly “polar opposite” worlds than one might imagine.

If you were to take a peek into my kids’ classrooms, you would find that they attend school with the offspring of celebrities, agents, athletes, and other influential folks, including a state senator, a football team owner, and a few highfliers from the Fortune Top 100.

To many of you, this will seem pretty impressive. But parenting these more privileged kids involves dealing with the same types of problems that confront other parents--low self-image, family problems, academic pressures, student rivalries, to name just a few. Walk into my courtroom on any day and you’ll find that these themes—so familiar to every parent--come up in the children’s cases I handle.

Because I work so closely with kids, my family is convinced that somehow I have superpowers that allow me to see things and know things that other parents can’t possibly see or know. They assume I have night vision, surveillance skills--even a built-in lie detector.

The fact is, I don’t have super powers or secret information. Nor do I have night vision or a built-in lie detector--but I love the fact that my kids think I do. My powers come in the form of skills and techniques learned from living in the trenches of the real world of conflict and crime.

As Deputy District Attorney for Los Angeles County, California, it’s my job to uncover the truth in some of the meanest and messiest situations conceivable and to try to ensure that justice is done. In order to protect the most vulnerable of victims--kids--I interview, investigate, uncover facts, and evaluate evidence.

Sometimes I prosecute, argue, and convict. Sometimes I cut people a break, offering alternatives to jail or fines. Sometimes I simply wait for further developments.

In brief, I live and thrive in a world of investigation, conflict, and resolution. My world is the world of discipline, fairness, and making sure that the best interests of children come first.

When I tell people that I spend my days prosecuting child molesters, a barrage of questions ensues: “How do you do it?” . . . “How do you sleep at night?” . . . “How do you trust anybody with your own kids?” . . . And finally, “I could never do your job.”

But the fact is, I believe that being a D.A. is the greatest job in the world. I love my work and I love that I never need to compromise my values.

So how do I merge both of my worlds? Since I’ve made a career of assessing what is in the best interest of society, It’s only logical that I would extend this theory to how I raise my own children.

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