"This is not what we normally do. We do land use, real estate, development law. Heck, I can get you zoning to be an airport if that's what you want. But I don't represent inmates, I don't represent people charged with crime, I don't represent criminals."-- Land use lawyer Joshua Safran
"Crime" and "land use lawyers" are phrases not usually heard together; in most cases, the worlds of criminal law and land use never intersect, and lawyers for developers and property owners don't have much occasion to visit the "Attorney's Room" at the state pen. But in the documentary film Crime After Crime, two land use lawyers including our ABA State & Local Government Law Section colleague Nadia Costa (Vice-Chair of the Section's Land Use Committee), plunge into that unfamiliar milieu:
In 1983, Deborah Peagler, a woman brutally abused by her boyfriend, was sentenced to 25 years-to-life for her connection to his murder. Twenty years later, as she languished in prison, a California law allowing incarcerated domestic-violence survivors to reopen their cases was passed. Enter a pair of rookie land-use attorneys convinced that with the incontrovertible evidence that existed, they could free Deborah in a matter of months.More details here. Volunteer attorneys Safran and Costa didn't foresee a formidable or lengthy process even though they were novices: everyone recognized the victim had abused and pimped Peagler for years; she had not been present when the two gang members she asked to "rough up" the victim killed him instead; she had been a model prisoner; and even the victim's family agreed she had served long enough. They were in a tough position because she had agreed to a guilty plea after the Los Angeles District Attorney sought the death penalty, but the D.A. seemed ready to acknowledge that had she been charged appropriately, she would have already served the maximum sentence and been released.
But things didn't go that easily, and after the D.A.'s office dug in its heels, the two lawyers began an odyssey through the courts, the parole board, and the offices of then-Governor Schwarzegger to secure Peagler's release. Deftly exploiting a loophole in prison policy that forbids on-camera interviews with prisoners, director Yoav Potash followed Safran and Costa for seven years as they worked the case through the writs, appeals, requests for parole, and other venues.
We finally had an opportunity to see the film last week and came away stunned. Potash introduced it by noting it was awarded both the Investigative Documentary Feature prize by the jury, and the Audience Choice at the most recent San Francisco International Film Festival, an unusual accomplishment. Jury prizes are for the often-downbeat "serious" films, while the audience pick is usually an upbeat crowd pleaser. As odd as it may seem, the film is both, he cautioned, and we'd have to agree: the story which unfolds on the screen is infuriating and uplifting, maddening and strangely affirming. We won't take you through the ups-and-downs of Safran's, Costa's, and Peagler's journey, or reveal its bittersweet ending, for that would be doing a disservice to both the film and the people involved.
But we will tell you this is a film which makes you feel right about being a lawyer. Too often, our profession is the butt of jokes (often deservedly so), and too rarely is the important role which lawyers play in our system given any serious treatment. In the post-screening question-and-answer session, Safran told us that this case turned out to be a test of whether the justice system is truly "just," and we're not giving anything away by concluding that our system passes, if imperfectly. The film shows how an unlikely team of two land use lawyers (one an Orthodox Jew, the other an ultra-marathon runner) joined with a rough-and-tumble investigator to help an African-American prisoner whom the rest of society had all but forgotten.
Most legal films, whether real or fictional, feature experienced, expert lawyers who swoop in to rescue the client when others could not. But this film is different simply because Safran and Costa are not experts at first, and we are not so sure they truly understand what they are getting into. It also is an object lesson in how lawyers -- often any lawyer, even those outside their usual field of expertise -- are essential to the system's functioning. It was inspiring to witness two lawyers whose practice is remarkably similar to ours educate themselves and take on perhaps the most powerful D.A.'s office in California, if not the nation, all for a convicted murderer they didn't even know. Costa and Safran allow us to share not only their legal strategy, but their raw emotions and their belief that Peagler is not just another client.
When Safran shares how he wants his young daughter -- born about the same time he accepts Peagler's case -- to be present if Peagler is finally released so she will understand what her father has been doing all these years and the reason for his frequent absences, we know why. And, in one of the film's final moments during which Safran and his daughter are walking hand-in-hand on the beach, we are reminded of the real-life version of the passage at To Kill A Mockingbird's end, where Rev. Sykes tells Scout: "Miss Jean Louise, stand up. Your father's passin'."
Safran and Costa's story, as told in Potash's compelling Crime After Crime, reveals the best side of the legal profession.
