Ricochet is the best place on the internet to discuss the issues of the day, either through commenting on posts or writing your own for our active and dynamic community in a fully moderated environment. In addition, the Ricochet Audio Network offers over 50 original podcasts with new episodes released every day.
A Refuge
So, can you tell me anything about this Grandpa? Is he your dad?
No … No! … that’s … that’s my sister’s dad, and I’ve, we’ve never had anything to do with him. That guy is a fu … he’s a … he raped our mom, you know? He still calls and taunts her about it … that bast … the fu … he’s … Tiffany is a rape-baby, did you know that?
No, I … I just met him last …
… and she still acts like he’s actually some sort of dad … even after that, he’s still … It was his own, he’s also got a conviction for molestation, I think it was his own biological son.
ok, has Jenna ever said anything about him, or did she — before she was moved — did she ever mention her grandpa to you?
she was creeped out by him, she said he looked her up and down and looked everyone up and down … she didn’t feel safe in the same room; but her mom, Tiffany acts like he’s some sort of … I don’t even … I don’t want anything to do with him.
My heart started to sink, but it didn’t have anywhere to go. A week ago, Jenna was walking out of the courthouse; she stopped at the doors and ran back over to me. She smirked, as only a 12-year-old can, who hasn’t yet learned what it means to trust someone; she punched me in the chest and said you’re an idiot. I winced and recoiled back into my seat, reaching out in a feigned attempt to snatch her as she darted away. You’ve been warned, I said. You know better! She giggled and ran. I sat up and looked at her foster mom, who flashed my business card in her hand and then followed the little girl out to the car.
A phone vibrated in my pocket; same number as Sunday night, twice; Saturday evening, Saturday afternoon, Friday night, twice; listed in decreasing levels of anger. A face through the double doors summoned me into the courtroom, so I let the vibrations rumble. They were followed by a text message that fired me, just as one fires a gift horse without ever even glancing at his teeth — that horse doesn’t run hard enough for me, nevermind I’m not on it. Texting back, I told him that I no longer represent him after the case is closed, that my office is not open on the weekend, nor is the court, that I’m sorry he picked up a warrant, and that I went ahead and filed a motion to quash this morning when I received his dozen messages, the first available docket, Wednesday morning at nine. He messaged me back and said I had better not show my face at the courthouse. On behalf of other clients, I went ahead and showed my face … he did not, so the warrant stood.
And if I hear the word refugee one more time, I may just puke. I could feel the mark on my chest from where that little girl punched me. A refugee from a war of cultures, in a country that pretends to be above that. Daughter of a couple of drugged-up, rape-baby refugees, to a world that doesn’t give much of a damn about them one way or another, leaving a void that they couldn’t be bothered to supplement with ambition or effort or faith or self-respect, or even pride, which sometimes goes before the fall … unless you’re already fallen; born in a time where victims increase as the reward for victimhood marches ever steadily upward, so our loftiest ambitions bring us to new heights of being trodden down. Languishing in rafts, bailing dead bodies along with sea-water? Well, there’s your golden ticket to paradise; but those 72 virgins are just a mess of Yalies ready to cry rape.
And I don’t blame them, because we’re all refugees, now. That’s fine, you’ll demand Sharia, and we’ll give you civil rights commissions and consent-to-copulate forms, we’ll rummage through your garbage and fine you for the plastics in your compost. That’s freedom, and it’s better than the bullet from someone who’s only slightly more advanced in his religion; we’re in a time of confusion, where our puritans demand the separation of Church and state, plus funding to advance the cause of the Goddess Gaia. Funny thing about being a refugee is that you really need a refuge. We’re a place. We’re a place where the refugee can come to gain status as someone even more downtrodden than you. Good luck.
I went ahead and listened to the messages. They were all just yelling; anger at the next less trodden, and therefore likely the jackboot, as logic only dictates. They followed a conversation from the previous week:
I need you to call the judge and get me a new report date.
I can’t do that.
You’re the attorney! You’re supposed to be fighting for me! Whose side are you even on? You never helped me, you never even wanted to help me, you’re …
No, I mean I literally can’t do that. I can’t just call the judge, I have to file a motion — I don’t even represent you anymore. I’m sorry you don’t have a ride to the jail, but you’ve got two days, you’ll have to figure out a way to get there.
I’ve tried, everyone is busy, they can’t take me; I am on disability, I’m only getting $800 a month for my disability, they don’t give me any more than that and I have bills to pay and …
ok, I get that — it’s not for two days, and it’s your responsibility to get there. I’m sorry. If you have to walk, you’ll have to get …
I’m on disability! I’m not supposed to be walking! The doctors told me I can’t walk. If I walk … I’ll die! I never even wanted to take that plea, I wanted to fight it, you never wanted to fight for me, I’d have never taken that plea if I knew it would be a death sentence!
Thirty minutes into it, I said goodb … I tried to say goodby … I’ve got court … I’m … I’m sorry, but … no, I don’t know if you have a warrant, you’ll … yes, you’ll … just call the …
I hung up.
And I can still feel that spot on my chest, because when she punched me it didn’t leave a mark, it left a bruise. She punched me with all the force of one who really does need a refuge — but I think I might just be the loser in this war. Right now, we’re just a place.
Published in General
The dreadful hell unleashed at the climax of “Raiders of the Lost Ark” is called “The Well of Souls”. Whenever you talk about your job, that’s the image that comes to mind: “The Well of Human Sadness”. I am always amazed that anyone could stand up to the constant despair of dealing with so many people with unsolvable problems, many self-created.
This may be your strongest writing yet, Ryan. If I had to defend Ricochet before the High Court of History, this is the kind of piece I’d whip out.
Beautifully said.
Kind of depressing. I think I need to read this again.
And beautifully said indeed.
Thank you, Ryan.
Sometimes, when I was doing an intake, I’d have some adult in front of me and be thinking “You never had a chance at a normal life”. They would have grown up in a chaotic household, have their own mental illness, and then stumble into adulthood.
There are rivers of devastation flowing across the nation.
You’ve got a seriously tough job Ryan. Beautifully written, but painful.
Thanks Ryan.
I hope for some of your clients (well, actually all) that your representation and interaction is their opportunity to rise above drowning in their Sea of Chaos.
Wear your ‘idiotic’ bruise as a medal of honor.
You’re a better man than I, Ryan; I would have given up years ago. Thank you for sharing with us – hopefully it lessens the burden somewhat.
As ever, I am thankful for the work you do but more so for your willingness to do it.
So sorry to drop in on this story in the middle, but can someone tell me or point me to the post that explains what Ryan does? Public defender? Legal Aid attorney?
There is an expression my wife (also an attorney) has been known to use – By the time you think you need a lawyer it is usually too late. I think of the people that call her to help settle an estate, long after trying to battle the reams of paperwork alone and making a hash of it. I think of the people hurtling towards divorce because one or both of them refused counseling and help when offered. Asking for (and accepting) help early can often mitigate problems before they get too big, but then that requires recognizing that you have problems, and perhaps a number of those are self inflicted.
But then you, Ryan, are there with the last chances – people too far gone to even recognize that help may once have been available, or people who started life in a maelstrom and don’t have the means or the knowledge to find firm ground.
Thanks for continuing to do these (especially putting one up this week when so many are celebrating). I, for one, am glad you are here reminding us that for many, life is full of bad choices. It’s one thing to argue theory, it’s another to be there cleaning up after social theories gone awry.
Indeed. However, in just the handful of comments made here are those filling the sandbags and trying to save the place.
Oh, sorry! A few years worth of posts, I’m afraid. I’m an attorney; started in public defense (only misdemeanors) and now I represent kids in dependency cases. It is a pretty good job, and I like all my kids- flexible enough for me to spend time with my family. I’m very lucky to have it!
The guy is a former criminal client [among hundreds], which is confusing since that’s not what I do right now. But attorneys are pretty obsessive about confidentiality and ethical rules, so if I write about that stuff it’s always in such a manner that is true, but not accurate to the point of being able to figure out what I’m talking about, if that makes any sense. Interestingly, I’m quoting someone at the top (from memory), but that person was not a client.
I wasn’t trying to be depressing- merely pointing to the cultural breakdown in our own country as everyone wants to talk about what we owe to the rest of the world…
The basic building block of society is the Family, and the Family is dying in this nation. It is under assault by the Left, aided by fellow travelers on the right who reject ancient norms. The left wants total control and the family is its biggest enemy, so they attack it.
We are reaping 60 years of sowing discord. It does not hurt the ruling class, but woe unto the poor.
Thanks for this, one of the finest pieces ever to appear on Ricochet
Another wonderful but sad piece that make us believe we are there with you.
Thank goodness the editors promoted this to Main Feed. This is exactly what a lot of us joined for, a lot of what Ricochet stands for.
Thanks! :)
I was a little surprised, myself.
Great post. I can’t imagine how draining this sort of thing must be on you. What you do is important.
Hah. I just finished supper with my 23 year old, who was keeping us entertained with all the variations of porn there are Out There (and now because she investigates computer crimes, In Here, that is, in her head); there’s “Furries” (people and /or anime cartoons that mix human qualities with furry animals and have sex) Edward PenisHand, old people doing weird things to cheese…(well, and really any dairy products, she amends, as if to be fair) and of course, tentacle porn. Everyone knows about tentacle porn.
She’s very, very funny. And she’s my baby. Why does she know these things? (Ryan, you and she should talk.)
Haha, Kate, I have no doubt that it would be an interesting conversation. ;)
She would probably teach me more than DocJay has already. I could happily live without some of the stuff DocJay taught us.