SF Rape Case

Before graduating law school, while clerking at a San Francisco firm that specialized in civil rights and represented numerous notorious left wing radicals, including members of the Black Panther Party, I had the opportunity to become involved in a very controversial criminal case that would permanently fix my views on criminal law and my ability to work in that high stakes realm. 

The facts were complicated and not in dispute. The firm was representing an ex-Black Panther Party member, Malcolm Muhammed. Mr. Muhammad was a paroled felon who had done time at Soledad State Prison for a statutory rape he committed when he was twenty-one, in 1967. The victim was a fifteen-year-old white girl from Berkeley who he was dating at the time. 

Upon parole ten years ago he had gotten a job as an orderly in a program for ex-cons at San Francisco General Hospital, where he had worked ever since, receiving nothing but stellar job reviews. He was married, had two children, and by all accounts had been a respectable citizen, an all too rare success story, coming out of prison. 

A twenty-year-old patient at the hospital, comatose from a car accident, became pregnant. A nurse who worked on the floor told the police that she had seen Mr. Muhammed ``slip out” of the room. He was promptly arrested and, unable to make bail, was floundering in jail, garnering significant publicity, when the firm agreed to take on the case pro bono. Mr. Muhammed’s defense was assigned to a young-ish attorney, an ex-San Francisco public defender. I was assigned to clerk the case for her. 

In interviews for pre-trial proceedings the nurse, an elderly immigrant from Germany, stuck to her story. Several African American workers testified that they had run-ins with her and painted her as harboring significant racial animosity. Other witnesses, including several African American nurses and a black doctor, stated she had very high standards that she applied equally regardless of race. She was hard on everyone on behalf of superior patient care. 

This was before the days of DNA evidence, and as she was the only witness to the offense, little progress was made. She never wavered and our client refused a plea, feverishly maintaining his innocence. And there we stood on the eve of trial, when I asked my boss a question that had been in the back of my mind since the case began: “Do you think he did it?”

My boss did not hesitate. “It’s not my job to know. I owe him the best defense possible,” was all she said, and continued preparing her opening statement. The trial lasted a week. She was brilliant. The German nurse’s English, while proficient, did not prepare her for the twists and turns in the skilled cross examination. The San Francisco jury deliberated for less than 6 hours and, having clearly established reasonable doubt, the jury found him not guilty, acquitting Mr. Muhammed on all counts. 

That night, over an adult beverage or three at a Union Square watering hole, after Malcolm and his family had left, I once more broached the sensitive subject with my boss. “ You were amazing, but it still bothers me - do you think he did it? She really didn’t appear to have an ax to grind with our guy. She had so many black workers vouch for her that the racial prejudice angle seems less than clear to me.” 

My boss was exhausted. She had been in trial mode for weeks, with a man and his family’s future hanging on her formidable skills. The pressure was intense, and now she could level with me - though the three margaritas certainly did not hurt. She was leaning over the bar, had removed her navy jacket and unbuttoned the top button on her high-necked stiff snow white pussy bow blouse, and reached behind her to let her hair down from the tight bun she wore at work. Her light brown hair tumbled over her face, and brushing it aside, she softly answered, "I don’t know.” 

And with this three-word response, I realized I could never do criminal defense work for a living. Too many shades of gray. While in theory, I understood that in our justice system everyone deserves a defense, reality for me required a more black and white world. Good or bad. Guilt or innocence. Even at this point in my life, I had the need to be on the side of the good guys, however I defined them. 

But the facts here were pretty stark. That afternoon, one of two things had occurred. On the one hand, a grave injustice had been possibly averted, either as a result of mistaken identity or blatant racism, and Mr. Muhammed, unjustly accused, could now go back to his young family, and get on with his life. Or they had just put a dangerous sexual predator back on the street. And while my boss and good criminal defense lawyers could do this work with a clear conscience without clarity as to guilt or innocence, I knew I was not built that way. Not guilty would never be good enough. I required more surety in the universe. And with that, I closed the door on one more career path for good.