Tag restraining order standard of proof

“I Reckon”: The Standard of Proof Applied by Judges to Restraining Order Cases

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As the story goes, civil restraining orders are awarded to plaintiffs who demonstrate by a “preponderance of the evidence” that they need one. According to this story, a judge determines by actuarial science that there’s a 51% or greater probability that the petitioner’s need is valid, that is, that s/he’s representing some facts and his or her feelings about them more sincerely than not and that those facts and feelings fall into some legal definition of trespass (that’s typically as voluminous as interstellar space).

So concludes Harvard Law Prof. Louis Kaplow (who actually does the math).

The important thing is that the process sounds just.

Restraining order judges rule with mallets—and no subtler instruments. While they may be formulaic, their opinions (and they’re not called “opinions” for nothing) aren’t arrived at by the application of algebra. The phrase preponderance of the evidence is a rhetorical affectation used to lend those opinions an air of gravitas…because “I reckon” sounds a little squishy.

The suggestion that they’re the products of painstaking moral computation is supposed to make rulings sound dignified and conclusive. It’s not important that the defendants in what may be 10-minute “hearings” aren’t fooled.

It’s only important that everybody else is.

Copyright © 2016 RestrainingOrderAbuse.com

*The reader who retorts that judges rule with their minds—and their minds are subtler instruments than mallets—has never actually been before one in a restraining order “trial.”

If Restraining Order Cases Are Only about Narrative, How Do You Beat a Liar in Court?

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pawn-triumphs

The next to last post stressed the importance of narrative in restraining order cases.

Stories complainants tell pursuant to obtaining a restraining order don’t particularly matter. “I’m afraid” may suffice.

In contrast, defendants’ narratives are critical.

Strategic defense is not about “telling the truth.” It’s about telling the better story. Competing narratives are universally regarded as “he-said/she-said” (so to speak: Restraining orders are not strictly procured by women against men). The only thing that counts is whose story a judge favors when the end-of-the-round bell dings. (Significantly, there’s only one round, and it’s often only a few minutes long.)

Fraudulent claims in restraining order affidavits are commonplace—and what restraining orders do, especially ones whose grounds include false allegations, is inspire those who’ve been accused to register betrayal, indignation, and outrage. Since opportunities to defend may come and go in a few days’ time, those emotions aren’t likely to settle (and may be compounded by many others: fear, bewilderment, uncertainty, vulnerability, etc.).

The urge of defendants will be to stress in court how they’ve been wronged: “It’s really [him or her] who’s the bad guy, Judge.” This urge must be resisted.

The judge couldn’t care any less if s/he were paid to—and s/he is paid to.

Defendants need to defuse whatever has been alleged against them. Merely relating a meandering history (or “history”) of mistreatment can work great for plaintiffs; it does nothing for defendants.

This may seem unfair. It is, and that doesn’t matter—and that’s what a defendant must focus on: what matters.

Sometimes what matters is the law. For example, many recent posts here concern allegations that writing about someone online is “harassment” or “stalking.” One-to-many speech (online or otherwise) is neither, and it’s protected by the First Amendment. To qualify as “harassment” or “stalking,” someone has to contact someone else, repeatedly, after being told not to. Contact must be one-to-one or through a middleman. No confrontation, emails, texts, phone calls, letters, or relayed messages means no contact, and that means no grounds for court interference. Cases in which a constitutional defense is strictly applicable, however, are rare.

(The author of this post is in such a case right now with a woman who he has been told has been diagnosed with a mental illness. The law is clear: The woman has admitted I’ve had no contact with her in years; therefore there were no grounds to authorize an injunction. Making the law clear to a municipal trial judge is a different story. Do I start by playing a voicemailU that this woman, who claims I’ve stalked her since I met her in 2005, left me in 2012, in which she urges me to call her? Maybe. That kind of evidence makes a good first impression. It says—without saying it—that she’s lying. It upsets her narrative. Do I start by saying, “She’s crazy”? No. That’s aggressive and makes a poor impression. It would only get the judge’s hackles up.)

What makes a good narrative? First, follow the creative writer’s maxim: Show, don’t tell. Sometimes defendants have contradictory evidence to present; sometimes there is none. If there is evidence, it must be framed with care (and defendants are recommended to read it aloud in court and not to depend upon a judge to “get it.”) Legal method proceeds from evidence to conclusion. Defendants shouldn’t start with the conclusion, for example, “He’s lying.” They should present a story that gives a convincing impression. Then they can say, “He’s lying.” Attorney Gregory Hession, a specialist in restraining order defense, would call this highlighting plaintiffs’ “ulterior motives” (their real reasons) for petitioning a restraining order. These may include malice, for example, or cover-up.

Defendants shouldn’t rile the judge. What riles a judge is defending by accusing the other guy. Defendants’ narratives should do that. Judges actually think it’s incomprehensible that defendants should be irate, even defendants who’ve been lied about. Expressions of anger by defendants inspire theirs. Misrepresented defendants must seem misrepresented. (No normal human reactions should be expected from judges, furthermore, and normal human reactions from judges should not be relied upon. Judges will often be very civil even as they insert the knife. Defendants should never be lulled into thinking judges are on their side until after the gavel falls in their favor.)

Narratives must be organized, coherent, and taut: no jangly pockets to upset the seams.

Obviously, they should be rehearsed.

Narratives, too, shouldn’t be one-sided. Defendants should cross-examine (ask questions of) their accusers with the aim of tripping them up, and they should anticipate accusers’ answers. If an accuser has made contradictory claims to the police, for example, a way to obviate an outright denial is to phrase a question like this: “Would it surprise you to know that Officer [A] recorded that you said [X] on [date], and Officer [B] recorded that you said [Y] on [later/earlier date]?” (Any defendant who has been accused to the police should obtain the complete file and scour it. It’s there for the asking.) The objective is not to show that plaintiffs are capable of lying but that they have lied about something material (that is, about something that would tend to influence the judge’s understanding and verdict). Exposed details or contradictions should be relevant and significant details or contradictions.

Defendants with documents that corroborate their narratives and contradict their accusers’ should bring them to court in triplicate. Trial judges are seldom sage; they’re just people doing a job. Anything that appears to be “evidence” should be exploited.

Restraining order trials are storytelling competitions. Whether or how defendants embellish the facts is a question for their consciences. In a criminal trial, a defense attorney will flatly deny anything that can’t be proved by the plaintiff, even if the attorney knows the denial isn’t “the truth.” The attorney’s job is to exculpate his or her client: “Can you prove my client even knows you?”

Being storytelling competitions, restraining order trials are not won by telling “truer” stories. They’re won by telling stories that are more appealing to the listener.

Copyright © 2016 RestrainingOrderAbuse.com

Restraining Order Cases Are about One Thing: NARRATIVE

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narrative

The universal conviction is that the court involves itself in a citizen’s life because the citizen did something wrong. Even judges are inclined to believe this.

It’s wrong, and they’re wrong—and it’s very wrong of them to be wrong about something so important.

The court involves itself in a citizen’s life because someone (automatically designated a “victim”) told it a narrative, one that characterized the citizen as a miscreant. Someone told it a story.

That’s it. It would accordingly be swell if administrators, legislators, the judiciary, the general public, and the press recognized this.

If a story the court is told is true, there are consequences. If a story the court is told is untrue, there are consequences. The consequences, however, are always borne by the accused, that is, the person the story is about, irrespective of whether the story is true.

The accuser may be rewarded, or s/he may not be rewarded: “No harm, no foul.”

This goes a long way toward explaining why the universal conviction is that the court involves itself in a citizen’s life because the citizen did something wrong: S/he’s the only one who’s ever implicated in wrongdoing (and, whatever the circumstances, s/he is never called a “victim”).

The inequity is obvious. This inequity is magnified in restraining order cases, because stories are subject to minimal or no scrutiny in procedures that may be mere minutes long.

The “standard of proof” is how trial judges feel, and that may actually be reflected in states’ statutes, which in cases explicitly authorize judges to do as they “deem appropriate.” (Who determines whether they actually do what they think is right? They do.)

This is why it’s impossible to answer questions like this: “Can someone get a restraining order on you for calling her a bitch?” The law says one thing (no); a judge may feel otherwise.

“Justice” in this arena is freewheeling, as First Amendment authority Aaron Caplan has remarked.

In other sorts of cases, defendants may appeal a judge’s decision. Not only are few able or inclined to do so in restraining order cases (which can cost a defendant $5,000 based on a three-minute fish tale that’s swallowed hook, line, and sinker—or force him or her to cross the country to answer charges in a 10-minute hearing); there may be no point. The standard applied by appellate judges, barring arguments like violation of civil rights, is “clear abuse of discretion.” Since trial judges’ discretion is without limit, satisfying the “clear abuse of discretion” standard isn’t strictly possible. Post-trial defense is almost always an exercise in futility.

A narrative that works…works. It doesn’t matter if it was false. That had to have been proved at trial, and it had to have made an impression on the judge, who isn’t obligated to dismiss a complaint that’s fraudulent. S/he doesn’t have to justify his or her decision. It’s indisputable.

A narrative that works…works.

Copyright © 2016 RestrainingOrderAbuse.com

*The process is derisible for many more reasons than this. Significant to take from this post is that restraining order cases are storytelling competitions. There is no justice or accountability. All a defendant can do is endeavor to tell the better story. To be continued….