asma@wwa.com

ABSTRACT

An irony of our judicial system is that the ritual of due process intended to provide an equal playing field between the prosecution and defendants also contains the potential to increase the powerlessness that defendants feel. Institutionalized forms of interaction, control of knowledge and legal proceedings, and manipulation of the ceremonial trappings of justice are among the events and processes that contribute to defendants' framing of their experience as a theater of powerlessness. By focusing on the experiences of defendants in a courtroom setting, I will display the processes by which this drama plays out.

David Asma

... My lawyer raised his arms and pleaded guilty, but with an explanation. The prosecutor waved his hands and proclaimed my guilt, but without an explanation. One thing bothered me a little, though. Despite everything that was on my mind, I felt like intervening every now and then, but my lawyer kept telling me, "Just keep quiet -- it won't do your case any good." In a way, they seemed to be arguing the case as if it had nothing to do with me. Everything was happening without my participation. My fate was being decided without anyone so much as asking my opinion. There were times when I felt like breaking in on all of them and saying, "Wait a minute! Who's the accused here? Being the accused counts for something. And I have something to say!" But on second thought, I didn't have anything to say.                    -excerpt from The Stranger (1946) by Albert Camus
 

You just have to say to them [defendants] 'Keep your mouth shut! Don't screw-up my case.'  -Assistant Public Defender (Illinois)
 

... But in the end one gets quite used to it. By the time you've come back once or twice you'll hardly notice how oppressive it is here.
                                                                 -excerpt from The Trial (1937) by Franz Kafka
 
 

Because human society is comprised of acting people (Blumer, 1969, p.85), special attention must be paid to the situational contexts in which people act. Dramaturgical analysis facilitates this attention by focusing on human performance and its meanings. A courtroom hearing is a specialized staging composed of diverse actors and audience members. As with many social environments, a courtroom is the context for action and presentation: the courtroom event becomes a performance with different meanings for the people participating in and observing that event. This study examines how criminal defendants frame the courtroom setting and what meanings they distill from this context, namely, feelings of powerlessness within the boundaries of a coercive milieu.

Traditionally, sociological and legal research examines the courtroom "community" (Nardulli et al. 1988, p.5) by describing the activities of its agents -- police officers, judges, prosecutors, and defense attorneys. Through research and first hand accounts, we see what it is to be an attorney, a judge, or a jury member. Entire text books are devoted to those characters who officially participate in a courtroom event (e.g. Saks and Hastie, 1979). But what of the accused? While there is a substantial amount of empirical research regarding the accused from the perspective of official courtroom decision makers (judge or jury) [1], there is little research examining defendant notions of courtroom contexts. Moreover, with respect to the courtroom and its theatrical elements, the defendant's perspective is generally ignored by research.

My goal here is an ethnographic exploration of courtroom-related meanings held by incarcerated criminal defendants based on their courtroom experience. Employing an interactionist perspective, I argue that courtroom participants construct situational definitions by means of noting and interpreting symbolic and ritual action. Verbal accounts and non-verbal rhetorical devices (props) present selectively chosen aspects and information which lead to capsule versions of reality; symbolic action and communication inside a courtroom regulates and influences assumptions held by an audience. Contexts and influential performances present and re-present definitions of justice.

I will investigate accused individuals undergoing the trial process to examine the meaning of court contexts from the defendant's perspective. The defendant's point of view is significant when we consider his or her position in the court process; a process where the scales of justice are presumed to be evenly balanced. However, this presumption is not necessarily true, given that the accused (as we shall see) believes that he or she is nothing more than a silent fixture in the courtroom. The defendant's "day in court" never really materializes. Ironically, the accused is subordinated by the very "power" and "authority" that is designed to protect his or due process rights. Sociologically speaking, a defendant's perspective is important when dramaturgically examining the context of the courtroom. One cannot dismiss the views of those caught-up in the justice machinery and/or those who are accused of violating criminal law. As such, it is essential to treat the accused's version of reality as seriously as any other versions (Ericson and Baranek, 1982, p.31). While my primary focus is on the accused, it is equally important to describe the court "context," because this situational environment can be said to influence how defendants create a meaningful definition of the situation.

Here, I combine dramaturgical analysis of courtroom environments with ethnographic interviews of criminal defendants to describe how the accused develops a definition of the situation. As both performer and audience member, the accused reconstructs aspects of the court experience and develops meaningful definitions of the trial process: defendants perceive the courtroom as a powerful place comprised of many authoritarian agents and procedures; the accused recognizes his or her lack of control inside the courtroom bringing about situational definitions of limited self-expression, deference, and perceived demonization. The perspective of the accused is stressed as he or she is dependent upon events and decisions made within the context of a courtroom. In essence, the accused is a "consumer" (Casper, 1972, pp. xi, 3) of the criminal justice institution given that he or she is the only individual who experiences the justice process from beginning to end. Furthermore, examining defendant definitions encourages exploration into the dimensions of the courtroom environment and the dramaturgical value of court-related performances.

Expressive and symbolic actions establish and shape one's definition (and meaning) of a situation. Symbolic and ceremonial actions within the context of a criminal courtroom create and maintain definitions of power, authority, control, and procedure. If perception and meaning result from an expressive exchange of symbols, then power and its subtype, authority, can be viewed as a form of symbolic courtroom action and communication. Justice produced within a courtroom is based on social relationships and transactions that are established by specialized performances (i.e., prosecution, defense, jury or judicial deliberation). Courtroom performances ritualistically define information and situations by controlling symbols and communication.

Borrowing from Goffman (1959), the expressive features of criminal court proceedings and the symbolic actions of those participating in them will be examined using a metaphor that holds that human life is theater-like. The dramaturgical paradigm suggests that actors utilize social resources as props, scripts, and plots to manage symbols about themselves and their social worlds. A dramaturgical analysis of courtroom contexts, including rhetorical devices (verbal and non-verbal) employed by participants, will allow investigation into how law and courtroom activities contribute to the construction of the "majesty" of justice. Majesty refers to an officially orchestrated performance and setting that constitutes a ritualized control over actors as well as a mystification of information. Ceremonial displays of legal rhetoric, adversarial conventions, formal costumes, and physical attributes of the setting establish the grandeur and sanctity of a courtroom [2]. Courtroom majesty, then, is the management of legal ritual; it contributes to the legitimacy of performances occurring within that setting and it provides a frame to which an audience may attach meaning. But how does one recognize the courtroom environment as majestic?

Perception is essential to the process of framing or defining one's situation; what and how we perceive allows us to organize our experiences (Manning, 1980, p.252). The sensual world contributes to human cognition and our ability to sort events into meaningful situations. Perceived environments assist in organizing or framing events, activities, and performances. Within the courtroom, frames are created, maintained, and destroyed, and they are utilized to provide meaning to "justice." The context in which one finds oneself helps to determine the meanings which can be attached to that particular situation. Majesty and dramatic action assists in constructing and reconstructing court-related frames. For example, potential jurors are "summoned" to engage in a civic ritual empowered by the "law"; an accused individual enters a "place" where opponents are to "battle" over his or her presumed law violation(s). Individuals or groups are introduced into a courtroom environment designed to explicitly and pragmatically communicate a sense of seriousness and sobriety. The courtroom audience, including the defendant, is thus confronted by a "place" where justice (presumably) occurs.

If we see perception as a form of contact and communion, the control over what is perceived is control over contact that is made, and the limitation and regulation of what is shown is limitation and regulation of contact (Goffman,1959, p.67)

Goffman's remark becomes a template and assists us in recognizing some of the processes of mystification that occur within the courtroom context. Architectural designs/devices such as lighting, acoustics, and camouflaged passageways, as well as specialized and orchestrated (frontstage) performances, contribute to a ritualistic and ceremonious control of the situation and information. Courtroom contexts implicitly and explicitly regulate and perhaps suppress information that may be used by courtroom participants in developing a definition of the situation. In this study, I hope to display how courtroom contexts regulate, limit, and mystify the criminal court procedure for the defendant.

This study is based on unobtrusive observation of criminal court proceedings at the Lake County Courts facility located in Waukegan, Illinois. My position as an employee of the Lake County Public Defender's office facilitated data gathering. Between September 1993 and December 1994, observations were made during a variety of court events: bond court hearings, preliminary hearings, trials, and sentencing proceedings. As an observer, I sat in the spectators gallery with other lay observers and had the opportunity to become an audience member inside the courtroom. In doing so I was subject to the "frontstage" performances taking place. Contextual as well as design features of courtrooms are mapped-out and described herein, indicating the ritualistic, ceremonial atmospheres associated with "justice." Additionally, in order to examine how defendants construct meaning based on their courtroom situations, ten in-depth interviews were conducted in the Spring of 1995 with eight incarcerated men and women who were either awaiting trial, serving a short sentence, or waiting to be transferred to a penitentiary. The defendants were accused of a variety of felonies, including murder, attempted murder, aggravated sexual assault, sexual abuse, theft, and drug offenses. All eight individuals were represented by the Lake County Public Defender's office. Subjects interviewed for this study were selected by asking assistant public defenders to recommend clients whom they would not mind me interviewing for academic reasons. I assured each assistant public defender, and subsequently their client(s), that this project was not interested in the events that led to the defendant's arrest. Rather, my intention was to examine only the defendant's perspective with regard to the courtroom environment.

Of nine public defender clients contacted, eight agreed to be interviewed and tape-recorded. I emphasized to each individual the academic nature of the study and assured them that their personal identities would be kept confidential. One defendant, however, voiced a suspicion of the project and declined to be interviewed. Moreover, this defendant expressed his uneasiness concerning my recording the interview, explaining that his previous police confessions had been recorded and, as a result, he was "gun-shy" of providing personal information to someone wielding a recording device. Given their adjudicative predicament in the criminal justice system, it was not unreasonable for some defendants to have misgivings about speaking to someone other than their legal representative. Defendants were interviewed for periods of approximately one hour each, but one defendant was interviewed on three separate occasions. Interview questions were open-ended and designed to elicit descriptions of the courtroom and court related personnel. All taped interviews were transcribed verbatim and were analyzed by means of a grounded theory methodology (Glaser & Strauss, 1967; Strauss & Corbin, 1990).

By conducting ethnographic interviews with eight incarcerated men and women, my intent was to discover "the manner in which participants in a culture construct, interpret and maintain their culture" (Thomas & Marquart, 1987,p.81). Interviews in this particular study focused on how the accused conceptualized the court process and his or her descriptions of the performances inside the courtroom. Particular attention was paid to the defendant's understanding of his or her position in the court "hierarchy", his or her "criminal" status, a recognition of courtroom degradation, and the accused's capacity to relate information to the court.

In combining dramaturgical analysis of the courtroom theater with ethnographic interviews of accused subjects regarding their courtroom performances, I could discover how the courtroom context becomes a conglomeration of resources which are used to invoke and manipulate meanings. However, due to the limited number of interviews, the material presented here should be evaluated with care. Generalizing from my group of interviewees to all defendants in the criminal justice system may be considered a dubious venture. However, such information examined here may add relevance to the question of how an accused individual organizes and establishes meaning inside a courtroom.

There has been no lack of research on the interactional process of courtroom proceedings. Many studies, whether implicitly or explicitly, involve court-related issues pertaining to meaningful productions occurring in court settings. These studies include communication styles and verbal interactions within the court process (e.g. Erickson et.al., 1978; Atkinson & Drew, 1979; Bradac et.al., 1981; Wegner et.al., 1981; O'Barr, 1982; Wright & Hosman, 1983; Kassin et.al., 1990; Burgoon et.al.,1990), the symbolic rhetoric and nature of law (Meisenhelder, 1981), hegemony and oppression (Milovanovic, 1988; Merry, 1994), the deconstruction process of law and courtroom strategy (Fuchs & Ward, 1994), and law as a symbolic and literal ordering process (Ericson & Baranek, 1982).

Moreover, there are several studies which report on law and court-related situations as dramaturgical performances: Taylor (1993) reviewed the historical and architectural context of the Palais de Justice in Paris; Merry (1994) examined the cultural meanings resulting from Hawaiian domestic courtroom performances; Bennett & Feldman (1981) dealt with courtroom strategy and storytelling processes; and Hopper (1983) investigated courtroom situational factors affecting the moral meaning attached to defendants.

However, as useful as these particular studies are, most limit, if not ignore, the defendant's perspective, namely his or her position in the courtroom [3]. How does the accused perceive and come to understand his or her courtroom situation? Does the defendant define his or her legal situation on the basis of his or her experience with judicial agents and the dramatic context of the court event?

In attempting to resolve such questions, I combine dramaturgical analysis of courtroom environments with defendant accounts of their courtroom experience. Concepts such as dramaturgy, frames, power, and authority will be utilized to examine the perceived "majesty" of justice.

Dramaturgy is a perspective of theatrical performance. Goffman (1959) applied the theatrical metaphor to consider ways in which people perform actions and present images of self to others. Expressiveness and performances guide and control the impressions which others develop; they present information that contributes to the definition of a situation: meaningful "shows" allow for stage-managing the impressions which others receive (p.15).

These impressions (and expressions) assist humans in creating meaningful lives. Brissett and Edgley (1990) note that the dramaturgical perspective is concerned with the study of how meaning emerges through interaction; humans are empowered by their expressiveness to negotiate meanings in situations (pp. 2-3). With respect to a courtroom environment, dramaturgical analysis indicates how expressive stagings, along with their associated props, spacing, lighting, etc., assists in defining the situation for an audience [4].

The situation in which one finds oneself can be understood by an organizing frame of reference. Goffman (1974) spoke of a frame as being addressed by the question "What is it that's going on here?" In attempting to answer such a query, an individual organizes his or her experiential situation (pp.7-9). One's definition of a situation depends, then, on one's reading of the frame. For example, in developing a frame of reference, a defendant on trial may ask him or herself "What is going on in this courtroom?" If the accused recognizes "majesty" or coercive control, he or she then organizes the experience/situation according to this particular frame (court-bureaucracy control). Having recognized that he or she is subject to control of the court and the court system, the defendant may submit to this authority and act accordingly. Power, authority, and control are significant issues that play a part in defining court-related frames, especially in relation to how accused subjects perceive their situation.

Power is commonly defined as possession of the ability to wield force or influence. However, according to Berger and Luckmann (1966), power is seen as the ability to determine decisive socialization processes and therefore the ability to produce reality (p.119). Following this line of thought, courtroom bureaucracies are authorized by law and have the power to define reality. Thus, power and authority contribute to the ability to implement subjective reality. For example, pornography laws specify actions and\or objects which may be construed as "lewd." Although "lewd" may have many different connotations, community standards of "lewdness" are dictated by those with power. Enforcement of such standards, therefore, results when things are defined as nefarious and unlawful by persons or groups (i.e., police chief, prosecutor, members of the religious right, etc.). Agents of social control define actions in terms of criminal law and use such codes to regulate the process of resolution (i.e., arrest, trial, and conviction). By doing this, criminal control representatives have power over the definition of reality, as well as through the definition of reality they decide upon (Ericson & Baranek, 1982, p.216). Law and the dynamic/ritual context(s) of the courtroom govern interpretation and impose a definition of reality on populations under their authority (Berger & Luckmann, 1966, p.121): court officials, jurors, lay observers, and especially, defendants.

Furthermore, Luckenbill (1979) indicates that "power" is a meaningful transaction between two or more parties:

            One party - the source of control - announces one or more rules of conduct, commands
            compliance to those rules, and supports those commands with the actual or proposed
            manipulation of valued resources. A second party - the target of control - interprets the
            source's commands and constructs a line of action oriented toward compliance (p.98).

Power is an interactive, collaborative relationship between groups or individuals. A "source" and "target" are necessary to form the relationship. Power requires at least two interacting parties -- it is not simply a property or characteristic of the commanding source (p.107).

Therefore, the courtroom context and the agents officially participating in it (i.e., prosecutors, defense attorneys, judge, etc.) may be considered a source of control -- commanding compliance to rules of proper conduct and decorum. And the accused may be considered the "target" subject to the rules. The defendant interprets the "majesty" and (legal) control of the trial event and may acquiesce, thereby fulfilling a transactional relationship.

Goffman's view of power likewise utilizes an interactionist slant. Goffmanesque "power" resides implicitly in the capacity to affect another's behavior:

Power is the capacity or potential to act effectively; it exists in terms of resources available to manage one's self presentation and/or to affect another's behavior. Such capacity contributes to what Luckenbill referred to as a "transaction." Utilizing an example of armed robbery (in Luckenbill, 1979), an offender's capacity to wield a firearm, as well as to perform in front of a "target" or victim (i.e., to demand money), contributes to the interactive relationship; the offender has access to resources (a gun, a knife, a mask, knowledge) and may (or may not) have the potential to communicate and utilize them in his or her performance before the victim. By means of capability and access to resources, the armed robber has the ability and power to engage and affect the victim's behavior. Interactionally, power is the capacity to effectively project a definition of the situation:

With regard to interactional power within a courtroom, participants (i.e., judge, prosecutor, defense attorney, witnesses) communicate, perform, and submit situational definitions. Official participants are: 1.) "authorized" (Berger & Luckmann, 1966) to define justice; 2.) capable of affecting others through performance (Goffman, 1959); and 3.) engaged in a collaborative relationship (Luckenbill, 1979), i.e., State agents vs. accused.

Power, of course, may involve the use of force and coercion. However, in order to prevent such means, power must be translated into authority (Lyman & Scott, 1975, p.115). Authority can be defined as a subtype of power in which obedience to commands occurs because the issuance of commands is seen as legitimate (Abercrombie et. al.,1984, p.16; Luckenbill, 1979). Authority, therefore, may be seen as a form of impression management (Lyman & Scott, 1975, p.115). The transformation of power into authority is a social process which involves communication by means of effective performance and image. When a definition of the situation is projected by a person or regime that makes claims to be an entity of a formal organization, that person or regime (i.e., legislature, religion, court official) exerts and communicates demands (i.e., moral and ideological) upon others. These demands oblige an audience or population to value and revere that entity. Authority becomes an "effect" resulting in the "conjecture of the right speaker, the right speech and delivery, the right staging and props, the right time and place, and an audience whose historically and culturally conditioned expectations establish the parameters of what is judged 'right' in all these instances" (Lincoln, 1994, p.10). Authority, then, informs an audience and affects their conduct by way of performance (Goffman, 1959, p.13,15). Symbolic action by participants, as well as the context in which it occurs, aids in maintaining a definition of the situation. For example, a courtroom environment conveys authority by way of defining and regulating what is perceived by an audience (p.67). Law, and the "theater" in which it occurs, makes use of ritual demonstrations, specialized language, codified texts, and knowledgeable performers. Legitimacy exists when the definition of the situation provided by a body or environment of "power" is accepted by the constituent audience. For example, the legal system of justice, for some audiences, may be considered legitimate based on a belief that law assists to maintain order: beliefs such as "laws are just" or "laws protect society." By regulating information and defining activity as legal or criminal, authority mystifies law while at the same time defines proscriptions (i.e., "It is unlawful to..."). Legitimate agents of power (such as legislators, police officers, judges) construct and apply criteria for evaluating populations. Thus, Law may control cognition and conduct (Sarat, 1993, p.647) and may be considered a form of symbolic power which can restrict alternative meanings, create misunderstanding, and thwart action (Thomas, 1993, p. 7).

Legal power and authority do not necessarily flow automatically from the pulling of institutional levers. Rather, power flows dramaturgically from a process of mystification and the negotiation of images (Brissett & Edgley, 1990, pp.3, 350). It is useful to illustrate these "majestic" and symbolic contextual issues and images of power before plunging into the phenomenology regarding the accused's perspective of the trial event.

Criminal courts are traditionally authorized and empowered to remove human liberty from those believed deserving of its rule. Additionally, courts apply codified obligations of obedience; "laws" define expectations of behavior by using "symbols of perfection that can be viewed as commands and then used as criteria for evaluating others and ourselves" (Meisenhelder, 1981;p.47). Legal authority and its accompanying symbols are demonstrated and exercised by courtroom roles, decorum, and atmosphere.

Regardless of whether action occurs before a judge or jury, the trial relies wholly upon human judgment for verdict and sanction. In one form or another, court performances are presented to a judging body which produces an outcome usually in the form of a verdict. Moreover, these performances often operate as adversarial contests between the defendant and the complainant. Each adversarial "side" or team (Goffman, 1959;pp.104-105) introduces its particular definitions concerning the alleged criminal events: the prosecution proffers the defendant as morally reprehensible and accountable to a given law violation, while the defense attaches mitigating or morally positive images to the accused and his or her action(s). Therefore, as Taylor (1993) notes, criminal trials tend to be agonistic and experiential; at its most effective, a trial revolves around facts and acts, described in narrative and gesture. The courtroom is a staged place where the court event draws the audience into a drama which blends evidence into performance, encouraging the listener to judge the credibility of the speaker as well as the statement (p.9).

As indicated earlier, mystification exists through control over what is seen, heard, and experienced. The context of a criminal courtroom is an appropriate example of how settings are implicitly available to affect and influence the definition of the situation developed by a lay audience and, more importantly, a defendant.

Meisenhelder (1981) notes that law may be seen as symbolic action and thus as rhetoric: it is a prayer or petition addressed to an audience in an endeavor for the adoption of a certain action or definition (p.51). Rhetoric, therefore, is utilized to establish meaningful transactions as well as to define a given situation. For this thesis, the "audience" referred to above is comprised of accused men and women; for these defendants, courtroom organization and its linguistic convention becomes a rhetoric which promotes definitions of power and authority. "Words and objects are utilized by 'human agents' to persuade others, to induce their cooperation in sustaining the definition of a situation" (Perinbanayagam, 1974;p.534).

Criminal courtrooms are generally nestled within the broader environment of a courthouse. Potential jurors, witnesses, and defendants are summoned to the courthouse to participate in the trial process. They may enter an environment where administrative offices for area government operate. In fact, some court facilities may operate under the label "County Government Center," implying their importance as a locus of law, democracy, and "where the action is." Having been issued a subpoena, witnesses are commanded to attend a court event (i.e., pre-trial hearing or trial) . Defendants released on bond are required to attend [5]. Not only are citizens accessing a vital center of government operation, they are informed and notified, through official publication, as to the significant mission and gravity of court proceedings. Potential jurors enter the facility, having been informed (by the summons) that they will be participating in a service which is "one of the most important duties of citizenship and is usually an interesting experience. It will give you an opportunity to see your court in action" (Lake Co. Juror summons, emphasis added).

Upon entering the courthouse facility, visitors, jurors, employees, and defendants released on bond must first pass through a magnetometer and other forms of security. Magnetometers and x-ray conveyors, designed to detect weapons and explosives, imply the need for safeguards; they implicitly indicate that "justice" can be dangerous. The majesty of law and its practitioners requires a need for protection from the mundane and unauthorized public. Usually, familiar and recognized court practitioners are waived through the security features while potential jurors and public observers must wait in line before passing through a Kafka-esque "gate." Public access to "the law" is regulated while privileged, official court personnel are given free access.

Once inside the courthouse or government center, citizens are confronted with armed, uniformed sheriff's deputies who patrol the corridors, courtrooms, and magnetometer areas. The presence of these officers may provide a sense of safety and protection and an appreciation for the gravity and seriousness of the court. Additionally, these security officers are proactively patrolling, and they can be readily dispatched to quell public disturbances which could jeopardize courtroom rituals. The court environment thus contains a body of agents empowered to maintain its majestic context.

A video program produced by the Illinois Bar Foundation and shown to prospective jurors opens with the following statement:

            The courtroom is a special place in American life. It is a symbol of the American ideals of
            "justice for all" and fairness in our society. But courtrooms are just places -- they don't
            provide justice, people do that.

While there can be no doubt that human action and decision-making contribute to adjudication, one cannot neglect the contexts in which these events occur. To dismiss the courtroom as merely a "place" diminishes its value as a dramaturgically relevant environment. Brissett and Edgely (1990) note that meaning, and therefore a definition of the situation, emerges as a consequence of humans interacting with other people and objects in their environment (pp.2-5, my emphasis). The "place" or context of justice is demonstrated by what can be referred to as a rhetorical device: Law and especially the courtroom context urge an audience to "believe in the style of social order it represents and legitimates" (Meisenhelder, 1981;p.51). Contextual features of the courtroom rhetorically demonstrate the power and authority of justice. Context, therefore, allows audience members and defendants to perceive and recognize law as an impressive feature of society.

In a historical analysis, Taylor (1993) examined the architectural designs of the Palais de Justice in Paris and, more precisely, the criminal courtrooms within the Palais near the end of the 19th century. Striking features of the courtrooms included ornate ceilings, moldings, and icons that illustrated a theatrical aspect to authority: paintings and murals depicted criminals chased and apprehended by torch-bearing angels. Moreover, a large portrait of a tormented, crucified Christ hung directly above the presiding Magistrates.

While 19th century Paris is significantly different from U.S. courtrooms at the end of the 20th century, the importance of atmosphere cannot be denied. In Paris, you were not only judged by a group of human magistrates, you were on trial, literally, before an image of God. Courtroom majesty was utilized to inspire awe and obedience from defendants and jurors alike. Felix Narjoux, writing in 1881, summarized the courtroom environment:
 

Melodrama aside, the above passage exemplifies the traditional idea of impressing an audience with pomp and circumstance. Today, courtrooms also contain dramatic features, but they are less ostentatious than 19th century France.

Courtrooms observed for this study were located in the interior of the courthouse structure and therefore relied on artificial lighting, often subdued and dim. Spatial placement of people in courtroom events enable or restrict their ability to effectively participate in the events. Seating arrangements were oriented to face toward the judge and witness box (see Figure 1.). The jury, seated in its segregated (privileged) section, also faces the judge but, more importantly, is positioned closest to the open performance space where presentations are generally given. In essence, jurors are given front row seats for the courtroom drama. This signifies their saliency in the performance.

Key actors (prosecutors and defense attorneys) station themselves at large wooden tables situated at the perimeter of the performance space. From here each party presents their respective cases to the jury located in the "expensive seats." Members of the public are provided with rigid wooden pews or benches on which to sit. These "bleachers" are apart from the performance area where court agents appear before the official observers (jury/judge).

Seating arrangements and spatial organization reveal hierarchical zones within the courtroom. The presiding judge or administrator is positioned at the highest point in the room, generally triangulated between the jury and the official adversarial performers. The judge is isolated and perched, overlooking the empty space or "staging area" which is available for performance(s). His or her entrance to the room is staged and proclaimed. The opening of court proceedings is signaled by a court officer calling "all rise!" The judge then enters a place where attendants and public citizens are standing in silence, paying homage to his or her status.

Moreover, the judge's isolated position signifies his or her untouchable status. For example, in some federal courtrooms, court clerks ensure that the judge is granted deference: the clerk is positioned between the judge's bench and others in the courtroom, preventing those in the room from directly handing documents to the judge.

Adversarial teams are seated at separate tables indicating their distinctive missions -- prosecution and defense. Seated with his or her "representative", the defendant is physically separated and symbolically isolated from the prosecution table and team.

The jury is segregated in their own region marked with a railing or low partition. Members do not leave their assigned area to partake in or physically interact with other courtroom participants. The general public is not admitted into the performance or staging area and is prevented from doing so by a railing or barrier. Thus, ordinary citizens cannot enter the staging area to perform except when invited or compelled in the role of witness. Only "official" performers are authorized to use the staging area in order to examine witnesses or present evidence. "Law" becomes less accessible to lay personnel the further one progresses into the courtroom; majesty, then, lies within regions and with those practitioners who are authorized to perform during the trial event.

Access to the main staging area also exists through concealed and hidden doorways which are nearly imperceptible from the surrounding wooden walls. These camouflaged doorways lead to private areas and are utilized by courtroom personnel, i.e., court clerk, court reporter, security officer, etc. Only a small red placard exists as an indicator of the passage doorway: "authorized personnel only." Movement into and between such backstage regions imparts a privilege to those deserving to use such mysterious passages : "...those with access, and those without it; the important and the excluded; the powerful and the less powerful" (Manning, 1972, p. 85). For example, the judge's appearance occurs via a discreet doorway and hallway which is concealed from public view; the judge has exclusive use of this gateway. Likewise, the panel of jurors hearing a case enter and exit the room via a passageway designed exclusively for them. Armed court security officers maintain vigilance within the courtroom and thereby limit access to these privileged portals.

Spatial organization contributes to, and constrains, interaction. Such organization may emphasize or degrade the status of an individual or group. By means of elevation and access to backstage regions, the judge may be recognized as an important, prestigious court functionary. A less official public is seated away from the judge's bench and near the rear of the room. The defendant is seated inside the performance area with his or her legal representative; however, he or she is unable to freely move about as do other official agents; the defendant remains seated beneath the elevated magistrate, as well as subordinate to the adversarial teams which are free to move about the performance area. Spacing assists in defining specific regions or performance zones as well as the particular mission(s) of those entitled to those positions.

Official titles and designations add to the context of the courtroom as "place." Expressions of authority and acumen are ceremoniously enacted with respect to official court participants, dramatizing social distance from others as well as indicating an elevated status. For example, the judge is referred to as "Your Honor" and "The Court"; attorneys are referred to as "learned counsel," "opposing counsel," "learned colleague"; the bailiff as "court security officer"; police officers by their respective rank; jury members as "Ladies and Gentlemen." In contrast, the accused is not granted the same official, authoritative considerations; he or she is depersonalized and merely becomes "the defendant," "this man," "that woman." Moreover, demonizing rhetoric and designations assist in further lowering the moral status of the accused. For example, the closing argument by one prosecutor (in People v. Shepard, 114 Ill. App. 3d 598, 449 N.E.2d 222 (1st Dist. 1983)), referred to the defendant as a "lying, raping, attempt-murdering dog." Likewise, in People v. Tiller (94 Ill. 2d 303, 447 N.E.2d 174 (1983)), the prosecutor likened the accused to a form of life even lower than an animal, and whose three murders were comparable to the Nazi Holocaust (Feiger, date unknown, p.5). Thus, during the trial, a defendant gains a title, but such a title is based on degradation and debasement.

Courtroom observers, as well as defendants, are exposed to majestic rhetorical devices: a robed, priestly arbiter bestowing rights of justice from the elevated "bench" or altar; participants and observers commanded to stand when the moderator enters the scene; hidden passageways leading to unknown areas. These contextual aspects promote an awe-inspiring setting of legitimacy and authority.

Defendants, jury members, and the public are thus confronted by a "place" whose subdued lighting, wooden pews, acoustics, and ornate hardwood and marble inlaid walls create an environment of solemnity and respect, not unlike the atmosphere of a small sacred chapel.

These symbolic features of the courtroom are designed to communicate a sense of seriousness and sobriety, especially with respect to the ritual of adjudication. Even the United States flag and County insignia, which are positioned behind the judge, may implicitly persuade the public and participants to accept the authority of the law and its officers in the name of that which is patriotic. Contextual devices which comprise the courtroom not only communicate authority, but also mystify it "through the use of ultimates in order to rhetorically transcend the material world and to spiritualize a very secular sort of power" (Meisenhelder, 1981;p.53).

Oath-taking also presents a rhetorical context that symbolizes law as a "sacred" perspective of justice and courtroom procedures. Jurors, when impaneled, recite a pledge demonstrating their induction as semi-official participants. Witnesses, if called forth to testify, must also promise and pledge their veracity in providing information. In fact, some oaths require the witness to "promise" before God to tell the "whole truth." The oath then invokes a powerful deity which is called upon to witness testimony and assist in judgment (Bennett and Feldman, 1981;p22). By means of oath-taking, a sacred power is transferred to an earthly context -- the courtroom. Oath-taking acts as a notice and rhetorical reminder of the majesty and sublime nature of a courtroom situation; arguably, a definition of the situation is thus provided to the audience and those participating in the trial. What could be more awe inspiring in a traditionally Judeo-Christian dominant society than to beseech an all-powerful, malevolent deity to judge one's decision or account? The inclusion of the phrase "...so help you God" implicitly pressures the oath-taker to acquiesce to the atmosphere of justice and to proceed righteously; to do otherwise places one at the mercy of divine power.

Costumes and physical evidence add to the rhetorical character of a trial ritual. The robe worn by the judge may reflect the emergence of courtroom procedures from religious rite. Meisenhelder (1981) notes that the power and prestige of traditional religious and occult priests ultimately transferred to more secular law practitioners, namely trial judges (p.48). Additionally, formal attire exhibited by official performers (prosecution and defense) indicates their membership in the grand ceremony. Such costumes limit and mystify the court process in that they signify a "royal" or privileged authority status. On the other hand, spectators, jurors, and especially defendants are assigned a public, undistinguished status denoted by their lack of ceremonious costume (Taylor, 1993;p.33)[6].

Moreover, ceremonious objections are pronounced during a trial proceeding; objections are reserved exclusively for use by those official adversarial agents who are allowed to operate within the courtroom -- the prosecution and defense. Objections by the prosecution and defense are usually employed to argue an evidential issue or to build a record of errors in the trial on which an appeal can be grounded. Regardless of the legal goal of the objection, these protestations are rhetorical devices utilized by official performers for the purpose of confusing an issue, disrupting testimony, or aiding in the mystification of court information. Objections are made to discount damaging testimony and evidence and to tactically throw the opposition off balance. Through official interruptions and confrontation, agents of the court are empowered to limit or cloud the issue, and this inevitably implies control and authority over what is perceived.

By combining costume, spatial convention, and titles, definitions of courtroom majesty are ultimately produced by way of performance: the emotional disclosure and display by agents of the state, the plea for objectivity and rationality by the defense, as well as the arbitrary comments and instruction by the presiding judge. Performing roles communicate and legitimize courtroom authority. In court, situations are presented in a form and manner consistent with a particular actor's perspective or interest. Each adversarial team takes the position that their knowledge of the case at hand enables them to know "what really happened" regarding the "crime" and to provide the audience (jury and defendant) with a definition of the situation.

Adversarial teams participate in the court performance and exhibit their authority to do so by presenting information and examining witnesses. Confrontation and inquisition demonstrates, and is reserved for, the powerful role of those with direct courtroom access. For example, defendants, jurors, as well as the gallery audience are not allowed to question, cross-examine, or manipulate witnesses or performers. Only those individuals who are professionally ordained to do so may officially confront the evidence. Such exclusivity among "official" court performers may be said to generate awe among those simply observing, not to mention the accused.

Official law practitioners are generally educated in methods which influence information provided by witnesses; some questions are designed to elicit persuasive, in-depth narratives while others are intended to restrict responses (Saks & Hastie, 1979, p.114). Likewise, official witnesses (i.e., police officers, forensics experts, etc.) are trained and/or experienced in how to effectively testify or perform before an audience.

Such information or evidence provided by police officers, medical examiners, forensic analysts, etc. may then be construed as "official" or "fact" merely because of a witness's formal status and specialized vocabulary. Defendants, however, hold little or no authoritative prestige and, if giving testimony, their information is provided in a common, mundane vernacular.

Credibility, therefore, becomes an issue for the defense, given that the brunt of prosecution evidence and performances are usually provided by official agents. Arguably superior in the credibility hierarchy, the prosecution seems to have an established authorization to discredit the defendant and any evidence he or she might give.

Having touched on several dramaturgical issues pertaining to this study, let me now address issues regarding defendant interpretations and frames that indicate to the accused how to define the courtroom situation. Dramaturgical elements of the courtroom affect a defendant's definition of the situation; how the accused feels and acts inside the courtroom depends on his or her reading of the courtroom frame or context. A defendant's observation of the courtroom environment is understandable only in terms of the frame(s) he or she places around it. As earlier noted, courtroom environments can exude threatening and overwhelming grandeur. A courtroom, then, may be framed by the defendant as majestic and oppressive, thereby producing feelings of non-participation and powerlessness. According to Seeman (1959), powerlessness is a variant of alienation, and it can be defined as "the expectancy... held by the individual that his own behavior cannot determine the occurrence of the outcomes, or reinforcements, he seeks" (p.784). If Goffman viewed power as the capacity to affect the behavior and perceptions of others, is it not possible that the lack of such capacity implies powerlessness?[7] In the context of a criminal court proceeding, the entire process is designed to convey an image of the alleged offender and the actions he or she purportedly committed. The jury's and/or judge's perception about the accused is constructed and dependent upon the context of the situation. Context contributes to the monopoly of power and authority of official courtroom participants: the design, construction, and spatial orientation of the courtroom assists in promoting the "majesty" of its legal mission; specialized rhetoric and costumes employed by "ordained" participants distinguish their official capacity to perform; accusations of wrong-doing and determination of accountability challenges the accused's moral character and symbolically degrades his or her status. But does the ritual context of the courtroom weaken the defendant's ability to act or, rather, interact?

Upon arrest, the accused becomes enmeshed in a bureaucracy that is basically beyond his or her control, where the potential to act is obstructed and defendants "remain powerless relative to their potential to engage and transcend their circumstances" (Thomas and Milovanovic, 1988, p.2). Power emerges from the courtroom context which includes the agents who operate there. Bond court hearings, arraignments, pre-trial proceedings, and even the scheduling of trial dates are events which flow without coordination of and by the actual defendant. The "process" (Feeley, 1979) of criminal justice can be analogized to the amusement park patron stepping into a rollercoaster car -- he or she is harnessed-in by an attendant and the ride commences. After the rollercoaster begins to move, the rider is unable to exit, regardless of the frightful hairpin curves and the stomach-wrenching loops. The rider escapes the situation only after the ride concludes, at which time he or she is helped from the car by the ride attendant. The rider is, therefore, powerless to effect the progression of the trip. As Ericson and Baranek (1982) point out:
 

Ironically, the defendant is a profane celebrity within a sacred criminal court proceeding -- his or her alleged actions have demonstrated a reasonable belief that an infraction of codified law has taken place. As a result, an assemblage (individuals and/or teams) convenes to address the actions of the accused. Agents of the court are procedurally allowed to participate: the judge, prosecutor, defense attorney, security officer, clerk, court reporter, and jurors. The defendant, on the other hand, while present inside the courtroom, engages in little, if any, participation. This is not to say that a defendant should fully participate in the court proceedings -- this may not be tactically sound given a defendant's criminal history, demeanor, or ability to give information under cross-examination. Suffice it to say, lack of participation limits the defendant's capacity to provide information in the ongoing court bureaucracy. For example, unless the accused are defending themselves in court, they are usually "represented" by an attorney -- a knowledgeable legal practitioner. Such assistance stems, arguably, from a traditional notion that the defendant lacks the "recipe knowledge" (Berger & Luckmann, 1968,p.42; Ericson & Baranek, 1982) to give-off or provide information within the specialized bounds of "law."

Courtroom order and decorum limits a defendant's ability to freely express him- or herself; the defendant is not allowed to burst into a declaration or otherwise disrupt the dignified trial proceeding. For example, at bond court hearings, defendants are escorted into the room and instructed by court security to stand on a marking drawn on the floor. These subjects are also ordered to stand with their hands behind their back and to remain quiet unless addressed by the judge. One particular judge, having finished questioning defendants regarding their ability to afford legal counsel, often used a hand gesture reminiscent of a royal or papal wave in order to stop the accused from speaking; this dismissive gesture was also a signal to court security officers to remove the defendant, as his business before the judge was deemed complete.

The accused is caught up in the current of the process which includes directives given to the defendant by his or her "representative" (i.e., explaining the advantages of accepting a plea negotiation, discussing the disadvantages of expressing oneself "on the stand", and legal recommendations regarding the choice of a jury trial or a bench hearing). Regardless of the advantages or disadvantages of participating in the process (i.e., giving "official" testimony), the accused are limited in their impression management within the courtroom. Ericson & Baranek (1982) argue that the defendant is a "dependant" [sic] connected to the process:
 

The irony lies in the generally held belief that modern criminal procedures are designed as safeguards to provide "fair" trials and to protect the rights of the accused[8]. Instead of empowering and protecting the defendant, it might be that contextual and procedural aspects of a criminal trial limit the accused's capacity to effectively perform and manage information control.

The ritual ceremony of a criminal hearing restricts and possibly discourages participation by the accused (Milovanovic, 1988, pp.132-133; Ericson & Baranek, 1982, p.3). For example, when asked why defendants were denied active participation in the courtroom, one assistant public defender told me: "What on earth could they offer, anyway?" Another attorney added that her clients were "too stupid" to assist in the courtroom or during case preparation. Utilizing such viewpoints, it is fair to say that the defendant's potential (right) for self expression is dismissed because he or she is thought to be incapable of grasping the situation. A predicament such as this illustrates the mystifying and dis-empowering environment produced even by those agents of the court assigned to assist the accused. Another attorney explained that he discouraged any courtroom participation (including testimony) by a defendant for fear of injuring the case. This attorney held that he was assisting his client by preventing a potentially negative situation from arising. Such damage control, while ideally protective, ironically contributes to the lack of performance by the accused. Likewise, it may contribute to the authoritative context associated with a courtroom.

Some would argue that the defendant, while not actively participating in the courtroom scenario, does participate as a backstage "director" and/or "producer" during the pre-trial investigation of the case. This implies that a defendant has personally obtained his or her own legal representative rather than a public defender assigned by a judge. However, the notion that an attorney is employed by the accused is problematic. Surely, some criminal defendants have the means to procure an array of exceptional representatives to act on their behalf, but consider the indigent defendant who has been remanded to the county jail. He or she is dependent upon the decisions and performances of the appointed attorney. Incapacitation while awaiting trial further prevents the use of resources and limits active participation in preparing for, and during, court proceedings. Of course, a more sophisticated client can assist the attorney in his or her defense, but this assistance is usually not taking place before a panel of jurors or a judge inside the courtroom. Legal "frontstage" performances assist in producing a definition of the situation for a courtroom audience. "Backstage" events, while unseen or unnoticed by the audience (including the defendant), can contribute to context development with respect to participants; i.e., plea negotiation(s) in the judge's chambers can set the mood (among participants) for a future potential trial. For purposes of this study, however, the concern is with how defendants frame frontstage events inside the courtroom, especially with regard to the defendant's lack of action and/or control during the court event.

"You feel a little small ..."

A defendant's understanding of the court environment is, in part, based on what is experienced inside the courtroom. This chapter illuminates the powerless perspective defendants develop in the courtroom "place" and it reveals how defendants conceptualize the court process and its official agents. Interviews were conducted with criminal defendants who were remanded to the county jail and who were represented by the Lake County Public Defender's office. Defendants were asked to describe the courtroom and their role in the trial. A number of concerns regarding courtroom experiences surfaced during the interviews and will be discussed: authority and power of the presiding judge, the defendant's image conveyed to the judge or jury (dramaturgical awareness), the defendant's lack of legal knowledge, the denunciation of the defendant's moral identity (demonization), and the accused's inability to address agents of the court.

Powerlessness, detachment, and intimidation appeared as common undercurrents throughout the interviews. While all defendants recognized the judge as the embodiment of judicial power, most alluded to an implicit "powerful" constraint created by the courtroom context itself. For one defendant, the courtroom setting (and the agents operating therein) was described using a game metaphor:

Defendant # 7 A. Like I was saying with the game-thing, nobody in the game would respect me as a player. ...It kinda felt like I was, I was the reason they were playing and who needs to exist for them to have something to do.

Q: So they're playing a game and it's all about you, but....

A: Right, I get the consequences of the game and they get to go home.

Here, the courtroom has become an arena where a sport-like event unfolds as the defendant is left sitting on the sidelines. Another defendant began to refer to the courtroom as an entity of its own. The "room" promotes justice by lending context for all of the judicial actors; the room embodies a distillation of all agents affiliated with the trial:

Defendant #8 When the courtroom thinks you did a crime, I mean, and people are saying 'Man, I want this prosecuted' or something, man... Some people get away [from the room] and some people don't.

This same defendant alluded to the courtroom as the subjugating context for a powerful event -- an event which includes dominating and intimidating officials:

I think that courtroom has a lot of power, man. I mean, they got a lot of power in that courtroom. It's a big courtroom, once you go in there, it's like this big lab and they've got control of you. That courtroom... They got about thirty guards in there, when you first get in, there's a lot of people, cops, lawyers, and everything. It's a private thing, it's a higher room.

Still another added:

Defendant #7 A. I don't know, I mean, they've got the place looking super official, super, ya know, neat and whatever. I don't know, I feel it's stupid to have spent that much money on a courtroom but...

Q. What was "neat" and "super" about it?

A. Ya know, they've got all the, ya know, nice stained wood everywhere, the big marble desks, the, ya know, ..... just make it seem, I don't know, like real big and grand.

Q. And how did that make you feel when you were in there?

A. I guess its got a little of the robe effect. Ya know, it's the authoritative, eh, like 'this is serious, we're not kidding!'-kind of thing.

Unfamiliar procedures, seating arrangements, and a personal lack of situational control accompanied defendants into the courtroom. They viewed the courtroom as a place ruled by a judge who has the power to send them to prison. The judge is seen as a physical and symbolic fixture in the courtroom and he or she contributes to the authority of structural context. His or her elevated position inside the room was recognized by many defendants.

Defendant #8: The judge is higher than me. I mean, I'm not gonna argue with him or nothing cuz, ya know, he's higher. ... He has all these powers. He does all these things to people. He sends people to death row. He sends people where ever he wants to send them.

. . .

Defendant #7 A. Well, you're kinda looking up and he's looking down on you in judgment.

Q. How does that make you feel?

A. It's a little disheartening. You feel a little small, ya know. But I guess it's supposed to intimidate. I mean, criminal court is not supposed to be fun, I guess, ya know.

Q. What is it that's intimidating to you as a defendant? As you said 'It's not supposed to be fun', so what is it?

A. Eh, nerve-rattling and intimidating. I mean, you've got this guy who's got the power to, ya know, destroy your life at, ya know, the snap of a finger if he really decides to. He's staring down at you wanting you or your attorney to, ya know, answer for everything. I don't know, it's just belittling. And then, ya know, you've got the prosecution next to your lawyer and you don't know what's going on really, you don't know anything besides what you're hoping the judge will do. And you're just kinda sitting there looking up at him, sweating.

The judge's official status and position contributes to a fear generated by his or her power to make decisions about the accused:

Defendant #8 Q. When he was screaming at you, how did that make you feel?

A. That made me kinda shaky and scared.

Q. Why would you be shaky and scared if he was yelling at you? A. Cuz, I think he might just say 'Fuck-it, I'm gonna send him to prison.'

Q. Can he do that?

A. Yeah, he can do whatever he wants to do.

Q. Why's that?

A. Cuz he's the judge.

Q. Is the judge a pretty powerful guy?

A. Yeah, he's a pretty powerful guy. He can send you to prison.

Q. Were you concerned about that power? Were you afraid?

A. I was afraid. Ya know, I never wanted to go into his courtroom again.

Likewise, the costume of the judge added to the majesty of the courtroom. Defendants recognized the black robe worn by the presiding judge as a uniform which empowered the magistrate to make decisions and incarcerate convicted persons.

Defendant #2 A. Well, it was obvious that he had the power in that courtroom. Without the robe, he was just a regular dude. The robe is the judge. It's the mark of the judge.

Q. Which person in the courtroom has the most power?

A. The judge definitely has the power in that room. He can dictate your life. He sits up on that bench and looks down on you, you feel kinda small. He has armed guards to protect him. He's got clerks to do stuff for him. The jury comes to him, it's his jury.

. . .

Defendant #8 Q. But what about what he was wearing?

A. Black. All black. Q. He was wearing a robe?

A. Yeah.

Q. What do you think the robe and the blackness did to you?

A. I mean, I think that when they put that on, man, they just come into a different world, man. I mean when it's off, I mean, it's a different story. I think so.

Q. What did the robe do for the judge?

A. He spoke up. I mean, he spoke of a lot of things, I mean, what he could do to me, and everything.

Q. Do you think he could do that, say those things and yell at you if he was wearing what I'm wearing right now [shirt and tie]?

A. No.

Q. Does the robe allow him to yell at you?

A. Yeah.

Q. Why do you think the robe allows him.....?

A. Cuz that's some kind of... I mean, once he swore, I mean, ya know, like they tell you to swear to tell the truth, I mean they tellin' you something. I mean, they got enough power to send you where ever they want to. . . .

Defendant #3 Q. What was the judge wearing?

A. A robe, a black robe.

Q. What do you think the robe does?

A. Gives him power to do any damn thing he pleases in the courtroom.

Q. What if he wasn't wearing that robe?

A. He wouldn't be shit to me.

Q. Why would it be that if he didn't have the robe on he wouldn't be shit to you - I mean if he were dressed like I am now, or better yet, without this tie? Why do you think the robe would mean so much?

A. I wouldn't say so much he wouldn't be shit, but he'd be just like you are to me now. I don't know you. You're not deciding my fate. You're not hearing my case so I can just talk to you on a friendly basis.

Q. So do you think the robe added to his power?

A. Yeah.

Q. How about his position in the courtroom? Where he was sitting and things like that.

A. Yeah.

Q. How would you describe that?

A. It had a big effect on people.

Q. In what way.... ?

A. In that way that he's a judge and he basically is the law in that courtroom. You gotta go through him if you want something passed or evidence [unintelligible]... you gotta go through him to get that.

Generally, when asked what was most frightening about the court experience, the common response voiced by defendants was their potential sentence, namely, prison time. Many of the defendants who were already sentenced and awaiting transfer to a penitentiary made mention of what the sentence could have been, thereby suggesting the strength of their fears about the court outcome.

Defendant #7 A. Well, right now I'm happy with the outcome that I got. I'm only gonna be here like another two months. That's not bad at all. I got a lot of probation, but that's what I was hoping for to begin with.

Q. What were you looking at before?

A. Well, when I walked into the courtroom on my trial day the prosecution was still wanting me to do four years. And I don't think I coulda handled that.

Q. How did you feel when you walked in and they were obviously still wanting four years?

A. I felt like I should be in Canada. [laughter] I felt scared. Cuz if I were sentenced to four, that would have just really destroyed my life. It really would have. I know there are people out there -- four years -- they'd laugh at it. They'd come and do it and it wouldn't really bother them. But it would have destroyed my life. When I got out, I don't know what I'd do. Then I'd be out and everything that I've wanted to do, hoped to do, would be seemingly out of reach, at least.

. . .

Defendant # 3 Q. What are you most afraid of, next Thursday [sentencing]?

A. The time. The amount of time they're gonna give me.

Q. What's the range you're looking at?

A. Twenty to sixty.

Q. What about the time worries you?

A. Let me put it like this: Who in their right minds would wanna spend twenty to twenty five years in a prison with a bunch of people sentenced to Life, natural life, 875 years, that just don't care anymore and you gotta watch your back every step. See, they seem to think that they send you to the penitentiary to rehabilitate you, but they send you to prison to make you a better criminal. That's how I look at it. I'm gonna enter a whole different world, like the Twilight Zone. Enter a battleground. You gotta fight to stay alive.

Q. Do you find yourself thinking about it a lot?

A. Yeah, I have nightmares constantly.

Deference toward the justice system and the courtroom is crucial. If the proper degree of deference is not exhibited by a defendant, sanctions may be imposed by the court. Take a defendant's plea agreement as an example: When a defendant is charged with a criminal act, he or she has the constitutional right to challenge the accusations at a trial. Most defendants, however, are offered an opportunity to plead guilty and accept a negotiated "sentence discount" (Mulcahy, 1994, p. 413); plea negotiations usually result in a sentence which is less stringent than what is technically called for in sentencing guidelines (e.g., a negotiated 30 years in prison as opposed to 50 years if found guilty at trial). The accused may accept the terms of the plea and thereby avoid the trial. On the other hand, the defendant may refuse the offer to plead guilty and therefore risk severe punishment which could be substantially greater than originally offered. What is important here is that the legal system officially rewards (if we can call it such a thing) those individuals who acquiesce. Failure to show deference (e.g., plead guilty) to the court system can result in an inflated punishment (trial "tax" or "penalty") if the defendant insists on a trial and is found guilty[9].

The trial event can be punishing in and of itself, not to mention the potential sentence. A trial can be a costly affair for the defendant, both economically and mentally: loss of time from work and the withering social relationships while he or she is in custody; embarrassment stemming from the charges (i.e., drug and sexual offenses); and anxiety over lengthy court continuances and the potential of a prison sentence. In order to avoid some of these costs, a defendant may choose to avoid the trial process altogether by pleading guilty. With respect to a defendant's deferential choice of "copping-out" to a plea negotiation, Feeley (1979) notes:
 

For a defendant, deference is rewarded whereas resistance is punished.

Likewise, deference often occurs through non-communication. Defendants are usually silent within the context of the trial. The procedural structure of the court event inhibits active participation by the accused. A defendant's lack of legal knowledge, a fear of jeopardizing the case, and the perceived inability to act as his or her own legal representative are factors that contribute to the deferential stance employed by the accused.

For example, many defendants freely admitted their ignorance of legal matters and remarked about the possible misuse of official court rhetoric if they tried to address those in the courtroom. Being unable to speak the court vernacular caused some defendants to become detached from what was occurring inside the courtroom.

Defendant # 5 Q. Did you understand what was going on in the courtroom?

A. I really didn't pay no attention to it. When he said he was gonna revoke my bond, I just quit listening.

Q. So why stop listening after that?

A. I don't really know. I have.. I have... I have education but I don't have that much education. These big words they use... sometimes I don't understand 'em so they have to chew 'em up into small words... which you can't tell the judge 'Well excuse me Sir, if you don't mind, could you shorten those words'... you can't do that. Q. Why not?

A. I don't know, they probably hold me in contempt of court, whatever the hell that is.

. . .

Defendant # 8 Q. Could you understand everything that was going on in the courtroom?

A. Basically yeah but basically nah. I mean like, some things I don't understand, some things like big words, like what the judge says and... I just let it go past, I don't care.

Q. You don't care about certain things?

A. Yeah.

Q. Why is that, I mean, if they're talking about you....

A. Yeah, but like I said, I don't understand some of the words they say so I just say 'man, I wonder what that word is', I mean, I just say 'fuck it' and let it go by.

Q. Are you worried about what they're saying?

A. Yeah, I'm worried about what they're saying.

Q. Even though you don't understand it? A. Yeah, sometimes I ask questions, sometimes I don't just to get away from that courtroom. I just let it slide.

Q. Did you ever ask your attorney 'Hey, what did he mean in there?'

A. Yeah, ya know, after she comes and visits me.

Q. Do you feel that she knows what's going on in there?

A. Yeah, cuz she's been around the system.

Q. Could you have represented yourself?

A. No, I couldn't have represented myself, no. Cuz, you see, I'm not experienced in court when I first get in there. I don't know how to represent myself, how to go for myself. I wasn't experienced in what to say and what wanted, ya know, I didn't know if I would say something wrong I would get into trouble for it.

The defendant recognizes his or her status in the court hierarchy; a position of ignorance and inferiority. As a result, there may be no advantage in expressing him or herself. Several defendants perceived it more advantageous if the lawyer provided information in the courtroom rather than they alone address formal issues. Many added that they feared aggravating the judge or jury by speaking or expressing themselves:

Defendant # 8 A. I mean if they wanna send me to prison, I mean, they can send me to prison. I have no choice but to go to prison. But I never spoke about it. I always let my public defender speak for me.

Q. Why? How come you never spoke?

A. Cuz when I always talked to Judge X, he always says 'Well, talk to your public defender.' So before I go into the courtroom, I tell her what I want, and if she can do it for me, and if she can't do it... I would just say 'Give me whatever time for the shortest term.'

Q. But did you feel comfortable talking to the judge?

A. I would feel more comfortable telling him where I come from, ya know. To tell him the truth and everything, how I feel and everything, but I never got the chance.

Q. Why not?

A. Cuz, in that courtroom, you gotta talk to your attorney before you can talk... you gotta tell everything to your attorney and your attorney will tell the judge.

Q. So you're not allowed to really talk to the judge?

A. No.

Q. Is it better for your attorney to do the talking or is it better if you did the speaking?

A. It's in a way like that. You get to tell him some stuff sometimes and some words, but to tell the judge where you're coming from or how you're feeling about this case, ya know, how you feel, I mean, I think it would help both ways, if you talked straight up to the judge, just talk in the conversation for a little bit, ya know, for a couple of minutes, but that never got to happen. It's not like you can just raise your hand and say 'Can I talk to you, your honor...' It's not like that, ya know.

Q. Why not?

A. Cuz he always stands... comes in front of you and says 'No, talk to your public defender.' I don't know why.

. . .

Defendant # 3 ... [Other defendants] tell me if you speak up, you speak out of turn. And that just hurts your case because the jury looks at you like 'Well, why is he talking? That's why his attorney's there.'

Any irritation of a court official (regardless of any pleasure it might bring to the defendant, i.e., "slapping" or "killing" the judge) was feared could jeopardize the defendant's case [10]. In particular, defendants refrain from creating disturbances for fear that their actions might elicit harsh responses.

Defendant # 3 ...[W]hen I was before the judge and he was like 'There's no chance for rehabilitation', I wanted to say something then, but something just came over me, like 'Don't say nothing, just don't say nothing. Just keep cool.' Cuz when he was talking, I was gettin upset. I was... I couldn't move my hands, ya know [in shackles]. If I coulda moved my hands, before he could've said fifty years, I woulda went over the desk at him. And real quick.

This same individual, while having just expressed his desire to attack the magistrate, speaks of managing his appearance in order to prevent a potentially longer prison term:

Defendant # 3 [Others] always told me, ya know, 'Speak through your attorney'. It coulda been worse if I hadn't spoke through my attorney. He coulda given me 55 or 60 years instead of 50. I was expecting some time in the upper twenties, I didn't want to make it worse by saying something out of turn to him.

Likewise, other defendants viewed their attorney as their legal, experienced mouthpiece in court. When asked if they felt comfortable addressing the court or a witness, many defendants said they preferred to let their attorney speak for them.

Defendant # 3 Q. Why didn't you speak up?

A. Because it wouldn't have been good.

Q. Why isn't it good to speak out?

A. They [judge, jury, audience] would have called me hostile if I would have spoke out of turn. I'm supposed to be seen, not heard.

Q. Why only seen, not heard?

A. That's why they feel I hired my lawyers. I talk through my lawyer. ...Your attorney, he knows the things. He knows the laws. That's why he's your attorney.

. . .

Defendant # 7 A. ...At that point, ya know, I'm not a lawyer. I don't know... I know a decent amount about the Law but I don't know everything about it. And in the eyes of the judge and in the eyes of the prosecution, ya know, I'm still the accused, I'm a little peon, they're not gonna... they don't want to talk to me, they want to talk to my lawyer.

Q. Why is that? Why don't they want to talk to you?

A. I don't know. They don't want to talk to me I guess because I'm not on their ego level of being a lawyer. I can't talk their little legal jargon and whatever and ...

Q. Do you think you could have represented yourself? A. Well, I know I could have, but it probably would have ended absolutely disastrously. I probably would have gone away for seven years [defendant sentenced to probation].

A defendant's court experience is markedly different from his or her taken-for-granted "home world" or civilian way of life (Goffman, 1961, p.12). This difference contributes to the strangeness of some court experiences; court language is not the same language the defendant uses in everyday life. The accused may be unable to effectively communicate via "legalese" and this encourages the defendant's silence and non-participation. One elderly defendant commented that he was unable to understand all that was being said in court. He explained that he had been employed as a frontdoor "greeter" at a local merchandise store and that his "home world" never contained specialized legal rhetoric. This defendant was faced with what he described as a "very foreign" predicament.

Regular and official court participants have a monopoly on legal rhetoric and its use. Defendants in this study were uncomfortable with legal terms and procedures and, as a result, found themselves limited and subordinated by the court. The "official" context of the courtroom restricts the accused's performance by repudiating his or her use of a "home world" language.

Generally, judges will direct queries about the defendant to the defense counsel, ostensibly ignoring the accused. This becomes an irritant for a defendant who desires to tell his or her side of the story. During my interviews, defendants expressed frustration with judges who appeared to ignore their presence in court. Defendants could not understand why judges would limit their ability to address the court during various hearings. Unfortunately, however, none of the defendants recognized the legal significance of "being ignored" by the judge: by limiting the defendant's ability to address the court (for whatever reason), the judge prevents him or her from making potentially incriminating remarks. Herein lies a great irony: the court context, while attempting to protect the defendant's rights, impedes his or her disclosure of information. Defendants longed to sit down with the judge (or the prosecutor) and freely discuss issues relating to the trial and sentencing. The fact that such a situation rarely, if ever, presents itself only adds to the defendant's belief that the court process is oppressive and partial.

A defendant's belief that his or her trial presentation is limited appears to be grounded in the structure of the courtroom itself. The courtroom appears to contribute to the accused's fear and awe of the trial or, for that matter, any court appearance. Courtroom majesty, whether recognized by the defendant or not, contributed to his or her feelings about the court proceeding. When asked if there was a difference between the courtroom and the jail room in which these interviews took place, defendants stated that the courtroom would not allow the same free discourse thought to be possible if trial was held in the jail room.

Defendant # 8 Q. What if the judge were to come in here [interview booth] right now, along with the prosecutor and your defense attorney, would that be the same thing [as courtroom]? A. No, cuz if they were all here, we could all just sit at this table and carry on a little conversation for at least five or ten minutes. I could tell them where I'm coming from. Ya know, but I know that's not gonna happen.

Q. Is that different than what happened in the courtroom?

A. Yeah, it makes a big difference, I mean this [indicating booth] will more respect them, ya know, you could tell the judge where you're coming from cuz, ya know, I would tell the judge, in a little room with just us, I say, ya know, 'Can I talk to you for a minute or two?' and I'd just tell him how I feel and if I'm gonna do it [offense] again or not.

Q. Can you do that when you're in the courtroom?

A. Nope. There's a lot of power in that courtroom. Q. Why does the courtroom have power as opposed to this interview room?

A. If we were all in this room, we could all talk and work things out. In the courtroom, everybody is standing around you, listening. Cops right next to the judge, behind you, and everything. Big crowd, big courtroom.

. . .

Defendant #3 Q. Well, I'm trying to get a feel for what you would say is the difference, if any, between what we're doing right now [in the jail interview room] and the "courtroom"?

A. The difference is I got, right here talking to you, I have the freedom of speech. You're not telling me 'Well hold on, speak to your attorney, speak to me through your attorney, let your attorney tell me what you want me to hear'. And then when my attorney says it all wrong to the judge, he takes it the wrong way. [In this interview room], coming out of my mouth, he hears it coming from me. Well, he can answer to me face to face. We can talk and look at each other face to face.

At bond hearings, the judge directly questioned defendants but the questions dealt mainly with the defendant's residence, work history, and family. In addition to bond court, the judge asked direct questions of the defendant when accepting a negotiated plea of guilt. Such questions pertain to the defendant's understanding of what he or she is forfeiting by pleading guilty (full jury trial, right to appeal beyond thirty days). The questions are designed to elicit "yes" or "no" answers. Defendants are unable to elaborate on any posed question and if he or she does not understand a particular point, any questions to the attorney must wait until the hearing is complete.

Defendant # 7 Q. You had mentioned a little before - people were controlling things in there - did you feel that you had any control in the courtroom?

A. Nope, none at all.

Q. Why?

A. The only, I mean, the only thing that I could do was choose between things that they decided and they offered. And I mean every time I've been before the judge it's just kind of a yes, no, yes, done - ya know. It just seems like there's a meeting about my life that I have no part of and they're gonna take my money and sentence me for however long they decide. I don't know, it's just unnerving, sitting, not having any control.

Defendants viewed court events and the rooms in which they occurred as fearful places and deferred to them. The defendants I interviewed were concerned with their lack of input in the frontstage court process. Moreover, they were uncomfortable with the official, majestic channels of courtroom communication and decorum; the accused's fanciful preference to informally discuss the case with a judge indicates an alternative response to the formal context of courtroom power.

Defendants preferred their non-participation in the courtroom in order to insulate against severe sanctions. Such deference within the court context consummates the power transaction defined by Luckenbill (1979): the accused (as target) interprets the court event (source) as oppressive majesty and, as a response, constructs a deferential state.

Defendant # 8 Q. When you went before the judge, how did you present yourself?

A. I put my hands behind my back, ya know, just sometimes look at him, answer his questions, whatever. Be honest, ya know.

Q. The fact that you stood in front of him with your hands behind your back... Why did you do that?

A. Cuz, I show respect to adults, ya know, all the time. I mean, I'm not gonna go up there and put my hands on top of his desk and go all over the table. It's just my way of respecting people.

Q. Are you respecting him because he's an adult or because he's the judge?

A. In both ways. I'm respecting his courtroom.

Q. What would happen if you stood there and put your hands on his bench and just slouched and ...?

A. First, the guards here [jail] they tell you to put your hands behind your back and right away if you don't do that they handcuff you. They think you're gonna do something to the judge.

Q. How would you describe the courtroom to another defendant who hasn't been in court before?

A. Just go in there and try to talk to him. Be polite, ya know, put your hands behind your back, don't go out over his desk [motioning]. Just relax, let your lawyers do all the talking. Before you go in there, tell them you want this and this and this. Just talk whenever the judge asks you something. Just don't go out of hand and start talking by yourself.

Q. Why shouldn't you talk by yourself?

A. If they're trying to carry on a conversation among themselves, between the state's attorney and lawyers, and you're disturbing them, that's disrespectful.

Regardless of the fact that a given case revolves around the defendant, he or she still defers to officials for fear of disturbing or interrupting the sanctity of the court event. Deference, therefore, must be shown; the accused must exhibit and present an acquiescent image to others.

A defendant's comportment and dress are two ways that shape how defendants are allowed to or restricted from expressing information to an audience. His or her relative non-participation in court proceedings makes it difficult for an audience (the judge, jury, or press) to gauge the accused's moral stature[11]. Instead, the audience is left to examine the accused's courtroom appearance and manner. The defendant's "personal front" (Goffman, 1959, p.24) informs participants and audience about his or her attitude toward the trial event. For example, one defendant was observed entering the courtroom wearing a sweatshirt emblazoned with a large marijuana leaf; this defendant appeared to exhibit bravado and demeanor reflecting his disrespect of the courtroom. This defendant was quickly ushered from the room by his attorney and advised to return wearing appropriate clothing. Most of the subjects interviewed for this study, however, recognized the importance of self-presentation before an audience: laughing or giggling in court would indicate that the defendant is not taking the situation seriously; inattentiveness would reveal a lack of concern.

Defendant # 2 I kept my composure. I wanted to tell the prosecutor 'Look, motherfucker, I didn't do that shit!' but I couldn't because the judge and the jury would be watching me. I was afraid of what they might see and think. I mean, I'm already accused. I need to look as innocent as possible.

. . .

Defendant # 3 ...You gotta have a serious look because this is my life we're talking about. I can't be laughing, I can't be giggling, I can't be smiling even if the judge smiles at me. I can't smile at him back because my life is in his hands. He's gonna sit here and give me a number and I gotta do half of his number in a place where I gotta fight my way out. So I gotta be serious in front of him so he'll take me serious.

. . .

Defendant # 1 Q. What do you do in the courtroom to express yourself? A. I take notes. I'm up there writing everything down on paper.

Q. Why?

A. Cuz it tells the jury that I'm payin' attention and that I'm concerned about my case. That's good cuz the jury sees it.

As mentioned earlier, defendants do not necessarily understand all that is being said or portrayed at trial. However, they must at least appear to follow and comprehend the proceedings. Notetaking, attentive watching, or making whispered comments to one's defense attorney are some ways in which defendants explained how they feigned attention and understanding within the courtroom.

Brissett & Edgley (1990) note that human beings are not only expressive, but they are also aware of their expressiveness. Being aware of one's expressiveness can be used to organize one's experiences, to manipulate and deceive others, and to present one's self in a more favorable light (p.5). In the case of defendants within a courtroom context, impression management is designed to present one's self in a deferential stance and to feign attentiveness to the proceedings. The defendants interviewed explained that they were often aware of how they appeared in the presence of the judge or jury; they sought to appear in respectful and attentive poses, claiming that docility was clearly a more favorable position while inside the courtroom.

Defendant #7 Q. How did you act...?

A. As polite as I possibly could.

Q. Why?

A. Um, I would just eh, at least try to make as much of a good impression as I could. Ya know, however little that could possibly help, still it's better than doing nothing. ... I just stood straight forward with my hands in the front [motioning] and stood up straight and looked him in the eye, answered what he asked and tried to look really concerned and scared. It kinda came natural.

Q. Why did you act concerned and scared? A. I guess it was kind of a plea for sympathy, I don't know. I guess that's what it really is, trying to personalize it, I guess, a little bit more. ...I don't know if it would really help, but it definitely can't hurt. Ya know, you dress nice and hope and pray.

One defendant was a police officer who had shot her boyfriend with her service revolver. Given the prosecution's version of events, this defendant admitted that she tried to diffuse the state's argument by intensifying her effeminate demeanor:

Defendant # 4 You gotta be timid because the prosecutor's painting me out to be some wild, partying, crazy woman with gun, that went ballistic one night because her... she found out her boyfriend had a one-nighter. They said that before I even got home that I was gonna go after him and that I had every intention of going after him and shooting him in the head. If I was gonna shoot him, I wouldn't have aimed for the head, cuz that's not how I'm trained [as police officer]. Um, the way they portrayed me, um, I had to totally tone it down and go the other way, act real feminine.....

Costumes and props added to the concerns voiced by some defendants. Fear about their cosmetic image before an audience worried those who, for one reason or another, lacked civilian or "home world" clothing to wear in court. Those defendants who remained in custody during the court proceedings would appear wearing institutional garb if suitable clothing was not provided by family members or attorneys. During one sentencing hearing, the defendant (the driver of a car involved in a fatal shooting) was escorted into the courtroom clothed in a blue jail jumpsuit and shackled at the wrists and ankles:

Defendant # 3 Q. When they brought you into court, you were shackled. You were cuffed during the entire hearing. How'd you feel about that?

A. It didn't make me feel good. The jail told me that I needed my lawyers to ask the judge to have the shackles removed. They could've done that, cuz it don't look good in front of the judge. Here I am standing in front of all these people in the courtroom wearing this stuff [jail uniform]..

Q. To the others in the courtroom - the spectators - how do you think they saw you, wearing the waist-belt and hand- cuffs?

A. That made me look like I did it [the murder] -- I was the one who really did it. The judge sends me... Like I was the one who shot the girl, like I was the mastermind behind the plan.

Usually, people care a great deal about how they appear before others. Dramaturgical awareness exists when one becomes aware of his or her own expressiveness. For defendants, this awareness becomes an important contingency in attempts to construct meaningful definitions of the situation (Brissett & Edgley, 1990, p.6). Because defendants are aware of their limited position within the courtroom and have concerns about possibly jeopardizing their situation, self-presentation is considerably important. Defendants recognize the courtroom and the proceedings therein as a fearful place that is beyond his or her control. Moreover, several defendants I interviewed recognized their courtroom position as being "in the spotlight"; it is during such recognition that self-awareness, or "dramaturgical realization" (p.9), occurs.

Defendant # 3 Q. You're kinda concerned about how people see you in that courtroom?

A. Right. There's twelve people there that are trying to decide on my life. I don't want them see me like 'He's lying, fuck him!' ya know.

Q. What would that do to your case?

A. It would hurt it very bad.

Q. In what way?

A. Taking my case, it was a violent case [murder]. So if I stood up and was like 'I object your honor, he's lying, the little fucker..!' ya know -- that's being violent. I'd be pertaining [sic] myself as a violent person, jumping up like that.

Q. Would you have wanted to get up and say 'Hey, look that fucker's lying!'?

A. Yeah, real bad.

The defendant's dramaturgical awareness and resulting behavior appear to be a response, or defensive face-saving mechanism, to the perceived oppressive courtroom context.

The criminal trial is designed to protect the accused from unwarranted arrest and punishment; the defendant is given the opportunity to answer charges and confront the accusing party. However, a criminal trial may also be considered a degradation ceremony (Garfinkle, 1959, p.421) whereby the accused undergoes a demonizing process of accusation intended to determine guilt with respect to a violation of law; the prosecution attempts to designate and label the accused as a reprehensible wrongdoer. A trial adds to the degradation of the accused which first originates with his or her arrest. As indicated above, the defendant acts in a submissive and deferential manner throughout the process for fear of inflated sanctions. This deference, then, obligates the accused to personally engage in his or her own degradation.

The defendants I interviewed recognized the difficulty of addressing the accusations which presented them in a negative light. This demonization is based on "official" accounts (e.g., police reports) and the claims made by state agents (e.g., prosecutors). Defendants, having recognized their minor position in the court hierarchy, expressed frustration in countering allegations and innuendoes made by the prosecution.

Defendant # 6 Q. How do you think the prosecutors are going to portray you at trial?

A. As a low-life, I suppose. Or a predator. I think that's maybe what they'll try to do. As a predator and a ... I don't know. ...[They're] trying to tear me down. And also, they're trying to paint me as somebody that probably should be locked-up and the key thrown away.

. . .

Defendant # 3 Q. What do you see them doing, or how do you think they will portray you at the sentencing?

A. As a real bad person. As a real bad criminal. As a person that eh, doesn't care about the law, ya know, doesn't care about nothing. He just continuously breaks the law.

Q. And how does that make you feel?

A. It make me feel mad because it's not true. It don't make me feel good. But there's nothing that I can do about it. ...I can't tell the prosecutor, I can just tell the judge cuz the judge passes down my sentence. The prosecutor asks for the sentence but the judge decides on what sentence he's gonna give me. I feel that it ain't gonna make a difference because of the simple fact that when I was in trial my lawyer argued my case. He argued everything that I had told to him that, ya know, should be argued and still yet the jury believed the prosecutor. The Jury believed what the prosecutor said, that I was a member of this gang cuz my past criminal record and therefore I did this crime, because of my past criminal record. Ya know, stuff like that, them are lies right there. But, who am I to, ya know,... I'm sitting there, I'm a nobody. The prosecutor's got this job. He's the next person to the head State's Attorney in Lake County. Who is the jury gonna believe? [They're] a bunch of white-collar people, who are they gonna believe? They gonna believe me? A person that they're sitting there saying I'm a gang member, I went out and I did kill somebody? Or are they gonna believe the state's attorney who's sitting there acting, ...coming in my face and going like this [motioning] and pointing in my face and yelling, but I can't do nothing but just sit there.

Several of the defendants believed that court officials often exaggerated the severity of one's offense during initial court appearances. This is done, primarily by the prosecution, to expand the bargaining tools used to entice the defendant into accepting a plea agreement. A seasoned public defender clarified this issue by explaining that the state inflates or overstates charges in the hope of prompting a speedy and smooth disposition of cases: "Why should they [prosecutors] use a dust-pan broom to clean things up when instead they can use an industrial leaf-blower." Negative images of the defendant portrayed by court officials contributes to the degrading situation experienced in the courtroom. A drug offender related the following:

Defendant # 7 It's aggravating because it's... they generalize everything. I mean, they made it out to be, ya know, I could be, ya know, the guy [dealing drugs] a block away from, ya know, a grade school or something like that. Ya know, things so far from the truth. They're just insinuated.... especially when they start going with their little speeches. ...I don't know, it just lumped me into a huge category automatically, impersonally, and I was gonna be dealt with accordingly.

Another drug offender unwittingly referred to the "criminal" label as a construction by moral entrepreneurs. However, as with a majority of those interviewed, this same individual utilized a reductionist slant when speaking of his offense; rigid boundaries surrounding definitions of crime became blurred when defendants referred to their own transgressions of law[12]. Here, "defendant" definitions depart from "system" definitions:

Q. Now, the court has defined you as a "criminal"...

A. Yeah.

Q. ...what does that mean?

A. You're a criminal, I mean, you did a crime. They think you're a criminal.

Q. When you say "they," what do you mean?

A. The court, the state's attorneys, the judge.

Q. How do you feel about them considering you a criminal?

A. I'm not a real criminal, cuz, ya know, that time, that.... those drugs were on me, they were on me but they weren't mine. Ya know, I was holding for someone else. But I don't consider this criminal. I don't commit no crime... I mean, people do commit crimes: thefts, armed violence, murders. That's a criminal right there. I'm no criminal. It's a crime but it's not a real violent crime.

Q. How do you feel about the fact that they're up in court talking about you as a drug dealer, as a criminal? How do you feel about them saying those things about you?

A. I mean, I feel bad because they're sayin' that. Cuz, a criminal, to me, is a person like I told you, a criminal that commits all these kinds of crimes and everything and never stops. I've never been convicted of a crime like this and I'm not planning on getting convicted again cuz, ya know, that's no crime to me. It is a crime but, ya know, it not a big enough crime to call me a criminal. I feel mad, sad, worried, ya know, cuz I never been a criminal in my whole life.

Labeling by court officials is a degradation situation that is well recognized by defendants. The ability of court ceremonies to dramatize evil adds to the defendant's perceived inability to control or contribute to the trial situation. How, for example, does one effectively manage accusations of sexual abuse or attempted murder?

When talking about negative issues contained in official court documents, one defendant succinctly captured the essence of courtroom demonization:

Defendant # 3 If [the judge] really wants to know me, ask me! Don't ask somebody else who has me on a piece of paper that's gonna make me look bad. Cuz the system's not here to make me look good. They're here to make me look as bad as possible. And the things they said in the [pre- sentence investigation] report made me look real bad. But I'm not a bad person.

Demonization appears to contribute to the alienation and detachment experienced by many of those interviewed for this study; accusations seem to disparage the defendant's moral identity and contribute to a sense of powerlessness within the court system. As Hopper (1983) indicates:

The courtroom criminal trial is a degradation ceremony par excellence. The state invokes moral indignation for the ritual destruction of the moral identity of the accused. Despite the myth of the presumption of innocence until guilt is proved, the defendant's moral identity has already been severely damaged by the accusations (p.190).

Ultimately, the accused is reified by courtroom events and by those who officially operate within the justice process. By means of degradation ceremonies and demonizing labels, defendants are no longer acting human beings but rather objectified things acted upon.

By interviewing defendants, as well as dramaturgically examining trial contexts, this study sought to ascertain how accused men and women experience courtroom events. Courtroom hearings are dramatic and ritualized occurrences in which power and authority flow from mystifying processes and the negotiation of images. The court system demands order, majesty, and a dignified decorum in which to "present" justice; the accused is to perceive only the majesty of the courtroom, where legal rationality is displayed for all to see even if all do not understand it (Ericson & Baranek, 1982, p.217). A defendant recognizes the court environment as being constrictive, at best indifferent, to his or her ability to act in meaningful ways -- ways which he or she believes may affect the court outcome. Tension between oppressive justice-system designs and defendant frames results in an absurd situation: the accused believes that he or she is unable to effectively participate in his or her own court event.

This study found that defendants perceive their court situation as one of powerlessness -- as one in which they lack control over their case and are unable to effectively perform and present information to others in a court setting. While the accused are commonly thought to be a part of a defense team operating in the courtroom, they, as we have seen, usually do not actively participate in official courtroom processes. As a result, defendants must rely on other members of the defense team to present their interests in court. Defendants assume a deferential position in the court hierarchy and are essentially audience members to their own absurd courtroom situation.

For a criminal defendant, accusations by the state and the ceremonial context and procedures of a courtroom can be an authoritative situation from which it is difficult to emerge unscathed. Defendants are isolated by courtroom "majesty"; courtroom processes imply a degree of exclusivity for those ordained to participate. The accused is confronted with a pre-fabricated and pre-scripted drama in which he or she becomes an "outsider" in relation to the grandeur of the court "community." If, during a trial, a defendant reflects on "what's going on here?", the subsequent frame may be one of powerlessness and lack of control. According to defendants, the courtroom can be a frightening place owing to a number of situational factors: An elevated, priestly magistrate is empowered to send individuals to prison; specialized language discourages participation in court dialogue; fear of aggravating a sentencing situation brings about non-participation and deference; and mortifying imputations or demonizing innuendoes "ritually pollute" (Goffman, 1963) the accused's identity.

While explaining this thesis to a justice-system colleague, I was struck by her question: "So what? Who cares about these maggots?" This question reflects a sentiment that contributes to the predicament faced by the criminally accused. The presumption of innocence and defendant typifications appear to be all too readily dismissed as inconsequential. It is the defendant's perspective, however, that is important if we are to appreciate his or her position within the court context. As Camus (1946) noted, "Being the accused counts for something." It should be stressed that the court event involves the defendant as much as it does the prosecutor, judge, or jury. In fact, the accused is perhaps the most important courtroom fixture given that he or she is directly affected by the consequences of the trial event. Thus, the accused's frame of the court process is as important as any other frame. By sociologically exploring defendant definitions of the courtroom, my hope was to draw attention to an otherwise neglected character of the court process; the more enlightened we become regarding defendants immersed in the trial event, the more difficult it becomes to reify them and to sustain practices which subordinate them.

Further, in utilizing dramaturgical methods as well as ethnographic accounts, this thesis provides an alternative and explorative way to examine court processes. However, this study is somewhat limited because it includes interviews from only eight public defender clients who were incarcerated in the local jail. Future research regarding court contexts from the defendant's perspective could be further enriched by investigating larger sample groups of defendants (8), defendants who do not speak English, defendants represented by private attorneys, defendants in civil cases, delinquent juveniles, and those defendants who are acquitted at trial....

Regardless of whether or not they are found guilty, the criminally accused is powerless within, and profaned by, the court process. It is doubtful that my research will spark justice-system reform to alleviate defendant alienation. Nevertheless, this thesis does shed a diminutive sliver of light onto the courtroom perspective of defendants. If the accused's reading of the trial frame is based on meanings brought about by mystification of the court process, then perhaps defendant typifications can be modified through educational means: The more information provided to defendants about events occurring in the courtroom, the less he or she may feel anxious and helpless with respect to the trial event. Moreover, if the defendant is informed about trial procedure, the monopoly of information (and therefore a monopoly of power) held by court agents may be weakened, albeit, slightly. By explaining otherwise foreign and perplexing legal processes to the accused (before, during, or after a court appearance), defense attorneys may mitigate some of the court-related bewilderment held by defendants. Likewise, rather than ritually and, sometimes, mindlessly reciting legal rhetoric during pre-trial and sentencing hearings, judges could enlighten defendants by explaining issues of law; I observed judges elucidate points of law to jurors in a painstakingly pedestrian vernacular in contrast to another judge who sped through a guilty plea without ever looking at the defendant. Rather than dismissing the accused as a thing or commodity, perhaps judges could focus on the accused as an individual who is, more than likely, unfamiliar with legal terminology. These notions, however, may be nothing more than speculative pipedreams. One must keep in mind that our court system operates by means of rich custom and majesty. Power belongs to the presiding judge and, to a lesser degree, those official agents who operate inside the courtroom. Defendants, due to the very nature of the justice system, are located at the lowest rung in the court hierarchy: a powerless position composed of ignorance and required deference.
 

notes:

1) See Visher (1987), Brooks and Doob (1975), Saks (1986), and Greenberg and Ruback (1982) for research summaries regarding legal and extra-legal factors in jury and judge decision-making. Official conclusions may be affected by a defendant's appearance, socio-economic status, criminal history, etc.

2) I'm referring to "majesty" with respect to Kant's treatment of beautiful vs. sublime; majesty is not necessarily a reference to something positive. Rather, majesty, with respect to a courtroom context, may be considered threatening and overwhelming to some participants, namely, the criminally accused.

3) Ericson and Baranek (1982) is an exception. They interviewed Canadian defendants with regard to their options/choices (i.e., provide police with statement, accept plea negotiation, etc,) during the entire judicial process, from arrest through incarceration. Likewise, Casper (1972) interviewed U.S. defendants and prisoners with respect to their definitions of judicial processes and personnel.

4) Although the accused is traditionally considered a participant within a trial, he or she is primarily an audience member to the expressive contexts of official court performers.

5) Accused individuals remanded to the county jail have no choice but to attend court -- the Lake County Jail is physically attached to the courthouse. Inmates thus reside in the government complex.

6) For most pretrial and sentencing hearings, defendants who have been remanded to the jail wear the blue-colored jail garb issued to them when they were booked into the facility. The institutional clothing comes to signify a uniform for the defendant, easily distinguishing him or her from the regal clothing worn by court officials. During a trial, however, the defendant is usually provided with more formal clothing by his or her family or lawyer; sweaters, old sport-jackets, or a variety of articles hastily retrieved from re-sale shops. While more appropriate than the jail uniform, a defendant's trial clothing may lack the panache exhibited by wardrobes worn by court officials.

7) Likewise, if power is an interactive transaction between "source" and "target", does such an asymmetrical relationship imply powerlessness on the part of the "target"?

8) "Justice" would otherwise be comprised of the attitude: "Let's take 'em out back and shoot 'em!"

9) In examining "plea bargaining", Langbein (1979) explains that trial procedures make it "costly" for a defendant to claim his or her constitutional right to trial:
 

Also see Mucahy (1994) and Brunk (1979) for discussion regarding "sentence discounts" and coercive plea negotiations, respectively. Nardulli, Eisenstein, and Flemming (1988) cite empirical evidence indicating the existence of trial tariff or penalty (p.244).

10) Some defendants interviewed voiced implicit threats against the judge but admitted that doing harm to the magistrate would only make matters worse. Moreover, a few individuals mentioned that physical restraints such as handcuffs and court security officers played a role in their non-action. For example:

Defendant # 8 Q. Why do you think they have so many people in there to control you?

A. I guess they're there to protect the judge.

Q. Against.....?

A. Against me.

Q. Why would they protect the judge from people like you?

A. He could get people mad, or like me, I could get mad and go up there and slap him, ya know, go up there an do something. He needs protection. He's got bodyguards, bodyguards in the courtroom. He's got a bodyguard behind me when I first get up and right next to him.

11) As with all expressive social life, actors and audience are one in the same. The actor, while ostensibly performing before others, is conscious of other actors: a judge presiding over a trial is also an audience to the exchanges occurring within the context of the trial. Likewise, because the defendant is a rhetorical fixture in the courtroom, he or she is viewed (by an audience) as giving a performance, albeit subtle. But the defendant also observes the court event, its actors, and even the non-official audience. Audience and actor are mutually interdependent.

12) See Sykes and Matza (1957) regarding "neutralization" as a coping device whereby people who commit deviant acts neutralize their guilt through techniques such as denying responsibility, denying that injury has occurred, and criticizing those who condemn the deviant act.

Abercrombie, N., Hill, S., and Turner, B. 1988 Dictionary of Sociology 2nd ed. London: Penguin.

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