by Mingus Casey
Life sucks sometimes.
November 7th, 2007.
Early in the morning, I'm playing Armed Assault.
I'm creating the perfect ambush, two men with RPG's against a Stryker and two loaded Humvee's, they do it on autopilot; burning vehicles and bodies everywhere. The map is a tight urban map.
The game has a reputation as being the most realistic combat simulator ever, every new game is always regarded by reviewers as being better than the last one, development is occurring at a rapid rate.
A loud knock on the door.
“Excuse me, do you live here?”
“Yeah.”
“Can we come in?”
I have the right to privacy and security in my own home, the Bill of Rights says so.
“No.”
Unfortunately, it's the Police.
“We can smell cannabis, we're invoking the Misuse of Drugs Act, Section 18(2).”
“Oh.”
She didn't quote the whole section, just some numbers and words.
The door was wide open, stupid.
They enter, I don't stop them, I can't stop them, that would be obstructing a police officer.
I know what that is now.
Blue uniforms, stab proof vests, a hostile attitude.
“Where is the dope?”
“No comment.”
One of them walks up to my partner Christina, and starts to question her. “Name? Address? Date of birth?”
My partner is only wearing a t-shirt, that's all they ask her, and they write the answers into a little notebook with a black cover.
Their focus shifts back to me.
One of the officers is lanky and tall, he looks friendly. The female constable, name undisclosed due to threat of legal action, shorter, medium build with dark hair, her body language is hostile.
I can't smell cannabis, there are no implements lying around, no roaches in the ash tray.
“Where is it?” they demand.
I refuse to comment.
“Tell us where it is or we'll get the drug squad and turn this place upside down.”
“No comment.” I start to feel nervous.
They look around, the male officer walks into the bathroom and looks through the cupboards, he finds nothing of interest to him.
She walks to my computer, which is on, Armed Assault, I love that game.
She pats a dark red plastic bag, and looks around.
I guess she can't see any evidence.
“Where is the weed? We'll get the drug squad, this place will be turned upside down, it'll look like a tip and we'll find it, where is it?”
I think, and remember something I should have gotten rid of a long time ago. For crying out loud.
The aggression and pressure is intimidating me.
I don't like Police, they've never solved any crime committed against me, they've hurt my friends, they've hurt me in the past, and I have a complaint going against them at the moment, punched me in the face on video. Not that anyone cares, but every single Officer there gave a version of events where no punch happened, then I supplied the IPCA with video footage of it. I haven't heard anything substantial back from the IPCA.
About four days before they knock on my door, I'd decided I'd do a civil suit, emailed Brett about it, he didn't seem very interested, said it was difficult and probably not worth the effort.
“Final chance, we'll get the drug squad.”
I sigh, and say “Okay.”
I reach behind the bookshelf and pass them a small bag.
She seems satisfied, and says to me “You are under arrest... You have the right to remain silent, you can call a lawyer if you require...”
“Who sold it to you? Where did you get it?”
“No comment.”
They ask again and I refuse to answer.
The male officer asks, “How much is that, a fifty bag?” and I say “No comment.”
I just feel bad, this is horrible.
I'm not hurting anyone, I'm not stealing anything, I'm not driving on a learners license, I'm not even protesting.
It feels like theft, like they have walked into my house, stolen my stuff, and now they plan on doing worse things to me.
I've never been arrested or warned for drug usage before, and the idea to ask for one doesn't even occur to me.
I've had the Misuse of Drugs Act invoked on me randomly while walking around Wellington in the past, but, I wasn't misusing drugs and they never found anything.
When a friends mother heard about that, she said we should write to a politician, that it was wrong of them to do that, but the law is the law.
I ask, “Can I call my lawyer?” and they say “Sure.”
I call Pete, he's a good friend of mine, and tell him what's happening.
His reaction is typical, he always sounds like he might be about to laugh but doesn't, tells me to say “No comment,” asks a question.
I answer, “a fifty.”
I don't recall if he asked how much there was, or how much the Police estimate there was.
Soon, the phone-call is over.
I ask “Can I roll a cigarette?” and she says “Okay.” I roll one.
I'm smoking it when they say “Let's go to the station.”
I say to Christina, “I'll meet you at the Police station?”
“Sure..."
The Police take me to the station, process me.
My ethnicity is Pakeha-Maori.
The paperwork is filled out almost on autopilot.
She asks me, politely and amicably, perhaps when she cannot get what she wants through pressure she resorts to other means, “Would you like to give a DNA sample?” and I refuse.
I view my DNA as belonging to me, copyright Mingus Casey.
If they really want it, they can buy it off me with a contract and terms and conditions.
Then they take me to the new electronic fingerprint machine, scan me electronically. These hands are on a database now.
The guy doing it seems okay, calls me “Friend,” but is he really my friend?
Would a friend do this to another friend? I don't think so.
I'm going to call him Friendly.
Friendly asks me, “Why don't you want to give your DNA?”
I reply “You think that database is secure? It'll just help them make better bio-weapons.”
He doesn't know what I'm talking about, doesn't know what other countries do to peoples privacy and genomes if they feel it will give them a military advantage, doesn't know about the idea's some in America have.
I hope he doesn't ever give his DNA to the database, that's about all there is from me for Friendly.
Maybe he'll read this one day.
Bail conditions, Not to consume non-perscription drugs, to reside at 3/313 The Terrace.
Ok, fair enough, I sign them.
Then the processing is done, and I am let out, Christina is in the waiting room and we walk home together.
I tell my new neighbors, and one of them recommends Michael Appleby.
They must have moved in on the same day, normally I'm okay at doing things like getting lawyers.
I also call a guy from Norml, he recommends Chris Tunnet and Michael Appleby as good lawyers to deal with.
I meet Chris Tunnet, we don't talk much, he feels frosty, I'm sure he's good at his job but he isn't quite me, I don't know, I'm picky, I'm sure he's great at his job.
I remember him saying, “A plausible explanation...”
I email Brett and Chai, Chai is from the Maori Community Law Center, they've helped me in the past.
Brett is good, really good, but I don't know how much cannabis law experience he has, so I figure Michael Appleby is worth a shot.
I call him up, he seems friendly, sympathetic, and we meet up. He charges $200 an hour, really expensive, but I figure he's worth it. He doesn't do legal aid work.
I have money in the bank, but it won't last forever.
I turn up to the first court appearance, sit there for a long time, law is interesting. I wanted to be a lawyer, move to Otago and study law, right before this happened.
Mark Lillicoe is there, Mark previously defended me when I was charged with Obstructing a Police Officer. I don't think I obstructed a Police officer, the Police tackled a friend of mine out of nowhere, everyone was screaming, and I linked arms with him to slow down what was happening.
When they asked me why, I said “Self defence.”
Obviously I thought they were acting wrongfully.
Turns out they were acting lawfully, they just didn't tell anyone Brock was under arrest.
I was sure I was innocent, I said no to diversion, Somali Young gave me some legal advice and I was convicted, and ordered to write an apology. Mark Lillicoe told me not to write it so I didn't.
Apparently the Police think an apology is proof of guilt.
Then I went to the Maori Community law centre to organise an appeal, I met Chai Lim there. He recommended me to Brett Crowley, who took my appeal through court with Brett Crowley, he “won” an appeal.
Technically won anyways, he said I had the option of compromise, going for a Section 106 discharge, or defending it and risking a conviction. I still felt I was innocent, I didn't admit guilt.
I told Brett to go for a 106, and he did his job well. Now I regret it, I shouldn't have taken that option.
Back to reality.
I ask Mark Lillicoe if he can ask the Police about diversion, or Section 106. He says prosecution will just check, and then comes back.
Prosecution is strongly opposed to either, they want to give me a drug conviction.
I don't really see another option so I enter a not guilty plea.
December. I have a really bad cold. I go to a pharmacy, I can't really afford a doctor at the moment, my expenses will be through the roof on legal fees.
I tell the pharmacist my symptoms, she recommends sudafed, says “Do you have id?” and I hand her my drivers license.
Then I realise it costs $20.00, and besides, I have these bail conditions, so I don't buy it.
I buy a pot of vicks vaporub instead, vicks isn't a drug is it?
I enroll in drug counselling, I think my counsellor sees how pointless it is, I'm not a problem user.
A friend suggests to me to try Narcotics Anonymous, it's interesting and I go a few times, more to keep him company than anything else, but it's not really me, I don't feel like I have much in common with these people.
Michael Appleby appears in court with me a few times, , and I'm out of money, court takes forever.
In the mean time, I've been fixing his computer, doing the odd bit of legal secretary work for him in exchange for legal advice, but it's not enough to make a trial worth his while.
Still, his advice is good.
Michael and I are in court, Christina is sitting in the gallery.
I'm in the dock.
Michael and the Judge are talking, the Judge emphasises that I have to plead guilty in order to apply for a Section 106 discharge.
I am constantly learning, shame about the study law idea.
Prosecution say “We would strongly oppose a Section 106 discharge.”
They base their opposition on stuff that happened years ago.
I was a different person then, and I would not repeat the choices made then.
The Taoists say “No man steps into the same river twice, for he is not the same man, nor is the river the same river.”
The Judge, Judge Ellis, says “Whatever.”
It's adjourned to some future date.
I notice my bail conditions don't seem to be in force any more.
In the mean time, Christina feels she really needs the support of her family, she has multiple sclerosis and has been diagnosed with schizophrenia. Although she is no risk to herself or anyone else, and, in my opinion, perfectly capable of adequately looking after herself, she is required by the government to take drugs that make her feel sick.
I am required by the government to not take drugs.
Christina isn't kidding around, I try to explain to her how serious a drug conviction is, how I need to stay and try and make sure this doesn't happen so I can move to Australia with her. She doesn't really get it, she just feels like she's not enjoying the Mental Health Act one bit, and it really is making her sick. She takes the medication and then she can barely move.
She says she really needs to go back.
Really, really needs to.
Besides, her brother is getting married and she wants to be there for the wedding. Her parents send her money, and she buys both of us plane tickets.
A last minute purchase, it cost her more than it should have, I'm sorry about that.
I had a court date to meet first, April 8th, Brett represented me, said we were applying for legal aid.
We buy the tickets the next day, and fly out on the tenth, come back two weeks later.
While we're over there, she says she needs the support of her parents, I feel like I'm breaking apart, the stress sucks.
She loves me though, and I love her, and she comes back. She says we have to move to Australia afterwards, and I say “Okay, I will if I'm allowed to.”
When I get back I find out legal aid was declined, “In the Interests of Justice” and because the penalty is so minor.
I feel a bit guilty that Brett appeared in court for me, I thought it would be approved.
He says he can give me advice, but he won't appear in court on my behalf without money or legal aid, which is fair enough.
I have neither at the moment, and my time is limited.
I don't know if they realize how major a drug conviction is, Michael Appleby seemed to think it would mean I can't go to Australia for two years, America for five.
That's actually worse than a drug conviction, they don't know the surrounding circumstances.
Christina can get interferon medication in Australia, it can slow or prevent the progression of multiple sclerosis sometimes.
She's in constant physical pain while we are over there, pain that serves no evolutionary purpose.
Pain normally serves an evolutionary purpose, multiple sclerosis pain is just pain that is unrelated to external stimuli, life sucks for her.
While she's over there, she's prescribed Tegretol to help with the pain, it helps a bit.
It takes months to see a neurologist in New Zealand, in Australia, it takes three days from the phone call.
My next court appearance is on May 20th.
It's May 15th today.
In between study and everything else, I've been busy.
I saw Mark Lillicoe today, he was duty solicitor at the courts and gave me 10 minutes of help drafting a legal aid re-assessment form.
Yesterday, I met someone else random who thought he was an average lawyer, I wasn't sure if my trial was a one-off.
Then I went to the Community law centre, and they told me Mark Lillicoe's form was pretty average and would probably be declined, after I explained the situation.
I'd thought as much.
They gave me a lot of good help, they are most definitely worth a look.
They also told me to make sure I hand it in tomorrow, not to delay at all.
Tomorrow I'll send the form in, the Community Law Centre is open from 12-2pm on Wednesdays.
I should go to course, but this is more important than course.
I'm missing too much course, I'm a bit worried that I'll fail, and then I'll get declined legal aid again, and then I might get a drug conviction and then Christina might move to Australia, and then I'll be sitting home alone with no money, not enough food, another failed paper, and damaged future prospects.
No.
So yeah, I'm going to do what I think is right, that's one thing I have learned.