by Alan Sears
Chapter Ten
Eighteen Months Later
JOHN PACED THE small space at the head of the conference table. Around the table sat his core team. These were his varsity players, the ones who made history happen, a history he orchestrated. The room remained silent. No one wanted to interrupt when John was so deep in thought. He had been pensive for the last two weeks, edgy, irritable, short-tempered.
He stopped pacing, lifted his head, then faced his team. “Why are we slipping?”
Their heads swiveled, each one looking at the others. Finally, John’s chief-of-staff Donna Lewis spoke. “What do you mean? How are we slipping?”
He sighed like a disappointed parent, then took his seat. He pursed his lips, leaned his elbows on the table, and ran his gaze over each person.
“We’re falling behind. We’ve made headway, but we’re losing momentum.”
Donna looked puzzled. “Maybe I’m the dunce of the group, John, but I don’t follow. It’s been over a year and a half since you were sworn in as assistant attorney general and since then we’ve had scores of successes. How are we losing momentum?”
John tapped a finger on the table, giving the boiling ire in his gut a moment to settle. “We have been on the fast track, people. The president called me a superstar. The vice-president recently referred to me as a miracle worker. Right now, Attorney General Stamper thinks we can do no wrong. He told me so himself. Of course, when these powerful people say such things, they’re not just talking about me. They’re talking about you. Our successes, such as they are, have drawn praise, but it also draws a great deal of attention. The president and attorney general have expectations of us. Very high expectations. I’m afraid we’re about to disappoint them and the country.”
“With all due respect, John,” Donna said, “I’ve seen nothing but praise from key leading academics, broadcasters, journalists, and law enforcement officials from around the world. I would think you’d be doing handsprings.”
John gazed at her, his face as hard as marble, but he kept his tone down. Her face bore new wrinkles; her eyes lacked the luster they once had, and she had gained weight. Clearly she was a person under stress. He turned his attention back to the others and took a deep breath.
“Everyone in this room,” he said, “has a stellar background. You wouldn’t be in this room if I didn’t think you were the best at what you do. Don’t think I don’t appreciate all you’ve done, but we are not doing ENOUGH!” He slapped the table with an open hand. The sound of it echoed in his office and, no doubt, into the hall outside.
A moment later he was on his feet again. Pacing. He had achieved many things that would make anyone else in his position proud. And he was proud, but he wasn’t done. He had a point to prove. He had a country to save.
In the last two years he had been invited to Harvard Law to give the graduation address. It was a coup for someone so young to speak at commencement. While there he met with deans and professors, urging them to send the best and brightest graduates his way.
More invitations rolled in. He spoke on NPR, CBS, MSNBC, and other networks. He even made the cover of Esquire magazine, as one of Washington’s most fashionable young executives. John served as a guest lecturer at Georgetown University Law School and took part in several widely publicized media events.
In record time, he made the list of social invitations and had become a regular at some of the most illustrious progressive think tanks in Washington, and a regular guest at the Human Rights Campaign. His public affairs people, who were allowed to promote John’s public appearances beyond the scope of ordinary DOJ guidelines, were kept busy making arrangements with the media.
Yet he was chronically unhappy.
John took his seat at the head of the conference table again. “Listen, people, we have a terrific program here, and a federal mandate that allows us to get whatever we need when we need it, whether it involves federal or civil cases, mail fraud, or Internet and broadcast violations. We’re empowered to charge in and get the goods, but we haven’t been doing much charging lately. Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?”
Silence dominated the room for a moment until one of the newer attorneys said, “It’s all about time, John. We’re busting our fannies trying to get everything done. There’s just so much paper you can push through the legal pipe at one time.”
“I don’t buy it. Of any department in the DOJ, we have the greatest freedom, the largest latitude. I know you’re working hard, but you’re not working harder or longer than I am. We’ve fallen off our game. Where are the big cases? To achieve our goals, we not only have to prosecute cases but we must prosecute cases that get media coverage. It’s the only way to let the country know we mean business.”
DTED Special Agent Paul Atoms spoke up. “I’ll tell you what’s eating me, John: It’s these people in the western states who won’t do anything to stop the hate speech going on in their jurisdictions. It’s everywhere you look out there. If you go into any of those churches on a Sunday morning, they’ll be preaching that stuff. You can hear it on the radio in your car. If you get any of their junk mail—which I do now and then—it’s always the same: They just keep preaching their hatred. What’s wrong with these people? What’s it going to take to get their attention?”
John frowned. “We know the problem, Paul. We all agree that people like that are the enemies of tolerance. Rehashing that doesn’t address the problem. We’re not getting the message out. We can’t let that go on any longer. So help me, we’re going to show these people they cannot resist the United States government! To do that, we’re going to need some big cases. Some public cases. Those who fight against us are making molehills out of our mountains. That is especially true of the Alliance. The public is going to grow weary of all our talk, so we need to up our game. We need to go big game fishing.”
The team stirred. John continued. “Congress has given us a free hand to do whatever we have to do to get the job done. They wrote a good law, but it’s useless if we don’t use it. Like all laws, the courts will have to interpret what it means, and that’s why the litigation you all do is so important. Can’t somebody make something big happen?”
Lead attorney Joel Thevis cleared his throat. John fixed his eyes on him. Lately, John had come to believe that Thevis was slowing things down with his insistence that every detail of every case be vetted. Thevis was a cautious man. Maybe too cautious.
“We can’t assume the other side won’t fight back, John,” Thevis said. “I don’t think you can always count on open-and-shut cases. It may be well and good to rally the troops, but caution is still the better part of valor.”
“Is that a fact? Better part of valor? Give it a rest, Joel!” John’s words were hot. “The other side will have their lawyers defending their arguments. So what? I don’t doubt they’ll trot out the old First Amendment dodge, but that’s not going to work anymore. The First Amendment was never meant to protect hate speech.”
“But even if we win at the district court level, John, you know they’ll come back at us, over and over again.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that some of these cases are not slam-dunks, even when it looks like we’re winning. I’ve studied some of the cases where the Alliance has been involved, and they don’t just give up because some government agency is involved. They routinely beat the ACLU. They’ve got a lot of experienced people, and they won’t take a beating lying down. But win or lose—and you have to admit, they win a lot—they’re never going to just roll over because DTED is coming to town.”
John’s first impulse was to lash out. Just mentioning the Alliance brought his blood to a boil. Instead of unloading on Joel, John inhaled deeply and shoved his anger down. “Understood, Joel, but that’s why it’s so important to have someone like Chief Justice Isaiah Williams on our side. He understands the importance of the RDTA legislation and why it was written the way it was. It’s just a short ride down Independence Ave
nue to the Supreme Court from here, and anything we take to that level, we win.”
“John, there is more than one justice on the Supreme—”
John didn’t let Thevis finish. “I know how many members sit on the Supreme Court, Joel. Don’t lecture me about constitutional law or the Supreme Court. I’ve argued before them. If anyone in this room understands the court, it’s me.”
“I wasn’t trying to lecture you, John. I’m just saying it would be unwise to assume a victory there even with Chief Justice Williams on our side.”
John waved Thevis off. “Look, we’ve got people all over the country who understand what we’re doing here and why it’s important to establish some benchmarks. By that I mean I want some cases—strong cases that will send a message to every man, woman, and child in America that hate speech is going to stop or there will be a high price to pay. Do you hear what I’m saying?” He turned to Paul Atoms and Bob Maas of the IRS. “I want you to call in your assets. You’ve got informants. Use them. Get us some earth-shaking cases we can go after, and stop fooling around.”
Atoms nodded. “I’m with you, Boss. And here’s something we can use. I know these two guys over in Arlington, across the river, who just set up a website and a 24-hour hotline to report hate speech violations. Anybody who witnesses an open display of bigotry, hate, or intolerance of any kind can go to that website and report it. And all that information comes right back to us. Unless I miss my guess, within a few weeks these guys will be flooded with phone calls and e-mails, and we’ll have more cases than we can handle.”
“Okay, see how it goes, Paul,” John said. “It’s a good start. But you may need to come up with some sort of reward system for people who bring us tips that lead to convictions. We don’t need any small potatoes: just the big stuff. But if they give us a tip that results in a successful prosecution and conviction, they ought to get a tax-free reward or something like that. See what you can come up with. We can work it out, I’m sure. Spread the word that there’s a paycheck for cooperating with this agency. Who knows what you might turn up?” He looked around the room. “Bring me a big fish, people. No more guppies. Find me something that will make them want to start printing newspapers again.”
IT WASN’T LONG before John had a big fish to fry.
The frequency of raids increased often based on leads provided by citizens. DTED officers and agents with the nationwide Hate Crimes Task Force went into churches, ministry offices, and charitable organizations, arrested staffers and volunteers, and marched them in front of the media. There were dramatic photos of men and women in handcuffs doing what the headlines referred to as the “perp walk” or the “frog march.” It was an unforgettable show of force that had enormous PR value for DTED.
Most of those arrested were never convicted. That didn’t matter to John. It didn’t matter to the overall goal of intimidating those who used religion to foment hate. Some were charged, all were humiliated, and many lost their jobs. Their families were publicly embarrassed; but most of them never went to trial, and some of those who did were eventually exonerated.
The presumption of innocence until proven guilty was the heart of the Bill of Rights and kept many of the arrestees out of jail. DTED thought differently. In the new cases brought by John’s team, there was a presumption of guilt, not innocence, whether or not they could substantiate guilt in court. The public scandal devastated the individuals and the religious organizations involved, and made ministry fundraising next to impossible.
John had made it clear, in the light of years of “church shootings” and religious violence, that he didn’t want his agents to get hurt. He frequently reminded them of Ronnie Lee Jefferson’s murder. When the action teams went on raids, they were ordered to show plenty of force, and, when necessary, use force themselves. For John, the object of the raids was the shock value, sending a loud warning to anyone who might be tempted to resist that there would be a price to pay for their foolishness.
In some cases, they would send a dozen agents in full assault gear to arrest a couple of unarmed, middle-aged women. The agents on DTED operations looked more like commandos than law enforcement officers. There were special agents in POLICE labeled windbreakers, and helicopters buzzing overhead. They called in local law enforcement and used bullhorns to command everyone in the building to exit. People would come out with their hands up, some in tears.
There were scenes on the six o’clock news of police investigators working in areas cordoned off with yellow tape, and crime-scene technicians hauling out computers and files in cardboard boxes.
One case drew national attention. Just the kind of case John was looking for. John relished the details. Two men from Gideons International had been handing out Bibles on a public sidewalk in front of an Albany, Georgia, high school. It was a long-held practice that spanned decades. The principal of the school called the police. When the Gideons, both in their late sixties, tried to explain to the officers that the First Amendment protected such activity, one of the officers grabbed a Bible from the man’s hand and slapped him across the face with it. The second Gideon instinctively knocked the officer’s hand away.
A student with a cell phone caught everything on video and the footage was broadcast on the evening news for weeks. The local reporter said on the air, “People once thought of Gideons as law-abiding citizens, but these pictures tell a very different story.” A police department report indicated the officer suffered severe bruises and emotional stress as a result of the incident. A spokesperson for the city said it was apparently no accident the Gideons had taken the name of an ancient warrior and bigot.
Severe bruises? John knew better. He also knew the officer had received several reprimands for overuse of force under cover of authority. John saw no reason to bring up that detail.
Despite excellent media management, some reporters and news outlets, especially in smaller communities, questioned the need for such massive shows of force to bring down peaceful “ministry operations.” This began to build steam and some national talk shows raised questions. John had to become more proactive with the media.
When these first signs of blowback appeared, John went on television to refute allegations that his people were overreaching, overreacting, and using excessive force. He told a CNN reporter, “I shouldn’t have to point out that the police officers and federal agents responding to these cases are upstanding, hard-working men and women, doing the jobs they’ve been trained to do. These are red-white-and-blue Americans, and they’re proud to be serving their country in this way.” It was a message he repeated in every interview.
John Knox Smith explained some of these procedures on another nationally televised interview program hosted by Jonathan Kooper, and specifically mentioned the Gideons case. Unlike previous television interviews, Kooper arranged to have a defense attorney from the Alliance present. The split-screen interview soon turned hot. John struggled to keep his temper. To make matters worse, the Alliance representative was Larry Jordan.
The Alliance attorney came out strong. “Mr. Smith,” Larry said, “you know very well the Georgia Gideons are honest citizens. These are Christian men who volunteer their time to give Bibles to whomever wants them and only to those who want them. They’re men of peace, and your agency is trying to paint them as criminals.”
John’s composure slipped. “Don’t make me laugh. These are men who lashed out at a police officer, causing bodily harm. That’s assault and battery, counselor. That’s basic law. You should know that. How dare you call them men of peace!”
Kooper stepped in. “You must admit, Mr. Smith, most people would agree the Gideons in this case are ordinary, honest citizens.”
“Do they? Do you have an opinion poll for that, Kooper?” John shifted in his seat. “If true, then it only shows how wrong people have been about this bloody religion that wants converts at all costs.”
Larry pounced on the comment. “Mr. Smith, that’s a slander. That’s basic law. You shou
ld know that. You’re attacking the religious beliefs of—”
“I’m not attacking anything.” John raised his voice. “Read your own history. Your religion started two thousand years ago with a blood sacrifice—a human sacrifice at that. The people in your churches are fixated on blood. You sing songs about it and perform rituals in which you drink the blood of Jesus. Can you deny that? If you scratch the surface, even the most peaceful Christians will eventually show their true colors.”
Before Larry could reply, the cell phone video began playing in a loop, repeating only the portion of the dispute where the Gideon grabbed the officer and shoved him away.
Larry objected. “Show the whole thing, Jonathan. Show the officer hitting the Gideon. You’ve cut out the part where the police officer strikes our client across the face.”
Kooper said, “We’ll be back.” The network cut to a commercial break. When the show returned four minutes later, Kooper had moved to another topic, but did so over Larry’s protest. Larry did manage to slip in, “The full video can be seen at our website or on any number of video sites on the Internet.”
John felt he had won that debate, but he was outraged, nonetheless. His dream job would turn into a nightmare if the media gave the religious whackos this kind of support. He was under pressure on the job, fighting a war at home with his irritable wife, and for the first time the agency was getting resistance from members of the media. He had heard that some of his colleagues at DOJ thought DTED was moving too fast. John remained confident the agency could deal with resistance from right-wingers around the country. There were still some pockets of unredeemed red-state adherents out there, but it was much harder to deal with resistance from inside the camp.
The team leaders who had watched that interview on the television in John’s private office were thrilled with his performance—and none more so than Andrea Covington. She called his cellphone immediately after the broadcast to tell him how wonderful he had been. “John,” she said, “You were fantastic! It took my breath away, seeing you like that, speaking so forcefully and looking so authoritative. I am so proud of you. We all are.”
Hearing those words from Andrea’s lips at that moment was the best gift anyone could have given him. It was just the kind of feedback he needed.
LARRY JORDAN SLIPPED into the hot water of his spa, found his favorite seat, and let the jets of air and hot water massage the back of his neck.
“Jim Stockman called right after the interview,” Marla said. She moved to a spa seat next to him and took his hand. She wore a jade green swim suit. “He said you were at your best.”
Larry chuckled. “I hope that’s not my best. Smith got too many licks in, dominated the conversation, something Kooper said he wouldn’t allow. Then the way the network handled the Gideon tape. I should have done more to make them show the whole thing.” He leaned his head back and looked at the stars overhead. The scent of freshly mowed grass in their backyard filled the air. In the distance, a neighbor’s dog barked at something only he could hear.
“What could you do? They don’t let you run the video equipment.”
Larry’s muscles, caressed by the spa’s hot water, began to relax. “I toyed with refusing to change subjects. You know, sit there like a bump on a log until they did as I asked.”
“Why didn’t you?” Marla asked. She laid her head back and stared at the same stars.
“You know how these interviews work, Marla. The network thinks their viewers are too stupid to follow a topic for more than a few minutes. It’s Ping-Pong journalism. Talk about this for eight minutes; run a commercial set; talk about that for six; run a set of commercials. It’s formulaic. If I had tried to stay on topic, Kooper would have defaulted to Smith and he would have run away with the whole segment.” Larry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. Marla said nothing.
“Whose idea was it to get a spa?” Larry asked.
“Mine. The idea came to me when I could count the number of knots in your neck.”
“You’re a genius.”
“Of course I am.”
Larry opened his eyes. “I have moments when I think we’re losing, Marla. Smith and his DTED people are getting away with so much. The rate at which they’re conducting their raids is increasing. So many of those arrested turn to us for help. It’s an honor to represent them, but we’re being overwhelmed. I’m sure that’s part of Smith’s plan. He wants to drive us into the ground.” He sat up and gazed into the dark water. “I can’t believe our country has backpedaled so much over the last few years. This is what our founding fathers feared and now it’s happening. Faith is being criminalized. Freedom of speech is being trampled. In the past, freedoms have been trampled under military boots, now our freedom is being trodden by people in the latest loafers and expensive suits.”
“All in the name of tolerance.”
Larry cupped his hands and splashed water on his face. It smelled of chemicals. “When I was a kid, my father told me that if you can name something, you can control it. Smith, Congress, and the president have assigned the labels used by media and lawmakers. Preaching the Gospel is now hate speech. Speak out against any social ill except poverty or the environment and it’s suddenly hate speech. The government is for equality and tolerance; churches are for hatred. The sad thing is, people are starting to believe it.”
“If you tell a lie long enough, it becomes the truth.”
“That’s right. That’s what we’re up against.”
“And,” Marla added, “you’re having some great successes.”
“Many of which we’ve won by the skin of our teeth. Smith is smart. In some ways, he’s a genius. He knows the law, he knows people, he knows the media, and he’s convinced himself he is doing something worthwhile—something noble.”
Marla ran her hand up and down Larry’s back. “That’s the difference between you and John Knox Smith. He thinks he’s doing something noble. You are far beyond that limited thinking. You have a calling. Not a career. A calling.”
They fell silent for several minutes. Larry watched the bubbles on the water as if one of them might burst and release the one answer he needed to make the growing nightmare end. Thousands of bubbles burst, but none offered more than the air they held.
“Ready for bed, hon?” Marla asked.
“Can’t I sleep here?”
“Only if you want to look like a prune when you go into the office. Prunes aren’t known for their leadership abilities.”
Larry laughed. “Okay, you win. Tomorrow, the battle continues.” He rose and the cool night air chilled him. So did the thought of the fight he felt obligated to wage.
