2016.019: Scurry Scurry, Scurrae

A couple of days ago in felony court a guy who was supposed to go into custody decided that he didn’t want to go. The bailiff and the process server (both Harris County Sheriff’s Deputies) wrestled him to the ground. While they were having some difficulty subduing him, someone (the court coordinator, I think — I was focused on the wrestling match) came up to the two prosecutors who were standing near me, whispered, “the deputies have guns, and he might get a gun, so you should go in the back,” and led them out of the courtroom, leaving me, the third prosecutor, and everyone in the audience to — in that imagined scenario — get shot by the out-of-control defendant.

I could have left too, but in my view the risk that the guy would a) get a gun; b) discharge it; and c) hit me was smaller than the risk that I would twist my ankle leaving the courtroom. If I’d thought otherwise, I would have politely but persuasively suggested that the audience (and the third prosecutor) leave.1 Why? Because while I have a keen sense of self-preservation, that sense doesn’t exclude the preservation of other people.

I don’t get up at trial and loudly claim to represent the people of Harris County in trial, and then skitter quietly into my hole, leaving those same people to fend for themselves, when I imagine a threat to my own skin.

But hey, Harris County prosecutors. You do you.


  1. I probably wouldn’t have left, on the theory that if he got a gun the chance that the guy not hit me was much larger than the chance that he would, and in that margin I might be helpful. 

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