Give Me Back My Voice

The time then has arrived, Glaucon,
When, like huntsman, we should surround the cover and look sharp that Justice may not steal away, and pass out of sight and escape us; for beyond a doubt she is somewhere in this country: watch therefore and strive to catch a sight of her, and if you see her first, let me know… (This quote is from Socrates, in his pursuit of justice.)
See I’ve been looking for lady Justice myself, and it seems like she’s been avoiding me specifically. Like Socrates, I’ve enlisted the help of my friends and family, but their interest in justice is not as keen as mine, so when they spotted her she stole away.
My family and friends were there when justice was stolen from me. Now I sense that they believe since she’s gone, she’s gone forever. But they don’t understand the hunt.
So here I sit with foggy binoculars, and I’m looking for her.
It all happened On August 28, 2013: I was in a fierce battle against the state of New Jersey, for my freedom. It was the thick of the rumble: jury deliberations. I waited in angst for a verdict in a holding cell in the back of courtroom number five, where the jury deliberated my fate… Guilty or innocent
At 12:15 PM, the sheriffs escorted me out of the holding cell back into judge Delury’s Court room. “The jury sent a note marked as C-19.” Said the judge.
“The note read ‘believes that one of the people on the jury came in with a decision made that all non-police witnesses are not credible, only the police department is credible’ ”. Juror number 9 wrote the note.
I sat at the defense table listening through HEADPHONES while the judge, the Prosecutor, and my attorney had a sidebar conversation.
The conversation ultimately led to them agreeing to allow the jury to deliberate undisturbed.
I was returned to the holding cell to await my fate. “Please lord don’t let me get found guilty tonight” was my prayer.
I paced the concrete floor wondering how should I feel about the note? Good or bad? I didn’t know. I paced the cell worried, but strong, uncertain, but content with my Lord’s plan.
“ANOTHER NOTE!” The sheriff yelled as he banged on the plexiglass window to the holding cell.
“Another note?” I wondered as I was being escorted back into the courtroom
I smiled at my family who filled the rows behind me. They seemed worried
We all listened as the court Read the note onto the record.
The forewoman wrote “Juror number 4 is not impartial to the witnesses and refuses to accept circumstantial evidence. We cannot move on at this point with 11-1. ”
At this point, I believed that this numerical split “11-1” meant a hung jury, and I would have to be retried.
I was wrong!!!
The looks that were on the faces of my family members was painful. I smiled, even though my heart was being ripped from my chest.
My lawyer was whispering something in my ear, my heart was beating, and I was wondering in whose favor was the jury?
The elusive answer was lurking within the thick tension inside courtroom number 5.
I was hoping that the world would never know, cause I had a feeling that all these white old people, that made up a jury of my peers, was not letting a nigga go.
The court called the jury Into the courtroom. Twelve angry white jurors.
The judge asked the jury “will further deliberations help you to reach a verdict?”
The forelady replied with a curt “No!”
After admonishing the jury with an instruction, to keep deliberating, the Court sent the jury back into the jury room
“Whew!” This shit is getting thick, and it seemed like all of these Court officials were on some bullshit, and my peoples were feeling the same way. Judge agreeing with the prosecutor, and my lawyer just mumbling shit.
Though I was concerned I kept my composure, remaining firm for my family, and after all they were 11-1. That elusive answer still remained:
IN WHOSE FAVOR WAS THE JURY?
They could still be in my favor. I had hope.
Immediately after sending the JURY back TO DELIBERATE, THE COURT WAS BACK ON RECORD. “UNDER UNUSUAL CIRCUMSTANCES, I CALLED JURY NUMBER 9 INTO MY CHAMBER’S TO DISCUSS THE NOTE SHE SENT.”
“What!?” I knew deep in my heart that this was wrong. How could a judge speak to a Juror outside the presence of me and my lawyer. The fix was in.
My back was against the ropes, the ref was throwing low blows, and the contender was throwing haymakers. What’s a nigga to do? I prayed.
Now, whatever discussion the judge had with Juror nine he learned what was supposed to be the secrecy of deliberations. He knew in whose favor the jury was.
Now, he would work it.
The judge called each juror out of the jury’s room one by one, asking them about their feelings in regards to juror four; the lone dissenting juror.
In the face of all the above, Juror number four switched his not guilty into a guilty—and the judge sentenced me to one hundred thirty years.
Damn!
Strapped with the memory of my trial, I did a lot of research on ex parte communications between a judge and a deliberating juror, so that I could be ready for the appellate division.
When I received the transcripts to my trial, I immediately noticed that the transcripts were not reflecting the unusual event between the Court and juror number nine
“Hold up!” I said to myself “this can’t be right”
I wrote to my appellate attorney. Explaining that, something was missing from the transcripts, and we needed the Sound Recording to my trial
My attorney wrote back saying that she spoke with the stenographer ADELE TALASNIK, and the stenographer does not have this event that I complained about happening in her stenographer notes, and my trial was NOT SOUND RECORDED.
Damn!
It was clear from the letter that my attorney didn’t believe me. I read the letter several times. The stenographers name sticks out. Adele Talasnik.I just couldn’t put a finger on it.
I ask my self why was my trial not sound recorded, in this day and age, is this even true?
I dig in, doing my research on trial recordings and a stenographer’s duty. I refused to allow anyone to tell me what happened at my trial, didn’t happen.
One day while going through some paper work, I came across the name MURRAY TALASNIK. He was the prosecutor that took my case to the grand jury, and signed a warrant in my case.
Wow!
Adele Talasnik and Murray Talasnik are married! It all added up. Murray Talasnik had a complete interest in the outcome of my case. No wonder why they doctored the transcripts.
At this point I’ve done everything that I could do. I filed motions, wrote, called, researched, and wrote some more. My family members spoke with Adele Talasnik, and she told them my trial was NOT sound recorded.
I spoke with the supervisor of court reporters, Camille Pedano Horner. I explained to her that Adele Talasnik was married to the prosecutor in my case. She told me not to believe everything that I hear…
Bitch I Googled it!
Through correspondence with the Administrative Office of The Courts, Karen M. Carroll wrote me and told me that every courtroom in Atlantic County is equipped with sound recording technology.
If the courtrooms in Atlantic County are equipped with this technology why wasn’t my trial sound recorded? And who determines when it’s on or off?
It has taken me years of research in the outdated law library that I have access to, but eventually I found the law that said it was against the law for Adele Talasnik to record my trial since she was married to the prosecutor. New Jersey Court rule 4:12-4, says that Adele Talasnik should’ve been disqualified…
This made it clear that Adele Talasnik broke the law.
Finally on October 1, 2020, the Board of Court reporters, sent me a vague letter, saying that they would open an investigation on Adele Talasnik.
It’s now 2022, and I still haven’t heard anything… Not even a response to my follow up letters.
It seems like nobody cares and no one’s listening. I Feel like my voice has been taken. Like so many other brothers incarcerated by injustice. So, I write and speak with ink. I refuse to be silenced by this crooked ass system….
GIVE ME BACK MY VOICE BITCHES