Posted: Friday, 13 February 2009 12:23PM
Apologize To The People
Steve Corbett Reporting
Friday, February 13, 2009
After making their guilty pleas in a Scranton federal courtroom yesterday, the two criminals stood and huddled together – conspirators until the end.
Now Mark A. Ciavarella Jr. and Michael T. Conahan were officially thieves.
But even that terrible shame did not stop them from misbehaving. For some bizarre reason they found amusement in the proceedings that will send them to prison for at least seven years.
Standing at the front row of the courtroom I watched Conahan paste a broad smile on his face as he remained sitting in the soft chair at the defense table. Ciaverrella walked to his side and he, too, seemed at ease.
With their lawyers by their side, they took their time and hung around rather than leaving to face the mob that eventually greeted them at the courthouse front doors with chants of “Burn in Hell” and other insults.
I had only one question that begged to be asked.
Walking to their side I stopped and looked down at Conahan.
Ciavarella turned my way. So did Ciavarella’s lawyer, Al Flora Jr., who surprised me by not speaking. Looking into Conahan’s eyes, I asked my question in a firm, but respectful voice.
“Can I tell my listeners that you guys said you’re sorry?” I asked.
Again I expected Flora or Conahan’s lawyer, Phil Gelso to speak.
But an awkward tension filled the air.
Neither lawyer spoke. A weak smile crossed Ciavarella’s face and he mumbled something I couldn’t hear. He turned slightly to the side so he no longer faced me.
Conahan, though, seemed immediately agitated by my question. His already flushed and fleshy face reddened as he glared and returned my stare. Spitting his words, he fired back. Clearly he’s not a man accustomed to being asked hard questions about his lack of honor.
“You can tell them that I have no comment,” he said, adding something about making a statement at his sentencing.
Turning to Ciavarella, who now was facing me, I nodded and motioned his way with my hand.
“You, sir?” I asked.
Ciavarella smirked and shook his head “no.”
I turned and walked away.
I’ve spend decades writing about what I’ve witnessed in criminal courtrooms. Little surprises me anymore. But the reactions of these two admitted criminals felt like the impact of a sucker punch.
How hard would it have been for Ciavarella and Conahan to have replied in soft-spoken voices of simple contrition? They could have regained a last shred of dignity by admitting sorrow and offering at least a drop of remorse.
When I asked if they were sorry, I expected a “yes,” a “sure,” an “of course.”
But they held out, giving us nothing but swaggers of self-importance and the narcissistic delusion that they still wield power in our community.
They wield nothing. Their influence over us is gone. Their ability to hurt us has vanished.
All that remains is the next step in their public humiliation that will send them to prison.
Still, they remain dangerous men on the loose in a society that once depended on them to protect us. They expressed no sorrow for their crimes, offered no repentance, and refused to ask for forgiveness.
They simply pleaded guilty.
Yet that public act is not good enough.
I wonder if these thieves can ever be rehabilitated. Perhaps one day they will acknowledge the deep horror of their crimes against the public trust and those who depended on them to dispense justice. Or perhaps they will never admit to themselves that they did anything wrong.
Whatever happens, no one should ever again trust these men with anything of value. The public distrust is the cross that Conahan and Ciavarella must bear forever.
We must be suspicious of them whenever they enter a room. We must always doubt their motives. We must never allow them to live above our misgivings.
They earned our scorn.
Now they must live with it.
And I am sorry that they are not.
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Corbett
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