112. Earning Freedom (1.3) with Michael Santos
I\u2019m reading from chapter 1 of my book, Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term
For more information, visit PrisonProfessors.com
Podcast 112: Earning Freedom 1.3
*******
The marshals escort four of us in chains through the working areas of the post office. I see postal clerks eying us suspiciously as they sort the mail into large bags while we wait for an elevator to take us to the courthouse. We walk into a bullpen. The marshals remove our handcuffs and chains before locking us in.
A few minutes later the marshals bring in Alex, my former partner. I recognize his voice when they lock him into an adjacent cage. We can\u2019t see each other, but once the marshals leave I hold onto the bars on the front gate and talk to Alex, disregarding the solid wall that separates us.
\u201cHow can you testify against me?\u201d I ask him. \u201cWe\u2019ve been like brothers.\u201d Alex graduated from high school two years ahead of me, but despite our age difference, we became close friends. After he introduced me to the money we could earn by selling cocaine, we became partners.
\u201cI'm sorry.\u201d I could hear the humiliation in his voice. \u201cIt was too fast. When they caught me, I just got scared. I didn\u2019t know this would happen.\u201d
Alex began cooperating with prosecutors a year before my arrest, when DEA agents caught him with a kilogram of cocaine.\xa0 In a plea negotiation that would limit him to two years in prison, he agreed to testify against me.
\u201cDo you know that I\u2019m facing a life sentence?\u201d
\u201cI heard.\u201d\xa0 His voice drops, and I know the severity of sanction that I face weighs heavily on him.
\u201cThe government\u2019s case rests on your testimony.\u201d I try to manipulate not so much what Alex will say, but how he will say it. \u201cIt all rests on you. Either you can come across like some kind of star witness, or you can come across in a way that might make you look like a liar in the eyes of the jury. Just remember that you\u2019ve already got your deal. If you fall apart under cross-examination from my attorney, the jury won\u2019t convict me.\u201d
\u201cI got ya.\u201d
The seed I planted bears fruit. When Alex testifies before the jury, both on direct examination from the prosecutor and on cross-examination from Raymond, he seems totally untrustworthy. His testimony emboldens me, as I know Alex\u2019s stuttering and mumbling portray him as a less than credible witness, out to save his skin at any cost.
Later that evening I\u2019m elated when I return to the jail, thinking that my friend came through. The government has been counting on his testimony, but now the prosecutors will have to present more compelling evidence if they want a conviction. In the following days, we have peaks and valleys, scoring well with some witnesses, not so well with others. All in all, I feel my acquittal nearing.
*******
My hopes for release shatter during the second week of the trial. When I return to the jail after court one evening, I call Lisa for our nightly conversation. While we\u2019re talking I hear aggressive male voices shouting in the background. Then the line goes dead. I dial the number again. Someone picks up the phone without answering.\xa0 I hear a click followed by silence. Frantic now, I dial a third time. I haven\u2019t dispelled rumors in the jail that I\u2019m a man of means, and I worry that some gang leader from the jail has orchestrated a home invasion or kidnapping. Finally, a male voice answers. When the operator announces my collect call, the call goes through.
\u201cHello, Michael.\u201d The man who answers takes a familiar tone, snickering.
\u201cWho is this and what\u2019re you doing in my house?\u201d I squeeze the handset of the phone in anger.
\u201cI\u2019m a special agent with the DEA,\u201d he taunts. \u201cYou\u2019ll find out soon enough why we\u2019re here.\u201d
\u201cYou\u2019re harassing my family because you\u2019re losing the trial.\u201d
The agent laughs at me. \u201cI don\u2019t think that\u2019s the case,\u201d he says. Then, just before he hangs up, he adds that they\u2019ve arrested Tom, Lisa\u2019s brother.
Minutes later, officers from the jail arrive to pull me out from the housing unit. They lock me between sally port cages that separate the unit from jail corridors and I crouch down in despair. My mind reels with questions. Worry torments me. Why would the agents invade Lisa\u2019s house? Why would the agent tell me they have Tom? My heart races like never before. Then I see a team of DEA agents enter the housing unit. They march past me and into my cell for an apparent search.
After the agents finish their ransacking, the guards lead me back into the housing unit and lock me inside. Adrenaline surges through my body, I can\u2019t sleep. When guards come for me in the morning, I\u2019m pacing. They escort me to the bullpen for court transportation and I\u2019m stunned to see Tom, Lisa\u2019s brother.
\u201cWhat\u2019re you doing here?\u201d I can\u2019t believe Tom is in jail. He\u2019s been free on bond since our initial arrest, sitting beside me at trial each day. I can\u2019t fathom what happened.
\u201cI messed up.\u201d He doesn\u2019t look at me when he responds.
\u201cWhat are you talking about? Were you home last night when the DEA busted in on Lisa?\u201d
Tom didn\u2019t even know that the DEA had been to the house. He tells me that the DEA arrested him yesterday afternoon following the court proceedings.
\u201cWhy did they arrest you? And why would the DEA bust in on Lisa?\u201d
\u201cI messed up.\u201d Tom repeats. He won\u2019t make eye contact. While sitting on the bench, rubbing his face and looking at the floor of the cage, he tells me what happened. Several months ago, just days after my arrest, when I instructed Tom to retrieve those eight kilograms of cocaine and deliver them to Walt, Tom decided to sell them on his own. One of his customers, it turns out, is a DEA agent.
\u201cYou mean you\u2019ve been selling that cocaine this whole time on your own?\u201d I\u2019m angry to learn that Tom disregarded my specific instructions to deliver the cocaine to Walt.
Tom nods. \u201cI thought I could make more money that way.\u201d
I close my eyes and shake my head. \u201cPlease tell me that you weren\u2019t storing the coke at Lisa\u2019s house.\u201d
\u201cI didn\u2019t keep it there, but I stashed money under my mattress. I also gave Lisa some money I\u2019d been paid by the guy who turned out to be the undercover DEA agent.\u201d
All I can think about is the possibility that Lisa has been arrested. I receive clarification a few hours later, when Raymond fills me in. He says the agents might charge Lisa with the crime of lying to a federal officer.\xa0 When the agents were at the house, she told them that the money in her purse belonged to her, when in fact Tom had given her DEA-marked bills. At least she wasn\u2019t in custody.
Raymond urges me to snap out of my despair and focus on the final hours of my trial, which is my immediate problem. I no longer care about the trial or its outcome. The true severity of my problems has finally crashed down upon me. I\u2019ve not only made a disaster of my own life, but of everyone else\u2019s, I want to give up, to die.
*******
The jury returns its verdict, convicting me on every count. Lies of innocence yield to the reality of my guilt. I have to accept that I\u2019m facing a life sentence. Who cares? I don\u2019t know what\u2019s coming. Nothing matters. The government may charge Lisa with a felony and the thought of her in handcuffs rips me apart.
I ask Raymond to make some kind of deal with prosecutors, to tell them I\u2019ll accept a life sentence, a death sentence, I\u2019ll waive my right to appeal, anything, if the government will leave Lisa alone. He tells me the government hasn\u2019t even charged me in the case.
\u201cThen tell them I\u2019ll confess. I arranged for Tom to receive those eight kilograms. They were part of the same crime I was just convicted of, but if I hadn\u2019t sent Tom, the coke would\u2019ve stayed buried.\u201d
\u201cI'm not going to do that. You\u2019re under duress. I don\u2019t want you cooperating. You haven\u2019t even been sentenced and you\u2019ve got excellent prospects on appeal.\u201d
\u201cI don\u2019t care about an appeal, I don\u2019t care about anything other than doing what I can to spare Lisa. She doesn\u2019t deserve this. Call the prosecutor. Tell him I\u2019ll confess.\u201d
\u201cI won\u2019t do it.\u201d
Raymond doesn\u2019t want to involve himself with my talking to prosecutors. I don\u2019t understand his reluctance\u2013it may be that he doesn\u2019t want me to reveal the counsel he has given throughout my ordeal, or he worries that I might divulge information about the property he received from Paco as part of his fee. I don\u2019t care. Raymond is not my priority. Wanting to do whatever I can for Lisa, I fire Raymond, telling him that I don\u2019t want him to represent me anymore.
I dial the prosecutor, Jerry Diskin, myself.
\u201cIs this the same Michael Santos who testified that he didn\u2019t know anything about drug trafficking?\u201d The prosecutor is mocking me.
\u201cLook, Jerry,\u201d I say, \u201cI was doing what my attorney told me I had to do. I\u2019m sorry. I\u2019ll confess to anything you want, I\u2019ll give up my right to appeal, I\u2019ll accept any sentence you want to impose. Please, just don\u2019t put Lisa through this.\u201d
\u201cI have some problems with what you\u2019re offering,\u201d the prosecutor puts me in my place. \u201cLet me start from the beginning. First, don\u2019t ever call me Jerry. I\u2019m a United States Attorney, Mr. Diskin to you. Do you get that?\u201d
\u201cYes. I\u2019m sorry.\u201d
\u201cSecond, I do not, I repeat, I do not want to speak with you unless it\u2019s through an attorney. Why are you contacting me instead of Raymond?\u201d
\u201cRaymond doesn\u2019t want me to talk with you. I don\u2019t want him to represent me anymore.\u201d
\u201cThen I\u2019ll have the public defender send someone over. Don\u2019t contact me again. And for the record, let me respond to the offer you made. I don\u2019t need your confession. You\u2019re convicted, and you\u2019re facing a life sentence. Your appeal doesn\u2019t concern me. I don\u2019t know why you think I would want to talk to you.\u201d
Mr. Diskin is right, I realize. I breathe in deeply and exhale, trying to ease the pressure and anxiety squeezing my chest.
*******
While lying on my rack, I think of all the ways I\u2019ve disappointed and humiliated my parents. They never wanted the business expansion I craved. Throughout my childhood and adolescence, my parents worked hard, hoping to give my sisters and me privileges that they didn\u2019t enjoy growing up. They weren\u2019t college-educated people, but they loved us, and they built a life that provided our family with a beautiful home, new cars, regular vacations. I abused their trust and pushed them into decisions they would\u2019ve never made without my influence.\xa0 Ultimately, my greed led to the destruction of our family and their business. Then, when I saw a better opportunity to enrich myself by dealing cocaine, I abandoned them. My decisions destroyed my parents\u2019 prosperity, contributed to their divorce, and embarrassed my sisters.
My criminal decisions also humiliated my grandparents.\xa0 They were devout Catholics who expected me to lead a moral life and make good decisions. The letters I\u2019ve been receiving from my mother describe their disgust at my actions. I haven\u2019t had the courage to speak to them since my arrest. Instead, I\u2019ve burdened my mom with the impossible task of defending me to them.
My mental anguish is relentless. I carry Lisa\u2019s picture in my hand trying frantically to think of anything that might save her. How can I persuade the government not to prosecute her?
Suicide feels so inviting. I think about another prisoner who did it using the blades from one of the plastic razors we\u2019re allowed to have in jail. While sitting in a toilet stall, he sliced his wrists and bled to death. That option appeals to me. It could be one way of reaching Mr. Diskin. If I\u2019m dead, he may feel some sympathy for Lisa.
But killing myself would crush my parents and my sisters. Although I don\u2019t want to face the consequences of my actions, I know I can\u2019t allow these suicidal thoughts to continue. My dad urges me to be strong and through long letters that my mom writes, she shows that her support will not waver.\xa0 Lisa, on the other hand, worries mostly about the fallout from my problems spilling over to her. During our daily phone calls, tormented by the possibility of going to prison she pleads with me to save her.
Boils erupt on my arms and legs as the stress I\u2019m feeling manifests itself throughout my body.\xa0 The egg-sized volcanoes of pus burn like hot acid under my skin, exerting unbearable pressure. Only a visit to the infirmary for an excision relieves the pain, though within hours of having one drained, more begin to fester and swell.
*******
I\u2019ve been in jail for six months and must languish through several more before my sentencing date. I don\u2019t know what the judge will impose, though I accept the possibility of a life sentence as being real. I\u2019m not interested in playing cards or table games. I stay in my cell reading the Bible with hopes of finding solace, an anchor. The Scriptures help me resist a growing urge to end my life and strengthen me to hold on for another day. Although I want to identify with the agonies and loss described in the Book of Job, comparisons end there. Job, at least, wasn\u2019t beset with self-recriminations over acting stupidly and dishonestly. Knowing that decisions I made spawned my tribulations aggravates the continuous torment in my mind.
The marshals come for me again and drive me to the courthouse. I meet Justin, my public defender who is there for my debriefing session with Mr. Diskin. Justin hasn\u2019t had an opportunity to review any court records or files pertaining to my predicament, though he knows a jury convicted me on numerous counts of high-level drug charges only days before. I haven\u2019t been charged with additional crimes and he doesn\u2019t understand my motivation for wanting to talk with the prosecutors.
\u201cLook man,\u201d I tell him in the private room, \u201cI\u2019m responsible for everything.\xa0 I\u2019m the one who told Tom to pick up the eight keys.\xa0 He may\u2019ve sold them to the guy who turned out to be DEA, but I\u2019m responsible.\u201d
\u201cBut you haven\u2019t been charged,\u201d Justin points out. \u201cWhat do you hope to gain from this admission?\u201d
\u201cThe government can do whatever it wants with me. But the prosecutors are threatening to charge Lisa with a felony. All I want is to take the punishment myself, whatever it is.\xa0 Tell them to slam me with whatever, but to leave her alone.\u201d
The public defender shakes his head in resignation, knowing that I\u2019m not ready to receive counsel.\xa0 We walk to an adjacent courtroom to meet with the prosecutor.\xa0 Justin sits beside me as I respond to Mr. Diskin\u2019s questions. His first question is whether I lied when I took the witness stand during my trial. I answer that I did, and he asks whether I understand that admitting to such lies exposes me to the additional criminal charges of perjury. I offer to accept any charges or sanctions the government wants to impose and then I plead with the prosecutor not to charge Lisa. Mr. Diskin smirks, unmoved.
The debriefing session lasts for an hour. In the end, Mr. Diskin tells me that I haven\u2019t revealed anything he doesn\u2019t already know.
\u201cYou\u2019re going to have to face the full punishment for your crimes.\u201d\xa0 The prosecutor narrows his eyes as he lashes out at me.\xa0 \u201cAnd you may find yourself sitting at the defendant\u2019s table again, this time beside your wife.\u201d
The marshals drive me back to the jail. I\u2019m completely spent, knowing that I\u2019m powerless to protect Lisa. For weeks I lie in my cell, clutching my pillow, staring at the wall, catatonic with grief.
*******
While I wait through long months leading to my sentencing date, I look for anything that will pique my interest. I stumble across a two-volume hardcover anthology called A Treasury of Philosophy in the jail\u2019s book cart. Hoping it might help, I begin reading. Even though I\u2019ve never been a reader, the essays intrigue me. Since graduating from high school I haven\u2019t read a single book. Yet now, here I am, aching with thoughts tormenting my mind as I try to read philosophy in a jail cell.
Philosophy isn\u2019t a subject I\u2019ve encountered before. I find a dictionary and begin a tentative step into another world, discovering that the essays in this anthology help to lessen my feeling of hopelessness. They give me new understanding of an individual\u2019s relationship to society. I begin to believe that maybe, over time, I can reconcile myself with my fellow citizens. This thought of redemption comes to me as I read the French philosopher Jean Jacques Rousseau, who defines the \u201csocial contract\u201d and outlines each citizen\u2019s covenant with and responsibility to society. In breaking the law, I haven\u2019t been faithful to the social contract Rousseau described, but in reading his work, I begin to believe that I can make amends.
I read John Locke, whose essays on human understanding introduce me to the concept of the tabula rasa, or blank slate. Locke believed that everyone comes into this world without prior knowledge or innate ideas. Rather, everything a person sees, feels, tastes, and smells makes an impression, influencing who and what the person becomes. As Locke suggests, I learn from my experiences in society. In turn, those experiences spawn the values that guide my thoughts, my decisions, and my actions.
Thinking about Locke\u2019s philosophy, I rest the open book on my chest and stare at the ceiling of my cell while I clasp my hands behind my head. What made the lasting impression on my blank slate? What prompted me to think that earning money by selling cocaine would be a proper life choice? The questions deepen my introspection.
*******
Unlike many of the men locked up with me, I had options. Had I chosen college, my parents would\u2019ve supported my decision. But without worries about receiving a paycheck, I took the easy road. At 20, I persuaded my dad to pay me a higher salary than I deserved.\xa0 He also leased a new black Bronco I could drive without concerning myself with expenses for gasoline, insurance, or maintenance.
If it wasn\u2019t economic necessity that drove me to crime, what was it? Maybe insecurity. I wanted others to see me as something more than what I was. Greed and a sense of entitlement drove my decisions. But underneath the flash I wasn\u2019t anything more than an insecure boy.
Where did my fixation with money begin?
My grandparents lived a moral life as hardworking Americans, and they showered my sisters and me with love from the time we were children. I should\u2019ve learned more from them. Yet, I equated who I was with what I materially possessed, always wanting more.
In our household, we never spoke honestly about drugs.\xa0 Although our parents harped about the wickedness of drugs, their admonitions didn\u2019t apply to the consumption of alcohol. They entertained in our home regularly and drinking was always a major component of any gathering. When my sisters and I discovered that two of our parents\u2019 close friends\u2013one a prominent lawyer and the other a neurologist\u2013had used cocaine, we confronted our parents.\xa0 They made excuses.\xa0 I still remember, vividly, how my mother tried to explain, telling my sisters and me that their friends snorted coke for health reasons.
Inconsistencies between what my parents said about drugs and alcohol with what I saw may have contributed to my perceptions on morality. Likewise, my parents\u2019 tolerance for bid rigging and collusion in the pursuit of contracts to advance our construction business couldn\u2019t help but influence my sensitivity to the law\u2019s relative importance to society.
My parents\u2019 lectures about honesty, integrity, temperance, and other virtues of good citizenship didn\u2019t make as firm an impression on me as the hypocrisy I saw.\xa0 As far as I was concerned, certain activities might be illegal, but if they were committed without harming recognizable victims, then it was okay to shrug off or disregard those laws. My parents\u2019 reasoning differed dramatically from the principled approach Rousseau taught in his essay on the social contract, a pact that bound all citizens.
*******
As I move closer to my sentencing date, I begin to feel responsible for the crimes I committed. By contemplating the writings of John Locke, I start to appreciate the influences that shaped the young man I\u2019ve become, and I accept that I have to change.\xa0 I must \u201cunlearn\u201d the corrupting influences that led to my bad actions, and eventually, to my imprisonment.
When I pick up the Treasury of Philosophy again, I read an essay that describes the trial of Socrates and it slowly helps me accept the predicament I have created. Socrates was convicted for breaking an absurd law that prohibited the aristocratic classes from teaching the commoners. The Athenian tribunal sentenced Socrates to a self-induced death by poisoning for his crime. He waited patiently in jail for the date of his scheduled execution.
Many leaders of Athens loved and respected Socrates.\xa0 Outraged at his sentence, they coordinated a plan that would allow him to escape punishment and live the remainder of his life in exile. Socrates refused the offer, explaining that his conscience would not permit him to sneak away, avoiding punishment for his actions. Reading about Socrates inspires me. As a lover of law and democracy, Socrates asserted that his honor would require that he carry out the sentence by drinking the poison that would kill him. In my eyes, that principled position reveals Socrates as a man of strength and courage.\xa0 While waiting for the imposition of my sentence, I look to him as a role model for the type of thoughtful man I\u2019d like to become.
With my Bible and the philosophy books, I live like a monk in my cell. The reading transports me to new worlds of thought and contemplation. I feel an unfamiliar maturity creeping into me, bringing hope. I write letters to my parents, my sisters, and every day I write to Lisa, promising to redeem my crimes by educating myself and using time in prison to prepare for a productive life upon release.
*******
Seven months after my initial arrest, the government indicts me with several new criminal counts. I accept these new charges and don\u2019t dispute the leading role I played in distributing eight kilograms of cocaine or my perjury during the trial. Lisa isn\u2019t named in the indictment, although the lawyers speculate that she\u2019ll later face criminal charges for lying to a federal officer.
My efforts to protect Lisa have failed, but prayer and philosophy inspire optimism. Rather than allowing forces I can\u2019t control\u2013such as the sentence my judge will impose\u2013to dictate my attitude, I begin to feel a spiritual strength building inside of me.
Prison will not destroy or define me. Rather, I make a commitment to define myself through my response to the sanctions I face.
*******
I want to atone for my crimes. To make my statement public, I write to Stuart Eskenazi, a journalist who covered my trial for The Tacoma News Tribune. In the letter, I express remorse for my crimes and for the ways I acted after arrest. I pledge to find ways to make up for my wrongs during the decades ahead.
A few days later, Eskenazi comes to interview me in jail. I understand that audiences will be skeptical about my commitment to educating myself and to creating opportunities for positive social contributions. Still, I\u2019m committed to begin anew. I feel myself turning the page on the decisions that brought me into confinement.
The front-page story that Mr. Eskenazi writes for the local paper does not influence my sentencing judge. After two separate hearings, he imposes consecutive sentences. In total, the judge orders that I serve a 45-year sentence and fines me $500,000 for my crimes.
\u201cYou will be an old man when you walk out of prison,\u201d the judge states flatly. \u201cBut you\u2019ve earned it.\u201d
\xa0