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Federal Courthouses are always built to intimidate. Their architecture and structure is predicated upon the ancient Roman temples and political forums of the Republican period. First, there are the large oversized stone steps that one must traverse in order to reach the fourteen foot double steel doors to enter. A feat for even the most able men. Then, you have the massive Corinthian Columns jutting out of the ground from nowhere, reminiscent of the Goddess Minerva springing forth without provocation from her father’s head, Jupiter. Lastly, the columns hold up the marble roof and ceiling which is adorned with friezes depicting the Capitoline Games. The Eastern District United States Court of Louisiana was no different.
Today was an important day. A day which could be the most important day in Dr. Sinclair’s life. A day which would determine guilt or innocence. Actually, that is not correct; it is stipulated to that there is guilt. Accordingly, it is then a day which determine punishment. The laws have been broken, the Code scoffed at, and the government coffers not filled. The seriousness of the crime has not been diminished since the Conquerer invaded England and instituted the Doomsday Book and promulgated the simple but oppressive rule: Man must give to the Crown what it is due and pay his taxes.
Let us think about this concept. The concept of taxation and its relationship to justice. Essentially, what do our taxes do? Our taxes make this country run. It allows basic services to be provided. It allows our post office to hold our mail when we are on vacation. It also allows our government to protect us by being able to provide for a professional military. It follows, then, in the most Aristotelian philosophical notion that taxes are just because public services are supported by same. However, I do not know anyone who is excited on April 15th to submit their taxes and who feel that they are being just. Nevertheless, they must be paid and they must be timely. Even, Al Capone learned this lesson. While he murdered countless people in cold blood, the government convicted him on tax evasion and nothing else.
Now, we stipulate that Al Capone was a very bad man but his example concludes our simple premise: Taxes must be paid no matter if one is good or bad. The Federal Government will get what it is due or it will gladly allow you to languish in a Federal prison. Perhaps another point of order is needed at this juncture. Yes, one will be sent to prison for not paying taxes but remember, that does not eradicate the debt. You will still owe the money to the government even while enjoying your stylish orange jumpsuit and feasting with notable men like Theodore Kaczynski and Anthony Casso. So, if we follow this thread of thought to its logical conclusion then a kind, lawful, and peaceful man like Dr. Sinclair, would easily be sent to prison for not paying his taxes
Following his lawyer’s advice, he decided not to begin drinking in the morning. This was to ensure a “fresh” appearance in front of the judge. There was no doubt that trouble was looming. For over ten years now he allowed his career to dwindle. A career which took him a lifetime to achieve. He went from being one of the world’s most sought out orchestral and opera conductors to emerging into a life of obscurity, debt, and destruction. A winner of several Grammy awards for his orchestral recordings to now a winner of a front row seat in front of a humorless Federal Judge.
Sinclair had a prompt 9 o’clock presentment to hear charges against him and enter a plea. As he stood at the defendant's table, his lawyer assured him that everything would be done to try and resolve the situation without jail time. However, he also emphasized that the Federal Government had a particular penchant for monies due.
Suddenly and without provocation the judge walked in sauntering with his flowing black robe. A particular uncomfortable glare was set upon Dr. Sinclair as he made his way to the large plush chair behind the judges bench. After the Court was called to Order, they were permitted to sit. Everything became a blur. The case number was called, the attorneys introduced, and then the charges filed against him by the government.
Six counts of failure to file tax returns, four counts of tax evasion, two counts of tax avoidance and, to top it off, one count of tax fraud. Aggregate charges that could procure over 80 years in prison. Even Sinclair’s lawyer was taken aghast by the extreme liberty the government had taken in their presentment of charges. Even so, the rabbit had been released and the dogs began to chase as arguments were posited on either side.
Essentially, the government argued that Sinclair’s actions were a willful and knowing attempt to defraud the federal government while his lawyer argued the opposite. In fact, if you examined what the government had seized, then the taxes were nearly paid off. After about thirty minutes, the judge had both sides come to the bench to speak off the record. With his acute hearing Sinclair tried to make out what was being said, but even if he could hear through the room’s terrible acoustics, he would not have understood their refined legal discussions.
After what seemed to be an eternity both sides returned to their respective tables. Sinclair’s lawyer whispered into his ear saying that they had a good deal and that he should take it. With that, the judge began to speak directly to him.
“Dr. Sinclair, the Court is well aware of your reputation and statute. It seems that you have fallen upon bad times . . . bad times indeed. However, there was once a Bishop who was the author of the ancient Didaskialia Apostolorum in which he speaks about the poor. This Bishop distinguished between those who are poor by their fault, such as the consequence of poor choices and alcoholism, and those who are truly indigent. I think everyone here knows what category in which fate has befallen yoy. Nevertheless, my wife and I have always have been great admirers of your work. In fact, we purchased season tickets to the orchestra in Isle Voletta when you became the music director and attended all of your concerts. You turned the orchestra into a professional, high-quality orchestra of acclaim which, for once, turned a profit. Then, one day you disappeared without so much as a trace. Soon after that, the orchestra could no longer survive. It fell apart and disbanded. Many lost their jobs and could not even pay for basic needs. Your actions hurt the people of Voletta both economically and artistically. Now, there no longer is an artistic presence and the city sits decaying with no music at all. Sad, very sad.”
He continued with his peripatetic and sophist speech:
“In the mater of the United States versus John Sinclair, the Court has accepted probation with the charges being dropped after two years of successful compliance of the terms herewith. That you, John Sinclair, engage your services to the Parish of Isle Voletta and re-create what you have formerly destroyed. This shouldn’t be difficult for a man of your abilities. Not only shall this help the people of this Parish but the many others that have been decimated from recent events. Plus, you’ll get to feel good about yourself. In addition, all taxes consequences will be removed and you will get certain chattels and realty restored. Failure in this matter will result in the Court adjudicating you guilty and sentencing you to eighty-seven years in federal prison. Oh, and any appeal on this issue will result in you spending the time in prison waiting for that to be decided. Do we have an agreement?”
A long winded speech from a man who obtains his authority merely from the black robes that he wears backed by a governmental commission. This was a grave abuse of judicial discretion and power. In fact, it appeared to be involuntary servitude. This man had no idea what his judicial order entailed or its inherent impossibilities. This was judicial fiat, and no more!
His attorney whispered into his ear vert carefully explaining the situation: There was a choice of four to five years in jail just waiting for an appeal in the hopes that the appeal would nullify the sentence and order a trial. However, this would compound taxes for those five years. Not only that, he would probably be found guilty on at least three charges which would land him at least six years. Or, he could attempt to revive an art here which has been moribund for several years.
His eyes rapidly shut and opened at the decision that lay before him. His breath was taken away as he tried to contemplate the situation at “bar.” The theater was destroyed, there was no talent in the surrounding areas, and most importantly, there was no MONEY to embark on a project of this magnitude. All he could hear was his lawyer chanting in his ear over and over to “take it, take it, take it, say yes, yes, yes.”
Mustering the energy to speak, he explained that what was purposed was an impossible feat and could not be done. Asking the judge how he should go about this project the only advice that was given was “You’ll either do the best you can with this or do the best you can with the eight-seven years.”
Again, feeling that he was being pushed by outside forces which he could not control, he grudgingly accepted the bizarre offer posited by the prosecutor and judge. He signed the proper paperwork to effectuate this decision. As the of the paperwork was being signed and shuffled, his lawyer slipped him an old CD of his recording with the Baltimore Symphony performing Mahler’s Fifth Symphony.
“The judge would like you to sign this and make it out to Beatrice, his wife.”
Sinclair’s eyes roared with the fire of an ancient headed hydra. He snatched it and signed it. Again, he was felt as if Mister Geppetto was working his strings telling him to “dance my little puppet, dance.”
Today was an important day. A day which could be the most important day in Dr. Sinclair’s life. A day which would determine guilt or innocence. Actually, that is not correct; it is stipulated to that there is guilt. Accordingly, it is then a day which determine punishment. The laws have been broken, the Code scoffed at, and the government coffers not filled. The seriousness of the crime has not been diminished since the Conquerer invaded England and instituted the Doomsday Book and promulgated the simple but oppressive rule: Man must give to the Crown what it is due and pay his taxes.
Let us think about this concept. The concept of taxation and its relationship to justice. Essentially, what do our taxes do? Our taxes make this country run. It allows basic services to be provided. It allows our post office to hold our mail when we are on vacation. It also allows our government to protect us by being able to provide for a professional military. It follows, then, in the most Aristotelian philosophical notion that taxes are just because public services are supported by same. However, I do not know anyone who is excited on April 15th to submit their taxes and who feel that they are being just. Nevertheless, they must be paid and they must be timely. Even, Al Capone learned this lesson. While he murdered countless people in cold blood, the government convicted him on tax evasion and nothing else.
Now, we stipulate that Al Capone was a very bad man but his example concludes our simple premise: Taxes must be paid no matter if one is good or bad. The Federal Government will get what it is due or it will gladly allow you to languish in a Federal prison. Perhaps another point of order is needed at this juncture. Yes, one will be sent to prison for not paying taxes but remember, that does not eradicate the debt. You will still owe the money to the government even while enjoying your stylish orange jumpsuit and feasting with notable men like Theodore Kaczynski and Anthony Casso. So, if we follow this thread of thought to its logical conclusion then a kind, lawful, and peaceful man like Dr. Sinclair, would easily be sent to prison for not paying his taxes
Following his lawyer’s advice, he decided not to begin drinking in the morning. This was to ensure a “fresh” appearance in front of the judge. There was no doubt that trouble was looming. For over ten years now he allowed his career to dwindle. A career which took him a lifetime to achieve. He went from being one of the world’s most sought out orchestral and opera conductors to emerging into a life of obscurity, debt, and destruction. A winner of several Grammy awards for his orchestral recordings to now a winner of a front row seat in front of a humorless Federal Judge.
Sinclair had a prompt 9 o’clock presentment to hear charges against him and enter a plea. As he stood at the defendant's table, his lawyer assured him that everything would be done to try and resolve the situation without jail time. However, he also emphasized that the Federal Government had a particular penchant for monies due.
Suddenly and without provocation the judge walked in sauntering with his flowing black robe. A particular uncomfortable glare was set upon Dr. Sinclair as he made his way to the large plush chair behind the judges bench. After the Court was called to Order, they were permitted to sit. Everything became a blur. The case number was called, the attorneys introduced, and then the charges filed against him by the government.
Six counts of failure to file tax returns, four counts of tax evasion, two counts of tax avoidance and, to top it off, one count of tax fraud. Aggregate charges that could procure over 80 years in prison. Even Sinclair’s lawyer was taken aghast by the extreme liberty the government had taken in their presentment of charges. Even so, the rabbit had been released and the dogs began to chase as arguments were posited on either side.
Essentially, the government argued that Sinclair’s actions were a willful and knowing attempt to defraud the federal government while his lawyer argued the opposite. In fact, if you examined what the government had seized, then the taxes were nearly paid off. After about thirty minutes, the judge had both sides come to the bench to speak off the record. With his acute hearing Sinclair tried to make out what was being said, but even if he could hear through the room’s terrible acoustics, he would not have understood their refined legal discussions.
After what seemed to be an eternity both sides returned to their respective tables. Sinclair’s lawyer whispered into his ear saying that they had a good deal and that he should take it. With that, the judge began to speak directly to him.
“Dr. Sinclair, the Court is well aware of your reputation and statute. It seems that you have fallen upon bad times . . . bad times indeed. However, there was once a Bishop who was the author of the ancient Didaskialia Apostolorum in which he speaks about the poor. This Bishop distinguished between those who are poor by their fault, such as the consequence of poor choices and alcoholism, and those who are truly indigent. I think everyone here knows what category in which fate has befallen yoy. Nevertheless, my wife and I have always have been great admirers of your work. In fact, we purchased season tickets to the orchestra in Isle Voletta when you became the music director and attended all of your concerts. You turned the orchestra into a professional, high-quality orchestra of acclaim which, for once, turned a profit. Then, one day you disappeared without so much as a trace. Soon after that, the orchestra could no longer survive. It fell apart and disbanded. Many lost their jobs and could not even pay for basic needs. Your actions hurt the people of Voletta both economically and artistically. Now, there no longer is an artistic presence and the city sits decaying with no music at all. Sad, very sad.”
He continued with his peripatetic and sophist speech:
“In the mater of the United States versus John Sinclair, the Court has accepted probation with the charges being dropped after two years of successful compliance of the terms herewith. That you, John Sinclair, engage your services to the Parish of Isle Voletta and re-create what you have formerly destroyed. This shouldn’t be difficult for a man of your abilities. Not only shall this help the people of this Parish but the many others that have been decimated from recent events. Plus, you’ll get to feel good about yourself. In addition, all taxes consequences will be removed and you will get certain chattels and realty restored. Failure in this matter will result in the Court adjudicating you guilty and sentencing you to eighty-seven years in federal prison. Oh, and any appeal on this issue will result in you spending the time in prison waiting for that to be decided. Do we have an agreement?”
A long winded speech from a man who obtains his authority merely from the black robes that he wears backed by a governmental commission. This was a grave abuse of judicial discretion and power. In fact, it appeared to be involuntary servitude. This man had no idea what his judicial order entailed or its inherent impossibilities. This was judicial fiat, and no more!
His attorney whispered into his ear vert carefully explaining the situation: There was a choice of four to five years in jail just waiting for an appeal in the hopes that the appeal would nullify the sentence and order a trial. However, this would compound taxes for those five years. Not only that, he would probably be found guilty on at least three charges which would land him at least six years. Or, he could attempt to revive an art here which has been moribund for several years.
His eyes rapidly shut and opened at the decision that lay before him. His breath was taken away as he tried to contemplate the situation at “bar.” The theater was destroyed, there was no talent in the surrounding areas, and most importantly, there was no MONEY to embark on a project of this magnitude. All he could hear was his lawyer chanting in his ear over and over to “take it, take it, take it, say yes, yes, yes.”
Mustering the energy to speak, he explained that what was purposed was an impossible feat and could not be done. Asking the judge how he should go about this project the only advice that was given was “You’ll either do the best you can with this or do the best you can with the eight-seven years.”
Again, feeling that he was being pushed by outside forces which he could not control, he grudgingly accepted the bizarre offer posited by the prosecutor and judge. He signed the proper paperwork to effectuate this decision. As the of the paperwork was being signed and shuffled, his lawyer slipped him an old CD of his recording with the Baltimore Symphony performing Mahler’s Fifth Symphony.
“The judge would like you to sign this and make it out to Beatrice, his wife.”
Sinclair’s eyes roared with the fire of an ancient headed hydra. He snatched it and signed it. Again, he was felt as if Mister Geppetto was working his strings telling him to “dance my little puppet, dance.”
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