Via Skelly at Arbitrary & Capricious, there are few defendant-gone-wild stories to match this one from the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette:

Timothy Lee Williams’ lawyer, Frank C. Walker II, stood next to him, powerless.

He had advised Mr. Williams not to testify, but his client didn’t listen.

“All I really wanted to do was express myself,” the defendant began, launching into an incoherent diatribe about his life and the circumstances surrounding a Hill District homicide.

His testimony Tuesday — during which Mr. Williams, 40, admitted to the killing and revealed that he was a “swinger” with 17 girlfriends — sealed his first-degree murder conviction.

The story chalks this up to the “uncooperative client,” the client who doesn’t “heed” his lawyer’s advice.  While that’s certainly a problem, and a phenomenon, that happens with remarkable frequency, I doubt it was the case here.  The client simply had a very different agenda than the lawyer, whose sole focus was defending his client against the murder charge.  We lawyers assume that the clients want what we want. 

The problem here wasn’t that Timothy Lee Williams thought he was smarter than his lawyer, or that he would be more effective in his defense than his lawyer.  The problem is that he wanted to tell his story.  He had a room full of people who were there solely for him, rapt with every minute detail of his actions.  He was the center of attention.  He was the star.  How many times before in his life had anyone cared a whit about anything he had to say?  Now, that’s all they cared about.

One right that can cause conflict between lawyer and client is the right to testify. Many defendants — especially ones who have stewed in jail for a long time — want a chance to tell their side of the story. But from a legal perspective, it often does more harm than good.

“Very few defendants who take the stand actually help themselves,” said Sumner Parker, who has worked in the Allegheny County public defender’s office for 22 years.

Lawyers know that.  Defendants, for the most part, know that as well.  But a superficial analysis as reflected by this story neglects to consider the psychological makeup of a defendant, and the forces that drive someone to implode.  Does anyone really think that the defendant didn’t realize that admitting to the murder would be detrimental to the cause of acquittal?  But that wasn’t really his game; he wanted to be heard.

“The lawyers have a great deal of experience trying cases. For the defendant, this is one of the few times they will ever be in a courtroom. [But] they think they have the answers.”

The answers often come from “jailhouse lawyers” — fellow inmates who advise on legal matters but don’t have the training — or family members, rather than a defendant’s attorney.

Certainly, jailhouse lawyers and overly helpful relatives present roadblocks in presenting an effective defense.  They tend toward magic bullet solutions, unrealistic and ineffective.  Often, following their advice will doom a defense, even when there’s a great defense available.  But that’s a case management issue for a criminal defense lawyer, and one which any good lawyer should be capable of handling, particularly given its frequency.  But handling crazy collateral advice wouldn’t change Williams’ testimony.

The contradictory advice comes most often when an attorney is a public defender or court-appointed.

“[Defendants] view the system as being all against them and a lawyer — defense or prosecution — is part of the system,” said John Elash, who has been court-appointed to represent numerous indigent criminal defendants.

“They don’t view you as somebody who’s on their side. They view you as somebody who’s part of this big machine who is oppressing them.”

Somewhat true, though a bit on the martyrdom side of rationalizations.  While many defendants sneer at public defenders, viewing them as the booby-prize of indigency, second-stringers in a second-tier profession, there’s no reason why the good ones (meaning of course that there are indeed some lousy ones as well) can’t handle their clients’ fears and dread as would any other lawyer.  Neither retained nor assigned lawyers get a free ride on client trust and respect.  We all have to earn it.

The fact remains that sometimes a defendant primary goal in the midst of trial isn’t to defend himself, isn’t to win.  It’s to seize the moment, to enjoy the one thing that hes never had in his life and will never have again.  People who will listen.  For these defendant, a stately room filled with a dozen citizens, a black robed God-like figure sitting high on a bench, plus some others, who listen with rapt attention to his every word for as long as he cares to speak, is the high point of their lives. 

Much of crime is a grab for attention.  It’s the assertion of power over others by might.  It’s a demonstration of control.  The reason someone engages in anti-social behaviors like this is that they have never had any control or power over others, and perhaps not even over themselves, and so seize it the only way they can.  It’s certainly a sociopathic reaction, and it’s intolerable in society.  But it happens with some frequency. 

If you compare the need for attention as manifested in a criminal act with the opportunity presented to a defendant in a criminal court room, the former doesn’t hold a candle to the latter.  It’s the ultimate pulpit for a defendant to spread his brilliance, vindicate his self-worth, express his every thought.  Yes, it’s crazy, but people are presumed innocent, not sane.  Or at least not legally insane.

Timothy Lee Williams had his day in court.  He chose to spend it by telling the gathered throng his views on life.  He was convicted of first-degree murder.  I hope it was as satisfying for Williams as he hoped, as the price of his day in the sun will be very high.