Court

I spent all morning watching court proceedings at the Multnomah County Courthouse. Today I was there with the Explore the Law program, five years ago I was an in-custody defendant, cuffed and escorted to my probation violation hearing. Today I was just another undergrad with our tour-guide-attorney. Sitting through the drug court proceeding, I was outed as an “other”—not a defendant. Someone asked me if I was there as an observer. Have I moved so far beyond my defendant days it is somehow visible? What if I don’t want to lose that side of me? I had this strange urge to tell the defendants, especially those in custody, I’m just like you, I’ve been there, I actually know what it’s like.

I feel overcome with guilt when I walk out of the New Seasons with my bags of overpriced groceries and hop into my Prius. I know—or I assume to know—what the Street Roots vendor sees when he looks at me. I look like a yuppie. And maybe I am.

Why am I a recovery and re-entry success when so many others are not?