Public defender an outspoken advocate for 'sacred rights'

SANDPOINT — In the lobby of the Bonner County Public Defender's office hangs a poem by Helen Keller.  It reads:

"I am only one, but still I am one.

I cannot do everything, but still I can do something.

I will not refuse to do the something I can do."

At the back of the building, down hallways that jog and intersect as they pass a series of closely spaced doorways, sits the office of Izzy Robertson. It's a small room with a desk and bookshelves in one corner, a table with two chairs placed near the door.  Robertson has served as the county's public defender for about a year, continuing in a field of law that she has practiced since 1997.

"This is my calling – and I say that in a very spiritual manner," she said.  "This is where my joy meets the world."

Her comment, coupled with a soft voice and gentle demeanor, might make the casual observer think that Robertson could be a pushover in the courtroom. That impression gets a stiff shove backward when she talks about the nature of her work. There is no mistaking that, behind the calm exterior, the attorney sees herself as a warrior on the front lines of a battle for the rights of the accused.

"Our 14th Amendment rights are sacred," she said, referring to the constitutional guarantees of equal protection of the law. "Those rights must be preserved or they will erode to the point where we slide into fascism. I'm not saying we're even close to that, but it happens — it erodes — one step at a time.

"This is an important job that keeps the checks and balances in place and keeps democracy working," she added. "Every one of those rights is precious.  And this is a way I can help preserve them."

Robertson's office staff includes two other attorneys — Dan Sheckler and Janet Whitney — and clerks Claire Walpole, Stacie Riffe, Cindy Hellen, Lindsey Ducken and Annie Nash.  She describes their caseload as "high but manageable" and insists that numbers don't tell the whole story when it comes to how they do their job.

"We have a large number of cases, but we look at one case at a time so that we can give adequate care to that client," she said.  

Despite that, there are defendants who think the whole concept of equal protection is a sham. Lacking trust in the court system, they enter the process believing the deck is stacked against them and often lash out at the attorneys who have been appointed to represent them. The fact that the public defender has developed a positive working relationship with the prosecutor's office and judges might feed that perception.

"Some of our clients are verbally abusive," she said. "They call us 'public pretenders' — along with a lot of other names we get thrown at us — and there are clients who say things like 'you're only in public practice because you couldn't make it in private practice.'"

But according to Robertson, the public defenders are highly regarded in the courtroom.

"The judges respect us," she said. "The prosecutors respect us. They know we're doing everything that's legally and ethically possible to defend our clients.  We show up and we're highly qualified, ethical attorneys who do good work."

Part of that work involves defending individuals who have been accused of acts so evil that, as far as the some might be concerned, it is an offense to give them a day in court. Robertson allowed that there have been occasions where she had to swallow hard and get on with doing the job she was hired for.

"I have looked at cases where I faced a decision of whether to quit and leave this line of work or suck it up and do my job," she said. "It's a decision that, through maturity in the job, I come to grips with most of the time.

"Remember one thing," Robertson added. "These are people who have been accused.

"Accused," she repeated for emphasis, fixing cobalt blue eyes on the listener.  "There's a human being involved and we simply know what they've been accused of. Every spiritual text I've read teaches that we can't afford to be judgmental toward one another. There are assumptions we can't afford to make."

But isn't she — at least indirectly — helping to make the ultimate decision of guilt or innocence as part of the process that takes place in the courtroom?

"Not me," Robertson answered. "The jury makes that decision; the judge makes that decision.  But I wouldn't want to be in their shoes for anything.

"This is a misunderstood area in our community," she went on.  "Yes, we deal with crimes, but we also deal with people who are mentally ill and with alcoholics and addicts who make poor choices."

For that reason, a large portion of the department's budget goes toward intervention — a trend that is playing out in courtrooms across the country.

"Seventy-five percent of our caseload has a mental illness disorder or an addiction disorder that is at the root of the crime that brought the person to our office," the public defender said. "If we can assist in an intervention or point someone to a place where they can get care and treatment, we count that as a major success. That's why we're here."

It's more than a feel-good approach, she said. Treatment is a systematic way to get people back on track and contributing to society, instead of disrupting it.  Robertson held up Bonner County's Drug Court program as an example.

Judges have the option of presenting Drug Court — a program that is now operating in more than 50 locations throughout Idaho — as the only alternative to prison for some of the addicts who come before them. Defendants with a history of violent crime or sexual offense are not allowed in the program.

Enrollment in Drug Court involves 18 months of regular, random drug testing, daily check-in with the court, required attendance at 12-Step recovery meetings and individual counseling sessions and often hundreds of hours in community service work. Throughout the process, participants are monitored by their parole and probation officers.

"Those folks usually don't come back into my life," Robertson said. "They graduate out of there with a shine on their face, walking taller and becoming someone we can all honor and respect. Those are great rewards right there."

On the subject of respect, the public defender knows that the legal profession is not seen in a positive light. Her response, she explained, is to lead an office that does what it can to offset that impression.

"When it comes to the well-being of people with mental illness, when it comes to equal protection of the law, we are our brother's keeper," Robertson said.  "I must treat my fellow man with dignity. I feel like this door has been opened to me and I'm going to use it.

"We're not blood-sucking attorneys here; we're members of the community who work to provide the best care for our clients," she added.  "There are always going to be attorneys who continue to give this profession a bad name.

"I can't do anything about that but hold my candle high."