Phantom Justice: Koo v. State of Indiana

country.

1

Sentence

On August 26, 1992, the temporary judge Edward Page sentenced me to twenty years in prison to satisfy himself, and on October 15, I was moved to the RDC (Reception and Diagnostic Center) from the Lake County Jail.

Because the fairness of the laws was abandoned, the integrity of the court disappeared and an evil brand of justice reigned under the auspices of the court, so a painful three-week ghost trial commenced. But at the end of the trial I was convicted and the condemnation of my life began, without my receiving a true and solid foundation of fair defense against the charges in this democratic country, America.

When the allegation was made that I raped a patient, no one came and investigated the allegation and collected the necessary evidence in accordance with criminal procedure, yet two years later the charges were published. During the trial, the court allowed the sham deputy prosecutor, Phillip Benson, to present fabricated and uncontested physical evidence.

From the beginning, because phantom justice overpowered reason at the time of the trial, there was no fairness of the law to speak of, but predominantly discriminatory trial patterns were dictated. So eventually I had to surrender my rights to devils.

ORDER

08-26-92.   For committing the offense of rape, a Class B felony, the defendant is remanded to the custody of the department of correction for classification and confinement in an appropriate facility for a term of twenty years, the maximum sentence.

SO ORDERED: T. EDWARD PAGE, Judge Pro Tempore

*Pursuant to the Indiana Rules of Trial Procedure, Trial Rule 63(A).

In the Hammond Times:

August 27, 1992

Koo sentenced to 20 years

Crown Point — Dr. Young Soo Koo was sentenced to the maximum 20-years term for rape conviction in July.

August 28, 1992

Koo’s lawyers plan quick appeal

CROWN POINT — Appellate lawyers for a Schererville doctor convicted of raping a patient during an office visit say they will waste no time in trying to get the conviction overturned.

Joseph Van Bokkelen, who will represent Dr. Young Soo Koo in his appeal, said during this week’s sentencing hearing that he wants a new trial and a clear shot at an acquittal. Van Bokkelen said his appeal will question the correctness of two rulings by Lake Superior Court Magistrate T. Edward Page. The first was Page’s ruling that the trial defense lawyer, John Breclaw, was improperly excluding women from the jury. During jury selection, lawyers from either side are allowed 10 challenges to potential jurors without cause, and an unlimited number if they can show a reason a person should be excluded.

Page ruled Breclaw was using some of his 10 no-causal, or peremptory, challenges to exclude female jurors. Breclaw denied this and said he challenged the woman cited as an example by Page not because of her gender but because she was a registered nurse. Recent U.S. Supreme Court rulings say that peremptory challenges, although supposedly for any cause, cannot be used to exclude jurors because of race. When Breclaw said Page’s ruling did not follow the Supreme Court test, Page admitted he was taking the high court ruling and putting a new twist on it, although he said he felt his interpretation will be upheld.

The second challenge will be to Page’s ruling that allowed two women to testify at Koo’s trial that they had been raped by Koo in his office. It was unfair to ask Koo to respond to allegations for which he had never been criminally charged, Breclaw said.

Evidence of uncharged crimes is admissible in Indiana under narrow rule that says such crimes must be so unique as to leave little doubt they were committed by the defendant. These so-called finger-print or signature crimes are normally used in cases of serial crimes.

Breclaw argued to Page, and Van Bokkelen said he will argue to the appeals court, that if the allegations were too weak to charge Koo, they were too weak to be used as evidence of another crime.

Judges have discretion whether to allow signature crimes into evidence and judges presented with the same set of circumstances can disagree about whether such a signature exists. Should the appeals court rule in favor of Koo, Van Bokkelen would not have to defend against the uncharged allegations.

2

Beginning of the Condemned Life

October 15

Transfer to RDC from Lake County Jail, Indiana

Early in the morning, at around 4 a.m., one correctional officer knocked on my cell and ordered me to get ready to go to the RDC. Meantime, I had learned a little about the RDC from other jail inmates.

They told me that RDC stands for the Reception and Diagnostic Center for bad boys. It sounded good to me when I heard the name. It seemed to me that the state wanted to take good care of all prisoners committed for their crimes, charges or sentences. I believed the state would make a diagnosis for their crimes individually for the state’s records and discover the etiologies of each crime for future uses. Then, the state would initiate constructive recommendations for each crime. I was somewhat excited.

I had nothing to pack. The officer handcuffed and took me down to the jail booking area where I was initially taken following the trial three months ago. It was already familiar in my sight, and then I realized I had become one of the senseless prisoners of Indiana after all.

In there, they ordered me to change into civilian clothes — those I had worn when I enlisted in — so I did, and then I was dropped into a separated cell next to the booking office and uncuffed.

Soon six other prospective prisoners were brought down. So the cell was warmed with prisoners, and it seemed not a bad place for them, by the way they were talking with each other. Of course, I was an atypical extra, but most of all they did not pay any attention to me. I was left alone in the corner.

They were acting and talking like experts of all things criminal, and they chanted while clapping their hands as they told about the charges and were recounting their thrilling adventures of crimes outside. They made high-fives and touched palms as though winners, and then laughed and smiled. I watched them talk but could not understand what they were really talking about. I tried not to look at them and just kept to myself.

Once their moods were up, they were predicting their destinations and their respective characters openly as if they were already assigned to them.

There were four whites, two blacks, and me, a special, being none of the above. Soon, they served breakfast: one bowl of cereal and a quart of juice with milk. Past 6 a.m., the booking place began to get busy and the police officers were bringing new merchandise in their cars and sold them to this county jail free of charge.

At around 7 a.m., the transportation officer put handcuffs and shackled us because bad boys might act crazy. They were a way of reassuring people that these specimens of expensive merchandise won’t get loose from their hands.

When they put shackles on me, I thought I was going to transform into a Dracula. I lost my mind for a few seconds. I felt as if I was one of those evils from the histories of trial complexes in the Lake County, Indiana. I felt like I was going to kill everybody instinctively. In a second, I held my emotion, took a deep breath and stood still.

When we lined up, the back steel door of the jail was opened with a squeaking sound. One transporting car, just like a remodeled army ambulance, was waiting for us. The transporting car had two parts, one part with a long steel seat, while the other part looked empty.

As I went out of the jail building, I wished to cry out but suppressed my feelings and hit my chest with handcuffed hands in order for me not to expose my feelings. It was the most aching and devastating moment in my life. I took a deep breath and then wandered for a few seconds until the officer yelled at me.

It started to rain from morning and the outside was foggy. The raindrops were good enough to wet my face while I was merely standing on the ground for the orders. As the chilly wind hit my face, my body trembled for a second. I knew they were not going to fling me into the sea, so I kept waiting for a command. Slowly I realized I had to obey orders from this civilization since I was someone this society hated and its court condemned.

Suddenly, something made me think extraordinarily. I sensed that the State was afraid I might say something bad to it, so it had to take me away from any contact for a long period of time and put me under its plots and imaginations. No one would know until God would bring out the truth, but for the time being society would not mind God at any cost. That’s the end of the first chapter.

As I got in the car, I teared up slowly, and the tears finally dropped from my chin, but it was hard to wipe them off because my hands were cuffed and shackled together. I bent my head and barely wiped my face with my sleeves. To me it felt like I was being taken away to the memories of Auschwitz from WWII, because in there I could not see and seek and find freedom. WWII maniacs still are remaining and existing in this country, America, which is why I have to worry.

When the car began to roll, it made all sorts of noises, reminding me of carrying wrecks of war time. And the weather reminded me of all manner of justices and injustices of Indiana, and seeking relief, eventually my soul drifted away from the reality, but then, just the same, insidiously digested the fact of life in America. Those were painful moments thinking of life in America.

The car was moving steadily. It was hard to see outside through the small, iron-barred window. Again, prisoners were talking about the prisons where they would be going and about each prison’s notorious characters. I had noticed that these prisoners must have experienced life in prisons before. I listened but made no comment since I had no knowledge about the prison system in Indiana.

About thirty minutes later my tears dried up, and then I just concentrated on the direction the car was heading. The other guys began to drift away after about a half-hour of talking, and all I could hear was only car engine sounds.

RDC (Reception and Diagnostic Center),

Plainfield, Indiana

At around 11 a.m. the car arrived at RDC, the major collection center. Outside, it was still foggy and there was a little poor visibility. The officer released shackles and handcuffs and then took us inside the building. In there, the officer double-checked our individual names and then made us walk underground about fifty yards, connecting from the outside building to the RDC main building.

When we arrived at the reception hall, there were many prisoners from other counties before us so that the place seemed pretty noisy and the hall was crowded with inmates. It reminded me of the flea market outside. Everything I saw inside the facility was not in its proper place and the building was so old it looked like I was taken to the wholesale garage. Suddenly, I was confused and I felt I did not like the name, RDC.

While we were sitting on ragged chairs, one RDC prison worker approached and said that they allowed us to keep a Bible and writing materials but no ball pen. About ten minutes or so passed and one prison-uniformed inmate called us, so I thought they were going to hand us a coffee and coffee-cakes to welcome us to signify the name of RDC, but it was rather the opposite.

They took us inside the showers instead. They made us stand inside, and then quickly sprayed disinfectants to eliminate street infestations of any bugs and bad things, especially lice in the pubic area.

Followed by the spray reception, I stood up in front of correctional officers at the corner of the shower and they began to check our naked bodies one by one by giving verbal orders.

One officer gave me orders.

Open your mouth, turn around, lift your leg, so I followed.

Put your hands on your cheek and spread it, the officer said, but I hesitated for a second.

I immediately put both hands on my face and squeezed, because I did not have any idea how I could possibly spread my cheek according to my understanding. Then, they laughed and giggled but I did not know why.

After the body inspections, I met one very mean man who was in civilian clothes. As I sat next to him he said something but I could not decipher what he was trying to tell me. It sounded like murmuring but soon I knew he was giving me the authentic prison number that would belong to me for the rest of my life. It was the authorized wholesale serial number for future usage. He in effect notarized me to become one of the most expensive goods in our society as he proudly stamped my number on the paper.

After I got the new prison driver’s license number, they took mug shots with my license plate on my chest, and then took us to the barber shop followed by a trip to a small window where one middle-aged female worker checked for any tattoos as these were common body symbols among criminals. Unfortunately I disappointed her because I had nothing.

I thought when we got to RDC, they were going to serve some kind of donuts for our reception, but I realized their idea of receptions was to receive us as one big batch or package of valuable goods in the justice business.

When their reception of us was done, they took us to the cafeteria. I was hungry, so the foods were delicious and definitely better than jail. I knew then I was registered to be a member of Indiana DOC as an expensive liability of the state.

Following chow, we were taken to the cells on the second floor. I was sent to cell 2B-12. When I arrived at the cell, one young white prisoner from Ohio welcomed me as his cellmate.

The building was very old and looked as if the state had paid off the mortgages a long time ago, and the structure of the cell was like that in the movie on the Alcatraz. Each cell was 6 feet by 8 feet and had one bunk bed and toilet with an attached washbasin. It smelled repulsive to me instinctively but, just the same, I digested it immediately as I walked in, knowing it was going to be my dwelling place for the next so many days. As I stepped into the cell, I quickly became emotional. I knew I had to deal with any circumstances coming to me, and so I shook hands with my new cellmate and then lay on the bed for the endless journey ahead of me.

It was the beginning of my DOC life.

RDC Supplies

They gave me one blanket, a pillow and two sheets. It was a civilized country prison, so prisoners’ supplies were better. I realized for sure that this DOC tried to keep the expensive commodities in good condition.

Soon, they delivered a toothbrush and toothpaste; ironically, those were donated by Mr. Bob Barker, of The Price Is Right, because his name was stamped on the supplies. Anyway, I liked them and opened them immediately and so now I brushed my teeth with a real toothbrush.

At about 4 p.m., they took newcomers to the orientation room. One young black officer, who was from Mississippi, gave us the introductory speech about RDC.

He welcomed us warmly and heartily indeed because he knew prisoners were important for him to keep his job. He loved to use the F-word in between phrases. He told us about the RDC and its function and then asked us to follow orders. He gave me a speed lecture, but most of them were F-words. I understood that he had to use F-words because that way it was easy for inmates to understand his speech. After his lecture, I began to notice that I had to use these F-words myself to make people understand my words from then on.

To Be an Offender from a Defender

The initial welcome party at RDC was officially over at around 9 p.m. Now, it was a beginning of a new career as a prisoner and as a new DOC member. Surprisingly, they began to call us offenders. I tried to figure out why they called us offenders. I was very confused but I could not ask anyone about this. I’d feel stupid if I did.

It took a few minutes to figure out why they called us the offenders. According to my theory, the trial game was a lot like playoff football games. Prior to conviction, defendants defended their teams against the State’s, but in the first half the defendants lost the game by a score of 21-0 and the State humiliated them. During this period, the defendants did not have enough probable powers and weapons to beat the State.

It was the second half. Now it was the defenders’ turns to offend and fight back to win their games. So far, the offenders failed to win any games yet. The State knew the defendants had no strengths and strategies to score a touchdown in the second half. Knowingly, the State had given time to the defendants to offend and take their balls back, therefore, I thought, they called us the offenders. Once I thought about my theory, it made sense to me. I began to absorb the meaning of offender, although I never offended anyone in my life.

3

RDC Facility

The Main Wholesale Distributor, RDC

The RDC is located in Plainfield, Indiana, next to the Indiana Youth Center, where poor Mike Tyson was incarcerated because of a complaint by a woman who was very disappointed at his sexual performance.

In my theory on the Tyson case, when she met him, she had expected good and enthusiastic sexual pleasures from him since Tyson was the world heavyweight champion. However, she only felt strong physical contacts like a punching bag might feel in boxing practice, without getting any satisfaction. Unfortunately, Tyson just pressed hard like punching her on the ring and knocked her out without giving her any orgasm and pleasure, so that she became very mad and disbelieving at his attempts at intimacy.

Later, knowing she was embarrassed and humiliated, she decided to make a complaint against him for his sexual responsibilities. Furthermore, she wanted him to pay for failing to give her satisfaction, so she contacted an attorney, and the counsel assured her this was a big fish. She immediately filed the claim and won, and then extorted easily. She knew the public would be on the side of any woman’s complaints.

Street lawyers are always waiting for something to happen like a car accident. And here was someone determined not to forgive Tyson for his poor sexual performance as a famous boxing champion. This was why, I believe, she went ahead and accused Tyson.

The RDC was old and the building color was faded, but somehow the state used it well and made fortunes from it. It consumed about 500 new vials of merchandise and generated new incomes for the Justice Department on an everyday basis. It smelled all over but I dared not make a complaint; instead, I consumed all atmospheres of the RDC as a given in order to remain within the wholesale distributor.

When darkness approached, I immediately felt lonesome and remote, and a strange sensation came over me. I could not explain what I was thinking, but nervously sat on the bed like a retarded person. Suddenly, I felt tears coming down my face. I kept holding my emotions, because I knew I would be released following the appeal.

In my opinion, the RDC facility was the initial wasting place of the state’s budget, because the state captured young restless people, put them behind bars and tried to domesticate them by their interpretations and judgments. Most of all, they never diagnosed prisoners’ criminal diseases.

Correctional Officers

One thing that clearly drew my attention when I first got in was that almost every one of the correctional officers within RDC was over 250 pounds. I realized the prison needed heavyset officers to control bad guys, but surprisingly, most predators were as heavy as the officers. I noticed these prisoners were well fed even outside. I presumed that in order for the DOC to control and handle heavy merchandise, they hired heavyweight workers.

The random distribution center, RDC, was as jammed as its look and name. I never dreamed America had this many of viable and profitable merchandise under the name of the law. Whenever I watched the auctioned offenders I was shocked, because I never knew these kinds of human trades were available in this democratic and civilized country, Indiana. I began to learn the value of the prison and the price of the commodity that was the prisoner. I remembered America had the most human rights and constitutional rights, but now I realized that all rights prevailing under the law were just for the manipulators.

First Day at RDC

I could not sleep well. I was thinking and imagining too much. The officer informed us that we would be made to take the admission tests to determine whether we were qualified as Indiana prisoners. They gave the GD tests like questions and answers in order for them to be entertained by prisoner’s mistakes. It did not make any sense why the DOC had to spend money and time in the first place, but I complied. These were all formalities and they knew these were not practical and helpful ideas to correct prisoners’ problems, but since the DOC collected bad boys at one place they knew they had to show something to taxpayers before distributing the merchandise to the local stores, and so they were running the IQ tests.

Second Day at RDC

From early morning, they started to feed us in sequence by the floor, and when we came back from the chow hall, an officer walked into our cell and took my cellmate to move him to another retail store as his new home for the next so many years, where he would be getting free checking-up, feeding, and housing.

The advantage of being incarcerated was that prisoners did not have to worry about their living expenses — housing, food and clothing — for the next many years. I lay down and was thinking unthinkable things including the reason for the existence of the DOC.

Soon, they called me for the medical checkup. They gave me the HIV test, followed by the dental checkup and complete physical, and then took my chest X-ray.

After lunch, my new cellmate, Glen Harry, moved in. As soon as he walked in, he started to smoke continuously. Quickly my nose started to pick up his smoke and it made me cough.

Letter from Mr. Van Bokkelen

During the first week of September, while I was at Lake County jail, I wrote letters to my new appeal counsel, Mr. Van Bokkelen, pertaining to the charge itself and with information on how my trial attorney, John Breclaw, had represented me during the trial and also why Mr. Breclaw did not object to the admission of the evidence presented by the state and never discussed the defense strategies with me.

I told him that the alleged offense occurred on March 30, 1989 but only two years later did the state make a charge, and in the meantime, the police