You were assaulting the person who has dedicated her entire career to ensuring that officers like you are held accountable for their actions. Judge Williams opened a thick file that had been placed on her bench. This file contains detailed records of every case you've testified in over the past five years. 43 cases, Officer Martinez.
43 times you've stood in my courtroom and sworn to tell the truth. She flipped through several pages. 28 of those cases involved defendants who were people of color. In 26 of those cases, you were the arresting officer.
And in every single one, "Officer Martinez," you described the defendants using remarkably similar language to what you used with me this morning. Martinez's face had gone from white to gray, acting erratically, refusing to comply, becoming aggressive, threatening officer safety. The same words, the same narrative, the same lies over and over again. Judge Williams closed the file with a sharp snap.
But here's what you didn't know, Officer Martinez. For the past 6 months, I've been working with the FBI's Civil Rights Division, the State Attorney General's Office, and the Department of Justice to investigate systemic patterns of racial bias and misconduct in this police department. The public defender stopped writing and simply stared at his client with something approaching pity. Your name, "Officer Martinez," appears on a federal watch list.
You have been under surveillance. Your communications have been monitored. Your arrest patterns have been analyzed. She leaned forward slightly.
And this morning, "Officer Martinez," you provided us with the most perfect, unambiguous, undeniable evidence of criminal civil rights violations that any prosecutor could hope for. Judge Williams lifted her gavel. You assaulted a federal judge while she was performing her official duties. You did so based explicitly on racial animus as evidenced by your own recorded statements.
You then committed perjury when you lied under oath about the circumstances of that assault. The gavel hovered in the air. "Officer Martinez," you asked me this morning if I knew my place. Well, let me tell you exactly what my place is.
Her voice filled the courtroom with quiet authority. My place is on this bench in this courtroom, ensuring that justice is served. My place is holding people like you accountable when you abuse the power we've entrusted to you. The gavel came down once.