itself. Of course, I avoided all mention of the Laptev’s family religious beliefs.
“We are witnesses to the tragic and senseless death of a young militiaman,” I went on. “I have great sympathy for the parents of the deceased, and I also have great concern for any individual whose life is threatened. This is why I am here today defending Boris Laptev. A defense attorney defends an individual, not a crime. My professional duties allow me to use all the ways and means provided for by the law to protect the rights of the defendant, and my major frame of reference is Soviet criminal law.
“Some speculate that the sentence at a show trial is a foregone conclusion because the judge has already decided the outcome by bringing the accused to such a trial. This assumption is not necessarily correct. Although the code of criminal procedure provides a judge with this right, valid sentencing must have three signatures—the judge’s and the two people’s assessors’, who by Soviet law are regarded as judges.
“Second, the Soviet criminal code states that punishment also serves the purpose of preventing the occurrence of new crimes, either by convicts or by others. The show trial has that same objective of deterrent.” I paused and glanced around the hall; my eyes came to rest on the first of the people’s assessors. “Who are these ‘others’? The answer is that we are the others. We are, our people, the members of society, this audience, and people all over the country!
“The ultimate task of a show trial is to teach our youth the main social norms and obligations of Soviet society. In my opinion, this trial can provide them with more. For the first time in their lives, young people can learn a lesson of life and death. Some of the students in this audience witnessed the events in front of the movie theater, and some had these events recreated during the trial. Such awareness is exactly what the law requires. That, I believe, is one of the positive sides of a show trial. Furthermore, the show trial carries with it a feeling of participation and allows us to assume responsibility for preventing a tragic and meaningless death from happening again.”
I felt a tremor shoot up my left hand. It was hard to control the tension in my upper torso, but I couldn’t move from my defined territory at the table. “The life of every individual matters, the victim’s as well as the defendant’s. Boris Laptev is not only a good son and brother he is also a member of our Socialist society, a member of a school community, and a friend.
“Many students in the audience know him personally. I ask them to think about the events revealed during this trial. Furthermore, they know Boris Laptev better than we do. Our information is derived from the documents in the file, but theirs came from sharing with him ten long years of schooling. We know Boris never committed any offense or antisocial act before. They know he was a dutiful son who helped care for his two sisters when his mother had to work at night. We know Boris’s academic achievements from official records. His classmates know he helped many friends with their assignments . . .”
I had been talking for almost two hours, standing upright with my hands clutching the sides of my small table. My mouth was dry, my legs stiff and numb.
“There is no more honorable duty on earth than the defense of an innocent person, and Boris Laptev is such a person,” I concluded and sat down. My temples were throbbing badly, and I could hear my heart pound. For a moment I felt the silence of the entire center pressing in on me, and then, at first indecisively clapping here and there, the audience burst into applause.
The judge, infuriated, restored order. The prosecutor delivered her counter arguments twice, and I rebutted twice.
Boris Laptev received fifteen years in a labor camp. I heard the verdict with tremendous relief—the first round of the struggle was over.
I’m not sure why the court didn’t apply the death penalty. Was it because of my efforts during the trial or because the people’s assessors simply refused to sign the death sentence? By law there was no appeal. The sentence took effect immediately.
Two years later, the Supreme Court of the USSR reviewed an appeal. The high court altered the previous judgment of murder. Laptev was found guilty of negligent homicide, and his sentence was reduced to three years in a labor camp, including time served. A couple of months later, he was released.
In two decades as a defense attorney, I had few such victories. This one satisfied me deeply because acquittals existed only in textbooks of Soviet jurisprudence, not in the actual practice of law.
Several years had passed since that appeal in Moscow. I had certainly forgotten my two female adversaries at the trial, the state prosecutor and the public prosecutor, whose name I had never learned. I could hardly believe that the latter was sitting before me, in my office, as a client. Her trembling hands and her puffy face revealed that she had been crying for some time. Her eyes mirrored the fear in her daughter’s, but I felt no pity for her. The frustration and pain of the Laptev trial remained vivid in my memory.
“Can you promise me, Simona Davidovna, that nobody will know about my visit to your office?” she asked in a whisper.
“What is your name?”
“Galina Petrovna.”
“My dear Galina Petrovna, you must know that I always respect the rules of lawyer-client privilege. You could have chosen from thirty-two of our lawyers. But since you have come to me, please don’t worry. I’m listening to you.”
Her dramatic story unfolded quickly.
Her daughter, Tanya, fifteen years old, a high school student and a member of the Komsomol, the Communist Youth League, had for many years concealed a strong belief in God, even attending church secretly. All had been well until a classmate discovered Tanya’s diary and submitted it to the school principal. He had arranged a meeting with Tanya’s mother to discuss the matter. He suggested that Tanya publicly renounce her beliefs at an open Komsomol meeting. A party member himself, he had had no alternative.
Tanya refused.
So Galina Petrovna had brought the girl to my office, hoping that I would convince Tanya to renounce her faith.
“Are you a Party member?” I asked the mother.
“Yes, I am. My colleagues don’t know anything yet, but soon the story will be the main topic of discussion at the Board of Education, and I may lose my position.”
“What does your husband do?”
“He’s an engineer and also a Party member. I haven’t told him the story yet. I’m afraid he’ll kill her for what she’s done to us. She’s disgraced our entire family! She has ruined—”
“Galina Petrovna,” I cut in, “I would like to talk to your daughter alone. Would you please go downstairs to the waiting room?”
She had no objection, but as she left my office, she turned back to me. “Simona Davidovna, please help me!”
During this exchange Tanya had made no movement, but her frightened large eyes had not left mine.
“Tanechka, my dear girl, how have you managed to cope with all this?”
Her features stiffened with suspicion for a moment, and then her entire body convulsed with sobs. I sat quietly. Her handkerchief became soaked. I gave her mine. Not even looking at me, she took it without a word. Patiently waiting, I watched the girl’s small and delicate hands nervously twisting my handkerchief.
“I do not want to live any longer,” she began, her voice shaking. “I cannot live in a world where everybody lies—the teachers at school, my parents at home, the radio and TV. I can’t listen to them anymore! Church is the only place where I am at peace. I’m not alone in church, God is with me, and honest people are all around. Together, we’re the happiest people in the world. We’re not compelled to lie.
“And you want me to betray these people and return to the world of liars? I hate them all! They’ve made me live a double life! They want me to renounce what they’re not even able to perceive—the soulless, shameless opportunists! They want me to believe in ‘the bright