All's Fair in Love and (Drug) War

Gloria Mendoza thought she knew her boyfriend well. She and Neil had dated for four years and lived together. She knew that Neil used cocaine and sold the drug to support his addiction. At one point, she had convinced him to enter a drug rehab program, but he still didn't clean up his life. In 1994, they broke up a short time after he left the rehab program, and Gloria tried to move on with her life. She pursued her career as a real estate agent. She met and married a new man. She had a child.

And then, in late 1995, a year and a half after her break-up with Neil, Gloria was arrested by agents from the Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA). She discovered that there was a lot more to her ex-boyfriend that she didn't know.

What Gloria hadn't known was that Neil was under investigation by the DEA. He was arrested several months after their break-up and offered a deal -- name his criminal associates and get a substantially reduced prison sentence. Neil named Gloria.

Gloria was subsequently charged with three crimes. Two charges related to dealing drugs, and one was conspiracy to distribute cocaine. Gloria, according to the prosecutor's math, was facing a sentence that could include life in prison.

The prosecutor's case was based on some taped phone conversations with Neil in which nothing incriminating was said, some photos in which nothing incriminating was depicted, and the damning testimony of three witnesses: Neil, his buyer, and the buyer's girlfriend. All three witnesses had pleaded guilty to serious drug violations. All had received substantially reduced sentences for their testimony against Gloria.

Plea bargaining is common practice in the criminal justice system, but it plays a particularly significant role in drug cases because of the long sentences involved. Lengthy prison terms give witnesses more incentive to lie. It's not called bribery, and it's not usually regarded as such. But with decades of freedom at stake people lie. In Gloria's case, Neil and the two other witnesses firmly corroborated her involvement.

At her trial the jury recognized the unreliability of the witnesses. The jury cleared Gloria of the two charges of dealing cocaine. However, conspiracy cases rely only on circumstantial evidence: easy to prove, hard to dispel. The jury found her guilty of that charge.

In the end, it little mattered what the jury thought. When it came time for sentencing, Gloria, according to the prosecutor's math, was still facing a sentence that could include life in prison -- despite having been acquitted of the two serious charges.

When Justice Becomes a Matter of Math

Mandatory sentencing was actually designed to make prison sentences more equitable. A convicted rapist could get three years in one court, twelve in another. The guidelines sought to eliminate those imbalances by imposing a standard, across-the-board approach to sentencing. Sentencing decisions were essentially taken out of the courtroom and into the halls of Congress -- from the vagaries of a sole judge to the vagaries of 435 elected officials. And, since the early 1980s, penalties for drug crimes have been ratcheting upwards.

Mandatory sentencing turns the criminal justice process into a math equation. Type of drug plus the amount of drugs equals time in jail. Sounds simple, right? It is so far, but throw in the variables. Plead guilty and save the government the expense of a trial - that deducts jail time from the equation. Go even further and help the government with its investigation by naming your cronies - you get a big bonus for that. Lots of jail time off for cooperating.

In practice, this can result in vastly unequal sentences. High-level drug dealers plead guilty and get light sentences. People like Gloria -- whose actions have been exaggerated to serve the purpose of people like Neil -- go to trial. If they lose, they face enormous sentences. And sometimes, as in Gloria's case, even partial victories can still mean heavy sentences.