A LASTING STING

Is justice delayed better than none at all?

On a July morning in 1999, 46 people-including more than 10 percent of the
black population and a handful of whites in our tiny town of Tulia,
Texas-were locked up for alleged drug offenses on the uncorroborated word
of undercover agent Tom Coleman. Two weeks after the sting, a local
editorial denounced the defendants as "scumbags." Offended by this rush to
judgment, I shared my concerns with a Sunday school class. "They are
scumbags," I was informed, "and they're all going to prison." When I
learned that Coleman had been arrested on theft charges in the middle of
his 18-month operation, my concern deepened.

Days after one of those arrested, an aging hog farmer, was sentenced to 90
years, a ragtag collection of defendants, their families, and a handful of
supporters from Tulia's white community came together. Calling ourselves
Friends of Justice, we worked to expose a bogus law-enforcement operation.
By fall 2000, a civil rights suit had been filed and the Department of
Justice was conducting a full-scale investigation.

When the story went national, 500 other Tulia citizens responded to the
negative publicity by crowding into the Swisher County Memorial Building
for a rally in support of law enforcement officials. Most local support for
the drug sting never flagged, even though no drugs or other evidence were
found in any of the arrests, and some defendants had proof that they
weren't even in town when they supposedly bought or sold drugs. A
schoolteacher captured the local mood perfectly: "Any attack on the
undercover investigation, the officers involved, and subsequent trials" was
"an attack on our entire community."

"I have never seen a community rally and get this strong," Church of Christ
pastor Trey Morgan told a reporter. A Pentecostal minister agreed. If the
bleeding hearts in New York and Los Angeles wanted to coddle their drug
dealers, that was their business.

TULIA'S WHITE religious community was particularly stung by accusations of
racism. It wasn't the color of their skin that damned the defendants, they
argued in a series of letters to the editor, it was the content of their
character. "I'll admit to being prejudiced," a Church of Christ deacon
boasted. "I'm prejudiced against people who refuse to work because they
choose to live on welfare."

This March, after a week of evidentiary hearings, prosecutors finally
admitted that Coleman was simply not credible under oath. Texas legislators
passed an emergency bill freeing everyone who had been convicted on the
basis of Coleman's uncorroborated word, and Gov. Rick Perry issued full
pardons. Media emphasis shifted from racial prejudice to judicial fairness,
and, like Rip Van Winkle, Tulia's religious establishment awakened to a
radically changed world.

A Tulia grand jury has indicted Tom Coleman on three counts of aggravated
perjury. County officials have refused to help District Attorney Terry
McEachern fend off an ethics inquiry.

Perhaps more significant, funding for Tulia's drug rehabilitation center
has been doubled. An ad hoc committee (including several black citizens
impacted by the drug sting) is working on a new economic development
strategy. The Tulia ministerial association is encouraging local businesses
to hire sting defendants, and a multiracial citizens review committee has
been established to hear complaints of official misconduct.

Civil suits have been filed against a long list of local officials, so we
may wait forever for official acknowledgment of wrongdoing. But these other
recent developments do signify a change of heart in the community. For the
moment, that will suffice. -Alan Bean

Alan Bean is the director of Friends of Justice, a Tulia-based criminal
justice reform organization. He is writing Taking out the Trash in Tulia,
Texas, an insider's account of the aftermath of the Coleman sting.

A Lasting Sting. by Alan Bean. Sojourners Magazine, November-December 2003
(Vol. 32, No. 6, pp. 18-19). Commentary.