RAILROADED IN TEXAS

The malicious intent of the law enforcement authorities in Tulia, Tex.,
was almost immediately evident as police officers fanned out early on
the morning of July 23, 1999. They weren't just going to arrest dozens
of the town's black residents for alleged drug trafficking, they were
going to publicly humiliate them.

Some suspects rousted from their beds were refused permission to dress
before being paraded in front of television crews, which had been
alerted in advance. At least one man was clad only in his underpants.

Kizzie White, a young woman who was arrested that morning, said in a
videotaped prison interview that the officers had come into her house
with their guns drawn and that some wore masks. "They wouldn't let me
put on my clothes," she said. "I had on boxers and a T-shirt with no
underclothes on. With no shoes on. Basically, they took me out
half-naked."

Ms. White was among those convicted of drug trafficking in the
subsequent assembly-line trials in which guilty verdicts were a
foregone conclusion. She is serving a sentence of 25 years in state
prison.

Ms. White was fingered, as was everyone else, by Tom Coleman, a
narcotics agent with an atrocious employment history and a penchant
for making criminal allegations against innocent people. (He claimed,
among other things, that Kizzie White's sister Tonya had sold him
drugs in Tulia when it turned out that Tonya had not even been living
in Texas.)

If Mr. Coleman had any professional or ethical standards, he managed
to keep them well hidden. His methods of identifying people who
allegedly sold him drugs were notoriously unreliable and sometimes
bizarre. But in Tulia they resulted in convictions
nevertheless.

Consider, for example, the case of Freddie Brookins Jr., who was sent to
prison for allegedly selling cocaine to Mr. Coleman. When asked how he had
identified Mr. Brookins, Mr. Coleman said, according to a habeas corpus
petition now pending before the Court of Criminal Appeals in Austin:

"I believe I talked to the sheriff on this occasion. I gave him the
description of the subject. And I believe the sheriff asked city
police officers or somebody, and told me -- says, 'Well, we got a
Freddie Brookins.' And I said, 'Okay. I need a picture of him.' And
then I called Linda [Deputy Sheriff Linda Swanson] and got a picture
of him. When she showed it to me, I came back, I think -- I don't
remember -- when I came back on Wednesday or so, she showed me the
picture. 'That's him.' So, there you go."

There you go. People were sent to prison for decades on these kinds of
flimsy and unsubstantiated identifications and recollections.

According to an appeal filed on Mr. Brookins's behalf by the NAACP
Legal Defense and Educational Fund, Deputy Sheriff Swanson testified
at Mr. Brookins's trial but "provided no photograph and could not
answer a single question about when she was asked to make a copy of
the alleged photograph which Coleman allegedly used to identify Mr.
Brookins."

That didn't matter to the jury. Freddie Brookins was convicted and
sentenced to 20 years in prison.

Ms. Swanson answers the phone for the Swisher County sheriff, Larry
Stewart. When I called and asked to speak to the sheriff, she began
asking me questions, including what my "religious preference" was.

I called another time to ask Ms. Swanson specifically about her role
in the identification of Mr. Brookins. "I'm not going to answer any
questions," she said.

When I asked why, she said the sheriff had told her not
to.

A few days ago I visited Mr. Brookins's father, Freddie Brookins Sr.,
at his home in Tulia. He's a slender, athletic-looking man of 48, who
is filled with grief over his son's fate.

He told me his son had been offered a plea bargain that would have
required him to serve five years. "He had already told me he was
innocent," said Mr. Brookins, "but I asked him again. I said to him,
'Did you do it?' He said, 'No, I didn't.' "

Mr. Brookins said he couldn't bear to advise his son to take a plea to
something he hadn't done. So Freddie Jr., 25 years old, went to trial.

The entire Brookins family knew what the outcome would be. When it
came time for sentencing, Mr. Brookins told each relative who was in
the courtroom not to cry.

"I said, 'Don't give them the benefit of seeing your tears. Don't give
them the satisfaction of knowing how much they've hurt you.' "