I attended a hearing yesterday afternoon. The case involves a violation of R.A. No. 7610, nicknamed the Child Abuse Law. Without going into the details (and risk getting disbarred), I appeared as private prosecutor for the offended party, a dad representing his adopted son.
The courtroom was bursting at the seams, with orange clad inmates charged with kidnapping for ransom occupying four rows of the smelly Mandaluyong sala. Anyway, the opposing counsel, Atty. G, approached me and asked if I would agree to a resetting. We have history, Atty. G and I. And so I smiled, and flatly said no. Atty. G's nostrils visibly flared. I could have sworn I saw something move inside. I blinked. The thing actually waved at me.
Good thing the docket clerk called our case. Atty. G and I stood up, side by side, and entered our appearances. The room was rather damp and cold, but I could see Atty. G was sweating profusely. The judge told Atty. G that he looked sick. I turn my head to look at him, careful not to look anywhere below his eyes. And yes, he did look sick. Atty. G told the judge that he was not feeling well. He then took out what looked like a mop from his breast pocket and started wiping his face. To add some drama, Atty. G clutched his throat and told the judge that his mouth was dry. The judge looked concerned. Everybody, including the city and state prosecutors, craned their necks to look at him. I got the folder I was clutching and started to fan his face. I don't know if I consciously did it to amuse myself, but the laughter that ensued certainly annoyed Atty. G.
To cut the story short, he requested for a postponement. I knew that the judge was inclined to grant a resetting. But I wanted Atty. G to suffer a little bit more. So I objected. I told the judge that the next setting was 3 months away, and that Atty. G seemed fine to me. "Eh, kung dito pa abutan yan," the judge said. Atty. G turned around and glared at the giggling inmates. And so I tapped Atty. G on the shoulder, and said I will agree to a resetting so long as it would be the last postponement. Atty. G took offense. Addressing the judge, he said that the court should take judicial notice that he has seldomly asked for postponements in his career.
For those of you who had the foresight not to take law, judicial notice is an evidentiary rule that allows the court to accept something as a fact without need of proof, such as the official acts of Congress and the political constitution of our country.
I simply coudn't resist. I had to say it. And so I did. I told the judge that there is nothing in the rules of evidence that allows the court to take judicial notice of Atty. G's habits. I was halfway through my statement when I felt Atty. G blister with anger. I could smell his fury. He slowly turned to face me. I felt hot and cold at the same time. I knew, like Sir Patrick Henry did some fifty years ago, that war had begun.
The courtroom was bursting at the seams, with orange clad inmates charged with kidnapping for ransom occupying four rows of the smelly Mandaluyong sala. Anyway, the opposing counsel, Atty. G, approached me and asked if I would agree to a resetting. We have history, Atty. G and I. And so I smiled, and flatly said no. Atty. G's nostrils visibly flared. I could have sworn I saw something move inside. I blinked. The thing actually waved at me.
Good thing the docket clerk called our case. Atty. G and I stood up, side by side, and entered our appearances. The room was rather damp and cold, but I could see Atty. G was sweating profusely. The judge told Atty. G that he looked sick. I turn my head to look at him, careful not to look anywhere below his eyes. And yes, he did look sick. Atty. G told the judge that he was not feeling well. He then took out what looked like a mop from his breast pocket and started wiping his face. To add some drama, Atty. G clutched his throat and told the judge that his mouth was dry. The judge looked concerned. Everybody, including the city and state prosecutors, craned their necks to look at him. I got the folder I was clutching and started to fan his face. I don't know if I consciously did it to amuse myself, but the laughter that ensued certainly annoyed Atty. G.
To cut the story short, he requested for a postponement. I knew that the judge was inclined to grant a resetting. But I wanted Atty. G to suffer a little bit more. So I objected. I told the judge that the next setting was 3 months away, and that Atty. G seemed fine to me. "Eh, kung dito pa abutan yan," the judge said. Atty. G turned around and glared at the giggling inmates. And so I tapped Atty. G on the shoulder, and said I will agree to a resetting so long as it would be the last postponement. Atty. G took offense. Addressing the judge, he said that the court should take judicial notice that he has seldomly asked for postponements in his career.
For those of you who had the foresight not to take law, judicial notice is an evidentiary rule that allows the court to accept something as a fact without need of proof, such as the official acts of Congress and the political constitution of our country.
I simply coudn't resist. I had to say it. And so I did. I told the judge that there is nothing in the rules of evidence that allows the court to take judicial notice of Atty. G's habits. I was halfway through my statement when I felt Atty. G blister with anger. I could smell his fury. He slowly turned to face me. I felt hot and cold at the same time. I knew, like Sir Patrick Henry did some fifty years ago, that war had begun.
Pleaded by Appellant on Tuesday, August 09, 2005 @ 4:27 PM with 0 Objections
