Jim Dey: Good reason to be careful about what you wish for

May 3—Like a lot of bad ideas, it seemed like a good one at the time.

But after having had time to reflect on his decision to represent himself on gun and drug charges in federal court, where he ended up with a 138-month prison sentence, Qwanell Jones decided he wanted a do-over.

Sorry, said the federal court of appeals in Chicago.

The U.S. Constitution guarantees criminal defendants like Jones the right to "go down in flames if they wish."

The court record reflected that Jones — at least initially — fervently wished to represent himself, and the law permitted him to do it.

The U.S. Constitution outlines a variety of citizen rights, including freedom of speech, freedom of religion and freedom from unreasonable searches.

But not all freedoms are wise to exercise, and that's where the Sixth Amendment right to representation comes in.

Defendants in a criminal case are entitled to legal counsel. But they also have an iron-clad right to represent themselves if they are foolish enough to want to do so.

It's become quite the thing over at the Champaign County Courthouse in Urbana, where multiple defendants have decided they are frustrated barristers.

Jones fell into that category — with the predictable result.

That's why, on appeal, he argued his conviction should be overturned because the trial court wrongly permitted him to represent himself.

That's akin to a defendant who killed his parents asking for mercy because he's an orphan — and just about as successful.

The court's recent opinion affirming Jones' conviction shows the lengths the courts will go to discourage unwise decisions, like the one Jones made, before acceding to a defendant's wishes.

In Jones' case, two different judges — Magistrate Eric Long and U.S. Judge Michael Mihm, tried to talk him out of representing himself.

But Jones, motivated by his unique legal argument that the government had no jurisdiction over him, was adamant.

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When defendants like Jones ask to represent themselves, the trial judge conducts what's called a "Faretta colloquy" to make sure the defendant knows what he's getting into.

In Jones' case, they asked him questions about his "age, education, mental health and prior legal experiences."

In response, Jones "confirmed" he understood the charges against him, revealed he had assisted other defendants in their criminal cases, agreed to follow the court's rules and said he understood the risks.

Jones may have understood the risks, but he didn't understand the law.

He filed "frivolous" motions asserting that he is a "sovereign citizen" not bound by U.S. law.

It's an oddball argument others have made — often tax protesters — that assert claims that they are beyond the law's reach.

At one point, Jones claimed he was a "descendant of the Moors of North Africa" and therefore "shielded by treaty from the exercise" of U.S. jurisdiction.

Disappointed when the court ruled against him on that claim, an angry Jones "declined to participate meaningfully in the trial."

Essentially, he protested the ruling by sitting on his hands.

In doing so, he accidentally relied on a traditional defense — making the government prove his guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.

Unfortunately for Jones, the government met its burden.

Writing for the three-judge appellate panel, Justice Michael Scudder Jr. acknowledged Jones' decision to represent himself was "unwise."

But he concluded that Jones had been properly warned of "the dangers of self-representation at length and in detail."

"That was enough to help Jones make his choice knowingly and voluntarily," Scudder concluded.