Amara continued, “The effect of your actions does not disappear because you now wish you had made a different choice.”
A murmur moved through the people gathered nearby. The woman with the phone held it at chest level, still recording. Another visitor had begun speaking quietly with a court employee, describing what she had seen.
David leaned toward Amara.
“Would you prefer to sit down for a moment, Your Honor?”
“I appreciate that, David, but I'm able to continue.”
“Are you certain? You were pulled backward rather sharply.”
“I am certain.”
Although Amara refused to dramatize her discomfort, the incident had left her shaken. The sudden force had caught her off guard, and the pain around her scalp had not entirely subsided. What troubled her most, however, was how quickly the encounter had escalated from a question that had never properly been asked to physical force that had never been justified.
She had spent years watching people enter courtrooms carrying fear, anger, shame, or confusion. Some were accused of serious offenses; others had come simply to resolve an administrative matter. Whatever their circumstances, each person deserved to be treated according to the facts rather than the assumptions of whoever happened to meet them first.
Standing in the hallway, she could not ignore the possibility that someone without her position, her colleagues, or her familiarity with courthouse procedures might have experienced the same treatment without anyone immediately recognizing the seriousness of it.
If David had not known her, would Nia have continued pulling her hair? Would she have forced her against a wall? Would the scattered documents have been treated as evidence of guilt rather than papers belonging to someone who had been walking to a scheduled proceeding?
The questions were uncomfortable because none could be answered by simply pointing out that Amara was a judge.
The same conduct would have been unacceptable if the woman on the floor had been a visitor, a defendant, a clerk, or someone who had never entered a courthouse before.
Amara turned toward David.
“Please make sure the security supervisor is contacted. I want an accurate account of what occurred, including the statements of everyone who witnessed it.”
“I will, Your Honor.”
“And please ask that no one alter or delete any footage.”
“I'll make that clear.”
David stepped away to make the necessary calls. As he moved down the corridor, Nia remained near the wall, visibly uncertain whether she was permitted to leave.
“Am I being detained?” she asked abruptly.
Amara's expression did not change.
“I am not making a decision about that, Officer Jackson. You should follow the directions of your supervisor and the appropriate courthouse personnel.”
“So I'm free to go?”
“You have been asked to remain here while security is contacted. If you have questions about your status, direct them to the supervisor when they arrive.”
Nia looked as though she wanted to argue that the situation was unfair to her. The words never emerged. She had spent the past several minutes trying to regain control of a situation that her own decisions had made increasingly difficult to manage.
A courthouse security officer appeared at the far end of the corridor a short time later. His name was Michael Turner, and he wore a dark uniform with a radio clipped to his shoulder. He approached cautiously, taking in the scattered papers already collected, the visitors gathered near the courtroom doors, and Nia standing apart from everyone else.
“Judge Williams,” he said, “I was told there was an incident. Are you injured?”
“I have some discomfort where Officer Jackson pulled my hair, but I can continue. I want the incident recorded, and I want the relevant footage preserved.”
“Yes, Your Honor. We'll take care of that.”
Turner looked toward Nia.
“Officer Jackson, please step over here with me.”
Nia followed him a few paces away, although she continued glancing back at Amara.
Turner spoke quietly, asking her to describe what had happened. Nia began with the report she said she had received and explained that she had believed a woman connected to a case might be in the courthouse hallway.
“Did you identify the woman?” Turner asked.
“No.”
“Did you ask her for identification?”
“No.”
“Did you receive an instruction to use physical force?”
“No.”
“Then why did you grab her?”
Nia shifted her weight.