Christopher Avila ’21

Office of the Special Narcotics Prosecutor, New York, NY

Growing up, I thought about working a government job the way that some kids thought about playing for their favorite sports team. Reading The New York Times at ten, I marveled at women and men who did their part to tackle America’s biggest problems, like the recession, marriage inequality, and murders in my hometown. Now, older, and having expanded my reading material a little, I brought my keen yet unfocused interest in tackling the big American problems to the New York City Office of the Special Narcotics Prosecutor (SNP).

New York City was not a prosperous or safe city in 1973. The violent trafficking of new and highly potent heroine marred the city. The state legislature formed SNP to coordinate the prosecution of all narcotics felonies within the city’s five counties. Over the past 46 years, the primary focus of the opioid crisis has shifted, from heroin to crack in the 1990s, to prescribed pills in the 2000s, and to fentanyl in the last few years. Nevertheless, SNP has acted as a vital protector of the city and the region, contributing to the greater prosperity and safety that New Yorkers enjoy today.

I will admit that I had an initial aversion to this internship when I first found out about it. This may be surprising given my reverential tone above, but it is not at all surprising when one considers the present social construction of narcotics prosecutors. They are colloquially implicated in the crack/powder sentencing differential and non-violent marijuana prosecutions, which amount to an assault by the state on poor communities of color.

My conscience led me to ask some rather pointed questions in my interview: Does your office assess prosecutors by conviction rate? No. Does your office prosecute marijuana possession? Only concurrently with narcotics felonies. Does your office do any community outreach? Yes, we donate our civil forfeiture funds to the Harlem PAL and have won awards for our diversity hiring practices. And in the 1990s, we started the first judicial diversion program in the state. And yet, I was still unconvinced during my first week: Was I working for the good guys or the bad guys?

After years of running a legitimate medical practice, Dr. Lazar Feygin received a debt notice of over $1 million from the IRS. To get this cash fast, he began operating a “pill mill,” prescribing oxycodone to anyone willing to pay and lie a little. Over the next three years, his clinics contributed to $20 million in health care fraud and improperly prescribed over six million oxycodone pills, which were sold on the black market and fed the opioid crisis. SNP did a yearlong investigation into the Feygin clinics that included wiretaps, hidden cameras, and task force surveillance. Of the sixteen medical professionals charged, twelve, including Dr. Feygin, pled guilty, one fled to Brazil, and three stood trial. And after years of preparation, the trial start date coincided with my first day of work.

On my second day of my internship, I served as a witness on a last-minute deposition with the clinic’s office manager, who was cooperating in order to reduce his sentence. On my third day, I printed and bound “call books,” transcriptions of wiretapped calls; my attitude was that no task was below me. In my second week, I read wiretapped calls into evidence before open court. As the trial dragged on, I was often the only person in the gallery, soaking up the intricacies of the proceedings.

After a two-month trial and a one-week deliberation, the jury returned a verdict on the hundreds of counts: 0 guilty, 10 not guilty, and over 300 hung. I was stunned then sad. We had met all of the elements of the charges beyond a reasonable doubt, right? Had the trial process failed? Was justice served? These questions swirled as I worked glumly on other projects for a week. Then, in my last week at the office, Kristin Bailey, the second seat attorney on the case, called Kami, another Williams intern, and I into her office. As I looked for excuses in the judge’s diffident demeanor and the jury’s oddities, Kristin took total responsibility: The burden is ours. We made it too complicated. After a week, she had processed her mistakes and was ready to retry the case undeterred. For all that I learned about a prosecutor’s strategy watching the trial, I learned all about a prosecutor’s temperament listening to Kristin that afternoon.

Beyond the Feygin trial, I did a few other things of note. I wrote a series of memos for the legal training department to prepare for a criminal justice reform to the state discovery law, effective January 1, 2020. It was a taste of the unsexy policy implementation process. I listened to inmate calls from Rikers Island to strengthen an investigation into a kilo-runner. I attended numerous lectures and gained an appreciation for the concept of continuing legal education.

I am taking away many lessons from this summer: I am now, even more, excited for JLST 101 with the renowned Professor Hirsch in the fall. I have focused my vision on good public service; it must be of, by, for, and with the People. I now hold a more optimistic view of government, a sharpened belief in the ability of good people in positions of power to make America closer to what it aspires to be.

I sincerely thank the George Mead Estate for allowing me to fully embrace this opportunity.