Stolen Innocence - Lisa Pulitzer [198]
I was concerned that Warren might receive a sentence as light as eighteen months and return to the community to start all over again with his “work.” I had been offered the opportunity to address the court one last time before Judge Shumate rendered Warren’s sentence. I agonized over whether saying more would complicate things for the judge. We had all heard the evidence, and the closing arguments. Warren had already been found guilty; now it was just about deciding the consequence. I’d already spelled out my final thoughts in a Victim Impact Statement for the court. As I took my seat in the second row of the gallery that morning, I was still undecided, but as I listened to Wally Bugden talk of “religious persecution” and try to remove the blame from his client, I decided I had to speak up. This wasn’t just about me; I owed it to all young girls, especially those of the FLDS still holding onto their innocence.
When both sides had presented their arguments with regard to Warren’s sentence, the judge turned to the prosecution to learn if I would exercise my right to make a statement. I walked slowly toward the front of the courtroom, placing one wobbly foot in front of the other. I could feel my emotions taking hold as I stood at a podium directly before the judge. In that instant, the events of the past years flashed before me. Here was the man who had inflicted such pain and sorrow on so many people. Here was the moment when God would answer prayers. While I wanted to see justice served, I also felt the grief and sadness of Warren’s thousands of supporters, praying that God would show his hand. I knew they were in mourning and that they didn’t understand; they couldn’t risk having such thoughts. But I felt like God was showing us mercy and he was answering prayers. I thought of Lamont and my children and all those who’d worked hard to get to this moment, and I knew without a doubt it had all been worth it. As I cleared my throat to speak, I was still unsure what words could be said to show the judge what was in my heart.
“I have thought of this day and how it would go for a very long time,” I began, my voice quivering but filled with resolve. “Warren Jeffs and his influence over me as a fourteen-year-old girl affected me and my family in so many ways. I am so grateful for the justice system that you would see the truth and believe in me.” I could already feel myself healing from the inside out. It was a powerful moment for me, even though the end had not yet arrived.
“I know from fact that whatever I do today will not make it better,” Judge Shumate told me, his voice laced with sympathy and concern. “You live under a life sentence. Your courage in carrying on is laudable, but you don’t have to do it alone.”
I nodded, comforted that he cared and seemed to understand how much pain I had endured. I had spent a lot of time delving into my past but I’d never focused on the fact that these scars would be with me forever. It felt good to be validated like that; Judge Shumate made me feel fathered in a way. Granting me this new perspective lifted a weight off my shoulders and I will always be grateful to him for that.
I was trying to keep my emotions in check as Judge Shumate explained to me that I was entitled to monetary compensation from Warren for therapy and other services. I thought for a moment, and then shook my head and replied, “I do not seek restitution, nor would I accept it from him. There is nothing he can give me that could change the past. My restitution is knowing that I spoke the truth and you and the justice system have done your job.”
After a brief recess, the judge returned to the bench to render his decision. The courtroom fell completely silent. Behind me in the last row of the gallery sat a handful of Warren’s most devoted supporters. We were completely different now, even though I had been raised as one of them. I cared for them all, and hoped