By Juda Engelmayer
In the United States, our courtrooms are supposed to embody the best of the rule of law—fair, impartial, and immune to the passions of the moment or the pressures of the press. But during the recent federal trial of United States v. Nicole Daedone and Rachel Cherwitz in Brooklyn, I saw something far more troubling: a courtroom where judicial sensitivity to public criticism may have imperiled not just Nicole and Rachel’s rights, but fundamental constitutional principles.
The OneTaste case was always an unconventional prosecution—a single count of forced labor conspiracy built largely on contested memories and shifting cultural narratives, not clear evidence of coercion or crime. But even within the boundaries of a difficult case, defendants are entitled to mount a full and fair defense. That includes the right to counterbalance relentless government leaks and media narratives through public advocacy. It includes the right to tell their side of the story.
I work in public relations, not in law, but our Constitution draws no distinction: the First Amendment protects the ability of both attorneys and advocates to speak. It is a necessary counterweight when prosecutors wage their battles not only in court, but also in the press.
Yet throughout the trial, it became apparent that Judge Diane Gujarati viewed these efforts not as an exercise of free speech, but as a personal affront. In fact, after an independent news and opinion site posted a critical article about both the government’s conduct and the judge’s rulings during the trial—written and authored by me—Judge Gujarati’s tone on the bench notably shifted.
What followed should concern anyone who cares about the independence of the judiciary. The judge reversed her own magistrate’s ruling on key privilege issues, and effectively gutted the defense’s ability to expose government overreach. Then, after a verdict that will certainly be challenged on substantial appellate grounds, Judge Gujarati did something even more extreme: she remanded both Ms. Daedone and Ms. Cherwitz—first-time, non-violent defendants—into custody pending sentencing.
There was no necessity to do so. Both women had complied scrupulously with bail conditions for over a year, posed no flight risk, and had strong community support. The government itself did not seek remand. Yet Judge Gujarati imposed it anyway. In a courtroom that had often seemed more preoccupied with controlling public narrative than ensuring procedural fairness, this decision felt less like law, and more like vengeance.
I do not level this charge lightly. Judges carry immense responsibility and face intense scrutiny. But when they appear to let personal sensitivities about media coverage influence case outcomes, trust in the impartiality of the bench is eroded.
In this era of high-profile prosecutions and social media amplification, it is vital that judges remember: public relations is not a crime. Criticism is not a threat. Advocacy is not obstruction. When a judge reacts to protected speech by tightening the screws on defendants—or by suppressing legitimate defense arguments—they do more than damage individual lives. They diminish the credibility of the entire justice system.
In the coming months, this case will continue through the appellate courts. I have faith that over time, the errors that infected this trial will be corrected. But the deeper question will remain: do we want a justice system where the thin skin of a federal judge can override the thick protections of our Constitution?
That is a conversation worth having—not just in the legal community, but in the court of public opinion as well.
