The federal trial began in Brooklyn of Rachel Cherwitz and Nicole Daedone on May 5, 2025.
The charge was conspiracy to commit forced labor “by means of force, threats of force, and serious harm.” It ended in a conviction in June.
There was no charge of forced labor—only conspiracy, purportedly carried out through “schemes, plans, and patterns.” No force was described. No weapons. No threats. No bruises. No labor. Just a conspiracy to do something bad.
Judge Diane Gujarati ordered the detention of defendants Cherwitz and Daedone following their conviction. They were remanded to the Brooklyn Metropolitan Detention Center, despite not being sentenced.
Judicial Control and a One-Sided Story
Throughout the trial, Gujarati’s rulings favored one side. She had been a prosecutor for 21 years. Key decisions resulted in a jury hearing only the government’s version. In the courtroom, the judge shaped the story, excluding defense evidence that could have undermined the prosecution.
People think trials are about truth. But sometimes they’re about what’s left out. And these two women, whatever they did or didn’t do, didn’t get the whole story told. This was not the rule of law. It was the rule of outcome.
The Presence of Power and the Fear
What is less discussed—is the pressure on her. Some said she lacked temperament. Some say she was biased. But there was something more.
On numerous ccasions, federal prosecutors and FBI agents packed her courtroom as she deliberated key decisions.
The presence was not incidental. It may have signaled institutional intimidation—an assertion of dominance over the judiciary. Judge Gujarati looked like someone cornered.
At its extreme, one day, twenty prosecutors lined the pews. Another day, twenty agents from the FBI, waiting on her ruling about one of their own—Agent Elliot McGinnis.
Fear, and Unfitness
People say she isn’t fit to be a judge. But it was something else. Something sadder. She was afraid. Not of the facts. Not of the law. Of them. The prosecutors. The agents. The system itself.
Twenty U.S. attorneys came to her courtroom, just to watch her rule. Twenty FBI agents the next time, when their own were on the line. She may have worn the robe. But they ran the room.
They sent twenty prosecutors to her courtroom. Not to be heard. Just to be seen. Just to stand there. They didn’t have to blackmail her. They could just exist. Crowd the courtroom. Loom.
She was terrified. Not corrupt. Just cornered. And they loved it.
She wore the robe. They ran the script.
Presence as Pressure, Not Process
Just consider it again: The Eastern District U.S. Attorney’s Office sent twenty prosecutors to court the day she had a major decision to make. Another day? Twenty FBI agents filled the benches when she had to rule on whether their corrupt agent, McGinnis, would be forced to testify.
That wasn’t a show of respect. That was a show of control. She got the message: This was their courtroom. They could make her life hell. Her authority was conditional.
The justice system, as it is currently structured, permits such intimidation without ever requiring a direct threat.
It was in a way forced labor conspiracy. They conspired to make Gujarati rule the way she did. It is the management of fear. She gave them everything. Every ruling. Every exclusion. Every silence.
She spent two decades working for prosecutors—so when they packed her courtroom, she didn’t see it as intimidation. She saw it as instruction. Judge Gujarati was a guest in her own courtroom.
Twenty prosecutors show up one day. Not for fun. Not for coffee. They were there to make her feel it. And twenty FBI agents show up. All quiet. All watching. She helped them win. Of course she did. That’s what scared people do.
They sent twenty prosecutors to glare. Then twenty agents to loom. She was smart enough to know how bad they could screw her life up. And they knew she knew.
So she did what they expected. She cleared the path, swept it clean, and handed the jury only what the government wished them to see. It was survival instinct in a black robe.
Obedience in Robes
One day, this case will be overturned. And when it is, I hope we remember the woman on the bench was not malicious. She was just afraid. When the verdict is reversed, I hope they go easy on her. She was a scared woman in a hard room. She just did what scared people do: obeyed.
She was never meant to be a judge. She didn’t have the spine for it. And when the verdict is tossed and everyone’s pretending justice prevailed—Don’t be too hard on her. She didn’t destroy justice. She just didn’t protect it.
When this case is overturned, don’t waste your anger on her. She shouldn’t have worn the robe. She should’ve stayed where she was: part of the team.
The Weaponization of Language
This case was never about crime. It was about making an example. And the government used language:
“Conspiracy.” “Scheme.” “Pattern.”
“Conspiracy” stood in for action. “Scheme” replaced conduct.
Euphemisms for nothing happened.
This is how authoritarian logic enters liberal courts.
A Screamer
Attorney Jennifer Bonjean represented Nicole Daedone.
Judge Gujarati screamed at Bonjean for demanding that evidence be admitted. Everyone in that courtroom knew what it meant. Gujarati panicked. And Gujarati screamed. Like a cornered animal. Because deep down, she knew— Evidence meant acquittal. And she couldn’t face that.
And in that moment, everybody saw it. She was terrified.
They sent twenty prosecutors to stare her down. Then twenty FBI agents to finish the job. When this thing gets overturned—and it will—cut her some slack.
She wasn’t evil.She was in the wrong chair.
Scared people don’t make good judges.
