When people in their late twenties and early thirties gather to drink and converse in public, “What do you do for work?” is the typical ice breaker question. Oh, so you’re a consultant. And you’re a programmer? And your wife is a project manager…
Me? I’m a lawyer. I’m a public defender. No, I don’t “defend the public” from criminals. I defend people who are accused of crimes but who can’t afford to hire their own lawyer.
And then, the follow-up question comes. Without fail, I am always asked The Question:
How do you defend those people?
The best thing about being asked this question every single time a new acquaintance finds out what I do is that I get to practice lots of different answers. With family members (and others with more tender sensibilities), the best answer is the earnest one. A legal system that flatters itself “fair” and “impartial” must treat everyone who comes before it with a basic modicum of dignity. My clients don’t often receive dignity from the world of poverty, drug addiction, and/or psychological trauma from which they come. And even if my client did something truly awful, the only person who will treat them with dignity and ensure that the system doesn’t cheat in its haste to remove him from society is–or should be–his lawyer. It’s a role that I enjoy playing, and every so often, justice comes out of it. That’s how I defend those people.
Sometimes this answer takes too long. Sometimes the listener has spent too many college years avoiding the talky-chatty classes that enable one to absorb humanism and civics at the same time. Sometimes they find it easier to hold on to the rigid value system learned in childhood than to let go of prejudices and look at the messy choices one must make as an adult. Sometimes a person has simply seen too many cases on “Law and Order” thwarted by fiendish defense attorneys to actually listen to what I have to say. In such cases, I (sometimes) refrain from working one or more of the following phrases into the conversation:
Pedophiles? They’re only scary if you’re seven.
Who said you can’t steal a car in self-defense?
The assault rifle was just for personal use and not for sale.
But quips like these do everyone a disservice. It’s not an answer to The Question. This person may well be a juror for some other defendant in the future. Since California puts all of its truly serious “criminal justice” issues on the ballot for a popular vote, this person might very likely have a direct influence on my own legal practice. If I have information worth sharing, I need to share it sincerely. Multiple installments might be necessary.
And this is why this blog exists. I see sides of life that most will never see unless they are knee-deep in it themselves. The criminal justice system is a subject on which most people have opinions despite not having the professional training or experience to participate in the field. This is only natural as crime stories capture the imagination. These stories involve questions of right and wrong, sanity and insanity, free will and the lack thereof. Poverty, addiction, violence, police authority, and state power come together in ways that often write their own lurid headlines.
Simply put – I want everyone who visits my blog to leave with a more informed opinion about the justice system and know the real effect it has on those that come into contact with it. It’s good for you. It’s good for me. It’s good for my clients. It’s good for our democracy. I am fully aware that these are my own subjective experiences and that they may or may not be proof of any larger “truth” beyond themselves, but I will always make sure that the stories you read here have truth in them. Truth is something we all chase, even if we never quite catch it. The chase alone is worthwhile.
My rules of engagement for this project are as follows:
1. I am choosing to make this an anonymous blog. This is for the sake of my clients, not my own. I will tell my readers that I am a public defender working in a major metropolitan area in California. Beyond that, I will not share any information that allows the reader to identify a client, another lawyer, a judge or any other “officer of the court” by name, or even by description.
2. I will never comment on a “pending case.” By the time you hear about it, any issues of law or fact have been resolved. My blog is a place for reflection, not news.
3. To further ensure everyone’s privacy, the people about whom I will write are likely to be composites of many different people.
4. Under no circumstances will client confidences be shared. Ever.
5. I will never mock a client. I do, however, reserve the right to respond to my work with gallows humor, dry humor, sarcastic quips, exasperation, desperation, and indignation. I will endeavor to keep feelings separate from judgements.
Disclaimers are fun, but now it’s time to get to work.