I’m not a public defender.  I’m a private lawyer that accepts appointments through the Criminal Justice Act panel in Maryland.  I don’t do any state court assigned work, the pay is crap and the cases are usually terrible.  The cases aren’t great in Federal Court, but few cases in the federal criminal system ever really are.  In fact, I started comparing federal criminal practice to hospice, where we just administer palliative end of life care.  A good friend who is an assistant public defender in New York responded that it makes each person we can cure that much more rewarding.  I agree.  The work is hard. The stakes are high.  And sometimes the best you can do is hold someone’s hand and help them understand where they are and maybe get them out sooner than they would otherwise.  I’m not gonna stamp my feet and say we win in Federal Court because, while it’s true that we do, and we can.  We frequently don’t.  It doesn’t mean we aren’t ready to rumble.  We just know that sometimes rumbling isn’t best for our client. 

My practice also consists heavily of immigration work.  I’ve said this before, but there is a  huge disconnect between immigration, where you are heavily limited in what you can do for your client, and criminal, where really, the sky (and the ethics rules only) are the limit.  I love them both, but truly prefer the single minded and client-centric nature of the criminal work.  But there is a great need for someone who can do both.  So I do.

Scott Greenfield wrote a post the other day entitled “Great in Theory“.  I’m the person who called him on that case.  The case wasn’t mine, but I wanted to help a friend.  I was desperate to find a way that real justice would prevail.  Or, to put it in a way that Jeff Gamso would appreciate, so that injustice would be averted.  Scott did, indeed, throw cold water on my theory with a simple two or three line email.  I passed the word along but it didn’t diminish my friend’s vim and vigor for the fight.  And fight she did.  She lost and injustice ruled the day once again.  When she was done she sent me the newspaper clipping which I then passed along to Scott.  I spoke to her on the phone for hours, consoling her really.  It’s what we do for each other.   Because even though the best criminal lawyers I know are the ballsiest bunch of men and women on earth, we still need to be told that we did what we could, that our fight wasn’t for naught.  Except.  When it is. Which is quite often.  And the words then, when you believe your client is innocent, ring hollow.  But talk we did.  Until she ran her bath and settled in and got up to fight another day.

Last week I went to go see a mother about representing her son.  I quoted a fee that was reasonable.  I drove to her house which is an hour away.  She had no furniture.  She has small children.  She could not afford me and I am not expensive (not yet, anyway).  I did the math in my head on how much it would cost me to represent her son, who is incarcerated over three hours from where I practice.  She talked to me about the public defender.  How they didn’t care.  How she went to the wrong courtroom and before she got to the right one her baby had had a bench trial and been convicted of a crime that carried a  maximum penalty of 20 years in prison.  Which he got. But 8 of those 20 were suspended.  This mother is not older than me.  She had her baby boy young.  She did what she could. And now she can’t help him.  My mother’s heart broke for her.  My mother’s heart reminded me I had to pay for daycare and that tooth that Yonas knocked loose.  My lawyer’s head remembered the rent for the office.  This woman, with no couch, this kid, who needed me most, wouldn’t get me.  Injustice would prevail, once again.

I talked to Mark Bennett today. We discussed feral cats, blogs, and cry baby lawyers.  I came back to blogging thinking that we were all in this together.  I thought I would write and people would say hey, yeah, we are fighting the same machine. We are on the same side.  I didn’t expect the asides and the jockeying for position or people telling me that I was being disrespected by other bloggers.  First, I don’t care.  I’m pretty comfortable in my own skin.  Second, I don’t think it’s true.  I have been doing this long enough to have earned a fair measure of respect from people.  And, I find the back-biting to be odd and immature.  Furthermore, it brings me back to the original theory behind this post, and this blog in general these days:

Aren’t there clients in prison?  Aren’t there people being stripped from their families?  Have you ever been to prison and seen little boys, sons, cry when visiting hour is up?  Have you sat across from a mother dressed in prison garb who hasn’t seen her children since they were teeny babies?  There is injustice everywhere.  This battle started long before any of us got here and each last one of us is nothing but a foot soldier in it.  We are as ready for the fight as we are to soothe a weary brow when the battle is done.  I am thankful to be able to be a part of a profession where we can do so much good if we allow ourselves, where we can lend a hand not just to our clients, to their families – but also to each other.

Share