Kindness and Justice

-- By ManuelLorenzo - 15 Feb 2012

Choosing Clients

A few years ago when I decided that I wanted to become a lawyer I had the opportunity to shadow a criminal defense attorney who worked primarily out of the Bronx. While the attorney was not exactly a “Robinson,” he definitely had strong opinions about the type of work he did as well as the criminal justice system in general. During my time at his office I observed him as he prepared to present his cross-examination of the material witness in a double homicide trial. He was representing one of the defendants, a young man who seemed to be no older than 25. Before we headed to court, I innocently asked him if he had any moral dilemmas about representing people who had committed violent crimes such as murder, battery, or rape. He then responded that he was not going to get upset with me, because I was young and I did not know any better. He told me about a time he met a woman at a dinner party who had asked him a similar question, but his response had been not nearly as kind. He explained to me the importance of providing legal assistance to low-income individuals, especially those coming from violent and dangerous neighborhoods. He talked about the lack of access to adequate legal services within poor communities, especially among minorities. He spoke about his belief in everyone’s right to a fair trial. He argued that if I was a doctor and a patient came onto my operating table, whether I would refuse to operate on him merely because he was a bad person or had committed a crime. Although I only spent a day shadowing the attorney, I came away with a very different understanding of the law and how the legal system “works.”

Blind Justice

We discussed the idea that the legal system is often kind to the rich and just to the poor. It is hard to argue with this concept given the vast amount of real estate poor people occupy in our country’s prisons. While I am not arguing that most criminals who end up in jail do not deserve to be there, I do question a system of justice that seems to disproportionately affect a certain demographic of society. Some may argue that those in prison are merely paying for the mistakes they have made and are the result of the judicial process. It seems odd, however, that the judicial process often means different things for different people. Drug-related crimes are a prime example of the manners in which the justice system affects the rich and poor in disparate ways. For example, mandatory sentences for crack cocaine possession have been much harsher compared to sentences for possession of powdered cocaine. Although the federal government has finally come to the realization that these sentencing discrepancies do not administer justice, many American drug laws have punished the users of crack cocaine, often the poor, in drastically different ways than they have punished powdered cocaine users, usually the rich. Despite this discrepancy in justice, people are rarely sympathetic to individuals who go to jail for crack possession. Much more recognition is given for putting people in prison rather than keeping them out.

The Role of the Lawyer and Law Student: What we do and don’t do

Robinson highlights the idea that being a lawyer gives someone the proper tools necessary to navigate the legal system. Unfortunately, many individuals from low-income neighborhoods lack a proper legal education and often do not know what to do when they are confronted with police officers or standing in front of a judge. The relationship between policemen and poor people, particularly people of color, has been a tenuous one to say the least. Many minorities feel an inherent distrust of the police department and the legal system as a whole. They often do not know their rights and sometimes put themselves in vulnerable positions even when they have not committed any crime. It is the lawyer’s duty to come to the defense of these individuals and make the arguments his client is unable to make. It is therefore ironic that many of the brightest legal minds in this country do not choose to work for those who probably need their services the most. It seems that right from the onset of law school we are geared towards working for large companies and corporate clients. Even as I embark on the interview process with non-profit organizations, I am often met with skepticism that as a Columbia student I will eventually enter corporate law no matter what I do during my 1L summer. Perhaps the worst part of all this is the fact that I increasingly find myself preparing to enter the world of corporate law. While I do have a genuine interest in transactional legal work, it is somewhat disconcerting that even as someone who appreciates the lack of adequate legal services available to the poor, I will most likely begin my career serving the rich. Even as I write this paper I am thinking about an interview I have tomorrow afternoon with a law firm. Despite our classroom discussions regarding the uselessness of getting a job after 1L year or the drawbacks of working at a large firm, I still continue to pursue both of these goals. Whether this is a personal failing on my part or just a natural outcome of my interest in corporate law (as well as my desire to pay off my student loans), I unfortunately still find myself inching towards becoming merely another cog in the legal machine. Only time will tell whether I buck the norm or continue down a path that has left many people feeling unhappy and unsatisfied.

The real central idea of this draft seems to lie in the last sentence: "only time will tell" what you do with your life, not you.

That's the meaning of the story about the lawyer you spent an afternoon with. He made choices, you saw his choices, you considered his reasons, you thought them valid, and here you are waiting so that "time will tell" you whether you make choices you understand to be different, less socially beneficial but maybe, despite "knowing," somehow inevitable. See JessicaWirthFirstPaper for some potentially useful comments.

Making this draft better means deciding what its central idea is: the one with which you start the present draft, the one with which you end, or something else. From that, and perhaps from a little more struggle with yourself, something powerful will emerge.

Do you think it's worth keeping in the entire first paragraph, or would it make sense to shorten the story about the lawyer I spent the afternoon with? (assuming I stick with the central idea laid out in the beginning)