Tag Archives: public defense

Cross: Robin Steinberg, The Bronx Defender

May 18, 2016 (Mimesis Law) — Ed. Note: Scott Greenfield crosses Robin Steinberg, founder and Executive Director of the Bronx Defenders.

Q. Berkeley in the ’70s was still a hotbed of radicalism, and you graduated in 1978. Did you go in ready to change the world? What was your major? Where did you plan to go with it? Was law always the plan for the future? Were there any alternatives in the mix? Was Berkeley as wild as they say back then?

A. Growing up in the 1960’s and 70’s in New York City, I was aware of a far-away land of revolutionary thought called “Berkeley,” but honestly, I had no idea where it was or that it was even part of the University of California. During my teenage years, it was the Utopian place that I was going to run away to when I was enraged at the world, or just furious at my mother.
But as fate would have it, my mother decided to marry a Californian, so in my senior year of high school we moved to Los Angeles. To say that I was angry about this cross country adventure would wildly underestimate how I felt. So when my new stepfather asked me where I wanted to go to college – a question I had never been asked by anyone – Berkeley was all I could say. It was where I needed to run – and run, I did.
Once there, I promptly fell in love with a radical long-haired, bearded teaching assistant in the University’s Economics Department. I wasn’t exactly Emma Goldman, “Living My Life,” but I was close. Living in a studio apartment, sleeping on a mattress on the floor, using candles as my lighting source at night and using chopsticks at every meal – I was living my dream.
I immersed myself in politics, radical thought and feminism. I attended pot lucks with smart, radical thinkers, listened to political music (The Red Star Singers, Holly Near, County Joe and the Fish, Odetta, Malvina Reynolds and the Berkeley Women’s Music Collective to name a few) and proudly shopped at the local food co-op where, with each purchase, I proudly announced that my profits should go to the Berkeley Women’s Heath Collective.
As if Berkeley wasn’t counter-culture enough, I joined the alternative school within the University – Strawberry Creek College. It was ironically and intentionally housed in an old wooden structure that once housed the ROTC and attracted interesting students and faculty. There, I took small seminar classes with like-minded students and professors. I excelled academically but resolutely refused to participate in any of the mandatory trust building exercises like closing your eyes and falling backwards, believing that your seminar mates would catch you. “Sorry, I would say, but I’m from New York and there is no way that I am going to do any such thing.”
During those years, becoming a lawyer was the farthest thing from my mind. Too traditional, too mainstream and besides, what did lawyers do anyway? I declared a major in Women’s Studies – then a new discipline – and was a proud member of the first class to graduate with a B.A. in Women’s Studies. I wasn’t sure what to do with my degree, or my feminist passions, I just knew that I wanted to change the world.

Q. When you decided to leave the left coast behind and go to NYU Law School, were you already interested in criminal law? What made you come east? Why NYU? Was there anything else that interested you other than law? Did you ever wonder, “what was I thinking?” During law school, what were your activities, your focus? Did you consider a nice life in the corner office of a Biglaw instead of a future in the trenches?

A. I may be simultaneously one of the most practical and one of the most idealistic people around. Changing the world was my goal – but how to do that was a very pragmatic decision. I assessed calmly that a law degree would give me credibility and some power to put my feminism to work and make a difference.
I approached the decision about which law school to attend in the same pragmatic way. I found a list of the top 20 law schools in the country and when the time came to decide which law school to attend, I combed through catalogues looking for something that would appeal to my feminist ideals. NYU had a list of clinical programs, one called “The Women’s Prison Project,” Honestly, all I saw was the word “women” in the title and I was sold. The fact that “prison” was connected to the program wasn’t important. As it turns out, it changed my life forever.

Q. Your first job out of law school was with the Nassau County Legal Aid Society. Why Nassau? Was that a choice, or was that just where you ended up? Where else did you seek work? Did you ever consider working as a prosecutor? Why not? What was it like doing indigent defense in one of the last bastions of the Republic political machine?

A. It’s possible that I was the least engaged law student to ever attend NYU. I was socially uncomfortable and intellectually uninterested. The work was tedious, the load overwhelming and I could see almost no connection between what I wanted to do with a law degree – forward social change – and what I was learning. NYU Law School was not the hot bed of public interest lawyering that it is today and few wanted to engage in the larger political context of the law, talk about how the law favors the affluent and powerful or even general conversations about justice. So I disappeared. I just stopped going to class. I never considered quitting – its just not what I do. Instead, I found a way to survive the experience with my soul intact.
I threw myself into the clinical program and traveled to Bedford Hills Correctional Facility to visit the women who were our clients. That experience changed me forever and set me on the path that I have been on for over 30 years. These women generously shared their stories. They inspired me, broke my heart and made me angry – always a very powerful agent for change for me. Injustice makes my blood boil. My work at Bedford Hills consumed my second year of law school. But it also made me begin to question what was happening in the criminal justice system that doomed these women to a life behind bars. So I joined the Criminal Defense Clinic in my third year of law school. And, as they say, the rest is history.
I did not flirt for a moment with the possibility of working for a big law firm, a small law firm or even a government agency. I wanted to work on behalf of the disenfranchised, the marginalized and the powerless. So when I walked into criminal court, and saw the inhumanity, and the hundreds and hundreds of low-income people of color waiting hours for a one-minute court appearance that passed for justice, I couldn’t walk away. I vowed to become a public defender.
The fact that I would spend my days and nights defending mostly men, in a system that was then dominated by men, did not escape me or deter me. I threw myself headlong into my new career and have never looked back – not for a moment.
I applied to dozens of public defender offices with the hope that someone would hire me. I wanted to stay in New York City and work for the Legal Aid Society, but they wouldn’t hire me, so I accepted an offer at Nassau County Legal Aid. I was happy to be there and grateful to have the opportunity to be a public defender even though practicing in Nassau County was incredibly difficult for many reasons, not the least of which was the conservative nature of the county. The judges, prosecutors and juries were conservative, intolerant and harsh. Everything was a battle – internally and externally. It made me cry a lot but it also made me strong, determined and willing to push back against what seemed like — and often were — insurmountable odds. Those lessons have served me well.

Q. Every criminal defense lawyers has a “first trial” story, whether about the glorious victory, the agonizing defeat, the over-preparation or the ignominous screw-up. What’s your “first trial” story? Were you as great, or terrible, as you thought you would be? Looking back now, knowing what you do, what would you have done differently?

A. It may be that every criminal defense lawyer has a first trial story but honestly, I can’t even remember whose case I tried first. I remember every loss. Every mistake I ever made and every client I might have failed – in a trial or plea bargaining context. But with each failure, and each disappointment, I learned how to be a better lawyer and I carry those lessons with me everyday.

Q. From Nassau LAS, you went to the wilds of Manhattan. How was New York County Legal Aid different? Was there a difference in the practice at 100 Centre Street? Crack was the epidemic of the day, and drug prosecutions were overwhelming, with arraignments running 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. What was it like doing indigent defense then? What was the burden on a Legal Aid lawyer?

A. Going from Nassau to NYC Legal Aid was a seismic shift. Clients were still being ground up in the system, but the amount of jail time being served was radically different. For months, my biggest fear was that I would counsel a client into a terrible plea because it looked great compared to Nassau County. From my perspective, everything was easier in New York City. Caseloads were relatively reasonable, my colleagues were empowered, the judiciary was more diverse, the juries were better and the Legal Aid Society had more organizational independence.
There were very few women in positions of authority – either in Nassau or New York City – a fact that made it hard to feel comfortable in my own skin or feel supported in the way I think is important for young lawyers. Without women role models, I tried valiantly to be the best “man” I could – until I finally realized that I had to chart my own path and develop my own style.

Q. From Legal Aid, you went to the Neighborhood Defender Service of Harlem when it first opened its doors. Why? You left before the Legal Aid strike. What did you think of the strike? How did that change things for indigent defense? Neighborhood Defenders brought a “team” approach to representation. What was that all about? Was this better than the way LAS handled its caseload? Was there any “competition” between Legal Aid and NDS? Should there have been?

A. When Rick Finkelstein and Chris Stone asked me to be a team leader and part of the inaugural team of lawyers starting at NDS, I jumped at the chance. Both Rich and Chris were brilliant, inspiring and dedicated to improving the quality of justice for Harlem residents. How could I say no? As much as I loved my job at Legal Aid, nothing could have kept me there. Change and innovation felt impossible and I knew we could do better for clients – so when NDS called, I jumped.
NDS in the early years was incredible. The caseloads were much lower, offering opportunities to interact with clients and the Harlem community in ways that were very different from what I had experienced at LAS. And the team approach, while very complicated and bumpy at first, offered a real glimpse at what an integrated public defender office could be. I couldn’t have asked for more dedicated colleagues and brave defenders in those early years at NDS. And I built upon those experiences in creating and growing The Bronx Defenders.

Q. In 1997, you were one of the founders of the Bronx Defenders, an upstart organization to handle indigent representation in perhaps the toughest systems in the nation. What were you thinking? How ambitious was the idea? How crazy was it to think you could create a new organization for The Bronx? What was it like to start up an indigent defense organization out of nothing?

A. Starting The Bronx Defenders was simultaneously the most frightening and exhilarating thing I have ever done. There were eight of us at first, in a tiny office between a Radio Shack (remember them?) and a Rent-A-Center. In truth, I’ve never worked harder in my life. We started on a Sunday night, and covered five arrangement shifts that first week – with only 8 people. We had almost one hundred 180.80’s that first week, and were staffing up way too slowly to keep pace. By week three, after several of us had done a dozen arraignment shifts I think we were all about to keel over. But we juggled like crazy and with fierce determination, kept the lights on.
I picked the Bronx precisely because it was the poorest, most over-policed and under-resourced borough in New York City. Initially, we just wanted to prove ourselves in the courtroom to a system that wanted nothing to do with us. So we dug down. I suppose the real answer here is that I wasn’t thinking. Because If I had ever stopped to think about what we were trying to do, the magnitude of the problem, the breath of our vision, I would have been paralyzed. I never could have imagined then what we are today—a committed collective of 250 lawyers and advocates that offer holistic defense services to over 30,000 clients a year.
Our model of holistic defense grew out of really listening to clients—hearing their stories and engaging in a deep and profound way with their communities. Hearing how far the tentacles of criminal justice involvement reached into every aspect of their lives, how a criminal case so often meant losing a child, a job, a home, or even one’s life in America. That made it clear to me that we needed, once and for all, to break down the silos of legal practice and equally important –the false distinction between a direct service organization, and one that does impact, organizing and policy change. Advocating for clients means more than solving individual problems in criminal cases. It means touching lives, sheltering the most vulnerable from the crushing impact of the system, and salving the multiple wounds that criminal justice involvement can inflict. And it means being an engine for systemic change for a community that needs it desperately.

Q. At some point, you switched from trial lawyer in the trenches to administrator to head honcho, one of the most innovative voices in indigent defense in the nation. Did you want to leave the trials behind and become a boss? Was it all it was cracked up to be? While it’s given you the opportunity to speak about indigent defense and receive some significant awards, it’s also brought some painful responsibilities, as reflected in the disinvitation from the Harvard Women’s conference and the “Hands Up” music video fiasco. Is it worth it?

A. I was the Executive Director of The Bronx Defenders from day one so I knew that I was making a transition from trial lawyer to manager. I refused to give up being a defender for many, many years – managing the office, growing it, managing the staff and still doing arraignment shifts, representing clients and trying serious felony cases in Supreme Court. With the growth of the office, and more administrative responsibilities, I eventually stopped representing clients. I miss it. I really miss it. But I have learned to enjoy thinking more widely about indigent defense and creating an office that has a vibrant culture, a spirit of innovation and an expectation of fearless and courageous lawyering on behalf of clients. I get restless of course – it’s in my nature.
But I think that restlessness allows me to consider change and movement and growth with an open heart and mind. The Bronx Defenders is what it is – one of the most impactful defender organizations in the country – because we continue to innovate, assess client needs, tinker with our model, experiment with new ways of doing things and encourage young lawyers and advocates to develop professionally and personally. I still feel lucky every day that I am part of this incredible organization and get to work with some of the most brilliant and dedicated advocates anywhere.
And yes, with responsibility comes hard times. Certainly, the fallout from “Hands Up” was an experience that changed me forever. The heartbreak of losing two dedicated lawyers, and my inability to stop that from happening, will haunt me always. My own experience being vilified in the press and being the target of the police was incredibly hard, but it also brought me closer to understanding how clients, and their loved ones, might feel when they can’t change a negative narrative about them and people in power want to destroy them. The terrifying experience of fearing for my life – I got daily death threats and hate mail – and having my character being assailed in such a public way, left its scars. But it also taught me an enormous amount – about how power really operates, who my allies really are, what mayoral politics looks like, how scary the police union can be and how fear and threats have the potential to prevent even good people from speaking out.
But is it worth it? I think the answer to that lies with the hundreds of thousands of lives we’ve touched over nearly two decades in the Bronx. Certainly for me it’s been worth it. I have a job I love, with colleagues that I adore, in a place I helped to build that does righteous work that I’m proud of every single day. Not bad, all things considered.

Q. As one of the leading national voices in indigent defense, what is your take on Orleans Parish Public Defender Derwyn Bunton’s decision to refuse to take on clients that his office can’t competently handle? Is it time to force the issue, to put the system to the test of either paying for enough lawyers to provide zealous representation or let the system crash? Will it work? Will government ever care enough about the constitutional rights under Gideon to commit the resources needed? Is there anything else to be done?

A. Defender Chiefs like Derwyn Bunton are faced with unconscionable choices – represent clients in a system that is grossly underfunded and do the best you can or refuse to work under conditions that make it impossible to do a good job and walk away from clients who desperately need you with the hope that your short term strategy will ultimately be better for clients. Derwyn is a fearless leader with enormous integrity and is acting in the best interests of the client community in the long run and his staff.
It’s been over 50 years since Gideon. Our criminal justice system is our national shame. The fact that government does not adequately fund indigent defense is a huge part of that. It’s hard, but hard isn’t a reason to quit. Our clients’ lives are harder and they need great lawyers and fierce advocates. We have no choice– we must continue to advocate for our clients, fight for what’s right, and refuse to give up.

Q. In the aftermath of Kalief Browder’s suicide, and recognition that the delays in the Bronx are a systemic disaster that’s gone on unabated forever, Bronx Defenders decided to sue. What made now the time to say “enough”? Well-meaning voices, from Mayor di Blasio to former Chief Judge Jonathan Lippman, have all agreed that the problems are a disaster, but talk is cheap and nothing changed. What needs to be done? Does anyone have the fortitude to make change happen? What about the new Bronx District Attorney, Darcel Clark? What about the judges in the Bronx? Is there any hope that you can get past the point of cheap talk and make the system work?

A. The system in the Bronx is dysfunctional and everyone knows it. Something had to be done. No one should have to wait over 800 days for a trial – especially people who live in the poorest borough of the City and are struggling to survive, feed their families and put a roof over their heads. The economic and psychological burden of having a criminal case hanging over your head because the system is so underfunded that it can’t provide you with even your most basic constitutional right to a speedy trial – is unconscionable.
We decided to bring a class action lawsuit over delay in the Bronx when all other avenues for change failed. We hope that the lawsuit will compel action by criminal justice stakeholders and funders. Our clients simply can’t afford to wait any longer. And it would have been wrong for us to delay for even one more day.

Cross: Ken Womble, Fighting The Good Fight

Nov. 4, 2015 (Mimesis Law) — Ed. Note: Scott Greenfield crosses Ken Womble, who went from public defender to start his own small firm, Moore Zeman Womble, in the trenches of Brooklyn, USA.

Q. As you’ve made painfully clear, you started out your legal career with the Nassau County, NY, Legal Aid Society. Why? Were you one of those pointy-headed do-gooders? Did you want to get trial experience? Was that the only job you could get?

A. Not a do-gooder. Not a do-badder either. I was all over the map in college, switching my major from architecture to theater to unknown before landing on Criminology. It stuck. The legal delineation of right and wrong fascinated me but it also made a lot of sense to me. There is a natural logic to basic criminal law.
But when I was surrounded by nothing but theory in law school, I probably saw myself as more of a prosecutor than a defense attorney. When I graduated, I actually applied for jobs on both sides, defense and prosecution. Lucky for me, the first place that decided I was worth paying was the Nassau County public defenders office, and I gladly took them up on their offer. As soon as I got a dose of the reality of the world of criminal justice, I realized that I would have been a terrible prosecutor.

Q. Almost every public defender gripes about the lack of respect shown them by their clients, who call them names like “lemonade” and “public pretender.” Was that your experience? How did you deal with it? Any magic tricks that new PDs should know about?

A. Lemonade? That’s a new one. Look, when you represent thousands of people, you are going to have a mixed bag of performance reviews. I tried as hard as I could to treat the client with respect and most of the time, I got it in kind. When you first meet a client as a public defender, those first few moments are vital. It is your job to set the tone. I like to call it alpha-dogging. You have to let the client know that you are in control. You are the one person standing between them and the government. That takes a badass. You should let them know that you are that badass.
But being in control sometimes cannot overcome the fact that your client is extremely and provably guilty. The most common insult I would hear (usually after delivering less-than-good news) was “You are just working with the DA.” I would let them know, firmly, that I put food on my family’s table fighting against the DA’s Office day in and day out, so don’t come at me with that nonsense.
Some public defenders these days have a tendency to see every client as a blameless victim who must be coddled. No. You must foster an individual relationship with each client according to who that person is. If they come at you with insults because they don’t like you telling them that the video of them robbing the store is going to be problematic, you need to stick up for yourself. How the hell are you going to defend your clients if you refuse to defend yourself? Treat every client with respect, understanding that even under the best circumstances, this person is going through hell. But this ain’t no walk in the park for you either. You’ve earned respect. Demand it.

Q. You’ve written about your experience as Nassau public defender with less than glowing words, blaming management for many of your misgivings about how cases were handled. Was there anything you could do about it as a PD? Should there have been? What options are there for public defenders who want to do right by their clients when management stifles your ability to do so?

A. To be honest, I was a brand new attorney, and when you are a young attorney, you question everything. You don’t know how anything works so most of the time, your head is spinning. You are mainly just trying to not get steamrolled by this system that seems like it will swallow you up at any point. After a while, I tried to talk to my boss about some of the practices I have written about, but when he told me to fall in line, unfortunately, I did (until I quit). He was an attorney who had been around forever and he signed my rather meager paycheck (which I needed desperately), so I backed down out of fear. Fear of losing my job, but also fear that I was not seasoned enough in this game to truly understand what was going on. Unfortunately, from what I have heard from people working there now, that fear is still very much a part of that office.
I admit that I failed a tremendous number of people when I worked in Nassau County. I defended to the best of my abilities, but I wish I had done more to point out how wrong things were out there. As for your “what should public defenders do about it” question, that is so difficult. Public defenders spend their entire workday (and often longer) fighting against cops, DA’s and judges. At the end of the day, they simply do not have enough left to then take the fight to their own management. We ask so much of public defenders in these types of situations, maybe the question is, “what should WE be doing about it.” You can’t swing a dead cat without hitting an attorney organization or a bar association. These groups have been focused on ensuring that police, prosecutors and prisons don’t violate defendants’ rights. It might be time to look at the defense side to see what needs to be done.

Q. After Nassau LAS, you went to work as a public defender at Brooklyn Defender Services, a private contract defender who, some might say, is in “competition” with the Legal Aid Society. Was it different? Were you able to be the lawyer you wanted to be? What was it like to be given the opportunity to defend without anyone telling you to clear your calendar at all costs?

A. It was like night and day. When I got to BDS, it felt like I was a solo practitioner who was affiliated with a bunch of other solo practitioners. Lisa Schreibersdorf, the executive director, was great because she trusted us to be good lawyers. She never went snooping through our files just to make sure we had crossed every t and dotted every lower case j. We each had the autonomy to be the kind of public defender we wanted to be. Everyone worked hard and we all had each others’ backs. But there was never a question that we were doing all of this for the clients.
This kind of environment fostered a sense of camaraderie and an exchange of ideas amongst different styles of lawyering that made BDS a force to be reckoned with. I know there was some bad blood between Legal Aid and BDS from back in the Giuliani 1990s when BDS was formed as a response to Legal Aid’s union strike, and I have even been referred to as a “scab” for working at BDS (usually in good fun), even though back in the 90s I was living in Florida, listening to Smashing Pumpkins and making nothing but good decisions. I would say that these days, the only competition between BDS and Legal Aid is on the softball field.

Q. One of the primary reasons someone goes the public defender route is to try cases, an opportunity that doesn’t present itself very often outside of criminal law. Was that your thing? Your first trial, disaster or fiasco? And over time, did you find your groove trying cases? As a lawyer, is there anything better than cross?

A. Honestly, the idea of trying cases wasn’t even on my radar when I became a public defender. But it didn’t take very long before one came knocking. My first trial was absurd in every possible way. My client was charged with weapon possession. The weapon? A belt buckle with the word “ninja” on it and a detachable (and not at all sharp) throwing star. In New York, it is illegal to possess a throwing star. The whole trial, that actual jurors were forced to sit through, was basically the DA saying that the object was a throwing star, and me saying it was not. My client was convicted, but the judge wisely just sentenced him to some community service (instead of the 10 months jail the DA was asking for). I learned a lot from that trial. One thing I learned was that I hated losing, and the only way I could figure out how to keep that from happening in the future was to prepare more than the other side.
Listen, trial is terrifying, every time. But after that first one, I at least knew I wasn’t scared to drop the gloves and pick a jury. I had a much better understanding of what a trial actually was and over the years, I can definitely say that I became very good at winning trials. The key is, when you are completely prepared for the trial, go prepare some more. You only get one chance to react properly during a trial. If you can’t immediately connect those dots and land that point, the moment is gone forever.

Speaking of cross-examination, I do love me a good cross. For me, though, there is nothing better than crushing a closing. I have had a few closings where I have just shredded the DA’s case to bits. Painted them into every possible corner. There is nothing more satisfying than sitting there during the DA’s summation and having jurors look over at you with an expression that says, “Can you believe this fool is actually saying this?”

Q. Every trench lawyer gets smacked at some point, and usually many points, with a ruling that is just so totally awful, completely wrong, that it makes their head explode. What was yours? Was there one case, one trial, one judge, who made you consider taking the chance of reaching over the bench and taking a good punch? Did you?

A. I have certainly disagreed with plenty of rulings over the years. But nothing makes me crazier than when a judge locks my client up (or keeps him locked up) for no good reason. Especially at arraignments. When a judge takes a story from the DA as fact, in spite of it making no damn sense, and sets bail, I have been known to voice my objection somewhat loudly and colorfully. After one such improper setting of bail (improper because the DA later dismissed this garbage case), I leaned into the microphone (more for visual than auditory effect) and repeatedly demanded that the judge give me one good reason my client was getting locked up. His only response was to order me off the record.
I complied by throwing my files at our innocent clerk (sorry), stating to no one in particular that I had to “get out” of there, and I stormed out of the courtroom to a small but supportive smattering of applause from the audience. This move was henceforth referred to as “Wombling Out.” Hey, sometimes, when a judge wants to ignore all logic and reason, as a public defender your only option is to make sure that no one in that room is confused about your disagreement. But it doesn’t work if you are just showing off. It only works if you are pushed to the point where you can do nothing but wreck the formality of the courtroom.

Q. There came a time, not too long ago, that you gave up the honest virtue of being a public defender in order to earn a living as a private practitioner. What did you think it would be when you decided to leave? Were you thinking, “hey, if those guys can do it, so can I”? Did it turn out to be as easy, or hard, as you thought it would be?

I would say it has been as hard as I expected, but then again, I expected it to be very hard. It was never about what other people were doing, but more about what I wanted for myself. When I first left the public defenders office, I assumed that I would have to learn areas of law that I was not really that psyched about in order to make ends meet. Slip and fall, appeals, matrimonial, etc. The consumer seems to be much smarter than that, though. People have come to me for cases related to crime, police and discrimination. It has been really great to have people contacting me with cases that allow me to be as pissed off about injustice as I was when I was a public defender.

Q. Running your own practice rarely turns out to be quite what one expects. Was it what you expected? Did you realize that every lawyer in a small practice is the boss as well as the janitor? How did you feel when you sat at your desk and the phone was silent? Did you make the right choice?

We (myself and my two partners) got a crash course in business before we ever had our first client. We found an old hair salon space in downtown Brooklyn and spent months basically building our office and setting it up (with a good amount of help from skilled friends and relatives). We learned a lot about budgets, drywall and recessed lighting. But we also were able to fight out a lot of our natural disagreements and then hit the ground running when we opened up shop.
But yes, since we have opened, we have been attorney, receptionist, janitor, everything. Personally, I like the notion of being able to vacuum your own office instead of paying someone to do it. Sure, time is money, but in our first year, the one bit of currency that we have in almost unlimited amounts is time. Money, that’s a different story. You can’t just go to the supply closet and grab paper any more. You are the supply closet.
There have certainly been times, especially in the first few months where if a week went by without any new clients, we were all freaking out. In those early days and weeks, it was the constant fear that you were going to fail and your family would be out on the street. But with each passing month, we are realizing that what we have set up is working. We each put in the effort to become quality lawyers, and now we have put in the effort to build a quality product that has attracted clients. So far, so good.

Q. When Fault Lines started, and you let it be known that you really wanted to become a part of it, what were you hoping to accomplish? I put you through the wringer before taking you on board (with what is now delightfully known as the “Womble Test”). Not only did you put up with it, but you weren’t going to go down without a fight. What pushed you?

A. Honestly, I was a bit surprised that you even responded to me. I knew that I had some thoughts and ideas on criminal justice issues, but I guess the thing that made me reach out to you is that I seem to have an ability to get people as pissed off about something as I am. And I tend to be pissed off about our current state of criminal justice. I had seen you employ that skill masterfully at Simple Justice, and I thought we might be best buddies. But you decided to play hard to get.
Honestly, when you gave me the royal smack down after my first attempt, I was a bit disappointed, but I honestly wasn’t expecting to be taken seriously. When you gave me another chance, I tried to take your advice and make what I wrote matter to people who aren’t me.

Q. Now that you’ve really made a dent with your writing (not to mention come to realize that it’s not all fun and glory), has it been all you hoped it would be? You’ve grown into quite a fiery writer. Do you see your writing as serving a higher purpose? Do you think lawyers have an obligation to illuminate what’s wrong with the system and what should be done about it?

A. Writing for Fault Lines has been immensely stressful and cathartic. Stressful because it is hard work, deadlines and putting myself out there (plus my boss doesn’t mess around with half-assed attempts, I have learned). It has been cathartic because it has given me an outlet to vent about all the things that are wrong with criminal justice. I recognize that people might disagree with what I write, but I do my best to make sure that what I say is honest and logical.
I won’t speak for what I think other lawyers should do, but I would like to think that my writing has allowed some people to see the reality of our policing and our justice system more clearly. We all wish cops and prosecutors were honest. But if wishes were fishes, right? We cannot force honesty upon people, but we can at least open our eyes to the possibility that cops and prosecutors will lie, cheat and steal to get a conviction. Law enforcement has spent a long time bullying us into unequivocal support. I am trying to do what I can to speak for the other side.