It’s tough out there

This job ain’t easy, and no one can tell you that better than the public defender whose client gets screwed unjustly. Just ask Ipse Dixit:

I had a client who got royally FUCKED at a probation violation hearing. I called 3 wits, all of whom were incredibly believable. I cited caselaw DIRECTLY on point saying I win. The prosecution’s only wit (the cop) was such a huge liar even the court staff knew it. The prosecutor later told me she was embarassed by his testimony.

And how was justice served? My client got a year.

Hooray justice! I have to go slit my wrists.

There is nothing quite like doing everything within your power, and doing it well, and having it not matter one fucking bit.

Or ask Gideon:

In this line of work, I don’t think there’s anything more heart wrenching that sitting across from a likely innocent client and having to tell him that there’s no way to prove that innocence and then watching him hold back tears and decide between two morbid choices: accepting the plea offer and spend the next 15 years locked up or go to trial and risk 60 years.

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed.

We all have bad outcomes and bad days, but days like these can be among the worst. In my first real legal job interview I was asked, more or less, if I understood how difficult this job was. I answered something to the effect that I understand it’s a game of inches and we have to scrape and claw and battle for every one we can get.

On the plus side, it’s situations like these that make every win that much sweeter. They also remind us of why we do this job and why our work is so important. As Scott Greenfield points out, moments like this break through the shell of steely resolve we must have to do this job and, in a sort of twisted way, inspire us to keep going, to work harder, to do whatever we can to try to prevent this from happening again. Of course, we know it will happen again. As Greenfield writes:

we don’t always know who is truly guilty and who is truly innocent, or where along the spectrum in between a defendant might truly fit. But we do know when things have gone horribly wrong and when we were ineffective to stop it. We are brutally aware of the limitations of the system, and our own limitations in making magic happen when it’s needed most.

Somewhat paradoxically, this knowledge, this pragmatism, is what keeps many of us going. It may not make sense to those on the outside looking in, which may be why some people think of public defenders as Don Quixotes tilting at windmills.

To them I say: Come on Sancho Panza! We have clients to defend.