I used to love to go to parties. Sadly, that all changed once I became a criminal defense attorney. Below is the conversation that I have at every shindig that I’ve attended over the last 10 or so years.
“So, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m an attorney.”
“Really. What type of law do you practice?”
“Criminal defense.”
(It’s always at that point that I wished I had employed that quintessential lawyering skill — lying. All I have to say is “bankruptcy law” and the topic changes.)
“Huh. So do you try to put people in jail or keep them out?”
“I try to keep them out.”
“Have you ever represented someone who you thought might be guilty?”
“I honestly can’t remember the last time I represented someone who I thought was innocent.”
“What?”
(Here we go.)
“You represent people even though you know they are guilty?”
“Every day.”
“What if you win and your client goes out and commits the same crime again? Wouldn’t you feel awful?”
“Hey, recidivism pays the bills.”
“You kidding?”
“Yes, I’m kidding. I actually represent only poor people.”
“So you’re a public defender?”
“Sort of. My actual title is ‘bar advocate.’”
“Huh?”
“It means I defend patrons of the Cactus Club and Vox.”
“You what?”
“Actually, it’s a ridiculous title — it basically means I’m court- appointed.”
“Oh, I thought those were the worst attorneys.”
(And then I wait for the inevitable ... ) “No offense.”
“You actually try to convince a jury that a guy who has killed is innocent?”
“Well, now I do appeals, so a jury has already found my client guilty. I then try to convince a higher court to overturn the conviction based on something that happened during the trial that shouldn’t have.”
“So, you try to get them off on technicalities?”
“Otherwise known as constitutional protections.”
“I just don’t see how you can represent these people. I mean, what if someone killed one of your relatives? How would you feel about that?”
“That depends. Are you throwing in-laws into the mix?”
“I mean if ...”
“Hang on a second. How about I ask a question here? What if you committed a crime? Wouldn’t you want to be represented as best as possible?”
“I’m not a criminal so that would never happen.”
“Ever get pulled over for speeding?”
“Sure, but that doesn’t make me a criminal.”
“Well, if you were going really fast, that could have been reckless endangerment. And if you hit someone, that could have been vehicular homicide.”
“But I didn’t.”
“So, it’s not that you’re not a criminal; it’s that you’re lucky.”
“What?”
“Now, did you pay those speeding tickets that you got?”
“Didn’t have to. I got them thrown out. A buddy of mine knows someone at the RMV.”
“But you were actually guilty of speeding.”
“Yeah, but that’s not a big deal. Your clients do horrible things. Don’t you think representing them is immoral?”
“No, I don’t find it immoral. In fact, I think representing indigent criminal defendants is paradoxically the most moral thing an attorney can do.”
“Wait a minute. You’re trying to say that representing these scumballs is moral?”
“Unquestionably. There are a number of sociological reasons and there’s the need to keep power in check. But the reason that I represent these ‘scumballs,’ as you call them, is simply because everyone’s a scumball — some people just have nicer clothes.”
“Huh?”
(Wait for it ... )
“Hey! I have nice clothes.”
“Exactly.”
David J. Barend is a criminal defense lawyer in North Attleboro.
