"Should I just get a real lawyer?" and the un-prestigious life of a public defender

In You've Heard of Berkeley. Is Merced the Future of the University of California, Jennifer Medina discusses UC Merced's emergence as a home for Latino students, which is a contrast from the other University of California campuses. The article depicts a welcoming campus where brown students look around and see people who look like them, hear the music they listen to with their families, and even enjoy school-provided snacks that are special to their cultures. Even with all of these upsides, is the underlying message that stuck out to me was that UC Merced is not a prestigious institution. Medina states that UC Merced does not hold a similar nationwide reputation of academic excellence like other UC schools, it has a much higher acceptance rate, and it does not have a "star faculty" like other UC campuses.  

This article hit home for me in a lot of ways--one of which literal because I am a Merced native. Beyond this, it made me confront my own ideas about prestige and how they have changed overtime. The dictionary definition of prestige is, "widespread respect and admiration felt for someone or something on the basis of a perception of their achievements or quality." Growing up, I don't think I was obsessed with prestige but my decision to attend UCLA was undoubtedly influenced by its prestige.

Fast forward to today: I have thankfully moved on from chasing prestige. Ironically, I am faced with the reality that I have chosen what is probably the least prestigious job in the legal profession: public defense. As I write this I can't help but laugh at the hilarious experience of a public defender. As a disclaimer, I hope no one who reads this feels bad for us because every PD I know laughs at it all, too.

A public defender is respected by virtually no one. As a law student, when you tell your classmates you are doing public defense work, their responses range from backhanded compliments about not having to worry about grades to weird projections about unlivable salaries and massive student loans (They say this even though we live in California and public defender salaries start at over six figures; plus, we are eligible for public service loan forgiveness after ten years).

In media, public defenders are absolutely brutalized. The image of the coffee-stained, disheveled public defender rushing into court with an ill-fitting suit and seventy-three files belonging to people whose names he can't even keep straight is common. Rapper Plies has a song titled 100 Years, where he very passionately critiques the racist criminal justice system. Within his critiques he states, "A public defender don't get you shit but a long trip," and "You ain't got a paid lawyer, then don't go to trial." The Night Of is an incredible show about a Pakistani college student from New York, Naz Khan, who is on trial for a brutal sexual assault and murder. When his lawyer, John Stone, is negotiating a fee agreement with Naz's parents, he warns them of the dangers of trusting a public defender by describing:

A legal-aid lawyer. And here's what you get for your money. It's a guy who starts his day in court, fishing a half a dozen random case files out of a wire basket, meets with his clients for a half hour before going in front of the judge, takes the first deal offered, goes around the corner to Starbucks, comes back with his latte, opens up the next file, and does the exact same things six times a day, every day.

These are just two of the hundreds of digs at public defenders in music and tv shows. I nevertheless truly love both this song and this show. They are masterpieces in their own ways and incredibly brave and honest looks at very serious issues that I care about deeply. But embedded within all of that pop culture goodness is the direct insult to my beloved career and life aspirations.

Media and classmates are not the worst of it. Most of the disrespect happens in the courtroom, coming from prosecutors, private attorneys, and even judges. All of these situations are incomparable to the highest offenders of disrespect. The worst, the absolute worst, of all of the ridicule comes from the very people for whom we do this job for: our clients. Before I move on, I want to make clear that I know I am not the victim in this dynamic! Our clients are in unbelievably stressful and horrific situations and it is my job to help them in any way, no matter how they respond to my efforts. Moreover, win, lose, or draw in every case, I get to go home and sleep in my bed and cash the biggest paychecks I have ever seen. The clients are the ones whose freedom, future, and lives are on the line--not mine. That being said, after all we do for them, and all we endure from everyone else on their behalf, the ever-repeating question of almost every client is always, without fail: "Should I just get a real lawyer?" It. Is. Maddening. The betrayal! We are supposed to be a family! It is you and me versus everybody! But many clients don't seem to know this. 

Until I worked as a public defender I didn't understand how hard the work was. When I worked in a public defender office in Monterey County this past summer, my days started at 5:00 AM. On days I had calendar calls, I went to the jail to talk to my clients before our calendar began at 8:15 AM. This gave us some privacy and more time to discuss the details of their cases. Then I was in court from 8:15-12 PM. During this time I argued motions, negotiated deals, communicated everything happening with clients and their families, prepped for trials, and most importantly tried to keep as many people out of jail as possible. 

I was then typically released until 1:30 PM. I usually spent that time going back to the jail to meet with more clients in custody, eating something on the way. I was back in court at 1:30 where the longer motions were set to be argued and any remaining calendar calls were run through. Then, I would go back to the office and start calling everyone on the calendar the next day to prepare them for whatever I expected was to come. In between all of this, and especially the one day a week I wasn't scheduled for court, I was investigating cases, interviewing and finding witnesses, finding experts, prepping testimonies, reading police reports, watching whatever footage we could find of incidents, calling families, going back to the jail, and the list goes on and on. It was the hardest I have ever worked in my life. And I really, really do love it. But even with all of this effort, I was still met with, "What do you think, should I just get a real lawyer?" 

Ultimately, the Jennifer Medina article made me reflect on how my life has done a 180 since my undergrad days and how I was never supposed to be prestigious or do prestigious work in the traditional sense. Just like the university I was born ten minutes away from, I was built to serve what I feel is a much more important purpose than upholding prestige. I can't imagine a UC deserving a higher form of widespread respect and admiration than the one that is welcoming and serving a demographic group that has been neglected by the rest of the UC system since its inception. I also can't imagine a more respectable legal career than one serving the most vulnerable and most voiceless members of society, even if they treat me like I'm a fake lawyer.

In Reflecting on the Institutional Process for College Success: The Experiences of Four Chicanos in the Context of Inequality, Gilberto Conchas tells a beautiful story about his navigation through his sociology studies and how his dad would remind him to make sure he is doing work "para la raza" aka for their people. This really touched me because my family and friends are the exact same way. I don't think there is a more prestigious job to those around me than one where I am using my intelligence, talents, and charisma to tackle the criminal justice system that has caused so much hurt to so many people, especially those in the community that raised me.

When I think of prestige I think of my mom reposting every article she sees on Facebook that mentions a public defender with a caption along the lines of, "A public defender just like my baby!" I think of the conversation my boyfriend had with his friend a couple weeks ago when I explained my future plans and his friend tried convincing me to go work for a certain corporation because of how much they pay. My boyfriend responded, "Riki would never do no shit like that. She has too much heart. That's why I respect her." I also think of the one client who called me a "public pretender" in the middle of court this past summer. He eventually apologized to me, saying, "You're not a public pretender. I can tell you will be a great attorney because you really care."

I hope all the students of the great UC Merced find their own version of prestige in a place where they are surrounded by their own people. I hope the university focuses on expanding and nurturing its current diverse student demographic and doesn't ruin itself by chasing after whatever prestige is.