A reflection on 5 years law talkin’
I’m sat here in my study, enjoying the wind-down of my week of R&R with a cup of tea and listening to some music (I know - just a super hip and fun guy right here), and Human, by Jon Bellion comes on. Only recently introduced to me, but it’s quickly moving its way up my list of favourite songs.
The central thread that runs through the song is the concept that regardless what we do, there will always be seeds of doubt which pervade our inner monologues.
I always fear that I’m not living right
So I feel guilty when I go to church
The pastor tells me I’ve been saved, I’m fine
Then please explain to me why my chest still hurts
I spent four thousand on the Mart McFlys
Yet I’m still petrified of going broke
There’s someone gorgeous in my bed tonight
Yet I’m still petrified that I’ll die alone
For me, at least, the first verse (above) took inner-me straight to my career, which on Sunday chalks up 5 very long (and at the same time, very short) years. Which, in turn, inevitably took me to the sitcom-esque (dfn. of, or pertaining to, situational comedies - you’re welcome) slideshow of the last 5 years of my life. And what better place than here than to remember, ruminate and reflect.
I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer - I can’t point to any one thing, event or person which triggered it off. There aren’t any in the family (even historically), nor in any of the family friends who were around growing up. If I want to needle the grandparents, I say it’s because I watched A Few Good Men one day and thought I would look good in a uniform. Intrinsically tangled with those intangible and inexplicable beginnings, however, has been an impulse towards service - whether in the form of government work or in the general sense of a profession - to serve the community in upholding the rule of law.
It tends to take people by surprise that I, with all my trappings of sarcasm and short temper, actually am that idealistic. I do believe that a lawyer should strive to do good by all manner of men and women, not just those who have a large enough bank balance. I do believe that a strong and independent legal profession is necessary for a functioning society. I do believe that a person is innocent until they are fairly found guilty in accordance with law. I do believe that a miscarriage of justice, without being put right, harms everyone; not just those parties before the Court.
I remember my admission ceremony in the old Banco Court - it was the afternoon session on 9 July 2012. Chief Justice (now Governor) de Jersey presided (I don’t remember who sat with him - I vaguely remember Justice Mullins sitting, but not the third judge - it was a Justice of Appeal, I know that). I even remember getting a nod from the Chief Justice when my application was formally moved.
I remember, particularly, the weeks leading up to that day - I won’t go into that here, but it wasn’t the welcome to the profession that I expected or wanted.
I remember the months which followed my admission, and the gradual, sickening, sinking feeling that I had made a terrible mistake. To me, back then, I didn’t help people - I made things worse. I just came along and gave them a massive bill at the end of the day which they couldn’t afford, with little to show for it. I was tired; I was overworked; I was suffering from an existential crisis that made me question the years of planning and study which had led to that point. Not a great position for someone who easily gets into their own head.
I remember the case which turned that around for me - the case that is my yardstick every time I reflect on my time in practice.
I remember having a mention of a debt recovery matter at Holland Park Magistrates Court the next day, and being at my absolute wits end with it. Late in the day, I get a call from my boss - this important client had referred this old lady, and I was to sort it out as a priority. Being in the midst of preparation for Court, I was far from impressed.
So I gave the old bird a call to see what was so urgent that I had to divert my attention from my obviously much more important work.
Turns out, her daughter had recently been granted parole - a condition of that parole being that she wasn’t to have contact with her ex-partner. Her daughter, enjoying time with her children, had been unceremoniously hauled back to prison with her parole revoked - all because, I was instructed, the ex-partner had contacted her, and she had told him where to go, by what means he could get there and had hung up - less than 13 seconds on the mobile call log. The old lady was in a panic and had two little grandsons who were highly upset by mummy being dragged away by the policemen. Me - I was just short-tempered that this was getting in the way of me getting ready for Court.
The very important client who had referred her had experience inside himself, and him being all well intentioned, had filed an urgent application seeking review of the decision to revoke the parole on her behalf. He then, at the last second, told the old lady to arrange a lawyer for the hearing the next day. At least, that was the information I got (turns out, it was just a mention, with proforma directions to be made).
Handily, I had just finished a matter with the legal officer at Crown Law who had the matter on behalf of the Parole Board and was able to beg a favour of her to appear as unpaid agent the next day to adjourn the matter until I had come up to speed (and more significantly, in my mind, had sorted out this debt recovery matter which was clearly more important). She also asked me what our problem with the decision was, as the application (being drafted by a layperson) was as helpful in that department as may be expected. I outlined my instructions, that there was no breach of the condition because my client hadn’t contacted anyone.
If we skip to the next morning, I’m at the Holland Park Magistrates Court impatiently waiting for my matter to be called. My receptionist calls me at least 4 times in rapid succession. On the last attempt, I answer and give her an earful, that I was at Court and nothing could be that urgent - she should know that. She tells me that my opposite at Crown Law was on the line and urgently needed to talk to me. As it transpired, my opposite had dug into the matter overnight and had made some independent enquiries. I was told that the decision to revoke the parole had been made on unreliable (read: no) evidence, and she had recommended that her client withdraws its decision and reinstates the parole. That recommendation had been accepted; the old lady and her grandsons could pick up my client from Brisbane Womens at midday.
I will always remember the call to the old lady - for most lawyers, there was nothing remarkable about a call such as that. For me, it was my Damascene conversion. Five years later, I still remember her name - both hers and her daughters.
There are many more cases which have made me question whether I still want to do this. There are many cases where I find the phrase “who cares what the law says?” or “the client is always right - they pay the bills, they call the shots” gets forced down my throat. The personal offence which I take each and every time one of those phrases gets tossed out is just a series of psychological and emotional paper cuts by this point.
To bring this full circle - I’ll dip back into the lyrics to Human:
See I got GPS on my phone
And I can follow it to get home
If my location’s never unknown
Then tell me why I still feel lost
The cases which give me a sense of drive and purpose, like the one I recalled above, are, unfortunately (and perhaps, naively), few and far between. The work I do for Caxton, on the whole, gives me my professional lifeline back to my ideals and my modus operandi. But - there are times where the balance dangerously shifts, and my inner monologue starts asking whether this is what I want to be doing.
