Another Side of the Story*

I serve the judicial system.

I have a compulsion to protect people.

She was being bullied by a seasoned lawyer.

I worked to be even handed and reasonable.

That day was HARD.

In a settlement conference in small claims court where I work periodically as a magistrate, my task is to resolve matters, to set aside any implicit bias I may have, and work with the parties to craft a reasonable end point for the dispute between them. Often resolution takes more time than afforded in our resolution hour; Litigants need to be ‘heard’; true listening requires hearing both unspoken and the voiced words and their intentions.  

She was, in her words, doing everything right but coming up short.

That young woman defending her own claim at not a day over 23 years old had worked her way through college and was now knee-deep in an attempt at graduate school. She was bright and well-spoken. She was clearly living in Connecticut, far from her personal support system, geographically and financially. She knew that she had ‘failed’ and ‘failed’ to understand ‘what she ‘signed up for’. She saw her consequences right in front of her in the form of a decision made by her that was one of youthful optimism.

Her tears took me back.

In 1988, I looked at my law school invoices and prayed financial aid could rescue my plans for my future because my bank account could not. I was living in Maryland, far from any support system, geographically and financially. I was working two part-time jobs which made my classwork less of a sometime priority than sleep and my grades reflected the absence of attention.

I felt my space in the world; my space was small.

I wanted to protect that litigant from the harshness she knew and give her a clear roadmap to the future.

I wanted to say the journey is long; you will make it as far as your dreams will take you. Keep going.

Of course, I had to keep silent.

Of course, I had to tell her what she knew; promises made in her past bound her present and from the facts and the law, hers was not likely to be a good outcome if she failed to settle on reasonable terms.

Fortune’s eye though had that seasoned lawyer of a certain age in that case turn his ire toward me when I failed to suggest a resolution for him that was more than what was warranted and would have amounted to everything he asked for.  

That was enough cause to ‘unleash my inner Brooklyn” on him, in part due to his blatant disrespect of me, and, if I am honest, in part due to my hope that the young litigant would see herself in me and know that her future was brighter than today’s detour on her life’s journey.

This was just. And justice too.

*I have intentionally obscured the nature of the dispute and the altered my description of the litigant.