Flash Post #6
So for the summer, I’ve been working at a legal aid clinic. What I just had wasn’t technically my first case (six-way tie for second, actually), or even my first case to go to court, but it was still “a” first case, hence the deliberate parsing of words in the title above: a first case, but not the first case. Kind of like writing:
***Top Division Officer!!!***
…as the opening line of a naval officer’s periodic fitness report. The subject of the report, on reading that line and seeing all the exclamation marks, might feel pretty good depending on how savvy they are, but the truth is, if they were the top division officer and not just a top division officer, that fitness report would have opened:
***Number 1 of ## Division Officers under my command!!***
A “soft” breakout followed by a pair of exclamation marks counts for more than vague approbations followed by a trio of the same. People who make it far enough in the Navy to sign officer FITREPs, like lawyers too I suppose, tend to know to be explicit when the facts will support a desirable conclusion, and less so when they will not. The channel to Davy Jones’ Locker is marked by faint praise to starboard.
In an effort to avoid identifying details, I will simply say that this was a case involving allegations of abuse. Horrific abuse. I represented the abused party, along with another student and a supervising attorney, and the outcome of the case was consistent with our client’s allegations having been substantially proven–at least sufficiently to meet our burden in court and to establish that there was a “there” there. From a legalistic standpoint, we “won,” but from a moral standpoint, like striving after a broader truth, it didn’t feel like winning to me. Instead, it felt like something terrible had happened. Because something terrible had happened. The only question was, was it something that happened before the hearing, or was it the outcome of the hearing itself? That’s what I struggled with in the immediate aftermath, and neither possibility could be of much comfort to me. “Winning” meant, in effect, that either the really terrible abuse happened in the years leading up to the hearing as alleged (and to be clear, that is my position: that this really terrible abuse actually happened), or, failing that, that a terrible injustice was just perpetrated against the opposing party. Which I suppose they (the alleged abuser) are free to argue on appeal if they feel really passionate about it.
As a confounding factor, naturally, nothing can be known with metaphysical certainty, and not even a finding of guilt in a criminal matter, with its standard of proof beyond a reasonable doubt, can be taken as an absolute pronouncement of “The Truth.” But this? This was a civil matter where the standard was sufficiently low that the best I can say in light of the outcome is that we had proof enough to establish that *something* probably happened. But as far as what actually happened, I can’t claim to properly know or reflect on. I can only comment on my reaction, powerful and unexpected, to the legal conclusion reached.
It was something on par with a traumatic stress reaction. I say that having actually had traumatic stress reactions in the past (it’s how I ended up looking for another line of work after learning how to write naval officer FITREPs). Standard disclaimer, I’m not a mental health professional and am not qualified to diagnose anyone, let alone myself, but the point remains: I reacted to the outcome of this case in a manner reminiscent of how I’ve reacted to stimuli associated with my own personal traumatic experiences. Though the abuse here certainly rose to a level sufficient to constitute a traumatic event (or series of events) for the person subjected to it, my personal reaction was in no way stemming from a “trigger” associated with my own past trauma. Rather, it was like someone else’s trigger being pulled, but then finding it somehow wired to my own and going off myself.
I think part of what made it so difficult to go through was the way the hearing was conducted: over Zoom. So although there were four of us (the client, a supervising attorney, and another student attorney besides myself) on one side, none of us were in the same room. As a matter of fact, we were further divided across three different states. The hearing went all day, and the end came somewhat abruptly as the judge announced that they were prepared to rule as testimony concluded, no need for closing arguments. It was just over. Which was fine. It certainly didn’t need to go on any longer: for my part, learning was had with experience gained, and I am quite confident that both parties were ready to be done with the experience as well. But ending as it did, over Zoom and without closing arguments, what it led to was an immediate transition from the last witness–one of the parties to the case–to a decision from the judge. And it just so happened that it was my place to cross-examine that witness.
It was a contentious cross-examination, not just because I was crossing the opposing party (the alleged abuser), but also because of my own inner apprehensions. First, although it was not, as previously emphasized, my first ever case to end up in court, it was my first opportunity to conduct cross-examination. Whereas for direct examination (which I had done before) a witness can be prepped and questions at can mostly stick to a script, for cross-examination questions–whole lines of questioning, even–may have to be revised or discarded, with new questions thought up on the spot, as responses come in and yield at times unexpected replies. And there was quite a bit of that. Additionally, not all of the questions I had prepared were questions I would have asked if left to my own devices. These questions were particularly difficult to ask, and I had cause to ponder (both in preparing for the hearing and in actually conducting the cross-examination) whether this was because the questions at issue just weren’t good questions to ask; or if it was because they were the sort of questions that are inherently difficult to ask (referring to explicit allegations of abuse), and harder still for a witness to answer—truthfully or otherwise. Some of the questions certainly seemed to be calculated to provoke an unconsidered response and see how the witness might react, even knowing they couldn’t possibly admit to the activity being asked about. But I must confess that a couple of the responses to those questions (the reaction questions), though by no means amounting to a straight admission, led to a sort of “Wait, what?” reaction from me on hearing the answer. Which I suppose lends credence to the idea that at least some of these harder and more contentious questions were worth asking whether or not there was a better way to ask them, whether or not the witness could possibly have made the admissions called for.
Anyway, I finished cross-examining the opposing party, and while I was hurriedly reviewing the closing argument I had prepared to account for the testimony and evidence that had actually come out at the hearing, opposing counsel conducted a short redirect. As soon as that redirect concluded, the judge announced that they were prepared to rule without closing arguments, which they then proceeded to do. And though the outcome became obvious fairly early on (a mercifully swift end to any suspense over who the judge was ruling in favor of), it was incredibly tense just to listen as the factual conclusions were recounted for the record, bearing in mind that many of the facts at issue related to allegations of abuse. Horrific abuse.
And then the hearing was over. The zoom session ended, and I was sitting alone with my laptop. There was no turning to the client, my fellow student attorney, or my supervising attorney to exchange words or even looks. It was just… over. Had the circumstances been different, had there been even a minute or two spent clearing notes from the table and then filing out of the courtroom together, I think I’d have kept myself together well enough. But the externally-induced load factor went from “very high” to zero all of the sudden and there was no wind-down, so things spun out of control pretty quickly as my thoughts turned inward and I pondered over what had just happened. Specifically, the outcome of the case, and the realization that, one way or the other, something terrible had in fact happened: either over the course of many years in the form of horrific abuse, or just then as a miscarriage of justice. It was too much to take in all on my own like that.
Once more, for the record, my personal opinion is that the judge came to the correct conclusion, effectively recognizing that years of abuse had actually happened as alleged and ruling appropriately. But then that’s not exactly a comforting thought–certainly it would have been best of all if there had never been any abuse and this matter had never appeared before the court on account of that. Further, what I found myself wondering as a sort of corollary in light of my reaction to the favorable or “winning” outcome, was… Would I feel better if we had lost? Because that at least—an unfavorable outcome, effectively finding that the abuse had not occurred—might give leave to think… Maybe it didn’t really happen? Maybe the judge saw through a smokescreen where I could not, and justice has in fact been done as nothing so terrible as alleged happened?” No doubt one day, as I progress into my second career, I will be made to confront such an outcome, where I find myself pondering over a loss and seeking solace in the thought that perhaps the finder of fact, be they judge or jury, got it right, and I should be contented in spite of my own prior estimations of the truth. But for now, I can only imagine that whatever hypotheticals I might run through in my mind, I will not know for certain how I will react until I am actually confronted with such an eventuality. Maybe it will be worse than winning. Probably it should be if I hold then, as I do now, to a sincere belief in the truth of my client’s allegations, whatever the judge or jury may decide.
Anyway, that’s my reaction. To a first case.
Songs of Babylon 