Books

Book Review: Just Mercy

This book is a beautiful reminder of the power lawyers have to shape our justice system and the great responsibility it carries.

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Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption (affiliate link) should be on the short list as must-read for every lawyer.

Bryan Stevenson has dedicated his life to a law project called the Equal Justice Initiative (EJI). Their mission is both aspirational and inspirational:

We litigate on behalf of condemned prisoners, juvenile offenders, people wrongly convicted or charged with violent crimes, poor people denied effective representation, and others whose trials are marked by racial bias or prosecutorial misconduct. EJI works with communities that have been marginalized by poverty and discouraged by unequal treatment.

Stevenson has dedicated his life to defending people on death row, appealing the death penalty, ending unfair sentences, stopping racial bias, stopping the practice of putting children in adult jails and prison, and defending the discarded and the forgotten.

The book is a collection of stories of cases Stevenson has worked on — those facing government-sanctioned death, people who are sentenced to die because of lack of money and adequate legal representation. However, the book is more than a collection of stories. Stevenson does a beautiful job of weaving in the historical context of the injustices blacks faced, from slavery, convict leasing (a practice that allowed freed men, women, and children to be “leased”), and Jim Crow.

Every story is heartbreaking and Stevenson’s narrative pulls you into the life of the convicted; you can’t help but to feel outraged at the injustice. The book grips you and there were many pages where I found myself deeply troubled by our broken “justice” system.

One story Stevenson shares in his book is Ian Manuel, a thirteen-year-old who was charged with armed robbery and attempted homicide. Ian and two older boys attempted to rob a couple, and when the woman resisted, Ian shot her with a handgun. The bullet went through her cheek. Ian’s appointed lawyer encouraged him to accept a plea deal of fifteen years in prison, not realizing that the two of the charges were punishable with sentences of life imprisonment without parole. The judge accepted Ian’s plea and he was sentenced to life without parole. He was sent to Apalachee Correctional Institution in Florida — an adult prison.

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The correctional staff at the prison processing center couldn’t find any uniforms that would fit a boy Ian’s size, so they cut six inches from the bottom of their smallest pants. Juveniles housed in adult prisons are five times more likely to be the victims of sexual assault, so the staff at Apalachee put Ian, Who was small for his age, in solitary confinement.

Solitary confinement at Apalachee means living in a concrete box the size of a walk-in closet. You get your meals through a slot, you do not see other inmates, and you never touch or get near another human being.

Ian spent eighteen years in uninterrupted solitary confinement.

Remarkably, Ian started calling Debbie Baigre, the woman he shot.

When she answered the phone, Ian spilled out an emotional apology, expressing his deep regret and remorse.

After communicating with Ian for several years, Baigre wrote the court and told the judge who sentenced Ian of her conviction that his sentence was too harsh and that his conditions of confinement were inhumane.

The courts ignored Debbie Baigre’s call for a reduced sentence.

Despite the numerous heartbreaking stories of fights lost where Stevenson had to deliver the news that he was unable to stay the execution, of sitting with the condemned and witnessing the horror of seeing a person die in the electric chair, his deeply held conviction, his drive, and his love for what he does shines throughout the book.

What surprised me most of all is his humanity, his ability to keep his heart open despite all that he’s witnessed. Stevenson himself was the victim of racism and he shares it with much honesty. It’s easy to imagine that someone who has endured so much would become jaded and hostile, but there’s no sign of that in his writing. You can’t help but be in awe of the compassion he brings each client and getting up to fight another round after losing.

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The book is a beautiful reminder of the power lawyers have to shape our justice system and the great responsibility it carries. He models what it means to zealously advocate for your client and he does so with poise.

There’s no animosity, anger, or hate in Stevenson’s narrative. In fact, just the opposite. He recognizes that everyone is broken, that “we are bodies of broken bones.” Certainly, some are more broken than others and “we’ve submitted to the harsh instinct to crush those among us whose brokenness is most visible.” This acknowledgement of our common humanity is evident throughout the book. He reminds us that “each of us is more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.” He reminds us:

…if someone tells a lie, that person is not just a liar. If you take something that doesn’t belong to you, you are not just a thief. Even if you kill someone you are not just a killer.

He reminds us that there is strength and power in acknowledging and understanding this brokenness “because embracing our brokenness creates a need and desire for mercy, and perhaps a corresponding need to show mercy. When you experience mercy, you learn things that are hard to learn otherwise. You see things you can’t otherwise see; you hear things you can’t otherwise hear. You begin to recognize the humanity that resides in each of us.”

Jeena Cho is the author of the upcoming American Bar Association book, The Anxious Lawyer: An 8-Week Guide to a Happier, Saner Law Practice Using Meditation (affiliate link). She offers training programs and coaching on stress management, work/life balance, and creating a sustainable law practice using mindfulness. She’s the host of the Resilient Lawyer podcast. She practices bankruptcy law with her husband in San Francisco, CA.

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