Voices

Even a prosecutor like 'Maximum Marcy' can learn to see the good in others

I tend to dread holiday parties, especially those where I don't know a lot of the guests. Not only are my efforts at small talk awkward, but as a criminal defense attorney, I find myself waiting for the question that inevitably follows the disclosure of my profession: "How can you defend 'those' people?" The phrasing may change a bit -- "How can you help criminals?" "How can you defend people you know are guilty?" -- but the gist is always the same: What part of your soul have you surrendered to do your job?

My answer may change a bit depending on the context -- i.e., is there a drink in my hand and how many have preceded it? Typically, I respond with a boring exposition of the critical role of the defense attorney within our adversarial system, something idealistic and removed from my actual experience. For the truth to come out, it has to be near that point in a party where karaoke sounds like a good idea, because the truth is schmaltzy and a little too revealing for casual conversations.

But this being the holiday season, where sentimentality oozes from every card, carol and commercial, I've decided to answer this question once and for all -- even without the benefit of a cocktail. So here it is: in a Grinch-like transformation worthy of the season, helping "those" people changed me for the better.

This may sound counterintuitive, particularly if I reveal that I spent the first nine years of my career as a prosecutor. Many would assume that putting criminals in jail would be the kind of feel-good job that would make you a happy, well-adjusted person, and for most people that may very well be true. But that's not what happened to me.

I began my career in prosecution as a crusader, determined to empower victims of sexual assault and end domestic violence. It took some time for me to figure out that root causes of these crimes could not be fixed in a court of law. So I decided that, if affecting change wasn't going to happen, I'd focus on putting people in jail for as long as I could. I did this with such blind zeal I was once dubbed "Maximum Marcy" by the now-retired "Alaska Ear," and not in good way, but in a manner that implied I was a big jerk. And I was a jerk: judgmental, angry, and unwilling to look beyond my own narrow frame of reference to understand other people's experiences.

I'll skip the whole explanation about why I finally decided to switch sides, but when I did, a funny thing happened: I started to listen to the very people who I'd once categorically dismissed as "the defendant."

It didn't happen as quite quickly as it did to the Grinch, but as I kept listening, the monolithic group I'd once scorned became folks like Justin, who got hooked on legally prescribed oxycodone after a snowboarding accident and then turned to heroin when pills became too expensive, or Kate, who ran away from the foster care system and began turning tricks for money at the age of 14, a life that required her to literally fight to survive on the street. And I found that I felt good about helping these people, even when they'd done something bad.

ADVERTISEMENT

Please do not think that this feel-good tale is meant to convince you that a heart of gold lies buried beneath the rough surfaces of all of my clients. Some of them are truly a danger to our community, and I haven't become such a Pollyanna to ignore that fact. But having now spent just as many years as a criminal defense attorney as I did a prosecutor -- I can tell you that with very rare exceptions, I'm always able to find something l like about the people I help: a sense of humor, a dedication to a child or parent, a different perspective or philosophy of life.

And that effort not only makes it easier to do my job, it's made me a far happier person. In the end, think of this as a holiday message of hope for all of the angry people out there: Happiness can come from the most unlikely of sources -- even members of suspect professions and residents of Alaska's correctional system.

Marcelle McDannel has been working in criminal law for almost two decades, both as a prosecutor and criminal defense attorney. She currently practices criminal defense statewide. Contact her at marcelle(at)alaskadispatch.com.

The views expressed here are the writer's own and are not necessarily endorsed by Alaska Dispatch News, which welcomes a broad range of viewpoints. To submit a piece for consideration, email commentary(at)alaskadispatch.com.

Marcelle McDannel

Marcelle McDannel is a criminal defense lawyer, animal lover, and passionate defender of bad dogs.

ADVERTISEMENT