The criminal defense attorney is misunderstood if not despised by

Hear the words of Michael Connelly, who has looked into the courts of men and seen their shadows: “The criminal defense attorney is misunderstood if not despised by most of society. It doesn’t matter if we believe in our adversarial system and the ideal that everyone charged with a crime is entitled to a vigorous defense. Ideals give way to reality—defense lawyers working loopholes and angles to get their clients off.” These words strike deep, for they reveal the wound between ideal and reality, between the lofty vision of justice and the suspicion with which those who defend the accused are regarded.

For in the eyes of many, the defense attorney seems a servant of the guilty, a manipulator of law, a dealer in shadows. Yet in truth, the attorney stands as one of the last guardians of liberty. If the world condemns a man without hearing his voice, then justice has already perished. To despise the defense lawyer is to despise the shield that guards every citizen from the sword of unchecked power. Still, Connelly speaks truly: the world, preferring swift vengeance, often scorns the very protectors it most needs.

Consider the trial of John Adams, long before he was president, when he chose to defend British soldiers accused of the Boston Massacre. The people cried out for blood; the soldiers were hated as enemies of freedom. Yet Adams, though he shared the cause of liberty, declared that even these men deserved a fair hearing. By standing for the ideal that every man must have defense, he risked his reputation and safety. The verdict spared some of the soldiers, enraging many. But history remembers Adams not as a traitor, but as a man of principle, who placed justice above passion.

So too does history whisper of the trials at Nuremberg, when even those who had committed atrocities beyond imagination were given counsel. The world looked on in shock: why grant such monsters a defense? Yet this was the very proof that civilization had triumphed over barbarity. To deny them lawyers would have been to deny the very principle the Allies claimed to uphold—that law, not vengeance, must reign. In giving the guilty their voice, humanity preserved its own dignity.

The wisdom of Connelly’s words, then, lies in his reminder that ideals are fragile when tested by reality. It is easy to proclaim that all deserve a fair trial; it is harder to watch a lawyer exploit a loophole, harder still to see a guilty man walk free because of it. Yet this tension is not a flaw but the price of freedom. Better that a guilty man walk free under law than that an innocent man be crushed by the weight of accusation without defense. This truth is bitter, but it is the bitter medicine of liberty.

The lesson for us is thus: beware the impulse to despise those who defend the accused. For though their work may appear murky, it upholds the light of justice. Do not mistake the bending of the law for the breaking of it, nor assume that all who stand beside the accused are enemies of righteousness. Remember that the moment you, or one you love, stands accused, it is the defense attorney who becomes your shield against despair.

Therefore, O seeker, let your actions be these: honor the ideals of justice, even when reality tests them. Do not be swift to condemn the lawyer who speaks for the hated, for they guard a path you may one day walk. In your own life, resist the lure of vengeance over fairness; stand for principles even when they are unpopular. For justice without defense is not justice at all, but tyranny cloaked in false righteousness. And a society that despises its defenders has already forgotten what it means to be free.