After three jury trials in 2015, I can easily answer what exactly IS my job?
To help make justice.
I can not decide for the jury. I wish. But no. I can not tell them that insurance companies and their evil sense of injustice are why the jurors must endure my blabbering for several days, taken from their normal lives, to decide the value of harm and loss to a mother and child. My clients. Objection! That is "inadmissible."
As I prepared for my third closing argument this year, I feared confusion. I feared doubt. I feared the habitual process of most people, with their biases, opinions and other reasons for questioning the truth of love. I have to help strangers determine the fair and reasonable value of causing a 9 year old Girl Scout to fear death. To fear leaving her home! But I can not use the actual facts that caused that same kid to fear leaving her home. What? How does that make any sense?
Apparently, the Rules of Evidence know something I do not.
But as I prepared to fight this giant insurance company who could have easily settled my client's harms and losses a long time ago, I am reminded by this picture of how strong I can become. And yet my strength pales when compared to my client, a Girl Scout, a kid who still sees the same dog that hurt her, that bit into her several times. Damn. And damn you Farmers Insurance! Too bad insurance companies can't have kids, and feel what happens when your kid is harmed.
Let's fight Farmers Insurance. Let's fight because my clients make me strong. Let's fight because I help make justice.
