AN OPEN LETTER TO THE BLACK MALE PROSECUTOR
By Ryan E. Norman, Esq.
Let me begin by saying something that I doubt you hear enough: I AM PROUD OF YOU.. Why? Well, consider this—though you may not realize it, as a Black attorney, you are a member of a small, yet elite, community. According to the 2020 American Bar Association Profile of the Legal Profession, you belong to a profession wherein only 14.1% of all lawyers are people of color, and only 5% of lawyers are African-American.(1) According to that same report, you are also a part of a professional community in which the proportion of lawyers that look like you has not grown in a decade. Ten years ago, Black lawyers only made up 5% of the legal community. Today, that number is, sadly, the same. Thus, your membership among the ranks of our nation’s attorneys is a real accomplishment, and you should be commended. And yet, if you think obtaining your law degree places you in uncommon territory, you likely already know that your position as a prosecutor places you in truly rarified air.
While it is difficult to find statistics on the number of Black lawyers that serve as line prosecutors, it is not hard to imagine that the percentage is small. We certainly know this to be the case when it comes to elected prosecutors. In 2015, an organization called the Reflective Democracy Campaign published a report entitled, “Justice For All: Who Prosecutes in America?,” noting that Blacks made up a small, but familiar proportion of elected prosecutors: just 5%. Unsurprisingly, my own experiences working in three prosecutors’ offices, anecdotal evidence from friends and colleagues who have prosecuted in other jurisdictions, and observations from friends that are defense attorneys suggest that the percentage of Black attorneys that make up the corps of our nation’s line prosecutors is low. Thus, your presence in our country’s prosecutor offices is noteworthy.
And yet, the importance of your decision to become a prosecutor goes far beyond token representation. To the contrary, your decision to answer the call to become a prosecutor is significant. That is because you, as a Black male prosecutor, bring a level of insight into the intense pain the criminal justice system can impose that no other demographic can. Think about it. No other group of prosecutors look across the courtroom to see defendants that look like them, as often as we do. No other demographic is as over-policed and imprisoned as we are. And no other group turns on the news to see a reflection of themselves being shot and killed by law enforcement more than Black men. As a result, we are uniquely positioned to help shape criminal justice reform and offer an authentic voice that speaks to the devastating effects of institutional discrimination and oppression endemic to the criminal justice system.
However, your worth as a Black male prosecutor is not defined by a focus on the accused to the detriment of the communities we have sworn an oath to serve. It is true that many historical harms done to people of color need to be redressed. It is also true that the scales of justice, which have never truly been balanced, need to be recalibrated. But the accomplishment of these goals are not mutually exclusive to the goal of promoting safety and protecting the citizens of our jurisdiction—many of whom are also Black and Brown and come from historically oppressed communities. After all, that is why so many of us became prosecutors: to ensure that Black victims in poor neighborhoods are not treated worse than white victims in affluent neighborhoods; to help promote community engagement and an atmosphere where people feel heard and seen; to protect people barely making it from losing what they worked so hard to gain; to stop domestic violence in communities of color; and to create an environment where little Black and Brown children need only focus on their studies rather than stray bullets flying through homes and playgrounds. This is why we are needed.
Not sure what I mean? You need only think for a moment about experiences so common to many of us. You have seen that victim breathe a sigh of relief when he or she sees you for the first time, sitting in a chair they thought would be occupied by a white prosecutor with whom they have nothing in common. You have also had that uplifting conversation with an uncooperative witness that you were certain your colleague in the next office would never have had. You, my brother, distinctly remember that time you were the sole Black man in the room when a plea offer was being discussed that you knew was way too harsh and were able to bring the discussion back to reason and reality. On the other hand, I bet you also recall that time when the victim was Black, and the defendant was white, and you were being asked to plead the case out with a lowball offer you never would have been told to make if the roles were reversed.
Do not discount these experiences! Your presence at the prosecution table lets the jury know that someone has evaluated the case on its merits and not on racially discriminatory grounds. Your understanding of Black culture and communication ensures that innocent slang is not interpreted as sinister, and conversely, that actual criminal behavior is not hidden by references uninterpretable to the uninitiated. Your admonishment guarantees that derogatory names and stereotypes are not used to describe your minority witnesses, victims, and defendants alike. Finally, your empathy for survivors in need of social services and relentless determination to get them what they need makes certain that they are not left uncared for after you have elicited the testimony upon which your case rested.
In 2009, Eric Holder, the first Black Attorney General, addressed the National Black Prosecutors Association’s Profiles in Courage Luncheon. As he looked around the conference room, he declared, “Dr. King would have been proud of what I see: hundreds and hundreds of prosecutors—black prosecutors—who are committed to the cause of equal justice for all Americans.” In his speech, Mr. Holder summed up the work we are called to do and the lens through which we are called to do it:
“As a prosecutor, you need to be determined enough to pursue every single violent criminal, no matter how cold the evidence. You need to be dogged enough to charge all meritorious cases, no matter how difficult the challenges. You need to be tough enough to withstand public scrutiny, no matter how unfair the criticism. And yet, at the same time, you need to be wise enough, and self-aware enough, and humble enough, to realize that you may not always be right, that mercy is also a part of justice, that prosecution isn’t always the solution to every social ill, and that our success as prosecutors isn’t measured by how many cases we have won, but by how much justice we have done.”
I agree with Mr. Holder’s declaration that Dr. King would have been proud of you, as a Black prosecutor. He would have commended the Black men who honorably serve the community, see our role as Attorney General Holder saw it, and defy the odds by stepping outside of the courtroom roles in which we typically find ourselves.
Brother, I know this job is not easy. The hours can be long, and the job, thankless. We often find ourselves in rooms and amongst people that have historically not been friendly to us. We also face scrutiny from many different people, including members of our own community who question how we can serve in this capacity. Yet, we know that a world in which we are not present in prosecutors’ offices is a world in which justice is not being done. Simply put, your mix of character, integrity, and insistence on equity, all of which has been informed by your experience as a Black man in America cannot be substituted. So, keep standing strong. This profession needs you, and our community is depending on you.
