Trial Magazine

At a Crossroad

On the same day I began to draft this piece, I was compelled to lecture a white male attorney who demeaned a Black female civil rights icon by unilaterally asserting that she was a criminal and that she was in no position to discuss civil rights—with very limited support for his very public comment. It has been my experience that in every facet of American life, Black, Indigenous, and people of color are demeaned, dismissed, and categorized into limited spaces.

Many years ago, I participated in a large mediation in a southern state. Although I organized the litigation, drafted all significant pleadings, negotiated two prior mediations, argued dispositive motions, and was a central figure in the action’s advancement, the mediator spoke to my white colleagues rather than to me for much of our third mediation. When cocounsel finally informed the mediator that I was the person to whom he should address his concerns, only then did the mediator deign to grace me with his attention.

A few years after the incident, a white female defense attorney referred to me as a “black pit bull.” This is the reality for attorneys of color.

In this dark hour, we, as plaintiff attorneys, are at a crossroad. Will we choose to acknowledge and make amends for the toxic racism and xenophobia that limit our ability to fully represent our clients and to fully fight for a just civil legal system? Will we deny the realities of so many people who march simply to not be murdered for jaywalking or for suspicion of using a counterfeit bill? Will we shake our heads, call our friends of color, and retreat behind superficial platitudes?

We can do better. Let’s do better for our clients and for the future of this country.

Diandra S. Debrosse Zimmermann is a director at Grant & Eisenhofer in Birmingham, Ala., and can be reached at ddebrosse@gelaw.com.

Every Act of Protest Matters

When I was 18, I was home from college and went to pick up my little sister from elementary school. A sheriff in front of the school stopped us. I did what is normal by pulling out my license and insurance and prepared to hand them to him. He started out aggressive and asked why I did not have a rear bumper. I explained to him that I was recently in a car wreck and was waiting for the parts to be delivered.

However, I also explained that I complied with state law and had my license plate displayed in the back window. He told me that was wrong and then asked me who the truck belonged to and if I was a member of a gang called the Aggies. I informed him that it was my truck, that I was on the track team at Texas A&M University, and that I did not know of any gangs called the Aggies.

I could see that this was going to go badly. I told my little sister, who was only eight years old, to get out of the car and go back to the school. The officer immediately grabbed his gun and began to curse at her. At this point, I got out of the car and requested that he call a supervisor. When his supervisor arrived, the sheriff began to taunt me, as if he wanted me to give him an excuse to become physical.

The supervisor spoke with me and confirmed that I had a right to make a complaint. I immediately went to the station to make a complaint, where I was discouraged from doing so by another supervisor. After ignoring his “advice,” I made my complaint and began researching the effects of a complaint.

I share this story to stress that voicing your concerns and providing positive input in your community are important rights. Speaking up and calling out police brutality will make a difference. There are steps that can be taken to help prevent what happened to me and what has been witnessed over recent months.

If there is a community watch or other organization that works with or involves law enforcement, you should join it. You will have a seat at the table, learn about incidents in your community, and know how to report incidents that you may be aware of or provide constructive input on community improvements that you believe are needed.

It’s important that every incident that warrants being reported is reported, because it may lead to corrective action. It also can help foster conversations needed to improve your community.

Larry F. Taylor Jr. is managing partner at The Cochran Firm in Dallas and can be reached at ltaylor@cochrantexas.com.

An Uncomfortable Reality

I am a minority woman, Latina, mother, and trial lawyer born and raised in the South. It has been my experience that implicit bias is real and that structural inequalities still exist against people of color. Despite my successes, I still face adversity, like many minority colleagues. Hence, these uncomfortable discussions are necessary.

Just two months after I was born in Atlanta, I moved to Venezuela with my mother.  We lived there until I was 12 years old and then moved back to the United States. I did not speak English. I did not understand anything being taught in my middle school classroom, and I had to develop the strength to adapt and “fit in.” I had to work harder than the next student who already fit in. Although I learned English relatively quickly, I found myself feeling excluded by the majority students in my classrooms.

This is an experience that many of my peers are unaware of. Throughout my lifetime, I have witnessed inherent and voluntary division of people based on their race, ethnicity, and cultural background. It is often an unspoken and uncomfortable reality that few want to openly discuss to avoid negative consequences or backlash.

After witnessing societal inequalities during my teenage years, at 16 I decided that I wanted to be an attorney. I was determined to earn that privilege and to be the voice of voiceless people who are misunderstood or simply unheard, especially because of their race, cultural background, or poor upbringings. I remain passionate about people’s rights and their voices being heard, even when—ironically—my own voice is sometimes not heard.

One time, I was deposing an overly aggressive witness—a white man—who repeatedly refused to answer my questions or would rephrase questions by stating “what you meant to say was . . . ”—insinuating that his terminology was better than mine. However, his demeanor always changed when speaking to my teammate,  a white man.

Life is truly a little box full of surprises. When I used to feel excluded or “different” as a 12-year-old kid returning from Venezuela, I strongly believed that the solution to inequality was education. I promised myself that I’d be in a position to change the lives of others, so I could become “equal.” To my surprise, even after becoming an attorney, I continue to encounter the same exclusion and inequalities in the courtroom, among other attorneys, and on the job overall.

As a minority trial lawyer, I encourage my colleagues and friends to acknowledge and comprehend a day in the life of a minority lawyer. We strive to have our voices heard, too, while also being the voice of the voiceless.

Nathalie Kanani is an attorney at James A. Rice, Jr., P.C. in Atlanta and can be reached at nat.kanani@gmail.com.