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EFFECTIVE LEGAL WRITING
BRANDEIS STUDENTS MEET WITH
JUSTICE KENNEDY, VISIT D.C.
BY A.J. BESIK, CHELSEA DERMODY, DEVON SKEENS, AND JUSTIN WALKER
For the three of us who began law school last fall, the greatest
lesson we learned about legal writing wasn’t taught in a classroom
or written in a book. It was conveyed to us at One First
Street, home of the United States Supreme Court, by one of the
most important writers to ever publish in the U.S. Reports: Justice
Anthony Kennedy. Although it’s true that many of us had heard
how important our writing was—and even seen our grades partially
reflect our writing skills—the lesson we learned from Justice
Kennedy showed us that legal writing can be even more important,
and more powerful, than we had ever imagined.
Thestory of that lesson begins not in Washington, D.C., but back
at Brandeis, at the start of the school year. Idealistic and brighteyed,
many of us were confident we would hit a home run. We
read the “law school prep” books, talked to all of the law students
we had ever known, and bought wholesale quantities of coffee and
highlighters. But, in a flash the semester was over. It blew by so
fast we didn’t even see it. Did four months really just pass by? Had
we really survived that first “cold call”? Was all of it—the preparation
for our first finals the pressure of finishing those exams on
time, and the relief that came with the semester’s last “time’s up”
—actually over? And what had been the point?
Then before we could even catch our breath, at the end of the
semester, 32 of us traveled to Washington D.C. with a packed
itinerary. To start our day, we sat down for an hour-long private
meeting with Justice Anthony Kennedy, our professor’s former
boss. Then Supreme Court Clerk Marisa Maleck, led us on a behind-the-scenes
tour of the Court. We later toured the Capitol
and met with Utah Senator Mike Lee. Several of us ended the
day by meeting with Senator Mitch McConnell’s Chief Counsel,
Daniel Cameron, a 2011 Brandeis School of Law graduate. Finally,
a group of students went on to tour the West Wing of the
White House.
It’s easy to lose sight of what’s really important in law school. The e
is a lot of talk of class rank, employment projections, and GPA.
It’s easy to forget why you wanted to be a lawyer in the first place.
The e is no better reminder, though, of why we sign up for the
three years of essay questions, minute legal details, and the intricacies
of complex theorems, than touring buildings where history
is made, meeting those making it, and standing in the presence of
one of the ultimate arbiters of law in the nation.
In his welcoming, grandfather-like demeanor, Justice Kennedy
told us a story. He explained that after Texas v. Johnson, 491
U.S. 397 (1989), when the Court protected the First Amendment
right to burn a fla , there was a huge uproar from the public. Th y
couldn’t understand, perhaps because they had not bothered to
read any of the opinions in the case, why protecting the right to
burn a flag is important to the freedom that the flag stands for.
Justice Kennedy joked that it seemed like President Bush took
the week off, after the decision, to tour flag factories. And not
long after that, a man approached Justice Kennedy in a restaurant
and said his father, a World War II vet, had told him he should
be ashamed to be a lawyer. In response, the man decided to give
his father a copy of Justice Kennedy’s concurrence in the case.
When the father handed the concurrence back to his son, he had
a new view of the case. “Son,” he said, “you should be proud to be
a lawyer.”
What was it about the Justice’s words on that issue that convinced
this aging patriot that setting the flag of the country aflame was
protected under the Constitution? The Court’s majority opinion
was technically sound and explained the mechanics of the legal
reasoning. But Justice Kennedy’s concurrence explained in basic,
blunt terms the “hard fact” that “sometimes we must make decisions
we do not like.” Id. at 420 (Kennedy, J., concurring). That
simple sentence clearly articulated to anyone, regardless of education
or training, the inherent tensions involved in respecting
freedom of speech. It is among the phrases that resonated with a
member of a generation that clearly understood making decisions
that may not be easy—a generation for whom little was easy. That
short anecdote, and the conversation that followed, demonstrated
that good legal writing should do more than cleverly reiterate legalistic
mechanics. It should inform in ways that illuminate, persuade,
and inspire.
Authors, historians, and politicians, claim that the pen is mightier
than the sword. Justice Kennedy’s lesson illustrated to us that
our pen is our sword. What we write has the power to influenc .
It might one day change the law. Perhaps more importantly, it
can change people’s minds. Without shaking anyone’s hand, without
knowing any student’s political affiliat n, or even our names,
Justice Kennedy reminded us that being a lawyer isn’t about the
money you make, the power you have, or the section of the plane
you sit in. Being a lawyer, at its most fundamental core, is about
using language to create the world that you want to see—to make
a positive difference for people.
We were treated to a lot of amazing things in D.C., but what
we will always remember is the pride we felt leaving our meeting
with Justice Anthony Kennedy. We get to be lawyers someday. We
study and aspire to write in ways that can change minds. And we
wouldn’t have it any other way.
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| JULY/AUGUST 2016