It was the first day of the semester of law school. There was excitement in the air. I was happy to be back. I love the start of a new semester. There were nervous faces, too. Some anxiety, especially among the 1Ls. I was sitting in my office; 20 minutes until my 1L class would begin. I usually keep the door open when I’m in my office. I like the noise. I like to talk to my colleagues. It’s welcoming to students. And I don’t mind interruptions.
My office is in Suite 415. In that suite, there are doors on both sides of a small hallway, but mine is straight back. When you hear the door to the suite open, you can never see who’s coming until they’re already at your office door. It’s always a surprise.
On the first day of that semester, I didn’t have office hours, but I was sitting at my desk with the door open. I just had a bit of time to prepare for my next class. I heard the suite door open and, seconds later, a soft knock on my open door. I immediately got the sense it was an incoming 1L. My returning law students wouldn’t knock so softly. I looked up and saw the student in my doorway. I didn’t recognize her.
“Did you used to work at the Brooklyn aistrict attorney’s office?” the student asked. I get asked that question frequently. Students will usually tell me that they know someone who worked there, too. Or that they want to work there one day. I said to the student, “Yes, I did.”
The student sat in a chair on the other side of my desk. She was looking down. When she looked up, she said, “Do you recognize me?”
I was immediately caught off guard. In so many ways, the Brooklyn DA’s office is another world compared to the law school. The distance is three counties, 42 miles. None of the people are the same. Investigating and prosecuting crime is actually significantly different from teaching about it. A career in sex crimes prosecution is overwhelmingly stressful for reasons that words cannot describe. Teaching law is remarkably less stressful.
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you. Please remind me,” I said to the student.
“You prosecuted my case. My ex-boyfriend. After he assaulted me. … When he tried to kill me. I remember I was so scared to testify, and you held my hand as we walked into the grand jury.”
The memories returned immediately. I remembered her, and I remembered her case.
She continued, “I’ll never forget when you held up the picture of the slashes on my neck in the grand jury.”
I remembered doing that. I remembered her as a teenage girl, terrified at the life she found herself living. Knowing she was lucky to be alive. She called the injuries “slashes.” There were much deeper wounds than that, not to mention the bruises on other parts of her body and the fear he instilled in her.
I could barely find words to say in that moment, as we both sat in my office at the law school, years after I presented her case to the grand jury. But I managed to tell her that it was incredible to see her doing so well now.
She continued, “You saved my life. I wrote my law school admissions essay about you. And now you’re here.”
Then I was speechless. It is rare, if ever, to see or speak with a former victim years later. Prosecutors are interjected into someone’s life, usually at the worst time imaginable. When a case is over, there is always a new case to begin. I have never once wondered about the long-term impact I may have had on a victim’s life.
The following is an excerpt from the student’s law school admissions essay:
“I told my story again to the Brooklyn [assistant] district attorney, a woman who to this day has no idea how much she shaped the rest of my life.
I was heard. I was listened to. She fought for me. Someone of such high esteem and accomplishments cared about me. I kept my eyes met with hers as I testified in front of the grand jury …
The woman who saved my life, the [assistant] district attorney that fought to put my abuser away and out of my life. And I knew, that’s what I want to be for someone.”
I would argue that she saved her own life. A young victim of severe domestic violence endured for months from a man who said he loved her. She developed the strength and courage to testify against him. No one can imagine the strength that requires unless it’s a lived-though experience.
I had tears in my eyes as she told her story—the story of how she physically and psychologically recovered after we indicted her ex-boyfriend on felony assault charges, he pleaded guilty and he went to prison.
It took years, but she made it. And she sat directly across from me as she began her first day of law school, married to a wonderful man and smiling as she talked about her baby. She has dreams of becoming an attorney who advocates for the most vulnerable people in society. I believe she is on her way to becoming that advocate.
We see each other frequently in the law school, each of us remembering a former life and grateful for what we’ve both become since then.
For me, this was the greatest lesson on the professional impact one person may have on another. I will remember and apply it for the rest of my career. For her, she’s not just a surviving—she’s thriving, working her way through law school and making her dreams come true.
So when people ask why I chose this career path, I know the answer now. This is why.
Jolie Bodner Zangari is a full-time faculty member at the Touro University Jacob D. Fuchsberg Law Center in New York. She is a former assistant district attorney at the Kings County district attorney’s office in Brooklyn, New York City, where she primarily prosecuted cases in the Special Victims Bureau. She can be reached at [email protected].
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