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Was that Prosecute or Persecute?

Thoughts on Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson

In Just Mercy, US attorney Bryan Stevenson narrates his career fighting cruel and unusual punishment in the American legal system. It’s an arc that is illustrated, motivated, and substantiated with stories of his clients–people serving the most severe sentences due to unsympathetic (and even outright illegal) prosecution.

The first surprise about this book is the quality of the writing. I’m sure practicing law requires strong written communication skills, but I doubt legal briefs need to be gripping to be successful. Just Mercy combines the exacting coherence of legalese with an activist’s emotional range. Each of Stevenson’s clients has a compelling story, but deft pacing intensifies the tension. The stories aren’t tragic for tragedy’s sake, either: Stevenson clearly articulates how each demonstrates some systemic problem. And there’s a lot to be said, there.

From what I already knew about the Equal Justice Initiative (Stevenson’s non-profit organization), I expected to learn about flaws in the state of Alabama’s justice system. And yeah, the book cites several disturbingly unique aspects of “due process” there. As the book progresses, though, Stevenson increasingly calls out injustices in other states, and even in the federal system. While the author probably modeled this progression on the trajectory of his career, he must have also recognized the rhetorical value. It’s less controversial to criticize local problems than to indict the wider establishment, so starting small helps bring skeptics on-board for the larger issues. Throughout, Stevenson provides historical context, subtly reminding readers of the fallibility of institutions.

As I read, I started to think more and more about Paul Farmer, a co-founder of Partners in Health. Farmer passed away earlier this year, but he and Stevenson have a lot in common. Both grew large altruistic organizations from humble beginnings, both have advocated for prisoners, and both have been committed to fighting “stupid deaths,” (though as far as I know, only Farmer used that term). It was satisfying to read how Stevenson knew Farmer in life and draws inspiration from his work. 1

But Stevenson is not Farmer, and Just Mercy is not Mountains Beyond Mountains. It has the trappings of a memoir, but Stevenson takes pains to downplay his personal growth. He includes deeply personal stories (such as being accosted by the police and the violent death of his grandfather) but only draws on them to show solidarity with his clients. He has essentially nothing to say about his home life (unless, of course, he happens to be housing his former clients while they get back on their feet 2).

Even Stevenson’s professional aspirations take a back seat. The book describes an epic career, from the first meeting with a condemned man as a law intern, to arguing cases before the Supreme Court of the United States. Throughout all the intervening casework, Stevenson never once indulges in reflection on his career path. He’s consistently focused on his clients and his cause.

Stevenson relates his life’s work without becoming the star of the story. The humility in this goes without saying, but the literary accomplishment deserves recognition, too. To write about oneself selflessly is borderline paradoxical, but the author threads the needle. Such a compassionate, driven person deserves the spotlight, though! Hopefully we get a proper memoir some day, but Just Mercy is plenty inspiring in its own right.

  1. From chapter fifteen, “Broken”:

    Paul Farmer, the renowned physician who has spent his life trying to cure the world’s sickest and poorest people, once quoted me something that the writer Thomas Merton said: We are bodies of broken bones. I guess I’d always known but never fully considered that being broken is what makes us human. We all have our reasons. Sometimes we’re fractured by the choices we make; sometimes we’re shattered by things we would never have chosen. But our brokenness is also the source of our common humanity, the basis for our shared search for comfort, meaning, and healing. Our shared vulnerability and imperfection nurtures and sustains our capacity for compassion.

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  2. Stevenson mentions this only in passing, causing one to wonder what kinds of care work he chose not to include:

    […] It was a serious injury that left Walter in very poor condition for several weeks. He didn’t have a lot of care available, so he came to live with me in Montgomery for several months until he recovered. He eventually regained his mobility, although the injury put an end to his ability to cut trees and perform difficult landscape work. I marveled at how he seemed to take it in stride.

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