12th, May 2025
- Black Lawyer
- May 12
- 4 min read
Entry Title: The War of Words and the Bar That Slept Through It
Filed under: Petty Professionalism
Dearest Diary,
Ahem. Did you miss me?
While I’ve been off gallivanting across continents and sipping coconut water under morally questionable governments, the courtroom chaos has clearly not taken a holiday. I return to my diary sun-kissed, spiritually aligned, and with precisely zero tolerance for professional foolishness.
It seems that while I was away, certain people mistook “free speech” for “free rein to behave like feral raccoons in designer heels.” But never fear—my pen is sharpened, my inbox is full, and my tolerance is… in litigation.
Let’s begin, shall we?
There’s a particular type of barrister who doesn’t argue her case—she declares it. Loudly. Venomously. As though volume is a substitute for virtue.
I encountered such a woman. Not recently, mind you—but three years ago, in a professional setting where civility was meant to be the currency of the day.
This attorney, a woman of both rank and reputation, referred to a male colleague using slurs so demeaning, the air in the room changed temperature. And she did so in front of staff.
Repeatedly.
In writing.
With the careless poise of someone who’s done it before and never faced consequence.
It all resurfaced in a familiar forum: social media. Not a pleading. Not a motion. A digital spectacle cloaked in moral superiority. The kind of public sparring where “truth” is whatever gets the most angry reacts.
The man—yes, the man—was called not one, but several “effin” epithets by this woman.
Not in jest. Not in code. Just a full-volume tirade masquerading as righteousness.
Spoiler: he reported her.
Spoiler two: nothing happened.
Spoiler three: she knew it wouldn’t.
The bar—an institution that will penalize you for a late CLE or the wrong font size—has never quite known what to do when misconduct comes dressed in Chanel and righteous hashtags.
It clutches its pearls when attorneys mispronounce Latin, but barely blinks when one of its own spits venom with designer diction.
Her defense? Oh, the classics. That she was “provoked.” That she’s “actually quite reasonable,” except when confronting men who represent a certain brand of politics—the kind that worships strongmen, fears nuance, and campaigns with slogans that sound suspiciously like threats.
She didn’t name names. She didn’t have to.
And still—I defend him.
Not his politics. Not his lapel pin collection. Not even his suspiciously curated Twitter feed.
But his right to work without being verbally filleted by someone who’s wrapped their cruelty in community clout.
Because here are the questions I cannot stop asking:
If she had used a racial slur instead of a gendered one, would the bar have acted?
If the target were a Black attorney, would the silence feel quite so procedural?
If the insult had targeted someone’s faith, disability, or sexual orientation—would we still be debating “free speech”?
Or is it just that we must endure abuse with a clenched jaw and an airtight motion?
Dearest Diary, I’ve lived this brand of silence.
I once stood in court as opposing counsel—a woman—interrupted me, raised her voice, and bulldozed the hearing with the subtlety of a protest march.
The judge? Said nothing.
Later, someone leaned in and whispered: “She fundraised for his last campaign.”
And just like that, the rules bent.
So what, exactly, do we expect melanated professionals—or inconvenient ones, or principled ones—to do when the bar won’t defend them and the bench won’t look up?
The Texas Lawyer’s Creed says we must treat opposing counsel with courtesy and respect.
But what good is a creed if it’s never enforced?
What good is “professionalism” if it vanishes the moment someone powerful misbehaves?
We like to say the law is neutral. But neutrality without enforcement is just complicity.
And yet—though his politics may leave much to be desired (and a faint metallic taste in one’s mouth), he is still entitled to basic respect. One does not need to agree with a colleague’s worldview to oppose their public degradation. After all, decency should not be doled out like party favours to only those with certain political, social or economic power.
I’ve come to accept that some of our hardest trials don’t happen in court. They unfold in inboxes, DMs, Slack threads, and social media posts—where accountability goes to die and everyone pretends not to see what’s in plain view.
But here’s the thing:The internet never forgets.And neither does Karma—especially when she’s a woman in heels, with a receipts folder and a strong Wi-Fi connection.
Let it be known: this profession will excuse anything—anything—so long as the offender wins trials, pays dues, and keeps their slurs off the record.
But not all of us are silent.
Some of us write.Some of us remember.And some of us are done waiting for institutions to flinch.
I remain, as ever—Poised. Petty. Pen Sharpened.
Disclaimer: The events herein are fictionalized and satirical. Any resemblance to real lawyers who should absolutely be nicer is entirely coincidental.
Tag a lawyer who’s ever been told to stay silent “for the sake of their reputation.”
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