Part I: The Jurists.

Wednesday, November 5.  

It was a special set hearing - 10 am, Department 1122; something of a misnomer, as everything seemed rather normal from the outside looking in. It wasn’t a scene of the great orators, of Atticus Finch and Euwella Maywell, of Lt. Kaffee and Col. Jessup. It was the everyday lawyers and their clients in front of the well-versed judge who had heard the stories of everyday people trying to live through extraordinary times and circumstances. It was just another day in the federal judiciary. 

Of those ordinary lawyers - at the government’s table, Ms. Dinah Johnson. Staring at the witness stand, examining carefully the American citizen raising claims against the people of the United States, Dinah has a small crease between her eyebrows. It will become a deep wrinkle (an occupational hazard) that she cannot remedy on a government salary. But it will become a badge of honor as she looks in the mirror every morning, reading herself for another day of legal battle. It will remind her of moments like this one, in Department 1122. It will remind her of the times she weighed her professional obligations and her personal worries, and how she drowned out the noise of the naysayers (like her supervising attorney, sitting just next to her and criticizing her every objection and argument). 

Across from the government, Ms. Rosie Dixon, Esq., her client, Former Vice Admiral Maxine (Max) French., and her co-counsel and legal battle partner, Rui Saravia. It was the third time the prosecutor launched the objection, and Rose was losing her patience. “Your honor, again - objection. Per Executive Order 14281, counsel’s reliance on a disparate impact theory is misplaced.” 

Rose interjected. “Again, counsel, the objection is misplaced. This isn't a disparate impact claim, although I might add that when I took constitutional law I was taught that Executive Orders do not re-write laws, they guide enforcement. It’s like one of those Schoolhouse Rock videos that teaches elementary-aged children that Congress writes the laws.”

“Counselors, both - that is enough! I beg of you, your decorum is failing the both of you.” The judge stared at the government’s attorney and then Rose. He looked annoyed, frustrated to have his position as a federal judge reduced to a mediator between two bickering attorneys. “Ms. Johnson, again, the plaintiff’s theory of the case is well established in the pleadings and in the numerous ore tenus explanations. Plaintiff is not asserting disparate impact. Rather, it’s as applied - animus, straight up discrimination based on sex. I am not sure how much clearer this court can make it.”

“It’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, your honor. Plaintiff wants this court and the government to believe that this is about discrimination, but really, they are trying to circumvent the orders of the President to disregard this theory.” As Rose sat at the table with her client, she could not believe the federal government appeared this daft in court proceedings. In such disbelief, she felt her face falling forward, eventually laying her forward down on the table.

“Ms. Dixon, while I understand your frustration, there is no need for the theatrics.” Yet, as the judge admonished Rose, he too found his forehead in the palm of his hand, looking down at the papers scattered on the bench. “Ms. Johnson, at this juncture, the record is more than clear that you disagree with Plaintiff’s argument and my ruling. You have made your record; enough. I will not entertain any more objections from you on this specific point. It’s been raised, and denied, now three times. We get the point. Now, Ms. Dixon, you may continue with your line of questioning.”  

/////

Rosie and her trial partner, Rui Saravia, stood outside of Department 1122. They were on their first recess at 10:45 am. The hearing had only started at 9 am. 

“I can’t believe this is going to be our luck; this stupid line prosecutor will just not fucking see the forest for the trees and let go of this stupid idea that we are pulling a fast one!” Rosie started to turn a deeper shade of red in the face. 

“Yeah, and to think you and I both were rejected from the DOJ Honors program when we applied; and they let that in?” Rui, not only Rosie’s trial partner, but also her best friend from law school, still had not let go of that rejection. It had been over fifteen years ago, no less. Some wounds just didn’t mend themselves easily. “Probably for the best, Rui. We’d be like her, and I am comforted by the fact that even if we lose, we are on the right side of history here.” Rui nodded; their client, Maxine French, approached them from down the hallway. 

Rui, Maxine, and Rosie huddled together, processing the events of the morning. Maxine had been on the stand for about an hour, detailing her resume and history with the Navy. The whole point of the foundational testimony was to show her record to the judge, and to demonstrate that there was no plausible basis for the government to fire her. Even if she was “at will” - or served as the pleasure of the executive branch - they still had to follow the same rules everyone else did. At will employment was still protected from arbitrary and animus reasons for firing someone, including characteristics about themselves they couldn’t change; here, Maxine’s sex. 

They barely made it into discussing the Vice Admiral's early years in the Navy before the incessant objections started and seemingly never stopped. As much as Rosie just wanted to call the prosecution dumb and have that explain everything that happened that morning, she and Rui were smarter than that. They had been litigators for years - public defenders to start, then boutique civil rights lawyers in their own shop. Sometimes incessant objections were because opposing counsel was just that stupid; that stupid, or that new that they didn’t understand the art and strategy of picking the correct fight to have in a courtroom. 

But on other occasions, it was a sign. It was a sign that opposing counsel was genuinely afraid and they would resort to anything to interrupt the flow of the lawyer, or to fragment the story of the witness. It happened if they felt that whatever was coming was just that damn powerful that it would ultimately hurt their position in the long run. That, or it was also a sign that opposing counsel was in the fight for the long haul. Because they knew they were likely to lose, they were making the record - making the transcript of every single thing that went wrong in their legal eyes. So when the lawyer ultimately appealed their loss to the appellate court, they had preserved every error for the court to review. When Rosie explained this to her clients, she described it like a baseball game. If an umpire called an out on a steal and clearly the runner was safe at second base, well someone wasn’t going to review the call unless someone else (a coach) made a stink about it. Make the stink and then the higher powers that be - the whole camaraderie of umpires, officials in the booth - would then review and determine whether the runner was safe or if the umpire did, in fact, get it right. Opposing counsel was essentially the coach of the team who knew damn well that they needed to win, but they had some stiff competition to get to the W. 

“Hi, sorry to interrupt,” a young woman in dark jeans and faded loafers who looked no older than college-aged approached them. “Hi - Jo Pratch with WSIU,” she said as she stuck out her hand to Rosie to shake. Rosie glared back, projecting what the fuck kid, and Rui immediately interceeded, shaking her hand. 

“Hi, Jo. Rui Saravia and Rose Dixon, attorneys for the Vice Admiral, nice to meet you.” They shook hands and Maxine explained that Max was fine; she no longer worked for the government, nor did she really care about the titles in the first place.

“Sorry to ask, but is that normal? I mean, I know a fair amount about the court system, but my knowledge of an actual trial is what I get from Netflix shows. So maybe I am naive, but that seemed like . . . a lot.” Jo dug through her bag, feeling around for her notebook and pen to jot down some notes. 

“Yeah, she’s either an idiot or she is terrified of what is coming for her,” Rosie replied. “Furthermore -” But before Rosie could expound upon that thought, Rui was there to clean up. 

“Hey, so let’s keep some of this off the record for now, would you? As you can see, this is a pretty delicate hearing and some emotions are a little raw from my co-counsel. We just want to make sure we are preserving our client’s image and case as best we can, both in the courtroom and in the court of public opinion.” Jo nodded, mumbled something novice sounding like, “oh yeah, totally get it” and nervously slid her paper pad and pen back into her bag. 

Raised voices - the beginnings of a courtroom commotion - were heard a few departments down the hallway. The parties standing outside Department 1122 turned their attention in that direction, watching as masked individuals dressed in black started to open the courtroom doors. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Rui started. Rosie could tell the tides of anger were changing; it was Rui’s turn. 

“Wait, what’s going on?” 

“Well Jo, that’s ICE. You can tell by the fact that they look like the fucking Gestappo.” Rui pointed out the commonalities and the lack of identification, as Jo looked on in abject horror. Max looked disgusted, and Rosie looked like she was calculating their next response if these agents made their way to their courtroom. Before she could articulate her defensive strategy, court staff from their courtroom interrupted. “The parties of Department 1122 and ordered back,” the courtroom deputy called out above the commotion. Rosie took Rui by the arm, nodding in the direction of the courtroom to Max and Jo. Together the four of them made their way back into the courtroom. In the height of her anger and adrenaline, Rosie remembered the sound of the clear metal click as the courtroom deputy locked the courtroom behind them. She could temporarily exhale as they made their way back to the well of the courtroom. 

*****

Monday, November 3. 

It was moments like this where Rosie felt more accomplished, more “adult” than she felt she actually deserved. She knew, deep down, she was smart enough, hardworking enough. She knew that she could “hang” with the big dogs. But she was some plucky kid that a top ranked law school took a chance on. She wasn’t destined for the top tier; she just, somehow, found her way there. And the top tier opened some pretty exceptional doors, which ultimately she decided to use on serving the public good. Although many of her former public defense clients didn’t give two shits about her legal pedigree (I want a real lawyer! You’re a public pretender!), it gave her the chance to work in some top ranked offices and learn some advanced trial skills and techniques. All of that led to this moment - one of the named partners of her own law firm, doing what she always imagined she would: fighting for people by fighting for the guarantees of the U.S. Constitution. 

All of that led to this moment, sitting in a swanky hotel bar, overlooking the Chicago Riverfront. She could imagine that, during the summer time, this place would have a remarkable view of Navy Pier and the summer firework shows of the weekends. She wasn’t sure if she’d be back here, waiting for a high profile client in this high-end hotel bar, in the future. Candidly, at the rate the American sociolegal framework was deteriorating, she wasn’t sure if she’d be allowed to be in the fight at all come the summertime. It was a terrifying and sobering thought, while sipping the most expensive (and best tasting) Old Fashioned she’d ever had. Sipping on bourbon, sobering to the thoughts of constitutional demise and pondering the clash of how rough and tumble her legal career was, led to this significant and extremely polished moment of her career - thoughts lost while staring at the faintly lit pedestrian boats anchored to the sides of the River. 

“Miss, I apologize for my intrusion, but I believe you have a guest joining you this evening. She’s at the front desk.” A young waiter who probably felt more out of place than Rosie did approached her table. “Oh yes, of course, and thank you - should I go get her or -”

“Not a problem, we will show her this way. We just wanted to confirm you were expecting another guest to join you.” Yeah because I just routinely have swanky guests at swanky bars dressed in the least swanky suit of anyone walking around this place. Rosie smiled, suppressing her internal monologue as the young waiter departed.

“Hi Rosie,” Max approached her table, holding out her hand to shake. 

“Vice Admiral, thanks for making the trip across town to meet me.” As they shook hands, Max gave Rosie the look - the look of please don’t, as politely as one can communicate the message. “Oh fine, Max, it’s good to see you. I am sorry, but candidly, you’re probably the most powerful client I’ve had and I just can’t get used to the fact that you are a person behind the title.”

“Well, you had better, because this hearing starts in a couple of days and I was told that you have the art of telling a story, Rosie. And that story starts with Max, not a bunch of military mumbo jumbo about rank.” Rosie nodded; her client was right. “Not to freak you out, kid - you know I have the utmost faith in your capabilities.” Rosie again nodded while taking a deeper sip of that overpriced cocktail. Max laughed. 

“While I’m an old fart, Rosie, this is a young person’s fight. This is your fight. I need someone with the piss and vinegar, with the energy to challenge how these decisions are being made. I need -” 

“Just say it Max, you need someone to fucking take down the man. I know your military career might prevent you from saying that, but I think that’s why you hired me. I think I’ve got fuck the man tattooed on my forehead at this point.” At that moment, the young waiter came back, bearing another Old Fashioned Cocktail for Max. “Sorry, I took the liberty for you; I remember you mentioned that you were a fan when we met for that first consultation.” 

Max smiled. “I like a woman who gets down to business; much appreciated.” Max took a small sip of the cocktail, smiling with the warmth that filled her. Breathing through the smooth sharpness of the cocktail, she offered, “And, I happen to love a woman ready to fo fuck the man. Honestly, my career is over and we both know it; might as well embrace that civilian personality I’ve been secretly pining for, for years and years.” 

“Your career isn’t over, Max - at least, not yet it's not. It’s just on a -”

“On a temporary hold, yeah. That only means so much until you get the paperwork confirming your official separation from the service, your DD14.” Rosie raised an eyebrow; this was a development. “It came today,” Max nearly took down half the cocktail in response, in one fell gulp. 

Rosie sat in the moment of her client’s update. It was like the state bar serving her with paperwork confirming that she could no longer be a lawyer - so essential to everything she worked toward for a majority of her adult life, something so essential to how she defined that. She transposed those feelings on to Max; she understood how a person could nearly consume an entire cocktail in a single drink. She extended her hand to Max, who took it. She looked at her client, woman to woman; fighting professional to fighting professional. 

“Fuck the man, Max.” Rosie was emotional; she felt the heaviness of the sentiment rise up for once, and not just the pissy and angry tones seeping through. She inhaled a short breath and held it, suppressing the tears she felt welling behind her words. Max smiled through her own tears, squeezing Rosie’s hand in return. “Fuck the man, kid. Fuck em’.” She paused, breathing to regain her composure. “Now tell me how we do this in court on Wednesday.” 

Over another round of cocktails and overpriced truffle french fries, Rosie explained the plan. It wasn’t overly technical or difficult - it was about her story. There was enough of a paper trail by the government’s own creation and admission of the storied career of Maxine French. It would look pretty fucking ridiculous if the federal government attempted to fight them over the admission of those records, since they in fact had created most of them. So, Rosie explained she was going to make the feds show their hand as soon as possible by asking the judge to take judicial notice of the records published by the federal government. If they were going to fight them, then it was going to tell Rosie, her firm partner Rui, and Max just how ugly the hearing was going to get. It was also going to give the judge a chance to observe how two faced the government was going to be. 

“Credibility at every turn, I like it,” Max chimed in. “I like your thoughts here - the strategy makes perfect sense to me. Don’t recreate the wheel with the military already doing the work for us.” Rosie nodded and Max smiled. They were in sync. 

Rosie explained that this would open the door though, to everything the military had published. This included the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell years and a military times article that alleged Max was seen in a local watering hole with another woman when she was just climbing the ranks. The article, written in the mid 1990s, was brutal and unforgiving. Simply calling the article homophobic was sanitizing some of the horrible representations it contained. 

“While I had the occasional nightmare over that thing when it happened, trust me, that fucker is a badge of honor in this season of my life.” Max had never married, never took on a committed partner. While Rosie suspected that article and a few other salient moments of her career most likely deterred her from ever finding a way to have a relationship and a family, Max said there just never was enough time for her. Rosie reflected on the double standard of women in leadership and men in leadership - seems like there was always time (and support) for men to allegedly have it all. It was a complicated and frustrating thought that resounded with Rosie, who was also receiving flack from her immediate family for not having the relationship, the family. For not having it all! Rosie quipped back during family arguments. Her mother would get emotional, and her older sister would roll her eyes with a kid hanging off of her hip as she powered through her high-profile tax law career. They just didn’t understand the demands of her career - of the mission she created to always engage in the good fight, and making good trouble. 

As Rosie pivoted, discussing all the background vetting she and Rui did to make sure the government couldn’t come in with some wild curveball alleging misconduct, Max put her hand up delicately, gesturing Rosie to stop. “I see it kid, you’re spinning, recalling the battle plan before the battle happens. Trust me, I’ve been there. I think you need to stop before you discuss yourself into a hole,” Max chuckled affectionately. “I know everything you and Rui have done; trust me, I read the billing statement you sent me last week.”

“Max, we have to - you know how this works, if we are able to win -”

“Then you can collect, I know. It’s okay, I know. As much as this meeting was to prepare me, to remind me of all the work we’ve done, I am starting to think maybe you needed the drink and fries more than I did.” Rosie started to say something and realized she was doing it; she was fighting and combating everything, even from within her own camp and not from behind enemy lines. It was her programming; she just couldn’t stop. 

“Remember, we’re on the same side of this fight, Rose. You’ve got me, and I’ve got you, with my confidence and my trust. Just tell my story; that’s what I’ve hired you for. Tell my story, Rose.”

*****

Wednesday, November 5. 

At 3:45 pm the courtroom doors of Department 1122 flung open, and out poured Max, Rui, and Rosie. The journalist, Jo Pratch, was tagging along behind them. “Can you fucking believe that? CAN YOU BELIEVE THEM?” Rosie was barely out the courtroom doors before she started emotionally unloading from the hearing. 

“Hey, Rose - friend, the Court probably can still hear you,” Rui tried to reason. It only prompted Rosie to project louder I DONT CARE WHAT THEY THINK and Rui decided logic and reason were pretty much a lost cause. Even Max attempted an intervention. “Hey, we didn’t see that ridiculousness on the courtroom bingo card, kid. And you handled it really well.”

“How are you not as furious as I am right now, Max?! Why aren’t you screaming? I mean, they just implied that by being a lesbian woman you are somehow mentally incompetent or diseased - like somehow that riddles you so severely now, even though you were the architect of so many importa --” Before she could finish, Max grabbed Rosie’s hand and pulled her into a corner of the courtroom hallway. Rui and Jo followed closely behind. 

“I am furious, Rosie. But here’s the thing, I’ve been this angry for 40 years. I have been forced to hide it, suppress it, swallow it, not just by the military, and not just by this administration, but by fucking society. I can’t be a woman and in the military AND have some other identity. I cannot be multifaceted, like the rest of humanity. I cannot - and that has been my entire existence. So yes, I am angry. But I know my moments and my places where I can be rage and resentment; and just the opposite, where I need to be respected and requited. I have been conditioned to know those boundaries. As my lawyer, I hired you to defend me, to tell my story. I did not, however, hire you to express my anger for me or to direct my emotional capacities. I promise you, I’ve known this game a hell of a lot longer than you, kid. Be my lawyer - that’s what I need from you. By my lawyer and tell my story.”

The four stood in silence. Max, the consummate professional, had finally broken that unknown fourth wall of military personnel to just a person. The weight of her own anger, carefully calculated and then hurled right back at Rosie was, well, something. Even Rui, who was often much more measured than Rosie, felt the impact of Max emotionally checking her lawyers. Jo knew that this was not the moment to get out that damn notepad for notes. It didn’t matter; the Vice Admiral's words would forever be seared into her memory. 

Max made eye contact with each of them - Rosie, then Rui, then Jo. “Now, our gaggle of fighters and the free press, we have more of this coming straight at us. Maybe we all take a trip to River North and find a spot to decompress and regroup the battle plan? Well, I guess the free press might have to sit that one out --”

“Oh, uh, yeah, right. I won’t bother you then, but if you wouldn't mind giving me a quote for my story on your view of what happened today and what this case looks like for you, moving forward.” But before Rosie could jump in, managing the press and the legal strategy, Max stepped up to the moment. 

“Jo, please feel free to use the words I just shared with Rosie. Now is not the moment for repressed rage. That, I am willing to put in the press.”

“Are you sure?” interrupted Rui. 

“At this point, I am fighting for the record, Rui. I will likely never get my post back; but I am not going down quietly. I will save face in front of the judges and in front of the government. But in front of the free press and free people who need to know - let this freak flag fly, my friend.” She patted Rui on the shoulder, and started to walk away from the group, heading towards the elevator bank. 

“Atta girl,” whispered Rosie, smiling. She was shocked and in awe. She quietly followed after her client who just became her goddamn hero. “Fuck the man,” nodded Jo, approvingly and impressionably. She followed in the wake of Rosie’s admiration. “Well, I guess that’s that then,” Rui observed. He took a breath, realizing that this fight was about to get a lot more intense - but that’s what they agreed to when they took this case one. He, too, followed suit to the elevators.

As the four of them made their way, filing in a single line, one after the other, they heard the continuation of the commotion from earlier. Surprised, they stopped - it had been hours since they had seen ICE in the courthouse tormenting people. In a protective gesture, Max put her arm out in front of Max, Jo, and Rui, who fell behind her. At the farthest end of the courthouse, they watched as a young woman screamed out. It appeared as if agents were physically removing her from the building without much thought; her body was writhing and heavy, her shoes squeaking against the tile floors as she screamed out. “I have a son! I have papers! Please, my little boy! Mi piqueño niño - mi hijo!” 

My little boy - Mi piqueño niño; mi hijo. The words rang out, propelling Rui into action. A first generation law student with parents from Colombia, he had confided in Rosie that if a moment came where he was faced with ICE, she would likely need to find someone to defend him. Rosie had always agreed, no questions asked, she would do whatever he needed if the time came. As Rosie watched the blur of her trial partner, her best friend, sprint down the courtroom hallway, she knew now was the time to make good on her word. “Rui!” she screamed, charging after. Jo was scrambling for her phone, getting ready to record whatever was about to happen. In the frame of her camera, she caught the Vice Admiral yelling out, “Stay back, Jo!” as she too took off, charging after her lawyers. 

Jo continued recording, as Rui made his way to the young woman. He had a business card in his hand, prepared to push it into the woman’s pocket so she had a legal contact. He and Rosie knew they couldn’t prevent the detention itself - there was little to nothing no one, not even lawyers, could do against these monsters. But they could assure that they would have representation. 

“Ma’am, I need you to trust me and call me at this number,” Rui barked as he made his way to her as she was being dragged. He was tripping over her legs as they dragged her away. Other agents were on his heels; Rosie and Max were now sprinting after them in turn. 

“Entiende Inglés, Señora --” Rui began. As she nodded, an agent called out, “Another fucking illegal!” and punched Rui in the face, just as he tucked the card in the woman’s jacket pocket. Rui stumbled over the woman’s legs, falling to the floor. Even Jo, approximately 50 meters down the hallway, screamed out. Rosie, acting before thinking, jumped on top of Rui’s body. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, but she would do anything and everything for him.

“Get off you stupid, bitch!” the agent barked as he lunged toward Rui. Before he could get any closer, he found himself nose to nose with Max, who had taken off her winter coat, wearing her military blues, adorned with rank and honors. 

“That’s Vice Admiral bitch to you, agent.” Her voice was cold, stern, and level - it was more lethal than any escalated scream any of them had ever heard. Standing behind him was another agent, who must have had some experience in the military; his face of surprise and fear registered clearly when he interpreted the medals and insignia on Max’s jacket. 

“Back off! Focus on the target we have now, don’t make this worse!” The second agent physically pulled the first one back, leaving Max to stand between them and the heap of humans - of Rosie and Rui - on the courthouse floor. The first agent heeded the direction, but not before spitting on the floor in the direction of Max, Rosie, and Rui. Heated, he shook his head and walked away. The second agent stood in Max's presence. Quickly, he issued a sharp salute to Max, whispering “Admiral.” He turned on a heel, ushering his team of four agents to the elevator banks with the woman who was still yelling, still crying out for her son. 

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself son - do not wear that flag in my presence.” 

The way the second agent paused, stopping for a beat, before continuing to catch up with the others confirmed to Max that he heard her, loud and clear. 

*****

Read Part II: The Jurist.