Reflections on balancing duty, empathy and humanity in the hardest cases
I’m currently handling a case involving child sexual abuse material (CSAM). CSAM refers to images or videos that depict the sexual abuse of minors. Preparing for trial in a matter like this has been one of the most emotionally challenging experiences of my career. It forces a type of internal work that doesn’t pause when you leave the office.
The subject matter in these cases is unlike anything else in criminal defense. It’s one thing to read headlines or hear news reports, but it’s another to confront the realities of the evidence within a legal context. Even when reviewed in the controlled, court-authorized manner required by law, the emotional impact is undeniable. The human harm underlying these materials hits hard and stays with you long after you close the file for the day.
Another layer to this work is the difference between prosecuting and defending cases involving CSAM. These cases are incredibly difficult for prosecutors as well — they’re not immune to the emotional weight of the evidence. But their role, at least in the public eye, is more straightforward: they are seeking a conviction, “putting the bad guy in prison.” Their emotional reactions often align with the direction of their advocacy.
Defense work is different. I don’t have the luxury of aligning my emotional response with the outcome the system expects. My job isn’t to decide who is worthy or unworthy — it’s to ensure the process is fair, that constitutional rights are upheld, and that the legal standards we all depend on remain intact, even in the most uncomfortable cases. That means holding space for the humanity of my client while never losing sight of the seriousness of the allegations. That tension is part of what makes these cases uniquely heavy.
In moments like these, I find myself leaning on my faith — not for easy answers, but for grounding, clarity, and the strength to navigate the emotional and ethical weight of this work. Prayer, reflection, and quiet contemplation help me hold space for my client while remembering the broader principles of justice, mercy, and human dignity. These cases remind me that advocacy isn’t just a profession; it’s a calling that challenges both my skills and my values.
These reflections are part of a larger process of trying to make sense of the work I do. After reviewing the CSAM in this case, I created a short mini-series exploring my own emotional and ethical reactions. Some of what I encountered was so shocking that it made me physically react — for example, seeing content involving very young children or animals, or situations where an older person was attempting something that a preteen was not physically capable of performing. I wasn’t emotionally prepared for it. Writing the mini-series helped me process these intense reactions in a safe and reflective way. While it doesn’t recount specific illegal material, it conveys the emotional toll and the personal processing that comes with confronting such challenging cases.
One of the most difficult responsibilities in this case has been advising my client about whether to exercise his right to trial. This conversation has nothing to do with my personal beliefs about guilt or innocence. It’s about grappling with how juries often respond to allegations involving CSAM. In cases like this, emotions can eclipse legal standards. Even when the prosecution struggles to meet its burden, jurors may be unwilling or unable to separate their horror from their duty to evaluate the evidence objectively.
That reality creates a profound ethical and strategic tension. How do you counsel a client about the risks of trial when the danger isn’t necessarily the facts, but the emotional climate surrounding the charge? How do you honor a client’s constitutional rights while recognizing that the system may not always deliver a fair hearing in cases society finds unforgivable? These are questions that weigh heavily on me.
Navigating this case has reinforced something I’ve always believed but am learning in a deeper way: compassionate advocacy matters, especially when the subject matter is darkest. The legal system works best when all of us — judges, lawyers, jurors, and community members — remember that every person in the courtroom is a human being. Justice is not advanced by dehumanizing anyone, even when the accusations evoke our deepest discomfort.
As this case continues to unfold, I’m committed to sharing reflections like these — not for sensationalism, but to shed light on the emotional and ethical realities that legal professionals quietly navigate. If you’re curious about the process, the pressures, or the principles that guide my work, I welcome your thoughts and questions.
On (In)justice 