By Denise D. Hernandez
Assistant District Attorney in Travis County
It did not start with George Floyd. Before him, there were Breonna Taylor, Atatiana Jefferson, Stephon Clark, Botham Jean, Philando Castille, Alton Sterling, Freddie Gray, Eric Garner, Akai Gurley, Tamir Rice, Michael Brown, Walter Scott, Michael Ramos, and others—the list goes on. The truth is this has been building up for a while.
Watching video footage of Mr. Floyd’s strangulation by Minneapolis police officers was terrible for many of us—and downright devastating for black and brown communities. It hit prosecutors of color especially hard because we are part of the criminal justice system, and we watched agents of that system end the life of a black man in one of the worst ways imaginable. The whole incident magnified the lack of racial equity in criminal justice and even brought to the surface the collective trauma so many BIPOC (black, indigenous, and people of color) feel.
It was so devastating that it spurred a conversation—several conversations, in fact, between a handful of black prosecutors and the leadership of TDCAA. Was there a way that TDCAA, as a statewide organization serving all prosecutors, could facilitate a roundtable discussion for black prosecutors in Texas? Was there a way to create a safe, dedicated space to gather with other black prosecutors to talk through what they were feeling in the wake of Mr. Floyd’s death?
In response, TDCAA leaders hosted a Zoom meeting for any black prosecutors who might want to join. The call was filled to capacity—Zoom caps all meetings at 100 participants—with several people spilling over onto a waitlist. The Zoom call lasted all evening and could’ve gone on longer if not for the late hour.
After that gathering, TDCAA’s Diversity, Recruitment, and Retention (DRR) Committee met virtually to share our own experiences as BIPOC in the justice system, our inner conflicts, and solutions for going forward—which, we agreed, had to include uplifting diverse voices. Three committee members—Kenisha Day, ADA in Harris County; Alexandra Guio, ACDA in Dallas County; and myself (Denise Hernandez, ADA in Travis County)—volunteered to lead those efforts. Three articles bloomed from these conversations (all published in this issue of The Texas Prosecutor journal), and they mostly stem from questions we sent to colleagues across the state. From their overwhelming response, it is clear that the interior struggles we on the DRR Committee feel is mirrored in other BIPOC prosecutors, but the responses also illustrate the diversity of our perspectives and how each of us handles those struggles differently.
We publish these articles now to amplify these 23 voices speaking on topics that range from what they love about being a prosecutor, to how the brutality against marginalized communities has affected them. Our hope is that these voices might move you—move you emotionally, yes, but maybe also move you to action.
Here’s what they have to say.
What inspired you to choose prosecution as a career?
Idris Akinpelu
Assistant Criminal District Attorney in Dallas County
Seeing certain injustices growing up in my low-income neighborhood and influences from high school led me to this career. I was in the Law Magnet at Townview High School, and each magnet school had classes specifically set aside for immersion in our chosen field. In ours, we were able to intern at the Dallas County DA’s Office. I worked in the 265th Judicial District Court for two years, and my mentor to this day is Judge Keith Dean, who was the presiding judge at the time.
Janie Korah
Assistant Criminal District Attorney in Galveston County
I grew up watching my parents help people. My dad is a priest, family and marriage counselor, and psychotherapist. My mom worked as an ICU nurse in a county hospital that treated gunshot wounds and drug overdoses in abundance. I would regularly hear about the casualties of family dysfunction and crime. I am a South-Asian, and our community glorified outward image rather than accountability, so instances of family violence, child abuse, and other crimes went unreported over concerns of “what the community would think.” Prosecution embodied my desire to change that mindset, stand up for justice, and seek the truth.
Ashley Earl
Assistant District Attorney in Fort Bend County
I actually had no plans to be a prosecutor, but I got an internship at a county attorney’s office while I was waiting for my bar results. On my first day I observed a DWI trial, and I was hooked! I knew advocacy was what I wanted to do from that experience. I also had a great mentor who really impressed upon me that justice didn’t mean always getting convictions and jail time, but it meant always doing the right thing.
Beverly Armstrong
First Assistant Criminal District Attorney in Polk County
I credit my career in prosecution to Pamela Walker, who recently retired from her position as Misdemeanor Chief in Polk County. I was in private practice and ad- amant about not handling criminal cases. Pam encouraged me to apply for an open prosecutor position in her office, but I declined. A year or so later, Pam reached out again and asked if I would consider taking a temp position with her office during the military deployment of one of her prosecutors. I accepted, thinking I could do it temporarily and then I would expand my practice by hiring someone to handle the criminal cases.
However, my first day as a prosecutor sealed the deal—I knew immediately that this was the profession for me. My first day happened to be an ancillary docket day. I entered the courtroom and was immediately enthralled with discussing cases with defense attorneys. After court, I talked about cases with officers and reviewed cases for charges and recommendations. All of this on my first day! It was so fast-paced and exciting that before I knew it, it was time to go home. On the drive, I felt good about what I had accomplished and decided to pursue a career in prosecution. My plan was to apply to other counties once my temporary assignment ended, but the prosecutor who was deployed notified the office that he would not be returning, and I was offered a permanent position.
Chandler Raine
Assistant District Attorney in Harris County
I knew I wanted to be a prosecutor halfway through my first summer internship at the Harris County District Attorney’s Office. I remember watching the prosecutors I was assigned to as they not only provided a voice to victims, but also worked hard to make sure defendants’ due process rights were protected. TV will tell you that the defense protects liberty and the prosecutor attacks it. That summer internship in 2011 was the first time I realized that the ethical prosecutor fighting to see that justice is done is both the first line of defense for civil liberties—by following the law and never bending the rules—and often the last line of defense for the safety of the community. The two walk hand in hand only in this profession.
Elissa Wev
Assistant Criminal District Attorney in Dallas County
I started my legal career as a public defender in Dallas, a position I am proud to have held and one which has significantly shaped my views of our current criminal justice system. When it became apparent that opportunities to grow my skill set and advance would be limited (lawyers who work as public defenders are often passionate about their mission and thus tend to not leave the office very frequently), I looked to the DA’s Office to further develop as an advocate and practitioner. Beyond my self-interest, I also identified a great need for prosecutors who understood the hardship placed on individuals facing criminal charges in the pre-trial phase. I sought to provide a perspective through the lens of poverty-related issues with the hopes of better serving victims and defendants alike.
Nicci Campbell
Assistant District Attorney in Harris County
I live my life by the quote, “Be the change you wish to see in the world,” and this ideal has translated to my career. Our criminal justice system has dark, unjust, and racist roots, and my desire is to live in a nation where the system operates justly and fairly for its BIPOC citizens. I was inspired to be a prosecutor because I knew I’d have the ability to make these changes within my community and to—I hope—inspire others to do the same.
Kenisha Day
Assistant District Attorney in Harris County
My father went to prison when I was 7. Other family members followed. It wasn’t until my younger brother went to prison that I felt called to become a prosecutor.
I grew up in Los Angeles during an era when most prosecuting agencies took a “tough on crime” approach to protect the community at large from crime. Unfortunately for my brother and others similarly situated, harsh punishments took priority, with no opportunities for redemption or rehabilitation. The community needs prosecutors who examine all aspects of a case, including the victim’s thoughts and feelings regarding punishment, the defendant’s family and educational background, the circumstances surrounding the offense, and the defendant’s capacity for redemption and growth—not just the offense on its face. That’s why I became a prosecutor, to advocate for the needs of all people regardless of their race, sexual orientation, or socio-economic status.
What are the greatest difficulties in being BIPOC within the criminal justice system?
Janie Korah
Assistant Criminal District Attorney in Galveston County
Sometimes it is difficult to hear officers and investigators use coarse language to describe defendants, witnesses, or their families. Certainly we all dislike crimes and the harm that criminals do, but phrasing occasionally reveals deeper underlying attitudes. As a prosecutor of color, an outnumbered minority, I hesitate to prod at sensitive topics like race, especially when it can be perceived as tangential to the task at hand. In a year with so much change, though, we should be encouraged to speak up about words that may fall short of being relevant for purposes of our case—but that are pertinent to shifting the culture of criminal justice. It’s incumbent upon us to recognize it and do better. For us and for our allies this means mustering up the courage to awkwardly interject, have uncomfortable conversations, share in learning moments, and—let’s hope—grow together as a community.
Klarissa Diaz
Assistant Criminal District Attorney in Dallas County
One of the greatest difficulties in being a BIPOC in a profession within the criminal justice system is witnessing the lack of diversity within the legal representation of minority defendants. Statistically, African Americans and Latinos make up the majority of Texas prisoners, and it is difficult to see young minority offenders lumped into this category often due to life circumstance, poor choices, systematic racism, and socio-economic status. Some defendants are, unfortunately, represented by attorneys who are out of touch and uneducated regarding a client’s socio-economic status, race, and life circumstance, which can ultimately lead to an unfavorable disposition of a case.
Additionally, internal conflict can be a difficulty in that I am required to put my feelings aside, remember the oath I took, and do what is in the interest of justice. As a Latina who comes from a family of immigrants, a prime current-event example of this internal conflict is evaluating a simple nonviolent misdemeanor case where the defendant is a DACA recipient and a conviction may result in deportation. However, as a prosecutor, I have the discretion to consider many factors including (but not limited to) criminal history, desires of the victim, immigration status, and any mitigating factors. Ultimately, my commitment is to the people of Dallas County and my oath as a prosecutor is to seek justice, and therefore, I put my feelings aside and complete the task before me.
Beverly Armstrong
First Assistant Criminal District Attorney in Polk County
I have great difficulty with being accused by other members of my community of harming men and women of my race due to the number of minorities incarcerated. It’s as if I’m responsible for every African-American person who has been incarcerated. It is assumed that every term of incarceration is unjustified and that I, in my position, am responsible for this injustice to my people. Oftentimes, I have been asked how I sleep at night. My response is always the same: It is not fair nor is it reasonable for me or any minority prosecutor to take on that responsibility. I am responsible for the cases that I handle. In reviewing and handling cases, I work extremely hard to be fair and just with my recommendations. However, if a defendant in a case I am handling is sentenced to a term of incarceration, regardless of his or her race, it is because incarceration is a just resolution. I sleep very soundly at night.
Another difficulty is the lack of respect from others in the legal community. Over the course of my career, when other attorneys encountered me for the first time in the courtroom, they would assume I was the legal assistant or an intern. They were surprised to find out I was the prosecutor and now even more surprised to find out I’m the first assistant. My offers and recommendations have been questioned or challenged over the years. Even some judges perceive me as having a lack of knowledge or skill compared to my counterparts simply because of our racial differences. This is very disheartening.
Jessica V. Huynh
Assistant District Attorney in Travis County
I grapple with the internal dialogue of “Do I belong here?” With the legal professional predominantly composed of white men, I ask myself “What am I doing here? Am I being fully accepted by my colleagues? Or am I just a token minority to fill a quota? If I am a token minority, am I capitalizing on this opportunity to be a good prosecutor? And am I putting in the effort to work for my community with the opportunities I’ve been afforded?”
I recognize those questions come from a place of insecurity, but the fact is I rarely see prosecutors who look like me. Quieting that conversation and focusing on the task of seeking justice can be quite overwhelming and difficult at times. I’m thankful, however, to work for an office that sees the value of diversity and actively recruits people of color. Representation matters. It would be easier to eliminate the self-doubt inherent in being a minority prosecutor if there were more people of color in our profession.
Elissa Wev
Assistant Criminal District Attorney in Dallas County
The expectation, whether express or implied, to check identity at the door and maintain a neutral position is burdensome. This conflict, for me, a gay Latinx woman, arises most readily when dealing with defense counsel who are demonstrably racist or prejudiced against the race, sex, or gender identity of their clients. A defense attorney saying about his client, “He’s illegal. Let’s just get this hombre deported and move on,” is both low-key racist and ethically troubling, especially when spoken by a white man.
When something like this happens, a familiar cycle ensues: visceral shock (more professional paralysis of reaction rather than clutch-my-pearls-ness), deflection to the merits of the case, and then finding an escape to disengage. Whatever the problematic comment or attitude coming from the defense attorney is, I’m deliberate in using respectful language to describe the client: “Oh, he’s a non-citizen? Did you have his case reviewed by an immigration attorney to learn the complete consequences of accepting this plea? If he’s indigent, the Public Defender’s Office can help you out.” And “Oh, your client is a transwoman? What are their chosen name and pronouns? We can amend the indictment with the right name so he or she isn’t disrespected during the plea.”
When I think on how my black colleagues endure and rise above these kinds of slights and aggressions on a much more regular basis than myself, I am left in awe.
Ty Stimpson
Assistant Criminal District Attorney in Tarrant County
To me, the greatest difficulty about working in the criminal justice system is the history of institutional racism. Throughout history, the criminal justice system has not always been set up to be fair and impartial (e.g.., Batson challenges). Whether intentional or not, there were times in history when the criminal justice system could be perceived as a form of oppression toward BIPOC. Today, each of us work tirelessly to undo any previous mistakes and make sure that the criminal justice system is viewed as fair and impartial. We work day in and day out to ensure that justice is served and our communities remain safe.
There have been times when I have gone into a courtroom and, despite being dressed in a suit and tie and walking next to my colleagues, the bailiff assumed I was a defendant and he approached and communicated with me as such. There have also been times when I talk to jurors and they tell me, “I thought you were the defendant when I first walked in.” I used to always wonder why people are predisposed to believe a black man in a courtroom is in trouble. Now, I choose to forgive their assumptions and focus on being the best prosecutor that I can. I, and many other BIPOC, work each day to change that stigma and do our part to make the criminal justice system the best it can be.
Jarvis Parsons
District Attorney in Brazos County
The hardest thing is feeling like there is a tension between being a prosecutor and being a black man in America. For me, it means that when you walk into a room and happen to see that the jury box may be majority of African-Americans, you are torn between thinking that is a good thing or not. For many years, I was the only African-American prosecutor in my office. You feel like other people wonder whose side you are on. That is the inherent problem—it feels like, as a black prosecutor, you have to pick a side.
There’s a thing called “code-switching,” where black people feel like they have to speak or act a different way when they’re around a white crowd versus being around other black people. You feel like you can’t bring all of you to a particular place. And in part, this is because as a black person, you are always aware of trying to make sure the door is open for the people behind you—for a younger black person to not have to deal with the same things.
Jaustin M. Ohueri
Assistant District Attorney in Travis County
I find the difficulties are similar to the difficulties with being a BIPOC in any predominately white setting. Our country as a whole is painfully uncomfortable with discussing race. The reality is, there is a not a day that goes by that I do not consider the issue of race, from self-examination of how I am treating a defense attorney or defendant; to evaluating perceptions of whether my race as an advocate will play a role in the litigation; to observations about leadership decisions and representation in the legal community.
With race playing such a significant role in my life, it is disappointing that our society is so inept at discussing it. In this profession, we should be able to discuss race as easily and boldly as we make appeals to the Constitution, moral clarity, and accountability.
Scott Turner
Assistant District Attorney in Ector County
I think the greatest difficulty of being a minority of any type in a profession within the criminal justice system is the mere fact that we are different. The criminal justice system does not necessarily lend itself to creativity and the acceptance of new things. It is about conformity, procedure, precedent, policy, etc. It is also subject to a lot of “group think” and attracts individuals with similar points of view and backgrounds. When those with a different point of view (because they have a different background) come into these professions, they are often directed (gently or otherwise) to alter their view instead of the establishment changing. It means the individual is forced to decide between remaining true to some personal beliefs or giving those up to conform with the majority.
Describe a time when you felt like you didn’t know whether you could stay in prosecution, what caused you to feel that way, and what helped you to overcome that feeling.
Alexandra Guio
Assistant Criminal District Attorney in Dallas County
There was a case that I had to take to trial three times for reasons out of my control. I felt horrible for the victim, who had to testify three separate times, and I was extremely frustrated with a judge who failed to live up to ethical and judicial responsibilities. The third trial ended in a guilty verdict, and the jury sentenced the defendant to 99 years. Before the conclusion of this trial, I was overwhelmed emotionally and mentally as a prosecutor. But I overcame those feelings of despair because I had a great group of friends and coworkers who supported and encouraged me throughout this experience. In our line of work, I believe it’s vital to have a close group of friends who work alongside you and support you when times get tough.
Denise D. Hernandez
Assistant District Attorney in Travis County
When Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) began detaining young children, I felt extremely discouraged and torn about my role in the criminal justice system. As a Latina, many of my family members and friends were undocumented, and I felt morally conflicted. I was able to overcome that internal battle by discussing solutions with fellow Latinx prosecutors and mentors. After many thoughtful conversations, I realized that it’s my job to create inclusive and equitable change. I have a duty to speak out when something is unjust. My seat at the prosecutor table allows me to do just that.
John Creuzot
Criminal District Attorney in Dallas County
I questioned my career in prosecution when I worked on the post-conviction litigation of a defendant named Randall Dale Adams. Mr. Adams had been sentenced to death, but the United States Supreme Court reversed his case, and his sentence was commuted to life in prison. In 1989, another ACDA and I represented the State in the post-conviction writ of habeas corpus proceeding. During the proceeding, it became obvious to me that Mr. Adams had not committed the offense; rather the State’s star witness had actually committed the crime. [Editor’s note: The Adams case is the basis for the documentary The Thin Blue Line.]
The elected DA had agreed with my co-counsel and I that the judge’s recommendation for Mr. Adams’ new trial was justified by the facts and the law pertaining to the case. But shortly thereafter, the DA made a public pronouncement that Mr. Adams did not deserve a new trial, and he directed his office to fight the effort—this, despite instructing my co-counsel to concur with the judge’s findings. Based on the facts of the case as I heard them in the courtroom, fighting the request for new trial was futile and counterproductive to the perception of justice in Dallas County. The then-DA’s response was extremely disappointing to me, leading me to conclude that I could no longer serve as an assistant district attorney at that time. Soon thereafter, I tendered my resignation and went into private practice as a criminal defense attorney.
Roughly 30 years of living a different professional life opened my eyes to the potential of our criminal justice system. Through the development and implementation of drug treatment courts, I formed a different opinion of how the system should work. Because of drug treatment courts, I came to see an entirely different side of and learned about forgiveness, redemption, and healing.
Ty Stimpson
Assistant Criminal District Attorney in Tarrant County
What inspired me to be a prosecutor was nearly the same reason I once was on the verge of resigning: I did not feel like I “fit in.” My colleagues and I got along great, but as the days, months, and years went by, I realized I could not be more different than a lot of my colleagues.
I began to question why I was a prosecutor; I did not look like my colleagues, I did not have the same upbringing, and at times we had completely different views on cases. I started to ask myself, “Why am I even here?” Combine that with a former supervisor who I felt had implicit bias toward me, and it made my life miserable.
However, one day I was reminded what inspired me to be a prosecutor: I was leaving court when the mother of a black male defendant stopped me in the hallway and thanked me. I asked her why, and she said her son had caused her many trips to the courthouse over the years, and she often saw black men only on the wrong side of the table. She told me she lost faith in the criminal justice system, but seeing me gave her hope that a black man can be on the right side of the table. That stuck with me. I realized that being a prosecutor is not just about me, it is about the perception and the impact when people see BIPOC prosecutors having a positive role in the criminal justice system. Over time, some of my colleagues have become my good friends, I met my wife at the DA’s Office, and my former supervisor is no longer a prosecutor. So I guess you can say it all worked out in the end.
LaQuita Long
Assistant Criminal District Attorney in Dallas County
When trying a particular case, my trial team and I faced many obstacles. The case was very racially divided and the law was very complex. At times I often felt that people were intentionally hindering our prog- ress and deliberately making things as hard as possible to prosecute the case. My team and I knew we were doing the right thing in prosecuting it; therefore, we focused on that and worked extremely hard to fight for what we thought was the right thing to do when everyone was against us.
Paul Love
Assistant Criminal District Attorney in Galveston County
I was in court with a judge for whom I had a lot of respect. A well-known and respected defense attorney came to court with a client. The judge changed our standard plea agreement and gave the defendant something far less—over my objection. Dismayed, I talked to a senior prosecutor, who explained who the defense attorney was and why the judge gave the defense attorney a favorable plea agreement. I was not satisfied with the explanation, but I understood that justice did not mean the same for everyone. I would later see that factors that shouldn’t matter sometimes could and would come into play depending on who was handling the case. It made me more aware to speak up if people discussed a case and were basing a decision on such factors.
Sade Mitchell
Assistant Criminal District Attorney in Bexar County
I never felt like I should not be a prosecutor until the murder of George Floyd. A few days after the murder, I sat in my car and I cried. I cried because I was sad. I cried because I was angry. I cried because I was tired. I cried because I was afraid. I cried because I did not know how I could go on working for a system that allowed this to happen, a system that allowed it to happen over and over again with no consequence. I still feel all of those emotions, but I was able to overcome the feeling of quitting prosecution because I know I belong in this profession. I know that abandoning the system is not going to solve the problem. I know that we need people on the inside to work toward a new system, and I want to be a part of the change from the inside the walls.
Scott Turner
Assistant District Attorney in Ector County
I have been practicing law since 1998 in Illinois and since 2016 in Texas and unfortunately, I ask myself why I do this more often than I care to admit. It usually happens when I am dealing with unreasonable victims, judges who ignore the law, or defense attorneys who do not want to talk to their clients.
However, what always brings me back is that love of catching the bad guy. I have always been a lover of comic books and have several of them framed in my office. While I am fan of heroes with superpowers, my favorites are the ones who do not have any powers at all—I am talking about Batman or Green Arrow. They are just ordinary humans (their great wealth exempted) who take on the criminals, at their own personal risk, to protect people who cannot do it for themselves. When I think about that, I remember why I started doing this work in the first place: It was to help people who did not have the knowledge, access, money, or strength to help themselves.
What is the best thing about being a prosecutor?
Paul Love
Assistant Criminal District Attorney in Galveston County
Like most prosecutors, doing justice for the community and getting justice for victims is the biggest reward. Additionally, a collateral reward is changing the perception of black people among law enforcement, judges, and even other prosecutors.
Another reward is changing the perception of black people themselves. There have been many times a black person walked up to me and said they respect the way I handled the case—on a few occasions it was the defendant’s own family. They expressed having a different, more positive view of the criminal justice system. If people can see through my actions that the criminal justice system can be tough but fair and justice does mean something regardless of race, gender, and economic status, then by far that is the best thing.
Alexandra Guio
Assistant Criminal District Attorney in Dallas County
One of the best things about being a prosecutor is knowing I have the opportunity to be a positive role model for our profession. Many times, people have a negative view of prosecutors or don’t know what we do on a daily basis. It’s amazing when I can build trust in my community by positively influencing the life of a victim, a defendant, or even a juror. Being a positive role model as a prosecutor is also a great way to influence and encourage the younger BIPOC generation to pursue a career in law.
Klarissa Diaz
Assistant Criminal District Attorney in Dallas County
The best thing about being a prosecutor is being able to help people. I am passionate about people, the Dallas County community, and the pursuit of justice. I appreciate having autonomy over my cases and being able to evaluate each case individually; I do not look at my cases as numbers in a system. Each case I evaluate is a person with individual liberties at stake, and that is not something I take for granted. I love utilizing my skills as a bilingual individual to reach more people and share a common ground with others.
However, my favorite thing about being a prosecutor is the deep friendships I have made and relationships I have cultivated. It is important to constantly educate yourself and surround yourself with diverse individuals—being around my peers and colleagues ensures that I never stop learning. The sense of camaraderie at the DA’s office is unparalleled, and I thoroughly enjoy the people I work with.
Nicci Campbell
Assistant District Attorney in Harris County
The best thing about being a prosecutor is having the power to advocate for true justice amidst a system that has historically and systemically failed BIPOC individuals like myself. By taking the time to assess each set of facts and devise a fair and just resolution, especially through my unique lens as a black woman, I feel fulfilled knowing that I’m making positive changes in the system, one case at a time.
Jarvis Parsons
District Attorney in Brazos County
As the elected prosecutor, I get to see problems from a 30,000-foot level and have the power to try to solve them. I get to study implicit bias and have the freedom to go and speak about that all over the country. I get to implement a pretrial diversion program to help first-time offenders with drug cases. On domestic violence, I get to deliver a message to my office and the community that we are trying to protect women and children in this county. And I get to train the younger prosecutors to handle all these cases like this, to do justice and help victims.
Jessica V. Huynh
Assistant District Attorney in Travis County
Humanity. To me, the best part about being a prosecutor can range from listening and helping victims have a voice in the courtroom, to showing understanding and mercy to a defendant where it is due. Humans can be messy and complex, and that is never more often seen than in our cases. Justice is not one-size-fits-all. It takes many forms, all of which are fulfilling. Our community has entrusted us with the ability to make decisions that affect the course of peoples’ lives in a profound way, and using our discretion to better our community is the best part of this job.
Kenisha Day
Assistant District Attorney in Harris County
Listening to witnesses recount an offense. Everyone has a story. I love hearing the stories of witnesses and survivors of crime. Learning how the worst day of people’s lives impacted them (and continues to impact them) and listening to the ways in which they cope gives me a sense of purpose and pride. More often than not, these people want to see the accused person change, to receive some form of mental health or drug help as opposed to incarceration.
Sade Mitchell
Assistant Criminal District Attorney in Bexar County
For me, the best thing about being a prosecutor is being able to represent a wide range of people. Although there are times when I don’t want people to know what I do, there are more times when I want to tell everyone how I play a small part in making the community a little safer.
How have current events impacted you as a prosecutor? What have you done to cope with their effects?
Idris Akinpelu
Assistant Criminal District Attorney in Dallas County
They affected me the same way as always. I’ve always been culturally and racially sensitive. I’m just glad it’s now a mainstream issue. While I don’t feel like it is intentional, I feel people from other walks of life have cultural blind spots, which may lead them to make unconscious racial and cultural decisions that disproportionally affect BIPOC. How I do my job will never change. I seek justice in every case.
LaQuita Long
Assistant Criminal District Attorney in Dallas County
The current events have disappointed me in those law enforcement officers who chose not to protect and serve members in their communities. Watching these events unfold solidified my career path as prosecutor because I have the ability to administer justice when an injustice occurs. Unfortunately, injustices can occur from various entities within the criminal justice system, so I try to train younger prosecutors on how to report behaviors that may cause them a concern. Outside of the workplace, I cope with all stressful events through prayer.
Ciara Parks
Assistant District Attorney in Travis County
The current events have forced me to accept the fact that racism is a part of American culture. This realization has been devastating to me. I would have thought that after all of this time things would be different in our country, that people would be different. I have learned that racism has not gone away but merely adapted into different forms, which make up systematic racism. I am a woman of faith, so I pray a lot for peace and guidance in this climate. I have also begun to educate myself as a person of color in this country. To really learn and stare this history in the face has been heartbreaking, but I am glad that I am educating myself and actually dealing with the feelings that I have so that I can move forward and educate my children and others in my sphere of influence.
Beverly Armstrong
First Assistant Criminal District Attorney in Polk County
First, I had to address the concerns raised by my 22-year-old son and 19-year-old daughter, who were strongly affected by what they were seeing. I had to remind them of our previous discussions regarding what they should and should not do when engaging with law enforcement. I explained to them my concerns regarding their safety should they attend marches and protests, and I encouraged them to express themselves in other ways. I’ve reached out to other minority prosecutors to address any concerns or issues they may be having. I’ve encouraged family, friends, and acquaintances to register to vote and exercise their right to vote. Most recently, I joined the National Black Prosecutors Association (www.blackprosecutors.org). I hope to become an active member and build relationships and connections with prosecutors who have experienced the issues that minority prosecutors face.
Erleigh Wiley
Criminal District Attorney in Kaufman County
Knowing that your community feels a lack of public trust in the institution of law enforcement and prosecution is difficult but understandable. Prosecutors may not be making arrests, but the public views prosecutors as “hand and glove” with the police. It makes me want to do my best to be available for my community. We are enforcing the law but allowing people to express their concerns that are real and legitimate.
If you want to know how people feel, you have to listen. I have fielded phone calls from concerned citizens, attended a protest rally, and listened to all citizens express concerns about our local monuments. Personally, I have turned off some of the media coverage and meditated and prayed more.
Scott Turner
Assistant District Attorney in Ector County
I was born in 1972, and people of color have been losing their lives at the hands of law enforcement under suspicious circumstances since long before I was born. The only difference today is that technology has made it impossible for those officers to concoct a believable story that contradicts body-cam footage and witness statements. In a lot of ways it makes me feel good that this particular issue has gotten the attention it deserves.
That said, the selective treatment of minorities and people of color by law enforcement has always affected the way I reviewed police reports and handled cases. One of the good things that prosecutors can do is perform our “gatekeeper” function. There is a reason why prosecutors have the discretion to review cases and reject or dismiss ones that do not pass the “smell test.”
Chandler Raine
Assistant District Attorney in Harris County
So many times as prosecutors we see things that are just wrong. We hear comments that bolster a system of discrimination. We see body-cam footage with inappropriate behavior. We watch as decisions are made that do not lead to equal outcomes. Recent events have been a stirring and tragic reminder that we cannot sit idly by.
I was struck by a cartoon that I saw several weeks ago, though. There were two men going up a mountain. One, a white man, had his hands on his knees catching his breath, having just climbed up a path called “Realizing There is Systemic Racism,” and he states, “We made it.” The other, a black man, pointing up to an even higher slope called “Racial Equality,” told him, “We’re only just beginning.” Conversations are only as important as the action that they inspire. We can’t let the dialogue be the end of this moment. i
Editor’s note: The number of prosecutors who answered our questions was so great that we could not print all of their answers here. Go HERE to see the full version of this article with every answer from every respondent.