Oaths in action

Why lawyers’ daily choices matter to democracy

2025 November

A mother with three children under 10, including a baby, waited outside a courtroom for her case to be called. She expected the hearing to go in her favor, entirely resolving her case and allowing her to close this chapter and move on with her life. Getting to court had not been easy. The mother took the day off work, her childcare fell through, and without a car, she navigated a two-hour journey across the county on public buses to make her 9 a.m. hearing. While the mother negotiated a busy waiting area with the baby balanced on her hip, her oldest child kept the middle one entertained with small games and quiet chatter.

One of the lawyers on her matter showed up late, unprepared. Several other attorneys throughout the morning weren’t much better. Excuses piled up as the already crammed schedule stretched on. Two hours later, when the mother’s case was finally called, the tardy lawyer asked for a continuance (without, apparently, giving anybody the courtesy of prior notice and possibly sparing the mother a trip altogether). By then, the children were agitated, and the mother’s frustration was visible. She had endured the long trek, and the long morning wait, only to watch counsel ask the judge to make her wait again. This was not a minor inconvenience. The message to the mother was the system did not see her case, or her life, as important. A single morning may have permanently shaped her view of the courts.

In another courtroom, an uncomplicated dispute unraveled as lawyers talked over each other, voices rising, accusations flying across counsel tables. What should have been a model of reasoned resolution devolved into a personal quarrel. Clients sat silently beside their attorneys. Jurors looked down, embarrassed, unsure of whether they were watching a trial or reality TV. The dignity of the process had given way to chaos.

These are not isolated events. They are reminders that lawyers, apart from being advocates, are stewards of the justice system itself. If they do not model respect for the process and the people who depend on it, how can the public be expected to trust it?

Every day, in courtrooms across Los Angeles County, the public gets a window into our democracy. Most L.A. County residents will never meet a lawmaker or governor, but several may well appear in court. Whether as a party or juror, they come to participate in truth-seeking, a fair process, and to resolve disputes. What the public sees and experiences in the courtroom shapes their belief in whether justice works.

That fragile, precious, essential belief is what allows the judiciary to function at all.

Both lawyers and judges must swear a solemn oath before they can do their jobs. The words are slightly different, but at their heart they are the same: a promise to support the Constitution of the United States and the Constitution of the State of California. Judges go a step further and affirmatively pledge to defend those foundational documents.

These oaths are not passive or ceremonial. They are declarations of allegiance to a system of government built on the separation of powers, including the independence of the judiciary. That independence is essential to public faith in the courts, ensuring that decisions are guided by law and fairness, not by external pressures.

The California Constitution is explicit on this point: “The powers of state government are legislative, executive, and judicial. Persons charged with the exercise of one power may not exercise either of the others except as permitted by this Constitution.” (Cal. Const., art. III, § 3.) This structure mirrors the federal system, where Articles I, II, and III create three distinct branches of government. The framers of our nation’s Constitution understood that, unlike the legislative and executive branches, the judiciary would have no independent tools of enforcement. As Alexander Hamilton famously observed in Federalist No. 78, the judiciary “has no influence over either the sword or the purse; no direction either of the strength or the wealth of the society; it can take no active resolution whatever. It may truly be said to have neither FORCE nor WILL, but merely judgment.”

Courts do not command armies or control budgets. Their power rests almost entirely on the public’s willingness to respect and abide by their decisions.

In practical terms, courts simply cannot do their work without the public’s trust. Every day, people enter courtrooms and voluntarily submit their disagreements to a neutral tribunal. They often come during the worst periods of their lives, sometimes bringing their most personal, high-stakes conflicts, and agree to be bound by the outcome. That is an extraordinary act of civic faith.

The cost of losing that faith is immense. Without public confidence, courts cease to be neutral arbiters and become noisy rooms of people talking past each other, without a shared belief that justice, or its results, matter.

The U.S. Supreme Court recognized this truth in a joint opinion by Justices O’Connor, Kennedy, and Souter in Planned Parenthood v. Casey, (1992) 505 U.S. 833, 865, overruled by Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization (2022) 597 U.S. 215. They wrote, “The Court cannot buy support for its decisions by spending money and, except to a minor degree, it cannot independently coerce obedience to its decrees. The Court’s power lies, rather, in its legitimacy, a product of substance and perception that shows itself in the people’s acceptance of the Judiciary as fit to determine what the Nation’s law means and to declare what it demands.” While that decision has since been overruled, the principle it articulated remains foundational: the court’s legitimacy comes from both the quality of our work and how that work is perceived by the public.

This is where lawyers play a vital, often underappreciated role. Try as we might, judges alone cannot safeguard the public’s faith in the judicial system. Lawyers, by their daily conduct, either reinforce or erode that faith.

That truth carries a personal weight. The integrity of our system depends, in no small part, on the integrity of your daily practice.

When you took your oath as an attorney, you promised not just to advocate for your clients, but to support the constitutional framework that makes your advocacy possible. That promise plays out in countless small decisions, many of which happen far from the spotlight: calendaring accurately and showing up to your hearings on time. Filing and serving documents properly. Submitting legal arguments grounded in fact and law. Presenting evidence that is truthful and admissible. Identifying and addressing controlling authority, even when it is unfavorable to your position. Responding to an adverse ruling with restraint and civility. Meeting and conferring, respectfully, with the lawyers on the other side of your dispute before you set foot in court. Acknowledging the courtroom as a dignified forum where professionalism and respect for the legal process guide conduct toward parties, opposing counsel, court staff, and the bench officer.

These tasks are acts of fidelity to democracy. They are the daily ways lawyers say, through action, “I believe this process matters.” When these obligations are neglected, they send a different message that can ripple outward in ways that lawyers may not see. A missed case management conference is not just a harmless scheduling mishap. It wastes already-limited court time, delays justice for other litigants, and tells everyone watching that the system is not worth respecting. Multiply that by dozens of small lapses across the busiest court system in the largest county in the United States, and it becomes clearer how a single lawyer’s choices can influence the broader public perception of justice.

Civility, too, is not a meaningless formality. In some corners of today’s public life, cruelty, bigotry and malice are sanitized as legitimate differences of opinion, or worse yet, incorrectly characterized as virtue or strength. The courtroom must remain different. Lawyers are leaders within this space, modeling respectful problem-solving for everyone. When lawyers treat all participants with dignity, even in fierce disagreement, they demonstrate that disputes can be resolved through reason and evidence. When they fail to do so, they send the opposite message: that the courtroom is just another platform for theater, personal combat, or petty grievances.

The effects of incivility and carelessness are not abstract. They are felt in long lines at the filing windows, in crowded courtrooms where cases run behind schedule, in continued hearings and late calendars, and in litigants who leave feeling unheard or disrespected. When lawyers waste court time through missed deadlines, unnecessary motions, or unprofessional conduct, they rob other parties of their opportunity to be heard. The public begins to see the system as slow, inefficient, or even corrupt. These perceptions can be as damaging as actual injustice, because they weaken the shared belief that makes the entire enterprise possible.

Every lawyer, no matter their practice area or client base, has the power to either reinforce or undermine public trust in the judiciary. Beyond simply representing individuals, lawyers represent the core democratic principle that disputes can and should be resolved peacefully through law. When counsel rise above petty behavior, when they show restraint in the face of provocation, when they take seriously the seemingly small duties that keep cases moving smoothly, they are actively supporting one of the cornerstones of a democratic government.

The courtroom is central to democratic practice precisely because it is a place where truth is not optional. It is not enough to shout louder, repeat a falsehood more often, or appeal to raw emotion. Lawyers are trained and obligated to back up their claims with evidence and reasoning that can withstand scrutiny. This insistence on proof, on substantiating proclamations and testing evidence against standards of admissibility and credibility, is democracy in action. When shared reality can feel fractured, the discipline of the courtroom serves as a counterweight. It affirms that truth-telling and truth-seeking still matter, and that justice requires honesty, accountability, and respect for the process.

As a judge, I see daily how the actions of lawyers shape the public’s experience of justice. The court’s legitimacy is built case by case, hearing by hearing, interaction by interaction. Our democracy depends on lawyers remembering that their role is bigger than a single client or case. Every decision lawyers make is a choice between strengthening or weakening the foundation of the judicial system.

My respectful advice to counsel is this: Upholding the oath you swore requires attention, professionalism, and a sharp awareness of the impact your actions have on others. In a moment where public confidence is under strain, lawyers can, and should, lead by example. Through your daily actions, you can show the public, and remind yourselves, that the rule of law is still worthy of trust.

The judiciary has no military, no treasury, and no power to unilaterally compel compliance beyond the respect it earns. Its authority rests on the faith of the people. That faith is delicate, and once lost, it is difficult to regain. The good news is that it can be strengthened every day, in every courtroom, by lawyers who understand the profound impact of their work. Your decisions matter. Your conduct matters. And through both of those, you help ensure that our courts remain places where truth is sought, justice is done, and democracy persists.