Bradley Berlich '27
Staff Editor
This past Tuesday, September 10, the Office of Public Service hosted a panel of four Law School alumni to discuss their experience as prosecutors. The panel was chaired by Ryan Faulconer ’08, himself a former federal prosecutor, now the assistant dean of public service. The panelists were buzzing with excitement at being back at the Law School and having an opportunity to share their experiences when Faulconer prompted them to talk about the most rewarding parts of their work.
Some panelists focused on the responsibility of bringing bad guys to justice. “Solving the big crime . . . Saying ‘my name, on behalf of the United States of America’ . . . never gets old,” said Zach Ray ’16, an Assistant United States Attorney for the Eastern District of Virginia, where he focuses on healthcare fraud cases. “We get to play FBI and Sherlock Holmes . . . Taking [a defendant] down when they never see it coming . . . is really rewarding,” echoed Alec Ward ’21, a trial attorney in the Criminal Section of the Civil Rights Division at “Main Justice”—the U.S. Department of Justice in Washington, D.C.
Others talked about their ability to meaningfully change the lives of people in hard situations for the better. Megan Mers ’20 and Amanda Swanson ’20 both work on matters of domestic violence in the Manhattan District Attorney’s Office and the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the District of Columbia, respectively. Both conceded that line of work often exposed them to difficult situations, and vicious cycles of relationship violence, from which the victim was unable to escape. Mers elaborated: “It is everyone’s worst day. It’s the worst day of your defendant’s life, witness’s life, survivor’s life. And sometimes they take that out on you.” But, Swanson added, “[e]very now and then, when you stick with a case long enough, you find someone who is willing to stand up for themselves and not live [in a violent relationship] anymore.”
However, the bad days are still bad. And sentencing is the worst. “Sentencings are like funerals,” said Ray, who explained that he stands right next to the defendant during the procedure. “I walk out, and I pass their mom, their dad, their spouse, and their kids . . . . [We] don’t celebrate convictions.” Mers agreed. “The day sentencing feels fun or not impactful to you is the day you should stop being a prosecutor.” It’s easy for some to think of the prosecutor as the good guy, but this is not strictly the case. The person you convict might otherwise be a pillar of their community, a good spouse, parent, coworker, and neighbor. Or worse, the unstated fear that they could very well be innocent. “Some people go in thinking they’re going to be the superhero . . . [but n]o one with a conscience who does it for very long comes away not seeing shades of gray,” said Ward.
That’s why it can really matter that you have some degree of discretion within your role as a prosecutor. All four attorneys stressed the importance of personal autonomy in their work. Often, the ability to follow an assigned case from beginning to end is an office policy known as “vertical prosecution.” Many prosecutor offices are horizontal, not vertical, and instead break up assignments by case stage to improve efficiency with some attorneys only dealing with the beginning, middle, or end. “[It is] very hard to wield discretion at a horizontal office,” said Ward. “[In contrast] most of the cases I prosecute, I was the lead investigator on.” But with discretion comes more complications, and more responsibility. “Sometimes it’s difficult dealing with the uncertainty of if you’re prosecuting for the sake of prosecuting or doing it for the sake of improving someone’s life,” Swanson remarked. And though prosecution has better hours than big law, there are still long days, but no make-work to fill time-entry sheets. “Someone has to be there in a vertical prosecution office. There are weeks and sometimes months where I am working as much as my firm friends, but there’s always a reason I care about,” commented Mers.
When asked by Faulconer to tell the story of their paths to prosecution, and if they had any advice for interested students, the panelists agreed that there was no single path to prosecution, and that a resume that reflected an interest in public service and criminal law was the most important thing. “Don’t think you have to know right now that you want to be a prosecutor, or it’s over,” said Ray, who was an associate at Covington & Burling in D.C. after graduating. “Go see Jennifer Hulvey [in the Office of Financial Aid, Education and Planning],” continued Ray. “I knew I didn’t want the golden handcuffs, and so we created a plan where I could pay back these loans . . . we had a plan, we stuck to it, and once my loans got down to a certain point, we made the jump.”
UVA can help you land the gig, too. “I came to this panel,” admitted Ward. “Rachel Kincaid was working [at DOJ Civil Rights] and I think I literally took her desk . . . [I am] totally unashamed to say it was UVA and the folks here that got me this job.” Swanson quoted a talk Merrick Garland gave at the Eastern District of Virginia—good advice for all prosecutors and people who spend their days running around— “wear rubber-soled shoes.” Tights not included.
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