Inside Big Law: The Cost of Silence is Democracy Itself

Big Law, it turns out, doesn’t just train lawyers. It also trains silence.

Before I learned this, I was an 18-year-old high school dropout making $12 an hour at a mobile veterinary clinic. On my lunch breaks, I’d study for my GED in the back of the company van.

Three years later, I graduated from college at the top of my class. Law school seemed like the natural next step – a path that offered structure, stability, and access to institutions that once seemed out of reach. Getting into Harvard Law felt like affirmation that I was on the right track. And accepting a job at Davis Polk – one of the most powerful and prestigious law firms in the world – was the final chapter: brilliant colleagues, rigorous training, and high-impact legal work for more money than I’d ever earned.

I bought in and worked hard. Last year, I received an award for logging among the highest pro bono hours of any attorney at the firm, chiefly advising low-income clients on custody and child support cases. But even that work came with limits. At private law firms, public interest efforts are routinely criticized as a band-aid on a bullet wound: well-meaning, but dwarfed by the defense of powerful and controversial clients. Still, proximity to power brought tools and leverage – enough to do good work, even in a flawed system. And for a while, I believed that.

Then came March. The Trump administration’s crackdown on the legal profession was swift and well-documented – security clearances pulled, firms blacklisted, and independent bar associations pressured to fall in line with the administration’s agenda. Big Law firms were called out by name, and some quickly redirected up to $100 million in pro bono work to causes aligned with the White House.

So, I started writing – on my own time, completely outside of work. If the law was becoming harder to trust, I figured it should at least be easier to understand. I began sending columns to local newspapers, breaking down complex legal issues into plain language for everyday readers. I covered topics like the Wisconsin Supreme Court race, a Montana bill redefining sex, and the upcoming Senate primary in Texas.

My most recent piece laid out the constitutional dangers of unchecked federal surveillance – and how companies like Palantir had built the tools to catalog, profile, and monitor millions of Americans. Two weeks later, it was reported that Palantir had been privately working with the Trump administration over the past several months.

Writing didn’t pay and it kept me up long hours after my day job. But it was one way to help people make sense of the laws shaping their lives – especially as faith in the institutions enforcing them began to crack.

On June 11, the firm said my writing had breached internal policy. That policy gave the firm broad discretion to block employee speech on any topic it chose to view as relevant to its interests. No explanation was given – only that something had been flagged, and I was expected to stop.

I refused.

I believed the issues I was raising mattered – and I rejected the idea that writing about fundamental rights and democracy was somehow wrong. What was there to hide?

The next day, I wrote an article about the Trump administration’s ability to track protestors and the grave First Amendment concerns it raised. I gave the firm an opportunity to review it, made clear the views articulated were entirely my own, and emphasized that the piece addressed urgent issues of public concern. I asked for a written explanation if the firm objected.

Four hours later, I was fired and escorted from the building by two security guards. The entire process lasted less than five minutes. By the time I arrived home, my name had already been removed from the firm’s website.

This isn’t just about one firm. It’s about Big Law: an industry increasingly beholden to power, where employers are quietly deciding what their lawyers are allowed to say – not just in the office, but in their lives beyond it. When sharing legal knowledge is treated as a problem and silence becomes the expectation, the danger isn’t just to lawyers who speak up. It’s to the rule of law itself.

Big Law is a powerful machine. The top 100 firms by revenue generate nearly $160 billion each year and employ more than 120,000 lawyers – many of whom go on to become judges, legislators, corporate executives, or high-profile public figures. Alumni include Chief Justice John Roberts, U.S. Senator Ted Cruz, and former First Lady Michelle Obama. With that kind of influence, these firms don’t just work within the legal system – they help write the rules, shape policy, and determine how the law is enforced, both in the U.S. and around the world.

At many top law schools, more than 70% of graduates head straight into Big Law, often under the weight of six-figure student loans. Opting out is possible, but it means giving up a seat at the table where major legal, political, and economic decisions are made – alongside the clients and cases that drive them. Telling young lawyers to simply “walk away” misses the point: Big Law is still the only gateway to many of the roles that shape the legal foundations of American democracy. And if the price of entry is silence, the profession risks more than conformity – it risks decay.

That’s what makes suppression efforts inside Big Law so alarming. Whether censorship stems from direct political pressure or a desire to appear neutral, the effect is the same – and just as dangerous. If it’s the former, allowing a sitting president to influence who may speak and who must be silenced veers into dangerously authoritarian territory. But if it’s the latter, let’s be honest: silence is a political choice, and law firms are not neutral. The clients we serve, the cases we take, and the influence we exert make us inherently political.

Still not convinced? Just three months ago, Davis Polk quietly agreed to represent Trump Media on a new crypto deal with a “made in America” focus.

To suggest we operate outside of politics is a veneer of truth – one that shields complicity and dulls the public’s ability to hold power to account. And that’s not just disingenuous. It’s corrosive.

Yes, in many industries – including law – speaking as a private citizen about public issues can get you fired. But what kind of speech warrants termination? There’s a clear difference between stoking outrage and using legal training to raise public concern. When the latter is punished – especially in a field as inherently political as law – the profession has killed its conscience. We don’t ask doctors to stay silent during a public health crisis, or airline pilots to ignore obvious signs of technical failure. Why should lawyers, of any kind, be expected to say nothing when the legal system itself is under attack?

Because that silence serves a purpose. Ambiguous policies exist by design. In a profession built on ethics and exactitude, punishing speech without a clear explanation doesn’t protect the law – it protects power. And when a firm touts its commitment to social responsibility, the gap between principle and practice becomes impossible to ignore.

It’s one thing to protect client interests – such is the essence of private practice. It’s another thing entirely to expect ideological compliance with firm values outside of work. When a top law firm starts policing what its lawyers say off the clock, it sets a chilling precedent. Maybe today it’s a legal column. Tomorrow, could it be a public Instagram post about the importance of protecting religious liberty? A lawyer with firsthand experience of a mass shooting barred from testifying about firearm industry liability – because the firm was representing a major gun manufacturer?

The danger isn’t just what’s silenced now – it’s what that silence makes possible. Especially when it comes from a multibillion-dollar legal empire with the power to shape markets, influence policy, and suppress dissent – all without public scrutiny. And that’s something every American, no matter their politics, should be worried about.

Big Law employees aren’t bankers or PR professionals. We are attorneys – specifically trained to navigate complex legal systems and bound by an oath to support the rule of law. Lawyers are the first line of defense in a constitutional crisis, and we cannot expect public defenders or legal aid clinics to carry that burden alone. The truth is, that job belongs to all of us – and Big Law has the resources, influence, and platform to stand firm when it counts. With that power comes a responsibility not just to our clients, but to the legal profession itself. Democracy doesn’t stand a chance without it.

What happened to me wasn’t just about one firm – it was a warning. When the institutions built to support the rule of law fall quiet, the silence speaks volumes. It spreads like a virus – tightening the grip of power, muting dissent, and hollowing out the very ideals they claim to serve. Not as noise, but as absence. Absence of protection. Absence of truth. Absence of courage. And in that silence, something vital is lost.

Power without accountability corrodes the very core of our democracy. And the longer it goes unchecked, the fewer voices we have left to stop it.