"Where a white legal professional might see stats, I see people. Because, after all, the systemic issues that affect my clients have also affected me."
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Every day when I arrive at work, I pass through metal detectors and undergo searches, with security sometimes asking, “What’s in your bag?” Some days I use the employee entrance, where I am still asked if I work there. And every day, at the end of the day, I get to go home. No, I don’t work at the airport — I am walking into the Los Angeles Superior Court of Pasadena to begin my day as a client advocate.
I, a woman of color, am often reminded of what a unique privilege I carry. When I arrive at the courthouse, I see many other people walking through the same doors, intimidated and frightened by the weight of an open case. The advantage I hold in coming and going freely for my job is a reminder of my responsibility to advocate for justice and equity for the people I support.
I am not an attorney, but I work inside public defense, helping to reshape the idea of public safety by redefining how we think about individuals ensnared in the criminal legal system. I work with Partners for Justice — a fellowship program that places early-career professionals with public defender offices nationwide — and I am, I hope, through my placement with the Los Angeles County Public Defender’s Office, helping to bring about the future of public defense.
As an advocate, my work is fundamentally rooted in restoring autonomy to individuals, empowering them to manage their lives as they see fit. Many of my clients are facing years in prison, years I am trying to help redirect in favor of a brighter future.
From very early on, I was drawn to the social services field. I was born and raised in Los Angeles as a first-generation American, and the opportunity to uplift individuals from communities similar to mine felt more like a dream than work. Like many first-generation kids from marginalized backgrounds, I witnessed our systems fail the people around me.
I saw loved ones and community members cycle through the legal system. My father and other male figures in my family missed out on precious years with their children due to incarceration. I had friends drop out of school and turn to gangs in search of belonging. And I lost family members to substance abuse because the only solution offered to them was incarceration — not the support they truly needed. The pain of watching these things unfold shaped my profound belief in the inherent dignity and worth of people, reinforcing the idea that everyone deserves access to opportunities.
One of the best parts of my job is that I can help individuals access the support and rehabilitation they need. Yet the journey to get there is never the same. Some days I help people get to work, stay housed, feed their kids by securing food benefits or driver’s licenses, navigate community resources, or lock in thousands of dollars in rental assistance. The goals change daily, and much of what I do is tied to a client’s case or overall well-being, but nothing is ever off the table. When I meet a client, my first question often is, “What do you need?”
The truth about this country’s criminal legal system is that it is not designed to meet needs; it is designed to punish. I have had clients who wanted to do the right thing, such as completing court-ordered classes, but had to overcome roadblock (no access to a computer) after roadblock (the 12-week course is cost-prohibitive) after roadblock (there is a free version of the course, but it is in English only and the client doesn’t speak English). The system did not provide a solution. But I could.
I arranged to meet with my client every week so they could use my computer, and I translated everything in English, ensuring that they could complete the course, gain valuable interpersonal skills, and retain their freedom. Through shared learning, cultural taboos sometimes fall away; feelings rise to the surface, and healing begins. And every time we bring someone home, we’re proving that the prison system wasn’t the solution the community needed — that we can move forward without it.
As an advocate, my work is fundamentally rooted in restoring autonomy to individuals, empowering them to manage their lives as they see fit. Many of my clients are facing years in prison, years I am trying to help redirect in favor of a brighter future. Often the small things many of us take for granted can make big differences, like finding a Christmas tree for a family or helping a parent find transportation so they can bring their child a sweet treat.
I am far from alone in this work: I am one of more than 100 client advocates who have brought this “collaborative defense” approach to 20 states and 45 locations nationwide. My fellow advocates and I come from diverse backgrounds and experiences, but we are united by our drive to assist individuals in navigating the carceral system to find both liberation and success. Together, by reducing the legal system’s reliance on prisons and jails, we’re making public defense an engine of opportunity, safety, and wellness.
Working directly with people has brought me immense fulfillment. When clients see a woman of color sitting across from them, it sparks curiosity. They sometimes ask, “How did you get into this role?” Other times they want to know how they can translate their current situation into a future that puts them in my position. Through these conversations, I can represent a different pathway. In the first moments when I meet someone, I try to stay honest and realistic. I do not promise miracles, but I do assure them that I am accessible and we will work together to find success.
My colleagues and I are often reminded that we can't help everyone, but this work extends far beyond the individual — it creates ripple effects. As I finish my workday, one of my favorite things to do is check in with clients. I work with about 50 individuals at a time, and I try to check in with all of them weekly. Sometimes the conversation is simple, beginning with “How are you?” We talk, reflect, and plot paths forward. We prove every day that, even within this system, humanity is worth fighting for.
Sarah Mares is a Los Angeles native who has worked as a Partners for Justice Client Advocate since 2022 and is currently embedded with the Los Angeles County Public Defender's Office. Sarah is a graduate of San Jose State University and is studying for a Master of Social Work at the University of Southern California, where she will graduate at the end of 2024.
