Transcriber: Ilze Garda Reviewer: Margarida Ferreira
Lawyers are childlike.
Aren't we?
Well, look at us!
We are always noisy.
We are always talking.
We always have an opinion,
even if it's not well-grounded.
Well, we are always opinionated,
and for those of you who had a chance
to visit the courthouse and be present in court for a trial,
you might have also noticed
one very particular element in the lawyers' practice:
they ask questions,
way too many questions.
So, with this rather negative reference to my own profession,
you might well ask
how come I became a lawyer myself.
And, you know, I could say that it was almost by chance.
I wanted to be an actor,
like one of my granddads.
I loved playing,
I loved drama in my school,
I was prepared to be a historian.
I spent seven great years,
seven summers,
in Archaeological Expedition Schools
under the leadership of the great historians
Stefānija Urtāne and Vladislavs Urtāns,
digging in Latgale, in Aglona, in Madelāni,
the old town of Latgalian tribe.
When, after these seven years,
I came close to graduating from high school,
I thought:
"Well, I am prepared to pass the exams
and enter the history school,"
when my mother and my girlfriend suggested:
"Well, why don't you try going for the same exams,
but for the law school?"
Because, you know, at that time
— and it was 1989 —
the law school didn't differ much from the history school.
It was too abstract,
there were many subjects related to history, so I thought:
"I'm not giving up too much,
if I'm going to pass my exams at the law school."
So I did.
After I entered the law school with a rather good score,
I gathered with all my friends
from the archeology circle,
from the Young Archaeologists Association,
and went to see our mentor, our teacher Vladislavs Urtāns,
who was rather ill then,
in the summer of 1989.
It was his last summer.
We all went to see him to the Gaiļezers clinic.
He was fragile,
and we saw that his days were numbered.
And we thought, "Well, we need to cheer him up."
He was our moral authority,
he was our tutor,
we learned a lot from him.
He has, after all, a PhD in History,
he was an archaeologist, a famous archaeologist in Latvia,
and he had a tough life.
He was actually sent twice to Siberia,
just before the Second World War and immediately after,
and the only reason was that he was too [open-minded]
too open [in his opinions],
and he dressed like a bourgeois
— at least some might have thought then that he dressed like a bourgeois.
We went to see Vladislavs Urtāns,
and all of us started [to talk about] what schools we were going to learn at.
Then, when my turn came
— you know, there were historians,
there were people who were studying foreign literature —
I said with pride,
"I'm going to be a lawyer."
His reaction was shockingly crushing for me, he was so sad.
He didn't elaborate, he didn't explain why,
but then I thought
that obviously this is one of those [pieces of] advice
that you don't say out loud,
you need to understand it,
it's not going to be explained.
And with the really hard life of Vladislavs Urtāns
in the totalitarian state,
— the state that was dominated by unjust laws and dishonest lawyers —
his attitude towards the law school and lawyers
might have been as harsh.
[So all my life],
[since 25 years ago],
I've tried to live by
and always have in my practice, this Vladislavs Urtāns' test,
whether I am doing well
and whether he would look at me and say:
"It's a shame you became a lawyer."
Well, I had a kind of a compromise during my university years.
I thought: "Well, I'm going to stay in the university."
I was invited to stay and help a professor to prepare lectures,
and then, later on, lecture Philosophy of Law and Legal Ethics.
I thought it was perfectly in line
with what I [thought] a proper, good, and honest lawyer should do.
Until one very nice summer day,
when I was barefoot,
with my leather backpack, T-shirts, shorts,
and crossing the town square
in the old part of Riga, in Vecrīga,
when I suddenly saw [one of] my classmates,
a coursemate who was a great friend of mine.
We were both kind of revolutionary in the law school,
against all the existing standards, against the system,
and [now], suddenly, I see him in a black, dark suit and black tie.
I was like: "Hey, you look like you've [just had a] court case,
and it seems that it was successful."
He said: "Yes, indeed. Moreover, I've got my own law firm. Come join me!"
And I said: "Law firm? No, no, no, that's not for me.
I'm going to be an honest lawyer.
"I'm not going to have a [law practice]."
(Laughter)
He said: "Let's go and prove
that you can be an honest lawyer,
practicing not just legal rules,
but also doing justice
within a private, commercial law firm."
Then I thought, "Why not? I'm going to try."
And, you know, one of my first cases
was a case which I had to take because it was mandated.
You all know that in our Latvian Constitution
we have Article 92 which suggests
that everyone has the right to a lawyer,
to a qualified lawyer, to an advocate.
So even those people who cannot afford to pay for legal services,
have a right to claim
a lawyer when they need one.
So I was assigned to defend a minor in a criminal case
which was, to put it in simple terms, rather blunt.
A young boy
— well, he's not a boy, he was a teenager, obviously a rather revolutionary one —
walked into a parking lot,
opened up the hood and took out a car battery,
which was qualified as theft,
and not just as a [common] theft
but theft under aggravating circumstances from closed premises.
Because if the car is locked,
the lawyers would say it's a closed premise.
I examined the case, and I went on, started to defend the guy,
and then, luckily enough,
one day his brother entered the courthouse.
He came from a rather difficult family,
and his childhood wasn't the best one,
but then his elder brother
talked to me,
and I realized that he works in a car repair shop.
So then, I opened up my law book and said:
"Well, instead of applying a sanction to this young boy
who made this crucial mistake
which could detriment his whole future life,
why don't we have him under the custody of his elder brother
who is actually working in a car repair shop?
Effectively, what [he proved]
by opening up the hood and stealing the battery
was that he loves cars so much
that when you'll put him in a car repair shop,
that is going to be his place."
Well, the court was surprised,
the Prosecutor's office didn't expect this move,
but then they all said, "Well, why don't we try?"
I think this first case showed me one of those great tools,
one of the values which, I think, is important for a lawyer's practice.
It is 'trust your client',
and even if it's doubtful,
even if you don't entirely agree
to what has happened and why that has happened,
do trust your client.
This might sound idealistic,
but frankly speaking,
idealism is something that we very often miss.
And for this reason,
this is another value, another important element,
in the lawyer's practice.
You have to be an idealist,
you have to believe in things
that most of the people don't believe in.
When last year,
November 21st came to Riga,
you all remember that it was a great tragedy to us.
The supermarket in Zolitūde collapsed,
the roof crashed over the heads of more than 50 people
who remained buried under the ruins of the supermarket.
One of the first to react
was the Advocates Association, the Latvian Bar Association,
which immediately promised to offer free of charge, legal assistance
to those people who lost their loved ones,
to those who suffered in this tragedy.
And, even now,
when you look at the website of the Latvian Bar Association,
you will see that there are more than 150 people,
— this is three times as much as there were sufferers —
three times as much lawyers
who are ready to provide their legal services free of charge,
without asking any money for what they will do for those people.
You might think, this is a great opportunity, but then again,
think about those they are going to fight against.
Those are superpowers,
companies with enough cash to [hire] the best of my colleagues in town.
So this is and this is going to be a very hard battle.
And for the people in this battle,
they are doing it out of a strong sense of idealism.
So here is the third important value:
go on, be active, even if it hurts,
even if there are hard times.
And this is something that helps
not just lawyers, but, I think, all of us
to wake up every morning and say,
"Well, I'm here, and I'm here to help people."
When I had a little chat few days ago, with my youngest daughter Zelda,
she said: "Daddy, you know, you are the best daddy one can have."
I said: "No, why? Why do you say so?"
Then she said: "Because, you know, you are like a child."
And I was going to say:
"Well... Should I be happy for this or should I laugh?"
But then I put these two things together,
I thought: "Yes! This is exactly how I feel."
A child — a child trusts people,
even if there might not be proper grounds for that.
A child is full of idealism,
he or she believes that the world really is a great place,
a child is ready to stand up
after he had hurt his knees,
and go on, and be active again.
So I wish for the lawyers,
for my colleagues, and for everyone here to be like a child.
Be cheerful, be open,
trust people, be an idealist,
and be active, even if no one is expecting this.
Thank you.
(Applause)