Erin V. Wallin
2023 Pegasus Scholar Report
The most oft asked question of an American Pegasus Scholar in the United Kingdom is this: “How does this program [a six-week immersive experience into the legal world of the UK] benefit you, an American attorney?” Throughout my time in London, Edinburgh, and Belfast, I answered this question sincerely by touting the merits of comparative learning and global understanding, but I could not shake a nagging sense that there was a deeper answer to this question. Once, I even joked that taking a small-town Southern girl from her individual car on country backroads and schooling her in the ways of navigating the tube during station closings and train strikes qualified as the education of a lifetime. I said this in jest, but perhaps it was my adventures in misdirection which taught me the most about getting where I need to go.
It is important for the reader to understand that I have never lived in a big city and though I have visited some (London, D.C., New York), I’ve always had some sort of de facto navigator at my side (a parent, a husband, or a colleague). I’ve certainly never been on my own for six weeks in a sprawling metropolis. I wish I could blame this on my youth, but I came to the law, and consequently this program, later in life than most. I knew by the age of sixteen that I wanted to be an attorney, and I mapped out my life accordingly to reach that destination. I went to college (“university” for my British friends) and married my high-school sweetheart right after college graduation. I worked as a paralegal while he got his teaching certificate and he planned to work as a teacher while I went to law school. In short, I had mapped out the most efficient route to the life I wanted. I suppose you might liken it to taking the Piccadilly line from Heathrow Airport straight into the heart of London. It should work, right? It works most of the time. But surprise babies and train strikes have a way of shifting travel plans, shifting whole lives.
Before I left Chattanooga, TN, to travel to the U.K., I memorized the instructions my husband gave me for reaching the flat from the airport. My mental note went something like this—"Take the Piccadilly Line (whatever that is) to Holborn and then switch to the Central line until you get to Shepherd’s Bush. Avoid signs for the Heathrow Express.” (Side note to my British friends—I know you’re shaking your head because this “Plan A” was not the best route. You’re right). However, I never got the chance to travel this unskillful path because the Piccadilly Line was out that day. “No worries,” I told myself, “Erin, you have an advanced degree. You’re a mother of three, for goodness’ sake. You can do this.” So, I regrouped and hoisted my six weeks’ worth of luggage onto the Elizabeth Line. That was a good start, but then I miscalculated. You see, I reasoned that if my flat was in the Kensington area then I should try to get to the South Kensington tube station. This was the first of many errors. Fast forward twenty minutes later as I hauled two very large suitcases upstairs and down blocks with no idea where I was going. I saw a taxi drive by and though I had never hailed one before, I mimicked Sarah Jessica Parker in “Sex and the City”, and soon arrived at the flat with heavy bags and a somewhat lighter wallet. Much to my chagrin, I discovered that I had allowed others to navigate for me because I have absolutely no aptitude for direction, and maybe because it was easier. This arrival anecdote was not even the worst scrape I found myself in, but I must move beyond these tales because a couple of weeks later (when I had grown confident enough to stop counting the stops to my destinations), something miraculous happened.
For the first time in two weeks, I allowed myself to really experience the tube and not just survive it. I started thinking about my Pegasus experience and once again the question came to me, “What does this transatlantic experience offer me?” In some ways, the answer is a no-brainer. Who wouldn’t benefit from touring all four Inns of Court, from spending a week at the UK Supreme Court, from hearing oral arguments at the Royal Court of Justice and the Rolls Building, from seeing the oldest law library in Scotland, from having tea with the Lady Chief Justice Keegan and Justice Colton in Northern Ireland, and from working in the best firms in London? Anyone would benefit from spending six weeks with some of the brightest legal minds in the world. Anyone. Yet, what was I going to do with this gift? Then, out of nowhere I heard the answer. Reader, I literally heard the answer. I heard the words, “Mind the Gap.” Sure, I had heard these words countless times beforehand. Londoners hear them multiple times a day if they ride the tube. Nevertheless, it was as if the Divine was calling out to me on a megaphone and the words resonated in my mind.
I found myself asking, “What gap?” Then, the voice said, “Mind the gap between the train and the platform.” I paused. Was I to understand that there is a GAP between where we are going and how we get there? That felt right. It felt right to me as a mother (one who spent ten wonderful years as a stay-at-home mom before going to law school). It felt right to me as an attorney in my sixth year of practice. It felt right to me as a human.
Mind the Gap Between Where You're Going and How You Get There
After spending weeks pondering this transcendent and prophetic phrase, I finally have a better answer to the question, and I’d like to offer it up here in three parts.
Gender & Justice
On our first day of the Pegasus Scholar Program, Dame Sue Carr was sworn in as the first Lady Chief Justice of England and Wales. As we made our way into Westminster Abbey for the Opening of the Legal Year Ceremony, we could hear the proud whispers of her name on the lips of barristers dressed in their finest regalia and wigs. This church service held at the Abbey each October marks a fresh beginning to the legal calendar. As most barristers hope to attend this invite-only event once in their lifetime, I have carefully saved the green entrance ticket that secured one seat for a small-town attorney from Tennessee.
As music filled the Abbey, we all stood to honor the Lord Chancellor, the Lady Chief Justice, the Heads of the Divisions, and the Justices of the UK Supreme Court while they processed to their seats. Once they sat down, we all took out seats and together offered hymns of thanksgiving to God and prayers for justice in the coming year. Americans pride themselves on separation between church and state, but I could not help being struck by the humble beauty of a whole legal community coming together to pray for their legal and governmental leaders. We prayed for the new Lady Chief Justice by name. I felt a smile of awe spread across my face and across the congregation as her name was spoken in the Abbey. I could feel a gap closing and I was there to witness it.
You cannot be present in the Abbey without feeling a sense of history. More than forty monarchs have been crowned there since 1066 A.D. Notably, the Abbey also serves as the final resting place for the likes of Edward the Confessor, Elizabeth I, Sir Isaac Newton, Charles Dickens, and Charles Darwin, just to name a few. Juxtaposed against this backdrop of long centuries was the one small century since women entered the legal field in the U.K., and the one woman who rose to its highest position that very day.
The next day, the Pegasus and Temple Bar scholars had the privilege of a private meeting with the Lady Chief Justice. On what had to be an enormously busy day for her, she graciously took the time to meet with six American scholars. I expected she would speak about her historic role or her path to getting there, but instead she peppered us with questions about our own lives and aspirations. Later that week, I spoke with her again at the Temple Bar Reception and was able to ask a question of my own. Who had inspired her along the way? She immediately pointed to the dissenter pin on her blazer, and I nodded as we both said, “Justice Ginsburg.” Somehow, this one moment perfectly summed up the symmetry of a transatlantic legal sisterhood.
America accredited its first female attorney around fifty-three years before England did (thank you, Iowa). I’ve no doubt that those extra fifty-plus years of women in the law aided in shaping Justice Ginsburg into the champion of equal rights that she became. She famously asked, “What’s the difference between a bookkeeper in Brooklyn and a Supreme Court Justice?” The answer, “one generation,” highlights how very much a span of time like fifty years can matter. Perhaps that fifty-year head-start helped launch an inspiring American Supreme Court Justice, who in turn inspired the British Dame Sue Carr. There is something poetic, then, about the U.K.’s first Lady Chief Justice now inspiring American female attorneys to hope that we will also see a female Chief Justice of the Supreme Court in our lifetime. I will be forever grateful to the Inns and the Pegasus program for allowing me to not only witness this moment in history, but to be stirred by it. As another Justice Ginsburg quote reads, “Real change, enduring change, happens one step at a time.” I watched with my own eyes as Lady Chief Justice Carr took her steps in the Abbey’s procession as no other woman ever had. Mind the gap.
The Seven-Year Itch
Over six weeks, the Pegasus program allowed me to speak with countless attorneys. As scholars, we lunched at all four Inns with under-treasurers and librarians. We were briefed on U.K. law at The Law Society and The Bar Council. We spent a week at the UK Supreme Court with mentoring Justices and their brilliant judicial assistants. We also observed trials and oral arguments at all levels with top firms. Everywhere we went, we discussed the law with accomplished lawyers of all ages. During these conversations, I began to ask a reflective question of the more senior barristers and judges: “What was the most challenging timespan of your career?” Of course, I received varied answers but more often than not these professionals described the sixth or seventh year of legal practice as the most challenging. Self-interestedly, I was very attuned to this answer because I am about to enter my seventh year as a practicing attorney.
I imagine most people assume that the first years of working in the law are the hardest because of little power and even less experience. Those early years are certainly not for the faint of heart, but there is also an indescribable elation at the outset of your career. Sure, you don’t know as much as you wish you did, but you also don’t know enough to be as scared as you should be—that comes later. Apparently, the seven-year itch is a common reality whether you’re an American attorney or an English barrister, but I’ve decided that the British are more aware of the phenomenon because they are all self-employed. Yes, you read that correctly; all barristers are self-employed, and they work disinterestedly in cooperative but independent chambers (firms). So, these barristers share spaces, expenses, and often areas of law, but they do not share revenue. Each attorney builds their own practice, surviving or thriving each month, depending on the available work.
Although Americans love a good self-determination story, I couldn’t help but wonder if we would sign up for law school as quickly if the outcome were guaranteed self-employment. My mother has owned her own graphic design business since the mid-1980s and the inscription by her desk reads, “The only thing more overrated than the joy of natural childbirth is the joy of owning your own business.” Humor aside, self-employment does offer a clarity of career that is often missing from American firm-life. In the States, firms offer young attorneys clear next steps (a certain number of billable hours, a bonus level, making partner, etc.). For the British, all next steps are determined by the barrister themselves. They set their hours, their pay (by extension), and they determine whether or not to seek to become a Silk (the highest level of advocacy in the United Kingdom). Perhaps they are more reflective about each stage of their career because their career is at all times in their hands alone. Regardless of the reason, I began to ask myself what it is about this time period that causes Americans and Brits alike to question whether they are on the right track.
Was it the Covid pandemic? As much as I’d like to think that the past few years have made attorneys more flexible (with phone court dockets, Zoom meetings, and Teams trials), I wonder if it didn’t just make us less collaborative, more exhausted, and more ready to throw in the towel. I also wondered if it might be generational (everyone loves to blame a “lazy” millennial, right)? Then, I speculated that it might be cultural—who would stick with the law in an era where internet influencers seemingly effect the most social justice change and make a generous living do it? However, these answers didn’t add up. Across the board and over may ages, this sixth to seventh year was the most cumbersome for so many. So, I started asking “why?” Most answers came in the form of a personal story about a professional crossroads.
By the seventh year, most attorneys have begun to specialize in some field of law. They are far from experts, but they are no longer beginners. A career path forms down that specialization line. This is a time of great comfort for the attorneys working in the area they always imagined and have grown to enjoy, or it’s a time of discomfort if they realize they have not. In short, the seventh year is often a time of decision. Should they continue on the current path or abandon specialization knowledge in hopes of a different one?
My own crossroads became apparent during a lunch conversation in my fifth week of the program. One of the barristers, a Silk at Blackstone Chambers, took me out to a very nice lunch. Over tea and schnitzel, this King’s Counsel asked me a kind, but direct question. He said, “It seems to me that you’ve got two areas of interest: criminal law and bankruptcy law. Those may not be compatible. Won’t you eventually have to make a choice?” Silks are famous for their ability to boil complex issues down to their very essence, and apparently that reputation is well-deserved. I agreed with him but had no solutions.
When you spend a decade raising children and thinking that your chance of a legal career has passed you by, you’re just thankful you get to do any of it. This kind of gratitude is usually a wonderful gift. Even on my least favorite legal days I can still go home in awe that I am a credentialed attorney. It’s truly a privilege. Nevertheless, gratitude is not an exemption from self-determination. For a moment I realized how much my transit troubles with the London tube might be indicative of larger issues. Did I really know where I was going and how to get there? Was I the one making those decisions for myself? I need some more time to flesh that out, but what I do know is that this program, all those conversations, and that lunch in particular have challenged me to make sure that I am the one navigating my path. Whether self-employed, firm employed, or government employed, we can’t delegate the direction of our career to anyone else.
As I approach the crossroads of this seventh year, I know I don’t have all the answers yet, but I take great comfort in what I learned from the London transit system. Identify where you want to go and chart a course. Don’t be afraid to ask for help. Don’t stress over course corrections; it might take longer, but there’s a way to get where you want to go. Take in the scenery because you just might discover that where you are is better than where you planned. Don’t be afraid to venture out into the unknown.
In the final weekend of my program, I ventured out from the comfort of the London transit system I had barely mastered to visit the Isle of Wight. Early members of my family emigrated from the Isle to the United States in the mid-1700s and I wanted to see it for myself before leaving the U.K. I stayed by the ocean, did some antiquing, and enjoyed the famous cream tea in Godshill. Most importantly, I navigated two trains, two ferries, and multiple bus rides around the Island by myself and without incident. In short, I returned home from the United Kingdom equipped to handle crossroads.
Community Gifts
In the final portion of my report, I want to focus less on the “where” we are going and more on the “how” we get there. In my career, one of the most valuable methods of transportation (both literally and figuratively) has been the American Inns of Court. I was invited to join the Inns as a law student and later joined my own local Chattanooga chapter once I began practicing. At the local level, the Brock-Cooper Inn meets monthly for dinner, drinks, and excellent CLE programming. This year our local pupilage groups are conducting a mock trial with outside jurors to showcase the various stages of trial. It’s a chance to glean practice tips from more experienced attorneys and reinforce civility principles across the community.
At the national level, the American Inns gifted me the experience of a lifetime through the Pegasus Scholarship. One of the reasons the question, “How does an immersive U.K. legal experience benefit an American attorney?” is so arduous to answer is because the gifts of the program defy quantification and exist outside of time. I could never appraise the value of afternoon conversations with Lord Lloyd-Jones at the Supreme Court. I was not only edified during those discussions, but I will attempt to approach legal issues with the same level of care, warmth, and insight that I observed in him for years to come. Furthermore, how do I assess the benefit of observing a week-long rape trial at the Inner London Crown Court? During that week I watched witnesses give sensitive testimony shielded behind a protective screen to prevent re-traumatization. I know I will grapple for a long time with the question of whether such a practice should be prioritized over America’s confrontation clause, which protects a defendant’s right to face their accuser. And, on a more personal level, the blessings of new-found friendships with my fellow scholars are one the most delightful gifts of this program. With addresses already exchanged for Christmas card mailings, these bonds will carry on long after we return to our day jobs.
Ultimately, the greatest gift of the Inns is community, both at home and abroad. The author Wendell Berry wrote about the responsibilities of community in his essay, “A Native Hill.” Of being a traveler, Berry stated, “it cost me nothing to be a critic, for I had not been there long, and I did not feel that I would stay. But here, now that I am both native and citizen, there is no immunity to what is wrong. It is impossible to escape the sense that I am involved in history.”
As a scholar from any country, it is easy to analyze, applaud, or even criticize another country’s systems because we have no ownership in that system. What is more difficult, as Berry noted, is to return home after travel and to step into the role of a community citizen.
Now that I am home and have endeavored to answer the question of what benefit the Pegasus program offers to its scholars, I must start to ask myself a different question: “How will I give back to this community to which I belong and to whom I am responsible?” In the short term, I look forward to using the knowledge, experience, and contacts I gained to write law review articles. Over the long haul, I will do my part to embody the values of the Inns by approaching each case and each person with professionalism, ethics, civility, and excellence. I am also very excited to invest time in next year’s scholars as they prepare for their own journey of a lifetime. The American Inns have helped me go farther than I ever thought possible. So, as I step off this train-like Pegasus experience and onto the platform of whatever is next, I can’t wait to look over my shoulder at the next scholars and say, “Mind the gap.”