HER LADYSHIP JUSTICE SEDINAM AWO KWADAM (MRS.)*
5TH APRIL 2026
“The opportunity to stand between power and vulnerability, between order and disorder, between right and wrong.” – Honourable Chief Justice Paul Baffoe Bonnie.
My learned friends, I bring you warm greetings this Easter season, for this is a time of sacrifice.
Indeed, this season, I find myself reflecting on what it truly costs to stand where you stand as practitioners of the law, where I once stood.
Of course, we celebrate the prestige of this profession, and we speak of its ancient traditions, its intellectual rigour, and the honour of being called “learned.” All of this is true; yet there is another truth, quieter and heavier, that we seldom name. The lawyer pays a price that is not his own.
Consider, for example, the lawyer who, in recent times, represented a man accused of killing an immigration officer. He was regularly seen on the news being attacked by sympathizers of the deceased, not because he had done anything wrong, but because he was simply doing his job. After all, he was not his client; nevertheless, in the eyes of those who could not separate the representative from the represented, he became a target of their heightened emotions. This is the occupational hazard of the practice, and I call it the burden of imputation.
When you take on a client, then within weeks, the world looks at you differently. The neighbour crosses the street, the friend asks, “How can you defend that person?” and meanwhile, the comments section brands you with the same accusations levelled against the one you represent. You have not committed the act, nor were you present; yet because you stood beside someone when no one else would, you are perceived through the lens of their alleged transgression.
There is an ancient taunt that follows lawyers, namely, the accusation of being liars or of being people who cannot even show their faces after death. You have heard the story that when a lawyer dies, his face is covered because he has told so many lies, but that is a cruel folk tale born not of truth but rather of misunderstanding. The saying goes, “Show me your friend, and I will show you your character.” However, a lawyer is not a friend in that sense. In fact, the relationship is not one of affinity but of fiduciary duty, for the lawyer does not become ad idem with the client’s character but instead with the principle that every person, however accused, deserves a voice.
When a surgeon removes a tumour, we do not say he is the tumour, and likewise when a priest hears confession, we do not say he is the sin. Yet when a lawyer represents an accused, the public too often says, “You are what you defend.” And here, my learned friends, is the Easter parallel.
There is a story Christians tell of one who carried a burden that was not his own. A man named Jesus of Nazareth walked through the streets bearing a rugged wooden cross, but that cross was not his, for he had committed no crime. As Pontius Pilate declared, “I find no fault in him.” Yet there he was, stumbling under the weight of transgressions he did not commit, and still he carried it anyway. As he walked, the world mocked him, hurled insults at him, and projected onto him the very crimes he was there to redeem. They simply did not understand that he was not the sinner but rather the response to sin.
Do you see it? When you put on your gown, collar, and wig, you walk a similar road. You take upon yourself the burden of another’s alleged transgression so that you can stand in the gap between the state and the citizen, between accusation and defence. The cross you carry is not your own, and the client’s alleged crime is not your crime; nevertheless, you carry it because justice requires it. And what does the world give you in return? Scorn, suspicion, the label of liar, and the whispered joke about your face being covered at death. Thus, you become the bearer of burdens not your own.
And yet you continue, for you continue because you know something most people outside the profession do not understand: the right to representation is not a privilege for the innocent but rather a right for everyone. After all, a justice system is judged not by how it treats the popular but by how it protects all persons, including those who stand accused. This is the sacrifice you make.
Every time you represent a client whom the public may have already convicted by their suspicions, you absorb their hostility, and every time you argue for the rights of the accused, you invite the projection of their alleged sins onto your own reputation. You do this not because you are a liar but because you are a lawyer, and you do this not because you share the character of your client but because you answered the call of justice.
Let me say this plainly: it is unfair, and it is unjust. Indeed, it is an injustice that you should be attacked for doing your job, just as it is an injustice that the public should confuse representation with endorsement. But you knew this, or perhaps you are learning it now. After all, you did not enter this profession for applause; instead, you entered because something in you recognized that the law matters, that someone must speak for the voiceless, challenge the powerful, and hold the line between order and chaos.
So today, know that your unique burden is acknowledged. To the criminal defence lawyer called a “friend of criminals,” you are seen; to the human rights lawyer attacked by those who prefer rigidity over justice, you are seen; and to the young lawyer, newly called, who has already faced the chorus of ridicule, you are seen. You carry this weight with dignity and often in silence; therefore, be reminded of what you truly are.
You are the profession that speaks for the vulnerable when no one else will, that challenges authority when power overreaches, that fights for human rights, and that stands between the citizen and the state, between the accused and the machinery of prosecution. As was said at the recent Call to the Bar, the law gives us something rare: the opportunity to stand between power and vulnerability, between order and disorder, between right and wrong. That is what you do, and that is who you are. The aim is not to impress but to serve, and sometimes serving means being misunderstood by the very people you serve.
Learned friends, the Easter season is upon us. It is a time of reflection, of rest, and of remembering that the story does not end with the cross. So, I wish for you a restful Easter.
This Easter, as you reflect on the One who carried what was not his own, remember that as practitioners you do something quite similar, and in that reflection find not despair but purpose.
Rest, recharge, and then return to the call.
Happy Easter!
* Justice of the High Court, Republic of Ghana; Patron – Federation of African Law Students – Ghana Chapter; Adjunct Lecturer, International Criminal Law and Justice (ICL&J), Ghana Institute of Management and Public Administration (GIMPA); LL.M.(Distinction) International Criminal Law and Justice (ICL&J) International Criminal Court (ICC) Elective, Ghana Institute of Management and Public Administration (GIMPA) (2025); Valedictorian, 2025 Masters Cohort (GIMPA); Participant, ICC Summer School, Utrecht University (2025); Barrister-at-Law (BL), Ghana School of Law (2012); Best Student, Law of Evidence (2012 Call to the Bar); LLB, Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology (KNUST); Achimota School (2002).
The views expressed are personal and do not reflect the position of any institution.
