Counsel’s Counsel: March 18
Question:
Dear Jane,
I’m a 1L who somehow already has a firm job lined up for next summer. In fact, they’re literally paying me this summer to exist and occasionally remember that torts is not about baked goods.
So life should be peaceful. Calm. Relaxed.
Unfortunately, every student organization at my law school has decided that I am the person they need to apply for their board positions. My inbox and GroupsMe are now a daily parade of emails titled “BOARD APPLICATION OPEN,” “In desperate need of help,” and “Don’t you care about your fellow students?”
The pitch is always the same: it will look great on my résumé. But . . . the résumé already worked. The fish has been caught. The trap has closed. I have the job.
So now I’m confused. Why would I sign up to spend my evenings organizing events about “Transactional Life 101” for people who are only attending because there is free Roots? Is there some secret benefit to these positions that I’m missing? Or is the correct move to quietly fade into the background and enjoy my extremely rare period of law school peace?
Also, and I ask this respectfully, do I actually want to help the student body?
Sincerely,
Employed but Suspicious
Answer:
Dear Employed but Suspicious,
First of all, congratulations. You have achieved what every 1L dreams of when they step foot into the OPP office: job security before your brain has processed what trespass to chattels is.
You now occupy a rare and beautiful category of law student known as “The Relaxed 1L.” This species is extremely uncommon in the wild (though they seem to have multiplied in recent years). Most 1Ls are running around clutching their résumés like survival rations while whispering, “Do firms care if I joined the Maritime Environmental Tax Society?” You, meanwhile, are sitting peacefully in the grass while the career-services hunger games rage around you.
Naturally, this is exactly when student organizations arrive. Student orgs operate on a simple ecological principle: someone must run the meetings. And unfortunately for them, the people who want the leadership titles are often the same people who also signed up for five journals, two moot courts, and an internship with a judge who communicates exclusively via fax.
So, the messages start rolling in. And the emails always sound extremely important.
“We are seeking passionate leaders committed to advancing the mission of our organization.” This mission is usually something like “hosting two lunch panels and accidentally ordering too much cheese and not enough chicken.”
Now, let’s talk about the big selling point: the résumé line.
This argument makes sense for people still trying to impress employers. But once you have the job, additional résumé lines have roughly the same impact as going through those journal tryouts once the job has already found you. Congratulations on becoming Vice President of Outreach. The firm will respond by continuing to not care.
Next comes the leadership pitch. Student organizations will promise that you will develop vital management skills. And that’s true. You will absolutely learn how to:
Send emails that say “Just bumping this to the top of your inbox!”
Schedule meetings that six people RSVP to, and then twenty show up for the food
Politely ask a professor if they can speak at an event that will be attended by exactly four students and a confused 2L who thought there would be sandwiches
These are indeed real skills. But you will also learn them later in practice when a partner emails you at 11:43 p.m. asking if you can “quickly turn something around.” So you’re not missing out on the training.
Now we arrive at your most honest question: Do you actually want to help the student body? This is a brave thing to ask.
In theory, student leadership is about community, mentorship, and building something meaningful for your classmates. In practice, it is often about coordinating a panel where the speaker cancels, the food runs dry before the event starts, and someone asks if the event will have attorneys there whom they can network with.
But occasionally, it’s actually fun. You meet people outside your section. You help the younger, incoming 1Ls. You build friendships with the other board members while collectively panicking about whether you reserved the right room for the right time.
The trick is this: you do not have to run the whole circus. There is a huge difference between being involved and being the person responsible for everything. You can attend events. You can hang out with people. You can enjoy the free food like a normal law student.
So if your heart does not leap with excitement at the idea of managing the Annual Symposium on Extremely Specific Regulatory Issues, it is perfectly acceptable to decline.
Politely.
And quietly.
And perhaps by simply never responding to the email titled “Final Final Reminder: Board Applications Extended Again please.”
Law school will continue. The organizations will find leaders. Someone else will heroically argue with the catering office. Meanwhile, you can enjoy the rare luxury of being a 1L who occasionally relaxes, sees sunlight, and remembers that life exists outside the student lounge.
And honestly, that might be the most responsible leadership decision of all.
Jane Doe, J.D.