Book Name: Just Mercy
Writer: Bryan Stevenson
Georgia’s death row is in a jail outside of Jackson, a remote town in a provincial piece of the
state. I drove there without anyone else, traveling south on I-75 from Atlanta, my heart beating more diligently
the closer I got. I knew nothing about the death penalty and hadn’t even
taken a class in the criminal system yet. I didn’t have an essential handle of the process of the intricate interest that molded capital punishment prosecution, a procedure that would in time become as recognizable
to me as the rear of my hand. At the point when I pursued this temporary job, I hadn’t given a lot
of thought to the way that I would really be meeting censured detainees. To be completely forthright, I
didn’t have the foggiest idea of whether I needed to be a legal counselor. As the miles ticked by on those country streets, the
increasingly persuaded I turned into that this man would have been exceptionally baffled to see me.
I examined theory in school and didn’t understand until my senior year that nobody would pay
me to philosophize when I graduated. My wild-eyed quest for a “post-graduation plan” drove me
to graduate school for the most part on the grounds that other alumni programs expected you to know something about
your field of study to select; graduate schools, it appeared, didn’t expect you to know anything. At
Harvard, I could contemplate law while seeking after advanced education in open approach at the Kennedy
School of Government, which spoke to me.
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