You can’t practise law without a client. No matter what sort of legal career you hope to build, you need to handle cases on behalf of actual people or institutions. That requirement can lead to an uncomfortable situation: representing a client whose conduct cuts sharply against your personal values. If you work in the corporate group of a large law firm, you may have to counsel an oil company that contributes to climate change. If you land a role at a civil-litigation shop, you may have to defend a police department that’s been accused of misconduct. To be sure, those organizations have a right to legal advice. Yet that fundamental truth has made it difficult for lawyers to betray any discomfort about working with a particular client—out of concern that the disclosure would come across as an act of weakness and harm their reputation as a committed professional. That norm, however, has started to shift.
At Harvard Law School, Scott Westfahl is in a unique position. As a professor, he’s in constant contact with students. But he’s also the director of the school’s executive education program. Roughly a dozen times a year, top lawyers—based mostly in North America but also in Europe—arrive on campus to hear him and his colleagues deliver a crash course on some aspect of law-firm leadership. “It’s a rare privilege,” he says, “to teach both law students and very senior lawyers.”
In recent years, Westfahl has noticed a persistent trend: the desire among new lawyers to reform core tenets of the private-practice model. The longstanding lack of work-life balance is one complaint. So, too, is the typical large-firm client roster, which tends to feature a pretty tough slate of corporate interests, including carbon-emitting energy concerns and tech companies that amplify and accelerate the spread of misinformation. A small cohort of associates has even asked to opt out of casework that conflicts with their values. Importantly, Westfahl insists that the anxiety around helping clients who’ve engaged in troubling behaviour is not new. “I teach motivational psychology,” he says. “I don’t believe there are significant motivational differences across generations.” What’s different today is that more associates have the confidence to express those misgivings out loud.
The source of that confidence, Westfahl argues, lies primarily in the job market. Compared to talent in previous decades, associates now have a broader range of career opportunities. Big Law, of course, is still an option. But boutiques have surged in number. In-house teams offer attractive roles with high salaries. And it’s easier than ever to launch a small firm or operate as a sole practitioner, due in large part to the arrival of modern tools enhanced with generative AI, which can streamline practice management and perform high-level research. Those developments have empowered associates to issue bold requests in the workplace; after all, if the higher-ups say no, it won’t be terribly onerous to leave and find a new position. Back in the 1990s, when Westfahl was a large-firm associate in Washington, D.C., he had fewer career opportunities. “I wanted work-life balance. I wanted meaning and purpose. I wanted flexibility,” he recalls. “I couldn’t ask for those things because I didn’t know where else I could get a job.”
Though junior talent has the market power to speak up on controversial topics, management isn’t necessarily accustomed to hearing those opinions. When Westfahl speaks with law-firm leaders, he likes to issue a reminder: “You’re bringing into your firms some of the most talented lawyers you’ll ever see. The fact that they’re coming in and wanting to have a voice is a really good thing.” To students, he has a different message: “Have courage, but also approach tough conversations with empathy and curiosity. Don’t just criticize the system. Try to understand why it’s there.” Both sides, in other words, have an obligation. Below, you’ll find concrete advice on how leaders can approach this period of transition—and how associates can push back with respect.