I remember when I first started dabbling in politics. I was just a little policy nerd at the University of Wyoming - interested in making some money to support the baby growing in my belly while I waited to graduate and sit for the bar exam.
I wrote a policy paper for a non-profit about criminal statutes in Wyoming. Or more specifically, how Wyoming and another state were the only ones without statutes of limitations built into their criminal laws.
At the time I was wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. I had voted for Obama once before. I loved international and environmental law. I imagined myself being a smart little hippie, saving the world someday. Maybe someday appearing at the Hague from time to time and fighting the injustices, or living like a modern-day Erin Brockovich.
I did my first year of law school in Charleston, South Carolina but transferred to Wyoming to finish. My husband had lived in Wyoming, where he'd been a saddle bronc rider in college and after.
South Carolina’s coursework was far more rigorous and I was set to graduate at UW law a semester ahead of schedule. But I’ll never forget the day my optimism left my body.
I was standing in the front office at the law school, and someone in leadership there looked over my transcript and told me yes, I could graduate early but that I “wouldn’t make it in the legal world” if I was missing that semester of additional electives.
As a small-town girl, I was from a family that was used to being looked down at. I thought I had escaped that and become my own person. But suddenly, I realized this man didn’t want me to succeed. He wanted my money. He just wanted to use me as so many others had in my life.
I had our oldest little girl, and two days later walked at my graduation, a semester early. In four-inch pumps. I passed the bar exam after I nursed my baby on my lap while leaning over prep books.
I had already accepted a job as a deputy county attorney in Wyoming. I hid in a closet to pump and got mastitis over and over again from long court stacks, working with male bosses who would never understand.
Later, I worked at a law firm in Cheyenne. Eventually I started my own. I was a very young female in a male-dominated profession, with stories you wouldn’t believe if I told you. Good thing I had grit. But God had my path ordained in advance and it all served a particularly intricate purpose.
I took a murder case early in my young career. One that people criticized me for and said I would never be able to win. Once again, I was too inexperienced to succeed, they said. But the young mother received a full acquittal and the jurors delivered the verdict with tears streaming down their faces because they knew she was wrongfully accused. The District Attorney I beat never ran for office again.
I don’t tell you this as a boast. In fact, I don’t think I'm anything boast-worthy. I have made too many mistakes and will make many more. I look around most days and wonder how a little girl from a trailer house in Newport, Nebraska, could have done any of this.
But a few things are certain. I am committed to defending the voiceless. To saying what needs to be said. To do what must be done, no matter the cost. I understand that those who oppose everything I fight for, can take nothing from me that matters – God and my family.
My opponents lately are convinced that my work and my voice are about money or some ulterior motive. Let’s be clear, I came from nothing and I will leave with nothing. Money is meaningless to me. We can only leave a world behind us better than we found it. That doesn’t mean you are always nice. But it does mean, that you must always be truthful, no matter the cost.
I say this to say to my general opposition, if you need a villain, I’ll be your girl. If you need to put a face to your opposition and what gets in the way of you running the table, I hope you’ll pin my photo up on your vision board because I will not stop.
Remember Jesus said, “If the world hates you, remember they hated Me first.”
Cassie Craven can be reached at: ccraven.law@gmail.com
