Let me introduce you to Ryan Powers.
In 2023, Ryan walked out of Harvard Law School with a diploma and a dream. It was the culmination of a long journey—from working at a mobile veterinary clinic for $12 an hour and studying for his GED in the back of a company van, to graduating college at the top of his class, and eventually, entering one of the most prestigious legal institutions in the world. His trajectory led him to Davis Polk & Wardwell, a storied, elite law firm currently ranked seventh in the nation. For many, it was the finish line. For Ryan, it was just the beginning.
But less than two years later, that dream ended with two security guards escorting him out the front door.
In one of his first interviews since going public, Ryan sat down to share his story—and what it reveals about the culture of Big Law, its entanglement with power, and the growing costs of speaking out.
Before I continue, this is the exclusive story I mentioned yesterday. It’s one of the first, but it’s not the last. It would mean the world to me if you subscribed to allow me to continue doing this work.
Big Law: Gateway or Gatekeeper?
Davis Polk isn’t just any law firm. It’s part of what’s known as the “white shoe” elite—firms that represent the largest corporations and most powerful interests in the world. Alumni of such institutions include Supreme Court justices, U.S. senators, and presidents’ closest advisors. These firms are more than legal machines; they are pipelines to influence. For many law students, they’re a golden ticket to financial stability and political relevance.
But as Ryan discovered, these firms don’t just shape lawyers. They also shape silence.
“When I joined Davis Polk, I did so believing that the firm would not only protect me, but also the values I believed in,” Ryan wrote. “I believed law was a public good. I believed we were supposed to protect democracy. But what I found was something much darker.”
The Cost of Speaking Up
Outside of billable hours, Ryan began writing op-eds. They weren’t rants or partisan polemics—they were clear, accessible explanations of complex legal issues. He wrote about elections, surveillance, and constitutional rights. He made the law intelligible to everyday people. He never invoked the firm’s name. He never claimed to speak on its behalf. But his words were enough to make someone at Davis Polk nervous.
On June 11, the firm told Ryan his writing violated internal policy. No specific rule. No flagged article. Just a warning: stop.
He refused.
“The issues I was raising were about democracy, transparency, and accountability,” he said. “I wasn’t undermining the rule of law. I was trying to protect it.”
The next day, after submitting an article about government surveillance and First Amendment rights—clearly marked as his personal views—Ryan was fired. No hearing. No explanation. Just silence.
A Profession Muzzled
In his own words, Ryan called Big Law “a powerful machine.” With $160 billion in annual revenue and more than 120,000 lawyers under its umbrella, it is a dominant force in American law and policy. It trains the lawyers who later become judges, senators, cabinet members, and CEOs. What happens in Big Law doesn’t stay in Big Law—it echoes through the highest corridors of power.
And yet, as Ryan puts it, “Big Law trains silence just as rigorously as it trains legal analysis.”
His experience is a warning about where we’re headed: a profession that punishes dissent and protects proximity to power at all costs. The suppression of speech isn’t accidental—it’s baked into the structure of elite law firms. Vague internal policies give them broad discretion to police what employees say, even in their personal lives. And the justification is often couched in the language of neutrality.
But Ryan sees it differently: “Silence is a political choice. And law firms are not neutral.”
Why This Matters
It would be one thing if Ryan’s story were an anomaly. But the forces at play here are systemic. Today it’s an op-ed on government surveillance. Tomorrow, could it be a lawyer speaking about gun reform? A public Instagram post supporting LGBTQ+ rights? An academic panel on climate litigation?
Ryan argues that this is not just a legal issue—it’s a democratic one.
“Lawyers are the first line of defense in a constitutional crisis,” he says. “If we’re not allowed to speak about the law, to inform the public, to raise the alarm—then what are we?”
We don't ask doctors to be silent during a pandemic. We don't expect airline pilots to ignore dangerous mechanical flaws. But somehow, we’ve accepted that lawyers—those trained to defend rights and uphold justice—should stay silent while the very foundation of law and democracy begins to erode.
A Profession at a Crossroads
Ryan’s firing may have been swift, but its implications will linger. His story is a microcosm of a larger crisis in the legal profession—a crisis of conscience. At a moment when democracy faces serious threats, when laws are being rewritten to serve the few, the silence of those best positioned to speak is not just disappointing. It’s dangerous.
“This isn’t just about one firm,” Ryan told me. “It’s about what kind of profession we want to be. Do we serve justice? Or do we serve power?”
He paused before finishing: “Because we can’t do both.”
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