By Andrew Cohen
The students didn’t know it was the last class of his almost 40-year teaching career. Or that he’d be sharing personal advice on personalizing their work. Or that a guest speaker, who spent a half-century in prison before getting out on parole last year, was also his client.
Professor Charles Weisselberg did none of the above for shock value, but because, in his words, “The best part of this job has always been you and the students who have come before you. You’re the life of this place.”
Weisselberg joined UC Berkeley Law’s faculty in 1998 to develop the in-house clinical program and teach criminal law-related classes. He reminded the students in his final Criminal Procedure – Investigations class that amid all the studying of case law, doctrine, and policy reform, “criminal justice work is about people.”
One of those people, classroom guest Veronza Bowers Jr., was convicted in 1974 of the murder of a federal officer. Weisselberg described how Bowers, his client for the last 19 years, had gone to college on a wrestling scholarship to study architectural engineering, lost his scholarship after getting injured, spent two years in the Navy, and became active in the Black Panther Party.
He called Bowers, who has always maintained his innocence, “someone who remained relentlessly hopeful in really dark places” and an example to budding lawyers about how to keep hope “in a time of chaos and uncertainty.”
Weisselberg and Bowers have both seen many changes in the criminal legal system, as the students will over the course of their careers. Weisselberg noted that, as others have said, “maybe history doesn’t repeat itself, but it rhymes.”
He urged the class to consider the arc of the law and find opportunities where the law is not fully settled: “Think about how you can be effective where the ground is uncertain. It’s easy to get on a computer and see what a court has said on a particular issue — any competent lawyer can do that. But great lawyers work effectively in places where the law isn’t clear.”
Pursuing purpose
Bowers described growing up in Oklahoma during segregation and the poverty and suffering he regularly witnessed, noting that he joined the Black Panther Party to help uplift his community.
“I wanted to build a better way of life for my people,” he said. “My advice to you students is to continue to be you no matter the opposition along the way.”
Initially incarcerated in an Atlanta maximum security prison, Bowers described seeing a shift from mostly white prisoners in the mid to late 1970s to a steady rise in Black prisoners with the enactment of tougher drug laws. Weisselberg explained that there were fewer than 25,000 people serving federal sentences in 1980 before drug offenses led to mass incarceration, and that the number soared to as high as 219,000 and is currently around 156,000.
“People say when you’re born, you have a life sentence — I happened to live much of mine inside a prison,” Bowers said. “I learned how to find peace and move forward while in prison. My great grandmother lived to over 100; she was raised in slavery and in her stories you could see the resilience. It’s not enough to just hope for a better life, you’ve got to do something to bring it about. When you’re repeatedly slammed down, each time you have to get up, brush yourself off, and keep pushing forward trying to bring about a change.”
On multiple occasions, Bowers was promised and even granted parole — but had it rescinded due to errors, misconduct, and the Attorney General’s personal intervention — even though he hadn’t incurred any disciplinary action since 1988, which was for an overdue library book. He had scheduled release dates in 2004 and 2005, only to have the Parole Commission reverse course at the 11th hour, once while family and friends were waiting for him outside the prison gates.
“The letter of the law is one thing, but practical application of that law is different,” Bowers said. “The letter of the law said I’d be released in 2004, but I got out in 2024 and that was only thanks to the diligent efforts of your professor and the legal team. I encourage you future lawyers to fight for your client, because that client is another human being, like you. Never forget you’re dealing with the lives of human beings — not just books, statutes, and statistics.”
A legacy of engagement
Weisselberg joined UC Berkeley Law as founding director of the Center for Clinical Education, the springboard to the school’s robust Clinical Program. The Samuelson Law, Technology & Public Policy Clinic and the Death Penalty Clinic, where he also taught, opened on his watch.
Moving fully from the clinics to the classroom in 2006, Weisselberg later served as Associate Dean for the J.D. Curriculum and Associate Dean for Advanced Degree Programs. He also chaired the Association of American Law School’s Section on Clinical Legal Education.
With prior experience as a private firm lawyer and public defender, Weisselberg focuses his research mainly on criminal procedure, immigration detention, and legal education. For 10 years starting in 2008, he published annual reviews of U.S. Supreme Court criminal cases in the American Judges Association journal Court Review.
Bowers is one of many pro bono clients he’s had over the years, interactions Weisselberg said help remind him that criminal law is all about people. In the Bowers case, the legal team “just kept on trying one door after another. Sometimes you have to build a door before you can open it.” Toward the end of class, Bowers credited Weisselberg for sustaining a sense of hope.
“When you have people like Chuck and his team on your side, fighting within the law to bring about change, it felt like that was bigger than just me,” Bowers said. “I didn’t want to let those people down. Chuck and I became friends over time because we were working together for a common purpose. He saved the rest of my life.”
Weisselberg encouraged his students to draw from Bowers’ example to push through turbulent times, and to find a foothold that brings professional satisfaction and personal joy.
“I’m fortunate to have a career I really enjoyed, especially since I didn’t find criminal law until my third job after law school,” Weisselberg said. “There’s no reason to stay in your first job after law school if it’s not meaningful and rewarding. A law degree gives you freedom to do that. As (UC Berkeley Law Professor Emeritus) Bob Berring would say, ‘You have to find what frosts your cupcake.’”