Sassoon & Scotten Put Principle Over Ambition
Every day, we teach others what we are willing to accept
Five years ago, I was sitting in a diner waiting for my guest. He’s an important figure, so I got there early. We didn’t know each other well. We’d only crossed paths. But I was taking on something new, and he was perfectly positioned to give me advice. I reintroduced myself over email and asked if he’d be willing to meet. He accepted, said he’d clear his calendar, and even offered to pay for lunch.
He couldn’t have known that his generous response would reactivate an old memory and cause some rumination. You see, 20 years earlier something very different had occurred between us, and it changed my career.
I think I was 22. He had an important public position. Like other 22-year olds, I had some big idea or goal—I can’t remember what—and because I was very green, ambitious, and energetic, I decided I had to talk to him. We’d never met, but we had a loose connection. I emailed his office, explained my interest, and asked if he might make 15 minutes for me.
An assistant eventually replied with a whole bunch of questions. After several back-and-forths, I got 15 minutes on his calendar a couple weeks later.
I was thrilled. And so nervous. I prepared for that 15 minutes like you couldn’t imagine. I don’t come from a fancy background so this was a huge opportunity. I also had no experience with or training for these types of meetings. It was high-stakes for me. I figured out what I’d wear, I memorized what I’d say. I prepared replies for his possible responses.
The day before our meeting, his assistant emailed to reschedule. You see, something important had come up. I was bummed but accepted a 15-minute block a couple weeks later. Just before that meeting, his office again contacted me to reschedule. Something important had come up. Again, I accepted a later date. Then a day before this third attempted meeting, they wrote again to reschedule: You see, something important had come up. They offered a 15-minute block a week or so later.
I did something that, I think, changed the rest of my career.
I said, “No, thank you.”
I believe that we teach people how we are willing to be treated. Through our actions, we show them what we’ll accept.
I don’t remember exactly what I wrote to them, but I know I was clear about my reasoning: They’d canceled on me three times because something more important than me kept materializing. That showed what they thought of me.
I’d like to think I was polite but direct. I know my message got through because they were incredulous. They couldn’t believe that a 22-year old would say no, much less for this reason. But I was unbending. Ultimately, they were apologetic and explained that he really would like to meet. But for me, the possible short-term benefits of backing down were less valuable than the long-term principle at stake. I said, “No, thank you,” and wished them well.
In hindsight, I can’t believe my impertinence. It makes me cringe. It was also probably unwise. I gave up the chance to meet him, achieve whatever goal I’d had, and maybe even turn him into an ally. I also risked angering an important figure.
But my small-scale defiance changed something in me. In the moment, I thought I was teaching them (and anyone who heard about the incident) that I would not accept the role of the guy they could repeatedly blow off. But I soon realized that I had unintentionally taught myself something, too: It wasn’t just about how others saw me; it was about how I saw me.
By setting that type of limit on other people, I had implicitly declared something: I could and should take myself seriously. And that had all sort of implications. I didn’t have to assume a hat-in-hand posture. I had non-transferable duties. I had agency. I could make my own way and accept responsibility for it. I was mine.
That incident represented a very small first step. But I stayed on that path. Over time, I took similar but gradually bigger steps. And that path shaped my career. For better and for worse. It’s caused me to be more independent-minded and to take ownership for what happens to me. It’s given me the backbone to be an outlier when necessary. But it rubs some people the wrong way—especially people with authority. And, to put it mildly, it’s not always great for job prospects (I wrote about one such example here). Some folks prefer when others are more pliable.
As I was waiting for my lunch guest, I thought about my impertinent exchange with his team 20 year earlier. I had zero reason to believe that he was even aware of those events. He probably initially agreed to meet with some 22-year old for 15 minutes and his schedulers took it from there. I bet he had no idea what ensued.
As he entered the diner, I suspect some part of me was proud that the guy whose team blew me off all those years ago had now cleared his calendar to buy me lunch. But what was really on my mind was: What would’ve happened to me had I made a different decision back then?
What if I’d just accepted the third cancellation? What if I’d not been so stubborn and instead tried to ingratiate myself with him and his team? Maybe I wouldn’t have become so difficult. Maybe my career ‘s slope would’ve been significantly higher.
I thought about all of this last week when Danielle Sassoon, Hagan Scotten, and several others resigned from the Department of Justice in protest of the Trump administration’s order to drop the corruption charges against New York City mayor Eric Adams.
You might say these prosecutors were being stubborn and difficult. They could have been pliable. They could have accepted their subservience, seen themselves as dutiful soldiers, and simply deferred to those above them. They could have ingratiated themselves with their superiors in order to ensure the positive slope of their careers.
But I suspect that those resigning knew that we teach others, through our actions, how we’re willing to be treated. They probably knew that if they accepted this order from the administration they’d be ordered to accept something worse next time. And something worse after that. And if that happened, they’d be known as the type of professionals who accept that type of treatment. I suspect that they also knew that accepting this would shape how they see themselves.
What Sassoon, Scotten, and the others did was priceless. But it was not costless.
Ms. Sassoon, not yet 40, has the resume of a future Supreme Court justice. The most elite schooling. The most elite clerkships. Time at a prestigious law firm. Interim US Attorney for the Southern District of New York. Moreover, her letter to Attorney General Bondi is a testament to Sassoon’s ability and integrity.
Mr. Scotten, who’d been lead prosecutor on the case, is similarly accomplished—sterling academic credentials, the best clerkships, a distinguished military career. His resignation letter isn’t just memorable; it’s principled and gutsy.
Had Sassoon and Scotten just acquiesced, they might’ve been on the president’s short list for the next federal appeals court opening and who knows what else. Instead, they are on the outs, deemed insufficiently loyal.
Both will obviously land on their feet in the private sector. If they wanted, they could make a bazillion dollars with a variety of white-shoe law firms. But both showed that they cared about public service. America is poorer for their resignations.
This is what I wrote in a piece back in June about the estimable Rob Hur:
America desperately needs virtuous public leaders, those who are honest and honorable, selfless and non-tribal, and committed to service and the public good. We seem to have forgotten that there is not an endless supply of such leaders. They are not an abundantly, naturally occurring phenomenon. We must identify those with these skills and dispositions. We must foster their development and celebrate them when they serve admirably.
I hope Sassoon and Scotten have many more chapters of public service ahead of them. I hope the legal and political communities make sure of that.
But I began this piece with the clumsy efforts of a 22-year old for a reason. We need to do more to develop the next generation of virtuous public leaders. We need young professionals to understand their role as moral actors—as individuals engaged in the public’s business and possessing powers and obligations. We should not expect someone fresh out of college to face down a president. But in order to be prepared to do that as a senior official, you need early-career awareness of ethical challenges and ongoing practice negotiating them. Sometimes, in a public career, ambition and principle are at odds.
In an era of polarization, unless we intentionally teach civic virtue, young professionals will learn to prize personal and tribal gain and see loyalty, instead of the common good, as the goal.