8 May 2025 | By Marten Männis
Legal Independence
U.S. Courts strike down Trump’s law firm retribution
The decision by U.S. District Judge Beryl Howell to invalidate Donald Trump’s executive order against Perkins Coie is reassuring, though the whole development remains a disturbing sign of just how far political retribution has infiltrated the American legal system. For European counsel, the episode offers a stark, transatlantic illustration of how legal institutions—long assumed to be neutral instruments of justice—can become entangled in political retribution, in particular in a country that has long praised itself as a bastion of freedom.
Trump’s March 6 order, now struck down, barred Perkins Coie lawyers from government facilities, threatened to terminate federal contracts held by the firm’s clients, and suspended security clearances—all in response to the firm’s historic representation of Hillary Clinton and its internal diversity policies. Howell ruled the directive violated the First Amendment’s protection of free expression and the Fifth Amendment’s guarantee of due process. But beyond the constitutional holdings, her 102-page opinion explicitly condemned the use of presidential authority to “settle personal vendettas,” identifying it as an abuse of power incompatible with a democratic legal order.
Howell’s opinion did more than critique the order – she made clear that the directive was not a policy act, but an act of political retaliation. Posts, speeches, and off-the-cuff remarks revealed the president’s intent to punish Perkins Coie for its perceived ideological stance and professional history. What emerged was a compelling judicial narrative of executive overreach, one where state power was deployed to discipline legal actors for engaging in disfavoured advocacy.
This is not unprecedented in American law, but its form and scope are novel. As scholars noted, Howell’s decision parallels earlier judicial inquiries into the motives behind Trump-era policies, such as the so-called Muslim ban (Trump v. Hawaii), where public statements played a decisive role in establishing unconstitutional animus. But unlike prior cases rooted in immigration or foreign policy, the Perkins Coie matter strikes at the autonomy of legal representation itself.
Similarly, no past U.S. president has taken political or personal retribution to this extent—Nixon had his “Enemies List,” but it remained a covert tactic, never formalised into institutional policy as Trump has explicitly attempted.
In the United States, such a move may soon face appellate scrutiny. But regardless of whether higher courts uphold or reverse Howell’s decision, the damage to professional norms may already be underway. This is not simply a question of case law anymore.
For firms like Perkins Coie, Jenner & Block, and Munger Tolles & Olson—those that resisted Trump’s coercive overtures—the costs of defiance have included legal battles, reputational threats, and potential loss of access. Other firms chose a different path. Paul Weiss, Skadden Arps, Latham & Watkins, and others—nine in total—entered into settlements with the Trump administration, pledging nearly $1 billion in free legal services toward White House-approved causes such as veterans’ advocacy and antisemitism.
On paper, these may appear as benign corporate social responsibility projects. In context, they resemble coerced acts of allegiance, designed to avoid the regulatory noose. One executive referred to the process as navigating an “existential crisis” for Big Law. When Paul Weiss temporarily withdrew from a pro bono case with the Hispanic civil rights group LULAC due to administration pressure, the symbolic rupture was clear – even though the firm reversed course shortly after public backlash. The message was unmistakable: political survival may now dictate the limits of legal service.
The impact on the pro bono ecosystem is already visible. From the legal scramble at airports during the 2017 Muslim ban to mass asylum filings for Afghan refugees, large law firms have traditionally mobilised during moments of humanitarian crisis. But now, the reflex to assist is being overridden by fear. As multiple partners reported to CNN, politically sensitive cases—particularly involving immigration, LGBTQ rights, or electoral access—are being passed over. Organisations seeking partnerships with firms are increasingly met with silence.
This retreat is not due to indifference, but self-preservation. One pro bono coordinator described firms as “gun-shy,” worried that certain cases might “upset the administration.” The unspoken concern: if one lawsuit crosses an ideological red line, an entire firm’s access to federal work—and its clients’ government contracts—could be imperilled. In short, the threat is no longer theoretical.
The concern extends beyond the United States. For European lawyers, particularly those engaged in transatlantic practice or observing trends in legal independence, the precedent is troubling. It reflects a model in which political leadership can shape or suppress legal participation through administrative tools. It suggests that representation itself—once assumed to be neutral ground—can be reclassified as a hostile act.
The fallout has affected the internal culture of large firms. Websites once proudly listing victories in civil rights litigation or high-profile immigration cases have quietly scrubbed certain announcements. Press releases have disappeared. The traditional badge of honour that came with pro bono work has begun to fade—replaced, in some instances, by discretion or silence.
Gary Thompson, former head of Reed Smith’s Washington office and a veteran of the Guantanamo detainee defence efforts, described today’s atmosphere as the most intimidating of his career. “I’ve never seen a scarier time,” he said, noting that lawyers now must calculate whether taking a case might result in professional isolation or even political reprisal. “Each lawyer will have to decide, what are the potential consequences to my career?”
Such self-censorship, whether born of individual prudence or institutional risk management, represents the erosion of a core legal norm: the idea that representation is not endorsement, and that the state must remain neutral toward those who perform legal duties within its framework.
It should be noted that the pro bono commitments made by major U.S. law firms under pressure are structured to avoid direct legal representation of Donald Trump himself. Instead, these firms have pledged substantial legal services—amounting to nearly $1 billion collectively—to causes endorsed by the administration, such as assisting veterans, combating antisemitism, and supporting law enforcement officers. These agreements were often made in exchange for the withdrawal of executive orders that had imposed sanctions on the firms, including revoking security clearances and threatening federal contracts .There are exceptions. Some firms, such as those representing clients in cases against discriminatory policies or defending transgender rights, remain active. And legal service providers like Whitman-Walker Health continue to receive robust support from their firm partners. But these stand increasingly in contrast to the prevailing drift. As one legal advocate put it, the chilling effect is real, and it is accelerating.
The episode with Perkins Coie is not merely a procedural footnote in U.S. constitutional law. It is a signal. It marks a moment when the legal profession itself became a target of executive discipline, and when the role of the lawyer—particularly in adversarial contexts—was reclassified from officer of the court to political actor.
For European corporate counsel, especially those attuned to rule-of-law struggles in countries like Hungary or Poland, the parallels are uncomfortably clear. When law firms calculate political risk before defending basic rights, the system is already compromised. The implication is stark: legal neutrality is not self-sustaining without the institutions being continuously safeguarded.
