My name is Edward Whitmore. Im twenty-eight, and Im a solicitor. Yes, I have Down syndrome. But thats just one of many things about melike my eye colour or my love for cinnamon lattes. Unfortunately, not everyone sees it that way.
At the firm of Harrington & Price, I worked for two years as a legal assistant. I organised case files, conducted preliminary research, drafted documents. My work was impeccable. I arrived earlier than anyone, stayed later, because I loved what I did. My colleagues respected me, and Mr. Harrington often praised me. It felt like Id finally proved that people with Down syndrome belong not just in stereotypes, but at a real legal desk.
Then everything changed on a dull Tuesday in October.
Edward, have a seat, please, Harrington said when I walked into his office. His tone was oddly flat. We need to discuss something important.
My heart jumped. Life had taught mewhen an adult says important, good news rarely follows.
Did I do something wrong?
No, no, quite the opposite. Your work has been excellent. But He hesitated. Weve received complaints from several clients.
I frowned. Complaints? About my work?
Not exactly. Its more about your presence.
The air suddenly felt thick.
Clients have expressed concerns. They say someone like you might give off an unprofessional impression.
Like mehow? I asked, though I knew perfectly well.
Edward, its nothing personal. Its business. They pay significant fees, and they expect a certain image.
I stayed silent, then spoke slowly. So youre firing me because of Down syndrome?
Dont put it like that. Were just restructuring our collaboration. You could work remotely
No. I stood. I wont hide. Im a good solicitor, Mr. Harrington. And if youre dismissing me because of my diagnosis, thats discrimination.
I walked out with my head high. Inside, everything shattered.
That evening, in my small flat overlooking a noisy London street, I sat at my laptop. If they thought they could push me aside without a fightthey didnt know who they were dealing with.
The next few weeks were a blur of statutes, case law, precedents. My desk was buried in papers, my mind full of arguments. I had everythingemails, praise from colleagues, performance reviews. Three weeks later, the claim was ready.
When the news brokeSolicitor with Down Syndrome Sues Former Employer for Discriminationmy phone didnt stop ringing. Many offered to represent me. I declined.
If I cant defend myself, I said, what kind of solicitor am I?
The hearing was on a frosty morning. The courtroom was packed with journalists. Opposite meHarrington and three of his barristers. I was alone, but not truly: my faith in justice stood with me.
The judge, a stern, grey-haired man, peered over his glasses. Mr. Whitmore, youre certain you wish to represent yourself?
Yes, Your Honour, I replied firmly.
Harringtons barrister, a polished man named Mr. Ellington, spoke first. His argument took nearly an hourlegitimate business decisions, corporate standards, employers discretion. He never said Down syndrome, but the words hung in the air.
When my turn came, the room fell silent.
My name is Edward Whitmore. Im a solicitor. And yes, I have Down syndrome. But today, thats irrelevant. Were here to discuss my work, not my genes.
I presented my records, reviews, case files.
Heres what Mr. Harrington wrote: Exceptional attention to detail. Reliable, dedicated. Now he claims my presence damages the firms image. Tell mewhat image does a firm project when it fires someone for how they look?
Witnesses backed me. One colleague even choked up describing how Id helped him with cases.
When I cross-examined Harrington, you could hear journalists pens scratching.
Mr. Harrington, was my work unsatisfactory?
No, he muttered.
Then why was I dismissed?
Because certain clients
Not my work. Because of who I am?
His silence said enough.
In my closing statement, I spoke plainly.
I dont want pity. I want fairness. Judge me by what I do, not how I was born. Because today, its my case. Tomorrow, it could be anyones.
The jury deliberated for three hours. The longest three hours of my life.
When they returned, the foreman stood.
In Whitmore v. Harrington & Price, we find the defendant guilty of discrimination.
I barely heard the applause. I only saw the judge smile and nod.
Six months later, I opened Whitmore & Associates. My first client? A woman in a wheelchair fired for being too slow. The second? A deaf man denied an accounting job.
Now, in my office, next to my solicitors certificate, hangs a plaque:
Edward Whitmore. Solicitor.
No clarifications. No labels.
Because Im not a solicitor with Down syndrome.
Im a solicitor. And thats more than enough.
