As a Georgia prosecutor, here’s why I stand with Judge Glenda Hatchett

But accountability, apparently, has limits.

After filing a civil action connected to the assault and later withdrawing it, Hatchett now faces an order requiring her to pay the Georgia Sheriffs’ Association’s legal fees. The justification? That her lawsuit lacked merit.

Let’s be clear about what this means in practical terms.

A woman who was sexually assaulted by a law enforcement official is now being told that, because she chose to withdraw her civil suit, she should finance the defense of the organization connected to the environment in which that assault occurred.

Whether dressed up in procedural language or statutory argument, the message is unmistakable: if you come forward — and especially if you reconsider — you may pay dearly.

That is not justice. That is institutional self-protection masquerading as legal principle.

Decision to pursue fees sends a chilling message

Credit: Handout

Credit: Handout

Civil litigation is complex. Survivors of trauma often initiate lawsuits not only for financial recovery but for answers, acknowledgment or systemic reform.

And just as often, survivors later withdraw those cases for deeply personal reasons: emotional toll, public scrutiny, the exhaustion of reliving the trauma in depositions and hearings. The law has long recognized a plaintiff’s right to dismiss an action. To convert that right into a financial punishment is a dangerous escalation.

The Georgia Sheriffs’ Association had a choice. It could have quietly accepted the dismissal and allowed all parties to move forward. Instead, it chose to pursue fees from a sexual assault survivor — one whose assailant admitted guilt in criminal court.

That decision sends a chilling signal.

If a former chief judge with decades of stature and public credibility can be ordered to pay institutional legal fees after withdrawing a case stemming from a sexual assault, what message does that send to a nurse? A teacher? A young deputy? A college student?

It says: Think twice.

It says: If you challenge power, power may respond.

And it says: Even if the assault is real — even if the offender pleads guilty — you may still be punished for pursuing accountability beyond the criminal process.

Punishing a victim erodes trust in the justice system

Some will argue this is merely about legal standards and fee-shifting statutes. But institutions are not compelled to seek every dollar the law might technically allow. Discretion is a hallmark of leadership. Prosecutors exercise it. Judges exercise it. Law enforcement exercises it. So can associations.

Eleven Georgia sheriffs have publicly criticized the fee pursuit, recognizing the reputational and moral cost of appearing to penalize a survivor. They understand what seems lost in this maneuver: Justice is not simply about prevailing in court; it is about reinforcing trust in the system.

The Sheriffs’ Association’s action risks eroding that trust.

Sexual assault cases already carry enormous barriers — fear, shame, professional retaliation, reputational harm. Survivors must weigh not only whether they can prove what happened, but whether the system will protect them or expose them to further damage. When institutions appear to double down against a survivor — even after a guilty plea by a perpetrator — it reinforces the perception that institutional loyalty outranks individual harm.

Hatchett has stated that this fight is no longer just about her. She is correct. It is about precedent. It is about whether survivors who test the boundaries of institutional accountability will be met with measured legal defense — or with aggressive financial counterpunches.

The strength of our justice system is not measured by how fiercely institutions defend themselves. It is measured by how fairly they treat those harmed within their sphere of influence.

The Sheriffs’ Association had an opportunity to demonstrate empathy, restraint and respect for the gravity of sexual violence. Instead, it has chosen litigation strategy over moral clarity.

That choice deserves scrutiny.

Judge Hatchett has spent a career presiding over cases where victims sought dignity in the courtroom. In this chapter, she seeks that same dignity for herself — and for others who may come after her.

Justice should not feel like retaliation. And institutions entrusted with public confidence should be especially careful not to appear to punish those who have already endured enough.

Patsy Austin-Gatson is the district attorney for the Gwinnett Judicial Circuit.