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Data suggests people are more likely to help you if they recognize shared values. Think about your own life—who do you trust, who do you keep close? Most often, it’s people who reflect something familiar back to you. The same principle applies when you’re standing in front of a federal judge.

I’ll use my own case as an example. My sentencing judge was Steven Wilson. At the time, I didn’t stop to ask what mattered to him, and I wish I had. If I had understood his values, I could have framed my message differently.

Judge Wilson’s life showed decades of discipline and accountability. He went to college, then Brooklyn Law School. He worked as a trial attorney, then became an assistant U.S. attorney. He led the fraud and special prosecutions section, moved into private practice in Beverly Hills, and taught law at Loyola and the University of San Diego. In 1985, President Reagan appointed him to the federal bench, where he still serves.

Agree with him or not, you can’t ignore the consistency. Discipline. Public service. Accountability. Hard work. Those values are how he got there. If I had done the exercise of putting myself in his shoes, I would have asked: Do I reflect any of those same values in my life? Could I document them? Could I prove that I wasn’t just another defendant, but someone who shared values he respected?

That’s what I encourage you to do. Start by identifying what matters to your judge. Then ask yourself: What evidence can you present that shows you live by some of those same values? Judges are more inclined to listen when they see something familiar in you.

This requires more than hoping for leniency. It requires engineering how you are seen. That means answering difficult questions in writing, not just in your head:

• How do prosecutors describe you?
  
• What do your victims think about you?
  
• What is in the probation report?
  
• What fractures in your life explain how you ended up here?
  
• What steps are you taking now to repair the damage?
  

Judge Benita Pearson told us that it’s the defendant’s job to show the court every fracture of their life—because without it, all the judge has is the government’s version.

That’s why creating matters. Whether it’s a restitution plan, volunteer work, documented reflection, or a record of new skills, it has to exist on paper. It has to be something the judge can see, not just words said the day of sentencing.

Even outside the courtroom, this principle is universal. I was reminded of it while watching America’s Got Talent with my daughter. A janitor from Indiana got on stage and sang, knowing he could be criticized, knowing he might fail. What moved people wasn’t only his voice—it was that he tried. He put himself out there. That’s what you must do. Silence won’t persuade. Action will.

Judges will always read the government’s version. The question is whether you will give them something else—something that shows you share values they respect. That’s when they start listening.

Justin Paperny