The Fight

The Fight, the latest documentary feature from the directorial trio of Elyse Steinberg, Eli Despres and Josh Kriegman (known for their 2016 Sundance grand jury prize winner, Weiner), is the underdog tale of five American Civil Liberties Union lawyers fighting furiously on the front lines of a relentless war with a federal behemoth: the Trump administration.

This timely film is an enlightening, behind-the-scenes look into the tireless, demanding and often frustrating lives of those who practice civil rights law in the U.S. and how their work and sacrifices affect our daily existence. The Fight makes it clear from the start that the ACLU’s significance in the nation’s legal landscape is paramount, as the organization has fought for constitutional rights for over 100 years.

But the filmmakers’ most pressing point is that the nonprofit’s presence is needed now more than ever, as demonstrated by the 147 (and counting) lawsuits it has filed against the Trump administration since his presidential inauguration in January 2017. Beginning with the Muslim travel ban just seven days after he took office, the ACLU has been hot on the heels of what it sees as Trump’s discriminatory efforts, and shows no sign of slowing down.

The Fight focuses on four momentous cases and the ACLU lawyers who exhaustively litigate them. The first centers on Brigitte Amiri, a reproductive rights attorney working on a crucial case concerning an undocumented minor at the U.S.-Mexico border. The unidentified plaintiff, known as Jane Doe, wants to obtain an abortion but has been detained and directed by the Office of Refugee Resettlement to carry her pregnancy to term, against her will. In a race against time, as Jane Doe is 15 weeks pregnant and abortion is illegal after 20 weeks, Amiri battles around the clock for the rights of her client and every woman who might find herself in the same onerous situation thereafter. More broadly, the case questions the constitutional rights of any person found on U.S. soil — despite their immigration status — and highlights the hotly contested “policy versus personal beliefs” debate.

The story then loops in LGBT rights lawyers Joshua Block and Chase Strangio as they take on the Trump transgender military bans — an order given to the U.S. military to prevent transgender individuals from serving. The lead plaintiff is Brock Stone, a transgender Navy officer who’s chosen as the face of the collective discrimination that Trump’s ban would put in place. According to Stone, the military serves as an embodiment of both his work and family, and the blatantly discriminatory ban risks everything he’s worked for through no fault of his own.

Those pushing for the ban, Block and Strangio argue, object to trans people and the LGBT community on the whole. This stance is further exemplified as the film progresses, with multiple trans military bans and anti-LGBT legislation put in place by the federal government. Still, this subject is tricky within the walls of the ACLU itself, as Block, the case’s lead attorney, is shown grappling with his privilege and position as a cisgender person. He questions whether he should be the one to make the legal argument on behalf of the trans community in conversation with Strangio, the ACLU’s only trans attorney. The two have an exchange that’s both difficult and illuminating as they discuss the complications of identity politics within their organization and the ramifications of their actions in the public sphere.

It’s this type of self-reflection that makes The Fight feel weighty and more than worth a watch. It isn’t blindly patting itself on the back — though it’s clearly pro-ACLU and anti-Trump in premise and sentiment — nor does it argue that the organization is the sole savior of our democracy. Rather, it encourages audiences to see the humanity and complexity behind the movement and perhaps even asks us to look for our role in it.

As the film rolls on, another critical case is introduced: the controversial “Census Question,” a Trump-issued order requiring all persons to answer the question of citizenship on the U.S. census. Dale Ho, the ACLU’s voting rights attorney at the helm of the case, compellingly argues that the “question” is a scare tactic that could be used to intimidate immigrant communities and reduce the participation of non-citizens; an act of voter suppression that would all but completely cut these marginalized communities out of the electoral process.

The landmark case underscores the unequivocal harm of not counting every single person in the country — not just U.S. citizens — and warns against the possibility of states losing federal funding and vital congressional representation, subsequently. As Ho endearingly practices his speech in the mirror and likens this unconstitutional ploy to “using a bazooka to kill a fly,” he unequivocally communicates the heavy political and personal implications at stake.

Despite the film’s firmly rooted pro-ACLU foundation, the filmmakers make an effort to show the limits of unwavering constitutional loyalty and, by extension, the organization’s participation in it. By showcasing the ACLU’s more divisive clientele, most notably those who organized the 2017 white nationalist rally in Charlottesville, Va., the film sheds a much needed light on the darker underbelly of democracy.

The rally — which resulted in indelible displays of hate speech, numerous injuries and the death of Heather Heyer — is seen as divisive even within the ACLU itself, as evinced by the lawyers watching the violent events of that day unfold and offering their differing opinions. Some question if their organization, which permitted the rally to occur under the constraints of the law, somehow sanctioned Heyer’s death. Others wonder whether their institution is somehow at fault and if they would grant the permit today, knowing the devastating outcome.

Others still, most notably the ACLU’s national legal director, David Cole, state that while they might not always agree, the organization’s job is to uphold the law for all, no matter their political views. When he remarks, “It’s not a right for the people you agree with; it’s a right for everyone,” the film becomes complicated with questions that pit morality and ethics against legality. These scenes, though uncomfortable and contentious, add necessary nuance to an otherwise “right side of history” narrative and beg the audience to explore these questions more fully.

Perhaps what the film does most successfully, though, is illustrate the physical and emotional toll that the constant grind for justice takes on those who are tasked with preserving it. Their home lives and personal needs often take a back seat to the larger fight on the horizon, as they endlessly grapple with feelings of guilt, defeat and hopelessness — a worthy, relatable sacrifice that fictional legal dramas rarely capture. The time spent on the road and away from their families, the punishing work-days-turned-into-work-weekends and even the comical “waiting for the verdict to arrive while you anxiously charge your phone in a Starbucks” moments all work seamlessly to give The Fight a more human and accessible identity.

The intensely emotional scenes are thoughtfully intercut with moments of welcomed lightness — like the irreverent reading of hate mail set to peppy music or the deeply relatable snippet of Amiri and her assistant imbibing in celebratory “train wine” after a particularly grueling day — a narrative tactic that smartly prevents the film from ever venturing into dull or defeating territory.

Speaking of defeat, if there’s anyone who embodies the film’s “David versus Goliath” ethos most fully, it’s immigrant rights attorney Lee Gelernt. With his trusty Diet Coke, constantly ringing and simultaneously dying cell phone and exhausted heart on his sleeve, you can’t help but root for the guy. There’s no doubt that he puts himself firmly in the shoes of his clients, as we witness his breaking points on screen — most vividly when he tearfully ponders how he’d feel if his children were taken from him.

His case concerns an asylum-seeking immigrant mother, “Ms. L.,” and her child, from whom she’s been separated. It’s an unbearably heartbreaking tale we’ve all seen on the news before — parents inconsolable as their children are taken from them and held in steel cages — and Gelernt tenderly delivers the message that this government-sanctioned mistreatment is widespread and unlawful.

Viewers get the feeling that he’s fighting for the families who have been brutally separated at the border not just because he’s a guardian of the law, but because it’s the humane thing to do. He’s sure to convey the magnitude of these immigrant abuses by keeping their cruelty at the forefront and offering a startling comparison of the 2019 immigrant detention centers to the Japanese internment camps of 1943. By underlining the gut-wrenching errs of our nation’s past and displaying the tearful reunions of separated families on screen, he and the filmmakers evoke a humanized reality check that viewers can’t help but be moved by.

And that, in essence, is what this documentary is all about. By spotlighting the real-life champions who give a face and sense of urgency to the issues we all encounter, The Fight captivatingly balances sensitivity and responsibility with reality. It intelligently weaves punishing legal edicts with the lives of those who litigate it in a way that feels digestible, interesting and, most importantly, inspiring.

As the end of the film ruminates on the historical implications of this fraught political time, it gives audiences a call to action they cannot ignore. By acknowledging that no single entity will be able to solve every political crisis alone, The Fight makes it abundantly clear that we all must get involved if we want to “turn the ship around.”

Available to rent starting July 31 via fineartstheatre.com and grailmoviehouse.com