The Long Tongue of the Law

One of Ronita Bahri’s first personal injury clients was a teenage refugee who was “physically destroyed” after being hit by a truck, Bahri remembers. The boy and his family were Chaldean Catholics who spoke little English and had settled in the U.S. two years earlier from northern Iraq.

“When it’s someone not American, doesn’t speak the language or know his rights or have people in his corner, the insurance companies love taking advantage,” says Bahri, 35, an associate at Goodman Acker in Southfield. “If that had happened to me when I’d first arrived in America, I don’t know what I would have done.”

But now she knows exactly what to do. Like her client, Bahri is Chaldean, an ethnic group that traces its origins to ancient Babylonia; and she grew up speaking Aramaic and Arabic. She became a lawyer precisely to help people like him.

“It helps me sleep at night knowing that I’m helping the average person. I’m not helping insurance companies or corporations keep dollars in their pockets,” she says. “The cases that matter most are people who come to me in dire situations, feeling like their lives are falling apart.”

In this case, Bahri’s advocacy secured a settlement. “It doesn’t make someone whole, but it helps,” she says. It also built a bond that still exists today. “It’s a beautiful feeling, when you have an almost familial relationship with your clients.”

Family is important to Bahri. She’s the youngest of six, and her mother and siblings still live within about a square mile. She is devoted to her seven nephews and three nieces, often serving as a generational bridge between them and their parents.

“Coming here young, I understand how to balance American culture with our traditions and values,” she says. “They tend to come to me: ‘Can you talk to my mom about this? It doesn’t make sense!’ Then a sister will call and say, ‘You need to speak to your nephew.’”

Like her siblings, Bahri was born in Iraq. Her father died before she was born, leaving her mother alone to manage the family. Chaldeans are a minority in Iraq and often face discrimination; her family was poor and sometimes there wasn’t enough food for all. But their mother “had a survival energy about her all her life. She pushed that onto us,” Bahri says.

The family moved to Jordan where, after two years, they were classified as refugees and granted permission to settle in the U.S. Bahri was 8 years old. In her eyes, “America was this heaven on earth, this paradise.” She imagined stepping off the plane and into a thicket of apple and orange trees. Instead, the family landed in Michigan in the middle of winter. “It was freezing cold and there was black snow and slush on the ground,” she remembers.

Because Bahri’s siblings were older, their focus upon arrival was to quickly finish high school to find work. “They were working full-time jobs at car factories, giving up their dreams and aspirations,” she says. “Because of that, I’ve felt more of a need to become something, so they realize the sacrifices they made for me didn’t go to waste.”

Bahri’s mother would use an Aramaic saying to describe her that roughly translates to saying someone has a long tongue. “It’s someone who likes to fight and argue for other people,” she says. “That always stuck with me.”

After high school, Bahri attended Wayne State University, becoming the first in her family to graduate college. She earned her J.D. at University of San Francisco, before returning to practice in Greater Detroit.

Outside of work and family, Bahri is an active member of the Chaldean-American community. There are about 160,000 in the Detroit metro, according to the Chaldean American Chamber of Commerce. She also works with a group that helps Chaldeans in Iraq rebuild after ISIS destroyed their infrastructure. And in June 2017, she jumped at the opportunity to provide legal advice after more than 100 refugees were taken into custody by Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents.

“This idea that immigrants are coming here and taking jobs, that immigrants are criminals, I can’t wrap my head around it,” she says. “If I had attempted to come to America in 2017, it never would have happened. I think of all the little girls who are not able to come to America and to not be able to live the American dream. It’s heartbreaking.”