From Shy Child to the Supreme Court: Innocence Project Executive Director Christina Swarns’ Rise in Justice Reform 

Named one of America’s top lawyers, Ms. Swarns has spent decades challenging injustice. Here’s how she got there.

02.25.25 By Alyxaundria Sanford

{Photo: Connor Sovak/Innocence Project)

(Photo: Connor Sovak/Innocence Project)

Christina Swarns didn’t grow up dreaming that she would one day become one of the few Black women to argue before the U.S. Supreme Court, let alone win a precedent-setting case like Buck v. Davis, which struck down a racially biased death sentence. In fact, as a self-described shy and introverted child, she wasn’t even sure what she wanted to do career-wise. But life has a way of pulling people toward their purpose, and for Ms. Swarns, that meant becoming one of the most influential voices in criminal justice reform.

Now in her fifth year as executive director of the Innocence Project, Ms. Swarns has spent decades fighting to dismantle the many systemic failures that lead to wrongful convictions, especially for Black and brown people. Along with arguing before the nation’s highest court, she has overturned numerous death sentences rooted in racial bias, and led teams of attorneys at some of the country’s most impactful legal organizations, including the NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund and New York City’s Office of the Appellate Defender. Once dubbed “Lady of the Last Chance” by the American Bar Association Journal and named one of Crain’s Notable 2023 Black Leaders, she was most recently named to the 2025 Lawdragon 500 Leading Lawyers in America list.

But her story isn’t just about big wins — it’s about the path that got her there. In a recent interview, she reflected on her career, the lessons she’s learned, and the legacy she hopes to leave.

(Photo courtesy of Christina Swarns)

Ms. Swarns’ feature in the American Bar Association Journal in 2012. (Photo courtesy of Christina Swarns)

You’ve spoken before about a time in your life when you weren’t sure what direction to take and felt uncertain about your path. Can you share more about that period and how it shaped your personal and professional journey?

I grew up in Staten Island, New York, with a Caribbean immigrant mother who was a teacher and a father from North Carolina who worked in business. I had no idea what I wanted to do — for a while, I even dreamed of being a hairdresser. I eventually found my way to law but had little understanding of it since I had no direct access to lawyers or the legal world.

My knowledge was what I saw on TV. My mother said I had to have an internship that was relevant to my aspirations, so she made the effort for me and got me an internship through a neighbor two doors over, who happened to be a prosecutor. After working that internship for two summers, I enrolled into the University of Pennsylvania Carey Law School, knowing one thing and one thing only, that I would never do criminal law again. 

I did very well in law school, but I actually graduated without a job which was unusual. At that moment it felt like things couldn’t get any worse. It felt deeply embarrassing to be in that position, but also empowering to have the time to figure out what I wanted to do. 

Ms. Swarns graduated from the University of Pennsylvania Carey Law School in 1993. (Photo courtesy of Christina Swarns)

Ms. Swarns graduated from the University of Pennsylvania Carey Law School in 1993. (Photo courtesy of Christina Swarns)

Who helped you find your way during that time?

My sister, Rachel, suggested that I speak to lawyers to learn what they do day-to-day. I had a series of lunches which were informative. And at the same time, my parents said that I needed to at least volunteer. I knew I wanted to work with the NAACP Legal Defense Fund. (Important note, I did not realize it was quite as prestigious as it is.) I picked up the phone and said, “Listen, I got some time on my hands. I have a good degree. And I’m free.” 

Elaine Jones, who was the director-counsel of the NAACP LDF at the time, sat down with me, and she interviewed me and hired me as a volunteer. She gave me options of which divisions I could work in: political participation, education, economic justice or capital punishment. I told her I’d go anywhere. And she sent me to work in capital punishment. That was my first experience in criminal justice from the defense side. And I loved it.

But for many years I didn’t tell this story. I had a lot of imposter syndrome and felt like I had snuck in the backdoor.  

As one of the few Black women to argue before the U.S. Supreme Court, how has your identity impacted your work? Did you take that with you in the courtroom?

Always. The Supreme Court [Buck vs. Davis] case was all about race, and the perceived link between race and criminality, race and violence. For me, it was important that I stood and argued the case because I really viewed myself as a living refutation of what was happening in this case. You can’t talk about Black people being more likely to commit crimes as I stand here, arguing in the highest court in the land. I’ve overwhelmingly represented Black men, and, since I was 27, I overwhelmingly represented people convicted of murder.

I bring my identity with me to strengthen relationships with my clients. I can call out things in ways others may not feel comfortable. I can say, “You and I come from the same places, and so we’re not going to play that nonsense.” I can get to a different place. [My identity] is a shorthand that helps build relationships.