The resistance to meaningful reform in Rhode Island’s courts does not come from a single decision or a single rule, it comes from a deeper institutional instinct to preserve discretion and avoid accountability. For decades, judicial culture has been built around the idea that courts function best when judges maintain maximum control over their own courtrooms. A Commission for Access to Justice, with its independence, data collection, and public visibility, would introduce a level of oversight that the judiciary has never had to accept. Discretion is power, and Rule 2.2 (B) protects that power by allowing judges discretion to decide, case by case, whether self‑represented litigants receive the basic accommodations necessary for due process and equal protection provided by our constitution.

Rhode Island Stands Apart

A state without an Access to Justice Commission, a version of Rule 2.2  (B) that allows no accommodations, unless the judge chooses it, and a blatant hostility towards SRLs, requiring them to have attorney level knowledge, the Rhode Island judiciary has baked discrimination into the process. By affirming the decision in the Case Study, RI Supreme Court did more than leave error uncorrected; it continued a tradition under which “no accommodations for SRLs” operates as a loophole, a safe-harbor to disregard SRL record-supported arguments, converting neutrality into advocacy for represented parties.

Beneath this lies an older belief: that the legal system is designed for lawyers, and that people who appear without counsel are exceptions to be managed rather than rights‑holders entitled to full constitutional protection. When self‑represented litigants are viewed as burdens, not participants, it becomes easier for the system to justify optional accommodations. The structure remains intact, and the responsibility for navigating it is shifted onto the individual.  This method of dealing with SRLs was established a long time ago when an SRL appeared only occasionally.  Now with 75% of cases having one SRL, it is time for change, but they are too comfortable doing things the same old way.

Electing the language of Rule 2.2 (B)’s “may” is a perfect example of how institutions protect themselves. It allows the judiciary to claim support for access to justice while ensuring that nothing changes in practice. The appearance of neutrality is preserved, but the underlying inequities remain untouched. A Commission would disrupt that equilibrium by exposing patterns that the system prefers to treat as isolated incidents, patterns of inconsistent rulings, disparate treatment, and predictable disadvantages for those without counsel. Once those patterns are documented, they cannot be dismissed as anecdotal.

There is also a quieter, practical fear: real accommodations require real change. They require clearer procedures, more transparent reasoning, and less reliance on informal, judge‑by‑judge practices. For a system used to complete control, this feels like an administrative burden. But constitutional rights are not optional because they are inconvenient.

In a small legal community like Rhode Island’s, these dynamics are amplified. Relationships are close, hierarchies are entrenched, and institutional self‑protection becomes personal as well as structural. Independence is disruptive in a system built on familiarity.

At the heart of the intransigence is a truth the judiciary has not wanted to confront: if the system acknowledges that self‑represented litigants are being denied due process and equal protection, it must also acknowledge that the courts themselves are responsible. That is the kind of accountability institutions resist most fiercely—not because they are malicious, but because acknowledging structural harm requires changing the structure itself.