As victim-survivors transition out of shelter and housing programs, they are increasingly exposed to the harsh realities of New Jersey’s housing crisis, made worse by growing instability in government funding that supports critical services. At the same time, they face significant and often overlooked barriers in the legal system—especially as the wealth gap continues to widen. Advocates across New Jersey are sounding the alarm about disparities in both family and criminal court, where many victim-survivors—particularly those who don’t qualify as low-income yet cannot afford private counsel—are left at a severe disadvantage. The loss of federal and state funding for organizations like Central Jersey Legal Services only deepens the crisis, limiting the availability of legal aid at a time when demand is rapidly increasing.
As Janet Ginest, Vice President of Transitional Housing at Younity, explained, equitable access to justice shouldn’t depend on whether you can afford a private attorney. But too often, that’s exactly what it comes down to. “If the other party has a lawyer and you don’t,” she said, “your chances of a fair outcome drop dramatically.”
These aren’t minor setbacks—they’re life-altering. Victim-survivors may lose the right to see their children, forfeit child support, or fail to secure criminal convictions due to technical missteps, not lack of merit.
The legal system can be a daunting place for victim-survivors, especially those navigating it without full representation. Whether in family or criminal court, the consequences of going it alone can be devastating.
In family court, even the absence of allegations isn’t enough to ensure fairness. One Younity client, a mother to two children, working with a law school program funded by the Victims of Crime Act (VOCA), lost custody—not because she was accused of anything, but while facing her former spouse’s experienced private attorney without comparable representation. “There wasn’t even an accusation,” said Janet. While a law school clinic technically represented her, the attorneys assigned to her case were recent law school graduates still seeking permanent employment. Due to high turnover and heavy demands placed on the clinic, she cycled through four different lawyers in just nine months. The lack of continuity and representation by an attorney with deep familiarity with her case left her at a severe disadvantage. Law clinics can, and do, provide important aid to victim-survivors. But their capacity is limited. Her chances of retaining custody—or even shared custody—would have been significantly higher with more consistent and adequate representation. This is not equitable access to legal justice.
In criminal court, even strong cases can fall apart without proper representation. One victim-survivor tried to press harassment charges against her abuser. Her case was handled by a public prosecutor, and the defendant was represented by a private attorney. The judge never saw the binder of evidence she had carefully compiled because her public defender at the time never reviewed it. With a Younity advocate present, she later requested a different prosecutor—one who did review the binder and recognize its importance. But by then, it was too late. As the defendant’s attorney pointed out to the judge, “The deadline for submitting evidence passed months ago.” Her stalking and harassment charges were dismissed—not for lack of proof, but because the materials were never officially entered into the record.
There are many public defenders and prosecutors who are deeply committed to their work. However, caseloads are high. It’s rare that victim-survivors have more than a few minutes to speak with their public defender before court, and even rarer that they can discuss strategy in advance. That kind of limited access makes it nearly impossible to build a strong case.
Another victim-survivor, represented by a public defender, pleaded guilty to a charge based on inaccurate legal advice. That conviction—non-expungable—ultimately barred her from employment in the very field where she had the most experience. Had she been given the right information, she may have made a different decision. Without full access to reliable legal guidance, the consequences can be life-altering.
In a separate case, a victim-survivor had a charge that was eventually eligible for expungement—but she wasn’t given the correct legal information up front. After completing a job training program, she was ready to turn over a new leaf and begin a new career. But the unresolved charge blocked her from being hired. While staying in Younity’s transitional housing program, she was unable to save enough to replace her aging car—and without reliable transportation, her ability to maintain employment and housing after leaving the program was at risk. When she finally received the proper legal guidance on how to reapply for expungement, her request was delayed due to a massive court backlog. It wasn’t until she appeared in person with a Younity advocate that her case was finally reviewed.
“People think it’s as simple as, ‘Oh, you can go to a legal aid clinic or represent yourself,’” Janet said. “But court—whether it’s criminal, municipal, or otherwise—has its own rules, its own culture. If you don’t know the process, if you don’t even know what your options are, you can’t fight effectively. When victim-survivors don’t have the same level of support and access to legal representation as the other party, the playing field isn’t level—and the outcomes reflect that.”
While some pro bono assistance is available in New Jersey, most attorneys limit their free legal work to matters that require only a few hours. They rarely take on complex, time-intensive family law cases, leaving many victim-survivors without meaningful legal support.
Building Toward Solutions
What would it take to close this gap? In New Jersey, some proposed solutions—such as court-appointed attorneys in specific custody cases—have been tried and failed. But the need persists, and so does the push for progress.
“Personally, I believe New Jersey needs a dedicated line item in the state budget to fund legal representation for victim-survivors,” Janet said. “There could be clear guidelines for qualifying cases—like custody disputes where one party has an attorney and the other does not—and a sliding fee scale with a higher income and asset cap than what programs like Central Jersey Legal Services are currently permitted to use under their grant restrictions. Their staff is committed and would gladly serve more clients if the funding allowed it.”
“Just because something is a big ask doesn’t mean it’s not worth fighting for,” Janet said. “These are people’s lives. These are their children’s futures.”
Rather than proposing unrealistic mandates, advocates are exploring how to deepen and direct pro bono legal support more strategically. But real change will require collaboration—between legal professionals, nonprofit agencies, survivors, and community leaders. Some ideas gaining traction include:
- Increasing funding for legal clinics and expanding staff capacity to take on complex, time-intensive matters such as child custody and alimony
- Offering incentives—such as training, support, or professional recognition—for attorneys who accept challenging pro bono cases
Community organizations also have a powerful role to play in this shared effort. By working together, they can:
- Create a shared database of client stories that highlight systemic barriers to equitable legal access
- Encourage staff to document anonymized case examples that reveal patterns of injustice
- Partner with advocacy groups like the New Jersey Coalition to End Domestic Violence (NJCEDV) to compile and present compelling evidence
- Host joint forums where survivors can safely share their experiences
- Develop coordinated strategies that use real-world narratives to influence policy
- Train staff in ethical story collection and consent protocols
- Present these stories directly to legislators to drive change
The key is to build a collective, evidence-based approach centered on victim-survivors’ lived experiences—while protecting their dignity and safety. Only then can policy begin to reflect the real-world complexity of what victim-survivors face.
Advocacy groups like NJCEDV are already gathering evidence to build a case for systemic change. “We’re not going to fix this overnight,” Janet said. “But stories matter. When you hear someone say they lost custody—or even shared custody—because they couldn’t afford consistent legal representation, it’s not abstract anymore. It’s real. It’s devastating. And it motivates people to act.”
Organizations like Younity are committed to being part of that statewide movement—collecting stories (with consent), raising awareness, and working alongside others to ensure victim-survivors aren’t forced to face the legal system alone. In the past year alone, Younity court advocates supported 1,249 survivors navigating municipal and family courts—offering critical guidance in moments that often determine a person’s safety, custody, or long-term stability.
“Working in transitional housing allows me to witness the long-term outcomes,” Janet said. “Losing child visitation, failing to obtain protection without legal help, or struggling to find work all have impacts that go beyond the courtroom. It echoes through every part of their life. That’s what keeps me fighting. That’s why we can’t stop pushing for change.”
Because when we work together—sharing stories, sharing power, and demanding better—we are stronger than abuse.
