Happy new year!

It’s been an amazing year for me in all sorts of ways. A small one is that for the first time ever I got something like this: a nomination for a best law blog award — I think you can improve my chances by clicking on that little plus sign under the information on my blog and Brian Ledbetter’s name — thanks for the nomination, Brian!

And as a new year’s wish, here’s one of my favorite all-time mashups:

Holy flipping animal crackers, that doesn’t even warrant a response . . .

Robert Lanham comes up with the definitive response to concerns that the publishing industry is dying – ENG 371WR: Writing for Nonreaders in the Postprint Era. The course description is priceless, beginning as follows:

As print takes its place alongside smoke signals, cuneiform, and hollering, there has emerged a new literary age, one in which writers no longer need to feel encumbered by the paper cuts, reading, and excessive use of words traditionally associated with the writing trade. Writing for Nonreaders in the Postprint Era focuses on the creation of short-form prose that is not intended to be reproduced on pulp fibers.

Bob Dylan: The Christmas Blues/No life is too minor to matter.

Michael Gerson:

A child of questionable parentage, born into humble circumstances, in a provincial backwater, begins a short life that ends in an execution. Yet it is somehow the hinge of history. Christmas tilts the universe toward the humble. It asserts that every child, in every stable, deserves angel choirs and the tribute of kings. It means that no life is too minor to matter; that the stars are warm and sheltering; that desperate prayers are heard and heeded; that every quiet, unnoticed death disturbs the cosmos; that memory boxes filled by children hold relics of eternity.

Hat tip to Ray Ward.

Merry Christmas from an atheist Jew

My favorite religious story from childhood turns out, no surprise, to be a law story. I will tell it here from memory, without resort to sources or hyperlinks. Law and religion tend to get muddled in disputes over minutiae, and this is my story for today.

At the time Jesus was born, there were two leading “rabbis,” which may be a misleading term, but is meant to convey that they were both religious teachers and religious judges. Hillel was the one we would today call a liberal. Shammai was the strict constructionist. Two of their disagreements that I recall had to do with women and marriage. Shammai insisted that to call your bride beautiful on your wedding day if she was not in fact beautiful was a lie and therefore unacceptable. Hillel said instead that on her wedding day every bride is beautiful. Another point of contention was over the degree of evidence necessary to establish a husband had died in order that his widow could remarry. Shammai insisted that first-hand evidence of death had to be produced. Hillel held that circumstantial evidence would be sufficient.

But the story I remember best is of the non-Jew who came to Shammai and said that he would convert if, while he stood on one foot, the rabbi could explain to him the whole of the Torah. Shammai dismissed him in a huff, taking the question and the questioner as nothing but harassment. The man then went to Hillel and asked him the same question. Hillel responded:

What is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow: this is the whole Torah; the rest is commentary. Go and study.

And the man converted and devoted his life to study.

Breaking through to the other side: the music and publishing industries are dying. Music and writing will live on in new ways, and we’re living through the revolution.

My sister, Amy Friedman, is a brilliant writer who, like most artists I know who make their livings as artists, has managed to make her way by working her butt off doing a million different writerly things. She wrote a weekly column for the Kingston Weekly Standard, Canada’s oldest newspaper. In 1992 she began to write Tell Me a Story, which, on a weekly basis syndicated by Universal Press Syndicates, produces an “original story or a children’s classic accompanied by a captivating illustration that will launch the imagination.” She must now have written over a thousand of these stories. Two compilations of these stories have been published as books, Tell Me a Story and The Spectacular Gift. She personally produced 3 CD collections of these stories read by actors and backed by music composed specifically for each work. (You can buy them here, individually or as a 3 CD boxed set). Each one of the CDs has won numerous awards, and the most recent was the Winner of 2009 Parents Choice Gold Medal and 2009 NAPPA Gold Medal for story telling. John Wood of Kid Muzic wrote of the first CD: “The talent is first-rate from top to bottom. The stories literally jump off the CD and into the listener’s imagination – I love the choices on all levels! This is the real deal”

Amy has also written 2 works of non-fiction, Kick the Dog and Shoot the Cat and Nothing Sacred: A Conversation With Feminism. She continues to write and publish both fiction and nonfiction for newspapers, magazines and literary journals. She also performs her stories, often accompanied by musicians, in schools and at summer festivals. She is presently working on a novel, a collection of short stories and a television adaptation of Tell Me a Story. She’s a brilliant teacher of writing too.

In short, Amy is an artist, she works like hell at it, she produces brilliant work, and she has never, to put it mildly, been economically secure in the way, say, many of my law students expect to be.

So I took it very seriously when she sent me the following yesterday:

All the authors I know, every one of them, is freaking out. Celebrity books. No reviewers anywhere. Insane advances to celebrities leaving nothing left for others, no reviewers, too many reviewers, Kindle, celebrity books, the death of Editor and Publisher and Kirkus Reviews, all the authors I know are freaking out. If my memoir had gone to editors even three years ago, it would be sold by now. Everyone’s scared. Whaddya think? http://bit.ly/5O2CQI

I’m choosing not to freak out. I’m choosing to say, this too shall pass, and it will enliven the art world in some new way. (That’s my prayer, anyway)

In the article Amy linked to, Katharine Weber, a former National Book Critics Circle board of directors member, novelist and short story writer, details some of the changes wrought by the internet on book publishing and concludes, among other things, “That literary work will continue to lose value as it is seen even more as just another form of communication, rather than as a work of art with its own integrity.”

There are 2 important points I want to make here: (1) I do not write incessantly about copyright and the slippery notion of authorship as some ivory tower intellectual without strong connections to artists and art art of all sorts, and (2) I have a very personal stake in these questions. So this (with some slight edits) is what I wrote back to Amy yesterday:

Not freaking out is always the better choice. I can’t think of a situation in which freaking out adds value; in fact, I can’t think of a situation in which freaking out doesn’t considerably worsen the situation.

But the fact so many people are freaking out is, in my opinion, because we’re living through a frigging technological revolution. Come on, you remember your Marx. The stuff he was brilliant about: material and economic reality determine cultural reality. Cultural reality has an effect on material reality too. That’s why the experience of a cultural freakout is not a healthy thing. It leads to bad decisions. Had Jack Valenti and the entire film industry had their way, there would be no VHS machines, no CD and DVD burners, etc., etc. But it turned out that the VHS was the biggest financial boon the film industry had ever experienced.

The way we produce, copy, and disseminate information had entirely changed. Anyone sitting in a coffee shop can produce a document that looks as if it’s been typeset. (And I’m sure my students have no clue what typesetting is.) That document can be copied at virtually no cost, and disseminated world-wide at virtually no cost. So, guess what? The entire publishing industry as we’ve known it is a walking corpse. You can almost imagine the zombie image composed of parts of Sarah Palin, Oprah, Dan Brown, and Tiger Woods lumbering down Manhattan’s avenues.

What will result? I don’t know yet. But I strongly disagree with Katherine Weber’s statement that “literary work will continue to lose value as it is seen even more as just another form of communication, rather than as a work of art with its own integrity.” The idea that literary work is anything other than a vast cultural discussion is a relic of the Romantics.

And there will still be books bought. They’ll be read on electronic readers a lot and in codex form a lot – I’m pretty sure demand for the scroll and the inscribed tablet has vanished entirely. And there will be some illicit copying and distribution (that might not in the end result in a net loss to the author).

But sure, publishing houses and anyone who’s convinced her livelihood is dependent on publishing houses is freaking out. Let them. The recording industry once had a monopoly on producing and distributing recorded music. Now any kid can do it on his laptop. And musicians are still making money. The music industry will scream and scream that the internet is killing it, but that’s because the music industry’s ways of producing and distributing music over the past 100 years have as much relevance today as the horse and carriage industry’s ways of producing and distributing means of transportation had after the automobile became widely used.

As Mike Masnick at techdirt has written, a recent report by 2 British economists (pdf) demonstrates that “the UK music industry is actually growing. Let me repeat that: despite all of the whining and complaining about the state of the music industry, some of the music industry’s own economists are admitting that the market is growing. Not surprisingly, it found that retail product sales have declined, but the other parts of the industry have grown noticeably more than the decline in retail sales. This growth has come from a few sources. Live show attendance has increased more than retail sales have decreased. Consumers have actually spent more. On top of that, the business to business side of the industry (sponsorships, licensing, advertisements, etc.) has grown as well, opening up new and lucrative means of making money.”

Neither Masnick nor I would paint the present situation has some new technologically produced utopia — too much of the money in the music industry is going to touring artists from the ancient days of our youths, among other things. But the point he is making is that trying to pass laws and create digital locks and promote misleading propaganda is not going to recreate a model of producing and distributing recorded music that no longer makes any sense.

Something new is developing, there’s no stopping it, and the thrilling thing is that we are part of creating it.

If I had to bet, I suspect in the long run we’ll probably end up with fewer writers making too much money, and more making at least some.

But there’s been literature for what, at least 3000 years? The fall of the structure which produced and sold it in the 20th Century capitalist West won’t mean there won’t be great literature. There may be more. I really think so.

I bought and started re-reading Lewis Hyde’s Trickster Makes this World yesterday. The Trickster is the character who operates between realms, at doorways, through openings that others don’t cross either because they don’t see them or they’re afraid of what’s on the other side. (The intro to Hyde’s book is available as a pdf here — provided by Hyde himself.) And the trickster is the artist. If there’s ever been a doorway to a new reality in the world of literature, we’re facing it head on. Let’s break on through to the other side!

“Authorship is rarely a simple question.” — Architecture this time

I’ve written before that it boggles my mind when people write seriously that legal documents that duplicate others might constitute copyright violations. Originality is not of any value in a legal document — the document’s effectiveness in accomplishing its purpose is all that matters. Moreover, as I’ve also mentioned, legal writing is a quintessentially collaborative enterprise. Of course, law is not unique in this regard. In the course of finishing up a paper on the nature of a judge as an “author,” I came across a story from the New York Times written in 2005 about why accusations of plagiarism by architects rarely make it to court. Guess what? Architecture too is largely a collaborative enterprise. As the story states:

One reason accusations of plagiarism [between architects] rarely make it to court is that architecture, despite the romantic image of the solitary genius, is largely a collaborative pursuit. Principal, project architect, project designer and outside consultants of all stripes contribute to a design. All the while, young architects move from firm to firm, spreading ideas and sometimes eventually opening their own, competing offices. As for student architects, well, just because they don’t get paid for their work doesn’t mean it never enters the commercial arena. There’s so much rich activity going on at the schools,” said Bill Sharples of the Manhattan firm SHoP/Sharples Holden Pasquarelli, ‘it’s hard not to be influenced by it.’ With so many influences and so many echoes, authorship is rarely a simple question.”

SNAFU, anyone?

It’s not for nothing the word “snafu” is a military coinage. Ars Technica reports that “militants [in Iraq and Afghanistan] have been intercepting US Predator drone video feeds using laptops and a $30 piece of Russian software, and that the military has known of this vulnerability since the Nineties. But at least we have our priorities straight:

Operating system vendors have built entire “protected path” setups to guard audio and video all the way through the device chain. TVs and monitors now routinely use HDCP copy protection to secure their links over HDMI cables. Game consoles are packed with encryption schemes to prevent copied games from playing. Microsoft even goes out of its way to add encryption when Windows Media Center records unencrypted over-the-air TV content. Even the humble DVD, with its long-since-breached CSS encryption, offers more in the way of encryption.

But US drones, which spy on militants and rain down death from a distance, have none. The mind boggles, as it seems like the situation should be totally reversed: no encryption on legally-purchased content, more encryption on devices designed to watch and kill human beings.

But the fact Obama didn’t immediately bow down to the military and order up General McChrystal’s 40,000 troops the moment they were demanded was “dithering.” Too bad Johnson didn’t follow Kennedy’s lead and dither himself in Vietnam:

In November 1961 Kennedy sent Gen. Maxwell Taylor and foreign policy adviser Walt Rostow to South Vietnam. On their return they reported that it was possible for the South Vietnamese to defeat the Communist insurgents without an American takeover of the war effort if the United States provided strong political backing for the South Vietnamese government and provided substantially in-creased military and economic assistance. They further recommended that President Kennedy send 8,000 combat troops to South Vietnam. Kennedy decided against sending combat troops but authorized the deployment of up to 15,000 military advisers. By the time of Kennedy’s assassination in November 1963 the U.S. effort in Vietnam was costing $400 million a year, and about 12,000 military advisers were providing assistance to the South Vietnamese military effort. By the end of 1963 there had been only 70 American casualties.

Of course, in “January 1964 the Joint Chiefs of Staff had sent President Johnson a memo urging him to increase the U.S. commitment and to consider a bombing campaign against North Vietnam. By following these two strategies the military hoped that the war could be won more quickly. The commitment of U.S. troops was doubled; by the end of 1964 there were 23,300 Americans serving in Vietnam.”

Bobby Fuller: I Fought the Law

If you understand the uses and limits of maps, you can begin to understand the uses and limits of legal rules (and it doesn’t hurt to know the offside rules in soccer and hockey)

Jeff Lipshaw of Suffolk Law School has been asked to teach Suffolk’s six credit contracts course next year and has “been puzzling . . . about . . . teaching philosophy.” As he claims, “Contracts is the often the bane of the first year experience, and I am thinking about hitting the reasons head on.” I think Lipshaw’s point is the same I’ve been trying to get across frequently in this blog — learning law (and perhaps, especially, contract law)  is not a matter of learning rules you apply to the world, thence to go on your merry way as a lawyer who knows and understands law. Rules are useful guides, but different rules are useful in different situations; when a situation changes, a particular rule may be useless — it may be too specific, and not take into account specifics never contemplated when the rule was formulated, or it may be too general to be of any practical use.

Lipshaw writes (emphasis added):

I’ve concluded instead that the way to approach the subject (and relieve some student angst at the same time) is to reject at the outset the idea that what they are learning maps on the real world.  It is more helpful to think of contract law as most casebooks begin – with the idea of the objective law of contracts, or, as we say more explicitly in areas like partnership, the default rules upon which the legal consequences of a binding promise will be imposed on parties after the fact when indeed there is no subjective evidence of an intent to be bound at all, or legally, or on what specific terms. . . . Said with more jargon, contract law may or may not map well onto the reality of private ordering, and the mistake most students make is to try to make the map work. No – an integrated law of contracts, if one exists, is a figment of the . . . imagination, a way of trying to make unified sense of the whole of private ordering, whether that sense-making is by way of formalism or contextualism (or efficiency or the promise principle, to bring the debate forward in time).

Put otherwise, if the reality of private ordering is metropolitan Boston, contract doctrine is a map, based on the mapmaker’s view of what is important.  But you could have a road map of major highways, a topographic map, a detailed street map, a map of population densities, etc.  This is merely one map, or several competing maps. . . . .

Finally, the difficulty with putting aside whatever sense of reality we might have, and reconstructing the rules of the model (or game?) on their own is a little like trying to master the rules of cricket without making analogies to baseball, or the rules of rugby without making analogies to American or international football.  Let’s say you are playing cricket, and you do something that cause the other team to cry “foul!”  You have to make your argument why what you did was legal in cricket terms, not baseball terms.  That doesn’t mean there couldn’t have been other ways to play cricket, or that the world would be better off if we interpreted the rules of cricket differently, but to win the argument we have to fashion it in a way that appears to be consistent with cricket.  Contract law is the set of rules making up the objective contract litigation game, and some arguments based on those rules are cricket, and some are not.

A map that I draw you to get you to my house will likely be of little use in helping you navigate your way to other places in Ohio, but it will be very helpful as a means of getting you to my house. Then again, most maps of Ohio I’ve seen would be of little use in getting you to my house (which is on a road leading from one side street ending in 2 other side streets, none of which lead to a street (much less a highway) of any significance). And I could explain to you how being offside in soccer is akin to being offside in hockey, and doing so would help you understand the common purposes of the 2 rules (to avoid cherry picking), but when I’m arguing about being offside in soccer I better not be using rules and jargon from ice hockey.

Or, if you’d like to get even more involved in considering the role of maps in understanding the uses and abuses of rules, it’s well worth considering an article written by Boaventura De Sousa Santos, Law: a Map of Misreading. Toward a Postmodern Conception of Law, 14 J. of Law and Society 279, 282-283 (1987)(footnotes omitted; hyperlinks added):

UNDERSTANDING MAPS

The main structural feature of maps is that in order to fulfill their function they inevitably distort reality. The great Argentinian writer Jorge Luis Borges has told us the story of the emperor who ordered the production of an exact map ofhis empire. He insisted that the map should be exact to the most minute detail. The best cartographers of the time were engaged in this important project. Eventually, they produced the map and, indeed, it could not possibly be more exact, as it coincided point by point with the empire. However, to their frustration, it was not a very practical map, since it was of the same size asthe empire.

To be practical a map cannot coincide point by point with reality. However, the distortion of reality thus produced will not automatically involve the distortion of truth, if the mechanisms by which the distortion of reality is accomplished are known and can be controlled. And, indeed, that is the case. . . . As the American cartographer Mark Monmonier put it:

[A]ll advantages and limitations of maps derive from the degree to which maps reduce and generalise reality, compress or expand shapes and distances and portray selected phenomena with signs that communicate without necessarily resembling visible or invisible characteristics of the landscapes. The three elements of a map are interdependent. Scale influences the amount of detail that can be shown and determines whether or not a particular kind of symbol will be visually effective.

Maps should be convenient to use. There is thus a permanent tension in maps between representation and orientation. These are contradictory claims and maps are always unstable compromises between them. Too much representation may hinder orientation, as we saw in Borges’s map. Inversely, a very accurate orientation may result from a rather poor and elementary representation of reality.

When you are invited to a party in a house whose location you do not know, the host will probably draw a map which will be very effective in orienting you though very inaccurate in representing the features of the environment along the way to your destination. One more example: some of you may have seen medieval portolans, those maps of ports and coasts well-renowned in the Middle Ages which, though very poor as far as representation of the globe goes, were very effective in orienting navigators .at sea. There are maps that solve the tension between representation and orientation in favour of representation. These I would call, borrowing from French cartography, image maps. Other maps solve the tension in favourof orientation. These are instrumental maps.

I would like to suggest that this dialectic of representation and orientation applies to law as much as it applies to maps. In the analysis of .the relations between law and society we should [consider] the simple paradigm of correspondence/non-correspondence. In the following I will linger on maps a little while to analyse in more detail each one of the procedures through which maps distort reality. In the process I hope to interest you in the fascinating world of maps. As Josef Konvitz has said, “lt is a supreme irony that maps, though they are one ofthe most common cultural metaphors, are still far from occupying the place they deserve in the history of mentalities.”

One common distortion of which most of us remain unaware is the ways the traditional mercator projection of the map of the world grossly distorts the relative sizes of the earth’s various landmasses. Below is the Arno Peters map , which, as Sirius Bark of Temple 3 explains “isn’t perfect (every map (and rule) creates some distortion), but . . . does address some of the overall size distortions which dominate our more well-known Mercator projections” (emphasis and hyperlinks added):

A cell phone really (not just abstractly) is different than an address book.

The Ohio Supreme Court ruled yesterday (pdf) that police officers must obtain a search warrant before searching the contents of a suspect’s cell phone unless the officers’ safety is at stake. The specific data at issue were the records of the telephone calls made to and from the suspect’s cell phone.  As the court made clear, “[o]nce the cell phone is in police custody, the state has satisfied its immediate interest in collecting and preserving evidence and can take preventive steps to ensure that the data found on the phone is neither lost nor erased. But because a person has a high expectation of privacy in a cell phone’s contents, police must then obtain a warrant before intruding into the phone’s contents.” Slip op., ¶23.

In reaching its decision, the court first distinguished cell phones from “closed containers,” “physical objects capable of holding other physical objects.” Such objects on or in the vicinity of a suspect are subject to search without a warrant. ” Indeed, the United States Supreme Court has stated that in this situation, ‘container’ means ‘any object capable of holding another object.’  One such example is a cigarette package containing drugs found in a person’s pocket.” Id., ¶19 (citations omitted). The dissenin the Ohio case concluded that the cell phone is a “closed container” because “a cell phone’s digital address book is akin to traditional address books carried on the person. Courts have upheld police officers’ search of an address book found on an arrestee’s person during a search incident to a lawful arrest.  The phone’s call list is similar, showing a list of telephone numbers that called to or were called from the phone.” Id., ¶34.

The dissent’s reasoning seems odd. The phone’s call list is not “similar” to an “address book.” The call list is electronically generated by making and receiving telephone calls, and thus is the same kind of electronically generated information regularly produced by, among other devices, your laptop. Thus, the majority of the court were convinced that because modern cell phones “have the capacity for storing immense amounts of private information” they are thus are more like laptop computers, in which arrestees have significant privacy interests — in contrast to address books or pagers found on their persons, in which defendants have lesser privacy interests. Id., ¶18. The court did not equate cell phones precisely to laptops (though no doubt iPhone users might take exception to the court’s failure to do so), but the similarity, in combination with the fact the police have the means necessary by warrant to obtain information from a cell phone, compelled the court’s conclusion:

Although cell phones cannot be equated with laptop computers, their ability to store large amounts of private data gives their users a reasonable and justifiable expectation of a higher level of privacy in the information they contain. Once the cell phone is in police custody, the state has satisfied its immediate interest in collecting and preserving evidence and can take preventive steps to ensure that the data found on the phone is neither lost nor erased. But because a person has a high expectation of privacy in a cell phone’s contents, police must then obtain a warrant before intruding into the phone’s contents. Id., ¶24.

The dissent, on the other hand, unable to distinguish a cell phone from an address book, accused the majority of “needlessly embark[ing] upon a review of cell phone capabilities in the abstract.” Id., ¶30.

Funny, I didn’t know that the review of differences between cell phones and address books in 2009 required “abstract” thinking.

Don’t let your clients send you emails from their employers’ email systems.

Mike Masnick at techdirt has an interesting item about a court decision that “personal emails sent from work computers can still be considered privileged and confidential as an attorney-client communication.” Masnick notes, however, that “[w]e’ve seen plenty of cases where courts have said that an individual has no expectation of privacy on emails sent from work.” And he realizes that the case he’s discussing isn’t the typical employee e-mail case; instead, “it dealt with a federal prosecutor who was fired, and is trying to claim that the firing was for his whistle-blowing. He was trying to access the emails of a US Attorney that he believes will reveal why he was fired. So it wasn’t a case of a company trying to review the email (which is normally the case in these types of lawsuits). And, as such, it makes sense.”

But Masnick has a more interesting question: suppose you e-mail your lawyer from your employer’s e-mail system — is your e-mail protected by the attorney-client privilege from disclosure to your employer? As Masnick wonders:

[W]hat would happen in a lawsuit where it was the employer looking at the material? If a company has a regular program of recording and examining employee email (as many do), then how would the issue be resolved? It would seem that, in such circumstances, it would make a lot less sense to consider the content protected, since the employer is not asking for it, but already has access to it.

I think Masnick is right that your e-mail to your attorney, sent from an e-mail system you know your employer has access to (pursuant to typical employee e-mail policies), is not subject to the attorney-client privilege. And if it’s not protected by the privilege, anyone who has a right to it as relevant evidence in a lawsuit will be able to get it, not merely the author’s employer.

Why? The mere communication between client and lawyer does not establish the existence of an attomey·client relationship ”It is of the essence of the privilege that it is limited to those communications which the client either expressly made confidential or which he could reasonably assume under the circumstances would be understood by the attorney as so intended.” McCormick on Evidence § 91 (4th ed. 1972).

Thus, to establish confidentiality, (1) “[t]he client must intend his communications with his attorney to be confidential, (2) [t]he client’s subjective intention of confidentiality must be reasonable under the circumstances, and (3) the confidentiality must have been subsequently maintained. A subjective expectation of privacy can sometimes be ascertained from the client’s express intentions.” Those intentions must be determined from the circumstances surrounding the communication. William P. Matthews, Encoded Confidences: Electronic Mail the Intemet, and the Attorney-Giant Privilege, 45 U. Kan. L. Rev. 273, 283 (1996).

In short, in considering whether the privilege applies, the courts focus on the precautions taken to preserve confidentiality and the parties’ “reasonable expectation of privacy.” Wendy R. leibowitz, Communication in the E·Mail Era: Deciphering the Risks and Fears, Nat’l LJ., Aug. 4, 1997, at B9.

Lawyers are like priests or doctors — you learn early on that your client’s confidence’s are sacred and that your knowledge of them will go to the grave with you. You learn too that disclosure of those confidences to third parties destroys them. So you don’t discuss client business on elevators, in subways, in taxis, on planes, in restaurants, in coffee shops, on crowded sidewalks . . . . You know a client’s “friend” who is along for moral support but not part of the case should not be present for discussions that should be kept confidential.

In short, you know that if there’s a reasonable likelihood someone else may be in on the communication (whether by listening in or by opening the letter or e-mail), the communication is not confidential. And it doesn’t seem to me that an employee has a reasonable expectation that someone else may not be “in on” the communications he makes via e-mail from work. As the Privacy Rights Clearing House puts it:

Is electronic mail private? What about voice mail?

In most cases, no. If an electronic mail (e-mail) system is used at a company, the employer owns it and is allowed to review its contents. Messages sent within the company as well as those that are sent from your terminal to another company or from another company to you can be subject to monitoring by your employer. This includes web-based email accounts such as Yahoo and Hotmail as well as instant messages. The same holds true for voice mail systems. In general, employees should not assume that these activities are not being monitored and are private. Several workplace privacy court cases have been decided in the employer’s favor. See for example: Bourke v. Nissan, Smyth v. Pillsbury, Shoars v. Epson.

In short, if you’re communicating with your lawyer in the course of what you consider a lawyer-client communication, don’t use your employer’s email system. You might just as well be speaking with your lawyer in the back seat of a taxi with the cabbie listening in.

Who owns the rights to ebooks – publishers who bought the rights to publish “in book form” or the original authors? I’ll bet on the authors.

Who owns the rights to electronic versions of books governed by contracts published back in the days when there was no such thing as an e-book?

Typically, the contracts an author signed with the publishers of those books gave the publisher the exclusive right to publish “in book form” or “in any and all editions.” According to the New York Times (hyperlinks added),

In 2001, Random House sued RosettaBooks, an e-book publisher, for copyright infringement when Rosetta signed contracts with authors . . . to release digital versions of previously published novels.

In its suit, Random House relied on wording in its contracts that granted it all rights to publish the works “in book form.”. . .

In 2001, a federal judge in Manhattan denied Random House’s request for a preliminary injunction against RosettaBooks, ruling that “in book form” did not automatically include e-books. An appellate court similarly denied Random House’s request.

On Friday, however, the Times reports (hyperlinks in original) that “Markus Dohle, chief executive of Random House, sent a letter (pdf) to dozens of literary agents, writing that the company’s older agreements gave it ‘the exclusive right to publish in electronic book publishing formats.’” According to Mr. Dohle’s letter:

The vast majority of our backlist contracts grant us the exclusive right to publish books in electronic formats, as well as more traditional physical formats. At the same time, we are aware there have been some misunderstandings conceming ebook rights in older backlist titles. Our older agreements often give the exclusive right to publish “in book form” or “in any and all editions”. Many of those contracts also include enhanced language that references other forms of copying or displaying the text that might be developed in the future or other relevant language that more specifically reflects the already expansive scope of rights. Such grants are usually not limited to any specitic format, and indeed the “f0rm” of a book has evolved over the years to include variations of hardcover, paperback and other written word fonnats, all of which have been understood to be included in the grant of book publishing rights. Indeed, ebook retailers market, merchandise and sell ebooks as an alternate book format, alongside the hardcover, trade paperback, and mass market versions of a given title. Whether physical or digital, the product is used and experienced in the same manner, serves the same function, and satisfies the same fundamental urge to discover stories, ideas and infomation through the process of reading.

Accordingly, Random House considers contracts that grant the exclusive right to publish “in book form” or.”in any and all editions” to include the exclusive right to publish in electronic book publishing formats. Our agreements also contain broad non-competition provisions. so that the author is precluded from granting publishing rights to third parties that would compromise the rights for which Random House has bargained. We believe the effective exercise of electronic rights is key to the future of publishing and that the combined marketing of print and digital formats increases overall sales and creates the largest possible pool of revenues for authors and publishers, Our efforts and investments in the digital realm perfectly complement Random House’s unmatched physical sales and distribution capabilities, which remain a centerpiece of our business and relationships.

But William Styron’s family disputes Random House’s assertions that it owns the rights to publish electronic versions of Mr. Styron’s books. One problem with Random House’s position is that, despite what Mr. Dohle writes, Random House’s contract with Mr. Styron did not grant to Random House rights that refer to “forms of copying or displaying the text that might be developed in the future,” and, in further contradiction to Mr. Dohle’s words, were quite explicit in being “limited to . . . specific format[s].” As the District Court decision in the case between Random House and Rosetta Stone makes clear, Styron’s contract granted Random House “an exclusive license to ‘print, publish and sell the work in book form,’ Styron also gave it the right to ]license publication of the work by book clubs,’ ‘license publication of a reprint edition,’ ‘license after book publication the publication of the work, in whole or in part, in anthologies, school books,’ and other shortened forms, ‘license without charge publication of the work in Braille, or photographing, recording, and microfilming the work for the physically handicapped,’ and ‘publish or permit others to publish or broadcast by radio or television … selections from the work, for publicity purposes ….’”

The court reasons that the “separate grant language . . . to convey the rights to publish book club editions, reprint editions, abridged forms, and editions in Braille . . . would not be necessary if the phrase ‘in book form’ encompassed all types of books. That [language] specifies exactly which rights were being granted by the author to the publisher.”

The court further opined that “a reasonable person ‘cognizant of the customs, practices, usages and terminology as generally understood in the particular trade or business,’  would conclude that the grant language does not include ebooks. ‘To print, publish and sell the work in book form” is understood in the publishing industry to be a ‘limited’ grant.’” (citations and footnote omitted)

Finally, the court pointed out that Random House itself had acknowledged that ebooks are a new medium (and thus, presumably, not within the contemplation of the parties when they entered into their agreements to allocate their respective rights):

In this case, the “new use” – electronic digital signals sent over the internet – is a separate medium from the original use – printed words on paper. Random House’s own expert concludes that the media are distinct because information stored digitally can be manipulated in ways that analog information cannot. Ebooks take advantage of the digital medium’s ability to manipulate data by allowing ebook users to electronically search the text for specific words and phrases, change the font size and style, type notes into the text and electronically organize them, highlight and bookmark, hyperlink to specific parts of the text, and, in the future, to other sites on related topics as well, and access a dictionary that pronounces words in the ebook aloud. The need for a software program to interact with the data in order to make it usable, as well as the need for a piece of hardware to enable the reader to view the text, also distinguishes analog formats from digital formats. See Greenberg v. National Geographic Soc’y, 244 F.3d 1267, 1273 n.12 (11th Cir. 2001) (Digital format is not analogous to reproducing the magazine in microfilm or microfiche because it “requires the interaction of a computer program in order to accomplish the useful reproduction involved with the new medium.”). (citation omitted; hyperlink added).

There’s no question the publishing houses are fighting for their very existence. It’s interesting, though, that copyright holders are fighting the publishing companies over those rights. So much of the focus in this area of late has been over Google’s right to copy books to make them searchable so that they could be found and, as a result, purchased or otherwise obtained from the rightful owners of the books themselves. But now it’s the publishers who are trying to stretch the rights they contractually negotiated for decades ago to realms no one imagined at the time.

It will be interesting to see where this goes next. As a contracts professor, my first impression is that Random House isn’t exactly in the strongest of positions.

Interpreting, accurately, what isn’t there — the Redactor’s Dilemma

Any lawyer knows that “non-facts” — what people don’t do, things that don’t happen, words that aren’t said — are as telling as what we typically think of as “facts.” Julian Sanchez, in a post entitled The Redactor’s Dilemma, gives a brilliant demonstration of this truth. Sanchez has been “poring over the FOIA documents on cell phone lojacking obtained by the ACLU.” Like many stacks of documents lawyers are accustomed to examining, the ones Sanchez examined are heavily redacted. As he explains:

[O]ver time, you start developing little heuristics for trying to put the puzzle pieces together, to at least limit the domain of what might be in those black boxes. What can context tell you? What can you infer from the length of the redacted material? Looking at these sets of documents, I think I may have picked up on an interesting variation on Mike Masnick’s “Streisand Effect”—that now-familiar phenomenon where efforts to suppress information end up drawing all the more attention to it.

It was pretty easy for Sanchez to figure out that one of the redactions was the statutory definition of “basic subscriber information” found in the U.S. Code, and his first reaction was to wonder [w]hat sort of jackass . . . had concluded that the contents of American public laws were some kind of operational secret?” But then, of course, he realized “the investigative technique [the redactors were] taking pains to conceal . . . involved exploiting that part of the statute in some crucial way.” The post is worth reading in its entirety for the truth it uncovers: prosecutors are seeking cell tower information from telcoms, rather than GPS info, because doing so requiring the prosecutors to satisfy a lower legal standard and they can easily get enough from that information to determine where a person is.

But what I find most interesting is what Sanchez calls the Redactor’s Dilemma — the huge risk that redactions themselves will reveal to informed readers what it is that’s been redacted:

Imagine you’re given the task of censoring documents like these for public release. There are some bits that you just obviously cut out—whole paragraphs describing operational details that, for good reasons or bad, you want to keep secret. But that won’t be quite enough. Because you’re probably going to have folks reading the documents who know a little something about the law, a little something about the relevant technology, and a little something about surveillance tactics generally. Folks who might piece together one of those facts you’ve excised, not from an explicit statement, but from individually innocuous clues that would nevertheless reveal something if an attentive reader pus them together in the right way.

This is where the dilemma arises. Because if anyone does happen to determine, by other means, what lies behind one or two of those black boxes, you’ve actually given them a much bigger clue. You’ve pointed them to the precise facts that, assembled in the proper order and with the right background knowledge, hint at what you were trying to hide—facts they might otherwise skimmed over without a second glance. But it’s worse than that, even. Because the facts really are more or less innocuous in isolation, a lot of that information won’t be secret per se. The choice of just which lines to redact involves a fair amount of imaginative guesswork—which bits might a reader combine in a chain of inference? That means if similar documents are being censored by different redactors, you’re apt to get the worst of both worlds—many pieces of the puzzle left exposed in one document or another, sufficiently parallel in structure to make them mutually completing, with the potential significance of each one highlighted by its absence from the others.

Steven Levitt and Freakonomics can go to hell!

On Veterans Day I expressed my disgust and contempt for Steven Levitt (he of Freakonomics fame) because his devotion to intellectual abstraction divorced from any connection to reality is, well, disgusting and contemptuous. The specific reason for my post on that day was Levitt’s proposition that a military draft, in his words, “puts the ‘wrong’ people in the military.”  Bob Herbert today expands on the point:

The idea that fewer than 1 percent of Americans are being called on to fight in Afghanistan and Iraq and that we’re sending them into combat again and again and again — for three tours, four tours, five tours, six tours — is obscene. All decent people should object. . . .

The reason it is so easy for the U.S. to declare wars, and to continue fighting year after year after year, is because so few Americans feel the actual pain of those wars. We’ve been fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan longer than we fought in World Wars I and II combined. If voters had to choose right now between instituting a draft or exiting Afghanistan and Iraq, the troops would be out of those two countries in a heartbeat.

I don’t think our current way of waging war, which is pretty easy-breezy for most citizens, is what the architects of America had in mind. Here’s George Washington’s view, for example: “It must be laid down as a primary position and the basis of our system, that every citizen who enjoys the protection of a free government owes not only a proportion of his property, but even his personal service to the defense of it.”

Nesson continues to blame others for his lousy job of lawyering.

The  Harvard Law Record reported yesterday on Charlie Nesson’s address to : a room full of HLS students to explain his motivations and methods as the lawyer representing Joel Tenenbaum in Sony BMG Music v. Tenenbaum, the case that resulted in a $675,000 judgment against his client.

I have on more than one occasion expressed my harsh views regarding Nesson’s lawyering in the case (here and here). But the Harvard Law Record’s story only adds fuel to my fury at Nesson’s lawyering skills. According to the story, “When the case first came to his attention, Nesson knew that there was little chance of victory on the merits, with the only truly viable strategy at trial being the minimization of damages.” (emphasis added)

The RIAA cannot have been happy about the way it looks after winning a judgment of $675,000 from a kid, especially since, as Nesson with some degree of accuracy explains, “[w]hat Joel did in downloading and sharing songs was what just about every kid in his generation did and which I bet a great many of you did.” The RIAA was anxious to settle a similar case in which it won $1.92 million from Jammie Thomas-Rasset for illegally downloading 24 songs. As Mike Masnick wrote, the RIAA “seems to recognize that the insanity of the $1.92 million doesn’t do it any favors. Even the musicians whose music was part of the case are embarrassed by the amount. . . . the RIAA would love to settle the lawsuit for some lower amount so it can run around touting the ‘risks’of file sharing without having people laugh outloud when hearing that someone had to pay $1.92 million for potentially sharing 24 songs that could be bought for $1 each.”

And Tennenbaum quite plainly had the ability to minimize damages through settlement rather than by means of Nesson’s tactic of going to trial. In February, Ars Technica reported that the “RIAA’s initial offer to settle, made way back in 2003, was for $3,500. Joel offered $500, which was declined. After the case went to court in 2007, the judge ordered the parties to settle and work it out between themselves. Joel offered $5,000. The RIAA demanded $10,500.”

And yet Nesson, realizing that “there was little chance of victory on the merits” and that the only viable way of representing his client’s best interests was to minimize the amount of his liability, failed to settle a case that at most would have cost his client $10,500 (assuming, contrary to any notion of common negotiating sense, that the RIAA would not have moved off of its last offer).

The Harvard Law Record’s story goes on to state that “the evidence presented by the RIAA . . . made it look like Tenenbaum blamed others and lied,” thereby interfering “with his effort to appear credible and sympathetic.” The problem is that the evidence didn’t merely make it “look like” Tenenbaum lied. He admitted in trial that had lied in sworn statements he had made before trial that he had not used peer-to-peer file sharing networks to download and upload recordings.

I’ve said it again and again. I’m no fan of the RIAA. The recording industry’s business and legal responses to the technological revolution that has deprived them of their former monopoly on the means of mass producing and distributing recorded music have been, to my legal and business mind, idiotic. But Nesson was Tenenbaum’s lawyer. His professional judgment as a lawyer was that any legal defense to the RIAA’s claims had little chance of success and that the best lawyering job he could do for his Tenenbaum was to minimize the damages he would be liable for. Nesson clearly had the opportunity to do so. That he passed up that opportunity in a quixotic fight for a principle might be something a lot of people admire, but it’s terrible lawyering.

Legal Practice and Legal Scholarship and Law School Reputations: Ships Passing in the Night.

One of the most interesting aspects of the U.S. legal system is that, as a common law system (as opposed to the civil law system prevailing in the vast majority of the non-Anglo-American world), the practice of law and the activities of legal scholars exist in almost entirely separate realms. Having had worked for well over a decade in each of the realms of legal practice and legal academia, the following account, from Wikipedia, reflects my own experience that legal scholarship in the U.S. legal system has little impact on the actual practice of law:

In common law jurisdictions [such as the U.S.], legal treatises compile common law decisions, and state overarching principles that (in the author’s opinion) explain the results of the cases. However, in common law jurisdictions, treatises are not the law, and lawyers and judges tend to use these treatises as only “finding aids” to locate the relevant cases. In common law jurisdictions, scholarly work is seldom cited as authority for what the law is. When common law courts rely on scholarly work, it is almost always only for factual findings, policy justification, or the history and evolution of the law, but the court’s legal conclusion is reached through analysis of relevant statutes and common law, seldom scholarly commentary.

In contrast, in civil law jurisdictions, the writings of law professors are given significant weight by courts. In part, this is because civil law decisions traditionally were very brief, sometimes no more than a paragraph stating who wins and who loses. The rationale has to come from somewhere else, and the academy often filled that role. As civil law court decisions move in the direction of common law reasoning, it is possible that this balance may shift.

A footnote to this explanation adds: “At least in the U.S., practicing lawyers tend to use ‘law professor’ or ‘law review article’ as a pejorative to describe a person or work that is insufficiently grounded in reality or practicality – every young lawyer is admonished repeatedly by senior lawyers not to write “law review articles,” but instead to focus on the facts of the case and the practical effects of a given outcome.”

I do not mean to point out the stereotypical disregard for legal scholarship among practicing lawyers to disparage legal scholars. Rather, I mean to emphasize what I wrote yesterday: it is the evidence in each case that persuades the legal decision maker what the just result is in each case. The legal rules of the common law system are not abstract principles of justice pronounced from on high to produce justice in each and every situation; instead, they are the refined products produced by centuries of case-by-case efforts to achieve just results based on the specific evidence presented in each of those cases. Thus, those legal rules are subordinate to the case-by-case efforts to achieve justice, not the infallible determinants of just outcomes in all future cases. As I wrote yesterday in suggesting that my students in analyzing legal disputes first consider what the dispute is about, then consider the evidence and its persuasiveness in helping them as human beings determine a just result in that dispute, and only then employ the legal rules to articulate as legal professionals speaking in the language of their technical expertise to explain the justice of that result:

In other words, the legal rules and their proper application arise from the evidence the parties bring to bear. The rules do not predetermine disputes that are predictable before they arise. Instead, they provide the legal language (developed over the centuries’ long development of the common law) in which to couch the just conclusions compelled by the evidence.

In explaining the practice of the common law, I do not mean to denigrate U.S. legal scholarhip. But I do mean to put it into the proper context within our legal system: scholars strive to develop generalizations that govern all cases. Courts, on the other hand, decide individual cases involving individual disputes between individuals who have personal stakes in those disputes. In doing so, the courts do their best to do justice in those individual cases. Scholarly generalization, inevitably, conflicts to a considerable degree with that individual effort to find justice between individuals involved in specific disputes.

And yet the reputation of law schools is weighted enormously in favor of the evaluation by law professors of the legal scholarship of other law professors. For law students, the vast majority of whom go to law school to become lawyers, the basis of these reputations must cause some consternation if there is any truth to what I have written above about legal scholarship’s distance from and irrelevance to legal practice. But here it is, from Brian Leiter, one of the most respected authorities on the evaluation of law school quality. What measures a law faculty’s quality? Not success as a lawyer. Instead:

Faculty Quality (70% of [a law school's] final rank): the rank in this category is based on three criteria: scholarly productivity; scholarly impact of faculty work; and reputation. More precisely, 25% of the rank is based on the per capita rate of publication for the period 1998 through summer 2000 of,

1. articles in the ten most frequently cited student-edited law reviews (Yale Law Journal, Harvard Law Review, Stanford Law Review, University of Chicago Law Review, Columbia Law Review, Michigan Law Review, California Law Review, University of Pennsylvania Law Review, and Texas Law Review, plus New York University Law Review, which is less-often cited but benefits in prestige from being affiliated with a top law school;

2. articles in ten leading peer-edited law journals (Administrative Law Review, American Journal of Comparative Law, Constitutional Commentary, Environ- mental Law, Journal of Legal Studies, Law & Contemporary Problems, Law & Social Inquiry, Legal Theory, and Tax Law Review);

3. books from the three leading law publishers (Aspen, Foundation, West); and

4. books from the six leading academic presses in law (Cambridge, Chicago, Harvard, Oxford, Princeton, Yale).

Another 25% of the faculty quality rank is based on the per capita rate of scholarly impact for the top quarter of each faculty based on citations to faculty work on the Westlaw JLR database as of August 2000. Finally, 50% of the faculty quality rank is based on the subjective academic reputation of the school based on a fall 1999 survey of academics conducted by U.S. News & World Report.

Each measure of faculty quality has advantages and limitations, but together they promise to present an informative picture. The rationale for the particular weightings, and the details of the study methodology, can be found in “Measuring the Academic Distinction of Law Faculties.”

So there you have it. The law schools with the best reputations are the law schools with law professors who write law review articles read by other law professors but that have little if any impact on the actual product of the U.S. legal system.

Then again, I am on record expressing my opinion that the most reputable of law professors at the most reputable of law schools have, given the opportunity, shown themselves to the worst of lawyers.

Legal education is monumentally difficult. Legal “rules” are not “rules” in the sense most people understand them; they are, instead, formulations intended to reach just results based on the evidence in individual lawsuits.

In making the point set forth in the title of my post, it is worth repeating the message I sent this morning to my Contracts students, who are in the midst of studying for the first semester exams. My students are in the midst of making the transition from the lay understanding of legal “rules” as “rules” of the sort that govern the outcome of scientific experiments to the professional understanding that legal “rules” are professional terms of art used to articulate arguments intended to achieve justice in individual cases. It is not an easy transition to make, and it is a transition from a way of perceiving rules that seems to dominate the thinking of the vast majority of mankind to a way of perceiving rules as man-made constructs intended most of all to do justice to individuals.

As I wrote to my students, focusing on legal issues relating to the interpretation of disputed contract terms (the last subject of our semester’s study):

In trying to understand the law we are applying, consider the teachings of the teachings of the Chuang-tzu, a collection of writings from the fourth, third and second centuries B.C.:

Great understanding is broad and unhurried; Little understanding is cramped and busy.

Trying to understand the rules that pertain to contract interpretation will not come through a cramped and busy effort to memorize the “parol evidence rule” and the rules regarding when evidence outside of a writing is permitted to interpret the writing.

Instead, understanding contract interpretation will come first from from a broad and unhurried consideration of what language the parties are disputing the interpretation of. Then you must understand why each party considers his interpretation the correct one. What evidence does each party have that his interpretation is correct? How persuasive do you consider that evidence?

If one side’s interpretation is more persuasive, that will likely be the correct one. One must first consider the writing setting forth the purported agreement, the purposes of the purported agreement, the situations of the parties, and any other evidence that may bear on the meaning of the written agreement. Only after considering all these matters (which can range far and wide) and coming to some individual, human understanding of whether one person’s interpretation or the other’s is more persuasive can on go back to the rules to and use those rules to show how the rules and the evidence together will lead to that more persuasive result.

Thus, for example, in Thompson v. Lilly, 26 N.W. 1 (Minn. (1885), the buyer of logs insisted the seller did not supply logs of as high a quality as the parties had agreed the seller would provide. The parties had written the following brief agreement:

AGREEMENT.

Hastings, Minn., June 1, 1883.

I have this day sold to R. C. Libby, of Hastings, Minn., all my logs marked ‘‘H. C. A.,’’ cut in the winters of 1882 and 1883, for ten dollars a thousand feet, boom scale at Minneapolis, Minnesota. Payments cash as fast as scale bills are produced.

[Signed] J. H. Thompson,

Per D. S. Mooers.

R. C. Libby.

The Minnesota Supreme Court concluded that “[t]he written agreement . . . , as it appears on its face, . . . purports to be a complete expression of the whole agreement of the parties as to the sale and purchase of these logs, solemnly executed by both parties.” Thus, the court concluded that the buyer could not prevail on his claim that he and the seller had in fact agreed that the logs he had purchased were supposed to be of a higher quality than those logs the seller actually supplied.

But there really is nothing in the written agreement itself to preclude the reasonable possibility that the parties had also agreed that the logs marked “H.C.A” would be of the higher quality the buyer had not received. What is it about that 3 line agreement that suggests that it is the exhaustive statement of all the terms the parties agreed to?

Admittedly, there are a few things you might point to to support the court’s conclusion: the writing states price, it states the identifying marks on the buyer’s logs, and it states the delivery place and times. We might infer that if it includes all of those things it must include everything the parties had agreed upon.

But are we to suppose that in 1883 Minnesota in a sale between a logging company and a lumber buyer the technical requirements of the parol evidence rule were foremost in the buyer’s and seller’s minds? And are we to suppose the 3 line agreement was intended as the height of formality. And when, for example, would “winter” begin in Minesota — November, December 21, at first frost? To suppose the seller of logs and the buyer of logs would have put into the writing something they considered important is to be naive about how commercial transactions really take place (even today in the vast majority of commercial transactions, and even among investment bankers in the high flying world of Wall Street finance in which I once practiced).

In other words, if you merely start with the proposition that the parol evidence rule excludes the consideration of evidence regarding the content of a contractual agreement that is not contained in a final and complete written record of the agreement, you hardly have a convincing argument that the decision in Thompson v. Lilly must have been correct.

But if you look at the evidence recounted in the opinion (and the absence of certain evidence) the wisdom of the result (if not the clarity of the reasoning) becomes much, much more apparent — the buyer is claiming the agreement included a promise that the logs the seller was providing would be of a higher quality than the logs that were delivered. And while the writing in and of itself doesn’t inherently exclude that possibility in any conclusive way I can fathom, what evidence does the buyer have that the agreement included a promise of higher quality logs? Only the buyer’s own self-serving testimony. There is no corroborating testimony from, say,  others in the logging trade in 1883 Minnesota that an agreement on quality like that insisted upon the buyer would be expected. There is no documentary evidence outside of the 3 line agreement regarding the parties’ negotiations. There is no evidence that the buyer’s purposes for buying the logs should have indicated to the seller that higher quality logs were what the buyer expected. There is no indication the price the buyer agreed to pay reflects a market price for logs of a higher quality than that which he received.

In short, apart from the buyer’s self-serving testimony, there is no evidence of any sort that any agreement on the quality of the logs had been reached. In the absence of any evidence other than the buyer’s self-serving testimony in support of his position, the court conclusion that the three-line agreement contains all the material terms of the agreement does in fact seem convincing. If, on the other hand, others in the trade suggested the quality of the logs would not have been included in the written agreement or that the price in the agreement reflected a price for higher quality logs, the court would have had a much more difficult time suggesting the three line agreement contained all the material terms of the agreement.

Thus, the parol evidence rule does its job in this case — it prevents the dispute from ending up as a trial in which the buyer’s uncorroborated and self-serving sworn statements will be weighed by a jury against the writing and the seller’s sworn statements. But if we merely considered the 3 line agreement without considering what other evidence the buyer had (or did not have) in support of his position, the parol evidence rule in and of itself would have provided a very poor guide to determining whether there would be any justifiable basis for a trial on the buyer’s claims.

To engage in the extra effort of trial in Thompson v. Lilly would have been unreasonable as a matter of the administration of justice in that there seems no persuasive reason in the first place to believe the buyer. Trials are expensive and burdensome affairs. And keeping the case from trial prevents a jury from being persuaded by improper factors (such as preferring the buyer as a person to the seller). Thus, the court invoked the technical rule — the parol evidence rule — to produce an outcome that seems fair, just, and in accord with a common sense view of the evidence.

In other words, the legal rules and their proper application arise from the evidence the parties bring to bear. The rules do not predetermine disputes that are predictable before they arise. Instead, they provide the legal language (developed over the centuries’ long development of the common law) in which to couch the just conclusions compelled by the evidence.

So, as I explained to my students, when you are trying to figure out on an exam how to answer a question, consider first: what question you are you trying to answer. Then consider what evidence you have from each side of the dispute that helps persuade one way or another in answering that question. Then weigh that evidence and consider what we are primarily trying to determine in contract law: what the parties intended to agree to.

Then, and only then, use the rules to structure the presentation of your understanding of the proper resolution to the dispute. You are likely being asked to present your personal and human understanding as an intelligent adult being asked to solve a previously unsolved problem for the first time in your life. You are not merely being asked to repeat material your professor asked you to learn but to apply that learning to resolve new problems in a creative and original way no one other than you can be relied on to answer — that’s what you’re going to be doing as a lawyer!

I do not mean to minimize the importance of knowing the rules. You must know the rules. The rules are the language the law uses to structure the presentation of your persuasive explanations. Merely to give a recitation of your personal reaction to the evidence without reference to the rules is not to act as a lawyer. But the rules will only make sense to you if you use them to come to a result that makes sense to you as a human being.

You also have to keep in mind that rules in contract law sometimes serve purposes other than merely giving effect to what the parties intended. Rules such as the statute of frauds, for example, will in the absence of clear and convincing evidence of agreement avoid the administrative difficulties and expense of full-blown trial in certain types of important cases in which the parties have not supplied either the formal requirements evidencing such agreements or can supply other evidence as convincing as those formal requirements.

Again, this is not to discount the importance of the rules. You must know the rules to articulate your arguments in a manner that makes sense to lawyers, judges, and law professors. You are now a member of a profession, and you must communicate in the language of the profession. But you will never persuasively apply those profession-specific rules without first understanding the human disputes, the evidence, and the ways that evidence persuades human beings as to the merits of the disputes. Then, and only then, can you begin to structure your arguments in a manner that usefully employs the technical legal rules.

As a final note, my disquisition here should put to rest the myth — even one propounded by the Chief Justice of the U.S. Supreme Court as a means of obtaining confirmation in the course of a farcical political show — that applying legal rules to resolve legal disputes is the same as calling balls and strikes.

The inexorable trend toward free access to court documents

I mentioned last week that Google Scholar can now be used to find case law. It’s real progress.Court documents, after all, are public documents, so it sometimes seems a bit frustrating that the only reliable way to do legal research is through private systems. As Wired’s Threat Level explains, “West [Publishing], and its competitor, Lexis Nexis, buy court data in bulk, reformat it and add proprietary citation codes. They then license the database of public documents at high rates to libraries, law firms and government agencies. Even the U.S. Court system pays West’s high license fees to access public court documents that West purchased from it.”

To make matters worse, the court system’s database, PACER, doesn’t work well: “the search function is intricate and inflexible, and lacks a way for users to be notified when a case is updated. And in the age of Google, it is absurd to charge citizens to search for the name of a person in a lawsuit. Even looking at the docket sheet — a short form list of all actions in a given case — costs $.08 a page.”

The ability to copy and disseminate documents instantaneously, of course, is breaking this system down.  In addition to Google Scholar, a “Firefox plug-in called RECAP, created by Princeton students, uploads court documents to a public archive any time a user goes into th e system, while programmer Aaron Swartz took advantage of a pilot program offering free access to download 18 million court documents (that earned him an FBI investigation).”

I’ve got mixed feelings about court dockets in their entirety being freely available via the internet (as opposed to, say, the documents courts themselves produce). Dissemination of documents produced without thought to a worldwide audience can cause serious misunderstandings. But technology and economics seem to be inexorable forces — just ask the music industry: try as it might, it isn’t going to recreate a world in which it held a monopoly on the ability to produce and distribute recorded music. And it’s probably better after all that the public gets for free the court documents it produces.

Breathlessly waiting for Murdoch to be sued . . . or wither on the web?

The Kwika Entertainment Blog (reprinting a piece from the Huffington Post) breathlessly announces that “if Microsoft and [Rupert Murdoch's] News Corp. go forward with a deal whereby News Corp. demands that Google stop indexing its websites, don’t be surprised if it leads to one of the most important copyright lawsuits in history.”

Don’t bet on it.

Google’s display of snippets from News Corp’s web pages for search engine purposes is almost certainly fair use. Can you imagine a Google snippet ever serving as a substitute for the original? If not, then the snippet is fair use. And copying the entire site for the sake of creating the snippet is fair use too.

The idiotic part of Murdoch’s move would be that, assuming Google allows Murdoch’s publications to “opt-out” of Google (as Google does for any site — all you have to do is insert some code into your site to exclude your site from Google’s indexing), the result will be that Murdoch’s publications will lose all that traffic Google generates. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Murdoch has always had the option to opt out of Google. The other stupid player here might be Microsoft — why pay to index something that will only be losing readership?