Anonymous online writing: bad writing that wouldn’t see the light of day if the writer knew readers could match the words to the person.

Wow. I apparently touched a nerve the other day when I blogged on this post and the thread of comments following it and expressed my preference for Dan Hull’s view that anonymous blogging is cowardly.

At the risk of offending one anonymous commenter who desperately wants me to condemn Dan’s insistence on insulting him and forget what I care about — writing words that one is willing to stand behind and justify — I will try to clarify and expand upon what I wrote:

I never said one cannot write anonymously. Quite plainly I don’t ban anonymous comments on my blog. Quite plainly I’ll never be Lord of the Internet with the power to ban anonymous writers. Nor, if I were Lord of the Internet, would I ban anonymous writing. I believe in the freedom of speech, even speech that expresses views I despise. Views I think are stupid are another tolerable phenomenon.

But I do care deeply about the quality of writing. I teach law students how to write as lawyers, and the vast majority of my professional life as a law professor and a lawyer depends on the effectiveness of what I write. One thing I am convinced of and try passionately to convince my students of is that that you cannot be an effective writer if you do not have the courage to own your words. By that I mean, among other things, that you must believe in your words, believe those are the  best words you could come up with under the circumstances to express your point of  view. If you don’t do so, you’re just parroting things you haven’t truly thought through. Your failure to think them through typically means you haven’t entirely grasped what it is you’re trying to say (and what the writer of what you’re parroting meant to say). It also means your words will not convince the intelligent reader who isn’t already convinced that you’re right.

One necessary implication of my belief in the necessity of owning your words is that anonymous online writing loses a lot of its credibility by the very fact that it is anonymous.

My view does not mean that anonymous writing entirely lacks credibility.The anonymous author’s character (and an anonymous author has a character, one that makes an alert reader wonder why he isn’t willing to claim his words as his own) detracts from the reader’s valuation of that anonymous author’s writing. But a myriad of factors go into influencing a given text’s persuasive force. The author’s character is only one, albeit an important one.

The point that really seems to have hit a nerve is that it seems plain to me that choosing to write anonymously is for all relevant purposes grounded in fear. Sometimes that fear justifies the anonymity because (a) the author’s fear is of sufficient immediate and substantial harm and (b) the message is so important that even if it is compromised by anonymity it is worth getting out. Where those so offended by my views and I differ is in the amount of courage we think is appropriate. They have fears of the consequences of identifying themselves online when they write and they’re deeply offended that I don’t believe those fears justify their ways of using anonymity.

Thinking he had caught me questioning the courage of one of my colleagues (whose views, not courage, I question) one anonymous commenter pointed out that Jonathan Adler blogged anonymously on the Volokh Conspiracy as “Juan non-Volokh” prior to being granted tenure. At the time, Jonathan had a legitimate fear that the mere act of blogging would jeopardize his shot at tenure. As a general matter at that time, blogging was not only considered beneath legal scholars, but also to be an actual drain on time better devoted to “real” scholarship. (While blogging is no longer a negative in the eyes of most professors, it still is considered by most entirely irrelevant to scholarly achievement). I have absolutely no reason to believe Jonathan chose anonymity to hide the substance of the views he expressed on the Volokh Conspiracy. Those views were quite well known among his colleagues (and to the public) and in substance were entirely of a piece with the public writing he did under his own name. Nonetheless, I do believe that Jonathan’s writing under his own name has more force than his writing did under his chosen pseudonym. Nor do I have any reason to believe he would disagree.

To take one of Dan Hull’s more obvious examples of non-cowardly fear justifying anonymity, an Iranian dissident has good reasons for writing under a pseudonym. But one question his anonymous identity might raise, among others is this: is he really a dissident or is he in fact a CIA or Saudi plant? All sorts of credibility problems arise when one chooses to separate one’s writing from one’s identity.

Ken, who chooses anonymity, has written that he prefers to remain anonymous because his favorite styles are, as he describes them, “satire, sarcasm, and ridicule.” Ken also believes that “these are potent weapons in the fight over ideas.” But, unfortunately, poor Ken is too subtle for most people and he therefore fears their reactions:

People don’t like being made fun of. Moreover, some people are functionally incapable of understanding irony, sarcasm, and satire. Other people are offended easily, and particularly by pop culture, sexual references, and the various forms of juvenile self-indulgence occasionally featured here to the extent it amuses us.

I would suggest to Ken words he so proudly identifies as satire, sarcasm, and ridicule are not really the “potent weapons” he believes they are. It is well known that online writing in particular is a very poor medium for the effective use sarcasm. Effective satire that actually persuades someone previously unconvinced of the writer’s point of view is a very rare thing. Far more often, satire is just the words of someone seeking affirmation from others who share the writer’s contempt for the object of the satire. And ridicule? Ridicule amuses your toadies. To everyone else, it’s just name-calling.

But Ken is no Jonathan Swift, and I think he knows it. In fact, Ken’s “satire, sarcasm, and ridicule” are, to my mind (and to the mind of those who are convinced by me, but plainly not to Ken and his anonymous colleagues), merely the lazy expression of hostility and disagreement.

But, regardless of how we characterize the writing that Ken believes to be a “potent weapon in the war of ideas,” what he fears is the risk those “functionally incapable” of understanding his meaning would pose to him. Who are these people? Well, he once worked for big firms that would so dislike what he wrote he feared his employment would be threatened. He has clients he fears he’d lose if they knew the truth of his views on social issues. He fears needing to justify his writing to opposing lawyers or judges who might use those words against him. He fears he or his family will be stalked or threatened like other bloggers have been. And he bravely wrote critically once about a white supremacist who lived just one town over from him.

Are these fears the legitimate fears of a brilliant writer wielding potent tools in the war of ideas? You can judge for yourself. The fear of the law firms, the clients, and opposing counsel and judges seems to me more likely fears of being busted for using stupid words by people to whom one has the responsibility to express oneself intelligently. The fear of being stalked seems to me the fear of something so unlikely (even though it does happen, of course) that it’s really nothing but an empty rationalization. The fear of the white supremacist? I might grant Ken that one, but then why does all of his writing need to be anonymous?

To address the question more generally: are your political views so inconsistent with your employment that your job would be threatened if you really expressed them? Are you so desperate for a job you need to keep that one despite the fact it is inconsistent with true expression of what you believe? Are you writing online about your employer despite an employment policy that forbids you to do so? Is that a legitimate exercise of anonymity? If you’re Karen Silkwood or Daniel Ellsberg, it would be, but I have grave doubts that the people complaining to me are in that league.

And if it’s your clients’ reactions you fear, why would they not like what you write? Would they like it if they knew you were hiding your real thoughts from them? Why do you represent them if legitimate expression of what you really believe would offend them? Are you really capable of representing them zealously if you harbor secret thoughts that, if known, would cause them to retain different lawyers? Is a blog really an appropriate place for telling stories about how dumb your clients are? You enjoy doing it. You want to do it. But does being able to do that justify anonymous blogging?

I AM NOT suggesting that  fears are always illegitimate. What I am suggesting is that a free-floating fear of being stalked as a result of online writing is pretty far off the wall. And I’ve worked for big law firms and clients of all sorts. It’s not the everyday law firm or client who would fire you for thoughtful writing online. There would have to be something really atrocious about the employer. And clients care far more about courage, skill, and passion than they do about disagreements on social issues that are irrelevant to their representation, especially if those views are expressed cogently and the lawyer is willing to stand behind those views. The last thing clients want is a lawyer who’s afraid to let the world know that he believes in and will stand behind his words.

And are these fears so real that they justify anonymity on everything a blogger writes? Selective, tactical anonymity is an option, guys. And choosing to remain silent on matters that you can’t write about in ways that won’t endanger you with people who matter to you is an option too. That of course, is a whole other topic: a good lawyer takes a lot of really interesting stuff to his grave with him.

And, honestly, I don’t see substance on Popehat (the site I originally linked to and from which the hostile commenters came) that would usually be the sort of thing that would threaten the livelihood of its authors or commenters. They’re a bunch of guys who might like to romanticize the subversiveness of what they write, but, really, they’re not exactly a threat to anyone or anything.

Nor am I.

Then again, while the content at Popehat is pretty run of the mill, the words themselves do not really do that substance a lot of justice. And that indeed is a major part of the problem. As Charles wrote, anonymity allows you to write that a cop was a “fascist” without people who know you and would be offended by those words know that you wrote them. But merely writing that a cop is a “fascist” is just nasty name-calling, not credible writing. And Patrick, in the very first comment responding to my blog post – writing anonymously, of course — explained that he’s never heard about me but that if he really cared he could “write a blogpost mocking [me], that would stick to the front page of a Google search for [my] name forever.”

A put down and a threat as an opening move? That’s a perfect example of why I called anonymous writing online cowardly. If one is going to insult and threaten, one ought to have the courage to let one’s employers, clients, loved ones, and targets know that being a bully is what one is in the business of doing.

Or one could claim to use insults rhetorically, to highlight a point, but that’s a dangerous game, and it takes a special person to get away with it, and Dan Hull happens to be a special person.

But the most important thing about Dan Hull for purposes of this discussion (though quite plainly Patrick and his Popehat People want to make anyone who happens upon this post or the last one on this point think otherwise) is that Dan Hull wrote those insults under his own name! He’s willing to own and justify those insults. And doing so has benefited him immensely. Clients love lawyers who make the work their own. And it sure doesn’t seem that the Popehat guys are big believers in political correctness, so I can’t believe they were genuinely hurt by his words except to the extent the substance behind his insults hit home.

My point is that if you don’t own your writing you cannot truly be persuasive. That’s why I emphasized that my students, as lawyers in training, must learn to own their words, to be ready to justify the choices they made in writing the words they wrote.

And Charles happens to be right about one thing — outside the law (and too much within it, truth be told) the courage to own one’s words is sorely lacking. I think that’s a real shame and a major loss for the quality of any discourse, be it about politics, literature, science, religion, etc. Charles, I guess, expects less of people than I do. I also think that people would be surprised how much they’d benefit from saying what they mean in ways they’d be proud to claim as their own to anyone.

Finally, I am making no demands. I am stating my point of view. Yes, I am an Associate Professor of Legal Writing, but that’s just a title. And I hardly use it to put on airs. Anyone who knows anything of the status wars within academia or has read much into my archives knows I write quite openly, under my own name, about (1) the fact my title is reflective of a remarkably low status and an absence of job security and (2) my opinion that (contra Patrick) law professors are NOT an elevated class.

Am I a nobody? Well, Mike (whoever he might be) certainly things so. One thing I do know — anyone with access to an internet connection has about as good an opportunity to determine that for themselves as they would for anyone who writes openly under his own name.

And they can take that information and factor it into their judgment whether and the extent to which they agree with me.

Here’s my suggestion to everyone, including the Popehat guys: try writing under your own names. You might find your words and views become far more compelling not only to your readers but also, far more importantly, to yourselves. But be careful: being thoughtful and precise — writing things that you’re willing to justify to those who challenge them — might make you rethink some of the stuff you hold to so passionately.

Or you can ignore me entirely. That’s entirely your prerogative. You can even, if you wish, go on thinking of me as a narcissistic nobody who doesn’t matter, and I’ll go on thinking of of most anonymous bloggers as a bunch of cowards who write to please themselves and don’t persuade anyone who hasn’t already bought into their point of view.

And when it gets down to it, tthe vast majority of anonymous online writing is simply bad writing that wouldn’t see the light of day if the writer knew everyone he knows could match the words to the person.

Own your words. Anonymity is cowardice, and cowards aren’t known for their wisdom.

An important lesson for my legal writing students: you must own your words to be genuinely persuasive.

By that, of course, I do not mean that their words are their property. There’s a lot of confusion about that issue, but that’s not today’s lesson.

What I mean is that it’s not enough to parrot words you believe are authoritative to make your case. You must use words you know in your heart state what you mean. Parroting the words of others, even if they are authoritative, won’t do that. Which is why one of my favorite quotes is Ralph Waldo Emerson’s: “I hate quotations. Tell me what you know.” (I love paradox too.)

But in order to own your words you have to have the courage to stand behind them too. It’s one reason I bemoan the influence of anonymous student evaluations. It’s why too I’m all in with Dan Hull in this insane exchange about his insistence that anonymity is the death of productive discussion on the internet.

What possible conviction can you hold in your words if you’re not even willing to put your name to them? As Dan makes clear, there are of course exceptions to this rule — there are times anonymity is necessary to preserve one’s safety. But legitimate fear for one’s safety for stating disagreement is a rare thing that we don’t encounter terribly often in 2010 on the internet in the United States. It’s almost hilarious to find people disputing Dan under the pseudonyms “Publius” and “Marcus Agrippa.” Almost hilarious. Really, it’s pathetic.

If you can’t own your words, put yourself forward as the authority behind your words and rely on the force of those words and your own integrity for their persuasive effects, you cannot be a lawyer. I’ve said it recently: a good thing about being a lawyer is there is always someone telling you your wrong. You have to be willing to put your ideas and words to the test, and you have to be willing to adapt and adjust when your words have been successfully challenged. To hide behind a pseudonym is nothing but cowardice, and cowards aren’t known for their wisdom.

Just say it!

It is a truth often assumed that a lawyer in need of an argument must arm herself with rules stated in legalese. There could be few more difficult assumptions to overcome in educating new lawyers.

One of my more profound light bulb moments as a young lawyer came a few months into my first job, after I’d written the first draft of a brief for a partner. After he’d had a chance to review the draft he called me into his office to discuss it. I entered, carrying, of course, the draft that by this time I’d virtually memorized. He asked me why I thought we’d win. I glanced at the draft and he said, “No. Put it down. I want you to tell me in your own words, in plain English, without telling me what the cases say.” So I slowly sputtered out a brief explanation in plain English, thinking that this was going to be painstaking, that the simple plain English explanation would be followed with a discussion of each case and the reasoning of each judge in each case, and then we’d have to cobble all these pieces together . . .

In response to my plain English explanation, he said, “Then why didn’t you just say that?” I blinked, and asked in stupid amazement, “I can do that?” He laughed, and answered, “That’s exactly what you are supposed to do.” Wow, just explain in plain English, without resort to legalistic rules and long chains of reasoning from premises established by Lord Blackstone? What an amazing idea, and what a truly difficult one to grasp.

I was reminded of this today when I read the post at Lawyerist.com entitled “Improve Your Legal Writing: Just Say It“:

Say what you want to say. Do not imply it, do not hint at it, just say it. This can be difficult at times, but it will improve your writing, and make your arguments more persuasive.

PowerPoint might make you dumb, but understanding why can help keep you from being dumb even when you don’t use PowerPoint.

Edward Tufte is the world’s premier expert on the graphic presentation of information.  In the wider world he’s probably best known for his article, PowerPoint Does Rocket Science–and Better Techniques for Technical Reports, which (1) explained how, in connection with the Columbia space shuttle disaster, a PowerPoint presentation misled NASA decision makers regarding the risks to the shuttle posed by the impact of a piece of foam insulation that broke off of the shuttle’s fuel tank at launch, struck the shuttle’s left wing, and penetrated that wing’s thermal insulation, and (2) made a strong case that it is virtually impossible to convey any complex information using a PowerPoint presentation.

In a 2003 article entitled “PowerPoint Makes You Dumb,”  Clive Thompson, summarizing Tufte’s article, wrote: “When NASA engineers assessed possible wing damage during the mission, they presented the findings in a confusing PowerPoint slide — so crammed with nested bullet points and irregular short forms that it was nearly impossible to untangle. ‘It is easy to understand how a senior manager might read this PowerPoint slide and not realize that it addresses a life-threatening situation,’ the [Columbia Accident Investigation Board] sternly noted.”

Further summarizing Tufte’s article (which is really worth reading in its entirety), Thompson wrote: “[The low resolution of a PowerPoint slide means that it usually contains only about 40 words, or barely eight seconds of reading. PowerPoint also encourages users to rely on bulleted lists, a 'faux analytical'' technique, . . . that dodges the speaker's responsibility to tie his information together. And perhaps worst of all is how PowerPoint renders charts. Charts in newspapers like The Wall Street Journal contain up to 120 elements on average, allowing readers to compare large groupings of data. But, as Tufte found, PowerPoint users typically produce charts with only 12 elements. Ultimately, Tufte concluded, PowerPoint is infused with 'an attitude of commercialism that turns everything into a sales pitch.'''

Think of the difference between a low resolution photo and a high resolution photo of the same scene -- the viewer of the low resolution photo remains ignorant even of the possible presence of information present in the high resolution photo, much less the precise nature of that information.

Tufte self-publishes his books, not because he wouldn't be able to attract a commercial publisher, but, rather, because by self-publishing he can control entirely the manner in which he presents his material. Since his entire mission is to explain how to effectively present graphic information, that control is crucial to his work.

What does the effective presentation of graphic information have to do with lawyering, which primarily relies on the use of verbal information? Plenty. The principles applicable to the effective presentation of visual information are the same principles applicable to the effective presentation of verbal information. Important information must be highlighted, the conclusions must be supported with detailed, "high resolution," step by step explanations and the telling use of narrative, and anything extraneous to the points being made has to be cut out. You must also be acutely aware of your audience and the precise purposes you are trying to achieve. Moreover, as Ruth Anne Robbins has so effectively demonstrated in her article, "Painting With Print: Incorporating concepts of typographic and layout design into the text of legal writing documents," the visual appearance of even our written work is crucial to its effectiveness. Finally, of course, our culture (including our legal culture) is one that increasingly relies on the visual presentation of information. There is no denying, however, that a well written brief, an effective oral argument, or a successful classroom discussion is like a high resolution photo, while a PowerPoint presentation of of the same information is like a low resolution photo of the same subject.

In short, Tufte is exactly right in PowerPoint does Rocket Science when he concludes: "Serious problems require a serious tool: written reports."

But again, merely using words instead of PowerPoint slides isn't the answer. The words need to be chosen and arranged effectively. My students often make the same mistake the NASA engineers made in their PowerPoint presentation, which did in fact contain statements meant to convey the substantial risk that resulted in the Columbia's disintegration upon its reentry into the earth's atmosphere. The problem was that the crucial information was buried in a place and amidst so much other, misleading information that it was impossible for the audience to notice it.

It reminds me of my students when, in response to feedback they don't like, come to me with their work and argue that they really did include in their writing the important points I've said they've neglected. They even can point me to the words that I can see they really did mean to make those points. But those points are either expressed in language that is too obscure or are put in places in which they do not fit into an effective overall analysis. It's not just student's, of course. All of us have those moments when we believe we have expressed our opinion on a subject effectively, but if that if that opinion is unconnected to the evidence, authority, and reasoning that supports it, if it is buried in words that don't support that opinion, or if in any other way its truth is obscured, it might as well not even be there.

Addendum: here's one example of stupid verbal argument that bases its conclusion on the information it presents but is too "low resolution" to make its conclusion convincing. The Washington Examiner argues that "[g]overnment workers, especially at the federal level, make salaries that are scandalously higher than those paid to private sector workers.” I have to admit I was startled when I saw the editorial’s title: “Want to get rich? Work for feds.” Sorry, but none of the rich people I know of outside of Congress (which doesn’t make you rich, but, due to the cost of running for office, requires you to be rich) are government workers.

So what information does the Examiner base its conclusion on? “As of 2008, the average federal salary was $119,982, compared with $59,909 for the average private sector employee. In other words, the average federal bureaucrat makes twice as much as the average working taxpayer.” The Examiner even has a cool little graph to make the same point visually!

What’s the problem with the argument? It takes no account of the differences in education, training, and ability required to do all those federal jobs and the education, training, and ability required to do the jobs done by “the average private sector employee.” How many government jobs are there that compare to the legion of private sector jobs that pay minimum wage to stock shelves in superstores, flip hamburgers in fast food restaurants, or the like?

I know plenty of government employed lawyers. They really do make more, even much more, than “the average private sector employee.” But they make less, much less, than private sector lawyers whose education, training, and ability are no better than theirs. And their education, training, and ability do happen to be considerably more than those of “the average private sector employee.”  So why do my friends who work for the government do what they do? Because they believe in and love what they’re doing. Some are prosecutors. Some are public defenders. Some work for government regulatory agencies. And they’re great at what they do. They definitely don’t do it for the money.

Does anyone believe that going to work for the government is the way to get rich? God, stupidity is rampant.

There may after all be useful methods to develop effective analogies to help guide your legal research!

I did at least acknowledge in Friday’s post about the difficulties of research that my words originated at an hour when I felt at “rock bottom.” The essence of my “advice” was not terribly helpful as an educational matter except perhaps in emphasizing to students the enormity of the task and the difficulty of the work they are taking on when they do legal research. I wrote:

Research that is genuine research not only requires Sisyphean patience in combing through the sources, it requires also consideration, observation, and study of what one finds within those sources so that one can, first, identify the elements that matter, and, second, put those important, buried, and isolated elements together in some useful and novel way.

But in emphasizing the difficulty and artistic aspects of legal research (beliefs I do not hereby recant), I entirely ignored the perfectly legitimate question asked by one professor on behalf of her students: are there any methods that are helpful in developing the analogies that are so central to legal argument?

So I did what I should have done in the first place if I were going to speak with any authority on research — I did some research, and, in fact, I found that there may be methods that can help students develop meaningful and useful analogies they can subsequently use to guide their research with increased effectiveness. See, e.g., I. Blanchett & K. Dunbar, How Analogies are Generated: the Role of Structural and Superficial Similarity, Memory & Cognition 2000, 29, 730-735 (pdf) and sources cited therein.

One can, of course, make a lists of items and ask students which ones belongs and which one doesn’t. You might list, for example, Oprah Winfrey, Orin Hatch, Hilary Clinton, and Olympia Snowe. In doing so, the students could recognize that the group of 4 could be classified according to a number of different criteria, and each criterion would exclude a person the other criteria would not. There are 3 women. There are 3 politicians. There are 3 people whose first names begin with the letter O.

This type of exercise does help students recognize that analogies are based on the similarities between different situations, and that of course is a necessary first step in teaching argument based on analogy.

The problem with this type of exercise, however, is that experiments show that it leads subjects to focus on surface similarities between the situations they are comparing rather than on underlying structural similarities. Blanchett & Dunbar at 3. In contrast, however, research shows that the analogies people use to solve real world problems “tend to be based on deep structural features rather than superficial features.” Id. at 4.

Fortunately, however, there are studies supporting at least one method of increasing the ability of subjects to identify situations that share deep structural similarities and, therefore, provide more meaningful analogies and more effective problem solving. Simply put, the subjects are split into 2 groups and are presented with a problem, associated issues, and 2 opposing approaches to solving the problem. One group is asked to generate analogies supporting one group, and the other to generate analogies supporting the opposition.  In one experiment, for example, subjects were presented with the question of whether Canada should run a public deficit or instead balance its national budget. One group was asked to generate analogies that would be helpful to a group arguing for a balanced budget, while the other was asked to identify analogies helpful to a group supporting deficit spending. Id. at 5.

The results showed that the analogies developed by the groups were not very influenced by superficial similarities, that the groups generated a wide variety of analogies, and that they drew those deep-structure analogies from domains not typically associated with the target problem. Thus, instead of focusing on matters typically associated with debates over national budgets — economics, politics, and personal finance (if I can balance my checkbook, why can’t the government?!) — the analogies were  drawn “from domains as varied as natural resources, eating, illness, and domestic tasks.” Id. at 9. Further studies have shown similar results and have suggested that individuals generating analogies alone are more effective than groups at finding deep structural similarities in situations that are not superficially similar. Id. at 13.

So here may be a useful tip for a student trying to find analogies to legal problems he or she is trying to develop arguments about:

Sit down alone, without resort to any sources other than your own imagination, and try to think of as many situations that are similar to the problem or issue you are addressing in ways that support the position you are taking on the issue. Don’t feel constrained by case law you may have happened to have read or what you feel lawyers are supposed to do. Use your imagination, and draw on whatever  you can. You’ll end up with a number of analogies. Then you can go to secondary sources, identify cases that involve those types of situations, and perhaps in those cases you’ll find arguments and analogies useful in the case you are trying to solve. You might even find very good ones no one has considered before. Lawyers do that all the time.

Chief Justice Roberts has no respect for precedent that doesn’t suit his purposes.

One of the less noticed parts of last week’s Citizens United decision by the Supreme Court overturning precedent that had supported over 100 years of congressional restrictions on corporate campaign contributions was precisely the question of the strength of precedent. During his confirmation hearings, prospective Chief Justice Roberts was questioned intensely on the question of his respect for precedent, particularly with respect to Roe v. Wade. In keeping with the image he plainly intended to project of a true conservative, a non-activist who respects existing institutions, Roberts emphasized his respect for precedent.

Thus, it should not be particularly surprising that Roberts wrote a separate concurring opinion in Citizen’s United to supplement his support of Justice Kennedy’s majority opinion. Roberts’ concurrence focused on the need to follow Court precedent — or, rather, the need to depart from precedent in this particular case.

Roberts’ concurrence should leave people convinced he would overturn Roe v. Wade and that his persona as a non-activist “umpire” who merely calls balls and strikes is a fraud. First, Roberts wrote, upholding precedent “is not an end in itself. It is instead ‘the means by which we ensure that the law will not merelychange erratically, but will develop in a principled and intelligible fashion.’”

So why would Roberts depart from precedent? First, if he thinks it’s wrong: “[I]f the precedent under consideration itself departed from the Court’s jurisprudence, returning to the ‘ “intrinsically sounder” doctrine established in priorcases’ may ‘better serv[e] the values of stare decisis than would following [the] more recently decided case inconsistent with the decisions that came before it.’”

Merely overturning precedent because a judge thinks it’s wrong, of course, does away entirely with what court’s call “stare decisis,” the rule that compels them to follow precedent (except when they don’t). If all that mattered was a judge’s determination of what is right, then there would be no need for stare decisis — a judge will always uphold precedent he or she believes is right.

So Roberts has to come up with something better. What does he come up with? To me it’s plain: precedent ought to be overturned if its justification is difficult, if using it to decide future cases is difficult, and if its original justification is open to question:

[I]f adherence to a precedent actually impedes the stable and orderly adjudication of future cases, its stare decisis effect is also diminished. This can happen in a number of circumstances, such as when the precedent’s validity is so hotly contested that it cannot reliably function as a basis for decision in future cases, when its rationale threatens to upend our settled jurisprudence inrelated areas of law, and when the precedent’s underlying reasoning has become so discredited that the Court cannot keep the precedent alive without jury-rigging new anddifferent justifications to shore up the original mistake.

Justice Blackmun’s opinion in Roe v. Wade has been under attack by both supporters of the right to choose whether or not to carry a pregnancy to term and those who oppose the right to choose since the day it was issued in 1973. And in fact, our courts should and do uphold precedent if there is any legitimate justification to uphold — that’s a central truth about legal interpretation (and one law students have a very difficult time gaining an understanding of). But Justice Roberts and his allies on the Court now have authority to cite as support for overturning Roe v. Wade because its original justification may not gain widespread support — this opinion of in Citizen’s United.

Finally, Roe v. Wade fits that other justification Roberts advances for overturning precedent —  it is “hotly contested,” and no doubt he and his allies would argue it therefore “cannot reliably function as a basis for decision in future cases.”

One thing I do know — Roberts has no respect for precedent that doesn’t suit his purposes.

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.

Preaching to the converted or trying to convince the unconvinced? They’re very different activities, and the former may well undermine the latter.

One does not persuade the undecided by means of name-calling and comparing oneself to the oppressed — one persuades the undecided with reasoned argument.

I’m not talking about healthcare — I’m talking about copyright and music again.

Ten days ago, a federal court granted Veoh’s motion for summary judgment and dismissed Universal Music Group’s (“UMG”) lawsuit alleging that Veoh, which, like YouTube, allows users to share videos free of charge, for contributing to and inducing copyright infringement as a result of the uploading by Veoh users of copyrighted videos. A copy of the decision is available here.

The court concluded that Veoh’s efforts and policies to limit incidents of infringement and to work diligently to keep infringing works off its website satisfy the “safe harbor provisions” that shield it from liability under the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (the “DMCA”). I am no expert on the DMCA’s safe harbor provisions (an FAQ on those provisions is available here), but the decision strikes me as a rather thorough exploration of the legal issues and of the evidence. Moreover, some of UMG’s arguments are downright specious, including what the court characterizes as its “first.” Typically — in fact, universally among effective lawyers — a lawyer makes his client’s strongest argument first.

UMG’s first argument was that  Veoh is not entitled to the safe harbor protections of the DMCA because it had “actual knowledge” that Veoh knew there were copyrighted videos on its website. UMG “proof” Veoh’s actual knowledge was that Veoh “knew that it was hosting an entire category of content—music—that was subject to copyright protection.” Slip op. at 14. The proof was hardly sufficient to the court, for reasons that seem, to me, persuasive:

First, the mere fact that Veoh was hosting material contributed by users that could be infringing cannot be proof of “actual knowledge” that there are infringing materials on the service because otherwise there would be no purpose to the safe harbor Congress created in the DMCA. “[V]ast portions of content on the internet are eligible for copyright protection (including plenty of materials posted on this site). Id. If one held providers like mine liable for allowing the use of materials by its users that could, if used improperly, be infringing, the internet as we know it would end.

In addition, it is unreasonable to interpret the DMCA to permit such proof to establish “actual knowledge” of infringement because if one were to accept UMG’s theory the DMCA’s notice-and-takedown provisions would be “completely superfluous because any service provider that hosted copyrighted material would be disqualified from the section . . . safe harbor regardless of whether the copyright holder gave notice or whether the service provider otherwise acquired actual or constructive knowledge of specific infringements.” Courts will typically interpret statutes so that their interpretations will not make other parts of the statute meaningless. If Congress intended to create the notice-and-takedown procedures in one part of the statute, it wouldn’t be reasonable to interpret another part of the statute to make them meaningless.

Moreover, UMG made arguments that were refuted by the evidence, including the argument that “Veoh, of course, knew that it never had a license from any major music company to display music content and thus knew that all such content was unauthorized.” Id. (emphasis added) Unfortunately for UMG, its own evidence showed that “[a]mong the types of videos subject to copyright protection but lawfully available on Veoh’s system were videos with music created by users and videos that Veoh provided pursuant to arrangements it reached with major copyright holders, such as SonyBMG.”

Let me be clear — I have not researched the takedown-and-notice provisions of the DMCA to the degree that would make me feel reasonably certain that the court was correct in the decision it reached, but I am certainly persuaded by the reasoning it set forth in its opinion (and what I do know about those provisions) to be well along the way to that conclusion. I am, however, quite open to being convinced by those who would argue otherwise.

I am not convinced at all, however, by Chris Castle (a self-described journalist in the media and communications fields), who’s “first observations” about the decision consist entirely of name-calling, far-fetched analogies, and arguments I know are unfounded. He titles his post “Gideon’s Remix” and explains that he is comparing “independent artists and songwriters” hurt by the court’s decision to the defendant in Gideon v. Wainwright, the landmark Supreme Court decision that established the right of criminal defendants to legal representation in their criminal proceedings. The defendant in Gideon had been sentenced to five years in prison for allegedly stealing about $55 and a few bottles of beer from a pool room. He had been forced, due to his inability to afford a lawyer, to defend himself against the charges.

You better have some evidence of real hardship before you start comparing “independent artists and songwriters” to Clarence Earl Gideon, and you better realize that there is a world of difference between losing your freedom for 5 years and not being entitled to deny the opportunity for current technology to do the myriad of legitimate and enormously beneficial things it does.

Castle next writes that “[i]f the decision [is allowed] to stand, copyright becomes a Constitutional right without a remedy.” That’s odd. The law provides plenty of remedies for copyright infringement, including statutory awards that do not even require evidence that establishes any financial harm arising from the infringement.

I think Castle’s reasoning that Veoh’s activities allow infringement without a remedy might be illuminated by 2 other assertions he makes. First, he suggests that copyright infringement is no different than the theft of personal or real property:

And why limit the decision to the online world–why not extend the notice and shakedown concept to the physical world, too? Why not apply it to cars, or homes, or personal property generally? Why not make our offline economy into one big squat?

This argument is just plain silly. If someone steals a car, the damage is obvious — the owner no longer has the car to use or sell. If someone squats in an apartment you own, that’s property you cannot rent to someone else. But the fact that someone might have improperly posted a copyrighted song on Veoh doesn’t eliminate the fact that the vast majority of videos posted on Veoh are not infringing and are beneficial to Veoh’s users. Moreover, the “independent artists and songwriters” whose “property” is allegedly being misused have the legal power to stop the misuse, the right to sue the infringing Veoh user for damages (without showing harm), and the possession of the thing itself allegedly “stolen.”

Castle states too that leaving the recording companies (and the “independent artists and songwriters” he seems to equate to UMG) to find infringing materials is too great a burden to expect of them:

It seems an entirely unreasonable burden to force independent artists, songwriters, unions, directors, writers, record companies and film studios to search the Internet 24 hours a day, 7 days a week to find infringing copies of works that have not been licensed or approved for use.

I’m not convinced it is an unreasonable burden. It’s easy for me to find online any reference to me or my writings. And it may well be reasonable to impose that burden on me and all those “independent artists” (one might forget UMG was the plaintiff in the lawsuit) in exchange for the benefit of having sites like YouTube and Veoh and the like. Most importantly, the decision on whether, given the benefits provided to society by requiring copyright holders to send takedown notices to services like Veoh (rather than imposing on Veoh the burden of pre-clearing everything posted on its service) is a decision Congress made. If Castle thinks it was a bad judgment, his beef is with Congress, not the court that decided the Veoh case.

Castle also dismisses as a “canard” without any suggestion that there are merits to it the argument that the fair use of copyrighted materials on which a lot of the value on blogs, hosting sites, and search engines is grounded in the constitutional right to free speech. The plain fact is that copyright is a limitation on free speech — without the rights accorded for a limited time and for limited purposes to copyrighted materials, their use would be constitutionally protected by the First Amendment. Thus, the rights accorded by copyright necessarily must be balanced against free speech rights, and this principle is one that is no “canard” — it is well- and long-established as the basis of fair use.

Finally, Castle resorts to name calling. He calls Google “childish” for re-posting videos that it has removed the soundtrack from — something that as far as I can tell is a perfectly legitimate response to a legitimate takedown notice from the owner of the copyright in the soundtrack. He also calls Lawrence Lessig “creepy,” which I suppose is a step up from another post in which he calls Lessig “Lyndon Larouche.”

Again, though, you only gratify those who already believe Lessig is a creepy fascist by tossing around names like that, and anyone who does not already find glee in such ignorance will at best be unpersuaded; more likely, they’ll be turned off.

So is Veoh correctly decided? Castle has only made me feel more strongly that it was. But I remain open to reason.

Lawyers need to learn EVERYTHING.

A student complained to me yesterday that he was being penalized on his law exam because he didn’t know as much about the world as other people. I laughed. I would imagine that greater knowledge about the world would lead to the better performance in any occupation. But the complaint highlighted something unique I think to law. First, law does not stand alone — it only operates in connection with specific activities. If you’re a lawyer for an investment banker, you better understand credit default swaps. If you’re a lawyer for a real estate developer, you better know an awful lot about building. If you’re a family lawyer, a heavy dose of sociology and psychology would be very helpful. Lawyer need to be experts about the REALITY they are acting as lawyers within. The rules are the easy part. The hard part of lawyering is figuring out how to take evidence and use it effectively to interpret and apply those rules. The more you can explain persuasively what and why things happened, the more you can persuasively argue what the law means when it applies to what happened.

It also highlighted part of what I love about law. Every client, every problem, and every transaction requires me to learn about people and things that  I never knew before, often about people and things I had no clue even existed. The world is a very interesting and complicated place, and there’s no end of learning.

The fact my students know a lot less than I do is no surprise. Most of them are more than 25 years younger than I am. But they need to know that they always need to learn more and that I’m not penalizing them for not knowing things they haven’t been exposed to — I’m teaching them that the more they’re exposed to the better they’ll perform as lawyers.

I think we should shoot puppies!

There — that headline should ensure I never can be confirmed for federal office.

Dawn Johnsen, a law professor at the University of Indiana, is President Obama’s nominee to head the Justice Department’s Office of Legal Counsel, which ” provides authoritative legal advice to the President and all the Executive Branch agencies.”  It’s the office that produced the “torture memos,” those shockingly ill-reasoned legal fig-leafs for the Bush administration’s policies regarding the treatment of “detainees in the War on Terror.” Ms. Johnsen was an “unsparing critic” of those memos.  As a result, Senate Republicans are threatening to filibuster her nomination.  But that’s not the reason they are expressing.  What is their pretext?  Twenty years ago in a footnote of a brief she wrote in a lawsuit in which she represented the National Abortion Rights Action League, she wrote that “forcing a woman to bear a child when she had no desire to do so was ‘disturbingly suggestive of involuntary servitude.’” Thus, the Republicans threatening filibuster say, she has “equated abortion with slavery” and is therefore unqualified to fill those posts once occupied by John Yoo and Jay Bybee (currently a tenured law professor and a federal court of appeals judge, respectively), who purported to provide legal justification for the waterboarding and beatings of U.S. prisoners.  (The torture, of course, ensured that we can never bring the terrorists subject to it to justice since no U.S. court would ever consider the evidence obtained by torture reliable enough to convict those terrorists.)

The Republicans are also threatening to do all they can to block the nomination of Harold Koh to be legal counsel to the State Department.  Koh is the dean of Yale Law School.  Why is he unqualified to fill the job he’s nominated for?  Because, purportedly, he thinks “Sharia law could apply to disputes in U.S. courts.” This stuff is actually taken seriously. Even though none of it is true.

I’m flabbergasted.  Effective persuasion and argument require being open to all sorts of ideas, but it also requires constraints — one cannot persuade with unpersuasive arguments.  But whether justifying torture or opposing perfectly reasonable people who happened to oppose the justification of torture, there seems to be a remarkable willingness to rely on the hope that whatever one says, no matter how empty or absurd, will have an impact.  It reminds me of the “Obama pals around with terrorists” line.  Since he had professional connections with Bill Ayers 30 years after Ayers’ days in the Weather Underground, we were supposed to imagine Obama hangs out on his off days with his friends from Al-Qaeda.  I would expect the U.S. Senate could have as much sense as the entire electorate demonstrated last November in rejecting those ridiculous arguments.  So far, it seems, I’m wrong about the Senate.

Chief Justice John Roberts on legal writing

Bryan Garner is the most commercially successful of legal writing teachers. On his company’s web sites, he has numerous short videos with judges from around the country as well as onger interviews with the Supreme Court Justices. Here is his interview with Chief Justice John Roberts on, among other things, the centrality of writing in legal practice:

Law is, first and foremost, human drama.

Today in Contracts class I tried to get my students to understand they have to understand the reality of the case law they’re reading, not merely the rules the cases articulate. The rules only go so far. There are a lot of reasons understanding rules alone is a woefully inadequate way to understand the workings of any legal system, but I did try to get across that if the students would envision choosing, preparing, and questioning the witnesses described and quoted in the case they had read for today, they might understand why one witness in particular had been so effective.

The case was Frigaliment Importing Co. v. B.N.S. International Sales Corp., 190 F.Supp. 116 (S.D.N.Y. 1960), a case memorable in part because the Judge starts his opinion out like this: “The issue is, what is chicken?” The case really does turn on the definition of “chicken.” A U.S. exporter had contracted with a European buyer for the delivery of a large shipment of what the parties had described in their conversations and in the documents they exchanged as “chicken.” The seller delivered, in part, older stewing chickens rather than younger roasters or fryers. The latter are not only younger; they’re also tastier and more expensive. The buyer sued for the difference in price between the young chicken he thought he had bought and the old chickens he received.

The seller won. Among the witnesses was “Defendant’s witness Weininger, who operates a chicken eviscerating plant in New Jersey[. He] testified ‘Chicken is everything except a goose, a duck, and a turkey. Everything is a chicken, but then you have to say, you have to specify which category you want or that you are talking about.’” I tried to get across how effective Weininger must have been. I explained he might well have been like a guy out of The Sopranos — an everyday kind of New Jersey guy who runs a slaughterhouse grunting out in a loud and low voice this funny and telling line. All the students wanted to talk about was that the rule of construction “ut magis valeat quam pereat” ought to control.

Wrong. Rules don’t decide cases, and Latin rules of interpretation definitely don’t decide cases. Human beings decide cases, and human beings are swayed by vivid drama far more than they are swayed by technicalities. Even when we speak of disputes between institutions of finance that are decided by the testimony of accountants we are swayed by drama. There will be a lot of these kinds of cases (decided by the testimony of dueling accountants) in the near future. But there always have been. Back at the end of the last century, Nick Leeson — the self-described “rogue trader whose unchecked risk-taking caused the biggest financial scandal of the 20th century” — was the center of legal action against accountants “forced to explain how their audits of Barings failed to spot Leeson’s creation of a financial abyss capable of bringing down Britain’s oldest merchant bank.”  BNet at the time almost breathlessly explained:

This situation is by no means unique. Accountants from rival firms regularly square up to each other across the courtroom and in the offices of City law firms. The accountancy giants have been regularly pitched against each other in protracted legal battles since the 1970s.

If one realizes the pitched battles between accountants representing rival financial institutions and financial regulators can be described as high drama, one ought to explain that anything legal can, and is, high drama.

One shouldn’t be surprised, therefore, that even at the beginning if the last century the New York Times recognized that trials scenes are, almost inevitably, a regular occurrence in almost any kind of play.

Piecing together coherence

“Life is made up of a series of judgments on insufficient data, and if we waited to run down all our doubts, it would flow past us.”

– Learned Hand, On Receiving an Honorary Degree 137 (1939).

We all always want to know more. The worst discussions I have in class are those that begin with a suggestion from a student along the lines of, “Well, the plaintiff might have done X,” when there is no more reason to believe X happened than to believe the laptops of every student in the class were being used to take notes. In fact, the plaintiff might have done X, but the mere possibility is not enough on which to base a judgment or decision. If, on the other hand, there are facts or reasoning within the case that support a reasonable inference the plaintiff might have done X then perhaps X is worthy of being taken into account.

Juries never have all the facts. Wouldn’t it be nice if God could provide us his videotape, with all the angles the networks apply to sporting events.

But we make judgments, and we make decisions, and without our capacity to decide reasonably well based on a minimum of knowledge we’d be utterly lost. Life would flow right past us. The other day, writing about the reassignment of the Plain Dealer’s well-respected music critic, I wrote that “[a]s far as I know, such a reassignment breaches no duties, contractual or otherwise.” Do I know that for a fact? Of course not. I am not privy to the thoughts, discussions, or plans of any of the parties to the lawsuit. I don’t have a copy of the relevant contracts.  But what do I know? If there had been a breach of a contract or any other legal duty, Rosenberg’s lawyer would have alleged that breach.

In short, non-facts — things that don’t happen — are often as telling or even more telling than the things that happen. Will Girl Talk be sued for copyright infringement? I have no special insight. Some people are certain Girl Talk will be sued. Others believe Girl talk is protected by the doctrine of fair use.

Me? No one has sued Girl Talk yet. That speaks volumes. What else persuades me?  Girl Talk’s recordings use the samples they weave together to create works that can in no way be substituted for the sampled works. In short, as aural collages go, Girl Talk and Negativeland are as good as they get, and if I were interested in vindicating my right to charge for any sample of a recording I owned the copyright to, I’d stay as far away as I could from a lawsuit against those two acts.

But no doubt there is data out there I am unaware of that sooner or later will make me look like a fool.  That’s simply the nature of human existence.

Roberto Bolaño made a somewhat similar point in explaining the transmutation of life’s chaos into the order of stories:

Let’s say the story and the plot arise by chance, that they belong to the realm of chance, that is, chaos, disorder, or to a realm that’s in constant turmoil (some call it apocalyptic). Form, on the other hand, is a choice made through intelligence, cunning and silence, all the weapons used by Ulysses in his battle against death. Form seeks an artifice; the story seeks a precipice.

Should we even consider foreign law in making our own?

Justices Scalia and Thomas have argued that the the Supreme Court should not even refer to foreign law in justifying and explaining its decisions (except perhaps in interpreting treaties), because it would violate the original intent of the Framers. Scalia has even called invoking foreign precedent a “dangerous practice.”

The refusal to even consider the views of foreign courts has always struck me as nonsensical. An argument’s persuasiveness is measured by its persuasiveness. If an argument based on foreign law is persuasive, why forbid its consideration except from some misbegotten xenophobia?

Paul Finkelman, in “Foreign Law and American Constitutional Interpretation: A Long and Venerable Tradition,” refutes Scalia and Thomas for three principal reasons summarized in the introduction to his article. First, “[i]f the Court is going to rely on history, then surely historians must push the Court to offer the best history it can. It serves no good purpose when a justice claims adherence to history and then ignores vast amounts of historical evidence that do not fit with his preferred outcome.” Second, “[t]he history of the Court in the eighteenth, nineteenth, and early twentieth centuries demonstrates that the Court often used foreign law to help it decide cases that did not involve treaties. . . . Indeed, such use of foreign law might constitute a jurisprudential tool equivalent to stare decisis-it has been legitimized because it has been used for so long and so often by so many different justices.” Finally, “early in our history the Court often used foreign law to suppress liberties. Given this fact, it would be jurisprudential hypocrisy for the Court to turn against the use of foreign law now, when it might be used to protect or enhance liberty and fundamental rights.”

Sorry, but your political enemies can use your copyrighted works (as long as their use is fair use).

Many people believe that an artist’s rights in her work include the right to prevent the use of the work on behalf of causes and beliefs she does not believe in. That may be true in Europe; it is not true in the U.S., provided that the use the artist is trying to deny does not exploit the markets created by the original work. In other words, politicians with whom singers disagree may well have the right to use excerpts from those singers’ songs. And the producers of movies that advance views with which the singers take strong exception may not have any worry as long as they are using the songs they are using aren’t being used merely to attract an audience to the movie by use of the song.

Times Higher Education explains the difference between European and Anglo-American law:

The later European view of copyright regarded a published work as the author’s offspring as much as his property, endowing him with inalienable moral as well as tradeable commercial rights. The Anglo-American tradition in copyright, which is based firmly in the notion of property and income, resisted this concept.

Thus, in June, a federal court in New York City denied Yoko Ono’s request for an injunction against further showing and distribution of the movie Expelled, which, as I have previously written, criticizes evolution, promotes the teaching of intelligent design, and, in the process, uses 15 seconds of John Lennon’s song “Imagine.”

As I wrote when Ono’s lawsuit was first filed, If the filmmakers had tried merely “to capitalize on the film as soundtrack material that would be attractive to an audience would likely not be fair use, but, if, as seems likely, the song is quoted to criticize its atheism, that use would likely constitute fair use, regardless of whether Ono finds the users’ message objectionable.” The court, apparently, thought similar things (citations and footnotes omitted; hyperlink added):

Defendants’ use is transformative because the movie incorporates an excerpt of Imagine for purposes of criticism and commentary. The filmmakers selected two lines of the song that they believe envision a world without religion: “Nothing to kill or die for/ And no religion too.” (“Imagine” lyrics) As one of the producers of “Expelled” explains, the filmmakers paired these lyrics and the accompanying music to a sequence of images that “provide a layered criticism and commentary of the song.” The Cold War-era images of marching soldiers, followed by the image of Stalin, express the filmmakers’ view that the song’s secular utopian vision “cannot be maintained without realization in a politicized form” and that the form it will ultimately take is dictatorship. The movie thus uses the excerpt of “Imagine” to criticize what the filmmakers see as the naïveté of John Lennon’s views. The excerpt’s location within the movie supports defendants’ assertions. It appears immediately after several scenes of speakers criticizing the role of religion in public life. In his voiceover, Ben Stein then connects these sentiments to the song by stating that they are merely “a page out of John Lennon’s songbook.” In defendants’ view, “Imagine” is a secular anthem caught in a loop of history recycling the same arguments from years past through to the present. We remind our audience that the ideas they just heard expressed from modern interviews and clips that religion is bad are not and have been tried before with disastrous results.”  The filmmakers “purposefully positioned the clip . . . between interviews of those who suggest that the world would be better off without religion and an interview suggesting that religion’s commitment to transcendental values place limits on human behavior. . . . mak[ing] the point that societies that permit Darwinism to trump all other authorities, including religion, pose a greater threat to human values than religious belief.”

Defendants’ use of “Imagine” is similar to the use at issue in a recent decision of the United States Court of Appeals for the Second Circuit in which fair use was found, Blanch v. Koons. There, the visual artist Jeff Koons copied photographer Andrea Blanch’s photograph from a fashion magazine without permission and incorporated a portion of it into one of his paintings.  . . . As in Blanch, defendants here use a portion of “Imagine” as “fodder” for social commentary, altering it to further their distinct purpose. Just as Koons placed a portion of Blanch’s photograph against a new background, defendants here play the excerpt of the song over carefully selected archival footage that implicitly comments on the song’s lyrics. They also pair the excerpt of the song with the views of contemporary defenders of the theory of evolution and juxtapose it with an interview regarding the importance of transcendental values in public life. Plaintiffs contend that defendants’ use of “Imagine” is not transformative because defendants did not alter the song, but simply “cut and paste[d]” it into “Expelled.” As the foregoing discussion illustrates, however, this argument draws the transformative use inquiry too narrowly. To be transformative, it is not necessary that defendants alter the music or lyrics of the song. Indeed, defendants assert that the recognizability of “Imagine” is important to their use of it.  Defendants’ use is nonetheless transformative because they put the song to a different purpose, selected an excerpt containing the ideas they wished to critique, paired the music and lyrics with images that contrast with the song’s utopian expression, and placed the excerpt in the context of a debate regarding the role of religion in public life. Plaintiffs also contend that defendants’ use of “Imagine” is not transformative because it was unnecessary to use it in order to further the purposes defendants have articulated.

Determining whether a use is transformative, however, does not require courts to to decide whether it was strictly necessary that it be used. In Blanch, although certainly Koons did not need to use Blanch’s copyrighted photo, as opposed to some other image of a woman’s feet, in his painting, the Second Circuit did not suggest that this lack of necessity weighed against a finding of fair use. Similarly, in Bill Graham Archives, the Second Circuit found a transformative use in the defendants’ unauthorized inclusion of several of the plaintiff’s images-principally concert photos-in a coffee-table book about the musical group the Grateful Dead.  Although the defendants manifestly could have proceeded without the plaintiff’s , which constituted only a small part of the book, this posed no obstacle to a finding of fair use.

As I said, I think the use of “Imagine” by the filmmakers without permission is legitimate fair use. Nonetheless, Lennon, and “Imagine” in particular, are being misrepresented. Lennon’s song imagines a world unpolluted by religious sectarianism, not exactly a radical view in light of the issues of the day. But that’s not a view many can find tolerable, even in the U.S. of 2008, and they’ll resort to misrepresentation to support their intolerance.  One day after the decision against Ono, the Wall Street Journal ran a story with the headline The Case Against John Lennon.  The quote that highlights the column?

Nothing to live or die for — what a nightmare.

Mike Thomas points out that the line is “Nothing to kill or die for” and asks:

What is going on here? Why is the WSJ promoting a column with such a provacative title and using a misquote to mislead readers into a negative reaction against John Lennon? The column itself is a mess. It is poorly written, jumbled and fails to adequately explain how John Lennon or his song “Imagine” has anything to do with what the column appears to be about. Here is the pertinent section that mentions Lennon:

“Mr. Sharansky has a new book, titled Defending Identity. It would be equally accurate to call it The Case Against John Lennon. Or, more specifically, the case against ‘Imagine,’ Lennon’s anthem to a world with ‘no countries . . . nothing to kill or die for/And no religion too.’ For Mr. Sharansky, a nine-year resident of the Perm 35 prison camp, that’s a vision that smacks too much of the professed beliefs of the ex-Beatle’s near namesake, Vladimir Ilyich.’

What the hell? Does he think he’s being clever or something? Lennon sounds like Lenin. Get it? So obviously they must be related or they must think alike or something right? Nevermind that “Lenin” was actually an alias for Vladimir Illich Ulyanov, while the surname Lennon dates back hundreds of years to old Ireland.

No, they sound alike so there must be a connection. Right? Kind of like how Obama sounds like Osama so they must be related too. Yeah. That’s the level of reasoning that the column sinks to.

Absolutely pathetic.

And of course he never goes back and explains how V.I. Lenin’s brutal and dictatorial ways have any similarity or correlation to Lennon’s ode to world peace. But fortunately for the cretins who run the WSJ editorial pages, John Lennon is dead and can’t defend his classic work against their asinine columnist’s offhanded smear.

Here’s Ken Miller, a biologist from my alma mater speaking at Case Western Reserve University, from which I am currently on leave, speaking on intellligent design, evolution, and religion:

Rhetoric, hot air, and powerful speech

Charlotte Higgins in the Guardian writes about Barak Obama’s power as a speaker and its connections to ancient oratory, Obama’s training as a lawyer, and the connections between writing and speaking:

There have been many controversial aspects to this presidential election, but one thing is uncontroversial: that Obama’s skill as an orator has been one of the most important factors – perhaps the most important factor – in his victory. The sheer numbers of people who have heard him speak live set him apart from his rivals – and, indeed, recall the politics of ancient Athens, where the public speech given to ordinary voters was the motor of politics, and where the art of rhetoric matured alongside democracy.

Obama has bucked the trend of recent presidents – not excluding Bill Clinton – for dumbing down speeches. . . .Though he has speechwriters, he does much of the work himself. (Jon Favreau, the 27-year-old who heads Obama’s speechwriting team, has said that his job is like being “Ted Williams’s batting coach.”) . . .

More than once, the adjective that has been deployed to describe Obama’s oratorical skill is “Ciceronian”. Cicero, the outstanding Roman politician of the late republic, was certainly the greatest orator of his time, and one of the greatest in history. A fierce defender of the republican constitution, his criticism of Mark Antony got him murdered in 43BC.

During the Roman republic (and in ancient Athens) politics was oratory. In Athens, questions such as whether or not to declare war on an enemy state were decided by the entire electorate (or however many bothered to turn up) in open debate. Oratory was the supreme political skill, on whose mastery power depended. Unsurprisingly, then, oratory was highly organised and rigorously analysed. The Greeks and Romans, in short, knew all the rhetorical tricks, and they put a name to most of them.

It turns out that Obama knows them, too. One of the best known of Cicero’s techniques is his use of series of three to emphasise points: the tricolon. (The most enduring example of a Latin tricolon is not Cicero’s, but Caesar’s “Veni, vidi, vici” – I came, I saw, I conquered.) Obama uses tricola freely. Here’s an example: “Tonight, we gather to affirm the greatness of our nation, not because of the height of our skyscrapers, or the power of our military, or the size of our economy …” In this passage, from the 2004 Democratic convention speech, Obama is also using the technique of “praeteritio” – drawing attention to a subject by not discussing it. (He is discounting the height of America’s skyscrapers etc, but in so doing reminds us of their importance.)

One of my favourites among Obama’s tricks was his use of the phrase “a young preacher from Georgia”, when accepting the Democratic nomination this August; he did not name Martin Luther King. The term for the technique is “antonomasia”. One example from Cicero is the way he refers to Phoenix, Achilles’ mentor in the Iliad, as “senior magister” – “the aged teacher”. In both cases, it sets up an intimacy between speaker and audience, the flattering idea that we all know what we are talking about without need for further exposition. It humanises the character – King was just an ordinary young man, once. Referring to Georgia by name localises the reference – Obama likes to use the specifics to American place to ground the winged sweep of his rhetoric – just as in his November 4 speech: “Our campaign … began in the backyards of Des Moines and the living rooms of Concord and the front porches of Charleston”, which, of course, is also another tricolon. . . .

It is not just in the intricacies of speechifying that Obama recalls Cicero. Like Cicero, Obama is a lawyer. Like Cicero, Obama is a writer of enormous accomplishment – Dreams From My Father, Obama’s first book, will surely enter the American literary canon. Like Cicero, Obama is a “novus homo” – the Latin phrase means “new man” in the sense of self-made. Like Cicero, Obama entered politics without family backing (compare Clinton) or a military record (compare John McCain). Roman tradition dictated you had both. The compensatory talent Obama shares with Cicero, says Catherine Steel, professor of classics at the University of Glasgow, is a skill at “setting up a genealogy of forebears – not biological forebears but intellectual forebears. For Cicero it was Licinius Crassus, Scipio Aemilianus and Cato the Elder. For Obama it is Lincoln, Roosevelt and King.”

Steel also points out how Obama’s oratory conforms to the tripartite ideal laid down by Aristotle, who stated that good rhetoric should consist of pathos, logos and ethos – emotion, argument and character. . . .

In English, when we use the word “rhetoric”, it is generally preceded by the word “empty”. Rhetoric has a bad reputation. McCain warned lest an electorate be “deceived by an eloquent but empty call for change”. Waspishly, Clinton noted, “You campaign in poetry, you govern in prose.” The Athenians, too, knew the dangers of a populace’s being swept along by a persuasive but unscrupulous demagogue (and they invented the word). And it was the Roman politician Cato – though it could have been McCain – who said “Rem tene, verba sequentur”. If you hold on to the facts, the words will follow.

Cicero was well aware of the problem. In his book On The Orator, he argues that real eloquence can be acquired only if the speaker has attained the highest state of knowledge – “otherwise what he says is just an empty and ridiculous swirl of verbiage”. The true orator is one whose practice of citizenship embodies a civic ideal – whose rhetoric, far from empty, is the deliberate, rational, careful organiser of ideas and argument that propels the state forward safely and wisely. This is clearly what Obama, too, is aiming to embody: his project is to unite rhetoric, thought and action in a new politics that eschews narrow bipartisanship. Can Obama’s words translate into deeds? The presidency of George Bush provided plenty of evidence that a man who has problems with his prepositions may also struggle to govern well. We can only hope that Obama’s presidency proves that opposite.

One of the most impressive and useful things to me about Obama’s speeches is his ability to unite his rhetorical moves (like the use of anaphora and epiphora noted in the Higgins’ article) to very powerful themes.

The most notable example of this to me was his 2004 Convention speech — the part about there not being a “Red or Blue America,” but, rather, “a United States of America,” etc. That speech, in addition to employing numerous rhetorical flourishes, employed them all to further the idea we who grew up in the U.S. have all grown up with: e pluribus unum; out of many, one. To me, that idea — that we are a united country precisely because we recognize and respect our vast differences — has always been one of the best things of what it means to be a U.S. citizen.

Sometimes I think that when we talk about rhetoric we focus on the devices at the price of the content we mean them to convey. I always think the primary task is to identify a theme or themes the speaker/writer wants to convey — then one can use the devices to further that theme. Without the theme, the devices really are just empty rhetoric.

Lewis Hyde: remaking copyright by recovering the past

Lewis Hyde is one of the great, and almost entirely unknown, U.S. geniuses. According to this past week’s New York Times Magazine, “David Foster Wallace called him ‘one of our true superstars of nonfiction.’ Hyde’s fans – among them Zadie Smith, Michael Chabon and Jonathan Lethem – routinely use words like ‘transformative’ and ‘life-altering’ to describe his books, which they’ve been known to pass hand to hand like spiritual texts or samizdat manifestoes. The source of much of this reverence is Hyde’s first book, The Gift (1983), which has never been out of print (it was recently rereleased by Vintage in a 25th-anniversary edition) and which tries to reconcile the value of doing creative work with the exigencies of a market economy.”

According to the Times, Hyde’s attention these days has turned to the ways computers and the internet have affected our views of creation and property. As I’ve written before, intellectual property may be property, but we make a huge mistake when we assume it is property just like land or couches are property. The ease with which we now can copy and instantly and disseminate intellectual property world-wide has, however, entirely upset existing intellectual property law. We should not be shocked by the legal chaos — when the material underpinnings on which law has been made change, the law is likely no longer going to work very well. When that upheaval occurs in a political climate that worships capitalism, we probably shouldn’t be surprised that, as Hyde puts it, “the last 20 years have witnessed a corporate ‘land grab’ of information – often in the guise of protecting the work of individual artists – that has put a stranglehold on creativity, in increasingly bizarre ways.”

One particular example of what upsets Hyde is the Sonny Bono Copyright Extension Act, which is commonly understood to be the result of Disney’s capacity to economically coerce legislation to protect its monopoly over Mickey Mouse. The point of copyright law is to encourage invention for the public good. As the Supreme Court has stated, “[t]he monopoly created by copyright thus rewards the individual author in order to benefit the public.” There is no reason to believe Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck would not have been invented and that Walt Disney would not have been fairly compensated for their invention without the Sonny Bono Copyright Extension Act’s posthumous extension of the Disney Corporation’s control over the images of Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck. Such laws provoke Hyde to write:

Always in the background lies the question of the commercialization of culture, exemplified at the moment by many things–the ‘enclosure’ of the public domain, the patenting of aboriginal medicines, proprietary control of genetic materials or of the internet, and the general market triumphalism that has followed the end of the Cold War.

According to Hyde, we can begin to achieve the intended purposes of intellectual property — to promote invention, not maximize the wealth of the inventors — if, as the Times writes, we recover

the idea of the cultural commons as a deeply American concept. To that end, [Hyde] excavates a history of the American imagination in which the emphasis is not on the lone genius (Thoreau scribbling hermetically in the Massachusetts woods) but on the anonymous pamphleteer, the inventor eager to share his discoveries. In an essay that offers a preview of his book (posted, fittingly, on his Web site), Hyde posits that the history of the commons and of the creative self are, in fact, twin histories. “The citizen called into being by a republic of freehold farms,” he writes, “is close cousin to the writer who built himself that cabin at Walden Pond. But along with such mainstream icons goes a shadow tradition, the one that made Jefferson skeptical of patents, the one that made even Thoreau argue late in life that every ‘town should have … a primitive forest …, where a stick should never be cut for fuel, a common possession forever,’ the one that led the framers of the Constitution to balance ‘exclusive right’ with ‘limited times.’ It is a tradition worth recovering.”

McElhaney on being a good writer and speaker: let the story pick the words. Glass: and then explain the point.

How do you do what I’ve been writing about — making your thinking clear by avoiding empty phrases that don’t address the really dire questions you face?  My former Case Western Reserve colleague Jim McElhaney, who’s literally written the book on Trial Practice, has excellent advice in a column entitled “Stop Sounding Like a Lawyer“: “The first step in becoming a good writer and speaker is to concentrate on the story. Let the story-not the legal theory-pick the words.”

McElhaney does a good job in the article of telling a story and conveying its significance.  Ira Glass (a college classmate –  I have crossed paths throughout my life with remarkably talented and accomplished people without many of those traits rubbing off on me) explains that both a compelling story and reflection upon the story’s significance are necessary to capture an audience’s attention:

Creative law “enforcement” in difficult times

From the Chicago Tribune:

“Approximately 70 foreclosure orders that will not be served are displayed at the Cook County Sheriff’s office on Wednesday.

“At least it was until Wednesday, when Sheriff Tom Dart announced he wouldn’t do it anymore.

“Dart cited the growing number of evictions that involve rent-paying tenants who suddenly learn their building is in foreclosure because the landlord neglected to pay the mortgage. By refusing to do any foreclosure-related evictions, the hope is that banks will change their policies.”

(hat tip to MInor Wisdom)

Is there evidence of voting fraud? Not if you look at all the facts.

Lawyers are skeptics not because they are innately skeptical but because they are trained by experience not to trust the first plausible explanation of a given set of facts.

ACORN is very much in the news these days. As the New York Post reports, “The vote of Darnell Nash, one of four people subpoenaed in a Cuyahoga County probe of ACORN’s voter-registration activities, was canceled and his case was turned over to local prosecutors and law enforcement, Board of Elections officials said yesterday. Nash had registered to vote repeatedly from an address that belonged to a legitimately registered voter, officials said during a hearing at which the subpoenaed voters were to testify.”

News like this provokes Sarah Palin to declare, “The left-wing activist group, ACORN, is now under investigation for voter registration fraud in a number of battleground states… We can’t allow leftist groups like ACORN to steal this election.”

Let’s take a look at this news. First, as my colleague Jonathan Adler points out, “Of course registration fraud and actual voter fraud are not the same thing.” (emphasis added) In other words, the fact someone is fraudulently registered does not mean that he will or can get away with fraudulently voting. In fact, there is no evidence in recent history of any voter fraud involving voting by fraudulently registered voters. Jon would counter that registration fraud makes it impossible or at least very difficult to prove voting fraud.

First, I’m not sure why that’s true. Voting fraud investigations would look into whether people who had voted were properly registered. The same evidence available in the prosecution of registration fraud would therefore be available.

Second, it’s at least suspicious that the eruption of investigations and prosecutions of alleged registration fraud shortly before an election follows so closely the pattern that David Iglesias, the former U.S. Attorney in New Mexico, points to as the background of his firing by the Bush administration. Having investigated such allegations and found them inadequate to support any prosecution for voting fraud, Iglesias was fire, apparently for not following the Republican script. Now the Mukasey Justice Department appointed a special prosecutor to look into the firing of Iglesias and several other U.S. Attorneys.

Iglesias has explained that he was pressured to bring these types of voter fraud claims by Republicans in New Mexico shortly before elections in order, in his view, to influence the elections. He investigated the claims and concluded there was no basis for prosecution. Is there suddenly now evidence for identical prosecutions?

So is there widespread work to get enough fraudulent voters on the rolls to elect Obama? I doubt it. In fact, I am prepared to say, no way.

Addendum:

U.S. Department of Justice crime statistics cast doubt on the existence of widespread voter fraud. According to a report by the Justice Department’s Criminal Division on prosecutions between October 2002 and September 2005, the Justice Department charged 95 people with “election fraud” and convicted 55. Among those, however, just 17 individuals were convicted for casting fraudulent ballots; cases against three other individuals were pending at the time of the report. Further, on April 12, 2007, The New York Times reported, “Five years after the Bush administration began a crackdown on voter fraud, the Justice Department has turned up virtually no evidence of any organized effort to skew federal elections, according to court records and interviews.”

Additionally, a 2007 report titled “The Truth About Voter Fraud” by New York University’s Brennan Center for Justice stated: “[W]e are aware of no recent substantiated case in which registration fraud has resulted in fraudulent votes being cast”:

There have been several documented and widely publicized instances in which registration forms have been fraudulently completed and submitted. But it is extraordinarily difficult to find reported cases in which individuals have submitted registration forms in someone else’s name in order to impersonate them at the polls. Furthermore, most reports of registration fraud do not actually claim that the fraud happens so that ineligible people can vote at the polls. Indeed, we are aware of no recent substantiated case in which registration fraud has resulted in fraudulent votes being cast.