It’s not where you take things from—it’s where you take them to.

From Jim Jarmusch’s Golden Rules, which are about film making but have an awful lot of relevance to the practice of law:

Rule #1: There are no rules. There are as many ways to make a film as there are potential filmmakers. . . . Therefore, disregard the “rules” you are presently reading, and instead consider them to be merely notes to myself. One should make one’s own “notes” because there is no one way to do anything. If anyone tells you there is only one way, their way, get as far away from them as possible, both physically and philosophically.

Rule #2: Don’t let the fuckers get ya. They can either help you, or not help you, but they can’t stop you. . . .

Rule #3: The production is there to serve the film. The film is not there to serve the production. . . .

Rule #4: Filmmaking is a collaborative process. You get the chance to work with others whose minds and ideas may be stronger than your own. . . . [T]reat all collaborators as equals and with respect. A production assistant who is holding back traffic so the crew can get a shot is no less important than the actors in the scene, the director of photography, the production designer or the director. Hierarchy is for those whose egos are inflated or out of control, or for people in the military. Those with whom you choose to collaborate, if you make good choices, can elevate the quality and content of your film to a much higher plane than any one mind could imagine on its own. If you don’t want to work with other people, go paint a painting or write a book. . . .

Rule #5: Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is nonexistent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery—celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from—it’s where you take them to.”

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.

RIP Ian Macneil: a lawyer, law professor, landlord, and mensch.

From the Times of London, the obituary of Ian Macneil, a lawyer, law professor, and landlord who embodied the ideal that ownership may be more about proprietorship than about sucking every last dollar (or pound) out of your property:

Ian Macneil, 46th chief of the Clan Macneil and 26th Macneil of Barra, was a much-respected American-born contract lawyer who gave his tenants and neighbours on the Outer Hebridean island of Barra security of tenure on the most favourable contract terms imaginable.

As one of the world’s leading scholars in the field of contract law Macneil was particularly associated with the invention, development and exposition of “relational contract theory”, which posits that all contracts belong in the context of complex webs of exchange relations.

As laird of Barra, though, he was so popular a landlord that when he first offered the islanders part of his island estate for a nominal sum in 1981 they declined, saying they were quite happy and saw no need for change.

In 2003 he did transfer his 9,000 acres in the southern half of Barra into public ownership on condition that the islanders could choose, at any time, to take over the land themselves without cost. Macneil, who was at that time 74, said he was giving up the property because running a crofting estate was a time-consuming business and he was “beginning to slow down”.

He expressed confidence that the Scottish Executive’s Rural Affairs Department would run the property in the crofters’ best interests, but ensured that if the islanders, many of them Gaelic-speaking, ever chose to take over the islands they would be given both Barra and its neighbour, Vatersay, without charge. The islands were, in effect, put in trust for their inhabitants. . . .

One other incident stands out from his professional career: in 1988, while on a visiting professorship at Harvard, Macneil taught the young Barack Obama, and was so impressed that he told his wife he thought he might have America’s first black President in his class. Macneil was invited to President Obama’s inauguration in Washingtonlast year but was unable to attend because of failing health.

From his father’s death in 1970 Macneil was much involved in Barra, running the estate, arguing for the interests of the island’s fishermen and crofters, and protecting the island’s air service from proposed cuts. His father had restored the ruined family seat, Kisimul Castle in Barra, but in 2000 Macneil, who had a home in Edinburgh and occupied a croft on Barra, donated the castle, which is now run by Historic Scotland, to the nation for a peppercorn rent of a bottle of malt whisky and £1 a year. It was a typically practical gesture by a notably kind and learned man

Why has Girl Talk not been sued? You won’t find the answer at SXSW.

You might think that the expert-filled session at the SXSW Festival on “Why the Recording Industry Hasn’t Sued Girl Talk?” and the Texas Observer’s reporting on the session might come up with more profound (and unfounded) statements than the Observer’s unqualified declaration that ‘[T]he totally fascinating upshot of all this is that it turns out that what Girl Talk is doing is definitely NOT legal.”

But why should a bunch of critics and experts who feel they’re at the center of the music universe down in Austin Texas put more thought into the issue than that? Any regular reader of this blog (and many less-than-regular readers) know that I have written extensively on why I believe Girl Talk has not been sued. And it’s not because what Girl Talk is doing “is definitely NOT legal.” One might wonder too why the legal and music experts at SXSW think the legal regime that requires a license for any recorded sample, no matter now brief, is as well-founded in the actual law as they seem to assume.

Law isn’t about what’s legal and illegal; it’s about serving clients.

Law students, too many lawyers, and most non-lawyers think that lawyers tell clients what they can do and what they can’t — what’s “legal” and what’s not. This caricature is so far from the truth it’s laughable. Lawyers serve clients, and there is so, so much more that drives client decision making than what the law states (except, perhaps, in those exceedingly rare instances when the law mandates a certain decision).

So it’s refreshing that Settlement Perspectives reviews the kinds of questions clients want to hear from their lawyers but don’t hear often enough. Perhaps the most important one is this:

What is an acceptable outcome in this matter?

The article goes on to list a number of other questions of particular import to clients, including this one, perhaps most immediately comprehensible to my first year students:

In the case of a litigated matter, on the continuum between winning and losing, what is considered acceptable? Is there a possibility for success short of complete victory? Prevailing without success? Not prevailing but not losing?

(Hat tip to What about Clients?)

Street Smarts, Book Smarts, and Making them Work Together

Scott Berkun compares “book smarts” to “street smarts” and concludes: “street smarts kicks book smarts ass.”

I agree, though, as does Berkun, in saying so I do not intend to demean the importance of book smarts. Street smarts, as Berkun explains, is the knowledge born of experience:

To be street smart means you have situational awareness. You can assess the environment you are in, who is in it, and what the available angles are. Being on the street, or in the trenches, or whatever low to the ground metaphor you prefer, requires you learn to trust your own judgment about people and what matters. This skill, regardless of where you develop it, is of great value everywhere in life regardless of how far from the streets you are.

Most important perhaps, being street smart comes from experience.

To me the most compelling part of Berkun’s post is his insistence that to be street smart is to rely on your own judgment, not the answers someone else has set out for you and you’ve found:

The prime distinction between street smarts and book smarts is who is at the center of the knowledge. On the street, it’s you. In a book it’s you trying to absorb someone else’s take on the world, and however amazing the writer is, you are at best one degree removed from the actual experience. Street smarts means you’ve put yourself at risk and survived. Or thrived. Or have scars. You’ve been tested and have a bank of courage to depend on when you are tested again.

I would only add that making your own judgment the center of book learning will make the book learning itself more effective. And you don’t need the experience of decades to do so. If you read to find answers without evaluating, trying out, and considering alternative to those answers, the answers are just so many abstract symbols that are virtually impossible to translate into future action. But if you do bring your own judgment and imagination to reading, you can make your street smarts improve your book smarts, and those improved book smarts will in turn improve your street smarts.

Trying Proposition 8 as teachable moment

Margaret Talbot notes that a trial can be a terrific method of educating the public on controversial issues. In particular, she focuses on Perry v. Schwarzenegger, the case in which the constitutionality of California’s Proposition 8, overturning the state’s gay marriage law, is being challenged. Talbot has been blogging about the trial throughout the 3 weeks it has been going on. Her latest post points out that trials, in subjecting witnesses to cross examination, permits scrutiny of controversial views that other forums don’t ever provide. As David Boies puts it “The crucible of cross examination forces the witness to confront the other side; they can’t fall back on bumper sticker slogans like ‘marriage is between a man and a woman.’ ”

Talbot compares the educational value of Perry to that of the trial in Kitzmiller v. Dover Area School District, the successful legal challenge against a public school district’s requirement that “intelligent design” be taught as an alternative to evolution as an explanation of the origin of life:

In many ways [the trial in Perry] reminded me of another culture-war trial that I covered, in 2005, one that presented a similar opportunity for intellectually engaging with the arguments and research that usually remain submerged beneath a politicized controversy. That trial was to decide whether intelligent design could be part of the curriculum in a Pennsylvania school district, and its expert testimony covered everything from the fossil record of obscure dinosaurs to Darwin’s own religious beliefs to the theoretical underpinnings of the separation of church and state.

It really is unfortunate the Supreme Court ruled that Perry could not be broadcast via the internet. I very much would like to have seen a witness explain exactly how it is that gay marriage undermines straight marriage. I’ve genuinely tried to understand the argument from some very intelligent people who think that gay marriage does indeed undermine straight marriage, but, I’ll confess, my mind has been unable to get itself around the argument.

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

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

Lipshaw writes (emphasis added):

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

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

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

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

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

UNDERSTANDING MAPS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is electronic mail private? What about voice mail?

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

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

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.

Protecting an artist’s legacy: maximize the income from his works, or seek to embody his art? Moral rights and the successors to John Cage.

One of the more remarkable “copyright” fights has, literally, been over silence. The copyright issues are interesting, but I’m particularly interested in the insights provided by Lewis Hyde that I recently came across and the way they bear on a lawyer’s duty to pay as much or more attention to a client’s heart and soul as it is to pay attention to a client’s legal rights and remedies.

The new information comes from the Official Blog of the John Cage Trust, a wonderful new addition to the blogosphere brought by the “not-for-profit organization founded shortly after Cage’s death to support and nurture his legacy.” As American Masters explains, Cage was not merely one of the 20th Century’s most important composers; his work and thought extends to every creative field:

His sense that music was everywhere and could be made from anything brought a dynamic optimism to everything he did. While recognized as one of the most important composers of the century, John Cage’s true legacy extends far beyond the world of contemporary classical music. After him, no one could look at a painting, a book, or a person without wondering how they might sound if you listened closely.

Cage was particularly interested in investigating composition through chance procedures. Thus, it is not surprising that the homepage of JohnCage.org points right now to “Eddie Kohler’s beautiful application devoted to John Cage’s Indeterminacy: New Aspect of Form in Instrumental and Electronic Music.” According to Stereophile (quoted on Amazon.com), Cage composed Indeterminacy by reading “90 stories, his speed determined by the story’s length. In another room, beyond earshot of Cage, David Tudor, pianist and veteran Cage collaborator, performed miscellaneous selections from Cage’s Concert for Piano and Orchestra and played pre-recorded tape from Cage’s Fontana Mix. The resulting collaboration is an astounding piece of ‘music,’ and a fine introduction to the innovations of John Cage. ‘A wonderfully curious way to hear stories.’”

Perhaps Cage’s most well-known work is 4’33″. Solonmusic.net describes the piece’s first performance and the audience’s reaction (footnotes omitted):

The first performance of John Cage’s 4’33″ created a scandal. Written in 1952, it is Cage’s most notorious composition, his so-called “silent piece”. The piece consists of four minutes and thirty-three seconds in which the performer plays nothing. At the premiere some listeners were unaware that they had heard anything at all. It was first performed by the young pianist David Tudor at Woodstock, New York, on August 29, 1952, for an audience supporting the Benefit Artists Welfare Fund — an audience that supported contemporary art.

Tudor placed the hand-written score, which was in conventional notation with blank measures, on the piano and sat motionless as he used a stopwatch to measure the time of each movement. The score indicated three silent movements, each of a different length, but when added together totalled four minutes and thirty-three seconds. Tudor signaled its commencement by lowering the keyboard lid of the piano. The sound of the wind in the trees entered the first movement. After thirty seconds of no action, he raised the lid to signal the end of the first movement. It was then lowered for the second movement, during which raindrops pattered on the roof. The score was in several pages, so he turned the pages as time passed, yet playing nothing at all. The keyboard lid was raised and lowered again for the final movement, during which the audience whispered and muttered.

Cage said, “People began whispering to one another, and some people began to walk out. They didn’t laugh — they were just irritated when they realized nothing was going to happen, and they haven’t fogotten it 30 years later: they’re still angry.” Maverick Concert Hall, the site of the first performance, was ideal in allowing the sounds of the environment to enter, because the back of the hall was open to the surrounding forest. When Tudor finished, raising the keyboard lid and himself from the piano, the audience burst into an uproar — “infuriated and dismayed,” according to the reports. Even in the midst of an avant garde concert attended by modern artists, 4’33″ was considered “going too far.”

Laura Kuhn, the Cage Trust’s Executive Director, graciously points readers to a excerpts from a conversation between Nicholas Riddle, general manager of Peters Edition, which owns the copyrights in Cage’s works, and Hyde, the author of an eagerly awaited forthcoming book on the “cultural commons.”  The part of the exchange between Riddle and Hyde Ms. Kuhn has posted concerns the work that became the focus of one of the more notorious copyright lawsuits of all-time, brought by Peters Edition against Mike Batts, a British composer. In the course of producing the album Classical Graffiti for the The Planets, Batts inserted a one minute silence between two sections of the album that were in radically different styles. According to Riddle, Batts said, “”I thought for my own amusement it would be funny to call it something, so I called it A Minute’s Silence and credited it as track 13, and put my name as Batt/Cage, as a tongue-in-cheek dig at the John Cage piece.’”

Subsequently, Batts’ “record company forwarded the [album] to MCPS, which was handling the mechanical royalties for these CDs. They then identified Cage’s 4’33” as the work in question and started to pay out pro rata royalties to [Peters Edition] as Cage’s publisher.” After Batts’ “homage” became the subject of newspaper reports, Peters Edition “agreed to a run-off between the Batt piece (performed by The Planets) and the Cage piece, performed at the clarinet by our London firm’s Head of New Music, Marc Dooley.”

As Riddle notes, the press described the subsequent lawsuit brought against Batts by Peters Edition as a claim that “Batts stole his silence from Cage.” I can’t say that I didn’t have precisely that impression. Riddle explains the lawsuit to Hyde differently — since Batts attributed the 1 minute of silence to Cage, he was either earning royalties for Cage’s work or identifying something as Cage’s work that wasn’t. Either way, he’d owe Peters Edition money:

The claim was nothing to do with stealing silence from Cage. The issue was entirely that Batt identified this silence as having Cage authorship, leading to a presumption that he was quoting in some sense from 4’33”, and was so successful in doing so that the collecting society started to pay out mechanical royalties for it. There were really only two options here: either, the track really was intended as a quotation from 4’33” or some other unidentified Cage work, in which case mechanical royalties were due; or, he was misappropriating Cage’s name in the context of a musical work, and that also would not do. He, after all, was the one who claimed it was Cage in the first place. Was he passing off something else as being by Cage, or was the work actually Cage? Since performances of 4’33” could be said in some sense to be self-identified as such, it was really his call.

As Hyde recognizes in his response to Riddle, the claim that identification of the minute of silence as a work by Cage was a “misappropriation” of Cage’s name to give value to a work it would not have had without that attribution is founded in the concept of “moral rights,” which are (except in very narrow circumstances not applicable to the lawsuit against Batts) not recognized in U.S. copyright law. As Hyde very concisely describes an artist’s moral rights, “such rights include the right of attribution, the right to prevent false attribution, and the right of integrity.”

I can understand why if one were talking about a conventional musical composition Riddle is right — Batts would owe money either because he had earned royalties from the sale, without permission, of a work that Cage had composed or, under the doctrine of moral rights, he had made money from a work that presumably sold in part because it had been falsely attributed to Cage.  Nonetheless, I cannot get my head around the idea that 1 minute of silence is a quotation of 4 minutes and 33 seconds of silence or that the attribution wasn’t a perfectly legitimate parody of Cage’s work rather than an effort to extract money from listeners who would mistakenly think they were listening to Cage’s silence, not Batts’. Even in a realm of moral rights there must be room for parody.

Nonetheless, to the shock of many, Batts settled the lawsuit and paid an undisclosed sum of money to the John Cage Trust. Riddle admits he is not at liberty to discuss the details of the settlement and writes that he and Batts did not discuss the reasons Batts agreed to the financial settlement, but he suggest that his own belief is that Batts as an artist recognized a need to acknowledge the legitimacy of the publisher’s claims:

[M]y personal take on this is that it is important to remember that Mike Batt is also a composer and that a significant part of his income is from royalties earned on his existing works. The same applies to CDs of his music or the music of the bands he creates and promotes. He is heavily invested himself in the concept of intellectual property and its value. And rightly so, in my view.

Hyde doesn’t dispute the merits of Riddle’s explanation of the legal bases of the lawsuit, but he does raise (in a remarkably gentle and respectful way) another entirely different doubt he has about the wisdom of the lawsuit. Hyde points to Cage’s Buddhist beliefs and convictions that his art was not a projection of his personality. In fact, moral rights are grounded in the idea that an artist’s creations are in some way embodiments and extensions of the artist: one violates an artist’s moral rights if one violates a work’s “integrity” by, for example, defacing it, because defacement of the work is in some sense a defacement of the artist. To attribute to an artist a work that isn’t by the artist is, in turn, to violate the artist’s identity by identifying the artist with something that is not the artist; an artist’s genuine work, in contrast, is the artist.

But Cage did not believe his compositions embodied or otherwise constituted extensions into the world of his identity. As Hyde writes, Cage was not interested in chance as a means of revealing the personality. He even wrote, “Personality is a flimsy thing on which to build an art.” Instead,

Cage was after [Jacques] Monod’s ‘absolute newness’ of pure chance. He was not out to discover any hidden self, nor did he think chance operations would reveal any hidden, already-existing divine reality, as ancient diviners thought. ‘Composition is like writing a letter to a stranger,’ he once said. ‘I don’t hear things in my head, nor do I have inspiration ….’”

If Hyde is right, then pursuing a claim that Cage’s moral rights had been infringed by Batts would be to assert a claim Cage himself did not believe in. If Cage had understood that, would he have refused to assert the claim? I think there’s a good chance of that. Would you sue someone for doing something you thought was a perfectly legitimate thing to do even if someone told you that if you sued them you’d get money? It’s important to understand that a lawyer represents the client, not the client’s abstract legal rights. But when someone’s rights pass to another (whether by contract, by trust instrument, by will, or otherwise), the new owner of the rights may have his own idea of what is important to protect.

How much is that successor bound by the original right’s holder’s understanding and intentions? That is a very, very interesting and difficult question. Hyde is suggesting, I think, that Riddle and Peters Edition were really watching out for the concerns of Peters Edition and not for the concerns of John Cage as an artist, that Riddle might have done far more to preserve Cage’s legacy than he did by extracting some money from Batts for the John Cage Trust.

Kids need to learn a lot, but they can teach us a lot too.

The information and communication revolution wrought by the internet is, among other things, a generational divider. While one generation bemoans the threat of the internet to newspapers and books, a new generation — the one I teach — appears to do the vast majority of its reading online. It is of course not all a matter of the younger generation having aptitudes for a new environment we old people resist adapting to. There is as much lost as is gained. (One of these days I’ll explore the loss I’ve noticed in researching skills, the ability to ferret out information that is not easily accessible or even immediately recognizable as important.)

But there is so much that is of great use in the new environment that too many of my contemporaries (and, also, too many of my students) don’t take advantage of. Social Media Law Student is a terrific site for helping us all find and learn how to use new tools. It’s run and written by law students. Yana Siganur writes today’s lead article, in which she takes the opportunity “to remind everyone of the efficiency that is Google” in a well-written and concise guide to a number of tools available from Google that can our professional lives easier.

Make your point and move on; Fairey lied, but AP won’t establish he always does.

As I’ve said over and over again, lying messes you up. It robs you of credibility, a problem which inevitably is going to infect the decision maker’s view of the merits of your case. But when facing a liar, you can get carried away by his lies and take your eye off your own case. AP seems prone to this danger in its case against Shepard Fairey. Having established Fairey lied about knowing which photo he used in creating the Obama Hope poster, AP is now contending that Fairey lied when he claimed in January 2009 that he didn’t recall which photo he used.

I’m not sure why AP is pushing this point. First of all, it does not bear on the question of fair use at the heart of the case. Second, they’ve just been successful in establishing Fairey’s a liar. What more do they want? It will be far, far more difficult — and, as far as I can imagine, impossible — to establish that in January Fairey didn’t remember which photo he used (rather than incorrectly claiming later, after he’d reviewed his materials in connection with the preparation of the poster, which precise photo he’d used). And it’s not as if AP doesn’t have its own problems with credibility that it should make every effort to avoid.

And, again, as I wrote previously over at Remix America: Fairey and AP’s counter-accusations of illegitimate conduct are interesting but really irrelevant to the question of fair use in connection with the Obama Hope poster. So is the possibility that Garcia is lying about being angry at Fairey when Garcia first realized that the source of the poster was his photo. Of course, Garcia’s failure to realize this fact until he was told, even though he was very familiar with the poster, may be relevant — if the photographer didn’t realize the source was his photo, isn’t that some evidence the poster so thoroughly transformed the photo it stands on its own as a creative work?

But, more to the point of this post: if Garcia didn’t realize in January the photo was the source of the poster, isn’t it credible that Fairey didn’t either? AP gained ground this week in outing a lie; now it may be trying to go to that tactic too often.

Teaching legal imagination: Harvard dean calls for it, I am grateful, but a lot of work remains.

Kristopher Nelson of in propria persona graduated from Harvard Law School in May and now is a graduate student in the history of science. He astutely observes that law school emphasizes training its students to practice law but does a rather poor job of actually doing so: “Law school . . . while pushing the prac tical, does not teach it.” As I’ve made clear, I think his criticism is particularly well placed when it comes to Harvard.

So I am happy to see that Nelson points to an article written by co-written by Martha Minow (pdf), the new dean of Harvard Law School, in which Minow and her co-author, Todd Rakoff, explicitly acknowledge that law students need more. What do they need? I think Minow and Rakoff are right to identify it as “legal imagination”:

[S]tudents need more, and they need more not for arcane or unusual careers, but simply to be good lawyers. While an expert in differentiating mental skills could probably produce a raft of labels for what they also need, when we think of what students most need that they do not now get, we think: “legal imagination.” What they most crucially lack, in other words, is the ability to generate the multiple characterizations, multiple versions, multiple pathways, and multiple solutions, to which they could apply their very well honed analytic skills. And unless they acquire legal imagination somewhere other than in our appellate-case-method classrooms, they will be poorer lawyers than they should be.

How will they be taught this legal imagination? By being given “cases” more like students are given in business school than students are given now in law school: complex problems in which the students are required to generate real world alternatives, recommend the best, and be evaluated on the quality of their judgment:

[T]he type of materials we have in mind can be described in general. Students ought to be presented with relatively dense materials that lay out a situation, experienced as a problem for a person, or group of people, for legal treatment. Students should face a choice that challenges them to identify options and that permits multiple resolutions, sometimes within a relatively tight ambit. Such resolutions might include issues such as which settlement offer would make it sensible to forego litigation. Sometimes these choices might be within broader (but still specifiable) alternatives, such as whether trying to get particular legislative language adopted would be feasible and preferable to private ordering. The problems ought not to be situated in one doctrinal area, but should present opportunities for mental maneuvering around the legal universe. Teaching should emphasize generating alternative solutions as well as appropriate grounds for choosing among them. And criteria for resolution should include legal, normative, and practical considerations.

Of course, Minow and Rakoff also believe that “following the business school model, we think that case writers will need to get their materials from practitioners.” Why isn’t this already going on throughout law school? One reason, I’ve always believed, is that law professors are those who have done best in law school (not necessarily, or even usually, as lawyers), so they perpetuate the existing institutional model in their belief that if law school has identified them as the best and brightest it must be well designed. Law professors are not unique in this tendency. Anyone who succeeds in an institution has a vested interest in believing the institution’s promotion procedures are very good at judging genuine merit. 90% of law firm partners will tell you their firm is better than most at judging associates. And Minow even recognizes this impediment to the change she calls for:

Law professors were good law students, and given the history of legal education, this means that they almost universally feel comfortable handling appellate opinions in the classroom even if they have no experience doing so in practice. By contrast, for many of us, the arenas of the legislature, the agency, the political movement, the media— perhaps even the trial courts—are ones we may only remotely watch. Ideally, case studies and teachers’ notes could be crafted so that they could be taught by professors as we know them in law schools as we know them. But, frankly, many of us will need to learn some new things.

I am thrilled that the dean of Harvard Law School is making these arguments. As goes Harvard, so goes virtually every law school in the country. But there is also another piece of the puzzle that needs to be put into place, as I’ve previously written about: how in the world can we measure whether we are effectively teaching “legal imagination”? In many ways I think I’m ahead of Minow in trying to do what she calls for. But until I can prove that what I am doing in fact teaches students how to be lawyers better, I’m afraid that I won’t have a ton of influence. Fortunately, Minow, merely because she is the dean of Harvard Law, can have influence even without first proving what she is arguing for works.

Credit Default Swaps and Mortgage Backed Securities: a Primer.

I’ve previously noticed Mark Labaton’s writing. Labaton is a lawyer in LA, and he writes with the kind of clarity and precision that is crucial to effective lawyering. In the most recent issue of LA Lawyer (pdf), he applies those writing skills — in the article entitled “Swap Meet” — to explaining “derivatives,” those financial instruments central to our current economic disaster. I’ve tried to do a similar thing here a few times (here, for example), but Labaton’s account is much more comprehensive. It’s an important piece. I can’t say enough to my students that they have to reject any idea that the stuff they have to face is too complicated for them to understand. We were told again and again that credit default swaps were too complicated to understand (see below, from a CNBC Telecast in November 2006). That’s hogwash. Accepting the myth our financial markets were dealing with risks too complicated for anyone to understand (even the most active participants in the markets!) put us in this mess an is keeping us from getting out of it as quickly or effectively as we might. Labaton not only understands this point, he also provides a very useful explanation for the rest of us.

Lying messes you up. Polanski, the rapist, and the lying prosecutor.

One thing potential witnesses have to understand about lying is that every lie creates problems regardless of whether the lie itself is found out. Every lie requires every statement after the lie — for an indefinite period of time — to account for the lie. If you say something after the lie inconsistent with the lie, you’ve got real problems. Which is the lie? The new statement? The old lie? Who is going to know, and who is going to believe anything you say?

I’m reminded of this problem with lies today because of a story Marcia Clark writes about one of the prosecutors in the Roman Polanski rape case back in 1977, after Polanski had entered a guilty plea to engaging in unlawful sexual intercourse with a minor and was awaiting what he hoped, and apparently expected, was a sentence that would not include jail time. As the Wall Street Journal Law Blog writes, “According to a 2008 documentary, called Roman Polanski: Wanted and Desired,  . . . a Los Angeles prosecutor named David Wells confessed to buttonholing the judge [presiding over Polanski's case] — out of the presence of Polanski’s lawyer — and convinced him to impose a sentence that included prison time.”

Lawyers cannot communicate with judges regarding pending cases outside of the presence of the lawyers for the other parties. It’s a major no, no, and Wells’ admitted misconduct no doubt is part of Polanski’s opposition to extradition.

But now, according to Clark, Wells recently told her:

I lied. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I did. The director of the documentary told me it would never air in the States. I thought it made a better story if I said I’d told the judge what to do. . . . Look, after 30 years, I never thought they’d get the guy back here. I figured no one cared anymore, and no one here would ever see the film anyway. What can I say? I don’t have a better reason than that. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Clark believes Wells. I don’t know what to believe. Was he lying in to the filmmakers or is he lying today? Why would a prosecutor tell a lie to filmmakers that would show him to be unethical? He has more reason to lie today — now there’s attention to the unethical conduct he confessed to on film, and the extradition of a rapist is at stake.

And, frankly, I don’t consider Marcia Clark the most reliable judge of anything. Don’t get me going, but the reason for the O.J. verdict to my mind was, purely and simply, incompetent lawyering  by the prosecution.

If a county court in Georgia can take adavantage of a website and do it well, so can you.

Justice Serves, for the 11th consecutive year, names the Top Ten Court Websites.

What do they have in common? They’re well organized, making it easy for anyone to find exactly what they need on the site. They provide online services that eliminate pointless trips to inconvenient locations. (Courthouses aren’t the centrally located public oases they once were. Have you ever attended traffic court in a strip mall 50 miles away? I have.) And they make rules and procedures that inspire dreams of Kafka plain and obvious.

Three cheers to the State Court of Chatham County, Georgia.

Lawyers do the best they can for clients; I wish law professors realized that’s what lawyers should always do.

As someone who has practiced over ten years and taught over ten years I am particularly sensitive to the divide between legal practice and legal academia, and I am partial to the legal practice side of the debate. It’s not that a lot of law professors don’t do a lot of good things; rather, it’s that too many law professors and too much legal education proceeds as if the world of practice is irrelevant. In fact, I am convinced that legal education and legal theory divorced from the application of law in practice is meaningless. Law does not exist except as it has the potential to affect the real world (unless you’re talking about religious law).

And it is fundamental to the practice of law that the first and primary responsibility of the lawyer is to the client’s best interests. When you start treating the client merely as a means to raise intellectual issues you find of greater interest you’re doomed to get in trouble.

Charles Nesson is a good example of a law professor who doesn’t understand how to be a lawyer. Nesson ignored the advice of many who are sympathetic to the plight of file sharers in conducting his defense of Joel Tenenbaum, a case which resulted in a $675,000 verdict against his client. There were many who considered Nesson’s defense bad lawyering, including myself. Blue Mass Group even asked whether he was “the worst lawyer ever” in a post that supported the legitimacy of the question with examples from the case:

[T]hrough the course of the litigation, Tenenbaum gave sworn statements that he then contradicted at trial. And in a dramatic moment, it seems that at the end of his testimony, just before the verdict, he actually admitted liability, causing the judge to find him liable and the leave only question of damages for the jury to decide. Who prepared Tenenbaum to testify? Did anyone bother?

It also seems that Professor Nesson made audio-recordings of depositions in the case–perhaps for use in the classroom?–without the knowledge of the lawyers on the other side of the case. This is potentially a crime, as well as an apparent violation of the Rules of Civil Procedure, which require a lawyer taking a deposition to notify the other side of the method to be used to record it (though perhaps if Professor Nesson was recording depositions taken by the other side, he would not be in violation of the rule–I’m not sure).

Now, Professor Nesson says he will appeal on the judge’s failure to instruct the jury on fair use. I’m not a copyright law expert, but I’ve heard others describe this issue as likely to lose.

In any case, it seems clear to me that Professor Nesson did not really act to protect Tenenbaum’s interest. This twenty-something graduate student is now facing bankruptcy when he could have settled the case for next to nothing.

More support for the criticism of Nesson’s job defending Tenenbaum comes today with the news that the judge in Tenenbaum’s case ordered defendants who did not even bother to defend file sharing charges to pay the minimum penalties allowed under the Copyright Act, prompting Ars Technica to point out that Tenenbaum and others like him “would have been far better off monetarily if they had simply ignored the complaint altogether and failed to show up in court.”

The sad part is Ars Technica is right — sometimes bad lawyering is worse than no lawyering.

Nesson’s response to criticism that he ignored defenses and other strategies he might have used to minimize Tenenbaum’s liability? He writes, without an ounce of apparent regret: “these defenses do not join the fundamental issues. this trial was not an exercise in getting joel off the hook.”

That’s precisely my point. If you treat a case as a means to an end and are willing to sacrifice the client’s best interests to get to that end, you are not doing your ethical duty as a lawyer. If you insist on a jury, make legal arguments there is no good reason to think will prevail, allow your client to lie in pretrial testimony and go ahead and put him on the stand anyway, flout good sense in recording hearings without having gotten the judge’s permission to do so, and then go and post those recordings on line, is it any wonder your client ends up paying a big price?

As I indicated in my last post (and numerous times on this blog and elsewhere), I am convinced the RIAA’s campaign to sue file sharers is misbegotten as a practical, business matter. I’ve even gone out of my way to try to help Nesson. (See also here.) That doesn’t mean that Nesson is a noble guy in sacrificing his client to what he considers a greater cause, and a lawyer should know better.

Copyright and Good Judgment: Damien Hirst, Idiot.

In England, a 17 year old artist named Cartrain created a collage that included an image of Damien Hirst’s diamond encrusted skull, a work entitled “For the Love of God.” As the Independent reports: “The collages were put up for sale on a website, 100artists.com. Hirst reported him to the Design and Artists Copyright Society and a string of legal letters were sent to Cartrain’s art dealer, Tom Cuthbert, at 100artworks.com, about the teenager’s pieces, also called For the Love of God. The online gallerysurrendered them to Hirst with a verbal apology.” So, in July, Cartrain walked into a museum showing some of Hirst’s works and walked off with a box of pencils from one of the installations. As Cartrain explained, “That same day I made up a fake police appeal poster advertising that the pencils had been removed from the Tate and that if anyone had any information they should contact the police on the phone number advertised.” “A few weeks later I went out and I returned home to find out the art and antiques squad from New Scotland Yard had called round with a warrant for my arrest.” According to the Independent, Cartrain “was told by custody officers that the pencils were valued at £500,000 and that he had damaged ‘the concept of a public artwork titled Pharmacy … valued at £10,000,000.’ Cartrain is on bail and, if convicted, his actions will feature among the highest value modern art thefts in Britain. Does Damien Hirst have the right to foreclose the use of images in which he owns the copyright from collages? Plainly, I don’ t think so. But it’s also one of those situations in which I’d tell a client to just back off. Reportedly, Hirst sold the skull for $100 million. The image is ubiquitous. I know I’ve sent it to friends as part of an app on Facebook. Do you, I’d ask, really need to be so heavy-handed in connection with a kid trying to get his start as an artist? (hat tip to Techdirt)