New solutions for new problems: who knows your passwords after you die?

Here’s a new problem: how do your heirs get access to your financial accounts and other online information after you die? You can, of course, be sure to maintain a file of your user names and passwords, but you run the risk of forgetting to change the list as you change passwords, and who among us has compiled such a list?

Into the vacuum created by such needs come solutions. As Rafe Needleman writes, “Legacy Locker simply backs up the passwords and access codes to your online accounts. When you die, it gives that information to the people you designate.” And the system (scheduled to become operative in April) comes with all sorts of backup systems built in:

The system periodically tries to log on to your accounts for you. If it can’t–if you’ve changed passwords–it alerts you to update your records. Also, Legacy Locker only unlocks if two people whom you’ve designated confirm your death, and even then only if one of them supplies a death certificate to the company. Legacy Locker staff handles this; the unlock procedure is not wholly automated. Toeman claims that the system’s files are all encrypted and cannot be unlocked without authorization.

Of course, it comes with a price — $29.99 a year or $299.99 for a lifetime subscription. And Life Locker plans to market itself primarily to estate planners, who will pass on the cost to their customers.

And, of course, I hope it’s not just a very effective phishing scheme.

Our capacity to be just is measured by our capacity to do justice to those most in need of it.

The only way to do justice is to provide opportunities for justice. 50 years ago, in Gideon v. Wainwright, the Supreme Court ruled that a criminal defendant has a constitutional right to representation by a lawyer and that, if he cannot afford one, the state must provide him with one. Now, with our states and local governments starving for money, this foundation of our justice system is sorely threatened. Two lawyers whose careers have been devoted to these issues, Virginia Sloan and (my good friend) Cait Clarke, write:

The report of the Constitution Project’s National Right to Counsel Committee, Justice Denied: America’s Continuing Neglect of Our Constitutional Right to Counsel, is the most comprehensive examination of the indigent defense crisis in over 30 years. The Committee, whose members represent every relevant part of the criminal justice system, including prosecutors, judges, victim advocates, defenders, bar leaders, and scholars, unanimously concluded that this country’s indigent defense system is in crisis, that the government has for too long ignored its obligation to provide lawyers in these cases, and that it cannot be ignored anymore. The report outlines 22 urgently-needed recommendations for reform.

One of the most important recommendations is that indigent defense should be provided through an independent, non-partisan authority that appoints qualified, experienced lawyers who have adequate resources. Of equal significance is the recommendation that the federal government assist the states in ensuring that the Sixth Amendment is protected and that poor people have the kind of lawyers to which they are constitutionally entitled. The federal government provides badly-needed funding for law enforcement and prosecutors, but to continue doing so without also providing funding for public defense services simply exacerbates the already untenable situation.

Another recommendation is that the federal government should create a federal office of public defense services to distribute funds, collect data, promulgate standards, and develop and deliver training similar to the federally-supported training for state and local prosecutors. Additionally, the federal government should require all states to abide by national standards for public defense. Adoption of the American Bar Association’s Ten Principles would provide constitutionally adequate legal representation for criminal defendants unable to afford an attorney.

One innovative idea that will improve the quality of representation for indigent defendants is to create a national fellowship program to cultivate and train the next generation of indigent defense lawyers. This would dramatically increase the number and caliber of lawyers working to secure justice for clients and communities. Equal Justice Works, working in partnership with the Southern Public Defender Training Center (SPDTC), is proposing to do just that.

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.

True innovation in health care: no-fault insurance for bad medical outcomes.

We would make genuine and profound progress in “fixing” our health care system if we replaced the existing malpractice system with (1) no-fault insurance to compensate patients for the long-term medical and personal costs of bad medical outcomes and (2) an effective mechanism by which the medical profession policed the quality of the care provided by its members.

One political war that never seems to wane is over the medical malpractice system. On the one hand there are the doctors, the insurance companies, and right-wingers screaming that it is medical malpractice that is bankrupting us; on the other, there are the malpractice lawyers and the rest of us who want protection against the risk of suffering unexpectedly from medical treatment.

The critique of the malpractice system has a lot of validity — it’s a lottery in which those patients who have gone to the trouble of hiring lawyers under circumstances smelling sufficiently of medical negligence make out well and the rest of those injured by bad medical outcomes are left with nothing. As a result, too, doctors practice defensive medicine, driving up medical costs for all of us.

But that’s not the entire story. Our health insurance system is a failure, and patients who suffer bad medical outcomes often won’t have coverage sufficient to provide them the care required by the bad outcomes. The only alternative is to sue for malpractice, but the premise of malpractice is that there is no recovery unless the patient is able to prove the doctor was negligent.

Is it any wonder, then, that in a close case, given the choice between, on the one hand, compensating a badly injured patient from with money provided by an insurance company and, on the other, declaring the doctor to be without fault, a jury of human beings will tend to do the merciful thing and find the doctor acted negligently?

Doctors, of course, hate that question. They look at malpractice cases as judgments on their talents, not as tests of mercy. A jury that finds a doctor liable for malpractice has, in the doctor’s eyes, found the doctor to be a bad doctor. To the doctor on trial, The patient’s injuries –as opposed to the doctor’s efforts — are irrelevant.

The dilemma is obvious. First, bad medical outcomes are inevitable regardless of the adequacy of care. As a result, bad medical outcomes are risks we all face. Second, our existing insurance scheme does not spread this risk — rather, those who suffer bad medical outcomes and are not compensated by the malpractice system themselves bear all the costs of that risk.

Wouldn’t we be better off if everyone who suffered a bad medical outcome was compensated for the costs that arose out of that bad medical outcome regardless of the quality of the medical care? No one would be over-compensated, everyone would be fairly compensated, and the abilities of doctors wouldn’t be judged by juries of lay people who are motivated to disregard good judgment regarding those abilities by an entirely understandable and praiseworthy sense of human sympathy.

Such a scheme does raise one problem that the critics of the malpractice system also ignore — we really do enjoy a remarkably high standard of care in this country precisely because of the malpractice system. Doctors have never gone to the trouble of instituting an effective means of policing the quality of medical practice. To some degree they haven’t needed to do so because the risks posed by the malpractice system have forced insurance companies to take on that role. To replace the malpractice system with a no-fault insurance system, therefore, would require some genuine quality control imposed by the medical profession itself.

But if we simply gut the malpractice system and ignore the costs of bad medical outcomes and the need for some genuinely effective means of quality control, we would instead have the worst of all worlds.

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

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

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

SNAFU, anyone?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steven Levitt and Freakonomics can go to hell!

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

Don’t bet on it.

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

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

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

Honor our veterans and don’t efface their experience with ideology: Freakonomics & the draft.

My understanding is that “Freakanomics” is the application of economic thinking that oversimplifies human behavior to the analysis of actions that economics typically doesn’t address. The thinking goes that if people are always left free to make choices for themselves about what to do for themselves, society as a whole will be best off.

When will this idiocy end? Isn’t there some recognition somewhere that individuals making decisions that are best for them might in the aggregate hurt everyone? And when is a person really free to make a decision one way or another about whether, say, he can go to law school or he should enlist in the armed forces?

It’s Veterans Day. It’s always been a special day in my family. My father was a soldier and POW in WWII. WWII was a difficult war with an outcome that was not certain until very near the end (and even then it took a new and horrific weapon to finally end it). The U.S. and the Soviet Union won it. My father didn’t get drafted, but he enlisted because he was about to be drafted. The U.S. military was a genuine citizen’s force. My father was changed forever by the experience — mostly for the better, but it was by no means an experience he wished me to undergo in the absence of a very good reason.

I cannot help but be humbled on Veterans Day.

But Steven Levitt is much too clever for all of that. He’d tell my dad that people like him who were forced into the military in WWII were the “wrong people”! Given Mr. Levitt’s brilliance, it’s a wonder we won WWII and haven’t won wars in Iraq and Afghanistan that we’ve now fought 2 and 4 years longer, respectively, than we fought WWII:

The idea that a draft presents a reasonable solution is completely backwards. First, it puts the “wrong” people in the military — people who are either uninterested in a military life, not well equipped for one, or who put a very high value on doing something else. From an economic perspective, those are all decent reasons for not wanting to be in the military. (I understand that there are other perspectives — for example, a sense of debt or duty to one’s country — but if a person feels that way, it will be factored into his or her interest in military life.)

One thing markets are good at is allocating people to tasks. They accomplish this through wages. As such, we should pay U.S. soldiers a fair wage to compensate them for the risks they take! A draft is essentially a large, very concentrated tax on those who are drafted. Economic theory tells us that is an extremely inefficient way to accomplish our goal.

When ideas replace the lessons of experience, we dishonor those who have undergone the experience.

The EFF fights copyright overclaiming by means of public shaming

One of the problems of our legal system I’ve written about is the way its expense has conferred inordinate weight on sheer wealth. In copyright, this problem plays out in what is termed “copyright overclaiming” — the assertion of rights over content that is utterly misbegotten but not worth the expense of fighting. One means of fighting this abuse, I suppose, is public shaming, which is exactly what the Electronic Frontier Foundation is now doing with its “Takedown Hall of Shame,” a compilation of “[b]ogus copyright and trademark complaints have threatened all kinds of creative expression.”

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.

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.

How to come up with new solutions: try out new ways of using old ideas and take chances.

From Guy Kawasaki’s interview with Scott Berkun, author of The Myths of Innovation:

Question: Where do inventors and innovators get their ideas?

Answer: I teach a creative thinking course at the University of Washington, and the foundation is that ideas are combinations of other ideas. People who earn the label “creative” are really just people who come up with more combinations of ideas, find interesting ones faster, and are willing to try them out. The problem is most schools and organizations train us out of the habits.

Question: Why do innovators face such rejection and negativity?

Answer: It’s human nature—we protect ourselves from change. We like to think we’re progressive, but every wave of innovation has been much slower than we’re told. The telegraph, the telephone, the PC, and the internet all took decades to develop from ideas into things ordinary people used. As a species we’re threatened by change and it takes a long time to convince people to change their behavior, or part with their money.

Question: How do you know if you have a seemingly stupid idea according to the “experts” that will succeed or a stupid idea that is truly stupid?

Answer: Don’t shoot me, but the answer is we can’t know. Not for certain. That’s where all the fun and misery comes in. Many stupid ideas have been successful and many great ideas have died on the vine and that’s because success hinges on factors outside of our control.

The best bet is to be an experimenter, a tinkerer—to learn to try out ideas cheaply and quickly and to get out there with people instead of fantasizing in ivory towers. Experience with real people trumps expert analysis much of the time. Innovation is a practice—a set of habits—and it involves making lots of mistakes and being willing to learn from them.

Few people read them, but some online agreements are enforceable, and some aren’t; it’s a mess.

Just 3 days ago I wrote about two conflicting decisions concerning the enforceability of online contract provisions that do not require consumers to affirmatively click an “I agree” button. Well, today techdirt points me to a new court decision invalidating such a provision: according to MediaPost, the court “ruled that Internet retailer Overstock can’t enforce the manadatory arbitration agreement set out in its online terms and conditions because there is no evidence that consumers read the policy.” According to the decision, the plaintiff  ”lacked notice of the terms and conditions because the website did not prompt her to review the terms and conditions and because the link to the terms and conditions was not prominently displayed.”

As I wrote the other day, under all the court decisions I am aware of online sellers can ensure that their contracts are not invalidated on these grounds merely by requiring the affirmative act of clicking on an “I agree” button. As I read all of these decisions, online agreements that require the consumer to click “I agree” are enforceable despite the fact that consumers generally do not read the agreements.

To rule otherwise would overturn ages of decisions imposing on the consumer a “duty to read” that binds them to agreements they express agreement to even if they don’t understand what they are agreeing to. It would also leave open to dispute any online transaction that the consumer decided he or she didn’t like, a result that would mire our economy and courts in a mess to deep to contemplate.

There is a solution, however, and it’s one that hit a high gear 50 years ago only to peter out in the wake of our more recent passion for unregulated free markets — consumer protection laws that dictate what terms can and cannot be imposed on consumers. As the situation now stands, we are left with a patchwork effort to find traditional contract rules to come up with fair results (such as invalidating mandatory arbitration clauses that deprive consumers of any meaningful remedies for wrongdoing by online sellers).

In the meantime, I can only repeat what I wrote the other day:

Online sellers: if you want to be maximize the likelihood your agreements are enforceable, do what most online sites do — require your customers to click on a button that expresses their agreement before the transaction is complete.

Online buyers: be careful. Don’t believe that you’re getting what you think you’re getting. You’re only getting what the fine print says you’re getting. But if you do get screwed, remember too that even when you sign something it might be so unfair it is unenforceable.

Tort law serves a lot of purposes tort reformers don’t recognize, though Robert Bork might have changed his mind.

The law tends to be rational, though the rationale behind it is not always apparent. But when you see people screaming about irrational laws, they’re often failing to see, if not ignoring, what the laws do accomplish.

You’ll hear again and again in connection with proposals to reform our system of health insurance that the real way to cut medical costs is to reform our tort system so that doctors don’t practice excessively expensive “defensive medicine.” Don’t believe it. I’m not saying that our malpractice system is perfect, but merely cutting back on malpractice cases and recoveries because of their impact on the practice of medicine ignores two important consequences of the malpractice system that we better be sure are provided in other ways before we significantly cut it back.

First, the malpractice system maintains the high quality of health care we do have. My dentist, who is German, told me she hates practicing dental surgery in Germany because the standard of care is so low. She’s always afraid the anaesthesiologists will kill the patients. In contrast, she explains that the standard of care is so good here precisely because of the fear of malpractice liability.

Second, judges and juries in some jurisdictions likely do err in favor of patients in finding doctors at fault. Why? Because our health insurance system is so inadequate and, regardless of the doctor’s wrongdoing, a patient who suffers a bad outcome from a medical procedure is going to need money to take care of the bad outcome. If it isn’t going to come from health insurance, why not from the doctor’s malpractice carrier?

The second problem would be better taken care of by instituting a no-fault compensation scheme for people who suffer bad outcomes from medical procedures. But doctors have always, for reasons I do not fathom, resisted such a system, while at the same time they cry, understandably, about the blame game played in malpractice cases.

There have to be better ways than the malpractice system to maintain our nation’s high standard of medical care. But until we’ve devised such a system, we ought to be cautious about dismantling the system that currently maintains that high standard.

The funny thing is that no one likes a personal injury lawyer until they need one. Robert Bork, of course, is a notorious conservative critic of our legal system who is often portrayed as a victim as a result of the rejection of his nomination by Ronald Reagan to the Supreme Court. Bork’s critique of the legal system has included an attack on the tort system, calling it, as Bloomberg News reported last month, an irrational and unpredictable process that subjects businesses to the kind of predation practiced by pirates:

In a 1995 opinion piece published in the Washington Times, Bork and Theodore Olson, who later became a top Justice Department official, criticized what they called the “expensive, capricious and unpredictable” civil justice system in the U.S.

“Today’s merchant enters the marketplace with trepidation — anticipating from the civil justice system the treatment that his ancestors experienced with the Barbary pirates,” they wrote.

But Bork recently sued the Yale Club of New York City, “claiming he tripped and fell because of the club’s negligence as he ascended a dais to give a speech.” His amended complaint alleges that “[w]hen it was his turn to deliver” a speech at the Yale Club, he “approached the dais. Because of the unreasonable height of the dais, without stairs or a handrail, Mr. Bork fell backwards as he attempted to mount the dais, striking his left leg on the side of the dais and striking his head on a heat register.” Among other defensess asserted by the Yale Club in its answer are that the risks of mounting the dais were “open and obvious” and that Bork has already been compensated (no doubt through his health insurance, which I bet is as good as it comes) for some or all of his economic loss.

Bork isn’t the first “hypocrite of tort reform,” nor will he be the last. But next time you know someone who’s been badly injured, you might want to keep in mind the ways he or she might get compensated for the costs arising from the injury and the ways the law discourages the conditions that caused the injury.

Did you hate cliques in high school? You should hate them as an adult too.

How can you tell when your organization is in trouble? “[E]mployees start talking directly to people they feel comfortable with, and stop sharing information more widely.” It may not be the most surprising insight I’ve ever come across, but it is an important point, and it’s the conclusion reached in a study of the emails sent by Enron employees during the company’s final 18 months. According to New Scientist, the study showed that “the number of active email cliques, defined as groups in which every member has had direct email contact with every other member, jumped from 100 to almost 800 around a month before the December 2001 collapse. Messages were also increasingly exchanged within these groups and not shared with other employees.”

Did Apple Mislead Investors Regarding Steve Jobs’ Health? Almost certainly, yes. Then why did it not disclose the medical facts? (Part I)

Steve Jobs had a liver transplant last week, and, the L.A. times and others report, the “doctor who led the transplant team said this week that Jobs was ‘the sickest patient on the waiting list’ at the time a donor liver became available.” All Apple had earlier disclosed to the public regarding Jobs’ health was set forth in 2 statements written by Jobs and posted on Apple’s website posted last January. The first, in connection with his widely reported drastic weight loss in 2008, stated that “my doctors think they have found the cause—a hormone imbalance that has been ‘robbing’ me of the proteins my body needs to be healthy. Sophisticated blood tests have confirmed this diagnosis. The remedy for this nutritional problem is relatively simple and straightforward, and I’ve already begun treatment. But, just like I didn’t lose this much weight and body mass in a week or a month, my doctors expect it will take me until late this Spring to regain it. I will continue as Apple’s CEO during my recovery.” (emphasis added) The second letter, posted one week later, stated that “during the past week I have learned that my health-related issues are more complex than I originally thought. In order to . . . focus on my health, and to allow everyone at Apple to focus on delivering extraordinary products, I have decided to take a medical leave of absence until the end of June.” (emphasis added) In April, “[a]ccording to unnamed sources . . . Jobs continue[d] to work on the “most important strategies and products from home,” though Apple’s only official statement was that “Steve continues to look forward to returning to Apple at the end of June.”

Inevitably, people are asking a question lawyers representing a company whose stock is traded on public exchanges always have to ask themsevles about any facts that might affect the company’s’ value: is the information “material”? On the one hand, the L.A. Times story states: “Companies are not required to divulge medical details about executives, lawyers said.” But the story also quotes a lawyer stating that “If [Apple] tried to lessen the disclosure and make it misleading by omission, that’s just as bad as telling something that flat isn’t true . . . . ” And Warren Buffet is quoted stating: “Certainly Steve Jobs is important to Apple. . . Whether he is facing serious surgery or not is a material fact.” (emphasis added).

What’s going on? What information is “material” and therefore has to be disclosed to the public by a publicly traded company? Well, Neil Lipschutz is right that “something is material if ‘there is a substantial likelihood that a reasonable shareholder would consider it important” in making an investment decision. Also, if there was a substantial likelihood a reasonable investor would think the information ’significantly altered the total mix of information available’ about a company.’”

Do we have anything better to guide us than (1) what seems a terribly subjective test, (2) the gut reactions of lawyers and of Warren Buffett, and (3) the almost certain fact that Apple, after close consideration of the facts and the law by its lawyers, made the business decision that the risks and probabilities of disclosure last January (or at any time between when Jobs first got sick and now) were outweighed by the risks and probabilities of liability for securities fraud if and when its lack of candor became known?

Well, if what you’re seeking is guidance in the way beginning law students and most non-lawyers want the law to provide guidance — articulation of rule that makes it easy to decide the question — the answer is a resounding NO. These are judgment calls based on the specific evidence of each case. In order to determine if a set of facts would matter to an investor, you need to look at those specific facts. And plainly I have not had available to me all the evidence that might eventually be considered to judge the question in this case. But there is a lot available, and based on only that, I have to agree with Warren Buffet that the fact Steve Jobs was so ill he required a liver transplant certainly is material.

But, again, my certainty is not a product of pointing to a “law” and having you nod your head in agreement. I have to look at the specific evidence regarding Apple, the law, and the facts in the cases in which courts have concluded that events are material and in which courts have concluded the events are not material. By doing that, I hope I can convince you that my certainty is well founded. That’s the best I can do.

Moreover, that’s not the end of the lawyer’s job. Even if the lawyers concluded that the facts regarding Jobs’ health prior became “material” at any time before the next week would not mean Apple necessarily would disclose those facts. Apple’s lawyers would have to consider what potential downside its failure to disclose those facts would present and the likelihood that downside would occur. Then Apple, not the lawyers, would have to decide if those risks and probabilities would outweigh the likelihood and degree of the impact disclosure would have on Apple’s value.

There are a number of rules under which a publicly traded company is obligated to disclose “material” information to the public or face criminal and civil liability, but the definition of “materiality” is the same under all of them. One is a regulation known in the trade as “Rule 10b-5″ [17 CFR 240.10b-5], which makes it a crime and a civil wrong for any a company or an individual purchasing or selling stock “to omit to state a material fact necessary in order to make the statements made, in the light of the circumstances under which they were made, not misleading, . . ” As the United States Court of Appeals for the 2d Circuit stated in SEC v. Texas Gulf Sulphur Co., 401 F.2d at 833, 848 (2d Cir. 1968), this requirement to disclose material facts is based “on the justifiable expectation of the securities marketplace that all investors trading on impersonal exchanges have relatively equal access to material information . . . .” The requirement originates in the Securities Exchange Act of 1934 (15 U.S.C. § 78j(b)), one of the keystones of the New Deal passed in response to the practices prevalent on Wall Street that had led to the 1929 stock market crash.

As the court further stated in Texas Gulf Sulfur, “[t]he basic test of materiality * * * is whether a reasonable man would attach importance * * * in determining his choice of action in the transaction in question.” Thus, material facts include any facts “which affect the probable future of the company and those which may affect the desire of investors to buy, sell, or hold the company’s securities.”

The defendants in Texas Gulf Sulfur had argued that tests showing one of their company’s mines was likely a rich one were not material because there was nothing certain to report until mining had actually begun and there was more certainty than the tests could provide.  The Second Circuit rejectted their argument, ruling that even possibilities that never occur might be material. One must look at the probability the fact would have an impact on the company’s value and the magnitude of that potential impact: “whether facts are material . . . will depend at any given time upon a balancing of both the indicated probability that the event will occur and the anticipated magnitude of the event in light of the totality of the company activity.” 401 F.2d at 849. Thus, the court reversed the trial court’s decison to dismiss the criminal charges against the defedants because, the Second Circuit decided, they would be guilty if it were true that they had failed to disclose “the possibility, which surely was more than marginal, of the existence of a mine of the vast magnitude” as a result of a “remarkably rich” sample taken  ”close to the surface (suggesting mineability by the less expensive openpit method) within the confines of a large anomaly (suggesting an extensive region of mineralization).” That mere “suggestion . . . would certainly have been an important fact to a reasonable, if speculative,  investor in deciding whether he should buy, sell, or hold” stock in the mining company the defendants controlled. Id. at 849-50 (emphasis added).

The U.S. Supreme Court expressly adopted the Second Circuit’s test in 1988 in Basic, Inc. v. Levinson, 485 U.S. 224 (1988), a case in which the Court determined that corporate insiders might have had the duty to disclose negotiations for a corporate merger before the merger was concluded. Some courts outside the 2d Circuit prior to that time had ruled that a deal didn’t have to be disclosed until it was a binding deal. The Supreme Court rejected the reasoning of those courts and made plain that an event that might not ever happen nevertheless might at some point be likely enough and big enough that it would affect a reasonble investor’s investment decisions.

So the questions Apple’s lawyers had to be asking themselves all the time ever since they learned in 2004 that Jobs had pancreatic cancer, are the following:

(1) Is Jobs so important to Apple that an investor would make a decision to sell, buy, or hold on to Apple stock based on his ability to do his job?

(2) Do the medical facts demonstrate with sufficient probability that Jobs’ condition is threatened enough that those facts would cause an investor to sell, buy, or hold on to Apple stock?

(3) Did Apple’s words or omissions mislead reasonable investors in evaluating whether Jobs could continue to do his job well enough to not affect their investment decisions.

Let’s get the easy stuff out of the way. Jobs’ health and its impact on his ability to do his job  are so plainly material that to argue otherwise wouldn’t pass the “giggle test.”  I would therefore, if I were representing Apple in litigation, advise the company simply to admit this point in the answer to any complaint anyone filed. To admit the point would at least minimize attention to something that, if Apple did dispute it, would only increase attention to a weakness in the company’s case. But just in case you think I don’t understand when it’s smart lawyering to concede a point, remember these things — someone’s own words are taken by a court as “admissions.” In other words, if someone admits something that is harmful to his legal position, the court will assume the facts are at least that bad. In the letter posted online last January, addressed to the “Apple Community,” Jobs ended with this: “So now I’ve said more than I wanted to say, and all that I am going to say, about this.” I’d love to ask him in a deposition why, if he didn’t want to write what he wrote, he did. The probelm, if Apple had decided to dispute the materiality of Jobs to the company’s value, is that he’d have to deny and dance around the obvous: his lawyers told him he had to write the letter because his health and its impact on his capacity to do his job is material to Apple’s shareholders and potential shareholders.

Don’t assume I haven’t considered the arguments I could make on Apple’s behalf on this point — I could point out, for example, as MacNewsWord did yesterday, that since January, when Jobs wrote the letter he didn’t want to write, Apple stock has almost doubled in value. The Apple loving outlet implied that market shows that investors have been confident that Apple was fine without Jobs:  ”This could be due to general belief among investors that Apple has a good management team in place which has kept the company running on an even keel despite the CEO’s absence.”  Or it could mean the market had already accounted for Jobs’ illness.  Or it could be that the market is driven by unreasonable investors.  It could be for any number of reasons. Regardless, I am convinced  that a strategy to fight a securities fraud case on the grounds that Jobs isn’t important enough to be material to Apple is not going to make winning the case more likely. I could go on and on . . . Last October, just to take at random one piece of evidence easy to find via a mere Google search, (according to CSnews) “Some individual had posted a fake report . . . claiming Steve Jobs had suffered from a heart attack and was rushed into the hospital. As a result, Apple’s stock made a 10% nosedive.”

NEXT: (a) was Jobs’ health so dire its specifics would have made a difference to people thinking about buying, selling or holding on to Apple stock, (b) did Apple’s statment’s or silences mislead investors about Jobs’ health, and (c) why would Apple choose not to disclose specifics regarding Jobs’ health even if its lawyers were telling it that those were material facts?

We can only “fix” the medical malpractice “problem” if we fix all the problems we use medical malpractice to address. Universal coverage and medical malpractice cannot be separated from one another.

Walter Olson asks what we’re getting from our medical malpractice system — with “jury trials, contingency fees, lack of loser-pays, extensive lawyer-driven discovery” — that Canada, at 10% of the cost for its medical malpractice system does not. It’s only part of the question. Olson quotes Richard Epstein, who states “American judges frequently let juries decide whether honest mistakes are negligent. Judges in other nations are less likely to do so. American courts commonly think it proper for juries to infer medical negligence from the mere occurrence of a serious injury. European judges usually will not.”

Why is this going on? Is it just madness? Of course not. What Epstein and Olson ignore is that patients in Europe and Canada have national health insurance that will pay for the costs of medical care necessitated by inevitable — even if honest and non-negligent — bad outcomes that result from medical malpractice.

We can’t just “fix” the malpractice “problem” unless we fix the problem of being sure patients who suffer bad medical outcomes (a risk we’re all exposed to) being unable to pay for the care required by those outcomes. Why does Canada only spend 10% what the U.S. does on malpractice? Because Canada has national health insurance to pay for that care.

It worked for businesses with workers’ comp. Why not a no-fault liability system to pay for medical care and other consequential financial loss flowing from any bad medical outcome?