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I encountered the following paragraph during my research. It's from Jeremy Seabrook's 2001 book, Children of Other Worlds: Exploitation in the Global Market.
"There is one significant difference between the child workers in the mills and mines, the chimney sweeps of nineteenth-century Britain and the camel jockeys and the young girls trafficked for prostitution in South Asia today. The latter are employed for the amusement of adults in leisure industries. Their suffering is itself a spectacle which can command big money. Whatever the horrors visited upon the pauper children in the past, these were for the most part clandestine, secretive, unseen; shame tended towards their concealment. Profit was to be made from their labour, not from the public show of it. The idea that the whole world is embarked on a steady path of progress that will take us away from such barbarities must be reconsidered when we contemplate the numbers of children entering, not only known forms of bondage, but unimaginable new kinds of abuse within the new integrated global economy, of which the unfortunate camel jockeys are only one example. Given that there are now more slaves in the world than there were at the time of the emancipation of the serfs in Russia or the freeing of the slaves in America, the faith that wealth creation will deliver freedom to all humanity is apparently, on the present evidence, a pious and scarcely justified hope."
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Some people escape school during the summer. I somehow managed to be ensnared by it. At the moment, I'm working as a research assistant. One of the professors I'm working for is Paul Butler, a noted scholar of Criminal Law. During the course of my work, I run into quite a few interesting subjects.
Implicit Association Tests (or IATs) are proliferating on the internet. The essential claim of the IATs is that they can measure your hidden biases and latent associations. IATs test for subconscious stereotypes across a wide range of subjects, ranging from race to sexuality and obesity. You can find out more at Project Implicit's information page.
Browse through that site and you can also take one of their tests, then measure your results against biases found in the general (American) populace. Tests are readily accessible online and do not fit into the normal Q&A of most web quizzes. Rather, they measure your response, in milliseconds, to certain arrangements of stimuli. Be prepared to quickly tap keyboard buttons as images appear on the screen.
If you're curious as to the theoretical underpinnings of the test, Jerry Kang gives a good explanation in an article in the Harvard Law Review (pdf). If you read through his article, you will also understand why legal scholars are interested in IATs.
Consider the "Shooter Bias" test cited in Kang's article. A social cognitionist created a videogame that placed a White or Black individual holding either a gun or other objects into diverse photographic backgrounds. Objects that were not guns included everyday items such as wallets, soda cans, or cell phones. Participants had to decide as quickly as possible whether or not to shoot the target. Severe time pressure forced errors. Participants were more likely to mistake a Black target as armed when he was in fact unarmed. They were also more likely to mistake a White target as unarmed when he was in fact armed. Interestingly, this bias crossed racial boundaries and there was no significant difference when the participant was White or Black. Jerry Kang, Trojan Horses of Race, 118 Harv. L. Rev. 1489, 1493 (2005).
The Shooter Bias test replicates decisions that real-world police officers go through on a day to day basis. The dilemma of whether or not to shoot a suspect is a dramatic example. However, similar split-second choices are often made in deciding who to follow, who to search, who to question, and who to detain. On the macro level, subconscious biases can produce significant discrepancies.
Advocates of IATs suggest that the tests can be used to screen legal personnel and jurists. If prejudice becomes a measurable quantity, why not exclude individuals with significant amounts of relevant prejudice from such decisions? After all, screening out biases is one of the goals of voir dire. Additionally, many government agencies already require personality tests to qualify for employment.
On the other hand, IATs have been criticized extensively for improper metrics (pdf) and an attenuated connection between test result and actual decisions. How far can the effect of subconscious associations be acknowledged before the treatment of the individual as a conscious, moral actor becomes seriously threatened?
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News of Serious Matters have been sparse on this blog in the past two months. However, before we return to Issues of Great Import, I want to share one of the great benefits of having life-appointed Federal judges.
The following excerpts come from Bradshaw v. Unity Marine Corp., Inc., 147 F.Supp.2d 668 (S.D.Tex. 2001):
Before proceeding further, the Court notes that this case involves two extremely likable lawyers, who have together delivered some of the most amateurish pleadings ever to cross the hallowed causeway into Galveston, an effort which leads the Court to surmise but one plausible explanation. Both attorneys have obviously entered into a secret pact-complete with hats, handshakes and cryptic words-to draft their pleadings entirely in crayon on the back sides of gravy-stained paper place mats, in the hope that the Court would be so charmed by their child-like efforts that their utter dearth of legal authorities in their briefing would go unnoticed. Whatever actually occurred, the Court is now faced with the daunting task of deciphering their submissions. With Big Chief tablet readied, thick black pencil in hand, and a devil-may-care laugh in the face of death, life on the razor's edge sense of exhilaration, the Court begins.
...
Defendant begins the descent into Alice's Wonderland by submitting a Motion that relies upon only one legal authority. The Motion cites a Fifth Circuit case which stands for the whopping proposition that a federal court sitting in Texas applies the Texas statutes of limitations to certain state and federal law claims. See Gonzales v. Wyatt, 157 F.3d 1016, 1021 n. 1 (5th Cir.1998). That is all well and good-the Court is quite fond of the Erie doctrine; indeed there is talk of little else around both the Canal and this Court's water cooler. Defendant, however, does not even cite to Erie, but to a mere successor case, and further fails to even begin to analyze why the Court should approach the shores of Erie. Finally, Defendant does not even provide a cite to its desired Texas limitation statute. A more bumbling approach is difficult to conceive-but wait folks, There's More!
...
Plaintiff responds to this deft, yet minimalist analytical wizardry with an equally gossamer wisp of an argument, although Plaintiff does at least cite the federal limitations provision applicable to maritime tort claims. See 46 U.S.C. § 763a. Naturally, Plaintiff also neglects to provide any analysis whatsoever of why his claim versus Defendant Phillips is a maritime action. Instead, Plaintiff “cites” to a single case from the Fourth Circuit. Plaintiff's citation, however, points to a nonexistent Volume “1886” of the Federal Reporter Third Edition and neglects to provide a pinpoint citation for what, after being located, turned out to be a forty-page decision. Ultimately, to the Court's dismay after reviewing the opinion, it stands simply for the bombshell proposition that torts committed on navigable waters (in this case an alleged defamation committed by the controversial G. Gordon Liddy aboard a cruise ship at sea) require the application of general maritime rather than state tort law. See Wells v. Liddy, 186 F.3d 505, 524 (4th Cir.1999) (What the ...)?! The Court cannot even begin to comprehend why this case was selected for reference. It is almost as if Plaintiff's counsel chose the opinion by throwing long range darts at the Federal Reporter (remarkably enough hitting a nonexistent volume!).
...
II. CONCLUSION
After this remarkably long walk on a short legal pier, having received no useful guidance whatever from either party, the Court has endeavored, primarily based upon its affection for both counsel, but also out of its own sense of morbid curiosity, to resolve what it perceived to be the legal issue presented. Despite the waste of perfectly good crayon seen in both parties' briefing (and the inexplicable odor of wet dog emanating from such) the Court believes it has satisfactorily resolved this matter. Defendant's Motion for Summary Judgment is GRANTED.
At this juncture, Plaintiff retains, albeit seemingly to his befuddlement and/or consternation, a maritime law cause of action versus his alleged Jones Act employer, Defendant Unity Marine Corporation, Inc. However, it is well known around these parts that Unity Marine's lawyer is equally likable and has been writing crisply in ink since the second grade. Some old-timers even spin yarns of an ability to type. The Court cannot speak to the veracity of such loose talk, but out of caution, the Court suggests that Plaintiff's lovable counsel had best upgrade to a nice shiny No. 2 pencil or at least sharpen what's left of the stubs of his crayons for what remains of this heart-stopping, spine-tingling action.
In either case, the Court cautions Plaintiff's counsel not to run with a sharpened writing utensil in hand-he could put his eye out.
IT IS SO ORDERED.
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My stay in Washington DC colored my impression of government buildings. When I approached the administrative center of New Orleans, I expected a stately structure with columns and classical edifices. What I saw instead was a blocky modernist office with windows chrome blue on gray-brown concrete. The red sign in front would not have been out of place if it said "Wal-Mart" instead of "City Hall."
A little over a dozen of us were in the fifth floor of that building this morning, getting briefed on our task here. The legal system of the city was in disrepair following the hurricane. In offices of the city attorney were mostly empty. Many of the lawyers that left during the disaster simply did not come back. In other cases, the city could not afford to retain their services due to the ensuing budget crisis.
The system suffers from a backlog of civil and criminal cases. The 2Ls and the 3Ls were assigned to ameliorate this. They would be summarizing depositions, researching law, and in general facilitating the work of the remaining city attorneys. The 1Ls, myself included, departed for another building on a different task.
In the aftermath of Katrina, New Orleans experienced an acute city-wide demand for skilled construction workers. As it turns out, the demographic most experienced with construction work was Hispanics. The resulting flow of people into New Orleans was tremendous, and the number of immigration cases in the local courts skyrocketed.
The 1Ls joined a project that would aid defense counsels struggling in immigration courts across the state. Though our primary task is research and sheparding citations, it's a project of no small significance for a burgeoning portion of the city's populace.
I'm feeling motivated. That's a surprising development in light of my post-finals malaise.
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I've just checked into Chateau Lemoyne, in the French Quarter of New Orleans. For me, the frigid, sanitized atmosphere of hotel rooms produces a timeless sense of detachment. It's the right atmosphere to reflect and write.
Final exams took place over the course of two weeks. Classes ended the week before, with each professor giving his parting speech and the class applauding in response. A more detailed account of the process of law school finals is warranted, and I'll see to crafting one as time permits.
For now, I'm in the city of New Orleans offering volunteer legal work. The Appleseed program has places the student volunteers from GWU Law with attorneys representing the city. 2Ls and 3Ls summarize depositions while 1Ls do research work.
I've had a sparse glimpse at the city so far. The airport shuttle took me straight to our residence which, although part of the Holiday Inn franchise, seems to be an old but renovated structure. The streets outside are narrow, barely enough for two cars, and curious small establishments with such names as "Deja Vu" beckon from around the corner.
There's an orientation program in the hotel lobby at 7 PM. That leaves plenty of time to explore.
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I feel ambivalent towards the recent test.
In terms of personal performance, it was more than satisfactory. I placed within the top five of our contracts class; specifically, I tied with a couple other students for the third best score. Post-curve, that score will probably amount to an A.
The reason I have to estimate the conversion to a letter grade is the unique scoring system used by our contracts teacher, Professor Lee-Harris. This scoring system is the source of my ambivalence.
The contracts midterm was a single essay question that we were given one hour to complete. This question encompassed half a semester in a 3 hour credit course. The question posed was essentially a factual scenario. Based on the given facts, the student was to determine the existence of a contract, if any, and give a concluding legal opinion.
As our professor explained prior to the test, the answers were graded based on how well a student cited relevant contracts principles and applied them to the facts. Our professor was essentially looking for a 'two-step' statement for which to award points. To get points, the student must 1) state a relevant rule, and 2) state how that rule applies to the facts.
As the professor reviews the essays, he searches for these applied rules and awards checks or minuses. Checks (or partial checks) are given for appropriately cited rules and applications of those rules. Minuses (or partial minuses) are given for incorrect and irrelevant rules or incorrect applications. One determines score by adding all checks and subtracting all minuses. Though the final score is absolute, its value is relative compared to the scores of the rest of our class. As our professor put it, "The one who gets the most checks wins. The one who gets the least checks… does not win."
There are several upshots to this system. The first is that a student can potentially do worse than if he wrote absolutely nothing at all. In fact, our professor commented that he was impressed that "no one got a negative score." He also said that all of us did well. Two members of our class got a 0.
The second upshot is that bad, incoherent writing can prevail. Introductory statements, holistic conclusions, well-crafted transitions, and intuitive structure all do not matter in the final scoring system. The highest-scoring paper looked more like an outline than it did an essay; a lay person would have found it fractured and unreadable. It also did not pose a definite answer to the question given. I suppose writing skill development is left to the Legal Research and Writing class.
The third upshot, related to the second, is that students who are otherwise excellent at writing and knowledgeable of the material get low or mediocre scores because they did not focus on the concise two-step format necessary to accumulate points. There seems to be a sizable gap between test scores and outward understanding of the material.
After commiserating sympathetically with a few others about their test scores, it seems as if there are a number of bruised egos and a whole lot of self-doubt resulting from the test. After all, many of these people were the cream of the crop right up to this point. Placing anywhere outside the top 25% of their peers is an alien concept.
To be fair, those that did do well prepared thoroughly for the test. The student with the top score had reserved a university classroom for the Saturday and Sunday prior to the test. That student quite literally spent the weekend in the reserved room. I know this because I dropped by and studied there as well, discussing practice questions with both that student and any other member of the class that dropped by throughout the weekend. Not only that, we all went to see the contracts professor with the answers to our practice questions in the days before the exam. Watching him grade the essays in front of us gave us first-hand knowledge of the scoring system. That knowledge, I believe, was the decisive factor in "winning" the midterms.
Several months ago, I would have found that level of preparation to be excessive and unnecessary. But after adjusting to the level of reading required just to keep up with daily class discussions, that level of preparation seemed simply adequate.
I would like to think that this level of metagaming strategy is unique to our situation here in law school. However, Professor Raven-Hansen's course in Civil Procedure has progressed to the point where we're discussing good "tactical" moves in filing complaints.
I picked up Neil Gaiman's book of short stories, Fragile Things. Magical fiction is going to keep me sane.
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November. My first semester in law school ends in a month. Final exams take place during the first part of December, with classes resuming in January.
Time advanced faster than I anticipated. I would not have noticed the devious crawl of dates but for the drop in temperature. Accomplices to this concealment are several.
The first culprit goes by the moniker of "Memo 2." Posing as an honest, upstanding lesson in practical legal writing, this deviant assignment combines the worst of rote technical research with a vague, open-ended thesis question. While the task purported to require only 10-12 pages of concise verbiage, one could have easily written twice that in exposition alone. Sanity requires a limited scope.
The second culprit boldly declares itself "Contracts Midterm." Cunningly disguised as a one-hour essay question, it would lull even the most hardened of undergraduate veterans into a false sense of security. Unbeknown to the confident youths, it is judged on criteria alien to decent writing standards everywhere. Adding insult to injury, there is but one midterm to suffer throughout the entirety of law school. This singular test claims to exemplify law school exams in totality, a preparatory exercise imposed for "our benefit." Such self-righteousness could only be a mask for darker intent.
The final culprit poses as an altruistic Samaritan. "Rest and relaxation" in law school bears a particular, insidious meaning. What wholesome planner would schedule a Halloween party of drink and costumed revelry on a Thursday night, knowing full well horrors of next morning's discussion of Torts damages? If these were fellow, sympathetic students, why would they casually discuss contributory negligence while crossing the street, or involuntary manslaughter when the topic is food poisoning in guacamole? Agents of anarchy have infiltrated even the most benign of study groups. How else could a simple social occasion defy definition? "More than a pre-game but not quite a party"? Madness.
Ultimately, all of these perps are small fry in a much larger numbers racket. Somewhere out of sight, "Finals" slouches in a dim alley. As the innocent days meander past, he cracks his knuckles and grins. Like a shark.
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Students are paced two seats apart in a large lecture hall. Despite the fact that congenial, comforting conversations are ongoing, there is a palatable tension in the room.
The favored discussion in the moment is "Figure Out What the Hell Lexis-Nexus Gave Us in the 'Good Luck' Packet." The item in question is a switchblade brush which people have argued could be a make-up applicator, a shoe shine tool, or a general desk duster.
Everyone has their outlines out, their books piled, and the exam software booted and ready to go. There are a few traditionalists, however, that have chosen a blue book above typing out their answer.
The proctors are two elderly ladies with the stern expression of Catholic school matrons. They're placidly doing paperwork as the conversations die away.
Five minutes. Time to pack up and get ready.
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I got a grade today.
This is worth noting. Over the two months I've been enrolled, nothing has been graded. This is despite the fact that I'm working far harder than I ever did in undergrad, and despite the fact that my expansive reading assignments has me on a full work week with overtime.
Up to this point, there simply was the expectation that students would keep up on their own. Those that didn't had no excuse if/when the teachers decided to question them. For most of the classes, the only real graded element will be the comprehensive final examination.
The grade I got today was for a memorandum, one of two that I will have to write for the Legal Research & Writing class. In terms of requisite reading and drafting work, writing a memorandum is the equivalent of a major research paper. Fortunately, my writing skills are one of my strong points.
A-
Naturally, the grade included a series of evaluative comments and suggestions for improvement. I'm certain that the second memorandum will be graded much more harshly. First of all, the overall class competence will have risen from practice, shifting the grading curve. Second, and for the same reason, the adjunct professor will expect us to do better.
But for the time being, and this is putting the grade itself aside, I am feeling a deep sense of relief. The simple mark, the mere letter denoting academic accomplishment, is psychological ambrosia. While I've been doing a good job at charting my progress, having someone else objectively confirm that progress is cathartic.
(Meanwhile, Nemesis arms herself and lies in wait, ready to shatter my hubris. Tomorrow is when the Dean's Fellow returns our separate grade on the technical citation aspect of the memorandum.)
On a different note, some of the students have been getting uppity in Professor Schechter's Tort class.
As a bit of background, Prof. S was clearly a trial lawyer during his career. Aside from his clear aptitude with public speaking, he not only knows how to press a witness during questioning (a relatively basic skill), but he's also able to control how hard he presses. This is evident in his daily cross-examinations of the students.
Prof S is capable of playing the hard-nosed law professor char-broiling hapless 1Ls over the Socratic fire, but he chooses not to. His constant jokes and playful recounting of Tort cases help create a relaxed classroom environment in which students can freely comment and theorize.
However, in replying to his questions, a few of the students have been slipping in "lip," i.e., gratuitously self-absorbed and somewhat snide retorts. Given that Prof S is clearly holding back, it seems as if they're trying to score cheap rhetorical points. To me, this kind of behavior completely lacks style. I'll be candid in admitting that I do want to see the professors turn up the heat. Fortunately, these retorts constitute a small minority of the responses.
With luck, Nemesis will have enough on her queue that I can slink past tomorrow unnoticed.
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My livejournal posts have been less frequent than they were last month. The reason is the expected one; I'm getting busier.
There's the usual workload, which, if anything, has steadily grown. Then there's my volunteer time with the Equal Justice Foundation, my participation in an Alternative Dispute Resolution skill competition, my commitment to attending Tae Kwon Do regularly, and my general propensity for minor distractions throughout the day.
Sleep is negotiable.
The ADR competition was recommended to us by our Dean's Fellow, who pointed out that it was the only skills board that 1Ls can participate in. As such, it would be a nifty event to add to our resume come summer job hunting in the spring.
The competition tests our negotiation skills. We team up with a partner and each team is given a client and a detailed background outlining the problem to be negotiated. We'll be up "against" a team representing the other client in the dispute. It's not quite be adversarial since both teams are trying to negotiate a settlement and as such some basic agreement is required. On the other hand, each team will try to work for the interests of the client, and I'm quite certain that certain interests were designed to conflict.
I'll post more about it after this Sunday when my section of the competition takes place. In any case, the formality of the event means that it's my first opportunity to feel pompous in a suit and tie. Wee.
As for Tae Kwon Do, I received a little black stripe on my belt today. I'm not quite sure what it means. White belt equals n00b, so a white belt with a black stripe probably signifies a bruised n00b. Not bad for a couple weeks of enrollment. Regardless, it was a rare example of positive reinforcement that made me miss the elementary school notations that measured my progress.
On the other hand, it's a sign of growth and maturity that I no longer need the constant deadlines of graded assignments in order to keep on top of my classes. There's no longer a direct correlation between outside reinforcement and my personal productivity.
Well, at least I think I'm on top of my classes. The midterm examination for Contracts is coming up in a few weeks. We'll see soon enough.
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Thursday's discovery was the hand-made bagels of K Street. On a whim, I hopped off the L2 bus as soon as I saw the placard. As it turns out, I spent a half-hour there savoring one bagel and a cup of warm chocolate milk. It occurred to me then that my mornings have largely been spontaneous and unplanned.
After I moved to an apartment in DC but before classes started, I visited GWU on several errands. One of my goals during those errands was to assess the commute. I discovered that I had allocate approximately 45 minutes to an hour in order to reliably arrive at class on time. Naturally, when classes first started, I left even earlier than that. I departed about an hour and a half before classes started. My expectation was that, as the year progressed, I would depart closer to the start of class as I got used to the commute and nailed down my morning schedule.
The exact opposite turned out to be true. Instead of departing later and later as the year progressed, I've found myself departing earlier and earlier. I've found it preferable to take a leisurely pace on the lengthy trip to school in order to enjoy the morning. In addition, far from nailing down my schedule, I've been varying my trip on a day to day basis.
There is a wonderful variety of possible paths from my apartment in NW DC to GWU located just west of Capitol Hill. There are several metro stops within walking distance of GWU which approach the campus from different directions. Also, the bus running from the front of my apartment actually circles around the campus, allowing me to hop off at any intersection depending on if I see anything interesting.
I often find myself a few blocks away from the school with an hour or so to spare. At that point, I settle down on a set of monumental marble stairs, an open-air park bench, or a cushioned cafe couch, and take a deep, long breath.
A moment of peace each day really adds up.
Given the stringent mental focus required for class and study, I'm really starting to appreciate times when I can just let my mind wander freely. I can now understand why my elementary school self was almost universally chided for excessive daydreaming. Early morning is one of the few times of day in which I can truly indulge in this activity.
At other times, I maintain my focus but direct my mind at more frivolous pursuits. For example, one of the "games" I've been frequently playing while perched somewhere at a major DC intersection is impromptu story creation with passing pedestrians as protagonists. I pick out a person in the crowd who has a detail which marks him as unusual or interesting. Then I make up a name for that person, surmise what I can about his background, and then invent the story which drives the fast-paced walk, the urgent stride, or the grim shuffle with which he carries himself.
The unwitting subjects so far include a male in suit and tie who sported peace and hippie buttons on his briefcase, an adolescent female in school clothes and backpack that zipped along on an electric scooter while wearing a colorful cyclist helmet, and a matronly woman who wore a traditional African dress and was escorted by three men in suits.
In other news, an online Jungian personality test states that I'm an INFJ.
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| 2007-09-16 09:23 |
| Doom. |
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It's been a busy weekend so far. One event in particular has sealed our fate.
cnorgard and I discovered a Krispy Kreme right on top of the Dupont Circle metro station.
It will be the death of us all.
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My Criminal Law class has moved from theoretical foundations to substantive lessons. While it ought to be a refreshing change, the material is disturbing.
Let me give a bit of background in explanation. The first substantive lesson concerns actus reus, one of the required elements of a criminal act. Actus reus, in short, is an action or activity that is punishable by law.
There are many considerations which determine whether or not an act is criminally liable, such as voluntariness, causation, and omission. To illustrate the nuances of these considerations, we have been reading a large number of cases that discuss those specific issues. Such cases necessarily deal with the extremities of duress and circumstance that would cause honest doubt about an individual's control over his own actions.
As a result, we have been reading dozens of cases involving senseless murder, malicious brutality, as well as psychological and sexual control. Even cases which deal with benign-sounding issues, such as omission of dutiful responsibility, end up being on the level of Pope v. State, 284 Md. 309, 396 A.2d 1054 (1979).
Even when keeping a distance befitting intellectual estimation of fact, consuming all of these cases strains one's spiritual health. One of my classmates reported having nightmares after falling asleep to the last Criminal Law reading assignment.
For one who is familiar with both literary fiction and video games, graphic violence is nothing new. However, there is a qualitative difference between entertainment violence and empirical reports on the evils that human beings commit on one another. I can generally rely on a fiction author to know when oblique reference is more effective and tasteful than raw description. In case study, however, we must explore every single crass detail in order to dig out the pertinent legal issues. And then there's the fact that these cases are the opposite of fiction.
Traces of reality haunt these readings, and I cannot banish them so easily from my mind.
Arguably, I do need to acclimate myself to their harshness. What I will encounter in actual practice may be as disturbing as what I study in the classroom, though this of course largely depends on the field of law I choose to enter. One can say that getting used to horrific fact patterns are necessary, especially in maintaining clear, level-headed rational analysis for determining both immediate and preventative solutions.
Yet, I can't shake the feeling that "getting used" to detailed records of human suffering is like watching a part of myself die.
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| 2007-09-11 16:09 |
| Blase |
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Three weeks into law school, it's accurate to say that I'm beginning to develop a routine. My convoluted class schedule, while remaining insensible, has become habitual enough that I don't constantly consult a scrap of paper to see where I go next. Similarly, other details of the everyday are becoming familiar.
According to the old saying, familiarity breeds contempt, no?
I've not developed that contempt just yet. In regard to my professors, predicting some of their quirks lets me adjust my study habits to their teaching style. Also, some of the aforementioned quirks are constantly amusing. There's this ongoing playful spat between Professor Schechter and Professor Raven-Hansen in which they each make snide and derogatory references to the other in their lectures. The fact they usually have their classes consecutively in the same classroom (Schechter goes out, Raven-Hansen goes in) only adds to the humor. It's gotten to the point where Schechter sometimes has Raven-Hansen playing the part of the outrageously behaving defendant in a tort hypothetical.
As for the other students, the mood in the section seems to have relaxed considerably since the first day. Generally speaking, I've found the other students to be friendly, amiable and smart. If I have one gripe about them, it's that I tend to hear the same people speaking in class everyday. While class participation is widely distributed, there's still a highly vocal group that can be expected to jump to any given question. Admittedly, I'm less annoyed by this group than I am curious about those that don't speak as often, especially those that have sharp and insightful comments whenever the teacher singles them out specifically.
All that said, I will most assuredly go stir-crazy by the end of the year. The relatively small 1L class (500 students handpicked from 10,000 applicants), the even smaller first year sections, the handful of faculty faces that I'll see regularly, and the enclosed nature of the law school complex all merge into a claustrophobe's nightmare. I'm already starting to notice the effects of the "small village" nature of our community.
Because of this, I'll be establishing an informal self-imposed rule for my blog. I'll never refer to my classmates by name, and I'll do my best to avoid talking about a classmate in the specifics. Social politicking is ugly, and I'm trying hard to stay clear of it.
I'm also working to defy the closed space of my class section. I've started to cooperate with a student org (EJF) on their volunteer programs. I also went with froborr on Saturday to sign up for Tae Kwon Do lessons outside of the university. The first class is later tonight.
No, practicing my punching and kicking has nothing to do with getting caught up in an ever-tightening community. Really.
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Labor day weekend vanished in a blur of faces. I woke up in the middle of the week, meandering through class with the vague feeling that I missed something important. I am developing a keen dislike of Tyr's day.
This all-encompassing low-intensity feeling of confusion culminated in a break in between Wednesday's classes, when I found myself strapped to a chair in the Keller lounge with a needle in my median cubital vein and a clear tube sucking out my vital fluids. As the grating numbness overtook my arm, complemented by the subdued burning in my fingertips, I had to remind myself several times that I volunteered for this.
Last week I signed up to be one of the blood donors for American Red Cross, which would conveniently set up camp in the student lounge of the Lisner building. It seemed at the time to be a small and relatively inconvenient act of selflessness that would help save lives (three in fact - the Red Cross brochure was rather precise). Now I imagine there are many minor choices I can make and small inconveniences I could suffer that can have more potent effects on the lives of others, but often limited knowledge and the boundaries of recognition heuristics prevent me from distinguishing these particular moments of decision. In this case, however, the terms were made clear enough that I could weigh social benefit against personal convenience in a rational calculus. The chance at saving human life is rare for someone who is not a part of the medical or rescue professions (i.e., me), so I decided to take it.
Now all that sounds pretty, but at the moment I'm experiencing hues of vertigo that I didn't know existed. My focus during my last class was spotty at best, and I would wager that I made it through only due to a classmate sharing some Reese's Pieces with me. I anticipate similar problems, and fatigue, as I study tonight.
Speaking of reckless martyr syndrome, I volunteered to be on call for Civil Procedure. The past couple days, the professor came down on several students for incorrect oral answers and failing to research/deduce terminology. With the juvenile curiosity of an adolescent wondering what it would be like to get shot by a machine gun, I decided to jump into the line of fire. I thought it would be fun, provided I was properly prepared. I didn't foresee any problems with readying myself tonight.
Of course, that was this morning, at least an hour before a trained medical professional was performing venipuncture on me with a smile. It won't be the first tactical error I've had to deal with.
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To their credit, my professors here in GWU have been making a consistent effort at getting us to see past the text of our cases.
This plaintiff in one case is pursuing facts on a bungled armed robbery fifty years prior. Can we ascribe his behavior to rational motivations, or can we infer a deeper obsession about a life-changing incident? The court in another case records the age of the defendant as five years and three months. What is the visual impact of a toddler being questioned by a civil litigator? If the case goes to a jury, how could that jury be expected to react? How is that reaction affected by the fact that the plaintiff is a frail, elderly grandmother?
Beyond humanizing the cases, they've also interspersed among the factual interrogations some simple but concrete queries about our beliefs. On almost every case and result, the student on call has been asked, "Do you think this is fair?" "What's your reaction to the ruling?" "Do you think the court did the right thing?"
The process has put the intellectual exercise of unraveling the law side-by-side with the moral exercise of self-introspection.
On occasion, the professors have given us conundrums concerning professional ethics and our future behavior as lawyers. One such conundrum was given after discussing the case Harding v. LaBelle's Distributing Co.
This was a civil case involving the tort of False Imprisonment. To egregiously skim over details, Debra Harding was a temp working for a jewelry store. Another employee reported her to the showroom manager for stealing a watch from the store's stock. The next morning, the supervisor drew her from her station under the pretext of a "new employee tour" and then brought her into a room with uniformed police officers and senior management officials. The supervisor left, closing the door behind him.
Debra stayed to clarify what had happened, denying that she took any jewelry and agreeing to a lie-detector test, which she passed. The next morning, formal apology was given by the showroom manager and the employee which accused her. After an argument, Debra departed.
She soon afterward brought a suit against the jewelry store company for False Imprisonment. There are several elements that comprise the false imprisonment tort, but the two elements most directly related to this case are a) restraint of an individual against his will and b) unlawfulness of such restraint.
In the end, the court ruled against Debra Harding. The decision, to a large extent, hinged on her subjective attitude towards the alleged imprisonment. Hardy testified that, as she wanted to stay to clarify the situation, she did not ask to leave. Also, she said that even though she was tricked into the room, she would have followed had she known of the true purpose of the meeting.
The ethical dilemma that the professor had given us was this:
Imagine that you are the attorney for Debra Harding. You are well aware of the rules for false imprisonment in Montana (the forum State of this case). As such, you know that the plaintiff's attitude and awareness of the confinement is key to winning a false imprisonment suit.
Debra walks in, and tells you that the situation right up until she was tricked into the room. At this point, you stop her and say, "Before you continue, be aware that how you felt about the confinement matters a great deal in deciding how this case will go. For the case to go the way of the victim, the victim needs to be feel compelled, perhaps threatened, to stay." After this sinks in, you then pose the question, "Now, how did you feel when the door closed behind you?"
Is that ethical behavior? Is it "right" for you to do that, as Debra Harding's legal counsel?
For the record, the class was divided on the issue, with several students voicing opinions both ways until we ran out of time. Naturally, the professor never answered the question for us. He did leave us with a key point to mull over during the weekend.
There are at least two considerations implicit in any professional ethics question. The first, and most obvious, is whether such behavior will get us disbarred. The second, and more important, question is how we want to practice law. The first consideration, a discernment of the minimal behavior needed to abide by the law, is simple rules application.
The second consideration directs us to the much more personal and engaging question of what will let us sleep at night.
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Wednesday is a good day because it's not Tuesday. The pace is relaxed and I have a huge three hour break between two classes. So far, I've used this break to bask in the courtyard, go spelunking in the Burns library, raid the coffee shop catering to undergrads, and lounge uselessly in the study rooms playing Homeworld 2. In my defense, these activities were separated by periods of actual study.
In short, I still have a significant amounts of free time. And because I don't have the pragmatic wisdom to maintain this state, I've been considering contributing to one of the extracurricular student organizations. One of the organizations, the Equal Justice Foundation, is planning on a volunteer trip to New Orleans to help with reconstruction efforts and do some pro bono legal work. This trip is slated to take place after the final exams of first semester, during the break.
It seems like a good way to get myself out of the classroom setting and reacquaint myself with the real world. Also, the chance of actually doing something constructive in response to the suffering on TV is vaguely appealing. As such, I'm seriously considering joining the trip. My understanding is that the University will shoulder a large portion, if not all, of the cost.
(The free pizza they offered me during the EJF general assembly meeting had nothing to do with this. Honest.)
In completely unrelated news, my Wii Tennis skillz have gotten to the point that I've switched to my left hand in order to face a challenge. I am totally channeling Inigo Montoya right now. If I fail law school, consider cnorgard liable.
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Every Tuesday, I have four classes scheduled in a straight continuum from 9:55 to 2:35 with nothing but ten-minute transit periods and a forty-minute break in between. The density of my workload increases exponentially in the beginning of the week. If you want to picture me on a Tuesday, think of a headless chicken doing laps around the butcher's block.
Four hours? That doesn't seem so bad. First graders have a more demanding schedule in chronological terms. However, law school typically demands at least one to two hours of preparation time for every hour spent in the classroom. In effect, Tuesday and the preparation for it amounts to a twelve-hour workday.
I miss recess.
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Not too long ago, I submitted a worksheet for my Legal Research and Writing class via Westlaw's TWEN application. As it turns out, quite a lot of my work and data organization here in law school is done via web-based programs.
In GWU Law, possessing a laptop is mandatory. In addition, certain specifications have to be met in order for the laptop to be compatible with the school's exam software and LEAP authentication for its campus-wide Wi-Fi network. Once connected, the student has access to the general internet as well as several specialized servers, including GWU's general web portal, the law school specific web portal, and privately-run Westlaw and LexisNexus databases.
Each class has a devoted webforum, virtual assignment inbox, and course materials in pdf. The extent to which professors make use of this web-based support seems to be based on their own discretion and taste. In my Legal Research and Writing class, assignments have to be submitted both in paper form and via the online inbox maintained by TWEN. Add to this the frequent use of such sites as Facebook to socialize and one starts to get a picture of how heavily wired this generation of students can be. This is especially striking given that we're not in a technology-oriented course.
All this is somewhat discomfiting to someone whose conception of homework used to be that of a fat textbook, a sheaf of college-ruled notebook paper, and several number two pencils. I can imagine my future self haranguing descendants for the laziness caused by digital convenience.
"Back in my day, we were given hand-sharpened sticks of graphite and told to etch our answers onto woven sheets of plant fiber. When we had to turn in those answers in person, we were grateful!"
"Whatever, Grandpa."
What I've found particularly interesting is that both Westlaw and LexisNexus offer me reward points for using their databases. Evidently the more of their system resources I waste, the more free stuff I get. I believe it has something to do with the stiff competition between them. I would hypothesize that each desires that malleable young law students become acquainted with their particular web-based application. When those students graduate, they become financially-stable members of private firms and government departments - the perfect clientèle.
Even though it's hardly flattering that my subconscious habits are being marketed in such a crass manner, I do get free sneakers out of the deal. Who would complain?
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