iLawyer

For a long time, the three most important letters to lawyers on the internet were SEO.  But now that everybody on the internet is an SEO expert New York criminal defense lawyer, and page 1 of Google hasn’t gotten any longer, the cool word has changed to branding. 

Establishing yourself as a skilled, hard-working lawyer based on what you do is, well, really hard. It takes not only effort, but time. Nobody can be bothered with the first or can wait for the second. The car payment is due, the kids are hungry and we need money now. So rather than make the long, hard, uphill climb to success, why not just create a brand that will make clients want you more than any other lawyer around?

Yes, yes, you say?  Marketing guru  Seth Godin explains how:



Apple’s naming approach is inconsistent, it begs for lawsuits (offensive and defensive) and it shouldn’t be the model for your organization. iPhone is a phone, iPad is a pad, iPod is a … (and owning a letter of the alphabet is i-mpossible).


Procter and Gamble, on the other hand, has been doing it beautifully for a hundred years. Crisco, Tide, Pringles, Bounty, Duracell–these are fanciful names that turn the generic product (and the story we believe about it) into something distinct.


No, you dope. You don’t want to rename your practice The Crisco Law Firm. You completely misunderstood Godin.  Plus, it carries some unfortunate implications for lock-up that may not entice new clients to come to you.

So many lawyers are striving to find a way to distinguish themselves from all the other lawyers who have carefully crafted their online personas to bring in the clients, and frankly, it’s damn hard. We’re all pretty much the same on paper. Sure, some have been around longer than others, but an old fool is worse than a young fool, so that doesn’t tell the full story.  Some of us have higher Avvo ratings, but that just means you haven’t figured out how to put inconsequential nonsense into your profile to fool the algorithm. 

In some jurisdictions, lawyers aren’t allowed to practice under a trade name.  Those old men just don’t get it. They are branding idiots, determined to make life miserable for anyone with a flair for the cool and enticing.  They wouldn’t know cutting edge if it bit them in the butt. 

But even such archaic rules can be played. After all, hasn’t Morrison Foerster become MoFo? 

Worse still, if you’ve got the terrible misfortune of having an Anglo name like Smith, following in the footsteps of your father and grandfather, the naming options will kill you. Smith, Smith, Jones & Smith?  You’ve got to be kidding. Google is going to slaughter you. Page 37 at best, and nobody will ever know you exist on the web.

At this point, you probably wonder how someone like me, avant-garde and all, plans to rebrand himself to take advantage of this vital and cutting edge marketing concept.  While I’ve considered some of my options, like Curmudgeon Law, Scott “If you have to ask, you can’t afford me” Greenfield and The Law Office of the Guy Who Writes Simple Justice, they’ve gotten a lukewarm reception.  Apparently, my knowledge of the concept of branding is far better than my execution.  I am so ashamed.

But just because I suck at branding doesn’t mean you will. Go for it. Remake yourself into something far, far cooler than you are. One fanciful name will do the trick, and the next thing you know, you’ll be rolling in dough.  Brand, baby, brand!

If it works for laundry detergent, you know it will work for you.






 

Dickering Over The Price

A man asks a woman if she would be willing to sleep with him if he pays her an exorbitant sum of money. She replies affirmatively. He then names a paltry amount and asks if she would still be willing to sleep with him for the revised fee. The woman is greatly offended and replies as follows:


She: What kind of woman do you think I am?


He: We’ve already established that. Now we’re just dickering over the price.


The old joke, attributed to George Bernard Shaw, Winston Churchill and others, has been given new life.  The amount has now been conclusively established: $1.92 billion.  Via the New York Times :

Federal and state authorities have chosen not to indict HSBC, the London-based bank, on charges of vast and prolonged money laundering, for fear that criminal prosecution would topple the bank and, in the process, endanger the financial system. They also have not charged any top HSBC banker in the case, though it boggles the mind that a bank could launder money as HSBC did without anyone in a position of authority making culpable decisions.

The reason is that HSBC is too big to fail. If indicted or convicted of money laundering for drug cartels and terrorists, as alleged, London based HongKong Shanghai Banking Corporation could have toppled the banking system, with devastating consequences.  It would have been a disaster for the economy, both ours and the worlds.  Too big to fail.

So the government decided, in an exercise of discretion, to take whatever spare change they had in their pocket and call it even. 

The New York Times editorial, while recognizing the impact such a prosecution would have on the global economy, argues that this decision has eliminated any deterrent effect laws have on “too big to fail” multinationals, and converted them into another cost of doing business.  True.

But HSBC can take care of itself. What about you? What about your business? What about the bank down the street?  Need I say it? Not too big to fail. Your family, your employees, your customers? They will suffer, but the economy will survive. And really, isn’t that what criminal law is all about?

The cynical will mention “equal protection,” that phrase in the Constitution that says the government can’t treat you any differently than anyone else, even if the other guy is too big to fail. It’s often chiseled into the lintel over courthouse doorways. But as we now know, that’s only for us little guys. 

Prosecutors will scoff at you if you mention the HSBC settlement. You’re no HSBC, they will say. And indeed, you’re not.  Judges will impose sentence with a straight face, perhaps expressing righteous indignation at the things you’ve done and the harm you’ve caused, as they mumble triple digit numbers that are crucial to the preservation of society.  You must be imprisoned so others will know that you cannot do such evil things and get away with it.

The criminal justice system, like every system relied upon by government to keep its vision of the wheels of society greased, has both a pragmatic as well as principled component.  The problem is that it’s principled only when the government is willing to pay the price.  Whether that means releasing prisoners when the cost of keeping them incarcerated exceeds what they are willing to pay, or cutting a multinational bank a break when the economy is too fragile to take a major hit, they trade off otherwise inflexible principle that drops on the head of lesser defendants like a ton of bricks.

No one suggests that what HSBC did, or its scope or pervasiveness, was inconsequential. Just the opposite.

There is no doubt that the wrongdoing at HSBC was serious and pervasive. Several foreign banks have been fined in recent years for flouting United States sanctions against transferring money through American subsidiaries on behalf of clients in countries like Iran, Sudan and Cuba. HSBC’s actions were even more egregious. According to several law enforcement officials with knowledge of the inquiry, prosecutors found that, for years, HSBC had also moved tainted money from Mexican drug cartels and Saudi banks with ties to terrorist groups.

This is serious stuff. Whether it’s true is another matter, but that will never be tested because they found the government’s tipping point at $1.92 billion.  So what if the government takes every penny you or your company ever made, and levies fines and forfeitures for a million times what you could ever make under their facile way of calculating what it’s due.  You don’t have $1.92 billion to give, so you get prosecuted.

It sucks to be the little guy in a world where “justice” carries a high price tag.  But at least there is one thing no one need endure any longer, after this choice by our government.  No longer can any government official, any judge, any prosecutor, opine with righteous indignation about how a crime demands punishment.  Even if they can do it with a straight face, they surely can’t be angry with you for laughing at their joke.

Now that we’ve established what kind of system of justice we have, the rest is just dickering over price.


Cheap Rooms in Collinsville (Update)

When Trekkie Terrance Huff  posted the video of his stop by Collinsville cop Michael Reichert, it caused a bit of angst for the locals. You see, Collinsville made money off two things, its cops and its hotel rooms, used by passers-through as a place to stop before going to anywhere else in the world that was a better place to be than Collinsville.  It was a good plan, until Huff screwed it all up.

After posting his nerd video, Huff posted a video of Reichert’s deposition, where he explained how he tested his drug-sniffing dog by rubbing drug scent on cars parked in motel parking lots.  That could be used to follow the previously parked cars on the highway, run the dog around them and get a hit.  Of course, Reichert would be the guy who put the scent on the car, but a hit is a hit, and that means a search.  And one never knows what a search will turn up.

It was this type of ingenuity that made Reichert a local hero.  Via Pro Libertate :

In January 2011, Reichert was given a commendation by Collinsville Police Chief Scott Williams.  In April, Reichert was named “Officer of the Month.” This was a reward for what was described as exemplifying “the proactive and innovative philosophy of law enforcement prescribed to [sic] by the Collinsville Police Department. He has demonstrated this by his aggressive approach to drug trafficking in the area.”

“Officer Reichert had 166 total incidents with 6 arrests and 7 citations in 13 working days,” explained the department’s report. “In addition to this he had 3 self initiated significant incidents that is very worthy of praise [sic.]”


Reichert’s initiative, however. was not universally admired.


This routine was described by Federal Judge Michael J. Reagan in a 2005 ruling that described the officer as a “polished performer” and revealed him to be someone from whom lies flow as easily as bile from a ruptured liver.

“By simply adding up `suspicious’ factors while ignoring non-suspicious or mitigating factors [in the Zambrana traffic stop], Reichert misused the `totality of circumstances’ principle as a sword to unjustly pierce Zambrana’s cloak of Fourth Amendment protection,” concluded Judge Reagan.

In this sense, “polished performer” is not necessarily a compliment. But then, he was a profit center, and what more can a small town ask of its police?  Yet, this is where Reichert’s plus became a local minus, as that mean, nasty Huff’s videos about Reichert and Collinsville, where he warned others to stay far away from Collinsville, started cutting in on his action.

When the profitability of a municipality’s scheme takes a hit, there are two ways to go.  On the one hand, they can stop doing bad things that bring them, and their local businesses, into disrepute. On the other, they can send a demand letter to the guy revealing their scheme and tell him to shut up. Guess which hand Collinsville picked?


“I just got an e-mail from the city attorney asking to have the [Lodging in Collinsville] video taken down by the end of the day,” attorney Louis Meyer informed Pro Libertate in a December 4 phone interview. “He didn’t explain why he thought Mr. Huff had to do this. It is a publicly available document attached to our motion for summary judgment. There was nothing placed under seal, and all of this information – including the video of the deposition – was available to anybody willing to go into the clerk’s office and ask for it.”

As if turned out, Huff wasn’t the only out-of-state driver to fall prey to Reichert, and the bit of notoriety his video caused brought out others who, like Huff, fell victim to what Huff’s attorney, Dan Kiss, called “pirates in police uniforms.”

Much as courts embrace the War on Drugs in terms of saving society from the ravages of this blight, compelling judges to endorse pretext stops and imbue cute doggies with magical powers to justify warrantless searches, few take notice of the banality of cops like Reichert and towns like Collinsville just feeding off the drug trough.  No hotbed of gangs or crazed hippy addicts, but a sleepy town that makes a living off unsuspecting travelers.

Until Terrance Huff made a video.  But for his videos, you couldn’t get a room at the Collinsville Red Roof Inn. 

Update: The Collinsville city attorney sought relief in federal court to force the removal of Huff’s video from Youtube. The court refused.

H/T  FritzMuffKnuckle
 

They Don’t Make the Cut

The New York Board of Bar Examiners  released the passage rate numbers by law school for the July, 2012, bar exam.  While discussion of what becomes of debt-laden students when there are no jobs to be had are left to the lions of the legal academy, who are busily arguing about edge tweaks, the chart reveals something far more disturbing and real.

When nearly a third of a law school class fails to pass the bar exam, it can’t be chalked up to first time jitters or a few students having a real bad day (or two).  An alarm has to go off that the school, and more precisely, its professoriate, has failed.  Somehow, these students attended, and paid for, three years of law school and were incapable of passing the bar in massive numbers.

Law professors, you failed. The students may not have shined, but this isn’t their fault. It’s yours. It is impossible to have such a large percentage of a law school class failing without it being the fault of the faculty.  And lest we point fingers at NYLS alone, there are plenty of exceptionally crappy numbers here.

Frankly, I’m appalled that the first three schools on the list, admired by all, didn’t have 99% pass rates. The bar exam just isn’t that hard to pass.  I’d cut Columbia a break at five students failing the exam just because their brains froze. When the number is three times that, it’s shocking. That the state average is 85% is alarming, given all these students having spent all this time, all this money, with the single-minded goal of passing the bar exam, and yet 15% failed.

Where are the mea culpas?  Are lawprofs rending their hairshirts in penitence?  Get real.

At PrawfsBlawg, Dan Rodriguez supports the creation of the “baby bar,”

Declaration against interest from an institutional standpoint as dean, but I am strongly drawn to Sam Estreicher’s “back to the future” suggestion of an option for students sitting for the bar after two years.  Such a system, if adopted, would respond in some meaningful way to student debt issues, allowing the financially burdened student to postpone — or, in some instances, avoid entirely — the third year and the corresponding tuition costs.

A fabulous idea, with but one little kink. If they can’t pass the bar after three years of law school, how will they pass after two? Of course, most law students take a bar exam prep course (by a private provider, paid for separately) because they can’t remember enough to pass based on law school alone.

Some will argue that the bar exam is meaningless anyway, reflecting little of the actual practice of law and expecting students intent on practicing in a specific niche to know obscure details of the law from A to Z which can be easily looked up if needed. 

There is a little bit of merit to this, but the fact is that having completed three years of law school, students ought to possess a sufficiently broad swath of legal knowledge to breeze through the exam. It’s not that hard, and more importantly, we are licensed as generalists and expected to have a basic knowledge of the law. All the law, even when basic courses like evidence are no longer required.  It’s just not that much to expect of lawyers.

But it requires lawprofs to teach students. Teaching. It’s a dirty word in the Academy, denigrated by association with trade schools that offer refrigeration repair. Except it’s needed to pass the bar exam. Scholar, unfortunately, consider the notion quaint and beneath their dignity.  They exist to think big thoughts, and show up in class only because someone puts a gun to their heads.

In a response to Brian Tamanaha’s book, Failing Law Schools, which lawprof Jay Sterling Silver cleverly describes as the “Motel 6 Model of Legal Education,” he offers his view of society’s need for legal scholars:

As a wise colleague pointed out to me not long ago, “The legal professoriate develops suggestions for law in the common interest that are not produced by the powerful lobbies generating laws today. If we are reduced to teaching automatons, we would leave the field to those who buy their spokespersons.” Stripping law faculties of the time to contemplate the weaknesses of the law and the injustices of the legal system, and discarding the tenure necessary to instill meaning in the words “academic freedom,” reduces a vital social resource to a cog in the current structures of power. Under the guise of fiscal management, law professors willing to take on the wielders of power in the public and private sectors would be silenced.

Obviously, no scholar wants to be reduced to a “teaching automaton,” especially given how society so desperately needs their brilliance to “contemplate the weaknesses of the law and the injustices of the legal system.”   Orin Kerr wasn’t impressed with the argument, that maintaining “the status quo is the best possible world requires more than just patting ourselves on the back about how society is very lucky to have us.”  I think Orin was far too kind.

Think big thoughts on your own time, if that’s what you think you’re doing. Society isn’t paying you to ponder the legal universe, but law students are paying you to teach them how to be lawyers.  You’re failing. And, much as I hate to be mean, your big thoughts about injustice are, with rare exceptions, puny and worthless.

Much of the focus is on the dearth of jobs for law school graduates, and it’s a monumental problem.  But if the grads can’t even get in the game because they can’t pass the bar exam after law school in such huge numbers, then this failing falls on the legal academy. Not a third. Not a fifth. Frankly, even a tenth of a class is far too much. If the students don’t have the chops, then hand them a dime and stop taking their government-backed tuition payment, but do not spew them out the back of your law school incapable of passing the bar.

No amount of self-congratulatory scholarly baloney can conceal the inability to produce students capable of jumping the first hurdle of becoming a lawyer.  This cannot happen, and I blame the law professors.

Blawging Blowback: Sarcasm Edition

When  Ken White and  Ron Coleman stepped in to defend conservative blogger and Los Angeles County prosecutor Patrick Frey of Patterico’s Pontifications from a frivolous and censorious attack on free speech, it was a mitzvah, especially since no conservative lawyers were willing to take up pro bono arms on behalf of their good buddy. 

But as Ken reveals, his earlier words came back to bite him:



A Note About Sarcasm


I’m only going to address one minor issue in the briefs and the tentative ruling, because it involves me and this blog. In March, well before Ms. Naffe sued and I appeared in this case, I wrote a post about Ms. Naffe’s threats against Mr. Frey. In that post, referring to Mr. Frey’s point-by-point questioning of Ms. Naffe’s accusations against James O’Keefe, I dropped this line:



The defense attorney in me is tempted to say that this is the most thorough consideration of exculpatory evidence that I have ever seen from a Los Angeles County Deputy District Attorney, but that would be uncouth, so I will not, and you should definitely forget that I brought it up.


I thought that this was self-evidently a joke, a friendly swipe by a snarky criminal defense lawyer talking about a prosecutor. I was rather surprised to see both Ms. Naffe’s counsel and — in response – the judge seem to take it literally. Such are the hazards of sarcasm. Or maybe I should say, as I always do to my wife, kids, law partners, and anyone who will sit still, that nobody understands me.

Self-evidence is rarely, well, self-evident. More to the point, anyone who writes stuff on the internet should realize that the words are there for others to read.  This is true whether one asks a question that’s ridiculously unethical, incredibly stupid or just addresses more mundane issues of the practice of criminal defense. 

Write about a particular subject and someone will see it and use it against you. Write about a general subject and someone will try to use it to extrapolate something to be used against you. Or against all criminal defense lawyers, assuming they can get away with it.

On a few occasions, I’ve walked into court or a conference where someone, whether judge or prosecutor, will make an off-hand remark designed to make sure I know that they’ve read SJ.  Given the number of posts here, there is a fair to middling chance that I’ve written something about them, about the issue, about their office, that wasn’t entirely flattering.  They want me to know that they know, so I know that they know that I know that they know.  As if I didn’t already know.

This is a risk that goes along with being a blawger. While all the angry IANAL commenters writing their simplistic yet hateful thoughts about cops, prosecutors and judges do so under cover of darkness, lawyers who actually take a stand and write substantive posts on the internet are fully exposed.  We’re here for all the world to see, and for all our adversaries to use against us at their leisure.  And the people hiding under rocks are fearful of exposure?  We are in the direct line of fire.

I’m well aware of this. I’m sure that Ken is well aware of this as well, particularly since he went from pseudonymous Ken to former federal prosecutor turned criminal defense lawyer Ken White.  He’s a very smart guy, so there is no doubt when he came out that he appreciated the consequences.

Some blawgers try to use this to their advantage, writing self-aggrandizing posts about themselves and their cases, laying out their arguments or angst online.  It rarely works, particularly when their one-sided arguments fail to carry the day, and often shows them to be reckless in revealing client confidences. It’s a risky game to play, and no one has yet to pull it off without disgracing themselves amongst their peers.

So blawgers who have made the choice to offer seriously (in the substantive sense, even if humor or sarcasm is the delivery mechanism) commentary on issues of consequences have put their butts on the line.  Readers may not think about this part of the fabulous life of blawgers. You may love or hate what we say, but you don’t really care that we have to walk into court later that day and have a judge peer over the bench furious about our less than enthusiastic thoughts of his recent opinion.  You applaud? The judge, not so much.

One might hope that judges and prosecutors are all big boys and girls who are smart enough and tough enough to take some criticism.  After all, the nature of what we do invites challenge. It’s called an adversary system for a reason, right?  And in fairness, we can revile a judge’s decision one day, and applaud his decision the next.  It’s not personal (Godfather moment. Relish it.).

Well, that’s not always the way it works out.  Like the 7th grader who inadvertently farts in history class and suffers the nickname “Stinky” until graduation, people tend to remember the things we write that bother them, and it lingers.  It’s not so much that grudges are held as that fair disagreement or criticism is a slap that continues to sting. Well, maybe it is that grudges are held.

Ken, who occasionally makes his point by using sarcasm, faces this problem.  So too, I suspect, other serious criminal law blawgers, like  Bennett, Tannebaum, Matt Brown and Murray Newman.  So do I. That’s the risk of what we do.  We can either write tepid, pointless, worthless garbage, and be embraced by the Happysphere, or hit hard and get hit hard in return.

On the bright side, there are also readers who respect what we say, and our fortitude in saying so.  On the whole, we make a lot more friends in high places than enemies, because we have the opportunity to say what a lot of people (even lawpofs, who often hold shockingly strong opinions you would never discern from their public writings) are thinking but, because of their positions or fear of ramifications, would never say aloud.  We do it for them.  And if the price of doing so is the occasional blowback, it’s a price we’re willing to pay.







Defending Against Ghosts

As 73-year-old Jack McCullough has now  been sentenced to spend the rest of his “natural life” in prison for the murder of 7-year-old Maria Ridulph, one question has never been answered.  What changed between 1957, when the crime occurred, and 2011 when he was arrested for it?  No DNA connected him to the crime. No witness came out of hiding who was previously unknown. But one thing was different.

Had McCullough’s case been tried 55 years ago, the court would have required that the evidence against him comport with the evidentiary rules requiring reliability and confrontation.  Instead, he was tried by the testimony of ghosts. From Fox News :

“He is as evil as prosecutors painted — and some,” said Janet Tessier, McCullough’s half-sister, after he was convicted in September. Her decision to tell police about incriminating comments McCullough’s and Tessier’s mother made just before she died in 1994 played a crucial role in McCullough’s 2011 arrest and subsequent conviction.

The claim is about hearsay from 1994.  At the time of the murder, McCullough was considered, and rejected, as a suspect:

McCullough was one of more than 100 people who were briefly suspects, but he had what seemed like a solid alibi. On the day of the girl vanished, he told investigators, he’d been traveling to Chicago for a medical exam before joining the Air Force.

McCullough ultimately settled in Seattle and was a Washington state police officer.

No cop jokes here, regardless of whether they are well deserved. It’s irrelevant to what came afterward.

Once a new investigation was launched, authorities went to Chapman and showed her an old photograph of McCullough. She told them the picture showed the teenager who came up to her and Maria that snowy day and identified himself as “Johnny.”

That’s Kathy Chapman, who was playing with 7-year-old Maria Ridulph on her last day of life. She’s now 63-years-old.  If identifications are suspect immediately after a crime has occurred, they don’t improve with age.

This isn’t to say that McCullough is innocent, but that the course of his prosecution made it impossible to defend against the charges.  He wasn’t confronted by the witnesses against him, but by stories told by witnesses that came from the now-dead witnesses against him.

A funny thing happens 55 years later. All the rules that limit evidence to the stuff that’s reasonably reliable evaporate. As the quality of the prosecution’s evidence diminishes, the rigor of the rules diminish as well.  When a witness testifies as to hearsay, it’s impossible to challenge the underlying statement, either for accuracy or veracity.  The witness just shrugs and says, “I don’t know, that’s what I was told.”  There is no comeback to that, other than the witness is a liar.

When the case involves murder, witnesses say they will never forget what happened.  That resonates with a jury, as we all want to believe that tragedies aren’t forgotten.  But they are.  Worst still, they aren’t, and in the place of real memories are the imaginings that grow over decades of thinking about such terrible events. Memories once real become enhanced with words we imagine were said, thoughts we imagine we had, but never really happened.  The mind isn’t nearly as fine as we want to believe it is, and memories play awful tricks over time.

There is no statute of limitations on the crime of murder.  It’s not because the compelling arguments in favor of a statute of limitations don’t apply with the same force as any other crime, but because it is considered such a terrible crime that the law has chosen to push the problems aside and let the wheel spin.  But how is a defendant to  prove his alibi 55 years later?

A deathbed accusation by McCullough’s mother in 1994 – passed on to police by his half-sister in 2008 – led to a chain of events that brought about his conviction.

His mother, Eileen Tessier, had lied to police canvassing the neighborhood in 1957 about her son’s whereabouts, buttressing his alibi, prosecutor Julie Trevartchen said Friday.

“She knew what she did and she didn’t want to die with that on her conscience,” she said.

McCullough’s girlfriend in the 1950s also contacted police with evidence that called his alibi into question. She had found his unused train ticket from Rockford to Chicago for the day Maria disappeared.

This all came via his half-sister, who learned of it in 1994 but sat on her mother’s lie for 17 years?  In 1957, there would have been evidence that he was given his Air Force physical in Chicago on the day after the murder, supporting if not proving his alibi.  Try to get that evidence now.

Had the prosecution in 1957 sought to introduce testimony by the defendant’s half-sister as to his mother’s  accusation that he committed the murder, it would have been summarily refused. You can’t put in such blatant hearsay.  But with the mother dead, that’s all they have. Somehow, hearsay evidence that is woefully unacceptable is magically turned into perfectly competent evidence by necessity.  And for the very reasons no judge would permit such unreliable testimony into evidence way back when, it is immune from challenge today while being every bit as unreliable.

While the McCullough conviction raises questions as to the propriety of sentence for a man who has lived the vast majority of his life without harming anyone, and who, arrested from his retirement home, presents no threat, sentence only comes after guilt is found.

Had this ice cold case been reopened because of some scientific discovery that provided substantial evidence that couldn’t have been know before, or had Jack McCullough confessed because he didn’t want to go to his grave bearing the weight of his crime, the 55 years between the murder of 7-year-old Maria Ridulph and the conviction of McCullough would have disappeared.

But that didn’t happen, and instead he was convicted on the accusations of ghosts. No judge should have allowed this prosecution to proceed, but then, few judges would have had the guts to toss it out. No one can defend themselves against ghosts. McCullough, whether guilty or innocent, never had a chance.

Maybe Outsourcing Isn’t The Answer?

Via the Trial Warrior , Antonin Pribetic, Brit Alex Aldridge’s  Legal Cheek flattens the world just a little bit more:


At a seminar last week, one of the most senior judges in India courted controversy by suggesting that “90% of Indians were idiots” . But Justice Markandey Katju hadn’t bargained for the enthusiasm of a pair of “deeply hurt” law students in the audience to put their legal education into practice…




This morning it was reported that Tanaya Thakur and Aditya Thakur have initiated legal proceedings against the judge.


It’s heartwarming to know that there are special little snowflakes, fragile flowers, the Slackoisie, wherever young lawyers can be found. 

“We are deeply hurt and humiliated by Justice Katju’s words,” said the duo, adding that the judge’s jibe “would depreciate the reputation of India and its citizens”.

Is Justice Katju right?  Beats me, but then, I certainly have no basis to quibble. Regardless, the fact that his words are deeply hurtful and humiliating seems to be the issue, because reality doesn’t matter. Even young Indian lawyers are entitled to hear only words of warmth and support, lest their ears burn and self-esteem crumble.

American lawyers tend to think that this is just a local phenomenon, a by-product of our culture of giving every millennial a trophy for participating, where the child who came in last was merely the 37th winner. Nobody is a loser in America.

Apparently, not in India either.

One of the great unspoken fears of new lawyers here is that while they whine about the misery of their unemployed lives, the lack of recognition of their brilliance or appreciation of their total awesomeness, even the crap legal jobs are being shipped overseas to foreign lawyers. It’s not that they want these jobs. They don’t. But when they get hungry enough, they would take them begrudingly.

The belief is that while the work is beneath the dignity of our newest colleagues, there are millions of young lawyers in India who are thrilled to have the work and will work awfully hard to do the best job possible.  Unlike our little darlings, Indian lawyers are happy to labor long and hard, put in their best efforts and would never be so sensitive as cry when their self-esteem is bruised. 

Good news! It’s just a myth. They, or at least some of them just as it’s only some of our own who share their entitlement, are just as whiny.

The bad news is that this doesn’t mean they won’t work for a pittance compared to what young American lawyers need to service their debt or the price of a bag of Cheetos. Or that they won’t take the responsibilities seriously and perform the work with vigor and diligence.  But at least they demand the same validation as do our own.

This, of course, presents a grand opportunity for young lawyers here, now that we know their counterparts in Bangalore are prepared to sue if they don’t get a red balloon.  Fill the gap. As lawyers in other countries become more like us, become less like us and embrace the work ethic, the quest for excellence, that comes with winning the race rather than demanding a trophy for being the 37th winner.

And don’t sue anybody because they hurt your feelings.

Convicting The Innocent, A Symposium

At Concurring Opinions, Danielle Citron is hosting a symposium on Virginia lawprof Brandon Garrett’s  Convicting the Innocent: Where Criminal Prosecutions Go Wrong (Harvard University Press 2011).  Coming on the timely heels of a  60 Minutes segment about Chicago being the mother lode of false confessions, it’s certainly a timely topic.

Added to the mix are some other recent books by academics.



Along with Garrett’s book, we will be discussing three new books that intersect well with the problems he tackles in Convicting the Innocent: Stephanos Bibas’s  The Machinery of Criminal Justice (Oxford University Press 2012), Daniel S. Medwed’s  Prosecution Complex: America’s Race to Convict and its Impact on the Innocent (New York University Press 2012), and Dan Simon’s  In Doubt (Harvard University Press 2012).  

The books and topic will be discussed by “an exciting group of scholars,” five words I never expected to see.  I tried to leave a comment to that effect, but it appears I remain banned from commenting at Co-Op as an undesirable.

So you’re probably delighted about this, exciting scholars discussing issues of great importance to those of us who toil in, or care about, the criminal law arena, right?  Before you make the popcorn, consider this quote from Steven Bibas, whose book about the Machinery of Criminal Justice will be part of the mix.



In short, our criminal justice system is a broken machine running almost on auto-pilot. It needs to be more transparent and democratically accountable for its failures. We cannot abolish plea bargaining, as we need its ability to handle staggering caseloads. But we can hope that the exposure of factual and moral injustices can prompt rethinking, forcing us to slow down the assembly line, to increase the quality of convictions and punishments even if that means reducing the quantity and doing more triage. Books like Brandon’s, Dan’s, and Dan’s can, I hope, prompt more oversight and public involvement to ensure both factual and moral justice.

Few would argue that the criminal justice system is a well-oiled machine, but Bibas’ solution is to make it more transparent and democratically accountable for its failures.  Not leveling the playing field, nor invigorating constitutional protections, but increasing the “quality of convictions” by exposing factual and moral injustices. 

One of the recurring themes is that the failure of the system isn’t due to overzealous, lying prosecutors and judges who refuse to enforce the Constitution, but criminal defense lawyers who fail to win and, instead, rush to plead their innocent clients.  They tend to hate pleas and love trials, which tells me that they have either never tried a case as a defense lawyer or have conveniently forgotten what it’s like when the other side holds all the cards. They adore the absurd fallacy of a trial being a search for the truth rather than a one-sided inquisition.
 
Danielle Citron, taking a breather from her moribund cyber civil rights quest, speaks to her own concern, stemming from her days as a Trial Preparation Assistant at the New York County District Attorneys Office.


In reading Garrett’s book, it was hard for me to shake my own memories of the Central Park Jogger trial in 1990-91.  I was a trial preparation assistant at the Manhattan District Attorney’s Office for the bureau next to the one in charge of prosecuting the case.  In the mornings when delivering files to the various courtrooms, we’d witness the march to the courthouse: prosecutor Liz Lederer’s team, the defendants’ family members, their lawyers, activist Al Sharpton, and Bill Tatum, editor of the New York Amsterdam News. Public conversation was divisive.  The mainstream media cast the defendants as a “wilding” mob of black teenagers who descended on the petite white jogger; the Amsterdam News decried the arrest and prosecution as racial injustice.  Even though forensic evidence exonerated the defendants (the FBI lab conclusively ruled out the semen found on the victim’s sock did not belong to any of the defendants), the jury convicted them.  The justice system failed us: we convicted the innocent.

The justice system failed us?  It’s understandable that Citron would make this gross misstatement, given that as a TPA, her expertise at the time was more limited to the efficient use of copy machines and where to find the cheapest coffee cart on Hogan Place, What she should have said is that the system failed five young men, and that Liz Lederer, who prosecuted them with a viciousness rarely seen, such that she never considered for a moment that she and her beloved detectives were absolutely dead wrong.

While I am deeply interested in what comes out of this symposium, as it frames the legal academy’s discussions about criminal law issues and drives tenure-hungry academics to write books to meet with its approval, I am also deeply concerned and skeptical that it will do more good than harm.  These exciting scholarly symposia tend to have two fundamental flaws.

First, they discuss criminal law based on theory relative to Supreme Court decisions. Such discussions couldn’t be more distant from reality in the trenches, where they speculate as if trial judges apply the rules of law in the same sanitized reality as the factual background appears in an appellate decision. Even the lawprofs who once graced the table on the far side of the room from the jury box forget that brilliant motions are met with a terse “denied” by a bored judge who assumes everyone is guilty anyway.

Where is the recognition of innocent defendants facing lifetimes in prison with cops trained to lie, judges who play the odds, prosecutors who can’t distinguish Brady if it bit them on the ass and identifications that everyone swears are just perfect?  The system is broken? Sure, that’s easy to say.  But to understand how it’s broken requires one to understand not only how it’s supposed to work, but how it actually happens. They either don’t, or won’t admit to it, because it would be impolite to call their former prosecutor brethren mean names for their role in the failure.

Second, the title of the Symposium reflects a fundamental academic misapprehension of the problem.  Obviously, convicting the innocent is a terrible thing, but it’s a tiny slice of the broken machine. What about the guilty? What about the guilty defendant whose confession is coerced? What about the guilty defendant whose charges are trumped up to force a plea? What about the guilty defendant whose constitutional rights are trampled because (take note, Bibas) everybody knows he’s guilty?  The system either works for everybody or nobody, because the innocent and guilty defendants all look alike at the beginning. 

While lawprofs get to play a game where, after the DNA proves innocence, they can parse the details and see what went wrong, the disease occurs in the trenches where a system is geared toward making sure defendants are swiftly broken and convicted.  Will any of the lawprofs know this? Will any of them discuss this?  I hope so, though their discussions never seem to resemble any aspect of the criminal justice system I’ve ever experienced.  But then, I’m no exciting scholar.

Three Things I Learned From Marc Romano of Ignyte

What do you call a thousand lawyers…

Most of you will read this and think it’s the beginning of an old lawyer joke that ends with the words, “a good start.”  But after an  inartful twit by Brian Tannebaum led me to watch this video sponsored by Avvo, at the cost of almost an hour of my life.  The claim was that a thousand lawyers watched it live. There is no indication that a thousand lawyers thereupon stormed Avvo’s headquarters demanding recompense.

I suspect that none of these thousand lawyers read  Tannebaum’s publication of an email he received from Marc Romano, the president of a branding company called Ignyte.  Romano was incensed by Tannebaum’s post at  Above the Law, where he called the efforts of people like Romano “silly.”  Romano didn’t like being called “silly,” and decided to let Tannebaum have it.


Frankly, I’m convinced that you don’t know what your talking about and if you’re so busy defending peoples rights, where do you find the time to write self serving pieces like this with the intention of degrading others who are delivering great value to the profession. You seem to have impressed a grand total of 23 people who hit the “like” button. Not so good.

Lesson Number 1: Marc Romano lives in his parents basement, and spends his days sitting on an old sofa eating Cheetos.  “Huh,” you say?  Not so fast, I say. Aside from his projecting onto Tannebaum his assumption that if Tannebaum has the time to write an ATL post, he must not be “so busy,” he also qualifies his assumption by noting that 23 people hit the “like” button. “Not so good,” he concludes.

What this tells me is that he thinks hitting the like button is not only an important indication of agreement, but that he remains mired in adolescence, where validation by such things is a critical part of one’s self-esteem.  Lawyers don’t hit the like button because it’s irrelevant. Lawyers don’t care if anyone hits the like button. Children do.  No lawyer would ever suggest that the number of “likes” carries any meaning. No grown-up either.  Thus, Marc Romano is a child, either in age or mentality.


In the future, you need to back up your claims with facts supported by credible third parties. The word of Brian and Brian alone simply does not cut it with intelligent people. Then again, maybe that’s not your audience.

I have limited time here. I have seven law firms that we’re rebranding and several holiday parties to attend in the evening by past clients who simply want to thank us for putting them on a positive path. They are all thriving and focused on the future of their firms as opposed to Brian who is desperately defending the past.

Lesson Number 2: Nobody knows who Marc Romano is.  There are many well-known legal marketers, for better or worse, and they’ve graced these pages and others because of their profile and utterances within the legal profession.  But I’ve never heard the name of Marc Romano until now, not that I’m the bar by which legal marketers measure themselves.  More importantly, Marc Romano knows that he doesn’t exist. How do I know this? Because he felt compelled to inform Tannebaum of his awesomeness.

The juxtaposition of the two paragraphs is interesting, calling out Tannebaum as lacking in credibility for not supporting his claims by “credible third parties,” while offering claims of his own that are not merely unsupported, but contradicted by the fact that no one has ever heard of him before and his need to tell Tannebaum who he is and why he’s fabulous.  Of course, Tannebaum has been given a soapbox on Above the Law to express his claims.  Romano has not.  Somebody doesn’t think Romano’s views are as worthwhile as Tannebaum’s.  That must hurt Marc Romano deeply.


Here’s more about Marc:

Judgment against Ignyte, Inc.

Lesson Number 3: No matter what the view from the sofa in the basement, there is a real world outside. It can be a harsh world. It is a world where Marc Romano and Ignyte, Inc. was sued.  It is a world where Marc Romano was not found sufficiently credible to prevail.  It may not exist in the world of his parents’ basement, but it does exist in the world of lawyers. I have no idea how many “likes” it got.

I wonder whether the thousand lawyers who watched the Avvo webinar in the hope that they would gain a magic secret that eluded them, and enable them to gain fabulous wealth while living the life they always dreamed of, felt empty and unfulfilled afterward.  Did they realize that they gained nothing from the words slaughtered for nothing?  Did they recognize the meaningless promises that were never kept?

As lawyers, we are tasked with distinguishing between viable concepts and argument and, well, nonsense. Granted, many fall for Nigerian 419 scams on the internet, lacking the knowledge and sophistication to recognize lies.  Did the thousand lawyers see that they had an hour of their lives squandered?  Romano demanded proof.  Avvo provided it.  Did the thousand lawyers learn anything from this?  Will they learn the three lessons I did from Marc Romano?



The Last Word

The United States House of Representatives voted 398 to 1, with 36 congressmen unable to find their way to the chamber, to eliminate a word.  The single nay vote came not from disagreement in substance, but focus.

The lone “no” vote was cast by Representative Louie Gohmert, Republican of Texas, who said in a statement that “not only should we not eliminate the word ‘lunatic’ from federal law when the most pressing issue of the day is saving our country from bankruptcy, we should use the word to describe the people who want to continue with business as usual in Washington.”

Yes, the word “lunatic” has been stricken from the laws of the United States of America, the Senate having approved the measure last May. No longer is anyone in America a federal lunatic. Your state may vary.

This comes on the heels of the eradication of the phrase “mental retardation,” eliminated two years ago because of its hurtful connotation, where school boys called each other “retard” and neo-conservative media personalities figured out the if you replaced “re” with “lib,” they could get a belly laugh out of their followers.  At the same time,  58% of Republicans believe that man was created by God less than 10,000 years ago, when they walked the earth alongside dinosaurs.

Given the meaning and derivation of the word “lunatic,” that people would suffer transitory insanity based on movement of the moon, it’s just as well that it’s gone. But the meaning of mental retardation, that a person’s intelligence, based upon IQ, was below a score of 70, is more of a problem. A medical phrase was eliminated because it was abused by jerks and turned into an epithet. When this happened, there were two options. The first was to speak out and return it to its original meaning. The second was to make it disappear.  The first required people to think. The second did not.  The second prevailed.

A while back, there was a huge dispute, a very angry dispute, about the word “niggardly.” On the one hand, reasonably well-educated folks understood its meaning to be “cheap” or “miserly.”  On the other, it was just too damn close to a hated word to ignore. David Howard, D.C.’s head of the Office of Public Advocate, was forced to resign for using this “racist” word, not because it was racist but because people felt it was. It had no connection whatsoever with the racial slur, but so what? It’s gone.

As lawyer and blawger, I use a lot of words. They are useful to convey the correct meaning whenever possible, in the hope that readers or listeners will get the message that I am trying to send. Each day, it gets more difficult to accomplish.

Political correctness has caused us to eliminate words from our lexicon that hurt people’s feelings or have taken on disparaging meanings or connotations. In the process of eradicating “hate speech” from the language, we ignore definitions in favor of how words make us feel. But it hasn’t stopped at the edge of hurtfulness. It’s dribbled over to positive characterizations, empowering people to ascribe attributes and credibility to themselves at will.

In a recent exchange, a marketer argued his “belief” about why he was a professional.  His argument was that he felt entitled to do so, and at no time did a definition of the word come into play.

There have been similar arguments about one of our favorite words, “justice,” a word of such vague meaning that we can all embrace it, own it, define it to support whatever we believe.

“When I use a word,” Humpty Dumpty said, in a rather scornful tone, “it means just what I choose it to mean – neither more nor less.”

“The question is,” said Alice, “whether you can make words mean so many different things.”

“The question is,” said Humpty Dumpty, “which is to be master – that’s all.”

—Through the Looking Glass, Lewis Carrol (Charles Lutwidge Dodgson)

We cannot communicate with each other if each of us is a Humpty Dumpty to ourselves. The problem is not solved by the elimination of words because they cause some people to feel badly, especially when the feeling bears no actual connection to the word. As we eliminate hurtful words, a new word will be adapted to its use, as we still need words to denigrate each other. Then that word will be eradicated from the lexicon as well.

Some people think that we can achieve an Orwellian Utopia by only having happy, supportive words, and thereby end that branch of language that can be used to hurt people’s feelings or express ideas that some believe should never be expressed. My guess is that will never happen, even if you think it’s a good idea.

What may well happen in the process, however, is that the sharp edges of definition will be dulled and rounded, so that the precision of words gives way to an amorphous mass of nice-sounding utterances that are interpreted by each of us in whatever way suits our desires and beliefs.  We will be able to talk among ourselves and agree or disagree without every having the slightest clue if we are talking about the same thing or making any headway in explaining our position.

There doesn’t appear to be any harm in the elimination of the word “lunatic” from the United States Code. It was probably a poor choice of words in the first place, reflective of common usage rather than definition.  If it were up to me, however, the word “justice” would also be on the chopping block, as it’s one of the most hurtful words around to the wrongly convicted.

Yes, you know exactly what justice means.  You and Humpty Dumpty.  You lunatic.