Awards recognize law students Girouard, Riley

A moment to celebrate two of my ace former students, Kaitlyn Girouard and Jack Riley, who took home awards from the UMass Law Student Bar Association this spring.

Girouard earned the Excellence in Leadership Award, and Riley won the Outstanding Part-Time Student Award.

Girouard created this chart to help students navigate multiple liabilities.
© Used with permission. Contact RJ Peltz-Steele for licensing.

Girouard just finished out a spectacular year of service as my teaching assistant in Torts I and Torts II. I had to create a new virtual folder to keep track of student accolades for her mentoring. I asked Girouard to serve in this capacity not only because she excelled academically, but because she took a lead as a cheerful supporter of her own class in the first year. On her own initiative, for her study group, she created some terrific visuals to accompany my texts, a welcome complement to the pedagogy and indication of her talent for understanding learning styles.

Girouard is a Public Interest Law Fellow and leader in a range of student activities: president of the Criminal Law Society, president of the First Generation Law Students Association, and secretary of the Environmental Law Club. She came to law school with highest academic honors at Middlebury College, where she graduated summa cum laude in economics and environmental policy and served as an economic statistics tutor and faculty research assistant.

For all the workplaces that would relish having her, public service is on Girouard's heart. Already before law school, she worked summers in her native Concord, Vermont, for the Agency of Natural Resources, Sheriff's Department, and State's Attorney Office. Last summer, she worked a prestigious internship with the Massachusetts Attorney General's Office in New Bedford. She's headed back to Vermont to work in public service again this summer, this time supported by a prestigious Michael S. Dukakis Public Service Internship Award. Next academic year, Girouard will serve as a teaching assistant in Constitutional Law, further deepening her remarkable mastery of American legal fundamentals.

While Girouard was the star of her 1L Torts day section, Riley was the star of his night section, when I taught both in 2023-24. Riley is one of those exceptional people—an elite group that would not have included me—who manage to thrive in the workplace and in law school at the same time, all while maintaining a mentally healthy home life. He is a long-time manager and executive with 15 years' experience in finance, presently working for HarborOne Bank in Massachusetts. Riley is rightly lauded by professional and academic peers for his leadership skills and commitment to community service. In the law school, he also serves as a peer mentor.

There's a lot to complain about teaching in higher ed today, and I am not reticent to voice it. At the same time, even the most frustrated of us keep coming back to the classroom every fall, and no wonder, for the opportunity to meet, to learn from, and to be inspired by people such as Girouard and Riley.

Bar comprises haves, have nots; ABA chooses haves

Yesterday I submitted the following open letter to the leadership of the International Law Section (ILS) of the American Bar Association (ABA). I note that it is not possible for law professors at ABA-accredited schools not to be members of the ABA; the schools pay for group memberships, on top of hefty accreditation fees. At present, the ABA is empowered with government-sanctioned accreditation authority over legal education in the United States.

---

To the leadership of the International Law Section of the American Bar Association.

$895, the registration fee for academics for the ILS annual, is beyond the pale. I note that I might not have been able to go this year anyway, because of a conflict. But I write because this is a persistent problem. Last year I complained about the fee, which I think was $795. I was told I was heard. Apparently heard and dismissed.

Ten years ago, I registered for the ABA ILS for $295. That's a cumulative inflation rate of 203%. The U.S. 10-year inflation rate generally is about 25%.

The ABA must think that all academics are the same. So let me be plain. My annual salary, after about 30 years in academics and holding the highest academic rank on my public-sector faculty is about $193,000. My budget for professional development is $5,000 this year. It was $5,000 10 years ago. It was $5,000 15 years ago. Every year, working in public service, I must do more with less. As that's impossible, that means dipping deeper into my own pockets, which are not getting deeper fast enough to keep up with the ABA.

The starting salary, with no experience, for a law professor in the Boston market ranges from $185,000 to $213,000. The high end of the law-school teaching scale in the market comes in at about double what I make. (Salary.com.) I don't know what the benefits are, but I bet they've grown faster than mine.

I speak of my own experience here, because that is what I know. But to be fair, I make decent money, relative to the American labor market. I know that and try not to take it for granted. What is more worrisome about ABA's economic exclusion is its impact on both new and practicing lawyers who have committed their labors to public service.

The ABA sends the unequivocal message that persons in public service are not welcome in ILS--that internationalism in law is only for the well off, or worse, that professional association per se, beyond compulsory licensing, is only for the well off. My students graduating in public service careers--NGO registration fees are the same as academic--will be lucky to start out at a third of my pay and might not reach my pay in the course of a career.

Accordingly, I have, for some time, stopped advising students to join ABA. Now I will advise them affirmatively not to waste their time and money. I steadfastly sang the praises of ABA membership for more than 25 years, including 10 years on the TIPS Task Force on Outreach to Law Students. The most important advantage of ABA for me and for new lawyers, I long asserted, was conference programming and networking. I see that the ABA now intends those benefits to be exclusive to big money makers in the private sector.

Yesterday I participated in an ILS committee meeting. You will hear soon from that committee that no one volunteered to move into any leadership role beginning next year. No one includes me.

Sincere farewell,
Rick Peltz-Steele

Big Law cowardice calls legal licensure into question

The WAMU podcast 1A put on an excellent show Monday on the White House threats against law firms.

The show featured Princeton University Professor Deborah Pearlstein, Politico reporter Josh Gerstein, and Elias Law Group Chair Marc Elias.

Highlights for me:

• Pearlstein questioned the ethics of the firms that have caved to Administration pressure. How can a client trust Paul Weiss to provide zealous representation, she asked, when the firm so readily caves to political pressure?
• Elias called the deals struck by Paul Weiss and Skadden, inter alia and respectively $40 million and $100 million payoffs in legal services, "cowardly" and "obscene" and questioned whether the practice of law should continue to be protected by the exclusivity of licensing.

Agreed and agreed. I suggest moreover that the weakness of the legal profession and its willingness to sell out for the bottom line has been the American way already for decades. That Big Law has locked down the profession and lobbies anti-competitively to keep it that way—thereby denying access to legal services, legal education, and legal careers to ordinary Americans, while building and bolstering an anti-democratic corporatocracy—is nothing new to those of us who toil away on the hamster wheels beneath the status ceiling.

It's simply Trump's shameless gambit that has exposed the rot.

In the less cowardly vein, Perkins Coie, WilmerHale (Court Listener), and Jenner & Block (Court Listener) are litigating against the executive orders targeting law firms. I anticipate signing on to an amicus brief of law professors in support of the plaintiff motion for summary judgment in the Perkins Coie matter in the U.S. District Court for the District of Columbia.

Update, Apr. 3: Law Professors' Amicus Brief in Perkins Coie v. DOJ (D.D.C. filed Apr. 3, 2025).

Christian law students hear advice on grounding oneself in faith amid stresses of law practice

🍀 St. Patrick's Day Zoom.
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

The newly constituted student Christian Legal Society at UMass Law School held its first event on St. Patrick's Day.

In a hybrid meeting, "Faith and the Legal Field," CLS students in Dartmouth, Mass., and I were joined via Zoom by Anton Sorkin, director of law student ministries at the Christian Legal Society in Springfield, Va.; attorney J.A.A. Purves, Penner & Purves, Santa Barbara, Cal.; and Kathy Cooper, InterVarsity regional director for faculty and graduate ministries, working out of Brown University in Providence, R.I.

The new student organization and this panel in particular were the work product of the tireless Tiffany Trott-McKenna and her executive board, Sophia Chiotis, JuliaBianca Josen, Dream Whitaker, and Paul Steinman. They're all wonderful students whom soon I will miss when they graduate and begin law practice.

A veteran of the U.S. Marines, Trott-McKenna is a phenom I have been especially privileged to know in her time in law school. She serves also as president of the Black Law Students Association and member of the Veterans Law Association, and she will practice law in California after graduation.

Trott-McKenna asked the panelists to share their experiences with faith and law practice, and also asked for takeaways that might be useful as Christian law students transition to practice.

Purves talked about family practice and explained, for example, the distinctly professional role of the lawyer in a divorce case. Both faith and one's professional responsibility call for compassionate and informed counseling of a client seeking divorce, he said—even though marital reconciliation will spell the early end of the representation.

Sorkin spoke to the challenges of practicing in Big Law while maintaining ethical and moral lines, dictated by faith, that one won't cross. Constant vigilance and self-interrogation are required to resist the "win at any cost" mentality that too often dictates legal maneuvering. I'm reminded of Daniel 6:3.

For my part, I spoke of the temptation to bifurcate one's life into faith and secular work, and how I came to understand that no one, lawyers included, truly lives a life of faith while indulging that duplicity.

In takeaways, Cooper spoke to the importance of prayer to keep an even keel. Likewise, I talked about the importance of staying in the Word—while admitting that my track record isn't perfect, as daily struggles inevitably pull us all toward materialism and the secular. The important thing is to try, try again.

Trott-McKenna succeeded magnificently in navigating the bureaucracy to obtain official recognition of the CLS student group at the law school and in the university. I have been blessed to serve as the inaugural faculty adviser for the CLS group.

The group is not yet an official chapter of the national CLS organization. That will be a job for an up and coming new board. I look forward to CLS contributing vitally to the formation of law students' professional identity in the coming years.

Book details knotty business of higher ed counsel

By attorney Louis H. Guard and academic Joyce P. Jacobsen, All the Campus Lawyers (2024) is a compelling recent read for anyone interested in the law of higher education—whether as a counselor, as a client, or as a victim of higher ed machinations. I've been all three.

Guard and Jacobsen both are affiliated with Hobart and William Smith Colleges—a beautiful double campus I visited just last summer, perched atop Seneca Lake in Geneva, New York, in the Finger Lakes region. Guard is a general counsel there, and Jacobsen a past president and economics professor.

All the Campus Lawyers thoroughly covers the many facets of higher ed practice nowadays, from civil rights and labor, to intellectual property, contracting, and cybersecurity. It is a lot to see it all in one place. At an overarching level of abstraction, the book—which is subtitled, "Litigation, Regulation, and the New Era of Higher Education"—ponders how and why law has become pervasive, and sometimes paralyzing, of higher ed. 

To my reading, Guard and Jacobsen are careful to avoid a normative agenda, and rather strive to be descriptive, instructive, and sometimes even inspiring. But I came away with an uneasy feeling in the belly that law, at least in practice, has a stranglehold on the free-wheeling nature of academic inquiry that classical-liberal society associates with the "quintessential marketplace of ideas." 

If higher ed is just a business—and maybe it always was—law, from the perspective of university counsel, seems to be part of the problem: supporting the business framing with defensive practice and risk aversion, and prizing the institution over the people who constitute it and whom it serves. No doubt my perception is colored by experience.

I stop by the Geneva, N.Y., Welcome Center in July 2024.
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Another impression I had of the book was that it is siloed, tending to view the mission creep of law in the higher ed sector to the exclusion of the same phenomenon across American life. Indeed, what business, what person does not need a lawyer to navigate the world today, even if ordinary people have to manage without, usually to their detriment. I'm not sure the problem of law in higher ed can be examined exclusively of "the legalization of American society" (meaning ubiquity of law, not blessing of lawfulness).

Furthermore, there is, to my mind and at one level, a rather simple explanation for law's infiltration of higher ed. With a hat tip to Lincoln Steffens and Clark Mollenhoff: Follow the money. The relevant question might not be why law has become pervasive in higher ed, but why higher ed has become big business rather than collective good or philanthropy. Guard and Jacobsen are too ready to take that twist of mission for granted.

Despite my nitpicks, Campus Lawyers is a worthwhile read for a fuller understanding of the relationship between law and higher ed, and especially for insight into the modus operandi of university counsel.

Here is the publisher's description:

Not so long ago, colleges and universities had little interaction with the law. In the 1970s, only a few well-heeled universities even employed in-house legal counsel. But now we live in the age of tenure-denial lawsuits, free speech battles, and campus sexual assault investigations. Even athletics rules violations have become a serious legal matter. The pressures of regulation, litigation, and legislation, Louis Guard and Joyce Jacobsen write, have fostered a new era in higher education, and institutions must know how to respond.

For many higher education observers and participants, including most administrators and faculty, the maze of legal mandates and potential risks can seem bewildering. Guard, a general counsel with years of higher education law experience, and Jacobsen, a former college president, map this unfamiliar terrain. All the Campus Lawyers provides a vital, up-to-date assessment of the impact of legal concerns on higher education and helps readers make sense of the most pressing trends and issues, including civil rights; free speech and expression; student life and wellness; admissions, advancement, and community relations; governance and oversight; the higher education business model; and on-campus crises, from cyberattacks to pandemics.

As well as informing about the latest legal and regulatory developments affecting higher education, Guard and Jacobsen offer practical guidance to those in positions of campus authority. There has never been a more crucial time for college and university boards, presidents, inside and outside counsel, and other higher education leaders to know the law and prepare for legal challenges.

Of course, it remains to be seen what remains of higher ed after the Trump Administration. Guard and Jacobsen might have accomplished the equivalent of a book about the flu on the eve of the pandemic, in which case, we'll need a revised edition sooner rather than later.

Americans can't find doctors in sick system, but docs whine too loudly on debt, ignore excessive earnings

In the current AARP Bulletin (pay wall, Apple News), New York Dr. Howard Zucker capably explains why Americans are being squeezed by a doctor shortage. But two points of Zucker's explanation too easily let doctors off the hook and require clarification.

I hope tomorrow to meet my primary care physician (PCP) for the first time, after he's nominally served in that role for two years. I've seen five PCPs come and go in as many years, which is really like not having a PCP at all—oddly, as my insurer insists that I must have one. The annual checkup has become biennial at best, and it's not for my lack of trying. At that, with my mediocre employment-based healthcare coverage, I'm more fortunate than many Americans.

Zucker describes the many circumstances converging to deprive Americans of access to healthcare providers. A leading problem is poor planning by the medical profession, embodied by the American Medical Association (AMA), for an increasing and aging population.

Another factor, which is familiar to patients, is the pressure by profit-driven healthcare proprietors, such as CVS, to commodify patient care, superseding the doctor-patient relationship and thoughtful care with the churning cauldron of the billable quarter hour. Workplace conditions for front-line PCPs are not only maddening patients, but driving some healthcare providers, literally, to madness.

Nevertheless, there are two ways in which Zucker goes too easy on doctors, letting them off the hook for responsibility in this mess.

First, Zucker is wrong that a doctor can't get by with medical school debt and a PCP wage.  

He wrote that the average medical student finishes school with $235,000 in debt. Specialties pay some double the wage of primary care. Research posts pay well and don't have insurers dictating terms. So debt-burdened students are disincentivized to enter family practice or to work directly with patients at all. 

Still, Zucker wrote: "Now consider that the average [PCP] in internal medicine, geriatrics, pediatrics or family medicine makes about $250,000 to $275,000 a year. Becoming a PCP just isn't financially feasible for most recent graduates."  Just for the record, that's more than I've ever made at any job, and I've had a law degree for 28 years.

Not financially preferable I can see.  Not financially feasible is plain wrong.

For comparison, the average indebtedness of a U.S. law school graduate is $130,000, according to the Education Data Initiative. For the law school where I work, it's about the same, $125,405, U.S. News reported. The median law graduate salary is $89,250, according to U.S. News. My school's is about $68,000, according to LSD.Law. Ballpark monthly repayment, using, for these gross purposes, a 4.5% rate and 10-year term, means a monthly payment of $1,347, according to the SmartAsset student loan calculator.

To be sure, that's too much debt to make law school an appealing option. The Consumer Finance Protection Bureau recommends limiting borrowing to hold monthly payments at 10% of gross income. Those median salaries yield a monthly gross of $7,438 or $5,667, respectively, so a monthly payment at 18.1% or 23.8%. 

But it is possible, depending on one's needs. An annual $89,250 or $68,000 should yield a monthly take-home of about $5,600 or $4,400, according to the SmartAsset paycheck calculator. On the one hand, the average American household requires $6,440 per month, according to multiple sources. On the other hand, a single adult with no children can get by on $3,439 in the Massachusetts county where my school is located, according to the MIT living wage calculator. The overall average American individual is bringing home only about $4,000 monthly, using Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLS) data, so one salary isn't meeting household expenses in any event.

Accordingly, using the same metrics, the medical graduate's monthly debt payment would be $2,434. The PCP monthly take-home at the low end would be about $14,200, on $20,833 gross. That's a payment to gross ratio of only 11.7%, with $11,766 to spare for monthly household expenses. Even at a student loan rate of 9%, the monthly payment hits only 14.3% of gross, still sparing more than $11,000 to meet expenses. (A first-year medical resident starts at only about $55,000 annually, U.S. average, but lean residency years are the quirky if objectionable norm in the profession regardless of later specialization.)

Once debt is paid off, doctor's circumstances become downright luxurious. BLS estimates the median American's lifetime earnings at $1.7m, a lawyer's at $2.3m, and a doctor's at $7.5m. 

So it is feasible to invest in medical school—even potentially lucrative—and even still to be a PCP for a few years.

Second, Zucker fails to recognize the economic protectionism of the medical profession and bloat in the salaries of U.S. doctors—even PCPs.

Zucker did fault the AMA for choking medical school admissions in the 1980s. But Zucker blamed the AMA only for bad math. The truth is more sinister.

The AMA doesn't control medical school admissions directly, but it does lobby hard for legislators to limit the number of medical schools and to limit subsidies for residencies, thus effectively controlling supply in the market. This isn't about the quality of medical training, but about economic protectionism. The AMA, that is, its members, doctors, don't want to see salaries go any lower than those dizzying quarter-million-dollar heights.

(Read more in Derek Thompson, Why America Has So Few Doctors, The Atlantic (Feb. 14, 2022).)

That's what's happened in law as antitrust rumblings have compelled the American Bar Association and state bars to let up on the gas in their economically protectionist motives over the last four or five decades. The market in legal education has become more competitive—even problematically so, from a quality standpoint, it must be admitted—and salaries have fallen.

At the same time, persistently burdensome accreditation gateways in education and strict state licensing requirements in the practice have maintained such a chokehold on the student-to-bar pipeline that the lower paid lawyers who result cannot afford to meet the market demand for legal services for ordinary people, in contrast with corporate clients.

So law is not a model to follow, to be sure. At the same time, one doctor in America does not need to take home an excess of nearly double what's required to keep up an American household, nor to make more than four times the median American lifetime wage. European doctors are paid only half as much as U.S. doctors. In fact, there's a huge gap between U.S. doctors, at an average annual gross of $352,000, and doctors anywhere else in the world—ranging from an average $19,000 in Mexico to $273,000 in Canada, according to news outlet Medscape.

Zucker didn't mention the bloat in salaries of U.S. doctors in the AARP Bulletin. Incidentally, when Dr. Zucker was New York health commissioner, earning $210,000 annually on the public payroll, he took some heat for failing to disclose a side-gig income of $75,000 annually from a health research firm, e.g., the Times Union reported.

Our healthcare system is badly broken.  Like our legal services.  Like our bridges.  The list goes on.  What I fear is missing from the solution is the willingness of Americans in the highest income brackets to bear any sense of civic responsibility. In this regard, the medical profession is not exempt.

My writing is 'not very good,' and other reasons you can't get ahead in our not-really-a meritocracy

Pxhere CC0

A purported mentor once told me that probably I couldn't find a job in academics because my "writing is not very good."

'Tis the season when the law professor should be writing exams, yet is inundated and distracted by requests for recommendation letters to aid students on the career track. The distraction has caused me to ponder the futility of it all. Aside from the fact that my laboriously and meticulously drafted letters scarcely will be read, I'm saddened by how little a person can do to move the needle on ultimate potential in our supposed meritocracy.

In the 20-aughts, I was looking for my second job in academics, hoping to leave Arkansas and the curse of flyover country. My job search took five years. I lost count of how many applications I put in. It had to be more than there are law schools in the United States.

At some point, through a program I won't identify, as not to identify the person, I was paired with a mentor, an academic at a U.S. News "top 10" law school. After a couple of telephone counselings in which he told me nothing I did not know already, he suggested that maybe I needed to accept that I could not score a job because my "writing is not very good."

That was hurtful. Not because it wasn't a fair consideration to put on the table; it was. It was hurtful because it was his go-to conclusion, and rather the end point of the short arc that was his mentorship. There were countless other explanations for my struggle in the job market. He blew past all of them to rest on one: I suck.

Implicit in the suggestion was that he was at a top-10 school because he was so much better at the job than I. That's what hurt. And as I've matured in my career, I've come to realize how wrong he was.

I have a lot of experience now on the hiring side of hiring, almost three decades, at least in legal academics. And I've worked out a formula, though sometimes I tweak the apportionment, I feel like about describes the factors at play in getting a job, certainly in legal academics, but maybe anywhere:  

• 60% privileges; 
• 30% right-place-right-time; and 
• 10% merit.

I'm not one of these "privilege walk" organizers who use loaded questions to make people feel guilty about socioeconomic advantages, and then to feel good about having felt guilty, and then relish telling everyone how privileged I now know I am, without actually doing anything to make the world better. But I do try to be conscious of privileges, especially the ones that I have and did nothing to earn.

I did not start at the bottom of the ladder. That I'm not a person of color, thus not subject to unfair biases manifesting as implicit assumptions about aptitude and potential, nor followed by security in stores and distrusting of police; that I went to K12 in reputable suburban school districts with dedicated teachers and was a child of two parents with college degrees: these factors have worked immeasurable benefits in my life, no thanks to anything I did.

I didn't start at the top, either. My divorced, usually single parents were college educated thanks to community-college access and the military. My family was the typical penniless-20th-century-immigrant story, and my parents and grandparents were victimized by ethnic discrimination with real socioeconomic consequences. I was able to go from public school to a first-rate undergrad with mostly private-schooled kids only because I earned a full scholarship.

On the inside of hiring in academics—I can tell another time cringe-worthy stories of before academics—I have seen it all, and candidate merit is only weakly indicative of outcome.

Because of the prevalence of liberal politics in academics—I do not suggest that preferences ordinarily run in these directions in the job market in general—I had a dean who announced the race (not mine) and gender (not mine) of an intended hire at the beginning of the search process; and I've had colleagues announce, also in advance of a search, that they would vote against any candidate of a certain race (mine) or gender (mine). I've likewise heard colleagues openly favor or disfavor candidates based on perceived sexual orientation (minority favored) and religion (belief disfavored). So to pretend that these factors are not in play, whether or not they are verbalized, would be willfully ignorant.

But race, gender, etc., are easy targets to exemplify pernicious discrimination. There are other factors that are more subtle, yet equally well effect socioeconomic exclusion, and thus indirectly race discrimination. And these factors are embraced by persons both liberally and conservatively minded.

When I was at a "tier 3" law school looking for a job, a colleague at a "tier 2" school—who knew I was looking for a job—asked me whether I might recommend anyone—not me—to fill an open position at her school. I was disqualified presumptively for the open position, because I did not do a judicial clerkship after law school. My colleague iterated this hiring expectation as if it were a self-evident sine qua non. She assumed I knew my place, and I was in it. One does not advance to tier 2 without a clerkship on the resume. "We prefer people who've clerked at the Supreme Court," she said breezily.

I didn't do a judicial clerkship after law school for various reasons. A big reason was that I was sick over the profound debt I had incurred paying for law school 100% with loans. 

I had turned down full scholarships at two other law schools to pay full freight at a top 10, because I hoped the top 10 would open doors the others could not. I could not see, after law school, how I could take a job in which I would struggle to make monthly payments, or worse, postpone them, with interest accruing. For the same reason, I didn't go back to journalism after law school, which had been my plan. I also did not have anyone in law or legal academics to advise me on the value of a clerkship—an opportunity, perversely, that one never has again—for my later career.

I was the beneficiary of many privileges at that time in life. Not among them was the luxury of choosing a clerkship or any job because it would be a smart resume builder, rather than because it would pay my bills. Not among them was having anyone to model a career in legal academics, or tell me what to do to get there. And yet, with no undergrad debt, I already was much better off than most of the students I teach now. I did not yet have a family to take care of. I was able to put every spare dime from my attorney earnings into paying off my debt.

My top-10 choice paid off some, because I would not otherwise have scored my first job in academics. A key faculty player in hiring had gone to the same law school I did. The hiring school was in urgent need of an immediate start, and I was willing to quit my job and move halfway across the country at Christmas. The hiring school was especially vexed over poor student writing skills, and I was a former journalist and capable copy editor. There it is: 60% privileges, 30% right-place-right-time, and 10% merit.

Yet I would be limited thenceforth by not having clerked, and by other, similar factors. I never volunteered abroad, as many aspiring academics do. I wanted to—because of my family ties, a passport was a privilege I did have—but, again, I had to work 50 weeks per year to pay on my debt.

At my attorney job, I had little to no mentorship; it was all about billable hours. I had no role models to show me how to navigate in that world. I had no business contacts; no matter how hard I worked, I never would have made partner. The media lawyer I worked for when I started left for an in-house position after a year, and I was reassigned to the grind of mass-tort discovery.

In my first academic post, I had little to no mentorship in my professional development at my "tier 3" school. I had not even a scholarship requirement for my first years, when I was a contract instructor, not tenure track. I did not know to publish, what to publish, or where. I wrote and published only because I wanted to, about whatever I wanted. It was the law-professor equivalent of being a journalist; if you have writing in your heart, it's a compulsion.

I did not know that the choices I was making, from starting as an instructor rather than an assistant professor, to the lack of an overarching research agenda, to everything from subject matter to placement strategy to the titles of my articles: all was part of a portfolio that I had only one chance to do right. I didn't.

Sometimes a student comes to me and expresses a desire for an academic career. My heart breaks. I have a rehearsed presentation to explain, as gently as I can, that the student already is behind on that goal: by definition, as we are having the conversation at a "tier 4," or bottom tier, law school. An academic career probably is foreclosed because of "poor" choices the student already has made unwittingly, such as having a family and living on a budget.

Mostly, the track is foreclosed by circumstances beyond the student's control: Urban childhood. Weak K12. No jobs for youth. No college counseling. Ailing parents. Delayed higher education. Being the wrong race, ethnicity, religion, or sexual orientation and identity for whatever is in fashion.

Even the brightest and most determined candidate cannot cause 10% merit to control the outcome.

The "mentor" I mentioned at the top: I take nothing away from his merit. But does he appreciate why he is where he is? Does he think that when he submits an article for publication, its merits are the principal driver of an offer? Does he think that when he submits a job application, his hard work is the principal driver of an invitation?

He's a white man who started adulthood before I and in the "Morning in America" Reagan heyday. I don't want to say what college he went to, but suffice to say, it's one you've heard of in connection with Presidents and Supreme Court Justices. Law school too. Maybe he was plucked from child labor in an Appalachian mine to be gifted with these opportunities, but odds are not. He then clerked for a federal appeals court, and then for the U.S. Supreme Court. He diversified the resume with a short stint abroad. He worked briefly in public and private sectors. He won a teaching fellowship in the top 10, and never worked lower: from there to tenure track, named professorship, center director, etc.

Brilliant bloke. 10%. 

But not that brilliant. 60% privileges, 30% right-place-right-time.

I think my writing is very good.

Mass. attorney board rushes to racialize, shun 'overseer,' ignores word's ancient, biblical usages

A proposal published for public comment would change the name of the Massachusetts Board of Bar Overseers to the "Board of Bar Oversight" to avoid connotations of slavery in the term "overseer."

The new name means the "BBO" will keep its popular initialism. The BBO was formed in 1974, so the "overseer" usage originated independently of the negative connotation. It seems what's changed in the last half century is sensitivity to language, for better and for worse.

Frederick Douglass
and grandson Joseph Douglass, 1894
Smithsonian NMAAHC

The BBO stated its reasoning:

The word "overseer" has a pernicious history in our country, tied inextricably to chattel slavery. On southern plantations, an overseer was the slaveowner's delegate in day-to-day governance, trusted to enforce order and obedience. Overseers were the most visible representatives of white supremacy. As defined in the Online Etymology Dictionary, an overseer was "one who has charge, under the owner or manager, of the work done on a plantation." In autobiographies by slaves such as Frederick Douglas [sic] and Solomon Northup ("Twelve Years a Slave"), overseers were described as heartless, brutal and cruel. They were an inevitable and indispensable product of an economy built on human chattel. As noted by University of Louisville president Neeli Bendapudi, "The term overseer is a racialized term. It hearkens back to American slavery and reminds us of the brutality of the conditions and treatment of black people during this time." We agree with this statement.

I don't. To "racialize" is "to give a racial character to: to categorize, marginalize, or regard according to race." I agree that Bendapudi racialized the term. The BBO did not, before now. But therein lies the power of a passive structure, "is ... racialized," allowing one to accuse without responsibility to prove.

The BBO moreover is almost irresponsibly selective in its sourcing. First, the Online Etymology Dictionary is a project of a Pennsylvania writer, Douglas Harper. It's good and interesting to read; I'm not meaning to denigrate Harper's labor of love. But I'm not sure any one person's internet project should be anyone else's first stop for denotation, especially in a legal context. The BBO's sourcing is on par at best with high-school-term-paper standards.

Second, "one who has charge ... of the work done on a plantation" is not exactly what the Online Etymology Dictionary says. Rather, here's the entry in full:

late 14c., "supervisor, superintendent, one who looks over," agent noun from oversee (v.). Specifically, "one who superintends workmen;" especially with reference to slavery, "one who has charge, under the owner or manager, of the work done on a plantation."

So it's not true, even in the source referenced, that "overseer" on its face is defined as, or means, a plantation supervisor. The meaning arises in the especial context of slavery.

Maybe I'm a little sensitive to the whole thing because I once served as an "overseer" in my church. The BBO doesn't mention that the word has any meaning outside of slavery, much less that it has ancient and Biblical origins.

Episkopos (ἐπίσκοπος) in Ancient Greek translates literally as onlooker, or overseer, and that's the word used in the Iliad, the Odyssey, and the Bible. Epi (ἐπί) is a preposition meaning on or upon, and skopos (σκοπός) means to watch or look intently. Skopos is used variously (and in the Iliad) to refer to a lookout, a guardian, or a spy or scout.

In Ancient Greece, an episkopos referred specifically to a kind of imperial agent sent by Athens to distant municipalities to make sure they paid their taxes (Balcer 1977). (An interesting point of historical-comparative legal studies is that having a highly functional tax system is a common feature of successful ancient civilizations, from the Greeks to the Aztecs.) 

In the Iliad (22:255), A.T. Murray translation, Homer refers to the gods as witness to an agreement, using episkopoi (ἐπίσκοποι), the plural, to refer back to the gods. Murray beefed up the translation to say "witnesses and guardians of our covenant," thus articulating the added connotation of safeguarding.

In the Odyssey, also the Murray translation, below, Homer used episkopos more abstractly to indicate a role of authority:

τὸν δ᾽ αὖτ᾽ Εὐρύαλος ἀπαμείβετο νείκεσέ τ᾽ ἄντην:
‘οὐ γάρ σ᾽ οὐδέ, ξεῖνε, δαήμονι φωτὶ ἐίσκω
160ἄθλων, οἷά τε πολλὰ μετ᾽ ἀνθρώποισι πέλονται,
ἀλλὰ τῷ, ὅς θ᾽ ἅμα νηὶ πολυκλήιδι θαμίζων,
ἀρχὸς ναυτάων οἵ τε πρηκτῆρες ἔασιν,
φόρτου τε μνήμων καὶ ἐπίσκοπος ᾖσιν ὁδαίων
κερδέων θ᾽ ἁρπαλέων: οὐδ᾽ ἀθλητῆρι ἔοικας. 

Then again Euryalus made answer and taunted him to his face: "Nay verily, stranger, for I do not liken thee to a man that is skilled in contests, such as abound among men, but to one who, faring to and fro with his benched ship, is a captain of sailors who are merchantmen, one who is mindful of his freight, and has charge of a home-borne cargo, and the gains of his greed. Thou dost not look like an athlete."

In none of several English versions of this passage did I find episkopos translated directly. Poetically inclined translators such as Murray carried over the subject "captain" with either a pronoun or an implied subject. "Captain" here is "ἀρχὸς," or "chief." So it looks like Homer saw ἀρχὸς and ἐπίσκοπος as functionally equivalent in this context.

The New Testament accordingly uses episkopos several times to refer to church leaders. Indeed, "bishop" in English derives from the Greek episkopos—episcopus in Latin and obispo in Spanish.

Shepherd in 1 Peter 2:25
© Saint Mary's Press, licensed for non-commercial use

The First Epistle of Peter (2:25) (NIV) uses episkopos abstractly, as a metaphor for Jesus: "For 'you were like sheep going astray,' but now you have returned to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls" ("ἦτε γὰρ ὡς πρόβατα πλανώμενα· ἀλλ᾽ ἐπεστράφητε νῦν ἐπὶ τὸν ποιμένα καὶ ἐπίσκοπον τῶν ψυχῶν ὑμῶν").  

Other usages are more concrete. In Acts 20:28 (NIV), Paul admonishes disciples: "Keep watch over yourselves and all the flock of which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers. Be shepherds of the church of God, which he bought with his own blood" ("προσέχετε οὖν ἑαυτοῖς καὶ παντὶ τῷ ποιμνίῳ ἐν ᾧ ὑμᾶς τὸ πνεῦμα τὸ ἅγιον ἔθετο ἐπισκόπους ποιμαίνειν τὴν ἐκκλησίαν τοῦ θεοῦ ἣν περιεποιήσατο διὰ τοῦ ἰδίου αἵματος"). Similar usages appear in Philippians 1:1, 1 Timothy 3:2, 1 Titus 1:7, and Hebrews 13:17.

The BBO needs to be called out here for shoddy work (really, misspelling Frederick Douglass?) and results-oriented reasoning. The board is myopically intent on sacrificing a word on the pyre of cancel culture—a move indicative more of wanting to look righteous than of wanting to be righteous. I might rather, as a general rule, strive for education and enlightenment, at least as a first-order response.

Yet, as it happens, I agree with the BBO's conclusion and proposal. Despite the board's woke pandering, the risk is significant that "overseer" will import for some hearers a connotation that should be foreign to the board's role. For me, it's not about "racialization"; it's about relationship. 

When I moved to New England and started to learn the ropes of the local legal culture, I bristled at the term "Bar Overseers." To be fair to Massachusetts, I have had the same feeling in other jurisdictions about boards of attorney and judicial "discipline." 

"Overseer" and boy in Yazoo City, Miss., yarn mill, 1911.
U.S. Library of Congress

I fear that these words connote a top-down style of austere supervision, a system of the powerful and the powerless, that does not comport with a profession of mutually supportive equals (dare I say, a brethren, which is and should be gender encompassing). "Overseer" is suggestive of a dramatic power imbalance; the word was used not only in connection with slavery and plantations, but in the context of child labor in the early 20th century.

That doesn't mean that the time never comes when persistent or willful misconduct requires a firm response; the profession owes its highest duty to the public. But using terms such as "overseer" and "discipline" has the unintended consequence of encouraging officeholders to misunderstand their roles. Lawyering and judging are among jobs that endow persons with authority over others, whether through power, like policing, or through access to knowledge. Some people attracted to these jobs are prone to use, or abuse, their power for its own sake. Those same people might gravitate to a job such as "overseer" or arbiter of "discipline" for the wrong reasons.

I was more amenable to the term "overseer" in my church, because the biblical usage is, or should be, utterly alien to abuse of power. Similarly, a church speaks of spiritual "discipline" with only the affirmative connotation of accountability to God. As a church overseer, I felt the weight of guardianship in the term. Being an overseer was a stern reminder of my responsibilities to others and sometimes, too often, of my own duties and failures of spiritual discipline. Anyone truly called to church leadership is humbled by the call, not lured by empowerment.

Even so, when my board of overseers overhauled the church constitution, we changed to "elder" leadership. At the same time, we changed the governance model. We studied and prayed over many church governance models. The Bible says remarkably little about specifics, so the art of church governance becomes part spiritual endeavor and part sociological experiment. We designed a variation on governance that we believed would work well for our congregation, better, at least, than what we had in an aging constitution. 

"Elder" aligned better with our new model, which emphasizes biblical knowledge, experience, and mentorship. There's nothing technically deficient in the term "overseer" for our new model, and we were not afraid of "racialization." It was just semantics. Different Christian writers have committed to different terms, so those terms now carry connotations of the writers' observations and recommendations.

So connotation, like context, matters. And given the connotation of barbarism that even sometimes attaches to "overseer," especially in secular contexts, the BBO's modest proposal is sensible.

I simply would prefer that the proposal were backed by an evenhanded and honest analysis. Then we might be able to say, more modestly, that we are just pushing pause on "overseer": giving its deplorable connotation time to fade in our social consciousness, rather than committing a word of ancient import to the dustbin because of a modern-era abomination.

South American visitor wonders at lawyer billboards; artist imagines canine advocates instead

A young man I know from Paraguay recently visited the Philadelphia area for a week, his first time in the United States.

I texted to check on him when he returned home to Asunción. He had a great visit, was home safe and exhausted, he texted back, and had seen so much, it would take a while to process it all.

But one question, he wrote.

 

Hmm.

I guess Americans get in a lot of accidents, I said. 

No, actually, I just texted, "🤑." I think that covered it.

Lawyer advertising is the theme of some delightful imaginings in a canine vein by Kensington Campbell: Instagram embed below. See more there or on TikTok. Hat tip @ Molly Sullivan and Frances Fendler.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Golden Retriever | Kensington (@kensingtoncampbell)

Sherman speaks on lawyering, Spotlight investigation

Ambassador Robert Sherman
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Attorney Robert A. Sherman, U.S. ambassador to Portugal from 2014 to 2017, spoke to students, staff, and faculty at the University of Massachusetts Law School today about his experience as a lawyer and diplomat.

Sherman's work experience spans criminal and civil practice, as well as politics and diplomacy. In a tort vein, from 2002 to 2004, Sherman was lead counsel for plaintiffs in sex abuse claims against the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Boston. Those were among the cases investigated by the Boston Globe "Spotlight" team, whose work was dramatized in the 2015 feature film, Spotlight.

Early in the wave of sex-abuse litigation against the church, Sherman said, plaintiff attorneys faced daunting hurdles, such as statutes of limitations and charitable immunity for the church in state law. Another problem was simply identifying victims. Many victims self-blamed, and a powerful stigma attached to the first persons who came forward. 

As is problematically common in American tort litigation, secrecy in negotiated dispute resolution and non-disclosure agreements in settlements prevented the public from knowing who the perpetrators were and from understanding the scope of the wrongs. The same conditions impeded the Spotlight investigation.

Sherman said that he's spoken publicly only recently about his connection to Globe editor Walter V. Robinson and the Spotlight team. Because of his work on the cases, Sherman said, he knew more than the public, and more than the Spotlight team, about the magnitude of the problem. And he knew who the perpetrators were. Yet bound by attorney-client confidentiality, Sherman said, he could not speak freely. He wrestled with his ethical responsibilities, he said.

Occasionally, Sherman met Robinson on a park bench—like in a spy thriller. Robinson wanted names. Sherman couldn't give them. But Robinson might say, for example, "Our sources tell us to look into Father Shanley." Sherman would respond, "I've heard of Father Shanley." That was all Robinson needed to hear to know that his lead was good.

Sherman and his law firm resolved 385 of 525 victim claims against the church in arbitration, he said.

Law school and working as an attorney well prepared Sherman to be an ambassador, he said, because the job of ambassador boils down to resolving conflicts, if between nations rather than between people.

Lawyers on social media delight, inform, raise ethics questions about attorney-client relationships

An attorney panel earlier this month shared the joys and hazards of lawyers addressing the general public through social media.

A hat tip to Mississippi attorney Kye C. Handy, Balch & Bingham, for introducing me to California attorney and influencer Reb Masel on TikTok, the J.D. genius behind Reading Iconic Court Transcripts and other legal commentary.

@rebmasel i dedicate this one to Kohl’s cash #transcripts ♬ original sound - reb for the rebrand

Reb Masel's Rebuttal
(Spotify, Apple, YouTube)

Reb Masel hosts the Rebuttal podcast at Spotify, Apple, and YouTube. Read more about her at Tubefilter, where she said in fall 2023 that she practices in defense-side civil litigation "for now." If you must know more about Pepperdine Law alumna Reb Masel in the muggle world, the Daily Mail wrote about her in 2022.

Handy served on an ethics panel at the Next Generation and the Future of Business Litigation program of the Tort Trial & Insurance Practice Section (TIPS) of the American Bar Association (ABA) at the 2024 ABA Midyear meeting in Louisville, Ky., earlier this month.

A key takeaway of the panel for attorneys: be careful you don't create an attorney-client relationship through social media posts. If giving legal advice, disclaim, disclaim, disclaim.

Florida attorney Richard Rivera said that ethical obligations may arise merely from a viewer's subjective belief that an attorney-client relationship exists. I presume there is a reasonableness check on that, but the objective measure would be lay perception, not the knowledge and experience of the attorney. Thus, a social media post can trigger an attorney's duties of confidentiality and timely response to questions.

Accordingly, Washington attorney Matthew Albrecht warned attorneys to keep up with their inboxes in all media. If a viewer or listener reaches out through a web form, social media direct messaging, etc., asking a question in response to a post, failure to respond promptly can be an ethics violation.

Moreover, an attorney must be wary of questioners who overshare, Albrecht said. They might post comments on a public website that compromise their cases, and the attorney may be obliged to delete the comments to protect the prospective client. A questioner also might provide information that puts the attorney in conflict with prior or existing clients. So an attorney with any online presence should have and adhere to a careful policy for receiving and processing incoming communications.

I wish I could count on a response from a doctor's office when I ask a question. Clearly, the bar for attorneys is higher.

Probably needless to say, some attorneys give advice in mass media that might be accurate in context and not run afoul of ethics rules, but might at the same time invite trouble in problematic misunderstanding. For example, many online videos present Texas lawyers schooling viewers on the use of force in defense of property under the state's generous castle laws. Handy shared one video by a lawyer who described a property owner vs. trespasser confrontation in which the property owner might lawfully "beat her ass."

To inform professionalism, Handy recommended to law students and new lawyers the podcast Young Lawyer Rising from the Legal Talk Network, an ABA partner.

The ABA TIPS panel comprised Albrecht, Handy, Rivera, and D.C. attorney Josephine M. Bahn.

AI can make law better and more accessible; it won't

Gencraft AI image

Artificial intelligence is changing the legal profession, and the supply of legal services is growing even more disconnected from demand.

The latter proposition is my assessment, but experts agreed at a national bar conference last week that AI will change the face of legal practice for attorneys and clients, as well as law students and professors.

Lexis and Westlaw each recently launched a generative AI product, Lexis+ AI Legal Assistant and AI-Assisted Research on Westlaw Precision. One might fairly expect that these tools will make legal work faster and more efficient, which in turn would make legal services accessible to more people. I fear the opposite will happen.

The endangered first-year associate. The problem boils down to the elimination of entry-level jobs in legal practice. Panelists at The Next Generation and the Future of Business Litigation conference of the Tort Trial Insurance Practice Section (TIPS) of the American Bar Association (ABA) at the ABA Midyear Meeting in Louisville, Kentucky, last week told audience members that AI now performs the work of first- and second-year associates in legal practice.

The change might or might not be revolutionary. Popular wisdom routinely describes generative AI as a turning point on the evolutionary scale. But panelists pointed out that legal research has seen sea change before, and the sky did not fall. Indeed, doomsayers once predicted the end of responsible legal practice upon the very advent of Lexis and Westlaw in displacement of books and paper—a transformation contemporary with my career. Law practice adapted, if not for the better in every respect.

It's in the work of junior attorneys that AI is having the greatest impact now. It can do the background legal research that a senior lawyer might assign to a junior lawyer upon acquisition of a new client or case. AI also can do the grunt work on which new lawyers cut their teeth, such as pleadings, motions, and discovery.

According to (aptly named) Oregon attorney Justice J. Brooks, lawyers are under huge pressure from clients and insurers to use AI, regardless of the opportunity cost in bringing up new attorneys. Fortune 500 companies are demanding that AI be part of a lawyer's services as a condition of retention. The corporate client will not pay for the five hours it takes an associate to draft discovery requests when AI can do it in 1.5.

Observers of law and technology, as well as the courts, have wrung their hands recently amid high-profile reports of AI-using lawyers behaving badly, for example, filing briefs citing sources that do not exist. Brooks said that a lawyer must review with a "critical eye" the research memorandum that AI produces. Insofar as there have been ethical lapses, "we've always had the problem of lawyers not reading cases," Illinois lawyer Jayne R. Reardon observed.

Faster and cheaper, but not always better, AI. There's the rub for newly minted associates: senior lawyers must bring the same scrutiny to bear on AI work that they bring to the toddling memo of the first-year associate. And AI works faster and cheaper.

Meanwhile, AI performs some mundane tasks better than a human lawyer. More than cutting corners, AI sometimes sees a new angle for interrogatories in discovery, Brooks said. Sometimes AI comes up with an inventive compromise for a problem in mediation, Kentucky attorney Stephen Embry said. AI can analyze dialogs to trace points of agreements and disagreement in negotiation, Illinois lawyer Svetlana Gitman reported.

AI does a quick and superb job on the odd request for boilerplate, North Carolina attorney Victoria Alvarez said. For example, "I need a North Carolina contract venue clause." And AI can organize quickly large data sets, she said, generating spreadsheets, tables, and graphics.

What AI cannot yet do well is good jobs news for senior lawyers and professors such as me: AI cannot make complex arguments, Brooks said. In fact, he likes to receive AI-drafted memoranda from legal opponents. They're easily recognizable, he said, and it's easy to pick apart their arguments, which are on par with the sophistication of a college freshman.

Similarly, Brooks said, AI is especially bad at working out solutions to problems in unsettled areas of law. It is confused when its training materials—all of the law and most of the commentary on it—point in different directions. 

In a way, AI is hampered by its own sweeping knowledge. It has so much information that it cannot readily discern what is important and what is not. A lawyer might readily understand, for example, that a trending theory in Ninth Circuit jurisprudence is the peculiar result of concurring philosophical leanings among involved judges and likely will be rejected when the issue arises in the Fifth Circuit, where philosophical leanings tend to the contrary. AI doesn't see that. That's where human insight still marks a peculiar distinction—for now, at least, and until I retire, I hope.

It's that lack of discernment that has caused AI to make up sources, Brandeis Law Professor Susan Tanner said. AI wants to please its user, Oregon lawyer Laura Caldera Loera explained. So if a lawyer queries AI, "Give me a case that says X," AI does what was asked. The questioner presumes the case exists, and the AI follows that lead. If it can't find the case, it extrapolates from known sources. And weirdly, as Tanner explained it, "[AI] wants to convince you that it's right" and is good at doing so.

Client confidences. The panelists discussed other issue with AI in legal practice, such as the importance of protecting client confidences. Information fed into an open AI in asking a question becomes part of the AI's knowledge base. A careless lawyer might reveal confidential information that the AI later discloses in response to someone else's different query.

Some law firms and commercial services are using closed AIs to manage the confidentiality problem. For example, a firm might train a closed AI system on an internal bank of previously drafted transactional documents. Lexis and Westlaw AIs are trained similarly on the full data sets of those proprietary databases, but not, like ChatGPT, on the open internet—Pornhub included, clinical psychologist Dan Jolivet said.

But any limited or closed AI system is then limited correspondingly in its ability to formulate responses. And closed systems still might compromise confidentiality around ethical walls within a firm. Tanner said that a questioner cannot instruct AI simply to disregard some information; such an instruction is fundamentally contrary to how generative AI works.

Law schools in the lurch.  Every panelist who addressed the problem of employment and training for new lawyers insisted that the profession must take responsibility for the gap that AI will create at the entry level. Brooks said he pushes back, if sometimes futilely, on client demands to eliminate people from the service chain. Some panelists echoed the tantalean promise of billing models that will replace the billable hour. But no one could map a path forward in which there would be other than idealistic incentives for law firms to hire and train new lawyers.

And that's a merry-go-round I've been on for decades. For the entirety of my academic career, the bar has bemoaned the lack of "practice ready" lawyers. And where have practitioners placed blame? Not on their bottom-line-driven, profit-making business models, but on law schools and law professors.

And law schools, under the yoke of ABA accreditation, have yielded. The law curriculum today is loaded with practice course requirements, bar prep requirements, field placement requirements, and pro bono requirements. We have as well, of course, dedicated faculty and administrative positions to meet these needs.

That's not bad in of itself, of course. The problem arises, though, in that the curriculum and staffing are zero-sum games. When law students load up on practice-oriented hours, they're not doing things that law students used to do. When finite employment lines are dedicated to practice roles, there are other kinds of teachers absent who used to be there.

No one pauses to ask what we're missing.

My friend and mentor Professor Andrew McClurg, retired from the University of Memphis, famously told students that they should make the most of law school, because for most of them, it would be the last time in their careers that they would be able to think about the law.

Take the elective in the thing that stimulates your mind, McClurg advised students (and I have followed suit as an academic adviser). Explore law with a not-nuts-and-bolts seminar, such as law and literature or international human rights. Embrace the theory and philosophy of law—even in, say, your 1L torts class.

When, like my wife once was, you're a legal services attorney struggling to pay on your educational debt and have a home and a family while trying to maintain some semblance of professional responsibility in managing an impossible load of 70 cases and clients pulling 24/7 in every direction, you're not going to have the luxury of thinking about the law.

Profit machines. What I learned from law's last great leap forward was that the "profession" will not take responsibility for training new lawyers. Lawyer salaries at the top will reach ever more for the heavens, while those same lawyers demand ever more of legal education, and of vastly less well compensated legal educators, to transform and give of themselves to be more trade school and less graduate education.

Tanner put words to what the powers-that-be in practice want for law schools to do with law students today: "Train them so that they're profitable."  In other words, make billing machines, not professionals.

Insofar as that has already happened, the result has been a widening, not narrowing, of the gap between supply and demand for legal services. Wealthy persons and corporations have the resources to secure bespoke legal services. They always will. In an AI world, bespoke legal services means humans capable of discernment and complex argument, "critical eyes." 

Ordinary people have ever less access to legal services. What law schools have to do is expensive, and debt-burdened students cannot afford to work for what ordinary people are able to pay.

A lack of in-practice training and failure of inculcation to law as historic profession rather than workaday trade will mean more lawyers who are minimally, but not more, competent; lawyers who can fill out forms, but not conceive new theories; lawyers who have been trained on simulations and pro bono hours, but were never taught or afforded an opportunity to think about the law. 

These new generations of lawyers will lack discernment. They will not be able to make complex arguments or to pioneer understanding in unsettled areas of law. They will be little different from and no more capable than the AIs that clients pay them to access, little better than a human equivalent to a Staples legal form pack.

These lawyers will be hopelessly outmatched by their bespoke brethren. The ordinary person's lawyer will be employed only because the economically protectionist bar will forbid direct lay access to AI for legal services.

The bar will comprise two tribes: a sparsely populated sect of elite lawyer-professionals, and a mass of lawyer-tradespeople who keep the factory drums of legal education churning out form wills and contracts to keep the rabble at bay.

The haves and the have nots. 

It's a brave new world, and there is nothing new under the sun.

The first ABA TIPS panel comprised Victoria Alvarez, Troutman Pepper, Charlotte, N.C., moderator; Laura Caldera Loera and Amanda Bryan, Bullivant Houser Bailey, Portland, Ore.; Professor Susan Tanner, Louis D. Brandeis School of Law, Louisville, Ky.; and Justice J. Brooks, Foster Garvey, Portland, Ore. The second ABA TIPS panel referenced here comprised Svetlana Gitman, American Arbitration Association-International Center for Dispute Resolution, Chicago, Ill., moderator; Stephen Embry, EmbryLaw LLC and TechLaw Crossroads, Louisville, Ky.; Reginald A. Holmes, arbitrator, mediator, tech entrepreneur, and engineer, Los Angeles, Cal.; and Jayne R. Reardon, Fisher Broyles, Chicago, Ill.