Airlines abuse customers, who have nowhere to turn and face byzantine barriers in small claims courts

A Savory Tort Investigation

I sued Air France yesterday.

Consumer Protection and Airline Impunity

The instant matter is simple. I bought a roundtrip ticket from Boston to Paris specifically as offered by Air France because seat selection upon check-in came with the ticket. (I have a dodgy knee and an over-the-hill bladder, so seat selection on long hauls matters to me. You asked.)

Air France consistently promised seat selection.

Air France turned the flight over to Delta for operation, and Delta refused to honor seat selection upon check-in. Delta rather demanded $89 per seat assignment. Delta would not even give me a random seat upon check-in; I was told I would have to wait for a seat assignment at the gate, after everyone with higher priority was given an assignment.

I contacted Air France multiple times and was told that Delta's terms superseded Air France's, to call Delta. I contacted Delta multiple times, and I was told that my problem was with Air France.

I'm not the only person to experience precisely this problem. Redditors and online reviewers have reported the same frustration and the same shirking of responsibility by the airlines over seat selection and other purchase terms. 

That matters here, because I don't file lawsuits just for me. I believe I have a professional responsibility to use my skills as a litigator now and then if it will make the world better for many people.

I made complaints to governmental authorities, the attorney general's office in my home state of Rhode Island, and the U.S. Department of Transportation. Of course, those complaints went into the circular file.

The R.I. AG's office, while having been helpful in other matters, has in the past sent me to the feds on airline issues, notwithstanding their concurrent jurisdiction over ticket sales. And the U.S. DoT, which used to issue at least a polite email of acknowledgment, said nothing, probably distracted by the premiere of Great American Road Trip.

Delta sees things differently, blames Air France.

Delta, it must be said, sent me an email offering something, I think it was a $55 credit, on a future flight. I did not accept.

I also sent a comprehensive demand letter to Air France in June. They replied in July with yet another email, this one at least sufficiently detailed to suggest, for the first time, that they did understand the problem. They were unwilling to pay anything, of course. And more importantly, they did not say the problem was redressed, and they again blamed Delta.

This isn't about money for me, if that's still not clear. What I want is for the airlines to stop using operator agreements as an excuse to reneg on plain promises to consumers. Had Air France simply taken responsibility for the wrong and promised it's no longer happening, I would have dropped the matter.

But Air France couldn't help itself. Repeatedly, responses blamed Delta. They did not address the salient observation of the demand letter: that I have no contract with Delta, even if it were willing to accept responsibility rather than send blame back around.

So as I promised in the demand letter—one must keep one's promises—I sued for breach of contract and deceptive business practices. Like some other states, Rhode Island has a reasonably friendly statute for such consumer claims, and it entitles me to the greater of $500 statutory damages or compensatory damages, plus costs, with the possibility of a damage multiplier, up to three times, in the court's discretion. 

I am not going here to address the problem of arbitration terms among airline terms of service, slyly diverting consumers from the courts and stripping them unwittingly of their Seventh Amendment rights. I must mention that such boilerplate terms usually put any court claim of the kind I discuss here out of reach for the consumer. Worse, arbitration systems are rigged for corporate respondents, evidenced at minimum by the simple fact that they prevail in arbitration far more than reason or chance says they should. The proceedings moreover remain secret, undermining civil justice for everyone else. I have good reason to believe that I am not bound in this matter by compelled arbitration terms, but any reader or prospective plaintiff should be warned.

My goal here remains simply reform of industry practice for consumer protection. I've written before about the abuse American consumers suffer at the hands of airlines, especially in comparison with our European counterparts, and our present era of deregulation in the United States is stripping away what little enforcement there was. 

Yesterday, for example, I was shopping for an airfare online and saw a United fare with no carry-on, that is, bringing a carry-on is not allowed, not an option. That almost compels a person to check a bag, yet the fare did not include a checked bag; you could buy that later: what regulatory authorities call "drip pricing," or what President Biden called "junk fees," and which makes it exceedingly difficult to compare fares. 

These deceptive sales strategies utterly undermine absolutist economic libertarianism, demonstrating, in my view, why responsible libertarianism must support reasonable regulation to ensure a level marketplace. The Biden Federal Trade Commission regulated against junk fees. Trump has not rescinded the regulations, to my knowledge. But non-enforcement is functionally the same. A meaningful regulation would afford a private right of action with damages that would command airlines' attention.

It seems, in the great American tradition of rugged individualism, that enforcement is left to the consumer, who is scarcely given two sticks to rub together to get anything done. And at this point, it seems that a financial hit, even a small one, along with the hassle of answering in court, is required to compel Air France to own up to the simple responsibility of delivering what it sells.

If only it were that easy. 

Small Claims Court and Barriers to Consumer Protection

I am a lawyer (D.C. license) and a litigator, and I have filed many lawsuits. But what I just experienced trying to file a small claim was harrowing and would be prohibitive to a person not equipped as I am. What's worse is that touted digital tools that are supposed to make access to the courts easier are not helping at all.

Here is a series of problems I encountered in filing my small claim. Never mind, by the way, that my claim should be a class action, which is prohibitively difficult even for me to put together, if even possible under the law, which in the United States has grown hostile to consumer class actions, even while Europe, again, moves in the opposite direction.

My small claim was rejected by Massachusetts courts. And then they changed their minds.

I tried first to file a small claim in Massachusetts. It was rejected.

My personal-jurisdiction claim over Air France in Rhode Island is sufficient, but thin, based on my online ticket purchase. There's always a risk of getting a judge who is hostile to plaintiffs and not familiar with the law of internet jurisdiction. Small claims are sometimes not appealable, so if you get a bad ruling, you might be stuck, no matter the law.

Personal jurisdiction over Air France (technically, "Societe Air France") is easier by conventional measures in Massachusetts, because Air France operates out of Boston Logan airport and has assets and employees there. If I prevail in Rhode Island, Air France can make me register my judgment in Massachusetts to collect. Even though I can demand costs, registration of foreign-state judgments is a hassle, beyond the ken of non-lawyer plaintiffs, and requires an outlay of hundreds of dollars just for filing, even before executing enforcement.

Small-claims filing instructions at Mass.gov purport
to afford venue where a plaintiff works.

Happily, the Massachusetts courts website told me that small claims courts in the commonwealth will exercise venue based on a plaintiff's place of work—or home, or business. I work in Massachusetts. Even better, the courts accept e-filings.

I dutifully prepared all of my paperwork and stepped through the online e-filing procedure. It's not a bad user interface, for the most part. 

Alas, the next business morning, my claim was rejected. I had listed my home address in Rhode Island. The form asked for the address where I wished to receive correspondence, not the address I would use to assert venue. There was no field for another address. 

I called the small-claims office of the clerk in New Bedford, Massachusetts, District Court. Let me be clear here that, first, they promptly answered the phone, which is a lot more than I can say for Air France or Delta; and second, they were very, very kind. My whinging here is no denigration of the people involved, who I believe are trying do their honest best in a byzantine bureaucracy.

They told me, though, that the website is wrong, that Massachusetts courts will recognize venue only for a resident plaintiff, or a plaintiff who owns a business in the commonwealth. At least, they said, I would not be charged the filing fee ($62), and I should get in touch if my card is charged erroneously. 

By email—they have an email address, also more than I can say for Air France or Delta—I sent the office the web page I had relied on—not to hassle them, but seriously, to make sure it's corrected, so that other people, especially non-lawyers, don't waste the time and energy that I did. I also reported the error to the state IT office via the page feedback form.

I then went about several hours' work to file my claim in Rhode Island instead. I run a serious risk that Air France simply will ignore the summons; it has no assets, no liability exposure, in Rhode Island. I can obtain a default judgment. But then, again, I will have to go to the extraordinary effort and expense of registering my judgment in Massachusetts and pursuing an enforcement action there.

After I returned home from the courthouse in Providence, Rhode Island, I received an email from the clerk's office in New Bedford: "Please e-file your complaint and we will accept it."

Sigh.

I'm not going to file right now, I responded, because I don't want to pay for two lawsuits. But if Air France ducks out on the Rhode Island summons, it will be cheaper for me to sue again in Massachusetts, rather than register the foreign-state judgment in non-small-claims district court.

Small claims clerks do not understand corporate service of process. Or they do, and I don't?

A second problem I encountered relates to service of process. Neither Massachusetts nor Rhode Island small claims court would accept a service-of-process address for the defendant. Both insisted that service go to the defendant business address. That policy puts plaintiffs, especially non-lawyers, at risk of dismissal for defective service.

Every business, when it registers with a state government for licensing, in almost any state—I've seen some exceptions, and that's a whole other story in undermining consumer protection, but thankfully, Massachusetts keeps pretty good records—provides a mailing address, where it wants to receive business correspondence, and a service address, specifically for legal service of process. Big businesses, such as Air France, contract with companies, "registered agents," specially in the business of receiving legal notices.

Air France lists a New York corporate address and a Boston registered
agent in its filing with the Massachusetts Secretary of Commerce. 

In the case of Air France, its filing with the Massachusetts Secretary of Commerce lists, not unusually, an address in New York City for the corporate office, and an address in Boston for service to the registered agent, Corporation Service Company. Typically, a business relies on its registered agent only for the initial pleading, and in responsive pleading lists an address for corporate counsel to receive correspondence subsequently.

The Massachusetts e-filing system, which is not bad overall, as I said, has only one field for a defendant's address. Instructions say to provide the address where the defendant receives its correspondence. That's the defendant's corporate address. There is no field for a registered agent at a different address. 

But failing to serve a corporation by way of its registered agent means plaintiff's complaint can be dismissed for defective service. And it seems that someone knows this, because the instructions to users of the e-filing system admonish would-be plaintiffs to look up the defendant's address(es) in the database of the Massachusetts Secretary of Commerce. There's even a link to do so.

If a filing is accepted in the Massachusetts e-filing system, service follows by certified mail. There's a fee assessed for that mailing, simultaneously with the filing fee. There is no opportunity for a plaintiff to add a service address later.

So I emailed the clerk to ask about this problem. Because my filing ultimately was rejected, it never became an issue. But I asked also when we spoke on the phone. 

The clerk to whom I spoke did not seem to be familiar with corporate service of process or registered agents. She said that the small claims office always serves the business address, and that that service would effect legal process. I have my doubts, but at least I shelved that assurance for what I can tell a judge when I'm fighting against defendant's motion to dismiss.

In Rhode Island, there is no e-filing. There is a form for small claims, and it, like in Massachusetts, has only one field for the defendant's address. I entered both addresses there. When filing a civil complaint, a lawyer usually lists a "Serve on:" or "Registered agent:" address below the defendant's corporate address.

But when I went to file, the Rhode Island clerk would have none of it. She, too, seemed baffled by the idea that there would be more than one address for the defendant. She would not accept the filing that way and demanded that I cross out and initial the service address. So I did, muttering, "That's not the law," under my breath. And I filed ($75.75).

I still went by UPS to make a copy of all of the pleading papers ($6.10). I stopped home to scan a copy for myself. And when I went to the post office to send the papers via certified mail, return receipt, I sent sets to both addresses ($11.89 each).

Service of process in Rhode Island is a racket.

In ye olden times, and still when a plaintiff fears a defendant might evade accountability, service of process was effected in person, by a sheriff, constable, or professional process server knocking on the defendant's door. Private investigators sometimes picked up contract service work between meatier jobs. Personal service is so clumsy that it's sometimes the stuff of comedy in movies, such as Pineapple Express (2008).

Now we live in an enlightened age. Well, most of us. Not Rhode Island, the smallest state. Back there in a moment.

In this era of enlightenment, we understand that service of process can be effected more efficiently by paper and ink, through our perfectly well functioning postal system. This, in fact, besides state compulsion, is why companies contract with registered agents: so that we can all agree that that is the address where you send the pleading.

I hear you asking: "OK Boomer, why not use the internet?" Well, first, it's Gen-X to you. We do exist. And please don't be condescending. This is still a developing country. There's nothing wrong with triplicate forms. Press hard.

I have filed small claims in Rhode Island before, and I effected service with the usual certified mail and return receipt, even if I had to overpay the clerk's office to send it for me.

On the backs of complainants,
R.I. sheriffs get a piece of the action.
photo RJ Peltz-Steele CC0 1.0

No more, apparently. Rhode Island now requires that a small claims pro se plaintiff march from the courthouse in Providence, R.I., to the state Sheriffs Headquarters in Cranston, R.I., eight miles away, closes at 4 p.m.!, and there find a sheriff or constable to effect service ($70).

Oh, and stop by a bank or post office, because Sheriffs Headquarters does not take credit cards, debit cards, checks, or cash. You'll need a money order made out to "R.I. STATE SHERIFFS" ($2.65).

Oh, and stop by a copy shop, because you'll need two copies of all the paperwork you brought to the clerk's office, where you were instructed to bring only one, plus two copies of the summons the clerk just gave you ($6).

Alas, there's another wrinkle. R.I. Sheriffs will not serve an out-of-state defendant. How to do that? A flyer at the clerk's office in Providence instructs the pro se plaintiff to "contact that State for service." 

Anyone have the telephone number for Massachusetts? 

I was incredulous. Yet the clerk in Providence was unfazed. I asked whether I could effect service on an R.I. defendant, hypothetically, by sending certified mail, return receipt, myself. No, she said. State law requires that the Sheriffs Office or a constable effect service. I'm not so sure about that, but I'm not a Rhode Island lawyer.

How do I effect service in Massachusetts, then?, I asked. She said she could not tell me, for fear of giving me bad advice about something beyond her purview. Fair enough. But where could I find out?

I figured if certified mail, return receipt, was good enough for the New Bedford District Court, it was good enough for me. And I couldn't see a judge turning me away when I have a return receipt in hand. Still, here we are with another problem that could end the non-lawyer's case before it gets going, and flush the sunken $75 R.I. filing fee down the drain.

When the clerk returned with my summons, after having consulted with a colleague, she said, "You can send this certified mail." That must have been hard to admit. 

Yet it does prompt the question, why is certified mail fine for an out-of-state defendant, but no good for a Rhode Island defendant?

Maybe the sheriffs' slush fund is running short.

Rhode Island requires plaintiffs to prepare paperwork to a point of absurdity.

I did my homework before I went to the courthouse in Providence. I still screwed up. 

I spilled a bucket of printer ink—one of the most expensive liquids on earth, and a whole other story in regulators' failure to protect consumers against unfair and deceptive corporate practices—to prepare my filings for the Rhode Island court. I followed instructions to the letter. I even printed and had notarized an extra copy of the complaint. Not required, but I fancy myself a boy scout!

Let's pause there to note that Rhode Island requires a small claims complaint to be notarized. I used my AAA membership to avail of the service there. Still, I had to stop by that office on my way to the courthouse. That's actually the service I use most frequently at AAA—nothing to do with my car or travel. Someone stopping in at a UPS store for a one-off notarization would have to pay $10 or $15 per stamp.

Notarization of such a filing as routine and small-time as a small claims pleading is not normal in the states; Massachusetts does not require it. And it's profoundly anachronistic, having little purpose: yet another barrier to ordinary people's access to the courts.

But I haven't yet told you the best part.

To file a small claim in Rhode Island, the plaintiff must present, in hardcopy, the court form for the defendant's answer to the complaint, as well as court instructions for how to complete the answer form.

R.I. court instructions in Cambodian stand ready
to aid the New York corporate lawyer who needs them.

Wait, there's more!

The plaintiff also must present four pages of instructions on how the defendant can seek interpreter services, the pages respectively in English, Spanish, Portuguese, and Cambodian.

Cambodian.

The clerk looked at me skeptically and asked, "Do you have the papers for the answer?"

Clearly she anticipated having to send me packing, another schmuck who failed to follow directions. I could not tell from her anticipation whether she relished the seemingly inevitable rebuff, or was just wary of how another frustrated, infuriated claimant might react. 

"Yes," I said, proudly, presenting the papers. A boy scout craves the approval of authority figures.

But I couldn't help myself. 

"I even have instructions in Cambodian for my corporate defendant's team of New York lawyers," I said.

Unfazed.

Alas, I did make a mistake. I had printed the answer form without the instructions. The horror!

In my defense, the user instructions did not specify which version of the answer form to prepare, with or without instructions. I assumed, mistakenly, that it was not my job to tell New York attorneys how to file a responsive pleading, against me, for their transnational corporate client. 

To the clerk's credit, and I do appreciate this, because my parking meter ($1.60) was ticking, she provided me, gratis, a hardcopy of the correct form with instructions to include with my growing portfolio—now 19 pages for a two-sentence complaint.

I understand the need for both the instructions and the interpreter forms when the defendant is an individual. Access to justice is a two-way street, and, say, a landlord who is a frequent flier in the courts should not be able to exploit a tenant's ignorance of legal process and rights. 

But on the face of my complaint, I am suing a transnational corporation with a U.S. office on Broadway in Manhattan. Am I really Goliath in this scenario?

Is there no rule of reason? Or do we just assume that the little people ought not be bothering big corporations anyway?

It is virtually inconceivable that a non-lawyer could navigate the small claims process, at least not without rendering the case vulnerable to dismissal for a procedural fault.

I'm not sure anyone outside the U.S. Chamber of Commerce thinks we do not have an access to justice problem in the United States. And in the marketplace, consumer frustration has hit a record pitch.

Let's review. My claim is straightforward. I contracted for a service and did not get that service. I am suing for the value of the service that I did not get. That's a loss equivalent to $178, or $500, as the legislature decided is a fair statutory minimum.

Besides my hours and hours of time, my barrels of printer ink, and my fuel, parking, and heartache, I have thus far spent $105.63 on my $178 loss. And that's just to get in the courthouse door. If Air France does not answer my complaint, I'm looking at hundreds more dollars for enforcement, even with a default judgment in hand.

And I am only one consumer, of, no doubt, thousands, who bothered to follow up on a broken promise. I'm just one consumer savvy enough to know how to sue, at least in theory. 

No wonder, then, corporate America simply counts on the fact that it can rip off consumers for hundreds of dollars at a time with impunity. Even if one consumer fights back and prevails, the profits are enough to roll around and spill champagne in.

And our legal system facilitates this abuse. Small claims court was devised to redress this very problem, yet the hurdles to clear the entrance gate are so high, the court might as well shut its doors. Let's not forget that I was twice given incorrect guidance by clerks, notwithstanding good intentions, so far in my journey. I'm already supposed to know what I'm doing, and all this is before even getting to the merits of the case.

There are a lot of ways we could reform consumer protection and access to justice. For starters, I should not be bringing this claim. State AGs or federal agencies, at minimum, should be making sure that consumers get what they pay for, or at least that corporations cannot willfully continue deceptive practices after they're made aware of them.

Even writ small, there are countless ways that the ills of local courts, as I've outlined here and no doubt many more, could be fixed to make access to justice just a little bit easier. Our public officials only have to want the courts we pay for to work for people as well as they work for corporations. 

Small-town Star Trek museum teaches American cultural history, limits of fan fair use in copyright law

I have the con at the Star Trek Original Series Set Tour, Ticonderoga, N.Y., Oct. 2025
(all photos RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0)

The sleepy town of Ticonderoga, nestled between Lake Champlain and Lake George in upstate New York just south of the Adirondacks, is the unexpected home of a treasure of American history. 

I don't mean the historic Fort Ticonderoga of the American revolutionary era. 

The Star Trek Original Series Set Tour offers visitors an incomparable experience in television history and a lesson in intellectual property law along the way.

Though the transporter was conceived to save money on
prop shots of shuttle landings, it still cost (1966) $600
per effect per person. That's one reason why red shirts
didn't beam down unless they had, let's say, business on
the planet. Regular-cast shots could be recycled. The
platform circles were made with glass from old spotlights.
It's wild to see close up how clever prop crew were with
what they had on hand.

Star Trek in a Small Town 

I've written many times about the relevance of Star Trek to American law and public policy from the civil rights era to today. The Set Tour is the passion project of Star Trek superfan and Ticonderoga native James Cawley, an Elvis impersonator by trade. Cawley is someone who deeply appreciates Trek's cultural importance and has played a role in ensuring that the franchise survives and lives up to its legacy.

Inside the inconspicuous shell of a former Family Dollar in downtown Ticonderoga, Cawley has recreated the Desilu Studios set of the original Star Trek series of the 1960s in astonishing detail, down to the illuminated, colorful "gumdrop" buttons of starship Enterprise control panels.

Little survived from the original 1960s set. At that time, creators still thought about television productions as one-off broadcasts. Syndication was known, but shows were not yet designed for it. Moreover, few critics would have picked Star Trek, a curious experiment in sending Wagon Train to space, as a show that would stand the test of time. 

In fact, Star Trek's perceived ephemerality became a challenge in reconstructing the set, a Set Tour guide explained. The original series had no script supervisor in charge of continuity, mostly because no one expected viewers would see a Star Trek episode for a second time to notice details. A prop that was a scary alien computer in one episode was gently repurposed to be an Enterprise control system in another. Budgets were thin, too, so prop supervisors were ingenious recyclers.

Cawley long collected the few artifacts and set fragments that remained. In the early 1990s, he worked his way into an assistantship with legendary costume designer William Ware Theiss, then working on Star Trek's reincarnation in The Next Generation. Theiss had, and gave to Cawley, discarded blueprints of the 1960s set, as well as original series uniform patterns. Cawley found his calling and embarked on recreation of the set with excruciating attention to detail.

Sickbay: My guide was terrific, knowledgeable and full of lore.
Here the medical scanner is CGI, but in the 1960s, a grip was
needed just to move the little white indicators up and down
from behind the wall.

A Golden Age of Fan Fiction 

Homage to the past, though, was not Cawley's sole design. In the early 20-aughts, he became the founding producer and "Captain Kirk" star of a Star Trek fan production, New Voyages, later known as Star Trek: Phase II. The highly regarded fan franchise published online 10 episodes from 2004 to 2016, and many original series talents contributed to the show, such as writer David Gerrold and actors George Takei (Hikaru Sulu), Walter Koenig (Pavel Chekov), and Grace Lee Whitney (Janice Rand).

That's where things get interesting from the intellectual property perspective.

Star Trek brand owners Paramount, CBS, and Viacom—their corporate relationships shifted over the years—had mixed feelings about Star Trek fan productions. There were many, though none besides New Voyages had fixed sets.

When Star Trek's popularity waned, fan fiction kept the franchise alive in public imagination. As long as fan projects were not for profit, the corporations were content to look the other way, even striking an agreement at one time with New Voyages. But when Paramount, et al., were on the verge of a new Star Trek TV or film project, they tightened the reins.

The corporate equivocation, in tandem with a committed and creative fan base, allowed Star Trek fan fiction to thrive in a way that is uncommon in the American entertainment space. Nevertheless, corporate indulgence started to wane after J.J. Abrams took the helm of the 2009 film Star Trek and revitalized the franchise. 

 The recreation of Engineering is two stories high, as was the
original after it was augmented for Original Series season 2.
The warp core is about 12 feet deep but looks deeper
because of a forced-perspective design to fool the camera.

Copyright Showdown

Things came to a head in 2015. Alec Peters, an actor in Phase II, raised money and excitement around a new fan-film project, Star Trek: Axanar, teased by a compelling 2014 short, Prelude to Axanar (IMDb). With advances in technology, the production quality of fan films was by then quite good. Paramount meanwhile was closing in on 2016 release of a new feature film in the reboot universe, Star Trek Beyond, and a new TV series, Star Trek: Discovery, was slated for launch in 2017. In the last days of 2015, Paramount sued Peters and the Axanar project for copyright infringement.

The copyright case, and to a lesser extent the trademark case, on fan fiction is really open and shut. Profitable or not, the take-offs are not permissible without license by the rights-holder. There is a fuzzy line at the outer boundary of copyright, where protection of creative product gives way to "the scènes à faire doctrine." But it's not that fuzzy.

Law school learning on copyright impresses on students that eligible works must be "fixed in a tangible medium of expression." That does not mean, however, that only that which is committed to print or film is what is copyrighted.

Fictional facts and storylines also may come within copyright protection. Thus, the estate of Anne Rice can claim copyright over the story of a young vampire who shacks up with the master who turned him, adopts a vampire child, and later gives a tell-all interview. But the scènes à faire doctrine ensures that copyright does not remove mere tropes from the public domain. The Rice estate cannot claim copyright infringement in all stories about blood-sucking, undead creatures who cannot tolerate sunlight.

To put that in Star Trek terms, anyone is free to write a story about a human-led inter-species alliance of space-faring civilizations that explores the galaxy and maintains uneasy relations with warlike enemies. But the closer the author gets to a San Francisco-headquartered federation of planets with warp-drive starships, transporters, phasers, and emotion-averse characters with pointy ears, the more the risk of copyright infringement. The line is fuzzy, but it's not wide.

The problem for fan fiction always is that the stories fans want to tell are the stories that explore the boundaries of the established narrative, the existing fictional universe, and ideally, of the recognizable characters in it. That's exactly what copyright does not allow. 

Many scholars have argued for more expansive interpretation of fair use to allow for fan creativity in the presence of clear disclaimer. There's a whole book about the problem of fan fiction in historical and multi-national perspective by California Western Law Professor Aaron Schwabach. The last chapter of Schwabach's book is titled tellingly, "Fanfic: The New Voyages."

Archivist and professor emeritus in cinema studies at NYU, formerly at UCLA, Howard Besser made the case as to Star Trek in particular, besides other popular properties, such as Harry Potter, that the public commons should be larger. He called out corporate owners such as Viacom and Paramount for overreach with unjustifiably aggressive cease-and-desist letters.

But the fact and law remain, protection of fan work that plainly takes place in the same universe as copyrighted works, even when disclaiming ownership and avoiding recognizable names of fictional places and characters, and omitting trademarked titles, still is a non-starter. The analysis is of the totality. Nena may invoke Captain Kirk passingly in "99 Luftballons," but a fan film in the Star Trek universe treads too far.

The Treaty of Axanar 

It was no surprise, then, that the federal court in Paramount Pictures Corp. and CBS Studios, Inc. v. Axanar Productions, Inc. and Alec Peters refused the defendants' motion to dismiss in May 2016. The case over Axanar was careening toward a jury trial, the parties arguing heatedly over evidence and jury instructions, when suddenly, in the third week of January 2017, Paramount and Peters settled.

Out of the Axanar settlement came a remarkable new document, which articulated and still states the boundaries around what Paramount and CBS will tolerate in Star Trek fan fiction. The guidelines stated severe new limits, including:

• The duration of a fan production is limited to 15 minutes, or one story in two parts for 30 minutes, "with no additional seasons, episodes, parts, sequels or remakes."
• The work may not have "Star Trek" in the main title and must be subtitled, "A STAR TREK FAN PRODUCTION."
• No Star Trek content content may be used, and Star Trek-recognizable costumes and props must be official Star Trek merchandise.
• No creator or actor ever employed in a licensed Star Trek production may work on the project, and no one working on the project may be paid.
• A production must be non-commercial with a budget from fundraising limited to $50,000.

Described by fan fiction enthusiasts as "draconian," the new guidelines made impossible the production of projects fans had come to love. It seemed that no film such as Axanar could proceed. Serial projects such as Phase II had to call it quits. The golden age of streaming Star Trek fan fiction was over.

Prelude to Axanar
movie poster
(presumed ©; illustrative use)

Axanar Fal-Tor-Pan?

Yet, for better or worse, the Paramount-CBS guidelines were far from the last word on Axanar. Secret arbitration over money raised for Axanar followed the 2017 settlement. In 2023, Paramount sued Peters in California Superior Court in Los Angeles, alleging that he never stopped raising money for an Axanar film, and asking the court to affirm the outcome of the arbitration. 

Peters did not appear, and the court entered Paramount's desired order in February 2024. Rights-holder copyright consultant Jonathan Bailey, founder of CopyByte, wrote about the case for his Plagiarism Today. Fans follow developments around Peters and Axanar in the public Facebook group page, AxaMonitor.

Meanwhile, production on Axanar most definitely continued. Six days after Paramount had its way in court in Los Angeles, Axanar wrapped filming on its set, Jonathan Lane reported on his Fan Film Factor. Peters himself gives monthly updates on Axanar on YouTube. 

In the October 2025 Axanar update, posted on October 17, Peters reported on post-production progress on the latest installment of Axanar, to follow Prelude. He referenced the lawsuit, thereby suggesting that subsequent "episodes" (not "films") might comply with the Paramount-CBS guidelines. If that's what he meant, then a single episode of Axanar cannot exceed 15 minutes, shorter than Prelude's 21 minutes, and there can be only two. Yet Peters described Prelude as mere "proof of concept." Confirming Paramount's 2015 fears, Peters said that Prelude was designed to demonstrate that a fan work could be of such high quality as to be technically indistinguishable from an official studio product.

The ultimate extent of Peters's fealty to the guidelines is unclear. I wonder whether he regards them indeed as mere "guidelines"—like the 1976 copyright fair use guidelines that, in my opinion, courts have too often misapplied as hard lines. In the October update, Peters talked about beta testing a new fundraising website. I wonder further whether he's exceeded the cap of the guidelines. He encouraged fan financial support at the Axanar website.

There was really only one corridor for every corridor shot.
Signs and wall fixtures could be changed, and it curved
(behind camera here) for an illusion of more space.

A New New Voyage

The Axanar debacle in 2016 left Cawley in an awkward spot. His one-of-a-kind set reconstruction had little remaining practical use for filming after Phase II folded. Yet adoring fans would bask in the extravagance of the work. He conceived of the Set Tour. Still, without official imprimatur, he would risk legal jeopardy by opening to the public. 

Cawley invited Paramount execs to Ticonderoga to have a look. No doubt, they were skeptical going in. But, at least as a Set Tour guide told the story, the execs were so impressed with Cawley's loving attention to detail that they agreed to license the Star Trek name. Thus, the Star Trek Original Series Set Tour is not, as I had first suspected, a trademark infringement flying under the radar in tiny Ticonderoga. Set Tour tour guides will not volunteer information about Phase II or other fan productions. Whether they're just playing it safe, or that was an agreement with Paramount, I do not know. But guides will answer questions about Phase II if asked.

The Star Trek Set Tour has a deceptively modest exterior.

To Cawley's credit, he always played ball with Star Trek owners. Remember, it was New Voyages that reached an express understanding with Paramount, before Axanar came along. Cawley came by the 1960s set plans honestly, by all accounts, while working for Theiss on the official franchise. And the Captain Kirk of eight New Voyages episodes even scored a cameo as a bridge officer in J.J. Abrams's Star Trek. The Set Tour has hosted original series cast members as guest tour guides. The original Captain Kirk, ninety-four-year-old William Shatner, is expected back in November 2025.

There is, by the way, a USS Ticonderoga in Star Trek, though accounts differ over whether the name is a nod to Cawley, American history, a real-life Ticonderoga, or all of the above. Five U.S. Navy ships have borne the name Ticonderoga, including an aircraft carrier that distinguished itself in World War II and the Vietnam War. In the 1970 epic war film Tora! Tora! Tora!, the Essex-class Ticonderoga served as a set for the slightly smaller Yorktown-class aircraft carrier Enterprise (CV-6, not the later, nuclear-powered Enterprise carrier built in 1961). A great many other Navy carriers lent their names to Star Trek starships, including the Lexington, Saratoga, and Yorktown in The Original Series.

I had a (phaser) blast of a good time at the Star Trek Original Set Tour earlier this month. On my way home from the American Society of Comparative Law annual conference in Montreal, walking through a wonderland of Gene Roddenberry optimism about humanity's future was a welcome antidote to Professor James Q. Whitman's gloomy prognosis for rule of law in the United States.

Set Tour visitors get a turn in the captain's chair amid Cawley's breathtaking recreation of the classic bridge of the starship Enterprise. Ironically in revolutionary-historical Ticonderoga, amid relics from an imaginary future, I've never felt more a part of American history.

(All photos RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0.)

The Set Tour has tons of artifacts, including ship models, props, and uniforms. Some of the props are recreations, but made so well that they were used in throwback, time-travel episodes, such as Deep Space Nine's 30th anniversary "Trials and Tribble-ations"—besides fan shows such as Phase II.

Foul-ball injuries persist at baseball games

Pixabay CC0 1.0 via Get Archive

The American Museum of Tort Law (AMTL) hosted a Zoom panel Thursday on the problem of foul balls injuring baseball fans.

(UPDATE: Video posted, Feb. 27.)

American tort law students usually are acquainted with the so-called "baseball rule." The "rule" represents the legal supposition that fans who attend baseball games understand and accept the risk that a foul ball might fly into the stands and cause injury. More accurately stated in contemporary terms in American tort law, the "rule" is that a professional baseball enterprise does not have a duty to avert injuries that are part of the game of baseball.

You can tell from my quote marks that I don't like the characterization of "the baseball rule" as a rule, because it's not. The "rule" is oft stated as such in popular culture and too often in law. But it does not represent a consistent "rule" of decision in tort cases. Plaintiff lawyers have circumnavigated it many times, justifiably so. And if the "rule" were a rule, it would be a bad one. Horrific injuries happen too often, such as shattered eye sockets and blinding. Two children were critically injured in the minor leagues in the past season.

You can see the problems even on the face of the "rule." Not everyone who goes to a baseball game knows that there is a danger of being hit by a foul ball, especially the risk of substantial bodily harm in a line drive with a 100-mph exit velocity. Baseball clubs put up some nets specifically to protect fans from these injuries in some places, such as behind home plate, but the nets fall far short of full coverage. Fans sitting in unprotected seats might not see the difference. Certainly fans might not know the scope of potential injury. Finally, the assumption-of-risk doctrine that animates the "baseball rule" was crafted to preclude lawsuits by sport participants. The doctrine has been extended tentatively and sometimes dubiously to fans.

As in many tort cases, the functioning of the tort system in foul-ball cases is being disrupted by arbitration clauses in baseball ticket terms and conditions, and by non-disclosure agreements in settlements. Secrecy impedes tort's norm-setting and deterrence functions. If fans don't understand the danger and frequency of foul ball injuries, they're unlikely to find out from reported cases.

Hosted by Melissa Bird for the AMTL, the panel comprised Ken Reed, Jordan Skopp, and Greg Wilkowski. Reed is Sports Policy Director for League of Fans, a Ralph Nader project that covers the foul-ball problem. Skopp, a New York realtor, is the activist-founder of the grassroots Foul Ball Safety Now!, which hosts a trove of information. Wilkowski is a Chicago lawyer presently representing plaintiffs in a class action against the Peoria Chiefs (e.g., Journal Star).

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.

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.

Consumers turn tables against corporate defense in compelled arbitration of information privacy claims

Image via www.vpnsrus.com by Mike MacKenzie CC BY 2.0

Consumer plaintiffs turned the usual tables on corporate defense in the fall when a federal court in Illinois ordered Samsung Electronics to pay millions of dollars in arbitration fees in a biometric privacy case.

In the underlying arbitration demand, 50,000 users of Samsung mobile devices accuse the company of violating the Illinois Biometric Information Privacy Act (BIPA). BIPA is a tough state privacy law that has made trans-Atlantic waves as it fills the gap of Congress's refusal to regulate the American Wild West of consumer privacy.

Typically of American service providers, Samsung endeavored to protect itself from tort liability through terms and conditions that divert claims from the courts to arbitration. The (private) U.S. Chamber of Commerce champions the strategy. Arbitration is reliably defense-friendly. Rumor has it that arbitrators who don't see cases corporations' way don't have long careers. And companies bask in the secrecy that shields them from public accountability. (Read more.)

Resistance to compelled arbitration has been a rallying cause of consumer advocates and the plaintiff bar. For the most part, resistance has been futile. But consumer plaintiffs appear to have a new strategy. The Chamber is not happy.

In the instant case, consumers alleging BIPA violation were aiming for arbitration. Arbitration rules, endorsed by Samsung's terms, require both sides to pay toward initial filing fees, a sum that adds up when 50,000 claims are in play. The consumers' attorneys fronted their share, but Samsung refused. The company weakly asserted that it was being scammed, because some of the claimants were deceased or not Illinois residents, both BIPA disqualifiers.

Samsung must pay its share of arbitration filing fees for living Illinois residents, the district court answered, at least those living in the court's jurisdiction. Many of those consumer claimants were identified with Samsung's own customer records. A few whom Samsung challenged, the claimants dropped from their number. Even when the court pared the list to consumers in Illinois's federal Northern District, roughly 35,000 were still standing.

"Alas, Samsung was hoist with its own petard," the court wrote, quoting Shakespeare. The court opined:

Samsung was surely thinking about money when it wrote its Terms & Conditions. The company may not have expected so many would seek arbitration against it, but neither should it be allowed to “blanch[] at the cost of the filing fees it agreed to pay in the arbitration clause.” Abernathy v. Doordash, Inc., 438 F.Supp. 3d 1062, 1068 (N.D. Cal. 2020) (describing the company’s refusal to pay fees associated with its own-drafted arbitration clause as “hypocrisy” and “irony upon irony”).

The American Arbitration Association, the entity with which the claimants filed pursuant to Samsung's terms, estimated Samsung's tab at $4.125 million when the number was still 50,000 claims.

Attorneys Gerald L. Maatman, Jr., Rebecca S. Bjork, and Derek Franklin for corporate defense firm DuaneMorris warned:

As corporations who employ large numbers of individuals in their workforces know, agreements to arbitrate claims related to employment-related disputes are common. They serve the important strategic function of minimizing class action litigation risks. But corporate counsel also are aware that increasingly, plaintiffs’ attorneys have come to understand that arbitration agreements can be used to create leverage points for their clients. Mass arbitrations seek to put pressure on respondents to settle claims on behalf of large numbers of people, even though not via the procedural vehicle of filing a class or collective action lawsuit. As a result, corporate counsel should carefully review arbitration agreement language with an eye towards mitigating the risks of mass arbitrations as well as class actions.

Samsung wasted no time appealing to the Seventh Circuit. The case has drawn a spate of amici with dueling briefs from the Chamber and associates, favoring Samsung, and from Public Justice, et al., favoring the consumer claimants.

The district court case is Wallrich v. Samsung Electronics America, Inc. (N.D. Ill. Sept. 12, 2023), opinion by Senior U.S. District Judge Harry D. Leinenweber. The appeal is Wallrich v. Samsung Electronics America, Inc. (7th Cir. filed Sept. 25, 2023).

Can Arsenal supporter be impartial in football inquiry?

A curious story of lawyering ethics and football allegiance broke in mid-May, just after I went off contract with UMass Law and left the States for a chunk of the summer.

Manchester City Football Club (City, or MCFC), my team, won a historic "treble" over the summer, topping the Premier League, FA Cup, and UEFA Champions League.

Thomas Jefferson, me, and a City kit
at Hofstra University, 2016
Morgan Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

While City was on its spring tear, a modest shadow was cast by allegations of violations of "fair play" financial regulations in the Premier League for transactions dating to 2009 to 2018. From as much as is publicly known, the allegations focus on financial transparency requirements. Any ultimate finding of violation can have consequences going forward, ranging from fines to relegation from top-tier play.

City denies any misfeasance. In 2020, the Court of Arbitration for Sport (CAS) reversed a UEFA suspension of City for alleged violation of the financial regulations related to transactions from 2012 to 2016. The CAS decision was based principally on the exclusion of dated evidence, so the matter was not resolved on the merits. City then also denied any wrongdoing.

The present allegations, which themselves are reported to arise from a four-year investigation, have been referred to an independent commission. Its behind-closed-doors work will take a while. And City can be expected to litigate any adverse result.

The piece of the story that caused me to scratch my chin in May was the report that City had filed objection to the appointment of an Arsenal FC supporter, Murray Rosen KC, as chair of the independent commission.

Under rules of professional conduct in American law practice, being a fan of a sport team would not preclude a lawyer from representing a competitor. American Bar Association (ABA) Model Rule 1.7 focuses on conflicts in legal representation, not matters of social affiliation. Of course, the question comes down to the lawyer's ability to do the job "competent[ly]" and "diligent[ly]," so it's always possible for a lawyer to be compromised by sporting fervor. The best course is disclosure and client consent.

For a judge, ABA Model Code of Judicial Conduct Rule 2.11 similarly, probably, would not demand a sport-fan judge's recusal from a matter involving a competitor. The requisite "personal bias or prejudice" is usually indicated by concrete evidence such as financial interest, familial affiliation, or former representation, not social preference.

More than lawyer ethics, the judicial canons give weight to public perception, testing expressly for objective perception of impartiality. But being a sport fan, absent economic investment, doesn't move that needle.

For example, in a fraud lawsuit settled confidentially five years ago, plaintiffs accused the New York Giants and players, including quarterback Eli Manning, of American football, of passing off memorabilia falsely as game worn. The plaintiffs asked New Jersey Superior Court Judge James J. DeLuca to recuse, because he was a Giants fan and, with his son, owned professional seat licenses—that's something, economically—to attend Giants games. DeLuca declined to recuse and pledged on the record his ability to remain impartial. All good, legal commentators opined. (E.g., NJ.com.)

JAMS guidelines for arbitrators are at least as permissive. Like the judicial canons, the guidelines look to both actual conflict and objective appearance of conflict. JAMS guidelines expressly condone "social or professional relationships with lawyers and members of other professions" as long as they do not "impair impartiality."

I don't know what ethics constraints pertain to Rosen, but I'm doubtful they are any more demanding. I also don't know, though, how deeply Rosen bleeds Arsenal red and white. City's filing is secret, so it's possible there's evidence of conflict that the public can't see.

Nothing in Rosen's public record raises a red flag. Based in London, he's a CAS-certified arbitrator and mediator. Any European professional, especially a Brit, and especially someone working in sport law, can be expected to favor a club or two in association football. Rosen was called to the bar in 1976. He's practiced media, sport, and art law and has served in a wide range of offices, even once chairman of the board of appeal of English Table Tennis.

A biography of Rosen at 4 Square Chambers, pre-dating the City matter, reported:

He is a strong believer in fairness and in the power and benefits of sport and has a keen appreciation of its social, political and financial aspects. He has participated in sport all his life, is a member of the MCC [I presume, Marylebone Cricket Club] and Arsenal FC, and still regularly plays real tennis and ping pong.

A 2019 biography at Herbert Smith Freehills mentioned in parentheses that Rosen "is an Arsenal season ticket holder." Arsenal of course was a contender for trophies City won in the end in its treble. But, at least upon what is publicly known, Arsenal has no direct interest in the financial regulatory matters, any more than another competing club.

The objection to Rosen might be part of a kitchen-sink litigation strategy, or, more likely, a public relations strategy. It's frustrating not being able to know the substance of the objection (or nearly anything about sport governance matters that wind up before CAS). On the public record, at least, the objection on ethics grounds doesn't seem to hold water.

In any event, the allegations against City do nothing to dampen my celebration of the treble! I wore my Erling Haaland kit to law school orientation just last week.