This past week was an interesting one for me--a study in contrasts. In my 1L class we had a computer-free week, which was something different (and not necessarily popular--more on that in my next post). Outside the classroom, I participated in two very different events that struck deep chords in me, and they are the subjects of this post.

The first event took place the evening of Thursday, October 11, 2007, at the Loyola University New Orleans College of Law. I spoke there as part of a panel of international law and international trade practitioners and scholars. The panel addressed the subject of international law career options. Other members of the panel included Loyola NO alumns and other practitioners, including Tom Morante of Jones Walker in Miami, as well as Professor Günther Handl of Tulane University Law School and Professor Larry Catá Backer of Penn State's Dickinson School of Law (currently visiting at Tulane). (Check out Professor Catá Backer's excellent blog, Law at the End of the Day, and his "About Me" page.) This panel, entitled Jus Gentium ("the law of nations"), was hosted by Loyola NO's newly re-formed student International Law Society (the society fell by the wayside after Hurricane Katrina).

As I listened to questions posed by the very diverse and accomplished students in the audience, and to the answers and comments from other members of the panel, I was struck by how extraordinarily complex, nuanced and rich the field of international law practice is. I know this, of course, and yet I still find myself moved by it. The feeling flashed me back to occasions in my law practice when I would be struck unexpectedly--and quite hard--by how rarified the intellectual atmosphere was where I worked.

The second event took place the very next night in Jackson, Mississippi. It was the Mississippi Center for Justice's 2007 Champions of Justice Dinner, and I was in attendance as the faculty adviser for Mississippi College School of Law's student Public Interest Law Group. The dinner drew public interest attorneys and supporters from all over Mississippi, and indeed the nation; from public interest organizations involved in Mississippi (much of it being post-Katrina relief work); from law schools (including Mississippi College School of Law and the University of Mississippi School of Law); and from law firms. The dinner was in honor of two strong contributors to public interest and social justice in Mississippi:

Professor Deborah H. Bell of the University of Mississippi School of Law, who runs that school's well-respected Civil Legal Clinic. The clinic has been particularly active since Hurricane Katrina, and Professor Bell was honored for her many contributions to public interest law in the state.

Hon. Rueben V. Anderson, who was the first African-American to graduate from the University of Mississippi School of Law and was Mississippi's first African-American Supreme Court justice. The program for the dinner aptly noted that while Justice Anderson "has been called a witness to history, [ ] his true role has been as a maker of history."

The dinner also featured an excellent slide show on the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina and the many legal and personal challenges faced by the storm's survivors on the coast and elsewhere.

I think the Champions of Justice Dinner was moving for everyone, but for me the contrast between the themes of this event and the Loyola NO forum could not have been starker. On Thursday, I was discussing the richness and complexity of international legal practice. On Friday I was talking about people who need help getting legal representation to obtain enough food stamps. Quite the contrast.

Obviously, the contrast between these two events is a good reminder of why it is so important for lawyers to do some public service work, no matter what they do in practice. It keeps us grounded, and it gives us better perspective on the law and our legal practices. But it also served to remind me, again, of the importance of doing things in your career that you believe in.

I believe in the richness and the potential of international law. Globalization has its perils, but it also has its enormous upsides, and we are in need of responsible, dedicated lawyers who believe in what they are doing, and why. It's global service, if you will, and if that sounds quixotic or overly idealistic, so be it.

I also believe in the importance of local service. There are many, many people who need our help as lawyers, and there are many ways to get involved. And even for overly busy people, it is quite possible that taking on even more obligations of this sort can be a way to soothe the soul, not aggravate it. A way to meaningfully give back of our talents.

So for me, the global and local activities I am involved in are the best of two very different worlds. They are a study in contrasts, but when juxtaposed as they were last week, they fit together quite well.

I have received some very interesting comments in response to my recent Computer-Free Week post. (Look for them at the end of that post.) The general gist of most of the comments is that some people find it disconcerting not to be able to take notes by computer in class. Some are not used to writing by hand in class and feel lost without their computers. So they think computer bans generally are a bad idea.

I sympathize with that view. A lot, actually—notwithstanding that I am the one who did not allow computers in class last week. Which is why this week in my class we will start with a recap of last week’s materials.

I also have sympathy for (and agree with, in many ways) the libertarian view of computers in the classroom—that what a student wants to do is largely the student’s decision, and if the decision hurts that student’s performance and/or grade, then that is that student’s problem. Yet I do not agree when such libertarianism interferes with other students’ learning by distracting them, or by reducing the quality of classroom discussion (which is part of the educational process). And I believe both sorts of interference occur regularly.

But let's sidestep that issue for a moment and just talk about computer use that does not interfere with others’ learning. In other words, let's assume, for sake of argument, that computer use only hurts (or helps) those who engage in it, without harming others in the class. What then?

One of the commenters to my previous post made the very astute observation that professors sometimes have an “I must save them from themselves” attitude toward their students, especially in 1L classes. This is often characterized as misguided paternalism, and things like computer bans and other rules are derided as autocratic. I concede that this may well be the case, but I also think that sometimes such guidance, paternalistic though it may be, is justified and even desirable.

Think of it this way: the professors are there to teach, and even the most junior professors have more practical and academic experience in the law than their students. Maybe, just maybe, some of the paternalism is warranted. Maybe sometimes students do need to be "saved from themselves," as negative as the connotation of that phrase may be. And if I have a choice between erring on the side of being too blunt (or even paternalistic) in the classroom versus not making a very important point, I'll choose the former error over the latter.

That same commenter also made the following very interesting statement that is worth discussing further:

“If I am made to come to class by the ABA (and subsequently the school) and choose to spend my time unproductively, my $2300 per class buys me that right. If I don't want to participate or think "fantasy" football statistics are more interesting, the only person hurt in the long run is me. And that is what most would call an adult decision.”

Hmm. On the one hand, I do understand and to an extent sympathize with this statement. And let me very clearly state (at the risk of sounding paternalistic, I suppose) that I very much appreciate both the substantive nature and professional tone of that comment. Seriously--read the whole comment at the end of my previous post. This blog is, after all, a dialogue, and I appreciate well-drafted and well thought-through input. I learn from it. But on the other hand I disagree with this statement fairly strongly, and from a number of angles. Here's why.

Neither the ABA nor your law school makes you come to law school. Yes, there are ground rules if you choose to attend a law school and be a lawyer, and class attendance is generally one of them. But law school is not junior high; you are not legally obligated to be there.

Law school is not a consumer product. There is a “consumerist” mentality common amongst current higher education students, and it is troubling to many in the teaching profession. Having said that, many in higher education also take this view--and schools certainly compete for students--but that is problematic too (and a good subject for a future post).

According to the consumerist student view, colleges and universities are largely institutions of credentialization, not of learning. I think many students subconsciously buy into this presumption without thinking too much about it, because in a way it is very attractive. A consumerist student naturally seeks to do the minimum necessary to obtain the degree. While I think efficiency is valuable—and I think the workload in law school helps teach efficiency to an extent—if a student is only (or primarily) looking for a degree, that serves to disengage the student from the educational process. A student might say, Well, I will come to class because I am required to, but I am not going to pay much attention if it does not engage me more than the Internet. But of course, the Internet is always going to be more interesting than, say, subject matter jurisdiction, or expectancy interest, or proximate cause.

The result is less attention paid, and less learned, and a lesser lawyer on the outflow end of the educational pipe. On the one hand, what was not deeply learned may have no negative impact. On the other hand, you never know when knowledge will come in handy. I was constantly amazed in practice by how arcane points from class ended up being a relevant way to make myself stand out from the pack—be it in researching an issue, writing a memo, or talking with clients at a cocktail party. Arcane knowledge can be a great conversation piece; you never know what people are going to be interested in.

Law school is not primarily entertainment. This is closely related to the previous point. Material that is technical, and sometimes boring—like economics, or accounting, or contract law—does not compete well with other distractions, as I already have said. The appropriate standard for deciding whether to pay attention in class is not necessarily whether the material is more interesting than your e-mail account, fantasy football, online shopping, or a crossword puzzle. I am not saying that teachers have a license to be boring; indeed, they have an obligation to teaching engagingly. I am also not suggesting that teachers should ban computers because the class material is hard. What I am saying is that “Class v. Internet” is a comparison of apples to oranges. And while it may seem objective on the surface, the result is preordained.

Your tuition buys you the right to do whatever you want in class, at least as long as you don’t distract others. I have a strong libertarian bent, and generally speaking I agree that if someone chooses not to pay attention in my class that is less of a concern than if she or he is distracting others. But the proper characterization is that this student has the power to do what she or he wants, not the right. Your qualifications and tuition dollars buy you the privilege of attending law school to obtain an education and a degree—which is a very different thing than buying the right to come to class and discretely do whatever you like.

Plus, in my class the syllabus expressly prohibits non-class use of computers in class. So it's part of the contract you have agreed to, if you will. So in that sense too, it's a power, not a right.

I will end with two observations. First, current educational research suggests that there is a difference between multitaskers in class (with computers) and those without computers. Repetitive tasks and memorization can be accomplished well when multitasking. But deep cognitive thinking appears to be hampered by computerized multitasking. A student surfing the web during class may simultaneously win the online fantasy football league and memorize the basics of restitution in contract law, but that student is less likely to see and grasp the subtle connections between, say, expectation damages, specific performance, and service contracts. Not that this alone justifies a computer ban in class. But it does suggest that the libertarian computer user in class is taking a greater risk than might be supposed.

Second, my week-long computer holiday in class was an experiment that I think was useful on several levels, notwithstanding that it probably cost me some popularity or goodwill points with some students. For any readers in my class—any readers anywhere, for that matter—bear in mind that teaching is a creative process. (And not a popularity contest.) If there is no experimentation, teaching is stagnant and does not grow or improve. There will be people who think the ban was helpful, some who think the ban was not, and others who are indifferent. That’s fine, and in fact good—there should be dialogue on these subjects, because there is no easy or absolute answer. But there are multiple viewpoints to be considered and weighed.

Just like in my classes. And just like on this blog, as the comments to my posts so helpfully show.

Yesterday I promised I would post about my "Computer-Free Week" experiment in my 1L Contracts class. The week is not over, so perhaps I am a bit premature in posting on this subject--but on the other hand I am not reporting final results, only first impressions and links to other information on the subject.

Links to Other Information

The Association of American Law Schools' (AALS) Section on Teaching Methods is sponsoring a discussion panel at the AALS Annual Meeting in January 2008 entitled "Laptops in the Classroom: Attractions or Distractions?". Which, of course, ties in directly to my Contracts laptop holiday. I will be at the conference and plan on attending that session.

Other, current discussion of the issue is available online. Here are a few good sources. Thanks to Professor James B. Levy of the Nova Southeastern University's Shepard Broad Law Center for bringing these to my attention.

1. An interview in October 2007 on National Public Radio with Professor Daniel T. Coyne of the Chicago-Kent College of Law, in which Professor Coyne argues in favor of laptop bans.

You would think this sort of position would make him highly unpopular with students--but in 2007 he was named "Faculty Member of the Year" by the Chicago-Kent Student Bar Association.

2. An April 2007 Washington Post op ed by Professor David D. Cole of the Georgetown University Law Center, entitled "Laptops vs. Learning" (great title).

Very interestingly, Cole banned laptops in his 1L class, and then took an anonymous survey of his students to get their views on the ban. 80% said they were more engaged in a no-laptop class, and 70% said they supported the ban. That's very interesting--and it makes me wonder what the results of such a survey might be in my class if I were to implement a long-term ban. I strong recommend his piece; he lays out very well the primary criticisms of computer bans and why he largely rejects these criticisms. These criticisms are, in fact, the very types of arguments that have been made in comments to my previous blog posts on this subject, which are as follows:

Computers in Class
Computer Bans
More on Computer Bans
Multitasking in the Classroom
Multicommenting on Multitasking
Computer Bans Hitting the Mainstream?

3. A similar interview by Professor Cole on NPR in April 2007, in which he basically takes the same line.

This interview goes into greater detail on this same subject. There are also comments from callers that are interesting. One particularly relevant point Cole makes (concedes?) in response to one caller is that not all classes are alike. Cole is largely concerned with how computers might impair classroom discussion--but in a lecture class, that's not an issue. So in some classes, computers might not be liabilities. And I suppose that computers might actually be beneficial in some classes, depending on what the class is and how it is structured (say, a seminar on "Technology and the Law").

My Impressions Regarding My Computer-Free Week

It's too early to tell, really. One class does not a trend make. But class was awfully quiet earlier this week. Perhaps exhaustion and burnout are starting to set in. Perhaps it's because the class material is getting harder (which it is). Perhaps a laptop ban would make no difference. I do not know. What does seem clear is that a longer experiment than one week would be needed to get a feel for a ban's impact. And frankly, in the first semester of law school, and with a generation of computer-wired students, I'm reluctant to ban computers for the sake of an experiment.

Of course, if people are using their computers for non-class activities and distracting other students, that is another story entirely . . . .

Following up on my post yesterday, here is a link to an article in the Jackson Clarion-Ledger about last night's Mississippi Innocence Project fundraiser. The article provides additional information about the dinner and the Innocence Project, and it reports that John Grisham and Scott Turow will be speaking on Wednesday, October 24, at my alma mater, Northwestern University School of Law in Chicago. (See link to event notice here.) It's also worth noting that my former Professor Larry Marshall, now at Stanford, was also involved (along with Scott Turow) in the Jeanine Nicarico case (see my previous post). Marshall served as counsel for defendant Rolando Cruz.

With high profile scholars, practitioners and celebrities involved in the Innocence Project nationwide, and with dedicated personnel and supporters on the ground here in Mississippi, I sincerely hope that leverage can be brought to bear in Mississippi on the subject of wrongful convictions. Historically, the subject has not been a high profile issue here.

For a striking recent image from Mississippi's sole maximum security prison, Parchman Penitentiary, see this link. For more information about Parchman, which is a work farm, see here. Parchman is where wrongfully convicted Cedric Willis (see my last post) served time.

Tonight I attended the inaugural fundraising dinner for the newly-established Mississippi Innocence Project. Originally a branch of the Innocence Project in New Orleans, the MIP is now housed at the University of Mississippi School of Law in Oxford, Mississippi. (The national Innocence Project's website is located here.) I have not had much time to reflect on the event as of yet, so this post is essentially a recounting of my observations from the evening. Not a news report per se, but also not an opinion piece. Something in between, I suppose.

I attended the dinner for two reasons. First, as I have stated before on this blog, I am the faculty adviser for the Mississippi College School of Law's student-run Public Interest Law Group (PILG). Second, I attended because Mississippi is badly in need of public interest law support. It's a poor state with a relatively high crime rate and a wide gulf between the haves and the have-nots. So organizations like the MIP need support and assistance from entities like PILG and my law school.

Tonight's keynote speakers were Mississippi author John Grisham and Chicago author Scott Turow. They were eloquent, witty and passionate, which is no surprise--but the evening's most moving speakers were Dennis Fritz of Oklahoma and Cedric Willis of Mississippi, two men wrongfully convicted of separate crimes. Fritz and Willis each served 12 years in prison before being exonerated and released. Willis's mother also was there, sitting at a table near me.

Grisham and Turow related how they became involved in Innocence Project activities--Grisham through his writing and Turow through his law practice. Grisham's 2004 nonfiction book The Innocent Man details the story of one man's wrongful conviction. Turow, who continues to practice with the Chicago law firm of Sonnenschein, Nath & Rosenthal, represented defendant Alejandro Hernandez in the infamous Jeanine Nicarico case. Grisham and Turow spoke of wrongful convictions and the dangers of certain types of scientific evidence (junk science), eyewitness testimony, and use of informants for testimony. Nothing new there, perhaps, but after all the purpose of the evening was not to present cutting-edge testimony, but rather to raise money and garner support for the cause. And given that there was a crowd of about 500 paying guests, that goal was accomplished. Not bad for an organization that is only 2 months old.

I was particularly struck by the contrast between Willis and Fritz. Willis, who is now about 32, was 19 when he was arrested and convicted. His overwhelming emotion on display was joy--joy at being free, at being proven right, at seeing something like the Innocence Project take hold in his home state. Fritz was a more conflicted figure, with compassion, anger, and sorrow on display, sometimes all at once. And who could blame him, really. It does make you ask yourself how you might react to--and indeed how you might survive--12 years of incarceration. It is one thing to hear about wrongful convictions, or to concede the logic that a system based on reasonable doubt can make egregrious errors. It is quite another to meet people who have been wrongfully convicted and hear their stories.

For me, one occurrence put tonight's event in perfect perspective: I said hello to Scott Turow and had no idea who he was. Didn't recognize him. Now, I know what Scott Turow looks like. I've seen the man before, and I have seen his picture scores of times. And I went to law school in Chicago, where he is a bit of a celebrity. To be fair, he had a beard tonight, which he did not use to have. (Check out his website, on which he is cleanshaven.) But still. There I am, holding the door for famous author Scott Turow, and instead of introducing myself and trying to make a connection I just say, "Hey, how's it going?"

So much for my big moment. And so much for eyewitness testimony.

I'm in the midst of a series of posts on the movie Michael Clayton (here and here), but two news items from the ABA Journal warrant a detour.

Item #1: Professor Kibosh and the Evil Laptop. First, on the ever-popular (or not) subject of laptop bans in classrooms, there is an article in the ABA Journal concerning the increasing popularity of laptop bans in law school classrooms. I've blogged about the subject numerous times; look for my posts labeled by the "computer" category. And of course every time I suggest that a ban might be justified in some circumstances, I get angry reader comments.

I am undecided on the subject, and my current position on the matter is that if I can't decide whether a ban is desirable or not, then I should just leave matters be. Perhaps I should let students vote on the matter? I don't know. But this article points out yet more perils of laptop use: IM harassment in class and obscene videos.

Virtual Law Practice. This article really, really interests me. Apparently at least one law firm is setting up shop in the online 3D gaming world of "Second Life." As Craig Jones of the UK's Simpson Millar explains, "Many of our clients have injuries which can make it difficult for them to meet us at our offices. Others are too busy. Second Life is a way of 'seeing' your legal representative and receiving advice without coming to our office."

So in other words, this is real legal advice, provided in avatar-to-avatar format. How very fascinating, and it raises interesting questions. In a very large sense, this is no different, substantively, from communicating with clients by e-mail or phone. But what if avatars can one day be programmed to provide advice independently (provided, of course, that a fee is paid)? Is that different somehow than having general legal memos available for download for a fee? Is it different from the practice of having canned legal advice that is modified, around the edges, for a client, and then charging the client for it? Could a law firm establish a subsidiary company to provide general "legal" (and perhaps strategic) player advice pertaining solely within the Second Life world? Law firms set up subsidiaries quite often to provide business and personal services-related advice, so why not in this context?

Also, what if a law school set up shop in Second Life? Is this a viable means for long distance (or e-commuting) education? Would this run into trouble with the ABA? Stanford law professor Lawrence Lessig and Judge Richard Posner have in fact made appearances on Second Life, so the intersection of legal academia and the online world is not farfetched by any means. I don't play Second Life right now (but boy, it intrigues me), so for all I know there is already a law school in the game.

And perhaps most interestingly, what if an avatar-professor decided to prohibit her avatar-students from using simulated laptops in her Second Life classroom?

Makes my (non-simulated) brain hurt.

**Photo credit: Steve Garfield**

The Socratic Method takes a lot of flak from law students and lawyers, many of whom regard it as some form of hazing/hiding the ball/rite of passage. Those are not entirely inaccurate criticisms--by which I mean to say that while I think the method has its place, I never much enjoyed it as a student. For that reason--and for the more important reason that mixing up teaching methods helps (I hope) keep class more interesting and is more conducive to learning--I do not rely on the Socratic Method all that heavily.

I am writing about the Socratic Method because of today's Dilbert comic strip. It was, yet again, about the pointy-haired boss. When I read today's strip (11/25/07, which is available in the Dilbert archives here), my first thought was, "Wow, I used to have a boss just like that." (And no, I am not telling you who it was.)

And then I started thinking about this Dilbert strip in the context of the law school classroom, and it got even better. And funnier. First you need to read the strip. And then you need to read on.

When Dilbert's boss says "I need you to do something, but I don't have time to explain it," that's akin to the feeling law students sometimes get when called on in class under the Socratic Method. That is, you read the cases, think you know where the material is going--and then you go to class, and BOOM, you have no idea what is going on. All kinds of ideas are being extrapolated from the text by the professor. And then you get called on socratically. You hear the words, but what do they mean? What's the answer? In fact, what's the question?

Then the professor asks some sort of leading question, which is intended to facilitate class discussion and critical thinking, but it smells and feels like a trap. Which is sort of like Dilbert's boss saying, "I'll give you just enough information to send you down the wrong path." Like I said, a trap.

Then the professor asks a follow-up question that reveals a potential flaw in your answer or argument. Like I said, a trap, and you have to think your way out of it, shooting from the hip all the while. Which is like Dilbert's boss then saying, "After you do it wrong I'll treat you like you're some sort of idiot . . . [and] then I'll put you through the embarrassment of undoing everything you did." You are faced with revising your answer, in front of the whole class. Not a lot of fun. It's a good skill, mind you--lawyers need to be able to think on their feet and argue their points (we are advocates, after all)--but it is often not fun.

And of course, the ultimate judgment on what students say and think is--grades. It is a common feeling for students to think that a course has been one big game of "hide the ball," and that final exams, especially in the first year, are a crapshoot. Only after you have taken them do you get the chance to figure out if you guessed right or not.

So, Dilbert is funny. Ha ha. But law school is serious business. A lot of what this strip suggests, in the Socratic context, is that law school classes would be better with less hiding of the ball, more engaging teaching, more frequent testing (whether actually for grades or mock exams,) and a lot of other changes. I've actually written an article about it, which I will be posting about soon. In the meantime, we can learn how to improve law schools from Dilbert.