Multi-parenthood from a Legal, Doctrinal and Jurisprudential Perspective in Brazil: The Recent Decision of the Brazilian Supreme Court on Socio-affective and Biological Paternity

Fernanda Mathias de Souza Garcia[1]

 

I.                   The Brazilian Supreme Court Decision on Multi-Paternity

The concept of parenthood in Brazil has been modified recently by an important decision of the Brazilian Federal Supreme Court (STF) facing the revolutionary concept of multi-paternity in family law. The notion of parenthood and all the ideologies around parenting and kinship vary over time, as they are constantly changing to keep up with the dynamics of life.

On September 21st, 2016, the STF, by 8 votes against 2, decided the Extraordinary Appeal (RE) No. 898.060 recognizing the general repercussions to society (repercussão geral – item 622) of the debate over the possibility of the dominance of socio-affective paternity over biological paternity or their coexistence. The court established the contours for multi-paternity in the Brazilian legal context in an interesting leading case. The winning thesis serves as a parameter for future similar situations all over the country.

A.    Case premises

Brazilian law recognizes the possibility of the concomitance of paternities, as Article 48 of the Child and Adolescent Statute (Law No. 8.069/1990) provides that the origin of paternity is biological and Article 1.593 of the 2002 Civil Code establishes that paternity may be affective.

B.    Facts

The debate involved a woman who was raised by an affective-based parent. She wished to also have her biological father recognized as a parent, forming, thus, a multi-parental relationship. After turning 18 years old she discovered that her socio-affective father, the same that registered her, was not her biological father at all. To guarantee her legal rights and determine her ancestry she brought a suit into court asking for a DNA test.

C.     Judgements in the first (district court) and second (state court of appeals) instances

The Tribunal of Justice of the State of Santa Catarina confirmed the first-degree decision stating that genetic fatherhood should be recognized. The court chose not to establish any precedence among the modalities of parental attachment, pointing to the possibility of the coexistence of both paternities without any hierarchy between them.

D.    Appeal to the Brazilian Supreme Court (STF) through an Extraordinary Appeal (RE)

The defendant’s biological father appealed the State Court of Appeals’ decision (upheld by the Superior Court of Justice – STJ),[2] which recognized the biological paternity, with all its patrimonial effects, independently of the previous socio-affective paternal bond with his genetic daughter.

The appellant (biological father) said that he was only “discovered” by the daughter when she was 18 years old. In addition, just because the young woman was registered by another person (the socio-affective father), he alleged that the subsequent kinship could not produce any patrimonial effects. The appellant claimed that not recognizing the paternal parenthood of a biological father would prevent the “convenience” of searching for family bonds just to obtain material gains since the daughter herself stated that she did not want to break ties with her socio-affective father.

E.    Rapporteur’s Vote

The reporting Justice for the case, Luiz Fux, stressed in his opinion that the Brazilian Constitution rules out a family-based model and, therefore, any choice between paternities must be rejected.

The rapporteur emphasized legislative developments in family law, noting that in the Brazilian 1916 Civil Code the concept of family was centred on marriage and on the “odious distinction” between legitimate and illegitimate children, with filiation being based on a rigid presumption of paternity. However, with social evolution, the field of family relations has accepted new forms of unions.

Justice Fux argued that since the 1988 Brazilian Constitution, there has been a reversal of goals in civil law. Currently, all legal statutes and regulations must to all the peculiarities of interpersonal relationships, rather than imposing static frameworks based on marriage between a man and a woman.

The socio-affective relationship established with the civil registry at the notary does not prevent a paternity investigation, which can be proposed by the child, who has the most personal and imprescriptible right to clarify his biological paternity as well as his ancestry, according to her/his best interest. In the end, the General Repercussion thesis was summarized as follows: “The socio-affective paternity, declared or not in public registry, does not prevent the recognition of the concomitant affiliation based on biological origin, with its own legal effects.”[3]

F.     Rapporteur’s opinion

The trial of the case was guided by several legal principles, among them the principles of human dignity, the pursuit of happiness and the best interests of the child.

The principle of human dignity demands the overcoming of obstacles imposed by legal arrangements to the full development of the family formats built by the individuals themselves in their interpersonal affective relations. Justice Fux recorded that it is the law that should serve a citizen, not the opposite, to avoid the risk of transforming human beings into mere instruments of the application of the limits determined by legislators.[4]

For the rapporteur, the pursuit of happiness is a precept that elevates the individual to the centrality of the juridical-political order, protecting the individual from State invasion and from the risk of the State making choices in her/his place since no political arrangement can provide social welfare in the event of the overlapping of collective wills to particular ends.

For Justice Fux, the interpreter must abdicate standardized understandings about family to realize the dignity of its members and with full respect for people’s personalities. To him, family should not portray a “plastered and static configuration”.

On that matter, the jurisprudence of the STF has already had the opportunity to invoke the right to pursue happiness.[5]  It is also important to emphasize that the Court has ruled earlier on the question of civil unions between persons of the same sex, also invoking the right to pursue happiness.[6]

In addition, the principle of human dignity, as a component of the protection of happiness, imposes the recognition of other family models, which are different from the traditional concept of family. Thus, the legal spectrum must accept both bonds of filiation, either the one built by the affective relationship between those involved, or the other originated from biological descendance as imposed by the principle of responsible parenthood expressly stated in Article 226, paragraph 7º, of the Brazilian Constitution.[7]

Although, based on a completely different factual assumption, Justice Fux’s vision of the matter made it possible, by analogy, to apply the principle of the right to pursue happiness to the subject of family membership. For this reason, he sought the historical origins of a right to pursue happiness which is not related to family law, but rather, reflects the birth of civil rights in the United States of America.

Therefore, according to Fux, even though there is no direct provision for the right to pursue happiness in the text of the United States Constitution, its historical importance and its enormous value in the interpretation of other clauses of the charter are undeniable.

The Brazilian legal system is, by origin, descended from Roman-Germanic law. However, given the intense dynamics and complexity of the social facts, Brazilian legal operators also rely, alternatively, on other sources, such as precedents, leading cases and overall jurisprudence in Brazil, as well as those cases occurring in other jurisdictions, including the United States and other common law countries. That denotes plasticity, adaptation and new contours applied to Brazilian law and jurisprudence.

Legal chaos, comparable to that of the 1970s in the United States, was established in Brazil in the 1990s. Virtually any case, from condo bill suits to parochial matters, could reach the Brazilian Supreme Court (STF).

Law No. 11.418/16 was enacted, adding Articles 543-A and 543-B to Law No. 5.869/73 (CPC/1973) providing that the Federal Supreme Court, in an unappealable decision, would not hear the extraordinary appeal (RE) when the constitutional question raised does not have general repercussions. The Brazilian legal system had started to change. It is now midway between a 100% civil law system and a common law one. Filtering cases that can reach the Brazilian Supreme Court is ongoing and will probably make the Brazilian legal system a hybrid system.

The New Brazilian National Civil Procedural Code (approved by Law No. 13.105/2015 and modified by Law No. 13.256/2016) is a direct effect of this new “jurisprudential attachment” trend in the county’s legal system.

The citation of leading US cases on human and civil rights is very common in significant Brazilian Supreme Court cases, as it should be, due to the US’ worldwide leadership on those issues, which, by the way, was built on tough social events. In this way, Fux recognized the origin of the right to pursue happiness, pointing to some interesting cases decided by the US Supreme Court. Among the US Supreme Court’s cases cited in the decision, Loving v. Virginia stands as one of the most significant. In 1967, (388 US 1), the Court reversed the conviction of Mildred Loving, a black woman, and Richard Loving, a white man, who had been sentenced to one year’s imprisonment for being married in breach of the Racial Integrity Act of 1924, a statute that prohibited marriages considered “interracial”. By unanimous decision, the court declared that prohibition unconstitutional, adopting, among other grounds, that the right to free marriage is one of the vital rights of a person and is essential to his/her happiness (“freedom to marry has long been recognized as one of the vital personal rights essential to the orderly pursuit of happiness by free men”).

The rapporteur for the Brazilian Supreme Court case also noted that this precedent was one of the bases of US Supreme Court’s decision on same-sex marriage in Obergefell v. Hodges in 2015 (576 U.S.).[8] He concluded that, in his opinion, it is imperative to modernize the juridical approach to family membership, which is a central concern of the constitutional text that informs Brazilian democracy.

G.    Comparative law cited by the rapporteur about multi-parenting

Justice Fux noted that the concept of multi-parenthood is not new to comparative law. In the United States, where states have legislative competence in family law regulation, the Louisiana Supreme Court has consolidated the jurisprudence regarding the recognition of dual paternity. In Smith v. Cole (553 So.2d 847, 848), 1989, the court determined that a child born during the marriage of his mother to a man other than his/her biological father might have the parenthood in relation to the two fathers (biological and affection-based) recognized, bypassing the rigors of art. 184 of the Civil Code of that State, which enshrines the rule “pater is est quem nuptiae demonstrant“. In the court’s words: “the presumed father’s acceptance of paternal responsibilities, either by intent or default, does not ensure to the benefit of the biological father. (…) The biological father does not escape his support obligations merely because others may share with him the responsibility”.[9]

Similarly, the same court in, the case T.D., wife of M.M.M. v. M.M.M., 1999 (730 So. 2d 873), recognized the right of both biological and affective fathers, resulting in a double paternity for the son. It was emphasized, however, that sometimes the biological parent can lose his right to a paternity declaration, though still maintaining his obligations, when it does not serve the best interests of the child, especially in cases of unreasonable delay in seeking recognition of the status of father (“a biological father who cannot meet the best-interest-of-the-child standard retains his obligation of support but cannot claim the privilege of parental rights”).[10]

The precedent led to a Louisiana State Civil Code revision in 2005, recognizing dual paternity in Articles 197 and 198.[11] Louisiana became the first American state to allow a child to have two fathers, attributing to both the obligations inherent to parenting.[12]

The Brazilian legislators’ omission about the diversity of modern family arrangements cannot serve as an excuse for denying protection to situations of multi-parenthood.

The existence of a link with the registered parent does not, therefore, prevent the exercise of the right to search for genetic origin or for recognition of biological paternity. Still, the rights of real ancestry, genetic origin and affection, are compatible.

H.   Court’s debate and conclusions

From the noted precepts, such as the right to happiness and the dignity of the human being, the new form of family structure can no longer be reduced to standardized or hierarchical models because it constitutes a cosmopolitan concept. In the same way, it is necessary to recognize a new conception of parenting besides the traditional ones.

Thus, from the Brazilian Supreme Court case, all kinds of responsible parenthood (article 226, § 7º, 1988 Brazilian Federal Constitution) may exist, such as (i) by presumption arising from marriage or other legal hypothesis (such as homologous artificial fertilization or heterologous artificial insemination – Article 1.597, III to V of the 2002 Civil Code), (ii) by biological offspring, or (iii) by affectivity. It can also be observed that affectivity was recognized as a legal value by the court.

Justices Rosa Weber, Ricardo Lewandowski, Dias Toffoli, Gilmar Mendes, Marco Aurélio, Celso de Mello and the current president of the court Justice Carmen Lúcia concurred with the rapporteur. Justices Edson Fachin and Teori Zavascki presented dissenting opinions.[13]

According to Justice Weber, it is possible to recognize a socio-affective paternity and a biological paternity, both producing legal effects. Similarly, Justice Lewandowski acknowledged that a double parenthood, that is, biological and affective parenting, is possible and exclusivity is not always necessary.

Justice Dias Toffoli defended the right to love, which is related to the legal obligations of the biological father in parallel with his duties to feed, educate and care: “If you had a child, then you have obligations, even if the child was raised by someone else”, he added in his opinion.

On the other hand, Justice Toffoli sustained[14] that the final thesis given by the court should be a minimalist one: “Social reality cannot go beyond what is legal. With all due respect to those who think differently, it is impossible to recognize double parenthood if two uncles care for a child throughout life. There is no way to recognize, at least currently, the right of two or three neighbours that have taken care of a child for years to adopt just because a bond of care and affection has been formed among them.”

While concurring with the rapporteur, Justice Gilmar Mendes stressed that the thesis supported by the biological father represented, after all, a “manifest cynicism.” The idea of responsible parenthood needs to be taken seriously, otherwise, it would stimulate similar situations, especially when the case is a binding precedent.

Justice Marco Aurelio, who also followed the majority, stressed that the right to be informed about biological parenthood is a natural right. For him, in the analysed case, the child had the right to change the birth records, with all necessary consequences.

In turn, Justice Celso de Mello reaffirmed the fundamental right to pursue happiness and responsible parenthood in order to accept the reasoning of the rapporteur’s opinion. He noted that the purpose of the Brazilian Republic is to promote the welfare of all citizens without any prejudice based on origin, race, sex, colour, age or any other form of discrimination.

The president of the court, Justice Carmen Lúcia accentuated that love cannot be imposed but care can be, which seems to be the framework of the rights that are being ensured in the case regarding responsible parenthood.

For the Justices who dissented, genetic parenthood does not necessarily give rise to legal paternity, thus rejecting the possibility of the legal coexistence of two parents.

The first dissent was from Justice Fachin. He voted for the partial dismissal of the appeal, understanding that the socio-affective bond “is what can be legally imposed” in the case, considering that there is a socio-affective bond with a father and a biological bond with the parent. Therefore, there is a difference between the genetic dominant parent and the father, emphasizing that the existence of kinship cannot be confused exclusively with the question of biology. “The biological link, in fact, may be able, on its own, to determine legal kinship, if there was an absence of a relational dimension that overlapped it”, he stated. In Fachin’s view, in the examined case, there was a previous socio-affective relationship to be respected, which is not a second-class kinship. He emphasized similar cases such as heterologous artificial insemination (where the donor is third rather than the husband of the mother) and adoption as examples where the biological bond does not prevail, concluding that the coexistence of paternities is impossible.

Justice Fachin was consistent with his doctrinal approach. For him, genitor is only the progenitor because being a father is something else, a situation that adds value to life.[15]

Justice Teori Zavascki also dissented from the rapporteur. For him, biological parenting does not necessarily generate a paternity relationship: “In the case there is a socio-affective paternity that persisted, persists and must be preserved”. He noticed that it is difficult to establish a general rule in this kind of process because each case submitted to the court should be considered independently, based on its on concrete and peculiar situations.

The General Prosecutor’s Office representative and the amicus curiae (IBDFAM)[16] who acted in the case were concerned with the risk of opening a door to frivolous demands against biological parents, which aimed purely on the patrimonial consequences of dual paternity. In other words, the concrete risk of encouraging demands founded only on the virtual needs of alimony or to search for and justify a dual inheritance is a questionable situation because it would favour unjust enrichment and stimulate family relationships based on money and shady interests.

Having more than one father or more than one mother intersects with moral and economic questions. Anyone who receives a greater number of legacies is seen as a “bad” person, inhibiting the recognition of the existence of more than one paternal or maternal bond-affiliation, which is unacceptable since such recognition is a human and a civil right.

In the end, the prevailing court view was to affirm that socio-affective and biological paternities should have the same legal status. They should be treated on equal footing, without any hierarchy since it is impossible to establish, a priori, when one prevails over the other, and they could coexist. Thus, according to the most current Brazilian legal precedent, multi-paternity is possible.

It can be mentioned that, even before STF’s conclusion, an interesting decision from a state judge concluded that multi-paternity was in the best interests of the child, admitting the recognition of both paternities, the socio-affective and the biological one, with all their legal effects. The decision also made the information of the double paternity appear on the birth record of the minor.

The magistrate also favoured the affective parents but established free coexistence in favour of the biological father. In fact, the biological father knew from the beginning about the paternity and did not wish to reverse the situation at any time. Moreover, the biological father was the manager of the affective parent. According to the judge, the right to the recognition of multi-parenthood was based on personal rights in consideration of the principles of the comprehensive protection of children and adolescents and of the dignity of the human person.[17]

II.               The Development of the Concept of Parenting

A.    Brief historical analysis of family law in Brazil: a new concept of family membership and the consequences of changes to legislation

Under the 1916 Brazilian Civil Code, the biological fact was predominant in establishing parenthood. This legislation restricted parental relationships to consanguineous and adoptive children (Articles 330 and 336). It established that marriage was the most important origin of filiation, considering exclusively biological bonds. The ultimate purpose of the mentioned Code, which was based on the child’s rigid presumption of paternity (pater is est quem nuptiae demonstrant), was to concentrate the families’ patrimony, prohibiting the division of inheritances with “bastard” children born out of extramarital affairs.

The typical 19th century family in Brazil was not concerned with people’s affection or happiness because what really mattered were the economic interests to protect and support the acquisition and construction of assets.[18]

Article 338 of the cited Code presumed that children born at least 180 days after marriage, and those born within 300 days after the dissolution of the marital society by death, “disquiet” or annulled were considered the couple’s children.

During that time, the so-called “legitimate family” could only be established by marriage because other kinds of bonds were not recognized by the State and did not receive its protection. A legal presumption of paternity, regardless the biological origin, predominated. By that time, legal science ignored genetics, putting in its place paternity based on family morality: a father was supposed to be the one married to someone’s mother during the birth or as indicated in the previous legal presumption.

The 1916 Civil Code authorized a cruel classification of children by using terminology full of discrimination. Until then, children were qualified as legitimate (those born from a legal marriage), illegitimate (those generated outside a marriage: bastards or incestuous children) and legitimized sons (when recognized by parents after a subsequent marriage.)[19] In the end, children were punished for their biological parents’ position, and, in most cases, biological parents escaped from typical parenting responsibilities.

The 1988 Brazilian Constitution finally recognized equality among all types of family membership. In its Article 227, paragraph 6º, the Constitution ensures that children, whether they have married parents or were adopted, shall have the same rights and qualifications, prohibiting any kind of discrimination. Regardless of their origin (adoption, marriage, artificial insemination or extramarital affair) all children have the same rights.

In addition, it cannot be forgotten that this same Constitution provides for, as one of its fundamental principles, the dignity of the human person (Article 1º, III) that also applies to family relationships. This Constitutional view undeniably reflected on the Civil Law, replacing the dominant patriarchal ideology present in the 1916 Code.

Currently, marriage is not considered to be the only way to form a family. There is now recognition of stable unions (união estável)[20] and single-parent families (famílias monoparentais).

Article 1.723 of the 2002 Civil Code recognizes the “stable union” as a family entity, which is a civil relationship between two persons configuring a public coexistence with a lasting and solid relationship in order to form a family, even if the partners do not cohabitate, and should not be confused with marriage.

Brazil’s Constitution Article 226, paragraph 4º, provides that a family can also be understood as “a community formed by either parent and their descendants (single-parent families.)” This means that a family can exist, and in particular be protected, if formed by only one parent, subtracting the sexual connotation that is typically a part of the concept of a “traditional family.”[21]

Dias affirms that the new century family cannot be defined by the classical triangulation: father, mother and son. Any living structure that somehow forms an affective unit that radiates effects deserves to be protected by law. It cannot be denied the existence of a family entity formed by only one parent, considering the affection that characterizes this unit.[22]

This development of a humanistic understanding of the social concept of family, based on Constitutional principles, undeniably sustained a new concept of paternity that especially values the bonds of affection.[23] This change permitted the development of socio-affective filiation, which is characterized by feelings of solidarity, responsible parenthood, respect, care and family coexistence, among others.

The principle of affectivity works as a vector that restructured the legal protection of families. The current social institution focus is more on the quality of the bonds held between parents than on the way in which entities formally present themselves in society, overcoming the liberal and patriarchal codifications. Conrado Paulino states that the real family is a “communion of affections, before being a legal institute.[24]

The idea that the family was reduced to an economic, social, and religious unit has given place to other values, especially the value of affectivity in family relationships. Currently, the existence of non-genetic paternity is recognized since filiation can also originate from psychological roots since it is not only a mechanical or physical act.

Regarding socio-affective paternity as a form of transcendence of biological paternity, Farias and Rosenvald, while explaining socio-affective paternity (social parenthood), affirm that “different studies from other branches of knowledge, especially Psychoanalysis, recognizes that the father figure is built daily – not a mere transmission of genetic load”.[25]  This form of paternity is based on the general idea of guardianship of the human personality, supported on the principle of good faith and based on the prohibition of contradictory behaviours (nemo auditur propriam turpitudinem allegans) and on the moral characteristics that this affiliation possesses.[26] After all, affective bonds can induce civil kinship.[27] The concept of parenthood can result not just from a biological bond but also from a “psychological edification, through which the father or mother is the one who supports and assists the child in his/her discovery as a human being,[28] loving and supporting him/her on his/her life”.

The socio-affective fatherhood relationship occurs when a father loves, educates and follows the development of another human being in a way that configures a strong bond.

The socio-affective membership is based on the recognition of the expressed state of child possession (posse de estado de filho), which is the belief that the condition of being considered a child is based on ties of affection. This state is the most exuberant expression of psychological kinship and affective affiliation. Biological parenthood is worthless when faced with the affective bond formed between a child and the one who cares for him/her, giving love and participating in his/her life. As noted, affection has legal value and can be understood as a legal principle, even if it may conflict, sometimes, with the “pater is est quem nuptiae demonstrant” presumption.

For Dias, in the clash between fact and law, presumption needs to give place to affection.[29] For her, the State has the primary responsibility to ensure it for its citizens[30] because the right to affection is closely linked to the fundamental right to happiness. It is important that the State acts to help people carry out their projects of legitimate preferences or desires. The mere absence of state interference is not sufficient. In addition, even if the word affection is not expressed in the Constitution, affectivity is linked to the scope of its protections.

Constitutional and non-constitutional Brazilian norms show that socio-affective affiliation has been accepted in Brazil’s legal system, even if there is no biological link between the parties.

In addition to the already mentioned Article 1.593, another example of the importance of affection to the legal system is in Article 1.597, V of the 2002 Brazilian Civil Code, which presumes that the child conceived by heterologous artificial insemination, with the prior authorization of the husband, has a partially biological origin. In other words, the husband who authorises assisted human reproduction using another parent’s genetic material will be exclusively socio-affective and cannot contest the paternity later, once the law authorizes the artificial procedure.

Affection is also brought up by Article 1.605, item II of the Civil Code, which provides that, in the absence or defect of the term of birth, filiation may be proven by any admissible proof, especially “when there are vehement presumptions resulting from certain facts“, for example, when there is personal and public behaviour and reciprocal affection between two people, as father and son and vice versa.

Article 57, paragraph 8 of Law No. 6.015/1973 allows the stepson or the stepdaughter, if there is a substantial reason, to request the competent court to include the family name of his stepfather or his stepmother as his own last names, with the express agreement of the parties involved, without prejudice to her/his family names. As a rule, three elements should be considered to characterize a filiation bond: name (nomen), the individual use of the father’s name; treatment (tractatus), which refers to the way the individual is treated by the family; and recognition (famulus), the public recognition of the bonds.

Therefore, parameters for the definition of parental ties that include affection are a reality that can no longer be disregarded.

However, on the other hand, after the development of medical science, given the possibility of using a DNA test to determine biological paternity, Brazil is experiencing a new era.[31] As a matter of fact, the search for genetic identity is also guaranteed by non-constitutional legislation, such as Article 48 of the Statute for Children and Adolescents that recognizes the child’s right to know his/her biological origin.

Summing up, today it is possible to identify, in Brazil, three distinct forms of paternity: i) public notary registered paternity (Articles 1.604 and 1.609 – Civil Code),[32] ii) biological paternity (based on the genetic origin of the person), and iii) socio-affective paternity (extracts paternity from love and care given to children). Apparently, these concepts are not mutually exclusive.

It has been culturally analysed that parenthood is not just a construction of scientific data but also something that is built over time through dedication, attention, respect, love, zeal, and care for the child. As seen, multi-paternity is a reality that must produce legal effects. In addition, the same paternal-filial relationship can fit into several types of paternity or only one of them, as was exposed by the analysis of Brazilian Supreme Court’s decision based on the principles of human dignity, the right to pursue happiness and the best interests of the child.

B.    Brazilian adoption style (adoção à brasileira)

There is a peculiar aspect of Brazilian law known as “Brazilian Adoption style”. It occurs when someone, without due process, adopts a juvenile person as if he/she was his/her own son/daughter, providing him/her with education and material support. This represents a concept named “the possession of a state of affiliation”. It usually occurs when someone, without observing the regular adoption procedure imposed by Civil Law, registers an infant as his/her daughter/son assuming the risk of criminal liability.

Even though the recognition of non-biological paternity or maternity without due process of adoption is an act classified as a crime in Brazil, apparently, the crime is not very relevant to the courts. They seem to be more concerned with the welfare of the child since it is undoubted that this kind of act produces civil effects and may generate responsibility.

The Brazilian Superior Tribunal of Justice (STJ) has produced some interesting decisions about this clear conflict between criminal and civil law (Articles 242 and 299 of the Criminal Code). In most cases, the court affirms that the criminal aspects of the “Brazilian adoption” are irrelevant, which is mainly because the child’s best interests must be considered first, and the affective bonds must be respected and considered irrevocable.

C.     Is it also possible to have more than one mother?

Another interesting question can be raised: is it possible to have more than one mother? Although the STF’s decision focused only on fatherhood, the answer to the question is positive as can be deduced from some Brazilian precedents.

For example, in 2014, a first instance judgement in Rio de Janeiro (15ª Vara de Família/Family Court) acknowledged the right of three siblings to have two mothers. Both biological and socio-affective mothers were recognized in their civil records.[33]

The STJ had the chance to hear another interesting case about the possibility of double motherhood.[34] The plaintiff explained that when she was 10 months old she was registered by a foster parent (“adopted on the Brazilian style”). According to reports, in fact, the child was “adopted” by a lesbian couple, therefore, involving 2 mothers. The daughter claimed to have been raised, indistinctly, by her two mothers, and since her non-biological mother died, she had a legal right to a post-mortem socio-affective maternity. High Judge Bellize, rapporteur for the case, considered that the request was possible and required the return of the case to the court of first instance for the production of more evidence on that issue.

D.    Parenthood and Multi-paternity in other legal systems

It is important to note that the matter discussed in this paper is not totally new since the “concept of parenthood, the nature of parenting, even who is a parent, are all contested ideas”. In the context of the European Union, parenthood law is mostly attached to a traditional concept, even though it is “imperative that a reconsideration of this limited atheoretical and apolitical approach to parenthood occurs. The Union must move away from a traditional ideology of motherhood and fatherhood (…) and must embrace more modern approaches to parenting based on principles of gender neutrality” since “parenting should be based on equality, on democracy within families and on parental roles being negotiated and not based on some pre-ordained gendered division of roles and competences”.[35]

As warned by Schaffer, those who assume that the bonds between a child and his or her attachment figures can be broken simply because they are not linked to each other by ties of blood make a serious mistake because “children can suffer severe psychological trauma when separated from such care givers, whether they are biologically related or not.[36]

Unfortunately, the European Court of Justice has not yet been challenged to confront the theme of multi-paternity. Until now, Europe has mostly maintained a traditional ideologic pattern to family law when confronting parenthood based on Articles 7, 8 and 9 of the Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC)[37] that provide the right of children to be brought up by their birth parents, considering the importance of their own natural families, and on Article 8 of the European Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms (ECHR).

Without intending to exhaust the examples, there are some emblematic cases on the subject that can be presented in comparative law:

(i) In Italy, the Appeal Court of Trento (ordinanza – 23 February 2017)[38] decided the theme of multi-paternity. Some minors born through assisted procreation and gestation in a foreign country could be considered children of a homosexual couple consisting of two men, giving the status of a father to a man who had no genetic connection with the children.

The incontrovertible lack of genetic connection between the two children and the father does not represent an obstacle to the recognition of the filiation relationship ascertained by the judge, excluding the fact that in Italian law there is a model of parenthood solely based on the biological bond between the parent and the child.

The opposite must be considered. The importance, at the normative level, of the concept of parental responsibility that manifests itself in the conscious decision to raise and care for a child. The legal system, through the regulation of the institution of adoption, favourably considers the project of the formation of a family characterized by the presence of children independent of the genetic data. It is possible that there is an absence of a biological relationship with one of the parents (in this case the father) for children born from permitted heterologous fertilization techniques.

Courts around the world are dealing with hard cases when confronting disputes over children who are emotionally attached to those who care for them and love them on a day-to-day basis but who, for many reasons, are not their biological parents.

In this context, disputes between birth parents and private foster parents are being faced by European Courts, and the rationale and logic of their positions regarding the balance of blood ties and socio-affective bonds are not always easy to portray.

(ii) J. (a child) v. C (1970): The House of Lords faced a dispute between birth parents and foster parents and was challenged to whether a 10-year-old boy should be returned to his biological parents in Spain or remain with his foster parents who, for many years, based on an informal agreement, demonstrated excellent care for the child in England.[39]  The court considered the entire context of the child’s life, avoiding any presumption favouring the birth parents who did not benefit from their genetic position, and finally established that although the claims of birth parents often carry great weight and cogency when equally treated, they had to be ‘assessed and weighed’[40] favouring the adoptive parents in this case.[41]

The non-privileged treatment of biological parents was replicated in other similar cases, contextualizing the concrete cases. However, in other precedents, the Court of Appeals has been inclined differently, favouring birth parents and sometimes not considering the possibility of the psychological damages that this type of claim can cause to the children involved.

(iii) Case Re K (minor) (ward: care and control) (1990): A boy, now aged 4½ years, had been placed by his father with his maternal aunt and uncle after his mother’s suicide. The foster parents, after one year of care, refused to return the child to his biological father. In this case, the British House of Lords gave greater importance to blood ties. It ruled that the child’s welfare principle and Article 8 of the European Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms both expressed the concept that the natural bond and relationship between a parent and child should only be interfered with when the child’s welfare so dictates.[42]

(iv) While criticizing the court’s choice to presume that the blood tie between a child and his or her parent would always produce a relationship valuable to both, Jane Fortin cites a very interesting case: Re M (Child’s Upbringing). The Court of Appeals ordered that a 10-year-old Zulu boy be returned to Africa with Neill LJ stating that he had “the right to be reunited with his Zulu parents and with his extended family in South Africa” after years (since a baby) of being well taken care of by his foster parents and despite expert warnings and evidence. The court solemnly ignored the psychiatrist’s warnings that the damage to the boy’s emotional well-being was unacceptable, and in the end, he was forced to return to his birth parents. Unfortunately, “court orders cannot magically transform children’s affections. The boy’s unhappiness in South Africa forced his parents to admit defeat and to return him to his foster mother’s care in England”.[43]

By the way, Jonathan Herring points out that “Hayes and Williams note that the outcome of the court’s ruling proved disastrous and the child eventually returned to his foster mother in England”.[44]

(v) It can be concluded that the court often tends to consider the time spent with foster parents and age factor to determine the best path, as whether to keep the child with the socio-affective parents or to return him to his biological family.[45]

As seen, the jurisprudence in this family law area is pretty much discretionary, often lacking clarity in the courts’ choices, leading to some legal uncertainty. However, regardless, “a court order is unable to put the clock back on a child’s changed affections.”[46]

The focus of the complex controversies must always be the child’s well-being, his safety and his happiness. It is not possible to simplify such demands with legal rigidity. It is necessary to evaluate meta-judicial questions and to consider the whole context of the cause, especially the possible real psychological harm to those involved.

Sometimes the European Court lends value to the socio-affective relationship between a child and another family member with whom he/she has no biological link, considering the best interests of the child.[47]  Still, its positions are not as progressive as the Brazilian STF’s.

Recognition of this reality “is necessary to ensure that families which do not conform to the married nuclear norm do not suffer, either with fathers being excluded from parental rights, or children being prejudiced as a result of their parents’ status, or lack of status.[48]

For instance, in the US the law gives some recognition to social parenthood, although it is restricted to those who are married. When a married couple treats any child as a part of the family, even if they are not genetically related, the couple can be asked to provide financial support under Section 1 of the 1989 Children Act and under Section 38 of the 1978 Domestic Proceedings and Magistrates’ Courts Act. It is, therefore, permissible for an affective child of a deceased adult to claim family status, even as against the State (1975 Family and Dependants Act).[49]

It is important to emphasize the relevance of the role of the child in the family that is given to the rise of the new family concept, which is different from the traditional unit that was formed only by a married heterosexual couple.

III.            Conclusions

Some important conclusions can be drawn from the analysed decisions:

  • The decision defines who a parent is, a concept not always clear currently;
  • The central axis of the system shifted from the Civil Code to the Constitution;
  • There is legal recognition of affection. It was recognized that affection is a principle that can guide the court in other situations due to its legal significance, bringing a parameter of social life to the world of law;
  • Socio-affective and biological links are equally recognized. There is recognition by the Brazilian higher courts of both paternities – biological and socio-affective – with the same status, without any a priori hierarchy (in the abstract). This assimilation is important and constitutes a big step forward for family law since the concept of family cannot be reduced to standardized models anymore. In each case presented, the Justice should point to the best solution to the factual situation that is under review.
  • There is a legal possibility of multi-parentality. This is one of the major advances achieved by the vanguard thesis adopted by the STF. No longer can it be said that someone can have only one father or one mother in Brazil. As noted, this idea is being debated in several other countries as well;
  • After the STF’s decision, a Brazilian citizen raised and registered by a socio-affective parent does not have to give up his biological parent or the rights that come with that recognition, such as pensions and inheritance.

All these changes in parenting portray the evolution that family law is going through, and this seems to be a path of no-return. The historical and revolutionary decision of Brazil’s Supreme Court sought to answer some complex questions: (i) Does a biological father have the right to deny paternity? (ii) Does a person have the right to seek legal recognition of his/her biological status even if a socio-affective parent pre-exists?

It is, however, undeniable that some changes have brought about the possibility of searching biological parents only for financial purposes. To avoid this problematic mercenary action, it is important to remember that theories of abuse of law and of good faith are also applicable in family law. Some questions are, indeed, still open: (i) Do multiple parents also have rights to their children? (ii) What would occur if the child dies before his/her parents?

The courts have always looked at the problem from the children’s point of view, seldom from the parents’.

Other questions from this perspective are what occurs if multiple parents need alimony? Could the child, strictly speaking, be called to provide alimony to multiple parents? In the end, multi-parentality may become a great burden on children, usually seen as benefiting from the judicial system.

Additionally, an issue that should also be better explained is whether the Brazilian STF’s understanding will have any effect on formal adoptions that follow all the legal procedures necessary for the accomplishment of the right. The inquiry is relevant especially when thinking of those adoptions made without respect to formalities, a frequent situation in Brazil. Should adoption procedures be changed?

The general concept of the human being is not only affected by interactions with the world of things (genetic world), as has until currently been sustained by the western world’s legal culture but also by the process of being in a family and in society (the affective world). In the 21st century, it is necessary to recognize that families are not formed as they were in the past, based on procreation, but, essentially, by the freedom of democratic institutions. Therefore, understanding that the human being is, at the same time, biological, affective (or non-affective) and ontological resonates with the existence of a “family trilogy” and, consequently, with the possibility of establishing three paternal bonds (and other three, logically, maternal) for each human being. Hence, the existence of the family law expression “three-dimensional theory.” Therefore, all paternities are equal, without any priority among them, and all legal consequences must be guaranteed in relation to all types of affiliations.[50]

In this sense, the Brazilian Supreme Court has accepted the claim of dual paternity from a systematic interpretation of constitutional and non-constitutional provisions and based on principles of human dignity, affectivity, equality and the best interests of the child, concluding that biological character is not the exclusive criterion for the formation of a family due to the absence of hierarchy between the bonds. As is known, parenting is a day-by-day effort. In addition, the biological link helps, but it is not everything and does not exclude other links.

Family law could not be understood by closed rules. This requires that doctrine and jurisprudence be open to a vision that understands family in all its space of personal achievements and meta-juridical understandings, respecting social and individuals’ choices, freedom, prosperity and the equality of people, without any kind of discrimination.

In addition, the responsibility among relatives means the commitment to seek to practice positive behaviours and attitudes that will undoubtedly contribute to the promotion of a healthy coexistence, emotional balance and happiness for those involved in family relations that must be inspired by the objective of good faith and by the avoidance of adversarial behaviour. This is the challenge.

[1] Professor of Administrative Law at the Centro Universitário de Brasília (UniCeub), law clerk at the Superior Court of Justice in Brazil, and a co-founder of the Italo-Ibero-Brasileiro Institute (IIB) of Juridical Studies.

[2] The Superior Court of Justice (STJ) is the Brazilian Higher Non-Constitutional Tribunal.

[3]<http://www.stf.jus.br/portal/jurisprudenciaRepercussao/abrirTemasComTesesFirmadas.asp&gt; accessed 8 January 2017.

[4] <http://www.stf.jus.br/arquivo/cms/noticiaNoticiaStf/anexo/RE898060.pdf> accessed 8 January 2017.

[5] RE 477554-AgR, Justice Celso de Melo.

[6]ADI 4.277, Justice Ayres Britto.

[7] RE 898.060, Justice Luiz Fux.

[8] <https://www.supremecourt.gov/opinions/14pdf/14-556_3204.pdf&gt; accessed 14 July 2017.

[9] <http://www.stf.jus.br/arquivo/cms/noticiaNoticiaStf/anexo/RE898060.pdf> accessed 6 January 2017.

<https://www.courtlistener.com/opinion/1670353/smith-v-cole/> accessed 14 July 2017.

[10] <http://www.stf.jus.br/arquivo/cms/noticiaNoticiaStf/anexo/RE898060.pdf> accessed 6 January 2017.

<https://casetext.com/case/td-v-mmm#!> accessed 14 July 2017.

[11] Vernon Valentine Palmer, Mixed Jurisdictions Worldwide: The Third Legal Family (2nd edn, Cambridge University Press 2012).

[12] Sarah McGinnis, ‘You Are Not The Father: How State Paternity Laws Protect (And Fail To Protect) the Best Interests of Children’ (2008) 16 Journal of Gender, Social Policy & the Law 311.

[13]<http://www.stf.jus.br/portal/cms/verNoticiaDetalhe.asp?idConteudo=325781&caixaBusca=N> accessed 6 January 2017.

[14]<http://www.stf.jus.br/arquivo/cms/noticiaNoticiaStf/anexo/RE898060DT.pdf> accessed 6 January 2017.

[15] Luiz Edson Fachin, Comentários Ao Novo Código Civil: Arts. 1.591 a 1.638, vol XVIII (Forense 2008).

[16] IBDFAM: Instituto Brasileiro de Direito de Família (Brazilian Institute of Family Law).

[17]<http://www.migalhas.com.br/Quentes/17,MI204229,31047Multiparentalidade+preserva+interesse+de+crianca> accessed 12 July 2017.

[18] Rolf Madaleno, Curso de Direito de Família (6th edn, Forense 2015) 6.

[19] Articles 352 to 367 of 1916 Civil Code.

[20] STF recognized homosexual stable unions as family entities and their constitutional and civil rights on May 5th, 2011 – ADI 4.277 and ADPF 132 – Rappouteur Justice Ayres Britto.

[21] Article 42 of the Brazilian Statute for Children and Adolescents – ECA – Law No. 8.069/1990 – synthesizes the concept.

[22] Maria Berenice Dias, ‘Curso de Direito de Família’ (11th edn, Revista dos Tribunais) 291.

[23] Conrado Paulino da Rosa, iFamily: Um Novo Conceito de Família? (Saraiva 2013) 109.

[24] Ibid.

[25] Cristiano Chaves de Farias and Nelson Rosevald, Curso de Direito Civil: Famílias (7th edn, Atlas 2015).

[26] Maria Berenice Dias, ‘Manual de Direito Das Famílias’, Manual de Direito das Famílias (11th edn, Revista dos Tribunais 2013) 402.

[27] Cristiano Cassettari, Multiparentalidade e Parentalidade Socioafetiva: Efeitos Jurídicos (2nd edn, Atlas 2015).

[28] Belmiro Pedro Welter, ‘Teoria Tridimensional No Direito de Família: Reconhecimento de Todos Os Direitos Das Filiações Genética e Socioafetiva’ (2009) 10 Revista Brasileira de Direito de Família 104.

[29] Maria Berenice Dias, ‘Manual de Direito Das Famílias’, Manual de Direito das Famílias (11th edn, Revista dos Tribunais 2013) 401.

[30] Maria Berenice Dias, ‘Manual de Direito Das Famílias’, Manual de Direito das Famílias (11th edn, Revista dos Tribunais 2013) 55.

[31] RE 363.889, Justice Toffoli. STF assured the possibility of the relativization of the res judicata if a new DNA examination is taken, in respect of the fundamental right to search for genetic identity as a natural emanation of the right to human personality.

[32] Maria Berenice Dias, ‘Manual de Direito Das Famílias’, Manual de Direito das Famílias (11th edn, Revista dos Tribunais 2013) 386.

[33]<http://www.ibdfam.org.br/noticias/5243/TJRJ+reconhece+multiparentalidade.> accessed 12 July 2017.

[34] REsp No. 1.328.380/MS, 21.10.2014, Rappourter Marco Aurélio Bellizze.

[35] Clare McGlynn, Families and the European Union: Law, Politics and Pluralism (Law in Context) (Cambridge University Press 2006). 78-79 88.

[36] Jane Fortin, Children’s Rights and the Developing Law (Law in Context) (3rd edn, Cambridge University Press 2009) 518.

[37] Adopted by Resolution No. L 44 (XLIV) of the General Assembly of the United Nations, on November 20, 1989, and ratified by Brazil (Decreto No. 99.710/1990).

[38] <http://www.biodiritto.org/index.php/item/897-trento-gpa.> accessed 9 July 2017.

[39] Mary Welstead and Susan Edwards, Family Law (4th edn, Oxford University Press 2013) 269.

[40] Fortin (n 36) 521.

[41] Welstead and Edwards (n 39) 269.

[42] <https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/12289194.> accessed 14 July 2017.

[43] Fortin (n 36) 526.

[44] Jonathan Herring, Family Law, Issues, Debates, Policy (Willan Publishing 2001) 215.

[45] Check Re P (a child) (residence order: restriction order), Görgülü v. Germany  and Hokkanen v. Finland  and Pini and Bertani; Manera and Atripaldi v. Romania – Jane Fortin, Children’s Rights and the Developing Law (Law in Context) (3rd edn, Cambridge University Press 2009) 527-529.

[46] ibid, 530.

[47] Suzana Assis, Parentalidade Sócio-Afectiva: Portugal e Brasil, vol 2 (Almedina 2012) 62.

[48] McGlynn (n 35) 108.

[49] Jonathan Herring, Family Law (Pearson Education Limited 2017) 382-383.

[50] Pedro Belmiro, Teoria Tridimensional No Direito de Família: Reconhecimento de Todos Os Direitos Das Filiações Genética e Socioafetiva (Livraria do Advogado 2009).

Let the Users be the Filter? Crowdsourced Filtering to Avoid Online Intermediary Liability[1]

Ivar A. Hartmann[2]

 

I.                   Introduction

Online platforms for decentralised content production or for plain social interaction constitute one of the fundamental frontiers of innovation on the internet. Companies and other entities contribute to this by designing the system and maintaining it in their servers, while also takings steps to guarantee that internet users can make the best out of such environments. That is to say, although the purpose of such companies is to profit from user-generated content or to simply let individuals co-exist in communion with one another, they play a crucial role as intermediaries. Because they are the managers of online communities where – just like in the real world –infringements of the law can occur, these companies are constantly sued by users or third parties alleging that they have a responsibility for what is done on their platform.

Even though safe harbour[3] provisions exist in American and EU law that release intermediaries from a duty to proactively monitor and filter user activity on their platforms, the liability standard is constantly shifting. Copyright owners’ pleas, for example, demanding a different, less passive role for intermediaries have been gaining ground recently. The most prominent examples of this trend in recent times are, first, the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Second Circuit’s decision in April 2012 that overturned a summary judgment dismissing Viacom’s case against YouTube[4] and the “right to be forgotten” ruling by the Court of Justice of the European Union.[5]  In the former, a bold challenge of the longstanding safe harbour in the Digital Millennium Copyright Act against strict liability for copyright violations was not summarily dismissed by the appeals court. In the latter, the court created a dangerous precedent by classifying Google as a data controller instead of a content intermediary, thus creating a risk that any social network or forum be denied the safe harbour awarded to intermediaries.

These developments create an environment where safe harbour provisions no longer offer the same protection they previously did against strict liability. Engaging in full-fledged filtering, on the other hand, has its problems. As a result, intermediaries find themselves between a rock and a hard place.

This article describes such a setting – where intermediaries have incentives both to filter and not to filter content on their platforms – and outlines a few arguments why enabling and encouraging users themselves to filter content on platforms could present itself as a solution to intermediaries’ problems. It is not intended as an exhaustive enumeration of the arguments in favour and against having users themselves filter content – be it social networks, video streaming websites, forums or peer-to-peer file-sharing networks. Rather, this article proposes a first approach on the subject. The driving purpose is to find a solution to the increasingly dire situation of online intermediaries – without which the internet as we know it simply would not exist.

II.               Internet Users’ Deep-Rooted Wish for Self-Governance

For many years the idea that behaviour on the internet could not be regulated was very popular. It was a completely new world where the entities that exercised regulation either could not enter or did so only to remain at the same level as individual users. A court system, thousands of police officials, large armies, nuclear missiles – none of this mattered in the virtual world because it was inherently free and uncontrollable. Regulation by the “weary giants of flesh and steel” was not believed to be possible by internet users because governments have “no moral right to rule us nor [do they] possess any methods of enforcement we have true reason to fear.”[6] It is remarkable that this held to some extent true for a short while in the early days of the internet and then the “world wide web” – especially since the internet was born as a research project of the United States military. That may very well have been true while the internet was still in its academic and hippie era. During the 1990s, however, after the era of online academia and hippie dominance, the internet was taken over by the market logic, or “commodified.”[7]

Notwithstanding the appropriateness of understanding the internet as a new and different place,[8] the fact is that, once it was noticed as a good forum for commercial activity, private companies flocked to it. Their need for legal certainty and stability was a driving force in the alteration of technical standards that had earlier prevented the possibility of regulation. Changes effected in the Net’s architecture gradually enabled governments to exercise increased control to the point where the issue was no longer whether to regulate, but rather how to go about doing it. The fact that it constitutes a distinct place for human interaction does not automatically make it an isolated place: web users are the same people who live within the borders of nation states and even those who do not access the internet are nonetheless affected by it. Total separation, although legally possible with the recognition of an independent cyberspace jurisdiction,[9] is unpractical and unreal. The contention that it is impossible to track information flow online was perhaps partially true up until the mid-1990s. However, the use of Deep Packet Inspection[10] and other mechanisms has allowed internet service providers (ISPs) and governments to constantly and effectively control online communication. Governments, in particular, seem to be intent in recent years to make up for lost time with “strenuous reassertions of national authority.”[11] According to some accounts, in certain countries the government controlled the internet from the very beginning, so that there never even was an initial golden period of freedom. [12]

Another common argument to support the unfeasibility of governmental regulation online was that it was impossible to identify the location of the people exchanging information on the internet. This difficulty was frequently posed in conjunction with that of the inconvenience of allowing one nation to enforce its laws upon citizens of other countries.[13] While geolocation software has all but solved the problem, the existence of conflicts involving the law of different countries was never something pioneered by the internet.[14]

Therefore, after a period of exhilarating freedom in an environment that was by its nature hostile to regulation, the internet was taken by commercial activity and had its technical rules changed just enough to adapt to the needs of private companies. For-profit websites covered the landscape and the cyberflâneur was gone.[15] Although there’s a case to be made that such modifications to the internet architecture in order to solve the transborder law enforcement tribulations will mean a departure from the kind of communication network the potential of which was lauded as revolutionary,[16] the fact remains that it is perfectly possible to regulate internet behaviour and this has been done for many years now.

A completely different issue is whether the internet should be regulated in the first place, especially by nation-states. Most of the current arguments for multistakeholderism in international internet governance[17] and self-regulation by the private sector are built on top of beliefs shared by many authors who in the late 1990s and early 2000s openly rejected government regulation of the Net, even assuming that it could technically be done. Even today, authors call for an internet governance framework that emphasises the necessary diversity of the stakeholders,[18] avoiding a predominance of state power.

A common view was that state authority should be rejected as unnecessary: in a “cyberpopulist” model, “netizens” could themselves decide the rules that would govern them, adopting a direct democracy system. This idea has been dismissed by some as unrealistic and blind to the contribution of a representative legislating body that no society can do without,[19] but construed by others as a new justification for sovereignty: instead of a liberal state, power comes from the free choice of people to gather online in their self-governed communities.[20] A different proposed model was the recognition, by the nation state, of a new type of rulemaking process – one that is not performed by government and is also (and perhaps because of that) internationally applicable. A lex informatica would be developed by repeated social practices online (customs) and by technical standards,[21] accepting the decisive regulatory role played by choices on how the internet architecture is configured.[22] Unlike in the cyberpopulist model, lex informatica would be enforced by government, such that the latter would merely lose its rulemaking prerogative[23], and even then only on what concerns human action online.[24] Even those who accepted enforcement of traditional legal norms, especially regarding commerce on websites, argued for concessions. A company could not be considered to be offering its products or services to everyone in the whole world. As adjudication of online conflicts slowly developed, it seemed reasonable to recognise that companies often targeted a specific audience despite the fact that their website was viewable to anyone.[25]

It is very important to notice that these models fundamentally evoke self-government, just as advocates of the impossibility of regulating internet did. John Perry Barlow’s 1996 Declaration of Independence of Cyberspace symbolised a view that was more about autonomy of internet users to establish their own rules then about the technical impossibility of state regulation of the internet. But in order for this governance model to even have a shot at succeeding, a delicate balance must be struck between the people’s freedom to leave a community whenever they so desire and, on the other hand, a reason for them to stay that is strong enough to maintain some stability in the composition of the community over time.[26]

The point is that there has been great force, for many years, in the idea that internet users deserve a higher level of autonomy to make and indeed enforce their own rules regarding online conduct. Interestingly, this idea was getting stronger in a time when the United States government pushed to control the world wide web via the domain name system. [27] The netizen self-governance rational arguably derives from a notion that states are not well suited to make regulatory decisions concerning the internet because the traditional state decision-making mechanisms and actors completely fail to grasp the reality of the internet. As a result, internet users are often eager to take regulation into their own hands.

They feel empowered, in control, and most importantly, legitimated to create and apply rules and principles on behaviour. This is different from social norms, which are created by a practice repeated over a long time, engendering a social custom. Some of the rules internet users obey in their communities are of that kind, but others are explicit, voluntarily created and codified, much like legal norms.[28] It is obvious that these two types of self-imposed rules have an intrinsic relationship such as that of law and morals[29] and therefore an attempt at a clear split would be both unwise and difficult.

For the purposes of this paper, I assume that nation states can and should regulate the web. At this point it should be clear that the early literature on whether the internet could be regulated and how is relevant here only to show that there was always an interest on the part of users to exercise choice on the configuration of the rules and power in their enforcement. The question of whether nation states can in fact regulate internet behaviour is irrelevant here not only because they have effectively been doing so for years,[30] but also – and more importantly – because it doesn’t negate or decrease the interest of internet users in playing an active and direct role in such regulation. The state’s regulatory capabilities do not have to be nullified in order for other stakeholders to play a part. Much to the contrary: in Europe and the United States, there is a trend of moving from online company self-regulation to co-regulation, where the government dispenses more attention to internet activity.[31] In both systems, however, companies play a part along with nation states.

For the same reason, with the literature on cyber-anarchism theory mentioned here I do not intend to argue that nation states should not regulate the internet. That argument is barely tangential to the core discussion of intermediary liability that is my focus in this paper. What matters is that these works show users do not want be passive subjects of regulation. I suggest they have actually been feeding an instinct of self-government.

My argument is merely that while internet users today often recognise the force of traditional regulation, the codified, written rules that the user communities spontaneously create undeniably demonstrate the assertion of a self-governance prerogative. More than in other contexts, people in online communities feel they are entitled to some rule-setting powers. In the third part of the paper, I intend to show that under adequate circumstances, a private company could harness this enthusiasm.

In the case of speech, that means users making censoring or filtering decisions. We face a scenario where users themselves set rules on allowed and forbidden content, albeit under the auspices of traditional state regulation and with the cooperation of private companies. The first part of the paper has so far suggested that users wish to take on that task. The second part is about the convenience for companies that users do so. The third part discusses the technical mechanisms required to carry this out. It would be pertinent, however, to ponder on the legality of crowdsourced filtering.

Concerning the flow of information, the law has always preoccupied itself with tailoring the conditions in which speech might be censored for being abusive of a third party’s individual rights. Historically, rule making on speech has thus focused on the details of excessive speech and how it should be constrained. There are many legal dispositions with limitations for speech – such as libel and copyright. That is because the path of least resistance was for expression to flow naturally. Under such traditional regulation of speech, the only concern with crowdsourced filtering would be to set the limit for speech that legitimates users in their task of taking down content. In short: law must define what of their own speech private parties should refrain from uttering.

However, one of the internet’s many collateral effects has been a shift in the power of private parties to express themselves. The more noticeable and discussed aspect of such a shift is that there is no longer any scarcity of space and everyone can potentially be heard by everyone. The less discussed and perhaps more decisive aspect is that the platforms for speech are now owned and operated by private parties. When public spaces and the main forum, censorship rules concern state action. However, when private spaces – social network newsfeeds, search engine results – become the main forum, censorship rules concern private action. In short: law must now define what speech of others private parties should be forced to tolerate.

Private censorship is one of the most daunting problems of internet regulation right now. The law is severely late to address this and state action doctrine is one of the obstacles. In Germany the constitutional tradition establishes the duty also of private parties to respect constitutional rights. The German Constitutional Court demonstrated in the Lüth case, half a century ago, that individuals can harm censor speech just as dangerously as the state and should therefore be constrained in their efforts to do so.[32]

If and when rules are set to define what kind of speech companies must allow in their platforms and their policy guidelines, these laws will also have to answer whether and to what extent the exercise of filtering by users is compatible with proper protection of the right to freedom of expression. It should be noted that this challenge is not related to separating speech that is allowed from forbidden speech. Rather, as the other major challenges of protecting free speech in the digital age, it is about the institutional design of platforms and the law itself, which includes choices on procedural remedies and who gets to make the decisions about content.[33] The risk of abuse when society moves decisions on free speech from the courts to the hands of private companies or users is not negligible. Where groups of users dictate what can and cannot be said, the rise of a tyranny of the majority is high – especially with our current legal tradition. That is the main legal challenge one could pose against crowdsourced filtering.

III.            The Problems Faced by Online Intermediaries

Commercial web pages and online applications currently thrive whenever they can establish and sell themselves as a platform. Very few internet start-ups incorporate into their business plan the autonomous production of content. What they expect is to create an environment where social interaction based on the contributions of users themselves would boost the popularity of their platform.[34] The community sentiment is stimulated not only to motivate users to create content, but to suggest the impression of a shared commons, where users feel that they are voluntarily collaborating for a mutual purpose and that each of them has a stake in the continuation of the platform.[35] Autonomy and self-governance are a decisive part of this sentiment.

This focus by internet companies to play the role of an intermediary instead of the content producer has raised, along with the activity of internet service providers, the hotly debated question of online intermediary liability. Online intermediaries all have to face a dire and pressing matter: will they filter and censor content created by their users / customers? Could they engage in such filtering? Should they? Will they be liable when users in their platform violate the privacy or property of third parties?

A brief summary[36] is in order before I lay out the specific cases in more detail. The rules that govern online intermediary liability have nuances in the United States and Europe depending on the type of intermediary and nature of the rights that were violated by the users. The more editorial and content-management power the company has, the stricter the standard.

Regardless of the liability standard set by statute or jurisprudence, rights holders are constantly pushing for an expansion in the filtering obligations of intermediaries. In this section of the paper, I intend to show that such a push has been at least partially successful in most jurisdictions, increasing the need of intermediaries to search for means of filtering.

In the mid-1990s, intermediary liability was noticed as an entirely new and incredibly relevant issue. Companies had never relied so heavily and successfully on the contribution of customers for the operation of their business, while at the same time foregoing the exercise of an editorial function whereby the managers go through all of the content produced or shared by users. They profited from the input of customers, but they were not exercising review. This was a defining moment for online crowdsourcing and, had the United States (the country where the absolute majority of such innovative companies are settled and where most of the users originate) opted for attributing liability to the intermediaries, this industry as we know it today arguably would not exist.[37] The solution found, however, was to give immunity to intermediaries when users exchange data that infringes copyright[38] or constitutes lewd speech.[39] In theory, this would have meant that internet companies were safe from a big headache and could further conduct their business unhampered by fear of liability. But the current reality is much different.

Firstly, the adoption of a safe harbour for intermediaries in the United States was not followed by the same choice in all other countries. Fortunately, the European Union’s e-commerce directive, enacted in 2000, mandated member states to ensure that intermediaries would not be held liable,[40] similarly to what had been done by American legislation. This has proved to be a not-so-safe harbour for companies in Europe. In 2010, Google executives themselves were criminally convicted in Italy of privacy invasion due to a video that was posted of a boy with autism being beaten by other boys.[41] The solution found, however, was to give immunity to intermediaries when users exchange data that infringes copyright[42] or constitutes lewd speech.[43] In theory, this would have meant that internet companies were safe from a big headache and could further conduct their business unhampered by fear of liability. Nevertheless, the current reality is much different.

The copyright industry has been the greatest champion of intermediary liability. The Belgian Society of Authors, Composers and Publishers (SABAM) has twice tried and twice failed, within a short interval, to obtain a ruling by the European Court of Justice that would impose on internet intermediaries the obligation to monitor information flow between users. The decision issued on November 2011 denied that ISPs could be legally forced to monitor copyright infringement by their customers.[44] The one issued on February 2012 confirmed its predecessor, now exempting online social network operators from a duty to filter content in order to block copyright infringing material.[45] SABAM’s strategy was to interpret the IP Directive of 2004’s guarantee of injunction against intermediaries to cease infringement as a right to force them to implement and maintain, at their own expense, a permanent filtering system.

In both cases, the reasoning of the Court was that imposing an absolute blanket-censorship obligation on ISPs and social networks was a disproportionate balancing of the rights to receive and impart information, to privacy, and to conduct a business activity, on one hand; and to (intellectual) property on the other. SABAM’s success in taking these cases all the way up to the ECJ twelve years after the safe harbour rule was enshrined in the e-commerce Directive illustrates the constant liability threat under which platform providers find themselves in Europe. Furthermore, it shows that even if the law has established the absence of liability, intermediaries have a perpetual disbursement of resources in order to pay for litigation costs.

The ECJ’s “right to be forgotten” ruling in May 2014 is yet another reason for online intermediaries to worry. Privacy protection was understood to trump safe harbour or at least call for a different, least protective interpretation of it. That is because the Court considered Google to be a data controller instead of a content intermediary. The reason was that Google conducted “organization and aggregation of information” producing a “structured overview of the information.”[46] The fundamental mistake made by the Court was that it created a “right to oblivion” with the excuse of trying to protect a “right to erasure.” The former relates to publications and expression, while the latter relates to personal data stored in databases (as opposed to published) and subject to automated processing (as opposed to readership.)[47]

The editing of third-party content that the ECJ found Google to be performing is precisely what Facebook’s newsfeed is. Any intermediary that purports to offer its users a “structured overview” of the user content in its platform is in risk of being labelled a data controller. This is in rampant conflict with the e-commerce directive’s rules and creates precisely the level of risk and uncertainty[48] for the intermediary that the safe harbour rule was enacted to prevent. Any intermediary that purports to offer its users a “structured overview” of the user content in its platform is in risk of being labelled a data controller. Back when the right to be forgotten was introduced to the draft of the new EU personal data protection directive, legal scholars predicted that solution would have serious chilling effects.[49]  The Court ruling turned out to be much worse. The ECJ found that Google was producing new information by organising and aggregating previously published information. Yet somehow the Court did not grant the company the safe harbour protection that the EU personal data protection directive guarantees to those who are in the business of disseminating information – such as the press.

Even legislators in Europe, who have been quarrelling with American tech giants in the past few years over tax evasion allegations,[50] came out against the ruling stating it is “unworkable.”[51] That is because “[t]he requests received in June alone mean that Google’s staff have to review over a quarter of a million URLs to see whether the information appears to be “inadequate, irrelevant or no longer relevant, or excessive in relation to the purposes of the processing” carried out by them.”[52] The future for intermediaries in Europe is indeed grim.

The company has since been doing just that. Even if we disregard the fact that the ECJ ruling has pushed Google into exercising a role that was meant for courts – deciding what is and is not protected expression, the practical outcome is that the search engine is now vulnerable to litigation and liability if it disagrees with a user on whether specific search results should be taken down. That is precisely the opposite of what the safe harbour for intermediaries intended. Even those who do not oppose it in principle[53] acknowledge this uncertainty about the standard and application of the right to be forgotten as a problem.

The latest addition in the series of rulings eroding the e-commerce directive’s safe harbour is Delfi AS v. Estonia (2015) ECtHR 64659/09. Delfi.ee, a major Estonian news outlet, published a story on ice bridges. The piece generated many reader comments, and some of them included threats to a certain individual. This person asked Delfi to remove the threats and pay damages for hosting them. The company removed the comments as requested, but refused to pay. A court later forced Delfi to pay damages, even though as an intermediary it had removed the allegedly abusive posts upon request. The European Court of Human Rights heard the case and decided that Delfi’s liability did not violate the European Convention on Human Rights’ free speech protection. This means that any intermediary that is sued for damages in Europe, even after having removed content upon request, cannot seek freedom of expression shelter under the Convention. The future for intermediaries in Europe is indeed grim.

The prospect in other countries is shaky at best. In 2014 Brazil enacted its Marco Civil da Internet, a groundbreaking landmark internet regulation statute[54] that contains several provisions regarding intermediaries. Instead of notice-and-takedown, the system adopted was court-order-and-takedown. While this is good news to intermediaries, copyright violations and child pornography accusations were left out of this strong safe harbour and tend to be solved by Brazilian courts with notice-and-takedown or something even worse. Moreover, the judiciary’s track record is certainly a bad omen.

Provisions of the Brazilian Consumer Protection Code on strict liability of service providers who engage in risky activity have been often interpreted as requiring liability of social networks for defamation engaged in by its users. Brazil’s Superior Court of Justice adopted this view for years, until it receded to a notice-and-takedown standard on a more recent ruling, which explicitly finds support on the merits of a similar case.[55] The Supreme Constitutional Court has picked up a similar case for judgment and could go one way or the other. In theory it is not even bound by the Marco Civil choice for court-order-and-takedown because the Justices could easily rule that the Constitution requires more effective protection for defamation victims.

The second reason why companies cannot completely ignore the content of exchanges in their platforms is that the safe harbour rule has caveats and the result of judicial interpretation over the last ten years has not been entirely favourable to intermediaries. In the United States, for example, companies have to find a sweet spot between managing their online platform to achieve their business goals and avoiding a level of intervention on the activity of users that would characterise editorial action and thus trigger liability. This has been the case for peer-to-peer software, where since Napster the developers have gradually decentralised control of the file exchange process, relying more and more on the sense of centralized coordination below a certain threshold over which indirect liability ensues.[56]

Two cases that reached federal appeals courts show that the distinction between a liable intermediary and one that is in safe harbour is workable but by no means a clear-cut rule. This invites case-by-case interpretation and therefore keeps the possibility of finding the intermediary liable always present. In Fair Housing Council of San Fernando Valley v. Roommates.com, LLC, 521 F.3d 1157 (9th Cir. 2008), the manager of a website that served as a platform where anyone could find other people to share an apartment was deemed liable for discrimination under the Fair Housing Act. Individuals who had to participate were forced to fill out a profile which asked for information on gender, sexual orientation and number of children, among other personal information. The website’s search engine featured filtering options that employed these criteria. In order to determine whether Roommates.com was an interactive computer service (immune) or an information content provider (liable), the Court asserted whether the platform manager acted as a content co-developer and whether it had induced infringement.[57] Both questions were answered in the affirmative for Roommates.com.

The result was different in Chicago Lawyers’ Committee For Civil Rights Under Law, Inc. v. Craigslist, Inc., 519 F.3d 666 (7th Cir., 2008). Challenged under the same Fair Housing Act accusation, that it was liable for discriminatory housing ads posted by its users, Craigslist was granted immunity because the Court felt it did not in any way induce users to post such ads – it had no mandatory boxes that a user had to fill-in in order to use the platform.[58] However, Judge Easterbrook explicitly denied that safe harbour could work as a rule that would give clear safety to intermediaries if they chose not to worry about the content or messages exchanged by their users.

Grokster was not about a social network or another type of website, rather it concerned a peer-to-peer software. This shows that intermediary liability is an overarching issue encompassing any platform operator that employs the internet to interconnect individuals and let them exchange information of any kind – pictures, status updates, comments, music files etc. The concept of platform is itself increasingly more fluid. Airbnb, for example, is used both as website and an app and it must be careful, in both contexts, not to commit the same error as Roommates.com.

Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc. v. Grokster, Ltd., 545 U.S. 913 (2005) marks a strong shift away from anything resembling a safe harbour for platform providers. In Grokster the Court went beyond the standard it had set in Sony Corp. of Am. v. Universal City Studios, Inc., 464 U.S. 417 (1984). While in Sony the existence of non-infringing uses of a technology ensured that the developer would not be held liable,[59] in Grokster the Court ventured into the intentions of the platform developer. Regardless of the possibility of using the platform for legal purposes, the manager could be held liable if it had induced infringement.[60] Of course Justice Souter in Grokster did all he could to make it seem as though the Sony rule was not being abandoned, but the fact is the rule changed.[61] This made intermediary liability more uncertain than it was before the ruling.[62] This was only the culmination of an ongoing process in lower courts, where the changes being made to the law were increasing the uncertainty for platform developers.[63]

Safe harbour for online intermediaries has thus been turned into an indirect liability standard, one that inevitably curtails legitimate use that individuals may make of a legitimate online platform.[64] Furthermore, advocates of the fight against online child pornography call for a revision of the safe harbour provision in the U.S. Communications Decency Act (CDA),[65] which shields companies from civil liability – except for intellectual property issues. Criminal liability, on the other hand, is being revamped by revenge porn legislation that is now appearing in more and more countries, requiring more caution from intermediaries than ever before. [66]

The only “safe” thing about all of this is that it is safe to say intermediaries cannot easily forego some kind of management of the content exchanged in the platform that they operate.

This carries its own set of problems, of course. First, engaging in filtering has a cost. Companies commonly allude to the impracticability of exercising human oversight over the activity in online platforms. Automated filtering is not at all unfeasible, and filters like the ones used against spam by Gmail and against copyright infringement on Youtube employ sophisticated algorithms capable of lowering the so-called false negatives and false positives. They still have a cost, however, and even 5% of false positives represent a significant social cost when freedom of expression is involved.

Second, if companies take it upon themselves to exercise the filtering that would keep them free of liability, there will be a natural tendency to filter more, not less.[67] Liability poses a big financial threat, one that is not always offset by the dissatisfaction of a couple of users who had their posting, comment or video deleted. Third, the very possibility of user insurrection against filtering executed by the platform manager works as a force opposing that of risk-aversive over-censorship. Indeed, the intermediary finds itself in a difficult situation: if it filters content, consumers potentially react badly, organise and protest;[68] if it does not filter, it highly increases the chances of being held liable – and sometimes incurring millions of dollars in penalties. Litigation costs also need to be added to that bill. By 2010, four years before the settlement, Google had reportedly already spent U$ 100 million in legal fees with Viacom v. YouTube.[69] Actively filtering content in social networks creates a very bad image these days, even if the company explains that it does so in order to comply with government regulation.[70]

IV.            The Alternative – Harnessing User Self-Governance for Platform Management

The ideal of self-governance by internet users was very prominent in the late 1990s and early 2000s. However, momentum has been lost due to the realisation that countries can and do regulate the internet; it has not been fully abandoned. Users of many online platforms are willing to assert some level of self-governance prerogative whereby they perform direct or indirect norm-enforcing roles. This arises as an alternative for intermediaries: when giving up filtering for illegal content is risky and taking up filtering has financial and political costs, outsourcing this task to users themselves could potentially solve many of the platform manager’s problems.

Two comments are warranted at this point. First, I am discussing an option that private companies might exercise to lower their costs of operation. They could employ internet users’ motivation for self-governance as a means to an end. The platform owners would therefore retain last-word authority over code and architecture choices as well as over individual user decisions.[71] User filtering, in this sense, is not a first step for users to liberate themselves and take over. The latest developments at Reddit illustrate this very well: a forum that is highly renowned for the libertarian views of its users when it comes to freedom of expression is currently taking initial steps to curtail instances of serious bullying and harassment.[72]

Second, this paper’s main proposition operates within the current Western legal paradigm, including the protection of free speech and property as individual rights. Nevertheless, it could be read as a first step to a much more profound change, one that would require an entirely different framework of peer-to-peer elements in the development of law itself.[73]

People sharing an environment over a certain time tend to cultivate a bond with the platform itself but also with the individuals that co-exist with them.[74] This is the case in social networks like Facebook, user-moderated news websites like Slashdot, user-generated content websites like 9GAG or Wikipedia and virtual worlds like World of Warcraft.[75] A notion of community develops which evokes that independence and group self-determination feeling that has existed on the internet since the very beginning. It seems that the sense of communion is proportional to the level of detachment from the real world that the environment produces. In massively multiplayer online games, this reaches perhaps the strongest stance.[76] In most other platforms maintained by intermediaries, however, user zeal for the common space and resources is pervasive and persistent. There is a big difference in the perception of users between the filtering enforced by the intermediary and that which is carried out by users themselves. The former is a bottom-down imposition of values; the latter is a bottom-up exercise of self-regulation and independent authority. While it is true that this authority derives from the desire of the intermediary to maintain a platform that is compliant with the law (and therefore not all values are necessarily shared by the company and its customers), to the extent that some users – not the company –take the leading role in putting them into practice, there are elements of self-governance to be found in this context. This greatly reduces the rejection and dissatisfaction by users with the filtering that is performed.

One successful example of crowdsourcing filtering of user-generated content is 9GAG.[77] Anyone can become a user and post something – usually an image. Posts vary in meaning and purpose, but the majority is humorous and revolves around common internet memes. A user’s post goes to the voting page.[78] If it manages to attract support from enough users through a voting system, the post will then be shown in the first page. 9GAG users will usually spend most of their time in the first page, where they will not see the posts that never garnered enough popularity. Crowdsourced filtering on 9GAG is mostly positive filtering, but the result is nevertheless that some posts will not be visible to the average user due to decentralized filtering conducted by other users. The managers of the website hardly have to worry about, for example, a child abuse post reaching the average users.

In the example of 9GAG, user action has direct effect on whether content is visible to others. It is not removed from the website altogether just for not being popular. Nevertheless, filtering doesn’t only mean the identification and removal of content, it also means separation and categorisation of content. If a platform has managed to have users successfully categorise posts over time, then it is one important step closer to stimulating users to remove posts with certain abusive contents.

Even then, managing visibility or availability of content is not the only foreseeable role that users can play. Rather, it is one type within a large variety of options, ranging from more to less direct user influence on what content is displayed. Users could, for example, merely contribute with knowledge about what content is worthy and unworthy, making the software that actually filters fundamentally more accurate.[79] The more indirect the user input is, however, the more susceptible the intermediary becomes to the costs of filtering mentioned earlier.

There is a fine line between indirect user filtering and company filtering. The ideal solution for some companies might be an algorithm with machine-learning features that takes qualitative user input (e.g. not merely red flags) on what content should be taken down. One reason for that is if user input feeds human judgement calls instead of a machine-learning-enabled algorithm, then the company could be vulnerable to biases in its evaluation of the information. [80]

To illustrate the problem, suppose Facebook had one large team of employees located in the United States reviewing all of illegal content flags pointed out by users in different countries. Due to their personal biases, this group of people would very likely interpret reports of indecent pictures made by American users and those made by Iranian users in a significantly different fashion. Prejudice in the revision of user filtering could constitute cause for liability. The question then is: how accurate can an algorithm be at identifying content that should be taken down, given that it can draw help from user input? The job is highly complex, but advances have been made using the bias of users themselves to improve a software with a similarly complex task.[81]

The main issue with crowdsourced filtering is whether users could successfully entertain a task of governance. Filtering is a form of censorship and would require, in some cases, shunning the users who engage in wrongdoing. It is useful to frame this as the decentralised, commons-based production of an information service: filtering content. This model of production depends on modularity, granularity and heterogeneity.[82] The task of filtering can only be undertaken by users in a decentralized approach if the overall work can be broken up into pieces; if these pieces or isolated parts of the job are small; and if they are of different sizes and levels of complexity. It seems mechanisms such as red-flagging, which today are familiar to users of many social networks,[83] go a long way in providing for modularity and granularity. Heterogeneity seems to characterise the task as well: while certain content is more obviously infringing than others are, there are also those grey-area instances. There is the sale of copyrighted music and then there is remixing under fair use; there are pictures of naked children and then there are artistic paintings which include nude children among other elements.

User filtering is a mechanism of gatekeeping because it concerns the control of information flow.[84] At the same time, this is a peculiar kind of gatekeeping because it involves the traditionally gated becoming the gatekeepers,[85] the decision-makers on the issue of whether or not certain content passes scrutiny and can be shared in a community. This is decentralised gatekeeping whereby the users of an online platform purport to collectively fulfil a goal related to the control of information flow.[86]  In order for user filtering to work, coordination is not as essential as in other collective endeavours like the production of encyclopaedia articles in Wikipedia.[87] It is nonetheless crucial that the users exchange their views or produce standards and general guidelines for the filtering, lest the whole process collapses with excessive or insufficient censorship. This does not mean that without unanimity on a general set of rules the whole enterprise is doomed to fail. Rough consensus can play an important part in the decision-making process of online communities,[88] but in any event, the existence of some common parameters for filtering serve as guidance for all users, not as coercive authority such as the rule of law.[89] Crowdsourced work – free or paid – could benefit from some hierarchy mechanisms[90] in order to begin tackling the minimal coordination issue which, in this case, consists e.g. of avoiding overfiltering. Decentralised management of Wikipedia, for example, relies on different user strata in order to avoid too much or too little redaction of user edits. [91]

There are certain aspects of how the platform is designed that facilitate user filtering. If the environment is shaped to allow for reputation monitoring, where the identity of users is clear, and certain modes of user surveillance by users themselves are built in, filtering can be more precise and effective.[92] Suppose a filter confirmation mechanism is established, whereby a post or file is only blocked once three different users decide it is illegal. When someone is considering if she should add the third “vote” for a block, trust on the user who made the first “vote” can influence her assessment. If that first user has had its block decisions confirmed in 95% of the cases, that third user can devote less work into evaluating whether or not to add the third filter order. Furthermore, these trust and collaboration mechanisms can be made to allow one user to profit from the viewing decisions of another user,[93] such that content that is less and less viewed over time could be more vulnerable to censor “votes” than content that is widely shared and read.

Problems obviously arise from reliance on user filtering. At least three can be identified upfront: incentives to engage in filtering, the tendency to over-filter and the skewed demographics of the users who engage in filtering.

The prohibition on the exchange of child pornography material is perhaps the only worldwide consensus in the field of internet governance. If a company wants to give users the tools necessary for collective filtering of paedophilia on its platform, it need not worry whether or not users will employ them. The self-governance aspect of user filtering would be largely eroded if users were offered money to perform this task. There’s the risk of a backlash against the company.[94] The average internet user would actively engage in censoring instances of child pornography and would gladly denounce and exclude other users responsible for these violations, such that no monetary compensation is required. What is crucial here is that the filtering that a company needs to have accomplished on its platform is based on values that are not always shared by the users. Fighting child pornography and hate speech usually are; banning the exchange of copyrighted works usually is not.[95] In the already mentioned case of Reddit, a platform that relies heavily on user self-governance, the users share an extremely expansive notion of free speech. Because this evidently hinders attempts to contain serious harassment, the company’s new measures to discipline trolls seems to be to “change the social norms and values of the site, to create an emerging culture of free expression online that is sensitive to harassment.”[96] It is decentralised, but it remains gatekeeping. The intermediaries still hold the reigns and could potentially influence user’s values and practices. Naturally, it all depends whether companies can find and exercise the proper incentives. Companies would have a hard time shaping user motivation and purpose vis-à-vis an online platform in order to get libertarians to protect copyright or liberals to combat vicious harassment, but research suggests that might be possible. [97]

The second problem is excessive filtering: when given power, users have a tendency to gradually apply stricter standards and filter more and more content. Social networks are constantly troubled by this and Facebook recently had to face the online and offline wrath[98] of mothers who mobilised against the removal of pictures in which women are shown breastfeeding.[99] This calls for mechanisms that operate as a check on the user filtering decisions. This restraint does not need to come from the direct intervention of the company in each case, overruling a user’s decision to delete certain content. Other tools of checks and balances, such as distributed trust-building, multiple confirmation requirement and strict review and transparency of the actions by users with records of high number of filtering attempts all ensure the continuance of bottom-up, decentralised filtering.

The third problem that affects the chances of user filtering becoming a reliable and effective mechanism has to do with the digital divide that plagues most countries and negatively affects the diversity of online communities. Naturally, the lack of means to access the web and digital illiteracy pose a challenge that is not limited to user filtering. Graham, Straumann and Hogan have shown how “Wikipedia is characterized by highly uneven geographies of participation.”[100] They find that users from developing countries focus on editing entries concerning developed countries, which suggests that a well-functioning filtering community on pages and groups related to a poor country might be difficult even when the first steps to overcome the problem of access have already been successful. The lack of diversity and the replication of offline predictors of engagement in governance (mainly gender) is a problem of online e-democracy schemes.[101] As with social inequality, digital illiteracy can only be fought gradually, with the implementation of digital inclusion policies. Above all, it is paramount that governments invest in broadband infrastructure as well as digital literacy, acknowledging that internet access is an autonomous constitutional right with a complex positive dimension.[102]

V.                Conclusion

Addressing the issue of internet intermediary liability is absolutely critical to the protection of an online environment that is conducive to innovation and that fosters freedom of expression. The developments in this legal field over the years have brought about the continuous risk for companies that operate online platforms such as social networks, peer-to-peer file-sharing networks and virtual gaming worlds. The current legal environment in the United States and Europe raises uncertainty about liability for the actions of users such that failing to filter content is not an option. The law consistently shifts with new rulings from higher courts revising or reinterpreting safe harbour protections. The push from copyright holders and ordinary people worried about their reputation is a strong deterrent to speech-protective standards for intermediaries. Even where the law is seemingly clear, legal costs from constant court battles are high enough to suggest that companies should think of filtering options.

This uncertainty is even more worrisome for companies that wish to conduct business concomitantly in several countries. The latest legal developments in Brazil were used as an example to illustrate a legal environment that repeats itself in many other Latin American, African and Asian countries – where intermediary liability standards are sometimes even harsher as a result of reduced free speech protection. This scenario might make one conclude that heavy filtering is a near win-win option for platform providers. That, however, is not the case.

Society – and internet users themselves, in particular – are progressively adopting a very critical view of the censorship performed by these companies. People are successfully organising movements and isolated protests that push back against content filtering done by the platform provider. This happens in a context where big platforms are already facing criticism for multiple reasons. American companies take fire at home for slacking off in the protection of user personal data and abroad for tax evasion. They also often suffer trying to balance their global accepted content rulebook, on one side, and local values and customs, on the other. Finding the sweet spot between too much and too little filtering is an extremely delicate and complex task that companies have to perform in a time when even small mishaps can have enormous legal and public relations costs. This is what I tried to show in the second part of this paper.

Enter the online community. In this setting, enabling and stimulating users of the platforms to filter illegal content themselves appears as an alternative that has great potential in building on top of the resilient objection to external, bottom-down control of the internet that netizens have asserted with great force on the early days of the web. In the first part of this paper, I intended to show that this sense of community is as old as the Net itself and runs deep. I would argue that even casual users of humour websites would be willing to play a part and dedicate a small portion of their time to help separate acceptable from abusive content. The empirical studies find that the instinct is there, the organisation mechanisms exist and success cases are plenty.

The point is that user filtering is compatible with the notion of self-government by internet users and might work in certain platforms where a sense of community has developed among the participants. This alternative solution requires mechanisms to be encoded into the company’s platform. The third part of the paper presented the contribution of the literature on decentralised gatekeeping and crowdsourcing of platform management. The phenomenon is neither new nor temporary in social networks – both online and offline. Studies have produced evidence of what works and what does not, the types of interactions between users and the limitations of this model. Practical examples from the daily use of the internet attest that companies are gradually enabling users to red-flag content, view the reputation of each other on the platform and collectively coordinate guidelines for how the filtering would be exercised. Decentralised or crowdsourced filtering is not an anarchist alternative to total control in the hands of the company owning the platform. The examples discussed reveal an interaction between the free action of users and light management mechanisms put in place and operated by the company.

User hierarchy, up and down-voting and the revision of user take down decisions by users themselves are all schemes that coexist and interact with the company’s policy as well as the community standards for what posts are allowed. In a well-crafted platform, the company can afford to play a supporting role in the filtering process, while also reserving some swaying capabilities to eventually correct course if the community is overfiltering or being too shy about taking down certain types of content. After all, despite being a promising substitute for platform manager-controlled central filtering, it would appear user filtering suffers from problems like lack of incentives to censor certain content (especially that which infringes copyright) and the tendency to gradually over-filter.

User filtering has the potential to address the liability risk of online intermediaries, currently one of the main problems in cyberlaw. Unfortunately, there is a dearth of research on how decentralised gatekeeping could substitute for company-imposed content filtering, such that further study on this subject is required to better evaluate the possibilities for the success of user filtering in addressing the problem of online intermediary liability.

[1] A previous version of this paper was presented at the Oxford Internet Institute’s The Internet, Policy & Politics Conference in 2014. See http://ipp.oii.ox.ac.uk/2014/programme-2014/track-b-policy/information-law-regulation-and-ethics/ivar-hartmann-let-the-users-be-the.

[2] Professor and researcher at the FGV Law School in Rio de Janeiro. MSc in Public Law (Catholic University of Porto Alegre). LL.M. (Harvard). Doctoral Candidate (State University of Rio de Janeiro).

[3] Safe harbour provisions, in this context, are legal rules that exempt online intermediaries from liability provided that they remove content deemed illegal upon a notice – by the offended party or by a court.

[4] Viacom International, Inc. v YouTube, Inc. (2013) No. 07 Civ. The case was later settled, which goes to show exactly how safe Google felt the safe harbour provisions to be. See Joe Silver, ‘Viacom and Google settle $1 billion YouTube lawsuit’ <http://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2014/03/viacom-and-google-reach-settlement-in-long-running-youtube-lawsuit&gt; accessed 18 August 2014.

[5] Google Spain SL, Google Inc. v Agencia Española de Protección de Datos (AEPD), Mario Costeja González (2012) Case C-131.

[6] John Perry Barlow, ‘A Declaration of the Independence of Cyberspace’ <https://projects.eff.org/~barlow/Declaration-Final.html> accessed 23 April 2012.

[7] This phenomenon has been described by many authors. See, for instance, Graham Murdock and Peter Golding’s explanation: “Economically it involves moving the production and provision of communications and information services from the public sector to the market, both by transferring ownership of key facilities to private investors and by making success in the marketplace the major criterion for judging the performance of all communications and information organizations.” Graham Murdock and Peter Golding, ‘Information poverty and political inequality’ in Robin Mansell (ed), The information society. v. III (Democracy, governance and regulation) (2009), 15. This transition is achieved on the internet by prioritizing data flow based on merit attributed by market criteria: if streaming a movie makes more direct money than disseminating a post in a political blog, the latter is left with lower bandwidth. Howard Rheingold had predicted that once this transition is completed the internet will turn into a mass communication media not unlike cable television. “The great power of the idea of electronic democracy is that technical trends in communications technologies can help citizens break the monopoly on their attention that has been enjoyed by the powers behind the broadcast paradigm – the owners of television networks, newspaper syndicates, and publishing conglomerates.”. Howard Rheingold, The virtual community: homesteading on the electronic frontier (2000), 308.

[8] “Cyberspace is a place. People live there. They experience all the sorts of things that they experience in real space, there. For some, they experience more. They experience this not as isolated individuals, playing some high tech computer game; they experience it in groups, in communities, among strangers, among people they come to know, and sometimes like.” Lawrence Lessig, ‘The zones of cyberspace’ [1996] 48 Stanford Law Review 1403, 1403. See also Colin Crawford, ‘Cyberplace: defining a right to Internet access through public accommodation law’ [2003] 76 Temple Law Review 225.

[9] “Many of the jurisdictional and substantive quandaries raised by bordercrossing electronic communications could be resolved by one simple principle: conceiving of Cyberspace as a distinct ‘place’ for purposes of legal analysis by recognizing a legally significant border between Cyberspace and the ‘real world.’” David R. Johnson and David Post, ‘Law And Borders – The Rise of Law in Cyberspace’ [1995] 48 Stanford Law Review 1367, 1378. The authors do not, however, affirm that cyberspace and the physical world are perfectly separable.

[10] This technique allows an ISP to search into the data packets that carry information on the internet, thus searching, e.g., someone’s email to check whether they have used a certain word. See Alex Wawro, ‘What Is Deep Packet Inspection?’ <http://www.pcworld.com/article/249137/what_is_deep_packet_inspection.html> accessed 26 April 2012.

[11] “States lay claim to geographic names and the representation of linguistic scripts in cyberspace; they scale up their surveillance capabilities; they make plans to weaponized cyberspace and ‘secure’ their part of it; they try to set themselves up as gatekeepers who can censor content.” Milton L. Mueller, Networks and States. The Global Politics of Internet Governance (2010) 253.

[12] See James Curran, ‘Reinterpreting the Internet’ in James Curran, Natalie Fenton, Des Freedman (eds) Misunderstanding the Internet (2012) 12.

[13] Or even of one state being able to impose its laws on citizens of another state in a federalist national system. “The average user simply cannot afford the cost of defending multiple suits in multiple jurisdictions, or of complying with the regulatory requirements of every jurisdiction she might electronically touch. Thus, the need for dormant commerce nullification of state overreaching is greater on the Internet than any previous scenario.” Dan L. Burk, ‘Federalism in Cyberspace’ [1996] 28 Conn L Rev 1095, 1126.

[14] “They also are no more complex or challenging than similar issues presented by increasingly prevalent real-space events such as airplane crashes, mass torts, multistate insurance coverage, or multinational commercial transactions, all of which form the bread and butter of modern conflict of laws.” Jack L. Goldsmith, ‘Against Cyberanarchy’ [1998] 65 University of Chicago Law Review 1199, 1234.

[15] “Something similar has happened to the Internet. Transcending its original playful identity, it’s no longer a place for strolling — it’s a place for getting things done. Hardly anyone “surfs” the Web anymore. The popularity of the “app paradigm,” whereby dedicated mobile and tablet applications help us accomplish what we want without ever opening the browser or visiting the rest of the Internet, has made cyberflânerie less likely. That so much of today’s online activity revolves around shopping — for virtual presents, for virtual pets, for virtual presents for virtual pets — has not helped either. Strolling through Groupon isn’t as much fun as strolling through an arcade, online or off.” Evgeny Morozov, ‘The Death of the Cyberflâneur’ <http://www.nytimes.com/2012/02/05/opinion/sunday/the-death-of-the-cyberflaneur.html?pagewanted=all> accessed 23 April 2012.

[16] See Jonathan Zittrain, ‘Be Careful What You Ask For: Reconciling a Global Internet and Local Law’. (Harvard Law School Public Law Research Paper No. 60, 2003) <http://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=395300&gt;.

[17] Multistakeholderism is an approach to internet regulation that requires civil society to participate in decision-making along with governments and representatives of the private sector and academia. Among many proponents of such approach, see Milton Mueller et al., ‘The Internet and Global Governance: Principles and Norms for a New Regime’ [2007] 13 Global Governance 237, 250: “[M]ultistakeholder governance should be legitimized and maintained. This norm is a logical extension of principles relating to private networks and global scope. The Internet is in effect a global confederation of network operators and users and should not be regulated in a top-down manner via agreements among states alone.” See also Wolfgang Kleinwächter, ‘Internet co-governance. Towards a multilayer multiplayer mechanism of consultation, coordination and cooperation (M3C3)’ in Robin Mansell (org), The information society. v. III (Democracy, governance and regulation) (2009), 384.

[18] See Luca Belli, ‘A heterostakeholder cooperation for sustainable internet policymaking’ [2015] 4 Internet Policy Review 2. For an example of this notion put into practice at a high-level internet governance event, Brazil’s 2014 NETMundial, see the detailed description in Marilia Maciel, Nicolo Zingales, and Daniel Fink, ‘The Global Multistakeholder Meeting on the Future of Internet Governance (NETmundial)’ in Multistakeholder as governance groups: observation from case-studies. Research Publication 2015/001 (Berkman Center 2015).

[19] “First, cyberpopulists overestimate the extent to which the plebiscite, whether territorial or virtual, can truly reflect the voice of the people. Second, they ignore significant democracy-enhancing benefits of representative government.” Neil Weinstock Netanel, ‘Cyberspace Self-Governance: A Skeptical View from Liberal Democratic Theory’ [2000] 88 California Law Review 395, 417.

[20] David Post credits the choice of self-government and free association online with the possibility of acknowledging sovereignty to internet users. This would be an alternative to the liberal state theory of sovereignty, where the agents of power and decision-making capacity are netizens themselves. David G. Post, ‘„The Unsettled Paradox”: The Internet, The State, and the consent of the Governed’ [1998] 5 Ind J Global Legal Stud 512, 535-539 and 542.

[21] “The source of default rules for a legal regime is typically the state. The political-governance process ordinarily establishes the substantive law of the land. For Lex Informatica, however, the primary source of default rule-making is the technology developer and the social process by which customary uses evolve.” Joel R. Reidenberg, ‘Lex Informatica: The Formulation of Information Policy Rules Through Technology’ [1998] 76 Texas Law Review 553, 571.

[22] This is the landmark contribution of Lawrence Lessig to the field of internet regulation. The way the code is written creates a constraint on action online just as much as law does on action offline. The key difference, however, is that regulation by code is by its nature ex ante, whereas law is ex post facto – the former prevents an individual from even doing something in the first place; the latter punishes certain behavior after it has been engaged on. Lawrence Lessig, Code: And Other Laws of Cyberspace, Version 2.0 (2006) 7. An important fact that should not be overlooked is that law constrains human conduct directly, ex post facto, and indirectly, by influencing the code or architecture of the internet itself. See Lawrence Lessig, ‘The New Chicago School’ [1998] 27 The Journal of Legal Studies 661, 666. More recent literature has further developed Lessig’s concept, arguing that “arrangements of technical architecture are also arrangements of power” and presenting current examples in the worldwide internet governance. Laura DeNardis, ‘Hidden Levers of Internet Control’ [2012] 15 Information, Communication & Society 720, 721.

[23] That is because “[l]ex Informatica has three sets of characteristics that are particularly valuable for establishing information policy and rule-making in an Information Society. First, technological rules do not rely on national borders. Second, Lex Informatica allows easy customization of rules with a variety of technical mechanisms. Finally, technological rules may also benefit from built-in self-enforcement and compliance-monitoring capabilities.” Reidenberg, supra note 21, at 577.

[24] A much less romantic view is that this is none other than a free market mechanism for regulation of conduct, such that it is “essential to permit the participants in this evolving world to make their own decisions. That means three things: make rules clear; create property rights where now there are none; and facilitate de formation of bargaining institutions. Then let the world of cyberspace evolve as it will, and enjoy the benefits.” Frank H. Easterbrook, ‘Cyberspace and the law of the horse’ [1996] U. Chi. Legal F. 207, 216. The problem is, of course, that creating property rights invites more, rather than less, state intromission as it is government that protects individual property through private law rules of contract and civil liability.

[25] “Courts have almost universally required some additional proof of either traditional commercial contacts or intentional direction of the activity toward the forum – a form of purposeful availment. Because some courts have allowed plaintiffs to conduct “jurisdictional discovery” and have also occasionally found the web site’s records of forum visitors to be relevant, it would seem prudent for states seeking to enforce their laws against outlaw websites to seek discovery of the web server logs in order to attempt to make a sufficient record as to the number of forum contacts.” Terrence Berg, ‘www.wildwest.gov: The impact of the Internet on state power to enforce the law’ [2000] BYU L Rev 1305, 1338.

[26] “[W]hen individuals have a substantial stake in a particular virtual community, exit is not a tenable option to protect them against majority oppression. But when individuals lack that investment, the result is a flame-ridden cacophony rather than a cohesive community capable of government by the “bottom-up” generation of social norms”. Netanel, supra note 19, at 432.

[27] See Jack Goldsmith and Tim Wu, ‘Who Controls the Internet? Illusions of a Borderless World’ (2006) 46.

[28] I’m adopting the distinction between customary norms and legal (positive) norms made by Hans Kelsen, Pure Theory of Law (2nd ed 1978).

[29] As described by H. L. A. Hart, ‘Positivism and the Separation of Law and Morals’ [1958] 71 Harvard Law Review.

[30] Goldsmith and Wu, supra note 27.

[31] Ian Brown and Christopher T Marsden, Regulating Code. Good governance and better regulation in the information age (2013).

[32] BVerfGE 7, 198 I. Senate (1 BvR 400/51)

[33] Jack Balkin, ‘Digital Speech and Democratic Culture: A Theory of Freedom of Expression for The Information Society’ [2004] 79 1 NYU L Rev 1.

[34] See Jeff Jarvis, What Would Google Do? (2009).

[35] Companies like Zipcar currently tap into this inherent selflessness of humans as a way to strengthen their business. See Yochai Benkler, The Penguin and the Leviathan: How Cooperation Triumphs over Self-Interest (2011).

[36] Good overviews of the scenario for intermediary liability before the changes I describe in this section are provided by Benoît Frydman and Isabelle Rorive, ‘Regulating Internet Content through Intermediaries in Europe and the USA’ [2002] 23 Zeitschrift für Rechtssoziologie 1 and Yulia A. Timofeeva, ‘Hate Speech Online: Restricted or Protected? Comparison of Regulations in the United States and Germany’ [2003] 12 Journal of Transnational Law & Policy.

[37] This is why the Digital Millennium Copyright Act of 1998 has been hailed as the law that saved the internet. David Kravets, ‘10 Years Later, Misunderstood DMCA is the Law That Saved the Web’ <http://www.wired.com/threatlevel/2008/10/ten-years-later/> accessed 26 April 2012.

[38] Section 512 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act of 1998 reads: “(a) TRANSITORY DIGITAL NETWORK COMMUNICATIONS- A service provider shall not be liable for monetary relief, or, except as provided in subsection (j), for injunctive or other equitable relief, for infringement of copyright by reason of the provider’s transmitting, routing, or providing connections for, material through a system or network controlled or operated by or for the service provider, or by reason of the intermediate and transient storage of that material in the course of such transmitting, routing, or providing connections, if (1) the transmission of the material was initiated by or at the direction of a person other than the service provider; (2) the transmission, routing, provision of connections, or storage is carried out through an automatic technical process without selection of the material by the service provider; (3) the service provider does not select the recipients of the material except as an automatic response to the request of another person; (4) no copy of the material made by the service provider in the course of such intermediate or transient storage is maintained on the system or network in a manner ordinarily accessible to anyone other than anticipated recipients, and no such copy is maintained on the system or network in a manner ordinarily accessible to such anticipated recipients for a longer period than is reasonably necessary for the transmission, routing, or provision of connections; and (5) the material is transmitted through the system or network without modification of its content.”

[39] Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act reads: “No provider or user of an interactive computer service shall be treated as the publisher or speaker of any information provided by another information content provider.”

[40] Directive 2000/31/EC of the European Parliament and of the Council [2000] on certain legal aspects of information society services, in particular electronic commerce, in the Internal Market. Article 15 (1): “Member States shall not impose a general obligation on providers, when providing the services covered by Articles 12, 13 and 14, to monitor the information which they transmit or store, nor a general obligation actively to seek facts or circumstances indicating illegal activity.” The Directive left open the possibility that legislation would provide injunctive relief for copyright holders against intermediaries in order to cease infringement, but not to obtain compensation. Four years later, the Directive on intellectual property rights required that such and injunction be made available for judicial authorities in member states. Directive 2004/48/EC of The European Parliament and of The Council [2004] on the enforcement of intellectual property rights”, Article 9 (Provisional and precautionary measures) (1) Member States shall ensure that the judicial authorities may, at the request of the applicant: (a) (…) an interlocutory injunction may also be issued, under the same conditions, against an intermediary whose services are being used by a third party to infringe an intellectual property right; injunctions against intermediaries whose services are used by a third party to infringe a copyright or a related right are covered by Directive 2001/29/EC.”

[41] The video had been posted to the Google Video website in 2006. See Stephen Shankland, ‘Execs convicted in Google Video case in Italy’ <http://news.cnet.com/8301-30685_3-20000092-264.html?tag=newsEditorsPicksArea.0> accessed 24 April 2012. The executives were eventually acquitted, which does not entirely assuage concerns of online intermediaries. Jon Brodkin, Italy finally acquits Google execs convicted over user-uploaded video’ <http://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2012/12/italy-finally-acquits-google-execs-convicted-over-user-uploaded-video/> accessed 3 June 2015.

[42] Section 512 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act [1998].

[43] Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act.

[44] Scarlet Extended SA v Société belge des auteurs, compositeurs et éditeurs SCRL (SABAM). [2010] Case C-70/10.

[45] Société belge des auteurs, compositeurs et éditeurs SCRL (SABAM) v Netlog NV [2010] Case C-360/10.

[46] “Also, the organization and aggregation of information published on the internet that are effected by search engines with the aim of facilitating their users’ access to that information may, when users carry out their search on the basis of an individual’s name, result in them obtaining through the list of results a structured overview of the information relating to that individual that can be found on the internet enabling them to establish a more or less detailed profile of the data subject.”. C-131/12, supra note 5.

[47] Ambrose, Meg Leta and Jef Ausloos, ‘The right to be forgotten across the pond’ [2013] 3 Journal of Information Policy.

[48] One need only take a quick look at paragraph 99 of the ruling to grasp how subjective supposed standard is and how problematic it will be for any intermediary – even with the help of legal counsel – to make filtering decisions based on it. C-131/12, supra note 5.

[49] Jeffrey Rosen, ‘The right to be forgotten’ [2012] 64 Stan L Rev Online 88.

[50] See Andrew Frye, ‘Renzi Pressed to Put Google, Facebook Taxes on EU Agenda’ <http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2014-07-01/renzi-pressed-to-put-google-facebook-taxes-on-eu-agenda.html> accessed 18 August 2014; Frances Robinson, ‘France Pushes EU to Regulate U.S. Internet Companies’ <http://online.wsj.com/news/articles/SB10001424127887324492604579085222987377040> 18 August 2014. See also House of Commons. Committee of Public Accounts, Tax Avoidance–Google (Ninth Report of Session 2013–14) <http://www.publications.parliament.uk/pa/cm201314/cmselect/cmpubacc/112/112.pdf> accessed 18 August 2014, which reports that in order “[t]o avoid UK corporation tax, Google relies on the deeply unconvincing argument that its sales to UK clients take place in Ireland, despite clear evidence that the vast majority of sales activity takes place in the UK.”

[51] Alex Hern. ‘Lords describe Right to be Forgotten as ‘unworkable, unreasonable, and wrong’’ <http://www.theguardian.com/technology/2014/jul/30/lords-right-to-be-forgotten-ruling-unworkable> accessed 18 August 2014.

[52] European Union Committee. Second Report, EU Data Protection law: a ‘right to be forgotten’? <http://www.publications.parliament.uk/pa/ld201415/ldselect/ldeucom/40/4002.htm> accessed 18 August 2014, para 33.

[53] Rolf Weber ‘The Right to Be Forgotten. More Than a Pandora’s Box?’ [2011] 2 JIPITEC 120.

[54] Glyn Moody, ‘Brazil’s ‘Marco Civil’ Internet Civil Rights Law Finally Passes, With Key Protections Largely Intact’ <https://www.techdirt.com/articles/20140326/09012226690/brazils-marco-civil-internet-civil-rights-law-finally-passes-with-key-protections-largely-intact.shtml> accessed 18 August 2014

[55] RECURSO ESPECIAL Nº 1.193.764 – SP (2010/0084512-0). Justice Nancy Andrighi concluded that “não se pode considerar de risco a atividade desenvolvida pelos provedores de conteúdo, tampouco se pode ter por defeituosa a ausência de fiscalização prévia das informações inseridas por terceiros no site, inexistindo justificativa para a sua responsabilização objetiva pela veiculação de mensagens de teor ofensivo.” (“the activity developed by content providers cannot be considered as a risky one; the absence of prior restraint on information inserted in the website by third parties also cannot be seen as a defect in the service, therefore remaining without justification a strict liability of such providers for messages of offensive content made available on the website”) (author’s translation). The opinion explicitly finds support on the DMCA safe harbor provision as well as on the European e-commerce Directive. Doctrine in Brazil is generally more receptive to a safe harbor system than to strict liability. See Marcel Leonardi, Responsabilidade Civil dos Provedores de Serviços de Internet (2005) and Bruno Miragem, ‘Responsabilidade por danos na sociedade de informação e proteção do consumidor: desafios atuais da regulação jurídica da internet’ [2009] 70 Revista de Direito do Consumidor 41.

[56] See Tim Wu, ‘When code isn’t law’ [2003] 89 Va L Rev 679, 724: Wu points to the sense of community that exists between users of peer-to-peer systems as one of the reasons for the success of such platforms.

[57] “CDA does not grant immunity for inducing third parties to express illegal preferences. Roommate’s own acts–posting the questionnaire and requiring answers to it–are entirely its doing and thus section 230 of the CDA does not apply to them. Roommate is entitled to no immunity.” Fair Housing Council of San Fernando Valley v Roommates.com, LLC, 521 F.3d at 1165. Judge Kozinski’s opinion also affirmed “that reading the exception for co-developers as applying only to content that originates entirely with the website–as the dissent would seem to suggest–ignores the words “development . . . in part” in the statutory passage “creation or development in whole or in part.” 47 U.S.C. § 230(f)(3) (emphasis added). We believe that both the immunity for passive conduits and the exception for co-developers must be given their proper scope and, to that end, we interpret the term “development” as referring not merely to augmenting the content generally, but to materially contributing to its alleged unlawfulness. In other words, a website helps to develop unlawful content, and thus falls within the exception to section 230, if it contributes materially to the alleged illegality of the conduct.” Id., at 1167-1168.

[58] Craigslist was understood as a common carrier in this sense: “Online services are in some respects like the classified pages of newspapers, but in others they operate like common carriers such as telephone services, which are unaffected by § 3604(c) because they neither make nor publish any discriminatory advertisement, text message, or conversation that may pass over their networks.” Chicago Lawyers’ Committee For Civil Rights Under Law, Inc. v Craigslist, Inc., 519 F.3d at 668.

[59] “the sale of copying equipment, like the sale of other articles of commerce, does not constitute contributory infringement if the product is widely used for legitimate, unobjectionable purposes. Indeed, it need merely be capable of substantial noninfringing uses.” Sony Corp. of Am. v Universal City Studios, Inc., 464 U.S. at 442.

[60] “where evidence goes beyond a product’s characteristics or the knowledge that it may be put to infringing uses, and shows statements or actions directed to promoting infringement, Sony’s staple-article rule will not preclude liability.” Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc. v Grokster, Ltd., 545 U.S. at 935.

[61] “The Court created a new type of contributory copyright infringement—while apparently denying it was doing so.” James Boyle, The Public Domain. Enclosing The Commons of the Mind (2008) 77.

[62] “[T]here is no such thing as a bright-line rule for technologists to make reliable ex ante determinations as to what it means to be too close to the line of secondary copyright liability in the Post-Grokster World.” Urs Gasser and John G. Palfrey, Jr., ‘Catch-As-Catch-Can: A Case Note on Grokster’ [2006] 78 Swiss Review of Business Law and Financial Market Law 119, 125. This uncertainty is more than enough to hamper online platform providers: “A decision does not need to make an activity illegal in order to impede it. It only needs to make it uncertain.” James Boyle, supra note 62, 79.

[63] Jonathan Zittrain points out that in In re Aimster Copyright Litig., 334 F.3d 643 (7th Cir. 2003) “[t]he Seventh Circuit’s test put all authors of generative technologies at risk of finding themselves on the wrong side of a court’s cost/benefit balancing. Indeed, they were asked to actively anticipate misuses of their products and to code to avoid them. Such gatekeeping is nice when it works, but it imposes extraordinary costs not readily captured by a single cost/benefit test in a given instance.” Jonathan Zittrain, ‘A History of Online Gatekeeping’ [2006] 19 Harv JL & Tech 253, 285.

[64] “Indirect liability has a significant drawback, however, in that legal liability — even if carefully tailored — inevitably interferes with the legitimate use of implicated tools, services, and venues. (…)This concern is particularly pronounced for new technologies, where the implications of copyright liability are often difficult to predict.” Douglas Lichtman and William Landes, ‘Indirect Liability For Copyright Infringement: An Economic Perspective’ [2003] 16 Harv JL & Tech 395, 409. That is because in countries like the United States, the main driving force of intermediary liability online is copyright protection, something which is inherently in tension with the protection of freedom of expression, since “[r]ecognizing property rights in information consists in preventing some people from using or communicating information under certain circumstances. To this extent, all property rights in information conflict with the “make no law” injunction of the First Amendment.” Yochai Benkler, ‘Free as the Air to Common Use: First Amendment Constraints on Enclosure of The Public Domain’ [1998] 74 NYU L Rev. 354, 393.

[65] The shaky indirect liability standard would then be replaced by a free-for-all negligence standard: “The young person (or his parents, more likely, I suppose) seeks to bring suit against the service provider involved. In my view, the service provider should not have special protection from such a tort claim. Such a claim should be decided on the merits. Was the service provider negligent or not? I do not think that the fact that the service provider is offering an Internet-based service, rather than a physically based service, should result in a shield to liability.” John Palfrey Jr. in Adam Thierer ‘Dialogue: the future of online obscenity and social networks” <http://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/news/2009/03/a-friendly-exchange-about-the-future-of-online-liability.ars> accessed 24 April 2012. Intermediary liability for child pornography involves a balancing of free speech with the need to protect vulnerable internet users – children – “who do not have the same skills as adults to make a broad range of quality judgments that accompany these informational processes – limitations that are due to their respective stage of development and their limited set of life experience based on which content can be evaluated.” Urs Gasser et al., ‘Response to FCC Notice of Inquiry 09-94. Empowering Parents and Protecting Children in an Evolving Media Landscape’ <http://ssrn.com/abstract=1559208> accessed 24 April 2012, 3.

[66] See Mary Anne Franks, ‘Drafting An Effective “Revenge Porn” Law: A Guide for Legislators’ <http://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=2468823> accessed 3 June 2015.

[67] This predisposition for censorship amounts to a serious chilling effect on free speech. The problem has been described in detail by Wendy Seltzer, ‘Free Speech Unmoored in Copyright’s Safe Harbor: Chilling Effects of The DMCA on The First Amendment’ [2010] 24 Harv JL & Tech 171. The author diagnosed the problem in a system of strong safe harbour, but warns of an even worst scenario under the relative intermediary liability standard: “Moreover, the chilling effect analysis indicates that over-deterrence is a problem deeper than the DMCA notice-and-takedown regime; it is a problem endemic to copyright law and its secondary liabilities. As copyright expands in scope, time, and breadth, its erroneous application and the chill of secondary liability assume greater significance.” Id., at 227.

[68] Yochai Benkler explains how these seemingly decentralized, bottom-up user campaigns in a networked-society are effective at bending the will of powerful actors, including large private companies. One of the examples reported by Benkler is that of how users successfully forced Sinclair Broadcasting not to air a controversial TV ad during the 2004 presidential elections in the United States. See The Wealth of Networks: How Social Production Transforms Markets and Freedom (2006) 220.

[69] Liz Miller, ‘Google’s Viacom Suit Legal Fees: $100 Million’ <http://gigaom.com/2010/07/15/googles-viacom-suit-legal-fees-100-million/> accessed 18 August 2014. While this only hurts a company like Google, it does much worse to startups. According to the story, litigation costs were largely responsible for Veoh’s bankruptcy.

[70] A good example of this is the surge of criticism that followed Twitter’s announcement that it would start to suppress tweets that governments in countries like Syria or Iran asked to be removed. See Somini Sengupta, ‘Censoring of Tweets Sets Off #Outrage’ <http://www.nytimes.com/2012/01/28/technology/when-twitter-blocks-tweets-its-outrage.html?pagewanted=all> accessed 25 April 2012. To its credit, the company has taken an unusual path and decided to maintain the transparency of the tweet removals, by acknowledging them explicitly in each case.

[71] That is my assumption in this article. For a more detailed discussion of why that is the case, especially from a Marxist perspective, see Christian Fuchs (2012) ‘Critique of the political economy of web 2.0 surveillance’ in Internet and surveillance: the challenges of web 2.0 and social media (Routledge, New York, 2012), 31-70.

[72] Julia Greenberg, ‘Reddit wants to exile trolls. But growing up is hard’ <http://www.wired.com/2015/05/reddit-wants-exile-trolls-growing-hard/> accessed 3 June 2015.

[73] See Melanie Dulong de Rosnay, ‘Peer-to-Peer as a Design Principle for Law: Distribute The Law’ [2015] 6 Journal of Peer Production. While I do not intend to support this bolder argument here, I believe it is compatible with the core ideas behind this paper.

[74] Studies find, for example, that posting as well a reading posts from other users have a positive impact on a participant’s sense of virtual community (see Lisbeth Tonteri et al. ‘Antecedents of an experienced sense of virtual community’ [2011] 27 Computers in Human Behavior); that attachment of the individual to a platform  based on identity with the group is easy to achieve and that such attachment varies according to the type of online community (see Yuqing Ren et al. ‘Building Member Attachment in Online Communities: Applying Theories of Group Identity and Interpersonal Bonds’ [2012] 36 MIS Quarterly 3); that “Most if not all of [Wikipedia’s] growth is grassroots and bottom up. This growth is not explained by traditional vectors of funding, fiat, or momentum. Instead, the multidimensional, sociological, and psychological motivations of individual contributors take center stage.” (Sheizaf Rafaeli and Yaron Ariel, ‘Online Motivational Factors: Incentives for Participation and Contribution in Wikipedia’ in A Barak (ed) Psychological Aspects of Cyberspace (2008)).

[75] On the potential of community filtering, Yochai Benkler states that “[c]onsistent with what we have been seeing in more structured peer-production projects like Wikipedia, Slashdot, or free software, communities of interest use clustering and mutual pointing to peer produce the basic filtering mechanism necessary for the public sphere to be effective and avoid being drowned in the din of the crowd.” Benkler, supra note 69,  258.

[76] The bonding and community-forming goals can be noticed in all kinds of online games, not only those such as Second Life: “As these examples indicate, each virtual world is different, making categorical statements about virtual worlds suspect. Still, the lines drawn between worlds might not be as bright as they seem at first. For instance, while The Sims Online does not involve gaining power and wealth through leveling, prestige and affluence are motivating forces for many participants. And while leveling worlds such as Ultima Online often force players to engage in repetitive killing exercises, what makes this bearable seems to be the social bonds formed among players, who may find more fulfillment in being virtual seamstresses, alchemists, and blacksmiths.” F. Gregory Lastowka and Dan Hunter, ‘Virtual Worlds: A Primer’ in Jack Balkin and Beth Noveck (eds) The State of Play. Law, Games, and Virtual Worlds (2006) 24.

[77] http://www.9gag.com.

[78] http://www.9gag.com/fresh.

[79] See Kuldeep Yadav et al., ‘SMSAssassin: crowdsourcing driven mobile-based system for SMS spam filtering’ [2011] HotMobile ’11 Proceedings of the 12th Workshop on Mobile Computing Systems and Applications 1-6. The authors describe how user input helped calibrate an algorithm for filtering spam in SMS texts.

[80] See Henning Piezunka and Linus Dahlander, ‘Distant Search, Narrow Attention: How Crowding Alters Organizations’ Filtering of Suggestionsin Crowdsourcing’ [2014] Academy of Management Journal, June. The study finds that when organizations crowdsource input they tend to favor suggestions more familiar to them over those that are distant.

[81] Pedro Henrique Calais Guerra et al., ‘From bias to opinion: a transfer-learning approach to real-time sentiment analysis’ [2011] KDD ’11 Proceedings of the 17th ACM SIGKDD international conference on Knowledge discovery and data mining, 150-158. ACM New York, NY, US.

[82] Yochai Benkler, ‘Coase’s Penguin, or, Linux and The Nature of the Firm’ [2002] 112 Yale LJ 369, 435-436.

[83] In some websites this is even required of users. In Craigslist, for example, when people enter any of the subsections of the personal ads portion of the listings, they are prompted to agree to certain conditions in order to continue. One of them reads: “I agree to flag as “prohibited” anything illegal or in violation of the craigslist terms of use.” <http://boston.craigslist.org/cgi-bin/personals.cgi?category=stp> accessed 26 April 2012.

[84] Gatekeeping can be defined “as the process of controlling information as it moves through a gate. Activities include, among others, selection, addition, withholding, display, channeling, shaping, manipulation, repetition, timing, localization, integration, disregard, and deletion of information.” Karine Barzilai-Nahon, ‘Toward a Theory of Network Gatekeeping: A Framework for Exploring Information Control’ [2008] 59 Journal of The American Society For Information Science and Technology 1493, 1496.

[85] Id., at 1506.

[86] As Aaron Shaw contends, in an analysis of user-moderated platform Daily Kos, “decentralized gatekeeping consists of numerous, microlevel interactions between individuals engaged in a particular collective endeavor.” Aaron Shaw, ‘Centralized and Decentralized Gatekeeping in an Open Online Collective’ [2012] Politics & Society 40, 357.

[87] In Wikipedia, it has been found that coordination through the use of communication tools is sometimes a better predictor of article quality than the total number of editors that work in a specific article. See Aniket Kittur and Robert E. Kraut, ‘Harnessing the Wisdom of Crowds in Wikipedia: Quality Through Coordination’ [2008] CSCW’08, November 8–12, 2008, San Diego, California, USA, 44.

[88] See A. Michael Froomkin, ‘[email protected]: Toward a critical theory of cyberspace’ [2003] 116 Harvard Law Review 749, describing the adoption of Jürgen Habermas’ rough consensus by the Internet Engineering Task Force in their decision-making processes.

[89] Which is why decentralized gatekeeping is not completely useless without codified, agreed-upon rules. Codification here serves a purpose of guidance, not legitimation: “even if users consent to being governed by community norms, they often have no idea what they are consenting to, and more important-ly, they have no ability to find out other than through trial and error. There are no pre-announced, publicly available, attainable, written, forward-looking, impartially enforced rules.” Michael Risch, ‘Virtual Rule of Law’ [2009] 112 W Va L Rev 1, 35.

[90] A better framework for the use of hierarchy mechanisms is an important research agenda for both free and paid online crowdsourced work, as pointed out by Aniket Kittur et al., ‘The Future of Crowd Work’ [2013] Proceedings of the CSCW’13, February 23–27, 2013, San Antonio, Texas, USA.

[91] For empirical evidence that provides a detailed account, see Dariusz Jemielniak, Common Knowledge?: An Ethnography of Wikipedia (2014).

[92] This is especially true in online virtual worlds where MMOGs are played. “Reputation is a key element of social value to many players. The accumulation of social status is part of the reward for participation. Players institute their own regimes of surveillance.” Sal Humphreys, ‘Ruling the Virtual World. Governance in Massively Multiplayer Online Games’ [2008] 11 European Journal of Cultural Studies 149, 162.

[93] “Using previous experiences from users who change options easily, it is possible to further expand the role of ratings in structuring large-scale online conversations to provide customized, worthwhile content to a heterogeneous community of users.” Cliff Lampe et al., ‘Follow the Reader: Filtering Comments on Slashdot’ [2007] Proceedings of the ACM Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems (CHI’07). San Jose, CA. April 28-May 3, 2007, 1253, 1261.

[94] The recent discovery of a kind of “rulebook for filtering” that paid censors receive from Facebook has caused some revolt by Facebook users. In this case most of the disappointment by users was directed at the rules themselves, not the widely known fact that Facebook outsources the job of filtering to poorly-compensated workers. However, this incident shows that the company is exposed to criticism precisely because of this practice, regardless of what the enforced filtering criteria are. ‘Inside Facebook’s Outsourced Anti-Porn and Gore Brigade, Where ‘Camel Toes’ are More Offensive Than ‘Crushed Heads’’ <http://gawker.com/5885714/> accessed 26 April 2012.

[95] The notion that exchanging copyrighted content online is morally acceptable is especially prominent among teenagers, as studies have shown that they completely differentiate between material and immaterial theft (‘Study: To college students, shoplifting and music piracy are worlds apart’ <http://newsroom.unl.edu/releases/2011/05/03/Study%3A+To+college+students,+shoplifting+and+music+piracy+are+worlds+apart&gt; accessed 15 October 2017) and on average have 842 illegally downloaded songs on their portable devices (Stevie Smith, ‘Study: digital music piracy is rampant amongst teens’ <http://www.thetechherald.com/articles/Study-digital-music-piracy-is-rampant-amongst-teens/618/&gt; accessed 15 October 2017).

[96] Greenberg, supra note 73.

[97] That is because “users may continue to participate in a site for different reasons than those that led them to the site”, according to evidence from Cliff Lampe et al., ‘Motivations to Participate in Online Communities’ [2010] CHI ’10 Proceedings of the SIGCHI Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems, 10-15 April, 2010, Atlanta, United States.

[98] Emil Protalinski, ‘Breastfeeding women protest outside Facebook offices’ <http://www.zdnet.com/blog/facebook/breastfeeding-women-protest-outside-facebook-offices/8673> accessed 26 April 2012.

[99] The company itself was making the final decisions on picture removal, but it relied on user input to identify them, as they made clear in a press release: “It is important to note that any breastfeeding photos that are removed – whether inappropriately or in accordance with our policies – are only done so after being brought to our attention by other Facebook users who report them as violations and subsequently reviewed by Facebook.” Emil Protalinski, ‘Facebook clarifies breastfeeding photo policy’ <http://www.zdnet.com/blog/facebook/facebook-clarifies-breastfeeding-photo-policy/8791> accessed 26 April 2012.

[100] Mark Graham, Ralph K. Straumann and Bernie Hogan, ‘Digital Divisions of Labor and Informational Magnetism: Mapping Participation in Wikipedia’ [2015] Annals of the Association of American Geographers.

[101] Ralf Lindner and Ulrich Riehm, ‘Broadening Participation Through E-Petitions? An Empirical Study of Petitions to the German Parliament’ [2011] Policy & Internet: Vol. 3: Issue 1, Article 4. María Rosalía Vicente and Amparo Novo, ‘An empirical analysis of e-participation. The role of social networks and e-government over citizens’ online engagement’ [2014] 31 Government Information Quarterly, 379–387.

[102] Ivar A. Hartmann, ‘A Right to Free Internet? On Internet Access and Social Rights’ [2013] 13 J High Tech L 297.

Experience in Sentencing: New Empirical Insights on What Judges Think They Do in Court

Diana Richards[1]

 

I.                   Study Overview

The aim of the current study was to measure the variation in attitudes of judges towards various aspects of judicial decision-making, based on their prior professional experience. The main hypothesis of this study was that a different amount of professional experience might make judges have different opinions towards their own judicial activity. This hypothesis was inspired by psychological studies focused on the importance of experience in decision-making,[2] which are explored in more detail in section II. The idea that experts might think differently than novices is probably intuitively known for quite some time (often expressed anecdotally by both advocates and judges themselves). Yet no empirical study of judicial decision-making has yet measured the dynamic view that judicial attitudes can change over time with levels of experience. There are almost no longitudinal studies done on judges,[3] and certainly none in Europe. A few cross-sectional studies included the age or experience as one of their variables, but these variables were counted as one among the many generic background factors and never given central importance in the findings discussions.[4]

To explore the impact of professional experience, the current study operationalised the concept by splitting it into 3 different variables: judicial experience (number of years on the bench/tenure), criminal legal experience (number of years spent dealing with criminal cases), and pre-appointment legal experience (number of years gained in law practice before becoming a judge). While potentially overlapping, these three variables also reflect different aspects of professional expertise of judges, and allow the study to explore in more detail what it is exactly that makes judges change their attitudes towards their sentencing practice.

While ‘experience’ could presumably be operationalised in several ways, the current study aimed to measure the level of experience of judges not by self-reported measures, but by using objective variables such as the amount of years spent on the bench, or the amount of years in legal practice. This methodological choice was directly inspired by psychological studies on expertise and decision-making, most notably dual processing accounts of decision-making,[5] Gary Klein’s extensive work on the decision-making of experts such as firefighters, airplane pilots and military officers.[6]  Most notably, although Kahneman and Klein disagreed on many points, they agreed that professional experience is built under three necessary conditions: prolonged practice, routine and feedback.[7] In other words, the [prolonged] exposure to certain kind of practice (be it legal, judicial or criminal) of judges seems to be a solid predictor of their professional experience.

The study was ambitious in aiming to include judges from all levels of courts, and not just focus on judges from appellate or supreme courts. Due to this fact, it had to tame its other ambitions in three other ways. First, it was designed as a sociological study of attitudes (expressed by the judges themselves), and not a psychological experiment testing their internal mental processes. The European judges have yet to be as comfortable as American judges with undergoing psychological testing. That said, judicial experience is not seen as a potentially contentious factor affecting the judicial image, so it was expected that judges would not hide their opinions or falsify their answers in any way (at least consciously).

Second, while experience might be expected to influence attitudes towards many aspects of the judicial activity, for the sake of scientific clarity the study only focused on one type of judicial decision-making: sentencing. Sentencing was considered one of the most challenging and important duties a judge has; on one hand, due to the importance of the consequences for the parties involved, and therefore the pressure to get the “right sentence” in a case; on the other hand, due to the multitude of aggravating and mitigating factors a judge has to take into account (or disregard) when deciding the right sentence. For this reason, the questions focused on the respondents’ attitudes towards their sentencing activity.

Third, while empirical studies on judicial decision-making are perhaps often conducted with the unspoken desire to describe characteristics that are universal, applicable cross-jurisdictionally, each researcher is bound to focus on one jurisdiction and hope that the study shall have the chance to be replicated in other jurisdictions in the future. This study makes no exception. While it was designed to be conducted in any world jurisdiction, the study was eventually conducted in one European jurisdiction, namely Romania.

Perhaps surprisingly, Romania has a key advantage in constituting a good case study for this type of study: it has a hybrid judicial appointment and training system, combining the typical characteristics of continental jurisdictions (e.g. the recruitment of young judges, with no prior legal experience) with a common law jurisdiction (e.g. focus on judicial recruitment of legal professionals with significant legal experience). Having access to two different samples of judges, with different levels of experience (as well as exposure to different types of judicial training) but with the same historical and cultural background proved fortunate, because it was able to measure the impact of expertise on various judicial attitudes, without having to worry about a range of confounding variables that cannot typically be controlled for in cross-jurisdictional studies, such as different socio-political conditions, different judicial systems or different historical and cultural backgrounds. Judges from both types of recruitment and training routes were included in the study, along with a wide range of judges that have already served for years on the bench. The details of how the sampling was made and how the interventions took place are detailed in section III.

There are two key questions (and corresponding findings) that shall be presented in this article:

  1. Sentencing tools – How do judges in Romania say they use different tools in sentencing, and how does their prior experience relate to the way they use sentencing tools;
  2. Sentencing factors – How do judges say they approach the weighing of sentencing factors (and whether their approach changes with experience).

Section II briefly overviews the main theories and studies that have influenced the current research. As this is an interdisciplinary study, it drew influences from judicial studies (traditionally developed within political science and psychology), sociological studies on sentencing, as well as developmental theories of experiential learning. Due to space constraints, section II only focuses on the direct influences.

II.               Theoretical Framework

While in the United States empirical legal studies judicial behaviour have been conducted for almost a century, judicial studies are still in their infancy in UK and Europe. The scholarship so far developed in the United States has proven a valuable lesson for European researchers when designing empirical studies that assess judicial decision-making. The initial attempts in the States, most probably inspired by the legal realist movement,[8] focused on attempting to prove that the legal model (whereby a judge is merely applying the law in a case and none of her background or personal beliefs play any role) is not depicting how judicial decision-making actually works. For this reason, the earlier empirical studies measured one variable – the individual judge’s political orientation – as the key variable that shows there is much more to judicial decision-making than mere rule-applying.[9] In time, the models derived became more sophisticated, either by incorporating a strategic dimension explaining the dynamics between judges,[10] or the importance of economic factors in the decision-making process,[11] or by incorporating the idea that judges are preoccupied by how they are perceived by various audiences, be it the general public, their colleagues, the mass media or colleagues from other branches of the government.[12] Perhaps the most complex models were the ones to acknowledge the multi-faceted nature of the judicial decision-making activity, and to argue that it is simply wrong to only focus on just one type of factors that might influence judges.[13]

Apart from the research activity produced in political science departments across the US in the past 70 years, psychologists have also brought incredibly important contributions to our understanding of the decision-making process. Most often, in these studies, judges were considered first and foremost as human beings, subjected to the same range of biases and unconscious processes as other people. Given this fundamental assumption, a flurry of studies made on judge or non-judge participants who were given judicial decision-making tasks revealed important problems and biases.[14] Another strand of psychological studies took a step further and looked at how professional decision-makers differ from average human beings. These studies revealed that expert decision-makers differ from novice decision-makers in the way they make decisions – be it the factors they take into account, the weight they give to different factors, the speed of decision-making, or the fact that they have “hunches”.[15]

In addition to research conducted on judges more generally, some sociological and criminological research has specifically focused on judicial sentencing. The empirical research on sentencing is split into two major strands of research: behavioural research on sentencing, on one hand, and research on attitudes towards sentencing, on the other. The common premise of both strands is that there is a whole range of factors that impact on the decisions of judges when they sentence. What distinguished the two strands was a methodological assumption on how to best find out what those factors are. The behavioural research adopted indirect measures of judicial attitudes (for instance, votes in panels, variation in sentencing decisions etc.),[16] while the other strand of studies adopted direct measures of judicial attitudes (surveys, interviews, judicial notes).[17] Almost none of these studies looked at judicial experience as an independent variable, apart from two major exceptions: Hogarth’s 1971 study on Canadian magistrates,[18] and Jacobson and Hough’s 2007 study on English judges’ attitudes towards mitigation factors in sentencing.[19]

Hogarth’s study was a sophisticated, mixed-method sociological study, the first to measure (1) the magistrates’ age, legal background, years on the bench, and to verify if these explained variations in their attitudes; (2) their attitudes towards legal instruments (such as guideline judgments from higher courts); and he was highly innovative in (3) looking at how “magistrates search for and use information in the process of coming to decisions”[20] – which meant he asked magistrates to rank sentencing factors, as well as the sources of information used in deciding a sentence. One of Hogarth’s major findings was that

About 50 per cent of the variation in sentencing behaviour could be accounted for by knowing nothing about the cases and relying solely on three pieces of information about the magistrate [n.b. attitudinal variables].[21]

This finding is very strong supporting evidence for the idea that studies that interview or survey judges are important. Unlike what critics of direct measures of attitudes might claim, the characteristics of judges and their beliefs about sentencing are much more powerfully predictive than just examining details of a case.

Finally, the current study is inspired by one of the major educational theories of the 20th century – the theory of experiential learning – through David Kolb’s theory of the Learning Cycle and the Learning Styles Inventory (LSI).[22] Kolb’s theory is useful in explaining why it is that, during the formal training process, judges might have different needs at different points of the learning process, depending on their prior exposure to training and their prior legal experience. More importantly for this paper, experiential theory is also useful in explaining differences between judges in using different informal learning tools have in their day to day job, depending on the stage of their career development. Interestingly, although Kolb’s Learning Cycle has been replicated with learners from many professions, across more than 1,000 studies, it has never so far been validated on judges.[23]

III.            Methodology and Sampling

A.    Research Questions and Variables Measured

This part of the study tested the hypothesis that judges of different levels of expertise will have different informal learning preferences and will approach sentencing differently. This hypothesis was based on the assumption (derived from the theoretical framework) that judges do not just learn during judicial training, but also from a variety of situations and sources outside of the training context. To explore this hypothesis, the research asked judges to share their thoughts on three main research questions:

  1. How judges in Romania say they use different tools in sentencing;
  2. How does their prior experience relate to the way they use sentencing tools;
  3. How do judges say they approach the weighing of sentencing factors (and whether their approach changes with experience);

Sentencing Tools. The first two questions refer to the so-called ‘sentencing tools.’ Sentencing tools represent the wide variety of legal materials and sources of information that the judge can use throughout his court practice in attempting to identify what the best sentence is in a particular case. In this sense, sentencing tools are complementary to formal training. In Romanian sentencing practice, the legally binding tools are:

  • Sentence ranges (stipulated in the Criminal Code);
  • Sentencing guidelines (stipulated in the Criminal Procedure Code);
  • Landmark cases (“Appeals in the Interest of the Law” judgments);

While the non-binding sentencing tools are:

  • Sentencing remarks from own court or other courts;
  • Pre-sentence reports;
  • Prosecutorial recommendations of appropriate sentence.

While the Romanian justice system has a hierarchical and unified structure that is typical of other European continental countries,[24] whereby rights of appeal are automatically accepted and appeal judges have the power to review the sentence given by lower courts,[25] its sentencing framework is much more hybrid, combining elements from both civil and common law jurisdictions.

Just like in many European countries, Romanian law defines and classifies criminal offences based on severity,[26] offers a diversity of available punishments (custodial, community, fines, suspension of rights, security measures),[27] and indicates a mandatory sentencing range for each offence. Sentencing ranges are comparable to most European countries,[28] although it allows a wider judicial discretion on theft and rape,[29] and it is slightly less lenient on burglary.[30] Romanian criminal law also specifies instructions on how to compute a sentence for single, repeated and multiple offences,[31] how to discount sentences for guilty pleas,[32] and what sentencing factors judges ought to take into account in sentencing.[33] Together, these sentencing guidelines are binding, but still allow judicial discretion. The timing of the sentencing process is also very similar to many other European jurisdictions – it takes place at the end of the litigation, after the defendant has been found or has pleaded guilty.

Similar to other continental justice systems, Romania does not officially acknowledge the doctrine of precedent, and so judges are not bound by judgments formulated in courts. Yet since 2005 a new legal instrument, called the “Appeal in the Interest of the Law” (RIL), allows the High Court of Cassation and Justice to issue guideline judgments. These judgments give guidance on interpretations of statutes, including on sentencing practices, and they are binding.[34]

Apart from sentence ranges, sentencing guidelines and RILs, which are binding, three other non-binding tools constitute a source of information for judges in their sentencing practice:

  1. Sentencing information systems – sentences from previous cases – although there is no doctrine of precedent and Romanian judges are not bound by previous judgments of their court or by judgments from other courts, these judgments were still mentioned as useful sources of information on best judicial practices in sentencing. All Romanian judges have access to ECRIS, an internal database containing judgments from all courts.[35] This system is similar to other sentencing information systems implemented in Canada, Australia, Scotland or Israel.[36]
  2. Pre-sentence reports – in a case, the Romanian judge can ask the probation officer to write a pre-sentence report on the background and characteristics of the defendant. By law, the probation officer is instructed to “assist the court in the sentencing process”. [37] These reports are expected to constitute an important source of learning for the judge, as it provides insights into the defendant’s reoffending patterns, social background and circumstances, character and likelihood of reoffending. Pre-sentence report are a widespread judicial practice in countries such as England and Wales,[38] United States,[39] Canada,[40] and New Zealand.[41] In Europe, the Committee of Ministers has recommended all COE member states to allow probation services to formulate pre-sentence reports “on individual alleged offenders in order to assist, where applicable, the judicial authorities in deciding whether to prosecute or what would be the appropriate sanctions or measures”.[42]
  3. Prosecutor’s sentence recommendation – in Romania, when charging a defendant, the prosecutor also customarily suggests the best offence allocation and, at the end, can suggest the appropriate sentence.[43] The judge is not bound to follow the prosecutor’s recommendation, but it is expected that the prosecutor’s suggestion would be a good source of insight for the judge in learning what the customary sentence is in a specific type of case. This practice is also encountered in other European countries such as the Netherlands,[44] or Germany.[45]

Sentencing Factors. Most jurisdictions around the world stipulate lists of sentencing factors, in both common law[46] and civil law traditions. [47] The Romanian sentencing guidelines stipulate that the most important two general criteria a judge ought to take into account are the general harm caused (considered an objective element of the offence) corroborated with the degree of dangerousness of the defendant (considered a subjective element of the offence). The guidelines then detail the underlying aggravating and mitigating factors that could account for the two criteria. On one hand, the harm caused is understood in two ways – first, towards society at large (the sentencing guidelines mention “socially-protected values”) – and secondly, towards the victim. On the other hand, the dangerousness of the defendant can be assessed by taking into account the offender’s previous convictions, his socio-economic and personal background, or his behaviour throughout the court proceedings.

Although the guidelines strive to be specific in detailing 7 main criteria judges must take into account, they do not also provide a hierarchy of importance to guide the judge in assessing which factor is more important than another, or which one to prioritise against another. For this reason, the survey included a ranking question that forced judges to assess the importance they assign to various sentencing factors.

In addition to the research questions pertaining to formal training and informal learning practices, a range of demographic and attitudinal input variables were collected for each respondent:

  1. The level of professional experience (split into 3 separate variables: years in the legal profession, years on the bench, years in hearing criminal cases, where applicable);
  2. The type of prior legal experience, if applicable;
  3. The amount of prior exposure to initial, induction and continuous training;
  4. The judicial specialty, if applicable (civil, criminal, etc).

Experience for the purposes of this study is a multi-layered concept that focuses not on general life experience but on professional experience more specifically. In addition, it distinguishes between the professional legal experience gained before judicial appointment, which is assumed to be qualitatively different from judicial experience, the experience of being a judge in general, as well as asking more specifically about the experience gained in hearing criminal cases, which is assumed to have an even tighter connection with attitudes towards sentencing. In order to explore the effect of these experience-related variables, the sample was stratified in such a way so as to contain respondents that have varying degrees of legal, judicial and criminal judicial experience.[48] In addition, the data analysis phase included multivariate analysis to identify possible collinearity between experience-related variables and to identify genuine impact of each type of variable.

B.    Participants

The main sample consisted of 226 judges with judicial experience ranging from 0 to 35 years on the bench (mean 11 years). They were randomly selected from all levels of the court and from all around the country.[49] Half of the respondents had no judicial experience at the time of the survey, while the other half had already been hearing cases in court. In addition, out of those without judicial experience, the stratified sample contained both new appointees without any legal experience as well as appointees with at least 5 years of legal experience, to isolate legal experience from the potentially confounding effect of judicial experience.

Thirty-nine percent of the sample (N 88) consisted of young newly recruited judges through the continental-style judicial appointment route: Romanian citizens who have an undergraduate law degree are allowed to participate in a highly competitive[50] state exam organised by the National Institute of Magistracy (NIM) – for this reason they shall be called in short “NIM route judicial appointees”. The number of allocated places for new judges is around 100 every year. The newly recruited judges from the sample are representative of the typically young and inexperienced law graduates specific to this type of judicial recruitment in continental jurisdictions. First, 85% of them had graduated from the law school during the past 4 years (median graduation year 2012), which suggests indeed they are young. Second, only 24% of them had some legal experience, and that experience was in the majority of cases not longer than 2 years. In contrast, as all other law graduates around the world, the Romanian law graduates had some legal internship experience before being appointed, the most frequent being a court internship (60% of respondents).[51]

Twelve percent of the sample (N 28) consisted of the other category of newly appointed judges, more specific to common law systems, where candidates are required to have at least a few years of legal experience in addition to an undergraduate degree in law. For the purposes of clarity this category of respondents will be defined as “direct route judicial appointees”. The reason why the sample was relatively small was that in 2014 only 73 judges were recruited in total through this route, so the respondents represent 38% from the 2014 cohort.[52] These respondents are both similar and different to the first category of respondents: similar in that they had just begun their judicial career and therefore have no experience on the bench; different in that they have nevertheless at least 5 years of practical legal experience. On average direct route appointees had 7 years of legal experience, with 95% of them having between 5 and 9.5 years of legal experience (SD 3.65). The typical legal background direct route appointees seem to come from is either advocacy (43%) or the police forces (57%).

Finally, forty-nine percent of the sample represents judges already appointed with varying degrees of judicial and sentencing experience (N 110). The judicial experience of this category of respondents, which for the sake of clarity will be called “experienced judges”, ranged from 8 months to 35 years on the bench, with 12 years of experience on average. 95% of respondents have between 4 and 20 years of experience. The experienced judges were also asked about their experience in criminal law more specifically: 95% had prior experience in criminal law; out of those, 70% gained that experience solely as judges (so, one can assume, while hearing criminal law cases and sentencing), while others also indicated additional roles in which they gained criminal law experience.[53]

A secondary sample consisted of prosecutors (N 236) ranging from 0 to 29 years of prosecutorial experience (average experience 11 years). Although this is a study on judicial decision-making, therefore focusing mainly on judges, prosecutors were also included as a secondary sample in order to offer an external viewpoint from legal professionals who undergo the same training and have the same legal background, but have a different role in court. While the questions addressed to judges asked them about their own sentencing, the prosecutors were asked about how they think judges conduct their sentencing. This brought about an original and innovative vantage point on judicial decision-making. Although the focus of this paper is to present the findings on judicial attitudes towards decision-making, specific mentions will be made when prosecutors had statistically significant differences in their perceptions of judicial activity.

All the participants were recruited with the kind help of the Romanian National Institute of Magistracy (NIM), in reference to the stratified sampling requirements of the study.

C.     Procedure

The study consisted of two phases: the qualitative exploratory phase and the main quantitative phase. The qualitative exploratory phase was meant to help test and refine the questions, which were then included in the survey in the quantitative phase. It consisted of observations and semi-structured interviews with judicial appointees from all routes and with judicial trainers in charge with conducting sentencing training for both newly appointed judges (“direct route” and “NIM route”) and for experienced judges (continuous training).

The main phase consisted in a 20-question pen and paper survey. The survey was designed to not take longer than 10 minutes to fill in, and for that purpose it mainly contained closed single choice, multiple choice, rating and ranking questions. In addition, each type of respondent as described above received a survey only pertaining to their particular profile, which meant that no question skipping was necessary and no unnecessary was asked. That said, most questions were formulated similarly/identically so as to allow cross-sample comparisons.

The survey was applied during the centralised training sessions for all the types of respondents described: for the “NIM route” initial appointees, at the end of their criminal law module (including sentencing) during their first year of judicial training; for the “direct route” appointees, at the end of their criminal law induction training, taking place within the first month of appointment; for the experienced judges and prosecutors, during several continuous training sessions on criminal law and sentencing.[54] The research project was presented at the beginning of the session, endorsed by the Institute, and the survey also contained a short description of the research project aims, as well as the assurances that the participation is entirely voluntary and anonymous. The researcher was in the room during the application of the survey and was ready to answer any queries.

All these techniques ensured a high response rate (70%). In total, 510 surveys were received. During the data clean-up and analysis phase, 470 surveys were retained (226 judges and 236 prosecutors).

The findings will be presented in the next section in turn.

IV.            Results

A.    Factors in Sentencing

The following figure summarises the aggregate responses from 216 judges, split by the three samples based on their past judicial and legal experience. The respondents had to rank all the 7 sentencing factors on a scale in order of their importance. The figure shows the percentage of respondents who chose one factor among their top 3 choices.

Figure 1: Factors that judges think ought to influence them in sentencing (N 226)

Figure 1

While the 7 sentencing factors were ordered depending on their overall importance for all the 216 respondents, the figure also shows the visual differences between subsets of the respondents. The first thing worthy of notice is that the ordering of the 7 sentencing factors is roughly the same across all 3 samples.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the general harm (done to society and the legal order) was considered among the most important sentencing factors. In many criminal justice systems, civil and common legal alike, harm to society or to the social values is seen as a definitional element of the criminal offence.

None of the category distributions were normally distributed (Shapiro-Wilk sig. <.05 for all factors for all subsets) therefore all the tests used subsequently on this question were non-parametric tests.

The first question was if there were any statistically significant differences in the three subsets of judges in their appreciation for different sentencing factors, as the figure above might be visually misleading.  The second question was if the judicial experience in general (and experience in criminal cases in particular) could account for the differences among respondents.

Table 1: Variation of attitudes towards sentencing factors with experience (N 226)

As experience (in each category) increases
Experience category Greater appreciation of Lesser appreciation of
Legal practical experience General harm
Judicial experience Defendant’s future prospects Harm to the victim
Experience in criminal cases Previous convictions Harm to the victim

Since the sentencing factor scores constitute an ordinal variable, a Kruskal-Wallis test was run for each of them. As the figure above also suggests, newly appointed judges with prior legal experience think the general harm caused ought to be significantly less important in sentencing than the other two categories of judges (H(2)=7.604 p= .022 mean rank 130 vs 105 and 105). It was not clear just from this test whether this might be due to their legal practice background or another factor.

In addition, newly appointed judges seem to give significantly more importance to the specific harm caused to the victim than experienced judges (H(2)=8.891 p=.012, mean rank 93 vs 118). This was further explored as it signalled that the experience on the bench might render judges less sensitive to the victim’s harm in time. A binary variable exp_prof_yes was computed across all judges’ subsets, variable which indicates if the respondent has any experience in hearing cases or not. An ordinal regression model confirms that judges with experience on the bench are less likely to consider harm to the victim an important factor in sentencing (Est. -.316 SE .245 p .035). A potential explanation for this series of findings is that when hearing cases, judges are also exposed to the defendant – their claims, their profile, their future prospects – and that seems to render them more sensitive towards the defendants as well not just towards the victim. This is further strengthened by an additional regression model confirming that judges with experience seem to take more into consideration the defendant’s future prospects in their sentencing (Est. .661 SE .245 p .007).

Even if Figure 1 above might visually suggest that judicial experience also has a significant impact on what judges think about the defendant’s previous convictions or the effect of the sentence on the defendant, the regression models do not seem to confirm this intuition (“previous convictions” p .118; “effect of sentence on defendant” p .331). An alternative hypothesis, which cannot be tested in this study, is that age (or life experience) is actually a predictor, as the 3 subsets of judges also differ in their age. Age was not a focus of this study but it could constitute the object of future studies.

While judicial experience does not correlate with a higher concern for previous convictions, this correlation was discovered for the secondary sample consisting of prosecutors. As mentioned in the introduction, prosecutors’ views on judicial sentencing are not a focus of this article, but this was a particular finding worth mentioning as it could throw light on the judges’ attitudes as well. The more experienced prosecutors are, the more they seem to believe judges do indeed consider previous convictions (Est -.046 SE .015 Wald 9.757 p .002) more important for their sentencing. In fact, an aggregate figure representing the prosecutors’ responses would show that they think previous convictions are more important than the harm caused to the victim in judges’ minds.[55] This could mean that 1) prosecutors might indeed see in court that judges of different ages take previous convictions into account differently, while, at the same time, 2) being slightly biased due to the nature of their efforts into thinking that judges care about previous convictions more than they actually think.

B.    Useful sentencing tools

Because experience was a central variable in the study, a natural question to ask was what do judges do in order to gain the experience they need to do their job? This question asked the respondents to reflect on what tools they find more useful in their sentencing activity. Each of the eight tools suggested needed to be rated on a 4-point Likert scale (very useful, relatively useful, doesn’t influence, counterproductive). The eight tools are of very different kinds and they emerged as the main sources of inspiration in the exploratory phase, but they naturally clustered in the survey findings. The figure below summarises the responses:

Figure 2: Tools that judges consider useful in their sentencing practice (N 221)

Figure 2

In this case the figure represents all judicial respondents, without indicating the respondents of the 3 subsets of judges, because the figure would be too complicated. This is compensated for by indicating in the following few pages where significant differences between the respondents were found, and on what basis. The responses were ordered based on the percentage of respondents considering a particular sentencing tool very useful, because there seemed to be a significant difference in which the respondents distinguished between “very useful” and “relatively useful”, which warranted a clustering of categories.

There are several aspects which need to be explained regarding the options given to respondents – as they might be particular to the Romanian justice system or they might have an ambiguous meaning. They will be explained in the subsections below. As the figure might already suggest, there are 3 main clusters of sentencing tools judges had significantly different perceptions of. They will be presented in turn.

The main finding of this study regarding the use of various tools in sentencing is that the more experienced judges are, the more likely they are to diversify the range of tools they use in their activity. Different types of experience seem to account for an increase in appreciation for different types of tools: for instance, judges with more experience on the bench seem to appreciate landmark cases more, while those with more sentencing experience also appreciate pre-sentence reports more, whilst taking prosecutor’s recommendations into account less. These findings are summarised in the table below and will be explored in more detail afterwards:

Table 2: Variation of attitudes towards sentencing tools with experience (N 226)

As experience (in each category) increases
Experience category Greater appreciation of Lesser appreciation of
Legal practical experience Sentencing guidelines

Landmark cases

Sentencing remarks (own court)

Pre-sentence reports
Judicial experience Landmark cases
Experience in criminal cases Landmark cases

Pre-sentence reports

Sentencing remarks (own court)

Prosecutor’s recommendations

C.     Binding sentencing tools

As previously explained, there are three types of sentencing tools that Romanian judges can use in their activity and are well-known in other world jurisdictions as well: the sentence ranges for every type of offence, the sentencing guidelines and landmark cases. As Figure 2 shows, between 73% and 80% Romanian judges considered each of these tools very useful to their activity, and almost all judges (98-99%) considered them either relatively useful or very useful.

It is important to note that by sentencing guidelines Romanian judges understand the legal indications stipulated by the criminal procedure code on how to compute a sentence by taking into account various aggravating and mitigating factors. While the Romanian judiciary does not have separate sentencing guidelines formulated and updated by a dedicated sentencing council, the criminal procedure code computation methods are very similar in giving precise indications on the steps and variables judges have to take or have to disregard while sentencing.

In addition, since it is a civil law jurisdiction, Romanian law does not follow the doctrine of the precedent. For this reason, it is not the case that every decision given by a higher (or a judge’s own court) is binding for future judgments. This is why, in this question addressed to the Romanian judges, a clear demarcation between “similar sentences given at one’s own court” and “landmark cases” was made. The Romanian judiciary has nonetheless a growing corpus of decisions that are binding – decided by the Romanian Supreme Court in view of ensuring consistency in judgment. The landmark cases resulted, including cases specifying specific sentences for a specific offence, or sentencing computations, are binding for Romanian judges.

While for sentence ranges there was no significant difference between the 3 types of judges surveyed, they had different views on the importance of sentencing guidelines and landmark cases.

Sentencing guidelines seemed to be considered significantly more useful by newly-appointed judges who had legal experience (mean rank 132) than newly appointed judges with no legal experience (mean rank 104) (H(2) = 6.758 p .034).  An ordinal regression model testing that the amount of legal experience might significantly account for a change in attitude towards sentencing guidelines confirmed that, indeed, judges with more previous legal experience are more likely to consider sentencing guidelines useful (Est. .467 SE .235 Wald 3.953 p .047).

Landmark cases seemed to be considered more useful by experienced judges (mean rank 116) that by newly-appointed judges with no legal experience (mean rank 99) (H(2) = 8.047 p .018). An ordinal regression model testing that the existence of judicial experience might account for a change in attitude towards landmark cases confirmed that judges with no experience on the bench are less likely to consider landmark cases useful than experienced judges (Est. -.733 SE .340 Wald 4.656 p .031). The difference between judges with no sentencing experience and those with sentencing experience is even starker (Est. -.810 SE .341 Wald 5.644 p .018). In addition, prior legal experience before becoming a judge seems again to increase appreciation, this time for landmark cases (Est. .343 SE .160 Wald 4.576 p .032).

D.    Non-binding sentencing tools

Apart from landmark cases issued by the Supreme Court, Romanian judges are not bound by sentences given in similar cases in their own court or other courts. That said, most judges (78-84%) do consider those useful or very useful sources of inspiration for their sentencing decisions, with the majority of them (64-67%) seeing them useful but perhaps not essential for their activity.

Yet again, the amount of prior legal experience before becoming judge seem to play a significant role in increasing appreciation for similar sentences as sources of inspiration in sentencing. Ordinal regressions confirm that, the more legal experience judges had before being appointed, the more likely they are to consider similar sentences from their own court (Est. .197 SE .098 Wald 4.073 p .044) and from other courts (Est. .210 SE .097 Wald 4.712 p .030) as useful sources of inspiration in their own sentencing practice. In addition, sentencing experience itself seems to have an impact: judges who never sentenced before are much less likely to appreciate sentences from one’s own court useful than judges who have at least some sentencing experience (Est. -.663 SE .306 Wald 4.680 p .031).

A second category of non-binding sentencing tools are made of the suggestions that other court actors make to judges regarding the appropriate sentence. In this survey, judges were asked how useful they consider the pre-sentence reports formulated by probation officers and the recommendations prosecutors make with regards to the appropriate sentence during the trial. While most judges considered these suggestions useful overall, only a very small percentage of them (6-16%) considered these recommendations essential for their sentencing decision. In fact, 43% of respondents considered that the prosecutors’ recommendations play no role whatsoever in their decision.

Newly appointed judges with prior legal experience were significantly less likely to think pre-sentence reports are useful in sentencing than judges with no legal experience (Est. 1.428 SE .474 Wald 9.068 p .003). Yet the amount of sentencing experience seems to have an opposite effect – that of making judges more reliable on pre-sentence reports than less experienced colleagues (Est. .104 SE .035 Wald 8.669 p .003).

Finally, the judges’ reliance on prosecutor’s recommendations seems to decrease as they gain sentencing experience (Est. .622 SE .288 Wald 4.663 p .031), which could be part of the explanation for why it is one of the least preferred sources of inspiration in sentencing.[56]

V.                Discussion and Conclusions

This research has sought to show that judicial decision-making is a dynamic process, whose ingredients might change in time and with experience. Judicial studies have so far sought to draw an accurate picture of what influences judges in their activity, but far too little attention was paid to the idea that judges’ behaviour and mental processes might change with time, and therefore an empirical study that does not measure time-related variables offers just a momentary “snapshot” of judicial decision-making. The chief finding of this study is that, indeed, judges of various levels of experience pay attention to different aspects of their activity, and can thus arrive at different results.

This article explored two more specific research questions:

  1. How do judges say they approach the weighing of sentencing factors (and whether their approach changes with experience);
  2. How do judges in Romania say they use different tools in sentencing, and how does their prior experience relate to the way they use sentencing tools.

With regards to the factors that judges think influence them in establishing a sentence, it was good to confirm that general harm remains the most important factor taken into account. This somewhat replicates Hogarth’s and Tombs’ studies on sentencing factors.[57] But, perhaps more interestingly, this study found that experience on the bench increases the judge’s concern for the defendant and his future prospects, while judges without experience are more likely to empathise with the victim. The study found that there is a clear tension between the two.

The judges do not sentence in a vacuum, nor do they think they do. This study’s results on sentencing tools shows that judges use a variety of sources of inspiration when they need to calculate a sentence. Not surprisingly, they give a lot of attention to the instruments they are bound to take into account (sentence ranges, sentencing guidelines, landmark cases), which suggests they conform to the requirements of the rule of law. But at the same time, they also draw inspiration from a range of non-binding tools. Once again, experience seems to play a significant role in which instruments are seen more useful than others, and the findings suggest that the more experienced judges are, the more they diversify the range of tools they use in sentencing. Almost all sentencing tools display some level of variation with experience. Although a few studies explored the way in which magistrates search and process sentencing-related information,[58] none of the previous research asked judges to rank sentencing tools by their relative usefulness to sentencing practice, which makes this study unique.

The author is aware that the focus on Romania might, at first glance, seem limited, but the actual findings are intuitive and interesting enough to warrant an extrapolation to other jurisdictions. Any initiatives in applying the same methodology for studies in other jurisdictions are much welcome. For instance, future research could attempt to combine an attitudinal study with behavioural studies of sentencing (e.g. including sentencing exercises or analysis of sentencing remarks),[59] while maintaining an interest for expertise-related variables. Even more desirable would be a longitudinal study of judicial sentencing, which would entail willingness of judges to participate throughout their career.

[1] PhD Candidate in Judicial Studies at University College London, Faculty of Law.

[2] Gary Klein, Sources of Power: How People Make Decisions (MIT Press 1998); Amy L Baylor, ‘A U-Shaped Model for the Development of Intuition by Level of Expertise’ (2001) 19 New Ideas in Psychology 237; Barbara A Spellman, ‘On the Supposed Expertise of Judges in Evaluating Evidence’ <http://papers.ssrn.com/abstract=977854&gt; accessed 24 December 2014; Daniel Kahneman and Gary Klein, ‘Conditions for Intuitive Expertise: A Failure to Disagree’ (2009) 64 American Psychologist 515.

[3] With the notable exception of Lee Epstein and others, ‘Do Political Preferences Change? A Longitudinal Study of U.S. Supreme Court Justices’ (1998) 60 The Journal of Politics 801. More recently, Niv and Lachman have discovered that more experienced Israeli judges are more likely to consider other judges’ sentencing more lenient than novice judges, although the samples were rather small and it is not very clear from the research design if the study is indeed longitudinal (if it has the same respondents over time). Moshe Bar Niv and Ran Lachman, ‘Judges’ Perspective on the Level of Punishment | EJLS – European Journal of Legal Studies’ [2017] European Journal of Legal Studies s IV.2 <http://www.ejls.eu/23/243UK.htm&gt; accessed 9 September 2017.

[4] Sheldon Goldman, ‘Voting Behavior on the United States Courts of Appeals, 1961-1964’ [1966] The American Political Science Review 374; S Sidney Ulmer, ‘Social Background as an Indicator to the Votes of Supreme Court Justices in Criminal Cases: 1947-1956 Terms’ (1973) 17 American Journal of Political Science 622; Orley Ashenfelter, Theodore Eisenberg and Stewart J Schwab, ‘Politics and the Judiciary: The Influence of Judicial Background on Case Outcomes’ (1995) 24 Journal of Legal Studies 257; Kenneth L Manning, Bruce A Carroll and Robert A Carp, ‘Does Age Matter? Judicial Decision Making in Age Discrimination Cases*’ (2004) 85 Social Science Quarterly 1; Lee Epstein, Andrew D Martin and Andrew W Martin, ‘Does Age (Really) Matter? A Response to Manning, Carroll, and Carp’ (2004) 85 Social Science Quarterly 19.

[5] Daniel Kahneman, Thinking, Fast and Slow (1st edn, Farrar, Straus and Giroux 2011); Jonathan Evans, ‘Dual-Processing Accounts of Reasoning, Judgment, and Social Cognition’ (2008) 59 Annual Review of Psychology 255.

[6] Gary Klein, ‘Jumping to Conclusions Can Make for Good Decisions’ (2010) 177 Science News 32; Klein, Sources of Power (n 2).

[7] Kahneman and Klein (n 2) 241.

[8] Oliver Wendell Holmes, ‘1897. The Path of the Law’ (1896) 10 Harvard Law Review 457; Karl N Llewellyn, The Bramble Bush: On Our Law and Its Study (New York: Oceana Publications 1930).

[9] S Sidney Ulmer, ‘The Political Party Variable in the Michigan Supreme Court’ (1962) 11 J. Pub. L. 352; Glendon Schubert, ‘Judicial Attitudes and Voting Behavior: The 1961 Term of the United States Supreme Court’ [1963] Law and Contemporary Problems 100; Goldman (n 4).

[10] Jeffrey A Segal and Harold J Spaeth, The Supreme Court and the Attitudinal Model (Cambridge University Press 1994); Lee Epstein and Jack Knight, The Choices Justices Make (SAGE 1997).

[11] Richard A Posner, How Judges Think (Harvard University Press 2008).

[12] Lawrence Baum, Judges and Their Audiences: A Perspective on Judicial Behavior (Princeton University Press 2009).

[13] Paul H Robinson and Barbara A Spellman, ‘Sentencing Decisions: Matching the Decisionmaker to the Decision Nature’ [2005] Columbia Law Review 1124; Jennifer K Robbennolt, Robert MacCoun and John M Darley, ‘Multiple Constraint Satisfaction in Judging’ in David E Klein and Gregory Mitchell (eds), The Psychology of Judicial Decision Making (Oxford University Press 2010).

[14] Chris Guthrie, Jeffrey J Rachlinski and Andrew J Wistrich, ‘Inside the Judicial Mind’ (2000) 86 Cornell Law Review 777; Chris Guthrie, Jeffrey J Rachlinski and Andrew J Wistrich, ‘Blinking on the Bench: How Judges Decide Cases’ (2007) 93 Cornell L. Rev. 1; Keith J Holyoak, ‘Analogy’ in Robert G Morrison (ed), The Cambridge Handbook of Thinking and Reasoning (Cambridge University Press 2005).

[15] Gary Klein, Intuition at Work: Why Developing Your Gut Instincts Will Make You Better at What You Do (Currency/Doubleday 2003); Kahneman and Klein (n 2); Livingston Armytage, Educating Judges: Towards a New Model of Continuing Judicial Learning (Martinus Nijhoff Publishers 1996); Marta Sinclair, ‘Misconceptions About Intuition’ (2010) 21 Psychological Inquiry 378.

[16] George Everson, ‘The Human Element in Justice’ (1919) 10 Journal of the American Institute of Criminal Law and Criminology 90; Edward Green, Judicial Attitudes in Sentencing; a Study of the Factors Underlying the Sentencing Practice of the Criminal Court of Philadelphia. (Macmillan; St Martin’s Press 1961); Franz Exner, Studien über die Strafzumessungspraxis der deutschen Gerichte (Wiegandt 1931); Roger Hood, Sentencing in Magistrates’ Courts: A Study in Variations of Policy (Stevens 1962); William Edler von Eyben, Strafudmaling (GEC Gads Forlag 1950); Jorge Sobral Fernandez, ‘Judges and Their Decisions’ in Santiago Redondo, Advances in Psychology and Law: International Contributions (Walter de Gruyter 1997).

[17] John Hogarth, Sentencing as a Human Process (University of Toronto Press in association with the Centre of Criminology, University of Toronto 1971).

[18] ibid.

[19] Jessica Jacobson and Mike Hough, ‘Mitigation: The Role of Personal Factors in Sentencing’ (Prison Reform Trust 2007).

[20] Hogarth (n 17) 229.

[21] ibid 351.

[22] David A Kolb, Experiential Learning: Experience as the Source of Learning and Development (Prentice-Hall 1984).

[23] Alice Y Kolb and David A Kolb, ‘The Kolb Learning Style Inventory — Version 3.1 2005 Technical Specifications’ (2005).

[24] Carlo Guarnieri, Patrizia Pederzoli, and Cheryl Thomas (English Editor) The Power of Judges: A Comparative Study of Courts and Democracy (Oxford University Press 2002).

[25] Which means that virtually all judges hearing criminal cases have sentencing powers in Romania.

[26] Noul Cod Penal (v 1 Feb 2014) 2014 ss 188–445 Partea Speciala.

[27] ibid 53–70, 107–12, 115–25.

[28] Romania has the same sentence ranges as most European countries for offences such as intentional homicide (10+ years), robbery (2-5 years), assault (up to 2 years), sexual assault (2-7 years), and drug offences (2-5 years).

[29] For theft, Romania has a very wide range (6 months – 3 years) allowing judges a wider sentencing discretion than most other European counterparts. For rape, Romania offers again a wider discretion, by allowing judges to award custody anywhere between 3 and 10 years – other European jurisdictions seem to be split, with some countries awarding 2-5 years, while others award 5-10 years of custody.

[30] For burglary, Romania resembles only England and Wales (2-7 years), as most European countries are more lenient with this category of offence (less than 2 years custody).

[31] Noul Cod Penal (v 1 Feb 2014) (n 26) ss 35–35.

[32] Noul Cod de Procedura Penala 2014 s 374.

[33] Noul Cod Penal (v 1 Feb 2014) (n 26) s 77.

[34] Noul Cod de Procedura Penala (n 32) s 474.

[35] ‘Portalul Instanţelor de Judecată – Despre Portalul ECRIS’ <http://portal.just.ro/SitePages/despre.aspx&gt; accessed 5 March 2017.

[36] Michael Tonry, ‘Punishment Policies and Patterns in Western Countries’ in Richard S Frase and Michael Tonry (eds), Sentencing and Sanctions in Western Countries (Oxford University Press 2001) 21–4; Uri J Schild, ‘Statistical Information Systems for Sentencing: The Israeli Approach’ (2000) 14 International Review of Law, Computers & Technology 317.

[37] Parlamentul Romaniei, Legea 252/2013 privind organizarea si functionarea sistemului de probatiune 2013 s 32.

[38] Cyrus Tata and others, ‘Assisting and Advising The Sentencing Decision Process The Pursuit of “Quality” in Pre-Sentence Reports’ (2008) 48 British Journal of Criminology 835.

[39] Green (n 16) 22; Robert M Carter and Leslie T Wilkins, ‘Some Factors in Sentencing Policy’ (1967) 58 Journal of Criminal Law, Criminology and Police Science 503; Vladimir Konecni and Ebbe B Ebbesen, ‘The Mythology of Legal Decision Making’ (1984) 7 International Journal of Law and Psychiatry 5.

[40] Hogarth (n 17) 240–61.

[41] Christina Rush and Jeremy Robertson, ‘Presentence Reports: The Utility of Information to the Sentencing Decision’ (1987) 11 Law and Human Behavior 147.

[42] Committee of Ministers, Recommendation CM/Rec(2010)1 on the Council of Europe Probation Rules 2010 s 42.

[43] Noul Cod Penal (v 1 Feb 2014) (n 26) s 390.

[44] Sentencing Commission for Scotland, ‘Sentencing Guidelines Around the World’ (2015) 37 <https://www.scottishsentencingcouncil.org.uk/media/1109/paper-31a-sentencing-guidelines-around-the-world.pdf&gt; accessed 28 November 2016.

[45] ibid 42.

[46] “Almost all common law jurisdictions have placed certain mitigating and aggravating factors on a statutory footing.” (Julian Roberts, ‘Punishing, More or Less’ in Julian V Roberts (ed), Mitigation and Aggravation at Sentencing (Cambridge University Press 2011) 6.)

[47] Andrew Ashworth, ‘Re-Evaluating the Justifications for Aggravation and Mitigation at Sentencing’ in Julian V Roberts (ed), Mitigation and Aggravation at Sentencing (Cambridge University Press 2011) 21.

[48] In order to isolate the effect of judicial experience on the attitudes of respondents towards sentencing tools and sentencing factors from any other potentially-confounding variables, the study asked both non-experienced respondents (experience=0 years) and experienced respondents (experience >0 years) the same questions. In addition, asking both novice “NIM route” and novice “direct route” appointees the same questions, the study was also able to isolate the effect of the legal experience variable.

[49] The selection was made by an automated program operated by the Romanian National Institute of Magistracy for selection of judges for centralized judicial training sessions. Each court in the country has a number of allocated places, the judges have to opt in themselves but the algorithm does not allow them to participate in training more than once in a couple of years, to ensure all judges get the same access to judicial training overall.

[50] In October 2013 3,733 candidates applied for the 200 places available (19 candidates per place). Out of the 200 selected trainees, 100 will become judges and 100 will become prosecutors. 88 out of the 100 judges of the 2013 generation were included in the study Institutul National al Magistraturii, ‘Tabel Rezultate Proba Eliminatorie de Verif. Cunostinte Jur. (30.08.13)’ (2013) <http://www.inm-lex.ro/fisiere/d_198/Tabel%20rezultate%20proba%20eliminatorie%20de%20verif.cunostinte%20jur.(30.08.13).pdf> accessed 20 March 2015.

[51] 74% of the respondents had at least one legal internship during their studies, median 3 weeks long.

[52] Apart from being rather small, this sample is also biased geographically because 37 of the judges were located remotely from the survey (based on the location of their courts) and for technical reasons they could not be included in the study. While the small sample prevents generalisations, it does nevertheless offer interesting insight into how judges with some legal experience differ in their attitudes from the first category of respondents, but also from the judges who already gained judicial experience.

[53] 14% as lawyer/legal advisor, 6% as prosecutor, 2% as police officer and 7% as other (clerk, legal academic).

[54] The survey also contained questions regarding attitudes towards the judicial training offered on sentencing, but the corresponding findings are not central for the thesis of this article and are therefore not included here.

[55] This explains why the difference was marked by an asterisk in Figure 1, being the only significant difference in perception between judges and prosecutors on this matter.

[56] This is in tension with what the prosecutors themselves think about how judges consider their recommendations – the more experienced are, the more likely they are to think judges consider their recommendations useful (Est. .042 SE .016 Wald 6.670 p .010).

[57] Although comparisons need to be treated with caution as these previous studies used slightly different categorisations of sentencing factors (Hogarth (n 17) 281 Table 86; Jacqueline Tombs, A Unique Punishment: Sentencing and the Prison Population in Scotland (Scottish Consortium on Crime and Criminal Justice 2004) 49 Table 4.1.).

[58] Hogarth (n 17) 239–44.

[59] Along the lines of Jacobson and Hough’s, Hogarth’s or Arce’s mixed-method studies (Jacobson and Hough (n 19); Hogarth (n 17); Ramon Arce and others, ‘Judges’ Decision-Making from within’ in Raymond R Corrado, Rebecca Dempster and Ronald Roesch (eds), Psychology in the Courts (Routledge 2001).)

The Fun-House Mirror: Law and Popular Culture

Lawrence M. Friedman[1]

Law and society scholars are a large, diverse, and sprawling group.  They use many approaches, study many different corners of the legal world, and employ many different techniques. If they have anything in common at all, it is the idea that something called “society” has a powerful influence on something called “law.”  Of course, both these terms are problematic and hard to pin down. When we talk about law and popular culture, we add another rather shapeless concept: popular culture. The literature on law and popular culture is not that large but it too is sprawling and elusive.  In this short essay, I will make a few observations about the nature of this particular beast.

Before we can figure out how “law” relates to popular culture, we need to have some notion of what popular culture consists of.  Of course, popular culture can mean different things to different scholars. Basically, to me, popular culture is more or less the same as mass culture. The term refers to cultural productions (a movie, say) that are genuinely popular, that is, productions that attract a large audience.[2] The line between mass or popular culture, and high or elite culture, is not easy to draw. And it shifts over time.  Shakespeare is high culture in our times but, in his day, his plays appealed to a mass audience; presumably this was also true of Euripides and Aristophanes.  Extreme cases are pretty easy to assign either to popular culture or to elite culture. Romance novels and rock-and-roll music are obviously part of mass culture; along with movies full of car chases and explosions, some of which may gross a billion dollars (the word “gross” fits here quite well). James Joyce’s Ulysses, on the other hand, is definitely not mass culture; nor is the music of the late Elliot Carter.  But there are all sorts of intermediate cases: the Godfather movies, some musical comedies, some shows on TV; certain movies, plays, or other forms of popular culture show definite ambitions to be something bigger and better. And sometimes they succeed.

Why should we be concerned with popular culture? Or, to be more precise, why should we be concerned with the relationship between law and popular culture? It is because popular culture is extremely important in modern, open, democratic societies.  In general, the legal order necessarily reflects what is happening in society and what people think about it; and what is happening in society most definitely includes popular culture. What would modern life be like without movies, plays, books, television shows, popular music, blogs, YouTube videos and online games? In some ways, popular culture dominates society in the West.  It has, or might have, or could have, a powerful role in politics and government—and thus in law.  It seems likely that the largest industry, in developed countries (and to a certain degree everywhere), is the entertainment industry, taken broadly.  Think about the size of this industry:  a huge domain, which includes radio and television, movies, most forms of music, plus amateur and professional sports of all types, and a grab-bag of hobbies and leisure time activities, from origami and water-coloring to hang-gliding.  And this huge industry is, above all, simply the commercial side of popular culture.

Scholarship on law and popular culture does not have a very long pedigree; but the pace seems to be picking up.  There are many different kinds of study. Some of these are represented in the papers collected in this volume. There is a literature, for example, on the way lawyers are shown on television, or in the movies.[3] A scholar could study how popular culture deals with and describes lawyers and their work, or the police and their work, or the CIA. Or the scholar could study pop music and the attitudes it reflects toward law and order, or toward the position of women in society.  Another type of study would be on the impact of popular culture:  how it influences legal culture, how it shapes what people think about the law, and how this, in turn, affects the way the legal system operates.  All of this, of course, is no easy task.

One fairly obvious point: “law” inhabits popular culture to an amazing extent.  Think, for example, how much television time in the United States (and elsewhere) is devoted to crime shows, lawyer shows, and the like; what would be left of prime-time television, if we banned any mention of lawyers, judges, juries, police, trials, fingerprints, hair samples, forensic medicine, and prisons?  Dull evenings, perhaps, devoted to sit-coms and documentaries.  Daytime television is different, of course, but in the United States, “judge” shows are extremely popular; “Judge Judy” is the most notable example.  These shows are supposed to be about real people, with real claims and counter-claims.  They are, in effect, imitation small-claims courts, divorce courts, and the like. The litigants are ordinary people, with ordinary legal problems. My impression is that these judge shows are not as common elsewhere as they are in the United States, but the crime shows most definitely flourish everywhere.

“Judge Judy” is an example of “reality TV,” a genre in its own right.  These shows are “real,” or at least supposed to be real, and the participants are not professional actors.  But they are part of mass culture; they succeed because they are entertaining and compete quite successfully with the other shows on TV.  This brings me to one of my main points; in our times, “news,” along with portrayals of “reality” in the media, form an important part of the entertainment culture, whatever else their purpose. The line between popular culture and whatever else is conveyed by the media, has broken down.  It is not wrong to consider “Judge Judy” part of popular culture.  Interview shows, and programs like Oprah Winfrey’s, are also part of popular culture.  And it is not wrong, or misleading, to include “news” (on TV or in the press) as part of popular culture.

What does the general public learn from all the legal material: the trials, the police shows, and yes, the “news” about legal matters, which flash before us on our screens.  Hard to say: perhaps a lot, perhaps a little, but, in any event, what is “learned” is not very accurate.  What we see on television and in the movies is an image of law and legal institutions that I compared elsewhere to a fun-house mirror—that is, to a weird distortion of reality.[4]  Certainly, the work of lawyers is not shown in any realistic manner.[5] For one thing, most lawyers have little or nothing to do with criminal law and criminal justice; and yet  both news and drama focus heavily  on this part of the legal domain (more recently, some lawyer programs do tend to pay a certain amount of attention to civil cases).  In any case, what lawyers in real life do is, on the whole, fairly routine or highly technical; they give business advice, they carefully craft and draft documents, they are architects of business plans and institutional arrangements, they conduct negotiations with business people, they represent clients in court, or in the halls of the legislature, they lobby, they monitor legal developments for clients, they write opinion letters.  Almost none of this is the stuff of high drama.  Almost none of this makes a good show on people’s screens.  What people see, and watch, is largely tilted toward the sensational, the newsworthy, the dramatic.

In fact, studies show that the general public does not get much “education” about the legal system, either from popular culture or from other sources.  People do not know much about the law and much of what they think they know is just plain wrong.  Popular culture, in any event, is after all not explicitly meant to teach people.  It is meant to be entertaining.  Big trials, showy stories, lurid murders, salacious scandals—these make the grade on TV and in the press.[6]  People could, I suppose, come to realize that what they see and hear is neither typical nor particularly true to life.  Still, what they see and hear is all they get.  They are, in a way, like the citizens of some stern dictatorship, which tightly controls the media.  The citizens in this dictatorship may well suspect that the government is lying to them.  But they have no way of finding out the actual truth.

A number of studies have tried to find out what people know about the law.  The general answer is: not much.  Of course, people are aware of some of the bare essentials.  They know that burglary is a crime.  They know that rape and forgery and arson and murder and drunk driving are all crimes.  They know that they have to pay taxes, and that there are all sorts of tax laws.  They know that unhappy couples can get a divorce; they know that you can get a patent when you invent some new gadget.  The details are another question. There is also a good deal of misinformation out there in society.  Many people, for example, honestly believe that people who live together a certain number of years earn rights more or less like the rights of people who are actually and legally married.  This is the so-called myth of common law marriage. It is just plain false.[7]

One study surveyed workers in three states: Missouri, New York, and California.  Workers were asked whether their employer could fire a worker, simply because the employer found a replacement who was willing to work for less money. The overwhelming majority, in all three states, believed this was against the law. In fact, it is not. Can the boss fire a worker simply because he doesn’t like the worker? 89% of the employees in the Missouri survey thought violate workers’ rights.  Except that it doesn’t.[8]

What role do the media play in spreading actual disinformation? Probably quite a bit. Mostly, I suppose, they do not do this deliberately.  But it happens anyway. Crime shows are obviously distorted, but so is the “news.”  Television covers the major decisions of the United States Supreme Court; but this coverage is for the most part superficial, when it is not downright wrong.[9] A study in 1999 surveyed newspaper coverage of products liability cases brought against the auto industry. The study covered 361 cases in which car or truck companies were the defendants. The manufacturer won all but 92 of these cases. Punitive damages were awarded in just 16 cases. Newspapers ignored most of the decisions; they tended to report only cases in which plaintiffs actually won and they reported on ten out of the 16 cases of punitive damages.[10]  Like the coverage of big, juicy, and lurid murder trials, this gives a warped picture—a funhouse picture—of products liability cases.  A similar distortion occurs, I imagine, in the coverage of medical malpractice cases and of lawsuits in general.  The rare big verdicts get the most attention.  And people surely think more cases go to trial than actually do.

At least newspaper accounts of product liability cases probably get the bare facts right, which means that the accounts are, in a way, accurate as far as they go; but they may nonetheless give a false impression.  In other situations, however, the media do not get things right or, rather, they twist the facts out of all recognition.  One notorious instance was the incident involving Stella Liebeck and a cup of hot coffee at McDonald’s.  Ms. Liebeck, who was 79 years old, bought a cup of coffee in Albuquerque, New Mexico, in 1992, at a drive-in window at McDonald’s; her grandson was driving the car.  The lid of the coffee cup came off, she spilled coffee on her lap, and ended up in the hospital with third-degree burns on parts of her body; she was permanently disfigured and was disabled for up to two years after the incident.  She complained to the company, and got very little response. The coffee was in fact dangerously hot. McDonald’s had gotten many complaints about this fact. Liebeck eventually sued McDonald’s, and won her case; the jury awarded compensation and also assessed punitive damages against the company.

Mrs. Liebeck had what was almost certainly a legitimate complaint but the media paid no attention to the merits of her case.  They turned the affair into a cautionary tale of a greedy old woman, whose own behavior was reckless, but gave her the chance to bring a frivolous lawsuit against a rich, famous company.  You were led to think that this was yet another example of stupid, money-hungry people preying on legitimate businesses, making false or trumped-up complaints against these companies, and of foolish juries handing these plaintiffs enormous sums of money.  This was, of course, a gross distortion of reality, but it stuck.[11] The McDonald’s coffee case was only one example of many, illustrating how the media can sensationalize—and fictionalize—the outputs of the legal system.

The saga of Stella Liebeck was not, in its bare outline, a piece of fiction.  It was not a show. Stella Liebeck was a real person. The hot coffee was real. The lawsuit was real. The way the press covered the case was biased and distorted, but it purported to be coverage of “news,” and was (arguably) not part of the domain of popular culture. But, as we suggested, in our society, and in modern societies generally, the line between fact and fiction, between entertainment and reality, has blurred; in some ways, it has lost much of its meaning. “Popular culture” realistically includes much that we would not describe as fiction at all.  This is the main point in this brief essay.  A second, and related, point is that the media, including now the social media, have magnified the power of pop culture enormously—in some ways quite dangerously.

I. The Raw and the Cooked: Reality and Popular Culture

“Popular culture,” however one defines it, is in theory different from the popular reporting of actual events. A documentary is supposed to be different from a movie based on a made-up story.  But reality and fiction are, as we said, sisters under the skin. A novel is written to entertain, and to sell, but it always carries some sort of message. The message may be implicit. It may be trivial. On the other hand, the message can be quite powerful; “fiction” can sometimes have the capacity to move, to educate, or even to change the political constellation.  A work of popular culture may carry more real world power than any number of factual reports. The anti-slavery movement, before the American Civil War, published newspapers, documents, pamphlets, to further the cause. But none of this was as effective as Harriet Beecher Stowe’s novel, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, which appeared in 1852. Two generations later, Upton Sinclair’s novel, The Jungle, published in 1906, also had a powerful social impact.  Sinclair’s description of the cruel, disgusting, and unsanitary conditions in Chicago’s meat-packing plants horrified the country and created a huge uproar. Sinclair wrote the novel as a form of social protest; he wanted to emphasize the way in which the American economic system exploited workers. In fact, the book did little or nothing for workers. But it aroused the public, it made them worry about the meat products they were buying and eating. His vivid and lurid descriptions led to a firestorm of protest, and enormous pressure on the government to do something. This pressure was a factor in the passage of laws on meat inspection; it also had a significant role in the movement that led to the passage of a comprehensive food and drug law.[12]

These two novels illustrate the power of popular culture, though each in its own way.  There are many other examples: movies, plays, and novels that reflect popular culture but which also advance a cause. Here the line between the raw and the cooked is particularly fuzzy. Harriet Beecher Stowe got much of her inspiration from actual slave narratives. Sinclair’s description of life in the meat-packing plants was based on solid research. In the early 1930’s, Robert Elliott Burns painted a strong picture of the cruelty and inhumanity of Georgia’s penal system in his auto-biographical account, I Am a Fugitive from a Georgia Chain Gang. In 1932, Hollywood made a film based on the book, with the title I am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang; Paul Muni played Burns in the movie, and won an Academy Award.  Georgia abolished the chain gang system; both the story and the movie were influences, and it is hard to say which was more effective.

All this underscores the point that, in modern culture, the boundary that separates the raw, that is actual occurrences, from fictional accounts, has blurred considerably. The media “cook” raw events, and turn them into “news,” into something to be reported and disseminated. After all, “news” must find an audience and, to do this, it has to be interesting and entertaining. News, after all, is mostly a business. TV news programs, for example, live or die according to the ratings. “News” reports events and situations that are supposed to be real but the emphasis, the coverage, is not “real” in a deeper sense.  Coverage depends on decisions that TV stations (for example) make and these decisions turn raw events into something which might be dramatically different.  If news stations decide an event is important enough, they drop all their other programs; they provide coverage 24/7.  Almost certainly the underlying event (a massacre, for example) was real enough but its meaning is changed, enlarged, transformed, by the way it is reported.  A suicide bombing, an earthquake, a massive flood: these, in a sense, do not need to be cooked. But even for these obvious examples, the message and the spin is important. The interpretation. The way in which the “news” gets reported.  The message the news conveys.  “News,” in short, is not what actually happened, but what the media say has happened; these are never quite the same and, occasionally, are very different indeed.

Past events, moreover, can be turned into fiction—either as documentaries, which at least purport to be “true,” or into forms that dramatize and heighten a “true” situation.   The chain gang movie was not supposed to be a documentary, but it claimed to tell the true story of a man who did, in fact, escape from a chain gang.  Uncle Tom’s Cabin was pure fiction, and highly sentimentalized, but the underlying issue—the evils of slavery—was genuine indeed.    Investigations showed that Sinclair’s description of conditions in the meat-packing plants of Chicago was all too real; the story, to be sure, was pure fiction.

The role of the media here is absolutely crucial. Probably there was something we could call popular culture even in the days when human beings lived in caves, but the rise of the mass media has utterly changed the role and the nature of popular culture. The media are certainly powerful, but their success depends on their skill in guessing what the public thinks, or believes, or wants, or will want, or can accept. The media play up to their audiences, or potential audiences, and to the attitudes and desires that underlie popular culture.[13]  Popular culture infects and, in a way, controls the media; the mass media cannot survive without the masses. But the media in turn infect and manipulate their audience.  They depend on each other. Cop shows—and crime news—reflect and feed on what ordinary people think, but cop shows—and crime news—also help mold those views. Uncle Tom’s Cabin fed the zeal of anti-slavery forces but it did not invent the abolition movement. Today, more than ever, media and public are bound together in a form of symbiosis.

I want to stress once more how important a role entertainment plays in our societies. Popular culture is entertainment culture. Entertainment has always been important to people; but never so much so it is today.  In our times, much of public life has become a kind of show, or seems almost indistinguishable from a show. This is definitely the case with political campaigns.  Anyone running for President of the United States, or governor of a state, will get nowhere if he or she has a squeaky voice, or stutters. Politics is speeches, press conferences; it is TV ads, it is brochures; it is what the polls suggest; it is whether the candidate makes “news;” it is the way the campaign is conducted; it is slogans and rallies and all the rest; it is imagery. To be effective, the campaign must be, in short, entertaining. A candidate must have “charisma,” meaning roughly that he or she has to be attractive, appealing, sympathetic (Max Weber would hardly recognize this modern use of his term, “charisma”).[14] In a way, then, popular culture swallows up many features of “reality,” including politics, and turns them into a form of show business.

II. Going Viral

Two hundred years ago, humanity trudged from place to place on foot; the better off had horses and carriages, but most people had to walk. A message from, say, New York to London took many weeks to cross the Atlantic; a message from New York to New Orleans took just as long.  Customs, norms, habits, ways of thinking, ways of life—all of these diffused, if at all, at a snail’s pace.  Today’s world is incredibly different. A jet can go around the globe in a day or less.  Messages are even faster:  almost instantaneous.  Ideas, images, news, fashions; these too can move from place to place at warp speed.

The revolution in travel and communication increases the power of popular culture enormously. It makes cultural convergence possible.  In fact, modern travel and communication are crucial agencies of cultural convergence. A new song, if it catches on in Los Angeles, can be almost immediately downloaded in Tokyo, Bangkok, Buenos Aires, and Capetown. Cultural and legal convergence, in general, is a basic trait of modern society. Modern Japan has much more in common with modern Sweden than medieval Japan had with medieval Sweden.  People all over the world watch American movies and TV shows. Young people in every country like the same singers and songs. Sports culture is international. Pathologies of popular culture—doping scandals, for example—are equally international.   More and more, people wear the same clothes, follow the same fashions, play with the same toys as children, the same video games as adolescents, and watch the same football matches as adults.

Also: what was once strictly local news can now “go viral”, that is, it can spread all over a society and, very often, all over the world.  “Public opinion” has always influenced law but, in our day, it is easier to mobilize “public opinion”; it is possible to enlist millions of strangers in some enterprise, even if their only contact with each other is through email, or the internet, or some social network.  Modern revolutions indeed seem to start with social networks.

Popular culture today, more than ever before, is focused on the visual, on pictures and images.  These are more powerful than words. They can turn a small event into a big event; a minor sin can be blown up out of all proportions so that it reverberates in every part of a society. Consider the case of the so-called “dog poop” girl of South Korea, as Daniel Solove reported.[15] This young woman’s dog did his thing in a subway car; she refused to clean up after her pet. It was her bad luck that all this was captured on a camera. Blogs and videos did the rest. To millions of people, she became an object of scorn. You can only imagine what this did to her life.

Shaming in the old days was bad enough—think of Hester Prynne’s scarlet letter. But a scarlet letter in a New England town in the 17th century meant nothing in South Carolina and less than nothing in England or France.  Today, public shaming -the “ecstatic public condemnation of people” for small sins and local embarrassments – can reach an audience of fantastic size.[16]  This is also the age of “revenge porn” – scandalous or revealing pictures of ex-girlfriends or boyfriends. These pictures, originally meant to be private, get spread maliciously on the internet, for the benefit of countless prying eyes.[17] The visual power of modern technology can expand the small and the personal to gigantic size, as if projecting it onto some monstrously large screen.

The magic and power of popular culture is also the magic and the power of the now. Uncle Tom’s Cabin is history (or literature). But the latest song, play, movie, or image on the web speaks to a current audience, about current issues, and moves the audience in current ways. This power to magnify events, and to disseminate them, has enormous political and social importance. Police brutality, and police racism, has had a long history in the United States. It was often criticized, to be sure. But the public, on the whole, seemed indifferent. No longer. Videos of police behavior have aroused the anger of African-Americans and moved them to take action, to make demands, in new and stronger ways. Many members of the larger public have added their voices. The videos are, first of all, important pieces of evidence. They are also much more vivid than even the most fevered and personal account.

Similarly, newspapers can and do report the suffering of men, women, and children fleeing for their lives from the horrors of the civil war in Syria. They can, and do, report how many are lost at sea, drowned when rickety, overcrowded, and unsafe boats founder and sink in the Mediterranean. But nothing in all these reports was quite as powerful as the pathetic image of a dead child, washed up on the shore of Turkey. The power of the new media is to the power of the old, as the atom bomb is to muskets and blunderbusses.

And the real merges with the fictional. Now “popular culture” means precisely what the words suggest: what is popular, that is, what catches the attention, what entertains, what fascinates; and what is cultural, that is, what moves people, what is congruent with their ideas and their ways of life.

I have, in this brief essay, tried to argue that understanding popular culture is important for understanding current law. I have also argued that it no longer makes sense to draw a sharp line between the real and the fictional, at least on the issue of popular culture. Popular culture and popular opinion are, essentially, twins. They operate in tandem and influence each other. Moreover, popular culture, today, is more and more a global culture.  In other words, there is in many ways only one language, as it were, of popular culture; it exists in every modern, developed country—with certain differences of dialect.  It is stronger than ever before.  And more than ever, it deserves serious study and research.


Endnotes

[1] Marion Rice Kirkwood Professor of Law, Stanford University.

[2] I want to distinguish between popular culture, and popular legal culture.  If by “legal culture” we mean people’s ideas, attitudes, and expectations, with regard to the legal system, then popular legal culture can be defined as the legal culture of ordinary people, or, at least of lay people, rather than the “conscious theorizing of legal philosophers or professors of law.”  Lawrence M. Friedman, “Law, Lawyers, and Popular Culture,” (1989) Yale L. J. 98: 1579, 1584.  Popular culture is an important source and influence on popular legal culture.

[3] See, for example, John Denvir (ed), Legal Reelism:  Movies as Legal Text  (University of Illinois Press, 1996); Michael Freeman (ed), Law and Popular Culture  (Oxford University Press, 2005); Michael Asimow and Shannon Mader (eds)  Law and Popular Culture:  A Course Book  (2nd ed. Peter Lang Publishing Inc, 2013).

[4] Lawrence M. Friedman, “The People’s Choice:  Law in Culture and Society,” in Alison Diduck, Noam Peleg, and Helen Reece (eds), Law in Society:  Reflections on Children, Family, Culture and Philosophy:   Essays in Honour of Michael Freeman (Brill, 2015), p. 83.

[5] Yet, interestingly, law students draw “heavily on media news sources in forming their views on lawyers as well as on …popular culture.”  Michael Asimow et al., “Perceptions of Lawyers—a Transnational Study of Student Views on the Image of Law and Lawyers,” (2005) 12 Int’l J. of the Legal Profession 407, 427

[6] See Lawrence M. Friedman, The Big Trial: Law as Public Spectacle (University Press of Kansas, 2015).

[7] See Pascoe Pleasence and Nigel J. Balmer, “Ignorance in Bliss:  Modeling Knowledge of Rights in Marriage and Cohabitation,” (2012) 46 Law & Society Review 497 (2012).

[8] Pauline T. Kim, “Norms, Learning, and Law:  Exploring the Influences on Workers’ Legal Knowledge,” (1999) U. Ill. L. Rev. 447.

[9] See Elliot E. Slotnick and Jennifer A. Segal, Television News and the Supreme Court:  All the News that’s Fit to Air?  (Cambridge University Press, 1998)

[10]Seven Garber and Anthony G. Bower, “Newspaper Coverage of Automotive Product Liability Verdicts,” (1999) 33 Law & Society Review 93

[11] On this case, see William Haltom and Michael McCann, Distorting the Law:  Politics, Media, and the Litigation Crisis (2nd ed. University of Chicago Press, 2004), pp. 183-226.

[12] The two laws were enacted on the same day.  The Food and Drug Law was 34 Stat. 768 (1906).

[13] The audience may be, and usually is, something less than the general public. At this time (2017), some news media hardly even pretend to be objective; they are deeply political, and tilt either left or right; people choose the shows that conform to their political tastes.

[14] To Weber, charisma was an almost magical quality: the authoritative and legitimating power of a heroic figure or a saint.

[15] Daniel J. Solove, The Future of Reputation (Yale University Press, 2007), pp. 2-3.

[16] Jon Ronson, So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed (Riverhead Books, 2015), p. 275.

[17] Joanna L. Grossman and Lawrence M. Friedman, “The Power and Peril of the Internet:  How Should ‘Revenge Porn’ Be Handled?” Justia’s Verdict, Feb. 4., 2015.

Introduction: Law, Popular Culture, and Classical Culture: Representation of Underdogs in Arts and Media

Dear Reader,

Welcome to a new issue of the Journal of the Oxford Centre for Socio-Legal Studies (JOxCSLS). As guest editors for this special issue on law, popular culture, and classical culture, we appreciate the kind invitation to organise this issue from former general editors Matilde Gawronski and Felix-Anselm von Lier and the invaluable assistance of the current editors, Owain Johnstone and Fernanda Farina. It was a great opportunity to organise a thematic issue with the collaboration of scholars from the United Kingdom, the United States, Venezuela, and Brazil.

All of the essays explore the universe of arts and media, discussing socio-legal issues found in TV series, cinema, photography, opera, science fiction, and literature. The eight contributions were selected from a panel organised by Michael Asimow at the Law and Society Association Conference in New Orleans in June 2016 and from a volume edited by Pedro Fortes at the FGV LAW SCHOOL series (Cadernos FGV DIREITO RIO) in December 2015, which was published in Portuguese. All of the texts are original and published in English for the first time here.

Lawrence Friedman participated in both the panel, as a discussant, and the book, as a contributor, and we are delighted that he accepted our invitation to write a foreword for this special issue. Lawrence produced the seminal article on law and popular culture, establishing the foundations of this field of socio-legal studies with his article, Law, Lawyers, and Popular Culture, published in the Yale Law Journal in 1989.[1]  In his foreword, Lawrence revisits this theme, bringing new perspectives and ideas for our reflection. In a nutshell, he argues that understanding popular culture is important for understanding current law and it no longer makes sense to draw a sharp line between the real and the fictional.

Interestingly, all essays somehow include representations of underdogs in the arts and media. One essay claims that filmmakers may protect minorities through affirmative cinema and another critiques the negative stereotypes of Jewish lawyers in TV series. We also find socio-legal analyses of the underworld of drug traffickers and the lack of racial and ethnic diversity in corporate law firms depicted in TV series. In the universe of photography, we are reminded of the human rights and privacy of individuals under visual surveillance. We encounter a humiliated Asian wife, a sensual Spanish gypsy, and a number of villains, traitors, and anti-heroes in opera. In science fiction, robots demand recognition of their rights to life and self-determination. The dilettante’s dream of law and literature emphasises the importance of analysing law from various standpoints, including from the perspective of the underdogs.

In Jewish Lawyers on Television, Michael Asimow discusses stereotypical representations that portray Jewish attorneys as greedy, unethical, and unattractive characters. The analysis is based on more than a dozen TV characters, such as Douglas Wambaugh from Picket Fences, Louis Litt from Suits, and Maurice Levy from The Wire. There is also the strange case of the highly unethical Saul Goodman, a non-Jew passing as a Jewish lawyer in Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul. Michael explains that these stereotypes are rooted in anti-Semitic attitudes toward Jewish lawyers that were prevalent until the 1960s. This article contrasts the negative representations of Jewish lawyers on television with mildly positive and strongly favourable portrayals, provides explanations for these contrasting images, and how they correspond to a Jewish commitment to social justice.

Manuel Gomez depicts the socio-legal universe of mafias, gangs, and criminal organisations in his Outside but Within: the Normative Dimension of the Underworld in the Television Series ‘Breaking Bad’ and ‘Better Call Saul’. Manuel reminds us that normative orders emerge from within the underworld, wholly outside the state legal order. Combining lessons from both normative pluralism and law and popular culture, his essay reminds us of the particular sense of right and wrong established in various representations of Italian mafias, including the Corleone family in the Godfather trilogy. His socio-legal analyses include the relevance of private ordering in competition with the state public order and of cooperation enhanced by social connections and multi-stranded ties of family, ethnicity, and common heritage. Manuel investigates the relevance of internal sanctioning, the construction of the sense of justice, and the special role of lawyer Saul Goodman in both Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul.

Peter Robson contributes to this issue with The Portrayal of Corporate Lawyer on TV: The U.S. and British Models from McKenzie Brackman to Trust and Suits. Corporate lawyers may not seem like underdogs because of their glamorous lives, expensive suits, and shiny glass towers but closer examination reveals highly conflictive working environments, in which intra-firm infighting may comprise 75% of their time in the office. Additionally, work in a corporate law firm is portrayed as incompatible with family life. Peter identifies a clear difference between the screenplays of these programs and series dealing with criminal law, in that series based in corporate law firms tend to focus on the characters instead of the cases. In Suits, for example, the focus is on the tragi-comic farce of Mike Ross, a man escaping from the police who runs into an interview and is hired as a corporate lawyer even though he never attended law school. There is very little discussion of law, which probably results from a perception that any legal issues relating to the corporate world are too complicated for the audience.

In Lights, Camera, Affirmative Action: Does Hollywood Protect Minorities?, Pedro Fortes examines the universe of affirmative cinema and investigates the dialogue between film-makers and law-makers in advancing the protection of minority rights. The article examines the recognition of same-sex marriage by the Brazilian Supreme Court and suggests that the transformation of popular culture and public opinion may be the primary explanation for this landmark decision, since the formal sources of law had not changed. The article claims that the global diffusion of normative ideas supporting the protection of minorities, based on race and sexual orientation, is faster through the cinema than through the courts. Hollywood blockbusters like Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? and Brokeback Mountain are more easily translated, distributed, and disseminated than academic doctrine, judicial decisions, and legal opinions.

The use of photography as a tool for reflection of the relationship between law and culture is the core of Henry Steiner’s essay Photography’s Transformation: Its Influence on Culture and Law. His essay discusses two different sub-themes of law and photography, changing the centre of gravity from photography in the first part to law in the second part. In the first part, Henry proposes a thought experiment, in which we are invited to imagine the relationship of future generations with their ancestors, given the access to images and videos generated by contemporary smartphones. The second part of his essay moves into human rights law and analyses how the technological diffusion of images and videos, generated in public spaces monitored by a profusion of closed-circuit television cameras, bears on complex legal questions on the right to privacy.

Gabriel Lacerda has produced a real tour de force through the universe of European operas in his Law and Opera: Stimuli to a Sensible Perception of Law. After 10 years of teaching a course on Law and Cinema, Gabriel decided to explore the universe of normativity in a selection of works from well-known French, German, and Italian composers. In this essay, he shares with the reader snapshots of socio-legal issues found in Verdi’s Otello and Don Carlo, Puccini’s Madame Butterfly, and Bizet’s Carmen. Each opera involves individuals in positions of vulnerability and their legal dilemmas. Gabriel also discusses a legal case in Wagner’s Lohengrin and the scepticism of the devil towards jurisprudence in Goethe’s tragedy of Faustus and in Boito’s Mefistofele.  In his conclusion, Gabriel emphasises the importance of sensibility and the emotions evoked by artistic expression for legal analysis.

In More Human than Human: How Some Science Fiction Presents Artificial Intelligence’s Claims to Right to Life and Self-Determination, Christine Corcos explores the universe of science fiction to investigate the possible recognition of personhood and rights for robots. This innovative intellectual journey covers several classic works from literature and cinema, providing insights based on normative elements developed within science fiction, such as Asimov’s ‘laws of robotics’ and the ‘Voigt-Kamff’ test to identify robots. Christine reflects on the deeply philosophical question of the potential humanity of machines with artificial intelligence. She provides a powerful investigation of human nature, the constitutional rights of an autonomous personality, and the development of signs of consciousness. Through discussions of works such as Bicentennial Man and Blade Runner, Christine examines claims to sentience and self-determination of humanoids in science fiction – another interesting example of underdogs in popular culture.

William Twining has written a somewhat confessional essay on Law and Literature: A Dilettante’s Dream. It is an abridged version of a lecture delivered at Wolfson College, University of Oxford in 2013 in which he explored the rich interplay between literature and law. This essay is full of autobiographical reminiscences, such as William’s inspiration from his professor, H.L.A. Hart, at Oxford, his collaboration with Shakespeare scholar René Weis at UCL, and his exchange with Lord Denning at a Warwick workshop. William reveals that many socio-legal concepts developed in his jurisprudence were inspired by literature and literary theory, such as the differentiation of standpoint, the necessary use of narratives, and frames of reference for evaluating and interpreting evidence. Italo Calvino’s Mr. Palomar and Invisible Cities are used to explain the implications of globalisation for understanding law and society and the idea of legal cartography. William praises the multiple perspectives and descriptions of complex realities.

Additionally, Donald Papy provides a book review of Law and Popular Culture: A Course Book, by Michael Asimow and Shannon Mader (New York: Peter Lang Publishing, 2nd edition, 2013). In his review, Donald praises the qualities of the book, summarises some of the core ideas, approves the legal realist perspective, and offers the constructive feedback that future editions should explore popular culture beyond just the universe of cinema and TV series.

Finally, Sandra Ristovska provides a note from the field entitled Tackling Visual Knowledge: The Story of the Yale Visual Law Project. Sandra shares with us her vision about a change of paradigm regarding the value of images for legal argumentation, highlighting the sensory richness and relational thinking so relevant for the academic turn to visual rhetoric. Sandra focuses primarily on the activities and mission of the Yale Visual Law Project, but she points out that Stanford, NYU, Harvard, and the University of Pennsylvania also conducted similar initiatives. She calls for the development of a visual jurisprudence.

Editing this special issue of the Journal of the Oxford Centre for Socio-Legal Studies (JOxCSLS) was a great opportunity, given the collection of essays that combine academic quality with the contemporary insights brought to socio-legal studies by arts and media, pop culture and classical culture. We hope that you will enjoy reading this special issue as much as we appreciated reading, discussing, and editing these terrific essays.

Oxford and Stanford, January 2017.

Pedro Fortes and Michael Asimow

Guest Editors for the JOxCSLS

[1] Lawrence Friedman, Law, Lawyers, and Popular Culture (1989) 98 Yale Law Journal 1579

Law and Literature: A Dilettante’s Dream?

William Twining

I. Introduction

In November 2013 I gave a lecture in Wolfson College, Oxford entitled: “LAW  AND LITERATURE: A DILETTANTE’S DREAM?”.  It was in two parts. Part A expressed guarded scepticism about ‘The Law and Literature Movement’ (LLit). The thesis was simple: in this context neither ‘Literature’ nor ‘Law’ have one referent. As academic fields, these disciplines are far too broad and internally fragmented to have one coherent set of relations; as phenomena (e.g. literature as a heritage of texts, law as institutions, processes in ‘the real world,’ as well as laws as ideas) they are too varied and amorphous to be reduced to a coherent set of subject-matters that can be sensibly juxtaposed. There are specific, focused topics and themes that have produced illuminating insights, such as Shakespeare’s constitutional ideas and assumptions, but much of the secondary discussion of the ‘movement’ is over-generalized.

In Part B, abandoning any effort to generalize about the movement or alleged ‘field,’ I descended into autobiography. I told some specific stories about how some eclectic engagements with ‘literature’ had influenced my own thought and work: not just as grace notes, or quotation-dropping, or otherwise showing off or frolicking. Part B was more successful than Part A. It suggested a question that each of you may ask yourself: what, if anything, in the heritage of literature or literary studies has significantly influenced my work in law? Why?

Part B, with only minor changes, is reproduced here. In this version I have retained the informal style of the lecture, but I have added a few footnotes.[1] It deals with three topics: (i) standpoint; (ii) narrative and argument in fact-finding; (iii) Italo Calvino and Jurisprudence.

II. Standpoint[2]

My first example of being helped as a jurist by “literature” relates to what is now old-fashioned literary criticism. As an undergraduate my interest in Jurisprudence – indeed in law – had been inspired by Herbert Hart, especially his inaugural lecture, delivered in 1952.[3]  However, over time I became increasingly dissatisfied by his narrow view of the agenda of Jurisprudence.[4] This linked up with an adolescent worry about belief pluralism that I have never grown out of: how to cope with the fact that there are many belief systems, all claiming to be right? Shortly after I graduated I read, and was enthralled by, R.G. Collingwood’s Autobiography -_ surely a great work of literature, indeed of fiction.[5] The key idea for me was that all history is the history of thought: to understand Aristotle, or Nelson’s decisions at Trafalgar, one needs to put oneself in the writer’s or actor’s shoes and try to understand the their situation, concerns, concepts, and information in order to reconstruct what they were thinking and what it meant. Reading Collingwood was for me a huge step forward, but it did not quite dissolve all my puzzles.

Soon after being excited by Collingwood, I read E. M. Forster’s Aspects of the Novel, written in 1927.[6] As a serious-minded auto-didact, I even read some of the works he discussed. Two related, seemingly contradictory, ideas grabbed me. First, Forster praised Percy Lubbock’s The Craft of Fiction (first published in 1921) and quoted with approval his statement:

The whole intricate question of method, in the craft of fiction, I take to be governed by the question of the point of view – the question of the relation in which the narrator stands to the story.”[7]

I devoured Lubbock and his distinctions between the impartial or partial onlooker and the omniscient author; and seeing everything through the eyes of one or more participants. This developed Collingwood’s idea of history by differentiating several different types of points of view and, as we shall see, it had immediate resonance in relation to studying law.

In the latter parts of Aspects of the Novel Forster seemed to alter course. He sharply criticised Henry James for adhering too rigidly to a consistent standpoint – sacrificing humanity and life to aesthetic form. In particular, in The Ambassadors James constructed an aesthetically complete form – like an hourglass:

 “[B]ut at what sacrifice! … the cost is a very short list of characters, – mainly one observer who tries to influence the action and the second-rate outsider – and these characters ….are constructed on very stingy lines…. Why so wanton with human beings?”[8]

In short, James’ formalism cut out the messy reality of life. That was just how I felt about law and the dominant tradition -_ only a little less dominant today -_ of doctrinal formalism (whatever that means). So, I defected from Hart -_ at least he thought so -_ to something called “realism” and from then on standpoint and multiple perspectives became key concepts.

I soon recognized that differentiation of standpoint was already a powerful tool in Analytical Jurisprudence and Philosophy.[9] For example, Bentham’s distinction between expository and censorial jurisprudence and Rawls’ claim to dissolve a puzzlement about act- and rule-utilitarianism by assigning the former to the judge’s question and the latter to the legislator’s question in respect of punishment: the legislator asks who should be punished under what conditions? The judge asks: should I punish this person? In Jurisprudence Hart, Lasswell and McDougal, and Holmes were among those who used differentiation of standpoints to advance their ideas.[10]

However, it seemed to me that standpoint analysis should not stop at abstract distinctions between observers and participants, external and internal points of view, and elusive differentiations between subjective and objective -__ such distinctions often break down.  Take, for example, the distinction between participants, observers, and participant-observers. Much of legal scholarship, legal theorising, and legal education is participant-oriented. A central part of Anglo-American traditions of pedagogy involves making students adopt different roles: advise your client; make the case for the plaintiff; decide this case; change the law. We ask them to pretend to be different kinds of actors, mainly in the upper reaches of the system: Supreme Court Justices, legislators, Lord Chancellors or Justice Ministers.[11]  Less often do they pretend to be lowly actors such as consumers, victims, convicted criminals, or other users of law and legal processes. Subaltern points of view are not well-developed in our tradition of academic law but have been seized on by some members of the Law and Literature Movement.[12]

Nietzsche suggested that the commonest form of stupidity consists in forgetting what one is trying to do.[13] For my students, I have found that the commonest form of stupidity is forgetting who they are pretending to be. So, I make the clarification of standpoint an essential first step for them in a variety of intellectual exercises.[14]

There is a standard repertory of stereotypical or abstract roles in legal discourse – the legislator, the judge, prosecutor, defence lawyer, negotiator, adviser, and so on. There are also familiar images like economic man, Hart’s internal point of view (mainly of officials), Kelsen’s “legal point of view”,[15] Dworkin’s ideal judge Hercules, Holmes’ Bad Man, the puzzled interpreter, a cynical tax consultant, Mutt and Jeff (soft/hard police interrogation), the upright judge.[16] There are many kinds of legal actor and each kind can be further broken down into sub-species. But at some point, especially in socio-legal studies, one needs to focus on particularities. If one is interested in what actually happens, what actual participants are like, and real-life experiences, one needs to think empirically in terms of the actual characteristics of real people – how they in fact think, reason, argue, decide, behave.

So, two 1920s literary critics or commentators inspired some of what for me has been a crucial set of tools for thinking about law. Of course, literary theory has moved on and has become more sophisticated -_ indeed, often too sophisticated for a mere jurist. From time to time I have dabbled with reader response theory, perspectivism, the intentionist fallacy, deconstruction, and some other fads, fashions, and frolics of academic literary studies. But that has been more like dilettantism on my part and I personally have not found any of them very helpful.

A. Standpoint and narrative: The Shakespearean and the Jurist

The subtleties of standpoint analysis are illustrated by a strange collaboration that I have had with a Shakespeare scholar (and social historian) René Weis of the English Department at University College London. For years, in teaching law students how to analyse evidence and construct arguments about questions of fact in complex cases, I have used the English 1920s cause célèbre of R v Bywaters and Thompson.[17] Frederick Bywaters and Edith Thompson were convicted of murdering Edith’s husband Percy – Freddy for stabbing him, Edith for inciting and conspiring with Freddy to kill Percy. Edith was convicted largely on the basis of some sixty love letters to Freddy, many in a gushing, stream-of-consciousness, elliptical style.[18] I chose the case, because as one student said: “If you can analyse Edith’s prose, you can analyse anything.” The case, like the Sacco Vanzetti case in America,[19] became something of a literary event: it stimulated several plays, at least one very bad film, and a brilliant feminist novel, A Pin to See the Peepshow.[20] Opinion is still divided about Edith’s guilt.

After some years, I wrote an article using Bywaters and Thompson to illustrate the method of analysis and argument construction that I was trying to teach.[21] Only after the essay was complete did I learn that a colleague in English at UCL had just finished a whole book on the case, passionately arguing Edith’s innocence.[22] We compared notes and decided to publish our pieces separately without changing them, but then to write a joint paper comparing our different approaches to the case.[23] For me, this was a fascinating and instructive experience. Here, I will only deal with this insofar as it illustrates the complexities of standpoint. We both reached similar conclusions about Edith’s guilt, but by strikingly different routes.[24]

The first point is whether, in considering Edith’s guilt, we were addressing the same question. The answer to this is contested. I maintain that we were not concerned with the fairness of the trial, but adopting the standpoint of historians 80 or so years after the event we were asking whether Edith was criminally responsible for Percy’s death in fact on the basis of the law at the time.  To answer the question a historian would need to know the applicable law of murder, including the murky doctrine surrounding incitement and conspiracy. Weis’s perspective, objectives, and methods were different from mine and he produced a lot of new data. The fact that Weis is not a lawyer is irrelevant. Some students disagree, emphasizing our different methods. In my view, they are wrong. Our question was shared.

Our methods were indeed very different and we brought to bear different lenses. I focused on the trial record, mainly Edith’s letters to her lover, and subjected it to critical analysis, illustrating the method I was trying to teach. I concluded that the evidence for conspiracy was very weak, but the evidence of incitement was colourable, though not quite strong enough to satisfy the reasonable doubt standard, especially in relation to the question whether Freddy killed Percy because of Edith’s incitement – on this a reasonable jury and commentators could disagree.

What did the Shakespearean do? First, he set the trial in the context of social conditions and attitudes of the time, the life stories of the main actors, and, most tellingly, the stormy course of their relationship. He dug up a great deal of new material about the trial, the personalities involved, and the romantic novels in which Edith immersed herself — using all this to construct a theory of Edith living in a fantasy world and never intending that Percy should be murdered. Second, he constructed a master narrative of Edith’s life and death in the social context of her times. Third, he brought his skills as a textual scholar to bear on a minute and scrupulous examination of Edith’s letters as texts. He constructed a detailed, almost day-by-day, account of the 18-month relationship with Freddy and then set each letter in the context of the ups and downs of that relationship. By doing this for each significant letter he was able to infer Edith’s mood, the effect of each passage, and that some words and phrases were thematic or part of a lovers’ code.

You can imagine that this prosaic lawyer was made goggle-eyed by this scintillating performance. I learned a lot about the case and how to read love letters, but almost nothing about Shakespeare. There was one flaw. Weis’s argument was that Edith lacked criminal intent. At least a dozen letters could be construed as acts of incitement – some subtle, but some crude: “I wish we had not got electric light – it would be easy.”[25] “What exactly would be so easy, Mrs. Thompson?” “I used the “light bulb” three times but the third time – he found a piece – so I’ve given up until you come home.”[26] “I’ll risk and try if you will.” It stretches the imagination that none of these passages involved intent to kill Percy and incite Freddy. Weis did not focus exactly on what the prosecution had to prove and on the several material facts, as we lawyers call them. A better line of defence would be that Freddy did not take Edith’s letters seriously and that his knifing of Percy was spontaneous rather than premeditated, so that he did not kill Percy because of Edith’s incitement or in pursuance of a conspiracy.

It is tempting to say that Weis used a narrative approach and I used a logical one. But this is misleading. Each of us used both. Weis tested key elements in his grand narratives and sub-plots against evidence -_ especially the evidence of the letters. I used narrative to imagine possible scenarios, to construct hypotheses, and to wrap the strongest case for and against Edith in a coherent story that made sense of the case as a whole. By the time I came to write about the case, I was already convinced that both narrative and logic are necessary in reconstructing past events. There was however a major theoretical problem: in this kind of approach to reconstructing particular past events, what is the relationship between evidence, narrative, and argument?

III. Narrative

A. Uses and abuses of narrative: stories as necessary, but dangerous

This brings us to another story. Once upon a time, in the early seventies, the French philosopher, Paul Ricoeur, visited the University of Warwick. His legacy was a series of seminars on “Narrative as an instrument of culture”, which was interpreted as academic culture. The organizers divided academic disciplines into three rough categories: ‘Not Obvious’, such as economics, the philosophy of science, physics, and geography; ‘Obvious’, such as literature, history, and theology; and ‘In-between’, including law, anthropology, and sociology.[27]

They began with ‘Not Obvious’ and invited scholars from disciplines in that category to discuss the role of narrative in their own discipline or sub-discipline. Whether or not they had thought about it before, all of the contributors found story-telling playing various roles in their field.[28] For example, a philosopher of science, Rom Harré, reported how scientific journals rarely give a realistic account of the story of an experiment (‘Milly sneezed and knocked over the Bunsen burner’, or ‘how we coped when the grant ran out’), rather working in accounts of the contributions of the principal researcher, thereby lending authority to the findings, and writing up scientific research projects as if they were heroic quests, with heroes, villains, and magic helpers.[29]

When they turned to law, the organizers invited Lord Denning, the most famous judge of his day, who was well-known both as a raconteur and for vivid evocations of the facts of cases in his judgments. The invitation did not scorn flattery. It read in effect: ‘Dear Lord Denning, We believe you to be the greatest legal story-teller of your generation. Will you please come to Warwick to tell us your secret(s).’ Lord Denning is reported to have replied along the following lines: ‘Dear Warwick, I am indeed the greatest story teller of my generation, perhaps of the twentieth century, but I am too old to travel to Warwick. Yours sincerely, Denning.’

There were two sequels to this rebuff. First, despairing of finding a single substitute for Denning, the organizers invited two academic lawyers: Professor Bernard Jackson, who had written about legal semiotics, and myself, a former member of staff at Warwick, and known for a dilettante interest in literature.[30] I accepted, but also suggested that if Denning could not come to Warwick, Warwick might go to Lord Denning. We did; it was fun, but that is another story.[31]

Until the Warwick workshops, I had never thought in a sustained way about narrative in relation to law. My previous engagement with law and literature had been mainly in relation to standpoint and to quotations as grace notes. As soon as I focused on narrative, stories and themes popped up from many different contexts: barristers’ “war stories”, lawyer jokes, accounts of causes célèbres and miscarriages of justice, Brian Simpson’s wonderful contextual studies of leading cases, lawyer novels, Lord Denning’s famous after dinner stories, and so on.[32] But apart from such frivolities, stories also figure prominently in legal practice. The law reports are a vast anthology of short stories about disputes of every kind. And in the law reports, one may find several kinds of story in a single judgment: the facts of the case (sometimes retold two or three times), the story of the proceedings leading up to the decision (but rarely the end of the story as far as the parties were concerned), and the story of the law, tracing the development of the applicable doctrine through a series of precedents, often stretching back a century or more (Lord Denning was a master of this technique). Or a case may be just one episode in a long-running feud or campaign. In the subject of evidence story-telling is often contrasted with rational argument and logical analysis, and “atomism” with “holism”.[33] Psychologists tell us that juries decide more by weighing the plausibility of competing stories than by careful analysis of the evidence.[34] Manuals of advocacy stress the importance of constructing and presenting vivid, coherent, persuasive stories.[35] Even in appellate cases, a standard mantra is: “The statement of the facts is the heart of the argument”.[36]

This introduction to ‘the narrative turn’ had an immediate impact on my approach to evidence. Up to then I had been focusing on the logic of proof and Wigmore’s chart method for constructing and criticizing arguments about disputed facts in complex cases.[37] I was aware that psychologists had shown that American juries choose between plausible stories rather than trying to decide in a mainly logical way, but that suggested a deficiency in jury decision-making.[38] Wigmore had claimed that his logic of proof was a superior alternative to “the story method”, which he dismissed as lazy, seat-of-the-pants impressionism.[39] It soon became clear to me that Wigmore was wrong and that stories play a crucial part in investigation, advocacy, and judicial determination of facts and “in making sense of a case”, whatever that means. Less obvious was the fact that story-telling transcends the divide between questions of fact and questions of law and that persuasive story-telling is an important part of determining disputed questions of law in particular cases.[40] The relationship between rational argument and story-telling and between background generalizations and stories became a central concern of my work on evidence.[41]

I decided that stories played an important, perhaps essential role, in investigation, advocacy, and adjudication, but I also realized how dangerous they can be. Of course, this has been a central theme in the history of rhetoric from the sophists through Cicero and Quintillian to Chaim Perelman’s school of new rhetoric. I once tried to use Plato’s Gorgias in teaching Jurisprudence, with mixed results. My main concern at the time was with uncritical acceptance of narrative and a failure to see its relevance to the problematic distinction between law and fact.  Enthusiasm for the narrative turn led to many excesses: “narrative” became a kind of magic wand for solving problems; the term was extended beyond tightly defined stories, involving temporality, particularity, and coherence, to almost any kind of discourse. In some writings, they were lauded as a substitute for evidence: for example, in an empirical study, two American sociologists, Bennett and Feldman, argued that stories serve as aids to selecting from a superfluity of information and to filling in gaps in that information. Their argument was that stories provide frames of reference for evaluating and interpreting evidence in terms of completeness and consistency.[42] But the idea that stories can be used to fill in gaps in the evidence goes against all legal standards of fact-determination; it means the same as papering over the cracks in the argument. Further enquiry, including into that neglected brand of literature manuals of advocacy, suggested that stories are wonderful vehicles for cheating according to defensible ideas about what is involved in proving facts. Innuendo, confabulation, sneaking in irrelevant or ungrounded facts, focusing on the actor rather than the act, appealing to hidden prejudices and stereotypes, emotive language, and other dubious means of persuasion are commonplace in advocacy.[43] And, of course, good or familiar stories are often more appealing than true stories.[44] It is not just advocates who use stories in such ways. In the opening paragraph in the famous case of Miller v Jackson[45]  Lord Denning, a brilliant but erratic story-teller, can be shown to have been unjudgelike in about a dozen ways: The opening paragraph reads;

“In summer time village cricket is the delight of everyone. Nearly every village has its own cricket field where the young men play and the old men watch. In the village of Lintz in County Durham they have their own ground, where they have played for these last 70 years. They tend it well. The wicket area is well rolled and mown. The outfield is kept short. It has a good club-house for the players and seats for the onlookers. The village team play there on Saturdays and Sundays. They belong to a league, competing with the neighbouring villages. On other evenings after work they practice while the light lasts. Yet now after these 70 years a judge of the High Court has ordered that they must not play there any more. He has issued an injunction to stop them. He has done it at the instance of a newcomer who is no lover of cricket. This newcomer has built, or has had built for him, a house on the edge of the cricket ground which four years ago was a field where cattle grazed. The animals did not mind the cricket. But now this adjoining field has been turned into a housing estate. The newcomer has bought one of the houses on the edge of the cricket ground. No doubt the open space was a selling point. Now he complains that, when a batsman hits a six, the ball has been known to land in his garden or on or near his house. His wife has got so upset about it that they always go out at weekends. They do not go into the garden when cricket is being played. They say that this is intolerable. So they asked the judge to stop the cricket being played. And the judge, much against his will, has felt that he must order the cricket to be stopped; with the consequences, I suppose, that the Lintz Cricket Club will disappear. The cricket ground will be turned to some other use. I expect for more houses or a factory. The young men will turn to other things instead of cricket. The whole village will be much the poorer. And all this because of a newcomer who has just bought a house there next to the cricket ground.”[46]

In this passage, extraordinary even by common law standards, the great judge can be convicted of inventing facts, suppressing facts, using emotive terms to characterise one of the parties, and giving a completely misleading impression of the context of the case, evoking nostalgic images of nineteen-thirties village cricket in rural Hampshire in respect of the fiercer game in a depressed Northern mining village.[47]

Of course, there are deep contested issues about the relationship between logic and rhetoric, between story-telling and inferential reasoning, and what are legitimate and illegitimate techniques of persuasion in forensic contexts. The tensions in the study of evidence are particularly acute because evidence in legal contexts is a field that has been invaded by statisticians, especially Bayesians, epistemological sceptics, and post-modernists who blur or deny distinctions between fact and fiction. [48]

B. Italo Calvino

Old-fashioned literary criticism influenced my thinking on standpoint; “the narrative turn” challenged some important assumptions about evidence in law; the writings of Italo Calvino had other important effects. Notice that my concerns and literary influences were of different kinds. Note, too, that each of these examples is a fit topic for socio-legal studies. Clarification of standpoint is as important in empirical enquiry as it is in legal analysis and legal practice; studies of how legal actors in fact reason and use stories are almost as important as normative thinking about how they should and should not reason or use stories; and, I shall suggest, Calvino is at least as relevant to socio-legal enquiries as to some other concerns of the discipline of law.

I undertook to make the case for Italo Calvino’s significance for jurisprudence. My thinking on standpoint and narrative was greatly helped by writings about literature. Calvino tapped into other existing concerns even more. I shall begin with a personal account of three ways in which I have been influenced by him, before making the general case. I shall focus on two books: Mr Palomar and Invisible Cities.[49]

I first encountered Mr. Palomar when I was starting to think about the implications of so-called “globalisation” for understanding law in the world as a whole – surely a worthy aspiration for our discipline. Mr. Palomar wishes to understand the universe and ‘reduce it to its simplest mechanism.’ He decides to start with particulars. He tries first to see and fix in his mind one individual wave as a precise and finite object. He fails. He tries again and again and becomes neurasthenic. He tries to work out how to control his lawn by focusing on a single square metre of it. In order to count how many blades of grass there are, how thick, and how distributed he uses statistical analysis, description, narrative, and interpretation. He fails again. He feels oppressed, insecure. He nearly has a nervous breakdown. Maybe describing the moon or a constellation of stars viewed from the earth is easier than describing a wave or a patch of grass. But “this observation of the stars transmits an unstable and contradictory knowledge.”[50] They move, they change, there are faint glimmerings. He distrusts the celestial charts.[51]

Mr. Palomar’s predicament is that of any scholar dealing with a complex subject. It obviously applies to socio-legal enquiries. It is also especially acute for those who try to write histories of the world or to give an account of the universe of law. To be sure, there are patterns to be discerned, but they can be elusive, fragile, unstable, impressionistic, and mainly on the surface. If we are to avoid Mr. Palomar’s neurosis and paralysis, we may have to be content with painting bold selective pictures with fragile, crude, unreliable materials. And, as Palomar realises, there is no closure on scholarly enquiry.

A second inspiration from Calvino concerns legal cartography. In thinking about globalisation, I started to explore the idea of depicting legal phenomena in the world as a whole and significant portions of it in terms of maps: both physical maps and mental maps.[52] I found some help in the literature on urban sociology – for example there are four images of cities recurring in that field: the city as organism, as machine, as bazaar, and as jungle.[53]  It immediately struck me that these images or metaphors could be almost equally applied to depicting legal systems or institutionalised normative orders.

Images of the common law as an organic form of law or as a kind of social engineering are commonplace in our discipline. The standpoints of people as users or consumers of law in a bazaar is less developed.  The metaphor of jungle is richly ambiguous: we wish to preserve and visit rain forests, but the image of jungle can be alien, oppressive, requiring skills of survival. This is an image of law as a hostile product of other people’s power. This was a helpful counterpoint to the thinking of depicting law in terms of physical maps, but neither solved the problem of depicting immensely complex and varied phenomena in terms of a total picture.

After I had presented my rudimentary ideas on legal cartography to a seminar in Miami, a colleague (Michael Froomkin) came up to me and said in effect: “I thought you liked Calvino. Why on earth did you not use his Invisible Cities?” The answer was that I had not read it. When I did I had not only to rewrite my paper, but also to adjust my ideas. It opened up vast new territories of thinking about and seeing law.

Invisible Cities is a rich, elusive, wonderful book. If only one member of this audience is stimulated to read it, this talk will have served a purpose. I cannot begin to do justice to it here.  But I can pluck out a few themes:

The bulk of Invisible Cities is taken up with Marco Polo the world traveller depicting to the great Emperor, Kublai Khan, the places he has seen on his travels. For example, Esmeralda is only one of 55 depictions of different cities, or perhaps 55 depictions of one city, Venice. Esmeralda suggests to me one image of how people inhabit and use legal orders that legal scholarship and even socio-legal studies rarely reach. The 55 depictions are fanciful, playful, amusing, bemusing, cryptic; most are open to different interpretations. Calvino seems to agree with Sir Patrick Geddes, a prominent town planner, that “Though the woof of each city’s life be unique, and this may be increasingly with each throw of the shuttle, the main warp of life is broadly similar from city to city.”[54] Ditto legal systems. Can one imagine a modern state legal system without a constitution, law-making bodies, courts, judges, criminal laws, enforcement agencies, contracts, registers, and so on? As we jet set around the word there is a sameness about municipal legal systems. As Calvino remarks, “Only the name of the airport changes”. Yet for him the variety within each city is infinite, and nearly everything seems to change. Calvino’s central concern is to present universality in an anti-reductionist way. He does this by presenting the almost endless possibility of multiple perspectives on even simple objects; “Cities like dreams are built of desires and fears, even if the thread of their logic is obscure, their rules absurd, their perspectives deceiving.”[55] “Only in Marco Polo’s accounts was Kublai Khan able to discern, through the walls and towers destined to crumble, the tracery of a pattern so subtle it could escape the termites’ gnawing.”[56]

Invisible Cities captures the endless difficulties of describing, explaining and generalizing about cities and legal phenomena. It is especially suggestive in relation to comparative law –  still in my view a subject that is under-theorised.

C. Confronting post-modernism

In the 1990s fashionable ideas about “post-modernism” reached legal theory largely through literary theory, after a typical intellectual lag. My reaction was deeply ambivalent. My work on evidence had convinced me that I was a cognitivist in epistemology. Following Susan Haack, I accepted her “innocent realism” which builds on the work of the American pragmatist, Charles Saunders Peirce. There is a real world largely independent of our knowledge of it. A description is true “if “something is so…whether you or I, or anybody thinks it is true or not.”[57] How can one make sense of the idea of evidence and inferential reasoning without at least a working distinction between ontology (what exists) and epistemology (how we ascertain what exists)? When I came to confront post-modernism in its many shapes including cultural relativism, Rortyian pseudo-pragmatism, and various kinds of epistemological scepticism, I was both an innocent realist and a fan of Borges, Barthes, and some magic realist novels. So I felt that I was experiencing cognitive dissonance.

Post-modernism has done much to undermine simplistic views of interpretation and to challenge sharp dichotomies between fact and fiction, reason and imagination, objectivity and subjectivity. I thought such ideas to be important, but dangerous. These are healthy challenges, but they can descend into extreme forms of irrationalism, irrealism, or relativism that threaten ideas worth defending.  For example, in respect of evidence, how can one talk of miscarriages of justice, wrongful conviction of the innocent, convincing evidence (e.g. of weapons of mass destruction or chemical weapons), reasonable doubt, good as opposed to true stories, or errors of fact without some differentiation of ontology and epistemology, of fact and fiction or falsehood?

Calvino (along with Charles Saunders Peirce and his henchman Sherlock Holmes) rescued me from this deep ambivalence towards post-modernism. He emphasises the elusiveness and complexities of reality, multiple perspectives and multiple descriptions, and anti-reductionism, but he still maintains a distinction between epistemology and ontology, and, on my reading, he is a cognitivist in a way that is compatible with innocent realism, which allows for all of these. Multiple descriptions of the same object are important, often necessary, but incompatible descriptions cannot be jointly true.[58]

Of course, “post-modernism” means many things and Calvino is open to many interpretations. He rejected the label, but he disliked being labeled. I ended up distinguishing between imaginative post-modernism typified by Calvino and irrealist post-modernism, typified inter alios by Richard Rorty. There is much that could be debated on this.

So, I have found Calvino helpful in respect of the nature of scholarship [and enquiry] in legal cartography, in comparative law, on standpoint and narrative, in confronting post-modernism, and for many specific insights. Calvino attracts me personally in many ways: I love his succinctness; his playfulness as well as his serious intentions; he adds new dimensions to the idea of standpoint; he dwells on the limits as well as the uses of language; he stresses history; he is au fond a pessimist, but he is a joy to read. But beyond my personal tastes and particular concerns, he seems to me to offer a lot to the enterprise of understanding legal phenomena. Colleagues will find other themes and particular apercus. I find that the analogy between depicting cities and legal orders is highly suggestive; he has much to teach about the problems of describing, comparing and generalizing about social and legal institutions and relations as they operate in practice. And he is fun to read.  If I had to select one general theme which is central to my discipline it relates to the general exchanges between Marco Polo and Kublai Khan. These are as significant as the descriptions of particular cities. The great Khan is concerned to reduce his empire to order to try actually to control it. He is a systematiser, a reductionist. In a wonderful passage, they are contemplating a chessboard: “By disembodying his conquests to reduce them to the essential, Kublai has arrived at the extreme operation: the definitive conquest, of which the empire’s multiform treasures were only illusory envelopes. It was reduced to a square of planed wood.”[59] Then Marco Polo spoke: “Your chessboard, sire, is inlaid with two woods: ebony and maple. The square on which your enlightened gaze is fixed was cut from the ring of a trunk that grew in a year of drought: you see how its fibres are arranged? Here a barely hinted knot can be made out: a bud tried to burgeon on a premature spring day, but the night’s frost forced it to desist…”[60] And Polo goes on to talk about “ebony forests, about rafts laden with logs that come down the rivers, of docks, of women at the windows…”[61] For Polo, a single square in a chessboard is a launching point for a potentially endless enquiry. Katherine Hume suggests that the exchanges between Polo and Kublai Khan can be treated as a dialogue within a single composite mind.[62] I think that is right about both Calvino and basic tensions within the discipline of law.

That is sufficient.


Endnotes

[1] References to works by the author cited in the text include William Twining, Globalisation and Legal Theory (Butterworth 2000) (hereafter GLT);  The Great Juristic Bazaar (Ashgate, 2002)(hereafter GJB); Rethinking Evidence (Cambridge University Press 2nd edn 2006) (hereafter RE); General Jurisprudence (Cambridge, 2009)(hereafter GJP); with Terence Anderson and David Schum, Analysis of Evidence (Cambridge University Press 2nd edn 2005) (hereafter AN); and with David Miers, How To Do Things With Rules (Cambridge University Press 5th edn 2010) (hereafter HTDTWR).

[2] William Twining, ‘The Bad Man Revisited’ (1975) 58 Cornell Law Rev. 275 (reprinted in GJB Ch. 3); ‘Other People’s Power’: The Bad Man and English Positivism 1897-1997’ (1997) 63 Brooklyn L. Rev. 189 (reprinted in GLT, Ch. 5); and’ Institutions of Law: Globalization, non-state law and legal pluralism’ in M. Del Mar (ed.) Law as Institutional Normative Order: Essays in Honour of Sir Neil MacCormick (Ashgate 2009), and HTDTWR, ANj, RE, GJB (indexes under ‘standpoint’).

[3] HLA Hart, ’Definition and Theory in Jurisprudence’, (1953) 70 LQR 57., reprinted in various collections. This introduced a naïve undergraduate to some startling ideas: that questions such as ‘what is law?’ ‘what is a right?’, can be wrongly or misleadingly posed; that much depends on who is asking the questions; and that attributing different questions to seemingly conflicting texts is one way of differentiating disagreement from mere difference.

[4] William Twining, “Academic Law and Legal Philosophy; the Significance of Herbert Hart” (1979) 95 LQR 557.

[5]  RG Collingwood, An Autobiography (Oxford University Press 1939, reprint 1970), discussed in GJB Ch 2

[6] EM Forster, Aspects of the Novel (Edward Arnold 1927)

[7] Percy Lubbock, The Craft of Fiction (Jonathan Cape 1921) 251. I read the 1954 edition with new Preface.

[8] Forster (n.7) 147-8.  Henry James, The Ambassadors (Methuen 1903). Forster acknowledges that ‘There is a masterly analysis [by Percy Lubbock] from another standpoint in The Craft of Fiction’ (Forster n.7) 141.

[9]  The concept of standpoint is highly ambiguous and means different things in different contexts. Terms such as vantage point, situation, role, perspective, and objectives need to be differentiated ___ how important each of them is depends largely on context. For example, “clarification of standpoint’ is different for a law student preparing to write an essay on causation and a lawyer meeting her client for the first time. See GJB 29-37 and references in n.3 above.

[10]  Jeremy Bentham, A Fragment on Government (1776; ed. JH Burns and HLA Hart, Athlone Press 1977) 397-98; John Rawls, ’Two Concepts of Rules’ (1955) 64 Philosophical Rev. 72, HLA Hart, Punishment and Responsibility (Oxford University Press 1968) Ch. 1 (first published in 1959), H. Lasswell and M. McDougal, ‘Legal Education and Public Policy: Professional Training in the Public Interest’ (1943) 52 Yale Law J. 203; O. W. Holmes Jr, ‘The Path of the Law’ (1897) 10 Harvard L. Rev. 457  __ see generally GJB Ch.3

[11] HTDTWR Preface xv-xvi

[12]  For me, one of the most powerful pleas for ‘subaltern’ voices to be heard and accorded their rights is by an academic lawyer, Upendra Baxi, “Voices of Suffering: Fragmented Universality and the Future of Human Rights” (1998) Law and Contemporary Problems 125, reprinted in full in W. Twining (ed.) Human Rights: Southern Voices. (Cambridge University Press 2009) Ch.5..

[13] Often translated as “forgetting one’s purpose” (The Wanderer and his Shadow, 1880).

[14] Of course, there are many types of historians and many types of observer that can be further differentiated.

[15]  On which see Joseph Raz, The Authority of Law (Oxford University Press 1979) .140-43.

[16]  For examples see HTDTWR 15-23.

[17]  AN. Ch. 7, RE Ch. 12.

[18]  The trial record and some other letters are published in full in Filson Young (ed.) The Trial of Frederick Bywaters and Edith Thompson (W. Hodge, 1923)

[19] David Felix, Protest: Sacco-Vanzetti and the Intellectuals (University of Indiana Press, 1965)

[20]  F. Tennyson Jesse, A Pin to See the Peepshow (Heinemann, 1934) (reissued by Virago Modern Classics, 1979).

[21] W. Twining, “Anatomy of a cause célèbre” in RE (1990) Ch.8 and 9 (abbreviated in RE 2nd edn. Ch.12, Parts 1 and 2.)

[22] R. Weis, Criminal Justice: the True Story of Edith Thompson. (Hamish Hamilton 1988; Penguin, 2001).

[23] William Twining and René Weis, “Reconstructing the Truth about Edith Thompson: The Shakespearean and the Jurist” in W. Twining and Ian Hampsher-Monk (eds) Evidence and Inference in History and Law (Northwestern University Press, 2003) Ch. 2 ; reprinted in RE (2006) Ch.12

[24] The claim that the Sacco Vanzetti case was the only literary event in America between two world wars is sometimes attributed to H.L. Mencken. I have not yet been able to trace the original quotation.

[25] [25] Trial Exh 17, AN p.189..

[26] Trial Exh. 18, AN at p. 185.

[27]  Christopher Nash (ed.), Narrative and Culture: The Uses of Storytelling in the Sciences, Philosophy and Literature. (Routledge, 1986). An extended version of my paper is in RE (2006) Ch. 10.

[28] A striking example is Donald McCloskey, who went on to write The Rhetoric of Economics (University of Wisconsin Press, 1985) in which he showed ‘the “hardest” of the social sciences to be literary even when mathematical, rhetorical even when nonverbal. In general argument and detailed case studies he reveals the extent to which economic discourse employs metaphor, authority, symmetry, and other rhetorical means of persuasion.” (Cover synopsis).

[29] I am grateful to Rom Harré for checking this.

[30] B. Jackson who went on to write Law, Fact and Narrative Coherence (Merseyside, 1988) and Making Sense in Law (Deborah Charles Publications, 1995) and some distinguished works on Rabbinic legal theory.

[31] Recounted briefly in RE (2006) at pp.280-83. A transcript of the interview survives and could eventually be written up.

[32] E.g. AWB Simpson, Leading Caes in the Common Law (Oxford University Press 1995) discussed in William Twining, ’What is the Point of Legal Archeology?’ (2012) Transnational Legal Theory 166.  In the United States, the Law Stories series, published by Foundation Press, brings together contextual studies by leading experts, mainly of landmark cases to be found in mainstream American case-books on Tax, Torts, Property, Evidence, and so on. The series considerably facilitates the integration of contextual approaches into existing mainstream American courses. It could well be repeated in other jurisdictions. ……..

[33] Discussed RE passim, esp. 306-11.

[34] N. Pennington and R. Hastie “A Cognitive Theory of Jury Decision-making: The Story Model”, (1991) 13 Cardozo L. Rev. 519; further developed in R.Hastie (ed.), Inside the Juror (Cambridge University Press, 1994)

[35] See RE pp. 306-320 and references there.

[36] Karl Llewellyn, The Common Law Tradition: Deciding Appeals (Little Brown, 1960) 238, RE .296-303.

[37]  AN passim, esp. 115-7, 124-5, 225.

[38] See n.35 above.

[39] J.H. Wigmore, The Science of Judicial Proof. (Little, Brown 3rd edn 1937)  s.36.

[40] RE pp. 296-306.

[41] RE Ch. 8-11, AN, Ch. 10;  T. Anderson, ‘On Generalizations, a Preliminary Exploration’, (1999) 40 South Texas L. Rev. 455; , and ‘Generalisations and Evidential Reasoning’ in P. Dawid, M. Vasilaki and W. Twining (eds.), Evidence, Inference and Enquiry (British Academy 2011), Ch 8.

[42]W. Lance Bennett and Martha S. Feldman, Reconstructing Reality in the Courtroom (Rutgers University Press 1981). In their interesting book, H. F. M. Crombag, W. Wagenaar, and P. Von Koppen Anchored Narratives .(Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1993), three Dutch social-scientists suggest that the main supports for narratives are background generalisations rather than particular evidence, criticised GJB Ch.13.

[43] ‘Lawyers’ Stories’ in RE Ch.10. This drew on a number of English and American books on advocacy up to 1985.

[44] GJB Ch. 14.

[45] [1977] QB 966 (CA), discussed RE (2006) 303-5.

[46] Id., 340-1.

*[47] RE . 303-306.

[48] On probabilities and proof, a good introduction to the debates is Paul Roberts and Adrian Zuckerman, Criminal Evidence (Oxford University Press 2nd edn. 2010) 148-63. An early example of deliberate blurring of the lines between fact and fiction is Simon Schama, Dead Certainties (Unwarranted Speculations) (Knopf, 1991), containing imaginative reconstructions of the Deaths of General Wolfe and a Harvard Professor, claiming to be ‘true to the facts’, but filling in the gaps through imaginative reconstruction, and told as seamless narratives. Richard Rorty is the most quoted post-modern epistemological sceptic, although he denied the label. See especially, R. Rorty, Objectivity, Relativism, Truth (Cambridge University Press, 1991) (Philosophical Papers vol. I) esp. Part I and Contingency, Irony and Solidarity (Cambridge University Press, 1989) For a brilliantly scathing and persuasive attack on Rorty’s claims to be a “pragmatist” in the tradition of Peirce and Dewey, see Susan Haack, Manifesto of A Passionate Moderate (University of Chicago Press, 1998) Ch.2 ‘We Pragmatists… Peirce and Rorty in Conversation’.

[49] Italo Calvino, Mr Palomar (trs. William Weaver; Harcourt Brace 1985) (hereafter MP)); Invisible Cities (trs. William Weaver Harcourt Brace 1974) (hereafter IC). This section is based on several sections in GJB (index under Calvino), but extends the analysis in respect of the Great Kahn’s chessboard (below).

[50] MP 47; cf. IC 98: “[T]he form of things can be perceived better at a distance”.

[51] “Oppressed, insecure, he becomes nervous over the celestial charts, as over railroad time-tables when he flips through them in search of a connection.” (MP 47)

[52] GLT Ch. 6. Later versions are GJB 322-328, GJP Ch.3 and Ch 4.4. While I consider physical mapping to be useful for elementary demographic realism about the broad distribution of legal phenomena (e.g. where in the world do common law, Islamic law, Luo law exist in the form of institutionalized normative practices?), the metaphor of mental mapping has a wider application. (GJP 67n 10.) I prefer to treat the idea of an historical atlas of legal phenomena in the world as a virtual rather than an actual project, which in practice might have rather limited utility.

[53] For this suggestion I am indebted to Peter Langer, “Sociology Four Images of Organized Diversity” in Lloyd Rodwin and Robert M. Hollister (eds.) Cities of the Mind (Plenum 1984) Ch 6.

[54]  1969, cited GLT 169.

[55] IC p. 50

[56]  IC pp.5-6.

[57] Cited in Haack, Manifesto (n. 51) 22

[58] Haack see above n.51.

[59] IC 131. (signifying nothingness)

[60]  IC131

[61] IC 132.

[62] Katherine Hume, “Grains of Sand in a Sea of Objects: Italo Calvino as Essayist”, (1992) 87 Modern Languages Review 72), 75; and Calvino’s Fictions: Cogito and Cosmos (Oxford University Press 1992)

Book Review: Law and Popular Culture: A Course Book by Michael Asimow and Shannon Mader

Donald Papy

The field of law and popular culture, as a relatively new area of legal study, has needed canonical works to help define itself.  An offshoot of the law and literature movement (itself a descendant of legal realism), and later the law and film movement, law and popular culture developed in the 1980’s with an attempt, as in all modern law “movements,” to explain its place in the legal curriculum.  One of the leading scholars in this area of law (as well as contracts and other areas), is Michael Asimow, Professor Emeritus at UCLA Law School and currently a visiting professor at Stanford Law School.  As a distinguished pioneer in the field of law and popular culture, Professor Asimow has written and taught extensively on the topic, producing a number of law review articles and books.  A recent effort is the excellent book he has written with Shannon Mader, Law and Popular Culture: A Course Book.  In a way, this book constitutes the culmination of Professor Asimow’s efforts at systematizing this area of law and making it accessible not just to the law school community but also to the wider university community, including undergraduates.

Law and Popular Culture is an outstanding work that can be used in many academic settings. Subtitled “A Course Book,” (in contrast to a casebook, the typical law school book), the text means that law students can be offered a course that combines legal analysis with academic and practical guidance in the ever-evolving field of popular culture.  Future lawyers can learn how popular culture informs law and the legal system. Undergraduates or non-law graduate students can learn about the area as well, in understanding the connection and relation between law and popular culture, rather than its role in the practice of law.

The iconic cover image, depicts a courtroom scene from the film version of To Kill a Mockingbird, based on the novel by Harper Lee.  The fictional Atticus Finch and his client, the wrongly-accused black man, Tom Robinson, sitting next to each other at counsel table, the reader is put into the middle of the law and popular culture milieu by way of the law and film movement.  Finch was named by the American Film Institute[1] as the greatest hero in the history of the movies in 2003, not just a hero in the legal world.  In fact, Law and Popular Culture devotes an entire chapter to the movie (and Lee’s book). That fictional lawyer as liberal hero is even cited as a by a conservative attorney as unlikely as Kenneth Starr, tormentor-in-chief of Bill Clinton.[2]

The field of law and popular culture, derived most immediately from the law and film movement, starts with the premise that the public consumes large quantities of popular culture in the form of television and film (fiction and non-fiction), along with other media such as books, comics, news, and now the Internet. A great deal of popular culture deals with law or legal issues such as police procedurals. Popular culture penetrates the legal system in the United States through the jury system.   It is one of the primary insights of the law and popular culture movement that the public largely derives its understanding of the law through its voracious consumption of popular culture.[3]

The aim of the book is to give a comprehensive summary of how law and popular culture affect one another, using the language of law and popular culture, largely through the study of law films.  The book is divided into three parts:  the first is an overview of the legal system, largely through its actors; the second and third consist of discussions of legal subjects, grouped under criminal justice and civil justice.  Each chapter addresses particular actors in part I, and particular legal subjects in parts II (criminal) and III (civil).  Each chapter treats legal and media concepts using the assigned film or television series as the focal point of the chapter.  The assigned preliminary “text” for discussion in each chapter is a carefully curated fictional film (or, for two chapters, a television series) which is used to explore the chapter’s subject.  Some of the “texts” are classics, such as To Kill a Mockingbird or Anatomy of a Murder; others are more obscure yet still worthy, such as Counsellor at Law (1933).

The book’s structure allows the reader, regardless of prior knowledge of law and popular culture, to examine the elements of both and, more importantly, how they interact.  For example, Chapter 3, “Lawyers as Heroes,” begins with a description of both the book and the film version of To Kill a Mockingbird,” followed by a brief discussion of the Scottsboro Boys, the inflammatory 1931 charges of alleged sexual assault against a group of black teenagers in Lee’s home state of Alabama, as well as referring to the progression of the civil rights movement. Thus, the background of the case and times are addressed, leading to a discussion of the role of attorneys as heroes in popular culture. The film is then deeply analyzed, both in terms of legal strategy and filmic presentation. The chapter then delves into the role of law in American society and films, tying in more recent films with that theme.  Finally, at the end of each chapter, the authors offer thoughtful review questions to stimulate class discussion.

Similarly, Chapter 12 on “The Civil Justice System,” uses the film A Civil Action to examine how civil cases are handled in legal theory and practice, as well as in popular culture.  The chapter begins with an overview of the civil justice system, including the roles of lawyers, judges, and juries. It then moves to an examination of the real cases that form the basis for the film and the best-selling book on which it is based. This is followed by coverage of the broader issues of toxic tort litigation, the role of litigation financing, the importance of the judge in such proceedings, as well as the importance of settlement negotiations, and finally how big business is portrayed in popular culture, especially in film.

Thus, the book offers a comprehensive examination of the legal system as presented in popular culture and how the two are interrelated. The book could be used as a primary text or as a supplement in a law school, graduate school, or undergraduate course.  Each course naturally has different goals based on the students’ and teachers’ needs.

One area which could be considered further is the decision to primarily use film as the vehicle to explore popular culture and its relationship to law. The field derives initially from the legal realism movement, based on the premise that the study of law must consider non-law matters to fully understand how the legal system, including judicial decision-making, operates.  An offshoot of this is the law and literature movement that examines literature’s presentation of law, especially classics such as Dickens’ Bleak House or Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice. The law and film movement developed from it, in effect using films as “texts,” especially classics such as Anatomy of a Murder, Witness for the Prosecution, and To Kill a Mockingbird.  One of the primary reasons for this is the focus on texts (like appellate opinions were for Christopher Columbus Langdell, the nineteenth century Harvard Law Dean credited with originating the “case-method” of legal instruction).[4] Langdell wanted a readily available, distinctive “text” to study, and appellate opinions were available for that purpose.  (Later, excerpted, rather than whole opinions were included in casebooks.)  Legal realist critics in the mid-twentieth century, such as Judge Jerome Frank, criticized the case-method approach of relying exclusively on reading appellate opinions as too narrow, ignoring trial courts and other omissions that did not lend themselves to textual availability.[5]

I would argue that the easy availability of films with the advent of videotape, then DVD, and more recently streaming, perhaps along with many law professors’ natural interest in film over TV, and the length of films (generally less than two hours) making a convenient “text” for analysis, have led to an overemphasis on film over all other media. I suggest that the law and popular culture movement should go beyond film by integrating television, news reports of trials and other legal matters, books, and the Internet. The increasing availability of television and other media on DVD or online platforms make it feasible to study all media in understanding how law and popular culture affect each other. The enormous audience for law on television (and now the Internet) suggests that film is likely not the most significant source of influence on the public’s attitudes toward law and the legal system.  Furthermore, that popular culture is one of, if not the, biggest export by the United States, and the impact of representations of American law on foreign cultures and their legal systems, suggests that those influences are fruitful areas of study and teaching for courses in law and popular culture and should be included in course materials and books.[6]

To its credit, Law and Popular Culture integrates more television into its second edition.   The book now incorporates television series as the focal point of two chapters, Ch. 7 (“Law on Television”) (Boston Legal), and Ch. 8 (“The Criminal Justice System”) (Law & Order).  Perhaps in later editions the book will integrate even more television and other media in its analysis of popular culture’s interaction with law, as well as the impact of American popular culture on legal systems throughout the world.

In conclusion, Law and Popular Culture: A Course Book is an outstanding addition to the teaching literature in this burgeoning field, offering a comprehensive yet concise resource for the law school, graduate school, and undergraduate curriculum.  The second edition has improved upon the first.  The book can be used as a primary or secondary source.  I highly recommend the book for any teacher serious about delving into the ever-changing, and increasingly important, field of law and popular culture.


Endnotes

[1] www.afi.com/100years/handv.aspx

[2] See William H. Simon, “Moral Pluck: Legal Ethics in Popular Culture,” 101 Columbia Law Review 421 (2001)

[3] See Tyler Alper, Anthony G. Amsterdam, et al., “Stories Told and Untold:  Lawyering Theory Analysis of the First Rodney King Assault Trial,” 12 Clinical Law Review 1, 51 (2005).

[4] See Jerome Frank, “Why Not a Clinical Lawyer-School?”, 81 University of Pennsylvania Law Review 907 (1933)

[5] Id.

[6] For a fuller discussion of my recommendations, see Donald Papy, More Media and More Countries:  New Approaches to Teaching Law and Popular Culture,” in Michael Asimow, Kathryn Brown, and David Ray Papke (eds.) Law and Popular Culture:  International Perspectives (Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2014), 369-381.

Photography’s Transformation: Its Influence on Culture and Law

Henry J. Steiner

I. Introduction

This era’s revolutionary remaking of cameras and picture-taking dramatically deepened photography’s influence on diverse aspects of our culture and institutions, from popular habits and expectations all the way to fine points of constitutional law.  That broad reach embraces both private and public phenomena within contexts as varied as family celebrations and prevention of terrorism.  This essay selects two subjects to illustrate the radically different ways in which photography’s technological transformation has stamped or may stamp prominent facets of our personal lives and political-legal system.

The essay first speculates about plausible consequences of the new digital photography in enabling people to record life’s events from the ordinary to the startling, through devices as commonplace today and as easy to operate as the smartphone.  A few decades or even centuries later, members of new generations may consult those recordings to deepen their knowledge about their ancestors’ lives, and indeed more broadly about their family history.  They may do so recurrently, perhaps as part of family or religious celebrations, to stay in touch with their past.  Through videos (audio and visual devices) that have become today’s standard fare, descendants could deepen the understanding of family history that earlier still photography had offered.

Such pictures were generally posed and formal, and often taken at special occasions with cumbersome photographic equipment.   Picture-taking became an “event,” an interruption of the normal flow of family life that frequently was thought about in advance by those involved.   The people photographed were very aware of what was happening. Today’s ubiquitous and automatic digital cameras can be transported in pockets and rapidly deployed.  They seem likely to capture more casual, unplanned and perhaps revealing behavior and interactions.

What consequences might flow from such novel and easy access to prior generations?   What effect would such encounters with the past have on people’s sense of their relationship to the departed, or indeed of their own identity?  Ranging beyond the family, what information might the availability of such recordings bring to bear on the understanding of social and political history?

The second subject addresses a radically different phenomenon: the influence of modern photography and related technologies on public policy, personal rights, and the legal system.  Unlike the earlier discussion exploring some possible effects of digital photography on people who view it decades or centuries later, this topic explores its current effect on those who (perhaps unknowingly) are being photographed or who are aware of the possibility of their being photographed. We shift our attention from the viewers to the viewed.

While including both private and public parties, this discussion will focus on governmental operation of systems of surveillance that monitor public spaces in an effort to curb common crimes and terrorism.  Walking on streets or in parks, among occasional others or even within crowds, an individual may feel alone, ignored by and even oblivious of surrounding strangers, and free of interference with his privacy by photographic recordings that may later become widely available.  Current means of surveillance such as closed circuit television (CCTV), together with the uses to which government can put the information thereby gathered, clearly impinge on privacy.

Today the commonplace encounters between pedestrians or cars and surveillance cameras – sometimes concealed, but in any event not readily observable – have stirred public argument over the appropriate breadth of an individual’s “right” to privacy in public spaces.  Such argument lies at the core of a developing strand of constitutional adjudication.  Unlike the first topic, judicial decisions here play a significant role.  The same issues have come to figure in the business of Congress and state legislatures.

In this essay, these two independent topics serve to illustrate selective features and applications of the new technology, particularly digital photography.  Other important features unexamined by the essay readily come to mind.  For example, surveillance by private parties that is random and adventitious may usefully complement systematic and ongoing surveillance by governmental authorities.  Individuals who just happen to be in a certain place at a certain time have been able to record on their smartphones a growing number of interactions between police officers and private citizens that have involved violence, ended in injuries or deaths, and raised questions of racial discrimination by the police.  Numerous public authorities now require police officers to wear body devices that photograph all interactions.  This accelerating use of digital cameras assists both law enforcement and the protection of individual rights.

Although the essay focuses on photography, its illustrations draw on other advances in technology that may complement photography or function independently of it.  The first discussion includes audio as well as visual recordings; seeing and hearing through digital devices have become companion experiences.  In the second discussion, investigative strategies of government such as surveillance reach well beyond photographic devices such as CCTV to include other technologies like Global Positioning System (GPS) tracking devices.

II. Cameras, Memory and History

In a strikingly short period, the digital camera has permeated the everyday rhythms of life by instituting fresh practices.  Its benefits are perhaps more widely perceived than concerns stemming from its use.  The camera reaches the market at prices that many can afford, attracting a vast body of consumers.  Together with other novel features of modern life like GPS devices and the worldwide web (all of which completely elude most users’ understanding of their principles of operation), smartphones have come to seem indispensable to people’s personal and working lives.

Given its recent arrival, the most startling feature of the digital camera may be its ubiquity.  These cameras are likely to be embedded in smartphones, tablets and related devices, as one among an abundance of those devices’ offered services.  In this new world we inhabit, we are all photographers, we are all photographed.  Grandchildren, whose grasp of smartphones dates from their kindergarten year, learn to their astonishment that their grandparents have managed to enjoy a well-informed life even without them.

Compared with the more deliberative process of picture-taking a generation ago, how effortlessly one photographs today.  The comprehensive programming of highly automated digital cameras demands of the user no more than to “point and shoot.”   Photography does not stand alone in this regard.  Our modern capacity to photograph on the spur of the moment parallels our heightened capacity to listen to music almost at will and wherever we want, itself an abrupt departure from millennia of hearing music only when the listener made it or was within earshot of those who did.  The modern appetite for prompt and effortless realization of so many desires, in this case merely by the agency of one pocket-size device, seems insatiable.

The uses of the camera extend as far as the photographer’s imagination.  It readily yields the adequate image desired by most amateur photographers who take pictures as a matter of course, upon their slightest whim, almost reflexively.  Smartphones’ capacity to take videos expands the photographer’s repertoire to include the flow of an entire event and ongoing human interaction rather than only isolated fragments of that event through still pictures.  Human memory no longer has to bear the full burden of recalling yesterday’s or last year’s adventure. On the threshold of its third century of use, photography has assumed a far larger part of that task.[1]

Let me illustrate my speculation about some of the consequences of our digital world by recollecting a family event long ago.  My mother, nephew and I were having great fun playing impromptu roles in a radio drama that we were in the process of inventing.  The effort, we thought, merited a recording.  While commonplace today, sound recorders were then rare in households, and surely couldn’t fit in a pocket.  Good-quality recordings generally required bulky reel-to-reel machines.  After our escapade, I put the reels away and forgot about them.

Years after my mother’s death, I came across the reels and recalled our fun-making.  Of course, I immediately wanted to hear the recording, but strong second thoughts took hold.  My generation and far earlier ones were accustomed to seeing still photographs of deceased relatives and friends.  Of course, for centuries before photography became prominent, many people could view ancestors in paintings or sculpture – even if portraits were carefully posed and often expressed more the artistic ambitions of the painter than the character of the ancestor.  Such pictures complemented traditional ways of remaining in touch with the dead – memory, memorials, observance of a death’s anniversary by visiting the cemetery, and rereading ancestors’ intimate diaries and letters.

But my generation was not accustomed to “hearing” its ancestors.  The novelty of the intimate experience that I was considering gave me pause.  Perhaps I felt that my mother’s voice would provoke a more vivid and emotional reaction than would merely seeing her picture.   It might suggest her very presence.  Whatever the reasons, I decided not to listen to the recording but rather to honor the boundary established over the years between my life and my mother’s death.

In these circumstances, the significance of devices like sound recorders for remembrance of the dead would depend on the stage of technological development and the degree of popular familiarity with that development.  What are our habits and experiences at a given time?  What practices are habitual and thus unlikely to raise a novel issue?   What strikes us as a novel experience that may generate unease and make us hesitate?  The viewing today by younger people of videos showing deceased loved ones may offer them no more dramatic or distinctive an experience than did my own browsing decades earlier through the family album.

Devices like smartphones (not to mention their successors-to-be) may vastly expand our knowledge of the past, surely including our ancestry.   Perhaps these devices will partly fill the void in our knowledge left by the near disappearance of personal writing.  Diaries or intimate correspondence of a probing and self-examining character were long a prime means of enlightening their authors’ descendants – and sometimes the literary public as well.

Today videos might generate fresh thoughts about a family’s past as they portray people in comfort and in poverty, as educated and uneducated, as self-assured and subservient, in conversations and play, smiling and glowering, celebrating and mourning, connecting with others or guarding their distance.  Perhaps viewing such recordings would figure in annual rituals of remembrance to complement the lighting of a memorial candle or the visit to an ancestor’s gravesite.  Perhaps patients would consult these videos to stimulate their own memories before the start of the therapeutic hour.

How might we apply these speculations to more remote ancestors?  Suppose that our present technology and cameras had become available by the mid-19th century.  How much richer could our knowledge about family history become as we watch videos carrying us back at least to our great grandparents, observing and listening to them in their familial, social and cultural environments. Within an immigrant country like the United States, that capacity to explore history would transport Americans to their ancestors’ pre-emigration lives in foreign countries, tongues and cultures.

We can modify my image by trying to imagine life 150 years ahead, when our great-great-grandchildren will be observing events in our lives with some incredulity.  The videos handed down over generations might become a familiar part of a family’s legacy and education, deepening awareness of historical roots, and likely influencing how family members would understand their own identity.  Perhaps such videos would expand family trees to include more remotely connected people who would previously have been seen as strangers, thereby strengthening feelings of human connectedness.  Perhaps observing and hearing ancestors participating in ceremonies that survive to this day would reinforce particular identities such as religious ones: saying grace at table, attending a baptism, celebrating the Seder, breaking the Ramadan fast.

Such imagined consequences of the new video photography seem to be plausible, but surely not inevitable.  The thoughts and feelings stemming from the viewing of much earlier family recordings might be polar to what has just been suggested.  Perhaps a viewer will be appalled by aspects of what the recordings reveal and distance herself more deliberately from the world of ancestors.  Perhaps observing earlier family participation in religious rituals will reinforce the viewer’s secular orientation.  The felt urge may be to escape the past rather than to imitate and conform to it.

Moreover, predictions that the expanding reach of modern photography will affect people’s views about their ancestors rest on a problematic assumption.  The enthusiastic, indeed profligate use of today’s cameras may create an unmanageable mass of videos.  The abundant photographers may lack the skill, ambition or energy necessary to bring order to that mass, in order to pass on to their children a collection sufficiently informative and brief to hold their attention.

Of course, the appeal of today’s video cameras extends well beyond family boundaries.  Consider formal education.  Instruction in American history, for example, now assigns a modest role to photography. If we again imagine that today’s sophisticated devices were broadly available by the mid-19th century, our present teachers could complement books and lectures with videos: haying the fields, discussions among foot soldiers or slaves during the Civil War, a factory production line, a high school class learning American history. Perhaps the public media of the earlier period produced documentaries and newscasts about such classic events as the Lincoln-Douglas debates. What different insights into the past might such teaching materials generate by endowing study with an immediacy and fresh sense of discovery?

III. Public Surveillance and Privacy

The essay’s focus here shifts from digital photography’s effect on its viewers to its effect on the people being photographed.  Devices like smartphones or CCTV make it possible for people to be routinely photographed in public spaces without their consent or even their knowledge.  Such uninvited and perhaps unwanted picture-taking has become so ordinary a feature of urban life that a high percentage of people expect it.  No longer can we speak confidently of disappearing into a crowd.  It is ironic that one of the reasons for prior generations to flee rural life and relocate to the booming cities was to escape the ever-present constraints of smaller communities and achieve greater privacy in their personal lives.  The anonymity conferred by city life could expand freedom of action.  Today, however, the individual in cities’ public spaces loses some of that privacy,

The common justifications for governmental surveillance are broadly understood:  enhance public safety, particularly through monitoring a vast number of people in public spaces in order to reduce the likelihood of criminal conduct, as well as to assist in identifying the criminals.  Increasingly, surveillance also aims at thwarting terrorism.[2]  In public places, the operation of a surveillance system is predominantly governmental, although devices like CCTV may be privately owned and placed at entrances to and inside stores and offices.  Urban dwellers who simply leave home, commute to their places of work, have lunch, and perhaps shop before returning home may have their pictures taken dozens of times by an integrated network of cameras. The practice was not born yesterday. More than a decade ago, about 100,000 fans were photographed as they entered a stadium to enjoy the annual “superbowl” game. These face shots were speedily checked against government files with the help of biometric and other modern means of identification.

Now that government has entered the surveillance business with ambitious goals, do we regret the loss of an earlier feeling that in public spaces we were unlikely to have our actions monitored and recorded?  Complaints have escalated that “Big Brother” may be snooping into what were once our private lives as we go about our daily affairs.  From the perspective of erosion of privacy, what can be done to keep the diverse strategies for surveillance in appropriate check?[3]

One might argue that public spaces — by which I mean principally places open to the public — are fair game for surveillance by any governmental agency or private person or institution.  Those present in the public arena, the argument asserts, must know that they have left any right to privacy at home.  People are aware of their exposure to the eyes of countless strangers when in streets or parks or at government agencies, as well as at privately owned institutions attracting customers seeking goods, services or entertainment.

Quite a range of such places comes to mind:  gay bars, commercial stores, churches, theatres and stadiums, psychiatrists’ offices, headquarters of associations, abortion clinics, investment advisers, massage parlors, and sites for mass demonstrations for a political cause.  At certain locations, the likelihood of being photographed by a public authority may soar.  Street cameras, for example, may target the entrances to institutions whose activities and visitors may interest governmental security services.  Of course constitutional issues other than privacy may arise in these last circumstances, such as governmental surveillance’s interference with individuals’ freedoms of expression and association.

The U.S. Government’s role in gathering information through surveillance, and determining the uses to which it will be put, spurs intense political debate. Legislative investigations and massive unauthorized disclosures fuel that debate as we learn how fragile our privacy has become in other everyday activities such as making phone calls, dispatching emails, or searching for information on the web.  Federal and state legislation and judicial decisions wrestle with the implications for individual privacy of myriad forms of surveillance.  Much new law, together with new institutions to administer and enforce it, are in the making.

In some familiar contexts such as the wiretapping of telephonic communications, a network of statutory regulation has developed that spells out the governing rules and thereby lessens demands on the courts to develop the law in this area through constitutional adjudication. The present discussion, however, concentrates on judicial participation in the broad national debate at the constitutional level.  It illustrates today’s problems by examining the 2012 decision of the United States Supreme Court in United States v. Jones.[4]  Although this case does not involve photography, it examines another modern mode of surveillance posing analogous issues of privacy.

Although the U.S. Constitution does not mention a right to privacy, that right nonetheless figures importantly in a well-known field of constitutional litigation.  The Fourth Amendment to the Constitution declares that “the right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures shall not be violated.”   As expounded in judicial decisions and scholarly writings, the amendment forbids governmental action that is found to constitute an “unreasonable” search and seizure in order to protect a right to privacy against governmental intrusion.  The home is the paradigmatic place to be protected against (unreasonable) intrusion.  The “right” to privacy articulated by courts in these cases is understood to inform and underlie, or to be derived from, the Fourth Amendment’s provision.

The amendment’s primary application has involved governmental investigation of crimes and the related enforcement of the criminal law.  In most cases, the law-enforcement officer making the search or seizure must have secured an official and valid warrant (“search warrant”) authorizing it.  Absent the necessary warrant, the search or seizure is judged unreasonable.

The decision in United States v. Jones illustrates the interplay of different lines of reasoning used by the Justices to address privacy, even though each of the three opinions in that case accepted the Fourth Amendment as the constitutional point of departure.  The opinions follow familiar methods of interpreting constitutional text, and of developing different tests or standards for handling the many questions that stem from the amendment’s application.  More generally, the three opinions wrestle with the dilemma of applying a centuries-old constitutional text to a modern society in the grip of rapid technological advances that raise issues implicating that text.

Prominent among the methods of surveillance is the GPS unit.  When the unit’s receiver is carried, knowingly or unknowingly, by a person or vehicle under investigation, it enables the governmental monitor to track the movements of that person or vehicle.  GPS may be used as an alternative to or a complement of photographic surveillance through such standard devices as video cameras and CCTV.  Depending on the context, each system offers distinctive advantages.

In Jones, a federal government agency secretly installed a GPS tracking device on the underbody of defendant’s car, and thereby monitored the car’s movements for 28 consecutive days.  The agency failed to obtain a proper warrant to engage in this conduct.  Partly on the basis of evidence derived from this surveillance, the government won a conviction in federal court for the trafficking of drugs.  An appellate court reversed the conviction on the ground that the surveillance violated the Fourth Amendment.  The case then came to the Supreme Court.  All nine Justices agreed that the conviction should be reversed, but for differing reasons.  The case produced one opinion for the Court itself, and two concurring opinions.

The Court’s opinion, written by Justice Scalia and joined by four other Justices, followed a traditional path of reasoning in such cases.  Understanding the car itself to constitute an “effect” within the terms of the Fourth Amendment, it viewed the attachment of the GPS device as an illegal “trespass” (the government had not obtained a proper warrant to engage in this conduct) on defendant’s property.  The attachment therefore constituted an “unreasonable search” within the meaning of the amendment.   For that reason, evidence gathered through the surveillance had to be excluded from the trial.  Justice Scalia quoted approvingly from an earlier decision based on the Fourth Amendment to the effect that the Court must preserve “that degree of privacy against government that existed when the Fourth Amendment was adopted.”

Well before the decision in Jones, Supreme Court opinions had become more nuanced and complex in their consideration of both the kind of conduct that constituted a “search” and the notion of privacy.  The use of electronic devices to investigate a suspect could not be readily fitted into the familiar reasoning of judges in cases of physical intrusion (a trespass), reasoning to which the fundamental notion of the protection of property rights was germane. In the new circumstances of electronic devices, what property was being protected against what kind of intrusion?   Did government’s operation of these devices amount to a “search” under the Fourth Amendment?  Confronted with such vexing questions, Justices had reached beyond the notions of physical intrusion and trespass to develop a different test for determining if the amendment had been violated: whether the government’s conduct violated a person’s “reasonable expectation of privacy.”

Justice Scalia stressed that the “reasonable expectation” test was an additional rather than exclusive way to determine whether a search had occurred.  Without a search warrant, physical trespass to a “home” or an “effect” continued to be sufficient to find a search unreasonable. The opinion did however speculate about how the law might develop if the government tracked a person through electronic means without any tangible interference with property, so that no claim of a traditional trespass (such as the attachment in Jones) was possible: “It may be that achieving the same results [of collecting incriminating evidence by following a person’s movements] through electronic means, without an accompanying trespass, is an unconstitutional invasion of privacy, but the present case does not require us to answer that question.”  Note that this potentially far-reaching observation suggests neither what legal argument might lead to such an imagined decision, nor what constitutional provision would serve as its foundation.[5]

In her concurring opinion, Justice Sotomayor agreed with the Court that the trespass was sufficient to find a violation.  Nonetheless, she criticized the Court’s opinion as too formal and technical in its effort to adhere to traditional notions of trespass to property.  In the present world of electronic surveillance, she urged a different approach.  Contemporary modes of surveillance that do not require physical intrusion into privately-owned space may nonetheless violate a person’s “subjective expectation of privacy that society recognizes as reasonable,” particularly if the surveillance is designed by the government to learn more about the conduct of a specific person or institution, rather than to cover a public place (like a park) in the interest of general safety.  For example, a surveillance camera might focus on the entrance to the headquarters of a particular organization in order to learn more about its membership.    Or surveillance may track a particular car’s movements through the use of license plate readers.

When referring to the range of facts about private lives that long-continuing surveillance of a specific person or a small group might reveal, Justice Sotomayor asks “whether people reasonably expect that their movements will be recorded and aggregated in a manner that enables the Government” to learn such information – for example, religious and political commitments or sexual practices.  In deciding whether the government has unconstitutionally invaded privacy, Justice Sotomayor would consider “the existence of a reasonable societal expectation of privacy in the sum of one’s public movements.” [6]

In exploring such issues, a broader range of constitutional issues becomes relevant.  For example, people being surveilled or fearing surveillance about some aspect of their lives may become more cautious about engaging in “public” activities that could enable others to learn more about their private lives: the company they keep, the meetings they attend, the institutions they join, their sexual partners, their place of worship.  Long-term surveillance compounds the problem, for it casts a wider net and enables operators of a monitoring system to draw important links among what otherwise might appear as unrelated actions.  As Justice Sotomayor notes, an awareness that government is watching “chills associational and expressive freedoms.”  Her opinion opens the possibility that such kinds of public surveillance might be found to violate a constitutional right to privacy, wherever its source in the Constitution might be located.

Justice Alito (joined by three members of the Court) wrote the other concurring opinion.   He too criticized the Court’s opinion for drawing on the long-established doctrine of trespass in an artificial and unconvincing way.  In this case, it was preferable to inquire whether reasonable expectations of privacy were violated by such long-term monitoring. The tracking of the car for a month “involved a degree of intrusion that a reasonable person would not have anticipated.”  The opinion notes that public concern about these technologically sophisticated intrusions into areas of privacy may lead to political pressure for legislative regulation offering some degree of precision and protection.

Many countries now practice public surveillance and confront these problems, including numerous parties to the European Convention on Human Rights.  Not surprisingly, the European Court of Human Rights has been called upon several times to determine the practice’s legality.  Its decisions, delivered as the judicial organ within a regional organization of considerable political diversity, offer fruitful comparisons with Jones. In both of the following cases, the European Court focuses on Article 8 of the Convention, which provides that “[e]veryone has the right to respect for his private and family life, his home and his correspondence.”  No interference by a public authority with this right is permitted unless it is “necessary in a democratic society” in the interests of national security and public safety, for prevention of disorder or crime, or for the protection of the rights and freedoms of others.

A 2003 decision, Peck v. the United Kingdom,[7] explores these issues.  A borough Council in the U.K. operated a CCTV system in public areas, and maintained the tapes for a set period before destroying them.  The applicant, a U.K. citizen, suffered from depression.  One night, while carrying a kitchen knife, he walked down a street monitored by a camera.  In an unsuccessful attempt at suicide, he cut his wrists. In view of its placement, the camera did not record this act, although the tapes did show the applicant soon afterwards while he was still holding the knife.  The monitoring operator notified the police who soon arrived, released him without charge, and brought him home.

Over the following months, the CCTV footage including the applicant’s picture was shown several times on TV in order to demonstrate to the public the effectiveness of this surveillance system in alerting the police to potential crimes.  Those in charge of the CCTV tapes did not take adequate steps to mask the applicant’s face before releasing the tapes for broadcast.  To his shame, family, friends, and neighborhood residents were able to recognize him acting in a way that he had assumed would never be observed by others.  The applicant initiated administrative and judicial proceedings, alleging an unwarranted infringement of his privacy through the public disclosure on television.  Failing to gain the relief he sought in the U.K., he brought the case to the European Court of Human Rights.

That Court’s decision turned on its interpretation of Article 8’s justifications for interference with the right to privacy, particularly the justifications concerning national security and public safety, and the prevention of disorder and crime. The opinion referred to the Court’s observations in its earlier decisions that facts about a person such as his name and sexual life, as well as his rights to personal development and to establish relationships with other human beings are “important elements of the personal sphere protected by Article 8. . . . There is, therefore, a zone of interaction of a person with others, even in a public context, which may fall within the scope of private life.’”  The opinion noted that governmental photographing of events in a public place like a street does not itself constitute an interference with the protected right if the visual data is not recorded and preserved.  Recording with the possibility of later use of the footage “may give rise to such considerations.”  Indeed, in this case the applicant complained neither of being photographed by the CCTV camera nor of the creation of a record, but only of the later public broadcasting without his consent and without an effort to conceal his identity.

Given the context of a nighttime walk and the applicant’s mental distress, the opinion concluded that the governmental authority’s conduct leading to the applicant’s public identification went beyond any expectation the applicant might have had.  The disclosure of the relevant footage constituted a “serious interference” with the right to privacy.  The government’s justifications for this interference failed to satisfy the conditions stated in Article 8.  The Court awarded damages to the applicant.

In Uzun v. Germany,[8] the applicant’s movements and relationships were tracked through a combination of high-technology methods, but the applicant challenged only the lawfulness of surveillance by means of GPS.  That surveillance, which led to the government’s storing the collected data, continued for about three months.  Information thereby gathered was used to prosecute the applicant.  Stressing such factors as the long period of tracking, the Court found that the government authorities had interfered with the applicant’s “private life.”  However, taking into account the seriousness of the crimes investigated as well as the limitations on surveillance that German legislation imposed in the interests of privacy, the Court decided that the interference was justified under Article 8.

Note in these cases the relatively straightforward reasoning of the European Court of Human Rights, interpreting and applying a treaty that explicitly provides a right to privacy and that indicates in general terms what justifications for interference with that right are permitted.  Opinions of the Court within this legal structure can follow an ordained sequence of thoughts, moving from a statement of facts to the issue of interference, and finally (if there is found to have been an interference) to the question of justifications. Compare this characteristic structure of opinions of the European Court with opinions of Justices of the U.S. Supreme Court who, lacking guidance from authoritative constitutional or statutory provisions about the structure of an opinion and about what justifications are relevant, compose their opinions in freer and more diverse ways.  Moreover, in this case, the Justices do not restrict their views to the question of privacy. Rather they feel constrained to use the very different constitutional text about “search and seizure” as the formal point of departure for addressing the problem of modern technology’s threats to privacy.

IV. Conclusion

I view as dramatic and significant the changes in our popular culture and legal system emphasized in this essay: the paths that individuals may follow to explore the past, and the paths that governments are following to monitor the present. Digital photography has been instrumental for both developments.

To be sure, the essay illustrates only a few fields in which the current era’s brilliant inventions may work pervasive social change, for good and for bad. With elation or concern, we have heard numerous predictions of substantial changes in our culture stemming from the new technology.  Merely a few decades of cell phones, email, the web and social media have begun to transform not only economic and political life, but also deep aspects of our personal lives.  Photography is but a sliver of this vast domain.

My remarks about these developments merely touch the proverbial tip of the iceberg.  Scientists, economists, authors of utopias or dystopias, and venture capitalists may have a clear vision of where we are heading.  I surely do not.  All seems possible, in this brave new world breathlessly awaiting self-driving cars and all-purpose robots.  Pop culture is in for some shocks.  The legal system will necessarily engage with inventions whose applications challenge fundamental values.


Endnotes

[1] For illuminating essays on photography’s earlier development and relationship to culture and politics, see Susan Sontag, On Photography (Farar, Straus and Giroux, 1973).

[2] See Fergal Davis, Nicola McGarrity and George Wiliams (eds.), Surveillance, Counter-Terrorism and Comparative Constitutionalism  (Routledge, 2014)

[3] The spreading practice of photography raised concerns about its effects on individual privacy in the very century of its invention.  A landmark, extremely influential article about a right to privacy in the American legal system was published in 1890:  Samuel Warren and Louis Brandeis, The Right to Privacy, 4 Harv. L. Rev. 193.  The United States Constitution makes no mention of such a right.  The authors note concerns about interferences with privacy stemming from photography, referring for example to “instantaneous photographs” invading the “sacred precincts of private and domestic life”.   They argue that “existing law” affords a principle supporting protection of individual privacy from invasion by the photographer. They caution that the “latest advances” in photographic art have made it possible to take pictures “surreptitiously”.

[4] 565 U.S. 400.

[5]  All three opinions can be read to open to one or another degree the question whether judicial decisions in this field of electronic surveillance in public spaces should continue to rest on the Fourth Amendment as the only foundation for arguments about privacy and constitutionality.  The Supreme Court has developed arguments and doctrine independent of the Fourth Amendment to declare a constitutional right to privacy – though in limited and very different contexts.  Those decisions, mostly involving states and state action rather than the federal government, are sometimes grouped within the rubric “substantive Due Process,” referring to the Due Process Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment that applies to state governments.  The leading decisions involve primarily issues related to marriage, family, procreation and sexual relations.  They locate the source of a constitutional right to privacy in several related but distinct ways, referring to or explicitly relying on: the Liberty clause of the Fourteenth Amendment, particular provisions of the Bill of Rights (the first ten amendments) such as the First Amendment (freedom of expression) and the Fourth Amendment, and a “penumbral” area formed by emanations from several rights declared in the Bill of Rights.  Some statements in the Jones opinions could be understood to express sympathy with or at least openness to consideration of this approach.  Leading decisions that found restrictive state regulation to be unconstitutional and that were based on such a right to privacy include Griswold v. Connecticut, 381 U.S. 479 (1965) (right to use contraceptives) and Roe v. Wade, 410 U.S. 113 (1973) (right to abortion, subject to stated conditions).

[6] Following the Jones decision, and based partly on comments such as those of Justice Sotomayor, several scholars have suggested that the Court may be moving towards a “mosaic theory” of the Fourth Amendment under which courts, when inquiring whether the surveillance at issue constituted a “search” within the meaning of that amendment, would look not for one discrete act that amounted to a search (such as the attachment to a car of the GPS device, as in this case) but to the surveillance in its totality, including elements such as relationships among its different components and the  duration of such monitoring.  That is, the court might find a “search” in the aggregate of the government’s acts, in a sequence of discrete acts which in their totality led to important information and constituted a search.  See Orin Kerr, The Mosaic Theory of the Fourth Amendment, 111 Mich. L. Rev. 311 (2012); Monu Bedi, Social networks, Government Surveillance, and the Fourth Amendment Mosaic Theory, 94 B.U.L. Rev. 1809 (2014).

[7] ECHR,  Application No. 44647/98, Judgment 28 January 2003

[8] ECHR, Application No. 35623/05, Judgment 2 September 2010

The Portrayal of the Corporate Lawyer on TV: the US and British models from L.A. Law to Trust and Suits

Peter Robson

I. Introduction

Various  forms of media, including television and cinema, were suggested by scholars like Stewart Macaulay [1] and Lawrence Friedman [2] in the 1980s as being the likely source of the public’s knowledge of the legal system. Little was known through direct experience of the justice system or its personnel. More people have heard of Judge Judy than Mr Justice Scalia. In Britain, Judge Robert Rinder[3] has a higher recognition factor than Brenda Hale.[4] More recently, Richard Sherwin suggested in When Law Goes Pop [5] that, in these days of media saturation, it is from popular culture learn about law. Frank Abagnale showed us how to become a lawyer in the film Catch Me If You Can [6] – he watched a law show and learned the methods of Perry Mason from the TV.

People’s knowledge of medicine comes from watching, over the years, a number of shows: Dr Kildare, ER, and Gray’s Anatomy and, in Britain, Dr Finlay’s Casebook, Casualty and Holby City. The non-lawyer learns about what lawyers do from the screen.[7]  Much attention has, hitherto, been focused on the big screen image of the lawyer and the claimed change in these role models.[8]  Paul Biegler [9] and Atticus Finch [10] have been replaced by the less worthy Frank Galvin [11] and Martin Vail.[12] Whatever the merits of this notion of decline, another, more interesting, shift has taken place. Scholars have finally started to pay attention to the other major source of lawyer images in popular culture, namely those found on our TV screens.

II. The Context

TV lawyer dramas have developed significantly in the past half century since the days of Perry Mason,[13] The Defenders,[14] and Petrocelli [15] in terms of style, narrative approach, and personnel. In place of the simple trial-based episode in which the major protagonists achieved justice and, in the case of Perry Mason, revealed the true perpetrator, we have had developments in the areas of civil justice and, most recently, corporate law. In place of the one-off drama with a single major storyline dominating each weekly episode, we often have a combination of rolling issues which are resolved at some later dates, as well as a couple of series focusing on a single, long-running case. Finally, as far the lawyers we encounter, the shift in the balance of gender, ethnicity, and sexuality has undergone major changes. These changes have been noted elsewhere by various writers.[16]

This essay focuses much of its attention on the most radical of the approaches to a TV lawyer series in the seasons of Suits.[17] As indicated, there has been a shift from the dominance of white male lawyers defending someone unjustly accused of a crime to a roster of male and female characters wrestling with crimes, divorces, and issues like intellectual property rights. The clients have ranged from the rich and privileged clients of Mackenzie Brackman in L.A. Law [18] to the poor and disadvantaged clients of Bobby Donnell and his partners and associates in The Practice.[19]  In Britain, with its legal profession split between full-time court lawyers – barristers – and office based practitioners – solicitors – the focus has usually been away from office-centred legal practice and on the pleaders.[20] From Boyd QC [21] and Rumpole of the Bailey [22] to Kavanagh QC [23] and Silk [24] British TV has featured the trial process extensively from the 1950s until the present decade.

The prevalence of women lawyers, too, has changed in a number of subtle ways. Just as in the cinema of justice, women lawyers have gone from being simply absent, to virtual invisibility, to a major presence on the small screen.[25] Looking at the genre we can note the difference between the role of Della Street in Perry Mason [26] through those of Abby Perkins and Ann Kelsey in L.A. Law [27] to the eponymous Ally McBeal, [28] Shirley Schmidt in Boston Legal, [29] and Patty Hewes in Damages.[30]  Women have not only moved from behind the typewriter but also up the ladder, from background characters to enjoying major roles in the dramas in which they appear. In both the United States, Britain, and Australia we have series in the current decade in which women have been accorded the role of principal protagonist with Alicia Florrick in The Good Wife,[31] Martha Costello in Silk,[32] Claire Goose in The Coroner [33] as well as the eponymous Australian series, Janet King.[34]

What has been missing from these changes, however, has been to have a woman as the undisputed head of the organisation. Suits[35] achieves this, and goes even further, with the character of the senior partner and powerhouse decision-maker in the practice being an African American woman. This is part of the interesting nature of this series which breaks new ground in a number of different ways. This essay seeks to explore these features and locate them in the context of how TV lawyer series have altered and developed over the past 50 years. Suits appears to draw on all the conventions of TV lawyer drama and yet subvert them at the same time. It is both a conventional TV lawyer series whilst simultaneously appearing to be mocking the genre. It playfully both meets and confounds our expectations. It is about law but, while there are plenty of plate glass offices and meetings, there are no trials. It is a post-modern knowing wink at the genre and its normal portrayal of law and justice. It is Taggart[36] without the “murrderrs”.[37]

In terms of style, Suits initially appeared to be a standard one hour show with an “issue” dominating the lives of the two principal protagonists, Harvey Specter and Mike Ross. They have a client who has a problem in the corporate world which they inhabit and the twosome must resolve this. The hostile takeover must be resisted at all costs. The matter, though, is almost always complicated and the resolution exacerbated by the Unique Selling Point of the series. Mike Ross is not the Harvard law graduate he claims to be and is not the qualified lawyer the world assumes him to be. He simply stumbled into an interview while on the run from the police in a drugs bust. He was given his job by his quirky boss who liked his mental dexterity and admired his chutzpah. This improbable “secret,” known only to 3 people, manages to remain hidden for several seasons within a drama rather than a comedy series.[38] The concern with the weekly cases, however, as the series develops, becomes less of a focus. The precise details of the legal issues are overtaken by both large and small office politics which begin to dominate the series.

The notion of shifts in time, developed in Damages is also adopted, to an extent, in Suits and serves to allow the background of some of the characters to be filled in. It is the standard goal of most series producers to achieve re-commissioning and to become a staple of the schedules. It does not seem unreasonable to suspect that the success of this “one trick pony” may have come as something of a surprise to those behind the series. This has led to some awkward and clunky “infilling” to be undertaken, as well as changes in characters like Louis Litt.

It is in the personnel encountered in Pearson Hardman that the conventional/ unconventional mix is most vivid. In any series in the 21st century one would not be surprised to find women lawyers. Here, the senior partner is a woman, no less. By the same token, ethnic diversity would be expected. Here, this comes in the form of the two principal woman characters, Jessica Pearson and Rachel Zane. Jessica is powerful, driven, and compassionate, while Rachel is at the start of her career, ambitious and caring. By contrast, the two major players we encounter, Specter and Ross, are WASPs, with Harvey particularly “Aryan” and self-centred. Unusually, too, for the 21st century, we find a piece of blatant stereotyping in the part of the ambitious would-be partner, Louis Litt. Louis is a sneaky, conniving, self-serving lawyer on the staff with whom Specter appears to have a hate/hate relationship. Although apparently a brilliant lawyer, Louis is the butt of Harvey’s ill-humour and their ongoing relationship is one of the major drivers in the series. Litt is Jewish and appears to portray the role of the Jewish lawyer[39] in much the way that Stepin’ Fetchit represented African Americans in films in the 1930s.[40] This essay seeks to locate this innovative series in its context and provide a provisional assessment of corporate law as seen on TV.

III. Criminal Law

Watching the majority of TV’s doughty fighters-for-the-underdog over the years, from Rumpole of the Bailey and Judge John Deed[41], to Martha Costello in Silk, what is clear over the years is that law involves criminal trials in which the police invariably get the wrong person. Our lone protagonist is on hand to prevent or cure miscarriages of justice. From the eponymous Perry Mason, and  his English equivalent Richard Boyd in Boyd QC, to Jack Roper of New Street  Law[42] and  from  Ben Matlock in Matlock to Kavanagh QC, and Silk, television lawyers have been predominantly criminal law practitioners.  They spend their time involved defending unjustly accused murderers, robbers, arsonists, and the like. Civil law hardly gets a look in.  Occasional exceptions, such as suits for damages for defamation and the divorce work of Arnold Becker in LA Law, are mentioned below and are worthy of note. Here, the court actions result in damages or other remedies rather than jail time or execution. The courtroom location, however, is the same.

IV. The Mixed Legal Practice

The “new wave” law series started in 1986. LA Law [43] introduced a new notion into television lawyers of the firm. Hitherto, our fighters for justice had been lone practitioners – whether they were barristers like Margaret Lockwood’s Harriet Peterson in Justice [44] or attorneys like Anthony Petrocelli in Petrocelli. Indeed, starting at the same time as LA Law and running for the same time, we find a version of the lone defender in the criminal courts, Atlanta’s Ben Matlock in Matlock.[45]  LA Law gave us a new approach, stemming from producer Steven Bochko’s success in the police format with Hill Street Blues [46] and its multiple storylines and a range of ethnicities, genders, and sexuality.

LA Law offered a mix of civil and criminal issues but the common feature was the courtroom. The firm had a range of private client work. This covered divorce, contract cases, and defamation, along with criminal defence work. In the 8 series and 171 episodes the show was on air, the focus is on the problems of individuals and corporate law is seldom encountered. In a lone episode from series 1, aired in October 1986, Ann Kelsey defends a toy manufacturer who is trying to stop a takeover. That apart, the series shifts from the offices of McKenzie, Brackman, Chaney, and Kuzak to the court and back, covering criminal and civil issues and, of course, the negotiations for Arnold Becker’s divorce practice.

Again, as noted with the retro example of Matlock and its tribute to the Perry Mason crime-solving last-minute-reveal lawyer, a diverse set of lawyer programmes continued in the 1990s. There was another Steven Bochco offering with The Practice, with its clientele from a much less well-heeled district in Boston. The unusual surreal mixture of romance, music, and legal practice in Ally McBeal achieved great commercial and critical success between 1997 and 2002. Maintaining a slightly wacky relationship between straightforward cases and odd lawyers, Boston was also home to the mixed workload of the firm of Crane, Poole and Schmidt in Boston Legal. These programmes feature lots of interesting changes of emphasis with strong central female roles rather than the traditional white male lawyer

V. British Corporate Lawyers on Screen

From Britain, with Wing and a Prayer [47] and North Square,[48] there was a shift in the geographical focus and the income of the clients. Again, however, all criminal material. It is not until 2003 that we get a series set in the city of London and featuring people making deals in the BBC series Trust.  This six part series from January to February 2003 features people engaged outwith the courtroom, involved principally in making deals for and on behalf of companies. It had a cast of experienced British TV actors – Robson Green[49] Neil Stuke[50] Sarah Parish[51] and Ian McShane[52] – alongside actors with existing film credits – Chiwetel Ejiofor[53] and  Eva Birthistle.[54]

This look into the life of a city law firm is the first legal drama that involves no time spent in court. The drama comes from the range of issues which affect our main protagonists; Steven Bradley (Robson Green) and  Annie Naylor (Sarah Parish). Steven is a partner in the firm, seeking to become a senior partner, and Annie has ambitions to get to the partnership stage. Right from the start of the series, and throughout its run, we see how the commitment of these two to the office has affected their marriages. Steven’s marriage is “on the rocks”. During the series he divorces, although he pledges to spend “quality time” with his pre-teen sons in the future. Annie manages her work life balance a little better, due to the necessity of being a mother of a small girl and having a patient husband. Both end the series separated from their respective partners and in each other’s arms.

Following the lines adopted by John Mortimer in the Rumpole series,[55] we have an intermix of three elements – legal issues,  internal office politics, and family life. Unlike Rumpole and other shows which also relied on this formula, like Kavanagh QC, however, these three “areas” play out largely within the workspace.

This workspace makes for a high degree of intensity. For what is reputed to be a major city firm, the office space is cramped and by no means luxurious. The series of one hour episodes also introduces us to the other main players. Martin Greig (Neil Stuke) appears, initially as a relaxed gay lawyer, comfortable with his sexuality and lacking naked ambition. Vying for the place of the least ambitious assistant is Ashley Carter (Chiwetel Ejiofor). He is seen as a hedonist, drifting through life and relying on his charm rather than being truly committed to legal practice. He might, one begins to suspect, be employed by the law firm simply to fulfil a commitment to ethnic diversity. Less clear cut is the young ingénue lawyer, Maria Acklam (Eva Birthistle) who is making her way in the firm as Steven’s assistant. She can see the strain her boss’ commitment to his work is placing on his marriage and the impact on his family life. Maria clearly has doubts as to whether this is the path she wants to tread. The enigmatic Senior Partner, PG (the Power and the Glory) Alan Cooper-Fozard (McShane) flits in and out of the action unaccountably with little to do but to pronounce wise nostrums about commitment to the firm and its ethos.

The pattern of coverage centres around a mix of the lawyers and their personal problems and a client-centred issue. It would be misleading to use the term “case”. The essence of the law being practiced here is about people coming to an agreement. The lawyers for the various parties merely seek to facilitate this process. In the first episode, for instance, Steven Bradley has concluded some unspecified all-through-the-night deal. He is then immediately involved in getting two brothers to wrap up their deal selling their family company to a large conglomerate. In a later episode, there is an agreement to be concluded with a travel agency business being bought over by one of the employees. The seller stalls at the last minute before signing. In both instances, the intuition of Maria and Annie in the two respective cases allows the sellers to see the error of their ways. As Steven himself opines:

What’s important is you put the people first and the law second [56]

Whilst this is the essence of the way the various client-centred issues are resolved in all the episodes of Trust, it is never clear why any lawyers are involved. In another episode, an American tycoon flies in to complete a deal with a couple running a young British magazine. They are seeking to get distribution in the United States but are unwilling to compromise their principles by not covering sensitive issues like a woman’s right to choose. In the end, the American is won over by their belief in their product and the deal is signed.

The merging of a green energy company and a large polluting oil company to get the oil company some environmental credibility stalls in a later episode. This has happened because two of the in-house lawyers involved have been acting in bad faith to further their own career interests. This is revealed when a secret memorandum is unearthed by Maria while being instructed to do “due diligence” on the potential takeover company.

The key to the success of the agreements, however, is not so much hard facts but the intuition of the lawyers at the firm. Whether it is Steven, Annie, Maria, Ashley, or Martin, all rely for their success in being able to sniff out when something is “not quite right”. Ashley does this when a client is seeking to bring a “wonder drug” to market. He starts to suspect that the test data is flawed. Annie “senses” that the reason the seller of the travel business does not want to complete, despite there being no alternative offer on the table, is because of a past affair with the buyer which ended on a sour note. Steven works out from taking the food and drink order of a trio of young fashion entrepreneurs that they are all really best mates who do not want to break up at all. Maria deduces that the reason one of the brothers does not want to sell their company is because he fears he will lose his brother. Martin relies on his sense that his client’s crucial financial backing will emerge at the last minute and this duly occurs. As Steven Bradley points out, success in their line of work is “70% instinct”. As has been pointed out in the context of reality entertainment, this is precisely the concern of scholars analysing the way in which Judge Judy Scheindlin reaches her decisions.[57]  Law is in danger of going back to being a product of some kind of priestly revelation to those with the gift rather than the product of rational analysis of established facts.

If Richard Sherwin is right, and the viewer learns about the law from watching television, then what can we glean from watching Trust? Corporate law involves little sleep. It involves one firm buying out another firm and people having to sign agreements. Finalising these mergers is often fraught. Corporate lawyers, themselves, have complicated social lives. Corporate lawyering is incompatible with family life. Corporate law takes place in shiny glass towers? There are no actual courtrooms involved. Corporate lawyers are obsessed with intra-firm infighting and this occupies, it appears, 65% of their time in Trust.

This entertaining and interesting series ran in 2003 for a single season. This analysis of what Trust tells us about corporate law might sound rather churlish. It is worth bearing in mind that, as David Papke has suggested, the entertainment industry which produces these shows about law and lawyers

…… does things and shapes works in hopes of financial success…..the culture industry tries almost desperately to produce works it thinks will appeal to the public, will catch the public’s eye, will win its favor[58]

More recent British law series have taken the more conventional approach of looking at criminal law: New Street Law,[59]  Outlaws[60], and Silk; or set in either the 18th century as in Garrow’s Law [61]; or the modern equivalent, Norfolk, in Kingdom.[62] The latter does involve some civil disputes as well as criminal law. Whilst we do not see the inside of a courtroom in the 3 series, this is a world well away from the deals of Trust. It involves minor matters of inconvenience and frustration rather than world shattering issues.

VI. Corporate Lawyers – the American Way

Despite the caveats that Papke mentioned, one might expect the United States to have ventured beyond the criminal and civil courtroom. There is, indeed, a strong hint of corporate law practice in the much-lauded series aired late on Sunday nights in Britain with Glenn Close – Damages.[63] This was hailed for its innovative use of time shifts and its focus, in its five series, not on a string of cases for our lawyer protagonist but rather on a single matter. In its first, and most successful, series, Damages is centred on Patty Hewes and her attempt to defend a businessman. He is accused of having siphoned off money from his firm and of leaving the hapless employees to a future without jobs or pensions. The crucial question revolves around whether the asset stripping which Arthur Frobisher (Ted Danson) is accused of has taken place and whether or not it involves serious criminal actions. The plot demands a high level of concentration and cannot really be “dipped into” on a casual basis. Even with the advantage of a box set, one gets a great deal of plot with very little law. Using the Richard Sherwin “law learning” test provides precious little. This is not to say that the plot is not worth sticking with, but it does not pretend to provide a glimpse into the running of a law firm with rich clients owning big companies. We learn that corporate bosses sometimes siphon off money from the pension schemes of their companies and then shut down the companies. In addition, we discover that the lawyers who represent corporations have very complicated lives and will resort to drastic action, including the murder of dogs. The same kind of complex and convoluted plotting is encountered in the later series. These give tantalising glimpses into the world of business, with a Ponzi scheme featuring in the third season and whistleblowing in season five.

The trope of the strong female justice protagonist is also encountered in the recent long-running series, shown in Britain on niche channel More 4, The Good Wife. This is a story of redemption. With her husband jailed for bribery, Alicia Florrick returns to legal practice as a lowly Assistant. Over the next 7 seasons and 155 episodes, we see her rise in the firm of Stern, Lockhart and Gardner and then break away to set up her own, rival firm. Again, initially we encounter a powerful woman in charge of the firm who recognises Alicia’s qualities. She shows these skills in the same kind of mix of criminal defence work and private civil litigation as was found in LA Law. Although, in fairness, it does involve shiny towers, lack of sleep, and a huge amount of office in-fighting and intra-office skulduggery.

As we noted above, the most recent American law show to be shown in Britain on Channel 5 late at night, Suits, is set in a high powered New York law firm. Its special factor is that it is a version of a single comic/tragic Shakespearean notion of mistaken identity – here, as mentioned, a young man accidentally gets a job as an associate in a law firm although his boss knows intuitively that he has no law degree. The young man just happens to have a brilliant memory. Given the limited theme, one might be forgiven for not persisting with this programme. The Managing Partner, the head, of the firm of Pearson Hardman however was an African American woman, Jessica Pearson. This factor alone was, at the time, worthy of attention.

For the next 6 seasons and some 76 episodes we follow the firm, the progress of the pseudo-lawyer and that of the man who hired him knowing him to be unqualified, along with supporting roles for 4 other characters. The difference here is that they are working in the corporate division of a large successful New York law firm. This is a firm with 12 senior partners and a variety of divisions. The first two major male characters we meet, Harvey Specter and Mike Ross, are in Mergers and Acquisitions. We discover in due course that the firm has various divisions:Real Estate, Contracts, Bankruptcy, Mergers, and Taxes. What these individuals do, within these divisions, remains largely a mystery.

The show is still running at the time of writing and there are changes between the first two seasons and the next two in the issues covered. The characters, their presentation, and the narratives veer wildly between the realist and the caricature. The tone shifts from absolutely serious to wildly improbable. Some characters, such as Harvey Specter (Gabriel Macht) and Stephen Huntley (Max Beesley), appear as hard- headed, if ruthless, operators. Others, like Louis Litt (Rick Hoffmann) and his English counterpart in Series 3 and 4 Nigel Nesbitt (Adam Godley), are portrayed as small-minded, petty buffoons who, in spite of their inability to relate to others in the office, nonetheless possess highly valued, although largely unspecified, skills. One of the perplexing features of Suits is the way in which it shows the viewer a world in which personal qualities, rather than background, are valued. This work environment is one in which people from ethnic minority backgrounds, like Jessica Pearson and Louis Litt, are not held back from securing advancement. Lack  of high social status is not a barrier to progress, either. We see this with the treatment by the firm of Mike Ross. He is promoted on his demonstrated merits irrespective of his humble origins.

The male lawyers and associates all have an extraordinary ability to think three steps ahead of those with whom they interact. Harvey Specter is the finest deal closer in New York. He flashes his lupine smile a great deal and wears the smart suits of the title. His style is part foreknowledge and part bluff. Sometimes he magically knows what someone’s weakness is and, at other times, he takes a chance that his guess is right. This includes, on the one hand, having evidence of the crimes of the former District Attorney and using this knowledge whilst also playing poker to win back a client’s company which has been lost in a gambling spree in Atlantic City.

His protégée, Mike Ross (Timothy J Adams), has a photographic memory and an uncanny ability to remember data. As indicated, although he has no qualifications he is able to pass as a lawyer with the connivance of Harvey and Harvey’s Personal Assistant, Donna Paulsen (Sarah Rafferty.) She, like Harvey, has a level of prescience which is extraordinary. She is able to second-guess her boss’ needs and knows all his secrets and foibles, as well as those of many others in the firm. She is not, however, some self-serving Iago figure intent on her own self-promotion. There are early hints that the relationship between her and Harvey has perhaps more to it than employer/employee.

Most odd of all is the character of the ambitious Louis Litt. Although portrayed as socially dysfunctional, he is entrusted with the task of looking after the training of all the firm’s Harvard-sourced Associates. He is also the recognised firm expert on Corporate Finance. We see him glancing at files presented to him and immediately spotting the flaw or weak spot which the firm can exploit. We also see him as manipulative and mendacious in a childish way, seeking to buy friendship and loyalty and ready to cast these alliances aside at the merest hint of a slight to his perceived authority. This has both serious and comic aspects. He is susceptible to the crude flattery of Andrew Hardman on his return to the firm in series 2 and is easily swayed into giving him his support in exchange for promotion. In a very different vein, however, we see him negotiating with the new power in the firm, Nigel Nesbitt, over the role of quartermaster so that he can guarantee access to free Raspberry nutribars and a certain kind of ballpoint pen. Both actions have negative impacts on his work but are treated in the same way in the narrative.

By contrast, two of the five principal characters are women who appear to be grounded in reality and value effort. Jessica Pearson, the Managing Partner, runs the firm efficiently, although without ever having so much as a file or a piece of paper in her hand and without any obvious administrative support. The engaging paralegal, Rachel Zane, has managed to keep from the firm that her father is a highly successful and respected African American Attorney with whom the firm clash on occasion. She is naive and ambitious but also seems to have none of the “special” gifts of the three men. It seems to be  a reverse of the division noted by Kamir in her analysis of Adam’s Rib in which she complained that Adam got all the rational “male” arguments and Amanda was left with the  emotional “female” appeals to sentiment.[64]

Watching Suits provides a view of contemporary corporate lawyers in America in the wake of the financial meltdown of 2008. Again, as Papke stresses, the perspective provided interacts with public expectations as to what such lawyers are like. Papke wrote about TV divorce lawyers being “manipulative, money-grabbing and lusty”[65] because this was what the culture industry took the “public sentiment” generally to be. As far as corporate lawyers are concerned, this expectation is similarly negative but allied with notions of envy that these “masters of the universe” (and increasingly “mistresses”)[66] deserve, perhaps, their rewards for their Stakhanovite workloads and personal sacrifices.

Again, we get a sense of immense workloads and sacrificing of personal time. Corporate lawyers work through the nights and do not need sleep. Corporate lawyers have very complicated personal lives. Corporate law is incompatible with normal family life and maintaining healthy inter-personal relationships. Corporate law involves people taking over companies or merging. Corporate law negotiations are fraught. Corporate lawyers know things about other lawyers which gives them an edge in fraught negotiations. Corporate law takes place in very shiny glass towers. Corporate lawyers in the United States, if we follow Suits,  spend most of their time involved in intra-firm infighting – by now up to 75% of their time.

Allied with this awe at their ability to work selflessly on “deals”, is a suspicion that, like criminal defence lawyers and compensation seeking lawyers, their work perhaps does not have much to do with the public interest. As the DA ex-boss of one of our protagonists says when accusing ex-prosecutor Harvey Specter of having sold out by working as a Corporate lawyer  –

You help rich people keep their money and that’s all you do

This is reflected in the contrast between the lyrics of the theme song and its title and refrain – Greenback Boogie. Here the references to the modest aspiration for a “bean pie” with “little cream cheese” contrasts with the megabucks deals the lawyers are involved in and their lifestyles. The repeated refrain – Greenback Boogie – implies that the enterprise is about making money and has nothing to do with justice. It may be one of the reasons for the varying tone and shifts of perspective that have been mentioned in the lawyers working in Suits. Harvey Specter may be the new Gordon Gecko for the post-2008 capitalism but there is an ambivalence in our view of him.[67] We are not sure if he is Louis Litt with a better suit and hairstyle. He too switches his allegiances and loyalties in a capricious way. At the end of each segment, however, he seeks to justify these actions according to a grand scheme centred on the interests of the firm, whether it be Pearson Hardman, Pearson Darby, Pearson Specter, or Pearson Specter Litt. Quite why a man whom we see as a narcissist should be so concerned with the collective good is only hinted at. Given that the narrative is ongoing, that is an issue which the various writers have not really had to address. He is surrounded, throughout the various series, however, by a group of equally unadmirable characters. He hovers between icon and hate figure. His loyalty to his friends may be his saving virtue but that is mediated by his betrayals over the years. As the series progresses his moral arc is not yet fully determined. There is the possibility that he may achieve a state of grace. He may, on the other hand, defy the tradition of moral redemption and  join Graham Greene’s Harry Lime[68] and Patricia Highsmith’s Tom Ripley[69] as one of the great fictional amoral protagonists.

VII. Concluding Remarks

Portraying corporate law on television has faced the same problems which all fictionalisations of the justice system face. In real life, the law and its machinations are highly dramatic, at turns both shocking and inspiring.  Fictionalising this should be easy. Achieving originality after almost 60 years of TV lawyers is the problem. One part of the solution has been a shift from plot driven narratives to character focused material. This focus is far more suitable for exploring characters and their lives over as many series as possible, as opposed to fresh cases appearing every week and being disposed of within an hour of TV time. The emergence of the rolling storyline in the wake of Hill Street Blues has produced a soap opera like quality to many legal dramas which have adopted the serial form. We find this in Judging Amy[70] about a corporate lawyer “dropping out” to become a Family Court judge in Hartford, Connecticut.[71] This is not to say that the neatly packaged episodic television law drama has had its day. As noted, it continues to thrive in its natural setting of the criminal legal series and it makes the syndication of a series easier. When, however, programme makers have turned their attention to the world of law and its interaction with business, they have opted to focus on the personal and private. In a sense, here any lack of due process and resultant injustice from Mike Ross being unlicensed means there are no obvious victims. The clients’ goals and problems centre on making or retaining money. No-one is going to languish in jail for a crime they did not commit when a takeover goes awry. A further possible explanation is assumptions about the audience; those in charge of running modern justice systems take the view that lay juries cannot absorb complex material and that issues like corporate fraud should be left to those who can follow such matters with professional acumen.[72] This may be why there is a difference between the corporate law world on television and that of the criminal mainstream. The viewing public would not be able to cope with the abstruse nature of corporate business. In fairness, this lack of confidence is not entirely fanciful if the recent excellent films on the workings of modern capitalism are anything to go by. [73]

Judge John Deed was reportedly popular with High Court Judges with its portrayal of a crusading fighter for justice with a remarkably active sex life with counsel, witnesses, and others.[74] Corporate lawyers watching the portrayals of themselves in television will know how their lives measure up to the fictional version. In their real working lives they know if, indeed, they do have complicated personal lives with no sleep, relying on their secret knowledge of the foibles of the lawyers of the other side, and confident that can resist the backstabbing that pervades corporate law on television. The rest of the population will assume that is what they do. Their role, and the perceived reality, may be far from the heroic noble role which popular culture has generally assigned to their criminal law counterparts from Perry Mason and Richard Boyd to Alicia Florrick and Martha Costello. In the post-2008 political climate helping rich people keep their money is, however, only slowly beginning to emerge as something which is problematic. It does offer scope, though, for a fictional exploration of how and why the wealth and power gap in many advanced societies is widening and what role the hitherto little examined world of corporate law plays in this process.


Endnotes

[1] S Macaulay, ‘Images of Law in Everyday Life: The Lessons of School, Entertainment and Spectator Sports’ (1987) 21 Law and Society Review 185

[2] L Friedman, Law, Lawyers and Popular Culture (1989) 98 Yale Law Journal 1579

[3] Judge Rinder (ITV; 2014 – ) – British version of Judge Judy with a telegenic and witty young gay judge shown daily on afternoon TV on one of the principal channels.

[4] Lady Hale was the first, and at the time of writing, only woman judge on Britain’s Supreme Court.

[5] R Sherwin, Law Goes Pop (New York University Press, 2000) Introduction

[6] 2002 , Spielberg, Amblin Entertainment

[7] M Asimow et al, ‘Perceptions of lawyers: a transnational study of student views on the image of law and lawyers,’ (2005) 12 International Journal of the Legal Profession 407

[8] M Asimow, ‘When lawyers were heroes,’ (1996) 39 University of San Francisco Law review 1131; N Rafter, Shots in the Mirror, (Oxford University Press, 2000); S Greenfield, ’Hero or villain: cinematic Lawyers and the delivery of justice’ (2001) 28(1) Journal of Law and Society 25; Greenfield, Osborn and Robson, Film and the Law, (Hart Publishing, 2010)

[9] Anatomy of a Murder 1959, Otto Preminger

[10] To Kill a Mockingbird 1962, Robert Mulligan

[11] The Verdict 1982, Sidney Lumet

[12] Primal Fear 1996, Gregory Hoblit

[13] 1957 – 1966

[14] 1961 – 1965

[15] 1974 – 1976

[16] P Robson, ‘Lawyers and the Legal System on TV: The British Experience’ (2007) 2(4) International Journal of Law in Context 333 and P Robson, ‘Developments in Law and Popular Culture: The Case of the TV Lawyer’ in A Masson and K O’Connor (eds.) Representations of Justice (Peter Lang, 2007); M Asimow, Lawyers in Your Living Room: Law on television (ABA, 2009) passim; P Robson in P Robson and J Schulz, A transnational Study of Law and Justice on TV (Hart Publishing, 2016) Chapter 3

[17] 2011 – 6th season in progress at the time of writing

[18] 1986 – 1994

[19] 1997 – 2004

[20] In reality the distinction between court and office-based practitioners in Britain is now more blurred since many solicitors do appear in the lower courts in many matters. There has also been since 1990 the concept of the Solicitor Advocate in Scottish courts allowing solicitors to plead before the highest courts – Willock and White (2005)

[21] 1958 – 1964

[22] 1975 – 1992

[23] 1995 – 2001

[24] 2011 – 2014

[25] S Greenfield, G Osborn and P Robson, Film and the Law (Hart Publishing, 2010)

[26] 1958-1964

[27] 1986-94

[28] 1997 – 2002

[29] 2004 – 2008

[30] 2007 – 2012

[31] 2009 –

[32] 2011-2014

[33] 2015

[34] 2014-

[35] 2011 – although not shown in the UK on mainstream television there is also a women head in  Harry’s Law (2011-2012) and an African American one in How to Get Away With Murder (2014 – )

[36] 1983 – 2010

[37] Detective Jim Taggart was faced in the series between 1983 and 1994 with homicides in each episode and it became part of Scottish folklore to refer to the series with Mark McManus’ extremely broad Glaswegian response in every episode “There’s been a murrderr”. The series continued without the named character after McManus’ death in 1994 for over 15 years but many more murders.

[38] Donna Paulsen (Sarah Rafferty), Harvey Specter’s PA, is also in the know as she was with Harvey at the “interview” where Mike got the job. Her ability to keep this secret is a powerful sign of her loyalty and commitment to Harvey.

[39] on Louis as a crude Jewish stereotype see Asimow 2016

[40] Bogle, 2001

[41] 2001 – 2007

[42] 2006 – 2007

[43] 1986 – 1992

[44] 1971 – 1974

[45] 1986 – 1995

[46] 1981 – 1987

[47] 1997 – 1999

[48] 2000

[49] Soldier Soldier; Close and True

[50] Game On

[51] The Bill; Peak Practice

[52] Lovejoy and subsequently Deadwood

[53] Love Actually

[54] Ae Fond Kiss

[55] Mortimer 1993

[56] Episode 1

[57] N Marder ‘Judging Judge Judy’ in M Asimow (ed.) Lawyers in your Living Room, (ABA, 2009) and ‘Judging Reality Television Judges’ in P Robson and J Silbey (eds.) Law and Justice on the Small Screen (Hart Publishing, 2012); K Podlas ‘Impact of Television on Cross-Examination and Juror ‘Truth’’ (2009) 14 Widener Law Review 483 and ‘Testing Television: Studying and Understanding the Impact of Television’s Depictions of Law and Justice’ in P Robson and J Silbey (eds.) Law and Justice on the Small Screen (Hart Publishing, 2012)

[58] D Papke, ‘Comedic Critique: The Pop Cultural Divorce Lawyer’ in M Asimow, K Brown, and D Papker (eds.) Law and Popular Culture: International Perspectives Cambridge Scholars Press, 2014) 37

[59] 2006 – 2007

[60] 2004

[61] 2009 – 2011

[62] 2007 – 2009

[63] 2005 – 2009

[64] O Kamir, ‘X-raying Adam’s Rib: multiple readings of a (feminist?) law film’ (2000) 22 Studies in Law, Politics, and Society 103

[65] D Papke, ‘Comedic Critique: The Pop Cultural Divorce Lawyer’ in M Asimow, K Brown, and D Papker (eds.) Law and Popular Culture: International Perspectives Cambridge Scholars Press, 2014) 38

[66] T Wolfe, Bonfire of the Vanities, (Farrar, Straus, Giroux, 1987)

[67] Wall Street, 1987, Oliver Stone

[68] The Third Man 1949, Carol Reed

[69] The Talented Mr Ripley 1999, Anthony Minghella

[70] 1999 – 2005

[71] see most recently Billions (2016 – ) on the Federal prosecution of financial crimes as a “soapy melodrama”

[72] Criminal Justice (Mode of Trial) Bill 1999 and Criminal Justice (Mode of Trial)(No2) Bill 2000 both sought to limit the right to elect for jury trial. Provision for such restriction, as yet not in force, is, however made in the Criminal Justice Act 2003. Section 43 allows, where serious and complex fraud cases are likely to make “the trial so burdensome” to the jury for the trial to be conducted without a jury.

[73] see The Wolf of Wall Street (2013, Martin Scorsese), 99 Homes (2015, Ramin Bahrani) and The Big Short (2015, Adam McKay) – hugely entertaining but far from simple to follow.

[74]  Interview by author with members of the Court of Appeal in October 2010 on the reactions of the judiciary to the series

Wire from the Field: Tackling Visual Knowledge: The Story of the Yale Visual Law Project

Sandra Ristovska[1]

Words have long been privileged as tools for ordering knowledge across the academy and in the various institutions central to civic life. Images, by contrast, have typically been used as visual aids to words, illustrations on the side or works of art. Despite providing knowledge that is complementary to, but also different from, that accessible through words, images have experienced an inferior status not only in the academy—where text is seen as the legitimate way of presenting research—but across multiple institutions, among them the law.[2] The Visual Law Project (VLP) at the Yale Law School is a student-run collective that recognizes that ‘the visual medium is a unique set of analytic tools that are not available in text.’[3] Consequently, it explores the relationship between the law and visual media through a year-long practicum, workshops, film screenings, master classes with international documentary filmmakers and lecture series. It also trains students in the craft of visual legal advocacy.

This essay briefly situates the story of VLP within the broader academic programs that tackle the particularities of visual knowledge and the value of critical media practices as legitimate modes of scholarship. Then it provides an overview of VLP’s work and contributions to legal pedagogy and practice. In doing so, this essay argues that understanding the knowledge provided by visual media on its own terms is becoming an important set of critical skills in the academy and law schools specifically.

I. The Turn to Visual Practices in the Academy

Contrary to words—as the assumed vehicles of reason that promote linear logic—images are characterized by sensory richness and relational thinking. Images move across the levels of evidentiary and emotional signification at once. They appeal to the imagination, exceeding their presumed representational modes. This fluidity of images has long complicated their sidelined academic and institutional status. In the current media moment, though, visual media account for the majority of global consumer traffic,[4] penetrating into various institutional spaces and intensifying demands for visual literacy.

It is not so surprising, then, that interdisciplinary programs and initiatives that seek to address the full complexity of the kind of knowledge accessible through visuals have proliferated across the U.S. academy in the humanities and social sciences over the last decade. The multimodal research collective CAMRA at the University of Pennsylvania, the Program in Culture and Media at New York University, the Sensory Ethnography Lab at Harvard University, and the newly created Ph.D. program in Media Research and Practice at the College of Media, Communication and Information at the University of Colorado Boulder are among those innovative academic undertakings. Albeit different, they all share a common recognition of the value of visual knowledge that merits engagement on its own terms. They tackle, for example, the criteria through which film and video can count as scholarly research in their own right in the respective disciplines—anthropology, communication, education, media studies and sociology, among others.

Although for different purposes, law schools across the country have also turned to visual practices. The Visual Law Project at the Yale Law School is among growing numbers of programs and initiatives that tackle the unfolding role and potential of visual media in the law alongside the Penn Program on Documentaries & the Law, the Visual Persuasion Projects at New York University, and the Quinnipiac University School of Law, as well as the visual law initiatives at Stanford University and Harvard University. These institutions offer courses that interrogate the multifaceted relationship between legal judgment and visual meaning making through production and analysis. In doing so, they respond to growing needs for visual jurisprudence as ‘the newly emerging field that sets out to assess the aesthetic and ethical implications of visualizing law in practice and in theory. Visual rhetoric must now become part and parcel of law’s aspirational claim to truth-based judgment.’[5] Why is visual jurisprudence so necessary in the current moment?

II. The Calls for Visual Jurisprudence

The law has long been an institution that considers words to be the best vehicle for transporting its logic. Like many social and political institutions, the law associates words with reason, systematic thinking, and deliberation, pushing aside the value of images as tools that work differently from words. As legal scholar Neal Feigenson writes, ‘the infrastructures of legal knowledge have been generally unreceptive to pictures.’[6] When used, the law insists that visuals need words to anchor their legal meaning. Visuals and words, however, facilitate different processes of knowledge acquisition, and ‘now, as never before, [the law] is also about pictures displayed on screen.’[7] Video, for example, can be used as evidence, advocacy, testimony, confession, closing argument, settlement, or as audio-visual record of trial proceedings (as in the case of the Supreme Courts of Canada, Brazil, the U.K. and international human rights courts like the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia and the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda).

As visual media enter into the law, their prominence necessitates training in visual jurisprudence. How images work, how they facilitate legal understanding, what practical and ethical considerations are needed to assess images and to render them legally meaningful is at the heart of the emerging and pressing calls for this kind of legal training. As Rebecca Wexler, the first VLP instructor and former director, writes:

The increasing use of film and video as evidence in courtrooms has not been matched by a parallel increase in the critical visual literacy skills of legal practitioners. The resulting disconnect is dangerous, and may be the most urgent area of film and law scholarship today. Need for standards development exists not only in areas of authenticity, proof and evidentiary inclusion and exclusion practices, but also in measures of what is and is not constructed in video images.[8]

Beyond evidence, visual media also permeate the law at the level of advocacy and analysis,[9] demanding close scrutiny of the evolving roles and shapes of visual legal judgment. VLP offers one response to this growing need for visual jurisprudence.

III. Brief Overview of VLP’s Work

Valarie Kaur and Rebecca Wexler co-founded the Yale Visual Law Project during the academic year 2010/2011. The Information Society Project (ISP) at Yale Law School administers VLP, whose founding mission was built around the idea of visual advocacy. Coming to law school with a background in documentary filmmaking, Kaur reflected on her experience as a first year law student:

I saw stories all over the law, storytelling coursing through the life of our cases and arguments and briefs.  The legal field is a site for narrative contestation, a battle of storytelling.  But I also saw the absence of stories.  The stories of people who most bear the consequences of the law, their faces and voices are often left out of legal analysis and debate.  So that gave rise to the question: if law is about narrative contestation, and film best makes vivid buried stories, how can we better use film in the legal field, both inside and outside the courtroom, to advance the public interest?[10]

The rising importance of the visual in the law—both inside and outside the courtroom—requires understanding the theories and practices of visual culture. VLP seeks to train students in the nuances of audio-visual modes of information relay and storytelling. Reading groups discuss the growing interdisciplinary scholarship on visual media and legal judgment, incorporating analysis of how images work in the wider culture and how documentary film and video engage audiences. They are supplemented with workshops on the various aspects of documentary filmmaking, such as directing, interviewing, camera, lighting and editing.

Rebecca Wexler also came to law after working as a documentary filmmaker for seven years. She notes, ‘the visual medium has a different type of traction in the public sphere, so it is a way to learn a new form of rhetoric that can help with legislative advocacy.’[11] Visual legal advocacy rests upon the notion that documentary film and video provide a platform to humanize the stories of injustice and to render legal knowledge accessible both to the communities affected by the issue and to the wider public. Documentaries can communicate legal knowledge outside of its technical existence in courts and documents. Learning about visual law, therefore, can provide an important set of skills. This was key to why Helen Li, a third year law student and this year’s VLP director, came to Yale:

VLP was one of the primary reasons I came to Yale Law School. I was interested in the ability of imagery and visual context to bring the law out of the shadows created by complex statutes and legalese. For the average citizen, law exists only in casebooks, regulations, and expensive law firms. I wanted to work with other students seeking to understand the laws that affect every fabric of our lives and make those laws open and transparent on the screen.[12]

Driven by this vision, VLP has produced numerous documentaries over the years about wide-ranging legal issues, including immigration, detention centers, prison reforms, privacy and surveillance.[13]

Honorable Discharge?, for example, tells the story of how Arnold Giammarco, a non-citizen veteran of the U.S. Army, was deported from the U.S. The documentary begins with the testimony of Giammarco’s wife: ‘People go: ‘What? They can do that? They really do that?’ And I’m like, yes, they really do that. They did it to us.’ Throughout the documentary, the viewer finds out about the difficulties that Giammarco’s wife and daughter experience because their family has been torn apart. Their personal stories are contextualized with the information provided by Michael Wishnie, Director of Jerome N. Frank Legal Services Organization at Yale Law School, who has worked on this case.

The Worst of the Worst: Portrait of a Supermax is a 30-minute-long documentary that depicts Connecticut’s supermax prison, where some inmates are held in solitary confinement for extensive periods. It weaves together testimonies by inmates and correctional officers along with interviews with a range of experts and administrators. It includes Misael’s voice-over-narration which describes his experience of being held in solitary confinement for a total of 16 months:

You sleeping on other people’s blood and dirty stuff. You can’t talk through the doors. You can’t speak to other inmates. I started talking to the wall. I started seeing stuff. You can hear these voices and literally hear them and…they talk to you and tell you to do things and…you go and do them and not realize that you’re going, that you’re going through this pain, and that’s when I started cutting myself, biting myself. And it all happens because of that cell because of that cell.

Misael’s testimony captures the viewer’s attention through its appeal to the emotions. Through his testimony, solitary confinement moves away from being an abstract concept to a vivid experience of someone’s trauma. Video combines sound and images. The testimony is heard while a series of images flickers on the screen, including close-up shots of blurry images and an extreme close-up of a man’s face whose eyes are closed. Ultimately, it is the viewer who needs to infer meaning from the relationship between the testimony and the images.

Video, indeed, provides knowledge that works by association and appeals to the senses. It engages the viewer’s emotions and imagination. Legal scholar Regina Austin draws a parallel between how documentaries and the law construct knowledge. She writes,

In both law and documentary film, reality or the truth of the real world is mediated by the senses; essentially the eyes see what they want to see and the ears hear what they want to hear. The object of both good legal practice and good documentary practice is to expand the field of sight and sound to the realm of what justice requires.[14]

This understanding underpins how VLP trains students in visual legal advocacy. VLP sees video as an important vehicle for justice, teaching students how to embrace visual storytelling while still carefully crafting legal arguments. Reflecting on her experience working on the documentary Stigma: Stop and Frisk in New York City, Aeryn Palmer wrote,

The law is not as resistant to creative interpretation as I had initially believed it would be. Making a legal argument on film…is difficult. But showing the consequences of the law – that’s doable…film is about all the things that the law as written and executed ignores…Film might not be suited to arguing the details, but it is very powerful for conveying what the law really means.[15]

Palmer’s comments reiterate that words and images compliment the law’s quest for truth and justice. Law students, however, spend much of their time learning the craft of legal writing and little about visual modes of meaning making. As a result, initiatives like VLP are of utmost importance to legal pedagogy in the current moment.

Over the years, VLP has expanded its curriculum and approach to visual knowledge. This year, for example, it has been working to enhance its collaboration with the legal clinics at the Yale Law School on visual legal advocacy projects. VLP students also continue to work across disciplines with artists and social justice advocates throughout Yale and New Haven. Furthermore, VLP has been strengthening its training in how visual knowledge works, how it is used in the law and how to better harness the power of the visual. To that end, it hosted a lecture series on visual jurisprudence in the Fall 2016, and organized a reading group this Spring. VLP now also features workshops and master classes that go beyond the focus on audiovisual media, examining the intersection between the law and visual culture more broadly. The motivating factor remains that law students can greatly benefit from tackling the nuances and the value of visual knowledge for legal theory and practice.

Acknowledgement

The author would like to thank Rebecca Wexler, past VLP director, and Helen Li, this year’s VLP director, for sharing their insights and providing helpful suggestions for this article.


Endnotes

[1] Sandra Ristovska, Ph.D., is the Gerbner Postdoctoral Fellow at the Annenberg School for Communication at the University of Pennsylvania and a Visiting Fellow at the Information Society Project at the Yale Law School, where she is the Advisor of the Visual Law Project. She is a documentary filmmaker and a scholar who works on issues around visual evidence, human rights and global media activism.

[2] Richard K. Sherwin, ‘Visual Jurisprudence’ (2012) 57 New York Law School Review 137

[3] Rebecca Wexler, personal communication, April 29, 2016.

[4] CISCO, ‘Visual Networking Index: Forecast and Methodology, 2015-2020’ (2015) Retrieved from http://www.cisco.com/c/dam/en/us/solutions/collateral/service-provider/visual-networking-index-vni/complete-white-paper-c11-481360.pdf [Last accessed March 15, 2017].

[5] Richard K. Sherwin, ‘Visual Jurisprudence’ (2012) 57 New York Law School Review 164.

[6] Neal Feigenson, ‘The Visual in Law: Some Problems for Legal Theory’ (2014) 10.1 Law, Culture and the Humanities 13.

[7] Neal Feigenson and Christina Spiesel, Law and Display: the Digital Transformation of Legal Persuasion and Judgment (New York University Press, 2009) xi.

[8] Rebecca Wexler, ‘The Visual Law Project’ (2012). Retrieved from https://prezi.com/ajr5mk4fuimq/the-visual-law-project/ [Last Accessed March 15, 2017].

[9] Rebecca Wexler, personal communication, April 29, 2016.

[10] Valarie Kaur, ‘At Film Premiere, Project Founder Valarie Kaur Talks About Our Grand Experiment’ (2011). Retrieved from http://yalevisuallawproject.org/2011/06/29/our-grand-experiment/ [Last Accessed March 15, 2017].

[11] Rebecca Wexler, personal communication, April 29, 2016.

[12] Helen Li, personal communication, September 12, 2016.

[13] Most documentaries can be accessed at the VLP’s Vimeo channel: https://vimeo.com/user7522770

[14] Regina Austin, ‘The Next “New Wave”: Law Genre Documentaries, Lawyering in Support of the Creative Process, and Visual Legal Advocacy’ (2006) 16 Fordham, Intell. Prop. Media and Ent. L.J. 844.

[15] Aeryn Palmer, end-of-the-year-reflections, April 8, 2011.