Finally, I have a little slice of time that almost qualifies as “down time.” Essentially, that means I just have one thing I need to be doing right now, other than just relaxing.
It is difficult, after two years of law school and being crazy-busy almost all the time, to know what to do when there are moments when it is both possible and desirable, if not entirely wise, to do something other than study. The “not entirely wise” part implicates the facts that first, it would never be a bad idea to study more and second, depending on one’s position in the rankings and whether one hopes to stay there, the potential adverse consequences of not studying may outweigh the potential advantages gained from studying, leaving one in the unfortunate position of never feeling truly comfortable while not studying.
Little things frequently arise in conversations that remind me how much I need to keep from forgetting. A few nights ago, while having dinner with some people who are also in law school, our talk drifted toward the girl whose feet were severed by an amusement park ride last week. Almost immediately, we turned to potential liability and who the best defendant might be.
Surely, any decent personal injury lawyer filing suit in such a matter would name the park, the manufacturer of the ride, the staff who were responsible for maintaining the ride, and a chunk of “Doe” defendants, who are unnamed and unknown individuals or entities who may have had a hand in the injury, to be added by name at such time as they become known. However, that’s just good procedure. In reality, liability will probably only “stick” to one or two parties. The problem is determining which theories work best for which party.
One of the people I was with suggested negligence under a res ipsa loquitur theory, which basically means that injuries like this do not normally occur without someone being negligent and the particular defendant in question more likely than not had control of the instrumentality that caused the injury. That theory generally only works when you cannot identify a specific negligent act; if investigation were to uncover identifiably shoddy maintenance of the ride, then res ipsa loses viability. However, these clear and articulate thoughts did not occur to me while I was sitting in the restaurant. I want to say they should have, but they did not because I have not regularly reviewed my first-year torts material.
Another moment of frustration occurred last night with a similar group of people in another restaurant. One of my classmates is writing a paper about whether punishing people for giving money to groups that fund terrorism is an unconstitutional abridgment of the right to free exercise of religion for Muslims who are compelled by one of their Five Pillars to give money to charities. Our constitutional law professor happened to be at the table with us and he immediately said, “Well, what’s the standard of review for this kind of thing?” As someone who got the highest grade in his class, I was quite disappointed to find myself completely blank.
Basically, the standard of review applied to government acts that are sufficiently adverse to the right of free exercise of religion depends on the nature of the act. If the government act specifically targets religious conduct, then it is subject to “strict scrutiny,” which means the government has a burden to show that its action was narrowly tailored to advance a compelling government interest. On the other hand, if the government act is generally and neutrally applicable, then the government only needs to show that there was a rational basis for its action, meaning that it was not irrational for the government to believe that it was advancing a legitimate government interest. The thing to notice here is that the law prohibiting the provision of funds to terrorist organizations is probably generally and neutrally applicable; anyone who give money to terrorists is in violation of the law, regardless of whether that person is compelled by his or her religious beliefs. That is, the conduct of Muslims adhering to the tenets of their religion is not particularly targeted.
However, the more I think about it, the more I wonder whether there is a decent argument that the law is not actually generally and neutrally applicable. If a prosecutor could show that the only people who give money to terrorist organizations and the charitable groups who support them are people who practice Islam, then perhaps the law is targeting religious conduct by proxy. Even if that is the case, though, the government still might be able to meet the burden of “strict scrutiny” by showing that preventing funds from reaching terrorist organizations is surely a compelling governmental interest and the law is not overinclusive or underinclusive (i.e., it is narrowly tailored) in advancing that goal. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, I do not have time to research the problem further.
I am still annoyed that these things only occur to me after the fact. I should remember things like Employment Division v. Smith, 494 U.S. 872 (1990), which is the case that established the rule I mentioned above, that, in the realm of the free exercise clause, laws of general and neutral applicability must only withstand rational basis review, especially since I learned it only a few months ago. I should also remember the rule of res ipsa loquitur more quickly.
This is why I usually hesitate or stall, or at least feel like I am hesitating or stalling, when people ask me questions about the law. Sometimes, I just don’t know the answer and I am racking my brain to figure it out and I do not want to say the wrong thing. This is what law school does. It not only fosters the strong aversion to being wrong and looking stupid that most of us already have when we entered law school, but it also makes us remember that people might rely on what we say and if we tell them the wrong thing, it could be troublesome down the road. (That is also why we always have to be careful not to phrase things in such a way that they could be taken as legal advice, or as creating an attorney-client relationship, and to disclaim such things expressly: “This is not legal advice; I could be wrong; if you have an actual problem, you should seek and retain counsel.”)
It is extremely unlikely that chatting about the law with other law students and professors is going to create liability or cause much trouble, but those are the situations in which we are most acutely reminded of our ignorance. It happens all the time.
Another little one happened the other day at work when one of the attorneys I work for returned to the office after a deposition of one of our clients by opposing counsel and I asked him how it went, whether the opposing attorney seemed to be fishing for anything in particular. He mentioned that they seemed to be looking for something to support a theory of negligent hiring. “Do you think that’ll go anywhere?” I asked without thinking. “No, not if the employee was outside the course and scope of his employment and it’s pretty clear he was,” said my boss. Duh. I wrote a memo about all the potential theories in this case and should have known that. Why did I miss it?
This is why it is difficult to relax. It will only get worse, too. After I pass the bar, get some real clients, and have my name filed with the court as their counsel of record, so that I am responsible to represent them competently, with due diligence and the requisite zeal, then making stupid mistakes will cost the clients money. If the mistakes are big enough or stupid enough, they will cost me money, too. If they are really bad, they can cost me my bar number.
You can’t go into this field unless you can figure out a way to deal with feeling stupid and embarrassed and worried at nearly every turn. And if you never feel stupid or embarrassed or worried, then maybe you are not doing your job as well as you should be. On the other hand, knowing the law generally puts one in a position of power, or at least control. Plus, the flip side of feeling stupid when you don’t know something is that you can always go look it up. It might take you a few hours of research, but you can find an answer to anything. Even more exciting, if you can’t find an answer, you can devise an answer and then try to convince a judge that your answer is the right one.
Now I must go and get back to work on figuring out where the American Bar Association Model Rules of Professional Conduct differ from the California State Bar Rules of Professional Conduct and the portions of the California Business & Professions Code that apply to attorneys. Pretty exciting, eh?