There are many things I want to write about: a semester on Skid Row, a reflection of third year, concern about what the heck I'm doing next, fear about the bar...
But today, I just want to say, I am tired. I don't want to study, I don't want to work, I don't want to do ANYTHING. Because I am exhausted, and because I dislike school, and because, after three years, I am at my wits end.
Law School, A week from today, you will be over and done. And I can't wait.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Never Forget...
Psalm 46:1-2
“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea.”
The newscasters went nuts. I remember the confusion in their voices changing to panic. But I still had to go to school, and by the time I finally pulled myself away from the television, I was running way late and no one at the news station was any closer to explaining what was going on.
Airport security…we complain about it these days. It’s a hassle, it’s inefficient. I remember flying before 9/11, so I can attest that this is true. And certainly the 9/11 plan could have been carried out in spite of it—the hijackers kept control of flight 93, for instance, partially through threat of a bomb. If someone said they had a bomb on a plane, I’d be more inclined to believe them than not, despite our current security measures. But who knows, maybe it has been effective in some ways. It’s definitely a deterrent. Will it stop someone really determined? Maybe not. But neither does a law against murder and the possibility of a death sentence stop a serial killer. It deters those who are likely to be deterred. And it makes me feel safer. I can get behind that.
“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea.”
I debated a lot about writing anything like this today. I was…am…hesitant to do so for a surprisingly long list of reasons. September 11, 2001 was…horrifying. World-shattering. Life-altering. It was a day of sorrow, of fear, and of death. But it was also a day in which a lot of average people displayed above average courage and ascended into heroism. I don’t know what I can possibly say about September 11 that hasn’t already been said more eloquently, more beautifully, by someone else.
This is a struggle I have every year. I have, in fact, sat down on several September 11th anniversaries to write down my thoughts, feelings, memories…and each time I have given up.
But today, I sat and I watched the memorial ceremonies, and I watched the flashback documentaries, and the interviews, and the recaps. I felt a little morbid doing it, a little reluctant even, because what I really wanted to do today, what I really wanted, was to ignore it all. To study or read or watch a movie and pretend it wasn’t the 10th anniversary of the most horrifying event in American history since Pearl Harbor. Because even after ten years, everything about that day just breaks my heart.
So I made myself watch it, and made myself remember and relive it a little, because those events and those people deserve to be remembered. Need to be remembered. And after all that, I feel the need to express what September 11, 2001 meant to me, and what it means to me now, ten years later.
All day today, my Facebook friends have been asking the question: Where were you when?
I was a senior in high school. Because it was not quite 6 in the morning here on the West coast when the first plane hit, I had been awake for all of 15minutes when it happened. I usually got up to get ready for school around 5:30 because I had a 7am zero period (before school) choir class and had to leave around a quarter til to make it to school on time. That day was pretty typical. I got up, did my usual grumpy morning stumble around with my eyes half shut thing, petted my cat. I remember the house was quiet, but then, it always was at that time; only Mom and I got up that early. At some point, I heard the TV click on and knew that Mom had turned on the news, like she did every morning while she was getting ready. I don’t remember if she said anything to me, but I remember walking into the living room right around six to see her staring at the TV. And something about it was weird. Maybe the look on her face, or the absolute attention she was giving it... It concerned me. So I shuffled around til I could see the screen too, and there was this giant skyscraper with a huge hole in it. The North Tower, burning.
“What is that?” I asked.
“A plane hit the World Trade Center.”
“How does a plane hit a building? Don’t they have navigation stuff?”
We’re both starting at the TV. I’m incredulous. What was wrong with that idiot pilot? Also, I’m wondering what the World Trade Center is. (It seems impossible to me now, not knowing what it was, but I had never heard of the World Trade Center before 9/11. I even remember looking at the screen and wondering if that was New York because it looked kind of like it)
Then, as we’re watching plane # 2 hits the South Tower.
My jaw dropped. Ok, one plane hitting a building I can maybe kinda see. Planes malfunction or people make mistakes; accidents happen. But two? Hitting the same building? What. The. Heck?!?
The newscasters went nuts. I remember the confusion in their voices changing to panic. But I still had to go to school, and by the time I finally pulled myself away from the television, I was running way late and no one at the news station was any closer to explaining what was going on.
I went to school. Talked quietly with the other Super Altos (oh yes, we named our section. Altos are overlooked in choirs, but not by the Altos), speculating about the news and explaining it to those who hadn’t heard yet.
It’s amazing to me how much can Go Wrong in 45 minutes. In the time between my tearing myself away from the TV and my getting to class, a plane hit the pentagon. The White House was evacuated. U.S. airspace was shut down. The South Tower collapsed!
I didn’t believe this last one at first. How could it have fallen? I only just saw a plane hit it a few minutes ago. Wouldn’t the tower that was hit first go down first? Clearly I wasn’t thinking super logically, but I just could not believe what I was hearing was true.
“I heard it on the radio on the way here,” my friend insisted. But no. It couldn’t be.
We wanted the TV turned on so we could verify. The choir director refused—this was his time, and while the accident was awful, we had a concert coming up. We were outraged, nervous. But he had a point, we conceded, and got out our music. You have to remember, at this point, no one had quite realized we were under attack.
So we sang for an hour, packed up our music, made our way to our first real class of the day. One of the other Super Altos was in my 2nd period class (we had block schedules; 9/11 was a 2-4-6 day, I remember, so 2nd period was first for 2 hours) so we walked to class together. Campus was quieter than usual, but we didn’t realize how bad it was until we got to class. Usually there was joking, talking, noise, before school started. Today, my honors English class was silent. The TV was on. Everyone was glued to the news.
I was horrified. Both towers had fallen by this point, not just one. Even aside from the shock that still made no sense to me at the time.
It’s weird what you think about when you’re in shock. I remember watching replays of the footage of it happening—both towers, all different angles, all that dust and debris—and I remember thinking there must be at least several hundred people dead. And that that mess would take forever to clean up.
I also remember hearing about the plane that had crashed in a field in Pennsylvania, for some inexplicable reason, and wondering what madness was behind that.
I remember nationwide panic as newscasters talked about hijacked planes. They had realized that one of the planes that hit the WTC was a hijacked plane, and speculated about whether the other plane crashes had also been hijacked airliners. I remember the horror of that first hour of class as plane after plane was verified as missing, assumed to be the planes that crashed, and wondered how many were missing altogether, what their targets might be.
I remember speculation as to what happened to the plane that crashed in PA. Something clearly went wrong with the plan there. They also speculated about D.C. having been its target, and I remember the frisson of fear that went down my spine.
I remember being absolutely furious when we had a bomb threat. We were always having bomb threats, several times a year. Some were more serious (one almost lasted 2 hours and had us all out in the back field), and some were not (five minutes was hardly worth getting out of one’s desk for; certainly it wasn’t enough time to feel the campus had been safely searched). This one lasted awhile, but not more than an hour. I was angry, both because it was obviously a prank, and because it was a heinous thing to do on a day like that. I might have ranted to a friend or two about the insensitivity of whatever kid had called it in. I also worried about what was happening while we were cut off from the news.
The rest of the day I don’t really remember well. I remember feeling kind of numb, and watching the news all day in every class (we did NO work). I remember staying in at lunch to keep watching, and I remember how tight and anxious the campus felt.
I remember feeling sick as the speculation regarding the day’s death toll went up and up and up.
I remember thinking: who could do this? Who could purposely set out to kill so many innocent civilians? Who can possibly be so evil and full of hate?
I remember getting pulled out of school later in the week so that I could attend a prayer session at church with Mom for the victims of the attacks and for our country’s leaders.
I remember how amazed I was at the people on flight 93 when that story finally came out. I wondered if I could have done what they did, marveled at the bravery, teared up a little over their last minute phone calls home. I remember being proud of their bravery and the way ordinary people can become heroes.
I remember being proud of the way people who were supposed to be heroes came through. I remember Bush and Rudy Giuliani, and being impressed by both of them that first day, that first week.
I remember the pride and the patriotism that infused the country. That nationwide unity, it was amazing. There were American flags everywhere, on everything, including more than half the cars on the road. For awhile, you couldn’t find a store that carried them—they were all sold out.
I remember the sinking feeling as the days wore on and there were so few survivors rescued. That seemed impossible to me. With thousands of people under the rubble, how could there be no one, no one, left to pull out. And the more hopeless it seemed, the more it felt like we needed that, needed a big rescue, because there had to be a way to salvage this.
But it never happened.
I remember I was a naïve kid who thought she was invincible. We were America! The greatest nation in the world! I never wondered about war or being invaded because that would never happen. When we discussed Pearl Harbor in American History my Junior year, I remember thinking, ok, yeah, but that would never happen now. War wasn’t something that touched us here. We went away to help others, but we were far too big and powerful for the fight to ever come to us.
I was the epitome of “American Arrogance.” And, worse, I was 16. I was a teenager and all teenagers think they are invincible. 9/11 changed that for me. If America wasn’t untouchable, invincible, I certainly wasn’t. Something like that really changes your perspective.
It changes your world.
In this case, it literally changed the world. Terrorism became a truly frightening thing. It had never happened on such a scale in the Western World before. It had been a plan of frightening detail and efficiency. And it was a worldwide tragedy, not just an American one—not only were the losses massive, but the 2,977 victims included citizens of more than 90 countries.
Airport security…we complain about it these days. It’s a hassle, it’s inefficient. I remember flying before 9/11, so I can attest that this is true. And certainly the 9/11 plan could have been carried out in spite of it—the hijackers kept control of flight 93, for instance, partially through threat of a bomb. If someone said they had a bomb on a plane, I’d be more inclined to believe them than not, despite our current security measures. But who knows, maybe it has been effective in some ways. It’s definitely a deterrent. Will it stop someone really determined? Maybe not. But neither does a law against murder and the possibility of a death sentence stop a serial killer. It deters those who are likely to be deterred. And it makes me feel safer. I can get behind that.
As for me…I feel like 9/11 stripped a little bit of my innocence away. Like I was wearing blinders before and then suddenly they were gone: “Look kid, this is what the world is like. This is the evil that exists, this is what Satan does. This is the physical manifestation of spiritual warfare. This is what you’re fighting. Welcome to the war.” My biggest problems prior to 9/11 were choosing a college, getting decent grades; average kid stuff. After…
It was intimidating. It was also empowering. I learned what it was to be a prayer warrior that year. I studied the Word and deepened my relationship with my God. And while I learned a lot about people’s potential for evil, I also learned of their ability to be compassionate, and kind, and brave, and loving. It also shook me out of my safe little world and showed me there was injustice out there, and that ordinary people could fight against it. I think it was the very start of what eventually lead me to the law.
I don’t really feel like this particular view of these events will mean much to anyone else but me. But I feel like something that had such a huge impact on my life and on my view of almost everything in my life deserves some kind of recognition. Especially when it’s something that did exactly the same thing to so many people all over the world. It’s not much of a tribute—it’s just words on a page—but it’s what I have to give.
I will always remember, never forget.
Psalm 71:20-21
“Though you have made me see troubles, many and bitter, you will restore my life again; from the depths of the earth you will again bring me up. You will increase my honor and comfort me once again.”
“Though you have made me see troubles, many and bitter, you will restore my life again; from the depths of the earth you will again bring me up. You will increase my honor and comfort me once again.”
Monday, November 29, 2010
It’s That Time of Year Again!
That wonderful, fabulous, magical time of year.
The time for snowflakes and ornaments and happy little elves. For wreaths tacked to front doors and light-bedecked pine trees. For claymation movies about reindeer, snowmen, and jolly old Saint Nick. The time for good food and careful searching for just the right gift. Time to be spent with good friends and family—those who are precious and beloved and dear to one’s heart.
England has some issues with holidays.
They barely acknowledge Halloween over here (as evidenced by the complete lack of decorations, pumpkin carving, costumes, or…anything else really). And England doesn’t do Thanksgiving at all. Since these two holidays (along with my birthday, orange crunchy leaves, and the ability to wear one of my two million scarf accessories), make fall so absolutely marvelous to my eyes, it makes me sad when they suddenly don’t exist. It makes the season feel a little empty and…foreign.
But England! Lovely, lovely England. England knows about Christmas.I walked by Starbucks today, and there are snowflake shaped window stickies in the front window. And there are metallic red Christmas garlands across the top of their mug display. Tesco’s (my local grocery store) has had Christmas displays out Since October: the top shelves are lined with stocking stuffers and Christmas crackers. Large Santa and Rudolph plushies sit smiling in cardboard display cases at the end of aisles. There are turkeys (!!!) in the freezer section, and Christmas puddings in the sweets aisle. I found body wash (for him!) in a novelty container shaped like the Stig.
There is a pedestrian tunnel that runs beneath the street from the South Kennsington tube station to a place just down the street from the Pepperdine house that I walk through to get to and from school every day. The tunnel exists to allow easy access to the three museums located just down the street from the school, and there are three exits: the one at the end that is closest to my school, and two that the lead to street level near the Victoria & Albert museum, about halfway down the tunnel. Late in October, on my way home from a late evening class, I noticed that the trees outside one of these exit had been decorated with Christmas lights, thousands of them, enough to light the exit and the street outside, and it’s so pretty it makes me smile every single time I walk past. (This being grumpy England, I get strange looks from the people passing me in the other direction, who can’t fathom why some girl walking alone is grinning in an inappropriately goofy manner at a bunch of lights.)
Each major square and many of the major streets are decorated in some way for Christmas: Leicester square, Oxford Street, Piccadilly Circus, Covent Garden…all beautifully decorated with tons of lights and/or trees and/or garlands, etc. My goal before I leave London id to visit them all! Even the pubs are decorated. And I don’t just mean a few strings of lights; these people go all out. There are trees and ceiling hangings, windows completely blocked by lights, multiple garlands and tons of ornaments.
It is glorious!
Unfortunately the creeping approach of Christmas means it is that time of year again.
The time for stress and worry, for studying and memorizing and rewording of rule statements, for hushed conversations in the library, for frantic printing of outlines, for rainbow colored textbooks and supplements and commercial outlines and the coinciding overuse of highlighters and a sudden lack of tabbies, and for frantic phone calls home. (Be prepared, Mom, I’m topping up my mobile!)
Finals. Fast approaching, looming dark and ominous on the horizon. They are one week away, and I have a study schedule planned for each and every day between here and there that must be strictly adhered to.
Last year, finals blotted out Christmas entirely. I remember being somewhat surprised when a proctor for my final exam came in last December in a Christmas sweater. There it was, a week from Christmas day, and I had essentially forgotten all about it.
This year, the wonder that is London is preventing that. Certainly the nearness of finals mars the joy and warmth the season normally brings to my heart, but this year, the Christmas spirit is not to be defeated!
I just have to keep reminding myself: Be calm. Keep working. Christmas light tour in two weeks…
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Thanksgiving: Just Like Chicken Soup, It Makes Everything Feel Better
As I sit here at 2 am, I find I am exhausted. I am physically tired, because it is late and I should be in bed, and this is only one of many such nights. But I am also mentally and emotionally and spiritually drained. The last year and a half hasn’t been the best of my life; law school isn’t pleasant. And in my exhaustion, I find myself dwelling far too much on the bad things in my life.
Today is Thanksgiving. And though I am exhausted, I have turned on the Christmas music and granted myself half an hour to sit down and remember all the wonderful things I have to be thankful for. Some of them are small, and some of them are serious, and some of them are probably silly, but all of them make my heart happy and my life better. And that's something I need to remember!
I am thankful for my family. They are amazingly supportive, particularly my mom, who deals with my school-induced panic attacks with tons of reassurance and patience. (especially appreciated this time of year!) I love you, family!
I am thankful for the opportunity to spend this semester abroad. I have seen and done so many new and exciting things; been so many wonderful places. I am thankful to be living in London (in an English speaking country!), especially at this time of year, when Christmas is everywhere!
I am thankful for foreign accents, which make just walking down the street fun and interesting.
I am so thankful that my home is in America. I am have been very spoiled living there, which I never really grasped before now, but I feel that’s okay. I am so thankful to live there. America isn’t perfect by any means, but I do love my country.
I am thankful for my thick winter jacket! I hereby renew my claim that it is the BEST addition to my wardrobe that I ever made. I am also grateful for thick, homemade woolen winter accessories. I would be lost (or at least some of my extremities would be) without my hat, scarf, and gloves. For my new warm boots, which I LOVE. Ummm, and for my heater, and my lack of utility bills…
For cheerful Christmas music. For music in general really. My life is a musical; I’m never truly happy if I’m not singing, or listening to someone else do so. (On that note, they have some pretty worship songs here!)
For office supplies, particularly binder clips, tabbies, and sticky notes. And only slightly less important, R.S.V.P. pens. And my Jetstream pens! Also Sharpie liquid highlighters. I would be lost without these things in large quantities, and it is probably a little pathetic how happy I am whenever I make new additions to my collections. (I am especially thankful to be going office supply shopping tomorrow!)
For mail, and messages, and IMs, and skype conversations with friends and family back home. And, for all the ridiculous things that come with it, for Facebook.
For smiles and laughter.
For fuzzy soft animals that purr. And for the puppy I am going to buy myself after the BAR.
For coffee!!! (tastes not great unless it’s frufru, but a total life saver.) For Italian food. For chocolate. For Kraft macaroni and cheese! And for Pumpkin bread. Ph pumpkin bread, how I miss you!
For children on the tube, who are generally (amazingly!!!) well-behaved, perfectly adorable, and whose natural inclination towards fearless curiosity makes me smile (even though it also scares me a bit. Parents here seem to think the tube is safer than I think the tube is).
I am thankful that I am in law school. It’s not fun, but I am blessed by the opportunities it will give me later to help make others’ lives better. And I am blessed to be going to Pepperdine, which is probably the most Christian, least competitive environment I could have chosen for this challenging portion of my life.
I am thankful that Pepperdine is providing Thanksgiving dinner!
I am thankful for the fact that I do NOT get a Thanksgiving break, because God, in His perfect timing, granted me instead a week-long travel break at just the right time for me to go home and celebrate my Granny’s life with my family.
I am thankful for dear friends, new and old, who have made my life richer and lighter.
I am so, so thankful for God. For His forgiveness and mercy and grace. For His Word, His peace, His love. For His presence, and the gift of never really being alone. For His comforting hand, and the way He has made my life so very blessed.
Happy Thanksgiving! (and goodnight! ^_^)
Today is Thanksgiving. And though I am exhausted, I have turned on the Christmas music and granted myself half an hour to sit down and remember all the wonderful things I have to be thankful for. Some of them are small, and some of them are serious, and some of them are probably silly, but all of them make my heart happy and my life better. And that's something I need to remember!
I am thankful for my family. They are amazingly supportive, particularly my mom, who deals with my school-induced panic attacks with tons of reassurance and patience. (especially appreciated this time of year!) I love you, family!
I am thankful for the opportunity to spend this semester abroad. I have seen and done so many new and exciting things; been so many wonderful places. I am thankful to be living in London (in an English speaking country!), especially at this time of year, when Christmas is everywhere!
I am thankful for foreign accents, which make just walking down the street fun and interesting.
I am so thankful that my home is in America. I am have been very spoiled living there, which I never really grasped before now, but I feel that’s okay. I am so thankful to live there. America isn’t perfect by any means, but I do love my country.
I am thankful for my thick winter jacket! I hereby renew my claim that it is the BEST addition to my wardrobe that I ever made. I am also grateful for thick, homemade woolen winter accessories. I would be lost (or at least some of my extremities would be) without my hat, scarf, and gloves. For my new warm boots, which I LOVE. Ummm, and for my heater, and my lack of utility bills…
For cheerful Christmas music. For music in general really. My life is a musical; I’m never truly happy if I’m not singing, or listening to someone else do so. (On that note, they have some pretty worship songs here!)
For office supplies, particularly binder clips, tabbies, and sticky notes. And only slightly less important, R.S.V.P. pens. And my Jetstream pens! Also Sharpie liquid highlighters. I would be lost without these things in large quantities, and it is probably a little pathetic how happy I am whenever I make new additions to my collections. (I am especially thankful to be going office supply shopping tomorrow!)
For mail, and messages, and IMs, and skype conversations with friends and family back home. And, for all the ridiculous things that come with it, for Facebook.
For smiles and laughter.
For fuzzy soft animals that purr. And for the puppy I am going to buy myself after the BAR.
For coffee!!! (tastes not great unless it’s frufru, but a total life saver.) For Italian food. For chocolate. For Kraft macaroni and cheese! And for Pumpkin bread. Ph pumpkin bread, how I miss you!
For children on the tube, who are generally (amazingly!!!) well-behaved, perfectly adorable, and whose natural inclination towards fearless curiosity makes me smile (even though it also scares me a bit. Parents here seem to think the tube is safer than I think the tube is).
I am thankful that I am in law school. It’s not fun, but I am blessed by the opportunities it will give me later to help make others’ lives better. And I am blessed to be going to Pepperdine, which is probably the most Christian, least competitive environment I could have chosen for this challenging portion of my life.
I am thankful that Pepperdine is providing Thanksgiving dinner!
I am thankful for the fact that I do NOT get a Thanksgiving break, because God, in His perfect timing, granted me instead a week-long travel break at just the right time for me to go home and celebrate my Granny’s life with my family.
I am thankful for dear friends, new and old, who have made my life richer and lighter.
I am so, so thankful for God. For His forgiveness and mercy and grace. For His Word, His peace, His love. For His presence, and the gift of never really being alone. For His comforting hand, and the way He has made my life so very blessed.
Happy Thanksgiving! (and goodnight! ^_^)
Thursday, November 18, 2010
I Have A Confession To Make…
First let me say that a career in law (and thereby the decision to attend law school) is definitely something I was called to. When you spend a year and a half floundering, it is unmistakably God answering prayer when something falls in your lap, and your acceptance of that gift opens five million sudden and “coincidental” doors. I don’t believe in coincidences. I have no doubt that I am where I am supposed to be, because I was called to be here. That said…
Law school serves two primary goals: to teach you the law in preparation for the BAR, and to teach you how to be a lawyer. It’s mostly a matter of changing how you analyze and think about things. But the longer I study law, the more I realize: lawyers, as a whole, have earned their dishonest reputation.
This creates a problem for me. I am a Christian. I love my God, and desire, first and foremost, to follow Him. But ours is an adversarial system. And any system that encourages adversity inherently encourages a certain degree of dishonesty, manipulation, self-gratification, and a disregard for others.
Which brings me to my confession: I struggle with my calling.
I struggle with reconciling Christian principles with accepted law practices. I struggle with what lawyers generally perceive to be ethical. I struggle with a law system that seems to perpetuate injustices as much as it prevents and rectifies them. I struggle with the competitive, every-man-for-himself attitude encouraged in law school. I struggle with the fact that I have no idea what to do with myself after graduation, because I still have no idea what type of law I want to practice. And I struggle with the fear of making the wrong decision and getting sucked into practice at a firm whose ethics don’t match mine.
For the last year and a half, I have wondered and worried and stressed about how one can practice law and still remain faithful to God’s law. This week, my Negotiations class brought this issue to a head for me.
I am required as a lawyer to be a zealous advocate of my client. In and of itself, that’s not a bad thing. But what happens when my client’s desires clash with my own personal beliefs? To a certain degree I am protected from this by professional codes of conduct. I am, for example, prohibited from making statements that will result in a misrepresentation or fraud, regardless of what my client wants. But there is quite a bit allowed by the rules of professional conduct/ethics that is not allowed by my personal code of ethics.
According to my Negotiations text: “Ethics codes forbid lawyers lying in court but permit in negotiation what the public would consider lying.” Lawyers must decide “how far to go in gaining a negotiation advantage for our clients by misstating or not revealing information” “Shading the truth and telling lies occurs in almost every case.” And “the essence of negotiation requires even the most forthright, honest, and trustworthy negotiators to actively mislead their opponents.”
In discussing what is permissible and what isn’t, the text cites a case in which the plaintiff was injured in an auto accident. The defense attorney demanded an examination of the plaintiff by a dr. working for the defense. This dr. discovered a life threatening aortic aneurysm likely caused by the accident. The defense lawyer did not disclose this info to the plaintiff, however, and settled the case for much less than would probably have been required had the other side known of the plaintiff’s condition. When it was later discovered, the ct ruled the defense attorney had no obligation to disclose the info, even though it jeopardized the kid’s life. The defense attorney was only doing his job; he was a zealous advocate for his client, working to get the smallest settlement possible. (I’m sorry, what? And how can that man live with himself?)
And when the text finally addresses what to do in a situation in which the lawyer’s ethics clash with client desires, it basically listed two options: try to talk your client around, or withdraw. Neither of these are great options. Clearly I didn’t find this section of the book particularly helpful.
The commandment is “don’t lie,” not “don’t lie, unless you’re a lawyer lying on behalf of your client.” And I feel uncomfortable just withholding information that may cause my position to be misleading in mock negotiations for class! (to the extent that, after one such negotiation with a Christian friend who is also in my class, we had to have a little confession time afterwards just to make us both feel better about misleading statements and nondisclosures we had made for the purpose of the exercise) Flat out lying is right out!
I know it is entirely possible to be a Christian and a lawyer because I know several (and know of many more) people who have managed to reconcile their careers with Christian principles. But I struggle with what that reconciliation looks like for me in my life. Maybe I should start by crossing negotiations off my list of career possibilities. If nothing else, it’ll narrow down my options!
Law school serves two primary goals: to teach you the law in preparation for the BAR, and to teach you how to be a lawyer. It’s mostly a matter of changing how you analyze and think about things. But the longer I study law, the more I realize: lawyers, as a whole, have earned their dishonest reputation.
This creates a problem for me. I am a Christian. I love my God, and desire, first and foremost, to follow Him. But ours is an adversarial system. And any system that encourages adversity inherently encourages a certain degree of dishonesty, manipulation, self-gratification, and a disregard for others.
Which brings me to my confession: I struggle with my calling.
I struggle with reconciling Christian principles with accepted law practices. I struggle with what lawyers generally perceive to be ethical. I struggle with a law system that seems to perpetuate injustices as much as it prevents and rectifies them. I struggle with the competitive, every-man-for-himself attitude encouraged in law school. I struggle with the fact that I have no idea what to do with myself after graduation, because I still have no idea what type of law I want to practice. And I struggle with the fear of making the wrong decision and getting sucked into practice at a firm whose ethics don’t match mine.
For the last year and a half, I have wondered and worried and stressed about how one can practice law and still remain faithful to God’s law. This week, my Negotiations class brought this issue to a head for me.
I am required as a lawyer to be a zealous advocate of my client. In and of itself, that’s not a bad thing. But what happens when my client’s desires clash with my own personal beliefs? To a certain degree I am protected from this by professional codes of conduct. I am, for example, prohibited from making statements that will result in a misrepresentation or fraud, regardless of what my client wants. But there is quite a bit allowed by the rules of professional conduct/ethics that is not allowed by my personal code of ethics.
According to my Negotiations text: “Ethics codes forbid lawyers lying in court but permit in negotiation what the public would consider lying.” Lawyers must decide “how far to go in gaining a negotiation advantage for our clients by misstating or not revealing information” “Shading the truth and telling lies occurs in almost every case.” And “the essence of negotiation requires even the most forthright, honest, and trustworthy negotiators to actively mislead their opponents.”
In discussing what is permissible and what isn’t, the text cites a case in which the plaintiff was injured in an auto accident. The defense attorney demanded an examination of the plaintiff by a dr. working for the defense. This dr. discovered a life threatening aortic aneurysm likely caused by the accident. The defense lawyer did not disclose this info to the plaintiff, however, and settled the case for much less than would probably have been required had the other side known of the plaintiff’s condition. When it was later discovered, the ct ruled the defense attorney had no obligation to disclose the info, even though it jeopardized the kid’s life. The defense attorney was only doing his job; he was a zealous advocate for his client, working to get the smallest settlement possible. (I’m sorry, what? And how can that man live with himself?)
And when the text finally addresses what to do in a situation in which the lawyer’s ethics clash with client desires, it basically listed two options: try to talk your client around, or withdraw. Neither of these are great options. Clearly I didn’t find this section of the book particularly helpful.
The commandment is “don’t lie,” not “don’t lie, unless you’re a lawyer lying on behalf of your client.” And I feel uncomfortable just withholding information that may cause my position to be misleading in mock negotiations for class! (to the extent that, after one such negotiation with a Christian friend who is also in my class, we had to have a little confession time afterwards just to make us both feel better about misleading statements and nondisclosures we had made for the purpose of the exercise) Flat out lying is right out!
I know it is entirely possible to be a Christian and a lawyer because I know several (and know of many more) people who have managed to reconcile their careers with Christian principles. But I struggle with what that reconciliation looks like for me in my life. Maybe I should start by crossing negotiations off my list of career possibilities. If nothing else, it’ll narrow down my options!
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
If You Want To Shut Down London...
Shut down the tube.
I have come to London at a “fortuitous” time. I have, in my time here, the chance to see something few tourists do: how to cripple the city of London—a tube strike.
(Quick definition: The tube, for those unfamiliar with London, is London’s equivalent of the subway)
Now strikes here are, apparently, very different from strikes back home. In my experience, when American unions strike, they walk out and don’t work again until problems are resolved. A perfect example: the writer’s guild strike. No writers, no new episodes of all our favorite shows.
Here, for whatever reason, strikes don’t appear to work that way. The tube strikes have been only 24-hour strikes—two of them, one on September 7th, and one just yesterday. The strikes, as far as I can make out from BBC news, are in response to threatened job cuts. It shuts down pretty much the entire city. Skeleton crews run the least used portions of the tube lines, and the areas nearest Heathrow airport, but nothing anywhere near the city center (which includes anything near where I live, or near the school) is running.
And when I say that it shuts the city down, I really mean it.
More than 3.5 million people use the tube every day. Including me! When the tube shuts down, people have to find another way to get around town. The buses are one obvious (and thus, obviously overcrowded) method. Also, taxis. Or one could try driving, if one has a car and is willing to risk London’s notoriously bad traffic (which is obviously worse on a strike day). Here is a glimpse of the chaos that is a tube strike:
Normally, my trip to school takes me about 40 minutes or so, including the walk from my flat to the train, waiting for the train, riding the train, and then walking from the train station to school. On the day of the first strike, that 40 minute trip dragged out into nearly 2 ½ hours.
Luckily, I am located very centrally, so alternative means of public transportation are readily available—there are a bajillion bus stops nearby. The problem is that I am located centrally, so ¾ of London is also trying to travel the same way I am. Additionally, I live near King’s Cross. Almost everyone coming into London on national and international trains is coming through that station. And there is no tube. So they are getting off the train, with all of their luggage, and walking to bus stations—the ones I also need to use—in droves in order to get wherever else in London they need to be. I think I waited with several hundred people at that bus stop (when the normal average, in my best guesstimation, is 3-15).
And because 3.5 million people are all trying to get around without the tube, traffic is terrible. In some places it barely moves at all. And people are even more reckless when driving than usual. And far more impatient. The angry tension was palpable all over the city. People just walking down the streets were angry, glaring, and even pushier than usual. There are honking cars left and right. And they keep driving in the bus lanes in an attempt to bypass other cars. All of which contributes to the buses being very behind schedule. And the buses, when they did arrive, were very overcrowded. I’m talking, standing room only, push your way in and stand shoulder to shoulder to back to front, hands touching on the hand rails because there are so many people, overcrowded. There were practically fights on the rare occasion a seat did open up. It was…intense. So I wiggled my way into a corner, propped myself up between the window and rail, and read my text book for 2 hours.
The ride home was shorter, because class got out at 7 and most of London had either already made it home from work, or given up on trying to be out in public in the first place. So I got to spend the hour and 15 minute ride home sitting, for the first time, in a seat on the top level of a double-decker bus. I relaxed. I chatted with Stefani about our post-finals travel plans. “This,” I thought, “will be a much easier ride than the one to school.”
My friends here keep accusing me of jinxing things. I say, “at least it’s not raining,” and 10 minutes later it will be. I say, “at least it’s only sprinkling,” and immediately the skies open up. I’ve practically been forbidden to speak “silver lining” thoughts regarding the weather. I’m beginning to think there may be something to their accusations, because no sooner had I had this thought than our bus hit a bicycle rickshaw.
No, I am not joking. It really did.
We were pulling up to a stop light when it happened. Londoners are bad about stop lights and walk signs at the best of times. If the walk sign is red, but no cars are coming, or they are but you think you have time to get across, well then, go for it! Those walk signs are just suggestions anyway! Do it at your own risk, though, because cars aren’t appreciative of pedestrians in their way. They’ll likely stop for you if you really are in the way, but maybe not in time. And mostly, they assume you won’t be there by the time they reach you, so no problem! Who needs to slow down? And bus drivers drive like maniacs behind the wheel of a mini instead of a gigantic vehicle.
Combine all these factors with a tube strike and the resulting anger and impatience, and what you have is a situation that practically guarantees accidents.
So we feel a bump, hear a noise, and then there is a LOT of yelling for a few minutes. Thankfully, the only casualty was the bicycle/rickshaw/cart thing, but there was a whole lot of unhappiness going on. Surprisingly, when the light turned green again, the bus just left. No reports to file? No questions? I wonder still if the bus driver left because he was supposed to, or because he just didn’t care anymore, at that point on that day, about what he was supposed to do…
This last strike wasn’t quite so bad, probably because people knew little better what to expect. Traffic was marginally better. People’s attitudes seemed to be better. The buses weren’t quite so overcrowded. Honestly, I think more people just stayed home. I sure wanted to! Slightly better or not, tube strikes are still extremely inconvenient. And there are at least 2 more scheduled for next month.
This leaves me with only one thing left to say: Dear tube workers on strike, Striking once a month is not a very effective way of pressuring the city into giving you what you want, but it is an extremely effective way of messing up a lot of people’s schedules, holding up traffic to a ridiculous degree, and all around irritating a whole lot of innocent bystanders. Please stop!
I have come to London at a “fortuitous” time. I have, in my time here, the chance to see something few tourists do: how to cripple the city of London—a tube strike.
(Quick definition: The tube, for those unfamiliar with London, is London’s equivalent of the subway)
Now strikes here are, apparently, very different from strikes back home. In my experience, when American unions strike, they walk out and don’t work again until problems are resolved. A perfect example: the writer’s guild strike. No writers, no new episodes of all our favorite shows.
Here, for whatever reason, strikes don’t appear to work that way. The tube strikes have been only 24-hour strikes—two of them, one on September 7th, and one just yesterday. The strikes, as far as I can make out from BBC news, are in response to threatened job cuts. It shuts down pretty much the entire city. Skeleton crews run the least used portions of the tube lines, and the areas nearest Heathrow airport, but nothing anywhere near the city center (which includes anything near where I live, or near the school) is running.
And when I say that it shuts the city down, I really mean it.
More than 3.5 million people use the tube every day. Including me! When the tube shuts down, people have to find another way to get around town. The buses are one obvious (and thus, obviously overcrowded) method. Also, taxis. Or one could try driving, if one has a car and is willing to risk London’s notoriously bad traffic (which is obviously worse on a strike day). Here is a glimpse of the chaos that is a tube strike:
Normally, my trip to school takes me about 40 minutes or so, including the walk from my flat to the train, waiting for the train, riding the train, and then walking from the train station to school. On the day of the first strike, that 40 minute trip dragged out into nearly 2 ½ hours.
Luckily, I am located very centrally, so alternative means of public transportation are readily available—there are a bajillion bus stops nearby. The problem is that I am located centrally, so ¾ of London is also trying to travel the same way I am. Additionally, I live near King’s Cross. Almost everyone coming into London on national and international trains is coming through that station. And there is no tube. So they are getting off the train, with all of their luggage, and walking to bus stations—the ones I also need to use—in droves in order to get wherever else in London they need to be. I think I waited with several hundred people at that bus stop (when the normal average, in my best guesstimation, is 3-15).
And because 3.5 million people are all trying to get around without the tube, traffic is terrible. In some places it barely moves at all. And people are even more reckless when driving than usual. And far more impatient. The angry tension was palpable all over the city. People just walking down the streets were angry, glaring, and even pushier than usual. There are honking cars left and right. And they keep driving in the bus lanes in an attempt to bypass other cars. All of which contributes to the buses being very behind schedule. And the buses, when they did arrive, were very overcrowded. I’m talking, standing room only, push your way in and stand shoulder to shoulder to back to front, hands touching on the hand rails because there are so many people, overcrowded. There were practically fights on the rare occasion a seat did open up. It was…intense. So I wiggled my way into a corner, propped myself up between the window and rail, and read my text book for 2 hours.
The ride home was shorter, because class got out at 7 and most of London had either already made it home from work, or given up on trying to be out in public in the first place. So I got to spend the hour and 15 minute ride home sitting, for the first time, in a seat on the top level of a double-decker bus. I relaxed. I chatted with Stefani about our post-finals travel plans. “This,” I thought, “will be a much easier ride than the one to school.”
My friends here keep accusing me of jinxing things. I say, “at least it’s not raining,” and 10 minutes later it will be. I say, “at least it’s only sprinkling,” and immediately the skies open up. I’ve practically been forbidden to speak “silver lining” thoughts regarding the weather. I’m beginning to think there may be something to their accusations, because no sooner had I had this thought than our bus hit a bicycle rickshaw.
No, I am not joking. It really did.
We were pulling up to a stop light when it happened. Londoners are bad about stop lights and walk signs at the best of times. If the walk sign is red, but no cars are coming, or they are but you think you have time to get across, well then, go for it! Those walk signs are just suggestions anyway! Do it at your own risk, though, because cars aren’t appreciative of pedestrians in their way. They’ll likely stop for you if you really are in the way, but maybe not in time. And mostly, they assume you won’t be there by the time they reach you, so no problem! Who needs to slow down? And bus drivers drive like maniacs behind the wheel of a mini instead of a gigantic vehicle.
Combine all these factors with a tube strike and the resulting anger and impatience, and what you have is a situation that practically guarantees accidents.
So we feel a bump, hear a noise, and then there is a LOT of yelling for a few minutes. Thankfully, the only casualty was the bicycle/rickshaw/cart thing, but there was a whole lot of unhappiness going on. Surprisingly, when the light turned green again, the bus just left. No reports to file? No questions? I wonder still if the bus driver left because he was supposed to, or because he just didn’t care anymore, at that point on that day, about what he was supposed to do…
This last strike wasn’t quite so bad, probably because people knew little better what to expect. Traffic was marginally better. People’s attitudes seemed to be better. The buses weren’t quite so overcrowded. Honestly, I think more people just stayed home. I sure wanted to! Slightly better or not, tube strikes are still extremely inconvenient. And there are at least 2 more scheduled for next month.
This leaves me with only one thing left to say: Dear tube workers on strike, Striking once a month is not a very effective way of pressuring the city into giving you what you want, but it is an extremely effective way of messing up a lot of people’s schedules, holding up traffic to a ridiculous degree, and all around irritating a whole lot of innocent bystanders. Please stop!
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Ireland, Part 3: Can't See The Rainbow For The Rain...
Our final day in Ireland involved sleeping in, so I was all set to love it from the get go. We intended it to be a lazy, low-key day, and the fact that the church we’d chosen to attend didn’t start until 11:30 was a wonderful blessing. We got up early enough to go get breakfast (at McDonald’s again—they have the best porridge ever!), and then made our way to church. Which was…not what we expected.
The church was located in the city center, so it was near to our hostel, but it was in a rather shady part of it. The building is set in a converted garage or shp front or something (it’s a little hard to tell), and there was an awful lot of graffiti on the nearby walls, but the interior was surprisingly nice, and the people were amazingly friendly. Even better, the preacher (who being Irish, spoke with an accent that was way fun to listen to), gave a convicting sermon on being meek. Which, I, apparently, am very not. But I want to be! His insight into that portion of the Sermon on the Mount was new and interesting, and I found I really liked the way he described what meek really looked like, and what that meant for people today.
After church, we decided a little sight-seeing was in order, so we took a wuick trip to Dublin Castle. Then we made a brief stop at the Beatty library, where they have some old illuminated Persian poetry books on display. And finally, Dublin’s crown jewel: Christ Church.
The church itself is lovely, and the fact that the choir was singing when we walked in only made our trip better. We wandered around inside for a bit, then took a trip downstairs in to the crypt (where we really didn’t see any tombs, although there were an awful lot of gold treasury type things behind glass to look at). I found out that the Hallelujah chorus was written in Dublin in the 1700s. and was first performed at Christ Church by the Christ Church and St. Patrick’s choirs.
After sight-seeing we made an attempt to look for yarn for my mom, which failed miserably. Apparently the stores are closed on Sunday, because Ireland is primarily Catholic. The on shop we did find open on Sundays had closed 20 minutes earlier, and the people inside calmly informed me nothing else would be open until Monday. So that was frustrating. Because if I hadn’t missed my plane…
Sunday was also my introduction to Europe’s football madness. There was a soccer game in Dublin on Sunday, and everywhere you looked, people were celebrating the fact with supportive team gear. There were hats, scarves, braids, face paint, flags, capes, flags worn as capes, and a hundred other forms of team paraphernalia every which way. Everywhere I went, I felt like Moses parting the red sea. It was insane!
The church was located in the city center, so it was near to our hostel, but it was in a rather shady part of it. The building is set in a converted garage or shp front or something (it’s a little hard to tell), and there was an awful lot of graffiti on the nearby walls, but the interior was surprisingly nice, and the people were amazingly friendly. Even better, the preacher (who being Irish, spoke with an accent that was way fun to listen to), gave a convicting sermon on being meek. Which, I, apparently, am very not. But I want to be! His insight into that portion of the Sermon on the Mount was new and interesting, and I found I really liked the way he described what meek really looked like, and what that meant for people today.
After church, we decided a little sight-seeing was in order, so we took a wuick trip to Dublin Castle. Then we made a brief stop at the Beatty library, where they have some old illuminated Persian poetry books on display. And finally, Dublin’s crown jewel: Christ Church.
The church itself is lovely, and the fact that the choir was singing when we walked in only made our trip better. We wandered around inside for a bit, then took a trip downstairs in to the crypt (where we really didn’t see any tombs, although there were an awful lot of gold treasury type things behind glass to look at). I found out that the Hallelujah chorus was written in Dublin in the 1700s. and was first performed at Christ Church by the Christ Church and St. Patrick’s choirs.
After sight-seeing we made an attempt to look for yarn for my mom, which failed miserably. Apparently the stores are closed on Sunday, because Ireland is primarily Catholic. The on shop we did find open on Sundays had closed 20 minutes earlier, and the people inside calmly informed me nothing else would be open until Monday. So that was frustrating. Because if I hadn’t missed my plane…
Sunday was also my introduction to Europe’s football madness. There was a soccer game in Dublin on Sunday, and everywhere you looked, people were celebrating the fact with supportive team gear. There were hats, scarves, braids, face paint, flags, capes, flags worn as capes, and a hundred other forms of team paraphernalia every which way. Everywhere I went, I felt like Moses parting the red sea. It was insane!
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