Schadenfreude, Online Privacy and Me

I had a bout of self-induced schadenfreude yesterday. I wanted a quote for a piece of correspondence, but could only remember a portion of it. So, being the well-trained researcher I am, I Googled it. The first hit was exactly what I needed. And from a website I created in 2004 and subsequently completely forgot about. After some thought, a bit of trial and error and a few visits to the FAQs, I was able to login and delete the site.

Now, there was nothing shocking posted on that site, nothing that could make my mother blush. (One of the nice things about not drinking alcohol is that you never have to worry about people having crazy!drunk pictures of you.) But it was ... young. It also featured some really rubbish early graphic design work, and a picture of an acquaintance whom, I'm sure, is clueless I even have that picture. Had some employer/colleague stumbled upon it rather than me, the worst I could have been accused of was unequivocal glee.

So why did I delete it? Well, okay, the bad graphic design is a bit embarrassing. But I deleted it for two reasons: 1) it was digital clutter I no longer wanted and 2) it's not my place to have a picture of someone I hardly know up on a website without their permission.

1) Digital Clutter.
I'm a librarian. Part of my job is educating people about data privacy. I advocate crafting an online presence rather than willy-nilly posting for the world to see. And when you find something about me online that I didn't post myself, it's fairly reasonable to assume I know about it and don't mind it being there. So suddenly finding this old relic brought me up a bit short; here was some data I'd lost track of. A quick evaluation said it no longer represented my primary interests or provided the service for which I'd originally crafted it (for myself or anyone else). There was no reason to keep it, and deleting it would make it easier for people researching me to find pertinent, up-to-date information. (My argument is a bit specious in this case, since you'd have to have really known me to find it. But the principle stands.)

2) Privacy.
Social networking was in its infancy when I created that site. Tagging was a mere twinkle. I neither advertised my site, nor even told another about it. So when I posted the picture of that acquaintance (100x100 px, baby), it was rather unlikely that a) it would be found or b) recognized. It wasn't embarrassing, and it amused me. But today, an era in which people tag photos of each other, conduct Google searches on themselves and data is cached for long-term storage, our responsibility to others' privacy is a serious one. Forcing someone to opt-out rather than opt-in is just not how I like to do things. And sure, if I'd decided to keep the site up, I could have just taken down the picture. It just reminded me of how much things have changed online since 2004.

So, what did I learn? Keeping track of your data is an on-going process. You never know what might pop up. And be mindful of how you present others online as well. Technologies and opinions change; you have to be willing to leave them behind sometimes.

Horatio Hornblower and the law of the sea

Thanks to a Barnes and Noble sale and a moment of weakness with my credit card, I picked up the complete Horatio Hornblower series on DVD last week. My well-travelled VHS copies may finally be retired, bless. And rather than be productive around the house I had a marathon; the 1999-2003 series is comprised of eight 100-minute episodes, plus I capped it off with the 1951 Gregory Peck movie. Both are based on C.S. Forester's 11-volume Hornblower book series. Set around the Napoleonic Wars, they tell the story of a young naval officer who rises through the ranks almost as rapidly as Captain Kirk did Starfleet (a not-unfitting comparison, considering the Hornblower series' influence on Star Trek). There is plenty of swashbuckling to be had in the series as you might expect, duels and swordfights and sea battles galore. The production values are also excellent, with the greatest attention paid to detail. And let's not forget the cast. Oh, the cast!

But this blog is about law in literature, you say? There is plenty of that too. The legal code these sailors are subject to can be a harsh one. Men are flogged for theft, negligence and questioning orders while the entire ship's company watches on; officers must justify their command decisions before a court martial; and Hornblower's own daring tactics often test the extremes of interpretation under the Articles of War. The Admiralty is always the ultimate authority, but we also see repeated examples of the ship's captain being his own law enforcer when at sea. During one episode a French ally announces his intent to lodge a complaint about his treatment aboard ship with one of Hornblower's superiors; Hornblower responds with finality, "On this ship, I am the admiral." Yet even Hornblower, for whom duty is all, struggles to carry out some of the naval code's edicts, most notably when an otherwise good man is automatically sentenced to death for striking a superior officer.

The series never calls any particular attention to the role of law at sea, it is simply ever present. To be at sea in His Majesty's Royal Navy is to be subject to its laws, and those laws are enforced with swift regularity.

Now I realize this post is about the TV adaptations, not the original texts. I read the first book in the series, Mr. Midshipman Hornblower about ten years ago and, while every adaptation takes liberties of course (*cough* the elves coming to protect Helm's Deep *cough*), do remember thinking the TV adaptations were fairly faithful. I'm planning to get more of the books read in the near future.

Fire as you bear, Mr. Bush.

Creating a popular collection in a law library

Our library recently started a law-related popular media collection. Which is just a fancy way of saying we're now buying books and movies featuring (mostly) fictional accounts of the law and lawyers. Okay, technically, it's just books for now, but we've got about 30 movies to add to the collection soon as well.

I had an English professor in college who advocated the following writing process: When you've got a paper to write and you've gotten stuck, take a break from writing by doing some related activity. For example, if you're writing about The Importance of Being Earnest, see a production of it. Or read about the trial of Oscar Wilde on Wikipedia. Make yourself some cucumber sandwiches. Soon enough you'll be ready to get back to the main task, now with a slightly broader outlook.

It's an idea I thoroughly embraced. It stayed with me, in slightly adapted form, throughout law school, and when it comes to work was one of the guiding principles behind the new collection. Law students need a break too. But for various reasons they're often unwilling to take one. By providing them with law-related stories, we're offering an alternative to studying without taking too much of a step away.

We piloted the collection during the Fall semester, choosing a wide range of books: from legal classics that every law student feels they should read (One L, To Kill a Mockingbird) to Shakespeare and Plato and Grisham to books professors often recommend like Bleak House and The Once and Future King.

About a third of the collection was checked out at least once, and it was obvious from the broken bindings that many more were read here in the library. We declared that a success, and doubled the size of the collection for the new semester. The legal thrillers in particular were popular so I emphasized that on the last order. I'll also be making a regular monthly order to keep the collection growing.

The next step will be adding the movies to the collection. I expect them to be checked out even more than the books, but that's just a hypothesis for now. I'd also like to fancy up the collection's webpage. The layout is pretty bland at present.

It's been an interesting process, and I'm looking forward to seeing how the collection grows.

The Man Born To Be King: Illuminating the legal procedures propelling the trials of Christ

In addition to writing mysteries, Dorothy L. Sayers wrote a variety of religious works as well. Perhaps chief amongst these is The Man Born To Be King [1], her 12-part radio play cycle about the life of Christ. The 1941/1942 broadcasts were groundbreaking for many reasons. The stories were told in "modern" English (and, oh, what a ruckus there was about that), and the rehearsal period was significantly truncated because of the war (a practice which went on to become a BBC norm), for example.

I've read The Man Born To Be King at least half a dozen times since my dad introduced me to it in high school, but it wasn't until this weekend that I was really struck by the legal procedures driving the action. The tenth play, "The Princes of This World", focuses entirely on Jesus' trials before the Sanhedrin, Pilate and Herod. I knew about the trials, of course; they are a part of the events leading up to the crucifixion, but my brain always glossed over why it all happened as it did -- "He suffered under Pontius Pilate" generally being enough. Suddenly, though, it was clear: we're looking at the interplay between Jewish ecclesiastical law and secular Roman law. Two different legal systems had to be satisfied.

I'm relying on Sayers's own always-excellent research for this, but for those of you who find this sort of thing interesting too, here's a bit of detail.

There were two ways to bring evidence against someone under Jewish law at the time: 1) the testimony of two or more witnesses and 2) the Oath of Testimony, which the accused had to answer himself. The former was by far the more standard approach. For the testimony to be considered valid, however, "Jewish law required the exact verbal agreement of at least two witnesses". [2] When the Sanhedrin was unable to get two witnesses to exactly agree on the statements needed for conviction, Caiaphas turned to the rarer Oath of Testimony.

1st Elder: [B]etween witnesses who all say different things and a prisoner who says nothing, we shall be here until tomorrow.
Caiaphas: I will interrogate the man myself.
Nicodemus: My lord, that is barely legal.
Caiaphas: Barely legal, Brother Nicodemus, is still legal. He shall answer under the Oath of Testimony. If he still refuses to speak he is self-condemned. [3]

Jesus, who had remained silent to that point, was essentially forced to implicate himself. The next part was always the clearest to me: a death sentence ordered under Jewish law had to be ratified under Roman law.

Caiaphas: By our law he has already been convicted and condemned to death. But by Roman law we are denied authority to execute the sentence. [4]

Which leads us to Pilate. To Pilate, most of the charges Jesus was facing would not have seemed like proper violations because they had no real equivalent under Roman law.

Pilate: Ye gods! What's all this stuff?--Blasphemy, sabbath-breaking, witchcraft, law of Moses--pages of it. I suppose they know what it's all about. [5]

It wasn't until the charge of treason is raised that Pilate sees anything to consider truly dangerous or requiring his signature.

Pilate: By what offence [sic] has he incurred the death-penalty?
Caiaphas: He pretends to be the Messiah.
Pilate: What does that mean?
Caiaphas: It amounts to a claim to be king of all Israel.
Pilate: There is nothing about that in your court proceedings. I understood he was condemned for blasphemy.
Caiaphas: To us, such a claim is blasphemy, but in Roman eyes it is presumably treason.
Pilate: I see. This is a new charge: treason to Rome. [6]

The treason charge was thrown in to ensure Pilate's conviction under Roman law too. [7] The subsequent back-and-forth between Pilate, Herod and the religious leaders shows the Roman reluctance to deal with a foreign legal system.

The events which are recounted in the Bible and which are further explained in The Man Born To Be King are an old example of the juxtaposition of two different legal systems, one a preexisting religious system and the other a secular system laid atop the native laws. The two systems are concerned with enforcing different laws and violations, and while the interplay between them may sometimes be clumsy, the story of Christ's trials and conviction shows how two different systems can be melded together to achieve one end.

Part of Sayers's reason for insisting on writing these plays in modern English was to strip away the remoteness and rigid sanctity through which most people viewed Jesus' story. "[T]he language about him and the worship offered to him seem utterly remote from the speech of men today and from their pressing needs," the BBC's director of religious broadcasting wrote at the time. [8] Sayers succeeded in this remarkably well -- the characters truly do come to life again, particularly for people who are just used to the text of their preferred Biblical translation. And more than just the characters are illuminated in a new way -- the events are as well, allowing us to see the facts like ancient legal procedures clearly as well.

[1] Sayers, Dorothy L. The Man Born To Be King (London: Victor Gollancz Ltd, 1943).
[2] Ibid, at 261 (emphasis provided).
[3] Ibid, at 274.
[4] Ibid, at 278.
[5] Ibid, at 277.
[6] Ibid, at 278.
[7] Ibid, at 270.
[8] Ibid, at 12.