Coot Tumor is an anagram for Moot Court

Here at Baylor, the 1Ls (and some upper quarters)are in the thick of oral arguments for moot court. For some, public speaking is fun. For others, it’s a death sentence. 

But there’s a third category. Those that still feel like it’s a death sentence, but enjoy the adrenaline rush and the masochistic anticipation of having their arguments attacked. I fall into this third category.

We’ve spent the past four weeks learning the landscape of Fifth Amendment law as it pertains to police interrogations. It’s a varied landscape and the only way to really navigate it is to come to grips with the policy behind Supreme Court decisions. That takes a lot of time and a lot of reading – you can’t really develop a coherent argument without first understanding the underpinnings and policy behind the law. So, with enough energy and mental gymnastics (especially where there are few concrete guidelines on point), you eventually feel like you’ve got a good grip on it. Then you’re wielding a giant hammer. But how to use it?

Applying the product of that effort is what’s so appealing about moot court. When you’re behind the podium, cruising along in your canned argument, and the moot court judge interjects with an improbable hypothetical, you’re faced with defending your argument with that bigass hammer. Either you’ll look like an idiot, swing and miss, or hit a homerun. But before one of those two things happens,  it can be difficult to make sure your brain is still working – sometimes my nerves get the better of me. For a few seconds, my vision gets blurred and time slows down. I’ve been improving on getting past that.

Tangentially, I’d like to go through this hypothetical and unlikely exchange:

You: “…and so my first point is that custody was not pres…” [BRAIN FREEZES, OH GOD]

Judge: “Counsel, so what would happen if petitioner had been beaten by a pack of monkeys on the moon and forced to confess, while Tom Selleck was combing his moustache in a nearby moon crater?”

You: [GET YOUR 'S' TOGETHER AND TALK] “Your honor, assuming the pack of monkeys were authorized agents of the government, and the suspect happened to be subjected to custodial interrogation…”

Judge: “But counsel, does this issue turn on the agency status of the monkeys?”

You:[WTF??] “Well, your honor, I must respectfully note that this hypothetical is completely insane.”

Judge: “Answer the question, counsel.”

You: [SWING? NO CHOICE, KEEP TALKING!] “Yes your honor, agency status is relevant, and to answer your main question, yes, we would lose on those facts, particularly in light of the fact that monkeys are incapable of issuing a proper Miranda warning as they lack the vocal chords necessary to read a person their rights, or explain them for that matter. [RECLAIM FOOTING] However, I must reiterate that those facts are far different from what we are dealing with here.”

[WIN?]

Although this kind of exchange only happens in my dreams, this type of rollercoaster ride is what folks around here love/hate. It can make one feel like they’re Mad Max in the Thunderdome, about to engage in mortal combat and Tina Turner is sitting in her throne, awaiting your misstep. Ok, well, that’s sort of an overstatement, but it illustrates the point. 

But that’s why I love moot court and that’s why I’ve grown fond of law school again. I like a good, active challenge defeating space monkeys and Aunty Entity.

Legal jargon is filled with double entendres or: How I learned to find joy in law school

The past few weeks have been almost solely devoted to writing an appellate brief for moot court. It was a very mentally trying time. Is my argument valid? Should I have developed the cases more (I bet)? Did I forget to place a citation in the right place (likely)? So on and so forth. Regardless of a final grade that’s heaven sent, or one that’s sent first class from the pits of hell, it was the first time I’ve had fun in law school. I got to analyze.

Success as a 1L, from my subjective point of view, is centered on how well you can regurgitate elements. Despite what professors say, analysis plays second fiddle to the primary goal of memorizing elements like a savant remembering the first 1,000 places of pi. When finals roll around, tests are predicated on how quickly and succinctly you can spit back elements of a cause of action. Many of the elements in first year classes are black and white determinations (Was there contact? Yes.) I’d say 75% of it is a robotic motion.

I understand that you need a firm grounding in basic legal principles before you can dive headlong into murky waters. It just bores me to tears. The only time you’re really given the chance to apply any of the stuff that you’ve been trying to cram into your short term memory is on your 3 hour exam or the one or two times you’re called on in class. At this point, with a limited but broader view of what’s going on, that’s what it looks like – heavy focus on short term retention. Go on, tell me the analysis for res judicata without looking at an outline. If you can do it, I’ll buy you a drink and then your notes.

So, I’m still trying to figure out how brute memorization is training us to ‘think like lawyers’ as the adage goes at every law school in America. Perhaps I just don’t get it or maybe I’ve missed it, but the A in IRAC doesn’t seem to be very important in your first year. It’s more like IR (a) C. Should it be a more prominent feature?  I think so, but I’m biased.

As far as I can tell, and as Professor CrimLaw likes to say, this whole process is analogous to learning a language. He’s right. When I took Spanish in college, I had to spend hours trying to remember the subjunctive mood, nouns, tenses and so on. I just wanted to skip ahead to speaking Spanish. It’s being impetuous on my part, but I like to learn as I go, not learn and then go. Needless to say, español me hizo una locura. I did poorly during the memorizing portion. It only clicked when I had the chance to apply it.

An old friend of mine is teaching English in Asia. She’s told me that the children there can memorize English words with no problem. But they can’t string any of it together. They have no depth of understanding when it comes to knowing the words in their broader semantic context. The result? They can parrot phrases and words, but they can’t come up with any of their own or make inferential discoveries. There’s no creativity, just spitting it back. The result? Idiosyncratic language like “I let the cat out of the bag” will always mean “I literally just released a cat from a bag.”

At this point I feel like this is an issue for all law students, not just at Baylor. We are told we are being trained to  ‘think like lawyers’ but sometimes it seems more like ‘learn how to memorize like a legal robot.’ Sometimes I wonder just how many legal principles I actually understand, and how many are feral cats being dumped out of a burlap sack.

But my impatience is slowly receding. We’re slowly being exposed to areas of the law that are not predicated on memorizing rigid schemas and are far more open to interpretation (of course, with tools that you’ve had to memorize).  It’s fun. I can see the A becoming more important off in the horizon, and that’s exciting. And really nerdy, but that’s what happens when you live in a library.

Oh, and attenuation of the taint is the funniest thing in the world once you’ve just spent a few hours reading about mortgages.