The relationship had not ended well, and as it turned out, today's story for me was of continued
forgiveness. I have had the privilege to study something I love
dearly, and though I'm sure I've spent as many hours in the practice
room as anyone else has spent studying, and have sacrificed all sorts of
things for the instability of my profession and the pursuit of
artistic excellence, my impression of my world has always been of a
friendly, colourful, and creative place. I realized today more intensely than in some time that it's my duty to share this world; in fact, the only colourful poster I saw anywhere in the building was an advertisement of Juilliard students performing at an official event.
In a positive and friendly environment, there is room left over to
help others, to empathize, to listen, to share, to care, to laugh.
The atmosphere in the courtroom was not relaxed. The benches were like uncomfortable pews in a church, facing a wall that had “In God We Trust” lettered upon it, as though this lower circuit on earth would certainly never give us justice. The forty-odd occupants were all clad in varying shades of grey and black, as though to blend in better with the fog outside and not suggest any idea that might be too provocative in any way. Roughly 90% were white men, one patterned in a suit like the next. Many bore the mark of stress eating itself to enlarged bellies. In the others, the stress showed itself in lines under the eyes. Nobody was smiling.
One clerk tried to lighten things up a little, beamingly commenting on his start to the day, perhaps even joking. He had a boomy voice and seemed to be addressing no-one-in-particular in the spectators' benches. In return, he was met with the ignoring non-response generally offered to kooky subway passengers.
The case I had come to see was postponed due to an illness of one of the parties. The gentleman from the opposing party looked relieved as he slowly gathered up his things and ventured out. As his face gradually relaxed, I could practically see his pent-up fight-readiness dissipating, evaporating and calming like water in a teapot freshly taken off the stove.
We watched a different hearing. My understanding of it, helped by my friend's explanation, was that an investment firm was suing a company that had gone bankrupt, claiming that one of the key members of the company had diverted all the assets into private properties and Swiss bank accounts. The judge called the prosecuting attorney to speak – hereafter referred to as “the guy on the right” – a slim, tall man, youngish, maybe in his late thirties or early forties. Given that he had about five minutes to explain the complexities of his case, punctuated by sharp questions and even refutations from the judge, meanwhile his reputation and salary and job were all likely are all on the line – I thought that he must be experiencing adrenaline at minimum comparable to that of taking an orchestra audition, even if he had some room for improvisation. As he struggled to find the balance between general explanation and specific details, and the right tone of deference to “Your Honor” the judge, while maintaining his position of accusation against the defendant, I noticed his wedding ring, and I couldn't help imagining a loving wife caring about him and his feelings, perhaps having bid him a concerned and well-wishing farewell in the morning ... in this room, his feelings would be treated, as in battle, as irrelevant. Despite his struggles, he convinced me that the defendant (who was not present) had probably run off with all the money. The defense attorney – hereafter referred to as “the guy on the left” - was also a slim tall man, and exuded an advantage of age and experience. His argument, as best I could tell, was “prove it”. The judge kept everyone strictly in line, and seemed to be explaining that the legal mechanism to go after the defendant was not available since it would be “piercing the corporate veil,” a phrase which was then bandied around a great deal, cast in light of never being done in such a situation before. (Was the guy on the right aware that his precedent-seeking position was a great handicap to his cause?) The judge's decision was that further hearings and discovery would be necessary. It seemed fair. When the young attorney turned to face the audience, the circles under his eyes seemed to have deepened. My read was that he was probably right about the truth of his case, but he'd been admonished several times by the judge for making allegations rather than stating facts, for which his response was that he would like the judge to order the defense to turn over the necessary paperwork for determining the facts.
As they exited the court's boxing ring after this intense verbal dance, I would have been inclined to give them all a hug. Surely there was common ground to be found? It must be especially adrenaline-inducing to represent just one side of things, such as “The company member defrauded a lot of people,” knowing you are against an adversary whose job it is to never agree with you, rather than everyone being on board with the idea, as in, “Well, he defrauded people, but his way of thinking, while not endorsable, is emotionally understandable, and now he needs to make good on what happened, so let's figure this out.” In a way, that was the judge's role. While I understand the principle behind the adversarial set-up of the court, wouldn't it be more pleasant if it were possible to set it up more coöperatively? What if everyone used the favourite Canadian phrase, "I'm sorry": “I'm sorry to have to go after you for your money, Mr. Company Member, but how would we make it up to the people who have lost money otherwise?” “I'm sorry to have run away from my obligations, but they were just too many, I would lose everything, and I just couldn't face the shame and guilt.” I am probably describing a utopian fantasy – or perhaps this just isn't how the boys' world of competition works. For it did feel like a boys' world, a fantasy of power struggle and weaponry fought with words.
I had come to the scene with good cheer, thinking to do reverse tourism (lawyers often come to musical performances, now I would go to a lawyers' performance), but after an hour and a half there, despite my interest it felt as though the room were sucking my cheerful spirit out of me, crushing it at once with both boredom and the tension of stressful focus. Is it possible to be happy in that world? To think about things like ladybugs and shooting stars and “For we like sheep” (especially without the comma, as the chorus from Handel's Messiah I'd played on the weekend). How could that courtroom feel fun, and like a place where one might be able to laugh?
I don't have a moral to this story. I am grateful for lawyers who go to verbal and administrative battle on our behalves. Could I survive in their world? I don't know. I imagine members of the legal profession may be grateful to artists for offering a change of mood. A delicate balance of symbiotic necessary coexistence.
The atmosphere in the courtroom was not relaxed. The benches were like uncomfortable pews in a church, facing a wall that had “In God We Trust” lettered upon it, as though this lower circuit on earth would certainly never give us justice. The forty-odd occupants were all clad in varying shades of grey and black, as though to blend in better with the fog outside and not suggest any idea that might be too provocative in any way. Roughly 90% were white men, one patterned in a suit like the next. Many bore the mark of stress eating itself to enlarged bellies. In the others, the stress showed itself in lines under the eyes. Nobody was smiling.
One clerk tried to lighten things up a little, beamingly commenting on his start to the day, perhaps even joking. He had a boomy voice and seemed to be addressing no-one-in-particular in the spectators' benches. In return, he was met with the ignoring non-response generally offered to kooky subway passengers.
The case I had come to see was postponed due to an illness of one of the parties. The gentleman from the opposing party looked relieved as he slowly gathered up his things and ventured out. As his face gradually relaxed, I could practically see his pent-up fight-readiness dissipating, evaporating and calming like water in a teapot freshly taken off the stove.
We watched a different hearing. My understanding of it, helped by my friend's explanation, was that an investment firm was suing a company that had gone bankrupt, claiming that one of the key members of the company had diverted all the assets into private properties and Swiss bank accounts. The judge called the prosecuting attorney to speak – hereafter referred to as “the guy on the right” – a slim, tall man, youngish, maybe in his late thirties or early forties. Given that he had about five minutes to explain the complexities of his case, punctuated by sharp questions and even refutations from the judge, meanwhile his reputation and salary and job were all likely are all on the line – I thought that he must be experiencing adrenaline at minimum comparable to that of taking an orchestra audition, even if he had some room for improvisation. As he struggled to find the balance between general explanation and specific details, and the right tone of deference to “Your Honor” the judge, while maintaining his position of accusation against the defendant, I noticed his wedding ring, and I couldn't help imagining a loving wife caring about him and his feelings, perhaps having bid him a concerned and well-wishing farewell in the morning ... in this room, his feelings would be treated, as in battle, as irrelevant. Despite his struggles, he convinced me that the defendant (who was not present) had probably run off with all the money. The defense attorney – hereafter referred to as “the guy on the left” - was also a slim tall man, and exuded an advantage of age and experience. His argument, as best I could tell, was “prove it”. The judge kept everyone strictly in line, and seemed to be explaining that the legal mechanism to go after the defendant was not available since it would be “piercing the corporate veil,” a phrase which was then bandied around a great deal, cast in light of never being done in such a situation before. (Was the guy on the right aware that his precedent-seeking position was a great handicap to his cause?) The judge's decision was that further hearings and discovery would be necessary. It seemed fair. When the young attorney turned to face the audience, the circles under his eyes seemed to have deepened. My read was that he was probably right about the truth of his case, but he'd been admonished several times by the judge for making allegations rather than stating facts, for which his response was that he would like the judge to order the defense to turn over the necessary paperwork for determining the facts.
As they exited the court's boxing ring after this intense verbal dance, I would have been inclined to give them all a hug. Surely there was common ground to be found? It must be especially adrenaline-inducing to represent just one side of things, such as “The company member defrauded a lot of people,” knowing you are against an adversary whose job it is to never agree with you, rather than everyone being on board with the idea, as in, “Well, he defrauded people, but his way of thinking, while not endorsable, is emotionally understandable, and now he needs to make good on what happened, so let's figure this out.” In a way, that was the judge's role. While I understand the principle behind the adversarial set-up of the court, wouldn't it be more pleasant if it were possible to set it up more coöperatively? What if everyone used the favourite Canadian phrase, "I'm sorry": “I'm sorry to have to go after you for your money, Mr. Company Member, but how would we make it up to the people who have lost money otherwise?” “I'm sorry to have run away from my obligations, but they were just too many, I would lose everything, and I just couldn't face the shame and guilt.” I am probably describing a utopian fantasy – or perhaps this just isn't how the boys' world of competition works. For it did feel like a boys' world, a fantasy of power struggle and weaponry fought with words.
I had come to the scene with good cheer, thinking to do reverse tourism (lawyers often come to musical performances, now I would go to a lawyers' performance), but after an hour and a half there, despite my interest it felt as though the room were sucking my cheerful spirit out of me, crushing it at once with both boredom and the tension of stressful focus. Is it possible to be happy in that world? To think about things like ladybugs and shooting stars and “For we like sheep” (especially without the comma, as the chorus from Handel's Messiah I'd played on the weekend). How could that courtroom feel fun, and like a place where one might be able to laugh?
I don't have a moral to this story. I am grateful for lawyers who go to verbal and administrative battle on our behalves. Could I survive in their world? I don't know. I imagine members of the legal profession may be grateful to artists for offering a change of mood. A delicate balance of symbiotic necessary coexistence.