I’m often asked why I haven’t written a book about the Hartford metro business environment.
The problem, for the most part, is length. I’ve become so accustomed to writing 600 words or so about actuaries and airplane engines that I worry about my patience for writing a book, which I’m told must be considerably longer than that.
When I write 600 words, I’m sort of done. That’s not long enough to even be a chapter. I could, of course, ask for help from local lawyers, who often write 600-word sentences, yet alone newspaper columns.
Speaking of law and lengthy commentary (see how easy it is to write 600 words?), the state Supreme Court in Indiana has announced that is now all atwitter with Twitter, offering up 140-character maximum wisdom per tweet on cases to be heard and opinions rendered and what the chief justice thought of the grilled cheese sandwich in the courthouse cafeteria.
This should really catch on across the legal and financial services community.
When the SEC gets around to deciding what Connecticut’s Sen. Chris Dodd actually meant in his finance reform package by requiring financial planners and insurance agents to promise (cross their hearts and hope to die) a “fiduciary” responsibility to love their clients very, very much, will we be more likely to understand the 8,741-page SEC sermon — or would we better off if some 23-year-old law clerk tweets, “way cool; put client interests first.”
The legal community has long recognized the value of rhetorical shorthand. Prior to Twitter, the lawyers spoke in Latin, to avoid the tedium of actually having to listen to each other. A little bit of “venire facias de nova” and “locus delicti” prompted both sides to settle things in a hurry.
The potential for Twitter in legal matters is huge. What if the U.S. Supreme Court was limited to a tweet for its opinions? Think about it. The high court has issued 6,908 pages of opinions on whether or not a City Hall crèche at Christmas time is okay, as long as a reindeer balances the Baby Jesus, illuminated by a menorah of sufficient size not to dominate the Christmas tree. One little tweet couldn’t be any worse — and it would be efficient. You could get through law school in six months.
Twitter might have enhanced the famous 1965 Connecticut contraceptive case, Griswold v. Connecticut, which overturned the state’s hilarious ban on contraceptive products, even for married couples. Justice Douglas went on and on about “zones of privacy” and what was “intimate to the point of being sacred.” Leave it to the high court to make even sex boring. If the decision had been limited to a tweet, it might have read, “Have fun! We’re jealous.”
And what of the famous “Cantwell v. Connecticut,” which overturned a licensing law for religious solicitors, aimed at Jehovah’s Witnesses?
The high court went on and on about “a forbidden burden upon the exercise of liberty.” The tweet alternative: “God don’t need no license.”
One of the indirect impacts of Twitter on the courts will be a reassessment of the typical challenges to evidence or questions that might be “irrelevant or immaterial.” If Twitter becomes the unofficial Rule of Law, then irrelevant and immaterial will carry the day, in court as it is in life. Irrelevant and immaterial is the cornerstone of Twitter communication.
With the Dodd financial reform bill allowing retailers to refuse credit card purchases of $10 or less, I begged the editor for a raise — in cash — to sustain me for my small acquisitions. I received a tweet: “Irrelevant and immaterial.” See?
Laurence D. Cohen is a freelance writer.
