✏️ Legal Pad
Technology has made the justice system faster than ever. Electronic filing, virtual hearings, digital signatures; what used to take weeks now happens in hours. But as courts chase efficiency, a quiet trade-off is emerging: the faster we move, the more we risk missing what matters.
Speed in justice has its appeal. It clears dockets, cuts costs, and gives litigants answers sooner. But justice isn’t supposed to move at the pace of an algorithm. One of my least favorite professors in law school gave me one of the more memorable quotes I’ve heard: “the wheels of justice grind slowly at times.” Every case is a story: complex, human, and often fragile. When schedules tighten, deliberation shortens, and hearings turn into video boxes, something vital can get lost between convenience and care.
The law’s strength has always been its deliberateness. The ability to pause, to weigh, to reflect before deciding. Efficiency is useful, but fairness takes time, and the courtroom should remain one of the last bastions where that truth still holds. Because while justice delayed can be justice denied, justice rushed can be denied just the same.
💡 Sidebar
Two really good spots in Greenville announced they’re shutting the doors this week. Not because the food wasn’t good, or the service wasn’t warm, but because even the best places, like the best cases, are fragile things. It doesn’t matter whether it’s the hole-in-the-wall bar down the alley, or the Michelin star joint on Main Street, if it’s not run with a steady hand, eventually it’ll topple.
A business, like a lawsuit, runs on balance. One wrong assumption, one small oversight, one bad quarter or misread market, and the whole operation can tilt. The same goes for a trial: one overlooked exhibit, one unanswered argument, one juror you didn’t connect with, and the outcome can collapse under its own weight.
That’s what makes both worth doing. Success in either world depends on attention to detail, timing, and humility. A good meal, a good verdict — both come from a thousand small, careful choices that most people never see. When those choices slip, even just a little, the loss is felt deeply.
⚖️ Closing Arguments
This week’s Wall Street Journal essay, “Halloween Treats for Democracy,” reminded me that even our civic life could use a little of Halloween’s old-fashioned spirit. The author’s point was simple but sharp: democracy works best when people still open their doors. It’s an old concept that’s been rebranded over the years. Think front porch campaigns and Reagan’s fireside chats.
Trick-or-treating is, at its core, an act of community trust: strangers knocking, neighbors answering, lights on, streets full. It’s a ritual of showing up, face to face, without a screen between us. The author argued that in an age of political cynicism and isolation, that kind of connection, small, spontaneous, genuine, is exactly what democracy needs more of.
It’s easy to forget that our system runs not just on laws, but on participation. The same principle that makes a good jury pool or a good neighborhood also makes a good republic: people willing to step outside, engage, and participate.
So this Halloween, between the costumes and the candy, maybe remember the civics lesson in the celebration. Democracy, like childhood wonder, only fades when people stop showing up. And don’t give out toothbrushes.
Here’s to open doors, lit porches, and the courage to keep knocking.
Court is in recess- see you next Friday.
