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Lowering
the Bar In law school, a high percentage of students are interested in pro bono work (that is, free legal services for the poor). I remember those heady days when I worked long hours at my school's legal aid clinic. We had endless energy and endless attitude. Our T-shirts said it all. "Reasonable Doubt at a Reasonable Price." "Brand Name Lawyers for Less." My favorite T-shirt copied the milk commercial: "Got Justice?" As student lawyers, we represented poor people who were at the end of their rope. We took on landlords, heartless bureaucrats, and our favorite nemesis — the man. What we lacked in expertise we made up in zeal. What we lacked in zeal we made up in caffeine. When law students graduate and enter the real world, they find it's hard to sustain this commitment to pro bono work. The debt burden of graduating students is heavier than ever. When you're a 26-year-old lawyer who's starting a family and carrying a debt of $60,000, you have to think twice about devoting a few hours a week to helping the poor. I once worked at a big out-of-state firm where I heard the comment, "Your conscience doesn't pay the rent." Now, more than ever, lawyers need strong encouragement from the Oregon State Bar to rekindle the flames of civic duty. Our bar has a proud history of advocating universal access to justice. The leaders of our bar are great lawyers and public-minded people. But they're about to make an unfortunate mistake. In mid-September the Oregon State Bar's House of Delegates will vote on a new set of ethical rules for lawyers. These rules follow a blueprint drafted by the American Bar Association and adopted by 44 states so far. The ABA's model rules include a provision directing lawyers to provide free legal services to the poor. Alarmingly, the Oregon State Bar has proposed to delete the pro bono provision when Oregon adopts the ABA model rules. Only three states have dropped the pro bono provision when they approved the ABA rules (I call these the "pro malo" states). Should Oregon join that short list? The leaders of our bar, who clearly don't intend to reduce our commitment to pro bono work, contend that the pro bono provision shouldn't be included in Oregon's code for two reasons: First, there are other directives and policy statements from the bar that encourage pro bono work. Second, Oregon's ethical rules generally don't include aspirational language like the pro bono provision. These are sensible arguments by good-hearted people. But the ineluctable fact is that Oregon's Code of Professional Responsibility is the most authoritative and best-known source of guidance for lawyers in this state, and an exhortation to perform pro bono work would be far more persuasive in this document than anywhere else. The code tells you what it means to be an ethical lawyer in Oregon. The code is sitting on every lawyer's desk. That's where our commitment to pro bono belongs — front and center. If the Oregon Code of Professional Responsibility mentioned the need to do pro bono work, lawyers would take notice. This summer we all grieved the loss of Gregory Peck, the actor who portrayed a lawyer named Atticus Finch in the 1962 movie To Kill a Mockingbird. Finch's noble defense of a wrongly accused indigent man in the South was the inspiration that led some of my friends to go to law school in the first place. It would be sad indeed if Peck's death were accompanied by another symbolic setback to the cause of equal justice for the poor in Oregon. Tom Lininger is a law professor and former county commissioner.
Pioneering
Event Even to the layman there is something fascinating about archaeology. We share a basic curiosity about our human roots, and even those of us who have no wish to be at a dig enjoy hearing the reconstruction of our history. And what more vivid way for the story to be told than through the medium of film? This is precisely what the Archaeology Channel's International Film and Video Festival, a pioneering event of national and international significance, offered last July in downtown Eugene. Inspired by the archaeology film festivals held regularly in Europe, Dr. Richard Pettigrew, an archaeologist who specializes in Oregon and resides in Eugene, resolved to organize the first annual festival of this kind on American soil. (Pettigrew's ongoing parallel project is The Archaeology Channel streaming-media website www.archaeologychannel.org started in 1999.) By choosing the downtown McDonald Theater as a venue, the organizers were deliberately taking the field or archaeology outside academia to better reach the lay public. Of 64 films from 19 countries, 20 were selected for a juried competition and screened at the McDonald Theater (the other 44 could be viewed at a video bar at the DAC). Although all belonged to the broad field of anthropological archaeology, they varied widely in terms of topic. Some films were primarily ethnographic in content and showed aspects from the live and culture of indigenous peoples in different regions of the world, often emphasizing how those peoples are affected by their encounter with Western culture. Other films were about archaeological sites (including some underwater) and the process of excavation; the race to unearth ancient artifacts before destruction by development; the solving of mysteries clue by archaeological clue; and the impact of archaeological research on our society. Somewhat problematic at times, at least for this viewer, were the differences among the filmmakers' implicit goals. While most films appeared objective, two among those I saw seemed too self-serving to be trustworthy. One, Galley of the Gods, used special effects to turn the main archaeologist, Mensun Bound, into a superhero, which discredited his scientific authority. The other, Treading the Paths of Time, produced by the Israeli Office of Tourism, though providing the viewers with beautiful snapshots, was marred by narrative spin. This led me to wish that a small discussion panel might be assembled to analyze the films in terms of their goals and ethics, examine the role of aesthetic consideration and technology, discuss issues of participation of indigenous people, and answer questions from the public. Such a discussion panel would complement the Symposium on Heritage Film, a separate section of the festival during which a few filmmakers and archaeologists shared their perspectives and experiences with those willing to pay an extra fee. Overall, however, the festival succeeded beyond expectations. A genial atmosphere prevailed among the viewers who filled the theater, and those spectators I talked to delighted in the experience as much as I did. The crew of volunteers that supported the endeavor was helpful and enthusiastic. Two world-renowned guest speakers, Jean Clottes (France) and Brian Fagan (UC Santa Barbara), gave pleasant and accessible addresses. Although the scope of the festival was emphatically international, it may well have the effect of fostering or renewing interest in local archaeology. Oregon, Lane County included, has a rich archeological history. Some of it could be experienced firsthand during the festival, thanks to the day-tours organized in partnership with Willamette National Forest. To increase knowledge of and interest in archaeology among young Eugenians, the festival included a Children's Program and enlisted the partnership of the Bureau of Land Management to conduct a Teachers Workshop aimed at helping local teachers teach their students about archaeology. There is a distinct satisfaction to having part of the world brought to us, thanks to a few Eugeneans endowed with uncommon determination and energy. Throughout the summer, our town welcomes performers, artists, and scholars of national and international stature, who in turn attract global visitors. Coming right after the Bach Festival (and the concomitant Art and the Vineyard and Oregon Country Fair) the archaeology film festival provided an incentive for out-of-town visitors to extend their stay. Is Eugene then to be on the world map of archaeology as it already is in the field of music? This summer's archaeology film festival was certainly a successful step in that direction, and as a spectator who relished the event, I selfishly hope that it will continue to thrive and expand in the years to come. The dates for next summer are already set: July 14-17, 2004. Sylvie Pederson is a free-lance writer in Eugene.
My
Vacation I grew up in a Southern California tourist town. For us SoCal escapees, using vacation time to go back and see the family is different from what it is for folks from, say, Omaha. When they book a flight to the meat-packing capital of the world they don't tend to inspire much awe and envy. But my home town radiates glamour. To those of us who went to high school in the desert, Palm Springs is hot and desolate and boring — even if it is the home of our first hickey. My parents, in their delight with the news I'd become a lesbian, stopped inviting me home for my college breaks. I stayed away for two years, long enough to develop a craving to revisit my old stomping grounds. Besides, I had my first real girlfriend and I wanted to show her off. Amazingly, the relatives I'd traveled a thousand miles to visit were not impressed with "that athletic girl Sally brought home." After only a few hours in my childhood habitat, I needed a break. For some reason — explainable only by the vacation stupidity vortex — I volunteered to take my seven-year-old niece to Disneyland. Surrendering their granddaughter to us perverts made my parents uneasy, but the free childcare argument won out. Girlfriend and I would show my folks that lesbians do so have family values. Could there possibly be a more normal, family oriented activity than driving a rented Buick for two hours with an impatient kid who has a bladder the size of a filbert? I hadn't visited the Magic Kingdom since my Palm Springs High Class of '68 graduation party. A bunch of us grads had crammed into a little tram car and whirled up and down the Matterhorn all night. We screamed and laughed our heads off. Now I was in college, and was an activist challenging sexism and homophobia. Life had become serious. I needed to lighten up and enjoy my vacation, do something fun and frivolous. My niece, a normal 7 year old, said it was stupid to wait an hour in a crowded line for a three-minute ride. But I was hell-bent on reliving Grad Night. My gallant girlfriend took the kid to Adventureland and left me to my nostalgia experience. The tram car whizzed around hairpin turns just like it did years ago, but Disneyland's Matterhorn had lost its thrill. To me the man-made roller coaster and fake rocks only wasted natural resources and generated wealth for the patriarchy. So much for nostalgia. I had grown up and learned a lot about life, such as:
If you agree to reconnect with someone at the Fantasyland bridge, you
are likely to end up listening to Snow White's aria about 15 gazillion
times (La-ha-ha-ha-hah). Our The security guards started clearing the park. Where were they? A real family — which I was desperately trying to prove to my parents lesbians could be — always meets at the meeting place. Unless someone's hurt. The guards assured me no injuries had been reported and shooed me through the exit. My missing family du jour had to be somewhere out there in the Disneyland parking lot, which is approximately the size of Liechtenstein. I marched toward the general longitude and latitude of the Buick, Snow White's aria pounding in my skull. Far in the distance I saw the silhouettes of their disloyal little heads. I tromped across the asphalt. What were they thinking? No, meeting in the parking lot was NOT plan B. No, I did not think they were smart to know I'd eventually show up at the car. And no, I did not want any goddamn mouse ears. I steered us back onto the freeway toward Palm Springs. I was a wreck. My parents needn't have worried about leaving their granddaughter with us lesbians. We were just like all the other crabby, cranky, normal families driving away from the Happiest Place on Earth. Sally Sheklow writes and lives child-free with her domestic partner in Eugene. Send comments to sally@wymprov.com |
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