JD Law Students Blog

In the midst of term two, “Trade and Environment” my head is consumed with international law, multilateral talks and working group negotiations. It is the one of the first courses I am taking by choice. I love it. It’s flashier than a procedure course and sexier even, than Con Law. It’s politics, markets and policy on the big stage. The world players are known entities and the stakes are high because the agreements or failure of agreements effect everyone. It’s heady stuff and the comic relief is seemingly endless. Country A has a grudge against country B and dispatches a unilateral trade agreement to flex their muscle, which inevitably turns into higher prices on tuna, or shrimp for you and me. It’s brain candy for the booksmart set.

Alas, my M.S.E.L. summer is being invaded by 2L concerns. Behind the scenes slots are being filled, courses picked and paths charted for the entire academic year. The next lottery will be for third year. The anxiety is affecting me, bar classes, fun classes and requirements. I am keenly aware that many of my friends have resigned themselves to the race to the bottom. This race is all about getting into one class over another to avoid suffering academic casulties at the hands of personalities, teaching styles and experience. I want to learn how to… and it isn’t that simple. The classes don’t teach you how to … They teach you how to think about it, whatever “it” is.

The registration system at VLS is a bit of science, a bit more strategy, and just a smidge alchemy. It involves an algorithim too nuanced to discuss except to say that the pennies divine all. Or do they? All I know is that my stomach has been churning b/c I am waitlisted for Evidence. It’s not do or die, its do or don’t. I take this class, I can’t take another. I open one door and lock two more, with little certainty about whether or not I have made the right decision.

Session three of the Summer is Negotiations and I look forward to open conflict. That’s not to say that I enjoy it (although I do) its just easier than inner turmoil and decision making with little or no objective answers about what is right and what is not. Whatever courses I take will equip me to be judged by my peers on the job market and may in fact decide which peers will have that privilege.

Clearly, I need a vacation.

TDT

I had a dream last night. I had a dream in which I was sleeping soundly in my room. I was fast asleep until shortly after 3am, when I awoke to the sound of a voice calling in the still darkness of the big, empty house in which I am renting a small room. A voice that I couldn’t make out, but that sounded close. I had opened my window to let in the night air, and concluded that it was coming from outside. As I laid my head back on my pillow, I heard the voice once more, this time a little louder, a little more insistent, and it was accompanied by a loud rapping noise, like knuckles on a hardwood door. But not my door. Not my bedroom door.

But from inside the house this time, distinctly echoing in the second story hall outside my room, I heard the voice accompanied by rapping. Again, louder. I stumble out of bed in a daze and in my still unfamiliar room, grope first for my pants, then for the floor lamp. I continue to hear the knocking and now footsteps on the stairs. I can make out the voice, shouting now just outside my door. It’s a tense, nervous shout, but controlled: “Hello. HAR-fuhd Pol-EECE.”

Police! My mind begins to race. In my house? At three a.m.? Shouting and knocking just outside my door? I must be dreaming. No. I am not dreaming. This is not a dream. The Hartford Police are outside my door now, which is closed against the second story hall of the big lonely house in which I am renting a room and still feel like a stranger. Viv–I think–the owner of the house, was supposed to call me today for a favor, but never did. Why hasn’t she answered the police? Isn’t she home? Is she not hearing this racket? Oh my god, something’s happened to her! Something awful has happened and I am the summer boarder, the drifter, the prime suspect, and suddenly I know the cops are here to find me.

And so I call out, knocking from the inside of my own door and feeling somehow like an intruder, “Hello, I am in here. Can I help you?” And I slowly open the door to three bristling officers swinging the beams of their flashlights against the darkness of the house, now pouring into my room in a flurry of questions. Who are you? Are you the owner? Do you live here? Who else lives here? What are you doing here? Why didn’t you answer earlier? And a hundred more that I don’t hear because I am still trying to wake up and comprehend the situation. Strangely, I realize that I am calm. I produce my ID. I answer their questions. But I am calm. Good - stay clear and try to focus. Finally, they appear satisfied that I belong in the house they have invaded and begin to explain that they were responding to a prowler call. They had come to the back of the house (for some reason) to find that the back door was open and the screen door unlocked (just as I had left them, thinking that Vivianne, the lady who owns the house, would be home later in the evening). They then took it upon themselves to enter the house and make demands upon the befuddled inhabitant they encountered inside (namely, me).

As they left, I thanked them for their diligence and quickly turned both the button lock and deadbolt. Returning to my room, I just started chuckling to myself. Next time, I will be ready. Next time, in between their questions to me, I will be asking their names, precinct and badge numbers. I will make sure they understand that they’ve crossed the line by barging into a house at night where there is clearly no evidence of a break in or other criminal mischief.  I know my rights!  I am a student of the law, in fact, and I refuse to be bullied by its so-called enforcers.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Who am I kidding? There won’t be a next time. From here on out, I’m keeping the doors locked at all times and the house alarm set. The sad part is, it’s not the bad guys I’m worried about.