Goodbye IBL (and Thank You) 👋

Over the last 10 years, I poured my heart and soul into designing and teaching the course, International Business Law, here at the Maastricht University Faculty of Law. Due to our faculty’s curriculum reform, this academic year will be the last time we run IBL (at least at the law faculty). While there is a bit of sadness that comes with saying goodbye to a course that I really loved teaching, I look back with so much gratitude to all the amazing colleagues and students that I got to work with through this course. Thank you to everyone who made IBL so special. On this Thanksgiving Day, I find myself extremely grateful to have had this very special opportunity. I take with me all of your inputs and feedback to see if I can plug them back into the next course I’m currently working on. Here’s to finishing up IBL well and taking on new challenges! Mahalo nui loa 🙇🏻

P.S. I suppose if I had to describe IBL with three items, it would be: 1) Natto, 2) Duct Tape, and 3) Alcohol?

On a Path to Becoming a CEDR-Accredited Mediator

I just wrapped up the Accredited Mediator Skills Training in Dublin offered by the Centre for Effective Dispute Resolution (CEDR) and am very grateful to the wonderful instructors and my (very) enthusiastic classmates.

I would be remiss if I did not mention the Maastricht University Faculty of Law and the previous Dutch Minister of Education, Culture and Science for making my participation in this course possible. It was their prudence and policy decisions that made it possible for an "academic" like me to become a better teacher with a more holistic perspective of dispute resolution I cannot wait to share some of the insights I've learned here with our students.

A very special thank you to my partner for holding down the fort with our kids while I was away getting my learning on. I am a very lucky man. For my CEDR classmates, I leave you with this photo. Those who know, know 😉

At Least We Now Have Air Missile Defense Systems?: How Academics in the Netherlands Can Survive the Draconian Budget Cuts

Last week, I had the privilege of attending the Avond van Wetenschap & Maatschappij in Leiden, where Minister Eppo Bruins (the Dutch Minister of Education, Culture and Science) spoke about the importance of science and the role that universities play in resolving complex societal issues. The speech felt somewhat disingenuous though given the Dutch government’s decision to cut 1 billion euros per year from higher education and research. At the end of the day, I guess you can’t blame a politician for doing politician things (even if they have a PhD in mathematics and physics).

Instead of commenting on the policies of the Schoof Cabinet, I want to take a moment to think (out loud) about how we got here in the first place and how we can get back on track. For example, I’m curious about why many of the Dutch voters felt the need to vote for parties that – amongst other things – promised to cut funding for higher education and reduce the number of international students above and beyond the over-simplified tripe about their alleged racism and xenophobia.

Within the academic bubble, we talk about how these short-sighted policies are detrimental to the Dutch (knowledge) economy. I realize though that in other bubbles, different conversations are taking place: For instance, I understand that the Dutch farmers were quite frustrated with the Rutte Cabinet’s approach to reducing nitrogen pollution, so their vote was perhaps a retaliatory one. In another bubble, some felt that the government was spending too much on asylum seekers while in others, some felt that the Dutch needed to strengthen their military capabilities and to shore up their missile defense systems. The proliferation of these diverging, ideological bubbles leads me suspect that the Dutch have gone quite tribal (including the academics), focusing on looking after their own interests, while minimizing the needs of others or that of society as a whole.

In times like these, we need more bridge-builders. We also need to reframe the way we think about austerity: It should not be portrayed as a zero-sum game, where everyone is trying to claim as much value as possible for their own; but instead, see it as a value creating opportunity for all.

So where do academics fit into this?

Bridging the Gap between Science & Society

I suppose events like the Avond van Wetenschap & Maatschappij help, given that the point of the evening was to reiterate the “importance of science by showing how scientific research is applied in everyday life”. True to its calling, I met academics there doing very interesting research and leaders of industry curious about them.

There was some discomfort though given that this was a very formal, black-tie event (with a three-course menu plus wine service in the stunning Pieterskerk). Juxtaposed to the budget cuts and the uncertainty that many of our colleagues are facing, the extravagance felt a bit tone-deaf, if not callous. Though to be fair, I suppose there is something to be said for formality and tradition. (The fact that I no longer fit so snugly into my tux likely contributed to my sense of discomfort, but nevertheless, there was something uncomfortably insulated about the event).

Thank you Pamela for letting me tag along to the event!!

Above and beyond these mingling events (and possibly changing the dress code to something more comfy and accessible like sweatpants), the Open Science movement and its aspirations have some promise to bridging the gap between science and society. By incentivizing research findings (and data) to be openly accessible to everyone (as in not behind a publisher’s paywall), the Open Science movement helps make useful knowledge accessible to all: For example, my wife always speaks highly of the Voedingscentrum (Nutrition Center), which is a free and reliable source of information about food backed by science (e.g. what can pregnant moms not eat, when can babies start eating, etc.).

Another way to bridge the gap is for scientists to be better communicators and to engage with the general public more without boring them half to death. Science Europe defines science communication as “the practice of informing, raising awareness of science-related topics, and also getting involved with audiences that include, at least in part, people from outside the science community.” At the Maastricht level, this is carried out through organizations like Studium Generale (who organize lectures and festivals where academics and non-academics can come together to discuss and debate societal issues) or projects like EDLAB’s Premium (where we match high-performing master’s students with clients in the business and government sectors for a specific project).

My suspicion, given how many Dutch voters voted, is that perhaps we – the academics – can do a better job of convincing the general public that what we do matter. That we are working on making things better for society through our research and teaching. Of course, the task of convincing others will now be made more difficult due to the drastic budget cuts, but at least we now have air defense systems, so at least that’s something. (Also, see how annoying paywalls are?!)

The Academic Industrial Complex

Above and beyond open science and better integration of academics with non-academics, the fundamental shift at the root of our disconnect that should be discussed (I think), is the possibility that Dutch academia is transforming from a civil service institution into a hardcore business. Like a corporation, we often talk in terms of bottom lines and the impact of this transformation is that we have commercialized education and commoditized knowledge.

In this corporate environment, the worth of a teacher is no longer being measured by the positive impact we have on our students, but by how many hours we can teach. The worth of a researcher is being measured more and more by the amount of funding that they can secure for the institution. Of course, I’ve over-simplified this for the sake of dramatic effect and initiatives like Recognition & Rewards are trying to reset the scale, but the lingering sentiment (at least for me) is that I am now a cog in the academic industrial complex.   

Inside the complex, there are no specific hours allocated for taking time to connect with people, to reach out to the members of the local community, and to build meaningful relationships with non-academics. If we choose to care about others, we do so at our own peril and these draconian budget cuts don’t help us with these important tasks.

Scarcity Drives Creativity?

So what’s the path forward for academics in these uncertain and turbulent times? In short, we will have to bite the bullet and make do with what we have. In other words, keep fighting the good fight so to say. We should try to connect more with people (to the extent possible) and not just villainize those who voted for the budget cuts. In the end, we all strive for self-preservation and when the going gets tough, it’s only normal for people to get tribal and to think more short-term (there is scientific evidence to prove this). But we have to rise above our tribalistic tendencies and remind ourselves that it doesn’t all have to be a zero-sum game.

We should try to raise our voices and push back on the policies to the extent possible (e.g. you can sign a petition for the government not to cut the higher education budget), but at the same time, we have to use our “big academic brains” to find a way out of this predicament. The good news is that scarcity (sometimes) drives creativity and (perhaps) that is how we get back on track. (If I’m starting to sound like a politician trying to sell you a bill of goods, it’s probably because I am. In short, there is nothing good that comes from these frickin budget cuts, but that’s a rant for another time). 

In the long scheme of things, the policies that the current government is peddling will likely have repercussions that the members of the cabinet will have to live with down the line. Eventually (and inevitably), a new cabinet will form and the austerity facing us will alleviate, at which point, we can start to repair the damage caused by their policies. Until then, we must soldier on. Thank God for those air missile defense systems!

P.S. For whatever it’s worth, I’m co-moderating the Open Science Festival on the 22nd of June here in Maastricht, where one of the speakers will be Hans de Jonge, the Director of Open Science NL!

Waiting for Change (or for Godot)

One of the articles that we discussed intimately during the Sustainable Global Economic Law Summer School last week was Amna A. Akbar’s Non-Reformist Reforms and Struggles over Life, Death, and Democracy. This piece was nothing short of provocative and mindblowing. In one part, Akbar wrote that “to focus on reformism is to orient action toward entrenching, rather than overthrowing or substituting, a fundamentally corrupt system, institution, or set of relations.” To accentuate her point, Akbar cited to Rosa Luxemburg, who - in Reform or Revolution - wrote:

“[P]eople who pronounce themselves in favor or legislative reform in place of and in contradistinction to the conquest of political power and social revolution do not choose a more tranquil, calmer, and slower road to the same goal, but a different goal. Instead of taking a stand for the establishment of a new society they take a stand for surface modification of the old society.”

These words got me in a bit of a funk (I think in a good way if there is such a thing). It prodded me with the uncomfortable question of “am I doing enough?!”, which was followed up by the “am I part of the problem?!” inquisition. I’ve been grappling with the question of how people and institutions (can) change to behave in a more pro-social manner (in boardrooms and in classrooms). I’ve been researching how laws can (or cannot) incentivize such changes. Though I have yet to find any panaceas (perhaps because none exist), I was generally convinced that I was doing more good than harm, that is until I read Akbar’s piece.

At times, I’ve advocated for revolutionary thinking (but with a careful and politically sensitive caveat of “don't be too militant about it”). At times, I’ve “played the game” and tried to work within “the system” with all of its glorious, bureaucratic confinements. I’ve even used terms like kaizen (unironically) like a good little Japanese boy and convinced myself that “this is the way”. Through these emotional and strategic oscillations, I always found myself constantly second guessing whether what I was doing was “right” or whether change was actually coming. Akbar’s piece lit a match to my already gasoline-filled insecurity.

In Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, the moment Vladimir and Estragon realize that Godot is not coming (even though they spent the entire play talking about him and waiting for the man), the absurdist reveal is made. This realization forces the audience to also question what we are doing with our lives (at least I think that’s what the play was about). In some ways, we’re all Vladimir and Estragon, waiting for changes that never seem to manifest. Here, I’m not necessarily talking about small scale changes (which I think/hope are possible), but big systematic changes like fighting climate change or smashing the patriarchy. Are we making enough meaningful strides here or are we just operating within what Akbar refers to as a “fundamentally corrupt system” with its set of unfair rules that distribute wealth and entitlements so unequally? Are we all just complicit in perpetuating the status quo by talking about reforms instead of profoundly fundamental, structural changes?

One of the participants from the summer school (Chatham House rules and all) quoted Gary Simpson from The Sentimental Life of International Law, noting that:

“[p]rotesting is one thing, reconstituting society is quite another. The thrill of dissent or opposition is just so much more appealing than the hard yards of political reconstruction. Shared opposition is relatively easy, a shared programme not so easy… And yet, the thought persisits… what, indeed, is to be done?”

Waiting around for change or merely complaining about all the injustices in the world, like waiting for Godot, doesn’t really get us anywhere. Even small scale reforms - if you side with Akbar and Luxembourg - may not lead to meaningful changes in fixing a fundamentally broken system. While some may argue that the status quo is not as broken as it seems, I would suspect that those with such sentiments are entitled to extreme privileges, which are not afforded to those that bear the burdens of our flawed systems and institutions.

So how do we change or what do we change? These were the fundamental questions that we posed in the summer school and long story short, we all struggled mightily to answer them. As Simpson observed, it's easy to realize that's something isn't right and to call that out (or as the academics would say, “raising awareness”). But reconstituing societies, well, that is the grand challenge of our time (akin to getting Godot to actually show up for dinner). No panaceas here, but once you wake up to this realization - that the systems that we operate on are flawed - it’s impossible to close that Pandora’s box and to sleep peacefully at night. So in closing, I’m sorry for opening your box. I was just trying to “raise awareness” in the misguided (and possibly selfish) hopes of lightening the burden that I’ve been trying to process since the summer school.

The Substitute Teacher in Ethnography

““You have substitute teacher vibes””

A student recently told me after a tutorial. “Like, not in a bad way,” she added quickly, “but you don’t take things too seriously and it’s nice.”

A few months prior to this particular conversation, I was asked to teach a course on Ethnography. To be perfectly honest, I had to Google what ethnography even was. [According to Wikipedia, ethnography is a subset of anthropology that “involves examining the behavior of the participants in a given social situation and understanding the group members' own interpretation of such behavior.”]

There was a shortage of staff in one of our programs, and they needed someone to jump in (so in some sense, I was indeed a substitute teacher, but I digress). Thanks to the guidance – and patience – of the course coordinators and my fellow tutors (who were actual social scientist versed on the subject),* I got a crash course on ethnography and I was thrown into a classroom full of unsuspecting students (except for the one student who knew that I usually taught International Business Law, who asked out loud “what the fuck are you doing here!?” with a concerned laughter).

In short, the last few months of “teaching” ethnography has been an incredibly enlightening and rewarding experience. Not only did I learn from the prescribed course materials, but because I did not feel entirely confident in my understanding of the subject matter, I was able to make our tutorial meetings a truly collaborative learning experience. I was also a student in this group, trying to learn about – and better understand – this unique research methodology. I listened with curious intention to what the students had to say, without feeling the need to assert my “expertise” on the subject matter (because I didn’t have any to speak of).

Not only was this a refreshing pedagogical exercise, but substantively, I learned about how we can give voice – and thus recognition and validation – to a group of (often marginalized or otherwise “unseen”) people. How we can listen better and be more aware of our own positionality and biases. How we (ought to) balance writing practically to make an impact while also painting a vivid picture (aesthetically and poetically) to put the reader in the scenes that we observed.

At a very meta-level, I learned how to think about reflexivity. I was able to explore all these topics with the students and trule relate to how they experienced learning about these themes. Sometimes, the content was confusing and frustrating. Sometimes, it was profound and provocative. And through it all, we learned – as a group – how to listen to one another better. For this experience, I am so very grateful for the students in my ethnography groups, my fellow teachers for allowing this substitute teacher into their midst and to allow me into their learning process.

Scene from the Sustainable Global Economic Law Summer School at the University of Amsterdam

As an epilogue (or something along those lines), I have been teaching at the Sustainable Global Economic Law Summer School at the University of Amsterdam this week, where one of the workshops was on “Reading with Ethnographic Sensibilities” (taught by the wonderful Laura Mai and Simone van de Wetering). Thanks to my experience with teaching ethnography, I was able to understand and speak (semi-)intelligibly about the topic during the workshop. It felt as if I had been learning a new language and for the first time, I was able to speak with others in that foreign language. I was able to see the world through an entirely new lens and it was exhilarating! So in sum, I recommend to everyone and anyone, regardless of their discipline, to become substitute teachers in ethnography!

*Shout out to my fellow Ethno-Gs: Lauren Wagner, Dhika Sjamsoeoed Sadjad, Tara Rogers, Obaa Akua Konadu, Masha Denisova, Yiming Wang and most importantly, the students in Tutorial Groups 8 and 9!!

Are Students Customers? (Re)Evaluating the Role of Student Inputs in Curriculum Development

I love getting feedback from students about their learning experiences. So much so that I ask for their inputs before, during and after my courses. From time to time though, I get push back from some of my colleagues that we cannot simply cater to the whims of our students. Channeling their inner Noel Gallagher (see his interview below for context), they say that while democratic inputs from the students are nice in theory, at the end of the day, we (the “wise” teachers with years of pedagogical “experience”) are supposed to know what is in their best interest and should design the courses accordingly (i.e. without too much input from the students).

Noel Gallagher talking about the pitfalls of pleasing customers.

I’m currently in the process of designing a new course on Conflict Prevention & Resolution (CP&R), and as I always do, I sent out requests to students asking them what kind of a course they want CP&R to be. I've always been one to create courses that are very student-centric in the hopes that some sense of autonomy, ownership and intrinsic motivation will keep their engagement high. For example, at certain points of the course, I like putting the students in charge of what they want to learn and incentivize them to teach and inspire their fellow students (without too much input from me). I’ve also been in consultation with the teaching staff, the exam board and the academic director to see how far we can push the boundaries.

However, whenever I talk to people about things like accreditation, quality agreements, exam regulations and the assortment of rules and guidelines that are in place (supposedly) to ensure that everyone gets a decent education, I find myself feeling rather insecure about my (unorthodox) approach and (questionable) practices. This awareness is - if nothing else - something that makes me feel extremely uncomfortable, which makes me wonder whether the university is my john that I’m trying to please, but perhaps that discussion is better saved for another post.

I also realize that while some students like the way I design and coordinate my courses, some do not (e.g. they find it too flexible or I give them too much space). In this “business”, (I’m painfully aware that) there is no way to please every customer (though I’ve tried in vain). So in the end, I design couses that I want (or that I think the students will find useful and interesting), while also creating moments where I cater to the “customers’ wishes”. In doing so, I think I’ve found a Pareto-optimal solution, but whenever I speak to colleagues who are a bit more “traditional” or the Noel Gallaghers of this world (that think I’m making the courses too student-centric), my imposter syndrome goes on overdrive, making me wonder whether what I am offering is just a middle of the road, garden variety mediocrity.

The thing is, I love Oasis and I think Gallagher has a point (to some extent, even though he’s a Mancherster City fan). Sometimes, in order to push the boundaries and to make progess, we must deviate from the norm (to paraphrase another rock legend, Frank Zappa). The customers will eventually learn to like something new, so long as what's new is also good. So as I embark on yet another journey of curriculum design and development, I find myself less than 100% sure that what I am doing is actually “good”. I’m also hoping that with enough enthusiasm and care when I actually teach the course that the students won’t realize - or really care - that I don’t exactly know what I’m doing (a la Sergio Juárez Correa). What I can say in my (partial) defense, is that without the flexibility and the autonomy that I offer to the students, I don’t think a student like Jan (see below) would ever have felt comfortable enough to do a presentation like the one he did (which was awesome).



Conviction to a Singular Narrative and the Burdens of Nuance

Aging Convictions

As I get older, I find myself becoming more uncertain about more things. Just to name a few, I am no longer convinced about some of the ideas that I advocated for in my PhD (i.e. CSR isn’t really working). Similarly, while I would still like to believe – or hope – that many of our differences can be bridged through patience and dialogue, or that a university is a place where people can – and want – to come together to learn, I find these convictions somewhat wavering these days.

Not so long ago, I was loudly advocating for the importance of listening. About how our inability to listen to one another – especially to those that we disagree with – further polarizes us, creating more division and acrimony. Looking back, I am wondering whether I was too naïve or maybe just too young and inexperienced to believe in such lofty ideals. At this moment, I am at a loss, unsure about where to start when I see the news or the conflicts that surround me. As a result, I find myself reluctant, and at times even timid, to voice my opinion out loud as I am uncertain of what I believe in anymore and scared of undesirable repercussions.

Multitudes and Nuances

I think this is part of the sobering realization that comes with getting old (a rather unceremonious process after a certain age) that we live in a tangled, complex world, where no singular narrative covers all multitudes and nuances. More often than not, there are various perspectives to every story and even the firm beliefs that we once held dear can change or fade over time. While some things are still fundamentally right or wrong, there seem to be a lot less of these certainties in this world than we once believed. I guess this is one of the thousand reasons why getting old sucks: Our spirited convictions are replaced with careful circumspection, the former being more straightforward and the latter being more nuanced (and perhaps uninspiring).

There is a corresponding benefit that comes with this adjustment though, which is that acknowledging nuance and removing ourselves from our entrenched convictions invite us (or at least me) to be more open-minded and willing to listen. In doing so, I think we become more accepting of the idea that our beliefs are not necessarily absolute truths and that multiple views can coexist simultaneously (albeit with lingering tensions).

Punching Down

While I do not have as many convictions as I once had, one principle that still stands, relatively less shaky than the rest, is the belief that those in positions of power should never punch down. Similarly, I feel that absolute devotion to a singular narrative is a luxury afforded to the youth, but an unaffordable indulgence for those in positions of power (usually the “older” folks). For example, while it may be acceptable – if not encouraged – for students to protest and voice their concerns against the university administration, it is less tolerable for a university to impose its singular narrative on all its stakeholders. This is part of the reason why most universities are usually careful to listen, do their due diligence, and weigh the interests of all stakeholders (perhaps to the chagrin of those protesting).

The question that gets triggered here – and the one I struggle immensely with – is what happens when those protesting not only punch up against the system, but also punch down, creating an undesirable situation where other members of the community are wrongfully villainized or worse, threatened because of the protests? This aggravation, not to mention various other forms of vandalism and disruption, is what (un)justifiably compels some universities to escalate the situation, calling on authorities, who sometimes use unnecessary violence to suppress the “disturbance”. When the police resort to force, it creates new feelings of injustice, provoking further escalation and retaliation. The problem, thus, gets snowballed into something more entangled and complicated.  

Hoping Against Hope

This throws me right back to the starting point, where I am no longer sure about what is clearly right or wrong in these situations (though I do have some ideas). I think about whether things can be handled differently and how we can foster more space for dialogue, nuance, and learning, which is what we are supposed to be promoting here at a university in the first place.

I still want to believe that change is possible through listening to one another and fostering a better understanding between people of different walks (or that CSR could still work?). I believe in the importance of punching up against oppression and that participating in civil disobedience is not only an incredible learning opportunity, but a rite of passage for many college students (I for one, raged against the machine during Occupy Wall Street, which feels like ages ago). I don’t like bullying and the ostracization of others. In the end, hurt people, hurt people so we need to find a way to break this cycle. To de-escalate. To listen, even when it’s hard. To (re)connect with one another, for we are afforded the extreme luxury and privilege to do so that many do not have. 

Learning GenAI Together (or Teaching Old Dog New Tricks)

I always end up spending a few weeks every teaching season researching and drafting a fact pattern suitable for a legal memorandum (the final assignment the students have to complete for my International Business Law course). It usually contains various elements that touch upon international sale of goods, carriage of goods (by land and sea), international commercial arbitration, and payment mechanisms, all intertwined with an assortment of societal issues and current trends.

Of course with the advances in GenAI, the temptation to rely on it to facilitate this (often laborious) task has been growing. Just last year, I lamented about the burdens of drafting dozens of recommendation letters each year and how ChatGPT might (not) ease my workload. However, in just one year, we’ve witnessed exponential growth, not only in GenAI’s capabilities (e.g. from ChatGPT 3.5 to 4.0), but platforms offering AI backed services have mushroomed as well. With the hype surrounding this development, I was excited to apply my limited prompting skills in asking ChatGPT 3.5 to draft a case fact for me, and below is what I got in return (much to my disappointment):

Now if you’re already a “prompting guru” and a master of GenAI, you’ll tell me that my prompt was not specific enough and that I need to learn how to prompt better (and you would be absolutely right on both counts). But here in lies my central question: where does a reluctant boomer with diminishing cognitive capacity go to learn how to use these emerging technologies? The answer was somewhat obvious given that we (supposedly) use a student-centered, problem based learning method at our university anyway. So I decided to ask students in my class to show this old dog some new tricks. I ended up devoting a week’s worth of tutorials to work together with (read: learn from) the students, who have been assigned to draft a legal memorandum (the facts for which I had to - once again - research and labor through on my own).

IBL students working with GenAI tools in class to find answers to their legal memorandum assignment.

During our tutorials, we played around with assortment of different platforms (e.g. ChatGPT 3.5 and 4, Copilot, Consensus, Typeset, Perplexity, Quillbot, etc.) and on each platform (some for free, some not), we tried different types of prompts and discovered which platforms were useful in drafting a legal memorandum, and which ones were not. What also became apparent was the differences in the level of familiarity and competence amongst the students on dealing with GenAI. Some had never really experimented with GenAI before, while others were quite familiar with all sorts of platforms and prompts. (This confirmed the survey results that we collected from 100+ students earlier this year from our Faculty of Law, School of Business and Economics, and the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences).

The general consensus seemed to be though that GenAI can be really useful for language edits (e.g. Grammarly) and for some (non-legal) research (e.g. differentiating between lab grown cordyceps v. natural cordyceps etc.), but not necessarily for in-depth legal research. To be fair, some platforms were indeed better than the others. For example, ChatGPT 4 was indeed better than 3.5 (although whether it was worth the €20 a month subscription triggered a prolonged discussion) and platforms like Consensus or Perplexity returned “more academic” results that produced more useable content for the memorandum. What was interesting to note was that some of the better answers provided by these platforms relied on sources that were already available to the students in their course material, begging the question, would the students have been better off if they just read the course material in the first place, rather than going down the GenAI rabbit hole.

In the long rung, however, our reliance and dependence on GenAI feels almost inevitable (in some way, shape, or form) and those who cannot utilize it competently, may lose out to those that can. As one student noted in our survey:

“It is unavoidable. It is better to learn how to use it than to avoid it. If you don’t act fast you will fall behind. Universities should never ban it. Rather, teach how to use it responsibly.”
— Joost Hamers (IBL Student)

I agree with Joost 100%. The problem, however, is that many of the staff members (including myself) have not been adequately trained to use GenAI, and perhaps paradoxically, we have to learn from our students who were early adopters. In a way though, this presents a perfect opportunity to flip the script and have some of the students lead us in the learning process (as we did in the IBL tutorials). For whatever it’s worth, I learned a lot from my students in doing this and plan to continue doing this. So in sum, I am humbled by this learning opportunity, grateful to the students for teaching this old dog new tricks, and perhaps most importantly, I am sorry that the case for the memorandum this year is about zombie mushrooms and liquid cocaine. I only have myself to blame (and not GenAI).

The Magic of ELS Alums Mentoring Our Current Students

Last week, we invited Sophie Voigt (ELS, Class of 2023), now a transactional lawyer at Freshfields, to speak to our current ELS students about her career trajectory. Having gone straight from her LLB to working for a big firm in Germany, Sophie had a lot of insights, tips, and answers to questions that our current students had: She answered questions ranging from how she got her job, her favorite interview questions, how ELS prepared her for practice (if at all), what kind of profiles big firms are looking for in their applicants, and the path to becoming a solicitor in the UK even as an ELS grad (under their new Solicitor Qualification Exam) with two years of qualifying work experience (i.e. working as a transactional lawyer).

I am so proud to see ELS alums succeeding out in the real world, and I love it even more when they take the time to share their experiences to guide/mentor our current students.

I am not only grateful to Sophie, but last week alone, I reached out to other ELS alums like Kamila Sotomska (ELS, Class of 2017) and Annika Harju (European Studies & Law, Class of 2020) asking if they would be able to mentor a few current students, who are facing similar issues that they themselves expericed as students and they have been incredibly generous and kind in offering to help their juniors. Others like Eve Meurgey (ELS, Class of 2016), now working as an Associate at Herbert Smith Freehills, I’ve pretty much bothered every year, any time an ELS student has a question about qualifying in the UK. Much to my pleasant surprise, she has not blocked or ghosted my communications, allowing me to share her contact info with students so that they can ask her questions directly.

So a big special thank you to Sophie, Kamila, Annika, Eve, and to all the other ELS alums helping out current ELS students!! You are the network that keeps ELS going strong and we cannot thank you enough!!

UWC & UM Mock Trial of Nicholson v. The Chronicle Tides: A Wild Success (A Biased Reflection)

It was September 2022 when Sueli Brodin kindly introduced me to Maria Vatista as I was looking for volunteering opportunities at the United World College Maastricht. An in-person-meeting and a cup of coffee later (of what was once known as The Student Hotel), Maria and I started scheming assortment of ideas together. Later that week, she introduced me to Aidan Hollinger-Miles, a high school Junior at UWC, who was bursting with fireworks full of ideas and infectious energy. Following these introductions, I started visiting UWC frequently to meet up with Maria, Aidan, and his group, colloquially referred to as the Justice Club (although our WhatsApp group was more modestly called “Law Stuff”, but I digress). The Club organized a mock trial at the UWC in 2023, but Aidan - for his Senior year - wanted something even bigger and better. This was when the idea of doing a mock trial with the support of UM students and staff popped up.

Just last week (almost a year and a half after our initial cup of coffee together), we organized the mock trial of Nicholson v. The Chronicle Tides, a manifestation of Aidan’s vision, brought to life by Maria, the extremely competent and dedicated organization team from the Justice Club, other UWC students (serving as judges, jury members, lawyers, witnesses, plaintiffs, etc.), and UM students mentoring, guiding, and organizing the event.

The event, if I may say so myself, was an absolutely success. The UWC students were extremely engaged and very enthusiastic. Behind the scenes, Maria and the UM volunteers were greasing the wheels to make sure that everything went smoothly and accordingly (even running a “dress rehearsal” weeks prior to the main event to perfect - not only the substantive elements of the mock trial - but also the theatrical aspect of it all, from the lighting to the presentation of the exhibits on the big screen). We really couldn’t have asked for any better (even the catering from King George was insanely delicious).

Of course I am extremely grateful to Aidan, Maria, and the organization team as this would not have happened without them, but I would be remised if I did not give a specific shout out to the UM volunteers, who invested a lot of time and effort (even sacrificing their time to draft the IBL memorandum and exam prep) to be a part of this event. Ana, David, George, Leanne, Rozer, Sarah, Sreyas, and Ziya, thank you, thank you, and thank you!

As they say, there is no rest for the wicked, and so we now on to the next event, TEDxUWC Maastricht, where I’m hoping to loop Yama Saraj into this mix. It’s all about connecting good people, building a community together, and making an impact where we can, one small step at a time. I love this part of my job!!