Semester 2 Lecture 12 - You must always come to court with clean hands

ood evening class.” I walked into the classroom clutching a toy that a distraught client had given me earlier in the morning.

It’s a 1:18 scale model of a Honda Gold Wing motorcycle that he had paid P15,000 for to an online seller who lived up to its promise of “free shipping,” and would have honored a “30-day money back warranty” had my client invoked it.

After consulting with me, he decided not to and just gave me the thing instead, knowing that I didn’t mind adding it to my small ‘amateur’ collection of scale model cars and motorcycles.

Why do I collect these things? First of all, they come free or almost for free each time my ‘suki’ gasoline station gives them away as part of a promo.

But the more sinister reason is that I dreamt one time that I woke up in a Lilliputian world and all of a sudden these tiny toys became “lifesize.”

Imagine waking up one day and realizing you own ten Porsches, half a dozen Ferraris, six Lamborghinis and a vintage Model-T Ford! And since it was a dream, after all, they all had fully functional engines which I gunned from “zero to 60” in 4.2 seconds before driving off the edge of the dining table and WAKING up.

“Nice toy, sir,” a new elderly student—another one of those repurposed senior citizens with retirement money oozing out of their ears—said.

“Which one are you, Mister---?”

“Cannell, sir. Oscar Cannell,” I’m a balikbayan from Canada, I’m recently retired and said to myself, ‘what the heck, as long as I’ve got all the time in the world now why not just go to evening law school!”

“Uh-huh,” I responded skeptically, “you know I’m beginning to suspect the school is looking to put up a retirement home and using the college of law as a recruiting program.” He gets a baptism of my Omega section’s tradition of derisive laughing.

“But, hey, it’s a free country Oskie, so welcome to the college of law where we study all the different ways of how to break the law to know which ones ought to be repealed.”

“Thank you, sir, but I think I have a pretty good idea already. My brother was a government prosecutor for many years and he was very proud of his alma mater.”

“That’s interesting. What school did your brother go to?” I asked.

“He and you went to the same law school, sir. He said your fellow alumni are well-placed throughout the legal community.”

“I’d say! Just this morning in court I realized that the judge, the government prosecutor, the private prosecutor, the counsel for the defense and myself—we were all from the same law school.”

“That’s very impressive sir—”

“In fact, even the ACCUSED was from our law school!” this sends my class into boisterous guffaws.

“We don’t discriminate,” I said, “but, of course, we do have standards that’s why everyone coming in has to take an entrance test.”

“Oh, I did that too, sir!” Oscar said proudly, “they made me take a test and I passed the test they gave me.”

“What kind of test? Carbon-dating?” this breaks up the class again, as Mister Cannell started to realize what a vicious environment he had walked into.

“Are we going to talk about your toy, sir?” Oskie reminded me.

“Oh, THIS toy,” I remembered as I held up the Honda Gold Wing, “this, class, is a replica of a legendary motorcyle whose sticker price, brand new, starts at P1.5-million pesos. Now if you would all take out your smartphones, I posted a picture of the online selling platform ad for this item on the Omega class chat group wall, did you all see it?”

“Yes, sir!” my class chorused.

“Sir, you told us to apply the rules of evidence to comment on the probative value of the photograph if it were to be adduced in evidence,” Miss Monin interjected.

“Ah, Miss Mona Lee So!” I smiled as I acknowledged the newest senior celebrity in my class, “let me hear your astute observations then.”

“Well, sir, considering the delicate details and their impeccable realism, and noting the scalar comparison of the unit with surrounding objects like the pavement on which the unit stands, containing those tell-tale scatches on the concrete floor, I would say the image used on the sales advertisement is that of a REAL actual lifesize Honda Gold Wing.”

“Oh, now come on, Miss Monin, have you seen the level of detail and realism on some miniature train sets they’re selling these days? Yes, Oskie, you got something to say?”

“Yes, sir. I right-clicked the image and did some back-tracing of the meta data of that graphic file. The digital signature indicated that the photo was originally shot using a Nikon Z6 mirrorless camera, and the copyright for that image is owned by Honda of Japan. Apparently, that image was lifted from the actual Owner’s Manual of a 2022-model Honda Gold Wing. And since Honda doesn’t manufacture miniature replicas, that image IS of the real lifesize thing. I agree with Miss Mona Lee So.”

“I don’t blame you,” I said with a grin, “many dreams have been brought to her doorsteps, and they lied there, and they died there!” suddenly my class starts humming the song--just a couple of bars actually--before breaking up in guffaws again.

After banging the blackboard I said, “so imagine my client’s frustration when he ‘bought’ this amazing legendary Honda Gold Wing supposedly for only P15,000, expecting to ride his purchase all over the Philippine countryside, doing a motorcycling vlog on it and everything and THEN getting this tiny little worthless toy delivered to his doorstep—”

“It’s not exactly worthless, sir, he paid P15,000 for it,” Oskie said, “but I do think the seller was guilty of false advertising.”

“Ah, ah, ah!” I said shaking my head, “there’s nothing false about the advertisement. That IS a real Honda Gold Wing depicted in that photograph. And the seller was making a legitimate offer to sell it for P15,000. By ‘click-wrapping’ the deal on the internet platform, that seller and my client had a meeting of minds pertaining to an object or what is legally-termed as a PRESTATION for a VALUABLE CONSIDERATION. So what do they have, Mr. Cannell?”

“A valid legally-binding enforceable contract, sir,” Oskie answered.

“You bet!” I said, “it was the seller who uploaded that picture, he did not include a disclaimer or label that says ‘simulated photo’ or ‘actual item not to scale’ or even a tell-tale phrase like ‘AA-size batteries not included’ or ‘some assembly required’—anything that would have clearly signalled to my client that he was buying a small toy. In fact, instead of saying ‘free delivery’ he said ‘free SHIPPING’ which evokes the use of a SHIP. Toys are delivered. Cars are SHIPPED. That seller should have delivered a ride-able drivable motorized vehicle, not a paperweight conversation piece. The bastard misdelivered and all you want to charge the sanamagan for is ‘false advertising’?”

Oscar Cannell stood up again, “on second thought, sir, I think the seller is guilty of breach of contract of sale, he should be made to pay damages for abusing the confidence of your client who happens to be a connoisseur of motorcycles.”

“Hmm…I’m sure you’re right,” I said tentatively as I sat back and spied on Miss Pinky Maglia Rosa raising her hand, “Yes, Miss Pinky, go ahead, please.”

“Well, sir, first of all I don’t believe your client is a connoisseur of motorcycles, as Mr. Oskie suggests. If he was, he wouldn’t be buying a Honda. He’d be salivating over a Ducati, or a Bianchi or a Piaggio--”

“I believe those are all Italian brandnames,” I interrupted my Fil-Italian looker of a law student. More laughter.

“Anyway, sir, granting he was a connoisseur, then he must know two things: that a Honda Gold Wing sells for at least P1.5-million and that if you had to ‘ship’ that enormous thing even from just around the corner, the freight cost would certainly be MORE than P15,000. No seller in his right mind would sell anything for less than what he acquired it for, or spend more on shipping than what he is getting for it. So there’s your ‘tell-tale’ sign, sir. Your client ought to have known that he couldn’t possibly be buying a full-sized motorcycle for just a song!” Miss Pinky outlined her fact-analysis.

“I certainly like the tune of that,” I said smiling, “yes, Mister Cannell, a chance to redeem yourself—”

“Miss DUCATI is correct, sir,” Oskie started off, showing his classmates he can pick up their game of sarcasm pretty quick, “while the seller looked to make a quick profit from deceitful advertising, your client certainly was motivated by unfair advantage himself in expecting to procure an item for less than par value. So he has no cause of action.”

“Actually he does, but it will not prosper in court,” Miss Monin interjected.

“Ah! Mona Lee So, Mona Lee So-- men have named you for being so like the lady with a mystic smile!” my class begins their ‘community humming’ again!

“So tell us why you think my client would lose in court if he instituted a complaint, Lady with the mystic smile.”

“Sir, both your client and the seller are in bad faith. And the rule to follow when both parties are in ‘PARI DELICTO’ is for the court to leave them exactly where they are. When you come to court, you must come with clean hands, not with hands soiled by the stain of your attempt to defraud someone who was trying to defraud you.” Miss Monin said.

“That is precisely what I told him,” I said, “ you are just wrong in that part about my client possibly getting defrauded. Remember, he was a motorcycle CONNOISSEUR…”

“Caveat emptorr!!!” my whole class chorused, “let the buyer beware!!!”

“That’s correct. So long as you walk into sale, or subscribe to some service with both your eyes wide open, you’re never going to be a victim. So I discouraged my client from pursuing the case. I don’t mind mentioning that I could have accepted the case first, charged him P200K for an acceptance fee, and THEN told him THAT in the middle of the proceedings. But it would be unethical, so instead I just charged him an hour’s worth of consultation fee which he clearly appreciated. So I get to keep this lovely toy, compliments of the honesty,” I closed. My class nodded in agreement.

“Okay, that’s it for this meeting, your standing assignment remains the same--research on the compassionate use of medical marijuana…CLASS DISMISSED.”

Miss Pinky caught up with me in the hallway, “Sir, I’m just curious. How much did your client really SAVE if he didn’t have to pay you a P200K acceptance fee? Is your consultation fee ‘only’ P50K? P20K?”

“You’re not even warm, Miss Pinky. I charge the standard IBP hourly rate of one thousand.”

“Really? And he was happy to pay a thousand pesos so a lawyer can tell him ‘you don’t have a prayer’ if we go to court??”

“Caveat emptor, Miss Pinky, caveat emptor…”*

Semester 2 Lecture 11 - Is Cannabis the key to Artistic Creativity?

ood evening class,” I flashed a wad of classcards as I strode into the classroom of my Omega section.

The college registrar has finally forwarded the students’ classcards to the professors. So I intended to play my favorite pastime again—driving law students anxiously frantic during recitation by shuffling their cards.

“Miss Ramona L. So, are you present?”

This semester seems to have taken on an acquired international flavor. I spied on more than a couple of students’ classcards with foreign sounding names on it--but they must be all Filipinos. You can’t even take the Bar exam unless you’re Filipino.

“Present, sir!” a lady stood up obviously in her later years, to go by her mostly already-white hair.

“How old are you, Miss Ramona?”

“I’m 21, sir, unless it’s relevant.”

The record for being my oldest law student is held by “Mommy Dionisia” from last semester’s Alpha Class. This lady seemed even older so I thought I better respect her preference to remain age-mysterious.

“No, of course not. It’s not relevant,” I quickly retreated, “besides, some things are easier inferred from evident clues—a skillset, by the way, that I hope to develop in all of you, too,” I set up my guessing game.

“For example, I’m guessing, Miss Ramona, that either your father, grandfather or someone else in the male lineage of your family is named Ramon,” I said, with a wink-wink to show off my inferential skills.

“Actually, there’s nobody named Ramon in my family, sir,” the woman replied, “but there’s a very interesting story behind that.”

“Well, this a three-unit subject meeting twice a week, so we do have an hour and half,” I encouraged her.

“My mother is Filipina-Chinese, her maiden surname is Lee. My father is Korean who sought refuge here in the Philippines when the Korean war broke out in 1950, it’s from him I got my maiden surname So,” she began to narrate.

“Anyway, my father is not a native Tagalog speaker but learned the language in due time, except he just really couldn’t make peace with letter ‘L’ like most Korean and Japanese. My mother, on the other hand was already Filipina from birth and like most Fil-Chi had no issues with the letter ‘L’. As she went into labor her last conversation with my father was about what name to give me. She was succumbing fast to the sedative, so as the nurses wheeled her into the delivery room, she shouted out to my father ‘Dali!! Anong ipapangalan natin?!”

My class was trying hard not to laugh yet.

“My father yelled back, ‘kahit ano na, bahara ka na! Aram mo na!” and my mother only caught the ‘aRAM MO NA’ part. As they say, the rest is history!”

The whole class exploded in guffaws.

I banged the blackboard, “Alright, alright, that’s enough…!” I said to refocus everyone, “that’s a really cool story, Miss Ramona, and I can see YOU have made peace with that name dictated by fortuitous circumstances.” Again my class started giggling.

“Oh, I hated the feminized masculine name, sir. As long as I remember I have avoided using it. All through high school and college, I made my friends call me Mona.”

“Wait a minute,” I paused, “ you were ‘Mona Lee So’ in high school and college??” I said with a mischievous grin.

“I know, I know…and the answer is NO, sir, I don’t smile to tempt my lovers, it’s just my way to hide a broken heart…and YES I am both real and a lovely work of art!”

That’s it, my Omega class couldn’t keep it in anymore. They all just broke out laughing so hard at the novelty of Miss Ramona’s life story. Her seatmate Miss Ursula Bahag-hari couldn’t help it, she put her arms around her neck and planted a kiss on her cheek.

“If only Nat King Cole were alive to hear and see all of this!” I said.

“I like your parents, Miss Ramona, but in my class, everybody gets rebaptized. I’m going to call you Monin because I don’t want you to lose your connection with that wonderful 16th century masterpiece by Leonardo di Caprio.”

“Leonardo da Vinci, sir,” Miss Pinky Maglia Rosa, the class’ Fil-Italian looker corrected me.

“That’s what I said, Leonardo da Vinci,” I recoiled as quickly as I can hoping nobody noticed the Freudian slip.

“I think Monin is a wonderful class nickname for Miss Ramona So, sir. It’s certainly shorter and easier to say than the real name of the Mona Lisa painting which is ‘La Gioconda,’” Miss Pinky added.

“You are half-Italian, I’ll take your word for it, Miss Pinky,” I said.

A few moments later, the class had settled down finally I could launch the evening’s real lecture topic…or formally postpone it, anyway.

“I meant for us to discuss the controversial legal issue of the proposal to legalize marijuana. However, because of recent events involving the arrest of the son of the Justice secretary for illegal possession of almost P1-million pesos worth of marijuana extract, it’s going to be very difficult at this time to talk about it without triggering some very contentious debates that would distract you from a purely academic appreciation of the merits of the question. So I’m thinking we should at least defer the subject till our next meeting.” Reactions broke out like a kettle of popcorn reaching popping point.

“Peace, sir!”

“Faaaar out!”

“Chill!!!”

“What’s happ’nen maaaan?”

“Well, I can see you’re all dialed in on the topic. Pharmaco-psychedelics can do that to you.”

Everybody shut up.

“For whatever it’s worth, I personally have no deep recriminations against it, nor any judgments over people who have consumed cannabis. I have a very good friend, someone I used to play folksinging gigs with in college. Now I’m a lawyer, just like he is. So clearly, the substance didn’t do him too much harm, did it? In fact, as a musical artist, at least, I gotta admit he was better than me.”

“You are a folksinger, sir?” Miss Ursula couldn’t believe her ears.

“Was, Miss Ursula…WAS,” I clarified, “although I never did experiment with the substance.”

“You pass on grass, sir?” Miss Pinky followed up.

“Yes, all the time. WHY do you think he was a BETTER musician than me?”

“I’m not advocating for anything here,” I explained, “I’m just stating the facts, that when my friend was ‘high’ he couldn’t hurt a fly. He couldn’t even trashtalk at you. Marijuana dials back his entire English vocabulary into one word: WOW!” My class laughs.

“And he could say it BACKWARDS—‘WOW!” The class explodes again.

“So that says something about the claim that marijuana has some psychologically-inhibiting active ingredients at least worth investigating for its potential in hospice care treatment protocols. So please further your research on it for the next meeting.”

“Should we also include in our research marijuana’s effect on one’s chances of electoral success, sir?” Miss Monin asked.

“No need, Miss Monin, at this point I think it’s pretty obvious! Class dismissed!”*

Semester 2 Lecture 10 - Leni's sincerity inspires "Shaq" to pursue law instead of pro-hoop

 

ood evening, class.”

I have a new student, maybe another transferee but I couldn’t miss him because he was a cut above the rest—in the literal sense.

“What’s your name, young man?” I asked.

“Sir, my name is Abraham Mabagsik, but my friends call me Abe.”

“How about your enemies?” my class lightly laugh.

“Sir? Oh!…uh…uh…” he struggled to get his bearing.

“Witness cannot answer!” his classmate Roberto Sigalot jokingly interjected, mimicking a cross-examination in court.

“Noted!” I tapped on the blackboard to simulate banging a gavel. “You see, Mr. Mabagsik, your name is not really dependent on who’s calling you, regardless whether it’s a friend or foe, is it?”

“No, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

“No, no, no—don’t apologize. I’m just messing with you a little bit.” Then I addressed the class, “Class if you’re wondering why all your law professors act like they have short fuses, and jump you on every opportunity they get, you should know we’re not being harsh. Part of the skillset that you must develop as a lawyer is the ability to think on your feet. Here’s a little trick for you. Sometimes your adversary is not really that committed to his own question. A lot of times, he’s really on a fishing expedition. So one thing I like to do is make an oral ‘Motion for Bill of Particulars’ and I do that by returning his question.”

I was met by blank stares.

“Alright, let me break it down for you. You do know what a ‘Motion for Bill of Particulars’ is, right? You are third year law students, for crying out loud. Yes, Miss Pinky…”

“Sir, it’s a motion asking your opponent to provide more details, or to substantiate the subject of his inquiry,” the Fil-Italian enamored with the color fuschia said.

“That’s correct. So apply that in the spontaneous sense, surprise your opponent by quickly returning his question, jamming him into having to expand his question. Then you end up picking his brain, not him picking yours,” I explained.

“So, Mr. Mabagsik, my name is Joel Dizon but my friends call me Jokwel. And you say?”

“How about your enemies?” he threw back the question at me, big stupid grin on his face.

“What about them?”

“Sir? Uh…what…what about…what, sir?”

“Witness cannot answer!” all his classmates chorus and then laugh heartily. His seatmate Miss Ursula Bahag-hari poked him with her elbow, “Nadale ka pa rin ni Sir, tinuturo na nga sayo yung technique eh hihihi!”

“Enough of that,” I said, “I think Mr. Mabagsik understands now that neither his friends nor his enemies determine his name. They can call him anything but only he can chose what name he will respond to.” Abe nods his head.

“Except in my class,” everyone laughs again, “No, here I give the names to my students as I please. And I’m going to call you Shaq.”

His classmates clap their agreement. I mentioned earlier his being a cut above the rest—how much “above”? I’d say about eight or nine inches above the average height among the male population in class. And at least ten or fifteen kilos over the average heft. This student is HUGE.”

“I will respond to that name, sir! I like Shaquille O’Neal.”

“Well, maybe you should wait a few weeks more of this recitation, who knows you might soon be complaining ‘Apay ngay Shaq lagi ti maayaban??” More laughs.

“No, seriously, Shaq. What are you, six-foot-five? Six-foot-six? How’s the weather up there?

“Oh, it’s very lonely here at the top, sir,” Shaq said, “but I guess I am condemned to always having to date two girls, one standing on top of the other!”

Well, the guy has a sick sense of humor. But it’s not only his stately stature that caught my attention immediately when I walked into the classroom.

“That’s a lot of ink you’re wearing there, Shaq,” I said referring to the extensive tattoos on both his arms. He had extraordinarily long arms, the kind that hang on the sides. He looked like Godzilla with a shave.

“Oh these? These are called ‘body art’ sir. I have a friend who is a tattoo artist, he did these for me. I had to lie motionless for hours. Look at this on my right arm sir, it’s my newest. Done only 3 weeks ago, its one of—”

“I can see it, it’s one of Lady Justice. Very appropriate for a law student like you. But you know Lady Justice wears a flowing robe without a cleavage,” I interrupted.

“Actually, it’s Darna, sir,” my whole class exploded in guffaws.

“There are no words,” I said while my class was still laughing, “to describe how stupid I feel right now.”

“Oh, no, sir don’t apologize. I showed this to our other professors and all of your co-faculty members also thought they were looking at a stylized Lady Justice and not a figure in soft-porn!”

“We must all be in denial,” I said, “please don’t make me identify the mugshot on your left arm.”

Miss Pinky Maglia Rosa suddenly perked up, “Oh, I love his tattoos on his left arm sir, they are rendered dominantly in pink!”

“Come on, sir, take a guess!” my students chorused.

“Well, Miss Maglia Rosa is correct, it is dominantly pink and I can read the inscription on the scroll, is that ‘Angat Buhay?’ This is the month of October, I realize it’s the anniversary month of somebody announcing her run for the presidency a year ago, so is that face…uh…no, it can’t be.” I said.”

“It is, sir! It’s is LENI ROBREDO. I have her whole pink theme tattooed on my left arm, including her face. This is my remembrance from her campaign which I was a part of,” Shaq said with such exuberance, I didn’t have the heart to burst his bubble.

“Well, the fact of the matter is she lost. Bongbong Marcos won. Ain’t no tattoo is gonna change that,” I said glumly .

“No, sir but the tattoo changed me. I played varsity basketball in college, sir, and I was being recruited by some PBA scouts. My varsity coach said I had a bright future in the pro league. That’s when the campaign launched last year and I tagged along my little sister who was a friend of one of the Robredo daughters.”

“You have a little sister? How little?”

“She’s five-eleven, sir. She can dunk.”

“I had to ask. Anyway continue…”

“That campaign educated me, sir. Just listening to Leni explain issues on the campaign trail, as well in a large rally as in small meetings, I suddenly had a vision of what the Philippines can achieve if we just propagated more of the sincere and dedicated true patriots like her in our national leadership. So I shifted my dream, from basketball to law, because I want to understand government more. I want to be trained in the field that is best suited for political public service. Leni cannot do it alone. I believe her vision for my country should be the burden of my generation to attain.”

Suddenly, my Omega Class fell dead silent. I was speechless myself. I would have expected pontification like that to come from some nerdy geek wearing eyeglasses. Hearing it from an imposing hunk like Shaq was a surprisingly refreshing experience. Finally, I spoke.

“I am really proud of you for everything you said, Shaq. But more than what you said, it’s your commitment. You put everything not only in black-and-white but in all shades of henna. Everything you said is tattooed on your left arm. I think that is amazing, young man. I feel sorry for the PBA but I’m glad you chose to follow in the footsteps of Leni, who is a private citizen now. But she’s still an awesome lawyer, you understand?”

“She is definitely not Madumb, and she is not madamot, either.” I’m proud to wear her face on my shooting arm—I mean, my basketball shooting arm, sir, not—”

“That’s okey, Shaq. In fact, even the OTHER meaning is totally fine by me. I just have one little concern for the future,” my class braced for me to say something really profound.

“I concede, your tattoo does bear a flattering likeness to Leni. But you realize, of course, she could still end up looking like Liza Araneta or worse Gloria Macapagal Arroyo when you get older and your skin starts to sag, don’t you?”

It breaks up the class and they start laughing again. I thought this was a good enough point to end the evening so I said, “Next meeting, please do your research on medical marijuana and developments in that pioneering legal advocacy spotlighted by Joe Biden. Class dismissed!”*