
In courtrooms, conference rooms, and deposition suites across the country, attorneys are failing—not in their legal reasoning or writing, but in one of the most essential aspects of advocacy – the ability to speak clearly, purposefully, and respectfully.
It’s time for a serious conversation about the state of oral communication in the legal profession, and how badly it is affecting not only the quality of legal practice, but also the well-being of the professionals who ensure our words matter—especially court reporters.
I propose a practical, long-overdue solution – every law school should require elocution and verbal communication training before graduation. Not as a luxury elective, but as a core skill—just like legal writing and professional responsibility.
Let’s be clear. This is not about snobbery or expecting every attorney to sound like a polished litigator from a 1950’s courtroom drama. This is about creating a clear record. It is about professionalism, respect, and acknowledging that our words—their clarity, their tone, their pacing—matter.
The State of Speech in Law Practice
Spend a week in the trenches of depositions or hearings, and you’ll witness the problem firsthand. Some attorneys mumble. Some interrupt everyone. Others talk so fast with such erratic pacing or vocal fry that court reporters are forced to interrupt just to do their jobs. And when they do? Far too often, they are met with scorn or hostility, as though the failure to be understood is someone else’s fault.
One well-known legal professional who has spent years coordinating Reporter Empowerment conferences in Washington, D.C., invited every bar association in the region to send their litigators —free of charge—for training on how to make a clear record. And the response? Radio silence. No takers. Year after year.
The message is clear – those in the legal community now don’t value form, if it thinks it can get away with focusing on substance. But what these attorneys forget is that form is substance when it comes to transcripts. Without clear speech, without respect for the process, there is no reliable record. And without the record, there is no case.
Standing Ovations for Chaos
Even in mock trial and deposition training exercises—meant to help young lawyers sharpen their skills—participants who mumble, interrupt, or derail the clarity of the proceedings are still applauded for “commanding the room” or “holding their ground.” Rather than rewarding clarity, the culture rewards verbal combativeness and theatrical dominance.
There’s a name for this – performative aggression. Talking over opposing counsel, cutting off witnesses, raising one’s voice to intimidate—it may impress clients, but it actively harms the quality of the legal process. It muddies the record, wastes time, and fosters a toxic environment for everyone involved.
And it especially takes a toll on court reporters, who are not just transcriptionists, but officers of the court responsible for preserving the integrity of the record. When they speak up to ensure accuracy, they are too often dismissed, disrespected, or outright yelled at.
Women Bear the Brunt
While this issue crosses gender lines, many court reporters will tell you—and I agree—that there is a noticeable pattern in how some young female attorneys, in particular, are coached or allowed to behave. The “speed talk,” the nervous laughter, the vocal fry, and the refusal to adjust when the court reporter says they can’t be heard. When a reporter says, “I can hear everyone else, but not you,” the correct response is not to argue. It’s to stop, take a breath, and adjust.
It’s not about singling out women. It’s about addressing a systemic failure in how all lawyers are trained to communicate. The goal should be to speak with strength and clarity—not volume or attitude.
A Culture Problem, Not a Talent Problem
The irony is that many of these attorneys are brilliant. They write like poets and argue like scholars. But they’ve never been taught to read the room—or the reporter. They think louder is better. They confuse speed with intelligence. And when challenged, some resort to yelling or bullying to reassert control. That’s not advocacy. That’s insecurity masquerading as dominance.
Even worse are those attorneys who lash out at court reporters in vulgar, aggressive terms. I’ve seen it happen. And I’ve seen court reporters quietly pack up and walk out—without protest, without spectacle—because no one should have to endure that abuse just to do their job. That’s not a communication issue. That’s a moral one.
What Can Be Done?
So, what’s the solution? It starts with law schools. Every law school should include a mandatory course in courtroom communication. Not just moot court—real training on pacing, diction, clarity, and professional interaction with court staff. We require Professional Responsibility courses—why not Professional Communication?
But law schools can’t do it alone. Bar associations, state courts, and national legal organizations should partner with court reporter associations to develop joint trainings. Court reporters are uniquely positioned to offer practical feedback that lawyers need to hear.
And, yes, national court reporter associations could have, and should have, led the charge on this issue years ago. There’s still time to make up for lost ground. There are working reporters in every major legal market—each of them carrying decades of insight that law schools could tap into tomorrow. All it takes is an invitation.
The Bottom Line
Respect for the record is respect for the profession. Clear speech is not a luxury—it’s a necessity. When attorneys don’t speak clearly, they don’t just hurt their own case—they waste time, frustrate judges, confuse juries, and disrespect the people whose job it is to ensure their every word is preserved.
And when attorneys scream at reporters or treat them as obstacles, they cross a line that should be professionally—and ethically—unacceptable.
So let this be a call to action for law schools, bar associations, and law firms alike – teach your students and your associates how to speak—not just to win, but to be understood. Not just to perform, but to preserve the record. Because if your voice can’t be heard, your argument might as well be silent.