Opening: The Temptation of the Ring
Tolkien never wrote about steno machines or courtrooms, yet his warnings echo through every hearing room today. He wrote of what happens when people mistake convenience for progress, comfort for safety, and efficiency for evolution. The court reporting profession is living through its own Second Age — a slow, quiet corruption that doesn’t arrive with fire and armies but with software updates, sales decks, and words like “access,” “innovation,” and “cost-savings.”
The Ring was never destroyed because it was evil in isolation. It was dangerous because everyone believed they could wield it just this once for good. And that is how every shortcut begins.
The Palantír of “Progress”
The palantír did not lie outright. It simply showed fragments of truth. So do the dashboards of digital reporting firms and AI transcription engines. They flash “accuracy” percentages and “turnaround” times that seem convincing until you look closer — until you ask who trained the system, who verified the record, and who answers when it fails.
What they show is not clarity. It’s illusion. And the more we stare, the less we see the core truth: that verbatim human record-keeping is not an upgradeable feature; it is the backbone of justice.
The Ents of the Profession
Court reporters are the Ents of the legal world — ancient, rooted, deliberate. We’ve watched as “innovation” marched across the forest, promising efficiency but leaving silence in its wake. Like the Ents, we waited for proof that harm was being done. And by the time we saw the smoke — the empty transcripts, the lost testimony, the missing words — the forest was already burning.
We were told to evolve. We were told to adapt. But adaptation without integrity is surrender by another name.
Saruman’s Sales Pitch
Saruman did not begin as a villain. He began as the wisest among them. He believed he could shape the future — that to protect Middle-earth, he must learn from Sauron’s power. Likewise, those in our industry who sell “digital reporting” as progress often began with good intentions. They believed automation could supplement human skill, that it could “bridge the gap.”
But somewhere along the way, they began to believe that the means were the mission. That the power to mass-produce a transcript was the same as preserving the truth within it. That lie has never gone out of style.
Wormtongue’s Whisper
No one forced court reporters to the brink. We were talked there — softly, patiently, through phrases like “court access crisis,” “cost reduction,” and “hybrid modernization.” Wormtongue never seized power; he merely persuaded others to stop using theirs.
Every time a judge tells attorneys they don’t “need” a reporter, every time an agency substitutes digital recording without disclosure, every time a school closes its stenography program, that is Wormtongue’s whisper — not shouted, but spoken in the calm tone of reasonableness. And every time we stay silent, the whisper grows louder.
Denethor’s Despair
It is easy, after years of neglect, to believe that nothing can be saved. Many reporters feel like Denethor — watching the walls burn, convinced that the enemy has already won. But despair masquerading as realism is the final victory of corruption. The system survives only if we believe it’s too late to fight.
What saves Middle-earth isn’t foresight. It’s faith — the stubborn, irrational belief that truth is still worth the climb. Even when the mountain burns beneath your feet.
The Shire Was Never Safe
For decades, reporters believed we were protected by statutes and ethics — by CCP §269, §2025.320, §2093, by the sanctity of the record itself. But safety is not the same as immunity. The Shire was never truly safe; it was merely ignored. That illusion held until the rules changed — until contracts were rewritten, credentialing boards politicized, and private equity began buying the very firms that once hired us.
The smoke began to rise long before the fire was acknowledged.
Númenor’s Fall
Númenor didn’t sink because it was weak. It drowned under the weight of its own pride. The court reporting profession is older than most modern technologies, and that longevity breeds both wisdom and arrogance. We believed that the laws of evidence would always protect us. That because we were the gold standard, we would always be needed.
But like Númenor, our downfall will come not from enemies at the gate, but from our own refusal to believe we could ever be replaced.
Gollum and the Allure of Control
Gollum was not born corrupt. He was curious, ordinary — until he wanted something too badly for too long. Some in our field chase contracts the same way — hoarding clients, undercutting peers, selling rates below sustainability. They believe control ensures survival. It doesn’t. It isolates, weakens, and turns allies into competitors.
If the profession devours itself for short-term security, it will share Gollum’s fate: consumed by what it thought it could control.
Samwise the Reporter
Through it all, there remains a Samwise in every courtroom — the reporter who shows up, captures every word, and carries the weight of integrity without applause. Sam never sought power. He just kept going. He was the reason there was anything left to save.
That is who we must be now: the unseen custodians who remember what truth sounds like. The ones who carry the burden when everyone else is distracted by shortcuts and slogans.
The Long Road
Tolkien never promised Eagles. He promised effort. He promised that the long road — the slow, human, deliberate one — was the only road that truly preserved the world.
The same is true for the record. The shortcut is not salvation. It’s the start of decay.
To every court reporter still holding a machine, still training a student, still fighting for funding and ethics: you are not obsolete. You are the memory keepers of a system built on words, not waveforms.
The Ring was never the real danger. Believing we could use it “just this once” was.
The same temptation stands before us now — polished in chrome, branded as innovation.
The question isn’t whether the industry will survive.
It’s whether we’ll still recognize ourselves when it does.
StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.
Disclaimer
This article reflects my perspective and analysis as a court reporter and eyewitness. It is not legal advice, nor is it intended to substitute for the advice of an attorney.
This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.
The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.
- The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
- Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.
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