For R.E.
Let’s be clear: the “division” narrative in court reporting didn’t exist before it was introduced and weaponized by outsiders. The real story is that the profession is more united than it’s been in decades — aligned in purpose, driven by urgency, and collectively defending the record.
Lately, a new phrase has been circulating in our profession: “We need to heal the division in our industry.” It’s a statement often delivered with an air of moral high ground, as though unity itself were a cure-all for the challenges we face. But that phrase has become something else entirely — a rhetorical shield, used by those outside our ranks to deflect accountability, reshape narratives, and insert themselves into conversations that were never theirs to lead.
Let’s be honest. There is no “division” in the stenographic community — only distinction. There are those who do the work, and those who exploit the work. Those who understand the oath of a Certified Shorthand Reporter, and those who build brands around proximity to that credibility. The former safeguard the record. The latter monetize its margins. To suggest the two are halves of a divided whole is to fundamentally misunderstand what this profession is — and who it belongs to.
Mathematically speaking, you can’t divide zero.
A False Premise – The Language of “Division”
The first red flag of any outsider narrative is the choice of vocabulary. “Division” is a word crafted to evoke guilt, fatigue, and emotional surrender. It suggests that if you resist collaboration or question credibility, you’re part of the problem. But that’s linguistic theater, not leadership. It’s a tool used to flatten legitimate concerns into personal feuds — to make ethical distinctions appear petty and professional boundaries seem mean-spirited.
In reality, those drawing paychecks or prestige from the periphery of our field often thrive on blurring lines. They rely on the goodwill, labor, and institutional memory of actual court reporters to maintain relevance. They organize meetings, throw events, use the word “community” liberally, and position themselves as mediators — yet they hold no license, no certification, no liability, and no stake in the outcome of a record gone wrong.
When such individuals invoke “division,” what they’re really doing is marketing unity while monetizing disunity. And reporters, being empathetic by nature and trained to listen, often fall into the trap of responding as though reconciliation were both possible and required.
Who Defines the Profession?
The shorthand profession is not a social club; it’s a licensed, regulated field of law. It’s bound by codes of conduct, confidentiality, and evidentiary responsibility. Our unity is not optional — it’s built into the statute books, the transcript, and the oath.
When someone outside that circle claims to “represent the industry,” it creates a distortion field. The public, the press, and even new students may not know the difference between a Certified Shorthand Reporter, a digital operator, a notary, or an influencer using “court reporting” as a hashtag. That confusion serves one purpose: to dilute our identity and redirect attention toward whoever’s controlling the microphone.
But the law is clear. The record belongs to the licensed officer who swears in the witness and certifies the transcript — not to a marketer, promoter, or third-party intermediary. No amount of social media branding can override that reality.
Representation without certification is impersonation in slow motion.
The Myth of Reconciliation
Several well-meaning people have approached me recently with variations of the same question: “Have you tried to patch things up?” “Would you be open to sitting down and talking?” They say they “hate to see our industry divided.” I appreciate the sentiment — it’s human to want harmony. But harmony without honesty is just noise.
I have, in fact, spoken with multiple intermediaries who tried to broker dialogue. I expressed a willingness to meet, to clarify, to find common ground. The invitation was ignored. That silence spoke volumes.
You don’t solve that with coffee and conversation. You solve it with clarity and consequence.
Because what we’re facing isn’t a personality clash. It’s a boundary issue. A profession can’t reconcile with those who were never part of it. The core problem isn’t hurt feelings — it’s false claims of representation, blurred ethics, and the quiet exploitation of licensed professionals who lend their time, labor, and credibility to events that profit outsiders while giving the industry — and the volunteers themselves — nothing in return.
When “Unity” Becomes a Cover for Control
Let’s examine what “unity” has meant in other industries under technological or cultural stress. When the music industry was disrupted by streaming platforms, tech companies promised “access for all.” What they delivered was the decimation of artist royalties. When journalism faced the same shift, aggregators promised “collaboration.” What they delivered was the erosion of newsroom budgets and the spread of misinformation.
Now the court reporting profession faces its own wave of disruption — digital recording, AI transcription, and remote proceedings — and the same linguistic pattern has emerged: “unity,” “collaboration,” “inclusion.” In the tech space, those words are used to blur distinctions — to redefine the profession so that the labor of credentialed reporters becomes interchangeable with the output of machines or unlicensed operators.
But outside the tech sphere, a different misuse of “unity” is unfolding — one that drains our time, not just our relevance. Under the guise of togetherness, charismatic figures position themselves as champions of the industry while quietly recruiting licensed reporters to donate their labor, credibility, and presence to events that personally enrich the organizer.
Reporters volunteer their weekends to host panels, coordinate logistics, promote attendance, and lend legitimacy — yet the profession itself gains nothing in return.
The money doesn’t flow toward scholarships, student recruitment, or legislative advocacy.
It flows toward personal brand-building and profit.
That isn’t “unity.” It’s extraction.
And every hour a reporter spends advancing someone else’s business model is an hour not spent mentoring students, testifying at hearings, or strengthening the foundations of this profession. Every dollar that props up manufactured unity could have supported real reform, education, or outreach.
So when we refuse to be used in that way — when we draw a boundary and say no — we are not divided. We are defending.
Division vs. Distinction
It’s time to reclaim the vocabulary.
Division suggests weakness.
Distinction reflects strength.
Court reporters have always stood apart — by skill, by training, and by oath. That separation is not a flaw in our fabric; it’s the thread that holds the entire legal system together. Every certified reporter represents an unbroken lineage of accuracy and integrity. To erase that distinction under the banner of “unity” would be to flatten the profession into a shapeless, unaccountable gig economy.
So let’s retire the idea that disagreement equals division. Debate is healthy. Transparency is unity in its truest form. Our profession was built by individuals who dared to draw lines — between verbatim and approximation, between truth and convenience, between those who protect the record and those who merely profit from it.
The Psychology of the Outsider Narrative
The “division” trope survives because it flatters the outsider’s ego. It positions them as the enlightened bridge-builder above the “bickering masses.” But it’s an old psychological trick — the rescuer triangle. If you can convince people there’s conflict, you can insert yourself as the solution. If you can brand yourself as the healer, you gain authority without having earned it.
Meanwhile, licensed reporters — who spend decades honing their skill, sitting for state exams, and upholding confidentiality — become background characters in their own story. The very people holding the line on ethics are reframed as antagonists for refusing to blend professionalism with performance art.
That’s why it’s essential we keep our focus: this isn’t about personalities. It’s about protecting the oath of the record. You can’t be divided from something you’ve sworn to uphold. You can only be distracted.
What Real Unity Looks Like
Real unity isn’t a photo op or a hashtag. It’s the shared discipline of producing accurate records under oath. It’s mentorship, collaboration among licensed professionals, and collective advocacy for fair compensation, certification standards, and the preservation of the human element in justice.
True unity looks like reporters supporting students, mentoring new licensees, showing up at CRB board and association meetings, and standing firm when legislative language threatens to erase their role. It’s the invisible teamwork that happens in deposition rooms, courthouses, and late nights over scoping transcripts. That’s the unity worth fighting for — the kind that doesn’t need a slogan because it’s written in the margin of every certified transcript.
Dividing Zero
So let’s return to the math.
If someone outside the profession claims there’s “division,” remember: you can’t divide zero. If a person holds no license, no CSR number, no legal authority to produce or certify a record, then their inclusion in “the industry” is purely performative. And when the sum of their participation is zero, dividing it — no matter how loudly, emotionally, or publicly — still equals zero.
That’s not cynicism; that’s arithmetic.
We owe it to the next generation of reporters to stop letting outsiders dictate our vocabulary, our values, or our visibility. The future of stenography depends not on appeasing false narratives, but on reinforcing the one truth that defines us: the record must be real.
From Division to Definition
There is no division to fix, no feud to settle, no rift to heal. What exists is a line — clear, lawful, and earned — between those who hold the record and those who hold a microphone. Between those who answer to the Court and those who answer to clicks. Between those who swear the oath and those who sell the story.
Our task is not to reunite what was never whole. It’s to define — and defend — what is authentically ours.
Our profession isn’t divided — it’s discerning. Reporters are uniting around ethics, accuracy, and professional standards. Anyone outside that circle can’t divide it, because they were never within it.
Because the truth is simple: you can’t divide zero.
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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