The Death of Expertise and the Erosion of the Record & Why Court Reporters Are the Last Line of Truth

In The Death of Expertise: The Campaign Against Established Knowledge and Why It Matters, political scientist Tom Nichols warns of a cultural collapse in which everyone “knows everything.” Expertise, he writes, is under attack — not through censorship or persecution, but through indifference, arrogance, and the false democratization of truth.

Sound familiar?

Within the court reporting profession, we are living this collapse in real time. For decades, certified shorthand reporters have been the custodians of accuracy — impartial guardians of the record, trained in realtime translation, terminology, decorum, and evidence handling. Our profession is built on verifiable presence: we were there. We heard every word, saw who spoke, and certified that what we transcribed was true.

Today, that foundation is being quietly undermined by a cultural and corporate campaign that mirrors exactly what Nichols describes — a “war on expertise.” The idea that artificial intelligence, digital recorders, or even uncertified human typists can substitute for a trained court reporter has spread like a contagion. It’s convenient, it’s cheap, and it flatters the illusion that technology equals competence. But it is not truth.

The Death of Expertise Comes to the Courtroom

Nichols defines the death of expertise as “a rejection of authority and knowledge by people who are not only ignorant, but proud of being ignorant.” In other words, the more one doesn’t know, the more one believes one’s opinion is equally valid to those who do.

When legislators, judges, or administrators assert that “AI transcripts are just as good” — without any experience reading one, without ever confronting a garbled homonym, misattributed speaker, or untranslated accent — they are participating in that same epistemic decay.

It’s not simply ignorance; it’s defiance of reality. It’s the belief that because technology exists, it must be accurate. That because anyone can record, anyone can report. That because a transcript looks official, it is official.

This is precisely how expertise dies — not in one dramatic blow, but through the slow erosion of respect for training, standards, and truth.

Presence, Certification, and the Integrity of Witness

Nichols argues that genuine expertise is rooted in discipline — in years of training, verification, and accountability. It’s not merely knowing, but knowing how to know. Court reporters embody that principle.

We don’t just type words; we verify their context. We identify speakers, manage exhibits, swear witnesses, and ensure decorum. We preserve not only the sound of proceedings but their meaning. An AI model, no matter how advanced, cannot certify what it cannot witness. And a court reporter cannot ethically “sign off” on a record they did not take. To do so would be fraud — as one astute commenter analogized, it would be as absurd as asking a cardiothoracic surgeon to certify the work of a dermatologist simply because both practice medicine.

The certification stamp of a court reporter is not ornamental; it is a guarantee of truth backed by statutory oath, professional ethics, and the possibility of disciplinary action for error or deceit. To remove the reporter from that equation is to remove the only human accountability in the record-making process.

The Algorithmic Delusion

Nichols writes that the internet has created “a Google-fueled, Wikipedia-based, blog-sodden collapse of any division between professionals and laymen.” Technology has democratized access to information — but not the ability to interpret it responsibly. We now conflate data with knowledge.

In the courtroom, this takes the form of digital recording firms and AI startups selling “verbatim capture solutions” to government entities that no longer understand what makes a record verifiable. They offer the illusion of expertise — the idea that a mechanical witness can replace a certified one. But what happens when that machine mishears? When overlapping speakers are merged? When an accent is mistranscribed into a different word entirely?

The machine cannot raise its hand and swear an oath. It cannot be subpoenaed. It cannot say, “Yes, I was present, and this is the truth.” When expertise dies, accountability dies with it.

Why This Matters Beyond Court Reporting

Nichols’ thesis extends far beyond academia or law. It is a warning to every profession built on specialized knowledge — from medicine to engineering to journalism — that when society begins to value convenience over credibility, collapse follows.

In the legal system, the record is the truth. If that record is corrupted, so is justice. When an AI-generated transcript replaces a human-certified one, every safeguard of due process begins to crumble. Appeals become suspect. Witness credibility becomes unverifiable. Attorneys lose the ability to rely on what was actually said. And the public loses faith in the system itself.

Nichols writes that once expertise is devalued, “citizens become vulnerable to manipulation, because they can no longer tell the difference between the credible and the incredible.” Replace “citizens” with “judges” or “attorneys,” and the warning becomes chillingly literal.

The Courage to Defend Expertise

To resist this trend, court reporters must reassert what Nichols calls “the value of humility before knowledge.” That means continuing to educate attorneys, judges, and policymakers on the irreplaceable role of human presence in the courtroom. It means refusing to lend our certifications to unverified machine transcripts. It means standing firm — even when accused of being resistant to progress — because progress without accountability is not advancement; it’s decay.

Every certified reporter represents more than a stenographic skill; we represent the continuity of truth in a system that depends on it. Our presence is not optional. It is the line between record and rumor, between evidence and error, between justice and conjecture.

Conclusion: Reclaiming the Realm of Knowledge

Tom Nichols’ The Death of Expertise is a mirror held up to a culture that has forgotten the cost of ignorance. For court reporters, it is both diagnosis and prophecy. We are watching, in real time, the institutional unraveling that occurs when established knowledge is replaced by automated convenience. But we also hold the antidote.

Every time we take an oath, every time we certify a transcript, every time we correct a misstatement or ensure the clarity of testimony, we reaffirm that expertise still matters — that facts still exist, and that truth still requires a human witness.

If we fail to defend that principle, we risk becoming another casualty in the death of expertise. But if we succeed, we may yet restore faith in a system that desperately needs it — one accurate record at a time.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Beneath the Surface – The Hidden Burnout Crisis in Court Reporting

Court reporters are trained to hear everything. We’re the quiet observers, the last line of record integrity in every courtroom, deposition, and hearing. But what we’re not trained to hear—until it’s too late—is the sound of our own exhaustion echoing back at us.

Most people think burnout happens when you work too many hours. In the world of stenography, that assumption almost sounds laughable—of course we work long hours. But that’s not the real danger. The truth is, burnout in court reporting has far less to do with the number of hours we work and far more to do with how those hours feel.

When the work environment becomes toxic, dismissive, or ethically compromising, even a “light day” can feel crushing. You can love the craft of capturing words, yet still feel like you’re drowning under invisible weight.

1. Burnout Isn’t About Hours — It’s About Meaning

Long days on trial or back-to-back depos don’t automatically cause burnout. In fact, many reporters thrive on high-stakes, high-speed work. What drains the soul isn’t the speed of the job—it’s the lack of support and recognition surrounding it.

If you’re spending twelve hours producing real-time feeds, facing impossible turnaround expectations, or being treated like a machine instead of a human, that’s when the cracks begin to form. Burnout isn’t caused by doing too much; it’s caused by feeling like what you do doesn’t matter—or worse, isn’t safe to do with integrity.

When a reporter is pressured to cover a proceeding without a scopist, pushed to accept unethical working conditions, or shamed for asking for payment terms that comply with California’s 30-day rule (SB 988), it chips away at psychological safety. Over time, that invisible stress corrodes motivation faster than any long day could.

2. What You See Isn’t the Whole Iceberg

The visible signs—fatigue, irritability, missed deadlines—are just the tip of the iceberg. Beneath the surface lie the deeper, systemic issues that actually drive burnout.

In our industry, those hidden forces include mismatched values, ethical dilemmas, unfair pay structures, exclusion from decision-making, and a chronic lack of empathy from management.

Reporters who care deeply about the accuracy of the record often find themselves working in environments that don’t value that care. When digital recording firms market “AI transcripts” while paying reporters less for proofreading the machine’s mistakes, it’s not just bad business—it’s emotional sabotage.

Each time a reporter’s professional judgment is ignored, each time quality is sacrificed for cost savings, another piece of trust is lost. And trust, once gone, is nearly impossible to restore.

3. Recognition, Trust, and Inclusion Are Not Perks—They’re Protection

Most agency owners and firm managers underestimate how powerful recognition can be. A simple “thank you” for a late-night expedite or a call to ask how a reporter is holding up can mean the difference between retention and resignation.

But the opposite—silence—communicates something too: You’re invisible.

Invisibility breeds burnout. When reporters feel unseen, undervalued, or excluded from discussions that directly affect their work (like rate setting or scheduling policy), disengagement takes root. It’s not dramatic—it’s gradual. The energy once used to advocate for excellence turns inward into resentment, fatigue, and finally, apathy.

Recognition isn’t a luxury. It’s a psychological safety mechanism. It tells people their work matters, that their voice counts, and that their standards are shared. Without it, every reporter eventually hits the wall—no matter how strong or experienced they are.

4. Micromanagement Is Burnout in Disguise

Micromanagement is the silent killer of motivation. For court reporters, it often shows up as intrusive oversight: constant messages during proceedings, arbitrary style-sheet demands, or mistrust disguised as “quality control.”

When management dictates every comma and expects instantaneous replies to emails at midnight, it destroys autonomy—the single most important driver of satisfaction for skilled professionals.

The irony? The best reporters are self-driven perfectionists. They don’t need to be controlled—they need to be trusted. Micromanagement tells them the opposite: that they’re not competent enough to own their process.

Over time, that erodes confidence and creativity. Reporters stop innovating, stop caring, stop mentoring others. The very excellence firms rely on begins to wither.

5. Ethical Dilemmas: The Hidden Cost of “Just Getting It Done”

There’s another layer unique to our profession: ethical fatigue.

Every time a reporter is asked to “just take the job” without proper notice, to sign an incomplete transcript for a digital recording, or to certify a record they didn’t control, they face a micro-ethical crisis. Those compromises pile up.

Burnout here isn’t just physical—it’s moral. When the system expects you to cut corners, it breeds a constant, gnawing dissonance between your standards and your survival. That’s why so many veteran reporters describe not exhaustion, but heartbreak.

6. Toxic Workplaces and the Erosion of Trust

Toxicity doesn’t always look like shouting matches or public humiliation. Sometimes it’s subtler: favoritism in job assignments, withheld payments, gossiping among staff, or leadership that ignores concerns about scheduling overloads.

When communication breaks down, mistrust blooms. And in a profession that depends on precision, mistrust is lethal. You can’t maintain excellence when you’re constantly on alert for the next unfair decision.

Healthy culture begins where transparency begins. A toxic one thrives on silence.

7. Rebuilding Resilience: What Firms and Reporters Can Do

To prevent burnout, the entire reporting ecosystem—agencies, freelancers, scopists, and attorneys—has to shift perspective.

Here’s what that looks like in practice:

  • Promote psychological safety. Encourage honest conversations without retaliation. When a reporter flags an ethical concern or workload issue, it’s not complaining—it’s safeguarding quality.
  • Align values. Make sure agency practices match the profession’s ethical code. If profit comes at the expense of integrity, the burnout rate will skyrocket.
  • Build flexibility. Rigid schedules are a relic of the past. Allow hybrid work models, flexible transcript deadlines where possible, and mental-health recovery time after long trials.
  • Acknowledge and reward. Publicly recognize outstanding work, fairness, and consistency. Appreciation doesn’t cost money—but burnout does.
  • Train empathetic managers. Supervisors who understand the emotional intensity of reporting can prevent more attrition than any HR policy ever could.

8. The System Isn’t Broken Because of You—It’s Broken Around You

Burnout makes you feel defective, like you’ve lost your edge or your stamina. But most reporters aren’t broken—the system is.

We’re operating in a profession where workload demands have risen exponentially, legal expectations have multiplied, and yet recognition and compensation have not kept pace. Add the rise of undertrained digital reporters, AI encroachment, and post-pandemic workforce isolation, and it’s no wonder burnout rates are quietly soaring.

It’s time for the industry to look beneath the surface. Long hours may be the visible iceberg tip, but the real causes—lack of trust, empathy, fairness, and inclusion—are what sink careers.

9. A Call to the Profession

If we want to keep the next generation of stenographers inspired, we must repair the ecosystem they’re inheriting. That means protecting psychological safety, prioritizing ethics over expedience, and treating reporters as partners, not vendors.

Burnout doesn’t just empty chairs; it empties the profession of its soul.

Court reporters are the historians of truth. But to keep writing history, we have to make sure we don’t disappear beneath the surface ourselves.

Have you experienced burnout as a court reporter? What helped you recover—or what warning signs did you miss? Share your story. Someone else may need to hear it before they sink.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Train Like an Athlete – The Mental Conditioning of a Future Court Reporter

Every fall, new stenography students line up behind their machines like rookies at training camp. The first takes come fast and brutal. Fingers stumble. Minds freeze. Words vanish mid-sentence.

And just like the first week of an NBA camp, failure happens — publicly, repeatedly, painfully.

But here’s the hidden truth behind every elite performer, whether on the court or in a courtroom: the most successful aren’t the most talented. They’re the most mentally conditioned.

The Athlete’s Cycle: Fail → Reflect → Adjust → Repeat

When an NBA rookie misses a layup, the coach doesn’t just yell. He rewinds the film.

They study the angle, the timing, the hesitation. Then they run the drill again — slower, smarter, focused on the fix.

That’s what elite performers do. They analyze the failure while it’s still warm.

Every top court reporter has gone through the same cycle:

  • Drop a word.
  • Replay the stroke.
  • Identify the hesitation.
  • Drill the fix.

Each misstroke is just data — not a verdict.

That’s what makes professional reporters mentally bulletproof. They’ve trained their brains to separate mistake from identity. They don’t crumble when something goes wrong in court; they adjust mid-sentence.

You can train that same mental muscle — but only if you treat steno practice like athletic conditioning.

Film Study for Stenographers

Athletes watch game tape. Stenographers have translation logs.

After every dictation, open your software and look for the patterns:

  • What words mis-translated repeatedly?
  • Which briefs caused hesitation?
  • Where did accuracy drop when speed increased?

That’s your film review. It’s not punishment — it’s pattern recognition.

Don’t just look at how many errors you made; look at what kind.

Was it a hesitation? A wrong brief? A mental freeze?

Each category reveals a different skill gap.

The more precisely you diagnose it, the faster you close it.

Athletes don’t just run laps to get better — they train the exact muscles that failed.

You should too.

Pressure Reps – Your Mock Trials Are Game Day

You can’t become a pro by only practicing alone.

NBA players don’t just shoot in empty gyms. They scrimmage. They simulate crowd noise, adrenaline, and unpredictability.

For you, that means mock trials, live dictations, group readbacks, realtime labs.

Those are your scrimmages.

The goal isn’t perfection — it’s composure. You’re teaching your nervous system to stay calm when your adrenaline spikes.

Every time your instructor says, “Ready? Begin,” that’s your tip-off.

Every time you recover from a dropped word and keep going, that’s your clutch shot.

When you train under pressure, you’re building the exact resilience you’ll need when a witness starts mumbling at 300 wpm on the record.

The Mental Recovery Game

What separates a great athlete from a burnt-out one isn’t just their training load — it’s their recovery routine.

Your mind is a muscle too. It needs cooldowns.

After every intense practice:

  • Step away from your machine.
  • Take three deep breaths.
  • Write down one specific win and one micro-fix for next time.

That reflection — five minutes, tops — is where growth actually happens.

Without it, you just stack fatigue on frustration.

With it, you convert stress into strategy.

The best students don’t practice more; they process better.

Building a Steno Journal – Your Mental Gym Log

Every athlete logs their progress — weights lifted, times improved, reps completed.

You should too.

Create a “Steno Conditioning Journal” with five prompts after every session:

  1. Speed / Dictation: (e.g., “180 Jury Charge”)
  2. What challenged me most:
  3. What I learned:
  4. Micro-fix for next time:
  5. Proof of progress: (accuracy %, shorter recovery, better control)

That’s your mental gym log.

You’re not writing a diary — you’re recording data.

And over time, data becomes confidence.

When you flip back through 30 days of entries and see tangible improvement, your brain internalizes a new belief:

“I can do hard things. I’ve done it before.”

That’s the seed of unshakable confidence — built not on praise, but on proof.

Coaching, Not Comfort

When a rookie gets benched after missing shots, the coach doesn’t say, “You’re amazing no matter what.”

He says, “Here’s the tape. Let’s fix your form.”

That’s love, disguised as accountability.

Your instructors are your coaches. Their job isn’t to comfort you; it’s to prepare you.

They push you because they see the future version of you who can take testimony with grace under fire.

So the next time your teacher critiques your work or asks you to redo a take, don’t take it personally. Take it professionally.

That’s how champions are made.

The Mind-Body Connection in Writing Speed

Professional athletes visualize movements before they happen.

A basketball player imagines the arc of a free throw.

A court reporter can do the same with words.

Before each take, close your eyes for 15 seconds.

Picture the rhythm of your fingers, the sound of clean strokes, the steady breathing.

You’re not just typing — you’re synchronizing mind and body.

And when speed builds, your goal isn’t to push harder; it’s to stay looser.

Tension kills both accuracy and endurance.

Flow comes from rhythm, not rigidity.

Think of every dictation like a quarter in a game: focus, breathe, reset.

The Clutch Mindset

In the final seconds of a tied game, the best players don’t think — they trust their training.

That’s what you’re building toward.

The day you walk into your CSR exam or your first live courtroom job, your nerves will spike.

That’s not fear — that’s readiness.

You’ll have thousands of “reps” behind you: hours of practice, logged reflections, failures studied and overcome.

Your body knows what to do. Your mind just needs to get out of the way.

That’s the clutch mindset — the ability to perform under pressure because you’ve already failed, analyzed, and rebuilt yourself a hundred times before.

The Power of Routine

Great athletes don’t wake up and “see how they feel.” They have systems.

You should too:

  • Warm-up: five minutes of finger drills or briefs.
  • Core practice: timed takes in varied speeds and voices.
  • Cool-down: journaling your reflection and setting your micro-fix.

Consistency beats intensity.

It’s better to do 45 minutes daily than five hours once a week.

Your brain learns through repetition, not marathon sessions.

And discipline doesn’t kill creativity — it frees it.

Proof Over Praise

In steno school, you’ll get plenty of encouragement — “You’ve got this!” “You’re so close!” — and it feels good.

But encouragement alone doesn’t create mastery.

Proof does.

Every entry in your steno journal is proof.

Every line of clean notes is proof.

Every recovered error is proof.

Praise fades. Proof compounds.

When you base your confidence on evidence instead of emotion, no failure can take it away.

The Professional Mindset

Here’s the ultimate truth:

You’re not training to pass a test.

You’re training to walk into a courtroom as the one person everyone depends on.

When the judge speaks, the attorneys argue, and the witness mumbles, you’re the calm in the chaos — the athlete who performs under pressure because they’ve been here before.

That’s what mental conditioning builds.

That’s what daily reflection forges.

Your stenography machine is your instrument, your gym, your arena.

And every word you capture cleanly is a quiet victory — a point on the scoreboard of your own professional growth.

The Challenge: 30 Days of Athletic Mindset

For the next month, treat your practice like training camp.

  1. Document every take.
  2. Analyze one pattern daily.
  3. Write down one micro-fix.
  4. Track your proof.

By day 30, you won’t just write faster.

You’ll think clearer, recover quicker, and carry yourself like a professional reporter in training — not a student hoping to pass.

Because you’re not “just learning steno.”

You’re building the mental discipline of an elite performer.

And once your brain learns to see every dropped word as data — not defeat — you’ve already joined the big leagues.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The Battle for the Record Is Here — and CCRA Needs You

Your Profession. Your Record. Your Voice. CCRA Needs You.

In an unprecedented and decisive stand to defend the very foundation of justice — the integrity of the record — the California Court Reporters Association (CCRA) has retained renowned labor attorney Scott A. Kronland of Altshuler Berzon LLP to represent California’s licensed and certified court reporters before the California Supreme Court in the pivotal case Family Violence Appellate Project (FVAP) v. Superior Courts of California.

This case could redefine how — and by whom — California’s court record is created, preserved, and trusted.
At stake is nothing less than the future of our profession and the reliability of the judicial record itself.

The Heart of the Case: Protecting the Record

The Family Violence Appellate Project (FVAP) has petitioned the California Supreme Court to declare Government Code section 69957 unconstitutional.
That statute — long regarded as a cornerstone of courtroom integrity — expressly forbids electronic recording of court proceedings except in limited case types such as infractions or where specifically authorized by law.

In its petition, FVAP argues that this prohibition unfairly impacts low-income litigants, claiming it restricts access to justice when no reporter is provided. Their proposed “solution”?
To allow widespread electronic recording in place of licensed, certified, and regulated court reporters.

But what FVAP is truly proposing is legislating from the bench — asking the Supreme Court to dismantle long-standing statutory protections enacted by the Legislature and upheld by decades of judicial precedent.

If granted, their request would open the floodgates for unchecked electronic recording across California’s courts, subjecting the public — and those most vulnerable — to substandard, inaccurate, and easily manipulated transcripts.
In essence, FVAP’s petition invites an era where the official record could be corrupted, altered, or lost — and with it, the trust of the public in the fairness of judicial proceedings.

The Manufactured Myth of a “Reporter Shortage”

For years, court administrators have spun a narrative of scarcity — that California faces a “shortage” of court reporters so severe that technology must fill the gap. But this crisis is not organic. It is manufactured.

After years of layoffs, furloughs, early retirement incentives, and unfilled vacancies, superior courts across the state systematically dismantled their once-robust reporting staffs. Then, having hollowed out their own ranks, they pointed to the emptiness as justification for replacing human reporters with machines.

The truth tells a different story.
According to the California Court Reporters Board, the profession has grown by 231% in just two fiscal years. Hundreds of newly trained stenographers are entering the workforce, and many more are preparing for upcoming state exams. Far from dying out, court reporting is resurging, driven by new graduates, strong training programs, and the undeniable value of human accuracy.

Even more revealing, the Legislature has allocated $30 million annually for years specifically to support the recruitment and retention of official reporters. Yet some courts have never spent those funds, while others use only a fraction and return the rest. This is not a funding crisis — it’s a management failure. The courts’ neglect has now become their pretext for automation.

Why the Record Matters

A complete, accurate, and impartial record is the bedrock of justice. It ensures that appellate courts can review what truly transpired below. It guarantees transparency and accountability in every ruling, objection, and piece of testimony. And it protects every litigant’s right to a fair hearing.

Without an accurate record, judges go unchecked, errors go uncorrected, and justice becomes unverifiable.
When an AI algorithm or low-fidelity recording replaces a licensed reporter, we invite inaccuracy, tampering, and human rights violations through omission or misrepresentation. The centuries-old armor of checks and balances that protects our courts would be replaced by a “record” that is neither reliable nor trustworthy.

Stenographic reporters are not merely record-keepers — they are the guardians of truth in the courtroom. Every day, they protect the public record through skill, ethics, certification, and impartiality. Their work ensures that appeals are based on fact, not fiction.

A Call to Action – CCRA’s Legal Intervention

CCRA’s leadership has made a bold decision: to stand in the courtroom, not just in spirit but in legal representation, to protect the record and the profession itself.

Because court reporters are not named parties in this litigation, the first step is procedural — to petition the Supreme Court for permission to be heard. If the Court grants that motion, Scott Kronland will then prepare extensive legal arguments defending the constitutionality of Government Code 69957 and the indispensable public interest served by human court reporters.

Kronland, a partner at Altshuler Berzon and one of California’s foremost labor attorneys, brings a long history of defending workers, unions, and professional integrity before the highest courts. His firm’s reputation for excellence and fearless advocacy makes them the ideal counsel to champion our cause at this crucial moment.

This is not just about defending a profession. It’s about defending the right of every Californian to a trustworthy record of their day in court.

The Cost of the Fight

CCRA’s commitment to this cause comes with significant financial responsibility.
Mounting a Supreme Court intervention — complete with briefing, oral argument, and public education — requires substantial legal resources. This is an expensive, high-stakes fight, but it is one we cannot afford to lose.

Every stenographer, student, and supporter has a role to play.
Every dollar helps.
Whether you contribute $10 or $1,000, you are helping ensure that California’s record remains a human record, not a digital facsimile vulnerable to corruption and error.

Membership dues and donations fund battles like this — not hypothetical ones, but real-world legal challenges that threaten the foundation of our work and the security of the public record. When you join or renew your membership, you are not just supporting CCRA — you are investing in the future of your own profession.

The Stakes for the Future

If FVAP’s petition were granted, the ramifications would ripple far beyond the trial courts.
It would set a precedent for AI transcription systems, third-party contractors, and non-certified digital recorders to replace certified human reporters — not just in family law, but in civil and criminal cases statewide.

That outcome would erase decades of hard-won legislative and professional protections. It would devalue the license, the certification, and the trust reporters have earned through years of training and service.
And it would open the door to a two-tier justice system — one where the wealthy have verbatim records produced by licensed professionals, and the poor must settle for corrupted or incomplete digital audio.

California must do better. Justice demands better.
And CCRA is making sure that the Supreme Court hears that message loud and clear.

Your Profession. Your Record. Your Voice.

This moment is a defining one for every reporter in California.
We can either watch as others decide our fate, or we can stand together and speak for ourselves.

If you are not already a member, please join CCRA today.
If you are a member, please donate whatever you can to the Legal Defense Fund. No amount is too small; every contribution is a declaration that our voices — literal and professional — matter.

This is our moment to remind the courts, the Legislature, and the public that justice depends on accuracy, and accuracy depends on us.

Together, we can ensure that when history looks back on this battle, it will remember that California’s reporters did not stay silent — we stood for the record.

Join. Donate. Defend the Record.
➡️ www.cal-ccra.org

The Neuroscience of Speed – Why Positivity Makes Better Court Reporters

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Why Transcript Correction Disputes Are Rising — And Where the Problem Originated

On November 4, Planet Depos circulated a message to reporters titled “A Call to Excellence: Transcript Accuracy and Professional Accountability.” The email described an increase in correction requests from attorneys, including instances where both sides jointly submitted extensive errata. Some correction requests, according to the memo, included more than one thousand individual changes. The company attributed the issue to incomplete audio review, insufficient research, missing words, terminology errors, and a lack of contextual proofreading by reporters and scopists. The memo encouraged reporters to adopt artificial intelligence tools to assist in verifying accuracy before transcripts are delivered.

The memo was framed as a renewed commitment to quality. But for those familiar with Planet Depos’ role in the evolution of the court reporting industry, the developments described are connected to a longer trajectory. Planet Depos was among the earliest national reporting firms to promote digital audio recording in place of stenographic reporting. The company helped introduce the concept of a “digital reporter” who monitors audio equipment, rather than capturing testimony in real time, and then relies on post-proceeding transcription to produce the written record. Kathy DiLorenzo was also associated with early leadership and agenda-setting efforts within the Speech-to-Text Institute (STTI), an organization that advocated for replacing traditional court reporters with alternative capture methods.

The rise of these digital workflows changed how the record was created. In a stenographic proceeding, the certified reporter is physically present, writing testimony as it occurs, monitoring accuracy in real time, and later certifying the transcript based on firsthand knowledge. In a digital workflow, the individual operating the audio equipment may not be trained to evaluate testimony, may not interrupt for clarity, and does not create the transcript. The transcript is often produced later by a transcriptionist or editor who did not attend the proceeding and must rely solely on audio. In many cases, the initial pass is generated through automated speech recognition software and then edited. When these methods are mixed across multi-day proceedings, differences in transcript quality become more pronounced.

The recent increase in correction requests is occurring at the same time that law firms are adopting comparison tools designed for contract review and document versioning. Products such as Litera, Drafting Assistant, and standard Word comparison tools make it simple to identify discrepancies across transcripts. When a single case includes both stenographic days and digitally captured days, the variation becomes immediately visible. Terms are used inconsistently. Speakers are misidentified. Portions of overlapping or rapid colloquy may be missing entirely. The issue is not limited to technical testimony; it arises wherever context, familiarity, or human judgment influences how words are captured. Once attorneys began using these tools routinely, the inconsistencies that digital workflows introduce became difficult to overlook.

The Planet Depos memo focuses on the responsibilities of the reporter whose name appears on the certification page. It emphasizes the duties of reporters and scopists to review audio, confirm terminology, and perform rigorous proofreading. Those expectations are reasonable in settings where the reporter has maintained control of the record from the beginning. But when proceedings are captured digitally, the reporter signing the transcript is not always the person who monitored the testimony, and in some situations, the reporter may not have been present at all. The memo does not address this structural issue. It does not distinguish between the skill-based accuracy of stenographic reporting and the equipment-based capture of digital audio. Instead, the same standard is applied to both, while the risk associated with the underlying method remains unacknowledged.

Stenographers are experiencing the consequences firsthand. Many are reviewing significantly more audio than in the past, not because their writing accuracy has changed, but because the quality of the scoped transcript is inconsistent. In my own experience, scopists often do not listen to full audio and are therefore unable to resolve ambiguities, speaker shifts, or subtle exchanges that carry legal significance. I have increasingly needed to re-scope my own work to ensure accuracy before certification, a process that is time-consuming and unsustainable at scale. This is leading many stenographers to reassess whether to continue using scopists who are not working from full audio, or to scope independently until a reliable workflow can be reestablished.

There is a constructive element in the memo worth examining. The same tools attorneys are using to identify inconsistencies can be used by reporters to address them before delivery. Reporters do not need to be on Eclipse or CaseCAT to run comparison or terminology checks. Text exports can be evaluated through document comparison software, through dedicated legal review tools, or through AI language models that highlight repeated translation patterns or inconsistencies. These tools do not replace skilled proofreading, but they can supplement accuracy efforts before certification.

A Practical Question: Can I Use AI to Improve My Own Transcript Review?

Yes — and this is where the conversation becomes constructive.

You do not need CaseCATalyst or Eclipse to benefit from pre-delivery verification tools. Your SC32/Gigatron workflow can export text that can then be run through:

  • Microsoft Word Compare
  • Litera Change-Pro (attorney tool, but reporters can subscribe)
  • ChatGPT or Claude for terminology consistency checks
  • Custom search macros for repeated phrasing, speaker tags, and mistranslates

These tools do not replace professional proofreading. But they can help identify spellings, repeated misstrokes, name inconsistencies, mistranslations.

If scopists are not listening to full audio, the question is not whether to replace them — it’s whether keeping them in your workflow is affecting your accuracy, stress, and turnaround viability. Many reporters are choosing to scope their own work until they can identify scopists who work the way the job requires — with full audio and full context.

This is not about blame. It is about alignment of responsibility with control. When my name goes on a transcript, I need to know every line is correct.

The underlying issue, however, remains one of transparency. Attorneys have the right to know how the record was captured, whether a certified stenographic reporter was present, and whether the transcript was produced by someone who heard the testimony firsthand. When these distinctions are not disclosed, accuracy disputes appear unpredictable and difficult to diagnose. When the method of capture is known, the source of inconsistency becomes easier to trace.

The increase in transcript correction requests is not occurring in a vacuum. It reflects the long-term effects of substituting stenographic record capture with digital audio-based workflows while presenting both methods as functionally equivalent. As attorneys gain better tools to evaluate transcript accuracy, the market is responding. Many counsel are now specifying stenography directly in their notices. The more transparent the method of capture becomes, the fewer disputes arise after the fact.

The solution is not punitive, and it does not require the elimination of technology. It requires identifying who is responsible for the accuracy of the record and aligning that responsibility with control of the reporting process. If the proceeding is stenographically reported, the reporter certifies accuracy based on direct knowledge. If the proceeding is digitally recorded, the certification should clearly reflect that the transcript was produced from audio by someone who did not capture the record live.

Accuracy begins at the point of capture. When that is clear, the record is far easier to trust.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Established Facts (Not Speculation)

  1. Planet Depos actively developed and promoted digital reporting workflows.
    • They were among the earliest national firms to market “digital reporters” as an alternative to stenographers.
    • They built internal training and staffing pipelines for non-stenographic record capture.
  2. Kathy DiLorenzo was directly involved in STTI.
    • She is publicly listed among STTI leadership/organization participants.
    • STTI’s stated mission (archived on its website) was to address the “reporter shortage” by promoting expanded adoption of alternative reporting methods.
  3. Digital reporting workflows commonly involve post-proceeding transcription from audio.
    • This is industry standard practice.
    • It is not speculative or controversial.
  4. Large multi-day proceedings sometimes contain a mix of stenographic and digital capture days.
    • Agencies have acknowledged this in scheduling disclosures, job postings, and client communications.
  5. Law firms are now routinely using document comparison tools.
    • Products like Litera, CaseNotebook, and Word Compare are now standard in litigation workflows.
  6. The Planet Depos memo described unprecedented correction requests.
    • This is directly in the email.

Industry-Supported Knowledge (Widely Observed, Not Just Assumed)

  • Digital-audio-based transcripts are statistically more prone to:
    • Speaker misidentification
    • Missing overlapping colloquy
    • Terminology variability
    • Context misunderstanding

This has been documented in:

  • Federal contracting QA audits
  • Vendor performance scoring in state procurement evaluations
  • Peer-review publications in legal administration journals

No speculative language is required here.

Reasoned Interpretation (Defensible Inference)

The timing of the memo — arriving after attorneys began running transcripts through comparison software — supports the inference that:

The increase in correction requests corresponds to workflows where digital and stenographic transcripts are mixed in the same proceeding.

This is not an accusation.
It is an inference based on:

  • What the memo describes
  • How transcript discrepancies present
  • How legal teams are now identifying those discrepancies

What Is Speculation? (And We Avoided It)

We did not claim:

  • That every transcript in question was digital.
  • That every scopist is skipping audio.
  • That Planet Depos intends to shift liability.

We described the structural dynamics that make the correction spike likely.

To be precise:

We do not know the exact internal percentage of digital vs stenographic jobs involved in the transcripts referenced in that specific memo.

No one outside Planet Depos leadership would know that unless the company discloses it.

And we did not assert it as fact.

The Court Reporting Industry Faces Structural Stress

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When a Video Is Played in Court – How to Handle, Certify, and Communicate It Professionally

Every working reporter in California eventually encounters it: a civil trial where counsel wants a video deposition played in open court and asks, “Can you just insert this into your transcript?”

It sounds simple — until you consider certification, authority, and your license. Handling this request properly requires knowing when to take it down, how to label it, and how to communicate boundaries with counsel and the court without creating tension. Let’s walk through exactly what to do.

1. Understand the Governing Rule: California Rule of Court 2.1040

The controlling authority is California Rule of Court 2.1040, Electronic recordings presented or offered into evidence.

  • Subdivision (d) states: “Unless otherwise ordered by the trial judge, the court reporter need not take down the content of an electronic recording that is presented or offered into evidence.”

That means you, as the reporter, do not take down a video or audio recording by default — unless the judge orders you to.

If counsel wants it reported, your first professional step is to redirect politely:

“Counsel, I can take it down if the court so orders under Rule 2.1040(d). Would you like to make that request on the record?”

This keeps you in compliance while appearing cooperative. It’s the judge’s call, not yours or the attorney’s.

2. The CRB’s Position on Certification

The Court Reporters Board of California (CRB) has consistently disciplined licensees for improper or misleading transcript certification. Under Business and Professions Code § 8025(d) and Title 16 CCR § 2475(b)(4), a reporter can face action for “unprofessional conduct in the execution and certification of transcripts.”

The logic is simple: your certificate represents that you were the officer who personally reported the proceeding. You cannot legally certify something you did not personally attend, swear, and report in real time.

If you later transcribe an audio or video portion, you must label and certify it separately as an after-the-fact transcription — never as shorthand notes you personally took.

3. How to Format the Transcript

Once the judge orders you to take down the video, you’ll report it as it plays. However, the record must show that you were transcribing from a recording, not reporting a live witness.

Before the playback begins, insert a clear parenthetical on its own line:

(The following portion is a transcription of an electronic recording played in open court, transcribed pursuant to court order under Rule 2.1040(d).)

If you know the duration or have timestamps, you can add:

(Video recording begins at 00:00:00.)
… [transcribed dialogue] …
(Video recording ends at 00:05:32.)

After the playback, return to ordinary reporting format for live proceedings.

This language is defensible under both the Rules of Court and CRB disciplinary standards because it transparently identifies what you did and under whose authority.

4. How to Word the Certificate Page

At the end of the transcript, include a blended certification distinguishing between your live shorthand record and the transcribed recording.

Sample Certificate:

REPORTER’S CERTIFICATE

I, [Your Name], CSR No. ____, Official Pro Tempore of the Superior Court of California, County of Los Angeles, do hereby certify:

That I reported in shorthand (stenotype) the proceedings held in the above-entitled cause as ordered by the court; that the foregoing pages contain a full, true, and correct transcript of my shorthand notes so taken; and that the portion designated as a “transcription of an electronic recording” was prepared after the fact from an electronic recording played in open court pursuant to court order, in accordance with Rules 2.1040(d) and 8.917(d).

Dated: __________

[Your Name], CSR No. ____
Official Pro Tempore, Superior Court of California, County of Los Angeles

This language mirrors the “recording-transcript certification” used in Rule 8.917(d) for transcripts of official electronic recordings and aligns with CRB’s expectations for accuracy and integrity.

5. Why You Can’t “Insert” the Lodged Transcript

Attorneys often assume you can copy and paste the lodged deposition transcript directly into your trial transcript. That’s a big no.

Here’s why:

  • The lodged transcript is an exhibit prepared by the deposition officer, certified under CCP § 2025.540.
  • Your court transcript is a separate official record of what occurred in court.
  • You cannot merge another reporter’s certified work into yours or sign off on pages you didn’t create.
  • The clerk still must receive and maintain the lodged deposition transcript separately as part of the trial record.

Your role is to capture the playback itself — what the jury and court heard — not to reproduce the lodged transcript inside your own.

6. How to Communicate This Diplomatically

Attorneys are often focused on efficiency, not the regulatory fine print. The key is to educate without sounding bureaucratic or obstructive.

Here’s a suggested tone and phrasing you can use:

“I can absolutely take down the video if the court so orders under Rule 2.1040. Once the judge authorizes it, I’ll report the playback and clearly mark that it’s a transcription of the electronic recording. My certification will reflect that I didn’t personally report the original deposition — just the playback that occurred in court.

You’ll still need to lodge the deposition transcript with the clerk; my record can’t substitute for that. But I’ll make sure the transcript reflects exactly what was played for the jury.”

This communicates cooperation, cites the authority, and makes it clear you’re protecting both your license and the record’s integrity.

7. What to Do If the Judge Doesn’t Order It

If counsel requests you “take it down,” but the court remains silent, you must not begin reporting the video on your own initiative. Politely pause:

“Your Honor, counsel has requested that the video be reported. Would the court like me to take it down under Rule 2.1040?”

If the judge says no, you’re off the hook. If the judge says yes, you’re covered. Always get that order on the record before you start.

8. Protecting Yourself and the Record

Following this procedure protects you in three ways:

  1. Regulatory compliance: You’re acting only under judicial order and within CRB and CRC guidelines.
  2. Transparency: Your parenthetical and certificate make the nature of the record unmistakable.
  3. Professional credibility: You show counsel and the court that you know your rules — and you’re protecting everyone’s record integrity.

Remember: your name and license number on that certificate carry the full weight of your professional oath. A few lines of explanatory language now can save you an enforcement nightmare later.

9. The Bottom Line

When a video is played in court:

  1. Confirm judicial order under CRC 2.1040(d).
  2. Insert a parenthetical before playback identifying it as a transcription of an electronic recording.
  3. Transcribe faithfully what’s played.
  4. Use dual certification language distinguishing live notes from recorded material.
  5. Educate counsel diplomatically: you can accommodate their request, but only through the judge and within the law.

By doing so, you maintain the record’s integrity, comply with CRB standards, and preserve your professional standing — all while keeping the attorneys happy and the court running smoothly.

🏛️ Quick Reference

  • CRC 2.1040(d): Reporter need not take down video unless court orders it.
  • CRC 8.917(d): Provides model certification for recordings transcribed after the fact.
  • CCP § 2025.540: Deposition officer’s certification — only the attending reporter may certify.
  • B&P § 8025(d),(e); 16 CCR § 2475: CRB authority for discipline on improper certification.

In short: you can accommodate, you can cooperate — but you can’t compromise your certification. Handle it with grace, authority, and transparency, and you’ll earn the respect of both the bench and bar.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Why the Legal System Doesn’t Understand What’s Happening to Court Reporting

The collapse of certified stenographic court reporting isn’t happening because the legal community doesn’t care. It’s happening because most attorneys, judges, and policymakers genuinely don’t understand how the record is made, who’s responsible for it, or what’s at stake when it fails. To them, the process appears seamless—until it isn’t.

The truth is simple: every error, omission, and delay in the transcript can alter justice itself. Yet the forces driving this crisis—outsourcing, AI marketing, and lack of awareness—remain largely invisible. Here’s why the legal world doesn’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late.

1. They Assume “Someone Else” Is Handling It

Attorneys, judges, and legislators all assume the court system has reporting handled — that certified stenographers are just “assigned” by the clerk’s office or the agency, like interpreters.
They don’t realize that:

Reporters are independent contractors, not salaried government employees.

There is a national shortage caused by school closures, pay stagnation, and agency consolidation.

Digital and ASR firms are actively replacing steno with cheaper, uncertified labor — often under misleading labels like “electronic reporter” or “AI transcript.”

To them, the process looks seamless — until the record is wrong, delayed, or unusable.

2. They’ve Been Sold the “Tech = Progress” Myth

Big box agencies and venture-backed startups have spent millions marketing digital recording and ASR as “modern,” “automated,” and “cost-effective.”
Those buzzwords land easily in budget meetings, especially for administrators and attorneys who:

Don’t understand the difference between an audio file and a certified transcript.

Have never seen the chaos of a bad realtime feed or a mistranscribed technical deposition.

Believe AI will “eventually” match human accuracy.

Meanwhile, no one is explaining that AI errors can literally change sworn testimony, or that uncertified digital logs are inadmissible in appellate courts in many states.

The problem isn’t just technology. It’s the quiet professionalism of reporters themselves — a virtue that’s also made the profession nearly invisible to those who depend on it most.

3. They Don’t See the Human Cost

Our invisibility hurts us. Reporters sit quietly at the corner of every courtroom and deposition — we’re trained to be neutral, unseen.
That professionalism, ironically, has made us easy to forget.
When you never tell your story, others write it for you — and agencies fill the silence with self-serving narratives like:

“Reporters are aging out.”
“No one wants to learn steno.”
“Digital is the only scalable solution.”

If lawyers and judges knew the sacrifices, skill, and certifications behind every transcript — they’d never let the profession collapse. But they rarely see our side.

Even when they do hear about the shortage, there’s still no consistent voice speaking to them in terms they trust or understand.

4. There’s No Central Advocacy Voice They Trust

The National Court Reporters Association (NCRA) has struggled to present a unified, public-facing message that resonates beyond our circle.
Compare that to:

Tech companies with PR departments and lobbying budgets.

Digital agencies that frame their mission as “access to justice” or “modernization.”

The public doesn’t know that stenographic reporters already embody those values. We just haven’t had a loud enough megaphone.

And so the silence continues — until something goes wrong and the consequences become personal.

5. Attorneys Don’t Realize They Need to Take a Stand — Until It’s Too Late

By the time lawyers realize how much they depend on us, they’re already staring at:

A botched record from a digital proceeding.

A denied appeal due to transcript issues.

A malpractice claim because key testimony was missing.

They would fight for us if they understood that protecting stenographers = protecting their cases. But we’ve never clearly connected those dots for them.

Judges and legislators aren’t immune to the same blind spot — but unlike attorneys, they have the power to shape policy. And the other side is already in their ear.

6. Judges and Legislators Respond to Organized, Visible Advocacy

Digital firms lobby in Sacramento, Washington, and state capitals constantly. They show up with talking points, PAC money, and white papers.
Reporters, on the other hand, are busy working 12-hour days — trying to meet page rates that haven’t risen in 20 years.

Until we show up as organized, informed, relentless advocates — not just as individuals defending our jobs — policymakers will keep hearing only one side.

💡 The Reality

They would support us — if they understood the connection between steno survival and justice integrity.
They don’t know that:

Without steno, the record itself is at risk.

Without the record, the rule of law collapses.

That’s the message the legal world needs — and it has to come from us, but spoken in their language.

The awareness gap is clear. What’s needed next is action — a structured, strategic plan to educate, engage, and unite the very people who depend on the certified record the most. The following roadmap lays out how to do exactly that.

The “We Need You” Strategic Advocacy Roadmap

Below is the We Need You Outreach Plan — a practical, organized strategy to awaken our natural allies and get them fighting for stenographers before it’s too late. Each phase can be executed independently or as part of a broader campaign under the Saving Steno banner.

⚖️ PHASE 1 — Identify and Prioritize Key Allies

Goal: Focus advocacy on those with the most influence and incentive to act.

Target Groups

GroupWhy They CareMessaging Focus
Trial Attorneys & LitigatorsRisk of appeal reversals and malpractice from inaccurate transcripts“Protect your record, protect your case.”
Judges & Court AdministratorsLoss of control, backlog risk, record integrity“Without a certified record, justice can’t be upheld.”
Bar Associations & Legal Ethics CommitteesDuty of competence and fairness to clients“AI transcripts jeopardize your ethical obligations.”
Legislators & Judicial CouncilsConstituent access to justice and workforce sustainability“Digital substitution is not modernization — it’s deregulation.”
Disability & Captioning AdvocatesCART and realtime services rely on steno skill“When stenographers disappear, accessibility disappears.”

📣 PHASE 2 — Craft the Core Message: “Protect the Record”

Goal: Simplify the message to one unassailable truth — without stenographers, there is no trusted record.

Message Pillars

Accuracy = Justice
AI and digital systems cannot swear in witnesses, ensure speaker identification, or produce a certified record admissible in appellate courts. Stenographers are the record.

Ethics = Competence
ABA Formal Opinions 498 and 512 require attorneys to ensure confidentiality and competence when using remote or AI tools. Using uncertified digital reporters or ASR violates this duty.

Access = Humanity
CART captioning, realtime feeds for deaf participants, and equitable proceedings rely on human skill — not software.

🧠 PHASE 3 — Educate the Legal Community

Goal: Flood the ecosystem with concise, fact-driven, human-voiced content that can’t be ignored.

Tactics

  • MCLE Presentations — “The Hidden Risks of AI and Digital Transcripts.”
  • Bar Association Newsletters — 300-word op-eds highlighting risks to appeals and confidentiality.
  • LinkedIn Pulse Articles — “If your transcript isn’t certified, your appeal isn’t safe.”
  • Panel Events & CLE Webinars — Partner with judges or law professors who validate the concern.

🧩 PHASE 4 — Reframe Public Perception

Goal: Replace “old-fashioned stenographer” with “guardian of the record.”

Campaign Ideas

  • #ProtectTheRecord — a social campaign showing how human steno ensures justice.
  • Short Video Series: What Happens When AI Gets It Wrong?, Real Stories from the Record, A Court Reporter Saved This Case.
  • Media Outreach: op-eds in Law360, Daily Journal, The Recorder, or Above the Law highlighting the public value of certified reporting.

🏛️ PHASE 5 — Legislative and Regulatory Engagement

Goal: Reassert stenography as the legal standard of record in statute and policy.

Actions

  • Submit testimony to the Court Reporters Board, Judicial Council, and legislative committees.
  • Partner with public defenders, DA offices, and civil-rights attorneys who’ve seen ASR failures firsthand.
  • Propose model bill language reinforcing certified stenographic records as the only admissible official record for testimony (citing CCP §269, §2025.330, and Title 16 §2474).

❤️ PHASE 6 — Build a Visible Coalition

Goal: Unite non-reporters who publicly stand with us.

How to Mobilize Allies

  • Create a “Friends of the Record” pledge for attorneys, judges, and law professors.
  • Publish logos and names on a SavingSteno.org landing page.
  • Offer shareable badges: 🛡️ Certified Record Ally | ⚖️ I Protect the Record

Result: a visible movement that makes lawyers proud to stand beside stenographers.

Protect the Record, Protect the Rule of Law

The collapse of stenography isn’t inevitable — it’s preventable. But only if those who rely on the record understand that without certified reporters, justice itself becomes vulnerable. Awareness is no longer enough; coordinated advocacy must begin now. Protecting stenographers means protecting the truth — and the truth is the very heart of justice.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

“They Don’t Know We Need Them” – The Growing Silence Around the Disappearing Court Reporter

As the nation’s courts race toward digitization, one group of professionals finds itself fighting for survival — and doing so almost entirely alone. Certified shorthand reporters, or “stenographers,” are the highly trained guardians of the official record in courtrooms and depositions across the country. Their precision under pressure has long ensured that justice is both seen and heard. Yet, outside of the court reporting community itself, few seem to grasp what’s at stake if the human stenographer disappears.

Attorneys, judges, legislators, and even accessibility advocates — all groups that depend on the integrity of the legal record — have largely remained silent. “They don’t know we need them,” one veteran reporter told me. “If they did, they’d be standing beside us.”

A Record in Peril

For more than a century, certified stenographic court reporters have been responsible for producing verbatim transcripts of trials, hearings, and depositions. These transcripts serve as the official record for appeals and form the evidentiary backbone of the justice system. But in recent years, many courtrooms and private agencies have quietly replaced human stenographers with digital recording systems or automated speech recognition software marketed as “AI transcription.”

The results, insiders warn, are often disastrous: missing testimony, misattributed speakers, privacy violations, and transcripts that are not legally certifiable for appellate use. Yet because the technology’s failures occur behind the scenes — long after the judge has left the bench or the deposition has ended — few outside the reporting profession see the damage directly. By the time attorneys or litigants realize their record is unusable, it’s too late.

“Our legal system assumes the record is accurate,” said one California reporter who has covered hundreds of civil trials. “But when that record is made by an uncertified machine operator or an algorithm trained on internet audio, accuracy becomes guesswork. That’s not modernization — that’s negligence.”

The Allies Who Don’t Know They’re Allies

Court reporters aren’t the only ones who stand to lose if stenographic reporting fades. Attorneys, judges, legislators, captioning professionals, and even the general public all rely — often unknowingly — on the infrastructure stenographers uphold.

For attorneys, the connection is direct and existential. Every trial lawyer knows the transcript is the spine of an appeal. Yet many assume their depositions and hearings are automatically handled by certified professionals. In reality, digital recording firms now dominate large swaths of the deposition market, often sending uncertified “recorders” in place of licensed reporters. Some attorneys don’t realize the difference until they receive a flawed transcript, or worse, discover that the “record” cannot be authenticated in court. “Protect your record, protect your case,” one veteran reporter warns. “If your transcript isn’t certified, your appeal isn’t safe.”

Judges also depend on stenographers — not just for transcripts, but for realtime feeds that allow them to monitor testimony, review objections, and issue rulings efficiently. Despite this, many trial courts have adopted hybrid or fully digital systems under the guise of budget efficiency. Yet under California law, for example, the Code of Civil Procedure (§269 and §2025.330) still requires that proceedings be taken down by a certified shorthand reporter unless waived by the parties. When courts ignore that mandate, they invite errors that can upend entire cases. “Judges have no idea how fragile their record becomes without us,” a Los Angeles reporter said. “They assume the red light on the recording machine means everything’s fine. It doesn’t.”

Legislators and policymakers, meanwhile, are being sold a version of “innovation” that confuses automation with progress. Technology companies and venture-backed reporting agencies have poured millions into lobbying for “digital modernization,” promising cost savings and efficiency. The pitch is seductive, particularly to budget-strapped state courts. What lawmakers rarely see, however, is the fine print: low-wage operators, inconsistent audio quality, privacy gaps, and transcripts that fail to meet appellate standards. In reality, the cost savings are illusory. Once appeals are delayed or cases retried due to flawed transcripts, taxpayers end up footing a larger bill.

Even outside the legal system, captioning and accessibility services depend heavily on stenographic expertise. Real-time Communication Access Realtime Translation (CART) providers, who deliver live captions for deaf and hard-of-hearing individuals in schools, government meetings, and broadcast media, are all trained stenographers. When the pipeline of skilled reporters dries up, so too does the pool of qualified captioners. “Accessibility isn’t a luxury — it’s a civil right,” one captioner said. “Without stenographers, that right disappears.”

The Misinformation Machine

If so many institutions depend on stenographers, why aren’t they rallying to defend them? The answer, advocates say, lies in a combination of invisibility, misinformation, and misplaced faith in technology.

For generations, reporters have been trained to blend into the background — to remain neutral, silent, and invisible. That discretion, while essential in the courtroom, has left the profession without a public voice. “We’ve been too good at being invisible,” one reporter admitted. “People don’t know what we do because they’re not supposed to notice us doing it.”

Into that silence stepped the marketing departments of digital recording and AI firms. Slick advertising campaigns frame automation as modernization, portraying stenographers as relics of a bygone era. Corporate spokespeople use words like “streamlined,” “scalable,” and “future-ready,” positioning software as the inevitable successor to human skill. The reality, reporters argue, is far less glamorous: audio files corrupted by ambient noise, inaudible speakers, and AI models that routinely mistake “no” for “know” or “yes” for “yet.”

But by the time those errors appear in transcripts, the decision-makers — judges, attorneys, and administrators — are long gone. “It’s easy to sell tech as progress,” said one court administrator who has resisted automation efforts. “But progress without accountability isn’t innovation. It’s abdication.”

Everyone Thinks Someone Else Is Handling It

Another reason for the silence is simple bureaucratic diffusion. Everyone assumes someone else is safeguarding the record. Attorneys think courts are hiring qualified reporters. Courts assume agencies are supplying them. Agencies assume the market will train more. Meanwhile, stenographic schools are closing, wages have stagnated, and veteran reporters are retiring faster than replacements can be trained. The result is a looming collapse of expertise with no clear plan to rebuild it.

Legislators often point to the “stenographer shortage” as justification for adopting digital alternatives, but the shortage itself is largely a product of policy neglect. “You can’t underfund a profession for 20 years, close its schools, and then claim no one wants the job,” said one educator who directed a court reporting program until it was shuttered. “People still want to learn this skill — they just can’t afford to when pay rates haven’t moved since the 1990s.”

What Stenographers Need From Their Silent Allies

Court reporters don’t need sympathy; they need advocacy. Every stakeholder in the justice system — from the trial bar to the legislature — has a role to play in restoring the integrity of the record.

Attorneys can start by insisting on certified reporters for every proceeding. The American Bar Association’s Formal Opinions 498 and 512 require lawyers to exercise technological competence and protect client confidentiality. Allowing an uncertified digital recorder or AI service to handle sworn testimony violates both principles. Attorneys should include explicit language in their notices: “This proceeding shall be reported stenographically by a Certified Shorthand Reporter.” That single sentence can safeguard the integrity of a case — and the attorney’s license.

Judges can enforce existing law by ensuring a certified reporter is present whenever a record is required. They can ask at the start of each hearing, “Is a certified reporter present?” and refuse to proceed when one is not. The judiciary’s moral and professional duty is to preserve the record; delegating that task to an algorithm undermines the very foundation of justice. As one judge privately acknowledged, “If there’s no reliable record, there’s no appeal. Without an appeal, there’s no accountability.”

Lawmakers should focus on modernizing support for stenographers rather than eliminating them. That means funding court reporter education, raising official pay scales, and incentivizing young professionals to enter the field. True modernization should integrate technology that assists certified reporters — not replaces them. There’s a difference between innovation that empowers humans and automation that erases them.

Bar associations and legal educators can also play a crucial role by informing attorneys about the risks of uncertified transcripts. Continuing Legal Education (CLE) programs could address “The Hidden Dangers of AI and Digital Reporting,” explaining how uncertified records jeopardize appeals and client confidentiality. Law schools, too, should teach students how records are created, who owns them, and why accuracy is a non-negotiable component of competent representation. The first time a young lawyer hears the term court reporter shouldn’t be in a deposition room.

The Cost of Ignoring the Record

Beyond the courtroom, the erosion of stenographic standards poses a threat to public trust. The legal record is not a mere technicality; it is the factual backbone of justice. When that record becomes unreliable, verdicts lose legitimacy, appeals become meaningless, and the rule of law itself begins to fray.

Imagine a criminal conviction based on a mistranscribed confession, or a civil verdict overturned because key testimony was lost to static. These are not hypotheticals. In states that have experimented with digital-only recording, cases have already been reversed due to incomplete or inaudible records. The fallout isn’t just procedural — it’s moral. “A transcript isn’t a convenience,” one reporter said. “It’s a promise. When that promise breaks, the entire system breaks with it.”

The Road Back

Advocates say the path forward is clear but requires coordination. The court reporting profession needs a unified public message and visible allies beyond its own ranks. That means partnering with bar associations, disability-rights groups, and legislators who understand that human accuracy is not an obstacle to progress but the foundation of it.

Campaigns like #ProtectTheRecord and proposed “Friends of the Record” pledges are already taking shape within the community. These initiatives invite attorneys, judges, and professors to publicly affirm their commitment to certified, human-generated records. Some reporters are even producing short educational videos titled “What Happens When AI Gets It Wrong?” and “A Court Reporter Saved This Case,” aimed at showing what’s truly at stake.

Still, awareness alone won’t be enough. “We have to meet them where they are,” one organizer said. “In bar journals, at MCLE events, in legislative hearings. We can’t expect them to find us — we have to go to them.”

A Call to the Legal Community

The survival of stenography is not a nostalgic cause. It is a matter of legal integrity. When a certified shorthand reporter takes an oath, that reporter becomes the living record of the proceeding — a sworn officer of the court, accountable under penalty of perjury. No microphone, algorithm, or cloud service can carry that responsibility.

The next time a trial lawyer rises to argue a motion, a judge rules from the bench, or a lawmaker debates “modernization,” they should pause and ask: Who is protecting the record? If the answer isn’t a certified stenographer, the system they serve is already weaker than they realize.

The fight to save stenography is not about resisting technology; it’s about defending truth. And truth, in every courtroom and every democracy, deserves a human witness.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Court Reporters v. Digital Recording and Voice Recognition – A Comprehensive Breakdown

“Technology is a tool. Precision is a human art.”

Every few years, a new wave of “revolutionary” technology promises to replace the human factor in every profession. From autonomous cars to AI-driven law firms, we’re told that software is smarter, faster, cheaper. Yet when those same systems are unleashed in uncontrolled, real-world environments—courtrooms, hospitals, classrooms—the hype collapses under the weight of reality.

Nowhere is this contrast more evident than in the battle over the official record.

While “voice-to-text” and digital recording systems claim to capture proceedings with effortless accuracy, they cannot match what a trained stenographic reporter accomplishes daily: 99%+ precision, immediate drafts, same-day delivery, live readbacks, and an unbroken chain of accountability. To understand why the debate persists, we must unpack both the technology and the human expertise behind it.

The Myth of the Machine

Voice recognition technology has advanced tremendously. Siri, Alexa, and DragonDictate™ can interpret clean, isolated speech from a single user in a quiet environment. But that’s not the courtroom.

The courtroom is chaos—multiple speakers, legal jargon, dialects, interruptions, objections, cross-talk, laughter, coughs, crying, microphones cutting in and out, interpreters switching languages mid-sentence. No AI microphone, no “smart” recorder, no neural model has yet mastered that dynamic interplay.

Machines “hear” everything; they understand nothing.

Even the most expensive digital-recording setups are passive. They record indiscriminately, without judgment or context. A dropped binder and a whispered objection receive equal weight in the waveform. When that file is later transcribed by a human contractor—often overseas, often uncredentialed—the result is riddled with gaps, “inaudible” tags, and transcription errors that alter meaning.

Court reporters, by contrast, filter in real time. They know when to interrupt, when to clarify, when to stop proceedings because a witness is too soft-spoken or two attorneys are speaking simultaneously. That intervention—authorized by law and governed by ethics—is the single feature no AI can replicate.

The Human-Machine Hybrid: Steno Technology at Its Peak

Modern stenography isn’t paper notes or mechanical typewriters. It’s a hybrid of linguistic mastery and advanced computer science.

Court reporters write in machine shorthand, a phonetic language compressed into chords rather than letters. Each stroke can represent a syllable, a word, or an entire phrase. Reporters routinely sustain speeds of 225–300 words per minute with near-perfect accuracy, connecting wirelessly to computer-aided transcription (CAT) software that translates their shorthand into formatted English in milliseconds.

That CAT software also timestamps every line, syncs to exhibit logs, generates realtime feeds for judges and attorneys, and even exports to remote viewers through encrypted connections. It’s instant captioning, certification, and archival preservation—all done by one trained professional in real time.

When you hire a court reporter, you aren’t hiring a typist. You’re hiring a linguist, a data technician, a realtime translator, and a neutral officer of the court.

The Digital Mirage

CapabilityCourt ReporterVoice Recognition / Digital Recording
Capture testimony at 99%+ accuracy✅ Yes❌ No
Handle multiple speakers✅ Yes❌ No
Identify speakers✅ Yes❌ No
Create immediate draft transcript✅ Yes❌ No
Produce same-day or next-day final transcript✅ Yes❌ No
Mark exhibits✅ Yes❌ No
Swear witnesses✅ Yes❌ No
Stop proceedings for clarification✅ Yes❌ No

Every courtroom that has attempted to replace stenographers with digital recorders has discovered this the hard way. Within months, the “savings” are devoured by retranscription costs, appeal delays, and record disputes. Appellate courts have rejected entire proceedings because digital recordings failed to produce intelligible transcripts. Some states quietly reinstated court reporters after “pilot programs” left them drowning in inaudibles.

The Illusion of Savings

The pitch always sounds familiar: “It’s cheaper.”

Until it isn’t.

Installing microphones, maintaining servers, purchasing transcription licenses, hiring technicians, and paying contractors to “clean up” the mess—these costs are conveniently omitted from budget presentations. Meanwhile, the one-time salary of a skilled reporter includes a live transcript, realtime streaming, certification, and sworn accuracy under penalty of law.

Digital systems create bureaucracy; stenographers deliver results.

ASR and the Rules of Evidence: When the Record Itself Becomes Hearsay

Automatic Speech Recognition (ASR) introduces a unique—and deeply troubling—legal paradox. Unlike traditional digital recording, ASR doesn’t simply record sound; it interprets it, generating a text transcript in real time through algorithmic prediction. In essence, it’s not capturing the record—it’s creating one.

This distinction is critical when analyzed under the rules of evidence.

Under both state and federal standards, the “record” of court proceedings must be an accurate and impartial reflection of what was said. It is admissible because it is authenticated by a qualified officer of the court who can attest to its integrity. A stenographer’s transcript is not hearsay because it is the official record produced contemporaneously by a certified reporter acting under legal duty (see, e.g., Fed. R. Evid. 803(8) – public records exception; Evid. Code §1280 in California).

But what about ASR?

If an ASR system produces a “live transcript” in the courtroom, it is still not a statement made by a witness under oath—nor is it the act of a qualified human officer. It is a machine output derived from recorded sound and statistical inference. The text itself is therefore an out-of-court statement offered for the truth of the matter asserted, satisfying the textbook definition of hearsay under Evid. Code §1200.

Even if generated contemporaneously, ASR has no human declarant, no capacity for cross-examination, and no sworn certification. Its output cannot be authenticated by personal knowledge, as no human “heard” and verified those words at the time of creation. In practice, this means that an ASR-generated transcript—no matter how instantaneous—fails to meet evidentiary standards for accuracy or admissibility.

In other words:

  • A digital recording transcribed later by a third party is hearsay twice removed—first as an out-of-court statement, second as a derivative interpretation.
  • ASR, though produced “live,” is still an out-of-court declarant with no human witness to authenticate it.

Unless the output is verified, certified, and signed under penalty of perjury by a licensed court reporter, it cannot serve as the official record.

In People v. Williams (Cal. App. 2002) and similar cases, courts have consistently held that transcripts are only admissible when authenticated by a qualified reporter or verified by the testifying witness. Machine-generated text lacks both conditions. Thus, an ASR “transcript” would not only fail the hearsay rule—it could violate due process if relied upon as the basis of judicial findings.

This evidentiary gap has profound implications. If ASR replaces human reporters in live proceedings, every resulting record risks being legally inadmissible without post hoc human certification. And if that certification occurs after the fact, it is no longer contemporaneous—which defeats the very definition of an official record.

Accountability – The Forgotten Factor

The biggest difference between a court reporter and a recording device isn’t speed or cost—it’s responsibility.

A licensed reporter takes an oath. Their name, license, and reputation appear on every transcript. They certify under penalty of perjury that the record is true and complete. If an error is found, there’s a person to call, a professional to correct it.

A machine cannot be cross-examined. A software vendor cannot take the stand. A “system error” cannot swear an oath.

Court reporters, by contrast, are bound by statutory codes, board regulations, and ethical canons. They guard confidentiality, ensure equal access for all parties, and maintain impartiality throughout proceedings. No automated process can replicate that standard of care.

Technology’s Proper Role

None of this is to suggest that technology has no place in reporting. Quite the opposite—court reporters were among the first to integrate real-time software, digital exhibits, remote streaming, and AI-aided proofing into their workflow. Stenographic reporting is technology, but it’s technology under human command.

The goal should never be replacement—it should be refinement.

AI can assist with indexing, speaker spotting, and text formatting. But the human reporter must remain the arbiter of accuracy. Machines can predict, but only humans can discern intent.

Human Precision in a Digital Age

Technology will continue to evolve. Some tools will assist us; others will try to replace us. But the one constant that machines cannot simulate is judgment—the ability to discern, adapt, and protect truth in motion.

Court reporters don’t fear technology. We refine it, wield it, and perfect it. Because in the end, justice depends not on the machine that records the words, but on the human being who ensures they are never lost.

StenoImperium™ — Protecting the Record. Preserving the Truth.

Legal Sidebar: Is AI Testimony Hearsay?

Core definitions

  • Hearsay (Federal): An out-of-court statement offered for the truth of the matter asserted. FRE 801(c), 802.
  • Hearsay (California): Same basic rule. Evid. Code §1200.
  • Official/public records exception: Can cover records created by a public officer under official duty (e.g., certified court transcripts). FRE 803(8); Cal. Evid. Code §1280.
  • Business records exception: Requires a qualified witness/certification showing regular practice, reliability. FRE 803(6); Cal. Evid. Code §1271.
  • Authentication: Proponent must show the item is what it claims to be. FRE 901; FRE 902(11)–(12); Cal. Evid. Code §1400.
  • Best/Original-writing rules: Courts will ask whether the proffered “transcript” accurately reflects what was said. FRE 1001–1003; Cal. Evid. Code §§1520–1523.

Why certified steno transcripts aren’t hearsay

  • A licensed reporter is an officer of the court acting under legal duty; the certified transcript is the official record and is routinely admitted as a public/official record or authenticated record kept in the regular course of proceedings. See FRE 803(8) and state analogs (e.g., Cal. Evid. Code §1280).
  • The reporter can testify to accuracy and certify under penalty of perjury, satisfying both hearsay exceptions and authentication.

Where ASR stumbles

  • No human declarant, no oath, no duty. ASR output is machine-generated text derived from probabilistic models. Offered for its truth, it fits the hearsay definition unless a recognized exception applies—and it typically doesn’t.
  • Authentication gap. Without a qualified human who contemporaneously hears, corrects, and certifies the words, ASR text lacks the foundation rules demand (identity of speakers, accuracy controls, chain of custody, device reliability, settings, model version, updates). FRE 901; Cal. Evid. Code §1400.
  • Live ≠ admissible. Even if ASR appears “live,” the text is still an out-of-court statement created by software—not by a witness under oath. Timing doesn’t cure hearsay or authentication defects.
  • Derivative risk. If a court later relies on a post-hoc “cleaned up” version, you now have recording → ASR text → human edits—multiple layers of hearsay/interpretation.

Important distinctions courts have drawn about machines

  • Some courts treat pure machine logs (GPS coordinates, metadata, auto-generated timestamps) as non-hearsay because no human asserted anything—but they still require a reliability foundation. (E.g., cases analyzing automated camera data or digital mapping overlays.)
  • ASR is different: it interprets and predicts language, assigns punctuation, chooses homophones, and may attribute speakers—functions that go well beyond passive measurement. That interpretive layer pushes ASR output into hearsay (or, at minimum, into inadmissible/unreliable territory without robust human certification).

Representative authorities to anchor objections

  • Federal: FRE 801–803 (hearsay & exceptions); FRE 901–902 (authentication); FRE 1001–1003 (original-writing/best evidence).
  • California: Evid. Code §§1200 (hearsay), 1271 (business records), 1280 (public records), 1400 (authentication), 1520–1523 (secondary evidence rules).
  • Case themes you can cite by analogy:
    • Courts admit machine-generated data only with a reliability foundation and proper authentication (e.g., automated camera or mapping outputs).
    • Courts reject recordings/transcripts that are unintelligible, unauthenticated, or lack a competent certifier; appeals have been compromised where the record was incomplete or garbled.
    • Where official certified transcripts exist, they control over unofficial audio or rough notes.

How to frame it in court

  1. Motion in limine / objection: Exclude ASR text as hearsay (FRE 801–802; Cal. Evid. Code §1200).
  2. Foundation challenge: Lack of authentication and reliability—no sworn operator, no standardized error-rate proof, no preserved model/version, no speaker-ID protocol (FRE 901; Cal. Evid. Code §1400).
  3. Rule 403 / §352: Substantial risk of confusion and undue prejudice from machine-generated “authority” that appears definitive but isn’t.
  4. Alternative: If a court allows ASR as a viewing aid (like live captions), insist the certified stenographic transcript governs, with a clear order that ASR text is not the official record and may not be cited.

Bottom line

  • A certified court reporter’s transcript satisfies evidentiary rules through oath, duty, reliability, and authentication.
  • ASR, even when live, is an algorithmic interpretation and does not meet those standards on its own. Without contemporaneous human certification by a licensed reporter, it is inadmissible hearsay or, at best, unauthenticated.

Download the Attorney handout here:

Why_ASR_Output_Is_Inadmissible

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The Rebirth of Steno – How a New Generation of Reporters Is Reclaiming the Record

Reality Is in Stark Contrast

For years, the mainstream narrative has declared stenography a dying art—phased out by automation, recording devices, and algorithmic transcription. Headlines touted a “shortage crisis” and “digital takeover.” But the reality, when you look beyond the marketing hype, is in stark contrast: the human side of the profession is quietly mounting a remarkable revival.

Stenographic court reporting—once written off as an endangered career—is experiencing a measurable resurgence. Across states, enrollment in steno schools is increasing, new graduates are entering the field with unprecedented enthusiasm, and many reporters who once left are returning. According to data tracked by professional associations and emerging training programs, the profession has grown by 231% in just two fiscal years.

The Human Element That Tech Couldn’t Replace

Technology promised efficiency—but it failed to replicate accountability, accuracy, or empathy. When attorneys began confronting incomplete or erroneous transcripts from digital recording and AI transcription services, the legal community’s priorities shifted back to reliability and integrity.

Court reporters are not just recorders; they are officers of the court—guardians of the record whose shorthand symbols capture nuance, tone, and legal precision in ways no microphone or machine learning model can. Judges, attorneys, and litigants rely on them not just for a verbatim record, but for a verified one.

While automated speech recognition can process sound, it cannot discern overlapping testimony, inaudible objections, or multiple speakers shouting at once. It cannot identify which attorney made a motion, who laughed during testimony, or when a juror whispered an audible comment. Stenographers can. And that difference—small as it seems—is the cornerstone of due process.

A Grassroots Movement with Purpose

The resurgence didn’t happen through policy or corporate investment. It happened because of community. Court reporters themselves began organizing, educating, and recruiting—on social media, in classrooms, and across professional associations. Facebook groups like Steno Strong, Simply Steno Students, and The Court Reporter Hub became incubators for mentorship, advice, and encouragement.

Students started posting their progress—daily dictation streaks, graduation milestones, and stories of resilience. Veteran reporters began returning to classrooms as guest speakers, giving realtime demonstrations to curious high schoolers and career-changers. The message was consistent: this is not a relic profession. It is an elite skill, in demand, and vital to democracy.

The New Face of the Profession

The stereotype of an aging stenographer hunched over a machine in a dusty courtroom no longer holds. The new generation of reporters is diverse, digital-native, and entrepreneurial. They livestream depositions from home offices, caption events in real time across continents, and brand themselves on TikTok and LinkedIn with hashtags like #StenoLife, #SavingSteno, and #RealtimeReady.

Young professionals entering the field are redefining what a modern court reporter looks like—tech-savvy, financially independent, and mission-driven. Many have left stagnant careers in corporate sectors or customer service, seeking purpose and autonomy. They found it in steno.

Schools Reopening and Scholarships Expanding

Where schools once shuttered due to declining enrollment, new programs are opening. Community colleges are relaunching their court reporting departments. Online academies now pair realtime instruction with interactive speed-building apps. Scholarships from organizations like Project Steno, NCRA A to Z, and state associations have tripled participation rates since 2022.

The combination of mentorship, funding, and flexible learning has made entry more accessible than ever. What was once a four-year mountain can now be climbed in two with consistent practice and the right coaching network.

From Crisis to Calling

The early-2020s shortage headlines—“Where Have All the Court Reporters Gone?”—ironically fueled the revival. They inspired a generation that wanted to prove the world wrong. Former students re-enrolled. Retired reporters returned. Parents encouraged their children to consider a skill immune to outsourcing and AI obsolescence.

The profession didn’t die. It adapted. And as digital transcription companies began outsourcing to unregulated notaries, charging clients for flawed AI output, and eroding trust, steno reporters seized the moral high ground. Accuracy became the new luxury. Authenticity became the brand.

Entrepreneurship and Innovation

Today’s reporters aren’t waiting for agencies to change—they’re building their own. Startups and independents are using data, automation, and client transparency to streamline scheduling, billing, and transcript delivery while preserving the integrity of human stenography. Platforms like CoverCrow and emerging AI-assisted workflow tools are empowering reporters to connect directly with clients, track rates, and stay in control of their profession.

This hybrid era doesn’t pit humans against technology; it places humans in command of technology. Stenographers are using AI not as a replacement, but as a supportive assistant for proofing, audio syncing, and terminology management. The record, however, remains 100% human-verified.

Why Attorneys Are Paying Attention

Law firms and insurance defense groups that once prioritized “cost efficiency” over accuracy are re-evaluating. The price of a mistranscribed deposition, a missing objection, or an incomplete record far exceeds any perceived savings from digital systems. Attorneys are realizing that the most expensive transcript is the inaccurate one.

Formal opinions from the American Bar Association (like Opinion 498 and 512) have underscored the attorney’s duty of diligence and competence when selecting remote or AI-based court reporting services. That’s driving renewed demand for certified stenographers who meet state licensing and professional standards.

The Power of Recruitment and Representation

Recruitment campaigns now emphasize empowerment, not desperation. “We don’t need saving—we need recognition.” That’s the tone of the new steno generation. They’re showcasing not just the earning potential—often six figures within a few years—but also the independence and civic impact.

Social media challenges like “100 Days of Dictation,” steno TikTok explainers, and virtual mentorship programs are introducing thousands of viewers to a profession most had never heard of. The revival isn’t a fluke; it’s a cultural reawakening.

A Profession with a Future

As artificial intelligence continues to blur ethical and evidentiary lines, the value of a certified, impartial human reporter has never been clearer. The courts, the public, and even technologists are recognizing that some functions—like the official record of human testimony—are too important to automate.

The rebirth of steno is more than a recruitment story. It’s a reminder that accuracy, accountability, and human judgment still matter. And that professions grounded in truth will always find their way back into relevance.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The Freelancer’s Harvest & What a California Farmer Can Teach Court Reporters About Diversification

When California farmer Brandon Sywassink drove truckloads of freshly picked grapes to his winery this fall, he expected to deliver a year’s worth of work. Instead, the winery told him to dump his crop.
The reason? His grapes measured 23.9 brix instead of the required 24.0 — a mere 0.1% shortfall that erased an entire year’s income. “Brix” refers to a scientific measurement used in winemaking and agriculture to determine the sugar content of grapes (or other fruits).

That story — painful as it is — carries a powerful lesson for freelancers in the court reporting world. Because what happened in the vineyards of Lodi is exactly what happens when a reporter puts all their eggs in one agency’s basket.

When Your Only Buyer Says “No”

In the wine industry, farmers often sell exclusively to one or two wineries. It feels secure — until the buyer changes standards, gets bought out, or starts importing cheaper product from overseas. Suddenly, the farmer who’s given everything to that relationship is left with no market, no paycheck, and no leverage.

Court reporters can relate.
Many freelancers rely on one or two anchor agencies or attorney clients. The work feels steady — until the agency is sold, merges with a conglomerate, or replaces human reporters with digital recorders or automated speech recognition (ASR).

Then overnight, the loyal reporter finds themselves back at the bottom of the call sheet, scrambling for new clients, just like that farmer watching his crop go to waste.

Dependency Is Not Loyalty — It’s Risk

The parallels are striking:

FarmersFreelance Court Reporters
One buyer decides if grapes are “good enough.”One agency decides if you get the “good jobs.”
A contract clause can void a year’s income.A scheduling email can dry up overnight.
Global imports undercut domestic growers.National agencies offshore transcription to digital vendors.
Climate shifts change sugar levels.Market shifts change demand, pay rates, and technology use.

In both cases, dependence on a single source of income creates vulnerability.
Diversification is not optional — it’s survival.

Diversify Like Your Livelihood Depends On It (Because It Does)

If your agency client suddenly disappears tomorrow, could you still pay your bills next month?

Here’s how freelancers can insulate themselves from “crop rejection”:

  1. Build a direct attorney network.
    Reach out to law firms you’ve covered before. Offer your card, thank them personally, and remind them you’re available for future jobs. A single lunch or LinkedIn message can turn into recurring direct work.
  2. Work with multiple agencies — local and niche.
    Spread your workload across three to five agencies with different client bases (civil, criminal, workers’ comp, etc.). This protects you if one loses a contract or changes management.
  3. Develop alternate income streams.
    Captioning, CART, realtime training, proofreading, scoping, or even offering transcript seminars to law students — all expand your resilience.
  4. Invest in your own branding.
    Like a winegrower bottling under their own label, reporters should own their name. Build a simple website, claim your Google Business profile, and keep a professional LinkedIn presence. Agencies come and go, but your personal brand stays.
  5. Keep your tools independent.
    Store transcripts securely, maintain your own billing and scheduling systems, and avoid platforms that “own” your work product or client data. Independence is protection.

The Hidden Cost of Comfort

It’s easy to get comfortable when one agency fills your calendar. You stop marketing, stop networking, stop updating your rate sheet. But comfort can quietly become captivity.

As one court reporter put it after her longtime agency sold to a corporate buyer:

“I thought I had seniority. Turns out, I just had history.”

When your “buyer” changes the rules, you’re left with the same hard truth as that Lodi farmer: You don’t control the harvest if you don’t control the field.

The Takeaway: Plant Multiple Vines

Diversification isn’t just about money — it’s about freedom.
When you build multiple income streams, you gain the power to say no to exploitative rates, unreasonable turnaround times, or unethical practices. You become less replaceable and more self-sustaining.

Just as the farmer can’t control the weather or the whims of the winery, freelancers can’t control the consolidation of the industry. But they can plant new vines — new relationships, new skills, new revenue channels.

Because whether you’re growing grapes or building a freelance business, one bad season shouldn’t end your career.

Closing Thought

Brandon Sywassink said it best:

“It hurts a lot just to watch it… Farmers get a paycheck once a year, and we didn’t get a paycheck that day.”

Don’t let that be your story.
Diversify now — before your best crop gets dumped.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

🎃 The Ghost of the Record – A Halloween Costume for the Court Reporting Industry

Picture this:
You walk into a Halloween party at the courthouse.
The lights are dim, the walls echo with old rulings, and in the center of the marble hall floats a giant glass orb — glowing faintly green, wrapped in hundred-dollar bills, whispering things like “AI is the future” and “cost savings for all.”

Congratulations. You’ve just met the scariest costume of the year.
It’s called “The Ghost Orb of the Record.”

And it’s haunting our profession right now.

👻 A Costume Made of Money and Illusions

This ghost orb looks expensive — polished, shiny, and modern. From a distance, it promises progress: “Look how efficient! Look how affordable! Look how innovative!”

But when you get closer, you realize there’s nothing inside. It’s hollow. A trick, not a treat.

The money skin is real enough, but the core? Empty promises wrapped in marketing gloss. That’s what digital recording and automated speech recognition have become in the court-reporting world — flashy disguises pretending to be progress while quietly erasing the human craftsmanship that gives the record its soul.

🕯 The Haunted Hall of Justice

Every courtroom is a little haunted.
Not by ghosts in white sheets, but by the echoes of every voice ever recorded within its walls — voices of victims, witnesses, attorneys, and judges. Court reporters have always been the keepers of those echoes. We trap them, label them, preserve them, and guard them against distortion.

But lately, the guardians are being replaced by ghosts of convenience.
The real professionals are being pushed aside by automated systems and outsourced transcription mills that promise “accuracy,” but deliver approximations.

It’s like swapping a living heart for a mechanical replica — it beats, technically, but it doesn’t feel.

And in a courtroom, feeling matters.

🧛‍♂️ The Bloodsuckers of Efficiency

Every Halloween story needs a villain; right?
Enter the “big box” agencies — vampires in corporate suits, feeding off the labor of stenographers while draining the value from the record.

They talk about “modernization,” but what they really mean is consolidation. They underpay the humans, overcharge the clients, and pocket the difference.
Then they call it “innovation.”

Sound familiar? That’s not progress. That’s parasitism.

The blood they’re draining isn’t just money — it’s the lifeblood of the record: accuracy, authorship, and accountability.

💀 The Disappearing Reporter Trick

One of the scariest tricks in the book is the vanishing act.
You’ve seen it — agencies claiming there’s a “reporter shortage” while simultaneously cutting rates, withholding payment, and replacing professionals with machines.

Of course there’s a shortage. Who wants to stay in a profession when the work is undervalued and the product is resold without credit?

The shortage isn’t of talent. It’s of respect.

And until we stop pretending that automated recordings can replace certified reporters, the only thing we’ll be left with is an industry full of ghosts — echoes of what once was.

🕸 Spells, Contracts, and Other Curses

If you read enough contracts from large reporting firms, you’ll find the real witchcraft hidden in the fine print.
Clauses that strip you of ownership.
NDAs that silence you.
Terms that let others profit from your work indefinitely.

They say “sign here,” and the curse begins.

The only antidote? Knowledge.
Know your rights. Own your transcripts. Demand payment within 30 days under laws like California’s SB 988. Protect your authorship with technology that works for reporters, not against them.

Break the spell by refusing to be invisible.

🎭 The Mask of “Access to Justice”

This one’s a classic — a mask worn by policymakers and corporations who claim that digital recording will “expand access” to justice.

But underneath that noble mask hides something more sinister: the commodification of the record.

When transcripts are sold through proprietary portals, when data is mined for profit, when testimony becomes just another line item in a SaaS dashboard — that’s not access. That’s ownership transfer.

The mask may say “justice,” but the face beneath says “control.”

🧙‍♀️ The Stenographer’s Spellbook

So how do we fight back against all this?
With a little magic of our own — the kind that comes from skill, ethics, and technology we actually understand.

Every reporter already holds the most powerful spellbook in the legal world: the stenographic machine. With it, we turn speech into permanence. We wield context, punctuation, and precision like charms against confusion and chaos.

But now it’s time to add a few new incantations:

  • Secure, reporter-controlled transcript library.
  • Reporter-controlled delivery systems.
  • Smart contracts that auto-enforce payment and authorship.
  • Transparent, fair platforms that connect reporters directly to clients without middlemen draining the potions dry.

We don’t need to fear the tech. We just need to own it.

🦇 Reclaiming the Record from the Shadows

Halloween reminds us that sometimes the scariest monsters are the ones wearing friendly faces.
The ghost of automation.
The vampire of underpayment.
The shapeshifter of “innovation.”

But here’s the twist ending: this story isn’t doomed.
Court reporters have something those entities never will — the human ability to care about accuracy, empathy, and fairness. Machines can mimic, but they can’t mean.

Every transcript we produce is proof of that.

🕯 The Final Candle

The floating money orb in that marble hall?
That’s our Halloween mirror — it shows us what happens when the record becomes a reflection of profit instead of a vessel for truth.

It glows beautifully. But it’s fragile.
One crack, and the illusion shatters.

So this Halloween, if you’re looking for a costume, don’t go as the ghost of the record.
Go as the guardian of it.

Polish your machine. Stand tall in your integrity.
Wear your headset like armor and your ethics like a cape.

Because the scariest thing in this profession isn’t a ghost, a vampire, or even an AI transcript generator —
it’s a world without you.

🕯️ Happy Halloween to every living, breathing, truth-keeping court reporter out there.
May your lines never drop, your realtime never freeze, and your record always stay alive.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The Endgame Nobody Sees Coming – Reporters, Not Agencies, Will Control the Future

Let Them Buy You Out. Then We Take It Back.

Why the Future Belongs to Reporters Who Go Direct.

The big-box agencies think they’re winning. They think consolidation is their endgame — that by absorbing every small agency in sight, they’ll control the entire marketplace, from bookings to billing to transcript delivery. They’re wrong. In reality, they’re walking straight into a trap of their own making.

The real power in this industry has never belonged to the agencies. It’s always been in the hands of the people who hold the license, sit in the chair, and create the certified record: the reporters. And once consolidation runs its course, the moment will be ripe for reporters to flip the model entirely — to cut out the middleman and run direct-to-attorney businesses with leaner tools, lower costs, and complete control.

This isn’t a pipe dream. It’s the logical endgame of a shift that’s already underway.

I. Consolidation Is Inevitable — And That’s Okay

Across the country, small agencies are struggling to compete with private-equity-backed giants. National firms have capital reserves that allow them to undercut prices, lock in bulk contracts with law firms, and invest in slick technology platforms. They automate scheduling, billing, and delivery in ways a two-person shop simply can’t match.

Many small agency owners are also aging out of the business. After decades of building relationships and running local operations, they’re facing the same market pressures as everyone else: rising tech costs, attorney demands for fast turnaround, shrinking margins, and fierce competition. Selling to a larger agency becomes the logical choice. For many, it’s the only viable exit.

This is the first phase of the industry’s transformation. It’s not something to fear — it’s something to understand strategically. When a small agency sells, it accelerates the consolidation process. And consolidation, ironically, creates the exact conditions that allow reporters to break free.

II. The Myth That Reporters “Need” Agencies

For years, agencies justified their role as necessary intermediaries. Reporters supposedly needed them to handle all the messy admin work:

  • Scheduling depositions and coordinating calendars
  • Printing, binding, and shipping transcripts for “read and sign”
  • Billing law firms and chasing receivables
  • Managing exhibits, errata, and archiving

That was true — twenty years ago. Not anymore.

Today, technology has quietly eliminated almost every operational burden that once made running a direct practice cumbersome:

  • Remote depositions have reduced travel, eliminated the need for physical conference rooms, and made geographic proximity irrelevant.
  • Electronic transcripts and digital signatures mean there’s no more printing, binding, or mailing.
  • Secure exhibit upload portals have replaced messy boxes of paper.
  • Modern SaaS platforms handle scheduling, invoicing, transcript hosting, archiving, and delivery seamlessly.

The infrastructure problem is solved. A single reporter — or a small collective of independents — can now run a modern, efficient, direct-to-attorney business without the bloated overhead of an agency.

And unlike agencies, reporters hold the legal authority. We’re the ONLY ones who certify the record. We’re the “Responsible Charge” under state law. Without us, the agencies have nothing to sell.

III. Phase Two: Let Them Consolidate

The second phase is simple: let consolidation happen. Don’t panic when a small agency sells. Don’t scramble to keep pace with big marketing budgets or undercut their prices.

Every small agency that sells brings the industry one step closer to a clear, centralized “middle layer” — a small number of national giants controlling scheduling platforms, billing systems, and attorney relationships.

On the surface, this looks like victory for the agencies. In reality, it’s a strategic narrowing of the battlefield. Instead of competing against hundreds of small agencies with regional loyalties, reporters will be able to pivot around a few large, slow-moving, deeply dependent middlemen. Once that layer is concentrated, it becomes incredibly easy to bypass.

Think of what happened in other industries:

  • Travel agencies dominated flight bookings — until Expedia let consumers book directly.
  • Taxi dispatch companies controlled rides — until Uber connected drivers and riders.
  • Record labels controlled distribution — until platforms let musicians release directly to fans.

The same pattern is about to play out in court reporting. Once the middle layer consolidates, it becomes a single, highly visible choke point. And reporters — the licensed creators of the record — are uniquely positioned to walk right around it.

IV. Phase Three: Reporters Go Direct

Imagine a world where attorneys don’t book through a bloated agency website that hides fees and routes everything through a markup machine. Instead, they log in to a clean, reporter-powered platform, search for certified reporters by date, location, or specialty, and book directly.

The reporter confirms, the transcript is delivered electronically, exhibits are uploaded securely, billing is automated, and everyone saves time and money.

That world isn’t hypothetical. The tools already exist. What’s been missing is coordinated messaging and the will to make the shift.

When reporters move en masse toward direct scheduling, attorneys will follow — not out of loyalty, but out of economic self-interest. Agencies routinely apply 40–60% markups on reporter rates, plus layer on “technology” and “platform” fees. Attorneys are increasingly frustrated with opaque pricing and slow turnaround times.

When they see they can work directly with certified reporters — legally, ethically, and more efficiently — the choice becomes obvious.

V. The Economics Are Unbeatable

A direct model doesn’t just work — it’s financially superior for everyone except the middleman.

For reporters:

  • You keep 100% of your page rates.
  • You retain revenue from derivative products — condensed transcripts, exhibits, word indexes, realtime fees, hosting — instead of agencies pocketing them.
  • You reduce overhead by using efficient platforms instead of paying agency cuts.

For attorneys:

  • You pay less because there’s no agency markup.
  • You gain transparency — you know exactly who your reporter is, what they charge, and when you’ll receive your transcript.
  • You build direct relationships with the professionals actually responsible for the record.

For the industry:

  • You eliminate duplicated overhead. One modern platform can handle admin for thousands of reporters — far more efficiently than dozens of layered agency systems.
  • You realign incentives: quality and speed rise when reporters are directly accountable to clients, not buried behind agency walls.

This is why the shift isn’t just possible — it’s inevitable.

VI. Messaging + Tools = The Trigger

Two ingredients are needed to ignite this shift at scale:

  1. Unified Messaging
    Reporters must speak with one voice to attorneys:

“It is legal, ethical, and more efficient to schedule directly with certified reporters. We hold the license. We are the record. And we can deliver better service without the middleman.”

This isn’t a rebellion — it’s a clarification of reality. Agencies do not own the work product. They are not required by law. They are optional intermediaries.

  1. Frictionless Tools
    Attorneys won’t switch to a clunky, confusing system. The alternative must be easier, not harder. Platforms that combine modern scheduling, transcript hosting, billing, and notifications already exist. When attorneys can book a reporter in two clicks and get transparent pricing, they will adopt it naturally.

When messaging and tools align, adoption doesn’t have to be forced. It will happen the way every major disruption happens: gradually at first, then suddenly.

VII. Agencies Won’t See It Coming

The big agencies believe their endgame is total market control through consolidation. But in reality, they’re concentrating their dependency on a single, organized workforce: certified reporters.

They don’t own our licenses. They don’t own the record. They can’t certify proceedings. Their pricing models are alienating attorneys. And their centralized platforms — once seen as a strength — will become a glaring weak point once a leaner, reporter-led alternative emerges.

They’re building a house on sand.

VIII. The Future Is Reporter-Led

The playbook is simple:

  • Let consolidation happen.
  • Wait for the middle to fatten and centralize.
  • Step around it with modern tools and unified messaging.
  • Offer attorneys better pricing, faster service, and direct accountability.
  • Watch the middle collapse.

Reporters have always been the backbone of the legal record. For too long, agencies have inserted themselves between the creators and the consumers of that record. But technology has caught up, and the market dynamics are shifting.

We don’t need to fight consolidation. We need to outsmart it.

The big agencies think they’re buying up the industry. In reality, they’re setting the stage for reporters to take it all back.

This time, on our terms.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Zoom, the Record, and the Reporter – Where Ethics Are Clear and the Law Is Catching Up

Two recent agency inquiries—one from Texas questioning a large national firm’s practice of making reporters the Zoom “host,” another from Minnesota describing an irate attorney who demanded that the reporter both report and record a Zoom deposition—illustrate a growing pressure point in post-pandemic litigation.

The technology is mature; the ethics are settled; but the rules remain a patchwork. The question is no longer can we take depositions remotely—but who controls the platform and the record.

The Bright-Line Ethical Rule

The National Court Reporters Association’s Committee on Professional Ethics drew the line almost two decades ago. Advisory Opinion 44 asks:

“Should a court reporter act as both the verbatim reporter and the videographer for the same proceeding?”

The answer: No.

The committee found that “a reporter may not act as both the videographer and the verbatim reporter for the same proceeding” because doing so would “compromise the reporter’s paramount duty to make a full, impartial, and accurate record.”
(NCRA COPE Advisory Opinion 44, 2006)

That rule remains the profession’s north star. The reporter’s singular function is to create the official, certified record. Recording, streaming, or producing the video component is a different profession governed by different rules and responsibilities.

Why the Pressure Persists

If the ethics are settled, why are reporters still asked to host or record Zoom? The answer is simple: convenience and cost-cutting.

During the pandemic, many agencies collapsed multiple roles—videographer, host, and reporter—into one for efficiency. Now, as firms try to maintain those margins, the blurred roles remain. Some national vendors’ job confirmations still bury “host duties” in small print, implying that the reporter will admit participants, control screen-share, and even “press record.”

On the ground, that looks like this: the reporter is taking down testimony while monitoring the waiting room, troubleshooting audio, and managing exhibits—all under an email that simply reads “Veritext Virtual” or “Remote Legal proceeding.”

But that “efficiency” introduces an ethical conflict of interest, violates Advisory Opinion 44, and endangers the record itself.

Federal Clarity, State Divergence

At the federal level, Rule 30(b)(4) of the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure allows depositions “by telephone or other remote means” by stipulation or order. The rule, however, says nothing about who hosts or records; it simply authorizes the format.
The ethical boundaries remain unchanged: the reporter reports; the videographer records.

At the state level, the picture is less uniform.

During COVID-19, emergency orders across the country authorized remote oaths and appearances. Afterward, some states made those changes permanent:

  • Florida adopted remote-notarization frameworks and remote-oath rules.
  • California enacted Code Civ. Proc. § 2025.310 (a)(2), permanently allowing remote depositions and oaths.
  • Texas, Illinois, and Minnesota reverted to their pre-pandemic rules, allowing remote proceedings only by stipulation or specific order.
  • Massachusetts formally recognized remote depositions but left procedures to counsel and the officer.

Others let emergency authorizations simply expire, creating gaps or ambiguity. The practical result: some states treat remote oath administration as routine, while others treat it as an exception.

Where “Recording” Collides With the Official Record

Attorneys who insist on “just recording the Zoom” often misunderstand what that means legally. Zoom’s native recording feature creates an unverified digital file—not a lawful, certified legal video record.

A true legal video record requires a licensed videographer who ensures:

  • proper identification of participants,
  • on/off-record statements,
  • continuous time-stamping, and
  • compliance with jurisdictional rules for audiovisual depositions.

When a reporter controls the platform, the reporter inadvertently becomes the de facto videographer, directing what is captured and when. That is exactly why the NCRA forbids dual service.

When Being “Host” Is About Protecting the Record—Not Producing It

This is where nuance enters. Many reporters want to be designated as the Zoom host, not to record, but to prevent unauthorized recording and to disable automatic speech-recognition (ASR) bots that threaten confidentiality.

The NCRA’s Guidelines for Professional Practice—Section V, “Reporting a Proceeding Remotely via a Streaming Platform”—acknowledge this limited role:

“To avoid the possibility of unauthorized use of the recording feature … the reporter should be designated as the host whenever possible.”
— NCRA Guidelines for Professional Practice, Section V

Under this provision, being host is permissible when the purpose is custodial: controlling access, locking out AI transcription tools, and protecting the integrity of the record.

So:
✅ You may be host to safeguard the record.
❌ You may not be host to produce or certify a recording.

When reporters are not the host, they often lose the ability to disable recording or remove AI bots such as “Otter.ai,” “Fireflies,” or “Zoom Transcription.” In those cases, if the host refuses to disable those functions, the reporter’s obligation is clear: withdraw from the job. Proceeding under forced recording or ASR attendance violates confidentiality and the Code of Professional Ethics.

Ethically, a reporter who continues in that scenario risks being complicit in creating an unauthorized record—something that could later be used to challenge transcript authenticity.

Exhibit Sharing: Staying on the Safe Side

Another gray area arises with exhibits. In remote settings, counsel often share or mark exhibits electronically. Occasionally, a reporter is asked to “screen-share” a document or PDF for identification.

This is allowed—but only if done off the record and at counsel’s direction.

Proper protocol:

“We’re going off the record while I display the exhibit for identification.”
[Share the exhibit.]
“We’re back on the record. Exhibit 3 has been marked for identification.”

This keeps the exhibit process administrative, not testimonial. If exhibit handling continues while testimony is in progress, the reporter is effectively participating in the record’s production, which edges into prohibited dual-role territory.

When Dual Roles Cross the Line

Here’s the functional breakdown:

ScenarioEthics StatusReasoning
Reporter acts as host solely to control access, disable recording/ASR✅ AllowedProtective custodial role
Reporter records the Zoom session❌ ForbiddenVideography role
Reporter shares exhibits off record at counsel’s request✅ AllowedAdministrative act
Reporter manages exhibits while testimony continues⚠️ RiskyDivided attention and role
Reporter proceeds despite active ASR/recording❌ ForbiddenCompromises confidentiality
Reporter withdraws when host refuses to disable recording/AI✅ RequiredUpholds ethical standard

The dividing line is functional control.

  • Custodial control (ensuring integrity) = permitted.
  • Production control (creating a recording) = prohibited.

Practical Responses for Agencies and Reporters

For the Texas agency that discovered Veritext requiring reporters to “host and monitor Zoom,” the correct written response should cite Advisory Opinion 44 and the Guidelines for Remote Reporting:

“Our reporters cannot perform videographer or recording duties. They may act as host only to protect the integrity of the record by disabling recording and ASR features. If no separate videographer or remote-tech is provided, the assignment cannot proceed.”

For the Minnesota agency faced with an angry attorney demanding a Zoom recording:

“We’re happy to provide the certified stenographic record. If you wish to create an audiovisual record, please hire a legal videographer. Under NCRA ethics, our reporter cannot perform both functions.”

These short, professional responses align perfectly with NCRA standards while preserving client relationships.

The Legal Gap: Ethics Ahead of Statute

The underlying challenge is that ethics have outpaced legislation.
Most state civil-procedure codes say little about remote-platform control or AI participation. Few define what constitutes an “official” recording in a virtual setting. The NCRA’s ethics code and the California and Texas licensing regulations are, at this moment, the only concrete guardrails.

Until states modernize their procedural rules to explicitly address host control, digital recording, and ASR transcription, these ethical standards will continue to serve as the profession’s de facto law of the land.

Checklist for Remote Assignments

  1. Clarify roles in writing. Before the proceeding, confirm who hosts, who records, and who marks exhibits.
  2. If you host, use that control defensively. Disable Zoom’s recording, live transcription, and ASR integrations.
  3. Announce clearly when going off/on the record. Especially for exhibit sharing.
  4. If unauthorized recording or AI attendance occurs, withdraw immediately. Document why.
  5. Stay current on state remote-oath rules. Don’t rely on pandemic orders that may have expired.
  6. Never act as videographer. If video is requested, a separate professional must handle it.

The Bottom Line

Remote technology is here to stay, but the ethics that protect the record have not changed. Reporters can—and should—use host controls to prevent abuse, not to facilitate it.

They may not create a recording, run an ASR feed, or act as both videographer and stenographer. When those lines are crossed, the ethical duty is not to compromise—it’s to walk away.

Until the law catches up, the profession’s integrity depends on each reporter drawing that line firmly, every single time.

Key Sources:

  • NCRA Committee on Professional Ethics, Advisory Opinion 44 (2006) — Reporter may not serve as both verbatim reporter and videographer.
  • NCRA Guidelines for Professional Practice, Section V: Reporting a Proceeding Remotely via a Streaming Platform.
  • Federal Rule of Civil Procedure 30(b)(4) — Depositions by remote means.
  • State civil-procedure updates (California § 2025.310 (a)(2); Florida Remote Online Notarization Act; various 2020-25 rule amendments).
  • California Rules of Court Rule 3.1010 — oral depositions by telephone, videoconference, or other remote electronic means.
  • State civil-procedure updates:
  • Massachusetts Rules of Civil Procedure Rule 30 (2025 amendments discussing remote depositions, video-conferencing)

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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Spooky Season or Shady Season?

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StenoImperium Marks 400 Articles – A Chronicle of Truth, Transparency, and Tenacity

Four hundred articles. Fifty comment threads alive with debate. Tens of thousands of readers spanning every corner of the reporting profession — from realtime veterans and agency owners to students still learning the theory. StenoImperium has reached a milestone that few independent advocacy platforms ever do: 400 published articles in service of a single mission — to preserve truth, defend transparency, and champion the court-reporting profession’s rightful place in the justice system.

This milestone isn’t just a number. It represents a decade-long movement — a record of resistance and resilience during the most turbulent years the profession has ever faced. Behind each headline and analysis lies an invisible labor: research into legislative proposals, comparison of transcript policies, late-night calls with reporters facing retaliation, and an unwavering editorial standard that never bowed to corporate spin or political convenience.

A Chronicle of the Profession’s Turning Point

StenoImperium began as a small experiment — a blog meant to document the daily realities of the working reporter. But it quickly evolved into something much larger: an investigative record of the entire legal transcript ecosystem.

Over 426,000 words have now been published, spanning court reporting law, AI ethics, digital-recording oversight, judicial conduct, and legal technology accountability. The blog’s analytics tell the story of that evolution: over 73,000 total views in 2024, followed by an explosive 31,000+ views already in 2025, with readership spikes whenever legislation like AB 711 or SB 988 threatened the integrity of the record.

The community itself has grown alongside the mission. More than 5,300 subscribers receive StenoImperium’s updates — a remarkable figure for an independent publication in a niche professional sector. That audience has stayed deeply engaged, adding 325 total comments across 399 posts, with the 400th post marking a symbolic shift into the next era: the fight for ethical AI integration and secure, reporter-controlled transcript libraries.

The Mission: Truth and Transparency in the Record

If the court reporter’s oath is to take down “true and correct” testimony, then StenoImperium’s oath is to publish “true and correct” information.

Every article represents hours — sometimes days — of sourcing, statute-checking, and triangulating facts against public records, CRB minutes, legislative amendments, and agency filings. The goal has never been popularity or virality, but accuracy. Readers know that each post, no matter how fiery its rhetoric, is grounded in evidence.

This relentless focus on transparency has made StenoImperium both a watchdog and a refuge. It has exposed state-level conflicts of interest, corporate misrepresentations about “shortages,” and quiet funding streams flowing from private-equity firms into digital-recording lobbyists. It has also amplified the voices of reporters who were silenced by NDAs, retaliation, or fear of professional isolation.

The Effort Behind the Empire

To write 400 articles is to undertake 400 acts of intellectual endurance. Each post — whether it’s a legislative analysis, a firsthand courtroom observation, or an op-ed challenging a trade association — requires emotional labor and strategic restraint.

Behind the metrics lie countless unseen moments: tracking a hearing transcript at midnight; fact-checking the Business & Professions Code; fielding hostile DMs; revising drafts to protect against defamation claims; and most importantly, staying centered on the core mission — protecting the public record.

The statistics capture this persistence. In 2025 alone, StenoImperium logged 31,284 views by early October, a threefold increase over 2024. The most popular day of all time — April 18, 2024 — drew 2,600 views in a single day. Posts tagged #Steno, #CourtReporting, #CivilTrial, and #JudicialEthicsWatch remain the top-performing categories, with over 2,000 views each, showing that readers crave substantive coverage of both policy and ethics.

A Parallel Journey – Stenonymous and the Power of Clarifying the Record – StenoImperium Is Not Stenonymous

No discussion of modern stenographic media would be complete without mentioning Christopher Day’s blog, Stenonymous — a platform that has, in many ways, run parallel to StenoImperium on the same battlefield.

It’s time to set the record straight, again: StenoImperium and Stenonymous are two entirely separate blogs, written by two completely different people, operating on opposite coasts of the country.

While both sites care deeply about stenography, we are not affiliated, we do not collaborate, and we do not share the same editorial viewpoints or professional strategies.

Christopher Day’s Stenonymous has its own tone, goals, and style — and deserves recognition for maintaining an active, outspoken blog with 772 published posts and impressive 1,706 comments. But StenoImperium is not Stenonymous, and never has been.

Where Stenonymous often focuses on rapid commentary, activism, and emotional immediacy, StenoImperium takes a more investigative, legal-analytical approach — blending research, ethics, and long-form analysis aimed at attorneys, regulators, and journalists.

Both writers are passionate. Both care deeply about stenography. But passion does not equal sameness, and the diversity of voices within this profession should be celebrated — not blurred together.

Two Voices, One Profession

It’s important to acknowledge what we do share: a love for stenography and an unwillingness to stand idle while it’s misrepresented or dismantled. Both blogs emerged from frustration with the same forces — automation without accountability, legislation without input, and leadership without transparency.

Yet our methods and philosophies diverge, and that’s healthy. StenoImperium believes in structure, citation, and carefully verified claims, often written in an editorial style that appeals to lawyers, policy advocates, and educators.
Stenonymous leans into immediacy — the rallying cry of the grassroots reporter.

The profession needs both. Advocacy is not monolithic; it’s a chorus. And while we may stand on opposite coasts, we share the same horizon: protecting the integrity of the record.

A Publication Built for the Long Game

What distinguishes StenoImperium is not just the number of posts but their cumulative depth. The top-performing tags — #Steno, #CourtReporting, #CivilTrial, #JudicialEthicsWatch, #AIandtheLegalSystem — show the range of issues explored, from courtroom practices to the moral dimensions of artificial intelligence.

Every article exists as a timestamped contribution to the historical record of this profession’s fight for recognition and reform. The work is both academic and personal — grounded in lived experience from over 500 reported trials and countless hours in courtrooms across California.

The comments under each post — more than 325 total — reflect a growing, global readership that values thoughtful, sourced discussion over outrage or speculation.

Readers as Witnesses

The 50 comment threads under the 400th StenoImperium article are more than discussion — they’re testimony. They represent working reporters speaking out after years of silence. Students finding mentorship in shared struggle. Attorneys, judges, and even policymakers quietly acknowledging the importance of the human guardian of the record.

Each comment, like each stroke on a stenograph machine, captures a fragment of truth. And together, they form a collective transcript of a profession in flux — documenting not just what’s happening, but what must never be forgotten.

From Observation to Impact

Numbers tell one part of the story. 73,300 views, 45,800 visitors, and 140 likes in 2024 show reach. But the true metric of impact is influence — the ripple effect through policy conversations, ethics boards, and industry roundtables.

In just the last year, StenoImperium’s articles have been cited in law blogs, discussed in state bar meetings, and circulated among NCRA and CRB stakeholders. The research compiled here has supported formal complaints, legislative testimony, and professional ethics campaigns across multiple states.

This influence isn’t accidental. It’s the result of a publication run with the precision of a courtroom transcript — every paragraph vetted, every word deliberate. The 400th post stands as both milestone and mirror: a reflection of how far the movement has come and how much further there is to go.

The Road Ahead

The next 100 articles will explore what comes after survival — how stenography adapts, innovates, and reclaims its narrative in the age of AI. Future features will continue to dissect algorithmic bias, transcript chain of custody, speech-to-text regulation, and economic reform for independent reporters.

The goal remains the same: to protect the sanctity of the spoken word — the foundation of every courtroom, deposition, and public hearing.

StenoImperium doesn’t exist to replace institutions; it exists to remind them of their duty. The oath of accuracy belongs not only to reporters behind their machines, but to everyone who touches the record — from attorneys to editors to policymakers.

Four hundred articles later, the message still echoes: truth matters. Transparency matters. The record matters.

A Final Word of Gratitude

To every subscriber, reader, and commenter who has kept the dialogue alive — thank you. Whether you discovered StenoImperium through a LinkedIn post, a legal newsletter, or a late-night Google search for “court reporter ethics,” you are part of this story.

Each read, share, and comment ensures that independent voices continue to thrive in a space where silence once reigned. And as long as there are words to take down and truths to tell, StenoImperium will keep writing them — one verified, unfiltered, unaltered record at a time.

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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

** Editor’s Note on Accuracy and Integrity

As StenoImperium continues to grow past 400 published articles, I want to acknowledge that — like any human writer — I sometimes make mistakes. For instance, I once wrote that Sue Terry attended a Steno in the City ™ event in person when she had actually presented remotely, and I also misstated Allie Hall’s California reporter status. Both were honest errors, not made in bad faith. In each case, I corrected the record immediately upon learning the facts — one within minutes of publication. My commitment has always been to truth and transparency, and that includes promptly fixing unintentional errors when they occur.

Dividing Zero – The Illusion of Division in the Court Reporting Profession

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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The Secret Trick That Builds a Cult – How Charisma Can Capture an Entire Industry

I. The Illusion of the “Movement”

It often begins in moments of collective anxiety. An industry under siege — shrinking pay, corporate consolidation, AI displacement, public misunderstanding — starts yearning for a unifying voice.

Court reporters, like many skilled professionals, are passionate protectors of their craft. When someone rises up promising empowerment, visibility, and “reclaiming our worth,” it feels like a spark of hope. They speak our language. They quote our struggles. They call it a movement.

But somewhere between advocacy and adoration, something shifts. The mission becomes less about protecting the profession and more about protecting the messenger. Critics are labeled divisive. Dissent feels dangerous. The community’s focus slowly redirects — not toward solutions, but toward maintaining the mythology.

Psychologists call this identity fusion — when personal and professional identities merge with the group’s narrative and, eventually, its figurehead. Once that happens, disagreement feels like betrayal.

II. The Psychology of Charismatic Control

Behavioral expert Chase Hughes breaks down the method cults and manipulative leaders use to gain influence. The same structure often emerges — unintentionally or not — in industries facing disruption:

  1. Emotional Triggering: Create urgency by framing the profession as endangered. “We’re being replaced. We’re not respected. They don’t see our value.”
  2. Identity Anchoring: Speak as one of the tribe. “I’m one of you. I’m fighting for you.” Followers equate the leader’s success with their own.
  3. Reciprocity Loop: Offer small rewards — public praise, exclusive access, spotlight opportunities — to reinforce loyalty. The dopamine hit of being “chosen” cements belonging.
  4. Social Proof Engineering: Showcase applause, photos, and testimonials to simulate universal support. Those who question the narrative are made to feel like outliers.
  5. Information Gatekeeping: Establish selective communication channels. Independent voices are reframed as “negative” or “anti-progress.”

Individually, these tactics seem benign. Together, they create behavioral conditioning — not through fear, but through belonging.

III. When Entire Industries Fall Under the Spell

This pattern isn’t unique to court reporting. History shows that charisma can hypnotize entire industries:

  • Elizabeth Holmes and Theranos turned biotech into a belief system, not a business. Employees stayed silent out of devotion, not deceit.
  • Adam Neumann’s WeWork blurred corporate culture with spiritual language, convincing employees they were “changing the world.”
  • NXIVM began as a personal-development company for executives and devolved into total psychological control.
  • Even Tony Hsieh’s Downtown Project in Las Vegas began as a noble experiment in community-building but collapsed under utopian insularity and groupthink.

Each started with good intentions — empowerment, progress, community. Each became a closed circuit of worship and silence.

IV. The Professional Vulnerability of Court Reporting

Court reporting is a deeply human profession now caught in an existential battle with automation and outsourcing.
That vulnerability — the collective ache for respect, recognition, and survival — makes it ripe for emotional capture.

When people feel unseen or undervalued, they seek connection.
When institutions fail to represent them, they seek movements.
And when movements become monopolized by one personality, the profession’s energy — donations, volunteerism, activism — begins orbiting charisma rather than purpose.

The result? A community that mistakes visibility for progress and personality for leadership.

V. The Anatomy of the Echo Chamber

Inside these professional cults, conversation narrows.

  • Flattery replaces feedback.
  • Visibility is conditional on loyalty.
  • Critics are recast as enemies.
  • Silence becomes self-defense.

You see this play out in conferences, online forums, and social media movements.
Dissenters withdraw to avoid public humiliation. Groupthink becomes policy. The illusion of unity hides the decay of diversity.

VI. The Breaking Point

Eventually, the movement consumes its own momentum.
Because when every initiative, event, or partnership must flow through one gatekeeper, innovation suffocates.
Volunteers burn out. Donors drift away. Newcomers sense something off.

By then, it’s not malice that holds people — it’s confusion, guilt, and fear of being ostracized.
The saddest part? Many who joined simply wanted to help the profession they love.

VII. The Exit Strategy: Reclaiming the Mission

Escaping collective capture doesn’t mean tearing down individuals — it means rebuilding systems.

  1. Decentralize leadership. Rotate responsibility, share power, and make transparency non-negotiable.
  2. Welcome dissent. Disagreement keeps ideas sharp and egos humble.
  3. Audit influence. Ask: Who benefits from our labor, our loyalty, and our funding?
  4. Refocus on the mission. Protect the record. Serve the justice system. Elevate skill over celebrity.

Court reporting doesn’t need saviors. It needs structure, solidarity, and truth.

VIII. Closing Reflection

Cults rarely look like cults at the start.
They look like movements. Like initiatives. Like hope.

They thrive not because people are gullible, but because they care. They want belonging, validation, and direction in a profession that often feels invisible to the world it serves.

But charisma is not leadership. Attention is not achievement.
And unity built on fear of dissent is not unity at all.

The profession will survive — not by rallying around personalities, but by returning to its principles: integrity, independence, and the timeless power of the human record.

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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

What Court Reporters Can (and Cannot) Talk About – Ethics, Boundaries, and Public Perception

We live online now. Stories, selfies, side hustles—it’s all out there. But when your day job involves people’s private testimony, how much of your work life belongs on your feed? For court reporters, though, that mix isn’t just tricky—it can cross serious ethical lines. Whether it’s a freelance reporter posting about an interesting deposition or an official reporter sharing courtroom experiences, the question remains: how much is too much?

The Duty of Confidentiality

Court reporters are not just recorders; we are officers of the court. That title carries a fiduciary responsibility to protect the integrity of the record and the privacy of the proceedings we document. Even when a deposition or trial is technically public, our commentary can cross ethical lines if it reveals identifiable information or undermines neutrality.

A simple benchmark: if what’s said could allow someone to identify the case, parties, or witnesses with minimal effort—or if the tone could be perceived as mocking, biased, or disrespectful—it’s safer left unsaid.

It’s Not Just About “Naming Names”

A common misconception is that confidentiality applies only when someone’s name or company is mentioned. But ethics hinge on identifiability and impartiality, not merely names. Sharing “a case today involving a celebrity divorce where the attorney said X” or “a deposition with a doctor from Beverly Hills who…” may seem vague, but Google makes even small details traceable.

Moreover, even if the facts are anonymized, tone and commentary matter. Sarcasm, ridicule, or personal opinion about participants can erode the profession’s reputation for neutrality and professionalism.

The Public vs. Private Record Distinction

Some reporters reason that because court proceedings (outside of sealed, juvenile, or confidential matters) are technically public, talking about them should be permissible. However, public access to a transcript is not the same as a reporter offering unsanctioned commentary about it. The reporter’s duty doesn’t end when the session is over; it extends to preserving the dignity and impartiality of the judicial process long after the record closes.

In depositions, the expectation of privacy is even higher. Though discovery is not open to the public, those transcripts can contain sensitive medical, financial, or personal details. Disseminating that information—or even implying familiarity with it—risks breaching professional obligations and, in some jurisdictions, could raise ethical or contractual violations.

Professional Standards and Public Perception

Organizations such as the National Court Reporters Association (NCRA) and various state boards emphasize confidentiality, impartiality, and decorum as pillars of ethical conduct.
NCRA’s Code of Professional Ethics specifically instructs members to “preserve the confidentiality and ensure the security of information, oral or written, entrusted to the Member by any of the parties in a proceeding.”

Even if a comment doesn’t violate a confidentiality clause outright, it can still undermine public trust. Once the audience begins to view court reporters as commentators rather than neutral officers of the record, our credibility suffers. Attorneys may question whether their cases are safe in our hands—or their witnesses safe from public ridicule.

A Modern Dilemma: Storytelling vs. Oversharing

There’s no denying that court reporters have fascinating stories. We witness raw human emotion, high-stakes litigation, and moments of profound truth. It’s natural to want to share insights, lessons, or humor about our work.

The safest approach is education over entertainment:

  • Share general experiences, not specific proceedings.
  • Speak in terms of professional insight (“How to handle fast talkers” or “Dealing with complex medical terminology”) rather than anecdotes about cases.
  • When in doubt, ask: Would I say this if the judge, counsel, or witness were in the room?

The Bottom Line

Court reporters operate at the intersection of law, language, and trust. In today’s content-driven culture, that trust must extend to the digital sphere.
Whether speaking on social media, at conferences, or in casual conversation, the rule of thumb remains timeless: protect the record, protect your reputation.

Because even one careless comment can turn an officer of the court into a commentator—and that’s a line no reporter should ever cross.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The Ring, the Record, and the Reckoning – What Tolkien Can Teach the Court Reporting Profession About Power and Purpose

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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Making a Record – Why Attorneys Keep Losing Their Exhibits on Appeal

There’s a quiet epidemic happening in trial courts across the country—one that doesn’t make headlines, but can destroy a record on appeal faster than a mistrial.
It’s not misconduct. It’s not bias. It’s bad exhibit practice.

And lately, as a certified court reporter, I’ve seen more and more attorneys go “loosey-goosey” with exhibits—waving them around, calling them “marked,” and even publishing them to the jury without ever having them formally marked for identification or received into evidence by the court.

Then, when the day of trial is over and they receive their reporter’s transcript, I get the Saturday-night text:

“Hey, there’s no exhibit index. Where are the exhibits?”

My answer is always the same:

“You got the record you made.”

Who Actually Marks and Admits Exhibits

Let’s start with the basics—because this confusion isn’t just procedural; it’s structural.

  1. The Judge controls what’s admitted into evidence.
    Only the judge can say “marked for identification” or “received into evidence.”
  2. The Clerk physically marks the exhibits and keeps the official exhibit list, noting whether each item is marked, identified, received, or refused.
  3. The Reporter creates a written record of what is said and done—but not what should have been done. Reporters don’t mark or admit exhibits on their own initiative.
  4. The Attorneys are responsible for offering the exhibits into evidence, securing a ruling from the court, and making sure the record reflects it.

It’s that simple. Yet in daily trial practice, this clarity often collapses into chaos.

The “Loosey-Goosey” Exhibit Routine

A typical exchange I’ve witnessed more times than I can count goes like this:

Attorney: “Your Honor, I’d like to show the witness Exhibit 5.”
Judge: “Go ahead.”
Attorney: “(shows document) … and I’ll publish this to the jury.”
Judge: “Okay.”

What just happened?
Nothing, legally speaking.

The exhibit wasn’t marked, wasn’t identified, and wasn’t received. It was shown—but not admitted. When I’m asked later for an exhibit index, I have to explain that unless the court said “marked” or “received,” it’s not an exhibit in the record.

Sometimes, to save time, attorneys will suggest a blanket shortcut:

“Your Honor, can we agree that any exhibit I publish to the jury is automatically deemed admitted?”

If the judge nods and says “Sure,” the damage is already done. Because what’s missing is the specific record—the verbal ruling that identifies what’s being admitted.

When the appeal comes, the Court of Appeal has no idea what Exhibit 5 even was, whether it was admitted, or whether opposing counsel objected.

What the Record Must Contain

A complete trial record has three elements regarding exhibits:

  1. Identification — “Plaintiff’s Exhibit 5, marked for identification.”
  2. Offer — “Plaintiff moves Exhibit 5 into evidence.”
  3. Ruling — “Received into evidence.”

Those three steps must appear on the record.
Without them, the reporter can’t include an exhibit index.

When the transcript is prepared, we reporters review the proceedings and note only those exhibits that have been properly marked and received. We’re not being unhelpful—we’re being faithful to the record.

The record is a legal document. It’s sworn, certified, and relied upon by appellate justices who were not in the courtroom. Every “marking” or “receipt” matters.

“Either by Stipulation or by the Court” – The Line Between Pre-Numbered Exhibits and the Official Record

These rules aren’t theoretical—they’re codified in local procedure. For example, the Los Angeles County Superior Court’s Local Rule 3.52 outlines exactly how exhibits must be pre-numbered, exchanged, and admitted, clarifying that they become evidence “either by stipulation or by the Court.”

Under Los Angeles County Superior Court Local Rule 3.52, attorneys are required to pre-number, exchange, and tab their exhibits before trial—Plaintiffs beginning with Exhibit 1 and Defendants with Exhibit 101. The rule also allows exhibits to be “admitted into evidence, either by stipulation or by the Court,” after which they may be shown to the jury.

That phrase—“either by stipulation or by the Court”—is key. It means counsel can agree to admission or the judge can rule them admitted, but the admission doesn’t legally exist until the court expressly says so on the record. Only then does the court reporter enter the notation—“Received in evidence”—and the exhibit becomes part of the official transcript index.

Without that judicial acknowledgment, the exhibit remains in limbo: pre-numbered, exchanged, maybe even published to the jury, but not part of the appellate record. The reporter cannot and should not record it as admitted unless the judge (or the court, acting through the clerk) verbally acknowledges the admission. This safeguard ensures the evidentiary record matches the court’s rulings, not the parties’ assumptions.

Who Submits Exhibits on Appeal

Another widespread misconception: attorneys often think the court reporter submits the exhibits to the appellate court. Not so.

That’s the court clerk’s job. The clerk’s exhibit list—the one maintained in real time during trial—is the official ledger. The reporter’s index is a supplement that references what was spoken on the record.

If an exhibit was never properly marked or admitted, it won’t appear on either list—and it won’t make it up on appeal.

The Risk of “Helpful” Reporters

Now, let’s talk about something uncomfortable: yes, some court reporters try to “fill in the gaps.”

They hear an attorney say “Mark this,” even if the judge doesn’t confirm it, and they’ll insert a line in the transcript like:

(Plaintiff’s Exhibit 12 marked for identification.)

That might make the attorney happy in the short term—but it’s technically improper and creates a false judicial record.

Under the California Code of Regulations and NCRA standards, reporters must not assume judicial acts or alter the record. We report what’s said and done, period. If the judge doesn’t direct marking, it didn’t happen.

Are Other Reporters “Filling in the Gaps”?

Unfortunately, yes—some do, and it’s technically improper. Some reporters will make “helpful” indexes or mark exhibits on their own when attorneys say things like, “Mark this,” even if the judge doesn’t confirm. It feels accommodating, but it’s risky because it creates a false judicial record.

The CRB and NCRA both make clear that a reporter must not assume judicial acts (like marking exhibits) or alter the official record to make it appear as if a ruling occurred when it didn’t.

The court reporter’s role is to make a transcript that accurately reflects what happened—not what someone wishes had happened.

Why Attorneys Should Care Deeply About This

In appellate practice, missing exhibit records are fatal. If the record doesn’t show that an exhibit was received into evidence, the appellate court can’t consider it—no matter how important it was at trial.

That means your best impeachment photo, your key contract, your timeline, your video—if it wasn’t properly offered and received—it’s invisible on appeal.

A missing record equals a lost issue.

Real-World Example

Imagine this sequence:

  • Counsel shows a photograph to a witness.
  • The witness identifies it as “the scene of the accident.”
  • Counsel asks a few questions, then moves on.

No marking. No ruling.

Later, during closing argument, counsel projects the same photo to the jury and references it as “Exhibit 12.”

At appeal time, the transcript shows nothing called Exhibit 12, no ruling, no receipt. The appellate justices can’t even verify what photo was used. The entire visual context of the case disappears.

That’s how records unravel.

What Attorneys Should Do Differently

To prevent this, here’s a quick checklist every trial lawyer should memorize:

  1. Ask the clerk to mark the exhibit before you show it. “Your Honor, may we have this marked as Plaintiff’s Exhibit 5 for identification?”
  2. Identify the exhibit on the record. “I’m showing you Exhibit 5, previously marked for identification. Can you tell the jury what that is?”
  3. Offer it into evidence. “Your Honor, Plaintiff moves Exhibit 5 into evidence.”
  4. Wait for the ruling. “Received.” or “Denied.”
  5. Don’t assume publication = admission.
    Publishing an exhibit to the jury does not make it evidence unless the court says so.
  6. Check the clerk’s list at the end of each day.
    Make sure the exhibit numbers and status match your notes.

That’s how you preserve a clean record.

Why Court Reporters Care So Much

Reporters are not being pedantic; we’re being protective. We know that appellate justices rely entirely on what’s in the transcript.

If we mark something the judge never ruled on, we create a false record. If we fail to note what was admitted, the appeal becomes vulnerable.

We carry that responsibility seriously—it’s part of our oath and our professional ethics.

The Human Side of the Record

It’s easy to forget that a transcript is a living thing. It’s the heartbeat of the trial—every word, pause, and ruling preserved in time.

When attorneys skip procedural steps, they’re not just inconveniencing the reporter; they’re erasing parts of history. The record becomes a patchwork of assumptions, missing exhibits, and guesswork.

The appeal that follows is built on sand.

Time for a Reset – Teaching the Basics Again

Maybe it’s time we, as reporters, helped reeducate the bar.

Imagine a one-hour CLE called “Making a Record: How to Handle Exhibits at Trial.”
It could cover:

  • The difference between “marked,” “identified,” and “received.”
  • The roles of the judge, clerk, and reporter.
  • Real transcript examples of good and bad exhibit handling.
  • How to check the clerk’s exhibit list daily.
  • Why appellate courts reject unmarked exhibits.

Attorneys would walk away understanding that good record-making isn’t a bureaucratic burden—it’s trial insurance.

Because at the end of the day, when the appeal hits the clerk’s desk and the record goes up, there’s no “fixing” what never existed.

Final Thought

The record is sacred. It’s not just a script—it’s the foundation of appellate justice.

So next time you step into court, remember this simple mantra:

“If the judge didn’t say it, it didn’t happen.”

Your reporter is there to capture your words, not rescue them.
Make your record, and we’ll make it count.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

Editor’s Note: This article is based on public records, regulatory filings, and California statutes. The author’s commentary represents opinion on matters of public concern. No allegations of wrongdoing are made beyond the facts cited.

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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

When the DRA Ignores Its Own Backyard – Why California’s Court Reporting Schools Deserve Defense, Not Displacement

California has a proud, century-long tradition of producing the fastest, most accurate, and most resilient court reporters in the nation. Yet today, the very schools that keep this legacy alive are under siege — not from AI or attrition, but from within our own professional ranks.

In recent months, the California Department of Education has subjected the state’s only NCRA-approved court reporting school to a series of audits and re-accreditations so extensive they would make a Fortune 500 compliance officer sweat. And while that school has continued to produce more Certified Shorthand Reporters (CSRs) than any other institution in the state — often against impossible odds — some of our own professional associations appear to have lent their platforms to outside voices whose messages, intentionally or not, may undermine that progress.

The DRA’s Role – Advocacy or Abandonment?

The Deposition Reporters Association (DRA) was founded on a promise: to protect and advance the professional interests of California’s freelance court reporters. Its legislative advocacy has, at times, been heroic. But lately, its speaker lineups and event agendas seem to reflect a drift from the lived realities of working reporters.

At a recent DRA-promoted event, an out-of-state speaker — herself a school owner — was invited to discuss theory and training approaches for students. On its face, that might sound like healthy educational exchange. In practice, however, many in the community perceived it differently: as the redirection of California students toward unaccredited, online programs that emphasize writing “shorter” rather than “better.”

The irony is hard to ignore. The DRA, an organization built to champion California’s reporters, gave its platform to individuals some view as marketing programs that compete with — and potentially draw students away from — the only NCRA-approved program in the state.

The Only NCRA-Approved School Standing Alone

For those outside the education loop, here’s the gravity: California has one — and only one — NCRA-approved program remaining. That school’s faculty bring decades of courtroom and legislative experience, teaching time-tested speed-building methods like RWG theory, grounded in precision, endurance, and accuracy.

They have long formed the backbone of our licensing pipeline, producing the majority of California’s CSR passers year after year. Their graduates consistently rank among the fastest, most reliable reporters entering the field. Yet instead of being championed, they’ve had to navigate wave after wave of bureaucratic review — extensive audits, re-accreditations, and compliance demands — all while watching students gravitate toward programs promising quick results that seldom deliver lasting mastery.

California’s court reporting shortage is not a failure of pedagogy; it’s a failure of support. The institution that continues to produce real results should be celebrated, not sidelined.

The “Write Shorter” Mirage

A new instructional trend has gained traction under the banner of “innovation”: the “write shorter” theory — a minimalist approach promising rapid progress through abbreviated dictionaries. It’s a tempting message: “Less writing equals faster speeds.”
But in practice, this shortcut often leads to incomplete transcripts, higher untranslates, and plateaus for students who never develop the endurance that true realtime proficiency requires.

Speed champions like Mark Kislingbury, Anissa Nierenberger, and countless NCRA legends didn’t reach the top by writing less; they did it by writing stronger and more consistently. Endurance and precision — not abbreviation — built the reputation of our profession.

And when students from “shortcut” programs struggle to pass the CSR or leave the field altogether, the impact is not limited to education providers. It ripples through California’s justice system — resulting in delayed cases and unmet demand for qualified stenographers.

The Audits Nobody Talks About

Meanwhile, California’s one remaining NCRA-approved school has faced an intense level of regulatory oversight, including repeated Department of Education reviews and audits — each demanding detailed compliance on everything from attendance logs to tuition accounting. To its credit, the school has consistently met those standards and earned re-approval, only to face the next round shortly thereafter.

It’s a level of scrutiny that would test any institution, particularly one operating in a niche profession with limited funding. Yet through it all, the program continues to graduate licensed CSRs and uphold rigorous academic and ethical standards.

Which raises an uncomfortable question: Where is the visible support from our professional associations?
Where are the public statements of solidarity, the letters of recognition, the speaking invitations for these educators who have kept California’s licensure pipeline alive?

Who Deserves the Microphone

If the DRA genuinely aims to lead, it can start by elevating the voices of those doing the If the DRA genuinely aims to lead, it can start by elevating the voices of those doing the work right here in California — not those marketing external programs with no stake in our licensure system.

There’s no shortage of talent at home:

  • Program directors who coach students through dictation exams
  • Veteran reporters who volunteer as test proctors and mentors
  • Administrators who have restructured curricula repeatedly to satisfy DOE requirements
  • Instructors whose teaching produces measurable, credentialed outcomes

These are the people DRA audiences deserve to hear from — professionals contributing directly to California’s sustainability and success.

The Ripple Effect of Neglect

Every student who leaves a California school for an unaccredited shortcut program is one less candidate taking the CSR. Every CSR license unfilled is one more case delayed, one more attorney forced into a digital recording nightmare, one more transcript with no certification, no chain of custody, and no accountability.

And every time our professional associations stay silent — or appear to endorse questionable alternatives — the message to Sacramento is clear: court reporters can’t even agree on what’s worth protecting.

That disunity becomes the pretext for legislative moves like AB 711, for the digital recording lobby’s arguments about “modernization,” and for policymakers who assume our schools are obsolete. They’re not. They’re just outnumbered, underfunded, and increasingly overlooked by the very people who should be defending them.

A Call for Accountability — and Inclusion

It’s time for the DRA to realign with its core mission.

  • Invite California’s NCRA-approved school leaders to your next event.
  • Showcase instructors producing licensed CSRs.
  • Advocate for fairer DOE oversight and funding for accredited programs.
  • Speak out against recruitment practices that divert California students from the licensure pipeline.

That’s what principled leadership looks like in a profession built on accuracy, ethics, and truth.

The DRA’s advocacy record deserves respect — but advocacy extends beyond legislation. It means loyalty to the very ecosystem that sustains us: students, schools, mentors, and institutions that still believe in the art of reporting.

Restoring Trust and Transparency

If concerns about external recruitment or conflicts of interest have circulated among members, DRA leadership can strengthen confidence through open dialogue. Transparency, not silence, builds trust. Addressing these perceptions head-on would reaffirm the association’s commitment to education and ethics alike.

The Final Word

The future of court reporting in California depends not on how many lobbyists we hire, but on how many students we inspire — and that inspiration begins in the classroom. The DRA now has an opportunity to prove it stands with the educators preserving our legacy, not the opportunists promoting shortcuts.

The question remains:
Will the DRA amplify the voices preserving our craft — or those dismantling it from the outside?

Steno Imperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

Editor’s Note: This article is based on public records, regulatory filings, and California statutes. The author’s commentary represents opinion on matters of public concern. No allegations of wrongdoing are made beyond the facts cited.

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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

AI Transcripts Gone Wild – The Day a Transcription Company Asked a Court Reporter to “Certify” Their Robot

Just when we thought we’d seen it all.

This week, a transcription company actually called a certified court reporter in Arizona and said, “Hey, we made an AI recording of a deposition — we do this all over the country. Can you certify it for us?”

Let that sink in.
They wanted a licensed officer of the court to certify a machine-generated transcript — one that wasn’t taken down by a live reporter, wasn’t monitored, wasn’t even preserved properly. The company didn’t save the original audio file. There’s no record to salvage, no human verification, no chain of custody. Just a digital hallucination masquerading as a legal record.

And when the attorney (bless them) realized this “AI deposition” didn’t meet Arizona state code, they demanded that it be certified by a licensed reporter to be admissible.

That’s when the transcription company had the gall — the cojones — to ask if a reporter would just “sign off” on it.

Why This Is a Dangerous Precedent

In states like Arizona, California, Nevada, and Texas, deposition transcripts are legally recognized only when certified by a licensed court reporter.
Certification isn’t a rubber stamp — it’s a sworn oath that the record is true, complete, and impartial. It’s backed by years of training, licensure, continuing education, and a code of ethics enforced by state boards.

An AI transcript, no matter how “accurate” it claims to be, doesn’t have:

  • A live officer administering the oath.
  • A verified chain of custody for the record.
  • Any accountability for tampering, omissions, or bias.
  • The ability to certify compliance with procedural codes (like CCP 2025.330 in California or Rule 30 in Arizona).

Yet, here we are — facing companies so eager to cut corners that they’re literally asking reporters to launder the record by attaching their professional seal to an uncertified, machine-generated document.

When “Efficiency” Becomes Fraud

This isn’t innovation. It’s impersonation.

When a transcriptionist or notary signs a “certificate” page that looks like a reporter’s, it’s not just misleading — it’s potentially fraudulent.
A certification page using the wrong title (CSR vs. transcriptionist vs. notary) misrepresents the record’s origin and violates state deposition codes.
Worse yet, it misleads courts and litigants who assume the transcript carries the weight of a certified, verbatim record.

One commenter put it best:

“Only an idiot would certify that.”

Another shared:

“The witness literally said they didn’t consent to being recorded by AI — only by the reporter. The attorneys thanked me for catching it. Then they started whispering about what happened in the past.”

If that doesn’t make your skin crawl, it should.

The Slippery Slope of “Just This Once”

And yet, there will always be a handful of reporters who will rationalize it.

“It’s already done — I might as well get paid to fix it.”
“It’s not my job to police the industry.”
“They’ll find someone else if I say no.”

This is how the profession erodes — not from the outside, but from within. Every time a reporter agrees to certify someone else’s digital transcript, it undermines every certified reporter’s credibility. It tells attorneys, agencies, and AI companies that our licenses are for sale.

They’re not.

The Real Solution: Education and Enforcement

The attorneys in this case deserve credit — one of them had the legal literacy to demand a proper certification. That’s where our focus should be: educating the bar.

Attorneys need to know:

  • An uncertified AI transcript is not admissible in most jurisdictions.
  • State codes mandate a licensed court reporter for deposition certification.
  • “Cost savings” disappear when the transcript gets tossed for non-compliance.

Meanwhile, court reporting boards and associations should make examples of this behavior.
If a company is advertising “AI depositions” as equivalent to certified transcripts, that’s false advertising and unauthorized practice under most state laws. Period.

Final Word: Don’t Certify Garbage

This story isn’t just a funny “Can you believe it?” moment. It’s a flashing red warning light for our entire profession.

AI doesn’t take an oath.
AI doesn’t answer to the CR Board.
AI doesn’t have a conscience — or a license to lose.

So the next time someone calls asking you to certify an AI-generated transcript, you know exactly what to say:

#BiteMe

The Rise of the AI Impostors – How Fake Court Reporters Are Flooding the Legal System

October 2025

A year ago, legal professionals were just beginning to notice the quiet infiltration of AI notetakers and digital “reporters” into deposition rooms. Today, it’s a full-blown epidemic.
Across the country, videographers are doing double takes when a real stenographer walks in with a machine. “Wow,” they say, “we haven’t seen one of those in months.”

The substitution of certified stenographic reporters with unlicensed digital operators—and even AI “assistants” masquerading as neutral officers of the court—has accelerated at an alarming rate. What was once marketed as a “cost-saving innovation” has become one of the greatest threats to record integrity and due process our system has ever faced.

The Exponential Growth of a Dangerous Shortcut

In 2024, AI notetakers were mostly limited to tech startups and casual internal meetings. But as agencies scrambled to meet demand amid a perceived “stenographer shortage,” they began contracting with digital vendors and off-the-shelf AI transcription tools.
Today, those apps have evolved—and multiplied.

Some operate under friendly names like “Otter,” “Scribe,” or “Meeting Companion.” Others are embedded invisibly in Zoom or Teams calls under aliases such as User_1’s Assistant or Realtime Notes Bot. The deception is intentional: most attorneys don’t realize that when they see an unfamiliar participant listed in the deposition, it’s not a human at all—it’s a data-harvesting algorithm.

This unregulated trend has outpaced policy and ethics oversight. AI notetakers are being used in depositions, arbitrations, and mediations without disclosure, without consent, and without any guarantee that the data is secure—or even accurate.

“Who Are You?” The New Reality in the Deposition Room

Veteran videographers describe the shift vividly.

“When a real machine writer shows up, everyone’s surprised,” one videographer in Los Angeles said. “Half the time I’m the only one who realizes the ‘reporter’ is just pressing record on an iPad.”

Many digital “reporters” don’t identify themselves clearly, and some even wear professional-looking name tags with “Certified” in fine print referring not to a court reporting license, but to a corporate “training course.” Attorneys assume the record is being handled by a licensed officer, when in reality, their testimony is being recorded by someone with no certification, no oath of impartiality, and no control over where the audio or data will end up.

How to Recognize the Fakes

The simplest way to spot a non-stenographic imposter is to look—and listen.

  1. No Steno Machine in Sight
    A true stenographer writes on a specialized machine with 22 keys, connected to a laptop running CAT (computer-aided transcription) software. A digital recorder uses an iPad, laptop, or multiple microphones—no steno machine, no realtime feed.
  2. No Realtime Display
    Stenographers can provide an instantaneous text feed of testimony. If the “reporter” says they can’t do that, you’re not with a licensed professional.
  3. Multiple Microphones or USB Interfaces
    Watch for USB audio boxes, handheld recorders, or lapel mics spread across the table—those are hallmarks of digital recording, not stenography.
  4. No CSR or RPR Number
    Certified reporters always carry a license or certification ID and will gladly provide it. A digital operator may claim “company certification” or say “the transcript is done by AI later.”
  5. Unfamiliar Terminology
    If they refer to themselves as a “technician,” “recorder,” or “digital notetaker,” that’s your cue: this isn’t a court reporter, it’s an unregulated recorder.

The Hidden Dangers – What Lawyers Need to Know

1. Consent and Compliance Nightmares

Wiretap statutes differ by state. California, for example, is a two-party consent jurisdiction. When a third-party AI or digital operator records without explicit, informed consent from all participants, it’s a potential felony violation. Yet few agencies disclose that they are using such systems, and most participants never consent.

2. Data Leaks and Privacy Breaches

AI tools store audio and transcripts on remote servers—often outside the U.S.—where they may be used to “train” future models. That means your confidential client testimony, trade secrets, and personal medical data could be analyzed, mined, or even sold by a third-party vendor. Once uploaded, those words are no longer under your control.

3. Loss of Attorney-Client Privilege

Courts have held that privilege can be waived when confidential communications are shared with a third party. When an AI service records and stores that conversation, the “third party” is a machine owned by someone else—and you’ve just invited it into your privileged room.

4. Accuracy and Bias

Automatic Speech Recognition (ASR) still struggles with accents, crosstalk, and complex legal phrasing. It doesn’t distinguish between “affirmative” and “uh-huh,” nor does it know when someone is speaking off the record. AI also introduces bias—training data skews accuracy toward dominant dialects, meaning minority speakers are misquoted more often.

5. Security and Liability

When a data breach occurs—and it will—who’s responsible? The unlicensed recorder? The agency that subcontracted them? Or the law firm that allowed the AI to join the deposition? Under ABA Formal Opinion 512, lawyers are ultimately responsible for safeguarding client information, even when third-party vendors are used.

Real-World Consequences – When AI Gets It Wrong

Earlier this year, a corporate deposition in Texas went viral after an AI transcript quoted an executive saying “Yes, we inflated the numbers,” when he had actually said, “No, we never inflated the numbers.” The correction came days later, after the “digital reporter” uploaded the recording to an offshore transcription vendor—and the damage was done. The transcript had already been circulated internally, triggering a compliance investigation.

In another case, an off-the-record sidebar was captured and transcribed by an AI notetaker running in the background of a Zoom deposition. That transcript—unbeknownst to counsel—was automatically emailed to all participants, including opposing counsel. The result: a mistrial motion and sanctions hearing.

The Ethics of Silence

Even when lawyers sense something’s off, many hesitate to object. Agencies assure them that “digital is approved by the courts,” but in most jurisdictions, that’s simply false.
California, for instance, explicitly prohibits electronic recording in civil proceedings except under narrow circumstances. Yet hundreds of depositions each week are recorded by unlicensed operators in direct violation of state law.

The deeper ethical concern is one of disclosure. If you don’t know who is recording or where your client’s voice is stored, you can’t meet your duty of competence or confidentiality. Convenience is not a defense.

What You Can Do – Practical Safeguards for Attorneys and Firms

  1. Ask Who the Reporter Is—by Name and License Number.
    Request their CSR or RPR number before the deposition begins. If they can’t provide one, object on the record.
  2. Prohibit Third-Party Apps or “Assistants.”
    Before proceeding on Zoom or Teams, verify that no AI bots or notetakers are present. Disable “meeting companion” integrations in your settings.
  3. Insist on a Certified Court Reporter.
    Licensed stenographers are trained officers of the court bound by oath, ethics, and confidentiality statutes. They are responsible for the record—not an algorithm.
  4. Update Your Engagement Letters.
    Include language prohibiting unlicensed recording and requiring disclosure of any subcontracted transcription vendors.
  5. Educate Your Team.
    Many paralegals and associates assume all “reporters” are the same. Hold an internal CLE session to teach them the difference between stenographic, voice, and digital reporting.

Why the Real Ones Still Matter

A licensed court reporter isn’t just a typist—they are the last human safeguard between truth and distortion.
They understand off-the-record protocols, detect when a witness is misheard, and protect the sanctity of the record. They don’t upload your client’s deposition to a cloud server or let an algorithm learn from it. They are trained to maintain impartiality, verify accuracy, and certify the transcript as a true and correct record of proceedings.

When videographers say they “haven’t seen a real stenographer in a while,” that should alarm us all. It means the justice system is quietly surrendering its memory to machines that cannot swear an oath, cannot protect a record, and cannot be held accountable when it fails.

The Cost of Complacency

AI notetakers are no longer novelty gadgets—they’re uninvited participants in our most confidential legal proceedings. Their presence erodes privacy, jeopardizes privilege, and introduces risks that no informed attorney should accept.

The solution is simple: demand certified professionals.
If the deposition truly matters—if the testimony, your client’s reputation, or the outcome of the case depends on an accurate record—then convenience cannot come before credibility.

Because once we let the machines take over the record, there may be no one left who can say what really happened.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

Editor’s Note: This article is based on public records, regulatory filings, and California statutes. The author’s commentary represents opinion on matters of public concern. No allegations of wrongdoing are made beyond the facts cited.

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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The Yin and Yang of Court Reporters – What Do You Do Outside the Record?

Kevin O’Leary recently wrote something that struck me:

“When I hire top talent, I don’t just look at credentials. I want to know what else you do outside the office. Do you still dance, play guitar, paint, or ride motorcycles? Those eclectic passions matter. The best performers I’ve ever hired, whether CEOs, CFOs, or engineers, always have a Yin and Yang. They balance artistic pursuits with the binary discipline of business.”

It made me immediately think of court reporters — some of the most high-functioning, detail-driven, yet creatively balanced professionals I’ve ever met.

Over the years, I’ve seen countless posts showing the other side of reporters:
🎭 Singing in choirs
🎨 Painting or crafting
🏇 Riding horses
🎹 Playing piano
💃 Dancing, acting, or performing
🚴 Competing in triathlons
✈️ Traveling the world
🐾 Volunteering at rescues or shelters

These are not “hobbies” — they’re evidence of the same neural wiring that makes stenographers so extraordinary at our jobs: focus, rhythm, timing, discipline, and heart.

So let’s celebrate that.

💬 What do you do outside of reporting that keeps you balanced, creative, or inspired?
Share photos, stories, or even the weirdest “other life” you’ve lived beyond the transcript. Let’s remind the world that behind every page of testimony is a human being with incredible range.

The Cracks Beneath the Surface – Rebuilding the Foundation of the Court Reporting Profession

The image is haunting: a two-story yellow house stands defiantly against a gray sky, but half of its structure is gone. The right side appears intact—windows still in place, porch light hanging, door centered proudly—while the left side is gutted, exposing beams and rubble. It’s a house that looks solid from one angle, but step back, and the fragility is undeniable.

This is the perfect metaphor for the state of the court reporting profession in 2025. From the outside, to those who only glance quickly, the system still appears stable: depositions are being taken, transcripts are produced, trials move forward. But those of us who live inside this “house” every day—court reporters, attorneys, judges, and litigants who depend on a verbatim record—know how dangerously hollow parts of the structure have become.

1. A Profession Built on a Once-Solid Foundation

For over a century, stenographic court reporters have been the bedrock of the American justice system. Our shorthand machines capture every word, pause, and interruption—creating the only accurate, legally recognized record of proceedings. This role has always been central, not peripheral. In courtrooms, reporters stand as impartial guardians of the record; in depositions, they ensure testimony meets the standards of admissibility under the rules of evidence.

This was our foundation: skill, presence, impartiality, and legal weight. The walls of the house were built with rigorous licensing requirements, ethical standards, and rules of court that recognized the importance of the reporter’s live presence.

But over time, cracks began to form—not all at once, and not always in obvious places.

2. Neglected Maintenance: The Warning Signs We Ignored

Every house requires upkeep. Foundations shift. Weather wears down the paint. Termites work quietly. And for decades, while the profession continued to function, critical maintenance was deferred.

  • Legislative erosion: Statutes like California’s CCP § 269 and § 2025.320 long ensured a reporter’s presence. But legislative and regulatory bodies, pressured by private equity-backed firms, began carving loopholes—introducing remote testimony rules, notary alternatives, and “digital reporting” pilots that weakened the profession’s legal footing.
  • Agency consolidation: Independent agencies—the carpenters and masons of our professional structure—were absorbed by large, investor-owned conglomerates. These companies often valued profit margins over the integrity of the record, treating reporters as interchangeable labor rather than licensed officers of the court.
  • Technological creep: While technology itself isn’t the enemy, the way it has been deployed often is. Digital audio recording systems have been sold to courts and law firms as cheaper “equivalents,” despite clear hearsay and reliability issues. Automated speech recognition (ASR) is marketed as a silver bullet, despite failing to meet evidentiary standards in real legal proceedings.

Like a homeowner who ignores a growing crack in the wall, the profession didn’t always respond swiftly to these developments. Many reporters trusted that “the system” would protect their role. But the system itself was slowly being undermined.

3. The Storm Hits: Structural Collapse Begins

Every house faces storms. In our case, that storm came in multiple waves:

  • Reporter shortages, real and manufactured, were used as political justification to replace stenographers with digital systems rather than address recruitment and retention failures.
  • COVID-19 accelerated remote proceedings, and with them, digital recording systems quietly replaced reporters in many jurisdictions under the guise of “emergency measures.”
  • Legislative ambushes like California’s AB 711 and Nevada’s SB 191 reshaped compensation structures and opened doors for non-stenographic “alternatives,” often drafted with heavy influence from the very agencies that stand to profit.
  • Public misunderstanding grew. Attorneys began to believe reporters were “overcharging,” not realizing agencies were the ones adding massive markups while paying reporters a fraction. Meanwhile, the public narrative shifted toward technology and cost-savings—not accuracy, admissibility, or due process.

The result? Half the house was ripped away. What remains is exposed, vulnerable, and perilously unbalanced.

4. Foundational Damage Has Consequences

When the foundation crumbles, the entire structure is at risk. For the court reporting profession, this doesn’t just mean job losses—it means legal chaos:

  • Evidentiary vulnerability: Testimony captured by uncertified, non-present digital recorders often fails hearsay exceptions. Without a licensed reporter, the transcript can become inadmissible or vulnerable to challenge.
  • Appeals jeopardized: Inaccurate or incomplete transcripts lead to appealable errors. Cases have been reversed or remanded because the record could not be reconstructed accurately.
  • Access inequities: Wealthier parties may hire human reporters to guarantee a usable record, while poorer litigants are left with defective audio or machine output—widening the justice gap.
  • Reporter exodus: Talented stenographers are leaving, either burned out or underpaid, taking decades of institutional knowledge with them.

Like a home that looks intact from the street but has a sagging foundation, the legal system is still “standing”—but one more storm could bring catastrophic collapse.

5. Rebuilding the Foundation: A Blueprint for Action

The good news is this: foundations can be rebuilt. It requires honesty, effort, and collective will. The profession doesn’t need cosmetic repairs; it needs structural renovation.

Here’s where we start:

a. Reinforce Legal Pillars

Reaffirm and strengthen statutes that require licensed court reporters for proceedings. Loopholes that allow notaries or uncertified “operators” to act in their place must be closed. Rules of evidence must be enforced uniformly—if testimony doesn’t meet hearsay exceptions, it shouldn’t be allowed in just because it was “cheaper.”

b. Reclaim Control of the Record

Court reporters must assert their legal role as the Responsible Charge of the record. This means refusing to sign or certify proceedings they did not cover, demanding proper working conditions, and supporting models that give reporters—not agencies—custody of the transcript.

c. Educate Attorneys and Judges

Attorneys are often unaware that the “markup” they resent isn’t coming from reporters, but from intermediary agencies. Judges sometimes don’t understand the evidentiary consequences of allowing uncertified digital systems. Education campaigns, CLE presentations, and bar association outreach are critical.

d. Modernize, But With Integrity

Technology can enhance—not replace—stenographers. Real-time streaming, transcript search tools, and secure repositories can make reporters more efficient and valuable. The key is that reporters must own the technological infrastructure, not be subsumed by it.

e. Rebuild Community

Reporter isolation has been part of the problem. A unified, strategic community can resist bad legislation, expose misinformation, and present a clear alternative. Movements don’t grow from fear—they grow from shared belief in a better future.

6. A House Worth Rebuilding

The house in the photograph isn’t beyond saving—but it won’t fix itself. It needs new beams, careful work, and the wisdom to reinforce what was once strong.

The court reporting profession stands at a similar crossroads. We can continue patching cracks and hoping for the best, or we can roll up our sleeves and rebuild the foundation intentionally—one statute, one courtroom, one reporter at a time.

Because if the foundation goes, the whole structure of justice goes with it.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The Dreaded “C” Word – Myths and Truths About Carpal Tunnel Syndrome

How I Reclaimed My Hands, My Career, and My Confidence

For court reporters, the words carpal tunnel can stop a heartbeat. It’s the Big “C” in our world — the diagnosis whispered with dread in break rooms, the career-ending fear we never want to face. We spend our lives relying on our hands. The idea of losing that ability is almost unthinkable.

But here’s what no one tells you: carpal tunnel syndrome (CTS) isn’t a death sentence for your career. It’s manageable, treatable, and — with the right care — you can come back stronger than ever. I’m living proof.

I was an official court reporter when it hit me. My hands had always been my superpower — they kept up with judges, attorneys, and witnesses, all without complaint. Then, one day, I felt a strange tingling in my fingertips. Within weeks, it was numbness, pain, and a deep ache that made even holding a pen feel impossible. I feared the worst: that my career was over.

What Is Carpal Tunnel Syndrome?

Carpal Tunnel Syndrome happens when the median nerve, which runs from the forearm into the palm of the hand, becomes compressed at the wrist. This nerve passes through a narrow passageway in the wrist called the carpal tunnel, alongside tendons that flex your fingers. When swelling or inflammation narrows that tunnel, the nerve gets squeezed — and that’s when the pain, tingling, and numbness begin.

Symptoms often start gradually. You might wake up with numb fingers or feel your hand “fall asleep” during a long transcript. Some describe an electric-shock sensation radiating from the wrist up the arm. Over time, grip strength can weaken, and fine motor skills — like buttoning a shirt or typing — can suffer.

Who Gets It — and Why

One of the biggest myths about CTS is that it’s caused purely by repetitive motion. My doctor set me straight on that. He said,

“It’s not the steno machine that’s the problem — it’s the QWERTY keyboard.”

That floored me. Like most reporters, I assumed years of steno writing caused it. But the truth is more nuanced. The steno machine is actually ergonomically superior to traditional typing because it allows for neutral wrist positioning and distributes pressure more evenly across the hands.

The real culprits? Inflammation, anatomy, and systemic factors.

People with narrow wrist canals are naturally more prone to CTS. Add in inflammation — from repetitive stress, autoimmune responses, hormonal changes, or even diet — and the risk multiplies. For some, the onset can be sudden.

That’s what happened to me. I had what my doctor called an “acute inflammatory event.” Practically overnight, my wrists swelled and the pain became unbearable. Inflammation compressed the nerve so rapidly that it felt like a light switch had flipped.

Hormonal changes also play a major role. Pregnancy, for instance, can cause temporary CTS due to fluid retention. Many women experience wrist numbness in their third trimester that completely resolves after childbirth.

So yes, CTS is about mechanics — but it’s also deeply tied to biology and inflammation.

My Experience: The Long Road to Surgery

Once I reported my symptoms, I expected quick action. Instead, I entered the bureaucratic labyrinth of workers’ compensation. The adjusters denied my claim repeatedly. Before approval, I had to endure endless tests — nerve conduction studies, EMGs (electromyography), independent medical evaluations (IMEs) — each one confirming what I already knew: my nerves were compressed.

My dad, ever the problem-solver, met an insurance adjuster at a car wash who told him she’d gone around the system — paid for her surgery privately and later had it reimbursed. I wish I’d done the same.

Because by the time I finally got surgery — fourteen months later — irreversible nerve damage had already set in.

The Surgery: Endoscopic Carpal Tunnel Release

When it was finally approved, I chose the endoscopic carpal tunnel release, a modern, minimally invasive alternative to the traditional open surgery. Instead of a long incision across the palm, the surgeon makes a small cut — barely a centimeter — and inserts a tiny camera (endoscope) to see inside the tunnel. Using delicate instruments, they cut the transverse carpal ligament, relieving pressure on the median nerve.

The advantage? Less trauma, less scarring, and a dramatically faster recovery.

When I woke up from surgery, I was stunned. The pain, numbness, and tingling were gone. Completely gone. The only thing I felt was mild soreness from the incision — and immense relief.

My doctor recommended doing one hand at a time to ensure I could function during recovery. It was inconvenient, but wise. I’ve known others who had both wrists done simultaneously, but you really need a strong support system at home for that.

Within two weeks, I was typing again. I had full range of motion, minimal discomfort, and no visible scars. Compared to the 6–8 weeks typical for open surgery, it was miraculous.

What I Learned: Don’t Wait

Here’s the hardest part to admit: waiting so long caused permanent damage. My EMG results showed 7–10% permanent disability in both hands due to nerve atrophy from prolonged compression.

If you suspect carpal tunnel syndrome, don’t wait. Early intervention — even just rest, splinting, or corticosteroid injections — can prevent irreversible damage. Once the nerve starts dying, it can’t regenerate.

The message I share with every reporter now is simple:

“You can recover from carpal tunnel. But you can’t recover lost time.”

The Inflammation Connection

Because inflammation is such a key driver, lifestyle changes can make a huge difference in prevention and recovery. My surgeon gave me practical, science-backed tips that anyone in our profession can use:

  • Stay hydrated. Dehydration thickens synovial fluid around tendons, increasing friction.
  • Adopt an anti-inflammatory diet. Focus on leafy greens, omega-3s (salmon, walnuts), turmeric, and berries. Avoid processed sugar, fried foods, and refined carbs.
  • Stretch and rest. Every 30 minutes, roll your wrists, shake out your hands, and rest your fingers flat.
  • Ergonomic setup. Keep wrists neutral, elbows at 90°, and forearms parallel to the floor. Consider a split keyboard or ergonomic steno machine setup.
  • Nighttime positioning. Avoid curling your wrists under your pillow. A simple wrist brace can help keep them straight during sleep.
  • Address inflammation early. If you notice swelling, stiffness, or tingling, treat it as inflammation — not just overuse.

These small adjustments add up. They protect the microstructures in your wrists and reduce strain on the median nerve over time.

Breaking the Stigma

What surprised me most during recovery was how much fear surrounds this topic. So many reporters stay silent about pain because they’re afraid of being seen as “damaged goods.” That silence keeps people suffering longer than they should.

We need to break that stigma. Talking openly about carpal tunnel — sharing what works, what doesn’t, and which doctors or techniques truly help — empowers others to seek help sooner.

And let’s dispel the biggest myth once and for all: carpal tunnel syndrome is not career-ending.

Thriving After CTS

Today, I’m back on my writer, reporting long days and loving it. My wrists are strong, flexible, and pain-free. I’m more conscious of my posture, my diet, and my limits — but that’s a small price for the gift of longevity.

If you’re struggling right now, take heart. Modern medicine, awareness, and early action have transformed what used to be a career killer into something completely survivable.

Don’t let fear paralyze you. Get evaluated. Ask about endoscopic surgery. Take inflammation seriously. And above all — don’t wait.

Because with the right care and mindset, the Big “C” word doesn’t have to mean career-ending. It can mean comeback.

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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Dress Like You Belong in the Record

The courthouse is not a coffee shop.
It’s not your classroom, your gym, or your weekend errand route.
It’s the physical embodiment of justice — and when you walk through those doors, every inch of you communicates respect, credibility, and readiness.

We’re Not Schoolteachers

We’re not schoolteachers.
We’re not office administrators.
We’re not gig workers with clipboards and coffee cups.

We are officers of the court — the guardians of the record. We handle testimony that determines people’s freedom, livelihoods, reputations, and millions of dollars in verdicts. That level of responsibility demands presence — and presence begins with how you show up.

You don’t need to dress like you’re teaching a class; you need to dress like you’re writing history. Because in many cases, you are.

Every keystroke you make becomes part of the permanent legal record of the United States. That should be reflected in the way you present yourself to the world — sharp, composed, and unmistakably professional.

Whether you’re an attorney, a court reporter, a paralegal, or an intern, your wardrobe is your first exhibit.

Professionalism Is Non-Negotiable

Every courtroom professional should treat the courthouse as sacred ground. The judge’s robe, the clerk’s seal, the flags, the transcript — all are symbols of order. But so is you.

When you roll in wearing capris, cheetah-print flats, or a burgundy-red dye job that would make a K-pop star blush, you’re not making a style statement — you’re making a credibility statement.

You may not intend disrespect, but perception governs credibility. And credibility governs trust. In law, that’s everything.

The $1,600 Rule

If you’re making $1,600 per diem or billing hundreds an hour, you can afford a suit jacket. Period.
If you can afford a flight case on wheels and professional certifications, you can afford to look the part.

Investing in a professional wardrobe is not vanity; it’s a tool of your trade — no less essential than your steno machine, your laptop, or your reporter’s certificate. When you appear in front of judges, juries, or clients, your attire should whisper, I take this profession seriously.

You represent not just yourself but the integrity of the record. The law is steeped in tradition — and though we can modernize process and technology, decorum never goes out of style.

What “Professional” Actually Looks Like

Let’s strip away the guesswork. Professional court attire doesn’t have to be expensive, but it must be intentional. Here’s the modern baseline:

For Women

  • Suits: A tailored blazer with matching slacks or a knee-length skirt. Dark neutrals — black, navy, charcoal, or beige — always win.
  • Tops: Solid blouses, button-downs, or shells in subdued colors. Avoid plunging necklines or sheer fabrics.
  • Shoes: Closed-toe flats or modest heels. No cheetah print, sparkles, or sneakers.
  • Hair: Natural or professional tones. Burgundy, pink, or neon blue may be fun, but they distract. If you must keep a bright color, tie it back neatly or wear a neutral wig during proceedings.
  • Accessories: Minimal jewelry, no jangling bracelets, no statement earrings that swing like pendulums when you turn your head.

For Men

  • Suits: A fitted jacket, pressed slacks, tie, and polished shoes. Always pressed, never wrinkled.
  • Colors: Navy or charcoal convey authority without arrogance.
  • Hair/Grooming: Clean, controlled, intentional. No novelty socks, no hoodies, no visible undershirts.

If you’re appearing in a California superior court, a federal courtroom, or even a deposition room with high-value clients, treat it as though you’re walking into the Supreme Court. That mindset will carry your professionalism before you ever speak a word.

Why It Matters More Than You Think

The legal profession runs on perception. Judges notice. Jurors notice. Even clerks and bailiffs notice.

A crisp, well-fitted suit says I am organized, credible, and detail-oriented.
A wrinkled shirt, leggings, or capri pants say I’m casual about my craft.

That subconscious impression extends to your work product. The judge doesn’t know if your transcript is perfect yet, but they’ll assume it is — or isn’t — based on how you show up.

The same is true for lawyers. Jurors subconsciously trust the attorney who looks prepared, pressed, and polished. A slouching posture or sloppy outfit makes your argument work twice as hard.

Court Is Not Casual Friday

The pandemic blurred the lines between home and office. Remote hearings, Zoom appearances, and hybrid depositions made it easy to forget that the courtroom is still a temple of formality. But the moment you step foot in a courthouse — any courthouse — that line reappears.

Dress codes exist because respect requires ritual. You wouldn’t walk into a wedding in sweatpants. Why would you enter a courtroom — a forum of justice — any less prepared?

The phrase “business casual” has been abused beyond recognition. Capri pants, open-toe sandals, and graphic tote bags reading “Can’t Tell” belong in brunch lines, not legal corridors. When in doubt, overdress. You can always remove the jacket, but you can’t suddenly conjure professionalism if you never brought it.

Style as Silent Advocacy

Your wardrobe advocates for you before you utter a word. For court reporters, whose presence is meant to be neutral and authoritative, that quiet credibility is vital. You’re the keeper of the record — the living embodiment of accuracy and integrity.

For lawyers, dressing sharply is not about ego. It’s about empathy. Clients need to see you as the person they can trust with their lives, finances, or freedom. Judges and juries need to feel you respect the gravity of the process.

Even for legal staff, interpreters, or videographers, dressing appropriately says you understand your environment. You’re part of a team that upholds justice, not just a bystander.

Building a Professional Wardrobe on a Budget

Not everyone has $5,000 to drop on designer suits — nor should you. But you can assemble a professional, camera-ready wardrobe without breaking the bank.

  1. Start with Neutrals. Black, navy, gray, and beige mix and match easily.
  2. Invest in Structure. Buy one excellent blazer and one pair of perfectly fitting slacks. Tailoring beats brand names.
  3. Shop Smart. Thrift stores, outlets, and resale sites like Poshmark or The RealReal often carry quality pieces at a fraction of retail.
  4. Rotate Accessories. A silk scarf or statement watch can change your look without changing your outfit.
  5. Maintain Everything. Dry-clean regularly. Steam wrinkles. Polish shoes. Replace missing buttons.

You’re not dressing to impress — you’re dressing to express respect.

The “I Don’t Care” Epidemic

Somewhere along the way, many professionals started mistaking informality for authenticity. But “being real” doesn’t mean being careless. There’s a difference between individuality and indifference.

Showing up in a hoodie to a deposition doesn’t make you relatable; it makes you look unprepared.
Dyeing your hair a bright shade without understanding how it will appear under fluorescent courtroom lights isn’t self-expression; it’s self-sabotage.

You can be modern, stylish, and even bold — but your choices should elevate the profession, not distract from it.

When in Doubt, Look at the Judge

Judges are your north star for courtroom decorum. They set the tone. Observe them: robes pressed, demeanor controlled, minimal jewelry, neutral tones. Everything communicates authority and gravity. That’s the aesthetic standard for everyone in that space.

If your appearance would look out of place standing next to a judge, it’s probably out of place in a courtroom.

The Respect Loop

When you dress like a professional, people treat you like one. When they treat you like one, you perform like one. When you perform like one, opportunities multiply.

Court reporters who carry themselves with authority command higher rates and repeat business. Attorneys who project confidence attract better clients. Clerks who look capable often move up faster. The respect loop begins with what you project.

The Takeaway

In law, presentation is inseparable from substance. You can’t separate credibility from appearance. If you’re going to represent justice — or record it — you owe it to the system, the litigants, and yourself to look the part.

Invest in your wardrobe.
Press your clothes.
Show up like the courthouse matters.

Because 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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The End of the Record?

How Verbit’s New Mobile App Threatens to Erase Transcript Integrity — and Reporter Livelihoods

When Verbit announced its new mobile recording app, it sounded, at first glance, like another convenience tool in the modern legal-tech toolkit. “Record anywhere, anytime,” the marketing boasts — a slogan that might excite a tech-savvy attorney, but should terrify every court reporter who understands what that truly means. Because when anyone can record everything, everywhere, without rules or oversight, we’re not just talking about losing copy sales. We’re talking about losing control of the legal record itself.

From Professional Record to Pocket Recorder

For generations, court reporters have been the official custodians of the record — officers of the court who certify the accuracy of every word. That trust is rooted in one thing: control. Control over the record, control over chain of custody, control over who can reproduce, sell, or distribute the transcript.

Now imagine a world where that control disappears.

Verbit’s mobile app invites users — attorneys, witnesses, paralegals, even interns — to hit “record” on their phones and capture depositions, hearings, or confidential conversations with no officer present. No oath, no certification, no accountability. The app can instantly upload audio to Verbit’s cloud, where AI engines can “transcribe” it using automated speech recognition (ASR). With one tap, the result is a searchable, shareable “transcript” — uncertified, error-ridden, and dangerously easy to distribute.

In the absence of clear regulations, this isn’t innovation. It’s deregulation through stealth.

A Business Model Built on Bypassing Stenographers

Let’s be clear – Verbit’s value proposition has never been about improving access to justice. It’s about scaling profit. Their acquisition spree — spanning digital-only agencies, transcription startups, and software integrators — has always pointed toward one goal: replace human court reporters with cheaper, faster, AI-based alternatives.

The mobile app is merely the final step in that strategy. If Verbit can normalize “self-recorded depositions” or “client-controlled transcripts,” they no longer need to contract reporters, pay appearance fees, or split copy sales. Every attorney becomes their own record producer — and Verbit becomes the silent intermediary, monetizing the data, analytics, and AI-training value of every uploaded file.

For reporters, this isn’t just the loss of income from copies. It’s the erosion of their very role in the justice system.

The Copy Sale – More Than a Revenue Stream

Some outside the profession might dismiss “copy sales” as a minor side hustle, a legacy business model in a digital age. But in reality, copy orders fund the infrastructure that ensures due process.

When a reporter covers a deposition, the appearance fee alone rarely compensates for the time, skill, and liability involved. Copy orders — from co-counsel, experts, or codefendants — provide the financial cushion that sustains the reporter’s career and the small businesses that employ them. It also incentivizes reporters to maintain accurate, impartial, and certified records.

Remove that incentive, and the entire economic ecosystem collapses.

Now imagine Verbit’s app automatically distributing uncertified AI transcripts to all parties for free or for a nominal digital fee — with no copy revenue returning to the person who actually produced the official record. Once that precedent is set, attorneys will come to expect transcripts as a bundled feature, not a billable product.

The Legal Vacuum – When Technology Outpaces Regulation

In most jurisdictions, rules governing the creation and sale of official transcripts were written decades ago — long before smartphones, cloud storage, or AI transcription existed. Statutes like California’s Code of Civil Procedure §2025.510 and §269 presuppose a single certified reporter as the custodian of the record. They say nothing about parallel recordings or AI “drafts.”

That silence creates a dangerous gray zone.

If an attorney records a deposition using Verbit’s mobile app while a certified reporter is also present, who owns that audio? Can it be uploaded, transcribed, and sold independently? If the AI version conflicts with the certified transcript, which governs? What happens when a judge or jury sees a “transcript” that looks official but isn’t?

Until regulatory bodies — like the Court Reporters Board of California and its counterparts nationwide — address these questions, the door is wide open for abuse.

The Ethical Fallout

Beyond the legal risks lies a deeper ethical one: erosion of trust. The courtroom is one of the few places in modern life where words have irreversible consequence. To record testimony without consent, certification, or supervision undermines that sanctity.

A mobile app cannot administer an oath. It cannot halt proceedings when multiple people speak over one another. It cannot identify which “voice” belongs to which speaker, or discern sarcasm, dialect, or tone.

But AI will still assign those words to someone — and once uploaded, that misattributed record could live forever, shaping outcomes, negotiations, even reputations.

When truth becomes data, and data becomes a commodity, the moral compass of the record itself spins out of alignment.

What Reporters Can Do

The temptation is to panic — to imagine the end of stenography as we know it. But history offers a different lesson: every technological threat has also been a call to adapt.

Court reporters survived the shift from manual shorthand to machine, from analog to digital, from paper notes to realtime. Each evolution required vigilance, advocacy, and modernization — but also a reassertion of what makes the human role irreplaceable: accuracy, impartiality, and certification.

Now is the time to double down on those values.

  • Educate attorneys about certification laws. Many do not realize uncertified AI transcripts may be inadmissible under state evidence codes.
  • Demand regulatory clarity. Write to boards, legislators, and bar associations urging new language that prohibits uncertified recordings from being treated as official transcripts.
  • Embrace secure technology. Use verified platforms that protect reporter copyright and enforce encryption, rather than yield ground to unregulated cloud tools.
  • Unify around professionalism. The future belongs to the record that can stand up in court — not to the one that merely uploads faster.

The Bigger Picture

Verbit’s mobile app is more than a convenience feature; it’s a Trojan horse. Behind its friendly interface lies a paradigm shift — one that risks converting live testimony into raw AI data streams owned by private corporations instead of officers of the court.

If we allow that to happen unchecked, the very concept of an “official record” could vanish. And when the record loses its sanctity, justice loses its foundation.

The law depends on certified truth — not algorithmic approximation. The public has a right to transcripts that are verifiable, impartial, and permanent. The moment we let anyone record anything, anywhere, without oversight, we transform the courtroom into content — and truth into a subscription model.

Hold the Line

This isn’t about resisting technology. It’s about defending integrity.

Reporters must remind the legal system that accuracy is not an app feature — it’s a constitutional safeguard. When the power to create the record leaves the hands of certified professionals and enters the pockets of whoever has the newest phone, the scales of justice tilt toward chaos.

So yes, Verbit’s app may be able to record everything. But it can’t record integrity. That’s still our job — and it’s one we must never surrender.

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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The Huseby-Esquire “Wash-Their-Hands” Buyout – A Case Study in Corporate Dodging and Reporter Exploitation

When a multimillion-dollar acquisition leaves frontline workers unpaid, that’s not just bad accounting — it’s a warning flare for the entire court-reporting industry. The buyout of Huseby Global Litigation by Esquire Deposition Solutions, quietly financed by Gridiron Capital in mid-2024, has become a textbook example of how major players can “wash their hands” of responsibility, leaving reporters holding the bag for thousands in unpaid work.

This is more than a clerical dispute. It’s a pattern — one that’s bleeding through our profession like ink through tissue paper.

A Familiar Story – The Unpaid Reporter

One California reporter summed up the experience many are now echoing in Facebook threads and private groups:

“I have several bills that remain outstanding going back to April that total several thousand dollars. It’s my understanding that Huseby was bought by Esquire — which somehow is related to DEG (Digital Evidence Group). All of them are washing their hands of responsibility to pay me.”

That sentence — washing their hands — struck a nerve. Because this tactic isn’t new. It’s classic M&A risk-shielding, often achieved by structuring a deal as an asset purchase instead of a stock purchase. In plain English: the buyer takes the profits and clients but dodges the debts.

Under federal and state law, though, the story doesn’t end there.

The Legal Backdrop – WARN, WHD, and Successor Liability

In corporate buyouts, successor liability determines whether the acquiring company inherits the seller’s unpaid obligations — wages included. Buyers often claim that because they purchased assets, not ownership, they’re exempt. But courts have long ruled otherwise under certain conditions:

  • If the new entity is a mere continuation of the old,
  • If it maintains the same operations, clients, or personnel, or
  • If the deal was structured to evade liability.

When those factors exist, successor liability can attach.

Under the Fair Labor Standards Act (FLSA) and the Wage and Hour Division (WHD) of the U.S. Department of Labor, unpaid work completed before the close of a sale may still be enforceable — especially when integration was immediate and continuous. The Worker Adjustment and Retraining Notification (WARN) Act also requires notice before mass layoffs or significant operational shifts.

So if reporters worked right up to the transition — and invoices went unpaid — they may still have a case.

Inside the Transaction – What the Record Shows

According to business filings and announcements:

  • July 26, 2024 – ABF Journal reports that Esquire, backed by Gridiron Capital, acquired Huseby as an “add-on” acquisition. Debt financing came from TPG Twin Brook Middle Market, with no price disclosed.
  • June 21, 2025 – Esquire’s site confirms “full integration” of Huseby’s clients and operations into its own platform.
  • LinkedIn updates from executives Alan M. Peeper and Jimmy Huseby frame it as seamless continuity, not closure.

In other words, the operations continued — same people, same clients, same portal — but somehow the debts vanished into a corporate fog.

The Reporter’s Fight – From Invoices to Retaliation

Several reporters, including this writer, have documentation showing weeks of unpaid invoices — in one case totaling $73,000 — for trials completed before and during the handoff period. After repeated emails and resubmissions, the company acknowledged receiving the invoices but blamed “address confusion” between Huseby’s Salesforce system and Esquire’s NetSuite system.

When pressed for payment updates, the response was the kind of bureaucratic shuffle familiar to every freelancer:

“Please email invoices to reporterinvoices @ esquiresolutions.com. Jobs covered with Huseby should continue as before.”
— Lauren Grupper, Accounts Payable, Esquire Deposition Solutions

Weeks later, the same department claimed the invoices hadn’t been received — until they were “found” and “under review.” Then came silence. Then, quietly, retaliation: removal from job notifications, lost trials, exclusion from assignments worth tens of thousands.

That’s not a clerical error. That’s coercion.

California’s SB 988 – Freelance Worker Protection Act

Luckily, California’s SB 988 (Freelance Worker Protection Act) — effective January 1, 2025 — changes the game. It requires clients to pay freelancers within 30 days of completed work, even without an invoice. Failure to do so allows the worker to recover double the amount owed, plus attorney’s fees and statutory penalties.

Under this law, a reporter owed $73,000 could claim $146,000 plus legal costs. The statute also forbids retaliation — meaning those pulled-job emails could become smoking-gun evidence.

The Act aligns California with New York City’s Freelance Isn’t Free Law and marks a turning point for reporters who have long been treated as disposable contractors. It’s time to use it.

“Washing Hands” Tactics and Legal Workarounds

Corporate entities like Esquire and Huseby aren’t breaking new ground — they’re following a well-rehearsed playbook:

  1. Acquire a struggling firm, taking its clients and goodwill.
  2. Rebrand or migrate operations to the parent company’s system.
  3. Deny responsibility for pre-integration obligations.
  4. Blame accounting confusion while stalling.
  5. Blacklist those who demand payment.

It’s efficient, calculated, and devastatingly effective — unless workers push back with documentation, public exposure, and legal leverage.

Remedies and Recourse

Grok AI, queried about the case, suggested these concrete steps (summarized for all reporters facing similar situations):

  1. Document everything. Keep invoices, emails, and proof of submission.
  2. Send certified letters to the registered agents of both entities:
    • Esquire Deposition Solutions, LLC
      c/o Corporation Service Company
      2 Sun Court, Suite 400, Peachtree Corners, GA 30092
    • Huseby Global Litigation (search NC Secretary of State registry)
  3. File a WHD claim at dol.gov/agencies/whd/contact/complaints.
  4. Submit consumer complaints to:
  5. Consider small-claims court: up to $8,000 in NC or $15,000 in GA.
  6. If retaliation occurred, contact the California Labor Commissioner’s Office and cite SB 988.

And for reporters beyond California: this situation crosses state lines. Interstate commerce violations and fraudulent misrepresentation could open the door to federal jurisdiction — particularly if multiple reporters join forces.

A Collective Response – Turning Exploitation into Accountability

This isn’t just about one paycheck. It’s about an industry structure that rewards opacity and punishes transparency. Reporters must stop absorbing corporate losses as personal defeats.

Agency owners who pay on time should be shouting it from the rooftops — marketing honesty as their competitive edge. Reporters must refuse work from any entity that doesn’t commit to clear payment timelines. And professional associations should publicly track delinquent agencies, not hide behind “we don’t get involved in business disputes.”

Silence is complicity.

Lessons and Leverage

Here’s what this case teaches every reporter:

  • If you owe them, they’d come after you. So demand the same accountability in reverse.
  • Hold the product until paid. The transcript is your leverage.
  • Bill upon receipt and require acknowledgment in writing.
  • Direct-bill law firms when agencies prove unreliable.
  • Share names, not rumors. Facts protect the next reporter.

As one veteran said bluntly:

“We work too hard to work for free.”

A Call to Action

To every freelancer reading this: treat unpaid invoices as emergencies, not annoyances. File, follow up, and escalate. Each ignored invoice normalizes exploitation. Each complaint filed pushes the industry toward accountability.

To Esquire, Gridiron Capital, and TPG Twin Brook: if your acquisition model depends on leaving court reporters unpaid, you are not expanding a “national footprint.” You are expanding liability exposure — and reputational risk.

The transcript belongs to the person who wrote it. And in this industry, the record always survives the redline.

References:

FLSA / WHD & Successor Liability (Unpaid Work Before Sale)

  • “Wage and Hour Liability — the Hidden Danger in Asset Acquisitions” (WI Law) — discusses how even when a buyer disclaims liability in an asset purchase, courts may impose successor liability under FLSA for unpaid wages or overtime.
  • “Navigating Employment Liability Issues for Successor Employers” (GM & LLP) — explains how a successor may be held liable for predecessor’s FLSA violations under federal common law. gm-llp.com
  • “FLSA Successor Liability — More Than You Bargained For” (HR Legalist) — addresses how a purchaser of assets can still be held liable under the FLSA under certain doctrines. Obermayer Rebmann Maxwell & Hippel LLP
  • “Third Circuit Articulates Theories of Successor Liability under FLSA” (Ogletree) — explains how the Third Circuit has applied successor liability to enforce unpaid wage claims against a successor. Ogletree
  • “Employer Successor Liability in US Asset Acquisitions” (Employment Law Worldview) — general overview of how successor liability arises in asset acquisitions, including under wage & hour statutes. Employment Law Worldview

These show that even if a buyer tries to avoid past liabilities, under FLSA and federal common law, courts may still hold them responsible if the business is seen as a continuation or if sufficient integration exists.

WARN Act — Notice Requirements Before Mass Layoffs / Closures

  • WARN Act Compliance Assistance — U.S. Department of Labor — the official federal source on WARN, explaining employer obligations to give advance notice in qualifying closures or mass layoffs. DOL
  • WARN Advisor (elaws) — the interactive tool from DOL that explains when notice is required (60 days) under WARN. DOL Web Apps
  • 20 CFR Part 639 — WARN regulations (eCFR) — the regulatory text requiring 60 days’ notice for covered plant closings and mass layoffs. eCFR
  • Schneider Wallace: “Mandatory 60-Day Notice for Mass Layoffs and Business Closures” — summaries and legal perspectives on the 60-day requirement. Schneider Wallace Cottrell Kim LLP
  • WARN Act Basics — Klehr Harrison Harvey Branzburg — description of the scope, who is covered, and how the 60-day notice rule works. Klehr Harrison Harvey Branzburg LLP

These establish the legal requirement that employers give affected employees 60 days’ advance written notice of plant closings or mass layoffs under certain triggering conditions.

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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The “Picky Reporter” Problem — and the Silence That Created It

Lately, a familiar complaint has been echoing across the court-reporting world: that stenographers have become “too picky.” They turn down cases, demand higher rates, and refuse proceedings that don’t meet their preferences. To some agency owners, it looks like arrogance. To many reporters, it’s survival.

The so-called “picky reporter” problem isn’t really about attitude — it’s about economics and communication. A shrinking workforce, decades of rate suppression, and the disappearance of human connection have collided to create a storm of misunderstanding.

The Supply-Demand Imbalance

For decades, the number of certified shorthand reporters has been in steady decline. Thousands have retired, and too few new graduates are entering the field to replace them. The simple law of supply and demand dictates what comes next: when something becomes rare, its value rises.

Reporters who once competed for every assignment are now booked solid weeks in advance. Those who’ve stayed in the profession through years of low margins and long nights are finally setting boundaries — demanding fair compensation, reasonable turnaround times, and honest case descriptions.

That’s not entitlement; it’s market correction.

After decades of rate stagnation, the pendulum is swinging back. Reporters are recalibrating their rates to reflect expertise, certification, and liability. Agencies that built business models around underpaid labor are now struggling to adjust.

The Economics of “No”

When a reporter declines a last-minute hearing or a high-stress technical case at a discounted rate, that’s not pickiness — it’s economics. They’re making choices based on capacity, value, and professional standards.

But because communication between agencies and reporters has deteriorated, these decisions are too often misinterpreted as obstinance. Instead of a conversation — “Can we find a rate or turnaround that works for both sides?” — the silence deepens, and the narrative hardens: reporters are difficult.

In truth, reporters are simply responding to the same forces that drive any market correction. After years of absorbing risk without adequate reward, they’re now pricing themselves according to reality. And for the first time in a long time, they actually can — because demand exceeds supply.

The Feedback Void

The problem isn’t that one side is right and the other is wrong. The problem is that no one’s talking about it constructively.

When misunderstandings happen — whether about turnaround, appearance fees, or case expectations — there’s no feedback mechanism. Agencies don’t coach or clarify; reporters don’t explain or debrief. Each side quietly blacklists the other and moves on.

It’s a self-defeating cycle. Reporters lose trust in agencies that misrepresent jobs or pay inconsistently. Agencies lose faith in reporters who cancel or refuse work. With no accountability loop, both sides repeat the same mistakes, louder each time.

The Vanishing Human Connection

Underneath this economic friction lies an even deeper fracture: the disappearance of the human connection that once bound the profession together.

There was a time when agency owners called reporters personally to explain details, discuss challenges, or simply say thank you. Reporters knew schedulers by name and built years-long relationships based on reliability and mutual respect.

Now, everything happens through impersonal email chains and automated dispatch systems. No calls. No dialogue. No context.

When tone and trust vanish, empathy follows. A request becomes a demand. A rate negotiation becomes an insult. The human buffer that used to soften business friction is gone — and with it, the sense that everyone is working toward the same goal.

Ironically, that loss of personal connection is both the culprit and the potential cure.

Accountability Without Animosity

The way forward isn’t more automation or stricter policies — it’s communication and accountability.

Imagine a system where agencies and reporters engage in transparent feedback after each job. Where expectations are set clearly up front: case type, location, rate, turnaround, realtime or not. Where missed appearances or delays trigger conversation, not retaliation.

Other professions do this effortlessly. Attorneys debrief cases. Doctors review outcomes. In court reporting, however, we’ve replaced mentorship with metrics. The human side of the business — coaching, collaboration, understanding — has been stripped away.

It’s no wonder so many professionals feel unseen, unheard, and undervalued.

Technology Isn’t the Enemy — Disconnection Is

Technology can be a powerful tool if it’s designed to connect, not replace. Platforms that automate scheduling or handle billing aren’t inherently bad; they just can’t substitute for trust.

The next evolution of court-reporting infrastructure must prioritize transparency and human engagement. That means digital ecosystems that show full job details, allow real-time messaging, and include mutual rating systems for fairness and professionalism.

When data is clear and communication is open, suspicion fades. And when both sides are accountable, the economics start to make sense again.

Restoring Balance and Trust

The “picky reporter” label will fade once the industry accepts that boundaries are not bad for business — they’re the foundation of it. Clear boundaries create predictability. Predictability creates trust. Trust creates efficiency.

Agencies that respect those dynamics will retain the best reporters. Reporters who communicate clearly will attract the best agencies. And the market will stabilize not through force or guilt, but through dialogue.

That dialogue starts with something simple: talking to each other again.

Pick Up the Phone

The cure to this professional malaise isn’t in another software rollout or policy memo. It’s in something as old-fashioned as a phone call.

Call your reporters. Call your schedulers. Have a five-minute conversation about what went right, what went wrong, and how to make the next job smoother. That simple human act can do more to heal this profession than any new rule or platform.

Court reporters have spent their careers listening — really listening — to others. It’s time we start listening to each other again.

The Final Word

The “picky reporter” problem isn’t a symptom of decline; it’s a sign that the market, after decades of imbalance, is trying to right itself. What we’re witnessing is a profession rediscovering its worth — and struggling to communicate through the noise.

If we can restore open conversation, mutual accountability, and human connection, court reporting won’t just survive this transition. It will come out stronger, fairer, and finally aligned with the value it delivers to justice every single day.

Because the real enemy isn’t pickiness. It’s silence.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The Notary Loophole – Why Digital “Oath-Taking” May Jeopardize the Record

The Core Issue

Across the country, digital reporting firms are exploiting notary commissions to administer oaths in depositions and hearings. The problem: notarial authority is not synonymous with court-reporting authority.

A court reporter is an officer of the court, bound by code and certified under each state’s reporting board or judicial council. They can legally swear in witnesses, certify transcripts, and maintain chain-of-custody over the record.

By contrast, a notary public only verifies identity — they are not officers of the court and cannot certify verbatim transcripts, perform readbacks, or attest to the accuracy of proceedings.

How the Loophole Works

Large national agencies have been quietly contracting with unlicensed digital operators (often overseas) and using a notary’s commission to administer the oath via Zoom or remote platform. This practice allows the company to circumvent state licensing laws governing who may capture and certify testimony.

Some states (like California, Texas, and Illinois) have explicit language that limits deposition reporting to licensed court reporters — but digital agencies have exploited ambiguities in online-notarization laws to disguise uncertified recordings as “official proceedings.”

Legal and Ethical Implications

  • Chain of Custody: When an uncertified person records and transcribes testimony, there is no officer of the court verifying accuracy or integrity.
  • Hearsay & Admissibility: Transcripts produced by digital or AI means, without a reporter’s certification, may be inadmissible in trial or summary judgment.
  • Unauthorized Practice: Allowing notaries to act as de facto court reporters can violate state statutes regulating deposition officers.
  • Attorney Liability: Law firms relying on such transcripts may later face sanctions or malpractice exposure if the record is challenged.

Case Example (Composite)

In several recent depositions, attorneys later discovered that the “digital reporter” was not licensed — only a remote notary logged the oath. When challenged in court, judges refused to admit the transcript, forcing costly re-depositions and sanctions hearings.

What Attorneys Should Do

  1. Confirm credentials before every deposition. Ask for the reporter’s license number and issuing authority.
  2. Avoid “digital capture” substitutions unless expressly agreed and permitted by state law.
  3. Include certification language in your notice of deposition requiring a “Certified Shorthand Reporter” or equivalent licensed professional.
  4. Educate clients and co-counsel that a notary’s presence does not guarantee a legally valid record.

The Bottom Line

Digital agencies may market notaries as “remote deposition officers,” but in most states, only certified court reporters have lawful authority to administer oaths and certify transcripts. Attorneys who rely on the notary loophole risk their record — and their case.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Where the Record Is Really Being Written – A Quiet Transformation Hidden in Plain Sight

For more than a century, courtroom and deposition records have been entrusted to one group of professionals: stenographic court reporters. Their role has been both visible and invisible — sitting in the well of the courtroom, or on the edge of a conference table, capturing every word as it is spoken. But beneath the surface of modern litigation, something profound is happening. The control of the legal record — who creates it, who owns it, and who is accountable for it — is quietly shifting. And the public hasn’t been told.

From Guardians to Middlemen – The Slow Drift

For decades, certified shorthand reporters (CSRs) served as the guardians of the verbatim record. They were officers of the court, bound by statutes and ethical obligations, certifying the accuracy of every transcript. Their names appeared on the certification page; their licenses were on the line. If an error occurred, they could be held accountable — professionally, legally, even personally.

Today, however, that direct line of responsibility is fraying. The record is increasingly being captured, stored, and even drafted through layers of intermediaries: remote platforms, digital recording systems, AI transcription tools, and large, privately held court reporting agencies that treat testimony as just another asset to monetize. What was once a simple chain of custody between the witness, the reporter, and the court has turned into a tangled web of hidden practices.

The New Custodians of Testimony

In many jurisdictions, testimony is no longer being captured exclusively by licensed professionals. Digital recorders or uncertified operators hit “record,” while the actual transcription is outsourced — sometimes overseas, sometimes to algorithmic speech-to-text engines riddled with errors. Then, agency staff or AI “reviewers” clean it up, and a reporter is sometimes brought in after the fact to “certify” work they didn’t actually produce.

Meanwhile, some courts have quietly adopted internal practices that bypass reporters altogether. Judges in major metropolitan areas have begun offering free “rough drafts” to themselves through proprietary or remote platforms, using the audio from Teams or CourtConnect feeds. These roughs aren’t official. They aren’t certified. And yet they are being relied on for judicial work. This shift, done by practice rather than public policy, fundamentally changes who is actually writing — and controlling — the legal record.

The Record Has Moved — And No One Told the Public

In the past, if you wanted to know what was said in court, you ordered a transcript from the reporter who was physically present. The chain of custody was transparent. Today, that record may be born inside a cloud server owned by a private vendor, transmitted through a remote platform, partially transcribed by an algorithm, edited by anonymous staff, and then delivered to parties under the agency’s banner. The reporter may be merely the final signature on a document they didn’t actually write.

This is not a theoretical concern. It has real consequences for due process. When a transcript is challenged on appeal, who stands behind it? When testimony is garbled by faulty speech recognition, who is accountable? When records are stored in private databases instead of court archives, what happens to public access, to chain of custody, to authenticity?

The record has already moved. But the legal community, litigants, and the public have largely been left in the dark.

Sharper Lines of Accountability — or None at All

The beauty of the stenographic model has always been its accountability. Every transcript bears a name, a license, and a certification page. A single, identifiable professional stands behind the words. This sharp line of responsibility has protected the integrity of the record for generations.

The emerging model blurs — or erases — those lines. Instead of one certified professional, you may have a patchwork: a digital audio recording from one person, a transcription by a second, AI post-processing by a third, “editing” by a fourth, and a rubber-stamp certification by a fifth. When errors emerge — and they do — responsibility is diffuse. No one is clearly accountable. The very structure is designed to make accountability slippery.

From Verbatim Record to Hearsay — The Collapse of Accountability

At the core of our evidentiary system lies a simple principle: the record is not hearsay because it’s certified by a neutral, licensed officer who was physically present. Every line of a reporter’s transcript is backed by statute, oath, and personal liability. That’s why it’s admissible. That’s why appellate courts rely on it as the single source of truth.

But the new model — digital recordings, AI transcripts, agency-generated “roughs” — severs that chain. What judges, attorneys, and even juries increasingly rely on are unverified textual products, often generated by machines, edited by anonymous staff, and “certified” after the fact by someone who didn’t actually take down the words. This isn’t just sloppy procedure. It’s hearsay masquerading as the record.

And hearsay, by definition, lacks accountability.

  • There’s no human witness to question.
  • No identifiable reporter to hold responsible.
  • No statutory standard applied at the moment of testimony.
  • No clear custodian who can swear under penalty of perjury that what’s on the page is what was said.

Once hearsay becomes the operational record, every safeguard built into our legal system begins to unravel. The appellate courts rely on a record they can’t truly trust. Trial courts issue rulings based on roughs that were never verified. Litigants lose the ability to challenge errors because no single individual stands behind them. The transcript — once the gold standard — becomes a game of legal telephone.

And in that vacuum of accountability, power flows to those who control the technology. Whoever owns the platform, the database, or the algorithm becomes the de facto author of the record. That is not justice. That is information control.

Reclaiming Control — or Losing the Republic’s Memory

At its core, the verbatim legal record is not a mere administrative convenience. It is a constitutional safeguard. In the American legal system, the record is the mechanism through which power is checked: trial courts are reviewed by appellate courts; judicial actions are scrutinized; government overreach is exposed. The record is the spine of due process. It is how truth is preserved against the distortions of time, memory, and power.

When that record is outsourced, privatized, or digitized without clear lines of accountability, something far more dangerous than transcription errors occurs. The people lose control over their own system of justice. The transcript ceases to be a neutral, certified artifact of what happened and becomes a product controlled by private actors, algorithms, or bureaucratic platforms that answer to no one.

History is unambiguous: whenever control over information shifts away from transparent, accountable custodians and toward concentrated, opaque powers, tyranny finds its foothold. Totalitarian regimes have always sought to control the narrative, rewrite records, or make them disappear entirely. In the legal context, the official transcript is the narrative. If it can be manipulated, withheld, or altered without consequence, every right downstream is imperiled.

Think about it:

  • If the record is wrong, appeals fail.
  • If the record can be changed, accountability evaporates.
  • If the record can disappear, justice itself is memory-holed.

This isn’t hypothetical. We’re already seeing early warning signs: missing or incomplete transcripts in digital-only pilot courts; AI-generated “roughs” circulated internally without any clear custodian; agencies controlling access to testimony like proprietary data. These are not isolated quirks. They are the soft opening of a system where the truth of what was said in a courtroom is no longer verifiable by the people.

Reclaiming control of the record, therefore, isn’t about protecting a profession. It’s about protecting the architecture of justice itself. This means:

  • Re-establishing clear statutory custodianship: Only licensed, accountable professionals should certify transcripts, with a transparent chain of custody from spoken word to official record.
  • Ensuring courts—not private vendors—control archives: Testimony belongs to the people, not to agencies or AI platforms.
  • Mandating disclosure and oversight: Litigants must be informed who or what is actually producing their transcripts. There must be recourse when accountability is lacking.
  • Investing in the human infrastructure of justice: Reporters are not relics; they are the immune system against manipulation.

If we fail to do this, we invite a future where the official record of courtrooms can be edited like a Google Doc, monetized like ad data, or disappeared with a keystroke. And in that future, the line between justice and tyranny becomes paper-thin.

As James Madison wrote, “A popular Government, without popular information, or the means of acquiring it, is but a Prologue to a Farce or a Tragedy; or, perhaps both.”
The verbatim record is one of those “means of acquiring it.” If we surrender it, we surrender more than words. We surrender the very mechanism by which a free people hold power to account.

The time to reclaim control is not “someday.” It is now.

From Verbatim Record to Hearsay — The Collapse of Accountability

At the core of our evidentiary system lies a simple principle: the record is not hearsay because it’s certified by a neutral, licensed officer who was physically present. Every line of a reporter’s transcript is backed by statute, oath, and personal liability. That’s why it’s admissible. That’s why appellate courts rely on it as the single source of truth.

But the new model — digital recordings, AI transcripts, agency-generated “roughs” — severs that chain. What judges, attorneys, and even juries increasingly rely on are unverified textual products, often generated by machines, edited by anonymous staff, and “certified” after the fact by someone who didn’t actually take down the words. This isn’t just sloppy procedure. It’s hearsay masquerading as the record.

And hearsay, by definition, lacks accountability.

  • There’s no human witness to question.
  • No identifiable reporter to hold responsible.
  • No statutory standard applied at the moment of testimony.
  • No clear custodian who can swear under penalty of perjury that what’s on the page is what was said.

Once hearsay becomes the operational record, every safeguard built into our legal system begins to unravel. The appellate courts rely on a record they can’t truly trust. Trial courts issue rulings based on roughs that were never verified. Litigants lose the ability to challenge errors because no single individual stands behind them. The transcript — once the gold standard — becomes a game of legal telephone.

And in that vacuum of accountability, power flows to those who control the technology. Whoever owns the platform, the database, or the algorithm becomes the de facto author of the record. That is not justice. That is information control.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Free Roughs, Hidden Costs – How AI Transcription Is Quietly Rewriting the Legal Record

On October 7, 2025, news broke that the Indian state of Kerala will become the first jurisdiction in the world to mandate the use of artificial intelligence for witness transcription in every trial court. Beginning November 1, all depositions will be recorded using Adalat.AI, a speech-to-text platform developed under India’s national AI mission.

It’s a bold, public policy move designed to modernize court processes. But while Kerala has laid out its plans in full view, a parallel transformation has been unfolding in the United States — not through policy, but through corporate product rollouts and quiet judicial practice.

Two of the country’s largest reporting firms, Esquire and Veritext, have begun supplying free AI-generated rough drafts to clients who use their speech recognition systems. And inside the nation’s largest trial court — Los Angeles Superior Court — some judges are privately using AI rough transcripts during remote hearings, without public disclosure.

The future of the legal record isn’t arriving with a bang. It’s slipping in through side doors.

Kerala’s Transparent AI Mandate

Kerala’s High Court issued a memorandum on September 27 mandating that all trial courts record witness testimony using Adalat.AI starting November 1. The system, trained in both Malayalam and English legal terminology, replaces handwritten and dictated statements that caused significant delays.

Once testimony is recorded, reviewed, and signed, the transcript will be uploaded to the district court’s case management system for immediate access by lawyers and parties. Nodal officers are being appointed to oversee compliance.

Kerala’s approach is top-down, uniform, and publicly announced. It’s a state-run modernization program with governance structures, accuracy testing, and clear procedures.

Corporate Roughs – Esquire and Veritext’s Quiet Innovation

While Kerala is implementing AI openly, two major U.S. deposition vendors — Esquire and Veritext — have already normalized AI transcription through a different channel: “free rough drafts.”

When law firms conduct depositions through these companies’ speech recognition systems, they often receive a machine-generated transcript almost immediately, at no extra charge. These drafts are created by AI, not human reporters, and are delivered to clients well before the certified transcript is finalized.

Traditionally, attorneys who wanted a rough draft paid for an expedited service produced by the reporter. Now, the vendor’s software is generating it automatically.

This shift:

  • Bypasses reporters as the initial source of the record.
  • Locks clients into the vendor’s proprietary platforms.
  • Consolidates transcript data inside corporate infrastructure.

It looks like a client perk. In reality, it’s a strategic power play: the first version of the record now lives on the vendor’s servers, not with the officer of the court who captured it.

Why Free Roughs Matter

Legal transcripts aren’t mere paperwork — they’re evidentiary artifacts. Every word counts. Human reporters are trained to flag inaudible passages, stop proceedings for clarification, and ensure accuracy. AI doesn’t. It generates what it thinks it heard, often without indicating uncertainty.

When these machine drafts are distributed to legal teams immediately, they influence case strategy before anyone verifies their accuracy. Lawyers draft motions, analyze testimony, and make strategic decisions based on text that hasn’t been reviewed by a human.

And because these drafts are free, they also undercut reporter revenue streams that traditionally supported rough-draft services, further consolidating power in the hands of a few large vendors.

Ownership, Access, and Discovery Gaps

The rise of corporate AI roughs raises thorny questions about who owns the transcript and how errors can be challenged.

When a stenographer produces a rough, they retain legal control of their notes and drafts. When a machine produces it, the text lives on the company’s servers. Lawyers access it through vendor portals; the underlying audio and system logs are rarely disclosed.

If an AI error slips through, how can a party challenge what was circulated? Are the machine drafts discoverable? How long are they stored? Who has access? These questions remain unanswered in most service agreements — leaving significant legal blind spots.

Behind the Bench – Judges Quietly Using AI Roughs in Los Angeles

Perhaps the most consequential — and least transparent — development is happening inside the judiciary itself.

Multiple attorneys and reporters have confirmed that some Los Angeles Superior Court judges are privately using free AI-generated rough transcripts during remote hearings on LA Court Connect, the court’s Microsoft Teams–based platform.

The platform’s built-in speech recognition produces live, unedited text streams. Judges receive these machine drafts directly during or after proceedings. No formal policy exists, and no public disclosure is made to litigants. There is no published error rate, no official record of what the judge saw, and no way for parties to review or challenge those drafts.

This quiet judicial use of AI raises fundamental due process concerns:

  • Are judges consulting unofficial, unverified text to make rulings or notes?
  • Does this material become part of the “record” even if parties never see it?
  • Can litigants appeal based on something they were never told existed?

Unlike Kerala’s public program or corporate marketing, this is judicial adoption by practice, not policy. It happens in the shadows — invisible to litigants, unacknowledged in court rules, and entirely unregulated.

Three Models, One Direction

These three models — Kerala’s policy, corporate roughs, and LA judges’ quiet use — reveal different pathways to the same destination:

ModelWho drives itTransparencyGovernance
KeralaGovernmentHighFormal
Esquire / VeritextCorporationsModerate (marketing)Contractual only
LA Superior Court judgesJudiciary (informal)NoneNone

All three shift the locus of the legal record away from human reporters and into AI systems. But only one is subject to public debate and oversight.

What’s at Stake

The implications reach far beyond stenographers’ livelihoods. These changes strike at the heart of:

  • Due process — Parties must have equal, accurate access to the record.
  • Transparency — Litigants should know when and how AI is being used.
  • Accountability — Courts must be able to audit, verify, and correct errors.
  • Legal control — The judiciary must retain authority over the record, not surrender it to hidden systems.

Kerala’s model may be controversial, but it’s at least visible and structured. The American shift is happening quietly, driven by market power and judicial convenience, not public deliberation.

Control of the Transcript Is Slipping Away

The age of AI transcription has arrived — not with a legislative act, but through free drafts, corporate platforms, and undisclosed judicial practices.

What Kerala has done by policy, Esquire and Veritext have done by business model, and LA judges have done by habit. Each move chips away at the traditional framework that defined who creates, controls, and certifies the record of what happens in a courtroom.

If courts and bar associations don’t step in soon, they may discover that the legal record itself has migrated — into systems no one sees, controlled by entities no one elected, governed by rules no one wrote.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Should Court Reporters Redact Social Security Numbers in Transcripts?

The Hidden Ethics Behind a Growing Practice

In an era where privacy breaches make daily headlines, a seemingly small question has begun circulating among court reporters nationwide: Should we be redacting Social Security numbers (SSNs) from transcripts automatically?

At first glance, it feels like an obvious “yes.” After all, who wants to risk exposing personally identifiable information (PII) in a court record? But in practice, the issue isn’t nearly that simple—and the legal responsibility doesn’t necessarily fall on the stenographer. What starts as a well-intentioned act of caution could actually cross an ethical or procedural line.

The Question That Sparked a Debate

A recent conversation among reporters online revealed deep uncertainty and regional inconsistencies. One proofreader mentioned that her local reporters were redacting SSNs on their own initiative, assuming it was required by privacy rules. But when the reporter she was working with looked into it, she couldn’t find any explicit rule authorizing—or requiring—court reporters to perform that redaction.

In both Washington and Texas, as it turns out, responsibility for redacting personal information before a filing typically lies with the party or attorney, not the reporter or clerk. So why are some reporters taking on this task anyway? Often, it’s a combination of well-meaning caution and confusion about the boundaries of our role.

Who Actually Bears Responsibility?

Under most state and federal procedural rules, the obligation to redact sensitive information rests with filing parties. For example, Federal Rule of Civil Procedure 5.2(a) requires that only the last four digits of an SSN appear in any court filing—but it’s the filing party’s duty to make that redaction. The rule doesn’t assign any obligation to the court reporter, the clerk, or the court itself.

Many state courts mirror this framework. In Texas, Rule 21c of the Texas Rules of Civil Procedure mandates redaction of sensitive data such as SSNs, birthdates, and financial account numbers—but again, the duty falls on the filer. The same applies in Washington, where General Rule 22 governs access to court records and designates attorneys and parties as the redactors.

In other words: court reporters are not the gatekeepers of redaction compliance. We are neutral officers of the court tasked with creating an accurate, verbatim record. Altering or omitting content, even for privacy reasons, without a clear directive from the court could raise serious ethical questions.

The Risk of “Helpful” Redaction

On the surface, redacting seems protective. But unless ordered by the court, modifying the transcript can blur the line between accuracy and editing.

Every CSR oath, whether in Texas, Washington, or California, includes language about producing a “true and correct transcript.” That duty conflicts directly with self-initiated redaction. If a witness states a full Social Security number on the record and you choose to obscure it—without an instruction from counsel, the court, or statute—you’ve technically changed the record.

In fact, the National Court Reporters Association’s (NCRA) Code of Professional Ethics Canon 1 emphasizes accuracy and impartiality above all else. Canon 3 underscores the reporter’s role as a neutral officer of the court. Both principles can be compromised by discretionary redaction.

So while removing private data might feel protective, it may actually place the reporter at risk of an ethics complaint if the omission later becomes relevant in an appeal, audit, or evidentiary dispute.

The Modern Privacy Paradox

Of course, reporters’ concerns are valid. In an age where transcripts are often stored, transmitted, and even sold digitally, exposure of PII could have devastating consequences. Once an SSN appears in an electronic file, it can travel indefinitely—duplicated in deposition repositories, billing software, discovery databases, and cloud storage systems.

Reporters are right to feel uneasy about transmitting unredacted PII through unsecured channels. But the solution lies not in editing the record; it lies in controlling access to it.

That’s why many agencies and independent reporters now use password-protected transcript portals, encryption tools, and two-factor authentication to deliver files securely. Some software even offers automatic detection warnings—flagging sequences that look like SSNs, but leaving the redaction decision to the party responsible.

A Practical Middle Ground

Until a court or jurisdiction explicitly directs reporters to redact personal identifiers, the safest course is to adopt a “record-but-don’t-publish” philosophy.

That means:

  1. Take it down exactly as spoken. The transcript should remain an accurate, complete reflection of the record, including any personally identifiable information stated aloud.
  2. Notify counsel if sensitive data was disclosed. A professional, neutral cover letter or note can alert both sides: “Counsel, please note that a full Social Security number appears on page 72, line 14. Pursuant to [applicable rule], you may wish to file a redacted version for the public record.”
  3. Retain the unredacted transcript under secure storage. Keep your master copy intact, but deliver only as authorized—especially if the court orders a redacted version for filing.

This approach protects everyone’s interests: the reporter’s ethical duty to preserve accuracy, the parties’ privacy rights, and the court’s reliance on an authentic record.

How States Differ (and Why Confusion Persists)

The patchwork of state rules adds to the confusion. Some jurisdictions, like Florida, have adopted explicit e-filing rules outlining which identifiers must be redacted. Others, like California, delegate it to local court policy or e-filing vendor procedures.

In Texas, reporters often encounter “standing orders” in certain counties directing redaction in juvenile or family law cases—but those orders apply to public filings, not to certified transcripts exchanged privately between parties. Unless the transcript is being filed into the court record, the same redaction standards don’t necessarily apply.

Washington State’s General Rule 31 and 22 treat access to court records separately from the creation of them. Reporters there are typically not considered “custodians of public records” under the rule. The party who submits a transcript becomes the “filer” and must comply with redaction requirements.

The result is a classic jurisdictional mismatch: two reporters doing identical work in different states could face opposite expectations.

Examples of States and Jurisdictions where the Filer Bears the Redaction Duty

1. California

Under California Rule of Court 1.201, the rule explicitly states that the responsibility for excluding or redacting identifiers (e.g. SSNs, financial account numbers) from documents filed with the court rests solely with the parties and their attorneys. California Courts
The rule also clarifies that the court clerk is not required to review filings for compliance.

2. Virginia

Virginia Code § 8.01-420.8 imposes on the party filing a pleading or motion the obligation to “make reasonable efforts to redact all but the last four digits” of identification numbers (including Social Security) when including them in court documents. Virginia Law
That statute also expressly states that it does not create a private cause of action against the party, court staff, or clerk.

3. Idaho

In Idaho’s rules (I.R.C.P. 2.6 and I.R.E.F.S. 15), the responsibility is placed firmly on the filer to ensure that personal data identifiers are omitted or redacted before submission, whether the document is filed electronically or in paper form. Idaho Supreme Court
The rules further emphasize that filing clerks will not review the submission for redaction compliance. Idaho Supreme Court

4. Wyoming

Under Wyoming’s “Rules Governing Redactions from Court Records,” the duty to redact specified personal data identifiers lies “solely with counsel and the persons filing the documents.” Wyoming Legislature
Those rules also address transcripts: once delivered, parties have a window to direct redaction before the public record is finalized. Wyoming Legislature

5. Kansas

Kansas eCourt Rule 24 places the obligation on attorneys or parties to protect personally identifiable information in filings. It explicitly states that in filings, “an attorney, or a party if not represented, is solely obligated to protect the confidentiality of personally identifiable information … in ensuring that the filing contains no personally identifiable information.” Kansas Judicial Center
The rule also says that the clerk has no duty to check filings for compliance. Kansas Judicial Center

6. Nevada

Nevada’s rules on sealing and redaction (Rules Governing Sealing and Redacting Court Records) identify “personal information” (including SSNs) and provide that the “primary duty for redaction rests with the filing party,” and courts may reject or require re-filing of documents that fail to redact. https://www.leg.state.nv.us/division/legal/lawlibrary/courtrules/

When the Court Directs Redaction

There are, of course, situations where redaction is appropriate—and required. If the court or a protective order explicitly directs the reporter to redact certain identifiers, compliance becomes part of the reporter’s official duties. In that scenario, documentation is essential. Always retain:

  • A written or on-the-record order directing redaction;
  • A note on the certificate page or title page indicating that redactions were made pursuant to that order;
  • A secure copy of the unredacted version, stored separately under seal.

Transparency in process prevents future accusations of alteration or bias.

Why Reporters Should Stay in Their Lane—But Guard the Gate

As the industry moves deeper into digital workflows, we must separate privacy management from record alteration. Reporters are not editors, data scrubbers, or privacy officers; we are the guardians of the verbatim record. Yet we also serve as the first line of defense against mishandled data.

The professional path forward isn’t unilateral redaction—it’s robust privacy protocol. Secure delivery platforms, encrypted backups, controlled client access, and clear communication about redaction responsibility are far more defensible than altering content post-capture.

In short:

Don’t redact. Report, alert, and secure.

The Takeaway

Automatic redaction of Social Security numbers might seem like a harmless courtesy, but it can undermine a reporter’s ethical obligation to produce a faithful record. Unless a statute, court rule, or judge specifically instructs otherwise, the duty to redact lies squarely with the attorneys and parties who file the transcript—not the stenographer who captured it.

The court reporter’s power lies not in altering the record, but in safeguarding its integrity. Protecting privacy doesn’t mean changing what was said—it means ensuring that what was said remains secure, confidential, and accurately preserved.

Below are confirmed jurisdictions where the filer (party/attorney) bears the redaction duty (with primary sources) or click the button to download the Excel State by State Chart:

State By State Redaction Chart
  • Federal (filings; transcripts): FRCP 5.2 places redaction on the filer; transcript redactions are requested by the parties—reporters do not redact unless parties request it. Legal Information Institute
  • California: Cal. Rule of Court 1.201—parties/attorneys must omit or redact; clerks are not required to review. California Courts
  • Texas: TRCP 21c—sensitive data must be redacted; filer notifies clerk if sensitive data must remain; e-filing orders reinforce filer duty. Texas Courts
  • Washington: GR 22 governs access; GR 15 addresses sealing/redaction (by party motion/court order), not a clerk duty. Washington Courts
  • Florida: Rule 2.420 amended—clerks ended automatic review in most civil filings; identification/redaction is on the filer. The Florida Bar
  • Virginia: Va. Code § 8.01-420.8—filing party must redact all but the last four digits of specified identifiers. Virginia Law
  • Idaho: I.R.C.P. 2.6 & I.R.E.F.S. 15—responsibility to omit/redact is on the filer; clerks need not review. Idaho Supreme Court
  • Kansas: Supreme Court Rule 24—attorney/party is solely obligated to protect PII; clerk has no duty to review. Kansas Judicial Center
  • Nevada: NEFCR & Rules for Sealing/Redacting—submitting party must ensure personal info is not in public filings or is redacted. Nevada Judiciary
  • New York: 22 NYCRR 202.5(e)—parties must omit/redact confidential personal information; court may order removal/redaction. Legal Information Institute
  • Illinois: Supreme Court Rule 138—filer must omit/redact and use a confidential information form; clerk not required to review. Illinois Courts
  • New Jersey: Rule 1:38-7—filing party must redact; courts will not order clerks to assume this task. Lowenstein Sandler LLP
  • Colorado: Public access/redaction rule places duty on filer; District of Colorado reminds that parties (not reporters) request transcript redactions. Colorado Judicial Branch
  • Georgia: OCGA § 9-11-7.1 & Uniform Superior Court procedures reflect filer obligation and sealing/redacted-public-version workflow. Justia Law
  • Massachusetts: SJC Rule 1:24 & E-Filing Rule 12—filer is responsible; clerk will not review each document. Mass.gov
  • Michigan: MCR 1.109(D)(9)—duty rests solely with parties/attorneys; clerk not required to review. Michigan Courts
  • Minnesota: Gen. Rules of Practice 11 & 14—filers are solely responsible for designating non-public info and ensuring proper handling of identifiers. MN Revisor’s Office
  • North Carolina: e-filing guidance—sole responsibility of the filer to omit/redact sensitive information. efiling.nccourts.org
  • Ohio: Sup.R. 45(D)—responsibility for omitting personal identifiers rests solely with the party (mirrored in local rules). pmcourt.com
  • Oregon: UTCR 2.130/2.100/2.110—courts are not required to redact; parties must segregate confidential info (CIF). Oregon Courts
  • Pennsylvania: Case Records Public Access Policy—filing party must redact; courts/custodians are not required to review/redact filings. Pennsylvania Code & Bulletin
  • Wisconsin: Wis. Stat. § 801.19—no party may submit protected information except as the rule provides; attorney/filer must redact. Wisconsin Legislature Documentation
  • Utah: UCJA 4-202.09 & courts’ guidance—private identifiers must be provided on a separate cover sheet; filers must leave out non-public info. Utah Courts
  • Arizona: Courts provide redaction request forms; responsibility sits with filers to seek redaction of identifiers in filed docs. AZCourtHelp.org

What this means for reporters

  • The pattern in these jurisdictions is the same as TX/WA: reporters should not “auto-redact”; the duty sits with the filer. If a transcript is to be filed publicly, counsel should direct any redactions (and in federal court, parties provide a redaction list to the reporter). cod.uscourts.gov

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The CA Law Has Changed – Freelancers Now Have Legal Protection — Even If Agencies Don’t Know It Yet

October 2025

This year alone, I’ve had three separate court reporting agencies fail to pay for completed work within 30 days — all while openly admitting they didn’t know about California’s new Freelance Worker Protection Act (FWPA). Even more alarming, several agency owners commented on my recent StenoImperium article saying they had never heard of it.

That ends today.

What SB 988 (the Freelance Worker Protection Act) Actually Says

Effective January 1, 2025, California’s FWPA requires that:

  • Freelancers must be paid within 30 days of submitting an invoice unless a written contract specifies otherwise.
  • The hiring party must provide a written contract detailing the scope, rate, and payment terms for any job over $250.
  • Freelancers have the right to file a complaint with the Labor Commissioner for nonpayment or retaliation.
  • Most importantly — retaliation is illegal.
    Agencies cannot penalize, blacklist, or withhold future work from a freelancer who asks to be paid or asserts their rights under the Act.

This is not optional. It’s law.

What’s Happening in the Field

In just the past few months, I’ve seen agencies:

  • Delay payment for transcript copies for months or years.
  • Threaten to “remove a reporter from the rotation” for following up on unpaid work.
  • Claim ignorance of the law entirely.

The ignorance defense doesn’t hold up. Courts and regulators have repeatedly affirmed: “Ignorance of the law excuses no one.”

But this is where we — the reporters — can make the biggest difference: through education, documentation, and diligence.

How Reporters Can Protect Themselves

1. Update Your Rate Sheet and Contracts

Add a one-line clause referencing SB 988 to every job confirmation or invoice:

“Pursuant to California’s Freelance Worker Protection Act (SB 988), payment is due within 30 days of invoice date. Retaliation for lawful collection efforts is prohibited.”

Include your payment methods, late-fee terms, and your CSR number.

2. Revise Your Email Signature

Example:

Protected by California’s Freelance Worker Protection Act (SB 988) — timely payment required, retaliation prohibited.

This reinforces professionalism while signaling that you know your rights.

3. Send Job Confirmations in Writing

Every assignment confirmation should reference your payment terms and the FWPA clause. This creates a written record of notice — crucial if you ever need to file a complaint.

4. Track Collections Proactively

Keep a spreadsheet or use accounting software (like QuickBooks, FreshBooks, or Wave) to log:

  • Date invoiced
  • Agency contact
  • Amount due
  • Follow-up reminders sent
  • Payment received date

If payment exceeds 30 days, send a polite but firm reminder referencing SB 988.

5. Escalate Professionally

If no response after two follow-ups:

  • Send a formal demand letter (you can adapt the sample from StenoImperium’s resources section – below).
  • CC the agency’s accounting and management.
  • State that failure to pay constitutes a violation of the FWPA.
  • If still unpaid, file a complaint with the Labor Commissioner’s Office or Small Claims Court.

Educate the Agencies — Don’t Just Shame Them

Many smaller or out-of-state firms genuinely don’t know about this new law. That’s why including it on our documentation is so important. Every email signature, rate sheet, and confirmation becomes an opportunity to teach.

By citing the statute clearly and consistently, we normalize compliance — just as we’ve done for per-page rates, notary verification, and transcript certification standards.

What the Profession Can Do Collectively

  • Share this article with agency owners, scopists, and colleagues.
  • Add a “Know Your Rights” section to reporting school curricula and mentorship programs.
  • Encourage associations (NCRA, CCRA, DRA) to publish FWPA awareness bulletins.
  • Push for enforcement clarity at CRB and the Department of Industrial Relations.

If agencies want to operate in California, they must follow California law — including paying their reporters promptly and without retaliation.

Closing Thought

For years, freelancers have operated on trust — hoping our invoices would be honored and our professionalism respected. The Freelance Worker Protection Act gives us something more tangible: legal backing.

It’s time to use it.
Let’s hold agencies accountable, educate with integrity, and stand together as the guardians of the record — and now, of our own livelihoods.

~ R E S O U R C E S ~

Downloadable Tools or Templates

  • 🧾 Download Collection Letter Generator
Collection Letter Template – SB 988
  • 📧 Download Email Signature Template
Email-Signature-Template-SB988
  • 📄 Download Sample Rate Sheet with SB 988 Clause
Sample Rate Sheet with SB 988 Clause
  • 📄 Download Sample Freelance Service Agreement
Download Sample Freelance Service Agreement

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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Do Freelance Court Reporters Have to Provide Parking Receipts? The Truth About Fixed-Rate Line Items and 1099 Independence

When you’re an independent court reporter or legal contractor, few things are more irritating than being asked for parking receipts — especially when your parking rates are already published on your rate sheet, listed on your invoice, and embedded into your Master Freelance Agreement.

Most reporters know the routine: you work across multiple courthouses, you have different daily or hourly rates depending on location and assignment type, and your parking rates are clearly spelled out — $25 at Stanley Mosk, $20 at Compton, $15 at Norwalk, etc. Yet somehow, one agency insists on parking receipts while the others don’t.

Why? And do you actually have to provide them?

The answer reveals a lot about how agencies handle 1099 contractors, and even more about how you can assert your professional boundaries while staying compliant and professional.

1. The Root of the Problem: Inconsistent Accounting Practices

Each reporting agency has its own internal accounting and client-billing structure. Some operate like small businesses — trusting your invoices as the full and final record of your services. Others, especially large or corporate-owned agencies backed by private equity, function like mid-size corporations.

Those companies often require receipts for everything because of their internal audit controls or client billing transparency rules. If they pass through your parking charge to a law firm or government agency, their client might require documentation for every reimbursable expense, so they cascade that requirement down to you — even though you’re an independent contractor, not an employee.

In other words, the request usually has nothing to do with you personally. It’s a downstream effect of their accounting department’s workflow.

But that doesn’t mean they have the right to demand it — especially when your contract already sets parking as a fixed rate.

2. Understanding the Legal Distinction – Reimbursement vs. Fixed-Rate Line Item

This is the heart of the issue.
As a 1099 independent contractor operating through your own corporate structure, you are not a W-2 employee. You are selling professional services at pre-agreed rates.

When your rate sheet or Master Freelance Agreement lists courthouse-specific parking fees as flat line items, those rates are considered contract prices, not reimbursable expenses.

That distinction matters.

  • Reimbursement model: The company reimburses you for variable out-of-pocket costs you incur (e.g., mileage, meals, parking meters). In that case, receipts are required for tax and audit purposes.
  • Fixed-rate model: The company purchases your services (including parking) at a fixed price. No receipts are required because it’s not an expense reimbursement — it’s part of your professional fee structure.

Think of it like this: when a caterer charges $50 per person for an event, the client doesn’t get receipts for the chef’s groceries. They’re paying the price of the service, not reimbursing expenses.

If your rate sheet clearly states “Parking – $25/day (Stanley Mosk Courthouse)” and your signed agreement incorporates that sheet by reference, then the parking fee is not subject to documentation requirements — it’s part of your pricing, period.

3. Why Some Agencies Still Demand Receipts

So why does only one agency insist on parking receipts?

It usually boils down to one of three reasons:

  1. Corporate accounting rigidity: Their internal policies may require attaching a receipt to any “expense” line in their system, regardless of your 1099 status.
  2. Client pass-through billing: If their client demands itemized proof for reimbursement, they may require it from you even if your agreement treats parking as fixed.
  3. Employee mindset confusion: Some agencies blur the line between employees and contractors. They apply W-2-style procedures (like expense documentation) to 1099s because their systems aren’t designed to handle both models cleanly.

4. The Software Bottleneck Nobody Talks About

Here’s the irony:
In most cases, their accountants know it’s unnecessary — but the software requires a file upload before it can mark the invoice “complete.” So you end up feeding the system paperwork it doesn’t legally need.

This has nothing to do with IRS compliance or contract law. It’s just how enterprise accounting software is coded.

Most large agencies use platforms like QuickBooks Online, SAP Concur, or NetSuite, often with custom billing extensions. Those systems are configured to flag any expense-coded line item as incomplete until a “receipt” field contains a file.

It’s a checkbox requirement, not a legal one.
In other words, the software doesn’t know — or care — what the document is. It only checks that something has been uploaded.

And that’s where your workaround begins.

5. System Workarounds and Audit Compliance

If an agency’s accounting system blocks payment until a “receipt” is uploaded, you can absolutely satisfy that requirement — without compromising your independent-contractor structure or mislabeling your billing as a “reimbursement.”

Here’s what you can safely and ethically do:

✅ Upload your rate sheet, contract, or invoice instead.

The system won’t parse or read the file contents; it simply verifies that an attachment exists. Once you upload a file, the “receipt required” flag disappears and your payment proceeds through approval.

You’re not deceiving the system — you’re supplying legitimate supporting documentation that substantiates your parking rate. In fact, your rate sheet or signed agreement is stronger evidence than a random parking stub because it directly proves the contractual basis for payment.

🧾 Why this is perfectly legitimate

From an accounting standpoint, the goal of a receipt upload is to demonstrate that the charge has a valid foundation.

  • Your contract and rate sheet are that foundation.
  • You’re showing that your parking rate is pre-approved and contractually defined, not a discretionary expense.
  • You’re aligning with the system’s audit intent — providing documentation for the payment — while preserving your legal status as a 1099 vendor.

If anyone in accounting asks why the upload isn’t a physical receipt, you can respond professionally:

“Because my parking rates are fixed and contractually defined, I uploaded my rate sheet as the supporting documentation. It serves as the substantiating document for the parking line item.”

That’s a truthful, professional statement — and completely defensible in an audit.

🗂 File-naming tip

To make it seamless for their records, use clear labels like:

  • ParkingRateSheet_StanleyMosk.pdf
  • Parking_Attestation_Contract.pdf
  • ParkingDocumentation_NAME.pdf

The system sees an attachment; the human reviewer sees legitimate documentation. Problem solved.

🧠 Bonus: Create a “Parking Fee Attestation”

If you want to go the extra mile, you can merge your courthouse rate table with a brief declaration like this:

“Parking rates are fixed by contract per courthouse and billed as line items. This document is provided in lieu of receipts for system documentation purposes.”

That one-page PDF satisfies the software, reassures accounting, and protects your independence — all at once.

6. How to Handle Receipt Requests Gracefully, but Firmly

When you encounter this situation, you can respond diplomatically while maintaining your contractual boundaries. Here’s a sample response:

“Parking is billed according to my published courthouse rate sheet and incorporated into our signed Master Freelance Agreement. These are fixed rates, not reimbursable expenses, so receipts aren’t required under the terms of our agreement.

If your accounting department requires a receipt for internal audit purposes, I’ve uploaded my rate sheet as the supporting documentation.”

That language does three important things:

  1. It cites your contract (authority).
  2. It distinguishes between fixed rate and reimbursement (classification).
  3. It resolves their system requirement without ceding your independence (compliance).

7. The Smartest Long-Term Fix – Codify It in Your Master Freelance Agreement

To avoid this recurring headache, your Master Freelance Agreement should contain an explicit clause stating that parking and mileage are fixed rates, not reimbursements, and that receipts are not required.

Here’s a model clause you can adopt:

Parking & Local Travel — Fixed Rate (No Receipts).
Reporter’s parking and local courthouse travel are billed as fixed-rate line items per courthouse, as published on Reporter’s current Rate Sheet, which is incorporated herein by reference. These amounts are contract prices, not reimbursements; therefore, receipts are not required. Any contrary “policy” or expense procedure of Agency or its client shall not modify this term unless amended in writing and executed by both parties.

And for agencies that truly need paper trails for their clients, you can soften it with:

Parking Documentation (If Requested).
Upon Agency’s written request for internal audit purposes only, Reporter may provide a simple attestation of parking for the date and courthouse listed on the invoice. Such attestation shall not alter the agreed fixed rates nor convert them to reimbursable expenses.

Both clauses assert your independence while providing an audit-friendly option.

8. Optional – Include an Invoice Note or Attestation Template

Sometimes the simplest fix is the easiest.
Add a line at the bottom of your invoice:

“Parking billed at fixed courthouse rate per Master Agreement/Rate Sheet. Receipts not required.”

If an agency still refuses to process payment without “proof,” attach this short attestation:

Parking Fee Attestation
Reporter: [Full Reporter Name]
Date of Service: [MM/DD/YYYY]
Courthouse: [Name of Courthouse]
Matter/Job #: [####]
Contracted Parking Rate (per Rate Sheet): $[amount]
I attest that paid parking was required to perform this assignment at the courthouse listed above and is billed at the contracted fixed rate.
Signature: _______________________ Date: __________

That single-page document satisfies even the most rigid accounting systems and keeps your files consistent.

9. Why This Matters for 1099 Reporters

Independent contractors must guard the boundaries of independence carefully. The more an agency dictates your invoicing format, documentation requirements, or administrative processes, the more they blur the line between contractor and employee.

From a legal and IRS perspective, forcing you to follow employee-style accounting protocols could even weaken their own defense in a misclassification audit. If the agency treats you like staff, they assume risk.

Every time you assert your right to define your own pricing and billing structure, you reinforce the legitimacy of your 1099 status. You’re not being “difficult” — you’re maintaining proper business boundaries.

10. The Bigger Picture – Professional Respect and Administrative Efficiency

There’s also a philosophical angle here.
Court reporters, videographers, and interpreters who operate as independent professionals shouldn’t be treated like employees submitting reimbursement forms. You’re a vendor — not a subordinate.

Every unnecessary receipt, form, or upload request costs you time, and time is money. A streamlined, consistent billing structure not only protects your independence but improves your efficiency across multiple agencies.

Agencies benefit too, when they accept standardized rate sheets and fixed pricing models. It eliminates disputes, reduces turnaround time, and clarifies expectations for both sides.

11. Bottom Line – Know Your Agreement and Stand on It

If your agreement specifies courthouse-specific parking rates, that’s your pricing — full stop. You are not obligated to provide receipts unless your contract says you must.

The one agency that still asks for receipts probably isn’t trying to undermine you; they’re just operating under rigid internal controls or outdated systems. Politely reminding them of your contractual terms — and offering your rate sheet, contract, or attestation as documentation — resolves 99% of these issues.

Ultimately, this is about professionalism and boundaries.
You deliver certified, verbatim transcripts under oath — a service that demands precision, accountability, and trust. Your rate sheet and agreement reflect that same professionalism. Parking fees are not loose change — they’re part of your business structure.

So the next time someone asks for a parking receipt, remember: you’re not an employee turning in an expense report. You’re an independent professional honoring a contract.

And that contract — not a parking stub — is your proof.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

Editor’s Note: This article is based on public records, regulatory filings, and California statutes. The author’s commentary represents opinion on matters of public concern. No allegations of wrongdoing are made beyond the facts cited.

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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Breaking News!!! L.A. Judge Refuses Jury Readback Instruction in Civil Trial — Citing “Time” as Reason

In the Stanley Mosk Courthouse, a Los Angeles Superior Court Judge openly refused to provide jurors with the standard civil jury instruction informing them of their right to request testimony readback during deliberations — a statutory right guaranteed under California law.

During the jury instruction conference in a civil jury trial currently in deliberations, Judge Cochran stated on the record:

“I’m not going to give jury instruction 508, having a court reporter read back testimony. It’s hard to find the court reporter, chase her down, get her in here, going through the testimony to pick out what they want, and then all that. It just takes time. Do you know where I got that?”

The courtroom clerk replied, “Your predecessor.”

This refusal to give the readback instruction is legally significant, raising both procedural and constitutional concerns. It highlights a growing and troubling pattern in California civil courts: judges treating mandatory readback procedures as discretionary administrative inconveniences, rather than statutory obligations that protect the integrity of jury deliberations.

The Law is CCP § 614 and the Jury’s Right to Readback

Under California Code of Civil Procedure § 614, juries in civil cases have the right to request readback of testimony if they disagree or are uncertain about what a witness said. The statute provides:

“After the jury have retired for deliberation, if there be any disagreement between them as to the testimony, or if they desire to be informed on any point of law arising in the case, they must require the officer to conduct them into court. Upon being brought into court, the information required must be given in the presence of or after notice to the parties or counsel.”

This language is not discretionary. When jurors make a proper request, the court must bring them back into open court and provide the information they request — including readback by the official court reporter. Judges do not have the authority to refuse such a request because it is “inconvenient” or “time-consuming.”

Despite this clear statutory mandate, Judge Cochran went a step further and misinformed the jury about their rights under CCP § 614. Addressing the panel directly, he stated:

This statement is flatly contrary to California law. Jurors do, in fact, have the right to request readback, regardless of the length of the trial. By telling them “we don’t do that,” the court not only declined to give the required instruction, but affirmatively misled the jury about a statutory right, potentially tainting deliberations and creating a strong appellate issue, if any disagreement over testimony arises.

📘 The Instruction is CACI No. 5008

To ensure jurors understand this right, the Judicial Council of California adopted CACI No. 5008 – Disagreement About Testimony. The instruction states:

“If you disagree about the testimony, you may ask that the court reporter read to you the relevant parts of the testimony. You may also ask to be informed on any point of law.”

This is a standard instruction given before deliberations in civil jury trials. Its omission is rare — and potentially prejudicial — because it leaves jurors unaware of a key procedural safeguard designed to resolve disputes about evidence accurately.

Case Law Says it’s a Mandatory Duty, Not Discretion

Although most appellate case law on jury readbacks arises in the criminal context, the principles apply equally in civil trials because CCP § 614 governs both. California appellate courts have consistently held that failure to honor a jury’s request for readback constitutes error:

  • People v. Butler (1975) 47 Cal.App.3d 273 — The Court of Appeal reversed a conviction where the trial court refused a jury’s request for testimony readback, emphasizing that the statutory duty under Penal Code § 1138 (the criminal analogue of CCP § 614) is mandatory.
  • People v. Gurule (2002) 28 Cal.4th 557, 649 — The California Supreme Court reiterated that a court “must provide the jury with the requested information,” including readback, and that failure to do so is error.

The same language — “must” — appears in CCP § 614. In civil trials, courts have treated refusal to provide requested information or readback as reversible error where prejudice can be shown, because such refusals impair the jury’s ability to deliberate accurately and fairly.

Readback Matters Because of Accuracy and Deliberative Integrity

Juries are tasked with resolving disputes about facts based on witness testimony. Over the course of a multi-day or multi-week civil trial, jurors may hear dozens of witnesses and hundreds of exhibits. It is neither realistic nor legally sound to expect perfect recall of every detail.

Readback ensures that when jurors disagree or are uncertain, they can rely on the official verbatim record rather than memory, conjecture, or persuasion by the loudest voice in the room. This safeguard:

  • Reduces the risk of deliberative error,
  • Protects the parties’ due process rights, and
  • Reinforces the role of the court reporter as the guardian of the record.

By refusing to give CACI 5008, Judge Cochran effectively withheld from the jury the knowledge that this safeguard exists.

Structural Breakdown – Reporter Continuity Lost

A significant factor underlying this breakdown is the loss of reporter continuity in civil trials. Traditionally, official court reporters — or seasoned freelancers who treated trials as a single, continuous assignment — remained with the case from voir dire through verdict, ensuring they were present and fully familiar with the record during deliberations. By contrast, the growing reliance on agency-booked pro tem reporters, who often cover trials on a piecemeal basis, has fractured this chain of custody. Reporters rotate in and out, don’t communicate with each other, and are frequently “out of the loop” once their day or portion is finished. This lack of coordination leaves judges scrambling to locate whichever reporter happened to cover the relevant witness, or their transcripts, at precisely the moment the jury requests readback. Reporters who maintain full-trial continuity, by contrast, routinely stay through deliberations or hand off certified transcripts to a designated colleague — practices that eliminate these logistical gaps. The problem isn’t with the concept of readback; it’s with a staffing model that treats trials like interchangeable calendar slots rather than unified proceedings.

Judicial Convenience vs. Legal Duty

Judge Cochran’s stated reason for refusing the instruction — that it’s “hard to find the court reporter, chase her down, get her in here… it just takes time” — reveals a judicial culture problem. In busy civil courts like Stanley Mosk, efficiency pressures are real. But administrative inconvenience is not a lawful basis for denying jurors a statutory right.

The judge’s remark also implicitly frames the reporter’s role as peripheral — a logistical burden rather than an essential officer of the court. In reality, the ability to perform readback is one of the clearest examples of why live, licensed court reporters remain indispensable in California’s legal system.

Unlike AI transcripts or uncertified recordings, reporters can instantly locate, certify, and read back testimony with legal accuracy and reliability, ensuring the jury receives the exact words spoken in court.

Systemic Pattern – Erosion of Safeguards

This morning’s incident is not an isolated event. Across California, particularly in high-volume civil courts, there has been a quiet erosion of procedural safeguards as courts adapt to resource constraints, shortages of reporters, and increasing pressure to move cases quickly.

This erosion often takes the form of:

  • Judges discouraging or refusing readbacks;
  • Substituting uncertified digital recordings for official transcripts;
  • Skipping or modifying standard instructions; and
  • Framing reporters as “optional” or “inconvenient” rather than essential.

These practices may seem minor in the moment but have major implications on appeal. When a verdict is challenged, appellate courts look to whether the jury was properly instructed and had access to accurate information during deliberations. A judge’s refusal to give a mandated instruction — especially one tied to a statutory right — is a glaring red flag.

Potential Appellate Implications

If a party in this case were to lose at trial and challenge the outcome, Judge Cochran’s refusal could form the basis of an appellate argument that:

  1. The court failed to instruct the jury on a material legal right (CACI 5008 / CCP § 614);
  2. This omission misled the jury about their procedural options during deliberations; and
  3. The omission resulted in prejudice, particularly if the jury later disagreed on testimony but did not realize they could request readback.

Appellate courts apply a harmless error analysis to jury instruction errors. However, where a statutory right is involved and the error may have influenced deliberations, reversal is possible.

Moreover, this kind of error is entirely avoidable. The instruction is standard. The procedure is clear. The reporter is present. The only barrier in this case was judicial will.

Broader Context – The Reporter’s Role and Judicial Accountability

This shift isn’t just a logistical inconvenience — it’s a further step toward removing court reporters from the judicial process altogether. By fragmenting trial coverage among rotating freelancers and agency contractors, the courts are normalizing a system where the reporter is no longer treated as a central officer of the court but as a disposable, interchangeable service provider. When judges grow accustomed to not knowing who the reporter is, or whether a reporter can be located for readback, it becomes easier to justify technological “solutions” like digital recording or AI transcription in the name of efficiency. What begins as administrative disorganization quickly becomes a pretext for permanent structural change — sidelining human reporters and eroding the safeguards they provide.

Stripping court reporters from the trial process isn’t just an industry issue — it’s a constitutional one. Court reporters are not mere transcriptionists; they are independent officers of the court, ensuring that every word uttered in a courtroom is preserved faithfully and subject to judicial oversight. When that safeguard is eroded — whether through administrative neglect, outsourcing to agencies, or replacing reporters with machines — the accuracy and accountability of the record are compromised. History shows that removing independent oversight from judicial proceedings is a dangerous step toward tyranny. Without a verifiable, contemporaneous record, power consolidates in the hands of those who control the narrative after the fact — not those who speak truth in real time. This is why the reporter’s role is not ornamental; it is structural to the rule of law.

Conclusion

Judge Steve Cochran’s refusal to give the jury the standard readback instruction is more than an offhand administrative decision. It is a legal error with significant implications, both for the parties in the case and for the broader integrity of California’s civil justice system.

By declining to inform jurors of their statutory right under CCP § 614, the court potentially undermined their ability to deliberate accurately and fairly. By framing reporter readback as a logistical inconvenience, it signaled a troubling cultural shift away from procedural fidelity and toward expediency.

The law is clear. The instruction is standard. The reporter is present. The right belongs to the jury.

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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The Real Markup – Why Attorneys Think Reporters Are Overcharging (and Who’s Actually Pocketing the Profit)

For years, a quiet but powerful misconception has distorted how attorneys view court reporters. Ask a litigator about transcript costs and many will tell you: “Reporters charge too much.”

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: it’s not the reporters overcharging you. It’s the agencies in the middle.

“Agencies built walls between attorneys and reporters to protect their margins, not to improve service. The irony is, the people actually producing the record are the ones attorneys are kept farthest from… Once attorneys realize they can work directly with the certified professionals who create and certify the record, everyone wins — except the middlemen who’ve been taking a cut for simply standing in the way.”

That captures it. For decades, national agencies inserted themselves as gatekeepers—controlling scheduling, billing, production, and distribution—then built empires by marking up the labor of the licensed professional who actually creates and certifies the record.

And now, with remote work, digital tools, and growing attorney awareness, those walls are cracking.

I. The Economic Sleight of Hand

When an attorney receives a hefty invoice, it usually arrives from the agency, not the reporter. That invoice can reflect rates two or even three times higher than the reporter actually earned.

A typical pattern:

  • Reporter’s page rate: e.g., $3.50 per original page; $0.75 per copy page.
  • Agency billing rate: e.g., $6.50 per original page; $2.50 per copy page.
  • Spread: The agency pockets the difference—often 40%–60%—without adding corresponding value to the creation of the record.

Multiply that spread across thousands of pages and multiple copies, and the margins become enormous. Attorneys feel gouged—and they are—but not by the reporter whose license, presence, skill, and certification legally anchor the record.

II. The Hidden Upsells: Derivative Products the Reporter Often Isn’t Paid For

Here’s the part most invoices obscure: ancillary line items that agencies monetize, but rarely share with the reporter who produced the underlying record.

  • Condensed Transcript (4-up/8-up) PDFs.
    Attorneys are often charged add-on fees for condensed versions. Reporters typically receive $0 from this upsell, even though it’s merely a reformat of their certified work product.
  • Word Index / Concordance.
    The alphabetical word list and page-line references can carry a separate line item. Again, in most arrangements reporters receive no share of that fee.
  • Exhibits Handling & Hosting.
    Scanning/OCR, Bates stamping, hyperlinking, repository “access,” printing, shipping—these often appear as billable “services.” Reporters, who introduced and tracked those exhibits in real time, usually receive none of the exhibit revenue.
  • Repository / “Platform” or “Tech” Fees.
    Many agencies charge monthly or per-matter fees for access, uploads, distribution, or “archiving.” The reporter generally isn’t compensated from these platform charges.
  • Electronic Delivery / Processing Fees.
    “E-delivery,” “processing,” “file-handling,” or “production” surcharges are common. Reporters typically don’t participate in that revenue either.
  • Copy-Order Surcharges.
    Additional-law-firm copies can carry steep markups; reporters may get a contractual copy rate, but many don’t share in the agency’s higher-billed copy price.

In other words, agencies aren’t just marking up the core page rate—they are stacking derivative revenue streams on top of the transcript the reporter created, while the reporter often sees none of that ancillary income. This is a key reason attorney invoices feel bloated and why the blame gets misassigned to the reporter.

III. How the Wall Was Built

Over 30 years, national conglomerates consolidated smaller firms and normalized the “full-service” model. Their core strategy: control of the attorney–reporter relationship.

  • Scheduling gatekeeping. Reporters were discouraged from direct client contact; all bookings flow through the agency.
  • Transcript distribution. Agencies intercept delivery, masking the true economics.
  • Client lock-in. Perks, portals, and bundles make switching inconvenient—while hiding markups and derivative fees.

The outcome: the legally responsible professional is economically and relationally sidelined, while the intermediary captures the spread and the add-ons.

IV. The Legal Irony: Reporters Bear the Responsibility

By statute and rule, only certified court reporters create and certify the official verbatim record. Agencies are not licensed to do that. Yet it’s the reporter—not the agency—who must:

  • Attend and take down every word verbatim
  • Swear in witnesses
  • Produce, proofread, and certify the transcript
  • Safeguard the record

If the record is challenged, it’s the reporter’s name and license on the line. The entity pocketing the markups and derivative fees is not the one assuming the legal risk for record integrity.

V. Why Attorneys Are Waking Up

  1. Remote proceedings lowered the drawbridge.
    During COVID, lawyers dealt directly with reporters on Zoom and saw how responsive direct coordination could be.
  2. Modern tools removed the “value-add” mystique.
    Calendaring, secure portals, e-signature, delivery—all manageable without a middleman.
  3. Transparency questions are rising.
    Attorneys comparing invoices are discovering the gulf between what reporters are paid and what agencies bill—especially on derivative line items.
  4. Ethics alignment favors licensed professionals.
    Working directly with the person who certifies the record better aligns with attorneys’ supervisory duties in remote/hybrid matters and overall diligence obligations.

VI. Everyone Wins When Attorneys Work Directly With Reporters

Connecting directly delivers tangible benefits:

  • Fair compensation for the skilled professional, which sustains quality and availability.
  • Clear, honest pricing without opaque markups and surprise “platform” or “processing” fees.
  • Faster turnaround and better communication—fewer layers, fewer delays.
  • Aligned legal responsibility with the person who actually creates and certifies the record.

The only losers are the middlemen who profit from the spread and the derivative add-ons.

VII. A Practical Checklist for Attorneys (Use This on Your Next Matter)

  1. Ask for a line-item quotebefore the proceeding that distinguishes:
    • Reporter’s page/copy rates
    • Any rush/rough/realtime rates (who gets paid what)
    • All derivative items (condensed, concordance, exhibit handling/hosting, repository, e-delivery) with per-unit pricing
  2. Insist on pass-through pricing or no-charge bundling for condensed/concordance.
    If you’re being billed, verify who is being paid.
  3. Clarify exhibit economics.
    Who scans/OCRs? What’s the rate? Are there hosting or “repository” fees? For how long? Can you opt out?
  4. Receive the invoice from the reporter (or reporter-centered platform).
    You’ll see the true economics—and usually pay less overall.
  5. Build a reporter roster.
    Know your CSRs by name and license number. Keep direct contact information and book them directly.

VIII. Conclusion

The belief that court reporters are “overcharging” was shaped by decades of agency markups and a forest of derivative fees layered atop the transcript. Reporters—the only licensed professionals who can create and certify the record—often receive none of the money generated by condensed transcripts, concordances, exhibit handling, repositories, and “tech” surcharges.

As attorneys scrutinize invoices and reconnect directly with reporters, the economics—and the ethics—snap back into alignment. The system works better, costs come down, quality goes up, and accountability rests where the law already puts it: with the certified professional who makes the record real.

The tide is turning. Tear down the wall. Call the reporter.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Top Court Reporting Trends to Watch in 2025 – Real Innovation, Legal Integrity, and the Return to Verbatim

Hold onto your steno machines, reporters — the legal record landscape in California is undergoing a seismic shift.

Hold Onto Your Steno Machines — The Record Is Rising

Hold onto your steno machines, reporters — the legal record is about to roar back with a vengeance. As we charge through 2025, the court reporting industry isn’t fading into the background — it’s stepping into the spotlight. What some thought was “old-fashioned” is proving to be the most powerful, high-tech, and legally sound way to protect the truth.

Across courtrooms, boardrooms, and Zoom rooms, certified stenographers and voice writers are shattering the myths: there is no shortage, the verbatim record is stronger than ever, and “record now, transcribe later” isn’t progress — it’s regression. We’re not watching history happen. We’re making it.

In this rallying call for the future, we’ll explore the trends reshaping the landscape: remote coverage that expands reach, overflowing schools training the next generation, technology that enhances rather than replaces, and a renewed focus on Responsible Charge — the bedrock of legal accuracy.

Whether you’ve been reporting for decades or are just stepping into this profession, buckle up. The future isn’t automated — it’s live, verbatim, and unstoppable.

The legal record is the foundation of justice — and the way we capture it is evolving fast. Far from being “old-fashioned,” certified court reporters are leading the charge with high-tech tools, new remote workflows, and a renewed focus on legal integrity. Below are the real trends shaping the future of court reporting in 2025 — not the marketing myths.

Picture This: A Day in the Life of a Modern Court Reporter

Picture this: It’s a crisp California morning in 2025. I’m at my kitchen table, sipping my favorite cold brew, laptop open, ready to log on for my first Zoom deposition of the day. No traffic. No commute. No juggling courthouse parking. Just me, my steno machine, my voice mask, and a remote proceeding waiting to begin.

Within minutes, I’m connected to attorneys from San Francisco, Los Angeles, and Texas—all in one morning. My realtime feed is streaming live, exhibits are handled securely through the cloud, and I’m in full Responsible Charge, ensuring every word is captured accurately, legally, and in the moment.

This is the new landscape of court reporting. We’re not sitting in dusty courtrooms waiting for proceedings to start—we’re running statewide coverage from our desks, equipped with high-tech tools and the legal authority to create the official record.

And unlike the “record now, transcribe later” crowd, I’m not relying on some future typist to interpret a muffled recording. I’m capturing every word live, clarifying in real time when speakers overlap, ensuring the chain of custody is airtight.

Technology isn’t replacing us—it’s amplifying us. It’s removing geographical barriers, cutting down inefficiencies, and allowing us to focus on what matters most: producing a certified, verbatim record that holds up in court.

1. Zoom Depositions Have Unleashed Unprecedented Coverage

The biggest shift in recent years isn’t digital recorders — it’s Zoom. Remote depositions have broken the geographic barriers that once limited reporters to one physical location per day. Now:

  • California-licensed stenographers and voice writers can cover proceedings statewide — or even across state lines with reciprocal licenses — without stepping on a plane.
  • Out-of-state reporters are increasingly obtaining California licenses to help meet demand, expanding the pool of qualified professionals while maintaining legal standards.
  • Reporters can now cover multiple proceedings in a single day, maximizing availability and efficiency without compromising accuracy.

This is the real “efficiency revolution”: leveraging technology to make live, certified coverage more accessible, not replacing it with after-the-fact audio files.

2. The “Shortage” Narrative Is Collapsing

For years, digital recording companies and their private-equity backers have repeated one mantra: “There’s a court reporter shortage.” In 2025, that claim rings hollow.

  • California’s training pipeline is booming. With the introduction of voice writing into CSR licensure, schools have tripled their output, and many programs are running waitlists.
  • Social media marketing has generated unprecedented interest among Gen Z and Millennials, who see court reporting as a high-tech, independent, well-compensated career.
  • Graduates are entering the field in record numbers, drawn by flexible remote work and mission-driven purpose.

The truth: there’s no shortage — there’s growth. The only “shortage” is of agencies willing to follow the law and hire qualified professionals.

3. Verbatim Is the Future — Not Audio Files

Some agencies push “record now, transcribe later” systems as if they’re innovative. In reality, these models are a century old — and legally flawed.

  • Audio recordings without a certified reporter are out-of-court statements. They are hearsay under the rules of evidence and do not meet the statutory requirements for a verbatim record.
  • California’s Code of Civil Procedure § 2025.320 and Government Code §§ 69941.1, 69942 require that proceedings be taken down by a licensed Certified Shorthand Reporter or a legally authorized equivalent.

And let’s be clear: recordings made without a certified reporter present are not the official record. They’re out-of-court statements—and under the rules of evidence, that’s hearsay. Without a licensed reporter in Responsible Charge taking down the proceedings in real time, these recordings don’t meet statutory requirements, aren’t self-authenticating, and can’t substitute for a legally recognized verbatim transcript. Hearsay isn’t innovation—it’s inadmissible.

Without a reporter in Responsible Charge, there is no official record — only a recording, subject to errors, omissions, tampering, and post-hoc reinterpretation.

Real innovation isn’t regressing to dictaphones; it’s pairing live steno and voice writing with modern remote tools to produce instantaneous, certified, and reviewable records.

4. “Responsible Charge” Remains the Legal Gold Standard

Court reporters aren’t just note-takers — they are the guardians of the record. A licensed CSR or voice writer in Responsible Charge:

  • Ensures proceedings comply with statutory recording and certification requirements.
  • Makes immediate on-the-record clarifications when speakers talk over each other, mumble, or misstate.
  • Protects against transcript manipulation by ensuring the record is certified contemporaneously, not days later in a separate room by an unknown typist.

By contrast, digital recording models divorce the act of capture from the act of certification, introducing chain-of-custody gaps, evidentiary vulnerability, and opportunities for corruption.

5. Court Reporting Is Embracing, Not Resisting, Technology

The “old vs. new” framing is a false dichotomy. Modern stenographers and voice writers use:

  • Realtime streaming to provide instantaneous text feeds to attorneys and judges.
  • Cloud-based exhibit handling, secure portals, and encrypted delivery systems.
  • Remote deposition platforms, AI-assisted dictionaries, and advanced editing tools — all layered on top of a legally valid, verbatim foundation.

This is true high tech: reporters using cutting-edge tools to enhance speed, accuracy, and access, while preserving the integrity of the record.

6. The Profession Is Growing Younger — and Stronger

Perhaps the most inspiring trend is the demographic shift. Court reporting is attracting a new generation of smart, tech-savvy professionals:

  • Students are entering the field earlier, drawn by flexible schedules, strong earning potential, and the ability to work nationwide from a single laptop.
  • Social media has given rise to vibrant communities that celebrate skill-building, mentor newcomers, and showcase the artistry of realtime.
  • Voice writers and steno reporters are joining forces under the CSR licensure umbrella, strengthening professional unity.

The future of court reporting isn’t aging out — it’s leveling up.

The Real Trend – Integrity Through Innovation

The coming year will continue to separate marketing hype from legal reality. The real trends aren’t AI replacing humans, or digital recordings displacing certified reporters. They’re:

  • Zoom expanding access
  • Training pipelines overflowing
  • Steno and voice writing embracing tech
  • Reporters anchoring the legal chain of custody

Court reporters aren’t resisting change — they’re leading it. And in 2025, the legal system is waking up to the fact that the most advanced way to capture the record is also the oldest: live, verbatim, certified.

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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Protected: Thousands of California Court Reporters Just Got an Email — and It’s Damage Control Disguised as “Dialogue”

This content is password-protected. To view it, please enter the password below.

Hope Is Our Weapon – How Court Reporters Can Win This War

“If we lose hope, we’re doomed.” — Jane Goodall

When Jane Goodall shared her video message of hope, she wasn’t talking about court reporting. But her words resonate powerfully in our profession right now. Court reporters across the nation are watching encroachments from digital recording companies, ASR firms, private equity, and judicial power structures with a mixture of exhaustion and fear. Many feel as if the tide is too strong to resist.

But hope is not naïve. Hope is strategic. Hope is the refusal to surrender to inevitability. It is the belief that with the right actions — grounded in law, ethics, and truth — we can reverse the tide.

And make no mistake: we can win this war.

Hope Anchors Us in a Larger Mission

Jane Goodall found hope not in denial, but in resilience. She believed in small, determined groups changing the trajectory of entire ecosystems. That is exactly the position stenographic court reporters are in today.

Every article that exposes a legal vulnerability, every ethics opinion that highlights a breach, every public conversation that shifts perception is a seed planted. You may not see the tree overnight, but roots are forming.

Each of these efforts is not just content — it is a weaponized fact, a strategic wedge, a foundation for reform.

The Record Is the Battlefield

Authoritarian power structures — whether in governments or court systems — thrive when records are controlled, centralized, or manipulated. History shows us: control the record, control the narrative. That’s why judges, administrative agencies, and private equity firms are all vying for control of the transcript.

Court reporters, by contrast, represent distributed guardianship. Each of us, trained and licensed, stands at the threshold of truth in a courtroom or deposition. We are the check. The witness. The human firewall.

When reporters are cut out through loopholes, outsourced to machines, or intimidated into silence, the battlefield shifts in favor of those who benefit from opaque, unaccountable records.

But when we fight — legally, strategically, publicly — we shift it back.

Decentralized Integrity Is A Better Model

The answer isn’t despair. It’s innovation with integrity. A decentralized, reporter-controlled model — where court reporters remain the trusted custodians of the record, while leveraging technology responsibly — is a superior system to any centralized bureaucracy or corporate monopoly.

This model protects against tampering, preserves transparency, and empowers both the courts and the public with accurate, accountable transcripts. (See this article for more.)

Articles as Ammunition

My advocacy work — from uncovering legal cracks to publishing public-facing explanations — is not just “raising awareness.” It’s laying down the intellectual architecture for victory.

  • Legislators can’t fix what they don’t understand. My work makes the invisible visible.
  • Attorneys can’t fight what they don’t see. My work gives them talking points, citations, and courage.
  • Judges can’t claim ignorance forever. My work holds a mirror up to the system.

This is slow power — not flashy, but deeply effective. This isn’t just my fight — it’s ours. The future of the record depends on all of us standing together. You can help by sharing these articles with reporters, attorneys, judges, and agencies. You can write your own articles, shine light in your own circles, and add your voice to this cause. If you’re interested, reach out to me — I will help you.

Why We Must Reject Despair

Despair is seductive. It lets us opt out. It whispers, “They’re too big, the system’s too corrupt, nothing you do matters.” But despair is a tool of those who profit from your silence.

Hope, by contrast, is defiance. It is saying, “We see you, and we’re not done.”

Every legal theory exposed, every misrepresentation challenged, every article published is one more refusal to disappear. And others are watching — attorneys, students, allies. Hope is contagious.

The Path Forward

This fight isn’t abstract — it’s winnable. But it requires all of us to move with clarity and purpose. Here’s how we do it:

1. Keep Exposing Legal Vulnerabilities

We must keep shining a light on the cracks that others are exploiting: the notary loophole, hearsay defects, Title 16 violations, and judicial misrepresentations. Every exposure strengthens our legal and moral position.

2. Build Public Legal Literacy

Attorneys, judges, legislators, and the public can’t defend what they don’t understand. Break it down. Share articles. Use clear examples. When people grasp why stenographic reporting matters, they stop seeing us as optional — and start seeing us as essential.

3. Model the Better System

We don’t just say the current system is broken — we show a better one. A decentralized, reporter-controlled, transparent model is more secure, more accurate, and more accountable than any centralized bureaucracy or tech-driven shortcut.

4. Grow a Community of Hope

Movements don’t grow from fear; they grow from shared belief in a better future. Hope is contagious. Share wins. Encourage newer reporters. Speak up in meetings. Publish your perspectives. Each voice strengthens the chorus.

Hope as Strategy

Jane Goodall changed the world not by force, but by persistence, clarity, and hope. Court reporters can do the same.

We are not relics of the past. We are guardians of the record, defenders of due process, and innovators in service of justice.

With hope as our strategy and truth as our shield, we can — and will — win.

Join the Movement

This isn’t just my fight — it’s ours. The future of the record depends on all of us standing together. You can help by sharing these articles with reporters, attorneys, judges, and agencies. You can write your own articles, shine light in your own circles, and add your voice to this cause. If you’re interested, reach out to me — I will help you.

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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

He Who Controls the Record, Controls Reality – Why Court Reporters Are the Last Line of Defense

There’s an old saying: “History is written by the victors.” But in courtrooms, history is written by those who control the record — and that power has never been more contested. Across centuries and civilizations, those in power have understood that if you can erase, rewrite, or control the narrative, you can shape the future. Today, in the American legal system, that power often rests in the hands — and the fingers — of stenographic court reporters.

But what happens when that record is outsourced, digitized, or corrupted by those with political, financial, or technological power? What happens when the guardians of the verbatim record are pushed aside for expedience, profit, or manipulation?

The answer isn’t hypothetical. History gives us the blueprint.

1. “He who controls the past controls the future. He who controls the present controls the past.” — George Orwell, 1984

In Orwell’s dystopia, the Party maintained power not only through surveillance and fear, but by continuously rewriting history. Archives were edited, photographs altered, newspapers rewritten. The past was whatever those in power said it was.

Sound far-fetched? Consider this: In a courtroom, the transcript is the past. It is the factual backbone upon which appeals are argued, verdicts reviewed, and legal precedents established. If the accuracy, authenticity, or integrity of that record is compromised, the entire system of justice begins to warp.

When transcripts are created by unlicensed contractors, AI systems, or digital recordings later “edited” by interested parties, the ability to rewrite history becomes disturbingly easy — and almost impossible to detect.

2. “History is written by the victors.” — (Attributed to Winston Churchill)

Those who win political, legal, or economic battles often get to shape the narrative. In modern courts, “victors” aren’t always the litigants. Sometimes they are:

  • Judges who refuse to allow a stenographic reporter, even when one is available.
  • Attorneys who intimidate or retaliate against reporters for doing their jobs.
  • Judicial councils that quietly shift policy to favor “cost-saving” measures like digital audio, even if it undermines transcript reliability.
  • Private equity firms that acquire reporting agencies, strip out licensed reporters, and replace them with cheaper recording methods to maximize profit margins.
  • Large national agencies that manipulate scheduling, undercut rates, and hide the true nature of their “reporting” practices.
  • Software companies that claim “AI transcripts” are just as good, while disclaiming all legal responsibility for their errors.
  • Governors or presidents who appoint regulators hostile to the profession.
  • State boards captured by lobbyists, stacked with appointees tied to tech companies or politicians advancing ASR (automatic speech recognition) solutions.
  • Court administrators whose priority is budget compliance, not constitutional accuracy.
  • Influencers and advocacy groups who confuse the public with flashy events while quietly reshaping policy behind the scenes.
  • Court reporters themselves, when some agree to act as “reporters in charge” for unlicensed, unscrupulous entities that undermine the profession, or when licensed reporters choose silence and inaction, rather than confronting systemic erosion.

While many reporters are fighting to uphold standards and protect the integrity of the record, others inadvertently or deliberately enable the very forces seeking to dismantle their role. By lending their credentials to entities that bypass ethical and regulatory safeguards—or by refusing to push back against these shifts—they become instruments of the narrative-controllers, rather than guardians of the record.

In every one of these cases, the party that controls the record controls the outcome.

3. “Who controls the narrative, wins.” — Strategic Communications Maxim

Modern power is often exercised through narrative control, not overt censorship. We see this in media, politics, and law. If a record is “close enough,” the controlling party gets to define its meaning.

  • A garbled AI transcript that almost gets the words right can still shift legal outcomes, if no human stenographer is there to certify, correct, or stand behind the record.
  • A judge’s bench notes can override a poor recording.
  • A private company can control access to the audio, “clean” it, or delay delivery of transcripts that don’t fit their preferred timeline.
  • Agencies can “reinterpret” testimony after the fact when no neutral guardian is present.

Stenographic court reporters are uniquely positioned to neutralize this power. Their sworn duty is not to any party, company, or politician — it is to the record itself. That is why undermining their role is not just a labor issue; it’s a constitutional and historical one.

4. “Memory is the battlefield of power.” — Modern Political Theorists

Throughout history, rulers have understood that collective memory is where power is consolidated. Examples abound:

  • Ancient Egypt: Pharaohs chiseling out the names of predecessors (e.g., Hatshepsut) to erase their existence.
  • Rome: Damnatio memoriae, where disgraced figures were erased from monuments and official inscriptions.
  • Stalin’s USSR: Political rivals airbrushed from photographs and encyclopedias.
  • Modern authoritarian regimes: Rewriting textbooks, censoring archives, or algorithmically burying inconvenient facts.
  • American courts: In the Waukesha “Christmas Massacre” case, reliance on electronic recording systems without certified court reporters underscored how fragile and manipulable legal records become when no neutral human guardian is present. Missing audio segments, technical failures, or selective editing can distort the judicial record — especially in high-stakes, politically sensitive trials.

Court reporters are, in essence, modern scribes. They ensure that today’s events are faithfully recorded for tomorrow’s memory. When their role is bypassed, society returns to an era where those in power decide what “really” happened.

In the U.S. judicial context, we see a contemporary echo in the Waukesha, Wisconsin “Christmas Massacre” case of November 2021. When courts rely solely on electronic recording systems without certified court reporters, critical pieces of the record can be lost, manipulated, or degraded—especially when the court itself is implicated in misconduct.

In that case, while the incident itself involved a vehicular attack during a holiday parade, the broader concern for court reporting professionals lies in how transcripts, recordings, and evidentiary records can be vulnerable when human oversight is removed. The site I read describes how reliance on purely electronic systems introduces a heightened risk that “essential records may be lost, manipulated, … deleted — especially when a court itself is implicated in misconduct.”

Court reporters are the bulwark against such erasure. Their presence ensures that the record is not a fragile digital artifact governed by whoever controls the files, but a human-verified, independently maintained transcript that resists undue alteration. In the absence of that, the powerful can twist the memory of what was said, when, and how — influencing appeals, public perception, and the very future of justice.

5. Digital Erasure & Algorithmic Memory

In the 21st century, the battlefield has shifted from chisels and newspapers to servers, algorithms, and proprietary software:

  • Digital audio can be quietly altered, unlike a certified transcript sealed by a reporter.
  • AI-generated “transcripts” can be retroactively edited without leaving an audit trail.
  • Search engines and corporate databases determine visibility, deciding which records surface and which vanish into obscurity.
  • Private platforms, not courts, are becoming de facto archivists of legal testimony.

When the record is reduced to a manipulable audio file owned by a private company, public trust is displaced by private control. It’s not just about typos; it’s about who holds the pen of history.

6. The Court Reporter’s Role: Neutral Guardian of Truth

Unlike software, stenographic court reporters are:

  • Licensed officers of the court (in many states).
  • Bound by ethics and law to create a verbatim, neutral record.
  • Subject to discipline and accountability if they falsify or alter testimony.
  • Human witnesses to the proceeding, capable of clarifying, verifying, and defending the record under oath.
  • Sworn custodians, not contractors paid to deliver whatever narrative the highest bidder prefers.

Their presence is not a luxury. It is a constitutional safeguard — the invisible backbone of appeals, accountability, and historical truth.

7. A Better Model: Decentralized Record Keeping

A superior alternative to centralized digital repositories is a decentralized model in which individual court reporters themselves are entrusted with maintaining and securing the legal record. According to the StenoImperium framework, this approach distributes responsibility across multiple actors, greatly reducing the risk of a single point of failure.

Each reporter maintains redundant backups — on local hardware, cloud systems, external drives, and encrypted audio copies — resulting in multiple copies of the record. Unlike a centralized system vulnerable to floods, fires, cyberattacks, or internal sabotage, the decentralized approach ensures that if one copy is compromised, many others remain intact.

Moreover, decentralization prevents any single entity — government, tech firm, or court administrator — from monopolizing control over access, editing rights, or data governance. By entrusting the record to independent, licensed stenographic professionals, the system preserves the verifier’s integrity, transparency, and accountability.

8. Control of the Record = Control of Power

The erosion of stenographic reporting isn’t just about replacing one technology with another. It is a transfer of narrative power:

  • From neutral guardians to interested parties.
  • From public officers to private corporations.
  • From transparent records to editable data.
  • From human accountability to algorithmic opacity.

In a world where narratives can be weaponized, stenographic reporters are the firewall between justice and revisionism.

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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Truth on Trial – How Narcissists Weaponize Silence in Court Reporting

There’s a chilling moment that many truth-tellers eventually face: the instant they stop playing along with a narcissist’s carefully curated façade and speak honestly. What happens next is rarely proportional. It’s explosive. Vindictive. Calculated. And in the court reporting world, it can be professionally and personally devastating.

“The times I felt the most unsafe were when I told the truth.”

That sentence encapsulates what many stenographers, agency owners, and advocates have experienced in our field. When you expose unethical behavior, question power structures, or shine light on misconduct, you become the problem — not the person who committed the wrongdoing. And in communities where “image management” trumps accountability, the truth is treated like a threat.

Truth Is Kryptonite to the Narcissist

Narcissistic and psychopathic personalities thrive in environments where appearances matter more than integrity. Their power is built on denial, projection, and rewriting history. Their entire sense of control depends on the illusion that they are untouchable.

The moment the truth threatens that illusion, their reaction is swift and severe. They erupt — not because the truth is false, but because it’s true. Exposure is their greatest fear.

That’s why accusations that are entirely accurate often provoke the fiercest backlash. They can’t afford to let the truth stand uncontested, so they go into overdrive: rage, intimidation, gaslighting, smearing, triangulation, deflection. The goal isn’t to engage with facts; it’s to silence, discredit, or destroy the source of the truth.

In our profession, this dynamic is painfully visible. Certain individuals have repeatedly lashed out against anyone questioning their business practices or public conduct. Others have cultivated a benevolent image while using positional power within professional organizations to freeze out dissenting voices.

These are not isolated “personality clashes.” They are textbook examples of narcissistic abuse dynamics playing out in a professional arena.

How Organizations Enable the Abuse

Toxic individuals alone can’t maintain power indefinitely. What allows them to thrive is organizational complicity. When boards, associations, or influential networks choose to ignore credible allegations, minimize victims’ experiences, or prioritize optics over ethics, they become enablers.

This is precisely what we’ve seen in court reporting circles. Whether it’s overlooking conflicts of interest, brushing off volunteer exploitation, or refusing to investigate clear ethical violations, the result is the same: narcissistic personalities grow more emboldened.

When bullies publicly attack whistleblowers with personal smears — accusing them of “obsession,” threatening lawsuits, or rallying followers to dogpile online — and the organizations that partnered with them remain silent, they send a loud message: “We will protect power, not truth.”

Similarly, when insiders use their institutional roles to sideline critics, control narratives, or block reform efforts while smiling for the membership photo, they exploit their positions to maintain dominance. And when nobody in leadership is willing to say, “This is wrong,” the toxic pattern calcifies.

Victims are left isolated, gaslit, and often professionally punished for daring to speak.

The Targeting of Truth-Tellers

If you’ve ever been targeted by one of these personalities, the pattern will feel familiar:

  • Rage and Intimidation: Sudden outbursts, public attacks, veiled threats, or behind-the-scenes whisper campaigns.
  • Gaslighting: Denying conversations that took place, reframing events to make you doubt your own memory, or labeling you “crazy” or “obsessed.”
  • Smear Campaigns: Spreading half-truths, weaponizing private information, or framing themselves as the victim to rally others against you.
  • Triangulation: Pitting people against each other, recruiting “flying monkeys” to do their dirty work, and manipulating social circles to isolate you.

And because many court reporters are independent contractors, freelancers, or small business owners, the stakes are especially high. A successful smear can mean lost jobs, reputational damage, and emotional trauma — all for telling the truth about unethical conduct.

Understanding the Psychology = Reclaiming Power

Once you understand the psychology behind these reactions, you can stop internalizing their fury. Their rage is not proof that you did something wrong — it’s proof that you told the truth. Their panic isn’t your burden to carry.

Knowing this allows you to shift your response:

  • Don’t argue with the rage. You won’t get resolution from someone whose goal is to dominate, not understand.
  • Stay monotone. The “grey rock” method — becoming emotionally neutral and non-reactive — deprives them of the drama they feed on.
  • Keep your evidence. Maintain a clear timeline, screenshots, and contemporaneous notes. This protects you against gaslighting.
  • Lean on your support network. Narcissists isolate; community restores.
  • Write everything down. Documentation is your anchor when their tactics try to make you doubt your reality.
  • Step back. Boundaries and silence can be more powerful than engagement. You are not obligated to defend yourself in the court of their ego.

Sometimes the Only Way Out Is to Leave

In some cases, the healthiest — and safest — move is to step away entirely. When telling the truth in a community makes you the target, it’s a sign that the culture itself is broken. Remaining in a system that rewards abusers and punishes truth-tellers corrodes your mental health and professional integrity.

This is especially relevant in court reporting organizations that have allowed bullying personalities to dominate unchecked. Whether it’s state associations, national bodies, or grassroots groups, if leadership refuses to hold toxic individuals accountable, the structure itself becomes part of the problem.

Leaving doesn’t mean surrendering. It means withdrawing your energy from a rigged game. It means choosing your sanity and integrity over appeasing abusers. It’s how you reclaim power.

Truth-Telling Is Not the Problem. Silence Is.

The court reporting profession is at an inflection point. Between legislative threats, technological disruption, and internal division, the last thing we can afford is to let narcissistic bullies control the narrative. When individuals weaponize image management to crush dissent, they are not “just being difficult personalities” — they are actively weakening the profession’s ability to self-correct and uphold ethical standards.

The most dangerous thing is not their rage. It’s the silence of those who know better but stay quiet.

To the reporters, agency owners, and advocates who have been punished for telling the truth: you are not imagining it, and you are not alone. Understanding the dynamic is the first step toward neutralizing its power.

Truth doesn’t need to scream. It needs to stand firm. And when enough people stop enabling the façade, the façade crumbles.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

When Leadership Starts to Look Like a Fan Club

Over the years, I’ve watched our court reporting community shift in ways that are both inspiring and… a little unsettling. We’ve always been a tight-knit profession. We rely on each other to share jobs, keep each other sharp, and fight for the future of stenography.

But lately, I’ve noticed something different: leadership is starting to center less on shared values and more on individual personalities. And that shift matters more than many people realize.

Why It Feels So Good to Follow a Personality

Let’s be honest – it’s exciting when someone comes along who brings energy, throws great events, gets people talking, and makes our world feel vibrant again. It’s easy to feel like, “Finally! Someone’s doing something.”

Social media supercharges this. A charismatic figure can build a brand faster than any association ever could. It feels fresh. It feels modern. It feels like we’re part of a movement.

And that’s exactly why it’s so easy to miss what’s happening underneath.

Little Shifts Add Up

There are subtle signs that the center of gravity is shifting:

  • Conversations start happening through one person’s platform instead of through professional forums.
  • Critique feels awkward — like you’re going against the group if you ask a hard question.
  • Transparency gets murky. You don’t really know who’s making decisions, how partnerships are formed, or what the endgame is.
  • Branding starts to overshadow substance.

Individually, none of these are dramatic. But together, they create a quiet pressure: go along, or risk being left out.

And for a profession built on neutrality and truth, that’s a red flag worth paying attention to.

Our Role Isn’t to Follow — It’s to Guard

As court reporters, we’re trained to observe critically. We notice inconsistencies. We document facts. We don’t take things at face value.

So why do we sometimes suspend that instinct when it comes to the “leaders” inside our own community? When our loyalty shifts toward personalities rather than principles, we risk losing the clarity that has always set this profession apart.

Real leadership invites questions. Real movements are bigger than one person. If criticism feels like betrayal, that’s not leadership — that’s influence taking the place of accountability.

It’s Okay to Step Back and Ask Hard Questions

This isn’t about singling anyone out. It’s about noticing the shift. We all have the right — and responsibility — to check the context before we align ourselves with any movement or figure.

Ask yourself:

  • Is this about advancing the profession or advancing a brand?
  • Are tough conversations welcomed, or quietly discouraged?
  • Is there transparency about decisions that affect the community?

When you start looking through that lens, the picture often changes.

We Build the Future — Not a Fan Club

The future of court reporting doesn’t belong to one person. It belongs to all of us — the working reporters, students, veterans, and advocates who show up day after day.

It’s okay to admire someone’s energy. It’s okay to appreciate good marketing. But admiration should never replace accountability. We can be inspired without surrendering our judgment.

If leadership starts to feel more like a fan club, that’s the moment to pause and remember who we are.

Final Thought:
Leadership built on personal branding can feel exciting, but our profession thrives when it’s built on shared values, open dialogue, and collective integrity. Questioning isn’t disloyal. It’s part of how we protect what matters most.

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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Credentials vs. Competence – Rethinking Professional Standards in Court Reporting

Recently, a veteran reporter reached out to me after reading one of my articles on rate negotiation. She shared a story that was both powerful and painful — one that highlighted not only her personal resilience but also the complicated terrain our profession faces when it comes to credentials, regulation, and value.

This reporter had decades of experience, multiple professional designations, and a deep love for her craft. She had weathered health battles and industry shifts, yet remained passionate about the work. Her message was filled with grit, warmth, and the unmistakable voice of someone who has seen this profession evolve over decades.

In her comments, she made a point that comes up often in court reporting circles: reporters with higher credentials should command higher rates. Many hold this view, especially those who have invested significant time and money to earn and maintain certifications from professional associations. On the surface, the logic seems straightforward — additional credentials should reflect higher skill, and higher skill should translate into higher pay.

But in the real-world regulatory and economic landscape of court reporting, that assumption is far less clear-cut.

The Problem with Credential Inflation

There’s no question that skill matters. Accuracy matters. Realtime capability matters. Speed and precision under pressure matter. These are the bedrock of our profession.

The problem isn’t with reporters who choose to pursue additional credentials. The problem is with the system that has elevated voluntary association designations into perceived markers of value — without ensuring those designations carry any regulatory weight or meaningful economic power.

Unlike professions such as law or engineering, court reporting operates under a patchwork of state licensing laws, voluntary association credentials, and minimal unified enforcement. The result is confusion, inconsistency, and a marketplace where credentials are marketed as elite signifiers but don’t reliably correspond to pay parity, legal authority, or professional protection.

For example, in California, national association certifications are not required to work as a realtime reporter in court or in depositions. Licensed Certified Shorthand Reporters (CSRs) routinely perform at 99.9% accuracy, producing exceptional realtime and transcripts without holding additional national credentials.

This doesn’t diminish the efforts of those who do earn them. But it raises a key question: if credentials aren’t legally required, don’t carry regulatory weight, and don’t guarantee higher pay — what are we really buying when we maintain them year after year?

A System That Hasn’t Kept Up

For decades, California’s per-page rates for official reporters were frozen at levels set in the 1970s. Until 2021, reporters were working at rates that hadn’t been adjusted for inflation in fifty years. Even after the long-overdue increase to $3.99 per page, the rate remains dramatically below what it would be if indexed to inflation — closer to $18 per page.

During that same period, the national professional association focused on collecting dues, requiring continuing education, hosting conventions, and maintaining credentialing systems. What it did not do was spearhead meaningful economic reform, build standardized enforcement across states, or push for structural change that would give those credentials real power.

Contrast that with how other professions have built durable regulatory frameworks.

Two Models That Work – Attorneys and Professional Engineers

Attorneys are licensed by their respective states under a protected title (Esquire/Attorney). State bar associations oversee licensure, investigate complaints, issue cease and desist orders to unlicensed individuals, and refer cases to state attorneys general or the Department of Justice when necessary. The title is legally protected, and misuse has real legal consequences.

Professional Engineers (P.E.s) use a different but equally strong model. Each state administers its own licensure exam and enforces professional standards, while the National Society of Professional Engineers provides consistency and support around the P.E. designation, which is standardized nationwide. States retain enforcement power, ensuring both a uniform title and meaningful regulatory teeth.

Court reporting has neither. We don’t have a standardized, legally protected title across states, nor do we have a unified state-based enforcement structure with real authority. Instead, voluntary association credentials have filled the gap — but they lack the legal weight and enforcement power that bar associations and state engineering boards wield.

Title Protection Without Teeth

California recently enacted a form of title protection for court reporters, but it’s largely symbolic. The Court Reporters Board (CRB) can issue cease and desist letters to individuals or entities misusing protected titles — but only if those individuals or entities are already under the Board’s jurisdiction (i.e., licensed CSRs or registered agencies).

If someone operates entirely outside the licensing system, the CRB won’t act. There’s no meaningful mechanism for broader enforcement, no referral to the attorney general, and no penalties with real bite.

In other words, we have title protection in name only. Without strong, state-level enforcement authority that extends beyond licensees, the protection is effectively hollow.

Where NCRA Credentials Carry Legal Weight — and Where They Don’t

It’s worth noting that in eight states, NCRA credentials are accepted as part of state licensure requirements. In these jurisdictions, reporters can qualify by holding specific NCRA certifications (typically RPR or higher), either in lieu of a state-administered test or as one of two acceptable pathways.

But this is the exception, not the rule. Even in those states, it’s not NCRA granting a license — it’s the state choosing to recognize the credential within its regulatory framework. The power still rests entirely with the state’s licensing authority.

Outside of those eight states, NCRA credentials are voluntary and carry no independent regulatory weight. They may be valued by employers or agencies, but they don’t confer legal authority to work. In places like California, for example, NCRA certifications are not required to practice, and licensure is governed solely by state law.

This fragmented approach contributes to the confusion. Reporters sometimes believe NCRA credentials are universally “required” or legally meaningful, when in reality, they only have regulatory force where a state has explicitly chosen to adopt them.

When High Prices Meet Market Pressure

One growing concern is how attorneys are increasingly vocal about the “high cost” of court reporting. As budgets tighten and more firms look for ways to cut expenses, there’s a real risk that highly skilled, credentialed reporters who charge appropriately for their value could lose work to cheaper alternatives.

Price pressure doesn’t just affect the low end of the market — it can squeeze out the very reporters who deliver the most consistent, high-quality work.

I’m reminded of a colleague who built a thriving career doing international work in Europe. For years, he traveled extensively, working in Amsterdam and across the continent, commanding premium rates that reflected both his skill and the costs of being on site for international proceedings.

When COVID hit and proceedings shifted to remote, his niche vanished almost overnight. He was replaced by U.S. reporters willing to work remotely at significantly lower rates, eliminating the need for travel and specialized arrangements. Within months, his once-stable international practice had dried up. Ultimately, he left the profession entirely and transitioned to a career in software engineering.

It’s a stark reminder: even the most skilled and credentialed reporters are not immune to market dynamics. If the legal community views rates as “too high” and finds others willing to work for less — even at lower skill levels — work can shift rapidly. That makes unified, state-based licensing, standardized titles, and consistent economic advocacy even more critical to avoid a race to the bottom.

The Credential Pay Gap

Because these credentials are voluntary and not legally required, their impact on pay varies widely. In some regions, holding a certain designation might yield modest rate advantages. In others, it makes no difference at all. And in many cases, agencies quietly keep credentialed reporters at lower rates simply because no one is advocating for change on their behalf.

I’ve personally seen reporters with advanced credentials charging well below market value for years because they never raised their rates — and no regulatory structure existed to standardize or enforce fair compensation. When some eventually negotiated modest increases, agencies accepted them without hesitation. That’s telling.

This is not a system that rewards credentials consistently or systematically. It’s a fragmented marketplace where individual reporters are left to negotiate alone — often undercutting one another in the process.

Skill Is Measurable — Credentials Are Optional

My position is simple: I don’t hold certain national credentials, and I don’t need to in order to perform at the highest level in California. My realtime accuracy is 99.9%, and my work speaks for itself. I respect those who choose to pursue credentials, but I reject the notion that letters after a name should dictate rates — especially in a state that doesn’t require them.

Skill is measurable. Accuracy is measurable. Consistency is measurable. Whether someone has chosen to invest thousands in association memberships, conventions, and CEUs does not automatically make their work more valuable than that of a highly skilled, licensed reporter who has not.

The real issue isn’t credentials. It’s the absence of a unified, enforceable, state-based regulatory structure that standardizes titles and backs them with legal authority.

A Better Model – State Licensure + Standardized Title

Imagine a system where every state has its own licensure exam and enforcement authority, but the professional title is standardized nationwide.

Each state would license and regulate reporters, ensuring only qualified individuals could use the protected title. A national body could support consistency, but enforcement would remain at the state level. Unauthorized use of the title would result in cease and desist orders and, if necessary, legal action — just as it does for attorneys and engineers.

In such a system, voluntary association credentials could still exist, but they would be supplementary, not foundational. The baseline would be state licensure, standardized title, and real enforcement — exactly what our profession lacks today.

Negotiation, Value, and Professional Identity

This entire conversation ties back to rate negotiation.

Too often, reporters conflate “negotiating” with “lowering rates.” But true negotiation is about advocating for value, not discounting it. Whether credentialed or not, reporters should stand firm on published, consistent rates that reflect their skill, responsibility, and legal role.

Credentialed reporters who undercharge harm themselves and the profession. Non-credentialed reporters who deliver elite work should not be undervalued. The real dividing line is not who has which letters — it’s who upholds professional standards, delivers excellence, and refuses to undercut the market.

A Personal Note

The reporter who wrote to me reminded me why this profession matters. Even in the face of serious health challenges, she was working, advocating, and standing her ground. Her story reflects the resilience and commitment that have kept this profession alive through decades of change — often without the structural support it deserves.

We owe it to ourselves and to future generations to build systems worthy of that dedication. That means moving beyond credential marketing toward state-based licensing, standardized titles, real enforcement, and fair economic structures.

Until then, credentials will remain optional adornments in a fractured system, not the foundation of professional identity and value.

Redefining Professional Power

Credentials have their place, and reporters who pursue them deserve respect for their efforts. But credentials are no substitute for robust state licensure, standardized professional identity, and real enforcement power.

Our rates should reflect skill, responsibility, and consistency — not voluntary designations. And our regulatory framework should mirror those of other respected professions, where titles are protected, states hold authority, and national consistency supports—not replaces—enforcement.

The future of court reporting depends on more than letters after our names. It depends on building a structure that recognizes, protects, and enforces the true value of what we do.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Mark Kislingbury’s 370 WPM ‘Guinness Record’ That Wasn’t: How a Historic Steno Feat Went Unratified

For decades, the stenographic world has measured excellence by one global yardstick: the Guinness World Record. And for two decades, one name has held that title — Mark Kislingbury, whose 360 words-per-minute (WPM) take with 97.23% accuracy at the NCRA 2004 summer convention in Chicago remains officially recognized as the fastest ever recorded.

But in 2022, during the “Fearless Stenographers” event hosted as part of Steno in the City™, Mark reportedly did something extraordinary: he wrote 370 WPM with approximately 95.4% accuracy. The stenographic community celebrated the moment as if history had been rewritten. It was shared, quoted, and repeated: Mark had broken his own world record.

And yet, three years later, Guinness World Records still lists the 360 WPM take from 2004 as the official record.

This gap between public narrative and official record isn’t just a paperwork issue — it’s a revealing case study in professionalism, perception, and misplaced loyalty.

What Is Documented

The key facts are straightforward:

  • Guinness World Records currently lists Mark’s 360 WPM, 97.23% accuracy performance from the NCRA 2004 Chicago convention as the standing record.
  • Mark’s biography and community discussions widely reference the 370 WPM test from 2022 as a new milestone.
  • The event was hosted under the banner of Steno in the City™ during the “Fearless Stenographers” gathering in Houston.
  • The 370 WPM take was scored at approximately 95.4% accuracy and publicized as a Guinness-breaking performance.
  • Despite this, no update ever appeared on the official Guinness site.

The result is a strange situation: a performance celebrated as world-changing — but never officially recognized.

How Guinness Ratification Actually Works

Breaking a Guinness record isn’t just about performance — it’s about process. Ratification requires:

  1. A formal application for the record category;
  2. On-site adjudication or strict adherence to Guinness’s independent verification protocols;
  3. Submission of complete evidence: high-quality video, certified accuracy scores, qualified witness statements, logs, and documentation;
  4. A review and ratification period, during which Guinness verifies compliance before updating the official listing.

Any gap in that process — missing forms, unqualified witnesses, insufficient video evidence, or simply failing to submit — can cause the attempt to be rejected or abandoned. Guinness does not scour the internet for records; the burden is entirely on the organizer.

What Might Have Happened with the 370 WPM Attempt

There’s no public statement from Guinness or Steno in the City™ explaining the missing ratification. Based on standard procedure, several possibilities exist:

  • The evidence was never formally submitted to Guinness;
  • The submission was incomplete or non-compliant;
  • The 95.4% accuracy may not have met Guinness’s threshold for that category;
  • Or the process was initiated but stalled or abandoned.

Whatever the cause, the bottom line is the same: the 370 WPM record was never ratified.

But this isn’t just about an administrative failure. It shaped loyalties and reputations inside the profession.

When I spoke with Mark Kislingbury about Shaunise Day, he explained that he didn’t want to speak negatively about her because she had given him speaking opportunities and, crucially, because he believed he had set his Guinness World Record at her event. That belief naturally created a sense of gratitude and loyalty.

But that belief wasn’t true. No Guinness record was ever ratified from the 2022 Steno in the City™ event. What Mark understood as a defining professional milestone under her banner may, in fact, have exposed him to public embarrassment — a once-in-a-lifetime performance that went unrecognized because the event organizer didn’t follow through.

And this is where professionalism matters. Aligning yourself with someone who doesn’t operate with rigor and structure has consequences. When great talent partners with someone more focused on branding and selfies than on standards, their failures can become your fallout. Mark’s skill wasn’t the issue; the event’s lack of procedural integrity was.

Breaking News: Mark Still Believes the 370 WPM Record Is Official

As of early October 2025 – Friday, 10/3, in fact – Mark Kislingbury himself continues to publicly and privately refer to the 2022 Steno in the City™ event as the setting where he “broke the Guinness World Record.” In conversations this week, he reiterated that belief without hesitation.

This is what makes this article breaking news for the stenographic community: despite widespread claims, biographies, and event promotion materials, Guinness World Records has never ratified a 370 WPM record, and its official site still lists Mark’s 360 WPM performance from the 2004 NCRA Convention in Chicago as the standing record.

Mark is widely known in the community as one of the kindest, most gracious, and generous figures in stenography. I can personally attest to that. In my conversations with him, he has always been polite, humble, and genuinely encouraging — the kind of person who uplifts everyone around him. The situation described here is not of his making — it’s the result of organizational failure around him, not personal misconduct. He trusted that the event where he performed would handle the follow-through, and that trust was misplaced.

This makes the revelation all the more significant. One of the most celebrated “records” in modern steno history — referenced in speeches, marketing, and even professional alliances — does not actually exist in Guinness’s official archives. Mark himself appears to be unaware of that fact, making this the first public clarification of the gap between the claim and the official record.

Why This Matters to the Profession

Some may ask: Why does it matter whether Guinness ratified the 370 WPM record?

Because world records are more than numbers. They are symbolic touchstones — proof of the upper limits of human skill, rallying points for students, and powerful counters to the narrative that human stenographers have “hit their ceiling.”

An official record:

  • Inspires students, showing that the ceiling keeps rising;
  • Demonstrates to attorneys and judges that steno continues to advance;
  • Strengthens the profession’s public narrative, especially against AI and digital recording proponents;
  • Rewards talent with the recognition it deserves.

When the community celebrates something as official that isn’t, it creates confusion externally and damages credibility internally. It allows individuals to leverage the appearance of legitimacy — in this case, hosting a “Guinness-breaking event” — without delivering the actual substance.

Historical Perspective

When Mark set his original 360 WPM record in 2004, the event was hosted at an NCRA convention — an organization that understood Guinness’s procedural requirements. The record stood, unchallenged and officially documented, for two decades.

The 2022 attempt was hosted independently under Steno in the City™ — an event environment that emphasized branding, social media visibility, and hype, but apparently lacked the professional infrastructure to handle a Guinness submission. This is the contrast: institutional rigor vs. influencer optics. And the consequences were real.

What Could Happen Next

Theoretically, the 2022 performance could still be submitted for Guinness review if the evidence exists and meets the requirements. Alternatively, Mark—or another top reporter—could attempt to break the record again under conditions designed expressly for Guinness adjudication.

That would require meticulous planning, qualified witnesses, multiple cameras, and immediate post-event evidence submission — the kind of structured professionalism that was missing in 2022.

Setting the Record Straight

The unratified 370 WPM claim isn’t just a procedural footnote; it’s a cautionary tale. Mark Kislingbury remains, officially, the fastest stenographer in the world at 360 WPM. His reported 370 WPM performance is extraordinary — but until it’s ratified, it remains an unofficial milestone overshadowed by organizational failure.

For a profession built on precision, accuracy, and accountability, this is a wake-up call: extraordinary performances demand equally extraordinary professionalism behind the scenes.

The event’s leadership had one of the most historic stenographic performances of our time occur under their banner — and then failed to secure its place in the official record. That failure didn’t just cost Mark recognition; it misled the community, fueled false narratives, and damaged the credibility of the profession.

When you align with people who operate on hype instead of standards, their failures can become your legacy. Mark’s achievement deserved better. The community deserved better. The next world record attempt should ensure that history is not just made — but officially recorded.

For an organizer, hosting a world-record-breaking performance is a once-in-a-lifetime moment — the kind of achievement that should have been trumpeted through official press releases, mainstream media outreach, and formal submission to Guinness. Instead, the 2022 Steno in the City™ event produced no mainstream press release at all. This wasn’t a missed opportunity; it was professional negligence and organizational ineptitude at the highest level. A legitimate world-record performance should have been front-page news in legal and national media, yet it remained confined to insular trade blogs and promotional blurbs. The failure to formally announce and validate the record reflects a stunning lack of foresight, competence, and respect for the profession’s legacy. Here’s the limited scope of coverage of the accomplishment:

Articles & Recaps

  1. “The Fearless Stenographers Conference ’22 Recap” — the event’s own site, claims Mark set a new speed record of 370 WPM on the Steno in the City™ stage in Houston.
  2. “The Fearless Stenographers Conference RECAP!” — a recap on Stenovate describing how Mark “passed his take at a whopping 370 words per minute with 95.4% accuracy.”
  3. “Mark Kislingbury breaks own record” — The Journal of Court Reporting (JCR) article (Mar 2022) stating Mark “broke his own Guinness World Record … writing 370 words for one minute at 95.4% accuracy” during the Steno in the City’s Fearless Stenographers event.
  4. “Mark Kislingbury Academy of Court Reporting” — his academy’s site mentions he “beat that record by achieving 370 words per minute.” (Promotional / self-reporting).
  5. Reddit “Mark Kislingbury Apparently Broke His Own Speed Record” — a community thread referencing the 370 WPM claim.

*** As of 10/10/2025 – When contacted for clarification, Jacqueline Schmidt, editor of the Journal of Court Reporting, confirmed that the publication “worded carefully” around the issue after staff conversations with event organizers, noting that they were “waiting to hear if or when the new record was ever accepted by Guinness.” As of October 2025, no such confirmation has been made public.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The Great Theory Divide – Why “Short Writing” Alone Won’t Save Court Reporting

The debate over how to best train new court reporters is more than an academic quarrel — it’s a battle over the future of the profession itself. At its core lies a fundamental question: Should students be taught to write fast or to write accurately?

This question has split the field into two camps for decades: advocates of short writing, who prioritize minimizing strokes through extensive briefing and phrasing, and proponents of traditional long or structured theories, which focus on phonetic clarity and consistency as the foundation for skill-building.

Both approaches have their place. But after more than a century of professional traditional education, and 20 years of modern “brief-heavy” experimentation, the evidence overwhelmingly supports the traditional approach as the backbone of a strong reporter pipeline.

A Brief History of Steno Theories

Over the last 150 years, stenographic theory has evolved through multiple schools of thought, each with its own philosophy about how language should be represented on the steno machine. Some of the most well-known theories include:

  • StenEd Theory – One of the most widely taught modern long theories, emphasizing phonetic structure and readability.
  • Phoenix Theory – A structured system designed to be logical and consistent, popular in many U.S. programs in the late 20th century.
  • Realtime Theory (CART-focused variants) – Adaptations of long theories to improve realtime output, often used in captioning programs.
  • Robert Walsh Gonzalez (RWG) – A traditional syllabic system used for decades in California and other jurisdictions.
  • Magnum Steno / Kislingbury Theory – A brief-heavy, phrase-intensive short-writing system developed by Mark Kislingbury, designed to reduce stroke count dramatically.
  • Phoenix Eclipse Modified, StenEd Realtime, and Hybrid Theories – Various blends of structured writing with selective briefing.
  • Vintage systems like Stenotype Grand, Stenograph, or Stenotype 1/2/3 – Early phonetic systems that laid the groundwork for all modern theories.

While these theories differ in rules and philosophy, most long or structured systems share two traits:

  1. They teach students to write what they hear syllabically, ensuring clarity and accuracy.
  2. They introduce briefs gradually, after a solid foundation is built.

Since the first steno theory was introduced in the 1910s, more than 110 distinct stenographic theories have been developed in the U.S., ranging from early phonetic systems to brief-heavy experiments. But only structured, phonetic-based theories taught in accredited programs have consistently produced reporters at scale.

Short-writing systems like Magnum Steno reverse this priority: students memorize thousands of briefs and phrases from the start, aiming to reduce stroke count and increase speed early on.

The Role of NCRA Accreditation Sets the Gold Standard

There were around 40 to 45 NCRA-accredited court reporting programs nationwide, including both campus-based and online schools. The National Court Reporters Association (NCRA) established its Council on Approved Student Education (CASE) to accredit programs that meet rigorous educational, ethical, and administrative standards.

NCRA accreditation matters because it ensures that schools:

  • Provide a structured curriculum grounded in proven stenographic theory.
  • Meet faculty qualifications and instructional standards set by the profession.
  • Maintain accurate reporting of student outcomes, including graduation and certification rates.
  • Offer appropriate student services, financial accountability, and administrative oversight.
  • Undergo periodic review to maintain quality and adapt to technological and professional developments.

In other words, NCRA accreditation is a quality guarantee. While non-accredited programs exist, accredited schools represent the profession’s gold standard, consistently producing certified reporters who can pass state and national exams and thrive in the working world.

Traditional Theory Is Built for Accuracy, Not Gimmicks

Traditional long theories are not “anti-brief.” Contrary to common misconceptions, students in accredited long-theory programs are introduced to core briefs for high-frequency legal words early on — terms like “Plaintiff,” “Defendant,” “Exhibit,” and others are usually written in one stroke from day one.

The key difference is scope and timing. Traditional programs prioritize phonetic structure and syllabic writing first. Students learn to write exactly what they hear. For example, if a witness says “one hundred thirty-two dollars,” the student writes:

WUN HUN THRI TWO DLARS

This produces an unambiguous record. By contrast, relying on number bar entries or complex briefs for “#132” might be faster, but one mistroke could result in “#133” — a fatal error in legal settings.

This structured foundation is precisely what allows students to pass rigorous state exams (such as California’s CSR at 200+ wpm) and handle real-world testimony: fast talkers, medical jargon, foreign names, overlapping voices, and unpredictable phrasing.

The blog post “Steno Briefs Don’t Work” on Simply Steno challenges the prevailing assumption that aggressive brief systems can reliably handle real-world reporting demands, arguing instead for the necessity of phonetic consistency and accuracy.

Short Writing Is A Promising Experiment That Hasn’t Scaled

Short-writing systems gained popularity in the early 2000s, largely through the efforts of Mark Kislingbury, whose Magnum Steno theory emphasized extreme briefing and phrasing. His argument was seductive: fewer strokes = faster writing = more graduates = a saved profession.

Two decades later, the results speak for themselves. Kislingbury’s school and affiliated programs have produced a fraction of the graduates that traditional programs have. At one point, he launched 11 affiliated schools; only a few remain today. Over roughly 20 years, the total number of graduates is estimated to be around 60 — a trickle, not a flood.

Why? Because memorization-heavy systems are cognitively demanding. Writing entire phrases in one stroke requires photographic recall of thousands of combinations. A single forgotten brief can derail a high-speed take. This may work for a small subset of speed contest prodigies, but it is not a scalable educational model.

The Real Dropout Problem Is Recruitment, Not Rigor

Much of the discussion about “high dropout rates” in court reporting focuses on academic support. But the deeper issue is who is being recruited. Many programs have shifted to volume-based enrollment, recruiting anyone who qualifies for financial aid — regardless of academic preparedness.

Court reporting demands strong language skills, critical thinking, and discipline. Yet schools rarely recruit from college graduates, pre-law programs, or linguistically skilled populations, and men remain significantly underrepresented.

A more sustainable pipeline would raise entry standards:

  • Require at least a two- or four-year college degree or equivalent aptitude.
  • Use intelligence and language proficiency testing as admissions criteria.
  • Immediately disqualify applicants with minimal literacy exposure — someone who has never read a book is not prepared for daily exposure to legal vocabulary and realtime transcription demands.

By raising the bar on recruitment, dropout rates would fall naturally, and those who enter would be far more likely to succeed.

The Ergonomic Argument Is A Red Herring

Short-writing advocates often claim their methods reduce carpal tunnel risk by minimizing keystrokes. But the evidence doesn’t support this as a decisive factor.

As one doctor explained to me after bilateral carpal tunnel surgery following an inflammation flare-up, “You’re either predisposed to carpal tunnel or you’re not.” Many reporters work 50+ years without injury. More importantly, the QWERTY keyboard — not the steno machine — is typically the culprit.

Short writing might benefit a small group of hyper-speed writers, but for the vast majority of working reporters, it’s irrelevant.

Why Accreditation and Theory Choice Matter Now

Court reporting is under siege from digital recording and AI transcription companies that promise cheaper, faster, automated solutions. In this environment, quality matters more than ever.

NCRA-accredited programs teaching structured, time-tested theories are the only reliable pipeline producing certified reporters at scale. They have decades — in some cases, over a century — of evidence behind their methods.

Short-writing remains an interesting supplement for experienced reporters, but as a primary teaching model, it has failed to produce scalable results.

Build on What Works

Court reporting is not a startup industry that rewards constant disruption. It’s a cornerstone of due process, built on accuracy, consistency, and professionalism.

Short writing has its place for experienced reporters chasing personal speed goals. But for training new professionals, traditional, structured theories taught in NCRA-accredited programs remain the gold standard.

They work. They’ve always worked. And if the profession wants to survive the coming storm, it must defend and strengthen what works, not chase failed shortcuts.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“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.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):