When the Record Breaks – A Deposition Disaster That Proves Why Humans Beat Machines

One slam of the table—and the record vanished. In an era where artificial intelligence and digital tools are creeping into every corner of professional life, the legal system is no exception. But not every innovation is an improvement—especially when justice is on the line. A recent incident during a deposition serves as a stark reminder of why certified court reporters remain essential to the integrity of the legal record.

Last Thursday, a videographer shared an unsettling story from a deposition he had recently covered at a well-known law firm. At a previous session held at the same location, he recalled, the firm opted to use a “digital court reporter”—a non-certified operator relying on recording equipment and automated software to capture testimony instead of a licensed stenographic reporter.

That choice turned into a disaster.

According to the videographer, during that deposition, opposing counsel became visibly frustrated. Tensions flared, and in a moment of anger, the attorney slammed both fists down on the table. The force was significant—enough to shake the flimsy setup supporting the digital equipment.

What happened next is exactly what critics of artificial intelligence and digital reporting have long warned about: the so-called “court reporter” lost a large section of the testimony.

Whether it was due to vibration damage, corrupted files, microphone misalignment, or equipment failure, the fact remains—there is now a gap in the official record. And when critical witness testimony is missing, the consequences can be far-reaching: procedural delays, sanctions, mistrials, or even appeals based on incomplete transcripts.

Imagine a world where the future of a case—perhaps one involving millions of dollars, or even someone’s liberty—rests on a recording system that can be interrupted by something as simple as a table slap. That’s not a risk the justice system can afford to take.

This incident highlights a crucial distinction: a certified court reporter is not just a transcriptionist. A licensed stenographer is a neutral officer of the court, trained not only to capture every word but to maintain control of the proceeding, ensure clarity in the record, and immediately address any issues that might jeopardize its integrity.

When technology fails, a human stenographer steps in—asking for clarifications, marking exhibits, annotating interruptions, and reading back testimony in real time. A machine, no matter how sophisticated, cannot exercise judgment, issue corrections on the spot, or advocate for a clean, usable transcript.

And when the record is incomplete, there’s no rewind button to restore lost testimony. The damage is done.

When testimony is lost due to equipment failure or incomplete capture—like in the case of the slammed table during a digitally reported deposition—the consequences can be severe. Attorneys may be forced to file motions to strike key testimony, or worse, face a mistrial if the missing record involves critical witness statements. In appellate courts, the absence of a complete, certified transcript can undermine the ability to challenge a ruling, effectively waiving the right to appeal. Courts may also impose sanctions on attorneys or law firms for failing to ensure a proper record was made. These aren’t hypothetical risks—they’re real legal landmines that can derail a case, harm a client, or cost a firm its credibility.

This is not just about outdated vs. modern solutions. It’s about reliability, accuracy, and accountability.

According to a 2023 study conducted by the National Court Reporters Association (NCRA), digital recording systems failed to capture complete and accurate testimony in 14% of proceedings that were monitored. The most common issues cited included overlapping speakers, equipment malfunctions, and unintelligible audio—factors that certified stenographic reporters are specifically trained to manage in real time. Additionally, courts in multiple jurisdictions have expressed concern over the reliability of digital records, with some judges issuing orders requiring certified reporters to ensure transcript accuracy. These findings underscore what legal professionals already know: technology is a tool, not a substitute for human judgment, training, and accountability.

Digital recording might have a place in certain low-stakes or budget-restricted situations, but when it comes to depositions—where testimony often sets the tone for trial strategy and settlement value—the record must be unimpeachable. That means using trained, certified professionals who know how to manage a high-pressure environment and deliver a transcript you can trust.

As the legal industry faces increasing pressure to cut costs and streamline operations, this story should be a wake-up call: you get what you pay for. Saving a few bucks on a digital setup can cost your client their case.

Let this be a reminder to attorneys and law firms: if the record matters, hire a real court reporter.

Because in the courtroom or the conference room, there’s no substitute for skill, training, and human judgment.

To protect the integrity of the legal system, attorneys, judges, and law firms must take a stand. If you’re a litigator, demand a certified court reporter—not just for accuracy, but to safeguard your client’s rights and your own professional reputation. Court administrators and policymakers should reject shortcuts that compromise the record and support legislation that mandates licensed, trained professionals in all legal proceedings. The justice system depends on a reliable record. Don’t gamble with anything less.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

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 AI Enters the Deposition Room – The Legal and Ethical Minefield of Unauthorized Recordings

In the evolving landscape of legal technology, court reporters are encountering a new and concerning trend: attorneys seeking to record depositions using third-party AI tools like Fireflies.ai. These tools boast the ability to not only record audio but also transcribe, summarize, and even analyze conversations in real time. While this may sound like a convenience for attorneys looking to streamline their workflow, it raises serious legal, ethical, and professional concerns for stenographers — the guardians of the official record.

A recent situation shared among professional reporters highlights the tension. A plaintiff’s attorney attempted to use Fireflies during a deposition, and when the reporter objected, the attorney threatened to call the judge. The reporter stood her ground, called her office, and received clear instructions: do not permit the recording. The attorney ultimately relented — but not without creating a hostile, high-pressure situation that left the reporter wondering, “What is the right thing to do when this happens again?”

This isn’t just an isolated incident. It’s a warning shot.

What is Fireflies.ai — and Why Are Attorneys Using It?

Fireflies.ai is marketed as an AI notetaker that joins meetings (Zoom, Teams, etc.), records them, and generates transcripts and summaries using automatic speech recognition (ASR). The pitch is simple: “Let AI take your notes so you can focus on the meeting.” While that may be fine for brainstorming sessions or internal business calls, depositions are a different story entirely.

Depositions are part of formal discovery governed by legal rules and procedures. Recording them — in any capacity — is not as simple as hitting a button. In fact, outside of explicitly authorized video depositions or dual stenographic/audio capture in some jurisdictions, unauthorized recording is, at best, frowned upon, and at worst, outright illegal or sanctionable.

Why It’s a Problem for Stenographers and the Legal Record

Court reporters are certified officers of the court, bound by ethical obligations, confidentiality standards, and the responsibility to produce a complete and accurate record. Introducing a third-party AI tool into that environment is not a harmless convenience — it’s an intrusion.

Here’s why:

  1. Confidentiality Concerns
    Fireflies and similar apps often route audio through third-party servers, including cloud-based storage providers. That opens up a Pandora’s box of confidentiality issues, especially in cases involving medical records (HIPAA), trade secrets, or sensitive personal matters. Reporters are trained to protect confidentiality. AI bots are not.
  2. Loss of Control Over the Record
    AI doesn’t understand context. It doesn’t recognize when a witness says something off the record or when attorneys stipulate something as inadmissible. It can’t capture tone, nuance, or legal significance. If attorneys begin using AI-generated transcripts as a substitute or supplement to the official record, the accuracy and integrity of that record are jeopardized.
  3. Unfair Competition
    Reporters are already under siege by budget-cutting and ASR-promoting institutions. When an attorney brings in an AI tool that can “transcribe” a proceeding in real time — for free or cheap — it undermines the profession and devalues the role of a human court reporter. It’s akin to hiring a professional photographer for a wedding, then asking your cousin to shoot it with their iPhone “just in case.”
  4. Legal Noncompliance
    Most jurisdictions require that only authorized personnel may record or transcribe depositions. If an attorney wants a video record, they must notice the deposition as such and secure the services of a licensed legal videographer. They don’t get to unilaterally decide to create a side recording just because it suits their workflow.

What Should a Reporter Do When It Happens?

If you’re a reporter and an attorney attempts to use a tool like Fireflies.ai (or any other AI notetaker), here’s a basic framework:

  1. Politely Object Immediately
    Explain that third-party recording is not authorized and may violate procedural rules and confidentiality protections. You are the official record, and any unauthorized recordings are not part of the official proceedings.
  2. Contact Your Agency or Office
    Don’t make a unilateral decision if you’re unsure. Get guidance from your office or the agency managing the deposition. In most cases, they’ll tell you to reject the request.
  3. Put it On the Record
    If an attorney insists or threatens escalation (e.g., calling the judge), make a clear record of the exchange. “Counsel for Plaintiff indicated an intent to record the proceeding using a third-party application. Reporter objected. Counsel stated he would contact the Court. Reporter contacted her office and was advised not to permit any unauthorized recording.”
  4. Know Your Rights and Local Rules
    Every jurisdiction is different, so it helps to be familiar with the rules of court, codes of civil procedure, and any guidance from your certifying body (e.g., NCRA, state licensing board). Many explicitly state that all recordings must be handled by the reporter or noticed videographer only.

What About Private Note-Taking?

Some may argue, “What’s the difference between Fireflies recording the call and me recording it for my own notes?” This is a valid question, but here’s the difference:

  • Note-taking is passive; recording is active replication of the proceeding.
  • Fireflies is not a private notebook; it’s a third-party AI transcription service that stores data in the cloud.
  • Consent matters. Even if local laws allow personal note-taking or recordings, everyone must consent, and it must be disclosed.

Saying “anyone can record without being noticed” is not an argument for permitting it — it’s a warning that covert behavior may already be happening. If anything, it underscores the need for heightened awareness and proactive policies.

What’s the Real Danger?

The real risk is not just that AI will misrepresent what was said. It’s that attorneys — insurance carriers, adjusters, law firms — may increasingly rely on these flawed AI-generated summaries for case evaluation, settlement negotiation, and even trial prep. When the AI misses a critical statement — like a doctor testifying a plaintiff needs future surgery — it can alter the course of litigation.

And when that happens, the finger won’t necessarily point at the law firm or the AI developer.

It may point at the court reporting agency that provided the record — or allowed the AI in the room in the first place.

Final Thoughts: Hold the Line

Stenographers are not just typists. We are certified professionals, neutral officers of the court, and protectors of due process. When attorneys bring in unauthorized AI tools, it’s not about making life easier — it’s about control, cost-cutting, and potentially cutting corners.

So the next time someone tries to sneak an AI notetaker into your deposition, remember this:

  • You are the official record.
  • You are within your rights to say no.
  • And you are not alone.

Hold the line. The integrity of the record — and the future of the profession — depends on it.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

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: The Booth, the Database, and the Backdoor – How ILCRA’s Free Table at a For-Profit Event May Have Compromised Member Data

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AI Summaries in Litigation – Efficiency or a Lawsuit Waiting to Happen?

The legal industry is being sold a vision of speed and efficiency—powered by artificial intelligence. Companies like Lexitas are rolling out tools like Deposition Insights+, boasting AI-driven transcript summaries, exhibit highlights, contradiction detectors, and even video analysis of witness demeanor. But while the marketing promises sound impressive, the lived reality inside courtrooms and law firms tells a very different story—one of missed details, misplaced trust, and rising liability.

The Case That Should Be a Warning to Everyone

I recently worked on a trial where the entire trajectory of a case was altered by a flawed AI summary.

During the deposition of a medical expert, the doctor testified—albeit in a fragmented, interrupted way—that the injured plaintiff would require future surgery. Anyone familiar with real-world depositions knows how chaotic they can be: objections flying, incomplete thoughts, attorneys talking over one another. In this case, the key medical testimony was not given in a clean, uninterrupted paragraph. But a human brain—a paralegal, associate, or even a seasoned court reporter—would have caught the implication, recognized the context, and flagged it appropriately.

The AI summary did not.

That summary, generated by the law firm and forwarded to the insurance company, missed the need for future surgery entirely. As a result, the insurer viewed the plaintiff’s settlement demand as inflated and refused to negotiate in good faith. The case proceeded to trial. The jury returned a multimillion-dollar verdict—well beyond the policy limits.

What was my trial about? Who pays the excess judgment?

The insurance company blamed the law firm for providing a faulty summary. The law firm blamed the insurance company for failing to negotiate a settlement. And what’s coming next? Plaintiff lawyers are beginning to realize the real party to sue might be the company who marketed and sold the AI summary product in the first place.

This is the next wave of litigation—and many in the industry aren’t ready.

AI Can’t Interpret What It Can’t Understand

In Lexitas’ July 15 press release, they call their new product a “revolutionary” way to accelerate litigation prep and “enhance outcomes.” But if the outcome is a misread case value, a missed opportunity to settle, and a seven-figure excess judgment, that’s not enhancement. That’s malpractice-adjacent.

AI struggles precisely where humans excel—in nuance, tone, and fragmented meaning. Especially in depositions, where testimony unfolds organically and is often derailed by objections, clarifications, or cross-talk, a machine’s ability to summarize is limited. It might catch the words, but not the weight of those words.

That kind of nuance isn’t programmable. It’s earned—through experience, intuition, and context.

Who’s Actually Liable When AI Gets It Wrong?

Lexitas, like other legaltech vendors, may try to disclaim liability for the use of their AI products. But as more law firms adopt tools like Deposition Insights+, they’re exposing themselves to new, untested forms of professional risk.

  • What happens when the AI summary omits a crucial statement that affects case value?
  • What’s the duty of a paralegal or associate to review and verify that summary?
  • Is the law firm liable? The court reporting agency? The AI vendor?

We’re entering a new frontier where the cost of AI errors isn’t measured in minutes saved—but in verdicts lost.

In fact, AI-related malpractice claims are already bubbling beneath the surface, and court reporting agencies may soon find themselves at the center of these lawsuits—especially if they sold the product, promoted it as reliable, or failed to clearly warn users of its limitations.

Legal Professionals: Don’t Trade Skill for Speed

Many paralegals and litigation associates are under pressure—deadlines, clients, discovery burdens. So when AI tools promise to take the heavy lifting off their plate, the pitch can be tempting.

But here’s the truth: You are being replaced, not assisted.

The very tasks that build your litigation intuition—summarizing testimony, tracking contradictions, identifying smoking-gun statements—are the ones being handed over to machines. And when those machines get it wrong, it’s your firm, your client, or your career on the line.

A Word to Court Reporting Agencies: Brace Yourselves

If you’re a court reporting agency jumping on the AI bandwagon, understand what you’re stepping into. You’re not just delivering a transcript anymore. You’re producing a quasi-legal analysis tool—and you may be liable for the consequences when it misfires.

It’s only a matter of time before the first plaintiff’s lawyer sues a court reporting firm for an AI-generated summary that contributed to a failed settlement and excess verdict. If you’re not prepared with disclaimers, usage agreements, and clear client warnings, you’re already behind.

Final Thought: The Cost of Convenience

This isn’t just a debate about technology—it’s a wake-up call for the legal industry. The tools we use matter. So do the jobs they replace, the details they miss, and the risks they create.

Legal professionals and court reporting agencies alike must stop blindly chasing automation and start asking harder questions:

  • Are we improving outcomes—or just shifting blame?
  • Are we protecting our clients—or our bottom line?
  • Are we building a stronger legal system—or eroding it?

Because if we don’t, the next lawsuit might have your name on it.

Steno Imperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

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 Digital Recorders Are Not Court Reporters—And Why That Matters in California

In the current rush to automate everything from legal research to court proceedings, some stakeholders are marketing digital recording as a valid substitute for stenographic court reporting. While this shift may seem like a matter of “preference” or “cost savings,” let’s be clear: digital recording is not court reporting, and in California, it is not even legal in most settings.

Court Reporting Is a Licensed Profession—Not a Plug-and-Play Job

In California, court reporters are licensed by the Court Reporters Board (CRB) and must pass rigorous testing in transcription speed, accuracy, and legal knowledge. This licensure is codified in Business and Professions Code § 8020 et seq.. To call someone a “court reporter” who is not licensed is not only misleading—it’s unlawful.

Digital “reporters” are not licensed, not regulated, and not held to the same professional or legal standards. In many cases, they are hourly staff who press “record” on a digital device, with no training in capturing testimony, legal procedure, or producing a verbatim transcript. If something goes wrong—a dropped word, overlapping speech, technical failure—there is often no fix. The damage is done.

The Myth of Attorney Stipulation: You Can’t Stipulate Away the Law

Some agencies and attorneys attempt to sidestep the law by claiming, “Both parties stipulated to use a digital reporter.” But stipulation does not equal legality.

Attorneys cannot stipulate away the law.

That principle has been reaffirmed by California courts in various contexts: procedural rules and statutory protections are not waivable simply by agreement. When California Code of Civil Procedure § 2025.330(b) requires that “the deposition shall be conducted under the supervision of an officer who is authorized to administer oaths,” it means a licensed Certified Shorthand Reporter (CSR)—not a button-pusher.

The use of an unlicensed digital operator in lieu of a CSR is a violation of California’s Business and Professions Code § 8017, which states:

“A person shall not engage in the practice of shorthand reporting… unless that person holds a valid certificate as a shorthand reporter issued by the board.”

Stipulating around this is like agreeing to use a paralegal in place of a judge. You simply can’t.

Digital Reporting Skirts Due Process

Every litigant is entitled to a complete, accurate, and timely record of proceedings. That record becomes crucial when disputes arise, appeals are filed, or misconduct is alleged. A certified shorthand reporter—by training and licensure—is a guardian of that record.

Digital recordings introduce multiple risks:

  • Unintelligible audio due to accents, noise, crosstalk
  • Failure to identify speakers, especially when parties speak over each other
  • Gaps in recording due to power or equipment failure
  • Post-event transcription delays that can take weeks or months

In short, digital recordings can undermine the factual foundation of justice. If the record is flawed, the outcome of the case can be unjust.

This is more than technical inconvenience—it’s a due process issue under the 14th Amendment and the California Constitution. Litigants deserve a reliable, human-certified transcript—not the gamble of audio files and offshore transcription.

The “Cost Savings” Myth

Agencies pushing digital often claim it’s cheaper than hiring a licensed stenographer. But hidden in that “savings” are steep risks:

  • Increased litigation costs when transcripts are delayed or disputed
  • Appeals and retrials caused by incomplete or inaccurate records
  • Malpractice exposure for attorneys who relied on unverified transcripts
  • Ethical liability for firms that knowingly violated state law or misrepresented the record

It’s a classic case of penny-wise, pound-foolish.

State Law Limits Digital Use—and For Good Reason

California has not blindly embraced digital reporting. In fact, Government Code § 69941 and § 69944 expressly state that electronic recording may not be used in civil proceedings unless no reporter is available, and even then, only with specific Judicial Council approval.

The Judicial Council of California (JCC) has repeatedly reaffirmed that licensed CSRs are the preferred and legally recognized method for capturing the official record in civil courtrooms. No such preference exists for digital reporters because they are not court reporters—legally or practically.

Professional Oversight and Ethical Accountability

CSRs are subject to professional discipline through the Court Reporters Board and must follow a strict Code of Ethics. When a licensed court reporter makes a mistake, they can be held accountable.

Who disciplines a digital operator? Who verifies their training? Who certifies their transcript?

The answer: no one.

Don’t Be Fooled—Digital Is Not a Parallel Option, It’s a Legal Loophole

The industry’s attempt to frame steno and digital as interchangeable “options” is a marketing tactic—not a legal fact. In California, there is no such thing as a “digital court reporter” under the law.

If a proceeding in California does not include a CSR license holder, the resulting transcript may be challenged, stricken, or deemed inadmissible. That puts attorneys—and their clients—at risk.

Call to Action: Protect the Integrity of the Legal Record

If you’re an attorney, know this: your record is only as strong as the person who captured it.

If you’re a judge or court administrator, know this: unauthorized recording undermines the credibility of your courtroom.

If you’re a litigant, know this: your case could be compromised by a flawed record.

And if you’re a court reporting agency, know this: you’re exposing yourself to legal liability by deploying unlicensed workers to perform a protected profession.

In Summary:

  • Digital “reporters” are not licensed court reporters under California law.
  • Stipulating to use them does not make their use legal.
  • Their use jeopardizes due process, opens the door to appeals, and undermines the record.

Let’s not confuse automation with accuracy, or convenience with constitutionality. The stakes in our justice system are too high to leave the record to machines—or to those not qualified to safeguard it.

Disclaimer

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):

Are Paralegals Being Automated Out of the Legal Workforce? A Critical Look at Lexitas’ New AI Tool

In the latest wave of legaltech innovation, Lexitas has announced the launch of Deposition Insights+™, a platform that uses artificial intelligence to perform deep analysis of deposition transcripts and videos. On its face, the tool promises improved efficiency, reduced turnaround times, and stronger litigation outcomes. But beneath the marketing buzz lies a deeper question: Is this technology helping legal teams—or is it slowly replacing the people behind them?

As a court reporter who has worked alongside hundreds of paralegals and young associates, I see a very different narrative unfolding than the one Lexitas is promoting. According to their July 15, 2025 press release, the new platform automates many of the tasks traditionally handled by legal professionals: summarizing testimony, identifying contradictions, tracking exhibit references, and even evaluating witness demeanor. The company frames this as a solution to overworked legal teams, yet it’s hard to ignore the real consequence—the slow erosion of entry-level legal jobs and the de-skilling of essential litigation support roles.

Are Paralegals Really Overworked—Or Being Undermined?

One of the implicit premises behind Deposition Insights+ is that paralegals and young associates are drowning in tedious review tasks, and that AI is swooping in to rescue them. But let’s pause and examine that idea more closely.

Sure, litigation is document-heavy. Reviewing hundreds or thousands of pages of testimony is painstaking work. But it’s also foundational work—this is where new attorneys and paralegals cut their teeth, learn case nuance, and build the sharp analytical instincts required for litigation. Removing that layer of involvement not only shifts knowledge away from human hands, it fundamentally alters the skill pipeline within a law firm.

Paralegals are not begging to be replaced by software. And while some might enjoy time-saving tools, most recognize that automating core responsibilities today may jeopardize their positions tomorrow.

A Trojan Horse in the Litigation Department?

Lexitas boasts that it has already generated more than 100,000 AI-driven deposition summaries. That’s 100,000 jobs not done by paralegals or junior attorneys. Let that sink in.

And yet, many law firms are still contracting with Lexitas for court reporting and transcript services. It begs the question: Why would a law firm that values its own support staff continue to partner with a vendor actively replacing them?

This is more than just a technological update—this is a business model shift. By packaging AI as a value-added service, Lexitas positions itself not just as a service provider, but as a centralized legal analyst, offering tools that sidestep the need for in-house staff. For firms chasing profit margins and client satisfaction, the temptation is strong. But in the long run, they may find themselves disempowered, having outsourced too much of their legal brainpower.

The Slippery Slope of “Enhanced Efficiency”

Lexitas promotes its product with buzzwords like “agentic search,” “customized summaries,” and “behavioral video analysis.” These features sound futuristic, and to some, maybe even magical. But the reality is this: Every feature that replaces a human task replaces a human role.

Consider:

  • The AI assistant that “answers complex questions” across depositions? That’s what paralegals and junior associates are trained to do.
  • The contradiction spotting and key admissions extraction? Those are precisely the kinds of analytical skills lawyers develop over years.
  • The witness demeanor analysis by video? That’s subjective territory traditionally reserved for human intuition—and rightly so.

What happens when these insights are no longer being developed by people, but instead interpreted by algorithms? How will that affect legal reasoning, strategy, or even the integrity of a trial?

A Cautionary Tale for Legal Professionals

Legal support staff should be wary, not wooed, by tools like Deposition Insights+. This isn’t just about helping with workflow—this is about disintermediation, where middle-tier professionals are quietly being made obsolete.

The question isn’t whether AI will replace paralegals. It’s how fast, and whether law firms and legal professionals will realize what’s happening before it’s too late.

Conclusion: Choose Your Vendors Wisely

Legal professionals—especially paralegals, litigation support teams, and junior attorneys—must begin asking the hard questions:

  • Is this tool supporting my work or replacing it?
  • Is this agency aligned with my firm’s long-term staffing values?
  • What happens to my job if these tools become standard?

And perhaps most urgently: Why are we supporting vendors who are actively automating us out of relevance?

It’s time for the legal community to be more intentional about the tools and agencies they rely on. Because in the name of “efficiency,” we may be paving the way for a future without the very people who make justice work.

Steno Imperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

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 High Cost of Convenience – How Digital Court Reporting Risks Destroying the Profession It Claims to Modernize

In the age of tech optimism, it’s tempting to cheerlead every advancement as progress. But in the court reporting world, the headlong embrace of digital and AI technologies isn’t just modernization—it’s a dangerous gamble with due process, accuracy, and professional livelihoods.

A recent article from Hudson Court Reporting touts the benefits of AI-driven transcription, automated scheduling, and cloud-based storage. While the intentions may be well-meaning, the implications for the court reporting industry—and the justice system as a whole—are far more sobering.

1. Accuracy Isn’t Optional in Justice

At the heart of our legal system is a human record. A real-time verbatim transcript is not just a convenience; it is a constitutional safeguard. Court reporters are trained, licensed, and ethically bound to produce accurate records under pressure. AI and digital recorders, by contrast, have no training, no ethical obligations, and no capacity to ask for a clarification mid-sentence when speakers talk over each other.

According to the National Court Reporters Association (NCRA), digital recording systems failed to capture full and accurate testimony in up to 14% of monitored proceedings. That’s not a margin of error—it’s a liability landmine. When AI misses a key word or a doctor’s diagnosis in a deposition, the fallout isn’t just clerical—it could result in a mistrial, an appeal, or millions lost in a malpractice suit.

2. The Myth of “Supplementing” Court Reporters

Hudson frames AI as merely “supporting” court reporters. But in reality, every dollar invested in AI transcription is a dollar divested from training, recruiting, and retaining live stenographers. Agencies claim to want the best of both worlds, but they’re building an infrastructure that quietly phases out the human experts in favor of cost-savings and convenience. Once AI is “good enough,” it won’t just be a supplement—it will become the default.

This is not speculative. We’re already seeing agencies undercut their certified professionals with subcontracted digital recordings and tech tools passed off as equivalent.

3. Devaluing Human Labor Destroys the Talent Pipeline

Court reporters are retiring faster than new ones are entering the field. Why? Because agencies no longer invest in human capital. They spend their marketing budgets hyping AI, not highlighting the expertise of stenographers. And when a student sees a profession being automated out of existence, they look elsewhere.

Agencies have a moral responsibility—and a business imperative—to protect the pipeline. The more they lean on AI, the fewer skilled professionals will enter the field. In five years, they won’t be replacing retirees with AI—they’ll be praying for a certified stenographer who’s still willing to take a job.

4. Real-Time Reporting Already Exists—It’s Called Stenography

One of the more misleading claims is that AI and tech tools are enabling “real-time transcription.” Certified stenographers have provided real-time feeds for decades. The difference? Steno real-time is trusted in trials, arbitrations, and appeals. AI real-time is a marketing buzzword that buckles under cross-talk, accents, emotion, sarcasm, and complex legal terminology.

What AI provides in speed, it sacrifices in meaning. Machines can’t discern intent. They don’t hear “object to the form” and know that’s a legal objection. They don’t mark exhibits. They don’t interrupt when a speaker’s microphone is off. A human does all that while writing 260 words per minute.

5. Clouds, Cameras, and Convenience Are Not the Core of Our Work

Cloud storage, automation, and video conferencing are helpful tools. But they are adjuncts to a human-led system—not replacements. We’ve already seen what happens when tech is mistaken for a silver bullet: errors multiply, oversight disappears, and accountability vanishes. A transcript created from an inaudible audio file recorded by a $40 USB mic is not the same as a certified legal record made by a trained professional.

Courts and attorneys don’t want excuses after the fact. They want accuracy in the moment. That requires the judgment, training, and reflexes of a live court reporter.

6. Ethical Concerns and Legal Risks

AI systems—especially open-source ones like Whisper—pose privacy and ethical hazards. Who owns the data? Who secures it? Who ensures it’s not scraped, stored, or sold? The legal field thrives on confidentiality. Offloading sensitive testimony to third-party software opens the door to breaches, subpoenas, and data misuse.

Even worse, if a flawed AI transcript causes a legal misstep—who’s liable? The agency? The software company? The reporter who didn’t vet the tech? You can’t sue an algorithm, but you can bet someone will try.

7. The Disappearing Human Connection

Perhaps most troubling is the shift away from the human relationships that have long defined court reporting. Agencies used to cultivate their reporters, match them with the right jobs, and take pride in quality control. Now, too many function as scheduling bots—disconnected from the professionals that make their services possible.

This detachment fuels the trend of undercutting rates, outsourcing work, and treating reporters as replaceable. It erodes loyalty, quality, and ultimately, reputation.

A Call to Agencies: Reconsider the Path Forward

Agencies tempted by tech’s promise need to ask a simple question: Is this sustainable? Will you still be in business when courts and clients realize that AI cannot meet the legal standard of accuracy and reliability? Will you have any reporters left when you finally realize humans are not interchangeable with software?

Technology should make court reporting better. But only when it uplifts, not replaces, the professionals who built this industry.

Conclusion: Progress Without Integrity is Regression

Hudson Court Reporting and others embracing digital shortcuts should tread carefully. There is a line between innovation and elimination. The court reporting industry doesn’t need reinvention—it needs reinvestment in the people who make the record.

Machines can’t swear in witnesses, ensure fairness, or preserve justice. That’s our job.

And we’re not going anywhere.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

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 Whisper Can’t Replace Court Reporters in the U.S. Legal System

In a world racing to adopt artificial intelligence, it’s tempting to view new speech-to-text tools like OpenAI’s Whisper as the holy grail of courtroom transcription. Whisper, an open-source ASR (automated speech recognition) model trained on over 680,000 hours of audio, has received widespread praise for its accuracy and flexibility. But before the U.S. court system follows the siren call of automation, it would do well to examine how Canada’s Legislative Assembly of British Columbia approached its adoption of this tool — and what lessons the U.S. legal system should heed.

A recent article in TIRO: The Journal of Professional Reporting and Transcription, entitled “Harnessing Whisper at the Legislative Assembly of British Columbia: A User-Driven Approach to AI-Supported Parliamentary Reporting” details how British Columbia implemented Whisper into its parliamentary reporting workflow. They did not use it to replace human reporters or editors. Instead, they created a hybrid system called Parrot, where ASR supports — but does not replace — trained editorial staff. The results? Faster first drafts, enhanced productivity, and a strong affirmation of the critical role humans play in maintaining accurate, reliable records.

It’s a cautionary tale for the United States, where some courts, agencies, and law firms are aggressively replacing stenographic reporters with ASR and digital recorders. In doing so, they risk sacrificing the integrity of the legal record — and ultimately, the constitutional rights of the people the system is meant to serve.

The Illusion of Accuracy

OpenAI’s own benchmark reports suggest Whisper achieves a word error rate (WER) of around 8.81% in general settings. With human oversight — what’s known as a “human-in-the-loop” approach — that can drop to 7.61%. But even that level of error, applied across hours of legal proceedings, results in thousands of inaccuracies. In a courtroom, where every word matters, every syllable can shift the balance of justice.

By contrast, certified court reporters in the U.S. routinely achieve accuracy rates of 99% or higher. We are trained not only to capture verbatim speech but also to manage cross-talk, regional dialects, technical jargon, and fragmented or interrupted statements — the kinds of nuanced speech that ASR still struggles to comprehend. In fact, ASR models like Whisper tend to fail most spectacularly in exactly the situations where court reporters excel: emotionally charged testimony, overlapping speakers, and highly specialized terminology.

Speaker Attribution Is Still a Major Obstacle

One of the most glaring weaknesses of current ASR tools — including Whisper — is speaker diarization, the ability to accurately identify and label who is speaking. In the British Columbia implementation, this issue was so critical that they had to integrate microphone data from their sound system to correctly attribute speech to the right member of parliament.

Now imagine that problem in a U.S. courtroom, deposition, or hearing. Speaker misattribution doesn’t just cause confusion — it can result in mistrials, sanctions, and appeals. Attribution is not optional. It’s essential. And any system that lacks robust speaker ID is fundamentally unfit for legal use.

Data Privacy and Security

British Columbia also made the wise decision to implement Whisper locally, rather than through cloud servers, in order to protect sensitive data. The U.S. court system, however, is seeing a rise in the use of third-party vendors who upload deposition audio and courtroom recordings to offsite servers — often without the knowledge or informed consent of litigants, attorneys, or even the court.

This practice raises profound legal and ethical concerns. Privileged conversations, sealed testimony, and sensitive criminal or civil proceedings should never be entrusted to cloud servers outside the jurisdiction of the court. In an age of increasing data breaches and cyberattacks, local control isn’t just preferable — it’s essential.

The Myth of Cost Savings

One of the primary drivers behind the adoption of ASR in the U.S. legal system is cost. But this is a false economy. What’s saved in labor is lost in post-processing, appeal litigation, and the credibility of the record. AI-generated transcripts often require extensive correction by attorneys or court staff, shifting the burden — and the cost — onto those already stretched thin.

British Columbia’s approach is a model of responsible integration. They used ASR to free up human editors for higher-level tasks like formatting, research, and verification — not to eliminate their roles entirely. They preserved editorial control and ensured that the final product remained human-reviewed and human-approved.

This distinction is critical: When ASR is implemented with humans, it can improve efficiency. When it’s implemented instead of humans, it compromises accuracy, fairness, and the constitutional right to a complete and correct record.

Due Process Demands a Human Record

The U.S. Constitution guarantees the right to due process, which includes the right to an accurate and complete legal record. This principle is upheld through case law, ethical standards, and procedural rules. If someone is wrongly convicted because a computer failed to capture a key statement, or if a deposition is misinterpreted because an AI mistranscribed medical terminology, who is held accountable?

ASR cannot swear an oath. It cannot be cross-examined. It cannot be held liable. A court reporter can — and does — stand behind the integrity of their record. That is a safeguard worth preserving.

Let Professionals Lead the Way

The most striking thing about the TIRO article is that the professionals implementing the technology were not technologists — they were editors, reporters, and transcription experts. Their deep domain expertise guided every decision. They didn’t blindly adopt AI; they shaped it to serve their standards, not the other way around.

This is the path forward. Rather than letting software vendors dictate how legal records are made, the U.S. court system must empower its stenographic professionals to lead the adoption of supportive technologies. Court reporters are not anti-tech. We are pro-accountability. Pro-accuracy. Pro-justice.

Technology Must Serve Justice, Not Undermine It

Whisper may be an exciting tool. But it is just that — a tool. It is not a replacement for human court reporters, especially in adversarial legal environments where every word counts, every speaker matters, and the consequences of error are profound.

British Columbia got it right. They harnessed Whisper to support their professional team — not to replace them. The U.S. legal system must take note, before it’s too late. We need human-in-the-loop systems, not human-out-of-the-courtroom experiments.

Justice deserves better than a rough draft. It deserves the truth — accurately captured, ethically safeguarded, and professionally delivered.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

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):

Not Optional – Why Stenographers Are Essential to the Constitution and Your Freedom

When people talk about constitutional rights, they often think of freedom of speech, the right to an attorney, or protections against unlawful search and seizure. But there’s a quieter, often overlooked guardian of those rights—one whose absence could unravel the very foundation of due process: the court reporter.

We don’t just transcribe proceedings. We are the eyes and ears of the Constitution in the courtroom. Without an accurate and impartial record of what took place, there is no way to ensure justice was served, no foundation for appeal, and no check against corruption. A justice system without court reporters is a system dangerously close to tyranny.

Let’s break down exactly how stenographic court reporters safeguard freedom—and why their presence is not a luxury, but a constitutional necessity.

1. Due Process Is Impossible Without a Record

The Fifth and Fourteenth Amendments to the U.S. Constitution guarantee that no person shall be “deprived of life, liberty, or property without due process of law.”

But what is “due process” without an accurate transcript?

If a criminal defendant is convicted and wants to appeal, the appellate court doesn’t hear witnesses again. It doesn’t re-try the case. It reads the record. The same is true for civil trials, family court, immigration hearings, and more. The transcript is the foundation upon which justice is reviewed.

If the transcript is incomplete, inaccurate, or missing, then the right to appeal—an essential component of due process—is functionally eliminated.

Without court reporters, litigants—especially the poor, the voiceless, and the unrepresented—are left without a way to challenge injustice. That’s not just a procedural failure. It’s a constitutional violation.

2. Court Reporters Are the Human Safeguards in a System Meant to Serve Humans

Technology can be a powerful aid to justice—but it’s not a substitute for human judgment, ethics, or accountability.

Digital recordings don’t stop proceedings when a witness is mumbling.
Automatic speech recognition (ASR) doesn’t flag inaudible testimony.
AI doesn’t interrupt to clarify the record.

A trained stenographer, however, will immediately speak up when something is unclear, when parties are speaking over one another, or when the record is in jeopardy.

We don’t just transcribe. We protect.

In fact, the National Court Reporters Association (NCRA) code of ethics requires reporters to produce an impartial, verbatim record and to maintain the confidentiality of all proceedings. This ethical obligation binds us to fairness in a way no algorithm can replicate.

When proceedings are left to machines—or worse, to private contractors with conflicting interests—the system becomes less about truth and more about expediency. That’s the opposite of justice. That’s how tyrannical systems evolve.

3. The Record Is the Shield Against Government Overreach

Imagine a system where people are detained, sentenced, or stripped of their rights—and there’s no permanent record of what was said. No transcript. No way to prove coercion, bias, or error. Just the word of the powerful against the powerless.

This isn’t theoretical. It has happened in authoritarian regimes throughout history. And it happens today in legal systems where reporters are not present.

In contrast, the United States holds itself to a higher standard—because we have a record.

Court reporters ensure that everything said in a courtroom becomes part of the permanent, reviewable record. If a judge acts improperly, if a lawyer behaves unethically, if a witness recants, the record tells the truth.

That is the cornerstone of accountability in a democratic society. That is the protection against tyranny.

4. Stenographers Ensure Access to Justice for All

Justice must not only be done, but be seen to be done. And for that, the record must be accessible.

When stenographers are present, transcripts can be requested, certified, and used in subsequent proceedings. They can be provided to parties who couldn’t afford counsel or who need to prove that they were wronged.

But with digital audio and ASR, access to the record is often limited, unauditable, and controlled by private entities. In some cases, these systems fail to distinguish between speakers, omit testimony, or produce garbled text that is functionally useless.

Even worse, litigants may not realize the record is flawed until it’s too late—at the appellate stage, when errors are irreversible.

Without a trusted human reporter, justice becomes less transparent, less accessible, and more vulnerable to error and manipulation.

5. Freedom Requires Checks and Balances

In the United States, we pride ourselves on a justice system built on checks and balances. But those checks depend on documentation. The courts cannot police themselves without a record of their actions.

  • No one can be held accountable without proof.
  • No ruling can be reversed without context.
  • No injustice can be exposed without the words that were actually said.

Court reporters are the quiet check on the powerful. We don’t argue, advocate, or interfere. We preserve. We observe. And in doing so, we make sure no one rewrites history.

That is how freedom survives. That is how tyranny is kept at bay.

6. Court Reporting Is Under Attack—And So Is Justice

Despite our critical role, stenographers are being phased out in some jurisdictions—replaced with low-paid digital recorders or AI transcription tools, often to “cut costs.” But the savings are an illusion.

What jurisdictions save in hourly wages, they will pay tenfold in:

  • Appeals
  • Mistrials
  • Delays
  • Civil rights lawsuits

And more importantly, they risk losing public trust in the judicial system.

You cannot automate accountability. You cannot delegate due process to a software company. And you cannot preserve freedom with a faulty record.

They’re Constitutional. We Are Constitutional.

So when we say “Save Steno,” we’re not clinging to nostalgia. We’re defending the rule of law.

We are not just court reporters. We are the human infrastructure that upholds the Constitution every single day.

  • We are how due process is protected.
  • We are how rights are preserved.
  • We are how the truth endures.

Take us out of the courtroom, and you don’t just lose a job. You lose justice.
You lose freedom.
You lose the Constitution in action.

Call to Action

If you’re an attorney, judge, legislator, or citizen:

  • Insist on a certified stenographic reporter.
  • Refuse automated substitutes in legal proceedings.
  • Support legislation that protects the human record.
  • Tell your state courts: Justice needs stenographers.

Because without us, there is no justice.

And without justice, freedom is nothing but a word.

Steno Imperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

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):

“Digital Gatekeeping: How Facebook Job Boards Are Quietly Controlling Access to Court Reporting Jobs—and Why It May Be Illegal”

In today’s gig economy, access to work is everything. For freelance court reporters, many of whom operate without the safety net of employment benefits or job security, the ability to secure daily work is directly tied to survival. With the evolution of remote work and social media, traditional job boards have shifted online—particularly to Facebook, where dozens of regionally based groups now serve as informal marketplaces for freelance court reporting assignments.

But what happens when access to these digital job boards is unfairly restricted? What if these Facebook groups—often run not by neutral administrators but by fellow reporters with personal agendas—become gatekeepers to economic opportunity? And what if you’re banned from these groups without explanation, without recourse, and without having violated any rules?

That’s not just unethical—it may be illegal.

A Modern Marketplace With No Oversight

Court reporters across the U.S. rely on Facebook groups like “Los Angeles Superior Court Reporter Job Board,” “Court Reporter Job Board – New Orleans, Louisiana,” or “Texas Court Reporters’ Job Board for Depositions & Official Subs” to connect with agency calendaring professionals seeking coverage. Some groups even flip the model—allowing reporters to post their availability so agencies can reach out to them. These peer-run boards have become a critical lifeline for independent contractors, especially in the post-pandemic era, where in-person networking has diminished and more reporters are working from home or across state lines.

However, unlike traditional job boards (e.g., Indeed or LinkedIn), Facebook groups have virtually no accountability. Administrators—often court reporters themselves—can remove members at will. And they do. In some cases, these removals come after disagreements over industry politics, differing business models, or personal vendettas. Reporters are often banned without warning, without due process, and without having violated any posted rules. The result? They are effectively blacklisted from that region’s primary source of freelance work.

“You’re Out”: No Explanation Needed

Let’s be clear: Facebook groups are considered “private,” and as such, admins have broad authority to control their membership. But when these groups function as de facto professional infrastructure, the stakes are much higher.

Imagine being removed from the one platform in your county where all civil deposition, motions, and trial jobs are posted, simply because you spoke up about unfair agency practices, refused to work for discounted rates, or posted something relevant but not job-related. Suddenly, you’re invisible. You’re deprived of the same economic access afforded to others. You may not have violated any rules—but that doesn’t matter. There is no HR department to appeal to. No regulator. No ombudsman. Only silence.

This isn’t just an inconvenience. It’s an economic penalty. It is restraint of trade—and in certain circumstances, it may cross the line into illegality.

Legal Theories: When Does Gatekeeping Become Unlawful?

The law has been slow to catch up with the way freelance labor is managed on social media, but here are several legal doctrines that could apply:

1. Tortious Interference with Business Expectancy

If an administrator removes you from a job board in order to interfere with your ability to receive work, and you can prove damages, you may have grounds for a civil lawsuit. Courts have recognized that intentional interference with prospective economic advantage—especially when malicious or retaliatory—can be actionable.

2. Discriminatory Exclusion

If removals are based on protected characteristics (race, age, disability, gender), they may violate anti-discrimination laws. Even in private groups, if they function as professional access points, they may be subject to scrutiny under civil rights statutes—particularly if the group is closely tied to employment functions.

3. Unfair Business Practices

In California and other states with robust consumer protection laws, courts have held that businesses—or those controlling access to marketplaces—cannot engage in deceptive, unfair, or exclusionary practices that harm competition or access.

4. Antitrust Implications

If multiple admins or group moderators coordinate to blacklist certain reporters—especially across regional groups or networks—this could potentially raise antitrust concerns. Collusion that limits access to jobs is a restraint of trade, and federal law prohibits this under the Sherman Act and Federal Trade Commission Act.

The Gatekeeper Class

There’s another insidious aspect to this: these groups are often run by a small cadre of well-connected reporters who operate as self-appointed power brokers. They decide who gets in, who stays out, and who thrives. Often, these same individuals are aligned with specific agencies—or even run agencies themselves. The potential for conflict of interest is staggering.

In some cases, reporters have been removed simply for:

  • Expressing criticism of an agency’s rates or ethics,
  • Speaking up in support of labor rights,
  • Starting a competing business,
  • Associating with someone the admin personally dislikes.

This is not professionalism. This is clique culture masquerading as leadership—and it is harming the profession.

A Chilling Effect on Advocacy

Perhaps the most troubling impact of this digital gatekeeping is the chilling effect it has on whistleblowers and reformers. Reporters who speak out about wage theft, unethical practices, or the rise of ASR (automated speech recognition) often find themselves ostracized from job groups run by those sympathetic to the very practices being exposed.

This creates an industry where silence is rewarded, and truth-telling is punished. In a profession already under siege from AI, underbidding, and outsourcing, this kind of internal sabotage is deeply damaging.

What Can Be Done?

If you’ve been removed from a Facebook job group, you’re not powerless. Here are steps to take:

  1. Document everything — Keep screenshots, timestamps, and communication records.
  2. Report the group — Use Facebook’s reporting tools if removal was arbitrary, harassing, or discriminatory.
  3. Consult an attorney — If you’ve suffered financial harm, get legal advice about potential civil claims.
  4. Expose the practice — Shine a light on exclusionary gatekeeping. Write articles. Speak out.
  5. Create alternatives — Build job boards with transparency, fairness, and community moderation. Decentralize the power structure.

✅ YES — You Can Report Ethical Misconduct to the CRB

The California CRB enforces the Professional Standards of Practice for Certified Shorthand Reporters (CSRs). If the group admins hold California CSR licenses, and they are using their position to:

  • Block other licensed reporters from accessing work,
  • Retaliate against dissent,
  • Control the flow of business in a non-transparent way,
  • Favor their own agency or business interests, or
  • Coordinate blacklisting of other CSRs,

This could rise to the level of an ethical violation under the CRB’s jurisdiction.

CRB Violations That May Apply:

  • CCR Title 16 § 2475(b) – Unprofessional conduct includes, but is not limited to, any departure from or failure to conform to applicable laws, rules, or ethical standards.
  • § 2475(c)(1)-(7) – These subsections broadly cover:
    • Fraud or misrepresentation in business,
    • Abuse of authority or position,
    • Unlawful or deceptive business practices,
    • Engaging in conduct likely to harm the public trust in the profession.

❗ Key point: If a CSR is acting as a gatekeeper in a professional capacity (not purely social), and using that power to exclude others from the marketplace in bad faith, it could be reportable.

⚠️ Limitations of CRB Jurisdiction

However, the CRB cannot:

  • Investigate private non-licensees (e.g., unlicensed Facebook group moderators).
  • Enforce federal antitrust laws.
  • Mandate reinstatement into a Facebook group.

If the group admin is not a licensed CSR or if the group is informally structured without a business affiliation, it may fall outside the CRB’s direct reach.

But — if that group is used as a professional tool to control access to freelance assignments in California, and those admins are licensed CSRs, you may have a case.

🔁 How to Report to the CRB

  1. Prepare evidence:
    • Screenshots of removal or banning
    • Group rules (or lack thereof)
    • Examples of posts removed or retaliatory behavior
    • Names and license numbers of the individuals involved
    • Any documentation showing economic impact or collusion
  2. File a Complaint:
    Use the CRB complaint form:
    👉 https://www.courtreportersboard.ca.gov/consumers/complaint.shtml
  3. Write a clear narrative:
    • Explain how their actions are harming licensed professionals
    • Emphasize the economic consequences and lack of transparency
    • If applicable, state that this constitutes an unethical restraint of trade and abuse of position
  4. Follow up:
    CRB may contact you for an interview or clarification.

💼 Bonus: Report to the FTC or DOJ Antitrust Division

If multiple group admins or moderators are:

  • Blacklisting court reporters,
  • Coordinating to suppress competition, or
  • Blocking market access to favor their own businesses or affiliated agencies,

You may also consider reporting to the Federal Trade Commission (FTC) or U.S. Department of Justice (DOJ) Antitrust Division.

These agencies investigate anti-competitive behavior, particularly in regulated professions or local monopolies.

🛑 Don’t Forget: You Can Report to Facebook, Too

If these private groups:

  • Block members for retaliatory or abusive reasons,
  • Are run by people with conflicts of interest, or
  • Violate Facebook’s Community Standards (harassment, exclusion, business fraud),

You can report the group directly to Facebook. Enough complaints can lead to admin review, suspension, or even group deletion.

🧩 Strategic Summary

ActionTargetBest Used When
CRB ComplaintCalifornia-licensed CSRsAdmin is a CSR using their license to retaliate, block access, or promote unfair competition
FTC/DOJ ReportAntitrust enforcementEvidence of group collusion, market control, or blacklisting across regions
Facebook ReportPlatform abuseUnprofessional conduct, bullying, or misuse of a professional group
Public ExposureArticles, social media, etc.To raise awareness and pressure admins or agencies to act ethically

If we allow professional access to be governed by social media cliques and unchecked power dynamics, we surrender the integrity of our field to popularity contests. Licensing exists to ensure competence, fairness, and accountability—not to give a few insiders the keys to the kingdom.

If the CRB won’t act on this now, maybe it’s time we demand that they do.

We Deserve Better

Court reporters are not disposable labor. We are licensed professionals entrusted with preserving the record. We deserve access to work that is free from bias, retaliation, and favoritism. It’s time to call out the quiet tyranny of Facebook job group gatekeeping for what it is: a professional barrier, an economic injustice, and a systemic risk to the integrity of our field.

If we don’t fight for fairness within our own ranks, how can we expect others—agencies, legislators, tech platforms—to respect the value we bring?

We must do better. And it starts by demanding transparency and equal access—for all.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

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 Human Stenographers Still Outperform AI in the “Cocktail Party” Problem—and Always Will in Legal Proceedings

In the age of artificial intelligence, where voice assistants answer questions, virtual meetings transcribe in real-time, and speech-to-text tools claim increasing accuracy, many in the legal field are asking: Can AI really replace the human court reporter?

The answer, grounded in both science and lived experience, is not yet—and maybe never.

While AI has made substantial progress in voice recognition and transcription, especially in ideal conditions with single speakers, the “cocktail party problem”—isolating and accurately transcribing multiple voices in a noisy, overlapping environment—remains a massive technical hurdle. This issue is central in real-world legal proceedings like depositions, where parties often speak simultaneously, argue emotionally, and interrupt each other. Let’s explore why AI, despite its promise, still can’t match a skilled human stenographer—and likely won’t for years to come.

Understanding the “Cocktail Party Problem”

The “cocktail party problem” refers to the human brain’s remarkable ability to focus on a single conversation in a noisy, multi-speaker environment. AI engineers have been trying to replicate this for decades. Classical computing techniques—paired with modern machine learning tools like Deep Clustering, Permutation Invariant Training (PIT), and Transformer-based models—have made progress, but perfection remains elusive.

Even in 2025, separating ten simultaneous voices in a noisy, echo-filled room with real-time accuracy is not just challenging—it’s nearly impossible.

While AI performs well with two speakers in a controlled setting, its accuracy nosedives in the kinds of real-world, high-stakes environments court reporters are trained to handle: multiple overlapping speakers, varied accents, emotional outbursts, and background noise.

How AI Performs in Legal Settings (Spoiler: Not Great)

In structured scenarios, like Zoom calls with clear audio and polite turn-taking, AI can achieve up to 90-95% accuracy with two speakers—sometimes three. But depositions are not polite Zoom calls.

Let’s break down where AI struggles most:

  • Overlapping speech: Once a third speaker joins—or two people interrupt each other—AI transcription models collapse. Speaker attribution becomes faulty. Words are dropped. Run-on sentences emerge. The transcript becomes unreliable.
  • Accents: Non-native or regional accents can throw off AI by as much as 20% in error rate. These models are only as good as their training data, and many are not trained on the linguistic diversity found in real-world litigation.
  • Emotional speech: When a witness becomes combative or agitated, the cadence and tone change. AI isn’t built to parse rapid-fire questioning, sarcasm, or shouting.
  • Reverberation and background noise: Even light background noise—papers rustling, doors opening, HVAC hum—can trip up speech recognition software, especially in courtrooms or law offices not set up for pristine audio capture.

Why Human Stenographers Still Win

1. 98-99% Accuracy — Even in Chaos

Licensed court reporters are trained professionals who consistently hit the gold standard of 98-99%+ verbatim accuracy, regardless of speaker overlap, argument, or disruption. In contrast, even the best AI models today aspire to hit that level under ideal conditions—and often fall short.

2. Mastery of Context and Nuance

Humans understand context, tone, and legal jargon in a way machines simply do not. A stenographer knows that “objection” has procedural weight. They can distinguish homophones by meaning (“their” vs. “there”). They can flag when a speaker is being sarcastic, hostile, or unclear—and ask for clarification. AI can’t.

3. Speaker Attribution and Overlap Resolution

Court reporters are trained to track multiple voices at once, even in overlap. They can distinguish who is speaking by tone, pattern, or even gesture. If necessary, they intervene: “One at a time, please.” Machines can’t do that.

4. Legal Certification and Verification

Human court reporters also serve as impartial officers of the court. They administer oaths, certify transcripts, and ensure that the record is legally admissible. AI can’t notarize anything. Any AI-generated record still needs human oversight and editing to be court-usable—and in many jurisdictions, AI-only records aren’t admissible at all.

5. Flexibility in the Face of Imperfection

If someone mumbles or a word is muffled, a stenographer uses logic, context, and professional judgment to fill in the blank or request clarification. AI, meanwhile, guesses wrong or inserts “[inaudible]” without discretion. In a deposition, that’s a risk you can’t afford.

The Illusion of Progress: What the Future Holds

To be fair, the future is promising. Emerging technologies like spatial audio processing, AI-assisted diarization (speaker separation), and even audio-visual transcription that uses lip-reading are closing the gap. Within 2–3 years, we may see 95% accuracy for overlapping 2–3 speakers in well-mic’d, controlled environments.

But that still doesn’t account for 10 people at a table, talking over each other with emotion and nuance, in an echoing boardroom, without perfect mic placement. That’s the true “cocktail party” test—and it’s one that court reporters pass every day.

Hybrid Models: Augment, Not Replace

Where AI shows the most promise is not as a replacement—but as an assistant. It can:

  • Create rough drafts for review
  • Help identify speakers
  • Flag inaudible segments
  • Speed up turnaround time

But in all these roles, a human must still be present to certify, correct, and finalize the record. Just like autopilot doesn’t replace pilots, AI doesn’t replace stenographers—it just helps them fly more efficiently.

Conclusion: The Human Edge Remains Unmatched

AI has made incredible strides. But in a courtroom or deposition, the stakes are too high for 85% accuracy and guesswork. A misattributed sentence could cost a client millions. An inaudible phrase could upend an appeal.

Legal proceedings demand a level of precision, judgment, and adaptability that only a trained human can provide. Until AI learns to interpret sarcasm, break up fights, and swear in witnesses, the court reporter remains not just relevant—but essential.

So while the tech world races to solve the cocktail party problem, court reporters are already solving it every single day—with a steno machine, a sharp ear, and a mind that understands far more than just the words.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

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):

“Be the Voice That Speaks for Me in Court”: The Sacred Power of Truth in a Profession Gone Quiet

In a sea of comments, one quietly rose above the rest — not through volume, but through depth. It didn’t argue or analyze. It blessed. And in doing so, it affirmed something I’ve been feeling in my bones:

Speaking the truth in this profession is no longer just brave — it’s spiritual work.

Linda Bour shared a passage that gripped my heart:

“When they hand you over, do not worry about how you are to speak or what you are to say. You will be given at that moment what you are to say. For it will not be you who speak but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you.”

She went on to share a moment from her own life — facing a hostile panel of lawyers, unsure of what to say, until something rose up within her. Something unplanned, unexpected, and yet entirely true:

“What you say has no point in law.”

She didn’t know where it came from. But it turned the tide. And now, she prays:

“O Holy Spirit, be the Voice that speaks for me in court.”

That prayer — simple, clear, sacred — hit me like a thunderclap. Because isn’t that exactly what we need in the court reporting profession right now? This line alone speaks volumes — it ties my advocacy to a moral compass and reminds me that speaking truth isn’t about credentials — it’s about courage and conviction.

The Spirit of Silence vs. the Spirit of Truth

We are living in a moment where truth is inconvenient — even dangerous — to those in power. Speaking out about abuse, exclusion, or retaliation doesn’t make you brave in some people’s eyes. It makes you a target.

Instead of asking, “What happened?” or “How can we help?,” some respond with, “Who is this?”
Not to listen. But to label. To block. To dismiss.

But truth doesn’t wait for permission. And neither does the Spirit.

When you speak up — when you challenge abuse or shine light into dark corners — there is something holy about that act. Not religious, necessarily. But sacred in the truest sense: a commitment to something higher than fear.

And the fear is real. The stakes are real. There are people suffering quietly in this profession because of hostile leadership, toxic culture, and gatekeeping disguised as community.

Yet the call is clear: Speak anyway.

Integrity in the Face of Intimidation

Linda’s comment reminded me that courage isn’t something we conjure — it’s something we allow. It’s what happens when we step aside and let our values speak louder than our fears. That is the true meaning of her prayer:

“Be the Voice that speaks for me in court.”

For us, court may not always be a literal courtroom. It may be:

  • A board meeting where no one else will speak up.
  • A comment thread filled with judgment.
  • A leadership circle where silence is rewarded and dissent is punished.
  • A profession where you’re told you don’t belong because you don’t comply.

In those spaces, the voice you need isn’t always your own. Sometimes it’s truth itself, pushing through your lips despite the shaking in your hands.

A New Kind of Professionalism

The court reporting profession was built on accuracy, integrity, and discipline. But what good is accuracy without moral clarity? What use is discipline if we use it to exclude others?

Professionalism must evolve. It must include:

  • Room for vulnerability.
  • Accountability for harm.
  • Courage to speak, even when it’s unpopular.

Linda’s words reminded me that what we’re doing isn’t petty. It’s prophetic. It’s not drama. It’s a reckoning. And those who try to silence it — through intimidation, tone-policing, or personal attacks — are only revealing their fear of what truth might change.

To Those Who Are Afraid to Speak

If you’re reading this and you’ve felt the sting of exclusion or the weight of silence pressing on your chest, this is for you:

You don’t have to have the perfect words.
You don’t have to carry credentials.
You don’t even have to speak loudly.

Just speak truth.

Let integrity be the voice that speaks for you — in court, in comments, in community.

And if you ever doubt whether your voice matters, remember this:

The most powerful statement ever uttered in a courtroom wasn’t rehearsed. It was inspired.

“O Holy Spirit, be the Voice that speaks for me in court.”

We need more voices like that — and fewer trying to shut them down.

Disclaimer

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 Court Reporters Don’t Owe Agencies Loyalty—And Why That’s Okay

“What’s with all the reporters who won’t go in person? I’m getting begged to try to rearrange my schedule by a friend who runs a local agency because she can’t find someone to go live. I don’t get it.”

That’s the post that sparked dozens of comments across a popular court reporting Facebook group—and a fire in my gut.

Some commenters responded with nostalgia for in-person work. Others expressed confusion at why today’s reporters seem reluctant to step out of their homes. Many sympathized with the agency owner who “just can’t find someone to go live.” That’s the part that bothered me most—not because it’s inaccurate, but because it reflects a deeper misunderstanding of the current business model of freelance court reporting in the post-COVID era.

Let’s get this straight: reporters don’t owe agencies anything. Not loyalty. Not favors. Not their bodies in a chair across town at a deposition with 16 pages. Nothing.

The Myth of Loyalty in a Business Transaction

Court reporting agencies are businesses. They exist to make money. They are not non-profits. They are not support groups. And most of all, they are not our employers.

Yet there’s a persistent myth in our industry that freelancers somehow owe loyalty to the agencies that send them work. That myth is leftover from a different time—when reporters were treated like staff, paid consistently, and respected as the backbone of the profession. But those days are long gone.

In today’s market, most reporters are independent contractors, operating their own businesses with their own clients, equipment, and workflows. We pay for our software, hardware, training, licensing, continuing education, scopists, proofreaders, office supplies, data backups, health insurance, and retirement. We are the CEO, the technician, the receptionist, the accounts receivable department, and the one chasing payment for late checks. Agencies, on the other hand, are taking half the revenue—or more—without assuming any of that risk or workload.

The idea that we should feel bad for agencies who “can’t find anyone” to cover in-person jobs reeks of entitlement.

Why the Shift to Remote Is Logical—Not Lazy

After COVID-19 forced the legal system to adopt remote technology, court reporters adapted faster than anyone. We learned Zoom, bridged connections, solved audio issues, organized digital exhibits, and built new home-based businesses.

Now, many of us refuse to go back—not out of laziness, but because remote work is smarter business.

Let’s break down why:

  • Remote jobs eliminate travel time and gas costs.
  • No-shows no longer waste half your day.
  • Work-life balance is finally attainable.
  • You can cover multiple time zones without leaving home.
  • You’re not driving two hours for 16 pages and a pat on the back.

And for those who moved out of state and kept their original license—why wouldn’t they continue to work remote in the state they’re licensed for? Especially when their new state either doesn’t have reciprocity, or imposes licensing hurdles, delays, and additional costs?

This is not “laziness.” This is the modern freelance model.

The Numbers Don’t Lie: In-Person Isn’t Sustainable

Let’s do the math. A deposition that goes for 16 pages at a statutory $3.99 per page (in court) nets $63.84. Subtract:

  • Two hours of roundtrip driving
  • Gas and mileage wear
  • The opportunity cost of other work
  • No appearance fee (unless in California)
  • No reimbursement for parking, printing, or meals

Now compare that to staying home and waiting for a Zoom job to go forward—or taking the day to catch up on transcripts, admin, or life. That’s not shirking responsibility. That’s good business judgment.

Even my favorite local bakery just went out of business because they couldn’t keep the doors open selling $2.50 macaroons if they didn’t move enough volume.

Court reporters are no different. We have overhead. And just like any other service provider, if we can’t cover our costs and generate enough profit to stay in business, we have to change the model. Remote allows us to do that.

Exploited and Underpaid: Agencies Have Not Earned Our Sympathy

Let’s talk about profit splits. It used to be 70/30 in favor of the reporter. Now, it’s often 50/50 or worse, despite the fact that:

  • Electronic transcripts have reduced agencies’ production costs
  • Reporters handle exhibits, digital delivery, and formatting on their own
  • Agencies are now selling summaries without sharing that revenue
  • Reporters are doing more for less

Agencies have negotiated away our page rates through exclusive contracting, created a race to the bottom with volume discounts, and undercut the independent contractor model while bearing none of the professional risk we shoulder daily. They’ve helped stagnate our compensation—most reporters today are earning the same page rates they were in the 1980s, despite massive inflation.

We should be earning $18 per page just to keep pace. Instead, we’re gaslit into thinking we should help agencies “just this once” because they’re in a bind.

How is it that agencies can demand loyalty, but have never offered it themselves?

The Post-COVID Reality

COVID wasn’t just a health crisis—it was a great workplace reset. For court reporters, it was the first time we collectively realized:

  • We can work independently
  • We don’t need to accept every job
  • We should demand minimums and fair rates
  • We won’t tolerate abuse anymore

And we aren’t alone. Across the country, professionals in every field—from teachers to nurses to tech workers—have drawn the line. Work must be fair. Compensation must match effort. And flexibility is now a standard, not a perk.

So No, We Don’t Owe You an In-Person Appearance

If an agency can’t cover a job live, that’s not a reflection on reporter ethics. That’s a reflection of market demand and agency supply.

If you can’t find coverage, maybe your pay isn’t high enough. Maybe your terms are too rigid. Maybe you’re assuming loyalty where none exists.

Reporters aren’t “saying no to live” out of spite. They’re saying yes to something better—better work/life balance, better earnings, better conditions.

And they’re no longer apologizing for that choice.

Final Thoughts

Agencies are businesses. Reporters are businesses. There is no employee-employer relationship here, and pretending there is only perpetuates a dynamic where one side sacrifices for the other.

This is a free market. And in that market, reporters have the right to build a model that serves their lives, their families, and their financial stability. If that means turning down low-paying in-person jobs, so be it.

You don’t get to guilt us into sacrificing our sustainability so you can keep yours.

It’s time to respect court reporters as the professionals they are—and to stop expecting them to play by 1990’s rules in a 2025 world.

Steno Imperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

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 Depositions Had Coffee Breaks – A Court Reporter’s Call to Action

There was a time—not so long ago—when depositions were structured, civil, and humane. When the daily transcript page count rarely exceeded 150. When attorneys broke for lunch, took time to order food for the room, and treated the court reporter as a professional—not a machine. Reporters were respected, and the job, while demanding, wasn’t punishing.

Today, those memories feel like relics of a lost profession. Now, depositions routinely stretch to 250, 300, even 400 pages, with attorneys barreling through eight-hour days, skipping breaks, skipping meals, and acting as if the reporter isn’t even human—let alone essential.

What happened?

A Profession Pushed to the Edge

Court reporting was never an easy job. The mental focus required to take down every word accurately and the stamina to sit in high-stakes legal environments for hours on end has always been intense. But in earlier decades, the work was balanced by a level of professional courtesy and structure that helped sustain the people doing it.

The pace of proceedings was slower. The expectation wasn’t perfection in a 24-hour turnaround. There were breaks—real ones. Coffee and fruit in the morning. Danish pastries. A full hour for lunch. A wrap-up around 4:30 or 5:00 p.m., with attorneys openly discussing rescheduling if time ran out.

Today, that’s almost unheard of. Court reporters are routinely pushed past their limits with marathon depositions and overnight expedite requests that leave no time for rest or recovery. The physical toll—tension, back pain, carpal tunnel, eye strain—is compounded by the mental strain of being “on” for hours without a moment to breathe. And yet, somehow, we’re expected to deliver perfect transcripts without error, without complaint, and without compensation that matches the reality of the work.

The Erosion of Standards

There are many reasons for this cultural shift. The digitization of law practices and the increased demand for fast-paced litigation have played a major role. But the erosion of boundaries in deposition practice can also be traced to a deeper issue: The devaluation of the court reporter’s role.

As technology continues to inch into the courtroom, attorneys and agencies alike have fallen into the dangerous trap of seeing the reporter as just another commodity—a replaceable vendor who can churn out pages like a machine. And with that shift, professionalism has gone out the window.

Lunch? Optional. Breaks? If you’re lucky. An end time? Don’t ask.

And for many of us, this grind is no longer sustainable.

Is It Time to Draw a Line?

Every working reporter today should be asking themselves one question: What am I willing to tolerate?

The rise of unrealistic expectations didn’t happen overnight—and it didn’t happen because attorneys suddenly decided to be inconsiderate. It happened because no one said “no.” Slowly, inch by inch, the boundaries disappeared. Lunch breaks turned into working lunches. The day bled past 6:00 p.m. with no overtime compensation. Expedites went from rare to routine. And now, here we are.

But if we created the conditions for our exploitation by allowing this to happen—then we also have the power to stop it.

Some reporters are already drawing hard boundaries. Four-hour limits. Five-hour days. No more expedites without appropriate pay. No more last-minute bookings. These aren’t radical ideas—they’re acts of professional preservation.

Because no one else is going to protect us if we don’t do it ourselves.

Why It’s Not Just About Us

This isn’t just a matter of comfort or convenience. The quality of the legal record suffers when a reporter is exhausted, hungry, or physically in pain. The mental sharpness required to capture every word with precision fades with fatigue. A missed objection, a misattributed quote, a mumbled answer that goes unchecked—these aren’t just hypotheticals. They’re real risks that increase when we’re overworked and under-supported.

Attorneys should care about this. Judges should care about this. But most importantly, we should care enough to demand better.

Lessons from the Past

There was a time when reporters organized. When they stood up together and said, “No more.” In the 1980s, some groups even went on strike to demand fair pay and better working conditions. And back then, the working conditions weren’t even as bad as they are now.

So what are we waiting for?

We may not all be in a place to strike. But we can draw lines. We can educate the legal community. We can refuse to accept unrealistic turnaround times. We can demand humane workdays—and stick to them. We can say, “I’m unavailable past five,” and let the chips fall.

This isn’t about entitlement. It’s about dignity. And it’s about the survival of a profession that has given its practitioners decades of purpose, challenge, and pride.

Building a New Culture

It starts with small steps. Set a page limit or time cap that protects your physical health. Decide in advance what turnaround times you’ll accept. Put your rates in writing. Enforce late cancellation fees. Require that breaks be honored. And most of all—talk to other reporters about doing the same.

Solidarity isn’t just a slogan. It’s a strategy.

Because we can’t go back to the way things were. But we can move forward with a stronger sense of what we’re worth—and what we won’t accept anymore.

We have the skills. We have the experience. We’ve built this profession brick by brick. Now we need to reclaim it from the brink of burnout.

The fruit and coffee may be long gone—but we’re still here. And we still have the power to change the narrative.

Disclaimer

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):

Leadership in the Eye of the Storm

I had a dream I was in Paris, working at a university — a place of intellect, of ambition, of culture. It was beautiful, bustling, filled with students. I was on a break in a rooftop room, enjoying the view, when I saw something in the distance.

A storm was brewing.

One tornado. Then five. Then six. Each one forming separately, ominously, and then… merging into one. A dark, massive funnel barreling toward the city. Toward us.

I shouted, “We need to get to shelter!”

But no one moved. No one looked up from their laptops or coffee. No one believed me — or they didn’t care. I ran back into the building, down the stairs, searching for help, for someone to take it seriously, for a safe place below ground.

And that’s when I woke up.

But I didn’t really wake up.

Because that dream is still happening — every day.

We, the certified shorthand reporters, are standing on that rooftop. We see the storm. We see the six funnels: AI, ASR, ER, deregulation, corporate capture, and public apathy — converging into one existential threat to the integrity of the record. We are yelling, waving our arms, telling the legal community: This is coming. It will change everything. You need to take cover — or at least take notice.

But so many keep sipping their coffee, scrolling their screens. Moving on with their day.

The truth is, when you’re the one who sees the tornado, it’s lonely. You’re made to feel dramatic. Alarmist. Outdated. You’re told, “Don’t worry, it’s just a passing cloud.”

But we’ve been in this profession long enough to know the signs. We know the smell of ozone in the air before the first funnel touches ground. We know what happens when the record gets corrupted. When no certified transcript exists. When no appeal can be made. When someone’s life is changed forever because no one wrote down what really happened.

Leadership doesn’t always look like a podium. Sometimes it looks like a single person running downstairs, searching for shelter, trying to save everyone who won’t even look up.

That’s what we’re doing now.

And maybe — just maybe — if we keep speaking, one person at a time will start to hear it. Start to see it. And start to move. Before the tornado hits.

🌪 Seeing the Storm Before Others Do

When you work in a profession like court reporting, you get used to catching every word, every shift in tone, every undercurrent. So it’s no surprise that many of us saw the signs early: the quiet erosion of standards, the rise of artificial intelligence, the lobbyists pushing for digital recording, the abandonment of certification.

To us, the funnel clouds have been visible for years.

But leadership isn’t just about seeing what’s coming. It’s about what you do when you’re the only one who does—and no one around you seems concerned.

🛑 Leading When No One’s Listening

This is where many court reporters—and professionals in legacy industries—find themselves. We’re trying to warn legal systems, lawmakers, and even our own peers about what’s at stake:

  • Justice is not served by error-ridden, uncertified transcripts.
  • AI cannot replace real-time judgment, clarification, or certification.
  • Once the infrastructure collapses—schools, training, credentialing bodies—we can’t rebuild it overnight.

But sounding the alarm is often a lonely job.

So what do you do when you’re the only one running toward the basement, and everyone else is still ordering coffee?

🧭 Real Leadership Lessons from the Storm

Here’s what this dream reminded me about real leadership—and what I hope others will take to heart in their own battles:

1. Leadership Is Often Silent and Unseen

You don’t need a title to lead. Sometimes leadership is:

  • Speaking up at a board meeting when it’s unpopular.
  • Writing the article no one else dares to write.
  • Privately mentoring someone so they don’t burn out.

In the dream, I wasn’t in charge. I was just someone who saw what was coming—and ran to act. That’s leadership.

2. You Might Be Alone—At First

Real leaders are often misunderstood at the beginning. People won’t always thank you. You may be called dramatic, stubborn, or resistant to change. But foresight isn’t fearmongering.

Trust your instincts. Especially when you’ve been in the field long enough to recognize the patterns before they unfold.

3. Have a Shelter Plan

You can’t stop the storm. But you can:

  • Build inner resilience: Know your “why” and revisit it often.
  • Create safe spaces: Online communities, group chats, strategy sessions with allies.
  • Preserve knowledge: Train, document, pass on your skills.
  • Diversify your role: Use your expertise to consult, teach, or advise.

Great leaders don’t just react—they prepare.

4. Keep Sounding the Alarm—Even If It’s Just a Whisper

Sometimes the loudest act of leadership is a quiet, consistent voice. Keep telling the truth. Keep warning others. Keep sharing what’s at stake.

Eventually, someone will hear you. And then another. And another. That’s how movements begin.

5. Find (or Become) the Person Who Knows Where the Basement Is

In the dream, I kept searching for someone—anyone—who could show me where the basement was. That person didn’t appear.

Sometimes you are that person.

In moments of disruption, people are looking for calm in the chaos. Be the one who stays clear-eyed, informed, and ready to act. Be the one who builds the escape plan—or the blueprint to rebuild.

⚖️ The Stakes Are Real

In court reporting, this is about more than a profession. It’s about truth. It’s about the right to appeal. It’s about keeping the legal record from being twisted by automation, error, or cost-cutting.

We can’t afford to pretend it’s not happening.

If you’re reading this and you feel it too—the urgency, the frustration, the isolation—know this:

You’re not alone.

You might be ahead of the curve, but that doesn’t mean you’re wrong.

It means you’re a leader.

And the storm isn’t here yet—but it’s closer than most realize.

Steno Imperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

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):

Human Oversight is Now Law – Virginia Leads the Nation with Groundbreaking AI Legislation Protecting the Judicial Record

On July 1, 2025, a historic law took effect in Virginia that represents one of the most forward-thinking moves in judicial history—particularly for the future of court reporting. House Bill 1642 (HB 1642) mandates that any artificial intelligence (AI) used in the judicial process must be overseen by a qualified human. In short, AI cannot be the sole basis for judicial decisions, including the creation or certification of legal transcripts. This watershed moment not only validates the irreplaceable role of human court reporters—it also secures the integrity of the official record in an increasingly tech-driven world.

Why This Law Matters to Court Reporters—and the Public

At a time when digital recording companies and AI transcription platforms are lobbying for a larger presence in courtrooms across the country, Virginia’s bold legislation delivers a clear message: Justice must remain human-centered. The law doesn’t ban AI. Rather, it establishes that a real person—a qualified professional—must be responsible for overseeing and validating any output that AI generates.

This protection is vital. Transcripts created solely by AI remain uncertifiable. They are riddled with errors, unable to distinguish legal nuance, speaker identification, or overlapping dialogue. By requiring a human in the loop, Virginia ensures that every transcript, every sentencing algorithm, and every AI-derived suggestion is filtered through the lens of professional judgment and ethics.

For court reporters, this law is more than policy—it’s a precedent. It affirms that the profession will not be replaced, but rather elevated through thoughtful integration of technology. With proper oversight, AI can become a tool—not a threat.

The Champions Behind the Law

Credit for this groundbreaking piece of legislation begins with two names: Delegate Cliff Hayes Jr. (D–Chesapeake) and Delegate Michelle Lopes Maldonado (D–Manassas). Del. Hayes introduced the core concept—that AI should never be used in the legal system without human supervision—while Del. Maldonado served as the bill’s primary sponsor. Together, they built bipartisan support in both chambers of the General Assembly.

Del. Maldonado emphasized that HB 1642 was the result of over a year of collaboration among legislators, legal professionals, and technologists. Her leadership was crucial in bridging the gap between innovation and responsibility. “We must protect the dignity and fairness of our legal process,” she stated during floor debates, noting that human oversight ensures accountability in decisions that profoundly affect people’s lives.

Governor Glenn Youngkin signed the bill into law in April 2025. Although he proposed minor technical amendments, his support helped cement the law’s place as a national model.

The Role of the NCRA

Much of the advocacy work behind the scenes came from the National Court Reporters Association (NCRA). Led by President Keith Lemons and Executive Director Dave Wenhold, the NCRA recognized early that HB 1642 could become a landmark moment—not just for Virginia, but for the entire nation.

Colin Brehm, NCRA’s State Government Relations Manager, was instrumental in coordinating meetings with lawmakers, submitting public comment, and educating policy stakeholders about the consequences of AI-only transcription. When an earlier version of the bill failed in 2024, NCRA’s team returned to the table stronger, crafting language that balanced innovation with judicial integrity.

The NCRA’s advocacy helped drive home a critical point: While AI can enhance efficiency, it must never compromise accuracy or due process. Their efforts helped lawmakers understand that human court reporters are not obsolete—they are essential.

Virginia Court Reporters in Quiet Solidarity

Though not as publicly visible as their national counterparts, court reporters across Virginia supported the bill through grassroots outreach, coordinated efforts via the Virginia Court Reporters Association (VCRA), and letters to local representatives. Their lived experiences—transcribing chaotic hearings, preserving delicate testimony, and ensuring accurate legal records—provided the human stories behind the policy.

While no individual Virginia reporter has been publicly credited as the sole driving force, their collective impact was felt through the associations and professionals who lent their credibility, expertise, and resolve to the movement. This was a community effort—proof that advocacy doesn’t always have to be loud to be powerful.

What the Law Actually Says

HB 1642 specifically requires human oversight of any artificial intelligence tools used in the judicial decision-making process. This includes:

  • Algorithms used in pretrial release decisions
  • Risk assessments for sentencing and parole
  • AI-generated court transcripts

In all such applications, a qualified human must supervise, interpret, and ultimately certify the information before it can be relied upon. This makes clear that AI is not an autonomous authority in Virginia courts—it is an aid to the human professional.

Why This Sets a National Standard

As other states weigh legislation involving AI in the courtroom, Virginia’s model stands out for its clarity and ethical grounding. Rather than rush toward full automation, lawmakers in Richmond took a step back to ask a fundamental question: What role should humans continue to play in our systems of justice?

The answer—enshrined in law—is that no algorithm, however advanced, can replace the judgment, contextual understanding, and ethical responsibility of a trained human being.

For stenographers nationwide, this is a beacon. If one state can recognize the danger of unchecked automation and choose instead to strengthen the role of professionals, others can follow. California, Texas, New York, Illinois—each could adopt similar protections with enough advocacy and legislative courage.

Where We Go from Here

Virginia’s HB 1642 is not the end of the fight—it’s the beginning of a new chapter. It challenges court reporters, legal professionals, and technologists to work together toward a future where AI supports—not supplants—human intelligence. It reminds us that ethical use of technology must always serve the public interest, not corporate convenience.

And it proves that progress doesn’t mean leaving people behind. It means bringing them forward.

To every lawmaker who voted yes, to every court reporter who made calls and shared stories, and to the NCRA for its fearless leadership—thank you. You have secured not only the record, but the integrity of justice itself.

Let this be the moment that stenographers stop playing defense—and start shaping the future.

Sources:

Disclaimer

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 Ethical Crossroads of Technology in Law – Why Attorneys Must Defend Human Court Reporters

As legal professionals navigating the accelerating terrain of virtual practice and generative AI, we face a pivotal moment. Technology offers speed and convenience—but at what cost? When it comes to creating the official court record, lawyers must look beyond efficiency and consider what’s truly at stake: accuracy, confidentiality, due process, and professional ethics.

The American Bar Association’s Formal Opinions 498 and 512, combined with the National Court Reporters Association’s white paper on ASR (automatic speech recognition), make one thing abundantly clear: blind adoption of ASR and digital court reporting systems, especially without disclosure, oversight, or verification, risks ethical violations and undermines justice.

⚖️ The Record Is the Foundation of Justice

Unlike marketing copy or blog posts, the court record is not a suggestion—it is the definitive evidence of what happened. The record informs appellate decisions, preserves witness testimony, and protects procedural fairness. Errors, omissions, or misattributions can cost lives, careers, and fortunes.

ASR systems, even in 2025, are nowhere near the reliability threshold demanded by law. The 3Play Media “State of ASR” report revealed that top engines still hallucinate, drop words, fail at speaker identification, and struggle with formatting. Whisper Large V3, for instance, had a 28% formatted error rate. That’s not just a typo—it’s a due process disaster.

🧠 Lawyers Must Be Competent Stewards of the Record

ABA Formal Opinion 512 mandates that attorneys understand both the capabilities and limitations of any AI they employ. Yet many lawyers unknowingly receive transcripts generated by ASR or “digital reporters” without verification, consent, or oversight. This violates several ethical duties, including:

  • Competence (Model Rule 1.1)
  • Confidentiality (Rule 1.6)
  • Supervision of nonlawyer assistants (Rule 5.3)
  • Candor to the tribunal (Rule 3.3)

Imagine citing a transcript in a summary judgment motion, only to discover the ASR tool fabricated dialogue or missed objections. Who is liable then? You are.

🔒 Confidentiality and Privilege at Risk

AI tools are typically cloud-based, sometimes proprietary, and often “self-learning.” When lawyers input or accept confidential client content into such tools without consent, they may inadvertently waive privilege. ABA Formal Opinion 512 explicitly warns that informed consent is required if there’s any chance that privileged information might be stored, accessed, or repurposed by a generative AI tool.

How many lawyers are disclosing ASR usage to clients in deposition settings? Almost none. That silence isn’t just unethical—it’s potentially malpractice.

🧩 The Misleading Allure of Digital Court Reporting

Vendors tout AI-based transcription as faster, cheaper, and “just as good” as human court reporters. That’s false. The National Court Reporters Association white paper outlines the systemic failures of ASR:

  • Transcripts are often edited by non-certified typists, with no legal training.
  • Speaker attribution is inconsistent.
  • Background noise and overlapping speech degrade accuracy.
  • No one is legally responsible for the final product.

These are not minor glitches. These are dealbreakers.

If you wouldn’t accept a brief written by ChatGPT without verifying the case law, why would you accept a transcript generated by a machine that can’t distinguish between “statute” and “statue,” or attribute statements to the wrong speaker?

💡 A Simple Rule: Human Oversight or Human Error?

The legal industry is not anti-technology. But the technology must be subservient to the ethical obligations attorneys owe their clients and the courts. In a perfect world, ASR might assist—but never replace—the responsible judgment of a licensed Certified Shorthand Reporter (CSR) who understands the law, identifies speakers, interrupts for clarification, and can attest under penalty of perjury that the record is true and correct.

Without that level of human accountability, you are submitting evidence to courts and agencies on the honor system of an algorithm.

📣 It’s Time for Informed Consent and Transparency

Lawyers should demand clear answers from vendors and court administrators:

  • Who created the transcript?
  • Was it edited or proofed by a certified professional?
  • Was ASR used?
  • Were litigants or opposing counsel informed?
  • Who legally certifies the accuracy of the record?

If you don’t know the answer, your ethical obligations under ABA Rules 1.4 (communication), 1.6 (confidentiality), and 1.1 (competence) require you to find out.

🚨 The Pipeline Problem: Once It’s Gone, It’s Gone

Perhaps the most dangerous trend is the false sense of security that machines will always be “good enough.” The push toward ASR is hollowing out the very infrastructure that allows certified court reporting to exist:

  • Stenography schools are closing.
  • Certification boards are shrinking.
  • Machine and software vendors are shifting to digital-first products.

Once that human expertise pipeline is dismantled, there is no going back. There will be no seasoned professionals to rescue broken records or clean up machine-generated disasters. The record, quite literally, dies in the cloud.

🛡️ Attorneys Must Lead the Ethical Charge

As gatekeepers of justice, lawyers cannot sit silently while court records are quietly outsourced to error-prone machines with no disclosure, no certification, and no recourse.

Human stenographers are not an inconvenience. They are the last line of defense in a system that demands—and deserves—accuracy, context, and legal accountability.

You wouldn’t outsource closing arguments to Siri.

Don’t outsource the record.

Steno Imperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

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 Advocacy Turns Hostile – A Call for Integrity in Court Reporting

Court reporting is a profession grounded in trust, accuracy, and neutrality. In a world where voices often clash louder than facts, our duty is to preserve the record — faithfully, quietly, and with integrity. That ethic should extend beyond the courtroom.

Unfortunately, the tone of our professional discourse is shifting. And not for the better.

When Advocacy Becomes Performance

In recent years, we’ve watched advocacy in our field transform — not always into action, but into performative loyalty tests, visibility campaigns, and, in some cases, targeted hostility.

It’s no longer enough to support stenographic excellence. Now, there are social power structures, where disagreement is painted as betrayal and critique is branded as jealousy. Professionalism becomes performative, and popularity replaces principle.

The danger here isn’t just in tone — it’s in the message we send the next generation of reporters: Fall in line or be attacked.

The Subtle Game of Bait and Control

There’s a tactic that’s become increasingly common in toxic professional spaces: the public dare.

These messages don’t just mock or accuse — they go a step further, inviting their targets to react. The goal isn’t discussion. It’s bait.

It often sounds like:

“Go ahead, write about this.”
“I hope you post this in your next article.”
“Let her see this.”

These statements are not brave. They’re manipulative rehearsals — designed to provoke, escalate, and then flip the blame when someone finally responds. It’s not advocacy. It’s entrapment by ego.

And for anyone committed to ethical leadership, this puts them in an impossible bind: Stay silent and let the lie spread — or respond and risk being framed as unstable.

But here’s the truth: you don’t need to play the game to win.

What Real Leadership Looks Like

Real leaders:

  • Communicate ideas, not insults.
  • Invite dialogue, not drama.
  • Center solutions, not self.

Real leadership is quiet. It doesn’t need applause. It doesn’t need a spotlight. And it certainly doesn’t need to bait or belittle others to feel relevant.

Those who stand for the profession shouldn’t need to prove it by publicly tearing others down. The record of your work will speak for itself — and it will stand long after the hashtags fade.

To Our Sponsors, Schools, and Institutions

Your support helps shape this profession. That makes it essential to understand not just the messages being shared at events and on social platforms — but the methods used to control those narratives.

Who gets included? Who gets excluded?
Whose voices are elevated? Whose are silenced?
And most importantly: What behaviors are tolerated under your banner?

Your credibility matters. So does your silence.

To Those Watching Quietly

If you’ve felt unsafe raising your voice in court reporting spaces…
If you’ve stayed silent to avoid becoming a target…
If you’ve questioned whether there’s still room for ethics in this profession…

You are not alone.

There is power in staying grounded, even when others shout. There is strength in not responding to bait. There is integrity in walking away from performative battles designed to distract you from your purpose.

You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone who’s trying to pull you out of alignment with your values.

Let’s Set a Higher Standard

Court reporters protect the official record. But we must also protect the culture of our profession — the way we treat one another, the example we set for students, and the way we engage in disagreement.

We can:

  • Advocate without aggression
  • Lead without leveraging popularity
  • Mentor without manipulation
  • Disagree without defaming

The standard we accept becomes the standard we are.

This message was written anonymously, not out of fear, but out of respect — for the craft, the community, and the future. The record will reflect the truth in time. Until then, let it be known that not everyone chooses noise over ethics.

Steno Imperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

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 Might Be Cheaper—But It’s Gutting the Court Reporting Pipeline

Courtrooms across America are being pitched a slick solution: Replace court reporters with AI. It’s faster. It’s cheaper. It’s “the future.”

But behind the polished sales pitch is a dangerous reality.

This shift toward automation isn’t just about saving a few bucks on transcripts. It’s about dismantling an entire professional ecosystem that underpins accuracy, accountability, and due process in our legal system. If we allow AI to edge out court reporters—even partially—we risk collapsing a pipeline that once lost, cannot be rebuilt.

The Hidden Infrastructure of Court Reporting

When you think of a court reporter, you might imagine someone sitting quietly in a courtroom with a steno machine. But what you don’t see is the complex, interdependent system that makes that presence possible.

This is a pipeline built over decades. It includes:

  • Accredited court reporting schools
  • Steno machine and software manufacturers
  • Certification boards and regulatory bodies
  • Professional associations and continuing education programs
  • Mentors, instructors, and experts in legal transcription
  • Generations of highly trained professionals

This isn’t a workforce you can just “pause.” It’s a system that depends on constant investment, recruitment, and training. And if demand drops—because courts start choosing AI over humans—it all goes dark. Schools shutter. Students stop enrolling. Vendors stop innovating. Experienced professionals leave the field. And eventually, there’s no one left to step in when AI fails.

Once this profession is gutted, there is no backup plan.

Courtrooms Are Not Podcasts

Proponents of AI like to point out its success in transcribing meetings or phone calls. That’s fine for low-stakes environments.

But legal proceedings are a different universe.

Courtrooms involve:

  • Multiple speakers talking at once
  • Fast, emotional testimony
  • Complex legal jargon
  • Regional dialects, accents, and unfamiliar names
  • Off-the-record conversations, sidebar whispers, interruptions

AI doesn’t know who’s speaking.
AI doesn’t ask for clarification.
AI doesn’t understand legal context.
AI doesn’t certify the record.

Certified court reporters are trained for this. They manage the record in real time. They request repeats. They interrupt for clarity. They produce a legally certified transcript that stands up in appeals, in audits, in history.

AI might be useful. But it can’t replace the responsibility, judgment, and authority that court reporters bring to the courtroom.

A Warning from Business: Don’t Cut Yourself Out of Existence

Years ago, I worked in a competitive sales role. Our competitors began slashing prices to gain market share. Everyone expected us to follow suit. But our CEO stood firm: “Don’t chase them down. Hold the line.”

We did.

Some clients pushed back. “Give me a deal or I’ll go elsewhere,” they said.

I responded honestly: “If you want me here tomorrow—if you want this service, this experience—you need to support us today. Sure, you can get it cheaper. But we won’t be around if we give it all away.”

That logic applies to court reporting now more than ever.

Court reporters aren’t just service providers. We are guardians of the record. And if the system undercuts us to save short-term dollars, there will be nothing left when the tech falls short.

Cut too deep, and you cut us out of existence.

You Can’t Dial Down a Profession and Expect It to Survive

Court reporting isn’t something you can mothball and restart.

If student enrollment drops, schools close.
If courts stop hiring reporters, vendors disappear.
If new reporters don’t enter the field, the old guard retires with no replacements.

By the time courts realize AI can’t handle that fast-paced jury trial or cross-examination with multiple speakers, it’ll be too late. There won’t be anyone left to call.

We’re seeing it already. Programs are closing. Machines are getting harder to source. Skilled reporters are leaving the field due to retirements. And the legal system is becoming more and more vulnerable to inaccurate, uncertified, and uncorrectable transcripts.

This Isn’t Anti-Tech. It’s Pro-Accuracy.

Let’s be clear: Court reporters are not Luddites. We embrace technology. Many of us use high-tech tools like CAT (Computer-Aided Transcription), AI-enhanced editing, and remote deposition software every day.

We’re not resisting innovation—we’re demanding accountability.

AI has a role. It can help support our work, speed up certain processes, and assist with non-critical transcription. But it can’t—and shouldn’t—replace the human oversight required for accurate legal records.

When AI makes an error, who takes responsibility?
When the machine certifies the wrong name, the wrong dollar amount, the wrong verdict—who’s liable?
When someone’s life or liberty is at stake, “close enough” is not good enough.

What Needs to Happen—Now

We still have time to fix this. But we need coordinated action:

🛡️ Policy Reform

Laws must mandate the use of certified court reporters for official court proceedings. Some states already require this—others must follow before it’s too late.

🧠 Education Investment

Fund and promote court reporting schools. Provide scholarships. Bring awareness to the field as a viable, high-skill career path.

📢 Public & Legal Awareness

Educate attorneys, judges, legislators, and court administrators about what’s at stake. AI can’t replace the human eye and ear in high-stakes litigation. The record must be trusted.

⚖️ Responsible AI Use

Use AI to assist court reporters—not erase them. Let AI help with first-pass transcription, indexing, or archival search—not with certifying the record in criminal or civil trials.

If You Want Us Tomorrow, Choose Us Today

This is not about resisting progress. This is about protecting the integrity of the legal record. It’s about upholding due process. It’s about ensuring that justice is accurately preserved.

You can save money today by cutting corners.

But the cost of losing court reporters—the real cost—will come later. When transcripts are wrong. When trials are appealed. When records can’t be verified. When lives are affected.

If you want court reporters tomorrow, you must choose us today.

Because once this pipeline is broken, there’s no rebuilding it.

Disclaimer

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):

Ethical Red Flags – Are Attorneys Violating Rules of Professional Conduct by Retaliating Against Court Reporters?

By Steno Imperium

In recent years, a troubling trend has emerged in the legal industry: plaintiff attorneys—especially those self-funding litigation—are increasingly turning to digital reporting, automatic speech recognition (ASR), and electronic recording (ER) as cheaper alternatives to certified shorthand reporters. The reasons given often boil down to cost and convenience. But beneath the surface, there’s a deeper, more insidious motivation at play: retaliation.

Many attorneys, particularly in California, are still holding a grudge over the “Stop the SoCal Stip” movement. That movement, led by court reporters, sought to end the decades-long practice of stipulating away the legal requirement that the original transcript be maintained by the certified court reporter. While the intention was to preserve the integrity of the legal record, many attorneys viewed it as obstructionist and self-serving. Instead of understanding the ethical and legal reasoning behind the campaign, they felt slighted—and some are now retaliating by cutting court reporters out entirely.

But here’s the ethical question: When attorneys deliberately use uncertified, potentially inaccurate transcripts, or circumvent certified professionals to gain a financial advantage or express resentment, are they violating the Rules of Professional Conduct?

The answer may be yes.

The Duty of Competence and Fairness

Under the ABA Model Rules of Professional Conduct, which serve as the foundation for most state bar rules, attorneys are held to the following standards:

  • Rule 1.1 – Competence: A lawyer shall provide competent representation to a client.
  • Rule 3.3 – Candor Toward the Tribunal: A lawyer shall not knowingly make a false statement of fact or law to a tribunal.
  • Rule 3.4 – Fairness to Opposing Party and Counsel: A lawyer shall not unlawfully obstruct another party’s access to evidence.
  • Rule 8.4 – Misconduct: It is professional misconduct for a lawyer to engage in conduct that is prejudicial to the administration of justice.

When an attorney knowingly uses an uncertified transcript created by a non-licensed person—or worse, generated offshore and rubber-stamped by a notary—they are jeopardizing the accuracy and integrity of the record. That puts their own client at risk, may mislead the court, and undermines the very due process the justice system depends on.

This is not just a billing issue. It’s an ethical one.

Knowingly Using Inaccurate or Uncertified Transcripts

In jurisdictions like California, the law is clear: transcripts must be certified by a licensed Certified Shorthand Reporter (CSR). Government Code § 69941 and Business & Professions Code § 8025 require that any official transcript used in court must be produced by a licensed CSR.

Despite this, big-box agencies are now offering transcripts produced by digital recorders or overseas typists, which are then signed by in-house notaries—not CSRs. Attorneys are using these transcripts in court proceedings, depositions, and settlements, often without disclosing their uncertified origin.

If an attorney knows (or should know) that the transcript was not prepared by a licensed professional and uses it anyway to save money or “teach court reporters a lesson,” that could be considered gross negligence, lack of competence, or even fraud on the court.

Misleading the Court and Clients

Many attorneys are not fully disclosing to their clients or the court that the transcript in use was not certified. They assume that because a transcript appears in standard format and contains a notary signature, it is valid.

This assumption is dangerous. And willful ignorance is not a defense.

  • If the transcript contains errors that are not caught, it could alter the outcome of a case.
  • If a judge relies on an uncertified transcript, the ruling could be subject to appeal or reversal.
  • If clients later discover that their attorney used an uncertified record in a high-stakes case, they may have grounds for a malpractice claim.

Using uncertified or error-prone transcripts for the sake of cost-cutting or retaliation is the antithesis of the duty of candor and competent representation.

Retaliation and Ethical Gray Zones

Retaliation is rarely overt. But when attorneys deliberately choose to avoid hiring certified reporters because of a political or emotional grievance, rather than making decisions in their client’s best interest, they are operating in an ethical gray zone.

Consider the facts:

  • Attorneys are bypassing court reporters after the SoCal Stip movement, not because of performance issues, but because they were told “no.”
  • They are aware that certified reporters are the gold standard but intentionally seek out inferior alternatives.
  • They know or suspect that these alternatives are less accurate, but proceed anyway.

This behavior may violate the spirit of Rule 8.4, which prohibits conduct that is prejudicial to the administration of justice. In extreme cases, it could even constitute malicious interference with a professional’s livelihood.

While there is no statute that says, “An attorney may not retaliate against a court reporter,” the totality of the behavior—if it results in harm to clients, misleading of the court, or undermining the legal record—could absolutely trigger disciplinary scrutiny.

What Can Be Done?

1. Educate Attorneys on the Risks
Many attorneys are simply unaware of the legal and ethical risks they take by using uncertified transcripts. We must start speaking up and providing CLEs, bar presentations, and educational handouts that spell out what they are risking—not just for themselves, but for their clients.

2. Document Violations
If a transcript is uncertified, was prepared by a non-CSR, or appears altered or incomplete, document it. Keep records. If a judge or court has unknowingly accepted such a record, bring it to their attention.

3. File Bar Complaints When Appropriate
In flagrant cases of attorney misconduct involving misrepresentation of transcripts or intentional use of false or misleading records, a complaint can and should be filed with the state bar.

4. Demand Transparency from Agencies
Hold agencies accountable for disclosing who produced the transcript, where it was produced, and who certified it. Push for invoice transparency and clear designations when a transcript is not CSR-certified.

Final Thoughts

We are in the middle of an industry war—and ethics is one of the most powerful weapons we have. Attorneys are bound by strict rules, and when they knowingly violate them in pursuit of cost savings or retaliation, they open themselves to real legal and reputational consequences.

The next time a transcript is produced without a CSR certifying it, ask: Does the client know? Does the judge know? Do you, as counsel, understand what you’re putting on the record?

Retaliation is emotional. But ethics are structural. We must start holding people accountable to them before the entire legal record collapses into unreliability and chaos.

Certified court reporters are not just a tradition—we are a safeguard of justice. And the Rules of Professional Conduct are on our side.

Steno Imperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

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 Backfire of the Stop the SoCal Stip Movement – How a Campaign to Protect Court Reporting Accelerated Its Threat

By StenoImperium

When court reporters rallied to stop the Southern California stipulation several years ago, the goal was clear: protect the integrity of the legal record and defend our profession from slow erosion by digital and uncertified alternatives. On the surface, it was a movement grounded in legal ethics and professional preservation. But in hindsight, it had unintended consequences we must now confront head-on.

The Ironic Fallout

The irony? The Stop the SoCal Stip movement, designed to protect us from being replaced, may have actually accelerated the threat of our replacement. Instead of sparking an informed legal community ready to stand with us, the campaign was misunderstood, resented, and ultimately weaponized against us.

We told attorneys they couldn’t stip. What we didn’t do was explain why. In many instances, reporters refused to accept stipulations that had been casually used for over 40 years, simply saying “No” without the full context. There was no coordinated communication strategy, no mass education campaign, no CLEs explaining the chain of custody, certification laws, or legal consequences. Just silence—or worse, condescension.

The Emotional Repercussions

Plaintiff attorneys—many of whom had long-standing relationships with reporters—felt slighted. They were used to driving the process, not being overruled by those they considered subcontractors. Their egos were bruised. Their convenience was disrupted. But more than that, they were humiliated in front of opposing counsel and clients.

That humiliation turned to resentment, and that resentment has now turned into retaliation.

Make no mistake: many plaintiff firms are now using digital reporters, ASR, and electronic recording not because they believe in the technology—but because they want to punish us. They’ve said as much. This is a professional vendetta disguised as cost-cutting.

What They Don’t See

The worst part is that most of these attorneys have no idea why the Stop the SoCal Stip movement happened. They believe it was about greed. They look at invoices, see high per diems or transcript totals, and assume the reporter is making a killing. They don’t know that agencies are taking 50% or more, that reporters often don’t see a dime from exhibit handling, digital fees, or condensed formats.

They don’t understand that the stipulation violated the law in many states, including California, where trying to admit an uncertified transcript into evidence is a misdemeanor. They don’t realize that a stipulation between two parties does not override state law or court rules. They never saw the larger picture—because we failed to show them.

What They Need to Know Now

When we do explain it, the lightbulb goes off. One attorney, after learning the context, said, “Oh, that’s why the court reporters were all creating a stink about the SoCal Stip.” He got it. Not only that, he was outraged and ready to fight with us. This is what happens when we stop assuming people know the backstory and start telling it.

The Bigger Machine at Work

We also underestimated the broader market forces circling overhead. Big-box firms like Veritext, and even our own CAT software and hardware vendors, are not abandoning their digital strategy. Why would they? It’s a gold rush. If 10% of the $1.2 billion court reporting market has already gone digital, that’s $120 million annually. And Veritext has a shareholder mandate that every office must be at 50% digital.

This is no longer a niche innovation; it’s a hostile takeover.

And it’s being justified, in part, by the narrative that court reporters are expensive, inflexible, and unwilling to work with attorneys. That narrative—whether accurate or not—was fed by how we handled the Stop the SoCal Stip campaign.

The Offshore Certification Scam

Let’s not forget: agencies are now having notaries certify transcripts. In many cases, those transcripts are likely being produced offshore and then rubber-stamped in-house. The client believes the transcript is certified and official—but it’s not. That’s not just a due process problem. That’s a legal ethics crisis.

The Due Process Clause of the Fifth and Fourteenth Amendments guarantees fairness and reliability in civil and criminal proceedings. Substituting a certified legal record with uncertified, off-the-books transcripts violates the spirit—if not the letter—of due process. This is exactly what the SoCal Stip movement was trying to protect against. But we never connected those dots publicly.

Where We Go From Here

Now that the retaliation is here, and the digitization wave is swelling, we must do three things:

  1. Educate the Legal Community We need CLEs, white papers, one-pagers, lunch-and-learns—whatever it takes to explain why certified transcripts matter. We need to walk attorneys through what happened, why it mattered, and how they were manipulated into believing that we were the problem. We must win them back.
  2. Reframe the Hierarchy Stenographers are not interchangeable with digital recorders or voice diarists. We are the gold standard. We need to establish a clear professional hierarchy where licensed, tested, and certified court reporters sit at the top—commanding top-tier work and top-tier pay. Let ER and ASR serve the bottom of the market, but never let them sit at our table unchallenged.
  3. Seize the Leverage We Still Have We still have the law on our side in 25 states. We still have 27,000 working stenographers. We still have the gold-standard skillset that no AI can truly match. We have leverage. But leverage is useless if we refuse to use it. We must unite, tell the truth, say “no” when necessary, and build alliances with those who value the certified record.

Wag the Dog

There’s a reason Hollywood made a movie about this concept. Are we the dog? Or are we the tail? Right now, profit-driven conglomerates, tech platforms, and non-certified recorders are wagging us—telling us what our value is, what we should charge, and whether we deserve to exist.

We must reverse that. We must take back the leash.

This Is Our Hostage Negotiation

Hostage negotiators don’t hope for the best. They plan for the worst. And the worst is full-scale annihilation of the stenographic profession. No software support. No hardware vendors. No new students. Just extinction.

We must operate like that future is already here—because if we don’t act like it is, it soon will be.

We still have a window. A very small one. But inside that window is the opportunity to secure our future: a future where court reporters are respected, compensated, and irreplaceable.

The SoCal Stip movement was the right fight. But now we must finish the job we started—and this time, we must bring everyone with us.

Steno Imperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

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 Reporting at a Crossroads – How to Win the Battle for the Future of Justice

We are not witnessing the slow evolution of an industry—we are living through its attempted hijacking. The court reporting profession, long a bedrock of due process and legal integrity, is now in the crosshairs of opportunistic corporations, tech-driven shortcuts, and an alarming push to replace highly trained professionals with underqualified, unregulated substitutes.

Let’s call this what it is: a hostile takeover dressed up as innovation.

The Illusion of Progress – Big Box Agencies, Digital Recording & Offshore Transcripts

Big-box firms, agency giants, are not simply exploring digital technology; they are actively mandating it. Reports now confirm that Veritext’s shareholders have issued top-down directives requiring that 50% of all transcripts originate from digital recording sources—often produced offshore, then “certified” domestically by in-house notaries.

Not certified court reporters.

Not licensed professionals.

Not subject to oversight.

A notary’s stamp does not magically transform an outsourced product into a legitimate legal document. In California, for example, attempting to admit an uncertified transcript into evidence is a misdemeanor. And in 25 states, transcript production is legally restricted to licensed Certified Shorthand Reporters (CSRs).

Yet, these firms believe they can stipulate their way around due process. That’s not a workaround—it’s an outright subversion of constitutional protections.

Due Process Isn’t Optional

Let’s not forget what’s at stake here. The Fifth and Fourteenth Amendments of the U.S. Constitution guarantee that no one shall be deprived of life, liberty, or property without due process of law. The Supreme Court has repeatedly affirmed that due process includes procedural integrity—especially in judicial proceedings. If the record itself is suspect, the entire legal process is undermined.

That’s why the erosion of reporting standards is not a technical glitch—it’s a constitutional crisis in the making.

The SoCal Stip: A Trojan Horse

The Southern California stipulation movement (SoCal Stip), which allows attorneys to waive the statutory requirement for a certified reporter by mutual agreement, is the backdoor being exploited. And we’re not just being replaced—we’re being bypassed entirely.

But here’s the twist: when attorneys learn the truth, many are outraged.

One attorney, upon hearing that digital recorders and notaries were replacing CSRs, said, “Oh, that’s why the court reporters were all making a stink about the SoCal Stip.” Once he understood the broader implications, he didn’t just agree with us—he joined the fight.

This is where our opportunity lies: education. Attorneys aren’t the enemy. Many don’t know what’s happening. But once they see how digital recording undermines both the quality of the record and the integrity of the process, they become our allies.

Follow the Money: A Gold Rush of Exploitation

If you think this is a fringe issue, consider this:

  • Veritext alone could stand to gain $2 million per year from digital products at just 10% of their business.
  • Multiply that across similarly sized agencies like US Legal and others.
  • Add in the digital initiatives being taught by STTI across the country.
  • Factor in that the entire legal transcript market is estimated at $1.2 billion.

Suddenly, you’re looking at a potential $120 million market in digital alone—and that’s just a starting point.

Now consider this: if these firms could take over the entire market with digital—bypassing stenographers, cutting costs by 90%, employing offshore teams, and slapping a notary stamp on the end product—they’re chasing down the whole $1.2 billion. That’s not just business. That’s a modern-day Gold Rush.

And if we don’t draw a line, they will succeed.

A Future WITH Digital—But On Our Terms

Let’s get real. Digital isn’t going away. But it also doesn’t have to replace us. It can exist beneath us in a hierarchical model that places highly trained, licensed stenographic and voice writers at the top of the industry.

Just like we’ve seen in medicine or engineering, professions are protected by credentialing and professional oversight. A “Responsible Charge” designation, similar to what professional engineers use to preserve standards, is our path forward. We must advocate that the title “Court Reporter” be reserved only for those who have met the rigorous training, testing, and certification standards—stenographers and voice writers alike.

We must reject the “holacracy” model that seeks to place digital and ER on equal footing with highly skilled reporters. There is no equivalency. We are not interchangeable.

The Digital Recorder Pipeline – Flip It!

Here’s a strategic move: rather than reject digital recorders entirely, we need to convert them. Recruit them. Train them. Offer them a path to legitimacy. Christopher Day has the right idea—show them the value of becoming a true court reporter. Make stenography aspirational again.

We can grow our ranks by turning the pipeline around, using it to fill our own professional shortages and secure the future of our craft.

Visualize Our Profession at the Top

We are not tails to be wagged. We are the dog.

And we must start acting like it.

Agencies backed by private equity, insurance-driven interests, and attorneys who prioritize cost over constitutionality should not be driving this profession. We should. Certified court reporters—those who understand the gravity of the role we play in preserving the legal record—must be the ones charting the course.

Visualize this: a tiered industry model where court reporters command top-tier rates, reserved for high-value, high-stakes proceedings. Digital can serve the low-dollar end of the market, but it should never sit at our table as an equal.

Annihilation or Ascension – The Choice Is Ours

Here’s the raw truth: extinction is not a metaphor.

If we allow our numbers to dwindle, we won’t just lose contracts—we will lose our ecosystem. Without enough working reporters, CAT software vendors and hardware manufacturers won’t have a viable customer base. The moment we dip below sustainability, support disappears. No repairs. No updates. No replacements.

That’s how extinction happens. Quietly. Systematically. Irreversibly.

And don’t comfort yourself by thinking “It’ll be fine.” Hostage negotiators don’t do that. They assume the worst possible outcome and work backwards to prevent it.

That’s what we need to do now.

The Window Is Narrow, But It’s Still Open

There is still time to change the trajectory.

We have leverage:

  • Laws on the books in 25 states.
  • A pool of over 27,000 trained stenographers.
  • Judicial allies who understand due process.
  • Attorneys who care about integrity.
  • Legislators willing to listen—if we educate them.

What we need now is action.

Talk to your attorneys. Speak to your judges. Contact your legislators. Control the narrative. Call out misleading practices. Say no to stipulations that bypass certified reporters. Say yes to higher standards, smarter recruiting, and a stronger future.

We Are Not Commodities

We are not cogs in a machine. We are not interchangeable. We are the gold standard in an industry that cannot function without accuracy, ethics, and accountability.

We can still win this. But only if we act like professionals who understand our power.

Let’s reclaim our profession.

Let’s write our own future.

Before someone else erases it.

Disclaimer

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 Subtle Power of a Word – Why ASR Can’t Replace Human Court Reporters

In an era dominated by technological disruption, automatic speech recognition (ASR) tools have been widely touted as replacements for human court reporters. Proponents argue that these systems offer faster turnaround times, lower costs, and evolving accuracy. But those on the front lines of courtroom documentation know that in legal proceedings, accuracy isn’t just about words being transcribed phonetically; it’s about capturing meaning in context, intent, and the nuance of human communication.

Nowhere is this clearer than in the following exchange, taken from a real courtroom transcript (Names have been changed to preserve privacy.) involving a recalculation of time and customer data — where words like “cell,” “sale,” and “sales” might all plausibly appear. One misinterpretation by ASR could skew the facts entirely.

ATTORNEY: You’re saying, “balance it out.” But, Mr. Carter, don’t you agree that if you were to redo the —

JUDGE: Just — just redo the calculations on the ones that are highlighted in yellow. You can do that while you’re right there; right?

WITNESS: So there’s 420 minutes in a seven-hour day; right? So a seven-hour day, 420 minutes. Okay? So let’s take a ratio, .8, let’s see, times 7. It’s 5.6 customers per hour, instead of 6.4.

Okay. If you assume, over the course of — pardon me — 5.6 customers over the course of a shift. Okay? Let’s start with that.

So 5.6, times 20 minutes a shift, is 112 minutes. 420, minus 112, 308 minutes of available time, divided by 60, 5.13 hours.

ATTORNEY: And just to be clear, what — the cell that you just recalculated, what does it state in your table?

WITNESS: 5.87.

ATTORNEY: So the number you just calculated is lower than that; correct?

WITNESS: It’s 5.13 hour.

JUDGE: That’s the 20 minutes per customer?

WITNESS: That’s the 20 minutes, yeah.

JUDGE: And that’s for the sales per hour ratio of .8; correct?

WITNESS: That’s correct, your Honor.

ATTORNEY: And so, Mr. Carter, isn’t it true then that all of these cells would go down if you recalculated it with a lower number of hours per shift?

WITNESS: If I used seven, yes. But, again, it goes from 5.87 to 5.13. So from a material perspective, I’m thinking about this and saying, is it really different if it’s 5.8 hours of available time, versus 5.13 hours of available time in the perspective of, can you take a rest break or a meal break? I don’t think it is.

This passage is deceptively simple — but it reveals exactly why trained human court reporters remain essential. In this case, the term “cell” refers to a cell in a spreadsheet. But in a setting heavy with calculations, sales metrics, and labor math, an automatic transcription engine may hear and transcribe it as “sale” or “sell.” It’s a common homophone confusion — one that fundamentally alters meaning.

If ASR makes that substitution, the record is no longer just imprecise — it becomes factually incorrect. Misidentifying “cell” as “sale” changes the nature of the testimony, introduces doubt into the witness’s meaning, and could even mislead a judge or jury about what was actually said. Multiply this by dozens or hundreds of such confusions in a single day, and the credibility of the entire proceeding can be called into question.

The Real Limits of ASR

ASR is a predictive tool, not a comprehension tool. It makes probabilistic guesses about what it hears based on massive datasets. It lacks situational awareness. It doesn’t know that the person speaking is referencing a printed spreadsheet or recalculating math based on a formula. It doesn’t see the pen, the calculator, or the yellow-highlighted cells. It simply hears sounds and makes its best guess.

In contrast, a human reporter sees the witness referencing a document, understands the judicial exchange, and applies logic to the situation. A reporter knows that “cell” refers to a spreadsheet cell because they understand the full context — the topic, the terminology, and the flow of questions.

Comprehension vs. Translation

It’s easy to imagine someone defending ASR by saying, “It’s 90% accurate.” But in legal proceedings, 90% is not enough. Imagine reading a contract that is 90% accurate. Or a medical chart that is 90% correct. In law, every word matters — not just because of its face value, but because of its function in logic, persuasion, and legal interpretation.

This isn’t just an issue of “machine vs. human.” It’s a matter of professional responsibility and legal consequence. Human court reporters are trained not only in stenographic speed, but in ethics, terminology, and situational dynamics. They are officers of the court. Their job is to ensure that the record reflects what actually happened — not just what a machine thought it heard.

Why “Cell” vs. “Sale” Matters So Much

The difference between “cell” and “sale” in the provided excerpt is more than a typo. If the question had referred to a “sale,” it would suggest a financial transaction — something completely unrelated to the act of adjusting shift-length metrics in a spreadsheet. That would mislead anyone reviewing the transcript, especially those not present in the courtroom.

Furthermore, the testimony itself is numerical and layered: it involves minute-by-minute breakdowns, comparisons between 5.87 and 5.13 hours, and labor math involving “sales per hour” ratios. These are not concepts an ASR engine understands — and they are not the type of testimony that lends itself to ambiguous language. This kind of transcript demands a trained human ear and eye.

More Than Just a Typist

The myth persists that court reporters are simply fast typists. In reality, they are guardians of the record. They are trained to understand medical, legal, financial, and technical terminology. They are trained to recognize interruptions, correct speaker attributions, and preserve the integrity of spontaneous speech — all in real time.

In the transcript excerpt, you can see the human interaction: questions, clarifications, and recalculations happening off the cuff. The witness is working out the numbers live. The judge and attorneys are engaging directly. The tone is conversational but carries legal weight. It’s a setting that requires real-time adaptability — something no ASR system can achieve.

The Scopist Factor

I’m a court reporter, and this transcript came directly from one of my own proceedings. I was using a scopist at the time — and even they got these distinctions wrong. My scopist wasn’t a trained court reporter. They hadn’t taken the vocabulary, grammar, or legal coursework that we go through. They didn’t have experience with expert accounting witnesses or SEC hearings, and it showed.

This raises another major problem with relying on ASR and then using scopists and proofreaders to clean up the mess. If those scopists aren’t trained or experienced in our field, they won’t recognize the difference between a “cell” in a spreadsheet and a “sale” in a financial discussion either. The same errors will persist — only with a false sense of confidence that the transcript has been corrected.

In my opinion, the best scopists are former or retired court reporters. They’ve been in the trenches and understand how to preserve the integrity of a transcript. But even then, the reporter must provide oversight. If you’re using a scopist without that depth of experience, you must go over the work with intense scrutiny. We can’t assume someone else caught everything.

Why? Because the reporter is the responsible charge. The scopist and proofreader are subcontractors — they are not licensed officers of the court. They don’t certify the record. We do. Every word of that transcript ultimately comes back to us. We review it, correct it, and sign our name to it. And very often, we catch dozens of errors — some critical — that others miss. We don’t always report those corrections. Sometimes we notify the scopist. Sometimes we let it slide. Sometimes we fire them. But the bottom line is: we are the ones who are responsible for the accuracy of the record.

If you think the only work a court reporter does is hand off audio to someone else to transcribe and polish — you’re dead wrong. We are the last line of defense for accuracy and truth.

The Bottom Line

ASR can be helpful in many domains — meetings, lectures, casual interviews. But in a courtroom, where truth must be preserved without error, we must not be seduced by convenience. A machine might get the gist. But when it comes to justice, the gist is not enough.

One wrong word — like “sale” instead of “cell” — can alter the facts.

This is why court reporters matter.

This is why accuracy is human.

And this is why, in the balance between cost and credibility, we must continue to trust those whose job it is to listen carefully, think critically, and transcribe faithfully.

If you have transcript portions or real-world scenarios where ASR would likely fail — homophones, technical language, overlapping speech, or nuanced phrasing — I’d love to see them. Send them in. Let’s collect these examples, write about them, and show the world why human court reporters remain irreplaceable.

Disclaimer

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):

Empires Built on Convenience – The Parallel Collapse of Big Pharma and Court Reporting

A viral post has been circulating on social media, declaring that Big Pharma is on the verge of collapse. The post alleges that a “bombshell” report by HHS Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. links aluminum in childhood vaccines to skyrocketing autism rates, igniting a flood of lawsuits that could bankrupt pharmaceutical giants like Pfizer. Whether or not these claims stand up to scientific scrutiny, the story reveals a larger pattern—one that’s unfolding in a very different corner of public life: the world of court reporting.

At first glance, these two domains—healthcare and legal transcription—seem unrelated. But peel back the surface and you’ll find deep, structural similarities between Big Pharma’s alleged crisis and the systemic unraveling of the court reporting profession. Both involve industries built on credibility, public trust, and ethical responsibility—now threatened by profit-driven shortcuts, technocratic narratives, and a suppression of professional voices. Both are waking up to the consequences.

The Narrative Engine – Trust vs. Technology

In the pharmaceutical world, the trust equation is clear: Doctors prescribe, patients comply, and the public assumes that regulatory agencies are acting in our best interest. In court reporting, the equation is similar: Certified stenographers—trained, tested, and held to ethical standards—ensure an accurate legal record upon which justice depends.

But over time, both industries were infiltrated by a different narrative: that technology is superior, faster, cheaper, and good enough.

In medicine, this meant streamlining vaccine production and trusting adjuvants like aluminum to do the job of boosting immune response, with insufficient long-term study. In court reporting, it meant embracing digital audio recording and Automatic Speech Recognition (ASR) as quick fixes to a “reporter shortage” without addressing the root causes or performance failures.

In both cases, the human element was cast aside, deemed inefficient, and replaced with systems that promised more, faster—with less accountability.

Whistleblowers, Professionals, and the Suppression of Truth

The viral Big Pharma story positions RFK Jr. as a crusader—someone who has long spoken out against what he believes to be corporate negligence and government complicity. Whether or not his conclusions are accurate, his role is emblematic: The professional who says, “Something isn’t right,” and is vilified for it.

Court reporters are in that same position now. Stenographers and voice writers have spent years raising red flags about the accuracy, reliability, and ethical dangers of handing over the legal record to machines. And like whistleblowers in other industries, they’ve been mocked, excluded, and silenced—branded as “anti-tech,” “resistant to change,” or worse.

But the truth always leaks out. Attorneys complain about transcripts riddled with errors. Judges notice digital recorders misfiring or failing to capture key exchanges. Litigants lose faith in a system that can’t ensure a verbatim record. These stories are growing louder—and they echo the public outcry in other sectors when convenience turns into crisis.

Regulatory Capture and Deregulation

Big Pharma’s critics often point to regulatory capture—when government agencies designed to protect the public instead protect the industries they oversee. Former FDA heads working for drug companies. Conflicts of interest in clinical trials. Decisions based on corporate lobbying, not science.

In court reporting, we’re seeing the same playbook. State after state has eliminated licensing requirements, leaving the door open for vendors and digital operators with no professional oversight. Court administrators, some with ties to transcription companies, have steered procurement away from certified professionals and toward bulk contracts with low-bid tech firms. This isn’t innovation—it’s deregulation dressed up as progress.

The result? A race to the bottom. Stenographers are leaving the field, not because they’re obsolete, but because the system no longer values the accuracy, ethics, and experience they bring. Just like doctors pushed aside by protocols and algorithms, court reporters are watching their profession be hollowed out from the inside.

Collapse as a Pattern, Not a Shock

The post about Big Pharma frames collapse as sudden—a breaking point after years of ignored evidence. But collapse rarely happens all at once. It starts as a pattern: corner-cutting, cover-ups, silent departures, systemic rot. Then one event—one scandal, one lawsuit, one viral moment—cracks the facade.

Court reporting is nearing that inflection point. The mistakes of ASR systems in legal proceedings are no longer hypothetical. There are court cases where recordings are inaudible. Where transcripts are rejected. Where vital testimony is lost forever. If the public fully understood what’s at stake—that the legal record of their life-changing moment might be assembled by a machine or an offshore typist—they would demand answers.

Just as the public is questioning the safety of the pharmaceutical machine, it’s time to question who is really keeping the record—and what happens when no one is.

A Legal Reckoning on the Horizon

In the viral pharma post, lawsuits are seen as the vehicle for accountability. And they may play the same role in court reporting.

What happens when a wrongful conviction is appealed, and the transcript fails to reflect what was actually said? What happens when a civil case is overturned because key objections are inaudible or missing? What happens when litigants sue over due process violations tied to faulty transcripts?

This legal reckoning is coming. Attorneys are already starting to push back. Some judges are now writing orders explicitly requiring certified reporters. As awareness grows, so will the pressure to correct course—or be held liable for the consequences.

The Path Forward – Reclaiming the Responsible Charge

There is a solution. And it comes from a concept borrowed from engineering: the Responsible Charge. In the 1980s, the Society of Professional Engineers pushed back against the idea that anyone could call themselves an “engineer.” They created clear definitions and secured legal recognition that only licensed professionals could be in responsible charge of engineering work.

Court reporters must do the same. We must assert that the official legal record requires the oversight of licensed, certified, and accountable professionals—stenographic or voice writing. The tools we use may evolve, but the responsibility must not be handed over to machines or subcontractors with no legal or ethical training.

We must demand legislation that protects our role, ensures quality control, and holds bad actors accountable. The National Court Reporters Association and state associations must lead this charge. Otherwise, we risk becoming the next cautionary tale—an empire that fell not because it couldn’t adapt, but because it forgot what mattered most.

Collapse Isn’t Inevitable—It’s a Choice

Big Pharma’s alleged collapse may or may not come to pass. But the court reporting profession is at a crossroads—and the signs are all around us. We can either follow the same path of deregulation, denial, and decay… or we can chart a different course.

The parallels are too close to ignore. We must learn from other industries’ mistakes and reclaim our profession before it’s too late. Collapse isn’t inevitable. It’s what happens when we stop listening to the people who saw it coming all along.

Now is the time to listen—and act.

Disclaimer

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 Case for Court Reporter Cost Transparency and Industry Reform

For decades, court reporters have been the silent guardians of the record, producing precise, certified transcripts that serve as the cornerstone of justice. Yet the profession now faces not only existential threats from automation and artificial intelligence, but also growing hostility from its most crucial stakeholders: attorneys and the courts themselves. At the root of this conflict is a growing resentment over the rising costs of court reporting services—costs that attorneys believe are inflated, excessive, and unfair. But few understand the truth behind those numbers: that the people doing the actual work, certified court reporters, are rarely the ones benefitting from these bloated invoices.

This article makes the case for legislative reform to correct that imbalance, reestablish fairness in cost structures, and preserve the integrity of our justice system.

I. The Growing Backlash from Attorneys

In recent years, plaintiff attorneys in particular have expressed outrage over court reporting costs, especially in California. Many are self-funding litigation and say that deposition expenses are eating into their ability to pursue justice for clients. They are:

  • Using automatic speech recognition (ASR) for realtime because it’s cheaper
  • Stipulating to waive court reporters in civil trials
  • Sharing and copying transcripts with no regard to copyright or contractual restrictions

The backlash intensified after certified reporters successfully fought to stop the Southern California stipulation, a move seen by some attorneys as an attempt to hold them hostage to a costly, outdated system.

For over 40 years, attorneys relied on a stipulation to “relieve the court reporter of her duty under the Code to maintain custody of the original transcript.” This allowed attorneys to share transcripts freely and avoid paying multiple copy fees. When the reporter community pushed back on this stipulation—known in the industry as “Stop the SoCal Stip”—and demanded adherence to the rules that protect transcript integrity, many attorneys felt blindsided and resentful. They viewed it not as a legal safeguard but as a financial squeeze.

But the reality is more complex.

Behind the scenes, many large, corporate-run ‘big box’ agencies are fully aware that their inflated price structures are the driving force behind attorneys seeking cheaper alternatives like ASR, digital reporting, and electronic recording. In fact, this shift is not accidental—it’s a market that these big box agencies have helped create and are now perpetuating.

Why? Because cutting out the certified court reporter means they no longer have to share 50% of their profits. Instead, they can recruit and train their own internal workforce, pay them $10/hour, and still charge clients the same or more—while delivering a product that is uncertified and lacks the integrity of a licensed professional record. It’s not about innovation; it’s about maximizing profit through elimination of skilled labor.

This distinction is important. Many smaller, independent, court reporter–owned agencies continue to operate with integrity, transparency, and respect for the licensed professionals who make the legal record possible. These agencies tend to pay fair per diems, involve reporters in transcript-related revenue, and prioritize the quality and certification of the record over cutting corners. The real threat comes from consolidated mega-firms prioritizing growth and profit over professionalism and truth.

II. The Real Cost Breakdown

Many attorneys believe that the $3,000 or $5,000 deposition or trial bill they receive is going straight into the pocket of the court reporter. In fact, it is quite the opposite. Most certified freelance reporters in California are paid less than 50% of the invoice total. Here’s a closer look at where the money actually goes:

  • Per Diem Fees: Trials are often billed at $3,500 to $5,000 per day by agencies, yet the reporter might receive only $700 to $1,500.
  • Transcript Add-Ons: Condensed transcripts, concordances, exhibit handling, and delivery charges are frequently itemized and billed to attorneys, but the reporter sees none of this income.
  • Digital Access Fees: Some agencies charge for digital portals and online viewing, keeping 100% of those fees while the reporter receives nothing.

The agency, acting as a middleman, is profiting more than the professional performing the actual work. This lack of transparency is not only unfair—it is deceptive.

III. Origins of the Per Diem System

The per diem model emerged in California when civil courtrooms privatized official court reporters. Without a salary or benefits, freelancers were expected to cover their own health insurance, retirement, self-employment tax, and professional development costs. The per diem was meant to compensate for the lack of a W-2 paycheck.

Initially, agencies charged a flat administrative fee of $50 for a half day or $100 for a full day for trial in court. But over time, those agency fees ballooned, outpacing inflation, professionalism, and fairness. Now some agencies charge up to $3,000 just to schedule a reporter for one day.

IV. Proposals for Reform

The solution is not to dismantle the profession or accept the flawed premise that ASR can replace human expertise. Instead, we need structural and legislative reform. Below is a proposed framework:

1. Agency Price Transparency Requirement

Like hospitals and insurance companies, court reporting agencies should be required to disclose:

  • The court reporter’s invoiced per diem
  • The agency’s service markup or fee
  • Any separate charges for transcripts, exhibits, portals, or other services

Each invoice should include a “Court Reporter Compensation Disclosure” so attorneys can see exactly where their money is going.

Modeled After: Hospital Price Transparency Rule (CMS-1717-F2), requiring hospitals to disclose standard charges for items and services.

2. Per Diem Profit Cap (10% Rule)

Agencies should be limited to charging no more than 10% of the court reporter’s invoiced per diem as an administrative fee. This mirrors best practices in other industries:

  • Entertainment Industry: Talent agents representing actors or writers typically receive a capped 10% commission.
  • Real Estate: Brokers may receive a percentage of the transaction, but they are legally required to disclose their compensation.
  • Recruiting & Staffing Firms: Many are limited in markup percentage under contractual agreements, especially when sourcing W-2 contractors.

In each case, transparency and fairness are core tenets. The middlemen are compensated, but not at the expense of the professionals doing the work. There is no reason court reporting agencies—serving as glorified scheduling platforms in many cases—should be allowed to mark up services 100% to 200% or more.

3. Revenue Sharing Requirement for Add-Ons

If the agency is going to bill separately for:

  • Condensed transcripts
  • Word indexes
  • Exhibit scanning and storage
  • Digital delivery and online access

Then the reporter should receive a minimum of 50% of that income. This ensures the person who performed the work is compensated fairly, and it discourages agencies from unethically monetizing every element of the job without consent.

4. Fair Contractor Classification

The law should recognize that a certified court reporter operating as a 1099 independent contractor is absorbing costs normally borne by an employer, such as:

  • Medical insurance
  • SSI contributions
  • Payroll taxes
  • Continuing education and licensing

The per diem is not just a “rate for showing up”—it is the substitute for all the compensation and benefits of a salaried employee. Any reforms to classification should protect this model or incentivize salaried alternatives.

5. Attorney Education and Disclosure

All attorneys using freelance court reporters should be given a one-page notice explaining:

  • What per diem covers
  • How much the reporter is paid versus how much is billed
  • That certain services (condensed, exhibits, digital access) are agency-billed add-ons, often without compensation to the reporter

This builds trust and allows attorneys to make more informed decisions—including the option to book certified reporters directly.

6. Waiver Disclosure Requirement

If attorneys stipulate to waive a certified court reporter in civil proceedings, the law should require them to:

  • Sign a form acknowledging they are waiving the accuracy and certification of the record
  • Accept legal responsibility for any errors or omissions in the ASR-generated transcript
  • Disclose to clients that uncertified transcripts may compromise appeals, admissibility, and the official record

This protects consumers (litigants) and ensures transparency in decision-making.

V. Why This Matters

The unchecked rise in agency profits, combined with the use of uncertified ASR transcripts, is hollowing out a critical profession. Reporters are leaving the field, and students are discouraged from enrolling in schools due to the perceived instability and unfair treatment.

Attorneys are justifiably upset about costs. But we must help them understand that:

  • Court reporters are not setting the prices
  • Agencies are the ones inflating the costs
  • The solution is not to eliminate reporters but to eliminate the markup

VI. Call to Action

To save the court reporting profession and restore trust in our justice system, we must demand legislative reform now. Here are the next steps:

  • Draft model legislation: The Court Reporter Transparency and Equity Reform Act (CRTERA)
  • Partner with bar associations, plaintiff advocacy groups, and labor rights organizations
  • Educate lawmakers and court administrators on the problem
  • Empower reporters to speak directly to attorneys with truth and data

It is time to demystify the court reporting industry and shine a light on who is profiting, who is laboring, and who is getting left behind.

Let us restore fairness, professionalism, and integrity to the record.

Court Reporting – The Delta Force of Professions

There’s a joke circulating among court reporters lately: “We’re basically Tier One operators. We made it through Delta Force school—with punctuation.” And you know what? It’s not far from the truth.

In the elite world of U.S. military special operations, Delta Force selection is infamous. The washout rate is staggeringly high—typically 90 to 95 percent. Candidates are subjected to the most grueling physical, mental, and psychological challenges imaginable. Only a handful survive the brutal gauntlet to become Tier One operators.

Now consider court reporting school.

We may not carry rifles, but we do wield stenographic machines. We may not run combat drills in the woods, but we run five-minute takes at 225 words per minute—and do it over and over and over again until we pass, or collapse from sheer frustration. And statistically speaking, we’re right there with Delta: roughly 90% of students who enter court reporting school never graduate.

It’s time the world recognized the mental toughness, discipline, and elite focus it takes to become a court reporter. Because whether you’re a stenographer using a machine or a voice writer using your vocal cords, what we do is not just difficult—it’s extraordinary.

The Washout Rate That No One Talks About

Let’s start with the numbers. Most court reporting programs advertise graduation rates in the single digits. Some even lower. For every 100 students who start out starry-eyed, dreaming of a six-figure career and job flexibility, only 5 to 10 will ever graduate, pass the state exam, and begin working professionally.

Compare that to other professions. The graduation rate for law school? Over 80%. Nursing school? Around 85%. Even med school clocks in at about 84%. But court reporting? We’re down in the Delta Force zone—95% attrition. Why is this not discussed more widely?

Because people assume typing is easy.

Because they think we “just sit there.”

Because the public, and even some in the legal profession, have no idea what it takes to train your brain to process live speech at hundreds of words per minute, make instantaneous punctuation decisions, and create an accurate record in real time—without missing a beat.

The truth is: Court reporting is one of the most mentally taxing and technically specialized careers in the world.

The Mental Gauntlet

Just like Tier One operators undergo psychological stress testing, court reporting students face daily mental fatigue. It’s not just fast fingers—it’s a constant balance of rhythm, accuracy, and interpretation. Imagine listening to three people talk over each other, in legalese, with heavy accents, in a loud courtroom—and your job is to capture every single word.

If a name is said once and never repeated, you still have to get it. If a judge mumbles a ruling, you can’t miss it. If an attorney gets aggressive, rapid-fire, shouting objections mid-question, you better not flinch.

You can’t blink. You can’t zone out. You can’t daydream. You are the record.

Court reporting school is the proving ground for this level of mental acuity. It breaks most people. Only the toughest make it through.

The Physical and Emotional Toll

Like Delta Force candidates carrying 70-pound packs across mountainous terrain, court reporting students carry their own weight: financial burdens, anxiety, and the relentless pressure of “getting out of school.”

It’s not uncommon for students to spend four, five, or even seven years in school—enduring the heartbreak of missing a test pass by just a few words. Again and again.

Students practice until their wrists ache. They skip vacations, work side jobs, and sacrifice social lives—all for the dream of writing at 225 words per minute with 95% accuracy, live.

That kind of dedication takes Tier One grit.

Reframing the Narrative

So why don’t people respect the profession?

Because we haven’t told this story. We’ve let others define us. We’ve allowed automation companies and court administrators to dismiss us as “typists.” We’ve accepted the notion that we’re easily replaceable by artificial intelligence or digital recorders.

Enough.

We need to reframe our profession as one that requires the same elite-level training and excellence that society reveres in other fields—like aviation, medicine, and yes, special forces.

We are Responsible Charge professionals. Just as licensed engineers are in charge of the safety and oversight of construction projects, court reporters are in charge of the official record. We don’t just hit “record” and hope for the best. We evaluate context, punctuate meaning, and preserve the integrity of the judicial process. No machine can do that. No app can understand sarcasm, dialect, or intent the way a trained human ear can.

We Are Tier One

When you make it through court reporting school, you don’t just get a certificate—you earn your stripes. You’re one of the few, the elite, the trained. You can walk into a courtroom and handle a 200-page murder trial transcript without fear. You can write real-time for judges and deaf attorneys. You can cover high-profile depositions, arbitrations, and board meetings with confidence.

You are the record.

Like Delta Force operators who may never speak openly about their missions, court reporters work in the background. Quiet professionals. Invisible until needed. And absolutely indispensable.

A Call to Arms

This is not just a moment for celebration—it’s a moment for rallying. We need to:

  • Tell this story in our schools, to keep students motivated.
  • Share this message with the legal community, so they understand what we do.
  • Use it in recruiting, marketing, and media outreach.
  • Advocate for legislation that recognizes our professional status, including licensing, training standards, and transcript certification protections.
  • Band together across modalities—machine writers and voice writers—to protect and preserve the integrity of our profession.

We have nothing to be ashamed of. We are not antiquated. We are not obsolete. We are elite.

Final Thought

So next time you hear someone ask, “Isn’t court reporting being replaced by computers?”—look them square in the eye and say:

“You ever heard of Delta Force? Only 5% make it through. Court reporting school is just as tough. And we don’t carry guns—we carry the truth.”

Now pat yourself on the back, Tier One. You’ve earned it.

Disclaimer

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):

How Court Reporting Can Survive and Thrive in the Age of AI and ASR

In a world increasingly dominated by artificial intelligence (AI), automated speech recognition (ASR), and digital recording, many traditional professions face an existential threat. Court reporting — once considered the gold standard of legal recordkeeping — is among them. However, recent reflections from one of AI’s most influential pioneers, Geoffrey Hinton, the so-called “Godfather of AI,” suggest a way forward. His insights not only reaffirm the enduring value of human skill and accountability but also illuminate a survival strategy for stenographic court reporters in an increasingly automated landscape.

The Existential Risk — and Opportunity — in AI

Geoffrey Hinton, a cognitive psychologist and one of the original architects of deep learning, has recently become one of the most vocal critics of the technology he helped create. He warns that unregulated and rapidly advancing AI poses a significant existential threat to humanity. In an interview on The Diary of a CEO podcast, Hinton didn’t mince words: “We should recognize that this stuff is an existential threat and we have to face the possibility that unless we do something soon we’re near the end.”

But amid his ominous predictions, Hinton made an unexpected observation: some jobs will endure — not because they resist automation ideologically, but because they involve uniquely human traits. He specifically mentioned plumbing as one such profession — a job that combines cognitive skills with physical dexterity, problem-solving, and real-time decision-making in dynamic environments.

That description might sound surprisingly familiar to stenographic court reporters.

What Is a Stenographer — Really?

Too many outside the profession — and some decision-makers inside it — see court reporting as mere transcription. That misconception is one of the greatest threats to its survival. But in reality, a court reporter’s job is multidimensional: it combines realtime speech capture, legal knowledge, ethical judgment, formatting and producing official records, working with complex software, and serving as the officer of the court in charge of the integrity of the record.

And it’s time we clarify this once and for all:

Stenographers are professionals who capture the spoken word in real time to create a verbatim record.

They can use a steno machine (keyboard) or a steno mask (voice). Both modalities — machine writing and voice writing — are forms of stenography. Both rely on a trained human, real-time input, a specialized dictionary, CAT software, and rigorous standards for producing the official transcript.

Both are stenographers.

What sets us apart — and secures our professional identity — is our role as the Responsible Charge. Like licensed engineers in the 1980s who fought to preserve their standing when the title “engineer” was being diluted, we too must define our function. The Society of Professional Engineers published Responsible Charge statements to distinguish credentialed professionals from unqualified imitators. Similarly, many regulated professions — from engineering to architecture — have a Responsible Charge: someone who ensures oversight, accountability, and coordination of all subcontracted work.

Court reporters are that for the legal record. We ensure the integrity of the transcript from start to finish. We don’t just input data; we verify, certify, and take responsibility for the final product. That duty is not automatable. It requires a human, licensed professional with training, ethics, and a sworn obligation to accuracy.

Becoming the Plumber of the Legal Industry

If Hinton is right, then we must stop framing court reporting as an analog job in a digital world. Instead, we should reframe it as the plumbing of the legal system — essential, physical, and difficult to automate. Like plumbing, court reporting isn’t just about tools or technology. It’s about skill. It’s about judgment. It’s about the trust society places in you to ensure everything flows properly — and that nothing gets lost, misdirected, or contaminated in the process.

Just as plumbers crawl under sinks and troubleshoot complex systems in real time, court reporters operate in high-pressure situations: criminal trials, depositions, motion hearings, arbitrations, and more. And just as a leaky pipe can flood a house, a corrupted record can ruin a trial, jeopardize due process, or cost someone their freedom.

Adaptation and Innovation & The Dual Path Forward

To survive, court reporting must embrace a twofold strategy: adaptation and education.

1. Embrace Technology as a Tool, Not a Threat

Court reporters must integrate smart tools like AI, ASR, and machine learning — not to replace their job, but to augment it. Use AI to clean audio files before scoping. Use ChatGPT to summarize transcripts or prepare indexes. Embrace digital exhibit platforms and cloud backup solutions. These are not threats to our job — they are enhancements to our performance.

Imagine a doctor refusing to use robotic assistance during surgery or a pilot rejecting autopilot. The tools don’t replace them — they make them better. Court reporters deserve the same innovation.

2. Educate Judges, Attorneys, and Lawmakers

We must spearhead efforts to educate the legal community about what court reporters actually do — and what’s at stake when we’re replaced by unverified digital methods. That includes advocating for legislation that requires a certified human stenographer (machine or voice) to oversee any legal transcript used in court.

The public doesn’t know that many ASR “transcripts” used in courts are uncertified, error-ridden, and unauditable. It’s up to us to expose the truth, provide examples, and offer a professional standard that technology alone cannot meet.

Unity in Stenography – Steno Machine + Steno Voice

It’s time to end the artificial division between machine writers and voice writers. We must recognize that both use sophisticated software and produce certified, verbatim records under oath. What sets both groups apart from AI and ASR is human accountability. As our numbers dwindle, and demand surges, our ability to stand united becomes a core survival tactic.

Voice writers aren’t our competitors — they are our colleagues. If we fail to ally, AI and digital will fill the gap, and neither of us will survive. Together, we can reinforce the foundation of the profession, widen the pipeline, and fulfill the demand.

Messaging Matters – Rebranding the Profession

To thrive, court reporting must rebrand itself as a skilled, elite, and resilient profession, not an outdated relic. That means:

  • Telling stories of courtroom drama where only the reporter caught the key phrase.
  • Publishing transcripts of AI errors that could have derailed justice.
  • Highlighting moments when a court reporter saved a record — and a case.
  • Rebranding ourselves as the Responsible Charge — emphasizing our unique accountability and oversight role in the creation of the legal record.

Hinton said, “Someone like a legal assistant, a paralegal – they’re not going to be needed for very long.” If we act like data entry clerks, that’ll be our fate too. But if we act like the plumbers of the court — indispensable, vigilant, human — we will endure.

The Path to Resilience – What We Must Do Now

  1. Invest in training — not just in steno schools, but in legislative advocacy, tech tools, and courtroom confidence.
  2. Mentor the next generation — because if we don’t pass down our knowledge, no one else will.
  3. Unite under a national identity — a coalition of stenographers using voice and machine alike.
  4. Spearhead legislative reform — that mandates human oversight of legal transcripts.
  5. Market ourselves boldly — because silence is a vacuum that AI vendors will happily fill.

The Future Is Ours — If We Claim It

Geoffrey Hinton has spent decades building the machines that now threaten to displace millions. And even he, at the peak of technological knowledge, believes that some jobs — like plumbing — will remain. Court reporting is one of those jobs. But only if we fight for it, modernize it, and redefine it as indispensable.

We are the stewards of the record. No machine can replace our presence, our discernment, or our oath. If we lean into that — not away from it — we won’t just survive the age of AI.

We will outlast it.

#SavingSteno #CourtReportingMatters #HumansOverAI #RealtimeHeroes #StenoSurvivors #VoiceAndMachineTogether #TheRecordMatters #UnitedWeSteno #AIWontReplaceUs

Disclaimer

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 AAERT-Certified Digital Reporters Are Not the Answer to the Court Reporter Crisis

In response to our recent article, “When ‘No Options’ Isn’t an Option: The Quiet Collapse of Court Reporting in West Texas,” a well-intentioned reader offered the following comment:

“There is an entire national organization of certified digital reporters, i.e., not recorders, named AAERT—the American Association of Electronic Reporters and Transcribers at aaert.org. Peruse the website of ethics, bylaws, policies and procedures, testing protocol with the Best Practices Guide of 285 pages, from which the test is administered, which must be mastered to pass the test. So if you are having court reporter shortages, you may wish to investigate this opportunity that has been around since 1985. They may be able to help with your backlog.”

This is a common suggestion being repeated across the country—especially by those seeking short-term fixes to a long-term crisis. But the suggestion deserves a deeper look, because while it sounds like a helpful workaround, it misses the core issue and carries long-term risks that many in the legal field don’t fully understand.

The Heart of the Problem is the Court Reporter Shortage

No one denies that we are facing severe shortages of certified court reporters in many parts of the country. Courts in rural areas, like West Texas, are struggling to find enough stenographers to keep up with demand. Retirements are accelerating. Job openings are going unfilled.

But just because there’s a shortage doesn’t mean any available substitute will do.

This isn’t a matter of just finding someone to “take notes” or “record audio.” It’s about protecting the accuracy, integrity, and legal credibility of the official court record. And not all reporting methods are created equal.

AAERT and Digital Reporters – What They Do (and Don’t Do)

AAERT—the American Association of Electronic Reporters and Transcribers—has been around since 1985 and offers certification for digital court reporters and transcribers. Their members typically operate recording equipment in courtrooms, monitor proceedings, and then transcribe the audio later. Their website offers a code of ethics, best practices guide, and a 285-page study manual.

That all sounds reassuring on the surface—but here’s where the fundamental differences emerge:

  1. AAERT “reporters” are not live, realtime professionals.
    They operate equipment. They don’t produce realtime transcripts. They don’t interrupt to ask for clarification. They don’t capture the record verbatim as it’s happening.
  2. There’s no legal certification of accuracy at the moment the record is made.
    With a stenographer, the record is created live, by a licensed, sworn officer of the court. The person who creates the record is the one certifying its accuracy—right then and there. With digital recording, that chain of custody is broken. The audio is captured by one person, often transcribed by another, and then certified post hoc—if at all.
  3. They are not trained to the same standards as certified court reporters.
    A 285-page study guide may sound impressive, but it pales in comparison to the 2–4 years of schooling, 225 WPM testing requirements, realtime captioning expertise, and state/national licensing that stenographic reporters must complete to earn their title.

We Aren’t Facing a Tech Problem. We’re Facing a Prioritization Problem.

The commenter’s suggestion is based on a common (and dangerous) assumption: that this crisis is about tools. It’s not.

It’s about value.

Court reporting is being deprioritized by budget-conscious administrators and policy makers who don’t realize the long-term implications of replacing skilled professionals with machines and post-processors. They’re being sold a narrative that something is better than nothing—when in reality, substandard records can do more harm than good.

Judges and attorneys still overwhelmingly want live, certified reporters in their courtrooms. But they aren’t always aware how close the profession is to collapse—and they often don’t understand that once stenographic infrastructure disappears, it’s gone for good.

We can’t “pause” court reporting and pick it up again later. We can’t let schools close, manufacturers go under, and software companies fold—and then expect to reboot the entire ecosystem if AI or digital recording fails to deliver.

A Chain of Custody You Can’t Afford to Break

Legal records are only as strong as the system that creates them.

With a court reporter:

  • The record is created and certified in real time.
  • The reporter is trained to handle interruptions, overlapping voices, difficult terminology, and non-verbal cues.
  • The integrity of the record is protected from the moment of capture.

With digital systems:

  • Audio may be unclear, corrupted, or incomplete.
  • The person transcribing the record might not have been present.
  • Edits, omissions, or misattributions can go unnoticed—until it’s too late.

Let’s be honest: an audio recording is not a transcript. And a machine that records without context cannot deliver the same accountability or accuracy as a trained human expert.

So What Should We Be Doing?

Instead of pivoting to alternatives that weaken the legal record, we need to double down on preserving—and investing in—the profession that works.

Here’s how:

  • Fund and support stenographic schools. Many programs are full and thriving. Voicewriting is helping fill gaps quickly. The pipeline is there—but it needs backing.
  • Retain and reward working reporters. Raise rates, offer bonuses, and create incentives for certified reporters to work in rural areas or underserved courts.
  • Educate the legal community. Judges, clerks, and attorneys need to understand that not all “reporters” are created equal—and that realtime, certified professionals offer irreplaceable value.
  • Redirect funding toward sustainable solutions. Instead of spending millions building digital infrastructure, reinvest in training and keeping the gold-standard method alive.

This Isn’t About Gatekeeping. It’s About Standards.

We’re not dismissing the efforts of those certified by AAERT or those who operate digital systems with care and professionalism. But let’s not confuse accessibility with equivalence.

Digital recording may fill gaps in an emergency. But it’s not a replacement for the work of a licensed, realtime court reporter—nor should it be treated as one.

So, to answer the original question: yes, we’ve heard of AAERT. But we also know what’s at stake. If the legal system truly wants to protect the integrity of the record, we can’t afford to lower the standard.

We must protect, fund, and grow the profession that has served the justice system for over a century—before we replace it with something that simply sounds like a solution.

Disclaimer

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 Scopist Crisis – A Silent Threat to the Integrity of Court Reporting

In the world of stenographic court reporting, where accuracy and efficiency are paramount, one of the most underdiscussed yet increasingly destructive challenges is the growing difficulty in finding competent, trained, and reliable scopists. As stenographers continue to be overburdened with heavy workloads, fast-paced turnaround demands, and the need for real-time precision, the role of the scopist should be one of support and professional collaboration. Unfortunately, in recent years, it has instead become a source of deep frustration, costly mistakes, and growing mistrust.

This is not just a small, isolated problem—it’s becoming a crisis that undermines the integrity of our work, our deadlines, and ultimately, our profession.

Scopists Are Supposed to Be Our Safety Net

Court reporters often rely on scopists to catch errors, smooth out awkward phrasing, correct untranslates, and elevate a rough draft into a certified, professional transcript. In theory, the scopist should be the skilled second set of eyes—a professional who understands not only grammar and punctuation, but also the nuances of legal terminology, transcript formatting, and the reporter’s unique software and personal preferences.

But increasingly, that ideal isn’t matching reality.

Many reporters, including myself, have noticed a growing disconnect between what we expect from a scopist and what we actually receive. I’m on StenoCat32, and it has become painfully obvious that a surprising number of scopists who apply for work are not proficient with the software, fail to grasp even the most basic comma rules, and return transcripts riddled with errors—sometimes worse than if they had never touched them at all. Worse yet, they often miss obvious mistranslates, don’t run spellcheck, and fail to follow any reasonable style or format guide.

A Flood of Unqualified Applicants

I receive emails almost daily from individuals claiming to be experienced legal transcriptionists, often with resumes that tout years of experience but little to no court reporting background. The messages are often polite and professional in tone, with phrases like “attention to detail” and “strong understanding of legal terminology.” Yet when tested or assigned a trial job, these same candidates often return work that shows a complete lack of real-world skill.

Many of these inquiries are also from overseas applicants—some of whom are applying from countries with no direct exposure to U.S. legal proceedings, transcript formatting rules, or even proper American punctuation norms. It’s not unusual to see transcripts come back with British-style punctuation, improper spacing, or confusion over basic U.S. legal terms. While outsourcing has a place in many industries, it does not belong in the realm of certified court reporting without strict oversight and hands-on training. Our legal system depends on accurate, timely, and jurisdiction-specific transcripts.

The Risks Are Too High

Imagine this: A court reporter turns in their rough draft to be scoped overnight. The scopist doesn’t recognize a misstroke and lets “hearsay” stand as “hearse A.” The scopist also deletes paragraphing without explanation, introduces punctuation errors, and fails to fix “statue” where “statute” was clearly intended. The court reporter, relying on their scopist, certifies the transcript without catching all these mistakes.

Now that transcript is entered into the record—full of errors, legal misunderstandings, and formatting missteps. The court reporter is liable. The attorney is disadvantaged. The judge may lose faith in the reporter. And the profession takes yet another hit to its credibility.

We’re living in a time when ASR (automatic speech recognition) is knocking on the courtroom door, digital recording companies are promising faster and cheaper “solutions,” and the court reporting profession is under constant scrutiny. We cannot afford to allow incompetence to flourish in our support systems.

Software Matters

One of the biggest problems is that many scopists aren’t proficient in the software the reporter uses. StenoCat32, for example, is a powerful CAT (computer-aided transcription) system that offers extensive customization, job dictionaries, global tables, and style settings. But someone unfamiliar with the platform can easily override important global entries, change format settings unintentionally, or leave behind dozens of untranslated steno strokes.

Reporters using other systems—like Case CATalyst or Eclipse—report similar issues. A scopist who doesn’t know the software is like a surgeon’s assistant who doesn’t know how to hand off instruments—it’s dangerous, inefficient, and leads to mistakes.

Training in specific software platforms should be a baseline requirement—not a bonus. Yet too many scopists either bluff their way into jobs or assume that generic transcription experience is transferable. It’s not.

The Scopist Shortage Within a Reporter Shortage

Court reporting already faces a national shortage of trained professionals, with some counties in states like Texas, California, and Florida experiencing chronic vacancies. And now we’re seeing the same trend trickle down to scopists. The experienced, veteran scopists who built their reputations working with top-tier reporters are retiring or leaving the field. What’s left is a shallow pool of freelancers—many of whom are not adequately trained, not software-literate, and not committed to the level of professionalism this job requires.

This isn’t about gatekeeping—it’s about maintaining standards in a profession that is literally built on the word “verbatim.”

What Needs to Change

  1. Certification and Testing
    There should be a voluntary national scopist certification, at minimum, with software-specific modules and real-world scoping samples required. Reporters should be able to hire from a verified directory of trained scopists, the same way court reporters are vetted through state licensing boards.
  2. Software Proficiency
    Scopists must be fluent in the CAT software they claim to work in. A 10-minute test scoped in the reporter’s software of choice should be mandatory before hiring.
  3. Higher Pay for Quality
    Just as court reporters charge premium rates for realtime work or daily copy, there should be an industry-wide shift to pay top dollar for trained, responsive, skilled scopists. If scopists are treated like disposable vendors, we can’t be surprised when they don’t deliver excellence.
  4. Collaboration and Communication
    Reporters and scopists should be working as partners—not strangers exchanging files in a vacuum. Better communication around preferences, job dictionaries, and expectations is key.
  5. Domestic Priority
    While some overseas scopists may be excellent and capable of learning, there should be a prioritization of domestic professionals who understand U.S. legal culture and language. At the very least, these applicants should undergo additional vetting and legal terminology testing before being considered.

A Call for Professional Integrity

Court reporters are under more pressure than ever to deliver flawless work in record time. We cannot do that without reliable, trained, and intelligent support. Scopists are not optional—they are essential—but only when they are competent and conscientious.

If the scopist community wants to be seen as true professionals, they must be held to professional standards. Reporters must also raise their expectations, share feedback, and demand better—not just settle out of desperation.

It’s time to restore excellence to the team behind the transcript. Because our words matter—and every person who touches them must treat them with the same care, precision, and pride.

Disclaimer

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

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Protecting the Integrity of the Legal Record Nationwide – A Formal Request for NCRA to Lead on ASR Policy Reform

A National Model Law to Regulate the Use of ASR and Preserve Human Oversight in Legal Proceedings

As part of this effort, I respectfully ask that NCRA spearhead a coordinated legislative campaign across all 50 states, using this proposal as a model law. NCRA can play a vital role by providing state associations with a standardized legislative template, policy talking points, and limited strategic support in advocating for adoption within their jurisdictions. By empowering local leaders with consistent resources, messaging, and guidance, NCRA can ensure a unified national response that protects the profession and upholds the integrity of the legal record in every courtroom, across every state.

LETTER TO NCRA LEADERSHIP

StenoImperium

June 26, 2025

To:
NCRA Board of Directors
c/o Marcia Ferranto, CEO
National Court Reporters Association
12030 Sunrise Valley Drive, Suite 400
Reston, VA 20191

Re: Proposal to Establish a National ASR Licensing and Oversight Policy Initiative

Dear NCRA Board of Directors,

I am writing to propose that NCRA take a national leadership role in advancing legislative protections around the use of Automatic Speech Recognition (ASR) and AI in court reporting. Specifically, I propose that NCRA adopt and promote a model law prohibiting the use of ASR-generated transcripts in legal settings unless certified by a licensed stenographic or voice writing reporter.

The rapid and often unregulated proliferation of digital reporting and ASR threatens the integrity of our profession. These technologies, when used without qualified oversight, result in flawed records, erode public trust, and endanger due process. However, when responsibly managed by trained, licensed professionals, technology can enhance accuracy and efficiency.

I believe NCRA is uniquely positioned to spearhead a national policy initiative that defines this boundary and preserves the essential role of human accountability in legal recordkeeping.

Enclosed is a policy proposal and model framework for a national initiative titled the Court Reporter Certification and Automated Transcription Integrity Act. It is designed for flexible adoption by state legislatures, licensing boards, and judicial councils.

I respectfully request that NCRA consider adopting this model as part of its national legislative priorities, and that it provide support to state associations seeking to implement this framework at the local level.

I would be honored to assist in developing this initiative further, in collaboration with the Government Relations and Legislative Affairs Committee.

Thank you for your leadership, your advocacy, and your ongoing commitment to protecting our profession and the integrity of the legal record.

With respect and appreciation,

StenoImperium, CSR

📘 ENCLOSURE: NATIONAL POLICY PROPOSAL

Proposal Title:
Court Reporter Certification and Automated Transcription Integrity Act – National Model Framework

🔹 Proposal Summary

This proposal recommends the adoption of a national model law by NCRA and its affiliate associations to ensure that ASR and AI-generated transcripts may only be used in legal proceedings when reviewed, certified, and controlled by a licensed stenographic or voice-writing court reporter.

🔹 Core Principles

  1. ASR is a tool, not a substitute.
    Only trained, licensed professionals may use ASR within their authorized duties.
  2. Certified human oversight is mandatory.
    No ASR transcript may be considered official without review and certification by a licensee.
  3. Unlicensed ASR use is unauthorized practice.
    Any legal transcript produced by AI or ASR alone is inadmissible and illegal.
  4. Human responsibility cannot be outsourced.
    The final transcript must be tied to a human who bears legal and ethical responsibility.

🔹 Model Policy Language for States

“No transcript generated by Automatic Speech Recognition (ASR) or artificial intelligence shall be considered official, admissible, or certifiable for use in court or deposition proceedings unless reviewed, signed, and certified by a licensed stenographic or voice writing reporter authorized in the state where the proceeding occurred.”

🔹 Implementation Strategy

  • Create a downloadable legislative toolkit for state associations
  • Provide model bill language and talking points
  • Offer training webinars on how to advocate for the policy
  • Encourage collaboration with bar associations and state licensing boards
  • Leverage NCRA’s Government Relations Committee for lobbying support

🔹 Benefits to NCRA and the Profession

  • Reinforces NCRA’s leadership in ethical tech policy
  • Protects the role of licensed reporters in every state
  • Helps prevent job displacement by unregulated automation
  • Preserves the accuracy and reliability of the legal record
  • Rebuilds trust with the legal community

To this date, 9/1/2025, I’ve received no response from the NCRA.

An Urgent Call for Federal Action – Protecting the Legal Record in the Age of ASR

To the NCRA Board of Directors and Executive Leadership:

As our profession stands at a technological crossroads, we are faced with a choice: lead the conversation on responsible innovation—or watch from the sidelines as automation reshapes our industry without us. This letter is a call to action, urging the National Court Reporters Association to take the lead on a federal initiative that would preserve human oversight in legal transcription across the United States.

We know the threat: Automatic Speech Recognition (ASR) and AI-driven tools are rapidly replacing live, licensed professionals in courtrooms and depositions. These technologies are being deployed without proper regulation, certification, or accountability—often marketed as cheaper, faster, and “good enough.” But good enough is not justice.

Errors like “five oh two” misinterpreted as 5:02 a.m., or key legal terms garbled by AI, are no longer hypothetical—they are showing up in real transcripts, in real courtrooms, with real consequences.

This isn’t just a professional issue. It’s a constitutional one. It’s a due process issue. It’s a national threat to the integrity of the legal record.

Introducing the Federal Legal Record Integrity and Certification Act

To address this crisis head-on, I have developed a federal legislative and regulatory proposal: the Federal Legal Record Integrity and Certification Act. Its purpose is simple, but powerful: to ensure that no legal transcript used in a federal court, agency, or federally funded program may be accepted unless it has been reviewed and certified by a licensed human court reporter or voice writer.

It is built around a core truth: ASR is a tool—not a substitute.

What the Proposal Does

✅ Requires Licensure-Based Oversight

All transcripts used in federal proceedings—civil, criminal, administrative, or immigration—must be certified by a licensed stenographer or voice writer. This ensures human accountability.

🚫 Prohibits Unsupervised ASR

Transcripts generated solely by ASR without human certification would be inadmissible in federal courtrooms or federally funded programs, such as legal aid services.

🏛 Regulates Through Agencies

The DOJ, AOUSC, LSC, and other federal bodies would implement uniform certification and quality standards through rulemaking.

💰 Conditions Federal Funding

Any state court or agency receiving federal funding for transcription services must comply with these certification standards. This gives the proposal teeth and reach.

Why NCRA Should Lead This

NCRA has long positioned itself as the national voice for preserving the integrity of the record and the protection of licensed court reporters. But the threat of digital encroachment is now bigger than any one state. We need a national standard. We need a federal firewall.

This is your opportunity to:

  • Reassert national leadership over the professional and ethical boundaries of transcription.
  • Rally your membership base and affiliated state associations under a unified cause.
  • Educate federal legislators and judicial leaders about the risks of unchecked ASR adoption.
  • Be the organization that modernizes court reporting without surrendering its soul to automation.

Strategic Path Forward

I propose that NCRA:

  1. Endorse the Federal Legal Record Integrity and Certification Act as model policy.
  2. Include this initiative in your 2025 Government Relations legislative priorities.
  3. Coordinate with federal lobbyists and legal policy groups to identify congressional sponsors (e.g., Rep. Hank Johnson, Sen. Dick Durbin).
  4. Submit formal petitions or letters to federal agencies like the DOJ, AOUSC, and Legal Services Corporation urging the adoption of certification rules.
  5. Mobilize members and state leaders to support this campaign with testimony, outreach, and data.

The Stakes Are Clear

Without a federal safeguard, ASR-generated transcripts will continue to be adopted as the default—cheap, fast, and dangerously flawed. And once the federal government legitimizes uncertified AI-based transcripts, states will follow.

But with NCRA’s leadership, we can reverse this trend. We can protect consumers, elevate standards, and ensure that the legal record in this country remains what it has always been: a professional, certified, and accountable product of human expertise.

We do not need to fear technology. We need to govern it. Let’s show the country what real leadership looks like.

With appreciation and urgency,
StenoImperium, CSR
Court Reporter | Advocate | Technologist

There is a path forward for a federal-level law or regulation, and while court reporting is traditionally regulated by the states, there are strategic federal entry points that can support or mandate national standards. Here’s how you can approach it:

🇺🇸 FEDERAL STRATEGY: Enacting National Protections for the Legal Record

🏛️ Goal:

Pass a federal law or regulation that:

  • Requires licensed human oversight for any transcript used in federal courts or federally funded legal proceedings.
  • Prohibits ASR-generated legal transcripts from being admissible unless certified by a licensed professional.
  • Establishes a national legal record integrity standard across jurisdictions.

🔹 Option A: Congressional Legislation

📜 Proposed Title:

Federal Legal Record Integrity and Certification Act

📘 What It Would Do:

  • Mandate that any transcript used in federal courts, administrative hearings, or federally funded legal programs (like legal aid or immigration proceedings) must:
    • Be certified by a licensed stenographer or voice writer.
    • Be inadmissible if produced by ASR without human oversight.

✅ Potential Impact:

  • Covers all federal courts (U.S. District, Circuit, Bankruptcy).
  • Influences state systems that rely on federal standards or funding.
  • Applies to agencies like the EEOC, DOJ, USCIS, and federal contractors.

🏛️ Congressional Committees to Target:

  • House Judiciary Committee (Subcommittee on Courts)
  • Senate Judiciary Committee
  • House Education & Workforce Committee (for vocational licensure)
  • House and Senate Appropriations (for funding conditions)

🔹 Option B: Federal Agency Regulation

If legislation is too slow, advocate for regulatory action via federal agencies.

🔧 Agencies That Could Set Rules:

  1. Administrative Office of the U.S. Courts (AOUSC)
    → Can issue rules of procedure and contracting standards for U.S. courts.
  2. Department of Justice (DOJ)
    → Can mandate transcript standards in civil rights and criminal prosecutions.
  3. Federal Communications Commission (FCC)
    → Already regulates captioning and transcription accuracy for public access.
  4. Department of Labor (DOL)
    → Could tie workforce development grants to licensure protections.
  5. Legal Services Corporation (LSC)
    → Could mandate licensed professionals for legal aid-funded transcript work.

🧩 Federal Language Sample (for Congress or AOUSC)

Section X – Human Certification of Legal Transcripts

No transcript generated through Automatic Speech Recognition (ASR) or artificial intelligence technology shall be accepted by any federal court, agency, or federally funded legal program unless reviewed, certified, and signed by a licensed court reporter or certified voice writer legally authorized to perform such duties in the jurisdiction of record.

The Attorney General and Director of the Administrative Office of the U.S. Courts shall issue regulations ensuring compliance with this requirement across all federal proceedings.

🏛️ Possible Federal Champions:

  • Sen. Dick Durbin (IL) – Chair of Senate Judiciary
  • Rep. Hank Johnson (GA) – Chair of Subcommittee on Courts
  • Sen. Sheldon Whitehouse (RI) – Advocate for court modernization
  • Rep. Robert C. “Bobby” Scott (VA) – Vocational protections champion

Federal Legal Record Integrity and Certification Act

Proposal Summary for Congressional and Agency Consideration

Title: Federal Legal Record Integrity and Certification Act

Objective: To protect the accuracy, reliability, and admissibility of transcripts used in federal legal proceedings by requiring that any transcript generated using Automatic Speech Recognition (ASR) or artificial intelligence (AI) be reviewed, certified, and signed by a licensed human professional.

Background: With the rapid deployment of ASR technology in the legal system, the absence of trained human oversight has resulted in serious transcription errors, diminished due process, and a lack of accountability. Inaccurate transcripts threaten the fairness of federal trials, administrative hearings, and legal aid services. This proposal ensures that all federal legal records uphold the highest standards of integrity.

Key Provisions:

  1. Licensure-Based Oversight Requirement:
    • Any transcript used in a federal court, agency, or federally funded proceeding must be reviewed and certified by a licensed stenographer or voice writer.
  2. Ban on Unsupervised ASR Transcripts:
    • No transcript generated solely by ASR may be accepted in federal legal contexts unless it has been reviewed and certified by a licensed human professional.
  3. Agency and Court Regulation:
    • The Administrative Office of the U.S. Courts (AOUSC), Department of Justice (DOJ), Legal Services Corporation (LSC), and other relevant agencies shall implement standards enforcing this rule.
  4. Funding Conditions:
    • Federal grants to state courts or agencies for transcription services shall require compliance with human certification standards.

Federal Language Sample:

No transcript generated through Automatic Speech Recognition (ASR) or artificial intelligence technology shall be accepted by any federal court, agency, or federally funded legal program unless reviewed, certified, and signed by a licensed court reporter or certified voice writer legally authorized to perform such duties in the jurisdiction of record.

The Attorney General and the Director of the Administrative Office of the U.S. Courts shall issue regulations ensuring compliance with this requirement across all federal proceedings.

Implementation Pathways:

Option A: Congressional Legislation

  • Sponsor legislation through the House Judiciary Committee or Senate Judiciary Committee.
  • Tie to federal standards for admissible evidence or legal procedural integrity.

Option B: Federal Agency Rulemaking

  • Request AOUSC and DOJ to issue procedural standards.
  • LSC may adopt policy through its internal contracting and compliance mechanisms.

Benefits:

  • Restores trust in the federal legal system
  • Preserves due process and fair trial rights
  • Sets a national standard that can influence states
  • Prevents the erosion of qualified court reporting jobs

Supporters May Include:

  • National Court Reporters Association (NCRA)
  • American Association of Electronic Reporters and Transcribers (for licensed professionals)
  • Federal and state bar associations
  • Public defenders and civil rights advocacy groups

Next Steps:

  • Meet with congressional staff for sponsors (e.g., Rep. Hank Johnson, Sen. Durbin)
  • Draft outreach letters to DOJ, AOUSC, and LSC
  • Mobilize NCRA to formally support the proposal at the federal level

When “No Options” Isn’t an Option – The Quiet Collapse of Court Reporting in West Texas

In a rural county in West Texas, the justice system is running out of voices.

What once was a team of eight court reporters is now down to six — and that number is about to shrink even more. In a neighboring county, six positions will be reduced to four by the end of this year. Judges are scrambling. Reporters are stretching themselves thin to fill gaps. And despite a public job posting on MyTexasCSR.com, one local district court has received zero applicants. Now, that court is in talks with Verbatim to install digital recording equipment.

This isn’t a staffing issue. It’s a crisis.

And it’s not just happening in West Texas — it’s happening across the country. Courts are defaulting to digital not because it’s better, but because they believe it’s the only option. But is it?

What “No Options” Really Means

The phrase “there are no other options” is often used to justify a downgrade in service — in this case, swapping licensed professionals for microphones and software. But that phrase does something dangerous: it erases the real, human professionals who are still here, still willing, and still fighting to do this work.

The reporters in these counties haven’t disappeared. They’re stepping in where they can — but they’re exhausted, overwhelmed, and unsupported. “Some of us are filling in when needed,” says Melissa, a reporter in West Texas, “but it’s unsustainable.”

And she’s right. A patchwork of temporary help isn’t a solution. It’s a warning flare.

Digital Recording Isn’t a Fix — It’s a Gamble

When courts install digital recording systems, they often treat it as a neutral change — a technical upgrade, a budget-friendly solution. But here’s what they’re not telling the public:

  • No one is certifying the record.
  • There’s no one to read back.
  • There’s no accountability for errors.

In criminal court, that can mean the difference between freedom and incarceration. In civil court, it can cost parties tens of thousands in misinterpreted testimony. And in every case, it undermines public trust in the integrity of our legal system.

Microphones don’t create transcripts. People do. And the fewer people we have in those roles, the more broken our records become.

Why Are Reporters Leaving?

Let’s be honest: court reporting is a demanding profession that requires certification, continuous education, and skill. But when states fail to promote training, refuse to invest in student recruitment, and allow digital vendors to undercut the profession, reporters have little incentive to stay — let alone recommend the field to others.

In Texas, there are talented reporters willing to work — but they can’t cover every courtroom across every county without backup. And the younger generation isn’t stepping in fast enough, because we’ve failed to show them that this is a future worth pursuing.

What Needs to Change

We need a coordinated, national effort to:

  • Tie ASR/digital tools to licensed professionals only — so that machines don’t replace people, but instead serve them.
  • Fund court reporting programs and student support — especially in rural areas where the talent pipeline has dried up.
  • Document and expose the consequences of digital-only solutions — because the public deserves to know the risks.
  • Pass legislation state by state to define who is authorized to produce a legal record.

Most importantly, we need to push back against the false narrative that “there are no options.”

There are always options — they just require investment, vision, and will.

Melissa’s Message

Melissa’s story is just one of many, but it highlights the urgency of this moment. The decisions being made in small counties today will ripple across our entire judicial system tomorrow. And unless we act now, we may not have any qualified record keepers left to bear witness.

“I appreciate all you do,” she wrote. “Thank you for fighting the good fight.”

Let’s keep fighting — for Melissa, for Texas, and for every courtroom on the brink of silence.

Disclaimer

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):

ASR in Court Reporting – Tool, Threat, or Transformation?

In the rapidly shifting landscape of court reporting, one debate keeps rising to the surface: Is there room for ASR in a profession built on human accountability? As court reporters face mounting pressure from digital alternatives, the idea of incorporating Automatic Speech Recognition (ASR) — not just as a tool, but as a legitimate method of capturing the legal record — is sparking necessary and sometimes uncomfortable conversations.

Is ASR a threat? Could it be a helpful aid? Or, if deployed responsibly by a trained professional, could it become part of the solution to the court reporter shortage?

Let’s examine all sides.

⚖️ The Heart of the Debate: What Counts as a “Method”?

Stenography and voice writing are the two traditional, legally recognized methods of capturing a verbatim record. Each requires:

  • Rigorous training
  • Certification/licensure
  • Ethical responsibility
  • A human being present to oversee and correct in real time

ASR, on the other hand, is not a method — it’s a technology. It does not hold licensure. It does not have accountability. It does not understand context. And, most crucially, it does not sign and certify the record.

This foundational distinction is vital to the profession’s identity. If court reporters begin equating ASR with steno or voice writing, the lines between professional and machine-made transcripts blur — and the legal system risks confusing automation for expertise.

🚨 The Danger of ASR as a Standalone Method

Today, ASR is being sold and implemented in courts and depositions as a full-service solution, not merely a recording device. Companies tout it as faster, cheaper, and “good enough” — often with minimal or outsourced human correction afterward.

This is where many court reporters draw the line.

ASR is, by its very nature, probabilistic. It’s built to guess based on models, not understand intent or meaning. In court, where lives and liberty are on the line, even a 5% error rate can change outcomes. From misheard times like “five oh two” to misunderstood homophones or inaudible exchanges, context is everything — and machines don’t understand context.

Without a trained, licensed professional in Responsible Charge overseeing the process, these transcripts lack legal, ethical, and linguistic integrity. And yet, in jurisdictions where no licensure is required or budgets are tight, ASR is being sold as a complete replacement.

💬 A New Argument: What If a Stenographer Uses ASR?

Here’s where the conversation gets more interesting. A colleague recently posed a thought-provoking question:

“I use RSR (respeaker speech recognition) as my ‘machine.’ I sweat over my transcripts. I don’t use ASR as a full solution, but I’m treated as though I do. What if trained court reporters were allowed to use ASR as one of their tools?”

This raises a legitimate question: If ASR is used responsibly by a trained, certified stenographer — as part of their workflow, not in place of it — does that change the equation?

It just might.

✅ ASR As a Tool in a Human Workflow: Conditions for Responsible Use

Under very specific conditions, ASR could enhance the work of a stenographer, rather than undermine it. Here’s what that might look like:

  1. The stenographer remains the Responsible Charge.
    The human reporter is present (or monitoring live), legally responsible, and ethically bound to accuracy. The transcript bears their name and certification.
  2. ASR is used only as a supplementary tool.
    It might be used in scoping, auto-punctuation, or generating a rough draft — but never as the primary capture method. Steno or voice writing still drive the original record.
  3. All editing and proofing are done or directly supervised by the certified reporter.
    No outsourcing to non-certified contractors. No AI-only editing pipelines.
  4. It’s disclosed transparently.
    Attorneys and courts are told that AI assistance was used, not misled into thinking it’s a purely human-generated record.

When these standards are met, ASR becomes a modern tool in the court reporter’s arsenal — like a spellchecker or a transcription aid — not a substitute.

⚠️ The Slippery Slope: Risks Even With Responsible Use

But here’s the catch: even responsible use of ASR by stenos can lead to dangerous outcomes if not carefully defined and regulated.

  • Legitimizing ASR may backfire.
    Courts and agencies might say, “If a steno can use ASR, why not just use ASR alone?” The nuance of human oversight is often lost on administrators looking to cut costs.
  • It muddies the brand.
    The profession’s greatest strength is its claim to human accuracy and real-time correction. The more ASR enters the workflow, the less distinct that strength becomes in the eyes of clients.
  • The certification problem.
    If no one knows whether a transcript was produced via steno, voice, or AI-assisted ASR, how can courts trust the integrity of the record?

If ASR were permitted only under the control of licensed stenographers, and its use by unlicensed individuals or digital reporters were prohibited, could this strategy effectively curb the growing trend of agencies replacing certified court reporters with digital and ASR-based alternatives?

✅ WHY THIS STRATEGY COULD WORK

1. It reframes ASR as a professional’s tool, not a substitute.

By tying ASR use to licensure, you redefine it not as a replacement for human professionals, but as a supplementary instrument used under licensed authority — just like steno machines or CAT software.

This:

  • Delegitimizes digital-only solutions
  • Creates a legal distinction between “authorized” and “unauthorized” ASR use
  • Keeps human accountability front and center

2. It exposes the liability of unlicensed ASR use.

Once you draw that legal boundary, courts and agencies are forced to confront:

  • Who is certifying the record?
  • Who is responsible if it’s wrong?
  • Who can testify to its accuracy?

Right now, ASR vendors are dodging liability because no one is asking those questions. Licensure laws would bring them into the light.

3. It gives state licensure boards and court systems a foothold to push back.

This strategy could empower court reporting boards and bar associations to say:

“ASR use is fine — if and only if it’s under a license. Otherwise, it’s the unauthorized practice of law.”

That flips the script from defensiveness to regulatory offense.

4. It creates a clear consumer protection argument.

It’s not about blocking technology — it’s about protecting due process and the accuracy of the legal record. When framed that way, it appeals to judges, lawyers, and even legislators.

🚫 CHALLENGES TO IMPLEMENTATION

1. Most states don’t regulate digital reporting — yet.

You’d need:

  • New legislation or regulation in each state
  • Active enforcement mechanisms
  • Licensing boards willing to take a stand

States like Florida, Texas, and Arizona have let the digital takeover happen with little resistance. That culture needs to shift.

2. Vendors will fight back hard.

Digital reporting agencies like Verbit, U.S. Legal, and Planet Depos make massive profits from unlicensed ASR workflows. They will:

  • Lobby against licensing restrictions
  • Claim “innovation is being stifled”
  • Use access-to-justice and cost arguments

You’ll need solid PR, legislative alliances, and organized advocacy to counter them.

3. Courts are already over-reliant on digital.

If there aren’t enough licensed professionals to meet demand, courts will resist laws that limit ASR use. This is why growing the licensed workforce — including steno and voice — is key.

🧭 WHAT A MODEL POLICY COULD LOOK LIKE

Here’s what you might advocate:

“ASR shall only be used in the creation of legal transcripts when operated, reviewed, and certified by a licensed stenographic or voice writing court reporter. Any transcription or record generated through ASR or AI without licensed oversight shall be inadmissible in court, uncertifiable, and considered the unauthorized practice of court reporting.”

You can go further:

  • Require ASR audits by state licensing boards
  • Mandate that all transcripts be certified by a licensed reporter
  • Define digital-only records as unofficial or non-binding

🔥 BOTTOM LINE

Yes — promoting ASR as a tool strictly limited to licensed professionals, and banning its standalone use by unlicensed digital reporters, could strike a powerful blow to the unchecked spread of machine-made transcripts.

It reframes the entire debate around ethics, professionalism, and due process — instead of just technology.

If you’d like, I can help you draft:

  • A model state regulation or bill
  • A white paper or advocacy brief
  • A public campaign or association policy proposal

🧭 Where Do We Go From Here?

The court reporting community must take charge of this conversation before the tech companies define the narrative for us.

We should:

  • Promote tech-literate stenos, who understand and responsibly use new tools — without surrendering ethical control.
  • Reject any definition of ASR as a “method” of court reporting. It’s a tool, not a profession.
  • Encourage licensing bodies to set clear rules around tech-assisted workflows, ensuring certified reporters remain at the helm.
  • Educate the legal community about the differences between human-controlled and machine-controlled transcripts — and the dangers of automation without oversight.

🔥 Final Thought

ASR in the hands of a trained, licensed stenographer can be a tool for efficiency.
ASR in place of a trained stenographer is a tool for disaster.

Court reporters don’t have to fear technology — but we must not surrender to it. The profession’s survival depends not on rejecting tools outright, but on insisting that humans stay in charge.

The future isn’t just about how we capture words — it’s about who takes responsibility for them. And until a machine can swear an oath and take the stand, that responsibility must remain with us.

By: StenoImperium
Court Reporting is a profession — not a program.

Disclaimer

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 a State Association Leaves the State – Why ILCRA’s Move to Florida Is a Red Flag for Court Reporters Everywhere

In a surprising development that has left many court reporters scratching their heads, the Illinois Court Reporters Association (ILCRA) recently announced that its headquarters has officially moved—not to another city in Illinois, but to Altamonte Springs, Florida. According to the notice, all future correspondence should now be sent to:

Illinois Court Reporters Association
222 S. Westmonte Dr., Ste. 111
Altamonte Springs, FL 32714

This is the second time in recent years that ILCRA has changed its headquarters address, previously moving from Illinois to Broadlands, Virginia. The pattern of shifting operations out of Illinois raises serious concerns about transparency, governance, and control of one of the state’s most important professional associations for stenographic court reporters.

What’s Going On?

At first glance, this might appear to be an administrative change—simply a new mailing address. But seasoned observers of the court reporting profession recognize the bigger picture. When a state association outsources its core functions—membership management, finances, event planning—to a third-party association management company (AMC), it can result in a fundamental shift in control. The address change to Florida strongly suggests that ILCRA is now being run, at least administratively and possibly financially, by an out-of-state management company based there.

Why Florida? Why Not Illinois?

This move is especially concerning because of the stark contrast between the two states. Illinois is one of the top four states in the country in terms of court reporter population and certified professionals. It has strong certification requirements, an active court reporting community, and historically has been a leader in the steno profession.

Florida, on the other hand, is an unregulated state. It has never required licensing for court reporters. There are no certification or registration requirements, and much of Florida’s judicial system has already transitioned to digital audio recording and outsourced transcription services. In many courts across Florida, live stenographic reporters are no longer used.

The decision to move the headquarters of a premier Illinois professional association to a state that has not only failed to protect the profession—but has functionally moved away from it altogether—is baffling and dangerous.

Enter Dave Wenhold

This is where the name Dave Wenhold comes in. Wenhold, the current Executive Director of the National Court Reporters Association (NCRA), has long been involved in the business of managing associations—especially within the court reporting field—through entities like the Miller/Wenhold Association Management firm and its various iterations.

His name is familiar to those in the profession because of past controversies. Wenhold’s firms have been linked to multiple state associations, and not always with positive outcomes. Most notably, the New York State Court Reporters Association (NYSCRA) experienced what some members called an “erasure of records” and a loss of financial oversight during Wenhold’s tenure. According to whistleblower accounts, records were lost, bank accounts were drained, and the board was left in disarray. One former leader stated, “We had no records from the time of Dave’s management.”

ILCRA appears to be following a similar trajectory, with the heart of the association now relocated hundreds of miles away to a state that has nothing to do with Illinois court reporting. While ILCRA’s board of directors may remain local in name, the operational control may no longer be in their hands.

The Dangers of Out-of-State Management

When an association outsources operations to an AMC located out-of-state, it introduces serious concerns:

  1. Loss of Local Accountability: Members lose the ability to walk into an office, call a local administrator, or meet with staff in person.
  2. Financial Transparency Issues: Who has access to ILCRA’s bank accounts? Who signs the checks? Are financial statements independently audited?
  3. Legal Liability: Is ILCRA still legally registered as a nonprofit corporation in Illinois? Or is it now administratively operating under the umbrella of a Florida or Virginia entity?
  4. Mission Drift: The further operations move from Illinois, the easier it becomes to drift from the core mission of serving Illinois reporters specifically.

This Isn’t Just About Mail

Many professional associations do hire outside firms to handle tasks like conference planning, website maintenance, or dues processing. But the mailing address is a symbolic and practical cornerstone. It reflects where records are kept, where correspondence is received, and often where the corporation is administratively controlled.

ILCRA’s decision to move its headquarters to Florida, of all places, is a symbolic detachment from its Illinois roots. This is not about a P.O. box; it’s about centralizing control in the hands of a third-party company—likely the same management group that has faced scrutiny in other jurisdictions.

The Role of the Board: Are They in Control?

In a properly functioning nonprofit, the board of directors is responsible for overseeing operations, approving budgets, and ensuring that the organization stays true to its mission. But when day-to-day operations are handed over to an AMC, boards often become rubber stamps rather than watchdogs.

If ILCRA’s board is now relying entirely on out-of-state administrators for membership communications, financial transactions, and records management, then they must be held accountable. Members should demand clarity on these critical questions:

  • Who is the Executive Director of ILCRA?
  • Is ILCRA still registered as an Illinois nonprofit?
  • Are any Illinois-based staff employed?
  • What are the terms of the contract with the AMC?

How This Affects You

If you’re an Illinois court reporter, this move directly affects your professional home. ILCRA is your voice at the state level. It advocates for legislation, supports education and certification, and provides critical networking and continuing education opportunities. If those functions are being steered by non-reporters in another state, how confident can you be that your interests are being prioritized?

Even if you’re not based in Illinois, this trend should concern you. What happens to one state association can easily spread. If AMC management can shift the mailing address, financial control, and records of an association without full transparency, then other associations could be next.

What You Can Do

  1. Ask Questions: Reach out to the ILCRA board and request a copy of their current AMC contract.
  2. Check Records: Look up ILCRA’s nonprofit status and tax filings via the Illinois Secretary of State and IRS 990 databases.
  3. Get Involved: Attend the annual convention this September and ask these questions publicly.
  4. Elect Accountable Leaders: Support board candidates who demand transparency and oppose outsourcing core functions out-of-state.

Conclusion: This Is a Warning Sign

The relocation of ILCRA’s headquarters to Florida is more than a logistical update. It signals a potential hollowing out of member-led control and a dangerous overreliance on third-party management. The same patterns that caused chaos in other state associations are now quietly repeating in Illinois. It’s up to court reporters—members, students, and advocates alike—to sound the alarm before it’s too late.

ILCRA belongs in Illinois. Period. Any move away from that mission should be met with scrutiny, transparency, and swift corrective action. Especially when it’s moving to a state that has never protected the profession, never licensed reporters, and has already let digital recording take over the courtroom.

Disclaimer

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):

Crushing it with Carol!

Victory for Integrity – What the NCRA Election Teaches Us About Leadership and Toxic Culture

The results are in: Carol Reed Naughton has been elected Vice President of the National Court Reporters Association. In a race marked by contrasting philosophies and campaign styles, the outcome speaks volumes—not just about two candidates, but about the character of the steno community itself. Despite the manipulation, drama, and toxicity that crept into the election, integrity triumphed. This moment is more than a win for Carol—it’s a declaration that our profession refuses to normalize dysfunction.

The numbers speak for themselves: Carol Naughton won with 976 votes—an overwhelming 73.5% of the vote—compared to just 352 votes (26.5%) for Margary Rogers. It wasn’t just a win; it was a landslide. The message from the membership was clear: values matter. Several readers shared that while they had already made their decision, the information shared in these articles helped them recognize critical red flags—“timing, tactics, and content”—they might have otherwise overlooked. That clarity may have contributed to the crushing margin of victory.

And for every court reporter who’s ever felt disillusioned, bullied, or silenced by toxic circles within our industry, this win is for you.

“In Toxic Cultures, the Strong Don’t Survive—The Corrupt Do”

As Cynthia Mathieu, Ph.D., so aptly put it, “In a toxic culture, the strong don’t survive; the corrupt do.” That chilling reality plays out again and again in organizations where power is rewarded over principle, where popularity outweighs professionalism, and where those with the courage to speak up are pushed out, not uplifted.

But not this time.

In this election, we saw firsthand how one candidate openly bypassed the vetting process, downplayed past financial mismanagement, and ran a divisive campaign fueled more by visibility than values. The other followed the rules, earned the trust of the Nominating Committee, and focused her message on accountability and service. In an environment where dishonesty often hides behind performance and popularity, the steno community chose substance over spectacle.

That matters. That means something.

Toxic Leadership and the Toll of Misalignment

Toxic cultures thrive when there’s a gap between what leadership says it values and how it actually behaves. When the face of leadership is performative, but its actions are controlling, self-serving, or retaliatory, it creates an environment where honest people begin to suffer. They burn out. They lose trust. They get sick—mentally, emotionally, physically.

We saw evidence of that during this campaign. Members who dared to question Margary Rogers’ track record—her financial mismanagement during her tenure at MCRA, her refusal to relinquish control even after stepping down, her “strategic” bypassing of the NomCom—were met with backlash, not dialogue. People who raised valid concerns were painted as haters, not as advocates for due process.

It’s not strength that thrives in that environment. It’s survival instinct—rooted in manipulation, optics, and control.

And yet, good people spoke up. They told the truth. They did the hard thing.

They voted for the kind of leadership that doesn’t just say it values ethics—it lives it.

The Real Cost of Pretending to Fit In

This election revealed a deeper truth: those who align with toxic values may rise faster—but not higher. Not with the community watching. The moment we start compromising our own ethics to “fit in” with those who prize visibility over responsibility, we lose ourselves. Many in our field have felt that erosion—slow, creeping, but devastating. We become who the toxic culture needs us to be to survive: silent, compliant, and eventually, complicit.

But not this time.

This time, the profession saw through the tactics. We honored truth over tribalism. We validated process over manipulation. And we made space again for people who care—really care—about this profession and its future.

For the Misfits and the Courageous: You Belong Here

To those who’ve ever been alienated for doing the right thing, know this: You are not alone. This election proves that the steno community is capable of discernment, unity, and strength. There may be pockets of toxicity still lingering—small circles that thrive on control and drama—but the greater body of reporters has spoken, and they chose accountability.

To the whistleblowers, the quiet leaders, the behind-the-scenes workers, the ones who prioritize service over self-promotion: we see you. And we are stronger because of you.

This is a moment of healing for our industry. A moment to reaffirm that leadership is not about clout; it’s about responsibility. It’s not about controlling narratives—it’s about building trust.

Healing, Then Rising

Let’s also acknowledge that standing up in toxic environments comes at a price. It’s exhausting to keep proving yourself, to constantly explain your values, to rationalize why you can’t just “go along” like others do. It can fracture your sense of self.

Sometimes, the real strength lies in stepping back, healing, and staying true to your deeper values. You are not weak for refusing to adapt to a culture that asked you to betray yourself.

That is what makes Carol’s win so powerful. Not only did she refuse to stoop to smear campaigns or performative tactics—she remained steady, transparent, and gracious throughout. In doing so, she modeled the kind of leadership this profession deserves.

And the community responded.

The Road Ahead

This election wasn’t just a test of popularity—it was a test of ethics, discernment, and will. And while one election result doesn’t wipe away the toxicity that still exists, it does light a new path forward.

Let this be the turning point where we no longer normalize performative leadership. Where we stop rewarding those who weaponize charm while abandoning duty. Where we don’t shame the “misfits” who leave when environments become harmful—but celebrate them for their courage.

Let this be the beginning of a new culture—one rooted in values, not vanity.

Because the steno community is watching. And this time, we chose right.

This victory shines brightly because of you—every voice that spoke up, every vote cast with clarity, every person who chose values over noise. Carol Naughton now leads the way, lighting a path toward a future grounded in ethics, service, and integrity. The storm has passed—and the road ahead is brighter because we chose to walk it together.

Disclaimer

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):

“Five-Oh-Two” & The Invisible Danger in ASR Court Transcripts

In a recent deposition, a witness gave what seemed like a minor detail in their testimony — but that detail reveals a significant flaw in the use of automatic speech recognition (ASR) systems in legal settings. The witness said:

A: “Well, in theory, you know, he’s just flagging shifts, but if, for example, you flag a shift that says, okay, this is at five hours and two minutes, if the opportunity was at four hours into the shift, and they chose not go then, and they chose not to go at four hours and 15 minutes, four hours and 30 minutes, four hours and 45 minutes, and they went at five oh two, well, it’s a different context under looking at whether or not the opportunity was provided.”

At first glance, this seems like just another rambling sentence in a long day of testimony. But take a closer look at how the witness phrased the critical time marker: “five oh two.” They did not say “five hours and two minutes” directly the second time. They didn’t say “5:02.” They said it casually, imprecisely, in natural speech — the way people often do in everyday conversation.

A human stenographer understands this. A certified reporter, trained in real-time transcription, hears “five oh two” in context — surrounded by references to four hours, four fifteen, four thirty — and knows intuitively that the speaker is referring to five hours and two minutes into the shift, not 5:02 p.m. or a case number 502 or section 502 of a penal code.

But an ASR engine?

More likely than not, it would transcribe “five oh two” as “5:02” — a time of day. That’s not just a small formatting difference. That’s a potential misrepresentation of fact. If a legal argument hinges on when a decision or action took place during a shift, that subtle difference could change the interpretation of intent, timing, or negligence.

And here lies the deeper issue: ASR has no idea what the speaker meant.

The Illusion of Accuracy

Automatic speech recognition relies on massive language models that predict likely words and phrases based on sound patterns and statistical frequency. It doesn’t understand language. It doesn’t grasp context. It doesn’t know the difference between “five-oh-two” meaning a timestamp, a duration, a quantity, or an arbitrary number.

And yet, to the untrained eye, the transcript it produces looks perfect. It’s grammatically clean. It’s punctuated. There are no spelling errors. It creates the illusion of accuracy. But in court, illusion isn’t good enough. The record must be precise, contextual, and verifiably accurate. There is no room for interpretation errors masquerading as clarity.

This is why court reporters — real humans — remain critical in the courtroom and deposition suite.

Stenographic Intelligence vs. Artificial Guesswork

When a trained court reporter hears “five oh two,” they aren’t just hearing sounds. They’re interpreting meaning based on the surrounding discussion, the pace of questioning, the subject matter of the case, and even the tone of the witness. They know if a case involves shift work. They know if the line of questioning is about timing. They don’t just take down words — they take down meaning, word for word, as spoken, in context.

Compare that to ASR, which hears “five oh two” and might decide to write:

  • “5:02”
  • “502”
  • “five or two”
  • “five O two”
  • “five-oh-two”

None of these are inherently wrong in other contexts. But only one of them is right in this context — and ASR is guessing.

Worse yet, once that transcript is turned over as official, the error is baked into the legal record unless a human proofreader — usually at extra cost and time — combs through and identifies the mistake. Even then, what happens if the human doesn’t catch it? Or what if there’s no recording to verify?

What happens when a case outcome depends on that timing detail?

The Legal Stakes of “Five-Oh-Two”

Let’s assume this scenario plays out in a wrongful termination case involving labor violations. An employee was supposed to be offered a break or medical attention four hours into a shift. The employer claims the opportunity was provided, just not accepted. The timeline matters. If the employer didn’t offer that opportunity until five hours and two minutes into the shift, that’s potentially a breach.

If the ASR transcript says “5:02,” a defense lawyer might argue that it simply reflects an evening timeline, perhaps during a night shift. But if a court reporter correctly captures “five-oh-two” as referencing five hours and two minutes, in context with four-fifteen, four-thirty, and four-forty-five, that paints a different picture entirely.

A single transcription choice could sway the case.

That is the real-world risk of replacing trained reporters with automation.

Verbatim is Not Enough

ASR fans often argue that the technology is “good enough” and “always improving.” They point to better error rates in ideal conditions. But court isn’t ideal. Court is full of accents, background noise, people talking over one another, legal terminology, emotional outbursts, and, most of all, real-life ambiguity.

“Good enough” isn’t the standard. “Verbatim” isn’t even the standard. The standard is accuracy, context, accountability, and reliability. That can only come from a human professional who knows what’s at stake.

Court reporters don’t just write what people say — they preserve what they meant, precisely, under oath, on the record. They make judgment calls, distinguish dialects, clean up mumbling, and even ask for clarifications. ASR does none of that. It can’t. And until it can, it doesn’t belong in charge of the record.

The Cost of Convenience

The push to replace reporters with machines is usually driven by cost — not quality. But how many cases can we afford to get wrong before the costs of those mistakes outweigh the savings?

If you’re a lawyer, litigant, or judge reading this: Don’t accept convenience over clarity. If a case mattered enough to file, it matters enough to record right. And if you’re a court reporter, don’t stop advocating. The next time someone says your job could be done by a computer, just say:

“Really? Ask it what ‘five oh two’ means.”

And see how many answers you get.

Disclaimer

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):

A Strategic Bypass or a Pattern of Evasion? A Deeper Look at Margary Rogers’ Candidacy for NCRA Vice President

In every election, voters are asked to weigh more than personalities—they are tasked with evaluating qualifications, character, and a candidate’s respect for process. This year’s NCRA Vice Presidential race demands that kind of scrutiny. Two candidates stand before the membership: one, Carol Reed Naughton, nominated through the official Nominating Committee (NomCom) process after years of consistent service and transparency; and the other, Margary Rogers, a sitting board member who chose to bypass that process entirely, entering the race by petition. While that path is technically allowed, the implications behind the decision—and her track record—warrant a serious second look.

A Campaign That Started with a Circumvention

Rogers publicly stated during the NCRA VP Town Hall that skipping the NomCom process was “strategic” and intentional. That alone raises questions. The NomCom exists not just as a procedural formality but as a safeguard—a vetting mechanism to ensure those aspiring to leadership have been properly evaluated and deemed fit to lead. Rogers’ bypass of this vetting was not born out of exclusion. She didn’t apply. She didn’t interview. She simply circumvented, strategically.

Strategic… or calculated?

Members must ask: Why avoid a process designed to test readiness and suitability for leadership? Is it because she would not have passed that test? Or because she didn’t want to be asked tough questions about her past leadership conduct?

The Fiscal Toll of Skipping Steps

Margary’s petition campaign doesn’t come without cost—literally. Every ballot initiative, including one triggered by a vacated board seat, costs the Association over $1,600. If Rogers wins the Vice Presidency, her current director seat will become vacant, requiring yet another election and another hit to the Association’s budget. All of this at a time when NCRA resources are better used fighting legislative threats, promoting certification programs, and advocating for stenographers nationally—not cleaning up the financial side effects of political maneuvering.

For an association that prides itself on fiscal responsibility and transparency, it’s an ironic twist that one candidate is putting financial strain on the organization before even taking office.

A Troubling Legacy in Maryland

The deeper concern lies not in how Rogers entered the race—but in how she left her last leadership role. During her presidency at the Maryland Court Reporters Association (MCRA), the numbers simply don’t support her self-promotion.

Public comments from the current MCRA president paint a far different picture than the one Margary has pushed. She claims she tripled membership during her tenure. In reality, the numbers showed only minor fluctuations—42 members at the start of 2022, a peak of 47, and a decline to 36 by the time she left.

More alarming than the numbers is the fiscal wreckage she left behind.

In her final year, MCRA had over $13,000 in its coffers before its annual conference. After the conference—planned and executed under Rogers’ direction, by her own admission—the bank account dropped to just $204.18. The association was left with over $6,000 in unpaid liabilities. And while Rogers insists she was off the board in July, email documentation and firsthand accounts confirm she remained in control of conference planning through at least September.

This is not just mismanagement. It’s financial negligence. And it left the next generation of MCRA leaders scrambling to salvage the association, rebuild funds, and regain control over its digital assets—including its Facebook page, which Rogers reportedly refused to relinquish until very recently.

Character, Not Just Credentials

Leadership isn’t about ambition. It’s about stewardship.

Rogers’ defenders argue that her visibility, passion, and community-building efforts warrant recognition. But passion alone does not make a person fit to lead an organization like the NCRA. When a leader refuses to submit to standard procedures, misrepresents results, mismanages finances, and clings to control even after their term has ended, what does that say about how they will act when given more power?

Would the same fiscal mismanagement seen at MCRA repeat itself at a national level? Would the same resistance to transparency and bypassing of norms be tolerated when NCRA’s reputation is at stake?

Dirty Campaigning and Public Fallout

Throughout this election, Rogers’ campaign has also been marred by accusations of misinformation, manipulation, and coordinated attacks on those who question her qualifications. Past and current MCRA officials who’ve spoken out have done so reluctantly, many hoping to avoid internal division. But as facts surfaced—facts about finances, leadership decisions, and post-term behavior—it became impossible to remain silent.

The public comments now live online for any NCRA member to read, including a 30+ thread in response to Carol Reed Naughton’s detailed statement. These aren’t partisan potshots. They’re firsthand accounts from people who worked with Rogers, served alongside her, and were left to clean up after her.

The Clearer Choice

Carol Reed Naughton is not a flashy candidate. She’s not playing to social media or stirring up drama. She’s doing the work—quietly, steadily, and transparently. She followed the process. She submitted herself to the NomCom and earned the official nomination. Her board service has been marked by collaboration, not conflict. And most importantly, her leadership is rooted in ethical standards, fiscal responsibility, and respect for the Association’s mission.

This is not about one person’s charisma versus another’s. It’s not about optics or who can rally the most Facebook supporters. This is about the future of the NCRA.

Will we elect someone who skipped the vetting process, mismanaged a state association into near insolvency, and continues to stir controversy wherever she goes?

Or will we choose a candidate who leads with integrity, values process, and has the experience necessary to move the profession forward responsibly?

Your Vote Matters—Choose with Clarity

This year’s VP race isn’t just a fork in the road for the NCRA—it’s a stress test for the organization’s values. Members must decide whether leadership is earned through process and merit, or seized through tactics and theater.

If you believe in vetting.
If you believe in accountability.
If you believe in financial responsibility.
Then cast your vote for Carol Reed Naughton.

Because leadership should never be a strategic bypass. It should be a path walked with integrity.

Disclaimer

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 Becomes a Target – Clarifying the Role of Advocacy and the NCSA Chair

By: StenoImperium Editorial Board
Posted: June 23, 2025

It’s easy to throw stones from behind a pseudonym. It’s harder to lead with integrity, transparency, and vision.

A recent blog post circulating under the name Frank N. Sense accuses the current Chair of the National Committee of State Associations (NCSA) of unethical behavior for sponsoring a bylaw amendment and encouraging members to participate in NCRA’s election process.

Let’s be clear: what’s being portrayed as scandalous is, in reality, responsible leadership in action.

✅ Participation Is Not a Conflict—It’s the Process Working

Sponsoring a bylaw amendment does not disqualify a person from continuing to serve in a leadership role. In fact, NCRA bylaws encourage member participation, innovation, and dialogue through the amendment process. The accusation that a leader sponsoring a bylaw is in “a big, fat conflict” lacks any basis in law, ethics, or organizational governance.

It is not a conflict of interest for a member—whether in a leadership role or not—to support a policy change and also remind the community to vote. That’s what advocacy looks like in any healthy democratic organization.

🧠 Misleading the Community? Let’s Look at the Facts

The email cited in the blog post allegedly only referenced the VP election—yet the accusation is that it somehow sneakily confused that with the bylaw vote coming weeks later. That logic collapses under scrutiny. You cannot “confuse” readers by mentioning one event without even naming the other.

More importantly, the message did not come from NCSA or NCRA official channels—it was distributed via the Deposition Reporters Association (DRA), which is an independent organization and fully within its rights to encourage civic engagement among its members.

The only thing this email did was encourage participation. That’s what we want from our leaders—whether they’re supporting amendments or opposing them.

🧼 Let’s Call This What It Is: A Smear Campaign

The over-the-top language in the blog post—“smell the rat,” “big, fat conflict,” “underhanded advocacy”—is not the language of reasoned concern. It’s the language of fear tactics and political theater. These attacks aren’t about ethics. They’re about silencing those who challenge the status quo.

Calling for the resignation of a dedicated volunteer leader over their participation in the amendment process is not just overreach—it’s anti-democratic. We should be able to disagree on amendments without demanding people step down for having an opinion.

🕵️ This Isn’t About Names—It’s About Standards

Whether a blog is anonymous or signed, what matters most is the quality of the argument, the clarity of the facts, and the integrity behind the message.

The blog post in question—written by “Frank N. Sense”—doesn’t rely on data, sourcing, or procedural analysis. It leans entirely on inflammatory rhetoric, vague innuendo, and sweeping accusations.

Anonymity can serve a valid purpose. It can protect whistleblowers, foster candid dialogue, or allow dissenting views to be expressed without fear of retaliation. That’s one reason StenoImperium exists.

But when anonymity is used not to question power but to undermine responsible leadership without evidence, that’s not advocacy—it’s sabotage. It’s not about transparency or reform. It’s about creating confusion and manufacturing scandal where none exists.

So let’s not get distracted by pen names or blog titles. Let’s look at what’s actually being said—and whether it holds up under scrutiny.

🧭 What Kind of Profession Do We Want?

Court reporting is in a pivotal moment. We need serious conversations, informed debates, and respectful disagreements. Not kangaroo-court accusations wrapped in blog rants designed to incite outrage and defame those working hard for the profession.

Instead of shouting “conflict!” every time someone dares to lead, we should be asking:

  • Are they transparent?
  • Are they ethical?
  • Are they open about their views?

In the case of the NCSA Chair, the answer is yes on all counts.

We’re better than this. Let’s act like it.
Let’s uphold truth, transparency, and the democratic principles this association was built on.

Disclaimer

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 Truth Hurts, Especially on Event Day

On June 20th, the very day of a well-publicized industry gathering, an article I authored was published and distributed. It wasn’t timed accidentally. It was intentional. Not malicious—but intentional. Because accountability doesn’t take a day off, and public relations doesn’t outrank professional integrity.

For those asking, yes—I knew the event was scheduled. I also knew that many court reporters, students, and even vendors might attend without understanding the full context of the brand behind it. The timing of my article was meant to give those individuals a moment of pause. A chance to make an informed decision.

If that upset you, I suggest asking yourself why. If a piece rooted in factual documentation and analysis “ruined” the day, maybe the problem isn’t the timing—it’s the content.

I received a message from someone who said, “Seriously? I get an email from you regarding the branded, non-reporter entity known as Steno In The City (registered trademark) the very day of her conference? This is wrong.”

No, what’s wrong is holding a public event, asking for support, donations, and visibility—while actively avoiding scrutiny, transparency, and compliance. What’s wrong is calling something a “conference” when it isn’t registered, reported, or structured as one under state or nonprofit law. What’s wrong is silencing whistleblowers and painting any challenge as a personal attack.

And make no mistake—inside that room, there was buzz. You don’t write “this is wrong” in real-time unless something is being passed around, whispered about, or screen-shared during the breaks. That message didn’t come from quiet reflection; it came from a group reaction. That means the article hit its target. It landed. It disrupted.

I wouldn’t be surprised if, in the wake of that disruption, there were statements made from the stage or behind a mic that framed me as a “hater,” “bitter,” or “toxic.” That’s what happens when someone used to applause is met with accountability. They reframe criticism as persecution. They invoke phrases like, “I’m still standing,” or “After all I do for this community,” as if scrutiny is a betrayal rather than a basic standard of leadership.

This is a tactic. It’s performative martyrdom. It emotionally manipulates supporters into defending a figure instead of examining facts. And it works—on those who prefer personality over principle.

🗣️ Why That Works in Her Circles

This approach bonds her followers emotionally and discourages critical thinking. If she frames herself as a martyr, any legitimate critique becomes “hate,” and those who raise concerns are seen as toxic or jealous.

While we can’t confirm exactly what Shaunise Day said or how she framed it without direct evidence, my intuition aligns with a recognizable pattern she and her supporters have followed in past situations:

🧠 Likely Reaction Pattern (Based on Public Behavior)

  • Victim framing:
    Yes — it’s highly plausible she portrayed herself as being attacked, especially on the day of her event. She’s previously used emotionally charged language when facing critique.
  • Deflection and dramatization:
    She likely didn’t address the article’s content directly, but instead reframed it as a personal attack or “jealousy.” This helps deflect from any real questions of transparency or legality.
  • Performative resilience:
    A line like “I’m still standing” or “I keep going no matter who tries to tear me down” fits her public style — dramatic, affirmation-based, and meant to reinforce her image as a strong, unshakable leader.
  • Moral superiority:
    Positioning herself as the selfless giver (“after all I do for this community…”) and critics as ungrateful, bitter, or even evil (e.g. “that devil”) would not be surprising. She has a history of invoking righteousness and persecution in response to criticism.

Let me be clear: Criticism is not cruelty. Transparency is not sabotage. And truth doesn’t lose its value just because someone else is trying to sell a narrative.

It’s also worth clarifying the difference between what I did—and what a campaign candidate does. There have been murmurs that the timing of my article was somehow equivalent to sending campaign emails on the day of voting. That’s a false equivalency.

Here’s a clear breakdown:

TopicMy Blog ArticleMargary’s Campaign Emails
RoleIndependent journalist/bloggerActive candidate
IntentPublic commentary and critiqueDirect solicitation for votes
AudienceGeneral/public readership (with optional subscription)Targeted members using email for campaign purposes
TimingCoincided with a private/commercial event (not a regulated election)Sent during the 24-hour voting window of a professional election
Regulatory impactNo legal constraints on publication timingSubject to expectations of procedural fairness in a member election

In U.S. political elections, there are clear restrictions on campaign messaging during the voting period to ensure fairness and prevent undue influence. While NCRA isn’t legally bound to the same rules, ethical expectations still apply. A candidate sending multiple reminders—especially within the voting window—raises questions about equity and process.

I’m not running. I’m not campaigning. I’m not seeking influence over the ballot box. I’m shining a light on institutional behavior and leadership dynamics. That’s not electioneering. That’s accountability journalism.

I have no obligation to schedule truth around someone else’s party.

If your defense of this situation rests on phrases like, “She does so much for us,” or “She’s still standing,” I urge you to consider what kind of leadership model you’re supporting. Charisma and choreography do not replace compliance and credibility.

What I wrote wasn’t mean-spirited. It was necessary. And judging by the reaction inside that room on June 20th, it struck exactly the nerve it needed to.

And for the record: You’re unsubscribed.

DISCLOSURES

  • 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.
  • Steno In The City® is a registered trademark of its respective owner. This blog is unaffiliated, unsponsored, and not endorsed by Steno In The City®or Shaunise Day.
  • References to “Steno In The City” are purely descriptive and used for editorial critique under fair use.
  • Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions. All views expressed are based on publicly available information, direct experience, or opinion. Nothing on this site is presented as legal or professional advice.
  • The organization known as Steno In The City (a registered trademark) has, to date, made no public statement regarding these concerns.
  • My use of the phrase ‘Steno In The City’ is purely descriptive and used solely to refer to the trademark holder in the context of journalistic critique and commentary. No content on the site implies affiliation, endorsement, or partnership with the trademark holder.

***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 Campaign Emails Cross the Line – A Closer Look at the NCRA Vice President Race

The National Court Reporters Association (NCRA) has always stood as a professional beacon in the court reporting industry, grounded in ethics, transparency, and member representation. With the 2025 elections underway, the role of Vice President carries particular weight—especially during a time when our profession faces existential threats from automation, declining enrollment, and internal division.

So when campaign communications land in inboxes at 9:07 p.m. the night before the election, it matters how candidates present themselves—not just in policy, but in tone, integrity, and respect for the process. Unfortunately, Margary Rogers’ recent campaign email—sent to a wide distribution of voting members—raises several red flags, in my humble opinion, that deserve a closer look.

Full disclosure: I don’t personally know either candidate. I didn’t attend the town hall or participate in any pre-election discussions. I come to this moment not as a loyalist to one name or another, but as a concerned voting member responding to what landed in my inbox.

❖ An Email Received, But Never Subscribed To

Let’s start with the basics. Many NCRA members, including myself, received a campaign email from Margary Rogers, candidate for Vice President. The message was lengthy, formatted like a press release, and filled with links to promotional materials, text reminders, and endorsements. It was framed as a direct appeal for votes and came across more like a full-scale political campaign than a collegial invitation to support a peer.

The first problem? I never opted in. I never subscribed to receive promotional emails from this candidate, nor did I provide my personal email for campaign communications. So how did she get access? While this may feel intrusive, it’s important to clarify that it is not illegal. Under the federal CAN-SPAM Act, campaign or informational emails—especially those related to nonprofit associations—are not considered commercial spam and do not require prior opt-in. As long as the email includes accurate sender information, a physical address, and an option to unsubscribe, it generally complies with the law.

That said, this isn’t just about legality—it’s about fairness. If one candidate was allowed to use NCRA’s member contact data to launch a strategic email and texting campaign, while the other wasn’t given the same access or tools, that calls into question the equity of the process.

It appears that the candidate is using NCRA’s membership data—something that, to my knowledge, should only be made available under strict and equal-access guidelines. That begs the question: Was the same access and opportunity afforded to all candidates?

❖ Is This an Abuse of Member Contact Information?

Let’s clarify an important point: There is no inherent wrongdoing in using NCRA membership contact data during campaign season—if it’s done equitably.

Under NCRA policy, all vetted candidates are expected to receive equal access to the same communication tools—such as visibility in the Journal of Court Reporting, bios on the Election Center, and permission to communicate with voting members. The association does not prohibit candidates from sending direct emails or organizing text message reminders, as long as all candidates are given the same opportunity.

But here’s where it gets concerning: I received a campaign email from Margary Rogers. I did not receive one from her opponent.

That discrepancy is not just anecdotal—it points to a potential imbalance in how campaign access was offered, explained, or utilized.

This raises several critical questions:

  • Was Margary offered a list or contact channel that the other candidate was not?
  • Did both candidates know they could send campaign emails or text reminders?
  • Did the Election Committee provide the same guidance and tools to both sides?

Because here’s what matters:

  • ✔️ There’s no problem with using NCRA member contact data—if all candidates had access and were made equally aware of how to use it.
  • ❗ There is a problem if only one candidate used that access to launch a comprehensive outreach campaign, while the other remained silent—possibly because they weren’t informed, empowered, or resourced to do the same.

That’s not just a campaign strategy issue—it’s a matter of election integrity. The NCRA Election Committee is charged with maintaining a level playing field. If only one candidate made it into members’ inboxes, while the other didn’t, the membership deserves an explanation.

❖ A Campaign Laced with Subtle Smears

Substance matters, but so does tone. And in this case, the tone of Margary’s email was troubling.

Amid the long list of credentials and enthusiastic endorsements, the email makes a jarring pivot into subtle mockery of the opposing candidate—though without naming them directly:

“As cliché as it may sound on a flyer by the opponent’s supporters that ‘If you vote for the other candidate, you vote for both,’ DO NOT believe that… I know many of us Court reporters are not good at math, but you cannot vote for both candidates…”

This was clearly intended as a joke—but at whose expense? Not only does it trivialize the intelligence of court reporters (a deeply educated and highly skilled profession), but it casts unnecessary aspersions on the opposing candidate’s supporters, reducing their message to “cliché flyers” and implying they’re misleading voters.

It’s one thing to make a strong case for your own qualifications. It’s another to undermine others in the process. The email crosses that line repeatedly. Phrases like “not just about board meetings,” “legacy over ladder climbing,” and “choose the one who serves with sincerity” all subtly cast doubt on the character or motives of the opposition—without directly naming them or allowing a fair rebuttal.

This isn’t just poor form. It’s a concerning glimpse into the kind of leadership approach the candidate may bring to the boardroom: one more focused on marketing and optics than unity and ethical restraint.

❖ Style Over Substance?

The email reads like a polished PR document, complete with a Zoom background, campaign flyer, Google Forms sign-up, hashtags, and graphics. While well-designed campaign materials are not inherently problematic, they raise concerns about style eclipsing substance—especially in a volunteer-led professional organization.

We are not electing a brand. We are electing a Vice President who will help steer the future of our profession, act as a steward of member interests, and protect the integrity of our national body. Flashy deliverables, social media outreach, and cross-promotional buzz should not distract us from what really matters: the candidate’s track record, decision-making skills, and ethical grounding.

❖ The Shaunise Day Factor

While the email doesn’t mention her, it’s worth noting that Margary Rogers has shown ongoing support for and association with Shaunise Day—a controversial figure in the stenographic community. Day has repeatedly hosted events that raised questions about financial transparency, nonprofit compliance, and professional credentialing. Her leadership style and brand-driven visibility have sparked divisiveness within the industry.

The association between the two is not speculative. In 2019, Margary Rogers and Shaunise Day were both featured at the “Steno in the City” (a trademarked name) event in Washington, D.C., where Rogers was credited with assisting with event logistics, decor, and sponsorship. Additionally, Shaunise Day authored an article in the Journal of Court Reporting while Rogers served as chair of the NCRA Membership Committee. These instances reflect more than passing collaboration—they suggest a consistent professional alignment.

To be clear, association alone is not disqualifying. But it does warrant scrutiny—especially when one of the few other candidates for leadership in NCRA seems to align herself, directly or indirectly, with someone who has actively challenged institutional norms while skirting ethical lines.

If elected, will Margary bring that same media-first, influencer-style, rules-optional approach to the NCRA boardroom? Or will she enforce the very standards that some of her allies appear to flout?

We need leadership that defends the professional, regulatory, and legal integrity of our association—not alliances that weaken it.

❖ Who Is This Really About?

The most concerning part of the email is the feeling that this campaign is about elevating a persona rather than serving the profession.

Lines like:

“This is not about one more year. It’s about long-term, sustainable leadership. It’s about creating policy, driving change, and ensuring that your voice as a court reporter is heard, represented, and respected.”

…sound great on paper. But what do they actually mean in practice? What policies? What changes? What concrete actions have already been taken? It’s easy to invoke change and inclusivity as buzzwords. It’s harder to demonstrate tangible impact.

Let’s not confuse visibility for vision.

❖ The Vote Is Yours—Make It Count

Ultimately, members of the NCRA have a personal and professional obligation to vote for the candidate who reflects the values we believe should guide this association into its next chapter.

For me, that does not include Margary Rogers—not because she lacks credentials, but because her campaign choices reflect troubling patterns: email overreach, veiled attacks, influencer-style branding, and alignment with problematic industry figures.

Here’s Margary’s email so you can read and decide for yourself:

❖ Addendum: A Second Campaign Email

A credible source familiar with both campaigns confirmed that NCRA did not provide either candidate with a list of member email addresses specific to this election. One candidate gathered emails manually using ProLink—NCRA’s public-facing membership portal—copying member-by-member only those emails that individuals had chosen to make visible. The other, however, appears to have leveraged broader access to NCRA’s membership data.

Notably, a member who has not been active in ProLink—and hasn’t had a profile listed in years—received multiple campaign emails. This strongly suggests that internal database access beyond public tools was used. Given that Margary Rogers previously chaired NCRA’s Membership Committee, it is plausible that she retained access to the internal member database. While NCRA may not have formally granted her permission to use that data for campaign purposes, the outcome appears to reflect unequal access to voter contact information.

Further, I personally did not receive any campaign messages from the candidate who used ProLink, likely because I had removed my profile after receiving excessive spam. The discrepancy in outreach—both in quantity and reach—now appears less a matter of strategy and more a matter of access.

On the morning of June 23, at 5:47 a.m. Pacific (8:47 a.m. Eastern), just before the official 9:00 a.m. Eastern voting window opened, a second email from Margary Rogers was distributed to members. Nearly identical in tone, structure, and content to the first, the email again included the controversial line about reporters “not being good at math,” as well as repeated personal promotion tactics.

This second email establishes a pattern—not just a one-time outreach. While this likely does not violate federal law (such as the CAN-SPAM Act), it does raise procedural and ethical concerns, particularly if the Election Committee:

  • Did not clearly state whether repeat campaign emails were allowed
  • Did not offer equal tools, templates, or distribution opportunities to all candidates

Timing: The message was sent on the first morning of voting (June 23), reinforcing campaign messaging during the 24-hour voting window. While not illegal under NCRA’s rules, it raises ethical concerns if only one candidate is using repeated direct outreach.

Reinforces Unequal Visibility: You now have confirmed receipt of two campaign emails from Margary Rogers. You’ve received zero emails from her opponent. This further underscores the earlier point: whether or not member contact tools were made equally available, their use clearly was not equal in execution.

Its arrival at the very start of voting highlights not just message repetition, but a deliberate use of timed campaign outreach—raising further questions about balance, tone, and strategy in this election cycle. In addition to email outreach, Margary Rogers has also solicited members’ phone numbers via a Google Form for the purpose of sending text message reminders to vote. While creative campaigning is not inherently wrong, this adds another layer of concern: Were all candidates made aware that they could collect phone numbers and launch a coordinated text campaign? If not, the issue of unequal access—and unequal execution—continues to deepen.

DISCLOSURES

  • Steno In The City® is a registered trademark of its respective owner. This blog is unaffiliated, unsponsored, and not endorsed by Steno In The City®or Shaunise Day.
  • References to “Steno In The City” are purely descriptive and used for editorial critique under fair use. My use of the phrase ‘Steno In The City’ is purely descriptive and used solely to refer to the trademark holder in the context of journalistic critique and commentary. No content on the site implies affiliation, endorsement, or partnership with the trademark holder.
  • 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.
  • Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions. All views expressed are based on publicly available information, direct experience, or opinion. Nothing on this site is presented as legal or professional advice.
  • The organization known as Steno In The City (a registered trademark) has, to date, made no public statement regarding these concerns.

The Future of Court Reporting & Why the Fight Is Now—And Why You Should Step Into Your Place & Join

A student recently asked me: “What are the chances of AI putting court reporters out of work in the next five to ten years?”

The honest answer? It’s a tricky question. Because we’re not looking at a slow fade—we’re standing at a tipping point. The next one to three years will determine everything.

There’s serious money—venture capital and equity investors—pouring into replacing us with AI and ASR (automated speech recognition). These investors are betting on big profits. Their pitch is simple: replace most human reporters, use AI to cut costs, and allow a smaller number of trained professionals to “fill in the gaps.” It’s a future where we play a partial or reduced role.

But here’s the truth they don’t understand: court reporting doesn’t work that way.

The System Only Works as a Whole

You can’t keep a handful of professionals around “just in case.” This isn’t like scaling a call center. Once the infrastructure goes—schools, software, machine manufacturing, certification bodies—it implodes. You can’t just switch it back on.

The real risk isn’t five or ten years away. The real risk is now. And that’s what makes this moment both dangerous and full of opportunity.

The Legal System Still Wants Us—They Just Don’t Know What’s at Stake

Lawyers love us. Judges rely on us. The legal system values accurate, certifiable, realtime records. But most of them don’t fully realize how precarious this moment is.

They assume we’ll always be here. They assume we’re being replaced by choice, not under pressure.

There are a few judges—some high-ranking, some retiring—who are eager for automation. But most want human reporters in their courtrooms. The problem is: they aren’t being vocal enough. And many simply don’t know how close we are to losing the profession entirely.

Reporters Are Working. Too Hard to Fight.

The irony is painful. Court reporters are so in-demand—so focused on producing transcripts—that we barely have time to advocate for ourselves.

Meanwhile, lobbyists, grassroots groups, and behind-the-scenes warriors are fighting. But it’s a small group, and the burden is heavy.

And here’s the kicker: we know our value better than anyone. But if we’re the only ones fighting to preserve it, the system could disappear before people realize it’s gone.

Here’s Where You Come In

You asked about your future. And here’s my answer: if you become a stenographic court reporter today, and you put in the work, you could be one of the most in-demand professionals in the legal system within a few years.

Because once they realize that AI can’t meet courtroom standards—and trust me, that realization is coming—they’ll turn back to us. And there won’t be enough of us left.

The few who remain? They’ll write their own rates. And yes, I firmly believe that a top-tier realtime-capable reporter could earn seven figures a year as an individual. You’ll have more work than you can handle. That’s the power of supply and demand.

Why Now Is the Best Time to Enter

  • Steno schools are full. Enrollment is booming. Some even have waitlists.
  • Voicewriters are expanding our pipeline—getting skilled professionals into the field faster.
  • There’s still an ecosystem—machines, software, mentors, training. That infrastructure still exists… for now.

But it won’t if we wait. Once it crumbles, we won’t get a second shot. That’s why the fight is now.

But Make No Mistake—You’ll Need to Be Excellent

The future won’t be kind to mediocre reporters.

You’ll need to be as sharp as someone with 20 years of experience. You’ll need 100% realtime capability. You’ll need to know your software better than tech support. And speaking of tech support—buy two or three machines. You’ll want backups. If the manufacturers disappear, you’ll be your own support team.

I recommend Eclipse—currently the only CAT software integrating AI as a tool for reporters to output perfect realtime. It’s not about using AI to replace us. It’s about making us even better. That combination—human skill + smart software—is unbeatable.

You’ll be like the million-dollar reporter: the only person in the room with machine-augmented human accuracy. No AI system can match that. No robot can improvise, adapt, or make judgment calls in realtime.

This Is a “Go Big or Go Home” Moment

Some reporters might accept proofreading AI transcripts for pennies. They might step into the “hybrid” role the tech companies envision.

I won’t. I’d rather sell real estate than work as an editor for machines. This profession deserves more. And so do you.

But we still have a chance. A small one. And that chance is today—not five or ten years from now. That’s why I’m fighting like hell right now. Not just for me. For you. For the future of this field.

🔥 Where Should Our Money Go Right Now?

We are at war—not with each other, but with a tidal wave of AI-driven disruption backed by deep-pocketed investors and policy shifts happening fast behind the scenes.

That means every dollar matters.

It’s time to ask ourselves: Are we funding what’s fun—or what’s strategic?

Right now, we need every available dollar going toward the only thing that will truly protect this profession: legislative advocacy. That means lobbyists. That means organized legal pressure. That means association coffers filled with resources to fight bills, craft protective language, and make sure AI doesn’t write us out of the law.

If you’re spending hundreds on glam events, luxury parties, and high-priced “experiences,” just remember: that money doesn’t go to fighting for your future. It doesn’t fund lobbying. It doesn’t fund education. It doesn’t fund our survival.

It funds someone else’s brand.

Now’s not the time to party in style—it’s time to show up, suit up, and fight for this career. We need all stenos on deck, focused, aligned, and supporting the efforts that will actually preserve the job you love.

The Million-Dollar Opportunity (Yes, Really)

Let’s talk about the upside—because yes, there is one. And it’s enormous.

If you commit to this profession now, learn to write realtime with 100% accuracy, master your CAT software, and position yourself as a highly skilled, dependable reporter, you’ll be entering the market at the exact moment when demand for qualified professionals is exploding—and supply is shrinking.

Once the legal system realizes that AI can’t deliver what we can, they’ll turn back to us. But by then, the number of truly excellent reporters will be much smaller. Those who remain—the elite realtime-capable reporters—will be able to set their rates, pick their clients, and command top dollar.

I believe a single, independent reporter with top-tier skills could reasonably earn over a million dollars a year. That’s not hype. That’s basic economics: scarcity + high demand = premium value.

But it only works if you go all in.

  • Become better than your software.
  • Know your CAT system inside and out (Eclipse is leading the way with AI integration).
  • Buy backup machines.
  • Be as good as someone with 20 years of experience, even if you’re fresh out of school.
  • Be the only thing AI can’t compete with: a realtime human expert with perfect accuracy.

You won’t just survive in this industry—you’ll own your future.

Final Thoughts

If you’re thinking of becoming a court reporter, let me tell you this: You’re not too late. You’re right on time.

But this window is closing fast.

Train hard. Get mentored. Master your software. And join the few of us still standing when the dust clears. The profession may be smaller—but for those who remain, it will be stronger, more respected, and more rewarding than ever.

And you?
You’ll be ready.

DISCLOSURES

  • All content herein reflects the author’s personal commentary, protected under the First Amendment.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

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.

All views expressed are based on publicly available information, direct experience, or opinion. Nothing on this site is presented as legal or professional advice.

Save Steno Now, or Lose It Forever – Why Court Reporters Can’t Be Replaced by AI

In courtrooms across the country, an invisible but critical line of defense is under threat. Not from outside interference, but from quiet decisions being made in budgets and boardrooms—decisions that say: “AI is cheaper. Let’s use that instead.”

On the surface, this might seem practical. Artificial intelligence is making strides in transcription. Court reporting is expensive. Why not automate it?

But here’s the reality: if we allow AI to replace human court reporters—even in part—we don’t just lose jobs. We lose an entire professional infrastructure. And once it’s gone, we can’t get it back.

This is not just about keeping a profession alive. This is about preserving a system that safeguards truth, fairness, and justice. If we let it collapse, we won’t be able to rebuild it when we realize what we’ve lost.

AI Is Cheaper—But It’s Not Better

No one disputes that AI-based transcription has come a long way. It can transcribe meetings, phone calls, and podcasts with decent accuracy. But a courtroom is not a podcast. It’s a high-stakes, high-pressure environment where people speak fast, interrupt, mumble, whisper, cry, or shout. Multiple speakers talk at once. The terminology is dense, the context nuanced.

AI doesn’t stop proceedings to ask a witness to repeat a name. It doesn’t clarify who’s speaking when voices overlap. It doesn’t understand legal context, nor does it carry legal accountability.

AI can support, but it cannot replace, the role of a certified court reporter. And when it tries to, justice becomes less accurate, less reliable, and ultimately, less fair.

Once It’s Gone, It’s Gone

Some say: “Let AI take over the easy cases. Keep humans for the hard ones.” But that’s not how this works.

Stenographic court reporting isn’t just a job—it’s a professional ecosystem. It includes schools that train new talent. Manufacturers who build and maintain specialized machines. Software companies that innovate. Certifying bodies that enforce standards. Experienced professionals who mentor and teach.

This ecosystem only functions when there’s consistent, widespread demand for human court reporters. If we let demand dip—even moderately—the whole infrastructure begins to collapse. Schools close. Machine production halts. Software stagnates. Certification becomes irrelevant.

And then, when courts inevitably hit the limits of AI—when it fails in complex trials or appeals—there will be no professionals left to fill the gap. No schools. No tools. No fallback.

🧩 It’s Not Just a Job—It’s a System

This profession isn’t declining—it’s rebuilding.

Today, stenographic schools are overflowing with new students. Many have waitlists due to increased interest and enrollment. The addition of voicewriters—trained professionals who use speech recognition as a tool, not a replacement—has expanded the pipeline, helping qualified graduates enter the field faster.

The result? We are now on track to replenish our numbers and meet the demand created by retiring reporters.

The shortage is no longer the threat.

The real danger is this: that we’ll be replaced before we’re ready—before this revitalized workforce even has the chance to serve. The risk is not in capacity, but in being sidelined by AI tools that are not built to uphold the same legal, ethical, and accuracy standards.

If You Want Us Tomorrow, You Have to Choose Us Today

Let me tell you a story.

I used to work in sales at one of the world’s largest technology distributors. At one point, our competitors engaged in a full-blown price war, trying to undercut us into extinction. Everyone expected us to slash prices just to survive.

Our CEO told us: no price cuts. Hold the line. Stay true to our value.

My customers weren’t thrilled. They said, “Give me a better deal or I’ll go to your competitors.” But I told them, “If you want me to be here tomorrow—if you want us, this company, to be here—then buy from me today. Sure, you can get it cheaper. But you won’t have me tomorrow. You won’t have this service, this expertise, this partnership. We can’t survive if we give everything away.”

That message landed. People realized: the real value wasn’t just in the price—it was in the relationship, the reliability, the long-term support.

The same principle applies to court reporting today. You might think AI is cheaper—but if you want us tomorrow, if you want reliable, human, legally certified transcripts, you need to stand with us now. Because we won’t be here if you don’t.

This Isn’t Anti-Technology—It’s Pro-Human Accuracy

Court reporters are not technophobes. We’ve embraced innovation for decades. Our machines are specialized computers. Our software integrates real-time delivery, digital archiving, and cloud-based tools. Many of us already use AI to assist with transcript review and formatting.

We are not against technology—we are against careless replacement.

We believe in human-led, tech-assisted transcription. Let AI support the work—flag errors, speed up reviews, help with post-processing. But the foundation must remain human. Because only humans can understand the moment, the context, the stakes.

Why It Matters to Everyone

This isn’t just a professional turf war. This affects every lawyer, every judge, every defendant, and every victim. It affects appeals, verdicts, civil rights, and legal accountability.

Imagine a witness misquoted. An objection missed. A confession transcribed incorrectly. AI doesn’t raise its hand to clarify. It doesn’t know what’s at stake. And it certainly doesn’t sign a legal certification guaranteeing the transcript’s accuracy under penalty of law.

Court reporters do.

What Needs to Happen

To protect this vital profession and its role in justice, we need real action:

  1. Legislative Safeguards
    Courts and lawmakers must require certified human court reporters for official proceedings. Not as a luxury—as a standard.
  2. Investment in Training
    We need funding and outreach to support court reporting schools. The next generation must see this career as viable and valuable.
  3. Public Awareness Campaigns
    Judges, attorneys, and the public need to understand: this isn’t about resisting change. It’s about preserving what works—and protecting what matters.
  4. Professional Collaboration with Tech
    Let’s keep improving tools for reporters. Let AI assist—not replace—the professionals who carry legal responsibility for the record.

You Only Get One Shot at This

If we give up on stenographic court reporting, we won’t get it back. It will disappear quietly. The schools will shutter. The machines will go out of production. And when AI fails—as it inevitably will in complex, nuanced proceedings—there will be no one left to take over.

It’s a simple truth, one we all recognize in business, in justice, in life:

You get what you pay for.

So here’s the plea:

If you want us tomorrow—if you want accurate, human-made, legally certified transcripts—you need to stand with us today. Not after it’s gone. Not after a failed appeal. Not after a broken system.

Today.

DISCLOSURES

  • 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.
  • Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions. All views expressed are based on publicly available information, direct experience, or opinion. Nothing on this site is presented as legal or professional advice.

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When Integrity Meets Intimidation – The Case of the Fearless Stenographers Conference

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California’s Anti-SLAPP Law – Shielding Whistleblowers from Legal Intimidation

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Whistleblowers, Retaliation, and the Dark Reality of Gang Stalking

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Why Is She Still Here?

When Branding Outshines Accountability in Court Reporting

We’ve all asked it: “Why is she still here?” How does someone with no stenography credential, a trail of unanswered questions about labor practices, and a habit of quashing criticism remain a fixture in our profession?

Below is a candid look at the forces that keep her brand afloat—and what we can do to change the story.

1. The Marketplace Loves a Good Logo

In today’s attention economy, image often outranks substance. A slick website, vibrant social feeds, and high-energy events create the illusion of authority. For outsiders—or newcomers eager for motivation—that polish can look like leadership. Meanwhile, those of us doing the real work behind courtroom doors lack the time (or desire) to curate a brand narrative.
Result? The loudest voice, not the most experienced one, dominates.

2. Silence Is Her Co-Pilot

Many stenos see the red flags—unpaid “volunteers,” corporate donations funneled into a for-profit venture, inflated success stories—but choose silence. Some fear backlash or ostracism; others just want to avoid drama. Every time we stay quiet, her platform grows taller. Silence isn’t neutrality; it’s passive endorsement.

3. Critics Become the Villains

Push back and you’re labeled “negative,” “jealous,” or “toxic.” Legal threats—like the recent trademark complaint leveled at my blog—turn the tables, framing the whistle-blower as the bully. It’s classic intimidation: shift focus from the allegations to the person raising them, and the real issues vanish from the feed.

4. There’s Money on the Table

Sponsorships, speaking fees, affiliate sales—profit flows to the person controlling the spotlight. Why abandon a cash-generating brand? Until the community stops clicking, sharing, and attending, the incentives favor staying put, credentials or ethics be damned.

5. Gatekeepers Aren’t Watching

Regulators, associations, and schools rarely police the “influencer” fringe. Unless a clear violation surfaces—tax fraud, false licensure—there’s little external pressure to step aside. That leaves accountability in our hands.

So, Why Is She Still Here?

Because the equation works:

Polished branding – scrutiny + community silence = sustained influence and profit

How We Change the Math

  1. Speak—Publicly and Persistently
    Share verifiable facts, ask hard questions, and refuse to be shamed for demanding transparency.
  2. Withdraw Unpaid Labor
    Volunteering for a for-profit brand without clear benefits fuels exploitation. Value your expertise.
  3. Redirect Attention
    Promote authentic steno voices—working reporters, reputable schools, nonprofit mentors—so genuine expertise rises.
  4. Demand Receipts
    Where do donations go? Are events insured? Who benefits financially? Transparency should be the baseline, not a special favor.
  5. Support Each Other Legally & Morally
    If someone faces a SLAPP*-style threat, rally. Show that intimidation tactics backfire by amplifying, not squelching, the conversation.

Final Word

She’s still here because the system rewards brand optics over professional substance—but only as long as we allow it. The moment enough stenos decide that ethical practice matters more than flashy marketing, the spotlight shifts. Let’s make that shift together.

Stenos, stay loud, stay factual, and above all, stay united.

DISCLOSURES

  • 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.
  • Steno In The City® is a registered trademark of its respective owner. This blog is unaffiliated, unsponsored, and not endorsed by Steno In The City®or Shaunise Day.
  • References to “Steno In The City” are purely descriptive and used for editorial critique under fair use.
  • Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions. All views expressed are based on publicly available information, direct experience, or opinion. Nothing on this site is presented as legal or professional advice.
  • The organization known as Steno In The City (a registered trademark) has, to date, made no public statement regarding these concerns.
  • My use of the phrase ‘Steno In The City’ is purely descriptive and used solely to refer to the trademark holder in the context of journalistic critique and commentary. No content on the site implies affiliation, endorsement, or partnership with the trademark holder.

***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):