Why Commuting To Work By Train Is Good For You

It's almost a year since I last drove to work. The move from an office far from the fringes of the city's metro network to an office smack at its core definitely was a decisive factor. Equally decisive is the fact that I absolutely adore commuting to work by metro.

However, the same can't be said to most urban dwellers in Kuala Lumpur. If given the choice, they would rather drive to work. Even if the metro station is a short drive away from home. Even if the office is walking distance from the metro station.

That stubborn thinking has to change. Stop being a baby. Time to grow up. There's more to gain from commuting by public transport than to lose.

Welcome to KL city, where traffic never sleeps

Picture courtesy of www.malaysiapropertynews.com

1. Save Your Time

It's amazing how much precious time drivers waste on the road. About two hours a day on average. Being stuck in a jam. Bumper-to-bumper. Crawling as fast as a tortoise chasing down a cabbage leaf. Fuming and cursing all the way. Reaching office, then spending another five to ten minutes weaving around the parking lot.

I could drive to work, yes. But it takes me about thirty minutes longer to and fro (which could stretch to an hour, during rush hours). And when I'm in the train, I can freely reply to emails, chat with friends and catch up on reading. I can't exactly do all that when I'm driving - it's illegal, unsafe and distracting. 

The best thing about the metro is that they're almost always on time, and pass by even more frequently during rush hour when the queues are long. Which means that there is not much difference whether you leave office at five or six - you'll still take the same travel time to reach home. Whereas if you're driving, a slight five minute delay in exiting the parking lot can multiply the travel time by double on the road later on.

Also, Kuala Lumpur is prone to heavy tropical downpour. Floods clogged roads. But they hardly ever stop a train from merrily choo-choo-ing down a track.

Less time wasted. Travelling time maximised on other tasks. More flexibility in timing. What's there not to like about taking the train? 

If you drive and hate traffic, you must really hate yourself

2. Save Your Health

Driving is stressful. We have to constantly stay alert, even in a crawl. Keep our eyes on the road and cars. Can't let our thoughts wander off too much, lest we crash into the car in front or graze a kerb. When we are not in the driver's seat, our minds are free from a major worry. We can start planning the day ahead on the way to work. Aside from the rare breakdown and being squished against someone's smelly armpit in a crowded carriage, you generally arrive at work in good spirits.

Driving makes us lazy, too. It makes us feel more attached to our cars than our legs. Look around your office. Chances are, the people who drive to work are the same people who drives out to lunch, even if the restaurant is a few blocks away. They're afraid of being exposed to UV rays, ruining their good shoes, and so on. When we hop onto the metro, there's bound to be some minimum walking involved everyday, especially from the station to office. Gradually, we grow to enjoy the walk, even during lunch time.

Commuting by metro makes you walk and sweat. For urban dwellers, who are stuck to our chairs in front of a computer monitor for most weekdays, we need the walk and sweat.

Look, smelly armpits!

3. Save Your Money

Doesn't take a financial whiz to know that public transportation is by far the cheapest option of travel. The infrastructure is funded by the government, fares cost a few bucks, and regular commuters save on discounted monthly passes. For drivers, the cost is higher - fuel prices are rising and subsidies decreasing, parking spaces are scarce and exorbitant in the commercial hubs, and the mileage takes a toll on the car maintenance.

Not much else to add here. Who doesn't want to save money?

4. Save The World

Fine, you don't mind wasting time behind the wheel and having your own personal karaoke with the car stereo. Fine, you gym three times a week after work. Fine, you're rich and you've got a garage full of sports cars. But it's not just about you. Think about the environment. Think about the future generations. Think about the world.

The urge to drive is a cultural malaise. Rich or poor, most people in thriving metropolis, like New York, London and Tokyo, are fine with walking and taking the subway. It's not so much an enforced humbling experience. They just accept it as part of the urban lifestyle. They want efficiency. It's in their interest that town planning restricts road usage and promotes public transportation, so that it eases their commuting to work from the city outskirts.

And they do acknowledge the dangers of excessive carbon emission and global warming. It is no coincidence that cities and countries with developed metro system are leaders in environmental regulatory reforms. The collective will is loud and clear: we need to consume less fossil fuel.

Driving is polluting. Don't be a needless polluter.

This is how the future should look like. Embrace it.

Training Days

In a few years time, Kuala Lumpur's metro lines will be extended to reach most established suburban areas. This should silence excuses on lack of connectivity. Still, whether this will actually encourage more residents to leave their cars at home or the metro stations is anybody's guess.

It is common to hear of people placing their name on the waiting list for corporate parking in KLCC, where the present metro line runs directly underneath, only to receive a call that space is finally available from the parking attendants a few years later, long after they have stopped working there. It would truly be a shame if the tussle for parking spaces does not shift from KLCC and the city centre to the new metro stations, in times to come.

Remember, whenever you're driving, you're not stuck in traffic. You are traffic!

Good Writing Refines Legal Drafting

We now know how traditional legal drafting impedes writing and communication. Now reverse the logic. Good writing can improve legal drafting. All it takes is skill and will.

There's so much to explain, I could write a whole book about it. But I won't. At least, not now. The world is not ready yet. Every young aspiring lawyer is enamoured with the wispy haired high priests preaching platitudes about the virtues of hard work (which means doing what you're told) and loyalty (which means not trying do anything different). I can't break their aura of command just yet. I could, however, take a stab at it. Then a swipe. Slowly cutting my way through.

They're doing it wrong, I tell you. You and I, we can do it better. Bear with me. I'm going to tell a story. Then structure the plot lines and characters. And lastly, top it up with style.

Lord Kok of Ipoh speaks the truth

1. Story

Behind every case, there is a story. Where does the story start? Who are the main characters, and what are their roles? Which plot line ought to be fleshed out fuller? What is the theme? A good writer knows how to spin a good story. Everyone loves a good story, including the judge. A good lawyer, therefore, should always start with the story.

This story is about a fire. At a race circuit. Past midnight. A night 'time attack' endurance race. During a pit-stop refueling. Fuel spurted out from the hose. Flames ignited and engulfed a few mechanics. A young trainee suffered horrific burns. Five defendants sued: two drivers/team principal, corporate team sponsor, circuit owner/race organizer, and racing association.

A senior counsel and I acted for the association. The race had been licensed by the association. This meant that the association's international competition rules and safety standards applied, covering matters like car specifications, track design, provision of marshals and medical staff, and the refueling process. The rules are voluminous, split into annexes, numbering hundreds of pages.

Our story started even before the night of the fire. The race had been going more than a decade. Every year, months before the event, the association conducted track inspections and reviewed the race regulations. The association appointed monitoring stewards for the race. The rest of the race personnel - notably the scrutineers and fire marshals - were appointed by the race organizer.

Our story goes to places where we want you to be. Our story builds momentum that's hard to shake off, sidetrack from and stop short. Our story is a bloody damn good read.

Gather round, kids. Let me regale you a tale of intrigue and villainy from yonder, such like you never heard afore...

Illustration from armedwithvisions 

2. Structure

A good story has structure. A good story doesn't ramble on and trap the storyteller into an embarrassing self-incriminating corner.

Most lawyers, being lawyers, jump straight into law. Oh, it's a fire, someone got burned, classic case of negligence, let's examine the elements of duty of care, breach of duty and causation. Wrong move. The law will always be there, pinned to books, and won't be fluttering away anytime soon. Sift through the facts first, then you'll know where to find the law.

Now, back to the race fire case. Put legal technicalities aside, and think about the possible areas where safety controls ought to be in place to protect participants. Circuit and equipment inspection? Check. Safety regulations for racing teams to follow? Check. Adequately trained personnel to detect hazards and intervene where necessary? Check. And there you have it. The typical types of duty imposed on defendants in control of potentially dangerous activities include: (i) duty to prevent or mitigate risk; (ii) duty to regulate; and (iii) duty to monitor and remedy. That's just the second level. We need to go deeper. Levels within levels.

From early on, we built our story. Whilst the rest of the defendants build their sub-plots around our story. Layer by layer, thread after thread, a tightly knitted web we spun. We controlled the narrative. We set the pace. We drew out the battle lines, subtly pointing out who does what, and what ought to be done and not be done.

Swept along the flow of our story, the plaintiff's lawyers swam circles around the event itself. They accused the team for using a faulty hose, the scrutineers for failing to detect the hose, and the fire marshals for not reacting in time to put out the fire.

Our case was not perfect. We had flaws of our own. Oh yes, we had. But they slipped through the cracks, faded to the background, drowned out by the noise. We didn't get away with murder, so to speak. But we certainly did get off rather lightly, with less scrutiny and less heat compared to the others. The pressure on us could have been greater. But the way we structured our story - and everyone else's story along with it - lifted a lot of the pressure away.

How my stories look like

3. Style

It was only late in the trial that the plaintiff's lawyer finally realised - perhaps after a closer look through our thick bundles - that the race regulations approved by the association may have deviated from the safety standards set by the international competition rules, especially the part about refueling procedures. But by then, it was far, far too late. The judge rejected the lawyer's attempts to adduce fresh evidence. The judge wasn't keen on taking a detour into the woods, away from the well-trodden paths paved by us.

Why did the oversight happen? True, it's largely the plaintiff lawyer's fault for not combing through the piles of documents. Then again, it's hard to notice something awry with a paragraph or two, when the story is long, rich and compelling. We created a labyrinth filled with forks, dead ends, and pathways leading away from the association. Levels within levels. Everyone - and not just the plaintiff - got lost in our maze, our web, our narrative. We played our beat. Everyone else danced to our tune.

There's one other special ingredient we had. It's called 'style'. It's not just what you say, but how you say it. A story can be told in a dozen different ways. A good storyteller is accustomed to different styles, and knows how to pick the right style for the right theme.

What was our theme? That of a benevolent watchful guardian, of course. We painted a sweeping panorama. We were like an eagle perched majestically atop a peak, gazing down at the battlefield from afar. And so, we crafted our language to be clear, succinct and neutral. We didn't point fingers at anyone. We kept emotions in check. We let everyone else do the fighting.

At the end of trial, the association escaped liability (but not the corporate team sponsor and circuit owner/race organizer). And the judge loved our story. How can we tell? Easy. Out of all the parties' final submissions, the judge cut out our summation of the facts, and pasted them in verbatim into his final judgment (it's reported, by the way).

My story. Every word, comma and dot. ALL MINE!

Epilogue

No matter how difficult or boring a case is, you can always weave a good story. Win or lose, it doesn't matter. The true test of a good lawyer is how well he can project his ideas into the judge's mind. And a lawyer who writes well, with a fountain of imagination unfettered by legalistic shackles, projects ideas best.

Take another case of mine. We acted for the plaintiff, wrote a well-structured 144-page submissions, and eventually lost. Nevertheless, we put up a great fight and spun a good story. Our theme, stated at the opening line of our executive summary, lingered throughout. Here's what the judge had to say towards the end:

"Counsel for the Plaintiff describes this case as a case of a debtor turned victim, and a creditor and third-party purchaser turned villains. Having heard the evidence and the submissions, with the greatest respect I find that I am unable to subscribe to the Plaintiff's counsel's description of the parties." (emphasis added)

The defeat, crushing as it was, still tasted sweet. The villain-victim reversal angle? Oh yes, my idea, my words.

Build your story. Write it well. Draw your audience into a labyrinth of levels within levels. Guide their thoughts. Do all of that, and more often than not, you will find your happy ending.

Legal Drafting Promotes Bad Writing

Law is all about language. It's not enough to improve your vocabulary and grammar. A lawyer needs to have a flair in weaving words to give meaning. Semantics is everything. A specific word, a single comma, can mean a world of difference between this and that.

But you know what I've come to realise? Legal drafting promotes bad writing. My writing has actually deteriorated since I practiced law. No shit! How can it be? Because legal draftsmanship stems from antiquated rules, templates and jargon. Because law uses language that is opaque, stilted, abstruse, laborious... yes, language like these, which no one ever uses in real life.

Let's take a test, shall we? And as we move along, we'll pick up points where legal drafting goes horribly (and laughably) wrong.

Now, I present you 'Exhibit A' - an all-too-familiar-looking legal letter. Can you draft it better?

That just cost poor Red Riding Hood two hours worth of legal work (at US$ 300 per hour).

1. Stop saying the obvious, omit needless words

Lawyers love to talk. And they also love to write. So much so, they'll even say things that goes without saying, write things that don't need writing.

Perfect example: "We refer to the above matter". Look, the title is already at the top, in BOLD. Everyone can see it. We're not blind. We're not stupid. Seriously? What else can the letter be about? How your dog chase your neighbour's cat round the block last night? The strange stain at the corner of the letter (Is it coffee? Is it tea? Such a mystery!)? WE ALL KNOW WHAT THE LETTER IS ABOUT, OKAY?

Omit needless words, urged William Strunk J. in "Elements Of Style". It's also common sense. If you can express an idea in one sentence, then stick to one sentence. The more words you weave and sentences you spin, the denser your writing becomes. Instead of a garden, you've cultivated a thicket. People look out for flowers. They don't fancy getting lost in the reeds.

2. Drop the passive voice, pick up the active voice

"We are instructed by our clients... It is our client's view that..."

Stop, please stop. It's jarring to read. The writer sounds like he wants to keep some distance between himself and his client. But why? Are you feeling embarrassed by your client's case? The imagery painted is a lawyer whispering into the ear of another lawyer, pointing surreptitiously towards his client and then pointing back to himself while shaking his head, as if to say "It's him, not me."

If you treat your client as a stranger, or worse, a ticking time bomb - hence the distance - then perhaps you should not act for that client. If you write like this all the time, then perhaps you should not be a lawyer. A lawyer is the voice of the client. And no client wants a lawyer to be passive.

Stephen King is famous for his horror stories. He also knows his stuff. In "On Writing", he captures the passive versus active dichotomy perfectly:

"The timid fellow writes The meeting will be held at seven o'clock because that somehow says to him, 'Put it this way and people will believe you really know." Purge this quisling thought! Don't be a muggle! Throw back your shoulders, stick out your chin, and put that meeting in charge! Write The meeting's at seven..."

That's right. Take charge, take control. "Our client rejects... our client believes..." Say it straight, say it proud. Be the active voice.

3. Use simple yet effective language

Big words, long sentences. That's how lawyers like to write, and ought to write. Reason being, you need big words and long sentences to drive a point effectively, cover all the loopholes, avoid ambiguity. Comprehensiveness equals precision.

That's a fallacy. Much of legal language can be stripped down to short words and simple sentences, without sacrificing its essence one bit. The advantage of brevity over density is that brevity makes better writing, and better writing makes better communication. After all, didn't William Shakespeare once said: "Brevity is the soul of wit"?

Now, let's go back to the test. I've managed to cut 45% of the words (from 334 to 181) in 'Exhibit A'. Be honest. Isn't this version, 'Exhibit B', clearer and sharper?

The Force is strong with this one

Points to ponder:

• Omit irrelevant and inconsequential information (can we all stop picking on the poor postman, please?)  
• Keep your sentences simple, yet meaningful (Grandma doesn't give a shit whether she's locked inside the closet or buried under the sand, she just wants out!) 
• Avoid redundancies (repeating "without prejudice" over and again and adding "strictly" in front ain't gonna make a difference, honey)
• Avoid antiquated expressions ("even date" just sounds odd)
• Add flair and emotive expressions, where appropriate, to drive a point (Darth Vader, after mercifully releasing a Force choke on some pitiful subordinate, is more likely to say "Be that as it may", rather than "Notwithstanding") 

Still don't believe that legal language can be simplified yet effective?

Oppa Denning Style

Every lawyer knows, and probably loves, Lord Denning. It's not hard to understand why. He spins words like no other. His judgments are bedtime reading material. Put simply, he's got style.

Every lawyer loves Lord Denning

My favourite Lord Denning's judgment - from a literary perspective - is about a man who drives his car into a parking lot. I don't need to explain more to paint you the full picture, because Lord Denning explains it much better than I ever will, even in this brief excerpt:

"None of those cases has any application to a ticket which is issued by an automatic machine. The customer pays his money and gets a ticket. He cannot refuse it. He cannot get his money back. He may protest to the machine, even swear at it. But it will remain unmoved. He is committed beyond recall. He was committed at the very moment when he put his money into the machine. The contract was concluded at that time. It can be translated into offer and acceptance in this way: the offer is made when the proprietor of the machine holds it out as being ready to receive the money. The acceptance takes place when the customer puts his money into the slot. The terms of the offer are contained in the notice placed on or near the machine stating what is offered for the money. The customer is bound by those terms as long as they are sufficiently brought to his notice before-hand, but not otherwise. He is not bound by the terms printed on the ticket if they differ from the notice, because the ticket comes too late."  - Thornton v Shoe Lane Parking Ltd. [1971] 2 QB 163

In this judgment, and in many of his other judgments, Lord Denning shows us how legal drafting can be transformed into a beautiful art form. It takes skill, of course. But it also takes the courage to defy conventions.

Legal drafting itself is not bad. It's lawyers who make it bad. And it's up to lawyers to make it better.