King’s Counsel: Difference between revisions

}}Senior, brainy, court lawyers. The [[JC]] is lucky enough to know a few, largely because he shares with them a fondness for [[cricket]]. They are excellent men and women, to a one, but they engage in a part of the legal process the [[JC]] is committed to steering as clear of as he can: [[litigation]].  

In legal practice, court lawyering is ''golf'' you see, and the [[JC]] is a ''cricket'' kind of fellow, not just in pastime, but by disposition. Litigation is combative: its ''etiquette'' masks a fundamental ugliness. Commerce, on the other hand, is co-operative. “[[Non mentula esse|Being a good sport]]” is a point of [[substance]] and not [[form]].

There is also the small matter that, for a self-respecting contracts lawyer, even ''talking'' to a Queen’s Counsel — to ''any'' litigator, really — except one you are standing next to in the slips — ''is a confession of professional failure''. We commercial solicitors cannot notch our belt with conquests; there are no kill emblems pasted on our fuselage. We must take our pleasures another way.  

We do this by our affability; our ''lack'' of rancour; we succeed when we see our clients going peaceably about their business, promending down the high street in their finery, waving cheerily at us from the wheel of the fancy motorcar our careful stewardship of their affairs has enabled them to acquire.  

We are like dogs in the nighttime: you know us because we do ''not'' bark. We mark our performance by the ''lack'' of cuts, scrapes, bruises and abrasions on our pretty faces. Our measure of success is contracts ''so clear'' that no one would ''dream'' of arguing.

For the most part, [[financial services]] professionals know enough of what they are about that their contracts — the “[[verbiage]]” — don’t often wind up in court. When they do, it usually follows some cataclysmic failure, where institutions that were conventionally understood to be immortal, impervious and managed by enlightened auteurs turn out to have been run by morons. Such revelations tend to be cyclical; over-lionised morons may go years or even decades without being exposed. But, suddenly, ''[[Lehman]]'', you know. [[Enron]]. Our world is all at once awash with litigation — much of it conducted by, on behalf of and in front of people with barely the first idea about the complexities of financial services contracts; things we [[subject matter expert]]s take entirely as read.

Now, exactly the same thing is true of litigators. Just as commercial lawyers hate litigation, litigators ''hate'' financial markets transactions. They’re hard, they give you a tension headache, they are beset with fiddly, procedural bear traps, and the road to their comprehension is strewn with absurd conventions, unspoken rules of etiquette and modes of behaviour that you have to get ''[[Substance and form|formally]]''; right, hang whether you were right [[Substance and form|in ''substance'']]. Everyone knows it is ''much'' more fun cross-examining [[Mrs. Pinterman]] about her alibi, establishing a [[mens rea]] and objecting to things. I mean security waterfalls? COME ON.

So every now and then, a litigator might see an {{isdama}} or two — like Clapham omnibuses, often a few come along at once — whenever a systemically important financial institution reveals itself to have been in the hands of morons. But, and for just that reason, {{isdama}}s, which we in-house [[legal eagle]]s find [[tedious]], quotidian and everyday, they regard as exotic butterflies to be pinned, labeled and enclosed in glass cages. We live with them, animate them, ''give them life'' every day of our working careers. We know them, deeply, in a way no litigator, let alone a [[Queen’s Counsel]] ever could, ''or would want to''.  

But every now and then, a thorny question might arise, as to the metaphysical chassis on which an {{isdama}}, or a {{gmsa}}, or a {{gmra}} is engineered. It doesn’t happen often, but it is amazing when half a billion dollars is at stake how sharply one can focus on what might once have seen a dusty academic conceptualisation. Philosophical questions like this seem to perplex modern [[Magic circle law firm|magic circle]] [[partner]]s — people whose predecessors, let it be said,''wrote'' the damn things, back in the day. So if a practical person wanted a sensible answer on such a curly question, who would she ask?

My friends, ''I'' would ask an expert. Someone who lives, breathes, and makes an honest livelihood out of manipulating these contracts. For example, ''someone who has spent twenty years in the [[doc unit]]''. To be sure, end users are falling over themselves to rid themselves of these people and replace them with school-leabers in Bucharest, but they are a tenacious bunch. Many are still around. If anyone will know how an ISDA is meant to work, these people surely will.