Geologist beats Section 31 to Guardian of Forever

Dr. Steven Mueller, the intrepid geologist and my personal friend, has located the Guardian of Forever.

 

On earth, at present, the Guardian is located in Oman, where locals know it as the "Rock of Wishes."

Dr. Mueller's timing is impeccable (as usual, for those who know him), given the recent wrap of Discovery and release of a trailer for Section 31, as Captain Philippa Georgiou has a unique history (1, 2) with the Guardian.

Photos © Steven Mueller, used with permission. Contact author for license.

Space law program reaps lessons from House Atreides

Luca Galuzzi via The Wildcat Tribune, Dougherty Valley High School, San Ramon, Cal. CC BY-SA 2.5

My friend and colleague Tracy Reynolds, Staff Judge Advocate to U.S. Naval Medical Forces Atlantic, will lead a fascinating Dune II-contemporaneous panel next week.

Zoom registration is open and free for Friday, March 29, at 12 noon US EDT.

International Humanitarian Law in Space:
Lessons Learned from the Fall of House Atreides

What can we learn about resource scarcity, insider threats, and over-reliance on technology from Frank Herbert's novel Dune and its recent film adaptation? How may these lessons be applied in outer space, on the Moon, or on Mars? Join the American Red Cross IHL Program as our panel of distinguished legal experts examine a wide range of issues, from great power competition on Arrakis to the conduct of hostilities between the Atreides, Harkonnen, and Fremen.

The panel comprises:

• CDR Tracy Reynolds, United States Navy JAG Corps
• David Kohnen, the Captain Tracy Barrett Kittredge Scholar of War Studies and Maritime History at the US Naval War College
• Michelle L.D. Hanlon, Co-Director of the Air and Space Law Program at the University of Mississippi School of Law and its Center for Air and Space Law
• Thomas Harper, Senior Counsel, International Humanitarian Law, American Red Cross National Headquarters
• Namrata Goswami, author of Scramble for the Skies The Great Power Competition to Control the Resources of Outer Space

The program is sponsored by the American Red Cross and supported by the Space Law Interest Group of the American Society of International Law.

Patents 'sound less NASA and more Starfleet,' attorney says; is sci-fi's 'anti-gravity' already in the works?

Artist conception of Gravity Probe B and space-time.
NASA Universe via Flickr CC BY 2.0

A number of U.S. patent filings over the last decade point to the development of "anti-gravity" and might evidence the reverse engineering of alien technology in government possession, L.A. attorney Puya Partow-Navid wrote for Seyfarth late last month.

British astronomer Chris Impey cataloged for PBS News Hour the "flurry of activity over the past few years" fueling speculation about "unidentified anomalous phenomena" (UAP), also known as unidentified flying objects (UFOs), including congressional hearings in July. NASA released a report Thursday concluding that "we do not presently have the body of data needed to make definitive, scientific conclusions about UAP," but calling for more and better study.

In his article for Seyfarth, Partow-Navid listed four patent applications from 2016 to 2022 that suggest the inevitable invention of a gravitational propulsion system. Such a system could counterpose gravitational waves and the vacuum of space to move a spacecraft without propellant. A couple of the inventions "sound less NASA and more Starfleet," Partow-Navid wrote, thus evoking the connection to aliens. 

Mastery of gravity is a device of science fiction as old as the genre itself. Artificial gravity is essential to make human life in space plausible. Arthur C. Clarke in 2001 described ships that rotated around an axis to simulate gravity with centrifugal force. That's a scientifically sound method, if we can engineer and build the thing. When science fiction came to film and television in the 20th century, the zero-gravity special effects of Interstellar were either impossible or impossibly expensive, so artificial-gravity technology usually was just assumed.

"I was progressing in great leaps and bounds."
Illustration from H.G. Wells,
First Men on the Moon (1901)
Public domain via Internet Archive

If we can create gravity, we can cancel it out, futurists figure. H.G. Wells imagined a shield that would negate gravity as early as his 1901 First Men on the Moon. In the 1960s, Star Trek imagined anti-gravity to move heavy objects with minimal effort and even build cloud cities (a few years before (or "a long time" after) Lando Calrissian called one home). (See generally the Lawrence M. Krauss classic, The Physics of Star Trek (1995).) Gravity cancellation, though, was a solid venture into the hypothetical; there is no shortcut such as centrifugal force to get there. Fortunately for science fiction film and TV, anti-gravity is the easier deception.

Nevertheless, and the possible infusion of alien know-how notwithstanding, anti-gravity has been a subject of serious science and concerted military investigation on and off since World War II. Einstein's theory of general relativity was key, because if gravity is a force relative to mass and motion, then we might be able to manipulate it similarly. The door would be open not only to gravitational propulsion; even "warp drive" would be on the table: travel to a distant destination without actually crossing the space in between.

The patent applications that Partow-Navid cites are really not so far off the leading edge of human science. Claims of gravity manipulation have been floating around the scientific peer review space for three decades now. Even if no effort has come to verifiable fruition, the experiments are striking out in a direction promising enough to be credible and tantalizing.

That's not to discount that alien tech could offer a welcome assist. Pessimists, or realists?, who pooh-pooh warp drive point out that if it were so readily achievable that we would get there in the cosmically brief era of human scientific development, then some of the statistically probable prevalence of alien civilizations in the universe should be already in orbit around our planet.

Maybe they are.

The article is Puya Partow-Navid, Unraveling the UAP Enigma: Are Patents the Gateway to Alien Tech?, Seyfarth (Aug. 29, 2023).

Liske translates Yeats poem with link to dystopian sci-fi

© Cyprian Liske; used by permission.

My friend and scholar-translator Cyprian Liske has prepared a Polish translation (image) of W.B. Yeats's "Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven" (1899).

Here is the Yeats original:

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Liske is a doctoral student in sustainable development and international trade law. We worked together in the American Law Program of the Columbus School of Law of The Catholic University of America and the law school of Jagiellonian University in Poland.

I don't speak Polish beyond a few words, so can't well appreciate Liske's skill as a translator. But I was intrigued by this project because, Liske informed me, the poem was inspiration for a 2002 science fiction film starring Christian Bale, Equilibrium.

The film didn't do very well. In the patriotic wake of 9/11, a dystopian parable might have been just a bit ahead of its time. I might now revisit it.  Ostensibly a romantic poem, "Cloths of Heaven" gets a lot of play in popular culture; its use in this context is compelling.  Equilibrium is set in a world in which emotion is outlawed: a response to the violence and hatred that rent the world in a third great war.  As the United States and Turkey condemn the burning of the Koran in Sweden, igniting, if you will, a perennial free speech debate, Equilibrium seems not as terribly far fetched as its précis suggests.

I just finished watching HBO's Succession (s4), and it struck me that its Sorkin-esque dialog, timing, and staging marks it as a dystopian antithesis of my beloved West Wing: respective representations of our times, now and then.  Our dystopian restatements of contemporary society, perhaps like the corporatocracy itself, seem as yet not to have found rock bottom.

Star Trek's latest voyage to 'strange new worlds' charts a 'final frontier' evocatively close to home

"In Defense of Episodic TV," read the headline on a story by Associated Press journalist Ted Anthony last week about Star Trek: Strange New Worlds, Paramount's serialized prequel to Star Trek's 1960s Original Series.

Author of Chasing the Rising Sun (2007), the intriguing biography of a classic American song, Anthony lauded Strange New Worlds for what might seem like its mundanity (e.g., Miami Herald):

Members of the Enterprise crew on “Strange New Worlds” are living their lives. They’re doing their jobs, even when their jobs really suck—like when they lose one of their own or are under attack. Like us, they find themselves in different moods from episode to episode, from scene to scene. They’re silly one moment, crisp and efficient the next, emotional the next and then, maybe, silly all over again. It all feels more like the cadence of actual life than one of these deep dives into a single, relentless story arc.

I second Anthony's paean. Strange New Worlds is a peculiar joy. In its return to the episodic formula of the 20th century Original Series and Next Generation, and, indeed, a classic television formula that has given way to the predominance of the season arc in the streaming era, showrunners Akiva Goldsman and Henry Alonso Myers have reinvigorated the incomparable capacity of science fiction to comment critically on the real world through a veil of analogical fantasticism. Such was the original vision of Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry (on this blog).

Strange New Worlds episode 5, "Spock Amock" (released June 2, 2022), beautifully exemplifies the episodic approach. (Plot details, but no story-end spoilers, follow.)

Paramount invested lavishly in Strange New Worlds, and it shows in elaborate sets and stunning special effects with epic space battles. "Spock Amock" subtly exhibits this investment, but action and suspense are not at the heart of the episode. Rather, "Spock Amock" is a deceptively low-key human interest story unfolding as the Enterprise crew go on shore leave. Frankly, such stories usually turn me off because, in the streaming era, they are the product of lesser writers seeking to fill time in unnecessarily multi-episode productions. That's not what's happening here.

This story by Myers and Robin Wasserman comprises three discrete lines. In one, Spock (Ethan Peck) and his fiancée T'Pring (Gia Sandhu) wrestle with a sometimes mildly comical Freaky Friday flip of consciousness; Number One (Rebecca Romijn) and Lt. Noonien-Singh (yes, she's related) (Christina Chong) investigate a ship disciplinary matter; and Captain Pike (Anson Mount) and Spock/T'Pring negotiate a treaty with frustratingly obstinate alien leaders. Without giving too much away, the striking theme that unifies all three story lines, in the end, is, simply, empathy. By interacting with the unknowable ways of other beings, every character is compelled to look inside her or his own mind, own character, and thereby to grow in the capacity to see the world from a different perspective.

The Enterprise never leaves space dock in "Spock Amock." Yet perhaps better than any other, the episode exemplifies her mission, to explore the strange new worlds of the final frontier. For it always has been true of Star Trek since its opening sequence first aired in 1966:

The final frontier is us.

Time travel would warp tort law, attorney imagines

Austin Beast AB (Pixabay)

Tired of earthbound law constrained by the arrow of time?  Attorney, comedian, and comic book fan Adam J. Adler writes an enjoyable column on law for the aptly named Escapist online magazine.  Recently he tackled the implications of time travel in tort law.  Back in August, he considered transporter accident liability.

Time travel in a Groundhog Day-like scenario, Adler observes, would change the moral expectations of the objective reasonable person as he or she acquires additional knowledge about cause and effect through multiple iterations of the timeline.  In the end, Adler offers a theory on why we haven't yet met time travelers.  Check it out, and remember to suspend your disbelief and enjoy.

The article is Adam J. Adler, Time Travel Torts: How Law Gets Dicey When Dealing with Groundhog Day, The Escapist, Oct. 4, 2020.  

And speaking of time travel, Star Trek: Discovery season 3 premiered last night.  Here's the season trailer, if you can stand the excitement!

Can ‘Star Trek’ put the U back in –topia?

This weekend will see the premiere of the newest entrant in the Star Trek franchise, CBS’s Star Trek: Discovery (trailer).  Notwithstanding CBS’s dubious bid to build a new model for content delivery in CBS All Access—creative initiatives crushed by commercial imperatives is a tradition in Star Trek history—Discovery marks a worthwhile moment to take stock of where we are now as a global village, 51 years after the premiere of Gene Roddenberry’s groundbreaking Star Trek, now “The Original Series.”

Roddenberry’s vision was a utopian one.  It seems almost cliché now to recount the novel “enterprise” of a multi-national crew spreading humanist idealism throughout the galaxy.  Despite its military trappings, Star Fleet was tasked with exploration of the final frontier on behalf of a United Federation of Planets (UFP).  Star Trek represented all the good parts of cultural imperialism and mitigated all the bad with deep, moral self-reflection.

Martin-Green
(CC 2.0 Gage Skidmore 2016 via flickr)

It looks like Discovery will resonate in the Roddenberry tradition.  The series, which might vary perspective and setting across seasonal sub-arcs, opens with a strong black female lead in Sonequa Martin-Green (The Walking Dead’s Sasha) and a female captain of color in Michelle Yeoh (Crouching Tiger’s Yu).  Discovery takes place after humankind’s first forays into deep space, which were depicted a decade ago by Star Trek: Enterprise, but still before the adventures of James T. Kirk and crew in the 1960s Original Series and the current movie-reboot series.  The nascent UFP is in a cold war with the Klingon Empire.  This fictional era and the name of the starring ship, U.S.S. Discovery, suggest fealty to Roddenberry’s vision of a “wagon train to the stars.” 

But can that vision get traction in today’s world?

However much our multi-platform electronic environment has served up an embarrassing surfeit of science fiction, we remain awash in dystopian imaginings.  Disclaimer one, yes, I realize that dystopian fiction is not new; even 1984 dates to 1949.  Disclaimer two, let me be no hypocrite; I have devoured it all, from The Hunger Games to The Handmaid’s Tale, having just finished the latter’s s1 yesterday.  (Nick is going to save her, right? right?!)  Yet many a commentator has observed the peculiar resonance of dystopian fiction today, in a world in which hunger and poverty persist, the wealth gap widens, and our standard of living and expectation of leisure seem after all not to have skyrocketed in consonance with technological ingenuity.

There was a time after the Berlin Wall fell, in the 1990s amid perestroika and glasnost, that it seemed like we might be on an upward trajectory.  The turn of the century brought with it a cautious optimism.  Maybe the era of world war and nuclear nightmare could be put to bed, and humankind would rise from those ashes and turn at last to the business of life on, and beyond, earth.

Then 9-11 happened.  The world went back to war, and we’re still in it.  Our American streets fill with protests fueled by racial division.  An unprecedented humanitarian crisis tears at the seams of European socio-economic union.  The septuagenarian United Nations—real-world analog of the thinly veiled UFP—seems impotent to stop a threatened nuclear detonation in the atmosphere.  And oh yeah, the ice caps: they’re melting.

Inevitable dystopia seems the apt model to envision our future on earth.  Wherefore art thou, Discovery, into our world of social and political fracture?  Can we even recognize ourselves in utopian science fiction?

It bears remembering that the world to which Roddenberry first introduced Star Trek was itself no utopia.  The Original Series tendered commentary that might seem trite now—e.g., TV’s first interracial kiss between Kirk (Shatner) and bridge officer Uhuru (Nichelle Nichols), the “black on the ‘right’ side” racism of Let That Be Your Last Battlefield, the futile primitive conflict of A Private Little War.  But that commentary was sophisticated and controversial in its time.  Star Trek’s very proffer of earthbound east and west in common pursuit of human survival and space exploration was a calculated critique of Jim Crow, the space race, Vietnam, and the Cold War.  Star Trek’s utopian vision was launched amid the civil rights fire that forged our second national reconstruction.

So maybe now is exactly the time for Star Trek.  Maybe we need utopia now more than ever, precisely because it is so unfamiliar.

As Star Trek turned 50 in 2016, Sir Thomas More’s enigmatic Utopia turned 500.  More’s Utopia was a social critique, not a social blueprint.  Critique always has been the raison d’être of science fiction.  There is no utility in only imagining the future.  The endgame is to hold up that parallel world next to your own, to see how the two compare.

For Star Trek, the final frontier is not space.  The final frontier—the discovery—always has been us.

The Death of Civil Justice: It Was a Good Run, 900 years

Opening panel at Anglia Ruskin University Sports Law 2016: Leonardo Valladares Pacheco de Oliveira, Ian Blackshaw, Tom Serby, Andrew Smith, and Antoine Duval

Last week I was privileged to attend a tremendous one-day Sports Law program at Anglia Ruskin University in Cambridge, UK, focusing on the question, “the future of ‘the legal autonomy’ of sport.”  Experts in the academy and in practice gave timely and informative commentary on contemporary sport governance from perspectives of contract law, politics, and dispute resolution. 

Though justifiably through the lens of sport, the program raised a broader and important question concerning the future of civil justice.  Dispute resolution in international sport today is the province of the Court of Arbitration for Sport (CAS), in Lausanne, Switzerland, under the very loose supervision of the Swiss Federal Tribunal.  CAS has a complicated relationship with international sport governance organizations such as the IOC and FIFA.  Certainly the court is not their stooge.  At the same time, through the magic of contract law, the mandatory use of the arbitration system carries down through the echelons of world sport from the IOC to the national sporting federation, and all the way to the athlete.

Transnational sport governing bodies, such as the IOC and FIFA, want their disputes handled in this single channel, because it renders them largely immune to oversight by the democratic instrumentalities of the world’s governments, especially the courts.  The transnationals have legitimate and less legitimate motivations.  They fairly worry about potential liability in multitudinous courts, each national judiciary applying its unique domestic law anchored in local priorities and prejudices.  Bypassing national legal systems, the transnationals can conserve resources for objectives in the public interest, such as sport for development and peace, and the promotion of human health and competitive achievement.  The logic supporting consolidation of international dispute resolution under one supra-national banner is the same by which the U.S. Constitution places interstate commercial disputes in U.S. federal courts, supervening the potential vagaries and favoritisms of the states.

But international arbitration has its dark side—in fact, nearly literally, as CAS operates in the opacity that typically surrounds arbitration.  Observers, including journalists and NGO watchdogs, grow frustrated and skeptical, as secrecy breeds unfairness and unaccountability.  This problem is the same that has generated angst within the United States over the “secret justice” system that has so thoroughly superseded the civil trial—see the excellent work of the Reporters Committee for Freedom of the Press in its Secret Justice series, linked from here. 

Further threatening the integrity of these proceedings, the contracts that bind parties to arbitration, and are then construed in arbitration, generally are adhesion contracts: drawn up by the transnationals themselves, weighted to their favor, and presented as fait accompli to young athletes with Olympic gold medals dancing in their dreams.  Barrister Andrew Smith, Matrix Chambers, conceded that these contracts are not meaningfully negotiated.  Their acceptance at the international level apparently marks the same phenomenon that has been documented with alarm, but as yet no serious reform, at the consumer level within the United States in works such as Nancy Kim’s Wrap Contracts and Margaret Jane Radin’s Boilerplate.

Upon my inquiry, Smith pointed out that for many reasons, athletes, given the choice, would themselves prefer arbitration to redress in the courts.  A plaintiff often desires secrecy as much as a defendant.  An expert arbiter might be more likely than a civil court to reach a conclusion that recognizes the nuances of divided merits, rather than erring in favor of dismissal as against the plaintiff’s burden of proof.  Though affordable representation for claimants has been a problem for the CAS system, organized arbitration systems still do a better job looking out for claimant’s access to representation than the usual civil court.  And most important to potential litigants are the time and costs of civil justice, often prohibitive deterrents that make faster and cheaper arbitration more appealing.

Nevertheless, panelists agreed that for the arbitration system to work fairness, stakeholders including athletes must take part in developing the process.  Conference organizer Tom Serby of Anglia Law School emphasized the need for democratization of sport governing bodies.  Smith said that organization of athletes into representative bodies is essential, noting with approval that “the United States is farther along with collective bargaining.”

With disparate levels of enthusiasm for the merits of judicial abstention, three speakers—Serby; Antoine Duval of the Asser Institute,Den Haag; and Simon Boyes of the Centre for Sports Law atNottingham Law School—all opined that national courts have been generously deferential to private dispute resolution in international jurisdiction.  Quotes from the iconic British jurist Lord Denning were offered both for and against the position.  Denning on the one hand bemoaned the courts’ relative lack of expertise in matters of private regulation, respecting the brightly formalist lines of conserved judicial power.  On the other hand, he declared, as quoted in Baker v. Jones, [1954] 1 W.L.R. 1005, “‘If parties should seek, by agreement, to take the law out of the hands of the courts and put it into the hands of a private tribunal, without any recourse at all to the courts in case of error of law, then the agreement is to that extent contrary to public policy and void.’”  Duval and Boyes mapped the ground between, where court intervention seems justified.  Boyes boiled down viable grounds to the protection of natural justice, human rights, and free competition and trade.

Incidentally the same autonomy question was taken up in similar dichotomy by Judge Richard Matsch and then the Tenth Circuit in Hackbart v. Cincinnati Bengals, Inc., 435 F. Supp. 352 (D. Colo. 1977), rev’d & remanded, 601 F.2d 516 (10th Cir. 1979).  Asked to intervene after an on-field altercation, Judge Matsch opined, on the “larger question” of “the business of professional football” and “the business of the courts,” that “the courts are not well suited” to allocate fault or probe causation.  For fear of excessive litigation and inconsistent rulings, any “government involvement” in the “self-regulated industry” of professional football was, in Matsch’s view, “best considered by the legislative branch”—Denning-like formalism.  Instead applying the law of recklessness to the dispute at hand, the Tenth Circuit disagreed.  Persuasive was the oft quoted reasoning of the Illinois Appellate Court in Nabozny v. Barnhill, 334 N.E.2d 258, 260—if a decision about teen athletes playing that other kind of football—that “some of the restraints of civilization must accompany every athlete onto the playing field.”

Well intentioned aspirations for meaningful athlete-as-stakeholder involvement and debate about the selective intervention of courts all gloss over the broader and more troubling trend of public, civil justice eclipsed by the private sphere.  I confess that what troubled me most about the sports lawyers’ commentaries on arbitration and autonomy was a problem beyond the scope of their charge: the disappearance of civil justice in our society at large.

Plenty has been written at the national level about vanishing civil justice and the rise of private dispute resolution.  But as the realities of globalization decree that every dispute becomes an international one—whether a youthful athlete against an international federation, or a homeowner against a floorboard maker—it it seems that public civil justice is dying.  Blind deference to adhesion contracts is hastening the trend, and the courts seem plenty eager to stand by and cede power.  They purport to further the laudable aims of deference to experts or freedom of contract.  But courts have always been in the business of second-guessing professed experts, and the contemporary commercial contract is hardly a product of free choices.

Dystopian science fiction in popular culture has in recent years flourished upon an obsession with burgeoning social angst over the corporatization of public life.  In 2013 and 2014, the Canadian TV series Continuum traced the personal struggle of an anti-terrorism agent who came to doubt the virtue of the corporate-dominated future she was sent back in time to protect.  Themes of abusive corporate supremacy and submissive, corrupted government dominate the visions of current hits, such as Killjoys and The Expanse, the latter based on the novels of James S.A. Corey.  The next year will see the premieres of Incorporated, a dark Matt Damon-Ben Affleck project, and the plainly titled Dystopia, which imagines 2037: “Governments are now powerless puppets for the biggest corporations.”

Western democracy has 900 years of experience developing a public system of civil justice to patrol the boundaries of right and wrong among us.  We ought not jettison that system so readily, nor so casually.  We ought not capitulate to the conveniences of globalization, nor certainly to the burdens of transaction costs.  Would that we spend more time and energy trying to fix the public system that we have rather than ushering it into the past and replacing it with the corporatized private justice of our nightmares.