The American Bar Association Section of Dispute Resolution has announced the establishment of a Committee on Mediator Ethical Guidance.

Mediators are invited to submit to the Committee inquiries regarding ethical issues arising out of the practice of mediation, which will provide advisory responses.

According to Section Chair John Bickerman:

There is no greater way for consumers to have confidence in the services that mediators provide them then to know that mediators are following the ethical duties of their profession. As the leader in policy and practice in the field of dispute resolution, the DR Section is pleased to be able to provide guidance to mediators, the parties and lawyers who use their services.

Full details are available at the ABA web site.

(A big hat tip to Geoff Sharp.)

Having written about bystander nonintervention just last week, I have my own bystander experience to describe to you.

She swayed unsteadily on her feet, leaning hard against the door to the subway car. In swollen red hands, she clutched a bottle of Dr. Pepper and a plastic shopping bag. Her fingers fumbled clumsily at the handles of the plastic bag, try to shift its weight off her wrist. She tried to lift a stubbed-out cigarette butt to her lips, but there was something wrong with her aim–she kept missing her mouth until finally she gave up.

A row of nickel-plated rivets marched up the sides of her bellbottom jeans. She was about the age of my 20-year-old son.

And that’s when I realized that she was high.

As the train sped along, her eyes closed as she leaned back against the door, rocking with the motion of the car. Slowly, slowly, her head nodded and then fell far forward. Just as the rest of her was about to follow, she snapped her head up, waking in time to pull herself up. Her mouth hung open.

All the way past Maverick and Airport she swayed, her head falling forward, eyes shut tight, nodding off and losing balance, then jerking upright. Just when I thought she’d collapse in a heap on the subway car floor, some internal force would shake her and pull her up. The other passengers either ignored her or pointed at her, laughing quietly among themselves. The woman next to me met my eyes and shook her head in disapproval.

I was about to stand to offer her my seat at least, insist she sit down, when some homing instinct alerted her that her stop was next. The train stopped, the doors slid open, and she stumbled outside onto the platform. As the doors closed, and the train pulled away, she stood looking dazed as if uncertain where she was and thinking was too great an effort. She leaned against a metal fence and sank to the platform, her eyes closed. That was the last I saw of her.

I was the only one who watched her leave.

For the rest of the ride home and well into the evening, and even now, days later, I asked myself what I should have done. I had sat there, watching as this woman, this girl really, my son’s age, placed herself in harm’s way. I had sat there, wondering what to do, paralyzed by indecision. A thousand things went through my mind. Did she need medical attention? How would she get home? Did she even have a home? Despite the rough-looking hands, her nails bore signs of a recent manicure and her eyebrows were painstakingly plucked. She must have had a home. But would she get there safely? In that state she was vulnerable–to sexual assault, physical abuse, worse. I wanted to do something, but I didn’t know what.

And to tell you the truth, I was afraid. If I’d offered to help somehow, would she have turned angry, violent even? What if somehow I made things worse?

But this was someone’s daughter, someone’s sister. There but for the grace of God go any of us or anyone we love.

At what point should we cease being bystanders? At what point do we take responsibility for others? At what point do we get involved?

And why do I feel the need to assert my own anti-bystander credentials in telling you this story? I am the kind of person who stops at accident scenes on highways to render aid and give the homeless along Park Street money, coffee, and food. I have come to the rescue of lost toddlers in shopping malls and runaway dogs in the street.

So why was this different? Why did I do nothing this time? And what will I do next time?

What about you? What will you do?

Will you stand by? Or will you stand up?

Idealawg, published by Renaissance soul Stephanie West Allen and celebrating a year of blogging, brings fresh revelations and insights into the practice of law. Through her writing, Stephanie reveals its artistry and celebrates all that is good and noble in it.

I had this to say about this remarkable blog last October, and I repeat it now to convey to you the alchemy that Stephanie works through her writing:

The Internet is a place of continuous discovery. At once marketplace, library, and public square, its wealth of voices, viewpoints, and ideas never ceases to delight and enlighten me.Although the pleasures of new discoveries are great, there are places on the web that I find myself returning to often, just as any of us do in the real world we inhabit. One of these for me is the blog Idealawg, published by Stephanie West Allen. With an original voice, this blog explores and reveals the art within the practice of law. It skillfully traverses ground as well that mediators will feel at home in–idea productivity, restorative justice, conflict resolution, client relations, and, of course, mediation.

Congratulations, Stephanie. I am fortunate to count on you as friend.

It looks shabby and neglected, the street the little store stands on. So narrow, it could easily be mistaken for an alleyway, the street runs perpendicular between two bustling roads, Tremont Street above and Washington Street below. Boarded up store fronts, trash the wind wraps around your ankles, and pedestrians hurrying through with their collars turned up against the chill, make it seem unwelcoming and a little sad.

It’s the kind of street you might understandably avoid or easily miss. Which would be a shame, because you’d miss out on an other-century treasure–the Bromfield Pen Shop, a store that remains devoted to analog in a digital age.

There are still enough people who appreciate the feel of a pen in their hands, who take pleasure in watching ink flow across creamy paper, to keep the doors of this extraordinary little store open. And pen lovers are drawn there not only by its old-world charm but also by its tradition of excellent customer service. Those of you who shun the big-box stores and patronize your town’s corner bookshop or the locally owned hardware store will understand.

Unlike its closest competitors Staples and OfficeMax, the store is on a human scale. Everything is within reach. It is quiet, too, in the way in which libraries and museums are quiet. There is a sense of reverence for both the goods on sale and for the people who will use them. I used to go there between classes at law school for its contemplative silence and for the beauty of the pens gleaming softly in the glass cases.

I was therefore pleased to see that Sam Allis, columnist for the Boston Globe, has published “The Write Stuff“, a delightful little valentine to this old-fashioned store where people still count. And if you’re ever in Boston, you’ll have to be sure to drop in.

In honor of April Fool’s Day, the weekly review of the best in law blogging, Blawg Review, comes to us courtesy of host George M. Wallace in a special double album set: Blawg Review #102 at Declarations and Exclusions and a special Blawg Review prequel at Wallace’s personal and cultural web journal, a fool in the forest.

Congratulations and best wishes to my friend Gini Nelson on the first anniversary of her blog, Engaging Conflicts, which explores themes of “Science, Ethics, and Spirit In A High Conflict Practice”.

It seems like only yesterday that I welcomed Gini to the ADR blogosphere. Gini is a wise, warm, welcoming soul who makes this corner of the internet the friendly neighborhood it is.

Many happy returns, Gini!