A senior staff meeting at a law school recently turned into an improvisational communication workshop. The experience was, by the author’s own admission, an uncomfortable one. But it also triggered a deeper examination of how lawyers are taught to communicate in the first place, and whether the techniques of improv, so often associated with comedy and spontaneity, have a genuine place in legal education. The answer, it turns out, is not straightforward, but it is deeply revealing about the fundamental tension between adversarial legal training and the collaborative, adaptive skills that modern legal practice demands.<\/p>\n
I am not a devotee of improv. I particularly did not enjoy this participatory event, but you sometimes do things anyway. My aversion had less to do with improv itself than with a long-standing discomfort with role-playing activities, where opting out is offered but not culturally supported. Over my career, as I have become more aware of my personal aversion to these exercises, I have also come to recognize that I am probably not the only one who would prefer, or perhaps should not be required, to engage in them. People talk about pushing oneself out of a comfort zone. I embrace that, too, when we are talking about effort, but not when we are talking about learning. For example, if I am exhausted climbing a hill, I may need to push myself to continue up, even beyond what I am comfortable with. It is a completely different thing to try to develop a skill or learn something when the environment in which it is being experienced is toxic or so uncomfortable that you spend part of your cognitive space managing the context.<\/p>\n
At the same time, I appreciate what the goal is, and I have enjoyed seeing other people use improv effectively. For instance, I watch an actual play role-playing group known as Critical Role<\/a>. Their games, usually Dungeons & Dragons or similar game sets, are great examples of people using improvisational techniques. The collaborative communication is really interesting to watch, as is seeing people adapt to what someone else has started to create, which may not have been the direction the individual had intended for themselves. That kind of adaptive, co-creative dialogue is powerful, and it stands in stark contrast to the structured, adversarial communication that dominates legal education and practice.<\/p>\n The professor who led our improv session\u2014someone who clearly loves improv and wants to share and engender that love in others\u2014did a great job. I participated in all of the<\/a> activities, but I am at a point in my career where I often observe the activity even while participating. It was funny to me to hear people attempting to correct, or suggest that someone else’s approach was somehow incorrect, in an improv activity. Fundamentally, not everyone is open to this sort of communication. It is not just that it can be uncomfortable; it may be antagonizing. After the session was over, I sent the professor a long email in response to their question about how improv might be used in a law school. In other words, was there a way for them to pitch workshops or other activities for law students? I suggested that there were possibilities, but that it would be important to understand how law students and lawyers are taught to communicate. Frankly, it is not a collaborative method. It is adversarial.<\/p>\n This was one of those moments where I learned more about my own thoughts as I tried to express them to someone else. I do not believe that law school prepares lawyers to communicate effectively verbally. Most students will be taught how to communicate effectively for adversarial situations\u2014trial advocacy, moot court\u2014and perhaps even for collaborative environments, like alternative dispute resolution. In some cases, they will get experience communicating with clients or people outside of a hierarchy, such as judges or supervising lawyers, or within a regulatory framework, such as opposing counsel or unrepresented parties. But the core training is adversarial. It is built on the assumption that communication is a contest, a zero-sum game where one side wins and the other loses. That assumption is deeply embedded in the curriculum, and it shapes how lawyers approach every interaction, whether they are in a courtroom or a boardroom.<\/p>\n It is why I think that having lawyers as spokespeople for situations outside of an adjudicative setting is so preposterous. Law students are not taught how to communicate in an interview situation. It is not enough to know how to respond quickly “on your feet,” and the risk aversion that is built into lawyer communication becomes a flaw in other environments. Lawyers can learn other methods of communication\u2014so some lawyers may eventually be effective in media-facing roles\u2014but I do not think it is by any means the norm. The skill set required to navigate a cross-examination is fundamentally different from the skill set required to explain a complex issue to a journalist or a member of the public. The former is about control and precision; the latter is about clarity and connection.<\/p>\n We ended up discussing my description of lawyer communication as often being more like leading someone through a maze to a goal, rather than a shared development of a path. As an example, I discussed the American Jurisprudence Proof of Facts resource. For any non-law librarians reading this, Am. Jur. Proof of Facts is a secondary publication that is replete with hypotheticals and supporting question-and-answer scripts on how to prove any given fact. They are shortcuts for people engaging in litigation who need to prove certain things to overcome element or other requirements in a fact-based adversarial situation. No one wants their case thrown out for failing to prove a key element, and practice resources like this can help. But a Proof of Facts Q&A is a railroad, and much of lawyer communication is also fixed to a specific path. It is not meant to be an exploration.<\/p>\n As the rule goes, never ask a question you do not know the answer to. That is not entirely true, since you can only woodshed your own folks, and a deposition or interrogatory may not elicit all the information you need. In general, though, someone engaging in examination, direct or cross, is going to want to avoid creative answers that go beyond what needs to be addressed in the courtroom. Communication in a courtroom is not meant to have the same tempo or purpose, a purpose that may be known when the communication starts, as it is outside the courtroom. This railroad mentality is the opposite of what improv teaches. Improv is about building on the unexpected, about saying “yes, and” and exploring where the conversation takes you. That is a fundamentally different cognitive and behavioral framework from the one that law school instills.<\/p>\n It is perhaps obvious that I think lawyers are poor communicators. That perspective means that, ironically perhaps, I think improv might have a lot of usefulness in a law faculty. It would just need to be tailored in a way that may not be obvious to someone from an improv background.<\/p>\n For one thing, if other people share my perspective, improv has a comedy foundation and can be geared towards the zany rather than the practical. I think this context can make it harder to sell as a tool in a law school curriculum. Student groups might embrace that, for the<\/a> same reasons our senior staff team did, as a team building exercise more than as a communication skills development. But if I were to pitch improv as a communications tool for law students, it would be in these three specific ways:<\/p>\n Law students have to learn how to deal with questions that may stump them. Improv builds a muscle memory for how to take on unexpected information and redirect it to something else. I do not mean redirect in the sense of deflect. Rather, if a judge asks a question and you are not immediately sure how you want to answer, you may need a tool set to manage that moment. One element the professor and I discussed was learning to be silent for a second or two. The natural reaction to want to immediately start talking when the other party stops can be unlearned. If a law student learns to take a beat, and to learn to live with the discomfort initially of waiting a second or even two or three before responding, they can improve their overall communication skills. That is something that can work in both adversarial and collaborative communication environments. This is not about hesitation; it is about purposeful pause. It is about giving yourself the cognitive space to process and respond effectively, rather than reacting reflexively.<\/p>\n Law schools over-weight skills training towards litigation, even though many law school graduates will not enter a courtroom or will have seen those skills deteriorate by the time they do. Where schools have an ADR or third-party negotiation program, an improv component might be really helpful. If you are trying to reach an agreement between two other parties, you may need to be able to absorb suggestions and refashion them\u2014given knowledge that only you may hold\u2014to direct them towards that shared endpoint. Unlike in litigation, where a lawyer has already documented the outcome (relief stated in a complaint, for example), other forms of dispute resolution may not have a fixed goal. If people walk away feeling as though they have “won” or received “justice,” then having a flexible communication style that helps them get there is an asset. Improv teaches you to accept offers, to build on what others contribute, and to work towards a shared narrative. That is exactly what effective mediation and negotiation require.<\/p>\n This is everything else. A style of communicating when you are sitting on a governance board and working with staff to help think about strategy and the future. Or when you are talking with other people, that may or may not include lawyers, who are working towards a collaborative goal: a volunteer group, a continuing education panel, or any other professional setting. It would be an advantage to have a communication tool that encourages you, and others, to accept every suggestion and try to build on it. In these settings, the adversarial instinct to shut down, correct, or dismiss others’ ideas is counterproductive. The improv principle of “yes, and” is not just a performance technique; it is a leadership philosophy. It fosters psychological safety, encourages creativity, and builds trust. These are skills that are almost entirely absent from the law school curriculum, yet they are essential for anyone who wants to lead a team, manage an organization, or influence a community.<\/p>\n These are obviously options that would appeal to a person like me, who was not ever going to be in a courtroom and who dislikes adversarial situations. The value of teaching law students more collaborative ways of communicating would have other, less obvious benefits. For example, another belief I have is that most people who go to law school do not know how to manage other people. This can range from law library directors to law firm managing partners to judges. If they have the skills to communicate well with their staff or colleagues, it is often because they learned those skills outside law school or their workplace. Law students coming out with a more collaborative communication toolset may be more adaptable as future leaders. The legal profession is undergoing a profound transformation. Technology is automating routine tasks, clients are demanding more value and transparency, and the nature of legal work is shifting from pure advocacy to problem-solving. In this environment, the ability to communicate collaboratively, adaptively, and empathetically is not just a nice-to-have; it is a competitive advantage.<\/p>\n The question is not whether improvisation can help lawyers. It clearly can, as the three applications above demonstrate. The real question is whether legal education is willing to embrace a mode of communication that challenges its deepest assumptions. Lawyers are taught to be certain, to be definitive, to be in control. Improv teaches you to be comfortable with uncertainty, to be open to alternatives, and to let go of control. That is a hard sell in a profession that prizes predictability and finality. But the most effective lawyers, the ones who truly excel in negotiations, in client relationships, and in leadership, are often the ones who have learned to move beyond the adversarial framework. They have learned to listen, to adapt, and to build on what others bring to the table. Those are skills that can be taught, and improv is one of the most powerful<\/a> tools for teaching them.<\/p>\n In the end, I had a good conversation with the professor. I am hopeful he will attempt to make a pitch and will be interested to see how the law faculty and students respond. But I will watch from the sidelines. I think my improv time is done. The insight, however, is not. The tension between adversarial legal training and collaborative communication is not going to resolve itself. It will require intentional effort from educators, practitioners, and leaders in the legal profession to bridge that gap. The question for every law school, and every lawyer, is whether they are willing to step off the railroad and into the open space of genuine, adaptive dialogue. That is a step that no amount of legal training, as currently structured, will prepare them to take. It may be the most important skill they never learned.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" A senior staff meeting at a law school recently turned into an improvisational communication workshop. The experience was, by the author’s own admission, an uncomfortable one. But it also triggered a deeper examination of how lawyers are taught to communicate in the first place, and whether the techniques of improv, so often associated with comedy […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":7,"featured_media":82528,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"fifu_image_url":"https:\/\/cards.overcentral.com\/cards\/en\/79174.png","fifu_image_alt":"Improv Training Raises Lawyer Communication Skills","footnotes":""},"categories":[40657],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-79174","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","category-legal"],"fifu_image_url":"https:\/\/cards.overcentral.com\/cards\/en\/79174.png","fifu_image_alt":"Improv Training Raises Lawyer Communication Skills","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/overcentral.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/79174","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/overcentral.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/overcentral.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/overcentral.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/7"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/overcentral.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=79174"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/overcentral.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/79174\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/overcentral.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/82528"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/overcentral.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=79174"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/overcentral.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=79174"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/overcentral.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=79174"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}The Adversarial Foundation of Legal Communication<\/h2>\n
The Railroad Problem: How Lawyers Are Trained to Stay on a Fixed Path<\/h2>\n
Where Improv Might Help Lawyers: Three Concrete Applications<\/h2>\n
Reaction Efficacy: Learning to Take a Beat<\/h3>\n
Non-Adversarial Communications: Building Agreements, Not Winning Arguments<\/h3>\n
Communications Outside Outcomes: The Collaborative Leader’s Toolkit<\/h3>\n
Why This Matters Beyond the Courtroom<\/h2>\n