Statutory Framework

Oregon law imposes a non-discretionary duty on mandatory reporters. Under ORS 419B.010(1), any public or private official with “reasonable cause to believe” that a child has suffered abuse, or that any person with whom the official comes into contact has abused a child, must immediately report or cause a report to be made in the manner required by ORS 419B.015.

The statute contains limited exemptions. Specifically, “a psychiatrist, psychologist, member of the clergy, attorney or guardian ad litem appointed under ORS 419B.231 is not required to report such information communicated by a person if the communication is privileged under ORS 40.225 to 40.295 or 419B.234(6).” ORS 419B.010(1). Attorneys are further exempt when disclosure would be detrimental to the client. Id.

Thus, psychiatrists and psychologists are uniquely positioned: if the communication is privileged under OEC 504, no report is required. Other mental health professionals—including licensed counselors and regulated social workers—are not exempt. Their statutory privileges (OEC 504-4, OEC 507) do not override mandatory reporting duties.

The Psychotherapist-Patient Privilege

OEC 504 defines the psychotherapist-patient privilege. It protects “confidential communication” made for the purposes of diagnosis or treatment of the patient’s mental or emotional condition among the patient, the patient’s psychotherapist, and those participating under the psychotherapist’s direction. OEC 504(2).

The privilege may be claimed by the patient or the psychotherapist on behalf of the patient. OEC 504(3). Importantly, however, while the definition of “psychotherapist” in OEC 504(1)(c) is broad, the statutory exemption from mandatory reporting in ORS 419B.010(1) applies only to psychiatrists and psychologists.

Accordingly, only communications strictly between a patient and a psychiatrist or psychologist fall within the narrow safe harbor. If a counselor, social worker, or other provider is present, the privilege does not exempt them from reporting obligations.

Limits on Privilege: ORS 419B.040

Even when privilege applies, ORS 419B.040(1) limits its scope. That statute provides that the privileges created in OEC 504 to 505—including psychotherapist-patient, physician-patient, nurse, school staff, regulated social worker, and spousal privileges—“shall not be a ground for excluding evidence regarding a child’s abuse, or the cause thereof, in any judicial proceeding resulting from a report made pursuant to ORS 419B.010 to 419B.050.”

Oregon appellate courts have characterized this as a “limited exception.” In State v. Wixom, 275 Or. App. 824, 835, 366 P.3d 353 (2015), rev. denied, 359 Or. 166, 376 P.3d 280 (2016), the Court of Appeals explained that ORS 419B.040 makes privileges inapplicable only to evidence of child abuse or its cause in judicial proceedings arising from a report.

In State v. Evans, 260 Or. App. 270, 273, 317 P.3d 290 (2013), rev. denied, 355 Or. 142, 326 P.3d 1207 (2014), the Court held that the exception permits introduction of both inculpatory and exculpatory statements referencing child abuse, including explicit denials that exonerate a defendant.

Similarly, in State v. Reed, 173 Or. App. 185, 200–01, 21 P.3d 137 (2001), the Court limited admissibility to records including either descriptions or denials of abuse. Records with “no reference to abuse—that is, neither descriptions of abuse nor denials of abuse”—remain protected.

The Oregon Supreme Court in State v. Hansen, 304 Or. 169, 179, 743 P.2d 157 (1987), emphasized legislative intent: the exception was designed to assist in the search for truth regarding child abuse, not to prove a particular result. The legislature deliberately prioritized child protection and fact-finding over absolute confidentiality.

Finally, in State ex rel. Juvenile Dep’t v. Spencer, 198 Or. App. 599, 607–08, 108 P.3d 1189 (2005), the Court of Appeals acknowledged the “chilling effect” this scheme may have on treatment but concluded that it reflects a policy choice reserved to the legislature.

Practical Implications

1. Psychiatrists and psychologists are not required to report privileged communications, but they may later be compelled to testify in proceedings initiated by another mandatory reporter.

2. Counselors, social workers, and other professionals have no exemption; any disclosure of abuse triggers a mandatory reporting duty.

3. Patients face an inherent risk: while treatment communications with psychiatrists or psychologists may be initially protected, those communications can be disclosed in court if child abuse is already under investigation.

Conclusion

Mandatory reporting law in Oregon draws sharp distinctions among mental health professionals. Only psychiatrists and psychologists can withhold reporting under the psychotherapist-patient privilege, and even then, privilege is vulnerable once child abuse proceedings begin. For patients, disclosure of abuse history always carries risk. For practitioners, precise knowledge of these statutory boundaries is essential.

Most people think they understand what “proof” means. But walk into a courtroom, and suddenly that word gets blurry. Jurors start confusing gut instinct with evidence. Confidence with certainty. Emotion with fact. That’s why defense attorneys have to reframe the whole conversation—because “beyond a reasonable doubt” isn’t just a phrase. It’s the cornerstone of justice. And most people have no idea how high that bar really is.

In this blog, we’ll cover:

• Why “pretty sure” isn’t good enough in a criminal trial
• How defense attorneys help jurors translate the burden into real-world stakes
• Why “beyond a reasonable doubt” protects everyone—not just the defendant
• The difference between suspicion, probability, and proof

The burden of proof sits squarely on the state—and for good reason. They’re the ones with the power. The investigators. The labs. The resources. And when they bring charges, they’re the ones making the accusation. So they don’t just get to suggest. They have to prove. If there’s a gap—if something doesn’t add up—it’s not the defense’s job to fill in the blank. It’s the state’s job to close the loop. If they can’t? Not guilty.

That’s where the image below comes in. We use visuals like this to help jurors map their own level of certainty. The shades of blue represent all the possible gut reactions someone might have: “probably guilty,” “pretty darn sure,” “highly likely.” But none of those meet the bar. The only acceptable place to vote guilty is at the very top: “Guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.” Everything below that? It’s doubt. And doubt means you don’t convict.

This isn’t abstract. It’s human. In voir dire, we often ask jurors: Would you bet your life on this? Your freedom? Your kids’ future? Because that’s what the accused is risking. If you’re sitting anywhere in the blue zone—even if you think the person probably did it—that’s not enough. “Not guilty” isn’t a gift. It’s the system working. It’s the standard holding.

The idea that we’d rather let ten guilty people go than convict one innocent person isn’t just courtroom folklore—it’s a moral compass. It reminds us that criminal trials are not about what might have happened. They’re about what can be proven. If the state doesn’t carry the full weight of the burden, it doesn’t get the win. Period.

Two Words That Can Stop the State

Most of us will never have the chance to halt a government in its tracks. No podium. No protest. No press. But if you sit on a jury, you hold something more powerful than any of that: a vote. And if you’re in a criminal trial, your single vote—your quiet, internal “no”—can bring the full momentum of the state to a dead stop.

One juror. One holdout. One person unwilling to convict without proof beyond a reasonable doubt. That’s not theoretical. That’s how the system is designed to work.

In this blog, we’ll explore:

• Why a single juror can stop the entire prosecution
• Why “Not Guilty” is an act of resistance—not compromise
• How jury duty gives ordinary people rare, real civic power
• What it really means to uphold the presumption of innocence under pressure

The government walks into court with overwhelming resources—law enforcement, prosecutors, experts, lab techs. The defendant? They walk in with a lawyer, maybe two, and the weight of a presumption that doesn’t come naturally to most people. But despite that imbalance, the law throws in one radical safeguard: unanimity. The state doesn’t win unless it convinces everyone. That means one juror—just one—can hold the line.

Being that juror is harder than it sounds. It means standing up to eleven other people in a closed room. It means holding your ground when the pressure’s on to move past it, wrap it up, “get real.” But the law doesn’t say “pretty sure.” It doesn’t say “close enough.” It says: beyond a reasonable doubt. And if you don’t feel that in your bones? The answer is “Not guilty.” That’s not obstruction. That’s courage.

Some people might think jury duty is boring. An inconvenience. But it might be the only time in your life where the system puts real moral weight in your hands. Where you get to stand between the accused and the power of the government. And your decision doesn’t just matter—it defines the outcome. No hashtags. No speeches. Just two words. Not guilty.

That’s the power of a single juror. When you’re in that courtroom, it’s not about convincing everyone else. It’s about being convinced yourself. If the state didn’t prove it, you don’t convict. If the evidence fails to convince, that is not a failure of justice. The verdict given as a result is justice.

So when people talk about civic responsibility, don’t just think about voting or volunteering. Think about the courtroom. Because that’s where ordinary people become the firewall. And sometimes, all it takes to stop a bad prosecution… is one person brave enough to say “no.”

We live in a culture that will cancel you for having the wrong opinion. Volume is confused for truth. Emotion is mistaken for evidence. And nowhere is that more dangerous than in a courtroom.

In this blog you’ll learn:

• Why emotional reactions in court can distort how jurors interpret evidence
• How defense attorneys counter outrage culture with structure and storytelling
• Why innocence must be actively constructed in the minds of jurors

What it takes to return the focus to the only standard that matters: proof beyond a reasonable doubt

In criminal trials, the defense attorney stands alone against this tide. The accusation itself becomes the weapon. Before the first witness speaks, jurors are already battling inner bias: “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.” That presumption—deeply human, deeply wrong—is the antithesis of justice. Yet it’s the starting point in most trials.

Defense strategy must account for that. It’s not enough to explain reasonable doubt. Jurors need a way to feel it. That means analogies, stories, frameworks. It’s why seasoned defense lawyers use sports metaphors, betting language, and even moral thought experiments to translate the abstract into something jurors can hold.

In today’s courtroom, innocence is no longer the default. It’s something you have to build in the minds of twelve strangers. You have to break the performance loop. You have to remind them: This isn’t a play. This is real. Real stakes. Real consequences. Real people.

Because in an outrage culture, being falsely accused is a double punishment. You fight the legal battle and the moral battle. You defend not just facts, but your very right to be presumed innocent. And that’s why the defense has to steer every trial back to center: Not guilty is not a compromise. It’s the only honest verdict when proof falls short.

What Is Justice?

Justice. Everyone talks about it. Few define it. And fewer still ask what it really means in practice.

Watch What is Justice? on YouTube – (8 min)

In the legal world, justice isn’t about feel-good slogans or political grandstanding. It’s about giving each person what they are due. Not more. Not less. Justice isn’t a handout or a favor—it’s a system where people are treated with fairness and dignity, where the facts matter more than emotions, bias, or public pressure.

In other words, justice means a process that doesn’t favor the rich, the loud, or the well-connected. It means a level playing field. It’s not about punishing people because they make us uncomfortable or about redistributing outcomes until everyone feels satisfied. That kind of thinking may sound fair at first, but it misses the point. Justice isn’t about feelings. It’s about rights.

When you step into a courtroom, the goal is simple: determine the truth and do what’s fair based on the law and the evidence. But getting there is anything but simple. The legal system has guardrails—like the rules of evidence, due process, and a neutral fact-finder—to ensure those decisions are made without prejudice. Without those protections, a courtroom turns into a popularity contest or a punishment theater.

Take hearsay, for example. Someone shows up to court with a note saying you did something terrible. But the person who wrote it isn’t there to testify, to answer questions, to be challenged. Is that fair? No. That’s why hearsay generally isn’t allowed. Because justice demands that both sides have a fair chance to challenge what’s being said.

And that principle goes deeper. Is it fair to bring up someone’s past mistakes in a case that’s about something else? Maybe. But only if it reveals something relevant—a pattern, a motive, a specific intent. Not just to paint someone as a bad person. Because justice isn’t about character assassination. It’s about facts and context.

Justice also depends on the fact-finder—the judge or jury—being truly neutral. They must come in without preconceived notions, willing to listen, open to being persuaded by the evidence. That’s why voir dire exists: to find jurors who can honestly set aside their biases. Not robots, but humans who know themselves well enough to recognize their blind spots.

And even with all that in place, the system still isn’t perfect. Sometimes judges are impatient. Sometimes decisions are rushed. Sometimes the power dynamics in a courtroom skew toward one side. But justice means we keep striving. We appeal. We challenge. We work to correct mistakes.

Because the alternative is terrifying. In countries where the justice system has failed, people settle disputes in the streets. Corruption runs rampant. The powerful exploit the powerless. People live in fear, knowing that fairness isn’t even on the table.

In America, we’re not there—yet. We have flaws, yes. But we also have structure. Rights. Appeals. A culture that, at its best, values due process and truth. That’s the soul of justice.

So what is justice? It’s not perfection. It’s not convenience. It’s a process. One that respects human dignity, prioritizes facts, and strives for fairness, even when it’s messy or slow. Justice means getting what you are due—no more, no less. And in a free society, that idea is worth fighting for.

A smooth internal system is not about shiny software. It is a promise to the client that nothing will slip and every creative tactic will arrive on time.

Clio as Mission Control

Clio tracks every task, deadline, and owner in one view. When a brief moves from Pending to In Progress the calendar reflects it instantly, giving the whole team live awareness.

Why Visual Boards Matter

Lawyerist calls Kanban boards a lawyer’s dashboard for bottlenecks. Seeing cards pile up in Waiting sparks an immediate fix instead of a last minute fire drill.

The board shows problems before a client ever feels them.

Deep Work Blocks Protect Strategy

Harvard Business Review points out that every unnecessary meeting steals from the time lawyers need for original thinking. We lock two-hour focus blocks on the calendar and guard them as fiercely as court appearances.

During that window we draft inventive motions, dissect evidence, and construct themes that shift jury perception. No interruptions, no email pings, just legal creativity forged in silence.

Backward Planning Prevents Deadline Panic

•  List the courtroom due date, then break work into research, drafting, edits, and filing. Each slice gets its own calendar block. This converts ambition into scheduled action.
• Build a cushion. Filing a day early wins margin for client emergencies without sacrificing polish.

Backward planning turns looming deadlines into routine checkmarks.

Delegation Builds Capacity for Novel Tactics

Routine tasks flow to staff with clear instructions inside Clio. Attorneys stay free for high value moves like rapid injunction requests or surprise voir dire angles. The client pays for strategic insight, not document shuffling.

Weekly Matter Huddle Keeps Eyes on the Prize

Designated updates per file surface stalls before they grow. Real time edits to the Kanban board lock new tasks and ensure calendars show the fresh reality. The whole firm shares one truth, so no one guesses what comes next.

Results the Client Feels

•  Fewer surprises. Work appears finished, not rushed. The client senses calm control.
  • More creativity. Attorneys spend cognitive fuel on novel arguments, not searching email threads.
  • Faster pivots. Clear bandwidth data lets us accept urgent matters without dropping any current ball.

Workflow discipline is the silent partner in every courtroom win.

When clients ask how we push boundaries yet never miss a beat, the answer is simple. We plan the work, work the plan, and guard our calendars like a constitutional right. The payoff is justice delivered with precision and originality, case after case.