By Cassandra Caldarella
By any measure, it was an ordinary trial day in Department 15 of the Los Angeles, Calif., Superior Court. I took my seat, set up my machine, and prepared to do what I have done thousands of times before. Counsel organized their exhibits, the clerk called the case, and the jury settled into their seats. The rhythm of the courtroom was familiar and predictable, almost routine in its structure. Yet as the proceedings unfolded before Hon. Richard L. Fruin, I began to see something that I had never fully articulated before.
The case itself was not about court reporting, nor did it initially appear to have any connection to the profession. It involved allegations of long-term water intrusion, mold exposure, and habitability failures within a residential property. Witnesses testified about maintenance requests, recurring leaks, and the physical condition of the unit over time. Attorneys introduced emails, photographs, and expert reports in an effort to build their respective narratives. On its surface it was a typical civil case, but what was happening beneath that surface was far more instructive.
If transcripts are produced without a clear chain of custody, disputes over accuracy and authenticity are likely to increase. Courts may be forced to address challenges that were previously unnecessary under the stenographic model.
The court was not simply listening to testimony or reviewing documents in a casual way. Every piece of information was being tested against the strict standards of admissibility that govern our legal system. A document could not simply be handed to the jury without foundation, and a witness could not testify about something without establishing how they knew it. Objections were raised and ruled upon with precision, often interrupting the flow of testimony to ensure that proper procedure was followed. It became clear that this was not about storytelling, but about building a legally reliable record through disciplined process.
The moment that crystallized everything for me came when the mold inspector took the stand. He did not simply testify that there was mold present in the unit, nor did he rely on conclusions alone. Instead, he carefully walked the court through each step of his process, beginning with how and when he collected the samples. He described the tools he used, how the samples were sealed, and how they were transported to the laboratory. He introduced a chain-of-custody document and explained its purpose, even acknowledging a minor error in the recorded time and correcting it under oath.
When he attempted to go further and explain how the laboratory analyzed the samples, the court immediately intervened. An objection was raised, and it was sustained, preventing him from testifying outside the scope of his direct knowledge. The judge made it clear that such testimony must come from a qualified representative of the laboratory itself. In that moment, the principle was unmistakable: The system does not accept conclusions without process, and it does not allow shortcuts around evidentiary standards. That ruling, simple as it was, carried implications far beyond the mold case being tried.
As I sat there capturing every word, I realized that the same framework applied to the work I was doing in that moment. The mold sample had a chain of custody, a documented and accountable path from collection to analysis. Every person who handled it was identified, and every step was subject to scrutiny. That is what gave the sample its evidentiary value, not merely the fact that it existed. Without that chain, the sample would be vulnerable to challenge and potentially inadmissible.
The transcript follows a similar path, though it is rarely described in those terms. Words are spoken in a courtroom, and those words must be preserved accurately and completely. I am present when those words are spoken, hearing them in real time and observing the context in which they occur. I intervene when speakers overlap, request clarification when something is unintelligible, and ensure that each speaker is properly identified. After the proceeding, I produce and certify the transcript, attesting that it is a true and correct record of what occurred.
In effect, I am maintaining a chain of custody for testimony, even if no one uses that phrase to describe it. From the moment the words are spoken to the moment they are reduced to a certified transcript, there is continuous oversight and accountability. There is no gap in the process where the integrity of the record is left to chance. That continuity is what allows the court, and ultimately the appellate system, to rely on the transcript as evidence. Without it, the reliability of the record would be compromised.
In other professional fields, this concept is known as responsible charge, and it carries significant weight. A licensed professional is accountable for the work product from start to finish, even if certain tasks are delegated. That individual ensures that the process meets the required standards and stands behind the final result. In the courtroom, the stenographic court reporter fulfills this role with respect to the record. It is a responsibility that goes beyond capturing words and extends to preserving the integrity of the legal process itself.
The current conversation surrounding artificial intelligence and automated speech recognition often overlooks this distinction. Much of the focus is placed on accuracy rates, efficiency, and cost savings, as though the transcript were simply a commodity. There is an assumption that if the words are captured correctly, the method by which they are captured is of secondary importance. However, the trial I observed demonstrates that this assumption does not align with how the legal system evaluates evidence. Accuracy alone is not sufficient without a reliable and accountable process.
The transcript I produce will outlive the trial itself, serving as the official record for any future review. It must withstand scrutiny not only for what it says, but for how it was created. That responsibility is not incidental to the role of a court reporter; it is central to it.
If we apply the same evidentiary standards to AI-generated transcripts, significant questions arise. Who is responsible for monitoring the proceeding in real time to ensure clarity and completeness? Who intervenes when speakers overlap or when testimony is unclear? Who certifies that the final transcript is accurate and complete, and under what authority? Most importantly, what is the chain of custody from spoken word to written record, and how is it documented?
These are not theoretical concerns, but practical ones that go to the heart of admissibility. In the mold case, the court would not accept a sample without a clear chain of custody, nor would it accept analysis from someone not qualified to provide it. The same logic applies to the transcript, even if it is not always explicitly stated. A record that lacks accountability in its creation is inherently vulnerable to challenge. Over time, reliance on such records could erode confidence in the legal system itself.
The implications of this shift are significant and cannot be ignored. If transcripts are produced without a clear chain of custody, disputes over accuracy and authenticity are likely to increase. Courts may be forced to address challenges that were previously unnecessary under the stenographic model. Appellate review could become more complicated if the record is called into question. What has long been a stable and trusted component of the legal system could become a point of uncertainty.
Sitting in that courtroom, I felt a renewed sense of purpose in the work I do. I was not merely recording a proceeding, but participating in a system that depends on precision, accountability, and trust. The transcript I produce will outlive the trial itself, serving as the official record for any future review. It must withstand scrutiny not only for what it says, but for how it was created. That responsibility is not incidental to the role of a court reporter; it is central to it.
The future of the profession will undoubtedly involve change, and technology will continue to evolve in ways that affect how we work. However, the fundamental principles that govern the legal system remain unchanged. Evidence must be reliable, and reliability depends on process. The chain of custody, whether applied to physical samples or spoken testimony, is essential to maintaining that reliability. Any approach to the record that fails to account for this risks undermining the very system it seeks to serve.
In the end, the question is not whether technology can produce a transcript, but whether that transcript can stand as evidence. The trial in Department 15 provided a clear answer to what the system requires in order to trust a piece of evidence. It requires accountability at every step, from creation to presentation. The stenographic court reporter, operating in responsible charge, fulfills that requirement in a way that aligns with the court’s expectations. As the profession moves forward, it must ensure that this standard is not only preserved, but clearly understood by those who depend on the record every day.
Cassandra Caldarella is a freelance reporter in Santa Ana, Calif. She can be reached at caldarella13127@yahoo.com.
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