When I presented to the Pierce County collaborative law group alongside Justin Aanenson of Truce Law and a real estate neutral, the most useful idea to come out of the session was also the simplest: a page written for the spouse who isn’t doing the research (more on that session). Collaborative divorce requires two willing participants. Almost all of a practice’s marketing reaches only one of them.
The structure of the process makes that hard to avoid. In Washington, collaborative law runs under the Uniform Collaborative Law Act, which requires both parties to sign a participation agreement and each to have their own collaborative lawyer (RCW 7.77). The statute also bars those lawyers, and their firms, from representing either party in a related court proceeding, apart from narrow exceptions such as asking a court to approve the agreement the parties reached (RCW 7.77.080). That disqualification is what makes the process work, since everyone at the table has a reason to settle. It also means the process starts only if the second spouse agrees, and that spouse has usually done none of the research.
California handles it differently. Its Family Code has recognized a collaborative law process since 2007, in two short subdivisions: the parties and the professionals they hire agree in writing to make a good-faith effort to resolve the matter without adversarial court intervention (Cal. Fam. Code § 2013). Much of what Washington writes into statute, including the lawyers stepping aside if the case goes to court, is left in California to the participation agreement itself. In both states, and in most places, collaborative practice is still a young idea that has been slow to spread, which makes the explaining matter more.
By the time the second spouse hears the words “collaborative divorce,” they’re often hearing them from the person they’re divorcing, as a suggestion that arrived with a lawyer’s name attached. Some suspicion is reasonable. A process recommended by the other side’s attorney sounds like a process designed to benefit the other side, and the marketing that brought the first spouse in, however good, was never written to answer that.
What a forwarded page has to do
A page built to be forwarded is a different kind of writing. It has to explain the process to someone who didn’t go looking for it and may not want to read it, in a tone that doesn’t feel like a pitch from the other side’s lawyer. The most useful version I can picture explains what the participation agreement commits both people to, why the lawyers step aside if the case goes to court, how the costs tend to compare with litigation, and when collaborative divorce is the wrong choice. That last part matters most. A page that admits the process isn’t right for everyone reads as information, and a page that never admits it reads as recruitment.
There is evidence worth putting on that page, presented carefully. The International Academy of Collaborative Professionals’ practice survey, published in 2010, found that 86% of the cases its members reported ended in a settlement agreement (IACP), and more recent data from Florida practitioners puts full agreement at about 85% (IACP). Both figures come from practitioners reporting on their own cases. A skeptical reader will notice that, and the page is more credible if it says so first.
The ethics complication
There’s a constraint here that marketing teams rarely consider. Washington’s Rule of Professional Conduct 4.3 says a lawyer dealing with someone who isn’t represented must not state or imply that they’re disinterested, and can’t give that person legal advice, beyond suggesting they find a lawyer, when their interests may conflict with the client’s (RPC 4.3), and California’s Rule 4.3 sets out essentially the same limits (California Rule 4.3). A page written for the other spouse sits close to that line. It can’t present itself as neutral when it’s published by the firm representing their spouse, and it shouldn’t drift from explaining a process into advising on a situation. I’m not a lawyer, and any practice building one of these should run it past whoever handles its ethics questions.
The constraint may also point to the answer. A page that says plainly who wrote it, recommends that the reader find their own collaborative lawyer, and links to a directory of collaborative practitioners instead of the firm’s contact form is likely to earn more trust than a polished page that obscures its authorship. In collaborative practice the second lawyer is necessary anyway. A firm gains little by implying the other spouse could become its client, and it can lose the whole engagement if the page reads as an attempt.
Most legal marketing is measured by how many people it brings to the firm. This page would be measured by something harder to count: whether the person it was written for agreed to sit down at all. I’m not sure most practices could tell when their most important piece of marketing had worked.