It happens all the time.  I’ll give a lecture or mention what I do at a bar association event, and the colleague I just met will express appreciation for what I do, tell me it’s a really neat niche, and then try to convince himself that our practice areas don’t overlap.  I’m here to tell you that, yes, they do.  The conversation usually goes something like this:

Sorry, Aaron.  I’m a bankruptcy lawyer, I’ll never need to serve anybody in a foreign country.  But thanks for doing that CLE.  You’re a funny guy.  (Funny how?  I’m a clown?  I amuse you?)  No, I mean I really like how you got that picture of Boromir into your slide deck!

Seriously.
This is Boromir.  I use him all the time in CLE decks and in blogs. Why reinvent the wheel? (To be sure, this is not Ned Stark.  It just looks like Ned Stark.)

Wait a sec, there, pal.  It’s likely that you will have to serve abroad someday.  Ever run into an adversarial proceeding?  (Yes.)  Ever need to serve process on an adverse party?  (Yes.)  Think the Royal Bank of Scotland, or perhaps Credit Suisse might be your adversary?  (Hmmmm.)  Bear with me here…

The Rules of Bankruptcy Procedure govern how to manage an adversarial proceeding in Bankruptcy Court.  Perfectly logical.  And Rule 7004 governs how to serve the summons.  Again, logical.  But 7004 doesn’t get into a great deal of detail; it just incorporates the lion’s share of Rule 4 (Fed. R. Civ. P.) by reference.

The reality is that a bankruptcy action is going to be served under Rule 4 in most cases.  That’s fortunate when you have a foreign adversary because 7004 doesn’t say anything about service abroad.  Rule 4(f) specifically incorporates the Hague Service Convention, and even if it didn’t, Volkswagenwerk Aktiengesellschaft v. Schlunk, 486 U.S. 694 (1988), does.  Schlunk says specifically that if the Convention applies, you have to follow it.

Bankruptcy lawyers, rejoice.  For you are under no heavier a burden than the rest of us.  Just pretend you’re trying a civil action, say, a patent infringement or what have you. No difference in how you get service effected.

There’s a problem, though:  proper Hague service takes a while.  A very long while in many instances.  And bankruptcy summonses expire thirty days from issuance.  Not a big problem here at home.

But, hang on, says the adverse party.  It is a problem here at home.  You mean to say that if the thing isn’t served for three weeks, I only have nine days to answer? 

Well, no, not exactly.  The serving party has to get the thing served, or at least, in the mail, within seven days, per 7004(e).  Assume a couple of days in the custody of the United States Postal Service, give or take, and you’re going to have roughly the same amount of time to answer a Bankruptcy summons as you would a regular Summons in a Civil Action (21 days).

But 7004(e) applies only within the United States.  The seven-day rule doesn’t apply when serving abroad.*  So how to get around the expiration?

You have to get the language modified.  Just do it.

To be fair, any adversary is going to need two or three weeks to properly answer a complaint.  This is why a civil defendant gets a standard 21 days from service (Due Process and all that stuff?).  Simply put, though, if you have to serve an adversary outside the United States, it ain’t gonna happen quickly.  Sure, we might be able to get it done in England or (Anglophone) Canada within a couple of days.

Nnnnnnneee!
Nnnnnnneee!

In France?  Non.  Germany?  Nein.  The Netherlands?  Nee. —>

In Mexico or China or India?  Not a snowball’s chance in hell.

And if the document expires by its own terms before a judicial officer even gets his hands on the thing, he won’t serve it.  So

If the clerk uses a B2500A form, you have to get the language modified.  This:

YOU ARE SUMMONED and required to file a motion or answer to the complaint which is attached to this summons with the clerk of the bankruptcy court within 30 days after the date of issuance of this summons, except that the United States and its offices and agencies shall file a motion or answer to the complaint within 35 days.

… should become:

YOU ARE SUMMONED and required to file a motion or answer to the complaint which is attached to this summons with the clerk of the bankruptcy court within 21 days after the date of service of this summons.

The BTXN 117a (an older version of the summons) includes a safety valve:

{If this summons and complaint is served in a foreign country} Service of your answer must be made by the following date prescribed by the court ______________.

… but if the clerk gets lazy and just types “N/A” in the blank, you have to get the language modified.

{If this summons and complaint is served in a foreign country} Service of your answer must be made by the following date prescribed by the court within 21 days of service.

It bears repeating.  The Hague Service Convention controls how all this gets done wherever it applies.  It’s a treaty, to which the United States is a party, and which entered into force right about the time my mom graduated from high school.  Thanks to the Supremacy Clause, its strictures trump lesser laws (that includes the Rules of Bankruptcy Procedure and pre-printed forms that are incorrectly filled out by court clerks).  A gentle reminder:

This Constitution, and the Laws of the United States which shall be made in Pursuance thereof; and all Treaties made, or which shall be made, under the Authority of the United States, shall be the supreme Law of the Land; and the Judges in every State shall be bound thereby, any Thing in the Constitution or Laws of any State to the Contrary notwithstanding.  (Art. VI-2)

(Emphasis mine.)

In short, if the clerk balks at revising the language, tell the clerk that James Madison & Alexander Hamilton said they have to.


* Rule 4(m) sets out a 90-day deadline for service in civil actions, but that deadline is also inapplicable to service abroad.

A couple of years ago, I ran into a law school classmate at a happy hour hosted by our local bar association.  “Hey, you handle service of process in other countries, right?”  Yeah, I answered.  Quite a bit of Hague Service Convention stuff.

“Great.  Let me ask you a question…”

He was handling a divorce case, representing the wife.  They had two kids and a mortgage, both had decent jobs, and both worked hard to make a better life.  Your typical Midwestern existence, except for one thing: the husband was Mexican, and had “overstayed his welcome,” as it were.  For whatever reason, he’d returned to Mexico, and resumed residence with his parents.  He kept in touch with his wife and kids, and sent a few pesos north now & then as he was able, all while trying to get his green card the “right way” (by “standing” in the mythical line at the Embassy).

One day, the wife decided she needed to move on with her life.  Not an unreasonable decision given the state of U.S. immigration law, though it certainly raises a question about her level of commitment in the first place.  She hired my classmate, a pretty top flight lawyer, to file the petition.

His question to me, as we sipped our Boulevard Pale Ale:  “the judge told me if I didn’t get him served within a week, he was going to dismiss the case.  When I told him it would take longer because the guy’s in Mexico, he said he didn’t care if he was on the moon, just get it done.  So I mailed everything to him.  That’s okay, right?

Now, being Norwegian, I’ve always felt a sort of fraternal connection to Edvard Munch (I’m more a fan of his French contemporaries, but I digress).  Naturally, my reaction was this:

munch_edward_3
That bad.

No! It’s very much not okay!  If you don’t march down to the court tomorrow and file a notice that you need sufficient time to do it properly, the following will happen, in order:

  • The defendant fails to answer the petition.
  • The judge gladly hands you a default judgment, granting everything you’ve demanded in payment, just to clear his docket.
  • Woo hoo!  You have a very happy client, who now owns her house in fee simple absolute, who now has sole legal and physical custody of the kids, and who can now marry that handsome fellow she met in the frozen foods section at Piggly Wiggly.
  • She tells all of her friends at the PTA that you’re the greatest attorney in town, and they will all flock to you because their husbands are ne’er-do-wells, and they want to find a handsome fellow at Piggly Wiggly, too.

But here comes the nightmare…

  • Five years on, the Mexican (ex-)husband gets a letter from the U.S. Embassy in Mexico City.  Congratulations, sir.  Given that you are a hardworking father of two U.S. citizen children and have waited patiently these many years, you may now enter the United States and freely participate in our economy.
  • First thing he does when he gets back?  He goes home, to find that his kids address Piggly-Wiggly-Guy as “Dad”.
  • He hires the nastiest lawyer he can find to re-open the action that took away his house and his kids.
  • Naturally, because he was served in Mexico in a manner contrary to that country’s declarations to the Hague Service Convention, he is granted a new hearing.*
  • In which he prevails, forcing Mr. and Mrs. Piggly-Wiggly-Guy to cough up half the value of the house they’ve been happily living in, thinking she owns it in fee simple absolute.
  • And in which Dad is granted 50/50 custody** of the children and thus awarded child support because Mom makes a whole bunch more money than Dad does.
  • Which facts make Mr. and Mrs. Piggly-Wiggly-Guy ponder how to best end your career as a lawyer.
  • Their new lawyer calls me for an opinion letter to include in his petition for damages.  I decline, of course, but I can’t save you.
  • You call your malpractice carrier, who promises to settle the claim, and then drops you like a hot rock.
  • The PTA moms stop calling.
  • Sallie Mae does not.

Okay, perhaps there’s a wee bit of hyperbole there.  But the real takeaway?  I don’t care if the judge orders you to serve somebody by mail in a Hague country that objects to it… DO. NOT. DO IT.

Politely tell the judge he’s wrong, call in some help, and do it right.

 


* Why does the Hague Service Convention matter?  Because Sandra Day O’Connor said so.

** We have a new 50/50 presumption in Missouri, which was not in effect on the date of the ill-fated scream I emitted at the bar association happy hour.  [For crying out loud, yes, this is a fabricated story.  In part.  The question was for real, and the answer is substantially a reflection of my real response.  The background… all made up.]

This can most fairly be categorized under “how to not have to hire Viking Advocates”, but here’s a great practice tip:

If a cooperative defendant is outside the United States, don’t have them accept service.  Instead, have them waive service.

I’ll grant you, this is a distinction that only a lawyer could love, but it will matter down the road.  Let’s get into the hair splitting:

  • Waive means “nah, don’t worry about serving me. I acknowledge that I am on notice of the suit, but I do not expect you to have to jump through a bunch of hoops to confirm it for the court.”
  • Accept means “send it on over and I won’t hassle the process server or quibble about it later on.”

With the former, there’s no occasion to transmit, because it’s unnecessary.  With the latter, transmission still has to happen. That is, service must still be properly effected, so Hague rules apply.  Everybody involved may think acceptance is okay, but in reality it could still violate the destination country’s declarations to the Hague Service Convention.  Consequently, it violates U.S. law, no matter what the forum court’s rules might say.

The magic words: “occasion to transmit”, straight out of Article 1 of the Hague Service Convention.  Without such an occasion, the Convention is inapplicable, so there are no hoops to jump through.  No occasion means no worries.  Hakuna matata.

But if the defendant is only willing to accept service in the other country, the hoops remain, and they are on fire.*  You may still have to request service via a Central Authority.  In fact, there’s no question that you have to file a USM-94 in countries that object to Article 10 methods—and even in those that don’t object, the alternatives don’t necessarily work in the manner you might expect.  The waiver eliminates all questions.

Another thought:  in federal court, defendants are required to waive service anyway [see Rule 4(d)(1)].  You have to formally ask them to waive—complete with a SASE.  And that request does not amount to service.  All defendants—at least, theoretically—are so obliged.  The fee-shifting rule in 4(d)(2) isn’t compulsory for foreign defendants, but that does not alter 4(d)(1).  That’s the stick.

The carrot?  Well, 4(d)(3) gives defendants extra time to answer.  Rather than the usual 21 days in a garden-variety summons, U.S. defendants get sixty days from the waiver request… ninety days if they are abroad.  A handy little negotiating tool.

If they do waive, you don’t have to hire me to get you through the flaming hoops.

Just promise that you’ll call me about that subpoena you want to serve in Germany.

 


* Y’know, if you Google images for “flaming hoops”, lots of tigers appear in the results.  Gotta feel sorry for those critters.  Really.  [This tiger image is borrowed from a completely unrelated, yet thoughtful article by Michael Hurley, which I found on the Google rabbit trail.  I have no idea if he had the right to post it or not.]

Hague Envoy logoU.S. Marshals Form 94, the much-feared Hague Service Request.  It’s just a form to fill out, not unlike a tax return simpler to complete than a Letter Rogatory.

This is the proper form for Article 5 of the Hague Service Convention, so if that isn’t your treaty, move along, because these aren’t the droids you’re looking for. Continue Reading How to Complete a Form USM-94 Hague Service Request (2024 update)


It certainly wasn’t a slow weekend in global politics.  New Zealand’s exceedingly popular Prime Minister announced his retirement, Austria’s voters barely shunned a return to power by the hard right, and Italians rebuffed an arguably critical spate of constitutional reforms, prompting the resignation of their own popular PM.  So, what to make of these stories here in America?  Like many things, that depends on your perspective.  Much as I opined after the Brexit vote in June, not much will change in terms of how U.S. litigants must interact with foreign parties.

NEW ZEALAND

Frankly, precious little is going to change in Auckland—Prime Minister Key says he’s leaving at the top of his game.  When a PM retires, his party usually remains in power, so the agenda doesn’t change dramatically.  Look for New Zealand to continue arguing about sheep and rugby and whether to remove the Union Jack from their national flag, all while continuing to fortify their defenses against Saruman and his Orc army.

Not exactly the best image of New Zealand culture.
Not exactly the best image of New Zealand culture.

I kid, of course.  New Zealand is high on my bucket list of places to visit, because the place is objectively stunning (so the perfect location to portray Middle Earth).  They have a host of challenges before them, just like the rest of us: wealth inequality, racial tension, affordable housing, the occasional earthquake.  But in terms of relations with the U.S., status quo continuum (or however that should be conjugated).

And I don’t foresee any changes in serving process or compelling evidence down there.  It’s a common law system that, despite its absence from the Hague Service & Evidence Conventions, is not much more complicated than those in other common law countries.

Like the U.S., New Zealand is a member of the Hague Apostille, Child Abduction, and Adoption (1993) Conventions.  Especially the Apostille Convention makes life a little bit easier for litigants (and litigators).

AUSTRIA

Score one for the good guys on Sunday.  ‘Nuff said on that issue.

sound-of-music
Gratuitous picture of everybody’s favorite Austrian.

Truly, no more is going to change due to Austria’s electoral results than to New Zealand’s change in leadership.  That is, not much from a U.S. litigation perspective.  More pertinent to forthcoming changes is Austria’s expected accession to the Hague Service Convention, which has been approved by the Council of Europe (Herr Van der Bellen, we’re waiting patiently).

amadeus 2
Okay, maybe this guy is everybody’s favorite Austrian.

Austria is already a party to the Apostille, Adoption (1993), and Child Support (2007) Conventions, but its absence from the Service Convention means that a litigant’s only option to serve an Austrian defendant is an old-fashioned Letter Rogatory.  Expensive and time-consuming, that device.  And if it’s not worded correctly, highly problematic.  [Watch this space for updates as the HSC enters into force for Austria.  We’ll be on top of it.]

ITALY

Personally, I think the Italians get a bad rap.  The trains run pretty efficiently (a lonely bright spot in the horrible legacy of Benito Mussolini), the wine is both good and cheap, and that Pavarotti fellow is still yyyuuuuge there.  I really do love traveling in Italy—and I’ve returned to Rome several times, having never tossed any lira/euros into that fountain.  This is notwithstanding the fact that I’d do pretty much anything Anita Ekberg asked me to (still, that scene is completely implausible—even at 3am, there are hordes of tourists crowded around).

On Sunday, a massive slate of constitutional changes was rejected by the Italian electorate, whose turnout numbers ought to shame every American.  So status quo continuum (please, somebody conjugate that correctly?).  The very popular (and young) Prime Minister Matteo Renzi pinned his political future to this ballot, and resigned as promised.  The amendments were criticized as, ostensibly, a huge power grab by the PM, but “fake news” arguably had a huge influence on the vote (well played, Mr. Putin… well played).  The bottom line, 63 governments in 70 years was not sufficiently frustrating to warrant the changes advocated by Renzi.

Still, for U.S. litigants, Italy is actually quite smooth to navigate, and looks to remain so.  Like us, Italy does not object to alternative methods of service in the HSC, and is party to the Apostille, Evidence, Child Abduction, Adoption (1993) and Child Support (2007) agreements.  That’s all six Hague Conventions that the U.S. has ratified (soon to be seven, if you include Securities!).  A relatively good place for U.S. litigants, if you can believe it.

And my wife loves the place, so we’re going back.

20151113_130128
Peggy and me in Venice, 2015.

The time limit governing service of process for federal civil actions is found in Rule 4(m).

The gist: get the summons served in 90 days or you’re out, counsel.

But the 90-day deadline only applies if the defendant is in the United States.  Outside the U.S., you’re under a reasonable diligence standard, and that usually means that you must start the ball rolling within 90 days.  You’re not dilatory.  You don’t sandbag.  Your feet aren’t dragging like a sailor on his third day of liberty in Singap… okay, I belabor the point.

This week’s amendments don’t do a whole lot to Rule 4, but the change does clarify a very nit-picky problem.  The old 4(m):

This subdivision (m) does not apply to service in a foreign country under Rule 4(f) or 4(j)(1).

The nit-picky problem: 4(f) deals with individuals, and 4(j)(1) with foreign states.*  The old rule seemingly omitted service on entity defendants, so the committee notes say this:

Rule 4(m) is amended to correct a possible ambiguity that appears to have generated some confusion in practice.  Service in a foreign country often is accomplished by means that require more than the time set by Rule 4(m).  This problem is recognized by the two clear exceptions for service on an individual in a foreign country under Rule 4(f) and for service on a foreign state under Rule 4(j)(1).  The potential ambiguity arises from the lack of any explicit reference to service on a corporation, partnership, or other unincorporated association.  Rule 4(h)(2) provides for service on such defendants at a place outside any judicial district of the United States “in any manner prescribed by Rule 4(f) for serving an individual, except personal delivery under (f)(2)(C)(i).”  Invoking service “in the manner prescribed by Rule 4(f)” could easily be read to mean that service under Rule 4(h)(2) is also service “under” Rule 4(f).  That interpretation is in keeping with the purpose to recognize the delays that often occur in effecting service in a foreign country.  But it also is possible to read the words for what they seem to say—service is under Rule 4(h)(2), albeit in a manner borrowed from almost all, but not quite all, of Rule 4(f).

Really, any reasonable reading of 4(h)(2) ought to eliminate the confusion:

(h) Serving a Corporation, Partnership, or Association. Unless federal law provides otherwise or the defendant’s waiver has been filed, a domestic or foreign corporation, or a partnership or other unincorporated association that is subject to suit under a common name, must be served:

(2) at a place not within any judicial district of the United States, in any manner prescribed by Rule 4(f) for serving an individual, except personal delivery under (f)(2)(C)(i).

(Emphasis mine.)  Rather a tempest in a teacup, because it’s awfully implausible to argue that “oh, no, your honor… if the drafters had meant for corporations to be included, they’d have written the rule more artfully.”  Oh, how we lawyers love to manipulate the hell out of language.

But the revision negates the question entirely.

Mischief managed.

 


*Regarding 4(j)(1), a shameless plug: pay particular attention to the Foreign Sovereign Immunities Act, the subject of an excellent article by my colleagues Victoria Valentine, Shelli Barish Feinberg, and Simone Fabiili in the Michigan State International Law Review.  I was honored to contribute a bit to the cause.  More importantly, Victoria was just elected to the bench, so congratulations are in order.  Oakland County was the real winner in that race.

[Author’s note:  this series distills the Convention as it applies to practitioners in the United States—it is not a definitive analysis of the treaty in a broader sense.  Call it a primer, if you will.  Parts One and Two focus on the treaty’s main operative articles, Part Three provides background, and Part Four, which follows here, delves into articles that, while important, have a bit less practical application to everyday practice.]

Article 13 sets out the only two bases for a Central Authority’s refusal to execute a request for service:  a violation of its sovereignty, and a threat to its security.  A country cannot deny a request just because it thinks its own courts should have jurisdiction over a dispute.

Article 16 allows for a default judgment only after six months from a request’s arrival at a Central Authority.  Elaboration on this idea is far too complicated for this space.

Article 18 allows countries with federal systems to decentralize their Central Authority function (yes, this seems counterintuitive).  We don’t.  That is, the U.S. doesn’t have a separate Central Authority for Maine, Minnesota, and Montana.  But Germany, Canada, and Switzerland all do.  They divide their Central Authorities geographically, and determining the right one can get pretty complex, especially where language is an issue.

Article 19 allows for service by additional methods other than those indicated in Articles 5 & 10 if the methods are used in the receiving country’s courts and are specifically made available to foreign plaintiffs.  I don’t know of any country whose law sets out a specific additional method.  (To be sure, Norway does not have a statute that says “hey, even though we object to Article 10, it’s okay for foreign plaintiffs to hire a private eye to serve process for them.”  Yet that’s what was argued once.)


That’s all, folks.  At least, that’s all for the Cliff’s Notes version of the Service Convention.  Questions are, of course, always welcome, as are comments.  Don’t be bashful.

[Author’s note:  this series distills the Hague Service Convention as it applies to practitioners in the United States—it is not a definitive analysis of the treaty in a broader sense.Parts One and Two focus on the treaty’s main operative articles, Part Three, which follows here, provides a good bit of background, and Part Four delves into articles that, while important, have a little less application to everyday practice.]

Article 1, essentially, says where the Convention applies and where it doesn’t.

  • It applies if a plaintiff has “occasion to transmit (…) for service abroad”. That is, if you can serve the defendant in the U.S., the Convention doesn’t apply.  So don’t worry about it.  You may have enforcement issues later on, but for the purpose of putting the defendant on proper notice under U.S. law, you’re okay.
  • It applies if the defendant’s address is known. That is, if you don’t know the defendant’s whereabouts, the Convention doesn’t apply.  So don’t worry about it.  That said, if you can’t locate the defendant, you have bigger problems than Hague analysis.  Also, there’s a difference between not being able to find the guy and not even trying.  So don’t be lazy.

Article 3 indicates who can file a request under Article 5 (a “Forwarding Authority”), and what the request must consist of.  Important to note is that “the authority or competent judicial officer” making the request is defined by the country in which the case is being heard, and that definition is found in each country’s declarations to the treaty.  An Article 5 request sent from the U.S. must be signed by a court official or an attorney—it cannot be signed by just anybody authorized to serve process in the forum court.

Article 4 requires the receiving Central Authority to answer a request promptly if it is denied for formatting.  “Promptly” is a very loose term.

Article 9 allows requests to be conveyed to the Central Authority by diplomatic officials of the country hearing the claim.  Don’t spend much energy on this one, because using diplomats to convey a request defeats the purpose of the Convention in the first place.  Plus, U.S. diplomats won’t handle Hague Requests anyway—instead, they’ll just look at you funny and send you on your way.  Still, Article 9 is important to be aware of, just in case somebody tells you to just “call the State Department and have them do it.”  Sorry, pal.  Doesn’t work that way.

Tomorrow, we conclude the series with discussion of a few articles that aren’t frequently addressed, but that occasionally pop up in discussion of proper Hague Service.

[Author’s note:  this series distills the Hague Service Convention as it applies to practitioners in the United States—it is not a definitive analysis of the treaty in a broader sense.  Parts One and Two focus on the treaty’s main operative articles, Part Three provides a bit of background, and Part Four delves into articles that, while important, have a bit less practical application to everyday practice.  This is Part Two, focused on Alternative Methods articulated in the Convention.]

There’s no such thing as “serving through the Hague Convention”.  For starters, you’ve got to get the name of the treaty right.  Here, we’re talking about the Hague Service Convention, not to be confused with the three dozen other treaties that are known as Hague Conventions.

Additionally, I sometimes have a lawyer-client say, “I have to serve a defendant in (Country X), but I don’t want to do it through the Hague.  That’s just too much hassle.”

Sorry, I say.  You don’t have a choice in the matter.  But that doesn’t necessarily mean what you think it means.  We just need to define ‘the Hague’.

What they really mean to say is that they don’t want to file a request with the foreign country’s Central Authority (see Part One).  Fortunately, in many countries, you have options beyond the Central Authority, and they come from the Convention’s Article 10.

Article 10 is at once a source of confusion and salvation.  Confusion because they aren’t available everywhere, salvation because they can be a far superior avenue to effective service.  Provided the country you’re serving in doesn’t object to the specific methods, Article 10 lets a plaintiff go beyond the Article 5 procedure and utilize the following“Alternative Methods”:

10(a):  Service by Postal Channels, which is to say, good old U.S. Mail (or FedEx, UPS, DHL—to be sure, the Post Office uses FedEx for its overseas courier deliveries, and I’ve never seen one rejected because “you used FedEx instead of the Post Office”).  Still, I argue that service by mail is a bad idea.

10(b):  Service via direct access to “judicial officers, officials or other competent persons” of the country you’re serving in.  In short, this means process servers in common law jurisdictions (except England/Wales), and it means officers akin to bailiffs in civil law systems.  This is ordinarily the quickest way to get things done.  It’s usually not the cheapest, but it’s fast—and it’s just as legally valid as an Article 5 request.

10(c):  Service via “Interested persons.”  For the most part, this one is swallowed up by the “other competent persons” designation of 10(b), except in England & Wales, whose declarations specify that 10(c) is the article applicable to the use of process servers.  Critical to note, though—the English/Welsh also require that a solicitor instruct the process server, so we Americans can’t just pick up the phone and hire some guy we know in Liverpool.

That’s it in a nutshell.  Stay tuned tomorrow for the background articles, which inform the operative portions of the Convention.

[Author’s note:  this series distills the Hague Service Convention as it applies to practitioners in the United States—it is not a definitive analysis of the treaty in a broader sense.  Parts One and Two focus on the treaty’s main operative articles, Part Three provides pertinent background, and Part Four delves into articles that, while important, have a bit less practical application to everyday practice.  This is Part One, focused on the “Central Authority” method of requesting service, which is common to all countries in the treaty.  Except Russia, as you’ll see.]

Officially, it’s called the Convention of 15 November 1965 on the Service Abroad of Judicial and Extrajudicial Documents in Civil and Commercial Matters.  Colloquially, it’s called the Hague Service Convention, and if it applies, its strictures must be followed in U.S. courts.  To be sure, treaty analysis is not a precise analog to statutory construction, but that doesn’t mean it is overly complicated.

In general, the Convention lays out the method(s) by which a U.S. plaintiff can serve a defendant in another country that is also a member of the treaty.

Article 2 requires member countries to designate a Central Authority to field service requests from fellow treaty members.  Usually, this Authority is the Foreign Ministry or Justice Ministry (analogous to our State/Justice Departments), or in some cases, a specific Court.  Here in the U.S., our Central Authority is technically the Department of Justice, but its functions are outsourced to a private firm.  (The private firm, as you might expect, charges foreign requestors $95 to serve U.S. defendants.  But Justice’s refusal to waive/cover the charge violates a fee prohibition in Article 12—which in turn gives the Russians reason to deny U.S. requests as a matter of course!)

Article 5 is the most vital part of the treaty, the big dog, the real crux of the whole thing.  It requires a Central Authority to serve either according to its own method or, if appropriate, in a manner requested by the plaintiff.  The proper request form is described here.  (Aside: don’t get hung up on a requested method if you’re afraid the Central Authority will not observe forum court rules.  They don’t have to.  If the foreign government thinks serving by carrier pigeon is valid under its own law, then the U.S. court has to accept that, so long as the pigeon method doesn’t violate the Mullane standard of due process.  Given that publication still suffices, Mullane sets a very low bar.)

Article 5 also allows the receiving government to refuse untranslated documents, and requires that a summary of the documents be served with them.  If you go no further than Article 5 in trying to get a defendant served, you’re usually okay, although Article 10 alternatives may be the better option if available.

Article 6 requires the foreign Central Authority to send a Certificate to the applicant, indicating whether service has been effected.

  • If it hasn’t been effected, the Certificate says why not. Sometimes, it’s as simple as “sorry, the guy doesn’t live there anymore… try again.”
  • If it has been effected, the Certificate briefly indicates how it was done. This thing is like Kevlar®.  Bulletproof—at least, as long as the request was proper.

That’s it in a nutshell.  Stay tuned tomorrow for the Alternative Methods articulated in Article 10.


* Back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth (circa October, 1987), the lazier students among us set aside the masterwork that the teacher assigned and instead read a Cliff’s Notes, a bare-bones synopsis of the story that gave us juuuust enough information to seem like we’d done the assigned reading, but failed to provide real depth for an academic discussion.  Don’t want to be subjected to The Sound & the Fury?  Fine, Cliff’s is there for you.  [I should have read Cliff’s for that one, because the original was infuriating.  I hate Faulkner, and I still think anybody who likes him is out of their tree.] 

The point here to give lawyers the framework of the Hague Service Convention without drilling too deep into the nuances of its application.

In law school, the comparable distillations were called Nutshells, but that title just isn’t as poetic as Cliff’s Notes, and wouldn’t give me a chance to express my disdain for William Faulkner.