The myth of "fat cat" barristers

Criminal barristers threaten to strike over cuts to legal aid fees.

Max Hill QC, Chairman of the Criminal Bar Association, will give a speech this evening hitting out at the government's cuts to the legal aid budget and barristers fees, arguing “the criminal justice system is at risk because barristers’ role within it is becoming increasingly less viable”. He will threaten the government with industrial action by barristers – although this is unlikely to happen without further discussion with the association's 3,500 members.

The results of a survey of CBA members show that 89 per cent would be willing to take direct lawful action, such as refusal to attend court. The majority of respondents had experienced delays in payment from the Legal Services Commission.

This is fighting talk. For many people, the idea of barristers going on strike will seem absurd. The government's cuts to the legal aid bill have been presented as necessary to prevent "fat cat" lawyers running off with vast sums of government money. It's a familiar story. However, quite apart from the effect that the legal aid cuts will have on numerous people who find themselves unable to get legal aid support in their divorce or domestic violence cases, the separate cuts to legal aid fees may well push many barristers into bankruptcy. Fees were cut by 13.5 per cent by the Labour government, and a further 11 per cent by the current government.

Max Hill says that when he took over the role of Chairman in 2010, he was ready for the challenges presented by a recession and ongoing economic uncertainty:

But I did not know that there would be such heartache, depression and personal bankruptcy caused by the wanton failure of central government to shore up the Legal Services Commission in such a way that they might pay us in reasonable time for concluded cases.

I did not know that criminal barristers would email, ring or meet me to tell how they couldn’t pay their tax in January.

This comes as no surprise to me. Magistrates' court work, which forms the majority of legal aid cases, is extremely badly paid. Barristers, who are often pupils or young junior barristers, get paid around £50 per appearance, which is the legal aid fee. The disorganised state of most courts means that they are kept waiting around all day for the case to come up, so they can't usually do more than two cases per day, if that.

Solicitors receive the money, and it is their job to pass it on to the barrister. Unfortunately, this doesn't happen quite so straightforwardly as it might seem. Delays are commonplace, and non-payment happens far more often than you'd expect. Barristers are self employed, so if there's no work, there's no money, and if there's no money, there's no job security to see them through. Out of this money, barristers must pay chambers rent, often as much or more than 14 per cent of each £50 payment.

The legal aid bill is predicated on the assumption that people who don't get legal aid should be able to represent themselves in court. It's not surprising that this government thinks that several years of training, bar school, and practise are expendable. But it's a fallacy, as we would soon discover if the barristers did go on strike -- something that would be totally without precedent. Courts that did open would be chaotic, the waits longer than ever, with people desperately trying to fight their cases with no knowledge of the law. Miscarriages of justice would be par for the course. I suspect we would soon discover that legal aid is worth investing in.

Tim Kevan, writer of the BabyBarista novels and columnist for the Guardian, tells me:

If legal aid work pays significantly less than other areas, it is likely in the long run to discourage away the best candidates. This undermines one of our most precious and basic rights: that of the state guaranteeing to all, regardless of means, the right to a fair trial.

This appears to be just what is happening.

Barristers should have just as much right to strike as any other group if they are being wronged. As Hill says, “the time has come to bypass our political masters. If they won’t listen to us, let us go to the public, because that is where governments are vulnerable. Our causes are just.

“In all things, I say we should do what we do so well in court already, every day. Fight without fear or favour.”

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A swimming pool and a bleeding toe put my medical competency in doubt

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Sometimes the search engine wins. 

The brutal heatwave affecting southern Europe this summer has become known among locals as “Lucifer”. Having just returned from Italy, I fully understand the nickname. An early excursion caused the beginnings of sunstroke, so we abandoned plans to explore the cultural heritage of the Amalfi region and strayed no further than five metres from the hotel pool for the rest of the week.

The children were delighted, particularly my 12-year-old stepdaughter, Gracie, who proceeded to spend hours at a time playing in the water. Towelling herself after one long session, she noticed something odd.

“What’s happened there?” she asked, holding her foot aloft in front of my face.

I inspected the proffered appendage: on the underside of her big toe was an oblong area of glistening red flesh that looked like a chunk of raw steak.

“Did you injure it?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

I shrugged and said she must have grazed it. She wasn’t convinced, pointing out that she would remember if she had done that. She has great faith in plasters, though, and once it was dressed she forgot all about it. I dismissed it, too, assuming it was one of those things.

By the end of the next day, the pulp on the underside of all of her toes looked the same. As the doctor in the family, I felt under some pressure to come up with an explanation. I made up something about burns from the hot paving slabs around the pool. Gracie didn’t say as much, but her look suggested a dawning scepticism over my claims to hold a medical degree.

The next day, Gracie and her new-found holiday playmate, Eve, abruptly terminated a marathon piggy-in-the-middle session in the pool with Eve’s dad. “Our feet are bleeding,” they announced, somewhat incredulously. Sure enough, bright-red blood was flowing, apparently painlessly, from the bottoms of their big toes.

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Often, what patients discover on the internet causes them undue alarm, and our role is to provide context and reassurance. But not infrequently, people come across information that outstrips our knowledge. On my return from our room with fresh supplies of plasters, my wife looked up from her sun lounger with an air of quiet amusement.

“It’s called ‘pool toe’,” she said, handing me her iPhone. The page she had tracked down described the girls’ situation exactly: friction burns, most commonly seen in children, caused by repetitive hopping about on the abrasive floors of swimming pools. Doctors practising in hot countries must see it all the time. I doubt it presents often to British GPs.

I remained puzzled about the lack of pain. The injuries looked bad, but neither Gracie nor Eve was particularly bothered. Here the internet drew a blank, but I suspect it has to do with the “pruning” of our skin that we’re all familiar with after a soak in the bath. This only occurs over the pulps of our fingers and toes. It was once thought to be caused by water diffusing into skin cells, making them swell, but the truth is far more fascinating.

The wrinkling is an active process, triggered by immersion, in which the blood supply to the pulp regions is switched off, causing the skin there to shrink and pucker. This creates the biological equivalent of tyre treads on our fingers and toes and markedly improves our grip – of great evolutionary advantage when grasping slippery fish in a river, or if trying to maintain balance on slick wet rocks.

The flip side of this is much greater friction, leading to abrasion of the skin through repeated micro-trauma. And the lack of blood flow causes nerves to shut down, depriving us of the pain that would otherwise alert us to the ongoing tissue damage. An adaptation that helped our ancestors hunt in rivers proves considerably less use on a modern summer holiday.

I may not have seen much of the local heritage, but the trip to Italy taught me something new all the same. 

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear