The courage of Judge Peter Bowers

Those sentencing remarks in context.

Every week in every Magistrates' Court and Crown Court there are judges and magistrates making sentencing remarks to convicted defendants.

Often this is a pointless exercise.  Words of admonishment or of encouragement are likely to have little or no effect.  Indeed, one can wonder why such remarks are made.  All that the defendant will usually want is to know what their sentence will be and not receive a pep talk from the bench.

Perhaps there is a good argument for stopping such remarks but it may well be that, in certain situations, they could make a positive if marginal difference.

And if that is the case, then it is in the public interest for the remarks to be made: less re-offending is for the good of everyone.

However, sometimes these comments are clumsy or crass.  And sometimes they can be reported out of context by a sensationalist media, packaging the story to get outrage from readers and quotes from politicians.  After all, is the attitude, judges are always out of touch; it is just a question of finding examples.

So with this in mind, let's look at the case of Judge Peter Bowers, the judge who has caused media and political uproar because of his apparent commendation of the courage of a burglar.

The full sentencing remarks are not actually available (though that will not stop many people having very strong opinions), but the fullest report appears to be from the newspaper which broke the story:

Judge Peter Bowers admitted he could be “pilloried” for his decision to let a serial burglar walk free from his court.

He said: “It takes a huge amount of courage as far as I can see for somebody to burgle somebody’s house.

“I wouldn’t have the nerve.

“Yet somehow, bolstered by drugs and desperation, you were prepared to do that,” he told Richard Rochford, the man in the dock yesterday.

He accepted that Rochford, 26, had been harmed by prison.

“I think prison very rarely does anybody any good,” he said. “It mostly leaves people the chance to change their own mind if they want to.

“I don’t think anybody would benefit from sending you to prison today. We’d all just feel a bit easier that a burglar had been taken off the streets.”

This tells us two important things.  First, the judge seems to be aware that there would be an adverse public reaction to his comments.  This suggests he is not naive.  He acknowledges how badly the remarks may go down, but he is going to make them anyway.  This may be because of arrogant stupidity, or because he had the courage to realise any positive impact would be worth being "pilloried".

Second, the remarks seem to be in the context of not sending a defendant into prison when it looks like it was a previous imprisonment – and the availability of drugs in a prison – which formed part of the reason why the defendant resorted to burglary.

Nonethless, the reported comments are strange. 

No one who has ever been burgled will think that it is an exercise of courage, or indeed of any other virtue. 

But what the judge was evidently seeking to convey is that a burglary is not what people would normally do but for (in this case) the "drugs and desperation". 

However, there are many other ways of making the same point and one would expect an experienced judge to have said something more appropriate.  Indeed, according to the Daily Mirror, the burglar himself denied that he had been courageous:

I feel sorry for what I did because I know what people feel like to get burgled.

I know what my dad felt like when he got burgled. I feel bad for what I did.

I know it won’t make up for what I’ve done but I am sorry. I don’t think burglary is a courageous thing to do.

I felt awful about it to be honest but I can barely remember even doing it – I was on 60 to 70 valium tablets a day at the time.”

That last sentence is important.  Remember the judge said it was "drugs and desperation" which made the defendant do something he otherwise would not do.

The burglar added:

I do think the judge was right to not put me in prison because last time I went in, I took drugs and if he’d have put me back in there,

I would have taken drugs again, I would have gone on to commit more crimes.

There’s no chance I’ll be getting back into drugs. I start a new job in a week’s time.

We can only take the defendant's comments at face value, but if sincere then there is a lower risk of further crimes being committed.

And if that is so, then the tragedy in this case is that an example of the criminal justice system working – in that there it is less likely that there will be re-offending by a defendant – has been converted by the media into a classic "law is an ass" story.

The sensible response to the remarks is that of Frances Crook of the Howard League for Penal Reform who told me:

Comments that appear to belittle the seriousness and trauma of domestic burglary are unhelpful, so while the sentiment was mistaken, the sentence was correct. 

Community sentences have a far better track record of helping people into crime free lives than a short prison sentence and that means fewer victims. 

Those who advocate prison sentences indiscriminately have to accept responsibility for their failure and the next victim should be on their conscience.

In passing the sentence, and in attempting to engage with the defendant in his sentencing remarks, Judge Peter Bowers said something which was at best unfortunate. 

But that was not the only thing he did. 

It would appear that Judge Peter Bowers imposed a sentence which was both correct at law and also likely to lead to a lower risk of the defendant re-offending; and he should be praised for doing this, even if his remarks were obtuse.

 

David Allen Green is legal correspondent of the New Statesman

Judge Peter Bowers

David Allen Green is legal correspondent of the New Statesman and author of the Jack of Kent blog.

His legal journalism has included popularising the Simon Singh libel case and discrediting the Julian Assange myths about his extradition case.  His uncovering of the Nightjack email hack by the Times was described as "masterly analysis" by Lord Justice Leveson.

David is also a solicitor and was successful in the "Twitterjoketrial" appeal at the High Court.

(Nothing on this blog constitutes legal advice.)

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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue