Why legal aid reforms must be stopped, Exhibit C: the "paedophile"

Innocent people could be in jail if proposed changes to the legal system are implemented. Here is one of them.

This post is one of a series that seeks to dispel the myth that everyone who ends up in court is a scumbag criminal. It is another example of how easy it is for good guys to end up in court. It is another case that illustrates why everyone should be entitled to independent, quality, legal representation and the chance to go to trial and clear their name.

At the moment your rights are under threat from proposals in the MOJ consultation paper Transforming legal aid.  I hope that reading this post will help you understand what these proposals will mean for our justice system.  I hope that once you understand you will want to sign the Save UK Justice petition to have these proposals debated in parliament.

NB: this is a true story. Certain details that don’t relate to the factual and legal process have been changed to protect those who were involved.

Warning: this is about a little boy who was sexually abused. It may be triggering. Please don’t read any further if you might be affected.

In the beginning

I first heard about Exhibit C over dinner. My husband was complaining about being on another child abuse case. He would love to be able to refuse work like this, but due to the Cab Rank rule he can’t.

From the initial papers it looked obvious that Exhibit C was guilty. This is often the case, that is the purpose of prosecution papers. Over the next few weeks more papers trickled in (the CPS rarely serve everything at once when they can string it out) and the evidence became compelling.

Exhibit C’s 6 year old son had told two of his friends that his daddy had done horrible things to him. The friends told their mums. The mums went round to the little boy’s house to tell his mother.  They repeated what their children had said to the mother and her new husband. The husband spent an hour or so talking to the little boy. The husband relayed what the little boy said to the police. The little boy (my husband would say “the complainant”) had been interviewed by the police and repeated the allegations. There were no inconsistencies.

Stereotypes

As the trial date drew nearer my husband set up a meeting with Exhibit C. Often he has to go to prison to meet clients but as Exhibit C had never been in trouble in his life he was out on bail, even though he had been accused of horrible crimes against his own son.

Exhibit C was not who my husband was expecting. I know we are not supposed to stereotype, and paedophiles can be hiding in plain sight and look just like the rest of us. But when you have met as many sex offenders as my husband has, you know that they do tend to be of a certain “type”. Usually a combination of greasy, smelly, creepy, inadequate, waster.

Exhibit C came across as a stable, humorous, articulate grafter. He said he hadn’t done it and would plead not guilty. Clients often say they aren’t guilty. If they say they are not guilty that is the way that my husband will play it. He wasn’t there at the time of the alleged offence, so he doesn’t know if they are guilty or not.

Video nasties

A few of days before the trial was due to start the transcript of the little boy’s 2nd police interview arrived, along with the DVD recordings of the interviews. Another late night watching video nasties for my husband.

The CPS has guidelines for getting good quality evidence from interviews with children. Right at the start of the interview the supposedly specially trained police officer deviated from the established protocol. He denied the little boy the opportunity to give a “free narrative account” of what had happened. Instead he sought to confirm what his mother’s husband had said.

His day in court

The trial began. Three days into the case the little boy gave evidence via video link. As is customary, all the barristers and the judge removed their wigs and gowns. Next it was my husband’s turn to cross examine the little boy. This is a horrible job, one that preys on the lawyer’s mind for weeks before and after the event itself. It is very difficult to find a balance between protecting the interests of the client and being sympathetic to a small child in an alien situation.

During cross examination the little boy kept referring to his step father as “daddy”, then quickly correcting himself and using the step father’s first name. It became clear that there were two “daddies” in the little boy’s life. Both Exhibit C AND his stepfather were “daddy”. The little boy said that he really missed his daddy (that is, Exhibit C). They hadn’t been able to see each other for over a year. Despite all of the horrible things that his father had been accused of doing to him, this was the only time that the little boy cried.

The step father was next to give evidence. His behaviour was distinctly odd, overly dramatic and emotional. His own evidence in chief destroyed his credibility before cross examination started. Remember that he was not in court to hear the little boy’s evidence, so he had no idea that what he was saying appeared to be complete rubbish.

Court broke up for lunchtime. My husband marched out of the building saying to himself “he did it. That b$*&ard bloody well did it”.

After lunch my husband cross examined the step father. He was evasive. He contradicted what the little boy had said. He showed himself to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

The Perry Mason moment

You can probably guess what is coming now, it is this blog’s first screenplay:

Barrister: (standard court voice) You’re “daddy”, aren’t you?

Stepfather:  (defiant) No I’m not. I never have been.

Barrister:  He calls you daddy all the time.

Stepfather: (defiant) No. He doesn’t.

Barrister: You’ve coached him not to call you daddy for this court case.

Stepfather: (uncertain) No, I haven’t.

Barrister: When the mums came to the house and told you and your wife that the little boy said “daddy”, you had to come up with a story, didn’t you?

Stepfather: (quietly) No, I didn’t.

Barrister: You decided to save yourself by framing Exhibit C

Stepfather: No, I didn’t (begins to cry)

Barrister: (raised court voice) Yes you did, and you got the little boy to say it

Stepfather: (sobbing whispers) No, no, no

This was my husband’s one and only Perry Mason moment. The only time he has ever been able to point the finger at a witness in a case in court. Never before, never since. After my husband’s closing speech the police officer in charge admitted that it was pretty obvious now that everything had come out in the wash.

Exhibit C was found not guilty of all charges. As the court emptied the police and social services were already rallying their troops to arrest the stepfather and protect the little boy and his siblings from further harm.

Exhibit C had thought that he wouldn’t be able to see his children again, even after being acquitted. He was wrong, this story has a happy ending. The children are now living with him and recovering well. Even though my husband was reluctant to take this case in the beginning, by the time it was over he was very glad he had.

Why this story should matter to you

  1. Innocent until proven guilty – as we saw in Myth #2, not all defendants are scumbag criminals. Everyone deserves the right to a fair trial. The MOJ wants to deprive you of this right.
  2. Targets – if this case had happened under the MOJ proposals, Exhibit C’s inexperienced, target driven lawyer would have encouraged him to plead guilty.
  3. Child protection – if Exhibit C had gone straight to jail the little boy and his siblings would have been left in the clutches of an abuser, without the protection of their loving father.
  4. Finger pointing – even if you think you have no enemies you are still vulnerable. The MOJ proposals will be a finger pointer’s charter. It will be like going back to the Witch Trials. You’ll either be pressured into pleading guilty or, if you have got the money to pay for your defence, you will not get all your costs back even if you are innocent. You might clear your name only to face financial ruin.

Help save our justice system

As things stand the proposed changes to the criminal justice system are going to be brought in under secondary legislation, without any debate.

The Save UK Justice e-petition needs 100 000 people to sign it in order for there to be a debate in parliament. If you have not already signed the petition please do. If you have already signed it please talk to your friends and family and ask them to do the same.

Our final scumbag criminal will be Exhibit D – the “fraudster”.

This piece is part of a series of posts exhibiting people at risk due to legal aid changes. It is cross-posted with permission from the A Barrister's Wife blog.

The cover to Erle Stanley Gardner's autobiography.

Barrister's Wife is a barrister's wife. She writes a pseudonymous blog which offers a behind closed doors view of the justice system.

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The Tinder dating app isn't just about sex – it's about friendship, too. And sex

The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, as I found out quickly while using the app.

The first time I met someone using Tinder, the free dating app that requires users to swipe left for “no” and right for “yes” before enabling new “matches” to chat, it was an unqualified success. I should probably qualify that. I was newly single after five years in a committed relationship and wasn’t looking for anything more than fun, friendship and, well, who knows. A few weeks earlier I had tried to give my number to a girl in a cinema café in Brixton. I wrote it on a postcard I’d been using as a bookmark. She said she had a boyfriend, but wanted to keep the postcard. I had no date and I lost my page.

My Tinder date was a master’s student from Valencia called Anna (her name wasn’t really Anna, of course, I’m not a sociopath). When I arrived at the appointed meeting place, she told me I was far more handsome IRL (“in real life”) than my pictures suggested. I was flattered and full of praise for the directness of continental Europeans but also thought sadly to myself: “If only the same could be said about you.”

Anna and I became friends, at least for a while. The date wasn’t a success in the traditional sense of leading us into a contract based on exclusivity, an accumulating cache of resentments and a mortgage, but it had put me back in the game (an appropriate metaphor – people speak regularly of “playing” with the app).

According to Sean Rad, the co-founder who launched Tinder in late 2012, the service was invented for people like me. “It was really a way to overcome my own problems,” he told the editor of Cosmopolitan at an event in London last month. “It was weird to me, to start a conversation [with a stranger]. Once I had an introduction I was fine, but it’s that first step. It’s difficult for a lot of people.” After just one outing, I’d learned two fundamental lessons about the world of online dating: pretty much everyone has at least one decent picture of themselves, and meeting women using a so-called hook-up app is seldom straightforwardly about sex.

Although sometimes it is. My second Tinder date took place in Vienna. I met Louisa (ditto, name) outside some notable church or other one evening while visiting on holiday (Tinder tourism being, in my view, a far more compelling way to get to know a place than a cumbersome Lonely Planet guide). We drank cocktails by the Danube and rambled across the city before making the romantic decision to stay awake all night, as she had to leave early the next day to go hiking with friends. It was just like the Richard Linklater movie Before Sunrise – something I said out loud more than a few times as the Aperol Spritzes took their toll.

When we met up in London a few months later, Louisa and I decided to skip the second part of Linklater’s beautiful triptych and fast-track our relationship straight to the third, Before Midnight, which takes place 18 years after the protagonists’ first meet in Vienna, and have begun to discover that they hate each others’ guts.

Which is one of the many hazards of the swiping life: unlike with older, web-based platforms such as Match.com or OkCupid, which require a substantial written profile, Tinder users know relatively little about their prospective mates. All that’s necessary is a Facebook account and a single photograph. University, occupation, a short bio and mutual Facebook “likes” are optional (my bio is made up entirely of emojis: the pizza slice, the dancing lady, the stack of books).

Worse still, you will see people you know on Tinder – that includes colleagues, neighbours and exes – and they will see you. Far more people swipe out of boredom or curiosity than are ever likely to want to meet up, in part because swiping is so brain-corrosively addictive.

While the company is cagey about its user data, we know that Tinder has been downloaded over 100 million times and has produced upwards of 11 billion matches – though the number of people who have made contact will be far lower. It may sound like a lot but the Tinder user-base remains stuck at around the 50 million mark: a self-selecting coterie of mainly urban, reasonably affluent, generally white men and women, mostly aged between 18 and 34.

A new generation of apps – such as Hey! Vina and Skout – is seeking to capitalise on Tinder’s reputation as a portal for sleaze, a charge Sean Rad was keen to deny at the London event. Tinder is working on a new iteration, Tinder Social, for groups of friends who want to hang out with other groups on a night out, rather than dating. This makes sense for a relatively fresh business determined to keep on growing: more people are in relationships than out of them, after all.

After two years of using Tinder, off and on, last weekend I deleted the app. I had been visiting a friend in Sweden, and took it pretty badly when a Tinder date invited me to a terrible nightclub, only to take a few looks at me and bolt without even bothering to fabricate an excuse. But on the plane back to London the next day, a strange thing happened. Before takeoff, the woman sitting beside me started crying. I assumed something bad had happened but she explained that she was terrified of flying. Almost as terrified, it turned out, as I am. We wound up holding hands through a horrific patch of mid-air turbulence, exchanged anecdotes to distract ourselves and even, when we were safely in sight of the ground, a kiss.

She’s in my phone, but as a contact on Facebook rather than an avatar on a dating app. I’ll probably never see her again but who knows. People connect in strange new ways all the time. The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, but you can be sure that if you look closely at the lines, you’ll almost certainly notice the pixels.

Philip Maughan is Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad