Cameras in court throw us in at the deep end before we’re ready

Without a more sophisticated knowledge of the law, a casual viewer will inevitably filter what they see through the biases they already harbour.

The Court of Appeal is to be televised for the first time now that a ban on cameras in courts in England and Wales has been lifted.

High-profile media organisations have been lobbying for such a move for some time and the first broadcast has already been made from the Royal Courts of Justice.

There is no question that the justice system ought to be public. That necessarily means that it ought to be as publicly accessible and visible as possible. Indeed, this is an aim that the justice system itself should actively pursue by taking measures to enable as many people as possible to gain access to the system’s operations.

Televising court proceedings is one important step in that direction for the obvious reason that the justice system now potentially reaches a much wider audience. That said, it’s unlikely that daytime television producers should be losing any sleep over losing viewers. Audience figures are generally low elsewhere.

It is commendable that the televising of trials is being introduced very carefully. It is wise to restrict it initially to appellate proceedings, which resist being sensationalised much more than first-instance court hearings. I am also not particularly concerned that bringing the Court of Appeal in people’s living rooms will result in a lack of respect. In fact, people may well respect courts more, if they can see with their very eyes that courts are serious and fair.

There are, however, some concerns as to whether televising trials can satisfy the principle of publicity. Some hope that direct access to proceedings will unclutter people’s perception of the justice system not least by cutting out the press and its various biases as the middleman for delivering information to the public about what goes on within their walls. The idea seems to be that if the viewer has first-hand experience of the goings-on in court, they will also form an unbiased view on what is being discussed.

But can this really be true? Proceedings in the Court of Appeal in particular can revolve around extremely complex technical issues, which are impossible to grasp properly without an advanced understanding of the law and legal method. Whether it is a good or a bad thing that law can be so difficult to grasp is an important but separate question. The point is that, without a more sophisticated knowledge of the law, a casual viewer will inevitably filter what they see through the biases they already harbour in a way that distorts the meaning of what it is in fact going on in the courtroom. Imagine, for example, how a sentencing appeal which is upheld for good reasons can easily be misunderstood and how this can trigger disagreements for all the wrong reasons.

For justice to be public it needs to be more than just visible. It is necessary that the justice system communicate its operations to the public in an understandable and undistorted way. If justice is to be open, then people should be given the chance to fully understand what the legal issues really are in each case, what exactly the courts have decided when they deliver a ruling, why they reached the decision and what the alternatives were The public also deserves to know what the future ramifications of their decision will be.

If it is bias that we’re trying to eliminate, throwing people in at the deep end of the justice system is not the solution. Information about the law must be properly edited and communicated for it to be of any value and for it to inform political dialogue without the risk of legal populism. But instead of leaving this exclusively to the press or commentators in the blogosphere, it should be done by accountable public officials.

Emmanuel Melissaris does not work for, consult to, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has no relevant affiliations.The Conversation

This article was originally published at The Conversation. Read the original article.

The Royal Courts of Justice. (Photo: Getty)
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I can’t follow Marie Kondo's advice – even an empty Wotsits packet “sparks joy” in me

I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

I have been brooding lately on the Japanese tidying freak Marie Kondo. (I forgot her name so I typed “Japanese tidying freak” into Google, and it was a great help.) The “Japanese” bit is excusable in this context, and explains a bit, as I gather Japan is more on the case with the whole “being tidy” thing than Britain, but still.

Apart from telling us that we need to take an enormous amount of care, to the point where we perform origami when we fold our underpants, which is pretty much where she lost me, she advises us to throw away anything that does not, when you hold it, “spark joy”. Perhaps I have too much joy in my life. I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

After a while I gave up on this because I was getting a bit too happy with all the memories, so then I thought to myself, about her: “This is someone who isn’t getting laid enough,” and then I decided that was a crude and ungallant thought, and besides, who am I to wag the finger? At least if she invites someone to her bedroom no one is going to run screaming from it, as they would if I invited anyone to my boudoir. (Etym: from the French “bouder”, to sulk. How very apt in my case.) Marie Kondo – should bizarre circumstance ever conspire to bring her to the threshold – would run screaming from the Hovel before she’d even alighted the stairs from the front door.

I contemplate my bedroom. As I write, the cleaning lady is in it. To say that I have to spend half an hour cleaning out empty Wotsits packets, and indeed wotnot, before I let her in there should give you some idea of how shameful it has got. And even then I have to pay her to do so.

A girlfriend who used to be referred to often in these pages, though I think the term should be a rather less flippant one than “girlfriend”, managed to get round my natural messiness problem by inventing a game called “keep or chuck”.

She even made up a theme song for it, to the tune from the old Spiderman TV show. She would show me some object, which was not really rubbish, but usually a book (it may not surprise you to learn that it is the piles of books that cause most of the clutter here), and say, “Keep or chuck?” in the manner of a high-speed game show host. At one point I vacillated and so she then pointed at herself and said, “Keep or chuck?” I got the message.

These days the chances of a woman getting into the bedroom are remote. For one thing, you can’t just walk down the street and whistle for one much as one would hail a cab, although my daughter is often baffled by my ability to attract females, and suspects I have some kind of “mind ray”. Well, if I ever did it’s on the blink now, and not only that – right now, I’m not even particularly bothered that it’s on the blink. Because, for another thing, I would frankly not care to inflict myself upon anyone else at the moment.

It was all a bit of a giggle eight years ago, when I was wheeled out of the family home and left to my own devices. Of course, when I say “a bit of a giggle”, I mean “terrifying and miserable”, but I had rather fewer miles on the clock than I do now, and a man can, I think, get away with a little bit more scampish behaviour, and entertain a few more illusions about the future and his own plausibility as a character, when he is squarely in his mid-forties than when he is approaching, at speed, his middle fifties.

Death has rather a lot to do with it, I suppose. I had not actually seen, or touched, a dead body until I saw, and touched, my own father’s a few weeks ago. That’s what turns an abstract into a concrete reality. You finally put that to one side and gird up your loins – and then bloody David Bowie snuffs it, and you find yourself watching the videos for “Blackstar” and “Lazarus” over and over again, and reach the inescapable conclusion that death is not only incredibly unpleasant, it is also remorseless and very much nearer than you think.

And would you, dear reader, want to be involved with anyone who kept thinking along those lines? I mean, even if he learned how to fold his undercrackers into an upright cylinder, like a napkin at a fancy restaurant, before putting them in his drawer? When he doesn’t even have a drawer?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war