Take pride when sweeping out the stable

It is that time of year when impressionable and bright young things are out and about on work experience. Some are in offices, some in shops, some in local hospitals, and some are trailing around after barristers and solicitors.
If they are lucky, they will
be introduced to a life of
crime. If they are not, the photocopier beckons.

What on earth do they think about it as they go from place to place? It is a tender age to be introduced to the seedier side of life. But it cannot be too young to be introduced to what is, in fact, a truly great institution.
No more so do we see and understand that when the prime minister, of all people, is forced to apologise and explain himself to a High Court judge because he made a political point arguably at risk of the integrity of that most solemn and sacred moment. A jury
in deliberation.

There are not many countries in the world where that would be the case. In many jurisdictions, the judge would not speak up, or even care.

There are jurisdictions where the judge may find themselves removed or disciplined for saying what he said. If a judge depends on the people to elect them, they may not want to upset the voters by criticising an incumbent premier.

It has also been reported
that the phone-hacking trial
has cost millions. So what? Isn’t that the point? To have an independent system of fair and robust scrutiny to identify and
absolve criminal wrongdoing – especially when some of
those involved held positions
of considerable power
and influence?

How do we begrudge the cost? Do we say that some people are too expensive to try? Too complex?

What, after all, is the public purse for? An eight-month trial and a huge investigation is what it takes to clean out the stables. What else do we do with our money? Build football stadiums or roads for the elite?

So when our children look
at our court rooms and engage in mock trials wearing outsize wigs, when they see great
and careful attention paid to small moments of madness, when they see courtesy and a handshake, when they see the low-key humdrum business of the courts, when they see bailiffs and jurors and witnesses taking oaths, when they see us try hard for someone who is unlikeable, they see a fine, proud and valuable system.
A system that their generation will soon be entrusted with.
We should be proud of that
and tell them so.

Our football team may have come home early from Brazil, but I know whose team I would rather be on, and whose passport I want to have in my hand. And if I was the prime minister, I would want to say: “Sorry, judge, it won’t happen again.” And I would mean it. SJ

Felix is the pen name of a barrister practising in London