Whose Court?

         Our judicial system has lately been embroiled in a bit of a ding-dong regarding what is allowed as admissible evidence for presentation to juries. As you might expect, arguments of this nature are contested in a quagmire of legal precedents such as would test the patience of all but the most dogged of lay persons. But because the issue has uncovered something more fundamental than legal niceties (it raises concerns over the manipulation of the judiciary by politicians wanting to stifle dissent), I have locked horns with the beast.

          Which is why I (and several others) sat in silence for an hour outside our local Crown Court last Tuesday, holding a placard reading “Jurors have an absolute right to acquit a defendant according to their conscience”. Trudi Warner was arrested in March 2023 outside the Inner London Crown Court, where she set the precedent for our action, so it was reasonable for us to expect some sort of backlash from the authorities. However, no drama ensued, which left me at leisure to contemplate my surroundings.

          Plymouth’s Crown & County Court is a modest 1960s building, low-rise and unimposing, its only decorative feature being a large lattice-work panel above the entrance incorporating the City’s coat of arms. Pevsner labelled it a “bland box” but, to me, its presence says “civic pride” in a way that is inclusive of the people and is not designed to exaggerate the pomp of the courts. It has none of the lowering, gothic menace of, say, Lincoln’s Inn or the Old Bailey.

          Nor did we feel threatened in any other way. Our spokesperson politely informed the Clerk of our intentions and he responded in a friendly manner, sensibly anticipating no trouble. And so I sat, unspeaking, my back to the building, with a view across the plaza of the 1960s Civic Centre building, a true architectural classic in the tower and podium style, long since vacant and awaiting re-purposing after becoming surplus to requirements a few years ago. Which is why there is very little footfall in the area. Even the Court itself seemed to be short of business, despite the reported crisis of under-capacity in the system nationally and the fact that we sat from 08.30, so as not to miss the comings and goings.

          The people carrying cups of coffee and dressed in smart clothes – I supposed them to work within the building – paid us no attention, except for one who wore a pinstriped suit and a sneering expression. He engaged our spokesperson with a dismissive, “that was all sorted out in the Clive Ponting case years ago!” and flounced into the building, urging us to “look it up” as he went.

          Well, if it was sorted out, Judge Hehir hadn’t got the memo. Besides, it had, supposedly, been ‘sorted out’ long before Ponting, around 1670 in fact, following ’Bushel’s case’, after which a plaque incorporating the words written on my placard was put up in the entrance hall of the Old Bailey. Yet the point remains in contention, allegedly.

          Of the few passers-by, most did read the placards and some stopped to ask for clarification. When responding, the key is to have an explanation that is succinct and briefly conveys the message that Judge Hehir’s attempt to lock up Trudi Warner may seem like someone else’s problem but, if he were to succeed in his attempt to undermine our rights of peaceful protest at the behest of politically appointed prosecutors, it might one day be theirs.

          On the second of July this year police, acting on the order of Judge Hehir, arrested a group of 11 people, outside Southwark Crown Court for holding placards identical to Ms Warner’s. Hehir described them as “troublemakers”, but photos of the incident show them to be mostly old, white-haired citizens, sensibly dressed against the weather and uncomfortably perched on camping seats – just like the group I was part of last Tuesday.