the cutting edge

What Tom meant, I think, was that his community – and the individuals within it – have little control over how justice ‘works’ for them. A couple of planeloads of lawyers and court staff fly in every month or two, spend the day in a re-arranged community hall, and make decisions about who’s guilty of what crime, whose case can’t be heard yet, who goes to jail, who stays behind. How are these decisions made? Tom perceived – correctly, for the most part – outsiders meeting in private, strange doctrines debated, facts bartered and bargained for, shortcuts taken. All this happens (I know, because I’m one of the outsiders) according to quite a well-developed legal, logical and ethical framework – ours is a system that’s evolved in tinkers and increments over several centuries. As long as everyone plays their roles properly, the majestic mechanism of the law is maintained. So why do both Tom and I sense that it’s all so wrong?

I believe that the problem lies in the enduring ‘outsider’ nature of the work we’re trying to do. Here’s an example: I have a trial tomorrow, in a community about 700 kms north-west of Thunder Bay. I’ve never met my client, or even spoken to him – we don’t even share a language. All I have is an inch-thick folder detailing some heinous offence he supposedly committed, and the clues to a deeper tragedy buried within it, words like “sniffer” and “seven months pregnant”. Setting matters down for trial is a strategic business in northern reserves. Even if you are inadequately prepared, entirely unconvinced, or horrendously incompetent, chances are that Crown witnesses won’t show up, and the case will collapse. Hooray, a victory for the defence. But why does this happen with such shameful frequency? Again, I believe it’s because we are outsiders, and, as professional as we may be, we really don’t know what we’re doing when it comes to helping justice manifest in Tom’s community, and the few dozen others we pretend to serve.