Law and Disorder: Confessions of a Pupil Barrister

"The “ Baby Barista ” blog was the original anonymous barrister blog, offering a part fiction, part memoir account of the daily travails of a pupil (trainee) barrister. It was picked up as a regular column by The Guardian and The Times before crossing from the blogosphere to publishing, and now comprises two volumes. Author and practising barrister Tim Kevan, who has emerged from the shadows to claim deserved credit for his work, writes with wit and flair to illustrate the idiosyncrasies and eccentricities of life at the Bar, drawing on a cast of characters immediately recognisable to anyone who has come into contact with the legal profession. Baby Barista broke the mould in showing that the doors of the dusty closed shop of the legal profession could be successfully thrown open to the general public, and was an enormous inspiration when I started blogging four years ago. I always tended towards clownish rather than Machiavellian, but I don’t think I can safely retell those tales without immediately risking revealing myself to those who know me. Actually, there is one I’ve shared before and can do again: I was prosecuting a plea hearing at a Crown Court. The defendant was on remand in prison, and was appearing in court over the video link. It was a hugely busy day and I had at least half a dozen cases I was juggling. The judge in that particular case asked me for a summary of the prosecution’s allegations. As I started reading out loud from the police summary, the Defendant started to heckle. “That’s bullshit!” The judge warned him to be quiet. I continued; so did the heckles. “Fucking lies, man! This is just shit.” “I’m warning you,” said the judge. “You will let the prosecutor summarise the allegations or I am switching you off.” I got another sentence out before the Defendant jumped in with a final “Bullshit”. The judge promptly switched off the video link. As I glanced down at the next page of my summary, I noticed something. I reread it to myself. And again. After a pause that felt like forever, I cleared my throat. “Umm, Your Honour? I think I was reading the wrong case summary.” Given the time and space, I would copy and paste the 300-odd pages from my book, but forced to limit my choices, I would say that the most offensive injustice of our current system is what I refer to as the Innocence Tax. Since 2012, the law has been changed to restrict the availability of legal aid and the circumstances in which you can claim legal costs if you pay privately and are acquitted at trial. The upshot is that you can be wrongly accused of a criminal offence, denied legal aid, forced to sell your house or exhaust your life savings to pay for expensive private legal representation, and then when acquitted the state refuses to allow you to recoup what you have spent. Innocent people can face bankruptcy for the crime of having been wrongly accused. This, I have heard from people who have read my book, was the revelation that surprised and terrified them the most. It should by rights have been headline news. That it wasn’t, and that it remains the law, is an indictment of the disconnect between the public and the justice system that I referred to earlier. For all the problems in criminal justice, and for the lack of signs that anybody in a position of likely influence is willing to do anything to address them, I would still encourage anyone who wants to do a fascinating job that matters to apply to practise criminal law. There are huge challenges involved, not least because the abominable legal aid rates of pay—often below minimum wage—force many young practitioners out of criminal law at an early stage, so I would urge people to go in with their eyes open and an exit plan in their briefcase. But if you’re willing and able to take the plunge, it can be a hugely rewarding and satisfying experience. The criminal justice system needs good people. They’re the only thing keeping it hanging together."