Blindfolded Voluble Justicia

I place the files of my Pupil Master in front of him in court and he beckons to me proudly to sit behind him on the third row. He himself sits on the second row. The first row is reserved for “silks” Senior Counsels. They are called silks because they have gowns made of silk. We are today in front of Justice Moriarty, in a criminal appeal in which my learned Pupil Master has been chosen IFP (in forma pauperis). That is he has been chosen to represent an accused who applied for legal aid. He still pretends he does not know why he gets so many legal aid cases. The state counsel enters the court followed by his hordes of pupils – cocky young guys in tight suits and young ladies in high heels with red lips proudly walking on. And oh… who is there? That’s Andrew! My old friend Andrew! We were at pre-primary, primary, and secondary school together. Haha! I always defended him at school against the bullies who tried to steal his bread and tease him. He was so frail at that time. Though I reckon he still looks a bit strange with his thick glasses and oily hair.

“Andrew!!” I say happily. “…So you are doing your pupillage at the State Law Office now! How happy I am to see you old pal!”
“Hey nice to see you too!” he replies, tendering his hand for me to shake.
“Barristers don’t shake hands,” I say jokingly referring to an old tradition of the Bar when Barristers would not shake hands between learned friends since they would not conceal any weapon or do any back-stabbing. The good old days.
“So Andrew, how is it going mate? Enjoying your pupillage?”
“Yes learning a lot at the library there.”
“Library? Really? So are you coming back in private practice once you are called to the Bar?”
“No. I am enrolling for the magistrates’ course,” he answers.
“A magistrate! You? Andrew!” I gasped with laughter. But Andrew looked at me seriously. “Why do you want to be a referee, old darling? But it’s known that the best advocates do not go on to become judges,” I say ironically.
“I want to uphold the rule of law and strike the sword of justice on evil people,” he replies.

Before I had time to react, Mr Justice Moriarty makes his entrance in the courtroom slowly; belly first, goes up the pedestal, stands in front of his seat, looks imposingly around the courtroom and bows half-heartedly to the Bar. All counsels bow back.

“Counsel…” he strikes first at my Pupil Master. “I had to wake up during the night to read the brief. And it is not the best drafting I have seen.”
“The Attorney prepared the brief my lord,” he replies defensively.
“Yes, but you are here defending the brief, Counsel. Same thing with the skeleton. So many spelling mistakes there! I always say that advocacy is an art. Are you really insisting on Ground 1? That the trial judge was sleeping and Ground 2 that the trial judge repeatedly interrupted proceedings and cross examined the accused? Are you really insisting on those grounds of appeal? How much money have you taken from the client?”, asks Mr Justice Moriarty.

My learned Pupil Master just smiles embarrassingly and says that he is not insisting on those two grounds. Those are his only two grounds. Not insisting! I thought furiously! It is then that I fall into my imaginary exchange with the judge:

“My Lord, indeed advocacy is an art best left to ADVOCATES and it is always better done in a standing position! That’s the first rule of advocacy. I say calmly but firmly.
“Bu.. bu… butttttt hum…. hum… what… hum... is… hum… your… hum… po-po-point?” stammers Mr Justice Moriarty.
“Advocacy is also done without ‘fillers’ my lord,” I say.
“Wi-wiii-thout what?” shouts Mr Justice Moriarty.
“Without ‘fear’ my lord,” I smirk.
“Yeah-yes get on with your submission,” he snaps back.
“My submission, my lord, is that the game should be best left to players and the referee should never hit the ball. Are not patience and gravity essential tools in the tool box? Was it not described as a ‘no well-tuned cymbal’ or words to that effect...? Is this system not an adversarial system as opposed to an inquisitorial system? Dropping the mantle of judge for the robe of an advocate is an usurpation my lord!”

The speedy arm of Justice was never known to jail; The jail supplied the gallows, the gallows thinned the jail; And sundry wise precautions the sages of the law Discreetly framed whereby they aimed to keep the rogues in awe His advocate was not allowed the privilege of speech. Yet such was the humanity and wisdom of the law, That if in his indictment there appeared to be a flaw…

“The appeal is dismissed with costs,” roars Mr Justice Moriarty.
“Good luck with your career Andrew,” I say. “And don’t forget to keep it zipped when you are up there please,” I say, a bit frustrated.
“Tssttssttsst! Good luck with yours in private practice,” says Andrew. “I will have an office and a fixed salary and above all things, a pension. Whereas you will wait for a bail application all week!”
“I’m sorry old pal. I say. I just wanted to say that it is the duty of the referee to be calm, patient and above all understanding, as it is the glory of the advocate to be brash, hectoring and partisan.”

That afternoon I thought of what Andrew told me and the vision of him with a balance in his hand and a sword in the other striking the bullies that taunted him at school would not leave me. Fortunately, I imagined it all and that exist no such judges or barristers in this jurisdiction.