“Are you doing the
decent thing?” a poster asks outside the Virtual Court at
Camberwell Green Magistrates’ Court. Designed by HM Prison Service (now
http://www.justice.gov.uk/)
and the National Offender Management Service (
http://www.justice.gov.uk/about/noms),
the poster goes on to state that prison video links allow defendants to attend
court without leaving prison. A few days in London has revealed some insights
into the British model of video conferencing. Apparently, there are about 60
prisons, 30 Crown courts and 153 magistrates’ courts linked to the network.
I was keen to meet Linda as her research
and publications address the significance of courthouse design, the dematerialisation
of courtrooms and changing spatial relationships in legal procedures, for
example: Legal Architecture: Justice, Due Process and the Place
of Law (Routledge: 2010). Linda is aware of a small group of
people located around the world who work in this area and who, collectively,
are amassing a profound knowledge base. It was a very engaging meeting and I
hope that there will be opportunities for further interaction again.
Linda suggested that I visit Snaresbrook Crown Court
as video links are commonly used there in evidence and for defendants’
appearances. The architecture of this courthouse is impressive, originally
constructed as an asylum for fatherless middle class children around the 1840s.
Carolyn McKay Snaresbrook 2012
However, none of that ambience is evident in the blandly
functional contemporary courtrooms attached to the magnificent original
building. I introduce myself to the helpful court clerk in Court 6 and she
tells me to sit on the side of the courtroom, next to a probation officer and
very close to the bench. On the desk in front of me is a collection of
religious texts and laminated cards for administering various forms of oaths
and affirmations. The first appearance I watch is of a man on remand, dressed
in a green T-shirt. His face and top part of his torso fill only a tiny portion
of the screen. Behind him is a sign identifying his video booth as ‘HMP
Thameside Video Court No1’. I hear later that Thameside is a newly opened,
high-tech prison. There are many audio issues that exasperate both the
defendant and the judge. At one point, the defendant is waving madly and
gesticulating to attract attention, and no one notices him for quite a while; he
can’t hear the procedures. The volume is adjusted and the judge tells the
defendant to ‘stay patient’ and asks his counsel to speak slowly and clearly,
and to turn off her mobile phone which is causing audio interference. At the
end of the appearance, the judge tells the defendant that he will be ‘produced’
again by video link at a later date.
The judge retires from court as the courtroom
officials seek to set up a new link for another defendant. This takes some time
and there is quite a delay as no one at the other end of the link responds, but
eventually the new plea and case management commences. There are three
defendants in a case of assault. One man appears from prison by video link,
while the other two men appear ‘in person’ but are located in the plexiglass
enclosed dock at the back of the court, accompanied by two guards. The younger
defendant in the dock smiles and visually interacts with some people in the
public gallery. The judge asks the video-linked defendant if he can see and
hear, and he replies very casually ‘yeah, yeah’. He’s wearing a white buttoned
shirt, no tie. He sits forward and looks downwards presumably at the screen
vision of the court; he sits back and yawns; he motions to someone who is
either in the room with him or at the door – it is not apparent where or who
this other person is.
This is an interesting case to observe having both
physically present defendants and one remote, video-linked defendant. Because
of the design of the fully glassed enclosed dock and its location right at the rear
of the courtroom, it is very difficult to see the physically present defendants
although, as mentioned, one of these men interacts through facial gesture with
people in the public gallery. I feel that I actually have a better view of the
remote defendant who, coincidentally, seems to be the one treating the
procedure with the least amount of gravity. The two defendants in the glass
enclosed dock seem to be sitting very still and upright, while the remote
defendant yawns and slumps in his chair.
Gaining access to the Virtual Court at Camberwell
Green Magistrates’ Court proves challenging. First of all, being unfamiliar
with the court’s location, it is tricky to find in the back streets off
Camberwell Road. When I finally find the Virtual Court, in Court Room 11, I
approach a court officer and introduce myself. He tells me I have to wait … and
wait … for permission to enter. And so I stand, then sit, for about 50 minutes in
the very basic waiting room that has insufficient seating for the number of
solicitors and clients, until another court officer comes around. I tell him
that I wish to observe the Virtual Court and he says: “Well of course – open
justice and all!” Before my trip, I had contacted The
Ministry of Justice about observing the Virtual Court. I had been advised that
it is open to the public to observe proceedings as a matter of routine, and all
I need do is to turn up on the day.
Carolyn McKay Camberwell Green Magistrates' Court 2012
So I enter the court which is actually a small office
room – bland and functional, lacking any aesthetic sensibility. When I enter,
I’m not immediately sure whom to acknowledge as the bench. This is not a
designed court space, rather more an informal arrangement of desks, cabling and
hard drives, microphones, two Panasonic wall-mounted screens, a few chairs for
those members of the public who succeed in finding and accessing the court, and
a wooden Coat of Arms dangling on a chain suspended above the heads of three
magistrates. I am the only person who is not part of the courtroom
machinations, and I feel like a conspicuous intruder in this legal microcosm.
There is a young man appearing unrepresented from
Peckham police station on a charge of causing criminal damage. He’s wearing a
white T-shirt that he constantly picks and pulls. It takes me a while to realise that the screen I
can see shows a large image of the defendant, a small ‘picture-in-picture’ image
of the remote video booth as seen from the ceiling, and a small
‘picture-in-picture’ image of the court that the defendant would be seeing. I cannot
be seen by the defendant as there is only one camera in the Virtual Court that
captures the bench and legal counsel. The defendant’s view is restricted and
partial. I also realise that a Detention Officer is in the remote room with the
defendant. Her voice can be occasionally heard and her hand can be seen passing
documents to the defendant.
The next link is to Charing Cross police station with
another unrepresented defendant. At the commencement of each session, the court
clerk asks if all parties have any comments about the live link. There are more
audio issues with this defendant as he leans back away from his microphone and
does not speak clearly. He was arrested the previous night for stealing
clothing. Drug testing found traces of opiates. For various reasons, his case
is adjourned, bail denied, and he is told that he will be ‘produced’ by video
link in two weeks time. When the magistrates retire, the defendant stands up
and walks out of sight of the screen, clutching his belt-less trousers.
We are asked to clear the courtroom as a solicitor
wants to have a conference with her client before his appearance and it’s
easier to do this in the courtroom, rather than establish a link in one of the
private rooms, and then again in the court. When the hearing commences, the
solicitor is present in the courtroom sharing a desk with the Crown prosecutor.
The young man appears by video link on a charge of begging at a KFC. He was
hungry, his counsel tells the court. He’s been in care since the age of 8 and
is estranged from his parents who have substance abuse issues. A fine is issued
that is set aside as the defendant has already spent more than 24 hours in
custody.
Yet another young man appears on the screen, withdrawn
and holding his head in despair. The lighting is insufficient to see his facial
features. He is represented and pleads guilty to stealing computer equipment. His
counsel asks the court to consider that his girlfriend is pregnant and that
this situation may provide an opportunity for him to better himself. However, he
has many previous similar convictions for theft, and was released from prison only
a month ago. He receives another custodial sentence.
The final matter I observe involves a young man from
the United Arab Emirates who is charged with assault by beating his girlfriend.
The defendant speaks no English so an interpreter has been sought and there is
a delay in procedure while waiting for the interpreter to arrive. While
waiting, I chat with the court clerk who is surprised that I want to wait and
see the next matter with the interpreter – “it’s nothing magical” she tells me.
I say that I’m interested in seeing the interaction between the physically present
interpreter and the remote defendant.
The interpreter arrives and sits in the Virtual Court between
the Crown prosecutor and the defense counsel. The defendant appears from
Belgravia and the Detention Officer sits next to him, clearly visible on the
screen. Actually the defendant’s screen face is obscured by the small picture-in-picture
image of the remote booth. I’m surprised that no one clicks and drags the small
image away to another part of the screen. The defendant is obviously incredibly
distraught and starts sobbing several times during the hearing. He pleads not
guilty, a trial date is set for October and he is given bail with conditions.
Reflecting upon my observations of the Virtual Court,
I found that the unrepresented defendants had minimal interaction with the
court and were mostly reticent, or unable to engage in expressing their
situation in a, perhaps, intimidating environment. Rather their participation
was limited to brief yes or no responses to questions, and whether they
understood what was happening (they almost always answered yes that they
understood, although I felt that they sometimes looked confused). Counsel for the
represented defendants provided a greater understanding of the defendant’s back
story and context of the alleged criminal act, creating more engagement and
empathy with those people.
Carolyn McKay The Old Bailey 2012
There were many delays in procedure, and seemingly
delays for the defendants in being heard (at least one had been in custody for
over 24 hours). None of the defendants appeared to have the ability to pan
around the courtroom – their view was dictated by the one fixed camera so they
had no knowledge about all their observers, such as me. The impossibility of
eye-contact is always an issue. With all the defendants, I found frequent audio
and lighting issues to be problematic, and considering the notion of open
justice and public procedure, I was a little troubled by the difficulties I had
in accessing the court. Comparing the mise-en-scène of a traditional
trial that I watch later that day at the Old Bailey, it is evident that law’s
aesthetic is being transformed by technocratic concerns, an emphasis on
functionality and the speedy dispensing of justice.
I will bear these observations and reflections in mind as I
finalise my presentation “Video conferencing and
inmates: a new observatory of the criminal body” for next week’s British
Society of Criminology conference, as well as my presentation “Visualising the
Posthuman Courtroom” for the Arts in Society conference at the end of July.
