My Day in Court

One of the things I wanted to make sure I got in before I left Ireland was to see their court system in action. As luck would have it, there is a district court right in town. I had tried to attend earlier in the semester, but I had inadvertently chosen a day when divorce and juvenile cases would be heard. Under Irish law, all such cases are sealed. Or, as they say in Ireland, there is no public gallery.

So, on one of my last days in town, I headed back to court first thing in the morning. They start bright and early - at 10am - or so I thought. Arriving a few minutes after 10, I nosed around for a bit, noticing that people were milling about but none of the courtrooms were getting underway. I noticed a garda joking and laughing with someone, so I went up and asked when court might start.

"Oh, they'll get going right at half ten."

Not even court starts on time, I thought.

"Thanks a million," I said.

As ten thirty approached, I was faced with a dilemma. There were two courtrooms of four being used. Which one would offer a more interesting morning? I noticed a young fresh-faced barrister waiting just outside one of the courtrooms. FYI, the Irish Bar (not that kind) is split between barristers, who are qualified to argue in front of a court, and the much more numerous solicitors, who are not.

"Sorry," I said (which seems to be taken as a more polite expression here than 'excuse me'), "but do you know what's happening in each courtroom today?" He gave me a quizzical look so I pressed on. "I'm a visiting law student from the United States looking to observe for the day, and I just didn't know which room might offer the better experience."

"Oh," he said, looking relieved, "definitely this one here. They'll be seating a jury and beginning a trial. The other one, it'll just be traffic stops and petty tings - stuff punishable by at most two years. Put ya ta sleep."

Inside the courtroom the walls were salmon and there were blue fabric seats. Behind the bench hung a large harp emblem. I always thought that calling an Irish person a 'harp' was derogatory. Who knows?

At any rate, the barristers wore black robes with strange white collars. When the judge entered he actually wore a powdered wig. The clerk called us to order, and the judge explained to the packed courtroom that we were about to begin the process of empanelling a jury. This was done by having the clerk pull slips of paper out of a large wooden box. Each slip bore a number and a name. As they were called, each juror took his or her place in the jury box. After 14 numbers were pulled, the clerk handed the first person a "testament" (they didn't specify which one, you'll have to guess), had them recite an oath, then pass the testament to the next juror and so on. After they were each sworn in separately, the judge sent them to the jury room to elect a foreperson and wait. This would turn out to be a fruitless endeavour.

The clerk called the first case and a pudgy barrister rose and sheepishly apologized to the court. His client's case could not be heard today because the High Court had agreed to hear his interlocutory appeal. Now, I don't know how many of you reading this are familiar with the law, so hopefully you'll indulge me as I explain 'interlocutory appeal' briefly. Very generally speaking, you can't appeal a case until there is some finality to it. There has to be a judgment, or a dismissal, or something that says, "case over." The idea is that you don't want to have to stop the proceeding for an appeal every time someone doesn't like it that their objection was overruled. But, there are exceptions to this rule. One common one is when a judge rules evidence in or out after a preliminary hearing. Again the idea is to save time; if your whole case turns on getting something in, it's better to get a high court ruling on it now rather than have to have a big do-over. These appeals that happen before the case is over are called interlocutory appeals.

Anyway, our portly friend was explaining that he just recently learned that his appeal would be heard, which trumps the lower court proceeding and puts it on hold. The judge was none too pleased.

"Exactly when did you learn of this?"

"My lord, only this Thursday last. At the end of the day." (I attended court on a Monday).

"And could you not have made contact with my clerk on Friday?"

"I tried, my lord." He looked at the floor.

"What efforts did you make?" The judge asked, looking over his half-glasses.

"M'lord, my office sent a fax on Friday, but, apparently there was some malfunction."

The judge took off his glasses and looked at the barrister for a long moment. We were all thinking the same thing. Why didn't you pick up the phone, you useless teat? "You know that I am powerless once a writ has issued from the High Court. So I must grant your stay until the appeal is finished. But I am saying to you now that this is the last time you will do this in my court without a sanction of some kind."

"Yes, m'lord. Sorry, m'lord. Thank you, m'lord." He quickly gathered up his things and hustled out of the courtroom.

. . .

More about my day in court after the holiday. Enjoy the weekend!