THE District Court is the clearing house of the judicial system. Steal an axe and it will deal with you. Use the axe to give someone 40 whacks and depending on the damage done, you might be dealt with. Use the axe to dispatch and the process starts here before you are moved up the court chain. All human life, it’s fair to say, is reflected in our District Courts.
Yes, they’re somewhat cumbersome, procedurally bureaucratic and paper-heavy, often confusing for the uninitiated and frequently downright sad, but a sitting is rarely entirely dull, which is why court reports in newspapers such as this see the ink read off the page, as we in the trade say.
This interest is not simply prurience. A universal common denominator of our species is a love of storytelling. Someone once compared court reports to Greek tragedies. Typically these three-act plays have a scene-setting intro- (the evidence ) a confrontation (the crime ) and a resolution (the sentence or acquittal ). Our evolution has programmed us to love court reports – unless we are featuring ourselves, that is.
Let me run through the morning of my most recent visit to Galway District Court. It’s Monday, bright and chilly, as I go through the impressive Doric-style portico entrance (I looked that up ) designed in 1812 by Sir Richard Morrison after he had completed work on the prison just across the river, and make my way to Court No 2 where justice has been administered for over two centuries now. Strange to note the only technological advance in the court reporter’s equipment over that entire period is the replacement of quill and ink with the ubiquitous biro.
Monday deals primarily with criminal cases. Hence my presence. Wednesday with traffic cases and somewhere in the week the Judge has to deal with civil as well as family law matters among other duties. Forget romantic notions of the Irish RM adjourning the assize to enjoy long boozy lunches. District Court judges earn their keep.
‘Diatribe on the failings of the judicial system’
As I settle in to the press box, the Judge is dealing with video-link cases from various prisons. This entails the registrar-aka-clerk, those paragons of efficiency, patience and common sense who run the whole show, juggling with a sometimes patchy system and matching up paperwork with various defendants staring from the confines of a prison video-booth. These are usually run of the mill but matters brighten up somewhat when one individual subjects us to a diatribe on the failings of the judicial system and his disapproval of Gardaí in general. I’m being diplomatic.
Then the Judge and the registrar retreat to the Judge’s chambers to deal with waiting detectives who need search warrants approved by the Judge. While this is going on, there is horse-trading between lawyers and the prosecution, which in the District Court is usually conducted by an experienced Garda Sergeant. Who is pleading which way; who needs an adjournment; are there objections to bail?
To the untrained eye, it can seem there is an unusual familiarity between what might be assumed to be opposing teams, but it’ i fair to say that if the wheels of justice weren’t oiled in this manner the whole system would be overwhelmed and grind to a shuddering halt.
Then on to the list, as it’s called. A defendant found in possession of six euros’ worth of diazepam, a Dublin man alleged to have had €108’ worth of ketamine arrives in to argue it is a case of mistaken identity and this proves to be so. A bench warrant to arrest and bring a man to court is vacated as the Judge is told he is in an induced coma in hospital. A young fellow on his first drug offence avoids a conviction, which in real terms could mean an international travel ban, and instead gets to make a charitable donation.
And on it goes. Cocaine to the value of €8, cannabis worth €306… Drugs, drugs and more drugs.
Then a solicitor pleads that his client can’t afford the €800 in fines imposed at an earlier sitting and asks if he can do community service instead. Next a defendant arrested on a bench warrant has only €50 to offer as bail. The Judge reluctantly accepts it.
‘Sometimes amusing, often pathetically poignant, but glamorous it’s not’
There’s a gambler who used £800 in forged sterling notes to place bets with a city bookmaker. This has led to press box speculation over what would happen to any winnings. Proceedings are held up a little to see if an Arabic interpreter can be found. Someone is charged with defecating in a Garda station cell and in a separate case a mother of six children with urinating in a Garda van. The forensic cleaning of both cell and van cost €181.60, the Judge is informed. Oh the glamour of it all!
A charge of begging and a Romanian interpreter is needed. A graffiti ‘artist’ charged with criminal damage. A car-jacking in Moycullen. Allegedly 18 cans of beer stolen. The defendant has to choose between a summary hearing in the District Court or going before a Judge and Jury in the Circuit.
Next it is sa case of sexual harassment and an assault of a young woman, put back for two months. On to a regular, a pleasant African man who is now a drunk-in-public frequent flyer. The Judge makes him promise on oath to do his drinking in private in future.
Then a debate over the legality of reducing charges. The learned opinion of an experienced solicitor is sought and given. Plenty of public order cases mixed in with shoplifting and interspersed with alibi warnings for those being sent to the Circuit Criminal Court. A man in custody unhappy that he’s facing a section three assault, he’s adamant it’s only a section two. He gets eight months on the section three and is led back down to the cells and back to prison. Next someone who skipped bail ten years previously, was spotted back in Galway by a Garda and he’s once again before the Court, expressing amazement that his charges haven’t passed their sell-by date. Gardaí object to bail this time.
And all this only leads us up to lunchtime. While I adjourn for a coffee and a sandwich ,the Judge has still to deal with some family law matters in camera. Interesting, sometimes amusing, often pathetically poignant, but glamorous it’s not. All human life…
