Column
Culture
Justice
Trauma
4 min read

Do victim statements offer up drama or justice?

Recent tragic cases highlight the changing audience for impact statements.

George is a visiting fellow at the London School of Economics and an Anglican priest.

A classical court house with a statue on top of a dome.
The Old Bailey.

It’s a lesser-known irony of ancient history that it was Roman Emperor Tiberius who introduced Justitia to the pantheon of the gods, as the goddess of justice. Ironic in that it was Tiberius’s minion, Pontius Pilate, in remote Judea, who had history’s worst day at the office, administering Roman justice so cack-handedly on an insurgent preacher and miracle-worker from Nazareth that he sparked a chain of events on which a whole new system of (at least western) justice was founded. 

Justitia was the antecedent of Lady Justice, whose statue adorns the dome of London’s central criminal court at the Old Bailey – and many other courts besides. She invariably holds the judicial symbols of weighing scales and a sword. And she is often blindfolded, though not on the Old Bailey, despite such constitutional eminences as the shadow justice secretary Robert Jenrick erroneously claiming she is. 

The blindfold, scales and sword symbolise Lady Justice’s impartiality, the primacy of evidence and the equality of all before the law. We’ve grown accustomed to the rule of law in our democracy being applied blindly and without emotion. Convicted murderers are often described as having acted in cold blood and we expect justice to be served on them in the same manner, coldly. 

It’s in that context that I want to examine one way in which Lady Justice is going a bit wrong these days. It’s not about miscarriage of justice, so much as the dispassion of it. I’m talking about the victim impact statement, introduced in the UK in 1996, which comes between conviction and sentencing. 

It was meant to be an opportunity for victims and their families to tell the court of the impact and effects of the crime committed upon them. And, in that sense, to assist the judge or other sentencing authority to deliver an appropriate degree of punishment. So it is about the impact of the crime on those most directly affected by it. 

That appears no longer to be solely – or even in some instances partly – the case. The victim statement now seems to be an opportunity for the irreparably damaged to sound off at the defendant, to vent their pain and anger and contempt for and at the wretched convict. 

Take John Hunt, the BBC correspondent who lost his wife Carol and two of their three daughters, Hannah and Louise, to a multiple murder (and rape) one day last summer. His victim statement was less about the unimaginable effect these crimes have had on him and his surviving daughter, Amy, than about the divine judgment he would wish to call down on the murderer, Louise’s former partner Kyle Clifford. 

It really served no judicial purpose. It’s impossible to conceive that anything Hunt had to say had the slightest influence over the judge’s intention to pass down whole-life terms on Clifford, which he duly did. Its sole purpose seems to have been to allow Hunt to have his day in court, as it were, and who would wish to deny him that? But that does undermine the explicit purpose of the victim statement. 

Hunt himself conceded as much at the start of his statement when he said of his victim statement:  

“I initially misunderstood its purpose. Do I really need to detail the impact  of having three quarters of my family murdered?”  

He’s right – he didn’t. But he saw it as his “final opportunity” to address his family’s murderer. There followed an excruciating and heart-rending verbal attack on the convicted prisoner, culminating with the prophecy of his despatch to hell on his “dying day”:  

“The screams of Hell, Kyle, I can hear them now. The red carpet will come out for you…” 

I can’t know if Hunt would prefer the death penalty to be available to despatch his family’s killer immediately. One suspects he probably does. I oppose it, one reason being that it can leave no room for penance and redemption. We must surely all agree that Hunt gets a free pass on that rationale, but with no more severe sentence available than that which was passed, again we must ask what the purpose of the victim statement was. 

If it is simply to wish a hellish death on the perpetrator, then again we need to ask what purpose is being served and, indeed, if it’s healthy both for the judicial process and for the victim who delivers the statement. 

The same thought arose at a pre-sentencing hearing of the recent Nottingham murderer, when the son of one of the three victims, James Coates, told the killer:  

“Valdo Calocane, you claim the voices told you to kill these innocent people. Now listen to me, kill yourself.” 

Is that about impact? I don’t think so. I fear it has more to do with theatre in a media age that is insatiable for drama. Part of the purpose of the law is to maintain a distance between those affected emotionally and those who have committed crimes against them. 

Remove that and we reduce not only some of the justice for criminals to mere spectacle, but also in some degree respect for their victims and, indeed, the quality of mercy. 

Celebrate our 2nd birthday!

Since March 2023, our readers have enjoyed over 1,000 articles. All for free. This is made possible through the generosity of our amazing community of supporters.

If you’re enjoying Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?

Do so by joining Behind The Seen. Alongside other benefits, you’ll receive an extra fortnightly email from me sharing my reading and reflections on the ideas that are shaping our times.

Graham Tomlin

Editor-in-Chief

Article
Awe and wonder
Culture
Film & TV
5 min read

Why you need more cathedrals in your life

A TV tour of the ancient landmarks showcases their relevance to today.

Pat is vicar of St Peter’s Notting Hill and author of A Pocketful of Hope

A vicar stands arms in front of himself, behind him is a cathedral
Channel 5.

There’s a moment I love every time I drive down to visit my mum. It comes on the A30 heading south towards Salisbury. You come over a brow and round a bend and then there she is, the 123m tall spire of Salisbury Cathedral. Regal, majestic, aloof, dominant. So many words to describe this glorious building. And I remember remarking to my brother one time, who doesn’t share my Christian faith, as he sat in the passenger seat, how amazing it is that without saying a word, the architecture itself bears witness to the reality of another world, another Kingdom. Proclaiming a message to that city. A lighthouse of sorts, continually pointing people to God as they sail on rough and secular seas. 

For me personally, it was a real joy to get to visit six of our most stunning Cathedrals for a two-part series I presented for Channel 5 called, Britain’s Great Cathedrals – To the Glory of God. It comes at a critical moment as cathedrals now face potential financial ruin due to the Government’s recent decisions concerning National Insurance and the Listed Places of Worship scheme. Thrilling I hear you say, but before you scroll on by, suffice it to say that these developments could see the closure of many of our nation’s most magnificent landmarks! This would be a disaster, not just for the soul of the church, but also for the soul of the country. I want to suggest three reasons for that being the case, which are their unrivalled ability to inspire (pardon the pun), inform and include. 

The truth is, whether you’re a person of faith or none whatsoever, you can’t help but be inspired when you see or enter one of these buildings. Whether it’s the glorious facade of Lincoln, the expansive nave of Canterbury, or the sheer strength and grandeur of Durham, these edifices were built to amaze and generate awe. Why else would I say ‘wow’ almost 900 times in just two episodes?! Take it from me, you run out of adjectives pretty quickly. But that’s precisely the point. They were built to lift the mind and soul from the drudgery of what was all too often a pretty grim existence and place their thoughts firmly on higher things. Whether they make it all the way to Heaven itself, or go no further than a vaulted ceiling, the primary mission to inspire is achieved. Would I rather someone is impacted more by the Spirit behind the stone, or the grace behind the glass, of course I would. But would I take the needle of someone’s thoughts and worldview being moved even a fraction, as they perhaps ponder, ‘what moved these people to build this? What did a society and culture believe to prioritise and shape such real estate?’, then yes, I’d take that in a heartbeat. There’s nothing in all of Britain to rival our cathedrals to inspire. 

But it’s not just that. It’s the simple truth that so much of our heritage and history is tied up in these monuments of stone and glass. Artistry developed, architectural techniques advanced, and our cathedrals were undeniably and unavoidably central to the life of the nation. As such, their ability and value to inform a people about who they are and where they come from is unmatched. People might not like it. They may even push against it. But for good or ill, it’s what made us who we are. And look a little closer, and you quickly discover that most of the values that we so embrace and espouse today herald directly from the faith proclaimed in and by these architectural marvels. Secularism has done its best to sever such values from their source, but as the historian Tom Holland has demonstrated, seeking to do so is about as logical as trying to claim that the apples on the branch of a tree have nothing to do with its roots. The facts simply don’t bear it out. And what greater facts can a city proclaim than its skyline, so often dominated by ecclesial geometry. Our cathedrals are filled with the history not just of people, but the ideas that moved them and shaped Western Civilisation. Long may they continue to inform. 

One of the biggest building projects we read of in the Old Testament is Noah’s building of the ark. A behemoth of a boat, big enough to house and include all. And it’s that final idea of inclusion that perhaps speaks most powerfully today. We hear it used a lot, but all too often it’s become a synonym for an approach that has no shape, no constitution or actual covenant of belonging. What draws me to the faith behind these edifices is precisely that even as the invitation goes out into all the earth, just as Noah’s did to all creation, we only enter on God’s terms. He’s the One who calls us in and gets to name and define us all. Whilst this may at first sound narrow, it is in fact the way to liberation. Joined by common bonds and values, held together by the One to whom these buildings point. The sheer vastness of cathedrals conveys there’s room indeed for all, just as the ark had space for its guests as it made its way to a new world. The invitation of our cathedrals, both in form and opening hours, goes out into all the world declaring, ‘Come! Whoever is thirsty, let them come; and whoever wishes, let them take the free gift of the water of life.’ For the message in stone for even hearts of stone is that in Christ, all can be included.  

 

Join with us - Behind the Seen

Seen & Unseen is free for everyone and is made possible through the generosity of our amazing community of supporters.

If you’re enjoying Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?

Alongside other benefits (book discounts etc.), you’ll receive an extra fortnightly email from me sharing what I’m reading and my reflections on the ideas that are shaping our times.

Graham Tomlin

Editor-in-Chief