There but for the grace of God

I was not shocked by news that former judge Raymond Pace – RCP as he was fondly known in our circle – had passed away. Our politicians claim to have been shocked, or maybe that is just something you have to say in situations like these. But then, I never did conform to protocol.

Justice without compassion isn’t justice, it’s an abattoir

Upon hearing the news of the judge’s arraignment, I knew it was only a matter of time. I repeatedly voiced my fears and concerns to anybody who’d listen. I’d badger lawyers and judges in the street – his course mates, people who knew him far longer than I – asking whether there was something we, as a legal community, could do for him.

I wanted to write something, anything, in a desperate bid to convey the tragedy of it all – how some bad judgment should not undo the good judgment he displayed on many more occasions. But I didn’t – at least not in his lifetime. And I will probably regret it forever, as will all of us who may now feel they could have done something and didn’t.

I didn’t – partly because I feared the outrage and backlash a similar article would undoubtedly provoke, which would have defeated its very purpose. You see, although we talk about equality before the law, there really is no such thing. We are generally harsher, more scathing and unforgiving of slip-ups committed by those of us who hold positions of power and trust. Consequently, the shame these people carry is also greater.

Come January, Dalligate and politics took centre stage, and reviving something which seemed to have fallen asleep really didn’t seem like a good idea. But of course, there is no sleep or rest for a man in that predicament. One minute you are presiding over the highest court in the land; you’re a highly respected, adulated judge; people bow before you and get out of their seat when you pass them in the corridors of justice.

The next, you’re seemingly discarded – rubbing shoulders with the 9am rush to court, getting frisked at security, thrown in the dock inside your own courtroom with everyone clamouring for your resignation. You’re splashed all over the papers, dissected and torn to shreds by the unrelenting media. Your reputation is besmirched and the only human right out there seems to be the right to unfettered freedom of expression.

No such luck with the other human right, of course – the one where you are presumed innocent. You are denied bail by your peers and forced to borrow money because your assets are frozen. After a series of humiliating applications and further trial by media, you are allowed to return home subject to a curfew and permission to withdraw a limited sum of money monthly.

It is my view that suspension from office pending trial would have sufficed and would have given him a lifeline. Being bullied into a resignation – with the obvious implications it suggested – virtually cutting off his financial supply and bringing him to his knees, after years of faithful service, was crippling, soul destroying and ultimately wrong.

And that isn’t the worst part. After years waking up in the middle of the night to finish writing yet another judgment, you now find yourself waking up in a cold sweat, and the constant remin­der that your whole life has been snatched from underneath you and there are no more judgments left to write.

It’s like the throbbing sensation of phantom limb pain after an amputation. The feeling that you are missing something, which drives you out of your mind, which is exactly what came to pass.

I was privileged to befriend Pace when he worked at the law courts. He was the sort of person who would instinctively help the underdog, which is how I and many others came to know him. He recognised pain, had a big heart, and was a big softie who couldn’t bear to leave his dogs at the pound whenever he and his family travelled.

Pace, sipping tea on his podium, was a passionate, top-quality judge who worked tirelessly and well, championing many rights and liberties throughout his career. He was quick on the uptake and had the capacity to zoom in on a legal point immediately. No one can ever take that away from him. Losing him on the Bench was a great shame and a greater loss to us all.

That his family have now lost him is the very high price they will pay. He died an innocent man. Death, the great equaliser, will now guarantee his family will not be destitute and will restore what is rightfully their own – a thought process which undoubtedly was not lost on him either.

Blaming the justice system this time round would be misplaced. What the system showed is that it can and does work rigorously, even against the high and mighty in whom we have placed so much trust.

Though perhaps there is a lesson to be learned – by politicians, police, media, judiciary et al. Perhaps we have it all wrong. Maybe justice shouldn’t be blind. No one is disputing that justice be done fairly, but sensitivity to peoples’ individual predicaments is also necessary.

The system can and frequently does add insult to an already debilitating injury. Justice without compassion isn’t justice, it’s an abattoir.

michelaspiteri@gmail.com