
44 February-March 2026
of collective conscience are what distinguish
the jury from a tribunal of technocrats.
Camus, in ‘Reflections on the Guillotine’
(1957), wrote:
“Knowing themselves to be fallible, [jurors]
at least draw the appropriate consequences.
And true justice is on their side precisely
insofar as logic is not”.
This is not sentimentality. It is realism about
justice in a world of imperfect laws.
Perhaps the best modern argument for the
jury remains Sidney Lumet’s ‘Twelve Angry
Men’ (1957). The opening scene — eleven
jurors eager to convict, one man willing to slow
things down — captures what the jury is: not a
search for certainty, but a collective exercise in
doubt. It is not a device for producing truth; it
is a mechanism for testing its plausibility. The
sole dissenter, an architect played by Henry
Fonda in another of his emblematic portrayals
of the liberal American conscience, dissents…
not because he is convinced of the boy’s
innocence as such, but in order that the other
members of the jury discuss the case in more
detail and they do the case justice.
When I quote this film to actual juries in
closing speeches, they respond. They become
vigilant. They take ownership. They ask
questions. Contrary to the cynicism of legal
minimalists, they care.
So, if the jury is an inconvenience, it is
precisely because it remains a safeguard
against convenience — against the state’s
professional convenience. It is democracy
athwart the dock. Reducing protections for
the poor and the most vulnerable is a classic
hollowing out of true democracy.
Fourth, if there are abuses, advocates
and judges are vigilant against them and
sometimes a jury is discharged. I saw one
juror relieved from service as he had objected
to Tony Blair’s jury reforms. Jerome Frank,
the American legal realist, warned of the
“unconscious prejudices” that may aect both
judges and jurors alike: “Hidden, unconscious
biases...plus or minus reactions to women,
or red-haired women, or men with deep
voices...”.
But that is the point: no system is infallible.
The best defence against bias is diversity —
not only of race or class, but of viewpoint. The
judge lives in the courts; the juror does not.
That distinction matters.
Certainly there are concerns. Every big
trial raises fears of populist trials by media.
Likewise, the increasing exposure of jurors
to social media ‘evidence’ makes old
assumptions about impartiality less reliable.
The Simpson case in the US was the nadir of
the dangers of televisation. In Ireland the more
recent Phelan trial indulged a warped political
correctness in the admission of evidence of
animal cruelty by the defendant.
But I consider these are arguments for
reform, not abolition.
Radical threat: the shaky UK
government plan
In November 2025 the Labour government,
fronted by David Lammy and armed with
a report from Lord Leveson, proposed that
new “swift court” procedures would abolish
jury trials for all but the most serious 50%
of oences, retaining them only for murder,
manslaughter, rape, and oences likely to
attract sentences of more than five, now
further reduced to three, years.
This proposal represents a historic rupture
with centuries of English tradition — and with
Keir Starmer’s own earlier positions. In a 1992
Socialist Lawyer article, Starmer insisted that
the right to trial by jury was “an important
factor in the delicate balance between the
power of the state and the freedom of the
individual”, and argued for extending jury
trials to the magistrates’ courts “despite the
inevitable increase in costs”. Starmer seems
now to be the rupture’s principal champion.
Senior legal figures responded with alarm.
Labour Baroness Helena Kennedy warned that
the plan would “destroy justice as we know
it”. The four bars of the UK and Ireland issued
a thoughtful joint statement in Jamuary. The
Liberal Democrats noted that, unlike other
stages of the criminal justice system, jury trials
do not show statistical bias against ethnic
minorities.
The Irish dimension:
constitution and contradictions
Article 38.5 of the Irish Constitution guarantees
trial by jury for serious criminal oences.
Though rare in practice — confined mostly
to Circuit Court criminal trials — it carries a
symbolic weight that far exceeds its statistical
footprint.
Yet Ireland also maintains the Special
Criminal Court — a non-jury tribunal originally
designed for terrorist oences. Its jurisdiction,
however, has expanded dramatically. As I have
written elsewhere, its current use in gangland
prosecutions and white-collar cases raises
serious questions about the encroachment of
emergency powers into ordinary law.
The threat of juror intimidation is real, as
Diplock Courts in Northern Ireland showed.
But so is the risk of judges becoming case-
hardened, cynical, or — worst of all —
compromised. That is no abstract concern. The
history of totalitarian regimes is replete with
‘People’s Courts’ that operated as engines of
repression, not justice.
Of course, juries are not immune from error.
Origins: Magna Carta, Greece, and Iceland
The jury, like most civic traditions worth
preserving, did not arise fully formed. The
Athenian dikastai, immortalised in Aeschylus’
‘Eumenides’, oered an early archetype. In
that drama, Athena introduces the notion
of deliberative judgment to end the cycle of
blood vengeance. A split vote is resolved by
the goddess herself — a divine tie-breaker.
In the Wasps, Aristophanes ridiculed jury
service as a compulsive addiction that allows
demagogues to control the poor.
In England, it was the Viking-exported
twelve-man panel — featured in the Icelandic
Njáls Saga — that gradually evolved into the
English jury. By the time of Magna Carta, in the
thirteenth century, its form was recognisable.
“No free man shall be seized or imprisoned,
or stripped of his rights or possessions…
except by the lawful judgment of his equals or
by the law of the land”.
By the reign of Edward III, “law of the land”
had morphed into “due process of law”, which
in practice meant judgment by twelve peers.
The symbolism is deep: the number twelve
echoes not only Greek and Norse models
but also apostolic and astrological orders.
It represents balance, deliberation, and
symbolic universality.
Reform, not removal
Georey Robertson KC once argued that jury
trials should be waivable at the election of the
defendant, as they are in Canada and some
US and Australian states. During COVID-19,
the National Association of Criminal Defence
Lawyers (NACDL) in the US made a similar
case.
Perhaps this compromise — jury by choice
— oers a way forward. But we should not
confuse choice with abolition.
Certainly, the jury system needs reform.
Complex financial cases may require expert
lay members or mixed tribunals, à la France.
Juror protection must be enhanced. Procedural
eciency must be addressed. But none
of these require abandonment of the core
principle: that citizens have a right to sit
in judgment of the state — and that their
presence restrains its worst impulses.
Comparative studies (e.g. Durham University
Law School, 2019) suggest that jurisdictions
with robust jury systems tend to enjoy higher
levels of public trust in the judiciary and
stronger constraints on executive overreach.
Our delegated conscience
Juries are imperfect. They are swayed,
flawed, sleepy, inattentive — and only
sometimes heroic. But they keep the state
honest, the law visible, and the citizen
involved. The alternative is not eciency — it
is opacity. It is the quiet slide from democracy
to bureaucratic command.
To abolish the jury is not to modernise the
law. It is to remove its conscience. The jury
is ours. It will be as well that the shameless
Labour government moves to recognise this.
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