If justice delayed is justice denied, as Magna Carta itself suggests, then Britain is suffering not so much a crisis in its courts system as the deprivation of an essential human right.
The backlogs in the courts for some of the most serious crimes are now appalling. They also represent, in their way, just as serious a threat to people’s living standards as the cost of living, or the state of the National Health Service and the schools.
The whole machinery of criminal justice, from the police to the courts to the prisons and probation service, cannot be expected to function, or to detect, deter and punish criminals, if it’s continually on the brink of collapse.
The position is critical. Some 2,600 scheduled trials at crown courts in England and Wales – by definition at the upper end of offences – are not due to be heard until at least 2028, including 29 trials listed to begin as far ahead as 2030. Distressingly, this backlog includes 206 rape trials that are not listed to start until 2028. Four will not get underway until 2029. These are especially worrying. The longer a rape case takes to be heard in court, the less chance the victim will feel up to giving evidence. The conviction rate, already scandalously low, will remain depressed.
Overall, including magistrates’ courts and tribunals, the Ministry of Justice says the backlog currently stands at 80,000 cases. If nothing were done, it would climb to more than 200,000 by 2035. Even with the reforms and extra resources now planned, things will still get worse before they can get better.
It is, in short, an intolerable situation. The fact that it means survivors of rape and sexual abuse have to wait years for their tormenters to face the consequences of their actions is a matter of national shame.
No wonder, then, that the victims’ commissioner Claire Waxman described these delays as “inhumane”. Existing distress related to the original crime is compounded by the stress of negotiating a sclerotic system and the agony of awaiting both deserved retribution and the perpetrators to be kept away from the public.
The cost of depriving people of justice is material as well as emotional, and paid for by society as a whole. In such circumstances, the victims and their families often suffer relationship breakdowns, mental and physical illness, drug and alcohol abuse and unemployment. The toll is unbearable. Aside from any concerns about human rights, some investment in this public service would yield savings elsewhere in the economy.
The criminal justice system has been neglected for decades, and even now is dominated by creaky paper-based procedures – IT is a novelty in too many places. In truth, the system has never recovered from the “austerity” cuts administered by the Conservative-Liberal Democrat coalition government between 2010 and 2015, with little restitution in the period after.
During the 2010s, the Ministry of Justice budget fell in real terms by about a third, with hundreds of court premises closed and thousands of staff laid off, on top of the 20,000 experienced police officers made redundant. Covid added more pressure. By the time Shabana Mahmood took over in July 2024, there was no alternative to an unpopular prisoner release scheme. Now her successor, David Lammy, is looking to longer-term reform, backed by some extra funding.
Many of the government’s proposals are welcome. “Blitz” courts, for example, pioneered in Liverpool, allow similar and time-consuming cases, such as assaults on emergency workers, to be heard together and quickly dispatched. More digitalisation, and even AI – applied with care – could also transform efficiency.
But the most controversial of the legislative plans revealed this week by Mr Lammy concerns the future of jury trials and their replacement, in cases where any sentence would not exceed three years, with a panel of judges. It is fair to say that this scheme, proposed by the distinguished Sir Brian Leveson in his recent report, has still not clearly won the confidence of the public or of parliament.
Mr Lammy seems determined to press on in any case, no doubt prepared to make concessions as his bill grinds its way through the Commons and the Lords, both houses being replete with learned, eloquent and stubborn lawyers. The informal leader of the parliamentary resistance is Karl Turner, a determined but realistic Labour backbencher who suggests that the suspension of the existing right to jury trial be for an exceptional, temporary period so as to help clear the backlog more swiftly.
It is an imperfect solution, but a sensible compromise that Mr Lammy should embrace before he is forced to do so. After all, Mr Turner does have Magna Carta on his side – as well as dozens of disgruntled, restless colleagues.
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