Truth and Consequence

No doubt you too will think me insane. For any normal person, the thought of representing yourself in a criminal trial for a serious offence—one carrying a potential sentence of fourteen years’ imprisonment—without any formal legal training would be unthinkable. Yet here I stood in the Royal Court of Jersey, having done precisely that. The prosecution had finished. Their case rested entirely on circumstantial evidence. I had submitted, not an hour earlier, that there was no case to answer. The Commissioner disagreed. Things had not gone according to plan. I remained standing at the barrier, aware of every eye in the room. Jurats, lawyers, spectators—waiting. The courtroom felt larger now, the ceiling higher, the air thinner. I had been here before. Not like this, not with so much at stake, but enough times to understand the rhythm of it. Enough times to know that the process had a momentum of its own, indifferent to truth, indifferent to consequence. Over the past eight...