Sentencing offenders is a complex affair. It challenges
judges, defence counsel and prosecutors to get it right. The sentences that
result are part law, part art and part wrong. Here is a story about one of
mine (I was defence counsel, not accused).
I returned to my chamber, a space not deserving of the ‘s’
that bestows dignity. The floor scattered with briefs, each marked by pink
ribbon, like land mines. The desk cluttered and the bookshelves ordered chaos.
Late afternoon light sneaks through the towers to my small
window. No match for the cold buzz of the fluorescent light that flattens and
sanitises everything.