Over the past year, I have become progressively less interested in individual miscarriages of justice themselves and far more interested in the psychology that underpins them. Whether we are talking about miscarriages of justice, institutional failures, whistleblower retaliation cases or historical witch hunts, the same patterns emerge.
An allegation gradually becomes treated as fact. Personal judgements transform into "evidence". Highly speculative theories become accepted truths despite never having been properly investigated. Before long, people stop asking whether something is actually true and instead begin asking why anyone would question it.
One of the conclusions I have increasingly come to is that the scapegoating campaigns that lead to MoJs rarely begin, or continue, for a single reason. Sometimes they are initiated maliciously by individuals who knowingly distort information, spread rumours or seek to divert attention away from themselves or their own failings. At other times, they begin through ignorance, poor judgement or a genuine but mistaken belief that the narrative being promoted is true.
Whatever their origin, however, they almost invariably evolve into something much larger because they become sustained by people with very different motivations:
1. There are those who knowingly manipulate events.
2. There are those who genuinely but uncritically accept what they are being told.
3. There are those who repeat allegations without ever asking whether they have been properly investigated, gradually allowing opinion to harden into "fact" simply through repetition.
4. Then there are the silent observers: people who have doubts, or who recognise that something does not quite add up, but who conclude that speaking out is simply too risky.
Whether through fear, career concerns, social pressure or simple inertia, silence itself becomes a form of participation. The malicious may ignite the fire, but it is often the unquestioning, the fearful and the disengaged who keep it burning. Meanwhile, those watching from outside often disengage with a thought we have all heard countless times: "There is no smoke without fire."
But history repeatedly reminds us that fires are not always accidental. Sometimes they are started deliberately. Sometimes they are fuelled because they distract attention from uncomfortable questions or the conduct of those who would much rather nobody looked too closely at them.
Another fascinating aspect of human behaviour emerges after the events themselves have unfolded. Once somebody becomes publicly established as either a victim or a villain, an entire ecosystem can begin to develop around them. Many of those who become involved are motivated by genuine compassion and a sincere desire to help. However, publicity also creates incentives. High-profile cases bring media attention, professional recognition, future work and opportunities to advance personal or professional agendas. That does not mean everyone is motivated by those incentives, but they undeniably exist, and pretending otherwise would be naïve.
This appears to be particularly relevant where people become involved on a pro bono basis. The vast majority of pro bono lawyers undertake that work for entirely honourable reasons, and their contribution to access to justice is invaluable. However, high-profile pro bono litigation can also generate considerable publicity, professional recognition and influence. Like every other human incentive, those factors have the potential -whether consciously or unconsciously - to shape behaviour. When that happens, the objective of correcting a miscarriage of justice can begin to shift. Rather than establishing the truth as efficiently and objectively as possible, there may instead be a tendency to perpetuate conflict, flood the narrative with ever more information rather than distil the issues that genuinely matter, or reinforce a client's dependence on a particular circle whilst distancing them from those who offer alternative perspectives or constructive assistance. The person at the centre of the miscarriage of justice can gradually become less important than the narrative that has grown around them.
That, to me, is another recurring pattern of human behaviour. Once a story acquires momentum, there is always a danger that preserving the story becomes more important than resolving it.
I certainly don't pretend to have the answers. I continue to read about institutional psychology and group behaviours because I find these recurrent patterns fascinating. If I ever work out how to stop history repeating itself, I promise I'll let you know.
But what I have come to believe so far, however, is this: we spend astonishing amounts of time examining the person at the centre of a miscarriage of justice, yet comparatively little examining those who created it, propagated it, legitimised it or simply stood by and watched it unfold. In my view, those are the people who deserve far more scrutiny. If we genuinely want to prevent further miscarriages of justice rather than merely debate them after the fact, perhaps it is time we shifted the spotlight from the accused to the accusers.
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