IN 20TH century Moscow, they had the Lubyanka: the infamous KGB headquarters and prison into which many a political dissident vanished.
There is, of course, no comparison between what went on in there and the more enlightened activities for which the gleaming new courts complex on Dublin’s Parkgate Street has been built.
Even so, what with its great hulking mass and the apparent fact that prisoners and witnesses are to be spirited in and out of it without trace – or at least without press photographs – there is a passing likeness between the two edifices. I wouldn’t be surprised if the new building is already being referred to by frustrated snappers as the “Dubyanka”.
What is bad news for photographers, however, may be good news for another branch of the pictorial representation industry. I refer to that lesser-spotted species, the courtroom artist. At a time when increased camera coverage of trials threatens to make the breed extinct in other countries, it looks like making a comeback here, as our courts system takes the opposite tack.
Actually, until now, courtroom artists have been little used here compared with Britain. Which, even allowing that there have been Dubyanka-type complexes in the UK for years, is perverse. For while the law here is completely silent on the issue, making portraits of any kind in a British courtroom is banned under a 1925 Act.
The UK media gets around the problem by having pictures drawn outside the court. There is, after all, nothing to stop artists sitting in the public gallery (an ironic term, in the circumstances) and making mental notes about the protagonists. In fact they can make textual notes if they like.
Artists can jot down any amount of detail about, say, the prosecuting barrister’s appearance: “Hook-nosed, lantern-jaw, only one eye, overweight, ruddy complexion suggestive of severely dissipated lifestyle”, etc. But they still have to draw the face later, from memory, which is quite a challenge.
With their God-like powers over how business is conducted in their courtrooms, Irish judges, too, could probably eject artists if they thought they were undermining the process. Certainly, if I were an artist, I would not tempt fate by setting up an easel, say, or asking the defence counsel to hold a pose. But there is no formal prohibition on the work.
Despite this, early indications from the new complex suggest that producing realistic drawings of trial protagonists will still be a challenge. The Irish Timeswas almost alone among newspapers in deciding against the use of an artist at the Celine Cawley murder trial this week, when key witness Jean Treacy gave evidence.
And this looked like a wise decision yesterday. Certainly, you would have been very confused by the competing images of Ms Treacy that appeared elsewhere. There was not even agreement on her hair colour, which ranged from black in one newspaper, to golden brown in others.
This suggests a separate question about the new dispensation. If artists’ impressions are just that – impressionistic – is there any limit to what they could draw in future, to make up for the reduced photography? Another complaint about the new system, for example, is that we will no longer see photographs of convicted prisoners being led away.
Prurience aside, the principle that justice needs not only to be done, but to be seen to be done, has in the past been served by such pictures as former minister Ray Burke being led away to prison. Will this job in future be devolved to artists, who, relying on whatever tip-offs may be available from court staff or gardaí, will also have to use their own imaginations to produce impressions of the dramatic moment?
ONLY TIMEwill tell, I suppose. In the meantime, an indirect result of the new system may be to add credibility to one of the most popular extracurricular events in Irish secondary schools. Yes, I mean the mock trials competition for transition-year students: the 11th annual version of which will be launched shortly by a group called Public Access to Law (PAL).
The competition finals take place every year in Dublin, usually in the real courtrooms of the Four Courts (over a weekend); although the organisers hope to use the new Parkgate Street complex this year. By a strange twist, however, the annual draw for the event takes place far from the capital – in, of all places, my home town: Carrickmacross, Co Monaghan.
The explanation for this is PAL’s director: a barrister and former Green Party councillor, the ebullient Carrick man Vincent P Martin, under whose guidance the mock trials have grown to become, outside field team sports, the biggest competition for Irish transition-year students.
In fact, they sound a bit like a field sport: because, as in Australian rules football, teams for the trials can comprise up to 18 people: including six jurors, one member of court staff, four witnesses, one solicitor, two barristers, one newspaper reporter, one TV reporter, one photographer and – yes! – one artist.
The wide range of roles was designed to ensure that no student, even the most tongue-tied, would feel excluded. This despite the fact that in real Irish courtrooms, as Vincent admits, there has not traditionally been much call for art. But as we have seen, all that may be changing. Would-be courtroom artists in transition year: your time is now. Further details about the mock trials are at www.palddp.ie.