Ilkay Cetin

On this page, I will discuss the woodworms of our justice system. But first, let us understand how woodworms operate, for their method of destruction holds striking parallels to what we will explore.

Picture a majestic oak beam, seemingly solid and trustworthy, maintaining an imposing facade of strength and stability. Yet beneath this veneer, something remarkable and terrifying occurs. Woodworms work in perfect silence, carving countless small channels that weave through the wooden structure. They create complex networks of tunnels, connecting different parts of the beam in ways invisible to the observer’s eye. These channels, though individually small, form an intricate web that gradually but inexorably weakens the entire structure.

What makes this process particularly fascinating is its invisible nature. By the time the damage becomes visible to the casual observer, the beam’s integrity has often been fatally compromised. The pattern of destruction follows an exponential path – each compromised area creates new pathways for further infestation, accelerating the decay of the entire structure. The woodworms move unseen between different parts of the wooden structure through these self-made passages, expanding their network until the beam’s strength exists only as an illusion.

In the following sections, we will explore how this natural process of deterioration manifests within our justice system. The parallels, as you will see, are both illuminating and disturbing.

Woodworm One: The Faceless Decision-Makers; ‘Proper Officers of County Courts’

Deep within the framework of British justice lurks a concerning erosion of transparency that threatens the very foundations of open justice. The proper officer system, whilst ostensibly administrative, has evolved into something far more troubling: a mechanism through which significant judicial decisions are made behind a veil of anonymity.

Recent Freedom of Information exchanges, publicly documented on WhatDoTheyKnow.com here reveal a deeply problematic institutional response to questions about these officers’ authority. The courts maintain a peculiar doublespeak: they simultaneously assert that proper officers merely implement administrative decisions whilst court orders explicitly state these officers “sit at court” and “consider applications” – language that unmistakably suggests judicial decision-making.

The Ministry of Justice’s responses to public inquiries demonstrate a sophisticated form of institutional obfuscation. They acknowledge that proper officers are “delegated judicial power” whilst insisting they perform purely administrative functions. Most tellingly, they admit to maintaining internal records identifying these officers whilst claiming they cannot provide information because, theoretically, any court staff member might serve as a proper officer. This circular reasoning serves to maintain a system where consequential legal decisions are made without clear lines of accountability.

The courts’ resistance to transparency extends beyond mere reluctance to identify individuals. There appears to be a systematic effort to avoid documenting or disclosing the qualifications required for these roles, the scope of their authority, or the mechanisms for monitoring their decisions. This creates a troubling vacuum where citizens cannot scrutinise the qualifications or potential biases of those making decisions about their cases.

Perhaps most concerning is how the system appears deliberately structured to prevent oversight. Whilst courts claim to maintain detailed records of which proper officer made which decision, this information remains inaccessible to the public. This stands in stark contrast to the fundamental principle of open justice, where judicial decisions must be attributed and reasoning scrutinised.

The implications for justice are profound. When decisions affecting legal rights are made by unnamed officials, operating under unclear authority, with undisclosed qualifications, the principle that justice must be seen to be done is fundamentally compromised. The system effectively creates a class of anonymous judicial decision-makers operating behind an administrative screen.

This opacity serves multiple institutional interests. It shields decision-makers from scrutiny, prevents pattern analysis that might reveal systemic biases, and makes it nearly impossible for citizens to challenge potential abuses of authority. The very structure of the system seems designed to minimise accountability whilst maximising authority.

Reform requires piercing this veil of administrative obscurity. At minimum, proper officers making substantive decisions should be identified, their qualifications disclosed, and their authority clearly defined. The public has a right to know who is making decisions about their cases and under what authority they operate.

Until such reforms occur, this particular woodworm continues to burrow through the foundations of judicial transparency, protected by layers of institutional obfuscation that make scrutiny nearly impossible. The pressing question remains: in a system of justice that claims to operate openly, how did we allow the creation of a class of anonymous judicial decision-makers who wield significant power without accountability?

The publicly available Freedom of Information exchanges on WhatDoTheyKnow.com serve as a troubling testament to how deeply this issue runs and how resistant the system is to providing even basic transparency about these decision-makers who significantly impact citizens’ legal rights.

These hidden decision-makers represent just one tunnel in our justice system’s woodworm network. As we explore another passage, we’ll see how this opacity enables and intersects with other forms of institutional decay, creating a web of compromised accountability that stretches from the highest courts to local authorities.

Woodworm two: When Courts Become Corridors: How Local Authorities Borrow Judicial Power

Having explored how woodworms create their hidden networks beneath seemingly solid structures, let me share a revealing personal encounter that demonstrates how these invisible passages manifest in our justice system.

Twenty years ago, returning from holiday, I discovered a council tax liability order from my local magistrates’ court in my post. This was rather unexpected, as I had dutifully paid nine instalments at the council’s local payment point, mere steps from my residence.

Upon contacting the magistrates’ court for clarification, I received a startling response: “This has nothing to do with us. The council merely rents a room in our building and makes these decisions themselves.” The council’s subsequent explanation was that I was “late” with the final payment of my ten-part plan. No warning letter had been sent, no notice of court proceedings given – merely a liability order with court fees attached, despite the fact that paying in ten instalments meant I was still ahead of the annual payment schedule.

Though this particular case was eventually reversed, it led me to observe similar patterns in my later professional roles serving the public. A concerning picture emerged: councils rarely issue proper summons, obscure the fact of court proceedings when questioned about inflated bills, and bypass communication with residents to directly contact employers for wage deductions. Their letters explicitly discourage court attendance, while liability orders declare no right of appeal.

Consider what this reveals: local authorities, merely renting space within court buildings, wield the court’s stamps and seals with minimal oversight, actively discouraging genuine judicial scrutiny. They possess extraordinary collection powers for council tax as a “priority payment” – a status reserved for very few debts.

This arrangement creates a perfect symbiosis of institutional convenience: courts maintain the appearance of authority while delegating its exercise, and local authorities gain the power of judicial enforcement without its corresponding scrutiny. Like woodworms creating intersecting tunnels, these practices connect with the opacity we observed in proper officers – both represent instances where judicial power is exercised without clear accountability, hidden behind administrative veils.

Meanwhile, on London’s streets, evidence of institutional failure accumulates – pavements strewn with litter, criminal behaviour unchecked. The very institutions meant to serve and protect – the police and local authorities who benefit from these priority payments – appear more focused on maintaining their authority than addressing the community’s needs.

This erosion of trust is hardly surprising. When the justice system allows its authority to be borrowed and wielded without oversight, when it permits its stamps and seals to be used to intimidate rather than protect, it undermines its own legitimacy. The public’s faith in justice cannot survive in an environment where courts appear to serve as rubber stamps for administrative convenience rather than guardians of fairness and due process. Each instance of such institutional complicity creates another tunnel in the structure of public confidence, until the entire edifice of trust stands hollow and vulnerable.

The network of tunnels grows more complex with each passing year. From the anonymity of proper officers to the borrowed authority of local councils, these practices interconnect and reinforce each other. Just as woodworms create networks that eventually connect throughout a wooden beam, these different forms of opacity and unaccountability link together, each weakness providing cover and justification for others. The result is a justice system that maintains its impressive facade while its core principles – transparency, accountability, and due process – are quietly being consumed from within.

Woodworm Three: The Emotional Judiciary – Rules for Thee, Not for Me

As I continue exploring the various weaknesses in our justice system, I should emphasise that I’m not proceeding in any particular order of importance. Rather, I’m highlighting problems as I notice as a citizen navigating this increasingly compromised structure. Each woodworm represents another channel through which the integrity of justice is being quietly undermined, and today I turn my attention to a particularly concerning development: the emotional judiciary.

I wasn’t particularly interested in the sentencing remarks in R v Harrison Lawrence Van-Pooss until I saw it posted on X by someone who is highly likely a judge himself. This document provides a perfect example of the issues I’m about to explore.

The Professional Double Standard

When judges issue judgments that contain emotionally charged language or personal commentary about victims, defendants, or other participants in the legal process, they reveal a troubling double standard. Consider that these same judges frequently criticise litigants—particularly unrepresented ones—for displaying emotion in court. Litigants in civil courts are routinely characterised as being “too emotional,” having “strong feelings,” or making “outrageous” claims. Yet judges themselves feel entitled to embed their own emotions in official court documents.

The 2024 Judicial Attitude Survey reveals a judiciary that often feels fragile and victimised. Significant percentages report experiencing stress (with only 1% of salaried judges reporting no work-related stress), feeling undervalued by government (only 9% feel valued), and believing they aren’t paid reasonably for their work (more than half). This creates a troubling situation where those wielding immense power over citizens’ lives view themselves as victims of an unfair system—the very same system they represent and enforce.

Perhaps most bizarrely, the survey reveals that 14% of salaried judges and 13% of coroners reported experiencing bullying from their colleagues, primarily from leadership judges. In effect, we have a hierarchical system where senior judges bully junior judges, who in turn often treat the public with the same lack of empathy they experience from their superiors. This toxic cascade of disrespect flows downward, ultimately landing on the ordinary citizen who approaches the court seeking justice.

Unchecked Power Without Accountability

While judges experience these feelings of victimhood, they simultaneously possess extraordinary power to affect people’s lives. A judgment can determine whether someone keeps their home, maintains custody of their children, or even their liberty. Yet the emotional state of the judge—whether they’re feeling stressed, undervalued, or overworked—can significantly impact how they handle cases.

The evidence is clear in the 2024 Judicial Attitude Survey. The survey reveals that 52% of salaried judges believe their workload is too high. Consider the implications of this: more than half of judges feel overburdened while making life-altering decisions. The survey also shows that 77% of judges reported sleep disturbances as a stress symptom, along with irritability (57%) and headaches (52%). These are not ideal conditions for objective decision-making, yet there is minimal acknowledgment of how these factors affect judicial performance.

The Anonymous Authority

Perhaps most concerning is how the judiciary operates with minimal accountability. The sentencing document I examined lacked a judge’s name—they didn’t even take ownership of their own words and decisions. This anonymity creates a stark contrast with the expectations placed on ordinary citizens interacting with the courts.

An unrepresented litigant must provide perfectly formatted documents with precise headers and footers, adhere strictly to procedural rules they don’t understand, and maintain perfect composure in an intimidating environment. The slightest deviation from these exacting standards can result in their case being dismissed or severely prejudiced. Meanwhile, judges can remain anonymous, issue emotionally charged judgments, and commend certain professionals (like police officers) while maintaining the fiction of impartiality.

This asymmetry undermines the principle that justice must not only be done but be seen to be done. How can justice be seen when those administering it hide behind institutional anonymity? In the Van-Pooss judgment, the judge goes to great lengths to thank specific police officers by name for simply doing their jobs, yet doesn’t identify themselves.

Creating a Perception of Bias

When judges use their judgments to praise certain professionals—particularly those who are simply doing their expected jobs—they create a perception of bias that damages public confidence. This is especially problematic in cases where citizens might need to challenge those same institutions.

Consider a citizen who needs to take legal action against the police. How confident can they be in receiving fair treatment when judgments routinely contain gratuitous praise for police officers?

The survey also reveals that 64% of judges are “extremely concerned” by the loss of respect for the judiciary by government. What they fail to understand is that this loss of respect is entirely self-inflicted. While judges hide behind claims of “judicial independence,” they frequently fail to apply the law equally to all parties, often don’t properly apply the law to the facts before them, and use their elevated status to treat ordinary citizens abusively. When those citizens turn to their MPs for help, judges cry foul about “political interference” rather than examining their own failings.

This is the real reason the government has been forced to address judicial conduct—not because they wish to undermine the rule of law, but because judges themselves have undermined it through their inconsistent application of justice. Their preoccupation with their own status rather than the fair administration of justice has created this tension.

This judicial overreach extends to making damaging comments about professionals who appear before them, often without giving these individuals any chance to respond. In one particularly egregious case, a professional had to take their case all the way to the European Court of Human Rights and won because a judge’s negative comments severely damaged their career. The court recognised what the judiciary apparently could not—that a judge’s words carry enormous weight and can destroy livelihoods when wielded carelessly. Yet many judges seem oblivious to or unconcerned with how their actions impact others’ lives and careers. They expect deference and perfection from those appearing before them while refusing to acknowledge the real-world consequences of their own behavior. This disconnect further erodes public confidence in a system that appears to operate with different rules for those within it versus those subject to it.

The Emotional Impact on Judicial Decision-Making

The paradox here is striking: judges permit themselves to operate under the influence of emotion while expecting clinical detachment from those appearing before them. The 2024 Judicial Attitude Survey shows that 70% of judges reported that an increase in workload would make them more likely to leave the judiciary early. This suggests that workload pressures directly impact judicial wellbeing and, inevitably, performance.

More troubling is that 30% of salaried judges reported experiencing burnout as a stress symptom. Can we reasonably expect fair and balanced judgments from individuals experiencing burnout? Yet there is little institutional acknowledgment of how these factors might affect the quality of justice.

Connecting the Tunnels

This emotional judiciary connects directly to the previous woodworms I’ve identified. The anonymous nature of judicial decision-making reinforces the lack of accountability I described in “Woodworm One: The Faceless Decision-Makers.” The emotional investment in certain outcomes or perspectives undermines the impartiality that should characterize judicial proceedings, creating pathways for the institutional complicity described in “Woodworm Two.”

Together, these weaknesses form an interconnected network of compromised accountability, further eroding public confidence in a system that increasingly appears to operate according to different standards for those within it versus those subject to it.

Conclusion: The Unraveling Framework

A judiciary that permits itself to express emotion while condemning it in others, that remains anonymous while demanding full disclosure from citizens, and that praises certain professionals while maintaining the pretense of neutrality cannot fulfill its fundamental purpose of delivering impartial justice.

As with the other woodworms I’ve identified, this one represents another tunnel through which the structural integrity of our justice system is being compromised. While each individual instance might seem minor, together they form a pattern of decay that threatens the entire edifice.

Citizens navigating this system face not just the challenge of understanding complex legal procedures but also the invisible barriers created by a judiciary that operates according to one standard for itself and another for everyone else. Until we address these fundamental inconsistencies, the promise of equal justice under law will remain unfulfilled.