What We Always Wanted To Know
About Our Criminal Justice System
But Were Afraid To Ask …
Sean: I heard you’re writing a book about the Irish
Criminal Justice System? About time. The statistics in this
country are in an unmerciful mess. I hope you have cleared up the
mess?
Seamus: I hope so, too, but I doubt it. The mess is too
deep, too Irish and – which is the same thing – too obscurantist.
Sean: Give us an example.
Seamus: Look at
Table 216
and you’ll see the incredible
mess in which Irish prison statistics were couched. The Prison
system managed to lose hundreds of people every year and no one
gave a cabaiste. These figures, by the way, were for the
benefit of Parliament. TDs never bothered to read them, did they?
And if they didn’t read them, no one else did either. The clergy
never believed in quantifying anything, not even their wealth. So,
who was going to read them? Even presently the most celebrated and
paid members of the community who bothered to write books about
the Criminal Justice System had no notion whatsoever of accounting
for the system in particular or as a whole. Back in the ‘70s the
country at that time, as you know, was full of purple prose about
Human Rights and the like, and no one gave a cabaiste about
counting the number of persons housed in Irish prisons. This was a
time, of course, when the nation’s incarcerated children (not to
mention the law-abiding school-going children) were abused by the
Clergy, the Clergy ran everything, appointed everybody and made
sure that no one ever said anything without consulting them first.
And this applied (and applies) to Professors more so than to the
fearful rank-and-file.
Sean: Well, that’s what I was going to say; for the period
1968 and 1975 -- which is a long time ago. I know how imperative
you feel it is that the role of historical understanding in these
things should be foremost in any analytical enterprise, but how
can we proceed to deal with improving the complexity of these
things?
Seamus: I suppose we should understand the nature and the
possibilities of Irish society in these regards. I think it all
goes back to where we are socially. I mean the most basic
precondition of our existence at this time.
– and particularly since Whitaker -- is the ongoing creation of an
Irish
secular middle class. It is a process that is not only absolutely
necessary,
but it is also absolutely unstoppable. And, as you know, what is
necessary
cannot be immoral.

Sean: I know you have always maintained that the real struggle in
Ireland
has been the struggle to become and remain secular, and that talk
about
class in Ireland was a borrowed sense of Irish narcissism and
totally
inappropriate as a construct by which to examine Irish phenomena.
But is
he creation of class necessary to arrive at a secular and more
masculine
state?
Seamus: I think so. There is no ‘other’ force in Irish society
except the
RC church. The Protestants have been as defeated as the Gaels, and
in so
far as the Southern Protestants have not been defeated, they are
wets and
irrelevant. And in any event, they are merely Christian in
orientation, that
is, they present no real modern sense of ‘otherness’ apart from
the
otherness of governing the Christian conquest in the same fashion
as the
RC church, or what is even more unimaginable, governing it as the
Established Church did in the nineteenth century.
Sean: Well, what about the Northern Protestants?
Seamus: Well, they are not ‘in’ Irish society. They are a
considerable
force for change, but again, they are co-defendants and
joint-partners in
the Christian conquest, and when a few reforms and accommodations
have been made, they will soon be humming and hymning phalangist
Christian numbers together – the Christian comrades in total
harmony in
the one Green and Gold submarine, the Masons and the Opus swapping
their respective stories of daring do. What a prospect! Such is
the present
limit and horizon of Irish social life. To me it is another reason
why the
creation of a Southern secular middle class is absolutely
necessary. We
generate our own history or we perish in the Holy Roman bog we
have
been pickled in for the past fifteen hundred years. We remove the
deadwood and show our selves, or go back to the dead womb of
mediaeval obscurity.
Sean: But how is class related to bad criminal statistics?
Seamus: It is because we have non-class, non-secular but religious
substandard, secrecies and pre-French Reformation privileges, that
the
clerical abuses on our children, as well as the reparations made
by the
taxpayers (via the good Catholics like Ruari Quinn, Michael Woods,
et
al), have occurred. It is because of the self-same phenomena that
the AIB
Bankers can rob with impunity, that a substantial number of
institutions
in Ireland operate a medieval consciousness in a modern capitalist
environment. So why do you thinks that criminal statistics should
be
compiled in an environment that is different to the norms than
childcare,
financial banking, planning authorities? What you see in them is
precisely the absence of secular standards and secular morality –
the
same, let me add, which unfortunately feeds and informs our
so-called
universities and Departments of State including the Department of
Justice. Axiomatic of recent Irish academic know-how, for example,
is
the recognition that one can say absolutely anything about
anything in
Ireland with impunity. Foremost amongst these are the ‘Experts’,
and
there are no Experts like those who talk about the Criminal
Justice
System (CJS) in Ireland. Do you not agree?
Sean: I know that long before the Morris Tribunal the Garda
Siochana
had to be made the whipping boys for all and sundry, especially
the
experts, whether they just set up their Jesuitical shop in UCD
(and TCD),
attached themselves to the Department of Justice, or simply
sniffed about
the prisons declaring that they were somehow as foreigners more
concerned than everybody else. It’s a little like trying to uphold
the
intellectual status of the Parish Priest. In order to take the Sagart Paroiste seriously – no matter what kind of insufferable babble he indulges
in – it
is easiest when everyone else is reduced collectively to the
mental
capacity of a flock of sheep. This principle, I suppose, applies
equally to
the Church’s State-experts in their rantings about criminology in
general
and about the Commissioner of the Garda Siochana’s Annual
Report in
particular. In order to make what they say credible, everyone else
must be
lied to repetitively. How do we know that they are experts?
Because the
Department of Justice, the Church’s moral secular mouthpiece,
tells us
so. But if you look at the track record, if we ask to consult the
volumes
and reports that these experts have presumably consulted, if we
look for
the references they individually and collectively have left us to
ponder,
the enormous works they have swatted over to prove their passion
for
criminal statistics, and the unerring analysis of their Oeuvre, what do we
find?
Seamus: What, indeed? The British, whose legacies we have totally
disinherited, were great administrators. On the question of
accountability,
they were second to none. Marx even commended them on their
diligence
and intelligence. To this day our archives are still struggling to
make their
excellent records available for public scrutiny. And the least
said about
that effort the better. Amongst the achievements of the British
was their
expertise in the maintenance of creditable statistics on crime. So
much of
that British inheritance that remained was, up to quite recently,
to be
found in the scaled down version of the Garda Commissioner’s
Annual
Report on Crime. And these reports, coupled with what Judicial Statistics there were dating back at least to 1863, coupled again with the
various Prison Reports, and, what is a derivative of the foregoing,
the Statistical
Abstracts, made up for the most part our statistical knowledge
of crime in
Ireland. The main stay of all these reports was, of course, the Garda
Commissioner’s Annual Report on Crime. These Reports had some
faults
that required adjustments. Some thirty years ago they were
highlighted
and criticised by me for some of their shortcomings, but others,
anxious
to take a high ground, invariably misinterpreted this criticism in
its scope
and nature. Unfortunately, the ESRI and thereafter every visitor
to the
shores of Irish penology thought it wise to repeat and amplify the
criticisms amplified it unduly. The result, of course, has been
that the
Commissioner’s Annual report has been criticised so often and so
dismissively -- particularly by those who were appointed to
comprehend
and improve them – that their unreliability has become a cliché.
This is
mostly because one or two earlier dabblers (tourists!) in the area
never
comprehended them in the first place. Not unusually foreigners
hardly
ever understood the social content of the society they are hired
to study.
Sean: So what did they do?
Seamus: They litanised their shortcomings, borrowing for their
criticism
the remarks of others who preceded them. David Rottman (of the
ESRI),
for example, an American, who basically didn’t know his A from his
E,
worked tremendously hard at trying to comprehend the
Commissioner’s
Reports. True, as foreigner he had to learn his way around a new
culture;
but then everyone it seems in the business of Irish ‘ criminology’
comes
from somewhere else. How the Irish expect foreigners to know more
about their own history than they themselves do is one of the
mysteries
attaching to the quaint Irish personality through the workings of
Catholicism and The Dermot Mac Murrough
Syndrome. It is a bit like
Fianna Fail’s hiring of Martin Mansergh to inform them of their
history --
the historical meaning of their own experiences of Irish life. Or
the
Labour Party hiring an American to tell them about Irish Arts, or
the
Government of the day employing a non-Gaelic-speaking Minister
over
the Gaelteacht. The whole idea of having a resident historian (in
situ, as
it were) might in some peoples’ view exacerbate rather than
explain the
problem of history for the Irish. The foreigners appointed to key
positions
in a country so small as to support only ONE such appointment, is
not the
problem of foreigners (in or out of the social sciences), it is
most
primarily a problem the Irish have with the Irish, or rather the
Catholic
Irish have with the Irish.
Sean: Be that as it may, you must admit that Dr Rottman, with some
legal
assistance, did much excellent work at compiling extra Garda Statistics
and analysing them. Seamus: That is true, but unfortunately it is not the whole truth
or,
indeed, the truth we need in order to move matters forward or to
put them
in their proper perspective. For it is also true that in effect he
regurgitated
the police figures on Indictable Crime at the recorded and detected levels
– but he never really succeeded in penetrating their content much
further
– not at any rate in any convincing or accountable way. That is,
he could
not see how or with what frequency they entered or exited the
courts, or
how they accounted for the sentences that people received. He
never
deduced the numbers and types of convictions there were, what
types of
sentences were handed down, what numbers was incarcerated, and,
most
importantly, what the annual recidivist rate was. Indeed, he never
came i
bfhoisceacht scread asail of a recidivist rate, or how many
recidivists
there were. Indeed, what was wrong with the statistics, he
summarised as
follows:
“ The most fundamental recommendation that can be made is that a
handbook be prepared stating the rules operative in counting and
classifying offences for all the categories listed in the Report
on Crime…To
summarise, the crime statistics should be placed on a sound
bookkeeping
basis”.
While everyone agreed with this complaint -- indeed, everyone
before Dr
Rottman had made it -- it was at the level of this old complaint
that the
improvement of the existing Garda statistics was conceived. No one
imagined that it was any reason to abolish the Commissioner’s
Annual
Report or the method of collecting the statistics as a whole or
that the
exercise was – or had been for years – useless. Now, I am not
saying that
the Department of Justice hasn’t got its own agenda of reasons to
abolish
the collection of these statistics, but in so far as their
advisers have stated,
there is no valid reason for so doing. Further, no one wished to
leave us in
a no-man’s-land regarding the collection of criminal statistics.
Unfortunately, however, when Dr Rottman felt that there was no
platform
in Ireland for resisting what he said, he went further. He felt
that:
“The most serious limitation (in the available statistics) is the
inability to take
those individuals arrested and follow through what happened to
them: how
many were proceeded against, what pleas were entered, how many
were
convicted, and what manner of sentence they received. It should
also be
possible to establish where and how individuals were removed from
the
criminal justice process, as well as the characteristics of the
persons involved.”
It was most unfortunate that Rottman could not read the Annual
Reports
adequately, for the very things he thought were not present in the
figures
were. With a little application, he could have found his way to
mapping
out the whole ensemble and then, if he had followed anything of
the
history of collecting and appraising criminal statistics in
Ireland, he could
have made his mark by improving upon what was in large measure
under
his nose. Indeed, as is amply demonstrated hereafter, the total
figure for
Indictable Crimes in 1975 from the time that they are recorded to
the
sentences that are handed down in respect of them are perfectly
amenable, not just in respect of total crime, but in respect of
each
category of crime or group of crimes. The interpretation and
description
of this event is evidenced in Figure 2.1 and Model ‘75 delineated anon.
Sean: I take the point that Dr. Rottman’s work and, indeed, most
of that
which followed, as well as most of what emanates from the ESRI is
especially a-historical. In a way economic studies, left
wing-studies and
biblical studies al have the same abstract methodology: and every
one is
looking for something to pour into a computer, as if the computer
will
then deliver Irish reality back to them. I don’t suppose that
Immanuel
Kant – no more than Darwin -- will ever become relevant to the
Irish
mind. What a pity!
Seamus: You mean that the computer is a substitute for the
analytic
truths Kant championed over the synthetic truths of mathematical
and
other forms of abstraction?
Sean: Yes; but that kind of reasoning nowhere applies here. The
illusions
of synthetic logic march hand in hand with the abstractions of
Christianity, and march more militantly in Catholicism. In any
event selfdiscourse
based on experience is anathema to the Irish, since when they
actually imagine that foreigners (people outside their culture – The
Dermot MacMurrough Syndrome – knows more about them than
they
do!) can experience life for them, or ,failing that, can know of
their
experiences better than they do. Could anything be more absurd! Is
this
the direct consequence of Catholic teaching?
Seamus: In the Irish context, yes. We can see this quite clearly
by
examining what happens in Irish Criminology; for characteristic of
what
happens, apart from the intractability of Irish obscurantism, is
the
unfortunate manner in which successive ‘ criminologists’ have
repeated Rottman’s criticisms. Blindly and without as much as acknowledging
the
good work that he did –- for apart from the criticisms voiced
above, he
worked hard, diligently and ingeniously on Irish statistics --
they have
unfortunately and uncritically followed the same dismissive line
without
as much as demonstrating a ‘tourist’s’ status in the area. How a
whole
society, fond of regarding itself as‘ modern’, can be duped into
believing
the most Talibanian and nonsensical things about itself is a
matter for
comedy. That it encroaches upon the serious matter of the social
sciences
can only be left to others – possibly foreigners – to judge. Maybe
then,
they, too, can come to appreciate the Joycean strategy of fleeing
a culture
so ignoble and paralysed to any native improvement. Rottman’s
mistake
has been repeated ad nauseum by the most questionable of
Experts, and
the Irish interest is yet again the slave to obscurantism.
As is demonstrated anon, the whole system of criminal justice
could be
worked out from the Garda Commissioner’s Annual Report, but the
experts felt safer if they could have a new start, one without a
cumbersome history – a tabula rasa, as it were, where they
could
perhaps shine, a stratagem that would protect their expertise,
lest their
short-comings be discovered by the more critical eye. The result
is that
we have a system called the PULSE and no one – new experts
included --
can hope to work any useful information at all from what is
euphemistically called the Irish Criminal Statistics. The experts
have
managed to create the worst of all possible scientific worlds –
the world
of God, wherein nothing is accounted for, nothing is known about
the
Criminal Justice System and all are dependent upon the Minister
for
Justice, (etc) to give them this and that piece of unquestioned
and
unquestionable information about the general conditions of things
criminal when and in what manner he pleases.
Sean: And what about the Expert Group on Crime Statistics? Seamus: These are the most recent body to misunderstand Irish
criminal
statistics if you read their report, you will observe that after
much magic
they ‘pass the buck’ forward yet again. In the ‘70s there was the
expectation that the ESRI knew something about criminology, then
there
were various groups from UCD who were going to do the bold
thing and
unravel the mess. Then there was a National Crime Forum and
a National
Crime Council, then there was much-to-do about prisoners’
rights and
psychology, and then the Jesuits wanted a whole Institute of
Criminology all to themselves in UCD, which would carry out ‘independent
research’
and teach us how to count crime, at an estimated start-up cost of
£300,000. They used pounds back in 1998 and no one knew better the
pre-buggery value of a Roman-pound than the Opus-acculturated
Jesuits.
The last effort in this whole sorry incomprehensible saga devolved
then
upon Mr McDowell’s Expert Group On Crime Statistics. Having
pointed
up the biblical defects in collecting crime statistics the Expert Group passed the book on to another unborn child called the CCSU. If you
held
your breadth in the expectation that the Expert Group was
going to say
anything original, you would be sadly disappointed. Among its
telling
(and most intelligent) observations is the one that recommends
(Surprise!
Surprise!) --
2.1 …the establishment of a Central Crime Statistics Unit (CCSU)
within the
Department of Justice, Equality and Law Reform. This Unit should
have
professional independence and should compile and publish enhanced
crime
statistics based mainly on data derived from An Garda Síochána
PULSE
system.
Indeed, so confident was the Minister in the group, that from the
outset he
disturbingly harnessed their concerns to the PULSE only. This
means that
in one or two fell swoops, all British and Irish history – all the
sad efforts
of the last eighty years by Garda Commissioners (who, obviously
weren’t
‘Expert’-enough for the Department) were set at nought. Yet
again
Ireland, by Ministerial Command, and by a very questionable
testimony
of virgin experts, has decided quite biblically that Ireland has
had no
history before the year 2000 and no expertise in the gathering and
analysis of criminal statistics. (That one might expect criticism
or opposition of a party political type would be to misunderstand
the nature
of religion in Ireland; for none is conceived, and if conceived,
can only be
conceived towards an end that is perfectly in accord with the
theatre of
the RC church’s Republic.)
In the meantime – which, unfortunately, is where most of us live
most of
our lives – one doesn’t dare ask the Department of Justice (etc.)
or the
Department’s Expert Group for anything in the nature of ‘ a
conviction
rate’ for any crime or court in the land, a proof rate, a
recidivist rate, a
rape rate, a juvenile female participation rate, or for any
account beyond
the ice-cream superficiality of the number of indictable crimes Recorded and Detected -- figures whose reproduction the Institute of
Jesuitical
Criminology in UCD have turned into a chalk-like and meaningless
industry.
Seamus: Because of the significance of getting these things right,
the
following Webpage deals in a substantial way with the essential
issues
affecting the CJS. As will be appreciated the CJS has many
features,
some of which have never been fully realised. To obviate the
issues
involved this Webpage is divided quite purposefully into three
essential
parts. Sean: So how should we best proceed to understand and – if
possible –
eliminate these deficiencies in the Criminal Justice System.
Seamus: Since we can’t change a culture we can expect to eliminate
deficiencies arising from that source. What we can do, however, is
lay
our stall. We have already demonstrated what is wrong. Let us now
show
what is correct and what is possible. We can do this in three
Parts, all of
which are available in 7. Crimes and
Punishment in Twentieth
Century Ireland Volume 2: The
Criminal Justice System (CJS), 1950-1980
For our present purposes Part One the’ hard work’ part attempts to
delineate both the manner in which the component parts of the CJS
ought
to be initially and critically examined before they can be grouped
together
as part of a system of criminal justice. Their individual
conspectus
precedes their collective analysis. The problems involved in
delineating
the CJS’s individual agencies are fraught with difficulties. But
once these
difficulties are overcome, the agencies can be described amassed
together
in a way that allows us to investigate their interdependability. Part Two coincides with what it is we do when the full schema is
mapped out quantitatively and to our satisfaction; for then and
only then
can we enter the second phase – which is to chose its more
constant
elements, describe them, and for the first time examine their
history with
meaningful relevance to each other and to the whole system. We
should
soon come to realise that this is what the whole exercise has been
about;
for now, and only now, can we come to analyse the CJS properly, as
a
system, and over time, with visible overall repercussions which
transform
all and any of its individual parts.
But the story of the Criminal Justice System is still not
finished. Part
Three calls for an imaginative interpretation of what uses the CJS
can be
put, not just in Ireland but universally wherever Parliamentary
Democracy operates.
To recap therefore: Part One begins at first by looking at some
critical
and preliminary concerns arising out of The Commissioner’s
Annual
Report On Crime. These include reference to (7.a.) Parliament, (7.b.)
The Police, (7.c.) The Courts, (7.d.) Probation, and (7.e.)
Prisons Part Two (1950-80) depicts by way of Figure
2.1 a simplified picture of
the main indices comprising the CJS for the years 1950 – 1980.
This
overall figure demonstrating the distributive flows of Indictable
crimes
over the period is analysed.
A synopsis of Parts One and Two were first published in two
articles
published in Aimsir Nua in Irish, so that their substance
might readily be
available to those who claimed to be interested in the integrity
of Irish
criminal accountability. Nothing could have been more conceited.
The
only people who read it was Opus Dei and they had no concern for
such
tings beyond their interest in those who would criticise holy
church. Only
one of these articles is reproduced at the end of this Webpage (As
Gaeilge). The Third or ‘’Reflective’ Part is the most creative part in that
it
presupposes the existence of Part One and Part Two and builds upon
their necessary elements and looking to interpolate their real,
democratic
and universal possibilities. The computer and econometric
possibilities of
Model ’75 envisages a projectory for criminal justice that
has never been
conceived except incipiently. Nevertheless, one hopes that the
project is
self-explanatory and that in contemplating it, one recognises at
last the
quite backward and artificial objections the Irish invariably
raise to an
enterprise so secular, so old and so paralysed.
This following text-book on the Criminal Justice System is aimed
at correcting
most of the above short-comings and criticisms of the Irish CJS
and is available
at:
http://www.upublish.com/book.php?method=ISBN&book=1581125496
7. Crimes and Punishment in Twentieth Century Ireland
Volume 2: The Criminal Justice System (CJS), 1950-1980
Part One

CONTENTS
Lecture 1: “A Pattern Of Our Own Designing” |
1 |
Lecture 2: Criminal Statistics |
29 |
Lecture 3: The Garda Siochana |
61 |
Lecture 4: The Courts and the CJS – Section A |
90 |
Lecture 5: The Courts and the CJS – Section B |
116 |
Lecture 6: The Disposal System |
147 |
Lecture 7: Towards A Political Economy Of Irish
Crime, 1950 - 1980 |
188 |
Lecture 8: Epilogue |
228 |
Bibliography |
238 |
Index |
248 |
b. The Police (or An Garda Siochana)
Police powers are quite extraordinary. Yet the
traditional view is that the policeman is merely another citizen in uniform. This lecture,
in the main, attempts to describe the organised structure and orientation of the Garda
Siochana. In so doing, it recognises three levels of police reality. One concerns the
garda as an individual person. This is the traditional view and interest in his powers
tends invariably to dominate any delineation of the status in society. But there is
also the Garda Siochana, as a structured, powerful organisation. In both these
cases we shall argue that the garda, whether individually or collectively, defies the
simple “citizen-equation”. Then there is the locus of the police within the CJS, where
its influence is primary, not just – as we have already seen – to provide the basic
figures for wrongdoing in our society – and upon which all our discourse depends – but
also to influence each part and totality of the whole system of criminal justice. While
these three aspects or perspectives on the gardai cannot be addressed at once, this
lecture attempts to focus attention on the primacy of the latter aspect, while supporting the
notion that each member of the force enjoys and exercises privileged legal
rights, whether compared with either the Irish citizen or the British constable.Moreover, while we have committed ourselves to the
business of configuring the CJS as a whole for one year (1975) (see centrefold
pages) and to a description of its respective parts over the period 1950-80 period,
it should be reiterated that since 1980 the Garda Siochana, as with all the other
institutions that comprise the CJS, has changed and been changed radically. It is because
these changes have been so institutionally uncompromising that this work --
particularly since the late ‘70s -- is divided into three separate volumes. Each set of
lectures tries to address three different time spans, three different realities;
and the police, as an institution, like that of the courts, the prisons and the probation
service, has changed such at each conjuncture that they are hardly recognisable as
emanating from one chronological continuum. In dealing with the 1950-80 period,
therefore, there is the tendency to think that it is hermetically sealed from its
predecessor as well as its successor. This, of course, cannot be the case, but to understand
our yesteryears it is necessary that we revisit those arguments and limitations, which
consumed and concerned us then.In 1967 , the British Parliament decided that the
categorisation of crimes into Felonies, Misdemeanours and minor offences was
more trouble than it was worth. They brought in legislation regulating crimes in
terms of arrestable offences., that is, in terms both of police powers and the citizen’s
liberties. This seemed like a simple and sensible thing to do. Indeed, every sensible
person gave a great sigh of evolutionary relief when it happened. In ??? the
Dail followed suit.Prior to this event, when a Garda or constable
made an arrest without a warrant, he could justify it on the grounds that he had
“reasonable cause for suspecting that the accused had committed a felony “(10). A private
citizen may exercise the same right, but he must further prove that a felony had in
fact been committed. And even if the the force (however the force may have been
exonerated), the picture is not as healthy as one might wish.Part 2: The Structure and Development of the Garda
Siochana In describing the constitutional status of the
Garda Siochana an attempt was made to democrat some of the basic relationships around
which the force organises itself. Before going on to examine the functions of the
force as investigators, prosecutors, etc., it is desirable that something be said of
their strength and structure. Over whom has the Commissioner general direction and
control?In 1924 it was enacted that “The Garda Siochana
shall be distributed and stationed in such manner as the Minister (for Justice) shall
direct”. (54) A year later the Garda Commissioner’s control of the force was outlined
and a Garda strength which was not to exceed 7,222 officers and men was authorised.
(55)Between 1925 and 1951 the actual strength of the
force fluctuated mildly upwards but never reached the 7,500 mark even though the
government had periodically approved figures in excess of this number. In the fifties
and sixties (e.g. 1955/59/61 and ’64) Garda strength fluctuated downwards and stabilised
at 6,500 until the early seventies when a marked increase took place.
Between 1971 and 1978 manpower rose by 39% from
6,612 officers and men to 9,181 and the distribution of Districts Stations and men
as between the DMA and the rest of the country changed with the geographical
extension of the hitherto comprising the DMA. (56) The Twentieth Dail (1973 – ’77)
legislated heavily in favour of greater police power and increased manpower. The estimated
cost of policing the Republic rose from £22,500,000m. in 1973 to £52,000,000m.
in 1975. From the twenty first to the twenty fourth Dail (1977 – ’82) successive
governments have continued to strengthen the Gardai, but whether the object here
was to ‘fight crime’ or, partially at any rate, to reduce unemployment and boost
aggregate demand is difficult to say.
Dublin versus The Rest
One thing is apparent, indictable crime within the
DMA has made3 the metropolitan Gardai more crime-intensive than elsewhere. The
effects of the increase in crime on the scale and organisation of the DMA Gardai are
noteworthy. In 1951 21% of the Garda Siochana recorded 62% of
indictable crime in the Republic, and, with a comparatively small supervisory staff,
detected 44% of the nation’s indictable crime, and processed almost half of the
nation’s serious crime through the courts (See Table 3.1).
Since 1979 these proportions were reduced
somewhat. Nevertheless, the Gardai in the DMA, since 1979, with proportionately the same
supervisory staff as the rest of the country, recorded over half of national indictable
crime, and detected half of the national number of detections.Moreover, since 1979 the number of detections made
in the DMA increasingly exceeds the number of crimes processed nationally
by the courts. private citizen was legally justified at the
arrest stage, on what grounds can he hold the suspect in custody?He cannot, observed Lord Denning, take the suspect
“around the town seeking evidence against him (11)”. On the contrary, a
private person must hand the suspect over to the constable as soon as he reasonably
can. The constable on the other hand, can investigate the matter and support his
suspicion by seeking further evidence (12); he can
“… Take the person suspected to his (the
suspect’s) own house to see whether any of the stolen property is there; else it may
be removed and valuable evidence lost. He can take the person suspected to
the place where he said that he was working, for there he may find persons to
confirm or refute his alibi. The constable can put the suspect up on an
identification parade to see if he is picked out of the witnesses”.
These are obvious differences between the powers
of the citizen and the policeman. In the Irish context the Oireachtas, by commission
and omission, has a tendency to exaggerate this difference. By commission the
Oireachtas enacts new crimes (e.g. kidnapping) (14), it gives the police (sometimes
at Inspector and Superintendent level) increased powers (15) (e.g. under the
Emergency Powers Legislation (16)). Parliament’s omission to review and codify older
borrowed British law is very pertinently to be found in the current use of the
concept ‘felony’ (17) (abolished in the U.K. (18) ), the Larceny Acts (updated in the U.K.
919) ), the law relating to juvenile offenders (reviewed several times in the U.K. (20)
0, and a host of ancillary areas that are too numerous to mention.On this reasoning, therefore, it would appear that
there are quite definite differences between the citizen and the policeman, and more so
between the citizen and the policeman, and more so between the citizen and a
member of the Garda Siochana. Moreover, within the force Gardai in the DMA
(Dublin Metropolitan Area) enjoy wider powers under the Dublin Metropolitan Act,
1942, than their counterparts outside Dublin, and, as we shall see, perform on
average more criminal functions than their counterparts outside the DMA.As to the second Lord Devlin’s propositions, “that
the prosecution of crime is a local affair”, the Royal Commission claimed that there
is no master and servant relationship between the crown and the constable, or between
the Chief Constable and the local police authority (20). This denial has led the courts “to assert the
independent character of the office (22)” – a line of argument which carries with it the
notion that the constable exercises ‘original’ rather than ‘delegated’ authority (23).
As Professor Marshall has observed, “The step from original to discretionary powers is
by no means a logically necessary one, and yet the transition has been easily made”.
(24)It would seem that the more we assert the ideal
independence of the police (not unlike that of the judiciary at an earlier stage of legal
development), the more we must logically incline toward the view that they must
enforce all laws and are only answerable to the law. (25) Conversely, the more
we retire from the ideal or abstract position and assert their accountability, say to
X, the more X becomes a usurper of executive power.By contrast the ‘X-factor’, as we shall see, is
quite different in the Republic than it is in England and Wales. In England and Wales, this
executive power is balanced by a distribution of nominal and real checks (26)
between the Home Secretary, the Police Authorities, and the Chief Constables. One of the
most direct assertions of this balance of power was to be found I n the Police
Act, 1964, about which Professor Marshall wrote:
“… It makes plain (what was always the case) that
police forces are under the direction and control of their Chief Officers. But
it is silent on the precise extent to which the Chief Officer himself is under
the superintendence of the Police Authority. This has to be collected from a
number of other piece-meal provisions made in the Act. The net effect of them
has probably been to strengthen the hands both of the Home Officer and
of the Chief Constable at the expense of the local authorities” (27).
But what of the Garda Siochana? How does the
Garda’s constitutional status differ, if at all, from the English constable?There are at least four central differences
between England and Wales and the Republic with respect to their Police:They differ in size and scale; (28)
Unlike the Chief Constable, the Garda
Commissioner’s general direction and control of the force and his independence is
circumscribed by statutory provisions which allow him to be removed at any
time (whether he is the servant of the executive or not). The Police in England and Wales come under local
government (for the most part); the Garda Siochana are entirely centralised
and nationally unified. In the Republic there is a lack of any real checks
and balances similar to those obtaining in England and Wales;
It could well be argued that all these points are
merely different forms of the same theme. One could argue, for example, that Ireland
is small and the U.K. is large, and by virtue of size and scale, centralisation is
essential to the Republic’s requirements. Consequently, neither the Commissioner nor the
Gardai should be independent of executive power, not should local government be
involved in the business of policing. Nevertheless, despite the tremendous and rather
unique character of the Police in Irish history, their role has not merited any attention
in either the 1922 or the 1937 constitution. Our ‘written’ constitution,
therefore, does not help us explicitly to demarcate the Garda Siochana’s powers in the
jurisprudential scheme of things. And while legal logic permits of a U.K./Irish
comparison with regard to their constitutional status, a brief historical review might serve us
better to appreciate the real differences, which such legal logic disguises. Historical ReviewIn the eighteenth century the police were indeed
the object of constitutional concern (29). But this concern was not formulated into any
explicit doctrine. The notion of the ‘separation of powers’ (30), for example, which
supported, inter alia, the independence of the judiciary (and which was made
explicit in the Irish Constitution (31)) did not concern itself directly with police
functions, though the police in effect kept the King’s peace.Traditionally, the police came under the aegis of
the Justice of Peace, who, at a local level, served the interests of central
government (32); and with the industrial revolution and the concomitant increase in the
number of capital statutes (33) enacted to protect the property of the new seventeenth and
eighteenth century bourgeois formation, the reorganisation of the old Watch and
Ward system into a modern force appeared to be possible and necessary.This reformulation was resisted in London and
accomplished in Dublin in 1786. A series of police acts followed in Ireland which
tended to wean the conditional power of the police from the J.P.’s and simultaneously
vest it in central government (34). In any event, the localised nature of prosecutions,
though somewhat remaining with the Police Authorities in England, even after the
nineteenth century by central government (35).In effect the police in general retained a sort of
quasi-judicial or executive residue of power. This discretion or power may have come from
an earlier theory of the Monarchy and the Divine Right of Kings, whose
peace in the temporal world the constable had the practical obligation of keeping.
Nowhere is this residual power or discretion more apparent than when the policeman
exercises his power to arrest another citizen, about which Lord Devlin has made
the following statement:
“It is indeed desirable as a general rule that an
arrest should not be made until the case is complete. But if arrest before
that were forbidden, it could seriously hamper the police. To give power to
arrest on reasonable suspicion does not mean that it is always or even ordinarily
to be exercised (36). It means that there is an executive discretion”
Despite the separation of powers doctrine, it
could be argued that the police bridge both quasi-judicial and executive power, and this,
to some extent, would help to explain the shifting principles regarding arrest,
search, seizure, the non-legal status of the Judges Rules, etc. It has been suggested by
Marshall that “If it is accepted that law enforcement may have aspects which place it closer
to the executive than the judicial function, it cannot in its entirety demand the
isolation and immunity accorded to purely judicial decisions”. (37)In Ireland the relationship between the police and
the executive was no different in kind to the relationship between parliament and
people. In 1962, O Dalaigh C.J. maintained that the tripartite separation of
governmental power in the constitution was not “…unconnected with our previous experience
under an alien government whose parliament was omnipotent and in whose executive
lay wide reserves of prerogative power (38)”.More pertinently the Conroy Commission noted:
“For historical reasons the development in Ireland
before 1922 of a Police Force differed from the process in England. In
Ireland at all times the emphasis was on the maintenance of the Union with
England. Unified control of the Police facilitated this and the legislature
was not troubled by the argument so common in Britain that central control
placed too much power in the hand of the Government”. (37)
Under the British administration the police were
divided into two forces, the Dublin Metropolitan Police, a civil police force, and the
Royal Irish Constabulary, a semimilitary force. In 1922, when the organising committee
under General Richard Mulcahy (Minister for Defence) prepared a report
advising the then government to set up a new police force outside the DMA, the
committee advised that “This force should not be centrally controlled and responsible
to the government”. (40)What did the Irish then do? They centralised the
police like never before. Following the Police Amalgamation Act, 1925, the Dublin
Metropolitan Police joined the Civic Guard to become one national force, namely, the
Garda Siochana, as it exists today.Commissioners are generally nice fellows. They
listen a lot to psychologists, who say that before we can love others, we must love
ourselves first. Their men do not always love commissioners – see the evidence of the GRA
against Mr. Edmund Garvey (????) But when Commissioners win the favour of
their men, they are allowed to be photograph for the Garda Review. On one occasion
the Garda Commissioner’s photograph appeared no less than thirty times in
the one Review (See Garda Review of the ??? )While the ‘general direction and control’ of the
force invested in the Commissioner, (41) the regulations as t its ‘internal
management’ comes under ministerial responsibility. (42) Included also under
ministerial responsibility is the Minister’s right to appoint all officers not above the rank
of Chief Superintendent, to dismiss, promote or degrade ranks; and the Commissioner can
do the same under regulations made by the Executive. (43)Though many of the broad regulatory rights given
to the Minister (subject to the approval of the government) may be curtailed by
other constitutional rights arising out of the constitution itself, e.g. the right to
natural and constitutional justice, there is very little argument in the Republic over who
controls what.In substance the issue in the Republic as to how
the Commissioner can exercise ‘general direction and control’ simultaneously
with the government’s right to regulate ‘internal management’ is almost impossible to
differentiate. What, for example, can the Commissioner do that the Minister or the
Government cannot undo? This distinction between the Commissioner and the
Minister is similar to the English dilemma with this important rider; the
organisational structure of power between the Police Authorities, Chief Constables, local
government and central government, are more differentiated in England.Given our ‘written’ constitution, is the Garda
Commissioner himself more independent of the executive than the Chief
Constable? And given the centralised and unified police power under his ‘general direction
and control’, is the Garda Commissioner, unlike the Chief Constable, the
servant of the Government?Section 6 sub-section 2 of the Police Forces
Amalgamation Act 1925 provides that:
“…The Commissioner of the amalgamated force shall
from time to time be appointed by the Executive Council, and every
Commissioner … may at any time be removed by the Executive Council”.
It is within this primary constraint that the
Garda Commissioner has ‘general direction and control’ of the national police force, a
constraint which has proven to be more active than passive.It is apparent from this section that hegemony
over the police lies squarely at the feet of the executive arm of government. When
Commissioner Eoin O’Duffy was dismissed in 1933, the Oireachtas brought the
Garda Siochana (Pensions) Act into force. The Act was entitled “An Act to provide for
the granting of Pensions to Commissioners of the Garda Siochana who have or
shall be removed from office otherwise than for incapacity”. More recently two
other Garda Commissioners vacated their office under controversial
circumstances. Commissioner Edmund Garvey was removed and Commissioner Patrick
McLaughlin resigned. Garvey V IrelandIn January 1978 Commissioner Edmund Garvey was
removed from office by the then government, by which time, under section 4 of the
Constitution (Consequential) Provisions Act 1961, the ‘Executive Council’ has
become the Government. On the face of it, Edmund Garvey had little
option, given the ‘sudden and brusque’ manner of his purported dismissal, but to contest
his removal in the courts. And when the pleadings against Ireland, the Government and
the Attorney General were closed, two preliminary issues arose for judicial
determination:Does the Police Forces (Amalgamation) Act 1925
empower the Government of Ireland to terminate the office of the
Commissioner of the Garda Siochana at any time:-
without prior notice
without giving reasons
Without giving the holder of the office an
opportunity of making representations thereto?
Are the provisions of Section 6 sub-section (2) of
the Police Forces (Amalgamation) Act 1925 inconsistent with the Constitution of
Ireland? (25)In the High Court Mr. Justice McWilliam answered
‘No’ to question 1; and having done so was further of the view that no question
of an inconsistency with the Constitution arose. “These findings”, said Kenny
J., “meant that the Plaintiff had been wrongfully removed from the office which he held
and was at least entitled to damages. The Defendants have now appealed to this
court (the Supreme Court) on the ground that the trial Judge’s answer to the first
issue was wrong”. (46)In any event it was agreed by all that the
Government could dismiss the Commissioner, nor was it ever in issue. It was
further agreed that the Commissioner had been denied natural justice. But it was the
State’s case that the Commissioner was not entitled to natural justice. According to the
State the Commissioner was appointed at the pleasure of the Government and for reasons
of State security and public policy, the Government not only had the right but the duty
to dismiss him without giving reasons.The Supreme Court delivered a four-to-one majority
judgement in favour of Garvey, the dissenting judgement of Kenny J. favouring the
Government’s right to dismiss him summarily. Two closely connected matters
emerge from the court’s reasoning. One is the departure from British constitution to
which the court is bound, and the other is the status of the Garda Commissioner. Constitutional TheoryIn the absence of any ‘modern’ decision bearing
directly on the problem as he saw it, Henchy J. was loath to revert to a
consideration of the older judicial authorities on the notion of Royal Pleasure (“… for in the main
they exemplify or are derived from the concept in British Constitutional theory…”)
(47). Consequently, the Irish Constitution became the ‘starting point’ for the
inquiry into the alleged unfair dismissal; and the Irish Constitution’s guarantees
had to be upheld. Griffin J. also made the traditional/modern distinction and found
it “difficult to see how in modern times public policy or executive necessity
requires that tenure of an office held at pleasure should be capable of being determined
without giving the office holder the right to be heard on his own behalf”. (48) And
O’Higgins C.J., in reciting that pre- 1937 statutes continue in force to the extent to
which they are not inconsistent with the Constitution added that they were also
‘subject’ to the Constitution. All three judges were emphatic about vindicating the
personal guarantee in the Constitution.What makes Kenny J.’s judgement out from those of
his fellow Judges is the absence of any deliberation on the constitutional
implications of following traditional authority. Indeed, Mr. Justice Kenny’s judgement
does not directly countenance a traditional /modern dichotomy at all. On the
contrary, he preferred to support his view by calling on no less than “five Irish decisions
extending from 1846 to 1918” which he felt were “coercive on the question at issue in
this case”. (49)He further traced the history of the declaratory
action to support the view that the Commissioner, as holder of an office at will or
pleasure, could not successfully sue Ireland or the Government in respect of his
removal. Moreover, in Mr. Justice Kenny’s view, the Court could not rule as it has
done, unless it ignored what he regarded as ‘the plain meaning’ of S.6(2) and
overruled the five Irish cases mentioned in his judgement. On this view the Commissioner
was an officeholder, and in view of the terms of S.6(2), he was under the
circumstances dismissible at ‘any time’.The Commissioner’s relationship with the
Government If the real factor determining the Supreme Court’s
(majority) decision was located within the traditional/modern axis of
constitutional theory, there was also an 23 intermediate – if sometimes chimerical –
distinction made concerning the relationship between the Government and the Commissioner.Since the State argued that the Commissioner held
office at the pleasure of the Government and that, consequently, the principles
of natural justice ought mot to apply to his dismissal, it was s only reasonable
to expect that much should be made of the phraseology of S.6(2) and other comparable
statutes providing for appointments at the ‘will’ or ‘pleasure’ of the Government. On
this whole point, however, there is much variation.Chief Justice O’Higgins reasoned that the
relationship was neither one where master and servant obtained nor one in which the
Commissioner was appointed merely at the pleasure of the Government. On the contrary,
S.6(2) created a ‘statutory office’ the ultimate consequence of which was that the rules
of natural justice did apply to the Commissioner’s removal.Griffin J., on the other hand, held that the
Commissioner was the holder of an officer at pleasure, notwithstanding the fact that the
word ‘pleasure’ was not used in S.6(2). For Mr. Justice Henchy “the problem in this case
does not arise in the interpretation of the words” in S.6(2). Indeed there was no
necessity to consider whether the relationship between Government and Commissioner
was one of master and servant or otherwise. For Henchy J., as for O’Higgins C.J.
and Griffin J., the matter was eventually one of fair procedures.In the main, however, Mr. Justice Kenny relied on
the instrument creating the Commissioner’s office and the fact that there was
no safeguarding provision of any kind, which the Commissioner could call in aid of
his dismissal. Neither could the Commissioner call in aid the principles of natural
justice.In contrast to Mr. Justice Kenny’s underplay of
any post-1937 constitutional factors and his heavy reliance on precedent and the limits
of the creating instrument, is Mr. Justice Henchy’s constitutional emphasis. Mr.
Justice Henchy conceived the law “to be that when a person holds a whole time
pensionable office (whether under statute, statutory instrument, charter, deed or trust, or
otherwise) from which he may be removed at any time, the power of removal may not
be exercised without first according him natural justice…” (50)In conclusion, therefore, the Supreme Court held
that the Government was not empowered to terminate the office of the Garda
Commissioner without prior notice, etc. In other words, Government has a wide
discretion to appoint and dismiss the Commissioner if they abide by just procedures as
to the manner in which they do it. Moreover, the question of the master and servant
relationship is somewhat academic if the removal is done in a manner that is in
accord with natural justice. On this point, there are two riders, one by
Griffin J. and the other by Henchy J., that are of some consequence. According to Mr. Justice Griffin:“The importance of the distinction between
invalidating a dismissal on substantive rather than procedural grounds, is that whilst in
the case of a substantive ground there cannot be a second dismissal based on the same
grounds, in the latter case a second dismissal is valid provided that the correct
procedure is adopted”. (51)
According to Mr. Justice Henchy, while a reason by
virtue of natural justice must be given for the proposed dismissal, “that reason
need not always be a specific or particularised reason. It will usually be
sufficient if it indicates in general terms the ground on which the Government propose to exercise
their dismissal (e.g. because of ill-health, to improve the efficiency of the
Force, because the Commissioner has lost the confidence of the Government); but if the
reason is specific misconduct, the Commissioner should be accorded an opportunity of
dealing adequately with the complaint”. (52)
Summary
Thus far we have argued that the theory equating
the citizen with the policeman is anachronistic and unreal when appealing to their
respective individual powers of arrest. The growth and development of penal
statutes and of the organisation of the police has exacerbated this equation out of all
proportion both in England and Wales and in the Republic.Moreover, when we compare some characteristics of
the police in England and Wales with that of the Garda Siochana, we have argued
that the Gardai are (a) organised by central government, (b) nationally unified, (c)
regulated by statute law, (d) lacking in comparatively real counterbalances or internal
intermediary checks between it and executive control, and (e) are generally directed
and controlled by the Garda Commissioner who can be appointed and dismissed at
any time for reasons stated if in accordance with natural justice.To say that we are a small country, and that the
police-population, as well as the population in general, bears no comparison
whatsoever to that obtaining in the U.K., or that for historical reasons, we have to
organise things as we organise when, means something. It is by no means, however, a
satisfactory explanation.The characteristics, which the organisation of the
Garda Siochana exhibits, are neither good nor bad. Smallness in itself is neither good
nor bad. But when we add certain other characteristics to the ones already
enumerated, caution rather than complacency must be emphasised.What other characteristics? We know that the
Gardai provide us with our only source of information regarding national crime up to and
including their determination in court. We know that they mould public opinion,
that they rarely if ever refer to the prosecutorial rate of proof over the years, and
that this rate is predominantly secured in the lower courts, once known as police courts.
We know that over 70% of all Irish litigation is criminal in content.
We also know that Irish Government up to quite
recently is dominated for long periods by one-party administration. And if we add
to this the probable increase in the homogeneity of the higher ranks within the force
following the removal of Commissioner Edmund Garvey, the expressed
sympathies of the Garda Representative Body before this removal, (53) and
the complaints of brutality against
THE GARDA SIOCHANA Summary1. The Garda Siochana, individually or
collectively, does not enjoy any constitutional status under the 1937 Constitution.2. In legal theory the individual Garda is
regarded as a ‘common informer’. As such, he has the same legal status as any other citizen.
Historically, however -- and organisationally, and for all practical purposes -- the Garda has
accumulated powers,
duties and functions, which make him different to other
citizens.3. As a force, the Garda Siochana is:
(i). Organised by central Government, (ii). Nationally unified, (iii). Regulated by statute law, (iv). Lacking in comparative intermediary checks
between it and executive control, and (v). Is generally directed and controlled by the
Garda Commissioner who can be appointed and dismissed at any time for
stated reasons and in accordance with natural justice.
4. Gardai serving the DMA (The Dublin Metropolitan
Area) are conferred with additional powers and duties under the Dublin
Metropolitan Police Act 1842. They are also more crime-intensive than their non-DMA
counterparts both at the investigative and detection stages, and, of
necessity, at the charge, prosecution, and evidential stages of the criminal process.
5. In contrast to the DPM (Due Process Model) of
the courts, the Gardai -- it has been suggested -- operate a CCM (Crime Control Model). Those who operate a CCM adopt a managerial outlook, they have to make discrete
decisions with speed and finality, and are organised on an assembly-line basis.
Consistent with their organisational pressures is the necessity to make an early
determination has been made that there is more evidence of guilt than of innocence, it is
consistent with this model that all further activity is based on the view that the
suspect is probably guilty.
6. Police decisions to invoke or not to invoke the
criminal process largely determine the outer limits of law enforcement. Where the
criminal process is invoked the Gardai make several low-visibility decisions throughout
the continuum of the whole process. In particular, they perform the several functions
of investigators, prosecutors, and (sometimes in the lower courts) advocates and
witnesses. Their cumulative functions, based on the belief of guilt, are formidable.
Perhaps a more instructive way of appreciating how the caseload of
the Dublin Garda has changed since the fifties is to compare to
the average number of crimes committed and detected per Garda, per
DMA-Garda and per non DMA-Garda (See Table 3.2).
In 1951 there were two indictable crimes committed per Garda in
Republic and 1.2 crimes detected. This meant that the DMA Garda
had, on average, to investigate almost six crimes for every one
investigated on average by the non-DMA member. By 1974 the
national average for crimes committed increased to 5, and, for
crimes detected, it doubled to 2.4. Even though the disparity
between the DMA Garda and his country colleagues narrowed between
1974 and 1981, in 1981 the metropolitan Garda had to investigate
twice as many crimes as his country colleague (or 12.9 to 6.2).
The DMA Garda also detected 1.4 crimes for every one detected by
the non- DMA Garda.
Moreover, if we look closer at the redistribution and deployment
of staff concurrent with the extension of the DMA in the
seventies, we find that the redistribution in favour of the DMA
has been supervisory in nature (See Table 3.3). Throughout the seventies the DMA, for
the first time, bears the same proportion of supervisory staff to
gardai with approximately 15 districts and 43 stations to
administer, as does the rest of the country with 88 districts and
657 stations to administer.
I say ‘administer’ because Garda duties and functions have
hitherto been concerned with other matters besides ‘fighting’
crime. They police all kinds of socio-criminal matters, e.g.
traffic, school-attendance, fire-arms licences, and, generally, by
their presence, keep the peace. At one time they collected the
‘agricultural statistics’, and they generally make returns on a
daily, weekly, monthly, quarterly, half-yearly and yearly basis on
assorted matters.
Nevertheless, up to the seventies the basic structure of the force
remained the same i.e. a third of the force was stationed in the
DMA where well over half the national indictable crime was
committed, and two thirds of the force was stationed throughout
the rest of the country where less than half the number of
indictable crime was committed. This, of course, does not
necessarily mean that if the force was otherwise deployed the
crime rate would be lower, or, indeed, more efficiently dealt
with.
In 1933 there were 110 Garda districts, comprising 809 garda
stations, manned by an active force of 7,060 members, and an
incidence of indictable crime, which did not exceed 10,000 per
annum. In 1978 there were 103 districts, comprising 700 stations,
manned by 9,182 members and there were 62,000 crimes recorded. For
the purpose of compiling Table 3.3,
we have taken the seven grades in the Garda Siochana - Officers at
Headquarters in Dublin, Chief Superintendents, Superintendents,
Inspectors, Station Sergeants (a rank which numbers 3), Sergeants
and Guards 0 and for the sake of convenience, we have included any
member above the rank of garda in the supervisory category. On
this basis we can say that while DMA manpower has increased,
particularly since the late sixties, the shift has been mainly one
at the supervisory level and from the rest of the country.
Apart from the Headquarter staff, which has been increased from 6
to 8 over the force’s history, the ratio of DMA Chief
Superintendents to non-DMA Chiefs has increasingly changed from
1/25 (in the early years) to 4/23 (in the sixties) to 6/29 (in the early seventies) to 21/17 in
1978. In 1933 the Superintendent ration was 8 DMA/125 non-DMA
members, in 1978 it was 50/92. And at Inspector level the ratio
was 30/47 in 1933, and 130/71 in 1978. The ratio for sergeants
also changed from 187/1,060 in 1933 (i.e. including Station
Sergeants in the DMA figure) to 591/961 in 1978.
Summary
We can say, therefore, that the DMA Garda operates on a more
crime-intensive level at both the commission and detection stages
and, of necessity, at the charge, prosecution and evidential
stages. These latter stages – particularly when members must make
court appearances – diminish considerably DMA investigative and
detecting resources. The organisational assumptions consistent
with this metropolitan intensity imply, on the one hand, a more
than average pressure to dispatch cases and, on the other, to
secure a plea of guilty. This type of pressure is, as we shall see
presently, very consistent with the notion that the police operate
a Crime Control Model (CCM), i.e. that they are expected to, and
do, behave in a particular manner in order to cope with their own
and the public’s expectations.
b. The Courts
The whole of the CJS appears to be greater than the sum of its
parts. It is
inconceivable that the high guilty rate achieved and sustained is
the outcome of
accident. On the face of it, it implies that the personnel
involved in the CJS have
entered into defined relationships to produce the high conviction
rate. What
constitutes in aggregate the autonomous interests which secure
this annual guilty rate
are the respectively structured decisions of the actors involved.
Put another way, the
constantly high rate of proof obtained in the lower courts gives
credence to the notion
that there is an active and autonomous organisation of normative
values shared by the
actors comprising the CJS and which are annually reproduced and
reflected in the
guilty rate.
Neither the Police nor the Courts could process the annual number
of offences
detected without the certain knowledge that of the numbers they
process each year,
many of them will, first of all, opt for summary trial, and,
secondly, plead guilty or be
found guilty in the lower courts. The converse of this argument is
that if all offenders
who had the option decide to be tried by way of judge and jury,
and accordingly,
pleaded ‘not guilty’, the financial and administrative demands
made thereby would
make the system difficult, if not impossible, to administer in its
present form.
The general contention in Packer’s theory 1 is that the operative model of the police
(CCM) is different in kind to the operative model of the courts (DPM).
Between the
crime control orientation of the police and the due process
orientation of the judiciary
reposes some real antagonism is formally the case, both models
converge at a
normative level of knowledge shared by the State’s agents.
Facilitating this convergence are several procedural factors,
notably, the
administrative distinction made between indictable and summary
offences, the formal
operation of the due process model of the courts, the probable
propensity of offenders
to confess, and the possible summation of earlier decisions in the
practice of pleabargaining
and pleading guilty.
This lecture is divided into three parts. These are as follows:
The Administration of Indictable and Summary Offences (Part I);
The Operation of the Due Process Model (DPM) (Part II);
The Question of Plea-Bargaining (Part III)
PART I: The Administration of Indictable and Summary Offences
There are several legal avenues by which a citizen may find
himself compelled to
attend court to defend himself. Ordinarily a complaint (which
includes an
‘information’ or a sworn written complaint) is made to a Justice,
a Peace
Commissioner or a Justice’s Clerk, concerning an alleged offence.
Following such a
complaint, a warrant, or, more usually, a summons may issue.
Generally speaking any
person may be a complainant. In practice members of the Garda
Siochana prosecute
as members of the public capable of giving information in respect
of the commission
of an offence. 2
In particular cases a warrant for the arrest of a defendant may be
requested by a
Justice or a Peace Commissioner – in which case the complaint is
made by way of
information, i.e. on oath and in writing. Also, warrants may issue
from the courts or,
indeed, from certain supervisory ranks of the Garda Siochana
statutorily authorised to
do so, directing searches and arrests and evidential seizures
where suspects are
involved.3
Besides the issue of summonses and warrants the Gardai (or, on
rare occasions, other
citizens) may lawfully arrest persons found committing certain
offences or reasonably
suspected of committing them. Since the “making of a complaint or
the laying of an
information forms the basis of a Justice’s jurisdiction in summary
proceedings 4 ”, a
Justice cannot enter on a case until such a complaint being made,
that bridges the
CCM and DPM. It is one of the most controversial areas, from a
legal standpoint, in
the CJS.
Ordinarily, the Gardai on arresting a citizen are obliged, inter alia, to charge and,
under certain conditions, caution suspects. But charging a suspect
on a ‘charge sheet’
at a Garda station does not of itself constitute a complaint or an
information because,
as yet, it has not been made before a Justice, a Peace
Commissioner or a Clerk. The
duration, therefore, between the time of arrest and the time the
suspect is brought
before a Justice is of vital importance. He may make incriminating
statements or a
confession.
Once the suspect is brought to court the process of the DPM
begins. What happens
within the Court System largely depends upon the type of offence
with which he is
charged. It is this basic distinction that has historically
divided the District Court
jurisdiction from that of the higher courts. The written
Constitution of 1937 upholds
this distinction in theory, but, in practice, as we have already
noted, the District Court
not only deals with all non-indictable offences but with circa.
90% of indictable one
also. Lady Wooton, a British criminologist, has described this
distinction as “legal
and arbitrary – a monument to British tradition or to historical
accident, rather than a
reasonable device for distinguishing ‘real’ crime from technical
or minor offences”. 5
The remaining 10% of indictable offences are spread throughout a
very wide tapestry
of jurisdictions. Before returning to this basic distinction
between ‘indictable’ and
‘minor or summary’ offences, it is advisable to enquire very
briefly into the court
system. There are seven basic functions which the District Court
discharges with
respect to criminal matters:
It deals with all non-indictable offences;
It deals with all indictable offences scheduled in the Criminal
Justice
Act 1951 if,
“(i) the court is of opinion that the facts proved or alleged
constitute a
minor offence fit to be so tried, and
(ii) the accused, on being informed by the Court of his right to
be tried
with a jury, does not object to being tried summarily”. 6
These scheduled offences include most offences of larceny and,
therefore, most of the
indictable offences annually recorded and detected by the gardai.
In some cases the
consent of the D.P.P. is required, e.g. where the property
involved exceeds £200.
It deals with all indictable offences (including scheduled
offences but excluding some
crimes like murder, treason, piracy, genocide and war crimes) if
the accused wishes to
plead guilty, if the court is satisfied that he and if the DPP
consents. If the accused
signs a plea of guilty the Court may send the accused forward for
a sentence in excess
of the District Court’s jurisdiction, where the accused has the
right to change his plea.
It sits as a Children’s Court and deals with the vast
preponderance of offences
committed by children and young persons under the age of 16.
Where the accused does not plead guilty and the case is not tried
summarily, The
Justice conducts a ‘preliminary examination’. He then ordinarily
decides to send the
accused forward for trial by judge and jury (to either the Circuit
Court or the Central
Criminal Court) or by three adjudicators (to the Special Criminal
Court). The Special
Criminal Court, which is governed by Part V of the Offences
Against the State Act,
1939, became effective by Government proclamation, made in May
1972, to the
effect that the ordinary courts were inadequate within the meaning
of the Constitution.
The Court of Criminal Appeal, comprising three judges, one Supreme
and two High
Court judges, can hear appeals by way of transcript evidence, and
fresh evidence in
exceptional cases, from the Circuit Court, the Central Criminal
Court and the Special
Criminal Court. If the Justice does not decide to send the accused
forward for trial as
outlined above he may order the accused to be discharged or,
indeed, he may find that
the evidence discloses some other offence or offences other than
those with which the
accused is charged. In any event, whether the Justice sends the
accused forward or
not, he shall cause the accused to be charged with the offence or
offences so
disclosed, and if a summary offence only is disclosed, and the DPP
consents, he may
deal with the case accordingly.
Where the accused is either found guilty or admits guilt, the
District Court may send
the accused forward for sentence.
It deals with the matter of granting or refusing a remanded person
bail.
Within the Constitutional and legal structure, therefore, the
District Court acts as a
clearing house for most of the other courts in the CJS. The High
and Supreme Courts
are of the utmost importance, particularly in matters concerning
law, bail, the
procedure of the lower courts, cases states, appeals, state-side
procedures, and the
general policy of the law at both reviewing and creative levels.
Nevertheless, the
District Courts annually hear 90% of all indictable offences, and
it is in the light of
this fact, that we must look closer at the distinction between
‘indictable’ and minor
indictable or ‘summary’ offences.
Indictable and Summary Offences
The historical description of indictable and summary offences
necessarily
incorporates two fundamental areas of theoretical controversy,
namely, the
classification of crimes,7 and the
connection between law and morals. 8 There
are a
selection of ways in which offences have been traditionally and
legally described (See
Table 4.1, number 5 being a more recent British addition).
Table 4.1
|
Offences |
|
Description by: |
Indictable |
Summary_ |
1. Source |
Common Law |
Statute Law |
2. Procedure |
Jury Trial |
Non-Jury Trial |
3. Punishment |
Felony |
Misdemeanour |
4. Administration |
Serious |
Less Serious |
5. Police Power |
Arrestable |
Non-Arrestable |
These descriptions are by no means exhaustive. We have already
pointed out that the
police, for statistical purposes, classify crimes as against the
person, as against
property with and without violence, and other types of crime.
Emile Durkheim
classified crimes as against collective notions like religion, the
state, the work ethic,
and as against individual humans. And other criminologists have
tried to weight the
‘seriousness’ of crimes by scaling the opinions of observers and
criminal
administrators.9 None of these five
descriptions or classifications are mutually
exclusive. Historically, they all emerge in one way or another,
out of the social and
moral notions of the English people. Nor is the distinction
between indictable and
summary crime removed from the religious idea of mortal and venial
sin. The
separation of law from ethics in this respect was first made
possible by the social
contract theorists like Locke, Hobbes, Montesquieu, and the
eighteenth century
classical criminologists like Beccaria. “A crime is a crime”,
wrote Hobbes,
“consisting in the committing (by deed or word) of that which the
law forbiddeth, or
the omission of what is commanded. So that every crime is a sin;
but not every sin a
crime…10” This distinction was necessary at
the time to establish the administration of
positive criminal law and the principle of ‘non-retroactivity’. As
Hobbes put it, “no
law made after a fact alone can make it a crime… and a positive
law cannot be taken
notice of before it be made…”. 11
Description 1 to 4 inclusive have been part and parcel of Irish
law before and after
1922. Article 38.5 of the 1937 Constitution provides for
procedural differences.
“No person shall be tried on any criminal charge without a jury”,
except in the case of
minor offences, military offences tried by court-martial, and in
emergency
circumstances.
Describing crimes by the punishment they attract is not only to
pre-judge the trial, but
also to resort to an outmoded significance between what
constitutes a felony, a
misdemeanour, and a non-indictable offence. This type of
classification is charged
with traditional moral connotations and marks, in many respects,
the secularisation of
religious ideas of sin. Historically, the felon forfeited his
property to the Crown
(abolished in 1870), he received the death penalty (abolished in
most cases after
1827), he was not entitled to counsel (up to 1836), and in early
days of the common
law clergymen could claim exemption from the criminal process
under the privilege
of ‘Benefit of Clergy’ (which, by the fourteenth century meant
that they could read).
This classification into felonies, misdemeanours, etc. has been
abolished in the U.K.
and replaced by the more realistic distinction of arrestable
offences 12 , that is, in terms
of police powers. The failure of the Republic to describe crimes
in these terms is
significant from the point of view of police practice – an issue
which will be dealt
with anon. For the moment it is desirable to trace the legal
machinery providing for
the summary trial of so many indictable offences.
Through an evolutionary process Parliament authorised Justices to
seal summarily
with felonies ordinarily dealt with on indictment. In Ireland
these measures were
made law by the Indictable Offences Act 1849 (which applied to the
more urban
areas, Dublin), and the Petty Sessions Act 1851 (which applied
outside Dublin).
In 1924 the Grand Jury (before whom formal written accusations or
‘Bills of
Indictment’ were placed in order to determine in a preliminary way
whether the
accused should be put on trial) was abolished and replaced by the
office of the
Attorney General. 13 In 1974 the DPP was
authorised to perform all the functions
formerly attached to the criminal side of the A.G.’s office, 14 and in 1977 the Supreme
Court held that summary prosecutions could be instituted in the
name of “The People
at the suit of the DPP”. 15
Prior to the Courts of Justice Act 1924, however, all indictable
offences were tried by
way of judge and jury. But the 1924 Act gave a limited
jurisdiction to the District
Court to try certain indictable offences summarily as if they were
non-indictable ones.
By 1951 this incursion was substantially extended by listing and
scheduling indictable
offences thus tri-able. These have been extended further in 1967
and in 1976 16. In
1967,17 when a new form of criminal
procedure was introduced (mainly in order to
reduce the amount of judicial time taken up by taking depositions
in long hand), the
32
function of preparing these statements of evidence was passed to
the police. And
while the right to make depositions is still open and availed of,
for the most part the
procedure is that the prosecution must prepare a ‘book of
evidence’ (i.e. a statement
of the charges, a copy of sworn informations, a list of witnesses
and exhibits and a
statement of evidence of each witness). It is on this ‘book of
evidence’ and, where
necessary, depositions, that the Justice conducts a preliminary
examination as to
whether there is a prima facie case against the accused.
For our purposes it is sufficient to point out that before the
book of evidence is
compiled and, therefore, before any preliminary examination is
conducted, the
accused is remanded in custody or on bail. In other words, it is
quite likely that a
person accused of an indictable offence who insists on being tried
by way of judge
and jury may spend some weeks or months in custody or on bail
waiting for the book
of evidence to be prepared. In itself this very probable prospect
may well induce a
confession or a plea of guilty – in which case, procedural delays
are no longer
necessarily or likely. Indeed, an accused person, if he pleads
guilty, may be sentenced
there and then to a custodial sentence that might be considerably
less than the pre-trial
by judge and jury. In this regard it is to be noted that the
maximum penalty which the
District Court can impose is twelve months imprisonment and/or
fine usually of £100 18. This power, vested in one person without a jury, is not
to be taken for granted 19.
Perhaps this explains why, in recent years, practising lawyers
have been attacking the
Oireachtas’ encroachment on the accused’s traditional right to
trial by judge and jury.
What the lawyers have tried to shatter is the concept of what a
‘minor offence’
represents. They claim that some of those offences which are tried
summarily as
minor ones are deserving of a jury trial.
In 1962 20 a plaintiff, having been charged
with 15 offences of butter-smuggling for
which the Revenue Commissioners elected to proceed for a penalty
of £100 in respect
of each charge, sought a declaration on the grounds that he ought
to have been tried
by judge and jury rather than before a District Court. The Supreme
Court held that the
offences were criminal in nature but were minor offences. 21
In 1965 22 a plaintiff, charged with
‘drunken driving’ before the District Court, sought
a similar declaration. The Supreme Court, having considered inter alia the
punishment prescribed and the moral guilt involved, held again
that drunken driving
(under section 49 of the Road Traffic Act 1961) was a minor
offence and, therefore,
summarily tri-able.
Mr. Justice Walsh pointed out that ‘the primary consideration in
determining whether
an offence be a minor one or not is the punishment which it may
attract 23 . The
punishment for drunken driving included a maximum of six months
imprisonment
and/or a fine of £100, and a minimum disqualification period of 12
months for a first
offence, or for 3 years for a subsequent one. The Court further
distinguished between
‘primary punishment’, such as the loss of liberty or the
deprivation of property, and
‘the unfortunate consequence’, which appeared “too remote in
character to be taken
into account in weighing the seriousness of an offence by the
punishment it may
attract”,24 such as losing one’s livelihood
by being disqualified from driving. John
Kelly, on this later point, thought the distinction between
‘primary punishment’ and
its potential side-effect ‘excessively legalistic’ 25. In 1966 (26) an offence which
allowed a summary court to order the detention of an offender
between the ages of 17
and 21 for 3 years in St. Patrick’ Institution was held not to be
a minor offence and,
therefore, ought to have tried by judge and jury26.
But the Supreme Court also pointed
out that it was unnecessarily to determine the period of
imprisonment that would
make a minor offence tri-able on indictment. 27
In 1977 28 an offence of having no insurance
under section 867 of the Road Traffic
Act 1961 (as amended in 1968), was met with a penalty which
included damages
totalling £606.55, and was held on appeal to be a non-minor
offence. The same year
the question as to whether ‘contempt of court’, which can attract
a punishment of an
indefinite period of detention, until the defendant ‘purges his
contempt’, arose. It was
held that the court could summarily adjudicate cases of criminal
contempt as, indeed,
it could for civil contempt 29. And in 1978 30 an offence which carried a penalty of
£100 fine and confiscation of the defendant’s fishing gear was
held on appeal not to
constitute a minor offence.
SUMMARY
Thus far, then we can make several statements concerning the
administration of
Indictable Offences. The lower courts deal with all non-indictable
offences and circa.
90% of indictable ones. They also act as a clearinghouse for the
other 10% of offences
which are eventually sent forward for trial. Because of its
licencing and preparatory
indictable work, we can say that lower courts carry out a great
deal of quasiadministrative
functions as well as purely judicial ones.
Furthermore, the Oireachtas, particularly since 1924, has
increasingly made it
possible for indictable offenders to be dealt with summarily,
whether by way of trial
or on a plea of guilty. There is evidence to show that there has
been an increasing
number of those summarily dealt with appealing their cases to the
Circuit Court (see
Table 4.2).
Indictable Offenders exercising their constitutional right to be
tried by way of judge
and jury have to wait until a book of evidence is prepared and
served on them.
Between the time of arrest and their being sent forward for trial
they must be
remanded. Remands may be several and for long periods, and the
accused may be
remanded in custody or on bail. It is to be inferred that these
administrative delays are
conductive to some offenders to plead guilty.
Finally, it is doubtful that the lawyers’ several attacks on the
summary mode of trial,
even if successful, would substantially influence the annual and
systematic proportion
of indictable offences dealt with summarily.
c. Probation
To break the criminal cycle, it is clearly necessary to enlighten
ourselves about the
disposition of the weaker members of our society. The‘ recidivist
rate’ is sufficient
demonstration of the need for help and advice of a type that is
not simply legal on the
part of those offenders who are continually given custodial
sentences. Such a service
is the Probation and Welfare Service.
The Probation and Welfare Service is attached to the Department of
Justice. In 1961 it
had a staff of four, in 1969 it had a staff of nine and in 1980 it
had a staff of 145, 45 of
whom are attached to the 23 District Court areas throughout the
country. The part
hitherto played, therefore, y this service in the whole CJS is
self-evident. The notion
of assistance or rehabilitation for the criminal was virtually
non-existent – a simple
and concrete fact that any criminological theorist must explain
within a society which
arrogates to itself and its State the dual characteristics of
being ‘Christian and
democratic’.
The aims of the service are, inter alia, ‘to reduce
criminality and to prevent and
remedy social breakdowns in the interests of both society and the
individual’. (76)
Towards this end officers attend on the courts, where, on request,
they carry out presentencing
assessments. They also supervise offenders referred to them by the
courts
and those conditionally released by the prisons and detention
centers. They also
provide ‘a counseling service’ to offenders and their families’,
(77) and are also
involved in non-criminal family law cases.
In their Report for 1980 a total of 1,121 cases arising out of
indictable offences were
referred to the Services by the District Courts, and almost half
of them (530) were in
the 14 to 17 year age group.
Officers attached to the prisons and detention centers, apart from
helping the
offenders to cope with personal and family problems, ‘try to help
them re-settle in the
community and to secure accommodation, employment and training for
employment’.
In 1980 252 offenders were placed in employment and a further 348
were placed in
training for employment. In their 1980 Report the Service recorded
the difficulty in
obtaining accommodation for offenders, and while 220 offenders
sought such
assistance, 65 were placed in hostels.
The Service is also involved in supervising prisoners on release
from custody,
whether by way of ‘full temporary release’, ‘week-end release’,
‘one-day release’,
‘day-to-day release’, or under an intensive supervision scheme
commenced in 1979
and operating in Dublin, cork and Limerick. The Service is also
involved in the
running if Special Schools, Hostels, Youth Encounter Projects,
Experimental Projects,
and Community Projects and Workshops.
Being so infant in their industry, it is much too premature to try
and assess their
impact on the CJS. And while any bona fide attempt to analyze and
alleviate the
socio-logic of the system is to be welcomed, the Probation and
Welfare Service must
increasingly find itself compromised between the CCM of the police
and the DPM of
the courts. In effect, the Service must operate between the tail
end of the criminal
cycle and its renewal, particularly where recidivist children and
juveniles are
concerned. Whether it curtails, or contributes to, the recycling
of offenders is a matter
of premature speculation.
According to the 1980 Report on Prisons, the Service made a
significant contribution
during the year to the inter-service meetings which were held
regularly in all the
prisons and places of detention to review individual offenders’
cases’.
Be this as it may, the real criticism of the Probation and Welfare
Service, including its
underdevelopment for almost a century, is its paralysis in the
face of clerical
paedophilia. The innumerable and continuous abuse of children in
care was first of all
the responsibility of the Probation and Welfare Service, which
over the years never
heeded the signs and warnings. It remained purposefully opaque.
Indeed, it even
prevented scrutiny of its anaemic ranks. For some twenty years
Rathmines ran the
only Postgraduate course in Criminology and few if any of those in
the Probationary
Services showed the slightest interest. Had they attended they
might have learned
something about their responsibilities, the primary one being the
need for selfcriticism,
an asset that they were never to obtain under the shadow of the
Catholic
Church. Indeed, the service , like so many other services, has
lived much too close to
the Catholic Church and has been too easily manipulated by the
Church and the
several churchmen and churchwomen who , quite ignorant of secular
and of the more
healthy norms necessary to the child-care endeavour, claim
hegemony over child
care.
How the RC Church jealously bullies its way to power in these
areas is no secret no
more than it is a surprise; but what makes them think that their
inveterate and
unhealthy celibacy makes them experts in the area of familial
mores is a mystery. The
dreadful buggery scandals come as no surprise , nor more than
their refusal to submit
themselves to either a criminological discipline or an open
discourse on their‘
received’ wisdoms. What is surprising is the incidence of such
scandals, the duration
of their secrecy (since the ‘30s at least) and the preparedness of
the Bishops to go to
such lengths to deceive the people over such a period.
Is there anything that one can say to redeem the Irish Probation
and Welfare Service
from its medieval locus?
d. Prisons
The manner in which persons against whom criminal offences have
been proved are
dealt with by the State and its organs forms an integral and
organic part of the CJS. In
general it marks the end, and – paradoxically – the beginning of
the criminal justice
cycle.
Even a cursory examination of the disposal system in the Republic
will reveal that, in
many respects, it has been least visible to public or academic
scrutiny, least examined
and most neglected. Perhaps this is due, in part at least, to the
inadequacy and
indecipherability of the data available over the period under
consideration. Yet we
find that what is available has never been rigorously examined.
Though sometimes
inscrutable, inaccurate and unreliable, there is, nevertheless, an
abundance of detail
contained in the various reports published by the former
Department of Justice (now
the Department of Justice, Equality and Law Reform). And if it is
with some temerity
that we dare make any reliable statements on the various aspects
of the disposal
system, it is equally true that the available data demonstrated a
consistency which,
when analysed with a little industry, bears some rewards.
Before continuing further it is imperative that we understand the
revolutionary change
in the Prison system in Ireland. It is too early to assess the
radical changes carried out
in the Prison service since 1980. For the year 2002 the Prisons
Bill came to €298m.
This figure , if borne in mind when considering the data exhibited
anon, gives us an
indication of the enormity of the changes, financial and
otherwise, which has gripped
the disposal system in the late twentieth century. Whether such
sums bear any
worthwhile relationship with the ends anticipated is a study for
another day. Our
resolute aim here is to examine what we know of the available data
for the period
1950-1980, that is, before the Prison Service became a virtual
industry monitoring and
driving the enormous changes that the Celtic Tiger invoked.
In attempting to follow the CJS through to its final phases, we
are predominantly
concerned with the disposition of persons against whom criminal
offences have been
proved. We are particularly concerned with trends throughout the
seventies in respect
of the number of persons annually sentenced, the numbers generally
committed to one
form of custodial institution or another, and the numbers
committed to prison on
conviction (see Figure 6.1) While committals in general and
committals on
conviction do not necessarily follow either the increase in crime
or the annual
numbers found guilty, it is particularly noticeable how constantly
low the level of
committals on convictions have remained throughout the seventies.
The more immediate relationships between these three essential
variables, however,
are somewhat complicated. In attempting to unfold them, this book,
as we have
already pointed out in detail, is divided into five parts. The
following topics are
briefly discussed:
Punishment and the State (Part I);
The Sentence of the Courts (Part II);
Persons Sentenced and Committed (Part III);
The Rate of Recidivism (Part IV);
The Probation and Welfare Service (Part V).
Part I: Punishment and the State
In the absence of any formulated policy on either punishment or
sentencing one of the
main obstacles in assessing the efficacy of sentencing is its
apparent lack of
objectivity. Why do we punish people at all? And what in
particular is punishment in
its varied forms meant to achieve? Opinions on these matters
differ so widely that it is
futile to recount them in detail. 1 Since,
however, our notions of punishment are
inextricably bound up with our notions of the State and the nature
of the social
contract, consensus and conflict theorists invariably differ in a
punishment 2. We shall
briefly sketch some aspects of these theories and their possible
relevance to Irish
Society.
Consensus Theorists
At their best, consensus theorists rationalise the history of the
social contract in
evolutionary terms. On this view the State’s right to punish is
contractually enforced
albeit in a progressively reformative manner. At their worst, some
consensus theorists
are seen to brutalise the criminal and barbarise themselves.
John Locke, 3 for example, in contrast to
Hobbesian and Machiavellian theory of how
the formulation of the State was based on power struggles, saw the
relationship
between the citizen and civil government as one of contract. On
this view, man had
‘natural rights’ to life, liberty and property, and as civil
society emerged from its precivil
state, man forfeited his natural right to punish and entrusted it
s provisionally to
legitimate government to exercise fairly on his behalf. According
to Locke, whose
notions influenced Voltaire, Montesquieu, Rousseau, and the
wording of the
Declaration of Independence in America in 1776, citizens had the
right to rebel and
remove any government which broke the social contract and failed
to fulfil its
obligations. 4
Within this legitimisation of civil society is the corresponding
need for the Rule of
Law and the punitive imperative. Other writer, notably Immanuel
Kant, developed the
theory of our obligation to obey the rule of law on moral grounds,
the legitimacy of
State punishment being justified on the basis that it is necessary
to free man from the
violence attending him in the state of nature.5 Unlike Locke, Kant saw the moral
obligation to obey the law as total and absolute, even if citizens
have “to endure even
the most intolerable abuse of supreme authority”, according to
Kantian theory man is
never morally justified in revolution or resistance.6
Kant also thought that it is morally right that criminals be given
their deserts. The
State should ensure it. Punishments aimed at reducing crime,
therefore, such as
‘making an example’ of a particular criminal, or putting offenders
on probation, were
immoral.7 Indeed, even if civil society
willingly decided to dissolve and everyone
agreed to emigrate thereafter, Kant believed that before so doing
the last murderer
remaining in prison must first be executed. The reason for this is
that there is a fixed
duty on those dispersing to insist on carrying out the punishment,
and if they fail in
this moral duty, they, in effect, become accomplices ‘in the
public violation of legal
justice’. 8
Other consensus theorists carried the notion of the State (and
with its notions
regarding the rule of law and punishment) much further. Hegel, for
example, (and
Bosanquet) in the tradition of idealism, which placed the Church,
the State and
society above the individual, and invariably stressing duties
rather than right, exalted
the State as the creator of morality. 9 In
his “Philosophy of Right” (1821) Hegel
equated the State with the Deity; the State was an end in itself.
It has supreme
authority over individuals, whose chief duty was to belong to the
State. State leaders,
he thought, do not arise by accident, but by unspecified forces of
nature; they arise to
realise the contemporary truths or ideas guiding the State, and
they are responsible to
no one.
For Hegel all human history was cumulative and logical; it was
guided by the
dialectical process which had reached fulfilment in his own
lifetime in the Prussian
monarchy of Fredrick William the Third. According to Hegel all
former philosophies
were explained within, and contained in, his own philosophy of
‘dialectical idealism’,
and within his theory of the Prussian State his philosophy of
right and his justification
for State punishment were integrated.
Other consensus theorists, less philosophically gifted, ascribed
certain attributes to
notions like the ‘rule of law’ and the purpose of punishment. V.
Dicey who, in 1885,
coined the phrase, stressed that the ‘rule of law’ meant; inter
alia, the absence of
arbitrary government.10
He pointed out that no man was above the law, that all were
subject to the ordinary
law and under the jurisdiction of the courts. Even he Government
according to Dicey,
was subject to the law.
Within the broad consensus theory of the State and punishment,
divergent and
competing aims have been put forward. The Utilitarians, for
example, who emphasise
political and legal reform in order to achieve the greatest
happiness of the greatest
number, advocate the prevention of crime, its deterrence, and the
reformation of the
offender as the aims of punishment. 11 Durkheim, on the other hand, thought that
expiation ought to be the end of penal discipline, and not
retribution of deterrence.12
Other consensus theorist believe that retribution in its various
forms justifies the
State’s use of punishment on criminal offenders. One form of
justification arises from
a simplistic biblical source which advocates the taking of ‘an eye
for an eye, and a
tooth for a tooth’. Sir James Stephen, author of an excellent History of the Criminal
Law, justified punishment on the ground that its use kept up
people’s standards of
morality. He wrote:
“I think it highly desirable that criminals should be hated, that
the punishments
inflicted upon them should be so contrived as to give expression
to that hatred,
and to justify it so far as the public provision of means for
expressing and
gratifying a healthy natural sentiment can justify and encourage
it”. 13
And Rupert Cross, in his work on The English Sentencing System,
observed:
“This book is written on the assumption that the aim of the penal
system is to reduce
crime by making as many people as possible want to obey the
criminal law. It follows
that the general practice of punishment by the state is only
justified if it has two
objectives, the reduction of crimes and the promotion of respect
for the criminal law”.14
Nearer home, the Penal Commission claimed that “The aim of any
sentence, custodial
or otherwise, should be the eventual integration of the offender
into society”. 15(15)
The Commission also stated that “Very special efforts should be
made to ensure that
each offender, upon termination of his or her sentence, should be
able to obtain
employment and reasonably good housing conditions”. 16
Conflict Theorists
At their best conflict theorists inform the behavioural sciences
with a compelling
historical perspective and an equally compelling humanist
morality. At their worst
they hasten history, they legitimate revolution and its attendant
cruelties, and they
sacrifice contemporary praxis to intellectual purity.
In his Enquiry Concerning Political Justice, which appeared
during the French
Revolution and was overshadowed by it, William Godwin railed
against ‘that brute
machine’ government. 17 As an anarchist and
not unconnected with the early
romantics like Lord Byron and Percy Shelly, Godwin believed in
Man’s desire to be
free from organised religious, political and social constraints.
Broadly speaking,
anarchism for Godwin meant a society in which individuals were
free to work at that
which suited their personalities. Essential services would be
provided by voluntary
associations.
Theoretically, anarchism 18 shares with some
forms of communism, socialism ands
liberalism, an essential enlightenment faith in the goodness of
man. Society is
historically seen as the corrupting influence, and the
organisation of social production,
whether under mediaeval manorialism, mercantilism, capitalism, or
State
communism, are merely degrees of the same evil. The force, power
and coercion
endemic in integrated socio-legal economics, no matter how
wielded, or by whatever
party, group or class, is seen as alien to man’s true sense of
freedom and justice.
Under anarchism, therefore, State punishment is not possible,
because it is not
contemplated.
Tolstoy, for example, had strong and simple views on such laws:
“… Political laws seem to me such prodigious lies… I regard all
governments
not only the Russian Government, as intricate institutions,
sanctified by
tradition and custom, for the purpose of committing by force and
with
impunity the most revolting crimes, and I think the efforts of all
those who
wish to improve our social life should be directed towards the
liberation of
themselves from national governments whose evil, and above all
whose
futility, is in our time becoming more and more apparent”.
However unsuccessful anarchism is as a modus vivendi, it
has been advocated in
varying measures by thinkers like Proudhon, Kropotkin, and Henry
David Thoreau. It
is arguable that other conflict theorists in the Marxist tradition
(and, indeed, Marx
himself was at variance with the Bakuninite anarchists in the
International), sooner or
later have to re-engage the anarchist themes of retreat – retreat
from the organised
division of labour, from the city and the metropolis, from
competition and from
materialism.
The polarity of law and anarchy is tessellated with intermediary
theoretical positions,
and while anarchy, as a philosophical orientation is undefined,
much of its perspective
is to be found in the literature surrounding the controversial
lives of its proponents.
Perhaps the most notable case concerns the trial of Nicola Sacco
and Bartolomeo
Vanzetti, the two Italian immigrants to Boston who, in 1920, were
charged with a
payroll robbery and the murder of two guards. Both were executed
in 1927. Fifty
years later, and after several studies into the case, the
Commonwealth of
Massachusetts issued a proclamation acknowledging that there had
been a miscarriage
of justice. More recently Brian Jackson examined the extensive
literature on the case
and concluded that ‘almost without exception it assumes or argues
innocence’. 20 A more engaging criticism of law (and, less directly, punishment)
arises from the
socialist tradition. Ever since Rudolf von Ihering, a late
nineteenth century German
jurist, proclaimed the jurisprudence of interests, the historical
integrity of legal ideals
(as opposed to social conflicts and interests) has been severely
repudiated by those
who insist on de-mythologizing and de-intellectualising law. 21 This modern trend to
legal realism insists that law is neither above nor outside
society, but is determined by
competing social and sectional interests. Accordingly State-centred
law is seen as
only one means of settling disputes.22
Recent developments in anthropology 23 and
sociology 24 have strengthened this
perspective. According to this line of argument all societies have
their own norms,
rules, customs and procedures which precede, are co-existent with,
and may be in
inverse relation to, State-centred law. In this context some
conflict theorists 25 (see law
as only one form of domination or social control, and is not
necessarily the best or the
most precise worthy for. Others go much further. They reject law
because it is
produced by one class of society for its own specific interests.
Twentieth Century socialist and sociological critiques tend to
make law a servant of
all rather than a master in the pay of the elite. On this view the
crisis in law and legal
ideas is not to be divorced from the economic crisis. Karl Marx,
son of a lawyer, and
himself a law student who successfully appeared to defend himself
in court in
Cologne against charges of slandering officials and inciting
insurrection during the
1848 revolution, rejected law for economics. Within the
relationships of production
and reproduction Marx accorded to bourgeois law a very narrow
ideological
existence. In a truly human, self-managed society, according to
Marx, the State itself
would dissolve and within State-centred law. He did not expound or
expatiate on law
under socialism.
Marx, and Engles, refused to take law as the subject matter of
serious study. For them,
law and order, codes, courts and constables, were not independent;
they had no
history of their own; they merely reflected and enforced
socio-economic arrangements
and relation-ships already determined by the class formation. Law,
punishment,
prisons, parliament and the courts, were ideological constructs,
they enforced the will
of the State; and the State was the instrument of the ruling
class.
Nevertheless, recent studies within marxology by marxists and non-marxists,
demonstrate strong lines of difference within the conflictual
camp. Althuserian
marxists, for example, believe that law is to be understood in
relation to three
principal structures, namely, the economic, the ideological and
the political. In this
pursuit it never divorces itself from its dominant focus on the
class struggle. 26 Two other enduring marxists, Karl Renner,27 President of the Austrian Republic after
the Second World War, and Pashukanis,28
murdered by Stalin in the 1930’s, insisted,
on different grounds, that law was not a mere ideology. Renner
believed that Marx’s
“Capital” fell into two legal categories, the institution of
ownership and the contract
of service. Pushukanis thought that the law created a world in its
own image based on
the categories of commodity production and market demands.
Whether, the legal
‘aufbau’ is therefore divorced by class antagonisms (requiring
Revolution) or
increasingly reflective of ever widening social sentiments and
interests (a description
of evolution) is an ongoing concern within Marxism except to
explain its historical
forms.
In general, however, Marxists do not focus on punishment, except
to explain its
historical forms in terms of capitalism’s controls over the
working class. Otherwise
they focus on the nature of deviance and the criminal actor, and
again attempt to
explain crime in terms of its political-economic underpinning.
Irish Theory
Irish intellectual activity appears to be singularly characterised
by a very basic and
‘common-sensical’ view of the social sciences. In his ‘Assessment
of Irish
Sociology”, Tony Fahey defined ‘radicalism’ as ‘effective creative
science’ and
distinguished it from ‘political extremism’. Thereafter he wrote:
“Is Irish sociology radical? Definitely, no. None of the work
produced by
sociologists in Ireland since the discipline arrived here really
goes beyond the
common-sense view of society or points to any problems which could
not
have been discovered by a good critical journalist. No attempt,
good or bad,
has been made to construct a theoretical framework for the
analysis of Irish
society”. 29
In law, as in sociology, there is no question of competing
theories, whether conflictual
or consensual. There is no formalised theory in Irish law or its
penal institutions.
Consequently, there are no relevant differentiations to be made
within either of these
orientations. As Fahy put it: “In Irish society there are no
movements of dissent to
challenge the sociologists’ intellectual security”. 30 What this means is that there is no
one to challenge the RC Church’s hegemony over all Irish
institutions, physical,
financial, and social. The ‘intellectual’ is merely a fictitious
addendum to a power
bloc that is – and has always been a fait accompli. In
reality most sociologists in
Ireland -- as in the Philippines and East Timor -- are not
sociologists, but rather
theologians -- Jesuits posing as sociologists. They not only
occupy very scarce
resources in sociology but they allocate these resources to the
service of theology.
Each academic Jesuit even has a faculty conferred on him.
Invariably have nothing to
say ,but are ever vigilant that others say nothing as well.
Neither are there ‘movements’ in Ireland to assert or affirm
sociology as a discipline,
and, indeed, to talk of ‘movements’ in the same breadth as
‘radicalism’ is an
unwarranted flattery. The rationale for Irish punishment,
therefore, must be sought,
not in the social sciences, but within the interstices of
religious ideology and judicial
practice.
The most radical statement concerning criminological thought in
Ireland is traceable
to an Italian monk of the Middle Ages – St Thomas Acquinas. He is
quoted as having
said that if a person’s need is manifest and urgent “It is lawful
for a man to succour
his own need by means of another’s property, by taking it either
openly or secretly;
nor is this properly speaking theft or robbery”. 31 He is also quoted as saying, “All
things are common property in the case of extreme necessity”. 32 Needless to say, this aspect of primitive communism is neither
preached from pulpit
nor pleaded in courts. It just languishes in the Catholic Church’s
holdall until it is
required to prove its sincerity about caring for the poor.
Despite Ireland’s substantial penal experience 33 the gap between ideology and action
remains profound. It is to the courts and the judiciary that we
must look to have the
rationale of punishment explicated. In this context, some European
concepts have had
practical expression in the courts.
It is not unusual for judges, before sentencing a convicted
person, to refer to the
prevalence of particular types of crime, the protection of
society, and the interests of
the public. We have already noted that ‘the primary consideration
in determining
whether n offence is a minor one or not is the punishment which it
may attract’. 34 More particularly Mr. Justice Gannon has stated:
“The first consideration in determining the sentence is the public
interests
which is served not merely by punishing the offender and showing a
deterrent
to others but also affording to reform. The punishment should be
appropriate
not only to the offence committed but also to the particular
offender”. 35
Moreover, the Court of Criminal Appeal has disapproved of certain
kinds of
suspended sentences which, inter alia, compromise the
offender’s right of appeal,
commutation or remission, or, indeed, are not in accord with
‘correct principles of
penology’. With reference to ‘correct principles’ the Court took
into consideration the
reformative and rehabilitative functions of custody, in the
interests of which, it stated,
‘it is desirable that both the prison authorities and the prisoner
should be in a position
to plan for the date of release’.36
Part Two
There are many ways of looking at the CJS, but all of them , if
properly analysed,
lead to an overview of the system as a whole. To assist this
overview it is convenient
for us at present if we look at a representation of two aspects of
the system. One
demonstrates the major variables for the years 1950-80. Figure 2.1 shows the
increase
in indictable crimes over the period. But in showing the general
increase in these
recorded crimes, it also follows them year-upon-year in their
distributive aspects. That
is, the reported figures for indictable crimes are accompanied by
the numbers of those
detected, those processed through the courts and their outcomes,
etc.
If we are to believe half of what we read of so-called ‘Expert’
Reports on the CJS,
these figures are a break-through. They extend so naturally beyond
the usual fare of
crimes recorded and crimes detected, which hitherto has been the
constant creation
and limitation of a host of well-meaning criminologists who have
the most unreal and
imaginary relationship with Irelands’ criminal and penal
institutions.
But Figure 2.1 notwithstanding, we feel we have not driven the analysis home. We
need to follow the figures through to their completion, through
the courts, past the
sentencing outcomes, and, directly, if possible, to create a
recidivist rate. A recidivist
rate will show us how many are re-entering the system: and without
this, how can we
possibly assess the efficacy of any of the agencies that comprise
the CJS or ,indeed,
the efficacy of the system as a whole? The simple answer is : we
can’t! Without
knowing how efficient or effective or how inefficient and
ineffective all our penal
institutions are, how can we make policy to improve it.
This process, of establishing a full and total overview of the
CJS, then, is a sine qua
non for anyone who pretends to know what policies the
government should be
following in respect of each and all of the agencies involved and
in respect of crimeand-punishment generally. We have been working in the dark so long,
one begins to
feel that people relish it!
Model 1975 shows the full system and its potential
for all indictable offences
committed and processed in 1975. With it – and for the first time
in Irish
criminological history – we have a quantitative picture of what
national crime looks
like and how it has been processed by all the agencies involved.
Needless to say , a
similar portrait can be constructed for every crime or sets of
crime in the whole
criminal calendar, not just for the year 1975 but for every year
that the Garda
Commissioner has reported in the traditional fashion on crime in
Ireland. It is only
with the introduction of the PULSE (a computer system),
coupled with the nonsense of the ‘Experts’ , that all this
information and know-how has been destroyed. What does the PULSE
replace all this invaluable information with? Nothing!
Before going on to consider the virtues of Model ’75 let us say something of the
analysis of Figure 2.1
First of all , these statistics -- totally produced by the Garda
Siochana – give us a partial overview of the CJS in so far as the
Gardai and the Courts are concerned. With them we can not only
establish detection rates for the Gardai, but conviction and proof
rates in the courts as well. Obviously, we need to examine these
overall figures in further detail.

Figure 2.1 – CRIMINAL DYNAMICS
In Part I we analysed how indictable crimes were
processed through the courts for police-accounting year 1975. We also
established a detection rate and a variety of conviction- and- guilty
rates for the year. We saw, for example, that the guilty rate in the lower
courts was 93.3% of offences tried in the court, and that of the
18,317 offences tried that year 95% of them were tried in the lower courts. Is
this the case every year? And how in general do the variables in the CJS
behave over time? Figure 2.1
shows the behaviour of
five centrally structured variables and their interrelation-ships between 1950 and 1981.
These variables are:
1. The number of crimes recorded 2. The number of crimes detected 3. The number of crimes tried in all courts
4. The number of crimes proved in the lower courts
and,
5. The number of convictions in the lower courts.
It is proposed to examine these five variables
briefly and numerically (a) over the 25-year period (1950-75), (b) over the
15-year period (1950-65), (c) over the 10-year period (1965-75), and (d)
over the 5-year period (1976-81). The Overview In general what the overall movements in Fig.2.1
demonstrate is that as the number of crimes committed have steadily and
steeply increased, with local minima in 1950/55/61/65/73 and 1978, the
other four variables, almost linear in form, and each a function of the
annual number of crimes committed and its more immediate preceding
function in the process, have followed the general rise. Nevertheless, an
increasing gap has developed over the period between the number of
crimes annually committed (line 1) and annually heard (line 3) by
the courts, particularly since 1975.
As one might expect, crimes tried are almost
perfectly elastic with respect to crimes detected, i.e. they respond with almost
perfect accord to the rise in the number of crimes annually detected. At
least this is so up to and including 1975, after which there was an entire
dislocation in the relationship between these variables. What one
might not so readily expect is the very close response that convictions
(line 5) and crimes proved in the lower courts (line 4) bear to the
annual number of crimes tried (line 3). Throughout the whole period, and
notwithstanding the dislocation that occurred in 1975, this high
constant rate of proof presents us with a criminological curiosity that calls for
more detailed enquiry. For the moment, however, we must examine the trends
and changes that occurred in the five selected variables over time.
Between 1950 and 1981 recorded indictable crime
increased from 12,231 to 89,400, an increase of 77,169 or 631%. For the
same period crimes detected increased from 7,430 to 32, 754, an
increase of 25,325 or 341%. It is apparent from Fig.2.1 that these respective
increases occurred at different times and at different rates. Perhaps
the most dramatic aspect of the whole movement is the manner in which crimes
recorded and detected increased since 1975 while, at the same
time, crimes tried in the courts declined. Of the total increase in crimes
detected 36% occurred in the same period.
Given these dramatic increases, one would
intuitively expect a corresponding increase in the number of crimes
heard annually by the courts. Since 1976, however, the number of crimes
heard in all courts bears little relation to the number detected.
After 1975 the courts return to administering a turnover quota which was less than
what they annually heard for any year between 1968 and 1975 inclusive
when the number of crimes being committed was less than half what
they were between 1975 and 1981. Obviously, if we cannot explain this
development the whole matter of our analysis and the consistency of the
statistics contained in the Commissioner’s Annual Report on Crime must remain
seriously suspect. We shall, therefore, return to this question anon.
For the moment we can only accept the figures that we have, and for
reasons that shall be forthcoming, we will deal with the period 1976 to
1981 separately.
Part Three
EpilogueProperly understood the individual institutions of
Parliament, the Police, the Courts and the Prisons, the Probation Service, etc are better
understood as contributing services, and.—as we shall argue – cannot really be seen in their
proper light until they are first juxtaposed and then amalgamated with each other to form a whole. It is
only then that we can properly comprehend the CJS as a whole.
Such an overview, it is argued, has enormous
advantages to our understanding of justice, and in order to illustrate these matters we have summoned
the aid of two separate models. The two models presented (overleaf) represent two
different systems of criminal justice. The one is taken from the Florida State University’s website
(at http://www.criminology.fsu.edu/Ci.html), ingeniously constructed by Cecil Greek,
and the other is a worked replica of indictable crimes in Ireland for the year 1975
compiled by the author. Both models, it should be said, were inspired by The Challenge of Crime In A Free Society, compiled by the President’s Commission on Law Enforcement and
Administration of Justice as early as 1967. The 1975 model, therefore, was constructible some
eight years after the President’s Commission (though, theoretically, it was
constructible at any time since the Garda statistics were compiled), while the Bureau of Justice
Statistics revised the Florida model in 1997 after a Symposium on the 30th Anniversary of the President’s
Commission. (The irony that Florida State University is one of the largest schools of
criminology in the US, and the DIT –- the Dublin Institute of Technology -- could not bestow
one penny piece on criminology between the years 1993 and 2003 has not been lost on the
author!)
These models are meant to elucidate the
ramifications of the criminal justice system - - that is, to elucidate the jurisdictional moves as well as
the legal steps, which the system envisages for wrongdoers. With the assistance of several
guesstimates we have tried to fit the American model to Irish data in 1975, bridging the hitherto
inestimable lacunae between the Gardai, the Courts and the custodial institutions. Each of the
steps taken in this procedure may not be as seamless as we might desire. Nevertheless, the ’75
model is illustrative of the programmatic ends the Government and the Civil Service – not to
mention those seriously concerned with criminology -- should be pursuing.Notwithstanding its lack of design, even this
rough sketch captures for the first time our view of the concatenation of the main institutions of the
CJS assembled in overview. This tadpolelooking picture encapsulates all the serious (indictable)
crimes of the nation. Together with their respective punishments throughout the year,
these crimes are condensed into a single frame of justice, which depicts the Republic of
Ireland’s sense of criminal justice. What it does not capture but hopes to stimulate is Ireland’s
consciousness of that sense of justice or, as the case may well be, injustice.Obviously there are aspects of this model that
could stand up to greater scrutiny, seams where the stitching could be smoother, aspects that do
not run from institution to institution in the way we would like, but which nevertheless provide us
with a portrait of the nation’s guilt. And whether—somewhat like the portrait of Dorian Grey
– this picture gets better or worse from year to year, depends (according to the Labellists)
upon Irish administration as much as upon any innate disposition of the Irish psyche to live
in vice or virtue. Both models present us with a flowchart of cases,
one generically and the other specifically for the Republic of Ireland in the year 1975. Both
demonstrate the complexities of the CJS and both bear remarkably similar contours – the
contours of two common-law countries with a bifurcation between serious or juryiable offences
and non-juryiable ones. Where the models agree in contour, is -- one suspects -- precisely
at those nodal points already noted in the Irish system; and one might hazard a guess that the
American system, or any common law system, will similarly exhibit a high differential between
the number of trials processed by way of judge and jury and the number of serious crimes
processed under certain conditions without a jury. Similarly, one would expect this to be coupled
with high conviction or proof rate, at least in the lower courts, but possibly in all courts. This
high conviction or proof rate, one further suspect, is produced by an “autonomy of interests”, this
time American interests, and it is that, possibly bourgeois attraction which criminologists should
be inquiring into.Where the models differ in detail would require a
study of a more calculating type. But already we know of some differences. The Florida model
accommodates the handy Internet device of being able to press an artery in the system and be
instantly transported to another raft of information concerning that artery. This, one
might bear in mind, would be a most useful tool in the illustration of the system developed
hereafter. One can imagine, for example, that when perfected in the Irish model, the viewer presses
“Garda Siochana”, and the essential facts of Lecture 2 can be distilled and instantly displayed
Or, better still, that items which Lecture 2 has not conceived of, police projections in manpower,
indictable offences per Garda, the cost of the service and the next marginal Garda, forecasts as
to time spent in court etc. All these can be worked out and made available on demand not just
for the police, but also for the courts, prisons and any incidental contributory to the
CJS.A more significant difference between the models
relates to their substance. A note at the bottom of the Florida model reminds us as that:
“The weights of the lines are not intended to show actual size of caseloads.” The Florida model
is merely meant to demonstrate the intricate and complex processual steps operative in the CJS
for the various categories and ages of defendant, an exercise not to be underestimated,
as any lecturer in legal administration with agree. The Irish model, on the other hand, is
specifically value-laden, and feels that without such a quantitative input the model becomes
perfectly emasculated and fails to fulfil its promise. (This is not, by the way to say that the
Florida model does not envisage such analysis elsewhere in its own schema)The President’s Commission, as was said before,
marks a landmark in our consciousness of the CJS and it
surpasses by far efforts made elsewhere – not just in Ireland –
but also in Europe generally,
to come to terms with their own experiences or understanding of
the CJS. Notwithstanding the fact that the model has not
been widely appreciated in Europe and elsewhere, the question nevertheless remains, for
Americans and Europeans alike – does the model deliver on its promise? Does it go logically
far enough? Does it exhaust its potential in the service of the justice? We emphatically say “No” to these questions; we
believe that the potential of the CJS, however first conceived, has now fallen into desuetude
mostly because of misconceptions concerning its essential significance. Before examining the model’s
potential, however, we need to complete the picture, which the President’s Commission
began; for as yet it has not been completed. It needs a finishing touch.Recidivism
We know from experience that the system, though
presented, as a snake-like flowchart is really somewhat circular, because some criminals will
repeat their crimes and re-appear within the system. How many persons renter the system
depends, therefore, on the recidivist rate for any
given year. For our part we cannot complete the
picture until we hazard an opinion as to the role of recidivism in the system as a whole.What we must try and imagine in this respect is
the connection of both ends of the CJS, where the number of recidivists re-enter the next annual
cycle of recorded crimes, which begins the process anew. These numbers signify the failure of
the CJS, especially the prison service.So, how many recidivists are there in any given
year?We confess we cannot answer this question
precisely. Nor need we do so. Let us, instead, leave it to those with more time and more resources –
the legions of civil servants, prison officers and schools and universities that have the funds and
foresight to spend on science, or, indeed, others whose business it is to run the CJS.What we can do, however, is to point out that when we turned the models
(American and Irish) on their legs, noticed some similarity. But here
we have to abandon the Florida model, which is merely suggestive, in favour of what we know to be
the factual case in the Republic. Before doing so, however, we might observe that while the
Florida model suggests a low rate of custodial detention, it envisages some
intervention by way of social services for prisoners on release. No such assistance is envisaged in the
Irish system. And if proof is further needed of this fact, it might be recalled that as recently
as July, 2003, in the inaugural report of Mr Justice Dermot Kinlen, the Irish Republic’s first
Inspector of Prisons and Places of Detention, the afterrelease services were criticised. The Governor of Mountjoy
Prison, Mr Loner a more or less agreed with the criticism, confiding that the
Inspectors observations merely repeated what he had been saying for years. After-release services
were, in effect, “nonexistent”, he said – a matter that should be of concern to everybody.
(See The Irish
Times, Friday July 4,
2003)Not surprisingly, then, the very place in the
system where we feel there should have been investment, where the social sciences might
intervene productively, there was none, and to the present day, there is none; while every other part
of the service thrives financially with costs and outlay rising exponentially and without any
serious review as to effectiveness. Where intercession was most needed to help criminals and
protect the Irish taxpayer, it was withheld. And neither the National Council on Crime nor the
new Institute of Criminology in the bishop’s own college of UCD has, apparently, ought to say
of the CJS, no more than they (in league with the Department of Justice) had ought to say about
the incidence of clerical paedophilia, except, of course, to object to the introduction of the
registration of paedophiles as proposed by the European Parliament. Again the place where
character was most needed to protect Irish children (as opposed to the Church’s interests),
it was inscrutably withheld! In this regard all one can do is note the shared ultra-conservative
interests the Department of Justice, Equality and Law Reform has with the new Institute of
Criminology at UCD.From the foregoing it would appear that the whole aufbau of the Irish CJS is balanced precariously on rather thin legs, suggesting a
disproportionality between the number of custodial wrongdoers eventually receiving a
custodial sentence and the enormous industry of policemen, lawyers, court and prison personnel --
a virtual bureaucracy – that they engender. On the behavioural outcome of a small number of
inmates depends the entire block of crimes committed and detected, the employment of the
Gardai, the lawyers, and the court-andcustodial personnel. And when we convert these services into
cash, we arrive at a positively insane industry, an industry that grows and
expands on the notion that it wants to do something about crime and offenders. Surely it is equally
true that this exponential industry depends on the opposite. It is more than likely that we spend an
enormous sum of money on a few dysfunctional families upon whose welfare we spend nothing.Further, in Lecture 6 (and with reference to Table
6.6) we said:
“In 1976 no less than 62% of those committed by
the courts had already served one sentence of imprisonment (Table 6.6). In 1981 the
rate of recidivism was 65%. In other words, of those committed on conviction in
respect of those years, only 38% and 35% of them had been imprisoned for the first
time. This does not mean that they were ‘first time offenders’. On the contrary, it
is probable that they had several previous convictions before they were given their
fist custodial sentence. Thus defined, therefore, the rate of recidivism is
highly conservative.”
We also said that one of the shortcomings of Table
6.6 was that it does not inform us of the exclusivity of committals from year to year. In
other words, the courts may be committing some persons to relatively short terms of
imprisonment year after year. This we do not know; we can only speculate on the fact that
between 1976 and 1981 an annual average of over 30% of all those imprisoned on conviction had
already served over five other sentences of imprisonment.
“ Similarly, a smaller but increasing proportion
of inmates sentenced to a custodial term in St. Patrick’s Institution exhibits a
disconcerting rate of recidivism (see Table 6.7). Given the ages of persons at risk (16 to
21), and given the further fact that over half of those sentenced in 1980 and 1981 were
between 16 and 18 years of age, the rate of recidivism for those years (46% in 1980
and 48% in 1981) must compel us to question the purpose and organization of criminal
justice as well as the efficiency of custodial sentences.”
Here then is the extraordinary picture of the CJS
-- where the recidivist rate, under the most conservative estimates, confirms the notion that a
small number of wrongdoers gives rise to an army of bureaucrats throughout a system that is
blissfully determined to grow like an enormous boil on the taxpayer’s wallet, without, it
appears, ever realizing its own inadequacies or its essential purpose within the broader scheme of
things. Are the National Crime Council and the Institute of Criminology at UCD, neither of whom
seems capable of developing a critical faculty, just two more unimaginative bureaucratic
white elephants?
c. To analyse its potential
It will be recalled that in our account of overall
indictable crimes in Lecture 2, we noted that the same principles of accountancy could be applied to
each crime in the calendar. Indeed, to balance the police figures it was necessary that
this should be the case. With a little reflection it will become apparent that there is no reason
whatsoever why model ’75 cannot be implemented in respect of other entities, more particularly
the following:
i. Any single crime or group of indictable crimes; ii. All Non-indictable offences or any single or
group of non-indictable offences, and iii. An aggregate of all crimes in the Republic of
Ireland, that is, a model reflecting both Indictable and Non-Indictable (Arrestable
and Non-Arrestable Offences, or in any event Offences triable by
Judge and Jury and Offences otherwise tried), or any group or combination of such
crimes.
There is nor reason why additional or special
concerns – like drugs, traffic, domestic violence, juvenile offenders, etc – cannot be factored into
model ’75. Indeed, it invites such calculations, begging that the model as a whole, first, and
thereafter its parts and sections, be monitored from year to year. Better still, projections of in
respect of the incidence of crime and related topics ought to me made from a moral (or legislative
point of view) as well as from a financial or budgetary point of view.There is no reason why the Department of Justice
and/or colleges that claim to be seriously devoted to the study of criminology should not
annually predict the numbers and kinds of crimes that will be committed, the types and
location of such crimes, and the costs of processing them from start to finish in the
criminal justice system. Any adjustments that need to be taken into consideration should follow
adjustments in the system. In this way the system as a whole can be seen to work as a civilising force in
society. Indeed, properly equipped institutions should be disposed to draw up a competing budget
with the Department of Justice and thereby keep government alive to valuable
criticism and supervision.That no one has been interested in such
progressive ideas is more to do with the very deep suspicious nature of Departments of Justice
generally as well as their inimical attitudes to the social sciences.So, what uses can model ’75 and other models like
it is applied?|While the answers to this question are several,
we might point out that with it we can:
a) Create real policy, and monitor strategies for
policy implementation; b) Compare past and present performance, and c) If we cannot predict the future, we can make
projections with that end in mind, and d) We can do these things for every part of the
system as well as the system as a whole.
There is only one snag! We need to know what a
desirable – a healthy -- CJS in overview should look like. How can we find that out? And
why do we need to know it?If we haven’t got an overall idea of what a
healthy CJS should look like, then our ambivalence will be reflected in our formulation of all lesser
policies and , at the level of implementation, will severely paralyse and possibly negate
advisable action. There are very likely to be conflicting policy aims, as, for example, when we
look at the allocation of scarce resources generally or, more particularly, when we look, for
example, at the purpose of the Republic’s prisons.Should prisons, for example, be fundamentally
deterrent or rehabilitative? Or should we follow the history of British prisons since the Gladstone
Committee of 1895? Or, again, how should we implement the findings of the Kinlen Report on
Prisons? And how do such proposals affect the overall CJS?Undoubtedly, the outer limit of how crime is
defined rests on the limitation of scarce resources as well as on the unfettered imagination of
politicians to bring in new legislation. It would be enormously beneficial if the latter had some
information about the former before punitive schemes were implemented. But these outer limits,
no less that the inner workings of the system, the aims, goals and policies, affecting
the lesser down-the-line issues in the CJS, are perfectly dependent on what we conceive the CJS as
a whole to be.So, again, we ask: what is the purpose of the CJS
as a whole?It is commonly conceived that in examining the CJS
as a whole the desired end should ever and always be the abolition of the sysem itself in
part and in whole; for when there is no crime, it is commonly thought, there is then no need for
punishment, and without either crime or punishment the institutions that comprise the CJS become
redundant.Such a view, generally associated with moralists
and criminal lawyers, and those of an absolute turn of mind is quite in error. Christians
unequivocally go to either Hell or Heaven and criminals are invariably found totally guilty or
totally not guilty. In this vein absolute notions tend to be simplistic, pernicious, and without any
sociological support. Suffice it to say that they are theoretically suspect, deriving their
force from mere logic, rather than from socio-logic or crimino-logic. In any event, one is inclined to
think that there is always a better way than deterrence besides resorting either to fear or
violence.A more enduring goal for the CJS as an overall
construct would be the reduction
of State services to a minimum level of expenditure that
simultaneously accords with an optimum level of social health and/or the minimum level of
social pathology. This , of course, will not hold in all cases, but is desirable in respect of most. In
realising this goal absolutes of any kind, and from whatever source and wherever amplified,
should be regarded with suspicion. Phrases like “abolishing crime”, “annihilating paedophilia”, “
excising fraud”, “eradication drugs” etc. are of little avail and might better be avoided. Our
aim, to the contrary, should be to achieve a balance. And the best balance proceeds from a
scrutiny of our own values, and our own experiences of what works in the CJS.Already in model ’75 we can see the internal
disproportions we have been building into the system for years; and though this present work is
not directly concerned with events after the 1980s, it is apparent that these disproportions
have become gross and unacceptable, Why the National Crime Council and the Institute of
Criminology in UCD preside over such matters with such indifference is as much in need of
explanation as the CJS is.So, now that we have an aim in mind for the CJS as
a whole, of what assistance can it be?Past Performance, Social Policy, and PredictionOne of the most coveted objects of all science is
its ability to understand the circumstances precipitating certain phenomena. As far as the
social sciences are concerned this ability cannot excel the practice of predicting and/or
reproducing social behaviour or the preconditions therefore. The renewed interest and phenomenal
strides of biology in this respect are now legion, and while the social sciences cannot
compare with the Genome project, they can nevertheless facilitate their application.
Moreover, more modest enterprises ought not to be ignored. In this regard it must become apparent at
this stage that assessing past institutional performance is one thing, predicting future
requirements is another. Between the two lies the business of policy formation. And it is within the
interstices of these enterprises that the CJS can be best developed.We might, for example, consider how we go about
creating Legislative and Financial Policy (for Politicians), Police Policy (for the
Commissioner of the Gardai), Legal Policy (The Minister for Justice, Equality and Law Reform), a
Courts’ Policy (for the Courts Service), a Sentencing Policy (for Judges), a Prisons Policy
(for the Prisons’ Service), a Probationary Policy (for the Probation Service), and a CJS
Policy (for everyone interested in Irish society). The obvious advantages of reformulating and
augmenting model ’75 with an econometric model, as well as yearly comparisons with itself,
are to be highly commended. All of these areas can benefit from an overview of
the CJS. Indeed, the overview makes policy creation a simple task. The use of econometrics,
queueing theory and a host of statistical techniques can more obviously be brought into the
service of the CJS to expedite and inform it about its abundant parts. Even sentencing policy,
one of the most difficult areas of social policy , can only benefit from an overview. Why
sentencing policy is so difficult is because it at once unites what is social and what is individual in a
uniquely discrete manner located in the personality of ‘this’ and ‘that’ judge. Even with
the best of intentions ‘this’ judge cannot compensate for class antagonisms, nor can he
translate what is social, scientific and healthy -- presuming he knew what these things meant – to a
convicted criminal through a narrow medium of punishment.Because such an infinite and unmanageable number
of details surrounds the person of the accused as well as the Judge, sight of what ought
to be a fair sentence becomes either lost or impossible to formulate. Moreover, the competing
aims of deterrence, rehabilitation, public safety, etc., complicates matters at the very
discrete and personal level, such that without recourse to something more collective, sentencing
is apt to be haphazard and uneven.If, for example, we have different Judges in
different rooms looking into their hearts in order to come up with a sentence for this thief, this
rapist and this arsonist, one can be sure that of one thing – none of them will get it right! They
cannot get it right, because there is no right ‘to get’; nor can they know what is right until they
categorise the types of rapist, thief, arsonist etc. they presume to judge with respect to those that have
already been judged in the past. It is only on past performance that guidelines can in respect of
these categories and the rehabilitation of these offenders can be laid down – guidelines
within which the Judges themselves can benefit from their own history. Of course, everyone is
different and there are endless personal details relating to gender, age, circumstances, familial,
financial, personal etc. All these must be considered; but such considerations are of no
avail unless they can be related to a common standard, and a common standard cannot be
conceived outside of a model which houses such phenomena. In other words, if sentencing policy is
to mean anything, it must be with respect to past performance, future expectations and
consistency of policy aims across all courtrooms – which is precisely why these statistical matters
have to be collected, reviewed and collated with reference to other phenomena comprising the
system. In other words, how can a Judge know what works until he reviews the outcome of past
experiences, that is, taking social workers and specialist advices into consideration? How can he
know what the State can afford without being appraised of the probable numbers of cases in any
given time-period?Essentially, then, what we are saying is that
there can be no sentencing policy without an overview of the CJS. Neither, by the same token,
can there be a Police Policy, a Probation’s Policy, a Custodial Policy or, indeed, a
Legislative Policy. One might hope that the necessity for such a model was already apparent in the past
seven lectures, each of which obtains by virtue of observations made narcissistically about
whatever agency was being for the moment examined. Any other kind of statement –
particularly statements purporting to formulate policy in any of these areas -- would, in the absence of
an overall blueprint for the CJS, have been at best fortuitous and at worst redundant. And the
more one considers the salutary effects of having a quantitative model, the more one realises
its utility and its necessity. Moreover, badly needed national and international comparisons are
impossible without a thorough quantitative account of the CJS. Without an overview all policy
is impossible – which is why any policy in respect of the CJS has, historically speaking,
been nonexistent. Why credible policy has been non-existent follows from the absence of a CJS in
overview. Why a CJS in overview has been non-existent is another matter. Before attempting
to answer this question, however, let us look at model ‘75’s most radical facility.Legislative PolicyWe can all see the sense in a policy aimed at
distributing policemen in such a way as to optimise detection and prevention rates. We can
also see why the courts should allocate their services in an optimum manner, and we can see why
the prisons and correction services, coupled with the Probation Services, should meet
the annual needs of the system as a whole in a prepared way. Equally, we can see that the
taxpayer should be informed about what he is paying for and why the costs all these agencies,
individually or collectively, should not be transparent to the point of predictability. In
other words , when we produce a full and operative accountancy system of criminal justice, there is
no reason why government departments – and hopefully more enlightened schools of criminology
– cannot make projections throughout the CJS as well as for the CJS as a whole.There is , in other words, no reason why
legislators cannot predict the effects of their legislative proposals.And now that we have a model to go by, these
predictions can be plotted and improved upon. By statistical means it is not too difficult to
envisage a group of scholars making projections in respect of the main variables in the CJS,
including the number of offences likely to follow annual trends, with provisions made for new
legislative norms, and/or the number of persons who are likely to be affected by way of being
investigated, prosecuted, and found guilty, and/or the number of persons likely to be imprisoned,
and/or the costs of all these matters in part and in whole to the taxpayers. Further it is not too
outlandish to anticipate that these measures should have a financial aspect and be costed in
their various expeditions through the CJS. In this way the cost to the taxpayer can be estimated
in advance.Such forecasts might become the norm when
politicians contemplate new legislation. Predictions as to the effects of such legislation
before it is brought into effect are devoutly to be wished. Moreover, how such legislation is
regulated into the future on the basis of adjustments made to the initial calculations can be an
edifying experience for politician and public alike. In this way we can learn to appreciate what a
powerful tool for good government the CJS-model is. With the proper attention it can rank with any
economic or econometric model upon which, as we all know, so much time, energy and cash is
spent in our Universities, financial institutions and State departments.This is what the CJS means and if it is not used
in this connection then what meaning has it? The number of augmenting institutions have not
added one whit to our knowledge of any of the aspects involved in the CJS, and yet we see no
reason why every institution – whether it be the Department of Justice, an institution of social or
criminological enquiry, or the National Crime Council, who, one presumes, are meant to be more
than an apology for the Church and the State – why they cannot get a team consisting of a
lawyer, an administrator, a statistician and an economist to prognosticate the Department of
Justice’s budget for each year, and why they cannot otherwise set out what such a budget should
look like at optimum allocation, and thereby spell out what the CJS should look like at
optimum levels of operation. This is what the interdisciplinary aspect of criminology means at
the rockface; and yet, to the author’s certain knowledge, even to propose such a scheme for the
largest college in Dublin, namely, the Dublin Institute of Technology is regarded as
anathema. Any Crime Council worth its salt should study the
criminal justice system minutely and be familiar with every aspect of it, so that
its advices will be more meaningful than hitherto they have been. Any institute of criminology cannot be engaged in
dressing up police figures without having either a theory or a comment or an
explanation for any phenomena they regurgitate from those figures. Surely
criminology. Even Catholic criminology – even if incapable of being critical -- must
nevertheless display a rationale in order to sustain some semblance of social science.By its nature the CJS is no more than a piece of
accountancy technology and does not lend itself to theory.
One virtue that might arise when the CJS is fully
implemented is a raising of the level of observations made in respect to the system as a
whole. Indeed, institutions of social research, together with journalists who write on
criminological subjects, might raise the hitherto vacuous accounts on crime and
punishment -- accounts that are more calculated to inflame the senses than appeal to
the intellect. And journalists familiar with the system might learn to criticize the
failure of the other institutions to produce a very legible, transparent and accountable system
of criminal justice.

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