The law grinds slow, but it grinds fine,’ so the saying goes. But it seems that those grinding wheels are lubricated with treacle at times – something that became evident with the breaking news that the Ministry of Justice (MoJ) is introducing a pilot scheme to offer jurors support after lengthy, difficult or emotionally demanding cases.1Paul Burnell/PA News, ‘Trauma counselling for jurors in distressing cases’, BBC News, 8 May 2024. Disappointingly, 20 years ago I was composing a letter to the court offices, asking for the very same thing.

In 2004, I was summoned for jury service at the Old Bailey. The case I was selected for was likely to last around three months, I was told, and came to be referred to in the popular media as the ‘ricin plot’ trial. It involved five Algerian defendants, all accused of a terrorist plot to produce poisons and explosives.

This was to be a highly charged political case. Much was riding on it for the UK and US governments and security forces, as the ‘discovery’ of ricin in a North London bedsit had ultimately been used as part of the justification for the invasion of Iraq. US secretary of state Colin Powell infamously stood in front of the UN Security Council in February 2003 arguing the case for war, claiming that ricin had been discovered in London and the plotters were part of an Iraq-based ‘terrorist network’. Prime minister Tony Blair had also weighed in, stating that ‘the arrests that were made … show this danger is present and real and with us now’. Both of those statements proved to be highly questionable.

The ricin case eventually ran for seven months. I was the foreman of the jury and we delivered our verdicts after lengthy deliberations in April 2005: we found one defendant, Kamel Bourgass, guilty on a single charge of causing a public nuisance; we found the remainder not guilty; plus, there was one charge where we couldn’t reach a decision. The judge had not allowed the press to report on the proceedings throughout the length of the trial, so all the media had to go on was a government press release, which painted a hugely different story from the one we had heard in evidence. Contrary to earlier alarming headlines, at the trial it was revealed that no ricin had ever been found, but despite this, the press was full of reports of a terrorist poison plot with possible Al Qaeda links (a red herring as the judge had not permitted the prosecution to present the ‘Al Qaeda’ evidence, as it was considered so tenuous).

However, there was also the shocking revelation that Bourgass, the single guilty defendant, had murdered a police officer, DC Stephen Oake, during his arrest and had wounded several others. At the time of the ricin plot trial, unknown to us, he was already serving a life sentence for murder. The judge had, quite rightly, enforced the media blackout to prevent the ricin plot jury from hearing this and possibly skewing their decisions.

The disclosure that we had unknowingly been sitting close to a murderer for seven months sent shockwaves through the majority of the jury, while the brutal and emotive misreporting by the media – which bore no relation to the measured evidence we had heard – disturbed others. The jurors met for a discussion soon after the trial ended and it became obvious that some were deeply disquieted by what had just been revealed: a shocking and violent murder conviction; and suggestions from some quarters, including senior police figures, that the jury had ‘got it wrong’ or been duped. All deeply worrying for some. As the jury foreman, I volunteered to write a letter to the court offices, asking if any support was available for jurors post-trial. The answer came back: we’ve been considering it for a while but sorry, there’s nothing in place at the moment.

Things got worse for one juror. He became increasingly distressed and fearful, convinced that his phone was tapped and that ‘government agents’ were paying him visits at work, feelings that had been triggered by learning about the supposed international terrorist aspect of the case through subsequent media reports. He became so obsessed with being spied on that he felt he had to change jobs and move home, for the safety of his family.

Sadly, he is not alone in jury service having a major detrimental effect on his life. While at the Old Bailey, we would often meet jurors from other cases. I got on nodding terms with one and mentioned that we’d been on our case for months on end. He looked at me sardonically before announcing that he’d been there for nearly two years as part of the jury on the Jubilee Line fraud trial. They had suffered severely: seven had had personal issues (forcing two to quit the jury entirely) and several had endured financial problems due to the low remuneration for jurors. Eventually, one juror refused to attend court completely and went on strike, causing the collapse of the whole trial.2David Leigh, ‘Jury protest forces fraud trial collapse after 2 years’, Guardian, 23 March 2005.

The Jubilee Line case may have been an extreme example, due to its length and complexity, but ordinary people who are selected for jury service routinely have to listen to horrific accounts of murder, rape, child abuse and torture, and other disturbing evidence.

As jurors, we go into the court system trying to do our civic duty, determined to uphold the law and give the best consideration to the evidence. The pressure to get it right can be intense. At the end of the case, however, there’s barely a ‘thanks and goodbye’ from the court system before being sent back to normal life. On a long case, what has become a daily job abruptly ends and we are left dangling, all sense of purpose suddenly lost. The Contempt of Court Act 1981 prevents us from discussing even the smallest details of the jury room deliberations with our nearest and dearest; those secrets must be taken to the grave. If there are mental difficulties, the best that we can currently hope for from the court is: ‘See your GP.’