THE MARATHONER AND THE ADMINISTRATION OF JUSTICE

THE MARATHONER AND THE ADMINISTRATION OF JUSTICE

Osaro Eghobamien uses the marathon as metaphor to press for changes in the administration of justice

I had run two previous marathons. The 10th of April was the date set for my third and I was as determined as ever, but perhaps also a little more apprehensive. This year, the race was exclusively for elite athletes due to COVID -19 restrictions. I was once again given the rare privilege to spend the night in the same hotel as the elite. This concession always made me feel rather special. We gathered at the lobby as usual, between 4.00 am and 4.30 am on the D-day, preparing to be conveyed to the National Stadium.

I occupied myself with analysis of these slim and impressive physical specimens. I wondered how many hours they practiced. When in their childhood did they start to practice? What propelled them to compete at this level, and what made them seem so close –almost like a family? Soon my thoughts were on the race itself and the grilling my body was about to endure. Had I practiced enough for a 42km journey, and why was I doing this anyway? Would my efforts ever make a difference, and would I ever achieve the objective of winning anyone over to appreciate that with some personal sacrifice, symbolized through the gruelling agony of a marathon, we can each make a difference?

Soon, the technical adviser called out to all the athletes to file into a waiting bus. He took one good look at me and with a knowing smirk on his face, I fancied I could just about read his mind: “you are not an elite runner, but still, I respect you and your courage”. In no time we drove though the peace and quiet of Lagos and arrived the National Stadium at about 5.30 am. Rather quickly it was time for “on your marks”. I am not sure how the professionals react to this call, but on my part, there was a nervous chill that rushed through my body in a split second. As always, everyone started with a burst of energy, almost at the pace of a 100 metre dash! The elite of the elite, the Kenyans and Ethiopians, quickly disappeared, it seemed, into thin air. The rest of us were left in the company of sideline spectators running the type of humorous commentaries you would expect. I heard things like “Papa keep it up, the Lord is your strength”; “Daddy the Kenyans have finished the race”; “Daddy, it’s okay you are just making up the supporters’ club.” On the 3rd mainland bridge there were no spectators, no cheer leaders, and no children encouraging or jeering, just one very long stretch of road that seemed never ending. My thoughts voyaged again to the justice delivery system and remained there for the entire stretch. The questions seemed unending. Why could we not get simple things right and excel the way the Kenyans and Ethiopians did in this race? Why could we not adopt remote hearings for at least basic applications –given the implications of a global pandemic that has almost become somewhat stale, yet with little innovation to show on the part of our justice system, to make it more responsive to the needs of those whom it serves? And what about informing counsel when a case will not hold to spare the collective resources of the litigant, the counsel, the court and indeed the economy? Why could the brightest from the profession not be appointed to the bench, thereby importing legitimate scholarship into court judgments? Why not get lawyers and non-lawyers of integrity to monitor the life style (for, say, three years) of those considered for elevation to the bench, to ensure they are of a fitting moral character? Why not get the registrar to sort out all processes before cases are called in the Court of Appeal and Supreme Court? Why should a case be adjourned for two years simply on account that a process had not been served by the Registry?

So deep was I in thought, that in no time I observed I was walking at the end of the bridge. I had completed a large stretch of the task before me. At Bourdillon I was still going very strong when I noticed one of my colleagues after the 30km mark. Almost on cue, I began to feel the pain. Thereafter I did more walking and chatting than running or jogging. The more I walked the more I amassed cheer leaders and well-wishers. The more well-wishers, the greater the pain I felt, and yet the more I interrogated what it would take to see a justice system that exudes confidence and competence. I was offered rides by the designated buses to help many who may not be inclined to finish their task the way they had intended. It was tempting, but I quickly banished the thought and reprimanded myself for even considering it. I said to myself, it is so easy to cut corners and in any event is that not an apt allegory for our state of affairs–many short cuts are available for those who would take the path of least resistance. After about five hours of the ordeal, I finally walked into my colleagues waiting at the finish line. They cracked a great many jokes including the fact that the banners at the finish line had all been brought down! Even with these jabs, they were supportive all the way. Another jolt of adrenaline inspired by the humour and camaraderie, and I laughed all the way across finish line –despite my pains.

In the final analysis, I have found no better metaphor for the changes needed in our justice system, than a marathon. Changes to the administration of justice will not come as a sprint, but a marathon. What we do in pursuit of the administration of justice, and why we do it, must be subject to constant review and personal reflection for every stakeholder. The Justice Reform Project has its work cut out beautifully. Success in any task of reform requires discipline, mastery and self-control from all those who bear the primary responsibility of effecting the change. As the cliché goes, if you are not part of the solution, you just might be part of the problem.

Eghobamien is a Senior Advocate of Nigeria

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