Christie Wallace reflects on justice, tikanga and advocacy in the criminal law.

Recently I have had the opportunity to get some early exposure to criminal defence work back in my hometown. One lawyer once described this line of work to me as “being in the trenches” and I see why – my first real experience of the criminal law in action has left me both reflective and unsettled. I’ve watched many individuals, with histories of trauma and abuse, be funneled through the system with a brutal and mechanical efficiency. This article will explore some of my insights and reflections on criminal justice as I navigate working within this system.

It is clear that our criminal justice system is predicated on Western ideals of individual responsibility and punishment. From the outset, it was not a system designed to adequately respond to offending by Māori. Moana Jackson’s “He Whaipaanga Hou” set out this glaring reality decades ago. But the system doesn’t really work for anyone – Māori and non-Māori alike. It is cold, dehumanising and reduces people’s trauma and histories into an uplift or a discount. Victims are excluded from the process and from experiencing any meaningful justice provided by that system. Even the defendant, while a party to that process, is also symbolically excluded. Proceedings are essentially a conversation between judge and counsel, while the person whose fate is being decided sits on the outskirts behind a glass wall.

To me, this reinforces that a justice system that embraces tikanga values would be beneficial to everyone in that system, not just Māori. This merge is not without challenge, given the obvious philosophical clash between both systems. One system is punitive, with a linear process and fixed rules. The other system is rooted in restoration, ongoing dialogue, and adaptive practices. These are essentially two distinct philosophies of justice – one that focuses on individual culpability, the other on collective responsibility. Currently, only one of those philosophies dominates. Most tellingly, one lawyer I know said that he had seen more authentic expressions of tikanga in a gang-run community trust than in any courtroom. Yet one of these is seen as upholding justice, and the other is disproportionately targeted by the system.

What struck me most about working in criminal law is how easy it is to become desensitised to criminal offending and to systemic injustice generally. Legal professionals know that the system is flawed, but with court backlogs and a steady flow of cases, it becomes easier to keep moving. This isn’t a critique of those individuals but a reflection of the system’s momentum in perpetuating the status quo; even the most politically and socially conscious jurists find it easy to become absorbed in the routines of practice. As a result, critiques of the justice system’s philosophical foundations can feel disconnected from day-to-day work. Moana Jackson devoted his career to reimagining justice, but the system still lags far behind that vision.

My experience so far has reinforced that crime is not primarily a legal problem but a social one. The justice system does not exist in isolation from the society it serves. The courtroom is not equipped to address poverty, intergenerational trauma, addiction or other issues underlying many instances of offending. Sometimes the existence of these factors in offending can be obvious, such as one man recently charged for stealing a beanie and two merino thermals in the middle of winter; here, the real culprit is poverty. Other times, such underlying factors leading to crime are not as obvious. Another case, which involved violent offending, revealed that the defendant started using Class A drugs as a pre-teen. The provision of rehabilitative services after the fact seems too delayed a response to achieve meaningful change. The law plays a crucial role in responding to crime, but more urgent work lies outside of the courtroom to address the causes of offending in the first place.

That said, there are some positives. Initiatives such as Te Ao Mārama and the Rangatahi Courts are meaningful attempts to reshape the system. Te Ao Mārama seeks to make the court process more respectful and responsive to the needs of those that come before it, through incorporating tikanga and community-based approaches into the court environment. Rangatahi Courts also remove youth offending from sterile courtrooms into marae-based settings, and involve the wider community in these processes. These initiatives demonstrate that another form of justice is possible.

Despite the criticisms I’ve raised, I’ve found this work deeply engaging and this type of advocacy fulfilling. This experience has shifted my perspective on what advocacy is. While people should be held accountable for their actions, I now approach my work with more empathy towards all parties involved. The justice system does not provide restoration for defendants, victims, their whānau and the broader web of people affected by crime. A trial may produce a ‘winner’ but rarely does anyone come out unscathed. Therefore, it is important to approach criminal offending with understanding and compassion, and advocate for a more holistic approach to justice that prioritises restoration and maintains the dignity of all those involved.

While I’m still figuring out what my role in all of those may be, I’m certain of a few things. Maintaining empathy in advocacy while also being critical about the status quo is important. Embracing my cultural identity also gives me the confidence to challenge the status quo, which is an essential first step in advocating for systemic change. Without this grounding, it may feel easy to feel adrift or even complicit in a system that can perpetuate harm, especially toward your own people. As a novice in this area, I don’t purport to provide all the answers or suggest sweeping reform to improve the system. But this experience has shown me that meaningful change can start with how we show up – by rooting advocacy in empathy and cultural integrity. In a system that often strips people of their dignity, showing up with humanity might just be the most radical thing we can do.

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