Confronting Crime: Embracing Indifference, Fear (or both)

Often in competition with the corporate and commercial world lies the criminal law – equal parts confronting and capturing. Although fascinating to many law students, the criminal sector can be disheartening, frightening, traumatic. 

And, being honest, when paired with the stresses of weekly readings, quizzes and assignments, it can all be a bit too much. 

Overwhelmingly, a key criticism of our contemporary criminal justice system is that it functions as a band-aid, merely preventing the proliferation of crime as opposed to curing communities of the crime itself. And, for the most part, this is the case – the criminal law seeks to deter future offences, punish offenders for their conduct and protect the community. The closest we get to resolving a crime is rehabilitation, though that is oriented towards supporting the offender to overcome the strains which prompted their criminal behaviours. This emphasis on mitigating the causes of crime echoes contemporary shifts towards enacting a synthesis of reactionary and preventative measures in deterring offenders.

And yet, recidivism rates continue to skyrocket. That, paired with systemic flaws often reducing offenders’ culpability discourages law students from working in the sector. 

Fair enough – why be a criminal lawyer when so many factors beyond your control can undermine the work you do in a flash? 

Or worse – why be the reason why a heinous offender was not imprisoned and instead granted a community corrections order? 

These are all questions I grapple with daily from my family, friends, colleagues. “Criminal law is heartbreaking", they warn me, "you’ll be dealing with the worst of the worst." A particularly memorable concern I’ve heard was from an uncle (who is a clinical psychiatrist), "aren’t you scared of being in a room with a murderer, or worse, wouldn’t you feel ashamed trying to reduce a charge of murder to manslaughter?" And the cherry on top – my mother’s daily fear that I will become a criminal should I become a criminal lawyer. 

Collective to all these concerns is the toll the criminal law may take on my mental health, wellbeing and ethics. And, although these are reasonable worries, I think it’s time we shift the conversation and return to the basics. 

We as law students prioritise fact and principle over feeling. I feel that it’s no different here. Should I become a criminal defence barrister, the facts are that I will be in close proximity with people who have committed crimes, and that a substantial part of my work would be advocating on their behalf as to why they deserve a more lenient sentence. At a glance, merciless, I know, not only to the community, but also myself. 

But it goes deeper than that.

One thing you learn very early on in criminology, and to some end, in criminal law, is that people should be separated from their offences. It’s a hard ask in a world where media headlines profit off labelling individuals as criminals, and where imprisonment seems to be the only true punitive punishment. But, behind every crime is both a victim and an actioner. In many cases, the actioner themselves is a victim of an unreported perpetration. Enter the dark figure of crime and differential association – crime is a learned behaviour in response to a strain or circumstance, often used as a coping mechanism. 

Let me phrase this another way. Whether we admit it or not, we’ve all committed some form of crime. From making an indecent joke to a friend, or streaming a movie illegally, we’re all offenders in that regard. The only difference then, is that we acknowledge our offending, and we try to remedy our wrongs. We acknowledge that we drifted away from the rules, and we promise ourselves that we’ll drift back to being law-abiding citizens.

In essence, if we aren’t labelled criminals for such petty crimes, why are we so scared of the actioners we see on TV or in the news? Yes, the scale of their offending may be significantly more culpable, but, in essence, they’re trapped in a cycle of drift as are we. The only difference is that we can break out of it whilst some others can’t. To be a strong defence lawyer then is to recognise that not everyone can deviate away from their deviancy, and that a sentencing Judge ought to consider the extent to which such individuals can fully acknowledge their criminal responsibility. 

And I use the word ‘actioners’ purposely – to be labelled a ‘criminal’ is to be socially excluded with often little explanation why. ‘Criminal’ defines a person by their offence, till the two become synonymous. 

As future lawyers, no matter what industry we enter, we are officers of the law, and it is our duty to ensure that justice is done. But in the context of criminal law, justice is a bilateral right – both the victim and the actioner deserve to be treated fairly. 

Protecting justice then requires that we ourselves can learn to manage these complex feelings and combat the ambivalence. It means putting our mental health first, and learning to both take a break but not shy away from confronting content. 

And that’s especially important as we continue to study frightening conduct. Whilst I myself am indifferent to the crimes I study on a daily basis, I know many of my peers have been affected by cases. And it’s perfectly reasonable to be – harming others is frightening. I remember a conversation I had with a friend once, coming out of a workshop on sexual offences. Although the law has significantly improved, there’s still a long way to go, and honestly, that can be disheartening. 

But, instead of trying to explain the objectivity of the law, I emphasised to my friend the need to welcome this fear and angst. No matter what stream of law you may practice in, coping with pressure, uncertainty and fear is essential. Embracing this fear ensures that the criminal law serves to protect the humanity of people. To be overwhelmed by it is to recognise its importance in creating a safe community for others.

In my case, embracing indifference too was key. Initially isolating, I found myself somewhat distant from my friends and peers, feeling guilty for not having the same emotional reaction that they were. Did that mean I had no empathy? Was it that I was just immune to feeling? Or worse, would they think I support criminality because I couldn’t feel the disgust they did? It honestly felt like something was wrong with me.

But then, I realised that perhaps my indifference is my key asset should I enter the criminal sector. That, being able to detach conduct from an individual, a label from a victim would ensure that I could fulfil my duty of promoting justice. To channel my difference was to find a cause I genuinely cared about.

And that’s something that benefited my wellbeing and interaction with heavy content. What helped me restore my equilibrium was accepting that my emotions were different, and that they were an asset to me. 

And that’s what I ask everyone to do too. 

It’s totally normal to feel confronted. It’s also totally normal to be indifferent.

Instead, prioritise your wellbeing by learning to confront crime. Then, welcome, if not embrace, these feelings. Although tricky in the interim, managing that discomfort can only build your skill, not take away from it. 

Written by Arya Banerjee

Arya is a Law/Criminology student at Monash University.

He is passionate about criminal justice with specific interests in sentencing procedure reforms, victimology and resisting recidivism. 

Outside his studies, Arya frequently consults peak disability and multicultural advisory bodies, advocating for victims of crime and young people engaging in crime alike.