How a small group of pensioners make a real difference at Edinburgh Sheriff Court – Karyn McCluskey
Some rather special retirees are taking the time simply to listen to people in heightened states of distress
What have you thought about doing when you retire? Gardening? Golf? More holidays? Volunteering in the local charity shop? I suspect that, for very few people, "Edinburgh Sheriff Court" appears on the retirement list.
I once wrote there should be a sign above the entrance to the court declaring: “All human life is here.” Because it is. Vulnerability, hopelessness, fear, anxiety and shame are all here. Sometimes, surprisingly, relief makes an appearance. Justice too, but frequently sadness and often confusion.
There’s nothing quite like spending a day in the atrium of Edinburgh Sheriff Court. The bat-winged lawyers running between courts, bewigged sheriffs, court officers, police, security staff and social workers; all negotiate a daily stream of humanity.
Listening to victims and criminals alike
One sight feels slightly unexpected – a group of retired men and women wearing grey T-shirts emblazoned with just two words: “Listening Service”. These grey-shirted guardians provide a small pocket of calm in an otherwise challenging environment. They direct confused visitors, help others find their way around the maze-like building and, most importantly, they listen.
They listen to witnesses waiting nervously to give evidence. They listen to complainers and victims. They listen to family members supporting loved ones. They listen to the accused and the convicted. No judgment or assumptions, just basic human compassion in a world that often feels bereft of it.
Sometimes it’s simply saying, "Hello, how are you?" on a day that may feel like the worst of your life. That simple act of recognition matters more than we realise. Their boundaries are clear and non-negotiable; they won’t discuss cases or speculate about outcomes. Yet one of the questions they hear often is: "What do you think will happen?"
Court remains a profoundly alien environment for many. Most of us hope never to have to enter one. For others, the building is depressingly familiar – they know exactly where to go and who to see.
Complete troupers
I spent a morning with the service and found myself asking what motivated people, in their 60s and 70s, to dedicate part of their retirement to this environment. Was there some shared masochistic streak? True crime aficionados?
But no. Some had tangential experience of courts, others had backgrounds in education, healthcare or public service. But several had never set foot in a court before volunteering.
At a stage in life when many are entitled to seek an easier pace, they had chosen to spend part of their week engaging with people in heightened states of distress, grappling with grief, addiction, anger, confusion or fear. People who may have spent the previous night in a police cell. People who are not used to anybody taking the time simply to listen.
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The volunteers receive training and complete a shadowing period before working independently. I asked whether some recruits decide it’s too much, once the reality becomes apparent. A few do, but most stay – and some are complete troupers. The Listening Service began as a three-month pilot in 2016 – a decade later, some of those original pioneers are still there.
We often think of justice in terms of sentences, verdicts and legislation. In a building where people's lives can change forever in the space of a few minutes, being heard is sometimes every bit as important as being judged.
Karyn McCluskey is chief executive of Community Justice Scotland