The law, like other professions, has its own language. It helps keep all the lawyers huddled around some special stuff and keep the rest of us outside.

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It is not just the law that has its own language. Every profession does. Medicine has its codes; finance its acronyms; academia its jargon.

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But the stakes here are different.

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When a doctor uses unfamiliar language, the patient may feel confused. When a lawyer does it in a criminal court, a person may lose their liberty without ever fully understanding the process by which that happened.

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The courtroom is, in theory, a public place. Anyone can walk in. Justice is meant to be seen to be done. But language can quietly close the doors that architecture leaves open. You can sit in the gallery, hear every word, and still not understand what is unfolding.

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Inside the system, everything is precise. Each word has a settled meaning, refined over centuries. Outside the system, the same words are fogged, distorted, or entirely opaque.

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The person caught in the middle must somehow bridge that gap in real time, often under stress and with consequences that are immediate and irreversible.

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Which raises a simple question: why is the translation not built into the system?

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Why not accompany “custodial sentence” with “you are going to prison”? Why not say plainly that an adjournment means nothing will be decided today?

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Some lawyers already do this. The good ones always have. They quietly translate the moment into something human.

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But the system itself still speaks in its own tongue.

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And so the person standing there hears the words, recognises the sounds, and yet does not quite grasp the meaning.

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It is not that justice is absent. It is that justice is being spoken in a language we were never taught.

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