Powered by
MOMENTUM
MEDIA
Defending the rule of law can look like defending the indefensible – and that misunderstanding carries its own risk, writes Rebecca Ward, MBA.
There is a powerful image often used to describe the work of advocates: a barrister holding an umbrella over a convicted person as the rain pours down. It is symbolic, unsettling, and deeply human, a reminder that even in a storm of public condemnation, someone still stands beside the accused. But the image carries a quieter, more uncomfortable question: who defends the guilty, and who decides who is guilty or innocent?
In practice, many barristers, judges, and senior police officers who uphold the rule of law find themselves accused of complicity, corruption, or bias. They make unpopular decisions, excluding inadmissible evidence, cross-examining a complainant, or applying the presumption of innocence, and the lay observer, unfamiliar with due process, sometimes assumes such actions prove moral weakness or alliance with wrongdoing. In reality, these are not signs of failure, but the mechanisms that prevent it.
For many in the public, accusation and guilt have become synonymous. The logic appears simple: if someone has been arrested or charged, they must have done something wrong. Yet history says otherwise. The Innocence Project and its international counterparts have overturned hundreds of wrongful convictions, revealing how memory, bias, and flawed forensic processes can distort truth. These cases remind us that being accused does not mean being guilty, not for the defendant, and not for the lawyer who stands beside them.
That distinction matters. Because for every advocate who defends an unpopular client, there are others waiting to call them corrupt, complicit, or self-serving. Psychologically, this reflects society’s discomfort with ambiguity. It is easier to believe in villains and heroes than in complex truths. The tendency to project or scapegoat, traits linked to Machiavellianism and narcissism, allows the accuser to feel morally superior while avoiding cognitive dissonance. Certainty, in these moments, is not evidence; it is relief. The result is that those who defend the system become its most misunderstood participants.
Some advocates experience the darker side of this dynamic when faced with fabricated or malicious accusations. One barrister described being blackmailed by a relative who threatened to spread false claims of sexual misconduct unless money was paid. The allegations were baseless, yet the strategic dilemma was real: should they pre-emptively warn others, and risk amplifying the falsehood, or stay silent and hope the threat never materialised?
This is the psychological trap known as the Barbra Streisand effect. Attempts to suppress or pre-empt damaging information can make it more salient. When the singer tried to prevent the publication of photos of her home, the images went viral. In a professional context, a lawyer or judge who seeks to “get ahead” of a rumour can appear to confirm it, thanks to well-documented psychological processes. Ironic process theory shows that trying to suppress a thought makes it more vivid, while reactance theory suggests that when people believe information is being controlled, they want it more. Silence can be misread as guilt; transparency can sound defensive.
Neither strategy is neutral. Both carry risk. The reputational stakes are high, particularly in an era where social media can amplify accusations before truth catches up. Once a false claim circulates, it takes on a life of its own. Even when disproved, the damage lingers, what psychologists call the “continued influence effect”. For many in the law, this creates a constant state of vigilance and exhaustion, a form of moral injury seldom discussed outside clinical settings.
Strategically, there are no simple solutions. Some professionals quietly brief trusted colleagues, insurers, or professional bodies, creating a record without drawing attention. Others prepare legal advice in advance but resist public comment unless the threat materialises. The choice depends on context, timing, and psychological readiness. What matters is not speed, but deliberation.
This issue extends beyond personal reputation. When those who uphold the law fear being vilified for doing so, public confidence in justice itself is undermined. The very people tasked with defending fairness become targets of distortion. If advocates, judges, or police hesitate to act decisively for fear of false accusation, the system risks paralysis, a slow erosion of integrity disguised as prudence.
Here, psychology and law intersect most clearly. The human mind craves certainty, but justice thrives on doubt. To defend the accused is not to condone their actions but to defend the principle that truth must be proven. The same applies to those falsely accused within the profession. To assume guilt without evidence is to betray the very foundation of legal reasoning.
When viewed through that lens, the question becomes not “Should they defend the guilty?” but “If not them, then who?” The barrister under the umbrella, the judge making an unpopular ruling, the police officer holding a line of integrity, each carries the psychological burden of standing in the rain so others might one day see the sky clearly.
The law does not promise comfort. It promises process.
The rule of law does not exist to make people comfortable. It exists to protect the uncomfortable truth that justice demands process, not prejudice. And in that process, those who defend fairness, even when it costs them personally, are not just protecting others. They are protecting us all.
Rebecca Ward is an MBA-qualified management consultant with a focus on mental health. She is the managing director of Barristers’ Health, which supports the legal profession through management consulting and psychotherapy. Barristers’ Health was founded in memory of her brother, Steven Ward, LLB.
