Why great lawyers are quitting the criminal bar

Samira Taghavi

Fight for the things that you care about, but do it in a way that will lead others to join you. – Ruth Bader Ginsburg

This is a long piece – buckle up! But if I were to include every sad story I have been told about judicial behaviour, it would be a book.

I love this quote from the late Justice Ginsburg and I will keep returning to it. I have spoken to lawyers who appeared before her and their descriptions match what the profession has long known: she was measured, calm and unfailingly civil in court. She asked concise, pointed questions – never to belittle, always to clarify. Even when she disagreed fiercely, she treated counsel with dignity.

That balance – rigour with kindness – earned her admiration across divides. It is possible to be exacting and humane. It has been done.

A combination of things brought me back to the keyboard today: a friend’s LinkedIn post about her interaction with a judge in Christchurch shook me to the core. A trail of emails and messages then began arriving from other lawyers, with their own versions of the story. It was impossible to look away. And yet, alongside the sadness and anger, I felt a fierce pride. I was so proud of my friend – and as a defence lawyer, proud to see our profession operating at its best — for refusing to abandon her client, for standing her ground and for telling the truth in public.

But let’s be honest: saying “aw, that’s sad” is a reflex, not a remedy. Sympathy without change keeps the bruises hidden and the exits crowded.

This article carries the same heartbeat as my earlier piece about the quiet struggles of the defence bar. I said then that a single moment of judicial kindness could change a lawyer’s day – and sometimes their career. I still believe that. But I am done with whispering it. Today, I am saying it loudly.

 

The million-dollar question – and why it must be asked

After seeing my friend’s LinkedIn post, I rang her. We spoke, we compared notes and we asked the question I always hate: are women less kind than men to other women in the law?

I want the answer to be no. Often it is. But not always – and the “not always” is costing us big time.

It is costing us juniors who are leaving criminal law because they do not want a life built around fear, humiliation and impossible choices. I myself have already lost a junior I will dearly miss. That is a loss for her, for her future clients and for the system.

This is not a “men versus women “issue. Most judges – women and men – are measured, decent and fair. This is about power and culture. As the old line goes, if you want to know someone, give them power. If what follows that gift is interruption, point-scoring or process bent to convenience, that is not firmness: it is misuse.

I will keep names out of this. These are about conduct, not people. But those I write about are real.

 

A mother, a monitor, a memorandum

My friend from Christchurch had her second baby and, for weeks, lived beside a NICU crib. In the first week she did not know if he would make it. In the second, the question became ‘in what condition?’ By the third, they went home but facing a calendar of specialist appointments and monitoring that would stretch far beyond the newborn haze. In the middle of that, she tried to keep faith with a client who trusted her, and with a profession that tells us we can be both lawyers and human beings.

She did everything right. She flagged her unavailability for trials before May 2026. She asked for dates beyond that window. For a sentencing, with her client’s blessing, she sought permission to appear by VMR so continuity of representation could be preserved.

She first asked orally and was told to file a formal application closer to sentencing. She did exactly that – using the same standard form that had been accepted elsewhere for months – and a retired female judge (sitting) declined it. With VMR refused and every avenue closed off, she ultimately instructed an agent. Not because she lacked commitment, but because in that moment – with a newborn recently out of NICU – she did not have the reserves to keep fighting a refusal that should never have been necessary.

A separate matter shows the same pattern from another angle. My friend sought an adjournment of a trial date because of her post-birth circumstances. A female Crown prosecutor opposed the application; the adjournment was declined. Only later – when the matter came before a male judge – was the adjournment finally granted, with understanding and sympathy. The contrast speaks for itself.

From both the court and the Crown, too many emails read as if a newborn’s survival and a mother’s recovery were mere diary entries. What should have been hours spent cuddling a fragile baby became hours drafting memoranda, chasing consents and explaining ­– yet again – why counsel of choice and continuity matter in a criminal case.

I suggest those judges and prosecutors take two messages on board: continuity of counsel is not a luxury item and motherhood is not a scheduling inconvenience.

 

What judicial empathy looks like

After she sent me her email trail with the court and the Crown, together with her memorandum, I had a wee cry because I felt so incredibly sad for her and for any lawyer who has to go through this. I always take my hat off to the lawyers who battle through this work while raising a family. In a week when her whole world was a beeping monitor and a tiny chest rising and falling, she had to withstand institutional frostiness that no one in her position should ever have to face. It broke my heart. And yet I was fiercely proud of her for refusing to abandon her client, for standing her ground and for doing the work with dignity in the most fragile season of her life.

By contrast – and because it matters to say this too – only a few weeks ago I had a personal emergency and could not travel to Papakura for an afternoon sentencing.

I requested VMR. Not only was it approved within minutes, but the registrar relayed that the judge had asked whether changing the date would be less stressful and that he was happy to adjourn for two weeks if that helped. I remember thinking: this is incredibly kind. I felt seen and understood. Without my asking, the judge anticipated that a short adjournment might lighten the load. I accepted that generous offer and the matter was disposed of, calmly and fairly, two weeks later.

That is what judicial empathy looks like in practice: firm about responsibility, humane about the human.

 

A crowded list, a frosty spotlight

My second example involves another female judge. This account is from a junior lawyer – one of many who have come forward in recent months.

“This judge constantly likes to make an example out of me… I don’t know what I’m doing wrong to provoke her,” this lawyer tells me.

“The last time I appeared, I asked to be excused – as I saw other lawyers ask and be let go. She told me no. I sat down. She then asked, ‘Is there something pressing, counsel?’ I said, ‘No, Your Honour,’ and she said, ‘Well, good. I guess we will stick to the conventions of the court then.’ There were other lawyers at the bench. It’s not like I was leaving her on her own.

“The time before that, I left after my matter was done. I know I shouldn’t have, but other lawyers did it in a busy call-over list so I did the same. Another lawyer was sent to pull me out of a private discussion with my client and escort me back into court to be told off. It was humiliating and made me look unprofessional in front of my own client.

“I asked to be excused afterwards (since she told me to ask to be excused) and she said no. She waited at least five minutes to call the next matter – probably to prove a point.

“Later I heard – from a lawyer who wasn’t even there – that someone had told them about my ‘exchange’ in the courtroom. The rumour mill means every stumble becomes a story. It makes juniors feel like we must be perfect every second or we’ll become gossip. If judges didn’t create these situations, we wouldn’t have to worry about that. Some days I wish I could practise in another court.”

I wish I could tell you this is rare. It is not. And the cost is not abstract. It is the thud in your chest when your name is called. The knot in the stomach. It is the client who watches a judge belittle you and wonders if you are the one at fault. It is the quiet train ride home when a young lawyer resolves to find another area of law. We do not need perfect juniors; we need protected ones.

Several senior lawyers who appeared before the same judge have raised similar concerns.

They say during Crown Case Review lists, when many counsel maintained not-guilty pleas and sought trial call-over dates, the judge instead drew each into on-the-spot discussions about trial issues such as time, place and circumstance, and pressed for statements of fact and case histories immediately.

Counsel were pressured to indicate what was accepted, and in one matter the judge directed the file to record the Crown case as “largely uncontested” after probing counsel about “irrefutable” evidence.

When call-over dates were requested, lawyers were challenged – months ahead of trial – to specify in detail what issues would be raised. if they could not, the judge indicated that no call-over was required or that the matter should be resolved by memorandum. In other cases, counsel were told to run substantive applications then and there, even though the issues required formal written applications.

Senior practitioners are often able to push back, but junior lawyers felt unable to resist the pressure.

The issues identified by counsel include:

• circumvention of the Criminal Procedure Act: trial dates being set prematurely at case review while disclosure and issues remain unsettled;
• unrealistic demands:  counsel being required to forecast arguments and pre-trial issues on the spot, months before they can be properly assessed;
• improper process:  being required to argue substantive applications orally and immediately, rather than by proper written application;
• pressure on junior lawyers: while senior lawyers may resist, juniors or those newly on their own account often feel compelled to concede; and
• erosion of defendants’ rights: limiting time and facilities to prepare, squeezing the window for pre-trial applications and appeals, and distorting the early-plea regime.

These practices risk undermining both defendants’ statutory rights and the Crown’s obligations under the Criminal Procedure Act, and they distort the proper sequencing of case management.

And here is the point that must be stated plainly and without apology. The law does not require the defence to identify trial issues in advance. It is counsel’s prerogative to do so where it helps; it is not for the bench to force it out of them.

Most lawyers do not abuse that discretion. Where there is no prejudice, we often outline likely issues as a matter of professional courtesy and efficiency. But when counsel decline to do so, the legislation must be respected.

This writer and others did not fight the bureaucracy’s attempts to undermine the right to silence in 2011 to arrive at a culture where judges feel entitled to compel “identification of issues” on the spot as though they were above the law.

When passing the Criminal Procedure Act in 2011, all parties in Parliament unanimously and emphatically rejected those attempts to undermine our right to silence and any judge who ignores this basic tenet of our criminal process code defies the will of our legislature and defies the rule of law.

Counsel need to tell judges so.

I understand judges are under pressure. Timeliness is being shoved down everyone’s throats – lists are long, dockets are heavy and the public wants pace. I do understand. But timeliness can never come at the cost of justice. It must never replace process, voice or the right to be heard.

We will be taking this up with Justice Minister Paul Goldsmith. I would be surprised if it is his expectation that “faster” should mean “rougher”, or that “metrics” should trump natural justice. Timeliness is a metric. Justice is a mandate.

The professional harm here is layered.

Summoning counsel away from a client to be reprimanded in public corrodes client confidence and chills advocacy. The gossip ecosystem that springs up afterwards multiplies the shame. And underpinning it all is the smaller, sharper blade that repeats through the day: you do not get to finish a sentence before being interjected. The simplest courtesy in a courtroom is to let counsel finish their words. The constitutional principle behind it is even simpler: let them be heard.

In short: humiliation is not case management; process is a right, not a favour; ‘let me finish’ is not insolence – it is natural justice; and speed is not justice when it silences the defence.

Refusing to excuse a junior while excusing others is not neutrality; it is selective signalling. Dragging her back to be lectured in public does not teach respect; it teaches fear. Pressing for “largely uncontested” issues before the record is complete does not clarify them – it contaminates the record.

This is how bright people are driven out of criminal practice.

 

Walking the talk

The message has been sounded loudly. The Attorney-General has said there is zero tolerance for courtroom bullying and encouraged lawyers to report poor conduct so it can be considered when appointments and reappointments are made.

That is strong leadership. It must now be matched by systems that actually change behaviour.

The Chief Justice has been candid in her recent assessment that the justice system is under considerable stress: too few judges, long and complex trials, security concerns and a legal-aid regime that has produced a grave shortage of senior defence practitioners with unacceptably high workloads. That honesty matters.

The unavoidable conclusion: this is exactly why we need more people doing criminal defence, not fewer. If the system is straining now, imagine the next few years when there is no succession plan because talented lawyers have given up criminal practice. Without a pipeline, the lights go out: fewer counsel of choice, longer delays, harsher pressure on those who remain and a justice system that cannot breathe.

Here is the truth I do not want to write: if this trend continues, we will soon have no defence lawyers — or at least far too few willing and able to shoulder the work that justice requires.

We are already seeing the pipeline fracture. At every event, other seniors and I try to lure graduates into the criminal bar because it is meaningful, urgent and profoundly human work. We create internships, we mentor, we open doors. And yet the moment many of these new lawyers start going to court, they meet the sad reality I have described above – and they leave for other areas of law.

As for appointments, the Attorney-General’s zero-tolerance stance is a start. But if we are serious about temperament – about power held with empathy – then behavioural and psychometric assessment must become a standard part of judicial selection, not an afterthought.

We test for everything except the thing that holds a courtroom together. Let’s fix that.

And yes, we can run 10,000 more surveys charting gender representation and the vanishing pipeline, but unless the underlying causes are tackled – starting with the culture set by our judiciary — little will move. How much more dire must the situation be before a judge simply allows a senior female lawyer to keep doing her job than the example we have here? Another lawyer might well have looked at that treatment, said “this isn’t for me,” and walked away from criminal practice. That is how you lose seniority at the bar — especially among women. Surveys are mirrors; they are not medicine. The treatment begins with courtroom conduct, enforceable standards, and visible accountability.

 

What needs to happen now

We cannot tiptoe around this any longer. Courage takes priority. When a junior comes to you shaking after a list day, when a peer rings to say something is not right, the senior bar must do more than murmur sympathy.

Pick up the file. Put your name to the memorandum. Stand beside them at the bar table. We have responsibilities – to our clients, to our junior defence bar and to ourselves – to insist on fairness in the room, not just afterwards in the corridor.

People ask me, “Aren’t you worried about backlash, Sami?” My answer is simple: backlash for what – telling the truth?

Standing up for what is right should not carry a penalty. And if it does, we will meet it together and we will deal with it. This fear campaign – this fear of repercussion – is a sad reality I never thought I would encounter in this country. I once believed that kind of chilling effect belonged elsewhere — to Iran. That was false hope. We cannot build a just system on whispered anxiety. Courage is not optional now; it is the work.

To the bench, I say this as plainly as I can: continuity of counsel matters. When a lawyer has put the court on notice of parental leave and with a documented medical situation, the starting point should be to keep that lawyer on the case wherever it can be done safely.

That is not indulgence; it is justice made human. If VMR is declined, give reasons – real reasons. Resist the urge to fix trial dates before the case is genuinely knowable. And we live in a digital age: remote appearances should be allowed more often, not less – especially for short, procedural events. We do not have the luxury of being in five places at once, or of driving one or two hours for a five-minute hearing.

To the profession – my own house – stop normalising “find an agent, counsel”. Stop telling the junior bar – or any colleague – “you just need a thicker skin”.

No one should need armour to receive basic respect. Rise to what you are here for; with your seniority, stand up for them. Lend your voice at the bar table, your signature on the memorandum, your presence in the room. Silence in the moment is complicity afterwards.

Our work is not transactional. With vulnerable clients, trust is the engine of early, safe resolution. Treat trust like a spare part and the whole machine stalls. When you see a junior being squeezed, speak up in the room – not only later by text. And remember that truly irrational refusals to suitably adjourn (usually accompanied with the impulsive “find-an-agent” rider), can be challenged via judicial review.

To the juniors (and to the seniors who love them): you are not alone. Tell us what you are seeing, without names and without breaching orders. If attaching your name feels unsafe, give it to someone you trust and we will carry it for you. We are building a careful record because precision helps and patterns persuade. I was recently part of a panel on de-escalation, and my subject was de-escalation when the pressure point is our judges. When we reached this terrain, a loud “hear, hear” rolled through the room. We are many. We are not imagining this. We are ready to fix it.

And because talk must become action, we’ll keep a practical channel open. Please write to us every time something feels out of place. Tell us what happened and we will take it forward and be your voice.

Do not give up on criminal law. This work is not just a job; it is the thin line that protects due process, keeps families together where the law allows, and holds the system to its own promises. It is demanding and relentless, yes – but it is also profoundly meaningful, life-changing, and uniquely rewarding.

Every fair outcome you secure, every moment of dignity you safeguard, is a quiet victory for the rule of law. We need more of you, not fewer. I will also engage with the Defence Lawyers’ Association so that when it matters, we speak together, not alone.

And to leadership: we are fortunate to have a Chief Judge and a Chief Justice who are prepared to listen. We need to speak with them – and we will. This is only the start. Perhaps this judge, or another, needs support. Perhaps they are genuinely oblivious to the harm their behaviour causes. If so, let us help them see it – clearly, safely, and soon. Culture does not correct itself. It is taught, modelled, and held to account.

 

Ending where we began

I opened with pride. I end with resolve.

I am proud of my friend – not because an adjournment finally arrived, but because she refused to abandon her client or herself. That is the courage I want for all of us. And that is the culture we are going to build.

Silence ends here. We will take these patterns to the Chief Judge and the Chief Justice – respectfully, directly and with a careful record. We will invite them to stand with us in protecting process and people. We will maintain the channel for reports and make it a safe door for stories, a practical engine for change and a steady partner with the bench.

To every junior thinking of leaving: stay. To every senior weighing the cost of speaking: speak up. To every colleague who has been told to “toughen up”: you should not need armour to receive basic respect.

We will keep on reporting what we see. We will keep advocating for VMR where it protects continuity and fairness. We will keep insisting that timeliness is never a substitute for justice. And when kindness is shown – as it was to me in Papakura – we will say so, loudly, because that is the way forward: firm about responsibility, humane about the human.

This is not a threat. It is a promise that we will do our part to make the courts we love worthy of the people who walk into them. The work starts now and it will not stop.

He tāngata, he tāngata, he tāngata

It is people. It has always been people.

 

Samira Taghavi is a barrister and Practice Manager at Active Legal Solutions Ltd,  a member of The Law Association’s (TLANZ) Council, convenor of TLANZ Public & Administrative Committee and a member of TLANZ Criminal Law Committee