Witness

I am the witness and I am on the front lines of justice. Without witnesses, it would often be difficult, even impossible, to bring out the truth before the court.

Over a year ago, I was a witness to an assault in the street. Then, a few days ago, I received a summons to come testify in court. I came to the courthouse at 9:00 am on the scheduled day. The prosecution called me. Once at the courthouse, a police officer brought me to a little waiting room. Everyone who was called as a witness waited their turn. The police investigator in charge of the file came to meet me. He greeted me and gave me a copy of my written statement on the assault. I read it quickly because I remember that night very well.

A few minutes later, the prosecutor, a lawyer wearing a kind of black robe, introduced herself to me. She explained that she didn’t yet know when I would testify, and that she would do all she could to make it soon. It didn’t bother me so much to wait, even if I am taking a day off work at my own expense, but I still don’t understand why I have to come testify. I wrote everything I knew down in my statement. All they have to do is show it to the judge!

After lunch, it was our turn. I went and sat in the courtroom. Once everyone was present, the judge asked me to go wait in the hallway so that I wouldn’t hear the testimony of the other witnesses. It seems to be common practice to exclude people from the courtroom this way. An hour later, I was asked to enter. As I was testifying, I realised that what the lawyers and the judge wanted to know went far beyond the few lines of my statement, written at a table at the police station.

About twenty minutes into it, the prosecutor said she no longer had any questions to ask me. Phew! I was relieved – I thought it was over. Not at all! The accused person’s lawyer stood up and immediately began to ask me a ton of questions. After that, he showed me my statement, which I had unfortunately only read briefly before testifying. The lawyer constantly insisted on the differences between this written statement and my testimony. In answering these questions, I realised that I was missing some important details, such as the attacker’s eye colour. The lawyer seemed to imply that I was not telling the truth. What a horrible feeling! Suddenly, I wasn’t at all sure that I recognised the accused as the one who I saw in the street on the night of the attack. Memory plays tricks on us! Finally, I felt as if I had my back to the wall. I was wavering between saying that I was no longer certain about my version and hanging on to what I had said in order to save face. Even though the lawyer was very respectful toward me, I didn’t want him to win by making me look like an idiot. I had the impression – false of course – that it was my trial and not the trial of the accused. I decided to be a good person and stay honest: I admitted my doubt as to the identity of the aggressor.

Another thing was really difficult: the questions were asked by the lawyers (who were standing to my left and right), but I had to look at the judge when I answered. I had the tendency to look at the lawyer who was questioning me, but the judge brought me to attention a couple of times: “Look at me please, madam. I am the one who has to make a decision at the end of the trial, not the lawyers!”

After two hours of testifying, I was exhausted. Afterward, there were other witnesses, including the accused, who denied ever assaulting anyone. After hearing all the evidence, the judge had doubts and acquitted the accused.

Before leaving, I went to see the clerk to receive my compensation for being a witness. Witnesses receive a small amount of money for their presence in court.

Testifying is not an easy experience. If I am a victim of a crime one day, I would be happy to have a person like me there to see or hear what happened and to participate in letting the judge find the truth. I would be grateful to her for coming to court the way that I did today.