Hoods and Cameras

Over the past couple of days, the Judicial Yuan and the Ministry of Justice issued a new policy that has given the media a headache: banning cameras from entering courts and prosecutors' offices. In the future, we will no longer be able to see spectacular scenes like Mr. K'o or self-immolators performing inside the court, let alone live broadcast footage of tycoons or stars cornered by microphones.

For us, who are accustomed to pressing close to the privacy of celebrities and starting our daily news with judicial cases, this measure is truly difficult to adapt to at first. However, this policy—which has been questioned as to whether it infringes upon the right to know—is far more reasonable than the policy announced just days ago allowing individuals to "apply to the court for a hood." Both policies stem from good intentions: valuing the privacy rights of parties involved in judicial cases. Yet, these two policies take two opposite approaches. The first is to cover the party: when individuals who do not wish to be exposed pick up a hood to cover themselves, the media naturally can do nothing about it, even though we will still see "XXX wearing a hood." The second is to bar cameras from entering the court; by doing so, we naturally cannot see what appearance these parties present when arriving at the court. The two policies immediately reveal a stark difference in human rights standards.

In the former, we see the feelings of the parties being ignored; judicial administrative authorities can only helplessly tell the parties: if you do not want to be exposed, cover yourselves up! The latter, however, turns around and tells the media: this is not your right. In fact, as long as reporters are still permitted to enter the court, there is no infringement on the so-called right to know. On the contrary, all viewers should understand that what cameras convey is not the truth, but merely part of a performance. Rather than saying we gain some right to know through cameras, it is more accurate to say that through cameras we satisfy our desire for voyeurism. By barring cameras from entering the court, perhaps we gain an opportunity to re-examine: "What on earth constitutes the right to know?"

However, the crucial factor that truly prompted the Judicial Yuan to decisively adopt this policy should be credited to the performers who have long used the court as a stage. Only after they thoroughly trampled upon the solemnity of the judiciary did the Judicial Yuan finally lose its patience and resort to this ultimate move. Nevertheless, we must remind [authorities] that if judicial administration cannot face the predicament that a court without performers still lacks dignity, it will fail to persuade society to accept this policy. Because what truly needs to be upheld is the solemnity of the court; withdrawing cameras is merely one way to reduce chaos, but not the entirety of it. The disappearance of cameras only means we cannot see, not that the court inherently possesses dignity.

From hoods to banning camera entry, the Judicial Yuan has taken a small step forward in human rights. However, the question for the next step is perhaps facing a court that resembles a wet market, and whether the court can establish respect and solemnity outside the lens of the camera.

※ Published in: Taiwan Daily