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Through small but meaningful efforts, we can restore the sense of collegiality that has been so sorely eroded, says Baldip Singh
The world of the barrister is often seen through a lens of grandeur and tradition, with images of erudite legal professionals confidently striding into court, brief in hand, poised to deliver a crushing argument in dulcet, mellifluous tones. But for those of us familiar with life at the self-employed Bar, the reality is rather more prosaic – and often far lonelier. Hours are spent toiling away in solitude, our conversations largely confined to the steady hum of a photocopier or the mechanical clicking of a keyboard. The mental image of the barrister as a suave, sociable figure is frequently at odds with the daily life of relentless isolation. Indeed, it is a profession where one’s closest companions are likely to be a crumpled statute book and the unmistakable melancholy of court transcripts.
It is curious that a profession which demands exceptional communication skills and the ability to persuade should foster an environment where isolation can thrive so easily. The solitary nature of our work may have always been present, but recent events have exacerbated this condition to such a degree that it is hard to recall a time when the self-employed Bar was anything but a fragmented, lonely landscape.
It has been said, perhaps half in jest, that barristers, by design, are a peculiar breed. Unlike our more collaborative counterparts in the employed Bar or solicitor profession, who can enjoy the bustling hive of office life (and, if particularly unlucky, the office birthday cake), self-employed barristers are sole practitioners. While we may share chambers, and occasionally exchange pleasantries over the top of a half-empty teapot, our day-to-day activities are often solitary. We are, if you will, islands in an archipelago – connected in theory, but often separated by long stretches of unbroken ocean. Or, more accurately, by unbroken hours of legal research.
Even when physically present in chambers, it is not uncommon to see barristers ensconced in their rooms, surrounded by an ever-increasing fortress of legal texts, files and ominous-looking bundles. The silence is occasionally punctuated by the distant sound of a clerk on the phone, no doubt negotiating the intricacies of a listing that will inevitably be changed twice before the day is done. And while this professional solitude might have once been leavened by the prospect of a day in court, filled with brief exchanges and obligatory chats in the robing room, those interactions have been cruelly curtailed by the seismic impact of the COVID-19 pandemic.
If barristers were already somewhat isolated before the pandemic, COVID-19 cemented our status as modern-day hermits. Where once we ventured into the public realm of the courtroom – albeit briefcases clutched tightly as if warding off unwanted conversation – 2020 ushered in the era of remote hearings. Overnight, the courtroom transformed from a physical space of human interaction into a digital domain of muted microphones, poor Wi-Fi connections, and an overwhelming sense of disconnectedness.
It is difficult to overstate the psychological impact of this change. The once sacred rituals of court, donning the wig and gown, making small talk with colleagues, exchanging the occasional eye roll during an opposing counsel’s particularly specious submission – were reduced to an entirely transactional affair. Appearing in front of a judge became not a performance, but an administrative exercise. The human dimension, the sense of shared experience, evaporated. The Cloud Video Platform (CVP) screen became the new robing room, and any hope of collegial interaction dwindled with each failed attempt to ‘unmute’.
Survey after survey conducted by the Bar Council has confirmed what many of us already suspected: isolation, stress and mental health challenges have reached unprecedented levels. According to a 2021 study, over 50% of barristers reported a decline in their mental wellbeing during the pandemic. One in five considered leaving the profession altogether. No doubt these statistics reflect the unique pressures of the job, exacerbated by the extreme isolation that remote working and endless digital hearings imposed upon us.
One thing we sometimes forget in the post-COVID-19 haze of CVP links and Teams fatigue is just how isolating the profession has become for pupils and baby barristers. In the not-so-distant past, if you were unsure about a tricky case, you could simply poke your head around someone’s door and ask, ‘Is this mad, or am I?’ Now, it involves drafting a carefully-worded email or a slightly awkward WhatsApp, followed by a period of agonised waiting, wondering if you’ve just committed a career-ending faux pas.
The camaraderie of chambers corridors has been replaced with digital tumbleweed. So if you’re feeling a bit lost – you’re not alone. Quite literally.
At the heart of the Bar’s identity, at least in theory, is its tradition of collegiality. The legal historian in me wants to reminisce fondly about the halcyon days when barristers dined together at the Inns of Court, sharing stories of courtroom battles over a hearty meal and (presumably) several bottles of something. But let’s not romanticise too much. While the Bar may have been collegial in a different era, in recent decades, much of this camaraderie has been replaced by an increasingly individualistic, competitive ethos. The robing room, once a place of shared experience, is now more of a transit hub where eyes dart nervously between the clock and one’s opponent. We talk to one another, when we do, through the sterile filter of email, and if we meet in person, it’s often by accident rather than design.
The tradition of taking the judge out for a post-trial meal – a custom that seemed quaint even before the pandemic – has all but disappeared. The notion of sitting down with His or Her Honour at a local restaurant, free from the strictures of the courtroom, and sharing a convivial meal seems positively archaic in today’s landscape of hurried interactions and remote hearings. And yet, it was precisely these informal rituals that helped to foster a sense of community within the profession. The loss of such traditions has further eroded the already fragile bonds that connect us.
The question, then, is what can be done to restore some semblance of collegiality to the Bar? How can we combat the increasing sense of isolation that has been amplified by the pandemic? While the problems are complex, the solutions may be surprisingly simple.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a good cup of coffee (or tea, for those more civilised) is the cornerstone of many a meaningful interaction. Yet, when was the last time you took a fellow barrister out for a cup of coffee? And no, a hurried exchange at the court café while simultaneously reading through your skeleton argument does not count. Coffee breaks are, if I may be so bold, a dying art. The simple act of sitting down with a colleague, whether before a hearing, after a long day in court, or even mid-way through a particularly gruelling trial, can work wonders for one’s mental health. Not only does it provide a much-needed break, but it also creates an opportunity to connect on a human level.
Imagine, if you will, two barristers sitting down over a cappuccino, quietly grumbling about the endless adjournments, the Byzantine complexities of the CPR, and the curious insistence of certain judges on citing Denning LJ in situations where it is, frankly, uncalled for. Now that is collegiality.
The post-trial meal with the judge is a tradition steeped in history – and one that I would suggest we revive with great enthusiasm. After all, what better way to break down the barriers between the bench and the Bar than by sharing a meal and, more importantly, engaging in polite conversation about everything except the case at hand? There is something delightfully surreal about watching a judge delicately eat a lamb cutlet after spending hours being lambasted by counsel in court. It’s a reminder that, beneath the formalities of our legal roles, we are all human beings (even if some of us still harbour a grudge about that adverse ruling on disclosure). After all, wasn’t it Aristotle who said: ‘Man is by nature a social animal,’ highlighting the idea that human beings cannot achieve their full potential in isolation and that social interaction is fundamental to our existence and wellbeing.
While the logistics of such meals may require some finessing in the post-pandemic world, there is no reason why we cannot reintroduce this tradition. And if the judge declines, well, at least you’ll have tried and there’s always a takeaway option.
Social events at chambers have the potential to foster genuine connections – yet, in practice, they are often treated as a chore, or worse, as an event to be avoided altogether. But chambers should embrace the idea of regular social gatherings. Whether it’s a formal dinner, an informal drinks night, or even a chambers quiz, these events offer an invaluable opportunity for barristers to come together in a setting that is, for once, not governed by strict procedural rules.
It’s time to make these socials something to look forward to rather than an obligation to be endured. And if someone insists on discussing case law over drinks, well, that’s just the nature of the beast.
Chambers should prioritise family-inclusive events that allow members to engage both professionally and personally. By organising social gatherings that welcome families, such as picnics, barbecues or holiday celebrations, we create opportunities for barristers to foster meaningful connections without having to choose between their professional commitments and their family life. These inclusive events not only strengthen the bonds among colleagues but also cultivate a supportive community that acknowledges the importance of work-life balance. When barristers can share their professional experiences in the presence of loved ones, it enhances their sense of belonging and camaraderie, ultimately mitigating feelings of isolation and reinforcing the notion that the Bar is not just a workplace but a community that values the whole person.
Mentoring is perhaps one of the most underutilised tools at the Bar for combating isolation. The relationship between senior and junior members of the Bar is often seen as transactional, but the potential for a genuine mentoring dynamic is significant. For junior barristers struggling to find their way in a profession that demands perfection from the start, having a mentor can provide not only invaluable guidance but also a sense of belonging and support.
Moreover, for senior barristers, the act of mentoring can offer a sense of fulfilment, a way to give back to the profession and share the wisdom they have accumulated – wisdom, one presumes, largely gleaned from years of losing to much sharper opposing counsel.
It is all well and good to publish policies for court finishing at 4:30 PM as wellbeing initiatives. While I, for one, would welcome an earlier finish, if only to preserve what remains of my sanity, there is a broader issue at play. Chambers should not merely rely on early finishes to support the wellbeing of their members. Instead, they should look to proactive, long-term solutions. Mental health support, access to professional counselling, and regular stress management workshops should be as much a part of the chambers culture as, say, discussing the recent appointments to the High Court bench over biscuits.
But more than this, chambers should foster a culture where it’s okay not to be okay, where admitting to struggling isn’t seen as a sign of weakness, but of strength. Perhaps we should even have a seminar on how to handle the crushing disappointment of having your skeleton argument described as ‘ambitious’ by a particularly sardonic judge.
The life of a barrister need not be one of endless isolation. Through small but meaningful efforts, we can restore the sense of collegiality that has been so sorely eroded, not only by the pandemic but by the increasingly individualistic nature of our profession. Whether it’s through a simple coffee break, a revived tradition of post-trial meals, or a well-organised chambers social, we can rebuild the Bar as a place where we not only excel in legal argument but also in human connection.
After all, there is more to life than arguing about jurisdiction. Sometimes, it’s just about finding someone who will join you for a drink after court and commiserate about the fact that you still don’t quite understand Pepper v Hart.
The world of the barrister is often seen through a lens of grandeur and tradition, with images of erudite legal professionals confidently striding into court, brief in hand, poised to deliver a crushing argument in dulcet, mellifluous tones. But for those of us familiar with life at the self-employed Bar, the reality is rather more prosaic – and often far lonelier. Hours are spent toiling away in solitude, our conversations largely confined to the steady hum of a photocopier or the mechanical clicking of a keyboard. The mental image of the barrister as a suave, sociable figure is frequently at odds with the daily life of relentless isolation. Indeed, it is a profession where one’s closest companions are likely to be a crumpled statute book and the unmistakable melancholy of court transcripts.
It is curious that a profession which demands exceptional communication skills and the ability to persuade should foster an environment where isolation can thrive so easily. The solitary nature of our work may have always been present, but recent events have exacerbated this condition to such a degree that it is hard to recall a time when the self-employed Bar was anything but a fragmented, lonely landscape.
It has been said, perhaps half in jest, that barristers, by design, are a peculiar breed. Unlike our more collaborative counterparts in the employed Bar or solicitor profession, who can enjoy the bustling hive of office life (and, if particularly unlucky, the office birthday cake), self-employed barristers are sole practitioners. While we may share chambers, and occasionally exchange pleasantries over the top of a half-empty teapot, our day-to-day activities are often solitary. We are, if you will, islands in an archipelago – connected in theory, but often separated by long stretches of unbroken ocean. Or, more accurately, by unbroken hours of legal research.
Even when physically present in chambers, it is not uncommon to see barristers ensconced in their rooms, surrounded by an ever-increasing fortress of legal texts, files and ominous-looking bundles. The silence is occasionally punctuated by the distant sound of a clerk on the phone, no doubt negotiating the intricacies of a listing that will inevitably be changed twice before the day is done. And while this professional solitude might have once been leavened by the prospect of a day in court, filled with brief exchanges and obligatory chats in the robing room, those interactions have been cruelly curtailed by the seismic impact of the COVID-19 pandemic.
If barristers were already somewhat isolated before the pandemic, COVID-19 cemented our status as modern-day hermits. Where once we ventured into the public realm of the courtroom – albeit briefcases clutched tightly as if warding off unwanted conversation – 2020 ushered in the era of remote hearings. Overnight, the courtroom transformed from a physical space of human interaction into a digital domain of muted microphones, poor Wi-Fi connections, and an overwhelming sense of disconnectedness.
It is difficult to overstate the psychological impact of this change. The once sacred rituals of court, donning the wig and gown, making small talk with colleagues, exchanging the occasional eye roll during an opposing counsel’s particularly specious submission – were reduced to an entirely transactional affair. Appearing in front of a judge became not a performance, but an administrative exercise. The human dimension, the sense of shared experience, evaporated. The Cloud Video Platform (CVP) screen became the new robing room, and any hope of collegial interaction dwindled with each failed attempt to ‘unmute’.
Survey after survey conducted by the Bar Council has confirmed what many of us already suspected: isolation, stress and mental health challenges have reached unprecedented levels. According to a 2021 study, over 50% of barristers reported a decline in their mental wellbeing during the pandemic. One in five considered leaving the profession altogether. No doubt these statistics reflect the unique pressures of the job, exacerbated by the extreme isolation that remote working and endless digital hearings imposed upon us.
One thing we sometimes forget in the post-COVID-19 haze of CVP links and Teams fatigue is just how isolating the profession has become for pupils and baby barristers. In the not-so-distant past, if you were unsure about a tricky case, you could simply poke your head around someone’s door and ask, ‘Is this mad, or am I?’ Now, it involves drafting a carefully-worded email or a slightly awkward WhatsApp, followed by a period of agonised waiting, wondering if you’ve just committed a career-ending faux pas.
The camaraderie of chambers corridors has been replaced with digital tumbleweed. So if you’re feeling a bit lost – you’re not alone. Quite literally.
At the heart of the Bar’s identity, at least in theory, is its tradition of collegiality. The legal historian in me wants to reminisce fondly about the halcyon days when barristers dined together at the Inns of Court, sharing stories of courtroom battles over a hearty meal and (presumably) several bottles of something. But let’s not romanticise too much. While the Bar may have been collegial in a different era, in recent decades, much of this camaraderie has been replaced by an increasingly individualistic, competitive ethos. The robing room, once a place of shared experience, is now more of a transit hub where eyes dart nervously between the clock and one’s opponent. We talk to one another, when we do, through the sterile filter of email, and if we meet in person, it’s often by accident rather than design.
The tradition of taking the judge out for a post-trial meal – a custom that seemed quaint even before the pandemic – has all but disappeared. The notion of sitting down with His or Her Honour at a local restaurant, free from the strictures of the courtroom, and sharing a convivial meal seems positively archaic in today’s landscape of hurried interactions and remote hearings. And yet, it was precisely these informal rituals that helped to foster a sense of community within the profession. The loss of such traditions has further eroded the already fragile bonds that connect us.
The question, then, is what can be done to restore some semblance of collegiality to the Bar? How can we combat the increasing sense of isolation that has been amplified by the pandemic? While the problems are complex, the solutions may be surprisingly simple.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a good cup of coffee (or tea, for those more civilised) is the cornerstone of many a meaningful interaction. Yet, when was the last time you took a fellow barrister out for a cup of coffee? And no, a hurried exchange at the court café while simultaneously reading through your skeleton argument does not count. Coffee breaks are, if I may be so bold, a dying art. The simple act of sitting down with a colleague, whether before a hearing, after a long day in court, or even mid-way through a particularly gruelling trial, can work wonders for one’s mental health. Not only does it provide a much-needed break, but it also creates an opportunity to connect on a human level.
Imagine, if you will, two barristers sitting down over a cappuccino, quietly grumbling about the endless adjournments, the Byzantine complexities of the CPR, and the curious insistence of certain judges on citing Denning LJ in situations where it is, frankly, uncalled for. Now that is collegiality.
The post-trial meal with the judge is a tradition steeped in history – and one that I would suggest we revive with great enthusiasm. After all, what better way to break down the barriers between the bench and the Bar than by sharing a meal and, more importantly, engaging in polite conversation about everything except the case at hand? There is something delightfully surreal about watching a judge delicately eat a lamb cutlet after spending hours being lambasted by counsel in court. It’s a reminder that, beneath the formalities of our legal roles, we are all human beings (even if some of us still harbour a grudge about that adverse ruling on disclosure). After all, wasn’t it Aristotle who said: ‘Man is by nature a social animal,’ highlighting the idea that human beings cannot achieve their full potential in isolation and that social interaction is fundamental to our existence and wellbeing.
While the logistics of such meals may require some finessing in the post-pandemic world, there is no reason why we cannot reintroduce this tradition. And if the judge declines, well, at least you’ll have tried and there’s always a takeaway option.
Social events at chambers have the potential to foster genuine connections – yet, in practice, they are often treated as a chore, or worse, as an event to be avoided altogether. But chambers should embrace the idea of regular social gatherings. Whether it’s a formal dinner, an informal drinks night, or even a chambers quiz, these events offer an invaluable opportunity for barristers to come together in a setting that is, for once, not governed by strict procedural rules.
It’s time to make these socials something to look forward to rather than an obligation to be endured. And if someone insists on discussing case law over drinks, well, that’s just the nature of the beast.
Chambers should prioritise family-inclusive events that allow members to engage both professionally and personally. By organising social gatherings that welcome families, such as picnics, barbecues or holiday celebrations, we create opportunities for barristers to foster meaningful connections without having to choose between their professional commitments and their family life. These inclusive events not only strengthen the bonds among colleagues but also cultivate a supportive community that acknowledges the importance of work-life balance. When barristers can share their professional experiences in the presence of loved ones, it enhances their sense of belonging and camaraderie, ultimately mitigating feelings of isolation and reinforcing the notion that the Bar is not just a workplace but a community that values the whole person.
Mentoring is perhaps one of the most underutilised tools at the Bar for combating isolation. The relationship between senior and junior members of the Bar is often seen as transactional, but the potential for a genuine mentoring dynamic is significant. For junior barristers struggling to find their way in a profession that demands perfection from the start, having a mentor can provide not only invaluable guidance but also a sense of belonging and support.
Moreover, for senior barristers, the act of mentoring can offer a sense of fulfilment, a way to give back to the profession and share the wisdom they have accumulated – wisdom, one presumes, largely gleaned from years of losing to much sharper opposing counsel.
It is all well and good to publish policies for court finishing at 4:30 PM as wellbeing initiatives. While I, for one, would welcome an earlier finish, if only to preserve what remains of my sanity, there is a broader issue at play. Chambers should not merely rely on early finishes to support the wellbeing of their members. Instead, they should look to proactive, long-term solutions. Mental health support, access to professional counselling, and regular stress management workshops should be as much a part of the chambers culture as, say, discussing the recent appointments to the High Court bench over biscuits.
But more than this, chambers should foster a culture where it’s okay not to be okay, where admitting to struggling isn’t seen as a sign of weakness, but of strength. Perhaps we should even have a seminar on how to handle the crushing disappointment of having your skeleton argument described as ‘ambitious’ by a particularly sardonic judge.
The life of a barrister need not be one of endless isolation. Through small but meaningful efforts, we can restore the sense of collegiality that has been so sorely eroded, not only by the pandemic but by the increasingly individualistic nature of our profession. Whether it’s through a simple coffee break, a revived tradition of post-trial meals, or a well-organised chambers social, we can rebuild the Bar as a place where we not only excel in legal argument but also in human connection.
After all, there is more to life than arguing about jurisdiction. Sometimes, it’s just about finding someone who will join you for a drink after court and commiserate about the fact that you still don’t quite understand Pepper v Hart.
Through small but meaningful efforts, we can restore the sense of collegiality that has been so sorely eroded, says Baldip Singh
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