Exploring resilience through research & projects

The Satisfaction of Justice

In modern society, the justice system stands as the place where a nation goes to correct wrongs, seek answers, and find reassurance that voices can be heard. It is meant to be the space where concerns are addressed and where there is a careful, meticulous effort to measure the weight of human cries. Over generations, over years, decades, and the lived experience of governments, particularly democratic ones, justice has evolved from an idea into an institution. It has become not just a system, but the system: the primary framework through which people understand fairness, order, and accountability.

Historically, justice wore a different face. Communities once relied on kings, guards, watchmen, and local authorities to protect families and assets. Security was visible, personal, and often immediate. As societies modernized, justice took on new symbols: a police car rolling down a quiet street, the confidence of making a phone call and knowing help will arrive, the expectation that there is an authority tasked with restoring balance when something goes wrong. Today, justice is embodied in the belief that wrongs can be righted through careful measurement of truth.

When justice functions as intended, there is a distinct feeling that follows. Whether one wins or loses, there is a sense of satisfaction, not because the outcome favoured you, but because the process felt fair. Evidence was weighed. Contradictions were examined. Humanity was acknowledged. Justice, in those moments, does its job.

Yet this satisfaction is not always guaranteed.

In my previous writings and in my book, I have often focused on one particular segment of justice: family law. It is an area where justice can quietly pivot, not on meticulous examination of facts, but on assumptions formed over time. Society, through repetition and cultural narratives, has sometimes deemed one party the aggressor and the other the victim by default. In response, systems are built to see the world through that narrow lens.

The danger arises when evidence tells a more complicated story, when contradictions exist, when facts conflict, when the truth resists simplification, but the response of the system does not change. When outcomes appear disconnected from evidence, justice begins to feel less like a process and more like a performance. Words spoken over the years, criticisms once dismissed as abstract or cynical, begin to carry weight.

This is where practices like forum-shopping emerge. In family law especially, individuals may move across jurisdictions, seeking courts perceived as more favourable to one party than the other. Justice becomes a game of positioning rather than truth-seeking. Actors perform. Narratives are rehearsed. Applause is earned not because facts prevail, but because outcomes align with expectations. In such spaces, justice risks becoming predictable, not because the truth is clear, but because the ending is.

And yet, there are courts and systems where justice still feels blind, where it does not matter who you are, what you look like, or which role society has assigned you. In those spaces, justice is equal and fair. You may win, or you may lose, but you walk away feeling heard. The judge weighs facts, not identities. Authority is exercised without arrogance. There is no sense of dominance, no projection of “I am final, and you are small.” Instead, there is human-to-human engagement, a level playing field, and respect for the gravity of what is at stake.

When justice is carried out with humanity, even defeat can feel acceptable. When decisions are grounded in explanation, precedent, and the accumulated wisdom of law, when the scale tilts based on probabilities rather than presumption, you do not need to understand every legal nuance to recognize fairness. You simply know when you have been dealt a fair hand.

The true failure of justice does not always lie in the outcome, but in the experience. It occurs when those overseeing proceedings forget their own humanity, when procedural rigidity replaces compassion, when bias masquerades as efficiency, and when predetermined conclusions eclipse genuine inquiry. Over time, these failures erode trust. Justice begins to rot at its roots, hollowing out the unwritten promise that it exists to make wrongs right.

Perhaps those entrusted with final decisions should pause, reflect, and ask not only what decision they are making, but how. There is a human way to wield authority, and there is an inhuman way. One leaves people feeling respected, even in loss. The other leaves them diminished.

If you walk away feeling satisfied, even after losing, justice has done something right. But if you walk away unsettled, carrying more questions than answers, having stood before someone who felt immortal, untouchable, absolute, then what you experienced was not justice.

It was merely an unfortunate encounter with power.

www.ajeenbeckford.com