Twelve Good Citizens: Why Trial by Jury Remains a Pillar of British Liberty

Wednesday 25 February 2026

There are few institutions in the constitutional life of the United Kingdom more quietly radical than the jury. Twelve ordinary citizens — drawn at random from electoral registers — enter a courtroom, listen to evidence filtered through rules that have evolved over centuries, receive directions in law from a professional judge, and then retire to decide guilt or innocence. In that moment the immense coercive power of the state is placed in the hands of the governed.

It is fashionable in some circles to treat jury trial as inefficient, sentimental or even archaic — a relic of an agrarian past ill-suited to an age of complex financial crime and digital evidence. Yet such criticisms misunderstand the function of the jury. Trial by one’s peers is not merely a method of fact-finding. It is a constitutional device — a living barrier between the citizen and the Crown.

The lineage of jury trial is long and proud. From the clauses of the Magna Carta of 1215, which insisted that no free man should be punished save by the lawful judgment of his equals or by the law of the land, through the struggles of the seventeenth century against arbitrary imprisonment, the jury emerged as a symbol of restraint upon executive authority. In Bushell’s Case of 1670 — arising from the trial of William Penn — jurors refused to convict despite judicial pressure, and the courts affirmed that they could not be punished for their verdicts. That principle — that jurors must be free to decide according to conscience — remains one of the quiet triumphs of the common law.

The modern jury in England and Wales sits primarily in the Crown Court. It hears serious criminal cases: murder, rape, robbery, complex fraud. In Scotland, where criminal procedure reflects a distinct legal tradition, juries consist of fifteen persons and may return majority verdicts. In Northern Ireland, where political violence once necessitated temporary departures from the norm, the Diplock courts remind us that the jury is not indestructible — but that its absence is always felt as a constitutional compromise.

What, then, are the arguments in support of jury trial today?

First, legitimacy. The criminal law speaks in the name of society. It is therefore fitting that society should participate in its enforcement. A verdict delivered by twelve citizens carries moral authority distinct from that of a single professional judge. Even those convicted often accept the fairness of a process in which they were judged not by a remote official but by members of their own community.

Secondly, independence. Judges in the United Kingdom enjoy robust security of tenure and are rightly respected for their impartiality. Yet they remain state officials. The jury is not. It is transient, unaligned and unrepeatable. It cannot be promoted, demoted or disciplined for its conclusions. In politically sensitive cases — protests, allegations against public authorities, cases touching upon national security — the jury serves as a buffer against the perception, or reality, of institutional bias.

Thirdly, diversity of perspective. A single judicial mind, however learned, cannot replicate the collective reasoning of twelve individuals from different occupations and experiences. The common law has long trusted that truth emerges not merely from technical expertise but from deliberation amongst equals. In this respect the jury resembles Parliament in miniature — a forum in which competing intuitions about fairness are reconciled through discussion.

Critics respond that juries struggle with complexity. Financial crimes, they say, require specialist understanding; digital forensics can overwhelm lay comprehension. There is some force in this observation. But the solution is not abolition — it is adaptation. Judges already provide detailed directions in law. Expert witnesses explain technical evidence. Counsel are trained to present complex material in intelligible form. If a case cannot be made clear to twelve citizens, it may not be sufficiently clear to justify conviction at all.

Others point to cost and delay. Jury trials are longer and more expensive than summary proceedings. Yet liberty is rarely economical. The expense of jury trial must be weighed against the cost of wrongful conviction, public distrust, and the gradual concentration of adjudicative power in the hands of the state.

There is also a subtler argument in favour of jury trial — its educative function. Citizens who serve as jurors acquire direct knowledge of how the criminal justice system operates. They witness the presumption of innocence in action, the burden of proof beyond reasonable doubt, the careful exclusion of prejudicial material. They return to their communities not merely with a certificate of service but with an enhanced understanding of the rule of law. In an era in which institutions are often mistrusted, such civic participation is not trivial.

Nor should we underestimate the symbolic power of the jury. In times of political turbulence — whether debates over public order legislation, counter-terrorism powers, or the limits of protest — the presence of a jury reassures the public that ultimate judgment lies not with the executive but with the citizenry. The United Kingdom, unlike some jurisdictions, does not possess a codified constitution entrenched against parliamentary amendment. The jury is therefore part of the living architecture that sustains constitutional balance.

This is not to suggest that jury trial is flawless. Directions in law can be lengthy and difficult. Media coverage can risk prejudice. There are legitimate debates about majority verdicts and about the extent to which jurors should be permitted to discuss cases after conclusion. Reform however is compatible with preservation. Indeed the history of the common law is one of incremental refinement rather than abrupt rupture.

It is sometimes observed that most criminal cases in England and Wales are resolved without a jury — either through guilty pleas or summary proceedings before magistrates. That is true. But it is precisely the availability of jury trial in serious cases that underpins the legitimacy of the system as a whole. The knowledge that one may insist upon trial by peers shapes prosecutorial decision-making, plea negotiations and the conduct of police investigations. Remove that option and the equilibrium subtly shifts.

Across the Atlantic, jury trial is enshrined in the United States Constitution. In the United Kingdom, it rests upon incremental statute and tradition rather than entrenched text. Yet its cultural entrenchment is profound. It reflects a national instinct — that the determination of guilt should not be the monopoly of officials.

In supporting jury trials we do not indulge nostalgia. We affirm a principle: that the coercive authority of the criminal law must ultimately answer to the people. Twelve good citizens, summoned from ordinary life, embody that principle more vividly than any parchment charter.

The jury is not efficient. It is not always swift. It is sometimes unpredictable. But it is ours — a constitutional inheritance that binds the administration of justice to the conscience of the community. In an age of technocratic governance and algorithmic decision-making, that human interposition is not an anachronism. It is a safeguard.

The preservation of jury trial in the United Kingdom is therefore not merely a procedural preference. It is an affirmation of liberty itself.