About forty years ago I was involved in an Employment Tribunal case as a witness. I’m not so sure it wasn’t called an Industrial Tribunal, back then. Whatever it was called, the idea behind such Tribunals was that the man in the street could make a claim against his employer for acts of unfair dismissal and the such-like. I say ‘man in the street’ because in the ‘70’s men were in the street coming or going to work in industrial situations as part of a long-term need to work to raise a family, whereas women by-and-large worked in preparatory employment, preparing for marriage and raising children. Believe me, I am all for women having careers, it is their right as human beings, but bringing up the limited family of today is often a latter day decision rather than the raison d’etre of a relationship. However, now I’ve stirred up the feminine ire, I shall continue with what I really want to talk about...Employment Tribunals:
 
Mr Brown sat and told the Tribunal’s panel how he had been treated by his boss Mr Green; then
Mr Green gave his version of events. After a brief recess the Panel returned and gave its verdict. In most cases the combatants were content with this form of official mediation. It wasn’t mediation as we know it today, but a decision made by others to solve the impasse...simple. Well it was, but unfortunately it seems as if simple justice has been hijacked and turned into a golden goose in common with many things with monetary potential.
 
If you have an odd drizzly day to pass where there is nothing at the cinema or any other form of entertainment open to you, or you simply can’t afford to heat your home, why not sample the delights of an Employment Tribunal? Okay, you cannot sit there with a bag of popcorn and paper cup of coffee but if you find the right case it will be an eye opener...I commend them to you.
 
It will not be obvious that most of the combatants are legal professionals; but look harder and you will spot the clues...there will be solicitors sporting discreet dark suits with conservative ties or necklaces. They will have their expensive briefcases to hand and be supported by a raft of juniors pandering to their needs. In many cases there will be one or two more vocal adversaries whose patted down hair reveals the fact that they are more accustomed to wearing wigs in their normal daily roles. Huddled behind a desk you might spot the quaking form of a claimant, perhaps accompanied by an equally-quivering representative...each with real hope of achieving justice in a highly personal matter. Sadly though, both will be ill-equipped to deal with the technicalities understood and capitalised on by the various professionals at modern tribunals.
 
Justice today seems to be a commodity that could have a quotation on the stock exchange; it has a price which is often beyond the pockets of Joe or Josephine Public. Two years ago fees were introduced to further discourage cases coming to tribunals that were vexatious or initiated with the hope that the employer would cough-up just to avoid a tribunal. Unfortunately, these fees have caused ordinary folk to think twice about seeking justice, despite the merits of their case; that, coupled with well-versed barristers that will slit a claimant’s throat with a sharp-tongued remark, has made justice difficult to achieve.
 
In the coming weeks I may find myself pitted against the vested interests of the system; a claimant friend of mine, let’s call her Bella, having overcome the immediate financial penalties and natural trepidation, has nominated me to speak on her behalf. While I do my best to exhibit super-human confidence, I fear I may turn out to be just another of those quivering representatives.

​I shall keep you informed about my friend’s attempt to win justice in a worthy cause against an expensive legal team funded by a global interest with a near-bottomless pit. I do not overestimate my chances; I will not attempt to cover my concerns like an aging wrinkly, slapping an expensive cosmetic upon a lost cause, but this cause is morally right and just. That is what keeps me going.

I was confused by the piece I copied from Facebook this morning (22nd January 2016). While the story relates to actions by a gang of Muslim rapists in Norway, the picture appeared to be taken in the UK and the credit for the picture is ‘South Beds News Agency’. I discovered that the pictured used is not related to the Norwegian crime and the men have not since moved to the UK. There is no actual image of the guilty men in the article, one of whom rather appropriately, I thought, has the first name ‘Bile’, while the others have names we are more familiar with, such as Mohamed and Abdul.

Of course their crime was only rape and their victim survived her ordeal so the men, sentenced by one of the many do-gooders that seem to rise like scum to the surface, received little more than a telling off. Men such as these come from a culture that looks on rape as acceptable; just the slightest flash of ankle or hint that a woman has stepped out of line has men pouncing on her remorselessly. To add insult to injury such acts seem to have the backing of Imams that say Allah would approve their actions to punish the woman for her crimes. Wow!

It doesn’t take too much imagination to picture a sex-crazed gang lying in wait to spot a woman’s ankle revealed by a sudden gust of wind and then to punish her for air disturbed by Allah. That though, is in ‘their’ own countries isn’t it? Well it was, but no more; we have allowed this immorality to be imported to Europe and excuse the perpetrators of such serious crimes by blaming it on their ‘culture’. What rubbish, apart from being devoid of anything approximating to culture, their actions are nothing but opportunistic, knowing that some do-gooder will let them off.

Until we strengthen our resolve and have our politicians do likewise, the situation will get worse. There must be a policy of arrest, sentencing and deportation for these thugs that sends a message to those already in Europe and those seeking to come that we are not the tolerant twerps they take us for. If we don’t, quite soon we will find ourselves enslaved by a foreign ‘culture’.