As an Urdu court-approved interpreter, I’ve always prided myself on maintaining the highest level of professionalism, integrity, and impartiality. My job is to ensure that language barriers do not prevent people from getting the justice they deserve. However, on Friday, July 21st, 2024, I encountered a situation I never expected—one that left me shaken and deeply questioning how far some individuals will go to manipulate justice.
I was attending the second day of a four-day trial at Central London County Court, presided over by HHJ Ronan. The case involved two defendants for whom I was responsible for interpreting, as English was not their first language. This was a complex and high-stakes business litigation, and I had been hired through my agency by LIL Solicitors, the law firm representing the defendants.
The day had started like any other court session—intense, but manageable. By noon, we had finished the morning session in Courtroom 65, and the trial was adjourned for a lunch break. Little did I know, the events that would unfold next would put my skills—and nerves—to the ultimate test.
After the morning session ended, I joined the defendants, their barrister Mr. Mazdar, and the solicitor Mr. Anand Patel in a small meeting room for a brief discussion. Once we wrapped up, we left to head downstairs. I was walking a few steps behind my clients, slowly making my way to the lift when I heard a voice, sharp and unexpected, from the corner of the Court building.
“Madam Interpreter!” the voice called out in Urdu. I stopped, feeling an immediate pang of unease. Turning towards the voice, I saw Mr. Samir, a friend of the claimant, standing with the claimant himself and their interpreter. Though I had interacted briefly with them on the first day of the trial, I did not expect any direct confrontation.
“Yes?” I replied cautiously.
Mr. Samir walked over, his tone shifting from calling for attention to making a demand. “I’d like you to inform the judge that you need to leave court this afternoon due to some urgent personal matters.!”
I was taken aback, both confused and alarmed. Why would he ask me to do such a thing? I tried to clarify, responding, “ I’m sorry, what??”
He repeated himself, as if it was a command I had no choice but to obey. In that moment, a chill ran down my spine. I knew this was more than a strange request—it was intimidation. I was trapped in an uncomfortable position where any wrong move could jeopardise my role in the case.
“You have no right to speak to me like that,” I finally managed to say, keeping my voice steady despite the panic rising inside me.
Mr. Samir, however, did not back down. He pivoted his attack, questioning my professional competence. “Could you please provide evidence of your accreditation as a court interpreter? I have some concerns about your interpreting skills.” His words stung, not because they were true, but because they were meant to demean and discredit me.
I tried to walk away, but Mr. Samir followed closely behind, growing more aggressive. “Show me now! and you will do as I say!”
The fear escalated. I felt vulnerable, harassed. I responded sharply, “You stay away from me! This is harassment!” My heart pounded as I rushed towards the exit of the building, desperate to get away from him.
Outside, I ran into Rahul, one of the defendants I was assisting. He immediately noticed my distress and asked if I was alright. Still trembling from the encounter, I explained what had happened. He stayed with me until it was time to return to the courtroom.
Back inside the courthouse, I went straight to our conference room, where Mr. Mazdar and Mr. Patel were waiting. I recounted the incident, still shaken. They were visibly concerned, both for my safety and for the integrity of the case. Immediately, Mr. Mazdar notified the court, and security measures were put in place to ensure my protection.
When the trial resumed in the afternoon, Mr. Mazdar addressed HHJ Ronan, informing him of the harassment I had faced. The judge, in response, questioned whether I would be able to continue interpreting. I desperately wanted to carry on with my work, but I couldn’t shake the fear or the sense of violation that came from being targeted in such a manner.
Despite my best efforts to remain professional, I admitted to Mr. Mazdar and Mr. Patel that I could no longer provide fair and clear interpreting under these circumstances. The incident had taken a toll on my mental state, and I knew it would be impossible to do my job to the best of my ability.
By 4:30 PM, the judge allowed me to leave. As I walked out of Courtroom 65, a wave of disappointment washed over me. Not only had this incident shaken my confidence, but it had also prevented me from completing my duties—something I had never experienced before.
I have always maintained a clear boundary between personal feelings and my professional responsibilities. But this encounter with Mr. Samir was a harsh reminder of the unique challenges interpreters can face, particularly in a courtroom setting where tensions run high. I never expected to be caught in the crossfire of a trial I wasn’t directly involved in, but here I was, feeling both victimised and powerless.
Disclaimer: The blogs presented is entirely fictitious and created for informational purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The narratives, characters, and scenarios depicted herein are products of the author’s imagination and should not be construed as factual or representative of any real-life situations.
