Competence & Compassion in Court: the Professional Ethos of Advocacy

The courtroom is often described as a theatre of reason - an institutional space governed by rules, rituals, and a shared professional language. For those of us who appear daily, its rhythms become almost second nature. Yet every so often, an experience ruptures the familiar cadence of practice and reveals something profound about the human dimensions of advocacy. A recent contravention hearing did precisely that for me, prompting reflections on competence, vulnerability, and the role of compassion within an adversarial system.

A Procedural Anomaly Becomes a Human Moment

The matter commenced unremarkably. I appeared for a respondent mother in what was listed as a two-day final contest. But it quickly became apparent that the applicant’s solicitors had not briefed counsel - an unusual oversight that cast the first shadow of disorganisation, and one I had never seen in my entire career. The instructing solicitor arrived at court in a state of visible disarray - quite literally sprinting from the entrance to Courtroom 2F. Breathless, trembling, and profusely apologetic, he asked whether we might seek an adjournment. I encouraged him simply to pause and collect himself, reassuring him that we could raise the matter with the Court together. But when I turned back to him, it was clear the prospect of stepping before the Judge and explaining the situation had rendered him almost paralysed. He stood frozen, wide-eyed, like a deer confronted by oncoming headlights - an unguarded glimpse of the genuine fear that can grip even seasoned practitioners when circumstances unravel.

Rather than compel him to appear in that state, I approached the Associate and quietly sought an administrative adjournment to the following day. It was granted, with the Court expressing the hopeful expectation that everything could be finalised in a single sitting. As we stepped out of the courtroom, I said to him, “Mate, you’re off the hook - it's adjourned to tomorrow. Just make sure you’ve got a barrister lined up.” I passed him my clerk’s number, knowing Rob’s near-legendary ability to source competent counsel at even the eleventh hour.

When I arrived at court that morning on Day 2, I was met with a sight that took me a moment to process. The same instructing solicitor I’d spoken to the previous day - flustered, anxious, and clearly putting on a brave face - was now robed. It clicked: he was running the final contest himself (as it happens, he didn't call Rob).

I’ve always held enormous respect for solicitors who appear in their own matters. Some are formidable advocates. But this was different. This was a man stepping reluctantly into robes he did not feel ready to wear. And it showed.

What unfolded was less a conventional hearing and more a study in human vulnerability under the intense scrutiny of the courtroom environment.

The Fragility of Competence Under Pressure

The solicitor was plainly unprepared for the demands of a contested hearing: his voice wavered, his collar visibly dampened with perspiration, his engagement with the Court hesitant and strained. He struggled with framing questions, understanding objections, and responding adequately to judicial enquiry. His discomfort permeated the room.

Watching him, I was unexpectedly reminded of the early period of my own career - those first tentative appearances where knowledge of rules provided only thin armour against unfamiliar conventions, linguistic nuance, and the looming fear of error. We tend to forget how disorienting the courtroom can be before comfort is cultivated through repetition. For experienced advocates, the courtroom becomes a familiar geography; for the uninitiated, it can feel like a foreign country with an unforgiving dialect.

In that recognition, I felt a genuine, almost instinctive empathy.

Empathy at Odds with Professional Obligation

The tension between human sympathy and professional duty surfaced most clearly during his attempted cross-examination of my client. Almost every question was objectionable - some on form, others on relevance, still others on the most basic rules of evidence. Initially, I refrained from objecting. My client was composed, and part of me could not bring myself to further destabilise someone already teetering. But that restraint could only be temporary.

Advocacy ultimately requires the subordination of personal sentiment to the interests of one’s client. And so the objections came - dozens of them. I stood and sat so frequently that it felt like an unintended exercise routine. And each time I rose, I felt the faint pang of knowing that I was, in some small way, adding weight to an already crushing day for my learned friend.

This tension - between compassion for a colleague and the uncompromising obligations of representation - is rarely spoken about, but it is an ever-present feature of courtroom life.

When a Case Is Lost Before It Begins

To be fair, the case itself was, objectively, unwinnable. Even a highly skilled barrister would have faced steep terrain. The evidence and law aligned squarely against the applicant. The real tragedy was not that the solicitor struggled, but that he was thrust into a hopeless brief without the benefit of experience or the opportunity to meaningfully advise his client to retreat rather than charge forward.

The limits of individual competence are starkest when structure and preparation collapse around them.

Judicial Conduct and the Ethic of Restraint

One of the most remarkable aspects of the day was the manner in which the presiding Judge conducted the hearing. It was evident that His Honour perceived the solicitor’s difficulty, and yet the response was measured, patient, and humane. Judicial restraint is often undervalued in public discourse, but it is moments like this that underscore its importance not only for justice but for dignity. The Court did what it needed to do, but did so without exacerbating the solicitor’s distress, and gave all reasonable opportunities to ensure the Applicant was at least able to present his case.

In a system often caricatured as adversarial to the point of hostility, the capacity for judicial compassion should not be underestimated.

The Hidden Emotional Labour of Advocacy

At the end of the day - after judgment delivered precisely as anticipated - the solicitor stood in the corridor visibly shaken. The adrenaline had dissipated; his client was berating him. The exhaustion, humiliation, and sheer emotional toll of the day were written plainly across his face. I approached him, as I had throughout the hearing, to check he was alright. It was only then, in that brief exchange outside the courtroom, that I realised how deeply human this profession is beneath its formal structures.

We speak often of competence, ethics, preparation, and advocacy technique. But we speak far less of professional kindness - the quiet, steadying gestures that acknowledge that lawyers, too, experience fear, inadequacy, and vulnerability.

A Reminder of How Far We Travel

As seasoned practitioners, we sometimes forget that the courtroom can be an intimidating arena - not only for litigants but for lawyers who are still finding their footing. We forget that procedural confidence is learned, not innate. We forget that our comfort is a privilege earned through years of practice.

This experience served as a reminder that kindness is not merely a passive moral preference; it is an active professional posture. It involves recognising when a colleague is struggling, validating their experience, and offering the dignity of support even while fulfilling one’s own obligations with competence and firmness.

Towards a Profession That Values Both Excellence and Compassion

Competence is, of course, indispensable. But competence divorced from compassion creates a profession that is technically proficient yet spiritually impoverished. The practice of law, and particularly the practice of advocacy, requires more from us than intellectual rigour. It requires humanity.

If the profession is to endure as one that is both demanding and decent, then perhaps we must be deliberate not only in honing our skills but in cultivating our empathy.

A small gesture of kindness in a difficult moment can ripple far beyond the courtroom. I hope it made a difference to that solicitor’s evening, softening the self-recrimination that might otherwise have accompanied his journey home.

And I hope it stands as a reminder - to myself as much as to others - that excellence and compassion are not mutually exclusive virtues. Indeed, the most honourable advocates embody both.

By Ashleigh Morris, Family Law Barrister at Victorian Bar.

For briefing enquiries, please email a.morris@vicbar.com.au or contact Patterson's List on 03 9225 7888.