(10) FROM JUSTICE TO NUDES, An Essay, by Pierre Alain GOURION (part 2) Translation C. Orgeret and D. Sarran

I’m not set on one particular model: naked, not naked, beautiful, ugly . I don’t mind , I would put myself in the jurors’ shoes! 

                                                                     François La Phuong, Avocat

Don’t shoot judges

What a strange and difficult job it is to be a judge. At the very beginning of this project I had an idea which seemed natural to me: to take lawyers and judges as my clothed models, so complementary are those two professions in a democracy. No lawyers without judges, no defence without a man hounded by public wrath. No true legal system without cross-examination. And to the question which we are so often asked :

-          How can a lawyer defend such heinous criminals ?

It is easy for us to answer by asking another question which elicits a positive answer :

-          Do you agree that every man, whatever he has done, has the right to be defended ? (13)

                                                                         

I had no trouble with the colleagues I contacted: after some explaining, they all, men and women, willingly agreed, often in a warm, amused and gratifying way.

The reaction of the magistrate friends I contacted was quite different. One of them, albeit a former lawyer himself replied :

-          I only express myself through the judgments I pass !

Hell, this razor sharp answer left no room for comment. Mezzo voce, I thought to myself, with that hint of rebelliousness which characterizes lawyers whenever they come up against judges, an essential function of theirs, that his way of expressing himself somehow lacked variety and humour. But never mind.

Another one, a former youth worker, now President of the Magistrates’ Court, explained that although he thought the project was fun, he couldn’t take part :

-          Can you picture me questioning or bawling out a sniggering prisoner who says to me: you’re the one who posed next to a naked woman, aren’t you ?                                                

All right.

Yet another, who has no hesitation in playing music at night with an Arab –oh my goodness!- explained to me by day that the obligation of restraint which applies to every public servant made my suggestion – tempting though he found it- impossible to carry out with judges. Maybe he was right : lawyers have more freedom and although they are bound by law to their professional order and confidentiality (which are meant to protect their clients and function and not them), they only have to answer to their clients and the President of their Bar in the case of professional misconduct.

                                                                            

(13) Alas, the America of Mr. BUSH and GUANTANAMO has not given the answer to this question that one might have expected from that democracy… It is being debated.

So I had to make do with them, considering them to be symbols of the whole legal profession. That was the reason why my friend VERNERET and I wanted to photograph François La Phuong and his mug (this brilliant lawyer had a stroke which robbed him of the power of speech, he from whom words used to flow like water): he embodies a social function that is pivotal and present all over the world – wherever free defence, true journalism and multipartism exist, often threatened, an everlasting quest. The quest for democracy is never ending, that’s how it is and it will go on!

Yet I would have liked to shoot a portrait of BURGAUD sitting on his chair, twisted, tortured, in front of his tormentors, our Members of Parliament and cameramen. On the left-hand page there would be lots of children naked in their lies and their false innate innocence. Paradoxes.

 

Stolen pictures

It was at the flea market, one Sunday morning round about the year 2000. The stalls were shining with a thousand odds and ends, spare parts, printed circuits, socks, kitchenware, make-up, all kinds of exotic products from the technical Western world, from the Muslim Maghreb, from the depths of Africa. We were in France, in Algiers, in Mali. A colourful, loud-mouthed, buoyant rabble. I was shopping, some tea here, a box there, lipsticks for the models, why not this cheese-grater…

Around noon, I went to the local bistrot, next to the tent where the head of security, a huge mountain of a man, a bearded North African, an integrated fundamentalist cop, kept an eye on things. A pint of lager, and a merguez sausage, swallowed in haste. It was raining on the bar window, hey, why not take a shot of the droplets meandering all the way down the window pane, with the souk in the background. And the atmosphere in the bar too, on an impulse, just as you take a few notes, draw a sketch or have a fag. A kid came up to me, about fifteen years old, good-looking and aggressive, as they are at that age.

-          Whatcha doin’?

-          ….

-          Taking pictures ?

-          Well, yes !

-          But you got no right to take pictures, you fucking sod ! You a copper or what ?

-          No, I’m not a cop, I’ve just taken a few shots, the window pane, the cafe, that’s all, nothing wrong with that…

-          Yeah there is you cunt ! You didn’t ask the women who’re there ! You’re a fucking paedophile!

 

It was obviously the worst insult he could think of. I burst out laughing (not being a paedophile) and asked my neighbour, a thirty-year-old Arab who was watching the scene with some embarrassment and a hint of compassion for me if I had done something wrong.

- Listen, you don’t bother me. But I’m an Algerian tourist, so the problems between Arab French people and French people are none of my business.

The teenager was at it again, insulting me even more; the bar owner didn’t say a word and neither did the customers, who were discreetly watching the row.

-          You’ll see, you bastard, as soon as you get out of here, me and me mates over there, we’ll crack your head open and nick your photo gear, I swear!

Outside, through the window, I could see over a dozen teenagers, the aforesaid mates staring at me aggressively. I turned to the bar owner, who had kept a cautious silence:

-          Is it not allowed to take snapshots in your bar ?

-          You should’ve asked, Mister, it isn’t done …

I had to go and see Mr. Bearded Mountain security man and demand that one of his men walk back to my car with me. Didn’t feel like getting beaten up by a mob of fifteen against one and having my Nikon Coolpix nicked into the bargain. Big Beard okayed it but rather grudgingly, he wouldn’t have minded that voyeur getting thrashed in fact…

I had made a mistake: not getting accepted in the environment first of all. The hazards of stolen pictures. A failure.

What a strange and wonderful job it is to write. I entrust my quill, sorry, my computer and its well-meaning software, with snatches of memory, attempts at thinking (legally an attempt is punishable), wishful thinking, a hotch-potch of warmed-up leftovers. I do it in the night, words bring more words, you’ll see whether they may suit you a little. I’ll make a show of modesty. Make an attempt at fantasy.

 

What a strange and wonderful job it is to publish. You can bring out some authors, spread ideas, launch new debates or old refrains. You can sing with the world, create your own little music.

Have a look at our photographs, at Marie-Ange LE SAINT’s masks,

 read the astonishing improvised speeches of our model lawyers / (which, reading between the lines, paint a broad picture of the function of defence),

                                                                 

10.    MULTIPLICITY

Lawyer: Béatrix de ROCHETTE

Nude: Roberto SCIRRI

Rather a rebellious young man, rebelling against society, rebelling against all corruption and holding that Justice doesn’t have the opportunity – I’m not saying it’s at fault – isn’t always given the opportunity to fulfil its role. It isn’t given the wherewithal.

It would be an acknowledgement of failure.

The boy would express aggressiveness, revolt, because he would not be able to realize his ideal at all: he is surrounded by people who have none. His youthfulness would contradict his aspirations. People would try to pick quarrels with him over trifles.

His ideal would be solidarity, equality.

He would be twenty years old. He would express aggressiveness towards himself (he wouldn’t like himself enough) and towards society. He would display surliness on the outside– when he is soft at heart, and a mocking attitude, because he is disillusioned. People would misunderstand him and, as a result, he would be even more at odds with them. When in fact he is quite idealistic and refuses to compromise with his conscience. But he reads the papers and finds nothing but mean compromise, judgments are questioned, corrupt politicians are exposed. We can wonder where he could find an answer to his aspirations.

Hence a huge sense of disappointment.

I was brought up in a remarkable school, here in Lyon, inspired by a spirit of loyalty and fairness. When I left it, I was bitterly disappointed. I found people mean, their concerns base. Many young people have to deal with this now.

He would have brown hair, he would express aggressiveness, disappointment, a certain degree of sadness even. And a measure of contempt if he doesn’t meet people who understand him and have an ideal too. He would shut himself off. Young people crave ideals but seldom find them around.

His mask would indicate the many-faceted aspects of his face: he looks all around him and finds nothing.

12. BLISS

Lawyer: François LA PHUONG

Nudes: Kata and Judit HORTOBAGYI, Marta SZABO

I don’t know. I don’t know. A woman. Not a man, no. A young and old woman, both, all three. It would be an evolution.

She would express bliss. She would be happy, happy…

I’m not set on one particular model: naked, not naked, beautiful, ugly . I don’t mind , I would put myself in the jurors’ shoes!

13. THIRST FOR JUSTICE

Lawyer: Jean-Pierre LERICHE

Nudes: Katarina E. and her children

A woman, not because she‘s naked, but because I get the impression women are more naked when facing the court. They’re less prepared for this kind of fight.

Of no particular age, neither too conventional, nor over the top. Women have a greater thirst for justice than men. Men use the legal system as a tool, as in sport, in a match. Whereas women reach for something deeper, hence higher expectations and greater disappointment because they idealize the law and expect a lot from it.

To start with, she feels a kind of awe, she believes in Justice, in the legal system, it’s an almost religious attitude. Then, once she’s been through the experience, she becomes disillusioned. In the end, disappointment prevails.

It’s a passionate relationship, even for a businesswoman. She’s very happy or very tough. She has no time for weakness. She finds a hasty judgment unbearable.

I’m surprised to find myself such a feminist!

She has a certain charm, as in a painting, without going as far as Rubens ... She’s forty-five and still quite attractive.

(…)

She is worried, as a mother can be.

No props. She is facing the court, naked, with her children. They have taken off their masks.

14. AWE

            Lawyer: Jean-Pierre MAISONNAS

Nude: Syhème REVOL-HENDAOUI

My alter ego?

Someone who would be me and at the same time not me?

Justice and its Double?

A counterpart?

I wouldn’t mind choosing a nude who appeals to women, I’d like to take Myriam P.!

It would be a form of absurd, slavish submission, a total lack of understanding of what goes on in court, in the judicial world, in the institutions, a submission to decorum.

It’s a sexless feeling and yet it’s two-sided. For some people who need lawyers, we are nothing but a tool, some kind of raw material. They don’t give a shit about justice. They’re a small fringe.

The others are submissive. They expect to suffer. It’s a High Mass with a few high priests officiating.

It’s not necessarily a man. It’s not necessarily a woman. Not necessarily old. Not necessarily young. Nor rich. Nor poor. It’s a cross-section.

 OK, given the choice, I’d prefer a female body, young, unruly, attractive. She would be attracted to the judicial body and fear it at the same time, a feeling of awe which would make her wear a mask.

I once pleaded against a very beautiful female colleague, before some old fogeys, and lost when I ought to have won! I didn’t stand a chance!

The Court of Appeal had their tongues hanging out…

Attraction, repulsion, seduction too… 

 Gilles VERNERET’s text and Azouz BEGAG’s too, not because he is a minister, but because he is a writer.

Hail, citizen reader, it’s your turn to judge.

                                Villeurbanne, 9th October 2006

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