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Vampires

A Bohemian Vampire meets its end
From Les Tribunaux Secrets (1864)
By R. de Montaine

Guest Contributor: Deborah Hyde

The original vampire folklore came from central & eastern Europe. It came to the attention of the west at the beginning of the 18th century, but the Austrian Empire had expanded in that era: this means the many sudden reports may be understood as bemused westerners observing and reporting upon a folk practice that was probably already well-established within its own locale.

The most frequently found ‘vampire’ traits are that: the main ‘vampire’ is a person who has died suddenly, or violently, or of a ‘draining’ disease; they are quite often, but not always, disliked in life; a series of epidemic deaths follows the death of the original ‘vampire’; when examined, the ‘vampire’ corpse isn’t found to be ‘suitably’ decomposed.

This Victorian illustration depicts the apotropaic staking of a corpse to keep the ‘vampire’ in his grave – depicting horror themes and telling stories was as fashionable and popular then as it is now! But given that these
remains have decomposed as far as the skeleton, this corpse would never have been identified as vampiric in the folklore’s native lands.

Kelpie

Kelpie & Lover
Warwick Goble
The Book of Fairy Poetry (1920)

Guest Contributor: Deborah Hyde

‘Water Horses’ of all varieties were usually reckoned to be male. Freshwater kelpies, Highland Each Uisge, Manx Cabyll-Ushtey all preyed on humans, sometimes leaving just the liver to float forlornly to the shore after its owner had been consumed.

In the form of a horse, the supernatural creature would tempt people onto its back (which sometimes lengthened to accomodate a crowd) and then darted into the water to drown them. The offspring of a water-horse and a natural mare produced a foal that was impossible to drown.

The Satanic aspect cast over most fairy lore is apparent with Water Horses too, as Robert Burns Address To The De’il (‘Devil’) shows:

“Then water-kelpies haunt the foord,
By your direction,
And ‘nighted trav’llers are allur’d
To their destruction”

It is hard to establish the home form of these beings. They were reckoned to shape-shift from horse to handsome (or wild) man, in which form they were able to approach and perhaps seduce a human woman – a rather traditional take on predation.

Parallels with other European Wassergeists are hard to avoid.

The Tedworth Drummer

Frontispiece to the third edition of
Saducismus Triumphatus (1700)
Joseph Glanvill
Courtesy of the Mary Evans Picture Library

The tale of the ‘Tedworth Drummer’ is a classic poltergeist story. It tells of the mysterious disruption to the household of John Mompesson, a Wiltshire magistrate, between March 1662 and April 1663.
William Drury, an ex-regimental drummer whose vagrant living was supported by “hocus-pocus, feats of
activity and such like devices” was arrested, accused of using fraudulent documents to obtain money, and
presented to Mompesson; the magistrate let him go on his way, but confiscated his drum. There the trouble started,
and only became worse when the object itself was later destroyed.

The disturbances started with thumping and drumming while people were trying to sleep. It progressed onto
“plucking” clothes from the bed and throwing shoes. One household servant, a “stout fellow”, also attributed to the
drummer a supernatural attack which sounds to a modern mind like sleep paralysis: “he should find himself forcibly
held, as it were bound hand and foot”.

Drury the drummer seemed to be a serial offender; he took credit for the supernatural disturbances at Tedworth while detained yet again – this time for stealing. “I have plagued him” he reportedly confessed, “… and he shall never be quiet, ’til he hath made me satisfaction for taking away my drum”.
The story of the Tedworth Drummer comes down the centuries courtesy of the posthumously published
Saducismus Triumphatus (1681) of clergyman Joseph Glanvill (1636-1680). Subtitled Full and plain evidence
concerning witches and apparitions. In two parts. The first treating of their possibility. The second of their real
existence, it gave 26 ‘relations’ of supernatural events.

Glanvill wrote: “… those that dare not bluntly say there is no God, content themselves … to deny there are
spirits or witches” – so lack of belief in spirits was a slippery slope leading to atheism which Glanvill believed
to be attended by many social evils.

In his favour, Glanvill broadly championed religious tolerance and freedom of thought (his era was blightedby post-Reformation tension between Catholics and Protestants). He was an early philosopher of science and
thought the supernatural amenable to study by this method. This has led to him being regarded by some as
the father of modern psychical research.

However, Glanvill was methodologically lax by modern standards, drawing far too firm conclusions from
second-hand accounts, and he could even be regarded as gullible.

Sadducismus Triumphatus strongly influenced Cotton Mather, who supported the witch trials at Salem.

Possession

Guest Editor: Deborah Hyde

Many cultures and religions contain some concept of demonic possession, but the details vary considerably. Although the collection known as ‘The Old Testament’ contains few references to it, the ‘New Testament’ contains many; indeed Jesus could reasonably be regarded as a travelling theraputic exorcist.

Signs and symptoms of possession have varied, but convulsions were a staple at the height of the European possession hysteria in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The ‘possessed’ nuns at Louviers and at Aix-en-Provence performed lewd movements and grotesque contortions. In Salem in 1692, children Betty Parris and Abigail Williams had fits which included peculiar positions. Jane Throckmorton, child and putative victim of local ‘witch’ Alice Samuels in Warboys in 1593 suffered from bodily movements which included: “… to swell and heave up her belly so as none was able to bend her or keep her down”.

The positions accomplished by demoniacs were so extreme and unusual that they often helped to persuade onlookers that a powerful and malignant supernatural force was at work. How could anybody do, or want to do, this naturally?

But as pioneering nineteenth century neurologist Jean-Martin Charcot (1825-1893) pointed out, identical contortions could be a sign the sign of the newly-identified medical condition ‘hysteria’. He started by proposing that hysteria was a neurological condition, but eventually came to believe that it was psychological in origin.

There what links the ‘possession’ of early modern Europeans, the ‘hysteria’ of Charcot’s nineteenth century patients and the ‘mania’ of modern patients? We could regard them all as a communal ritual with a script and roles for both onlookers, experiencers and authority figures. The underlying distress and urge to act-out could be similar in different cases, and expressed through different cultural lenses. Levack’s book does a good job of placing the possession performance in its proper cultural context and avoiding the temptation to apply a facile ‘mental-illness’ explanation where a more multi-faceted understanding is called for.

How Do We See What Isn’t So: Part 2

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IN PART 1 OF THIS ARTICLE, I presented several examples of contexts where our inherent “effort after meaning” can lead us to see meaningful patterns where none really exist. Another context where this applies is the psychotherapeutic context. Clients often feel that there is great and profound insight in the questions and statements of their therapist and will often try hard to fathom the true significance of what is said.
Consider the following interaction between a woman and her therapist:

Men are all alike.
In what way?
They’re always bugging us about something or other.
Can you think of a specific example?
Well, my boyfriend made me come here.
Your boyfriend made you come here?
He says I’m depressed much of the time.
I am sorry to hear that you are depressed.
It’s true. I am unhappy.
Do you think coming here will help you not to be
unhappy?
I need some help, that much seems certain.
What would it mean to you if you got some help?
Perhaps I could learn to get along with my mother.
Tell me more about your family.
My mother takes care of me.
Who else in your family takes care of you?
My father.
Your father?
You are like my father in some ways.
What resemblance do you see?
You are not very aggressive, but I think you don’t want me to notice that.
What makes you think I am not very aggressive?
You don’t argue with me.
Why do you think I don’t argue with you.
You are afraid of me.
Does it please you to believe I am afraid of you?
My father is afraid of everybody.
What else comes to mind when you think of your father?
Bullies.
Does that have anything to do with the fact that your
boyfriend made you come here?

We can see from this extract the way that the therapist is skilfully guiding the conversation to allow the client to gain insight into her relationships with others. Except for one thing – the “therapist” here is a fairly primitive computer programme called “Doctor” with no real understanding of semantics whatsoever. It was written by Joseph Weizenbaum of MIT back in the 1970s and works simply by seeking out key words and doing some simple syntactic transformations (Weizenbaum, 1976). For example, if the programme sees “Do you X?”, it replies, “What makes you think I X?” If it cannot recognise a sentence frame, it might come out with “Please go on” or refer back to something from earlier in the conversation – as with its “insightful” linking of “bullies” and “boyfriend”. As with a client interacting with a psychic, the meaning and significance is read in by the client not actually present in the utterances – but many clients simply refused to believe that “Doctor” was nothing more than a clever bit of programming.

A similar point was made in a study carried out by sociologist Harold Garfinkel (1967) half a century ago. He told his participants that the Department of Psychiatry was investigating new approaches to “giving persons advice about their personal problems”. Each participant provided background details of some serious issue about which they would like some advice. They were then given the opportunity to put questions about this issue to a counsellor in the next room, the only restriction being that all questions must be answerable with ‘yes/’no’ responses. After a suitable pause following the submission of each question, back would come a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ response. Most participants were satisfied that the counsellor fully understood their problem and was giving good advice upon how to deal with it. In fact, there was no counsellor in the other room – only an experimenter feeding back ‘yes’ or ‘no’ responses on an entirely random basis.

The overall lesson to be drawn from such considerations for counsellors and therapists would appear to be that it is safer to accept current symptoms at face value and to treat them accordingly. If someone has a fear of horses, use techniques that help them to directly overcome that fear rather than assume that the fear of horses is a symbolic representation of some hidden, underlying fear. It is all too easy to join the dots and see exactly what one expected to see.

In this and the preceding column, I have only dealt with one side of the story – our bias towards seeing meaning when it isn’t really there. There are, of course, real dangers associated with missing meaning and significance when it really is there – and we should not forget that our motivation towards seeking meaning and making connections drives all scientific and artistic creativity.

In the words of Carl Sagan, “What is called for is an exquisite balance between two conflicting needs: the most sceptical scrutiny of all hypotheses that are served up to us and at the same time a great openness to new ideas. If you are only sceptical, then no new ideas make it through to you. On the other hand, if you are open to the point of gullibility and have not an ounce of sceptical sense in you, then you cannot distinguish useful ideas from the worthless ones.”

References
Garfinkel, H. (1967). Studies in ethnomethodology. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall.
Weizenbaum, J. (1976). Computer power and human reason. San Francisco, CA: Freeman.

This column is adapted from: French, C. C. (2015). The tendency to see meaning where there isn’t any – in therapy and in life. Reflections, 15(1), 11-14.

Professor Chris French, a former Editor in Chief of The Skeptic, is Head of the Anomalistic Psychology Research Unit at Goldsmiths, University of London (www.goldsmiths.ac.uk/apru). His previous books include Why Statues Weep: The Best of The Skeptic (with Wendy Grossman) and Anomalistic Psychology (with Nicola Holt, Christine Simmonds-Moore and David Luke). His most recent book (with Anna Stone) is Anomalistic Psychology: Exploring Paranormal Belief and Experience. He also writes for the Guardian (http://www.guardian.co.uk/profile/chris-french). Follow him on Twitter: @chriscfrench

More on the Here & Now

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APART FROM A MORE RECENT CONTRACT with a local mental health service, the last post I held as a psychologist in the NHS was at a nationally-acclaimed medium-secure unit. This is a psychiatric hospital where patients are compulsorily detained under the Mental Health Act because they present a serious danger to others and possibly themselves. The patients were all men (initially there were a few women) mainly in their 20s and 30s. Most had a history of violent offending and polysubstance abuse or dependence. The most common diagnosis was paranoid schizophrenia, often related to their use of drugs.

What had gone wrong in these people’s lives to bring them to this place? There were common themes in their personal histories – unstable family lives, absent fathers (often with criminal records), impoverished neighbourhoods, years spent in care, failure at secondary school, association with similar peers, early alcohol and cannabis use, and so on. In fact this is a story common to many prison inmates. So the answer to my question seems to be that the problem lies in their early upbringing (‘nurture’). If however you are, say, a geneticist or a neuroscientist, you may be keen for your specialism to explain where the problems lie (‘nature’) and what the solutions might be. Perhaps the genes that predispose people to criminal activity also make them low achievers, irresponsible parents, poor breadwinners, etc., and they pass on all of these attributes to their offspring.

I must declare that I am more favourably disposed to environmental accounts of criminality, partly as a result of my professional experience and the research evidence, partly for irrational reasons – I find those who espouse genetic theories tend to be unpleasant, mainly male, ‘we’re cleverer than you’ academics, whose pronouncements seem to be far removed from the realities faced by those directly involved, one way or another, with offenders (calm down – Ed.).

However, what are often neglected in discourses on the causal factors behind much of human behaviour are the powerful influences of the immediate social environment in which people find themselves. Amongst these influences are the expectations implicitly and explicitly fostered by that environment concerning one’s behaviour, attitudes, beliefs and values.

In the case of the secure hospital the majority of newly arrived patients would have been well socialised into the toxic environment of prison life: trusting no one, forever ‘watching your back’, betraying no weaknesses, always getting your own back, never ‘grassing’, and so on. Their mental state on admission could be quite severe; some would be in an acute psychotic state and be confined to their room, occasionally under constant observation from one or more nurses.

Over the ensuing weeks these patients would improve remarkably, owing to their medication, lack of access to drugs and alcohol, and increasing familiarisation with their new environment. But over the longer term another transformation would take place. Adherence to the prison ethos would fade into the background as the patients gradually adopted in significant, though admittedly not complete, measure the values and conduct promoted by their new community.

These included mutual respect and consideration at all times; deprecation of any form of physical or verbal abuse such as racist or sexist remarks, even in response to the same; the reporting of any intimidation or bullying by others; and strict adherence to house rules such as restrictions on what patients could have in their rooms or could exchange with each other. These expectations applied equally for staff and patients and were enforced with zero tolerance, with serious consequences for any transgressions. Importantly, unlike a prison, the construction of the unit and the visiting arrangements made the importing of drugs very difficult. (Remarkably, in time the unit successfully adopted a blanket no-smoking policy.) To witness at first hand the changes that came about in the personalities of these people was indeed heart-warming.

Unfortunately, the environment to which the patients would return in time (usually with an intermediate step such as a low secure unit or open psychiatric ward) would mostly likely not be one that fostered the same attitudes and behaviour that prevailed on the unit. Though post-discharge re-offending is lower for medium secure units than for prisons, especially for the first two years, all too often the discharged patients would struggle to maintain their improvement. For many their mental state would deteriorate and they would resume taking drugs and/ or drinking to excess. Saddest of all would be the occasional news of the death of a discharged patient, usually through inadvertent drug overdose or suicide. Still, I am certain that the unit had, and continues to have, many lasting achievements to its credit.

Many examples of the significant influence of the here-and-now environment are encountered in clinical practice. Speech and language therapists will tell you that the methods they teach their clients can work wonders in the session but this is not replicated in their clients’ everyday lives. ‘I feel a lot better when I am here, but it doesn’t last long when I get out there’ depressed patients may tell their therapist. Nocturnally incontinent children may have dry beds during a spell in hospital. The rituals of the obsessive-compulsive patients may cease on admission to the psychiatric ward (but may reappear when the ward starts to feel like ‘home’). More striking than these examples is the report that only 5% of heroin-addicted US soldiers retained their addiction once they returned home from Vietnam in the 1970s (compared with what then was the usual post-discharge relapse rate of 90% for addicts treated in clinics)1.

There is now growing concern in the UK about the mental health of children. Psychiatrists and psychologists are busy investigating what is wrong with the children – inventing tests, studying their brain scans and their genetic makeup, creating disease labels, and devising treatments – and no doubt personally benefiting from this industry. To ask what is wrong with the environment in which the children are growing up and what can be done about that implies political solutions that those who have power seem reluctant to consider.

The Death and Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks

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On the 29th January, 1951, a woman named Henrietta Lacks called into John Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, complaining that she felt a ‘knot’ in her womb.

Henrietta was a descendant of slaves and slaveholders, growing up farming the same land on which her forebears toiled, and that her relatives still farm today. She was the daughter of a poor tobacco farmer from Clover, Virginia. As part of an aspiring black middle class with rural roots, she left her childhood home to join a migration to Baltimore in 1941 with her husband and their two children, where her husband had a job as a steelworker. They had three more children, the last of whom, Joseph, was born at John Hopkins – the only hospital in the area that admitted black patients, in wards assigned for ‘Coloreds’. After Joseph’s birth, she suffered a severe haemorrhage, which prompted her visit back to the hospital because of the ‘knot’.

She was tested and a sample of a mass on her cervix was sent off for testing. The result of the biopsy showed she had a malignant epidermoid carcinoma (it later transpired she was misdiagnosed and actually had an adenocarcinoma, but the treatment would not have been different).

Henrietta was treated using radium tube inserts and discharged after a few days, with follow-up instructions to return for X-ray treatments. It was during her treatments that two samples of cells were removed from her cervix: one was a set of healthy cells, the other were from the tumour.

These cell samples were sent to one of John Hopkins’ cancer researchers, George Gey. He noticed that the cancerous cells exhibited unusual properties. Normally, cells cultured for laboratory analysis typically only survive a few days, which made it difficult to do multiple tests, as fresh samples would be required. Henrietta’s cells were different; they reproduced at a very high rate and could be kept alive almost indefinitely. This meant that many different tests could be done, without the need for multiple cell harvests.

Henrietta Lacks remained at John Hopkins until her death on the 4th October, 1951. During a partial autopsy, it was discovered that her cancer had metastasised throughout her entire body. She was buried in an unmarked grave in Lackstown, Virginia on land that was owned by slaveowners and later given to members of the Lacks family who were descendants of the slaves. Her exact burial site is unknown.

During her autopsy, one of Gey’s lab assistants, Mary Kubicek, was instructed to take further cells samples from Henrietta’s body, so that Gey could culture them for study. From these samples, he was able to start a cell line he named HeLa – Gey’s method of naming samples was to use the first two letters of a patient’s first and last names – a cell line that was effectively immortal, as the fast rate of reproduction and long life meant that they could be used, reproduced and studied indefinitely.

This was the first time that cells could be grown in a laboratory setting at a rapid rate – the first immortal cell line. As such, these cells were incredibly popular amongst researchers, as well as incredibly medically useful. In 1954, Jonas Salk used HeLa cells to help develop his polio vaccine. He also created the first ‘cell factory’, where HeLa cells were grown out on a production line in huge quantities. These cell samples were mailed out to researchers all over the world.

HeLa cells were used in some groundbreaking research, as well as some slightly more ethically dubious research – Chester Southam used HeLa cells to test if cancer could be transmitted by injecting them into prison inmates, as well as if you could use them as a type of cancer vaccine. They have been used for research into cancer, radiation, toxicity studies, and have been sent into space to test the effects of zero gravity on human cells.
George Gey, the researcher who originally took the cell samples, was a firm believer in confidentiality. The source of the HeLa cell line was kept secret until after his death in 1970.

In the early 1970’s, a large proportion of the HeLa cell line became contaminated by other cell cultures, so questions were asked about the original source of HeLa.

In 1975, after the providence of HeLa became known, Henrietta’s family began to receive requests for blood samples from researchers but had no idea why. It was only through a dinner party that they began to realise Henrietta’s role in scientific research 24 years after her cells had first been cultured, when a guest asked one of the Lacks family if they were related to the mother of the HeLa cell line. Henrietta’s close family had assumed that they might be being screened for cancer. However, this was an attempt to get a ‘clean’ sample of cells that might become another HeLa line.

The bounds of fairness, respect and courtesy had been breached in the case of the Lacks family. The gulf between them and the researchers – race, class and education – didn’t help matters. The researchers hadn’t offered any explanations.

The family were understandably both overwhelmed at finding out that Henrietta’s cells still lived and were being used for important scientific research, and furious that the original samples – as well as the samples taken during the autopsy – were taken without consent. When the family and wider black community found out about HeLa, it was seen as the case of a black woman whose body had been exploited by white scientists. Whilst John Hopkins never sold the HeLa cells, they have been used in commercial ways – cosmetic sensitivity testing, glue sensitivity testing, and other such tests. The original researchers may not have profited from HeLa, but others have. To date, over 11,000 patents originate from HeLa cells.

In the 1980’s, family medical records were published without consent and in 2013, researchers published the genome of HeLa cells; the family only discovered this when told by Rebecca Skloot, the author of a book about Henrietta. After complaints by the family, the genome was removed from public databases. Members of Henrietta’s family now sit on a committee that helps to oversee use of the HeLa genome. To date, none of the family have received any money from HeLa.

Until the Lacks family and the National Institutes of Health agreement, HeLa cells were considered to be ‘fair game’ – commercialised, bought, sold, had their genomes published and even used for some ethically dubious research. Under the new agreement, in part brokered by Rebecca Skloot on behalf of the family, the Lacks now have a say in how HeLa is used and what information on it can be made publicly accessible. Researchers who want to use the HeLa cell line have to agree to restrictions such as not sharing the genome information with others, reporting back on their results to the committee, and acknowledging the Lacks family in their publications.

It has also helped spark debate on ‘tissue rights’, especially amongst minorities; until relatively recently, courts have ruled that ‘discarded tissue’ was not the property of the donor, and could be used for commercial purposes. These days, people repeatedly ask if scientists or companies can commercialise cells or tissue, doesn’t the patient – as the provider of the raw material – deserve a say about it, and maybe a share of any profits that result? The forms given to people having surgery or biopsies usually spell out that tissue removed from them may be used for research. But patients today don’t really have any more control over removed body parts than Henrietta did. If your DNA or cells were used to create cures for diseases or used commercially, wouldn’t you at least want a say in how they’re used or a percentage of the profits generated?

Henrietta never knew her cells had been taken and died before the significance of her contribution to science, however unwitting, was known. Her legacy in the world of medical research cannot be overstated; to medical researchers, HeLa cells are as well known as lab coats, petri dishes and test tubes.

Henrietta Lacks may be the mother of the immortal cell line that bears her name and has made some people and companies very rich, but her name remains virtually unknown. Her family is not after fame or riches – they have never asked for money from the National Institutes of Health, just that her name is recognised and the hope that, in the future, people who have cell cultures taken might have a say in how they’re used.

Her grave site is still unknown, although a spot close to where her mother is buried, which is believed to be her resting place, only got a headstone in 2010 which was donated by Roland Pattillo, a faculty member of the Morehouse School of Medicine, a colleague of George Gey and friend of the Lacks family.

The donated headstone reads:

Henrietta Lacks, August 1, 1920 – October 4, 1951
In loving memory of a phenomenal woman, wife and mother who touched the lives of many.
Here lies Henrietta Lacks (HeLa). Her immortal cells will continue to help mankind forever.
Eternal Love and Admiration, From Your Family

Mark Duwe is a web-designer who works mostly in advertising, but he also teaches astronomy in evening class. He’s a qualified homeopath (he didn’t take the final exam and passed with flying colours) and thinks reality is good enough without having to invent stuff.

I Swear by Almighty God

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A LITTLE OVER TWO YEARS AGO I was invited to be part of a radio show discussing proposals that the oath taken in the Magistrates Courts be simplified (proposals that were later abandoned).

Anyone who has ever seen a courtroom drama will have seen that before a witness gives evidence they have to use a form of magic words so that those listening – be it the judge, the jury or magistrates – know that they have promised to tell the truth. The oath, or affirmation for the godless and those who don’t want to swear on their holy book, is meant to be binding on the conscience of those taking it. There is a dizzying array of oaths that can be taken in court. To give a small selection witnesses can swear on the Old Testament, the New Testament, the Koran and the Bhagavad Gita. I haven’t yet seen a witness being sworn on a copy of L Ron Hubbard’s Dianetics but that may only be a matter of time. There are other oaths, or promises, for child witnesses. Interpreters have yet their own oath, and the oath taken by a jury1 being sworn is different again.

The proposal being discussed appeared to me to be a modest one. Simply have one promise, secular in nature, to tell the truth. On the show I was against the well-known defender of the rich and famous, Mr Loophole himself, Nick Freeman. He was of the view that any dilution of the oath would be catastrophic. If people didn’t swear on their holy book of choice then there would be no reason for them not to lie in court, and then where would we be?

I pointed out that all witnesses swear an oath or affirm and that regardless of the form of words used a truthful witness will tell the truth and a liar will lie. For example in a criminal trial a witness might be sworn and say the defendant stabbed them in an unprovoked assault. Later in the trial the defendant will give evidence, make the exact same oath and claim he was attacked by the witness and only acted in self-defence. They can’t both be right: one has lied on his oath. The oath taken by one of them was meaningless.

I also recounted an appeal I was involved in where a young Muslim man was accused of joy riding (the technical term being taking a conveyance without the consent of the owner, admittedly not quite as zippy a term!). He said he wasn’t responsible because he was attending mosque at the time and it must therefore have been a case of mistaken identity. In support of his alibi he called the imam of the mosque. I was a little surprised when the imam came to take the oath. Rather than swear on the Koran, he affirmed. Now you might have expected that an imam would be well aware of whatever religious strictures there were in order to swear on his book. For example there is a requirement for ablutions. Those ablutions could certainly have been accommodated at the Court hearing the appeal.

It transpired that this was not the first time this issue had arisen. There have been other occasions where apparently religious people have been cross-examined on their oath or affirmation. The Oaths Act 1978 provides the relevant statutory basis. The first case, R v Chapman2, came a year later. That appeal was on the basis that an important witness hadn’t held the Bible in his hand when giving evidence, as the Act required him to. The appeal failed, the Court of Appeal ruling that the oath was valid if taken in a way binding and intended to be binding upon the conscience of the witness. The next important case was R v Kemble3, which seemed to have direct relevance to the issue I was facing. In that case the key witness, a practicing Muslim, affirmed. The defendant was convicted and appealed. The Court of Appeal heard expert evidence from a Professor Yagub-Zaki that:

“… no oath taken by a Muslim is valid unless it is taken upon the Koran, and moreover taken upon a copy of the Koran in Arabic. A translation into English or into any other language will invalidate, so to speak, the book so far as the oath is concerned under these strict religious tenets. There are also many sub-rules which govern the taking of oaths by persons of the Muslim faith, according to the Professor. For instance, a woman who is menstruating, and therefore considered to be unclean, cannot take a valid oath upon the Koran.”

Despite hearing that expert evidence, and purporting to accept it unreservedly, the Court of Appeal went on to ignore it. They looked simply at the statute and ruled that a lawful oath does not depend on religious intricacies. The question was simply: is the oath an oath which appears to the court to be binding on the conscience of the witness? And if so, is it an oath which the witness himself considers to be binding upon his conscience?

You might have thought then that it would be permissible to ask a witness whether the oath or affirmation taken was in fact binding. Well, the answer is: “not really”. In R v Mahmood4 a number of defendants were on trial for drugs supply. One affirmed before he gave his evidence. His own counsel later, and rather foolishly, asked if he was a religious man. The defendant replied that he was, which unsurprisingly prompted to judge to begin questioning him as to why he had chosen to affirm. The defence applied to discharge the jury. The judge refused, but gave a direction to the jury to ignore his questioning about the affirmation. The defence appealed. They were unsuccessful but the Court of Appeal had this to say:

“It was unwise for the judge, in the presence of the jury and without any prior discussion with counsel, to have asked the questions that he did. Evidence given on affirmation stood on an equal footing with … evidence given on oath. The important point was that the witness should consider himself bound by his conscience to give truthful evidence to the best of his knowledge. It was generally accepted that, without proper cause, counsel should not seek to explore why a witness had affirmed rather than taken an oath. If there was cause, any proposed questions were not to be asked without the leave of the judge, obtained in the absence of the jury.

I didn’t, in fact, cross-examine the Imam on his choice to affirm. However the bench hearing the appeal were unimpressed with his evidence, concluding that he must have lied. The appellant’s conviction was upheld. We might therefore have to tread very carefully around the validity of any particular witness’s oath or affirmation, but in giving evidence appearances matter a great deal.

1 I’m always heartened when a juror chooses to affirm rather than swear on a holy book. To me at least it demonstrates that they have a capacity to examine evidence and reject unsubstantiated claims.
2 [1980] Crim. L.R. 42
3 (1990) 91 Cr. App. R. 178
4 [2012] EWCA Crim 3107