Academic literature on the topic 'Criminal procedure Victoria'

In September 2007, the Victorian Sentencing Advisory Council released a report (2007c) recommending the introduction of sentence indications for indictable offences in Victoria's intermediate court. In response, on July 1, 2008, a legislated sentence indication process was implemented into Victoria's intermediate and Supreme Courts in s 23A of the Crimes (Criminal Trials) Act 1999 (Vic). This process is now governed by s 208-s 209 of the Criminal Procedure Act 2009 (Vic). Drawing upon national and international commentary and experiences with sentence indications, this article examines the potential benefits and disadvantages of the Victorian legislation, including its limited capacity to attract early guilty pleas and its potentially negative impact on victims and defendants. This article contends that the desire for court efficiency has led to the implementation of reforms across criminal justice systems that, while seeking to apply the benefits of reduced delays and early guilty pleas, ultimately prioritise efficiency gains above the interests of the public, victims and defendants. The Victorian Sentencing Advisory Council's proposal (2007c) and the subsequent provisions introducing an indictable indication scheme in s 208-s 209 of the Criminal Procedure Act 2009 (Vic), are used to inform this argument.

This article provides a case study of the process of criminalising a form of dangerous driving in Victoria. It examines the process whereby an ostensibly draconian Bill was transformed into one far less damaging to fundamental criminal law principles and illustrates how populism may be tempered by proper parliamentary procedures, cooperation between parties and a desire to balance political and legal imperatives. It also examines the place of constructive offences in the criminal law and the role that the consequences of an offence plays in the structure of the substantive criminal law and in sentencing, particularly in the context of driving offences.

The courts of summary jurisdiction in Victoria have recently streamlined procedures for the hearing of guilty pleas: sentencing decisions are now determined largely on the basis of a brief summary of ‘facts’ presented by the prosecution. To assess the extent to which these summaries detail the harm suffered by victims we analysed 276 assault case summaries. The data indicate that summaries rarely report details of victim injury even where this information had been gathered by police. However, the data also suggest that disclosing details of victim injury makes little difference to sentencing and other decisions. This article outlines how existing procedures have allowed information about victims to ‘get lost’ in the system. It argues that demands for reform of the criminal justice system to give greater attention to the interests of victims must take into account the system's commitment to administrative rationalism and technocratic justice. Systematising police summaries in the mention court may prove to be a practical way of reconciling the concerns of victims with the organisational priorities of criminal justice agencies.

The paper signposts a number of issues identified within the research project: Postcode Justice — Rural and Regional Disadvantage in the Administration of the Law. It highlights key areas in which regional Victorians experience disadvantage in access to justice system services in comparison to their metropolitan counterparts. Issues raised by interviewees and survey participants demonstrate inherent problems with the current delivery of justice system services, programs and processes in regional Victoria. Briefly explored within the paper is the relationship of ‘distance’ to the delivery of justice. The paper suggests that little consideration is given to the spatial disadvantage experienced by regional communities in the development of legislation or the implementation of justice system programs, practices and procedures. The paper also examines the Magistrates’ Court criminal court programs which embrace the principles of ‘problem solving courts’ and ‘therapeutic jurisprudence’. While they are important innovations, these programs have had limited roll-out to regional communities. In its conclusion the paper suggests that an independent and unified ‘voice’ is needed to ensure a genuine and informed response to the diverse areas in which inequity exists in the delivery of justice system services to regional communities.

The criminal law with respect to rape continues to be a major focus of academic, feminist and community attention. Since the 1970s a number of reforms have been introduced into the statutes and procedures relating to the definition of rape and the conduct of rape cases in the courts. This paper reports on the results of a 1990 Melbourne study, involving first-hand observation and systematic written recording of the entire court proceedings in six rape trials. The intention was to examine the role extra-legal socio-cultural factors play in the presentation and interpretation of accounts given in court and the influence they have on the outcomes. The analysis explores in detail the influence of the following: use of physical force and resistance; alcohol; the victim's social, moral and particularly sexual character, and her relationship with the accused.

In the aftermath of the High Court’s decision in Pell v The Queen to quash the guilty verdicts and enter verdicts of acquittal in their place, there has been considerable public discussion and academic commentary on the respective roles of the jury and appellate courts, with particular focus on the jury as the tribunal of fact. Pell v The Queen was a high-profile case involving sexual assault charges against a Cardinal of the Roman Catholic Church, when just a year earlier the Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse had published its final report which was dominated by abuses perpetrated in the Roman Catholic Church. This article considers the test for the unreasonableness ground of appeal set out by the High Court in M v The Queen, which is reflected in s 276(1)(a) of the Criminal Procedure Act 2009 (Vic), whether ‘upon the whole of the evidence it was open to the jury to be satisfied beyond reasonable doubt that the accused was guilty’; and concludes that the High Court was correct to adopt Weinberg JA’s dissenting judgment in the Victorian Court of Appeal which in the author’s view was compelling.

Currently, doping is an acute problem in professional sport. Solving this issue involves a series of related questions such as how to improve the doping control system or what drugs to prohibit for use. Historians believe that the use of doping during the Olympics dates back to the very foundation of the competition in 776 BC. Game participants took hallucinogenic and pain relieving extracts. These drugs would have been banned today, but in ancient times, athletes were not prohibited from using drugs that helped them win. Doping control is an essential part of a comprehensive programme of measures aimed at preventing athletes from using prohibited drugs. The regulations for organizing and conducting the doping control procedure adopted in our country fully comply with the requirements of the IOC Medical Commission. At the first detection of prohibited drugs, the athlete is disqualified for 2 years, and if it happens again, the athlete is disqualified for life. In this case, the athlete’s coach and physician are also liable to penalties. Nowadays, proposals have been made to the country’s legislative bodies to introduce criminal penalties for taking anabolic steroids without medical indications or persuading athletes to take them. Looking back at the history of doping, it can be concluded that that current sports victories are not won by athletes but by pharmacists who have made a profitable business out of professional sport, and their “well-oiled” system is not afraid of any doping control.

Let us work backwards from what we know, from personal experience: the photograph of which we have each been the subject. Roland Barthes says of this photograph that it transforms "the subject into object": one begins aping the mask one wants to assume, one begins, in other words, to make oneself conform in appearance to the disguise of an identity (Camera Lucida 11). A quick glance back at your most recent holiday gathering will no doubt confirm his diagnosis. Barthes gives to this subject-object the title of Spectrum in order to neatly join the idea of spectacle with the fearsome spectre, what he calls that "terrible thing which is there in every photograph: the return of the dead" (Camera Lucida 9). Cathy Davidson points out that in "photocentric culture, we can no longer even see that we see ourselves primarily as seen, imaged, the photograph as the evidential proof of existence"; photocentric culture thus generates "a profound confusion of image and afterlife" (669 672). Andre Bazin announces that the medium "embalms time, rescuing it simply from its proper corruption" (242), while Susan Sontag points out that it may "assassinate" (13). What photography mummifies, distorts and murders, among other things, is the sense that the reality of the self resides in the body, the corporeal and temporal boundaries of personhood. The spectral haunting of the photograph is familiar to anyone who has ever looked at snapshots in a family album. How much more present it was to the producers and consumers of early photography who engineered the genre of the memento mori, portraits taken of the dead or in imitation of death. Despite the acknowledged 'eeriness' of our own recorded and vanished pasts, such pictures seem grotesquely morbid to us now -- for what we cannot recover is the absolute novelty of photography in its early days, or the vehicle that it provided in the nineteenth century for a whole set of concerns about selfhood that begin, ironically, with death. Those early photographs bring to mind another death, that of the author. Re-enter Barthes, for it is he who definitively announces the new textual paradigm in which the author disappears. In "Death of the Author," Barthes calls the author tyrannical and adopts liberationist rhetoric in unseating him. But what cult is Barthes actually countering? His essay begins and ends with Balzac, and includes Baudelaire, Van Gogh and Tchaikovsky, while his heroes are Mallarmé, Valéry and Proust. Barthes' notion of the author is implicitly a nineteenth-century construction, to be undone by modernist writing against the grain. And what distinguishes the nineteenth-century author from his predecessors? His portrait, of course. Thanks to the surge of visual and reproductive technologies culminating in the mechanised printing process and photography, the nineteenth-century author is suddenly widely available to readers as an image. The author literally becomes a face hovering above the text; it is this omnipresence that Barthes objects to. Photography gives new momentum to the cult of the author, but this is not mere historical coincidence -- that the photograph is developed at a point in history when authorship is particularly mobile: in between the Romantic individualism that transforms authorship from a craft to a calling, and the modernist interrogation of ontology and representation that explodes such notions from within. However, the opposite is also true. Photography as we know it is a product of the institution of authorship. Photography is founded on and makes available, through the democratisation and dissemination of a certain technology, a concept of public selfhood that hitherto had been reserved for those in charge of textual representation, of themselves as well as of other subjects. Primarily this is because the ideological, technological and material vehicles of the photograph -- identities, characters, scenes, the properties of chemical interaction, the invention of specialised apparatus, poses, props, and photo albums -- were closely related to book culture. How did photography change the notion of the author? It did so by commandeering truth claims -- by serving as the scientific illustration of divinely-ordained natural laws. The art of chemically fixing the image obtained through a camera obscura was perfected in 1839 by Louis Jacques Mandé Daguerre and William Fox Talbot, separately, with different techniques.1 Daguerre's method caught on quickly, partly because his daguerreotype recorded such exquisite detail. The daguerreotype surface was reflective and sharply etched; inspection with a magnifying glass disclosed minutiae -- insects, eyelashes, objects in the far distance. The daguerreotype, popularly nicknamed "the pencil of the sun," seemed like a miniaturised and complete mirror of the world, a representation without human intervention.2 In 1839, and throughout the 1840's and '50's, photography transparently supported the notion that the discoveries of science would help reveal God's secrets, not disprove them -- a view that suffered but continued on after the publication of The Origin of the Species in 1859. Its presumed objectivity and comprehensive truthfulness made photography immediately appealing as a scientific and artistic tool. Although it was used to record geologic formations and vegetation, the bulky apparatus of the early photographic methods meant that it was better suited to the indoor studio -- and the portrait, in which the truth of human character could be made visible. It served as a means of defining normality and deviation; it was central to the project of identifying physical characteristics of the insane and the criminal, and of classifying racial features, as in the daguerreotypes made of slaves in the United States by J. T. Zealy in 1850, which the natural scientist Louis Aggasiz used as independent evidence of the natural differences between the races in order to endorse the doctrine of "separate creation" (Trachtenberg 53) So perceptive and penetrating did the photograph seem, it was even deemed capable of revealing vice and virtue, and it was in this way that the photographer moved onto the terrain of the author. The truth-telling properties of photography seemed to corroborate the authorial estimation of character that was a central element of nineteenth-century fiction. In texts where photography is itself on display this property is especially obvious -- in Nathaniel Hawthorne's The House of the Seven Gables, for example, where true and secret characters are only discerned in daguerreotype portraits. But photography did more than divinely and scientifically confirm fictional character; the venerated author's ability to delineate moral qualities made him, or her, an exemplary character as well. The Victorians prized "sincerity," the criterion by which they measured their authors. Especially in the influential pronouncements of Carlyle, the Victorian notion of sincerity "makes man and artist inseparable" (Ball 155). An exemplary moral life was particularly powerful in the form of an author. Indeed, it was through authorship of some kind that such lives could take the public form they needed in order to fulfill their function as models. And so photography appears not just in the text but on its margins, framing and qualifying it: the portrait of the author, already a bibliographic convention, gains additional authority through the objective lens of the camera, in which the author's character is exhibited as a kind of testimony to his or her truth-telling abilities. The frontispiece guarantees the right of the author to moral leadership. As literacy and readership expanded and exceeded former class distinctions, the nineteenth-century author began to need to market himself in order to find and keep an audience. But since the source of the author's authority was sincerity, the commodification of the authorial self presented a dilemma. Some writers, such as Dickens, embraced this role; others withdrew from the task of performing a public self, but their refusal of the public's gaze was itself often dramatised, as for Tennyson, Elizabeth Barret Browning and, after her death, Emily Dickinson. The photograph portrait of the artist, as well as other likenesses of his visage, was a particularly convenient piece of authorial paraphernalia because it sustained the idea of the author as moral exemplar, but in fact it was only one of the many ways in which nineteenth-century readers kept the author before their eyes. Souvenirs such as autographs, original manuscripts and other tokens testifying to the presence of the author's body, as well as gift books and precious editions designed to generate and satisfy fans, were mainstays of Victorian keepsake culture. The photograph as corporeal souvenir signals the point where we must turn around and consider the question of photography and authorship from the other direction: that is, how the institution of authorship constructs photography. Given that photography as an art developed out of the desire to eliminate the human hand, to trace directly from nature, it seems ironic that photography could have an author. And yet it was the notion of a public and visible self, associated primarily with authorship, which accounted for the widespread popularity of photography. When the daguerreotype was introduced in 1839, enterprising amateurs in Europe and the United States transformed it from a tricky chemical procedure into a practical art, a livelihood. Daguerrean saloons appeared in the cities and in rural areas, itinerant daguerreotypists set up temporary headquarters. But every daguerreotype studio had two purposes, whether it was the high-end urban atelier of Southworth and Hawes in Boston or a peddler's rented room: it was the place where one went to have one's picture taken and it was also a public gallery, where the portraits of former customers were displayed. In an urban gallery, those portraits might include the poets, ministers and politicians of the day, but even in a village studio, one could see exhibited the portraits of the local beauties, the town big-wigs. Entering the studio as a customer or a spectator, anyone could imaginatively take his or her place among an assembly of eminent personages. More importantly, the daguerreotype and later forms of photography made portraiture accessible to the middle and working classes for the first time. The studio was a democratic space where one could entertain the fantasy of a different self, and in fact one could literally enact that fantasy through the props and accessories of identity that the studio provided. In borrowed hats and canes, sitting stiffly in chairs or standing against painted backdrops, holding books, flowers, candles, and even other daguerreotypes, the sitter could assume the persona he or she would like others to see. Often the sitter composes an obvious gender performance, other times the sitter exhibits himself as the master of a certain occupation. With the invention of the wet plate collodion process in 1851, which made it possible to reproduce quantities of images from a single negative, the public went in for the carte-de-visite, on which one's very own portrait was imprinted and handed out like a postcard souvenir. The carte-de-visite necessitated a new way of keeping and displaying multiple photographs, and thus the photo album was born. But in fact the paradigm of the book already governed photographic display and the storage of the personal collection. When the Bible was the only book a family might own, it served as the cabinet of memorable dates and events. Other kinds of mementoes were stored in lockets and books: locks of hair, painted miniatures, pressed flowers. Daguerreotypes were kept in small codex-like cases or in hinged lockets. The souvenir and its symbolic connection to the body (one's own or that of a beloved) was of course not limited to the cult of the author but was available as a mode of identity to anybody who read novels. The culture of the souvenir, the keepsake, the personal precious object stored in a book, offered a means of articulating the self that readily accommodated the photograph, and in that context, the photograph took on the properties of a personal talisman. In the wake of photography, the scrapbook, the flower album, the signature album -- all those vehicles for collecting and displaying the ephemera of a lifetime -- flourished. Books were no longer mainly devoted to dense layers of print but could consist of open space to be filled in by their owners, who would thereby become authors of their own works and incidentally of their own identities. The popularity of the album was partly due to developments in printing, which was changing from a text-based industry to one increasingly concerned with images, a shift that culminated in photo-offset printing and photoduplication. But the popularity of the album and other biblioform containers for the personal collection also has something to do with the culture of the souvenir, which prepared the way for the photograph as personal talisman and then accomodated the tremendous expansion photography offered to the self. Via the photograph, a self that was allied with its own mementoes would be transformed: selfhood formerly attached to an object intended for private contemplation was subsequently attached to an object intended for exhibition. Via the photograph, the same publicity attendant on the circulation of the author was incorporated into the stuff of the ordinary subject, who regarded his or her own image and offered it up to history. The reflexive spectacle of visible selfhood brings us back to the return of the dead, that feature of the photograph which seems to persist, and perhaps illuminates the difference between the kind of death it spooks us with now and the kind of 150 years ago. For our ancestors, the photograph was a way to cheat death, to manipulate the strict boundaries of identity, to become memorable, to catch a heady glimpse of absolute truth; but for us it is different. We can see how much we are the creations of photography, and how much we surrender to the public self it burdens us with. Notes 1. The technological history of photography is of course much complicated by issues of competition, technological "prehistory" and intellectual property—for example, there is the matter of the disappearance of Daguerre's partner Niepce. However, Daguerre is generally credited with "inventing" the medium. See Gernsheim, Greenough et al and Newhall. 2. The phrase and others like it were not only popularised by influential critic-practitioners of photography such as Oliver Wendell Holmes, Fox Talbot, in The Pencil of Nature, and Marcus Aurelius Root, in The Camera and the Pencil, but were perpetuated in the everyday language of commerce—for example, the portrait studio that advertised its "Sun Drawn Miniatures" (Gernsheim 106). References Ball, Patricia. The Central Self: A Study in Romantic and Victorian Imagination. London: Athlone Press, 1968. Barthes, Roland. Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography. Trans. Richard Howard. New York: Hill and Wang, 1981. ---. "The Death of the Author." Image, Music, Text. Trans. Stephen Heath. New York: Hill and Wang, 1977. Bazin, André. "The Ontology of the Photographic Image." Classic Essays on Photography. Ed. Alan Trachtenberg. New Haven, Conn: Leete's Island Books, 1980. 237-244. Davidson, Cathy N. "Photographs of the Dead: Sherman, Daguerre, Hawthorne." South Atlantic Quarterly 89.4 (Fall 1990): 667-701. Gernsheim, Helmut. The Origins of Photography. London: Thames and Hudson, 1982. Greenough, Sarah, Joel Snyder, David Travis and Colin Westerbeck. On the Art of Fixing a Shadow: One Hundred and Fifty Years of Photography. Boston: Little, Brown, 1989. Newhall, Beaumont. The History of Photography, From 1839 to the Present. New York: Museum of Modern Art, 1982. Sontag, Susan. On Photography. New York: Dell, 1977. Trachtenberg, Alan. Reading American Photographs: Images as History, Mathew Brady to the Present. New York: Hill and Wang, 1989. Citation reference for this article Substitute your date of access for Dn Month Year etc... MLA Style Dean, Gabrielle. "Portrait of the Self" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.5 (2002). [your date of access] < http://www.media-culture.org.au/mc/0210/Dean.html &gt. Chicago Style Dean, Gabrielle, "Portrait of the Self" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5, no. 5 (2002), < http://www.media-culture.org.au/mc/0210/Dean.html &gt ([your date of access]). APA Style Dean, Gabrielle. (2002) Portrait of the Self. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5(5). < http://www.media-culture.org.au/mc/0210/Dean.html &gt ([your date of access]).

Scientific and technological developments in the field of autonomous systems and artificial intelligence have provided and boosted their use in the most varied sectors of society. It is no different with activities carried out within the scope of criminal justice. Examples of these technologies being used in criminal investigations and procedures, including in assisting judgments, are increasingly frequent. However, it did not take long for questions to be raised regarding the limits of these systems and their possible impacts on the individuals’ guarantees. Although we cannot deny that some particularities of these technologies, especially of AI (such as the opacity and unpredictability of its output), pose risks to some fundamental guarantees in criminal proceedings, there is, in our view, at the basis of many doctrinal criticisms, a certain misunderstanding on what these technologies actually are, how they operate and how they are being used in the justice system. In view of this scenario, the aim of the present paper is precisely to investigate how artificial intelligence and autonomous systems have been used in criminal justice, so that we can identify what are, in fact, their potential impacts on Defendants’ rights and guarantees. For this, we will initially study the concept and operation of these technologies, so that we can understand their particularities. Subsequently, we will analyze their concrete application in the judicial sphere. For that, we will adopt as object of study, two of the best known systems of judicial assistance – HART and COMPAS – and the system used in Brazil, namely, the VICTOR. From the conclusions reached in the first two topics and applying the deductive methodology, we will seek to demystify some legends related to the so-called “robot judge”, identifying what are, in fact, its potentials and limits and which are the guarantees that are at stake.

Why was the democratic state unable to monopolize violence despite massive judicial reforms? By considering the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, one of the most important early state-building institutions, the chapter shows the state has had difficulty disciplining relations between citizens such that they would turn to the law to resolve disputes rather than violently doing so themselves. Specifically, it examines the Victor Kheswa hearings in Sebokeng where, despite Kheswa’s alleged involvement in one of the worst massacres in South African history, his mother was put on stage as a victim of human rights abuses. The chapter argues that by proclaiming Kheswa’s mother as a victim, the TRC went against local notions of justice, as she was widely considered to be an enabler of violence, not a victim. This infelicitous performance mirrored the state’s challenges in getting citizens to turn to the law for justice, as many citizens considered suspects’ procedural rights as putting the law on the side of criminals.