Trial by Tiktok

The justice system has always had an audience. From packed courtroom galleries to tabloids, legal proceedings have long played out under public scrutiny. But today, the audience doesn’t just watch, it participates. 

Social media sleuths, true crime podcasts and Netflix documentaries now form a parallel of legal storytelling. They unpick evidence, question verdicts and generate mass opinion, often before a jury has delivered one. Where the press once nudged the court of public opinion, platforms like TikTok, Reddit ,and YouTube now sweep it along with fast-moving speculation.

Few cases demonstrate this shift more vividly than that of Lucy Letby. In 2023, she was convicted of murdering seven babies and attempting to kill six more, making it one of the most high-profile trials in recent British legal history. The media coverage was unrelenting, but largely uniform in tone. Then the narrative began to shift.

Senior doctors publicly challenged aspects of the medical evidence. Online communities emerged in her defence. A Facebook group now claims tens of thousands of members. Most recently, former Cabinet Minister David Davis has called for an independent inquiry. What once appeared to be a legally closed chapter is, once again, the subject of national debate.

Letby’s team has played no small part in that shift. While appeals are being pursued through formal channels, the court of public opinion has been equally engaged. The strategy has not only kept her case in the headlines, it has reframed it as contested ground.

In a media environment where attention shapes outcomes, this approach is both clever and impactful. For those caught in high-profile legal cases, the Letby example is proof that robust, proactive communication is no longer a luxury, it is a requirement. It can safeguard reputations, challenge narratives, and, in some cases, reopen courtroom doors.

But while good PR may assist an individual’s cause, it presents a deeper challenge to the legal system. The very notion of a fair trial depends on the idea that justice is delivered in an impartial court, not online.

There is some indication that courts are adapting to the risks of digital contamination. For example, in Australia, the ongoing case of Erin Patterson, accused of serving a deadly mushroom meal, has attracted such intense coverage that the court has appointed 15 jurors instead of the usual 12, in an effort to guard against mistrial.

However, if the courts are to protect fair delivery of justice thoroughly, more will need to be done. 

First, tighter controls on pre-trial publicity may be needed. Not to curtail press freedom, but to preserve the legal process. Secondly, jurors must be equipped to navigate their role in a hyperconnected world, with guidance on avoiding online contamination. And third, mechanisms for revisiting verdicts, where genuine new evidence arises, must remain rigorous and transparent, not reactive to hashtag campaigns.

Public scrutiny of justice is vital to a functioning democracy. But scrutiny without structure, opinion without expertise, and influence without accountability threaten to erode trust in the very system they seek to hold to account.

Because while the court of law has rules, the court of public opinion does not. And the justice system must now withstand both.