Lucy Letby, a former neonatal nurse, was convicted after two trials of murdering seven babies and attempting to murder seven more at the Countess of Chester Hospital. Sentenced to life imprisonment following a case which many believe was built on circumstantial evidence, Letby has consistently maintained her innocence.
In a recent interview on LBC, the UK government’s health secretary, Wes Streeting, was asked for his opinion on those questioning the safety of Letby’s convictions.
Streeting’s reply urged campaigners to place their faith in the judicial and appellate processes to identify and correct their mistakes, if any. He added that there was no purpose in campaigning as it would have no impact and that if people insisted on doing so, they should do it “quietly”.
But my research shows that Streeting’s comments are not reflective of the broader history of miscarriages of justice.
Letby’s first trial was preceded by the publication of a report by the Royal Statistical Society in September 2022 detailing how statistical issues in the investigation of suspected murders in medical settings can contribute to causing miscarriages of justice. It drew attention to the case of Dutch nurse Lucia de Berk who was convicted in circumstances which shared striking similarities with the Letby case.
Almost six months after Letby’s conviction in August 2023, the New Yorker magazine published an article challenging the prosecution’s account of events. And a body called Science on Trial, which calls out “problematic science”, also began raising questions. This sparked further scrutiny from journalist Peter Hitchens, who continues to express his doubts in the press.
National publications, radio programmes and TV broadcasts featuring prominent medical experts have also raised doubts about the evidence used at trial.
Politicians, like David Davis, began voicing concerns both inside and outside parliament, intensifying the debate around the safety of Letby’s conviction.
The Letby campaign stands out as an alleged miscarriage of justice because there are very few cases in which so many people have moved so quickly, and so publicly, to raise concerns.
Lessons from history
Miscarriages of justice are not new and are often very difficult to put right. The history of miscarriages of justice is littered with failed appeals and unsuccessful applications submitted by prisoners to the Criminal Cases Review Commission (CCRC), the body now responsible for investigating and referring them back to the Court of Appeal.
For example, Andrew Malkinson spent 17 years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Even after DNA evidence excluded him as the perpetrator, his case was essentially blocked from proceeding to appeal by the very system designed to identify such errors. Had it not been for sustained public campaigning and an investigation spearheaded by the legal charity Appeal, his conviction would probably not have been quashed.
Streeting’s argument that “there is no purpose in a campaign” overlooks the effect organised calls for justice have had. Campaigns like those for the Birmingham Six – in which six men spent 16 years in prison for a crime of which they were entirely innocent – led to significant reforms. These include the establishment of the CCRC itself. Without public scrutiny and outcry, these changes would not have been achieved.
My research shows that an important goal of justice campaigns is to “gain a voice” – to raise questions, build support and influence outcomes. This can sometimes lead to convictions being overturned. These campaigns are typically led by the prisoner’s family, whose fight to be heard is often a long and arduous journey.
Some families eventually manage to engage journalists who help them gain a voice in the mainstream media. This oxygen of publicity may, in turn, attract the attention of those whose intervention might further strengthen the campaign, such as specialist experts, lawyers and other professionals.
These individuals may lend their knowledge, skills and expertise to a case and sometimes even go public with their concerns. This often pressures people in positions of authority to respond.
The “campaigning voice” can also draw the attention of investigative journalists who specialise in re-examining alleged miscarriages of justice. When they take interest, their thorough and often obsessive work can uncover new evidence, sometimes strong enough to convince the Court of Appeal to overturn a conviction.
The judiciary itself has acknowledged the transformative role of such journalists. But it’s important to note that families usually have to wage a long and loud campaign before reaching this point.
Why the Letby case is different
Although Letby’s parents have stuck by her from the start, they have rarely spoken publicly.
In this case, the voices shouting the loudest, and refusing to be quiet, belong to eminent statisticians, epidemiologists, neonatologists, pediatricians and biochemical engineers. These are the types of people that most miscarriage campaigns spend years trying to attract. The sheer number speaking out is unprecedented.
So too is the swift involvement of John Sweeney, a journalist who specialises in investigating what researchers call “no crime miscarriages”. These are cases where people are convicted for crimes that never happened.
The speed with which these professionals and others have raised doubts about the Letby convictions is highly unusual, especially given the severity of the convictions. My work shows that people convicted of especially horrific crimes often struggle to establish campaigns that question whether the justice system got it wrong.
While it’s now widely accepted that juries, judges and the CCRC can make mistakes, justice systems tend to fiercely protect their decisions and reputations in such cases. Although no one can at this time say for certain whether or not Letby’s convictions are unsafe, research shows that public campaigns – and campaigning loudly – can make a difference.
Sam Poyser does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.
