The track hero, the blonde model, blood, death, tears. It's a compelling TV super-soap. But the trial of Oscar Pistorius, viewed from South Africa at least, is much more than that – and so is its real star, Thokozile Masipa (also known, in that irritatingly quavery voice, as "My Lady"). The presiding judge is important, if you listen to ordinary people, because she's a woman, a former crime reporter on the Sowetan turned brilliant lawyer and, now, the unchallenged master of legal ceremonies.
The point is that, day by day, you can see her – and all the trial, bar Oscar's long face – in action. An education, not a soap. Viewers can come to grips with the rituals of the law, tune in for expert commentary or read a review of the day in the papers. For them, understanding equals enhanced respect, just as watching Masipa adds admiration.
The cameras, in short, bring a bonus beyond mere human interest. They make the courts live. And that, perhaps, is something for Britain's far more cautious judiciary to ponder. Of course our shrinking jury system makes a difference. But surely we can go further and wider than supreme court decisions read on air? British law is bleeding from a thousand cuts – to solicitors, barristers, court support services. Judges, right up the tree, are alarmed and despondent. But because we don't see what they all do, because we can't relate to their world, they seem to suffer in a vacuum.
Law UK has always hugged its privileges close, seeing the press – let alone TV – as enemy, not friend. But the Pistorius trial, and its effect on South African society, shows that there can be another way. Call it the Masipa way to an open road.
