Everything started off so friendly – in the weeks leading up to our visit, Assurety Training had kindly sent Legal Business some branded chocolate. And on the morning of our visit, my fellow reporter Megan Mayers and I were welcomed with coffee and snacks. I naively assumed our visit would be a largely academic affair, where we would be calmly taken through the typical day’s training for a future witness. I was wrong.
Pleasantries were quickly dispensed with, and resident cross-examiner (and co-founder of Assurety) Ed Williams QC sat ominously opposite. In front of him were various documents I had been asked to provide in the days before: my latest CV, a document outlining my interests and a psychological profile based on a questionnaire.
He began: ‘So Mr Baker, your CV professes an interest in politics. On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your political knowledge, with one representing someone who believes Donald Trump is currently the Prime Minister, and ten representing a Dominic Cummings-type?’
‘Six’, I blindly replied. This triggered a humiliating dressing down, during which it transpired that I know nothing about politics, and that I was an idiot for daring to think I did. Within five minutes, the vulnerability of an untrained witness in the face of a wily QC was laid bare for all in the room to see.
Making the process even more stressful were the watchful eyes of Assurety’s professional advisers, who dutifully monitored every minute expression on my face and every slight waver in my voice. Sat on my left was Andy Hobbs, a sports performance psychologist, and on my right was Sally Gooda, a professional actor-turned communications expert.
‘You were trying to make it a debate and show off your knowledge,’ Ed points out. ‘Don’t bother doing that, you will never win.’
After my first round of cross-examination, what were the key takeaways? Apparently I talk fast. Really, really fast. But according to Sally, on the bright side, I am an incredibly ‘still’ witness (as opposed to being incessantly fidgety) and I have a ‘warm’ face – good for being approachable in day-to-day life, not so good if you want to hide your emotions during cross-examination.
Psychologically speaking, Andy highlights that I am very much true to my pre-reported ‘argumentativeness’ – in my questionnaire, I conceded that I am a sore loser when it comes to disagreements, ranking a high 7.3/10 on the argumentative scale. In cross-examination, this sees me bristle as I try and predict the avenues of argument that Ed leads me down.
‘You were trying to make it a debate and show off your knowledge,’ Ed points out. ‘Don’t bother doing that, you will never win.’
There were also totally mundane things I was getting wrong, which were easily corrected having gone through the experience just once. Am I allowed to answer a question with a question? No. Who should I direct my answer to, the judge or the cross-examiner? The judge. Again, someone stepping up to the stand with no preparation, which I am reliably told happens quite often, is unthinkable.
With my first humiliation out of the way, I’m taught some techniques to help even the odds. Firstly: breathing. I foolishly thought I knew how to breathe, but it turns out I was only ever doing half the job. Rather than filling up my chest with air, Sally instructs me to concentrate my breathing into the pit of my stomach, so that when I place my hand on my belly, it visibly rises and falls with every intake and outtake. This should help me calm down and avoid silly mistakes.
I’m also taught to be concessionary, and not to be afraid to admit you had made a mistake. After all, you are trying to be helpful to the judge, not boast to your cross-examiner. Perhaps I was more of a three or four out of ten on the Cummings scale?
As it turns out, calming down is really important. For my second round of cross-examination, I had been fitted with a heart-rate monitor, with Andy dutifully watching to see any major inflections. This time, Ed turned to one of my true loves, Star Wars.
‘Mr Baker, would you agree that the scene in Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi, where Princess Leia is scantily-clad in a bikini and chained to a giant slug, is sexist?’
‘Mr Baker, you say in your testimony that you have always been “obsessed” with Star Wars. When you were a child, how often a week would you watch the Star Wars films?’
I said I was “obsessed”, so maybe 20 times?
Ed highlights how ridiculous a suggestion that is. My ‘concessionary’ lesson kicks in: ‘Perhaps I was wrong to estimate 20, maybe it was more like three or four times a week.’
This produced two interesting lessons. Firstly, as Ed pressed me on my outlandish estimate of 20, my heart rate jumped considerably into the red zone. I hadn’t really felt it in the moment, but intense questioning really can invoke a fight-or-flight response.
The other notable conclusion is drawn by Andy. I played totally to my other key psychological trait: manipulativeness. My psychological evaluation gave me a 5.3/10 on manipulativeness, which doesn’t sound too high, but the report notes: ‘moderate to high scores here indicate a risk that you will use manipulative behaviour as a witness.’ Apparently by quoting 20 as a means of justifying my characterisation as ‘obsessed’, I had done just that.
Before the final cross-examination of the day, Megan and I were shown some famous examples of witnesses, some who had performed well, and others not so well. In the latter category we were unsurprised to find Amber Heard, who had recently hit headlines for her part in the high-profile libel battle with her ex-husband Johnny Depp.
As it was pointed out how her disapproval for the whole process was etched across her face, I couldn’t help but feel slight sympathy. Even Ed admitted, the balance of power is weighted unreasonably in favour of the advocate, and you hardly have to be an idiot to be made to look like one. In other words, being a witness is much harder than it looks.
Despite this, by the third and final cross-examination of the day, I was feeling quite cocky. I had learned the format by this point, I had calmed down quite a lot, and I was equipped with the necessary tools to not be hooked into Ed’s mind games. Or so I thought.
‘Mr Baker, would you agree that the scene in Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi, where Princess Leia is scantily-clad in a bikini and chained to a giant slug, is sexist?’
After the laughter subsided, I gave what I thought was a sensible answer: ‘No – I don’t think the sexism you’re referring to exists in the Star Wars universe, and in any case Leia quickly asserts her independence by killing Jabba the Hutt herself.’
‘I’m sorry, you don’t think that scene is sexist?’
I look at the judge. ‘No’, I dutifully reply.
‘There’s nothing sexist about Carrie Fisher being asked to take her top off, and having her physically attached to a giant slug who is perversely licking his lips?’
I’m rattled. At this point, the heart rate monitor is close to exploding.
‘Well…’ The timer goes off, I’m saved by the bell. I look around and am met with shocked expressions. Ed is exasperated: ‘Why couldn’t you just agree that it was sexist!?’ Turns out I really am that argumentative.
For firms who are on the fence about witness preparation services, I cannot begin to imagine how bad a witness I would be without training.