Arthur Fairley is one of the top criminal lawyers in Northland with almost 900 trials completed during his career. Photo / Supplied
From barefoot days on the Whangārei harbour to a career defending some of the country’s most high‑profile cases, Arthur Fairley sat down with Open Justice reporter Shannon Pitman to reflect not on verdicts, but the influences that shaped him.
One of Northland’s most formidable defence lawyers has spent decades fighting for justice, but behind the sharp legal mind lies a man deeply influenced by his upbringing, his love for rugby and an enduring appreciation of poetry.
A local boy through and through, Arthur Fairley was educated at Whangārei schools where he swiftly learned he had talent with words rather than numbers.
“If you can’t add up, you can’t do a lot of things, but I was always good with words,” he says over a flat white coffee.
Raised by a military father and a kind-hearted Ruahine country woman, his mother’s influence still rings heavily in his mind.
“Mothers make sons. She would say something like ‘Oh Arthur, I didn’t think you were like that’.”
“Even now at 74, it burdens my mind. It’s far worse than getting a hiding!”
His childhood was spent exploring the Whangārei harbour from Reotahi in a dinghy, Canterbury rugby shorts and bare feet, returning home for only dinner.
“I’d go right up to Mangapai and when the tide would turn, I’d go back home,” he recalls.
“What a privileged childhood, we took that for granted.”
Fairley is acutely aware his time, place and circumstance were the reasons for successes in life – advantages many never get to experience.
“From the moment you’re born, you’re in the game.
“I often see kids coming through say from OT [Otāngarei] and I think this boy is incredibly bright, he’s picking up stuff just like that, but no chance – why? Because of his time, place and circumstance.
“If he was born in a different time and place and circumstance, his life could have been whatever he or she wanted to be and that’s the big challenge for this country, I think.”
At 18 he moved to the bright lights of Auckland to train in law. His only previous trip before that was to watch the legendary Sid Going score tries at Eden Park.
But his transition into professional life was not seamless.
His first job, as a clerk, ended in disaster when he lost a crucial cheque after taking a nap in Auckland’s Albert Park, causing an entire property settlement to collapse.
He was promptly let go.
Fairley ditched law and went travelling, working in bars and describing it as the best education he ever had.
“It made you see the world and what was going on. You had to think on your feet and in situations you wouldn’t face here.”
By 30, the pressure was on to get his life together and he returned to law, up before dawn and immersing himself in his caseloads and poetry.
“After six months I knew it inside out. You find with law there is only so many arguments and all you got to do is slot your facts in.
“To be a good lawyer, you’ve got to have the mind of a poet.”
With almost 900 jury trials under his belt, it is not the gravity of offending that leaves reminders, but the technical errors.
“The great thing about law is it teaches you how to think, how to acquire facts and how to analyse what your opponent is saying.
“It’s like chess, you work out where they are weak. Put your troops over there where they think that’s where they’re going to attack, but then you get to trial and you attack there and then they realise, I’ve only got half a division here. And it’s too late.
“You can prepare all you like but, just like a test match, if the ball bounces the wrong way it’s over.”
Fairley’s respect for his brothers and sisters of the bar, no matter which side they are on, stands out as one his proudest achievements.
“Phil Smith, one of the great prosecutors of this country. He was so great to me, I would ring him up as a young kid and say, ‘Phil what do I do’?
“Imagine that happening today, it would be like the All Blacks coach ringing up the Springboks and asking ‘what do I do’?
“He was an amazing guy and on his day cross-examining, there was no one better. He was a genius.”
He extends that same respect to judges, believing lawyers have a duty to support them rather than undermine them.
“Can you imagine they’re sitting there knowing they’ve got an 18-year-old kid and they gotta send him to jail for eight years?
“No matter what the kid’s done, it’s a huge stress and I think as an officer of the court, our job is to protect them, not to argue with them and be rude and try to show them how smart you are, because you’re not. They’re smarter than you, that’s why they’re there.”
His trial style has often raised eyebrows, with Judge Duncan Harvey once referring to him as the “13th juror” because he constantly positioned his chair next to the jury box.
“The first thing you gotta do when you’re speaking to a jury is stop being a lawyer. Be a human being because if they don’t like ya, unless you got a really strong case, they’re not going to buy it.
“You’ve gotta talk to them like you are the 13th juror.”
Fairley says trials are “living beasts” and the art of tuning in to the atmosphere of the court is being lost among younger lawyers.
“If you’re on the phone, you’re just removed from a whole lot of information. If you’re not tuned in to the atmosphere of a trial, you’re guessing what you’re going to do and you’ll make mistakes.
“It’s like test match rugby, one play can shift the whole colour or tone of the game and it’s the same in trials.”
Fairley never asks his clients whether they committed the crime – his focus always remaining on the Crown’s case and legal technicalities.
“He’s come to you for help and the first thing you say is ‘did you do it’?”
“You’re almost saying ‘I don’t believe you’.”
“We’re often dealing with Māori boys from OT or Raumanga who’ve never had an advantage in life. If they can’t turn to people like me, who can they turn to? No matter what they’ve done.”
Fairley believes the law is falling behind, reacting with the flawed premise of deterrence instead of leading change.
“For example, Three Strikes – I just think it’s dumb legislation. Boys don’t offend because they’re frightened of being caught or being sentenced, that’s not in their heads.
“If you were a businessman and you had two options with $100 – option A: lock him up, or option B: put him in rehab. If rehab had a return rate of 30%, any businessman would say, ‘I’ll put my money there’. But what do all governments do? It’s ridiculous.”
When he thinks of the future of Aotearoa for his Māori grandchildren, he sees a country mixed with the best of two cultures where judges speak both languages.
“I have great faith and optimism for this country. Within two generations I believe everyone will speak te reo, all our children will be the colour of my grandchildren and where this country will have a brilliant culture.
“The real debate in this country is a strategical debate which is centred on a tactical decision which means we all get there.”
Shannon Pitman is a Whangārei-based reporter for Open Justice covering courts in the Te Tai Tokerau region. She is of Ngāpuhi- Ngāti Pūkenga descent and has worked in digital media for the past five years. She joined NZME in 2023.