Revolving Doors responds to Government ‘blitz courts’ plans for assault on emergency worker offences
The government yesterday announced the introduction of “blitz courts” in areas with the most severe court backlogs, reportedly involving the bundling and rapid listing of similar cases. While efforts to reduce delays are welcome, we are concerned that one of the offences included is assault against an emergency worker, reportedly because of the volume of charges.
Assaulting an emergency worker became a standalone offence under the Assaults on Emergency Workers (Offences) Act 2018, with maximum penalties later increased by the Police, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Act 2022. The rationale was clear: violence against frontline staff is unacceptable.
However, our experience of working alongside people in the criminal justice system and observing court proceedings has raised serious concern that the offence is being used in cases where behaviour is closely linked to mental health crisis and trauma. We are particularly worried that people in acute distress are being arrested and prosecuted for assault against an emergency worker in circumstances where a health-led response may have been more appropriate.
Attempts to interrogate the data have been frustrated by a lack of transparency. Information is recorded only under broad offence categories, making it impossible to examine who is being charged, in what circumstances, and with what underlying needs. We cannot see the mental health profile of those prosecuted, nor how many cases arose when emergency services were responding to a crisis.
For people already facing trauma, homelessness, addiction or poor mental health, a conviction of this nature can deepen instability and mistrust, increasing the likelihood of further contact with the justice system and mental health crisis.
The fact that courts now require a “blitz” to process the volume of these cases only compounds our concern that the offence may be being overused. We urgently need fuller transparency and independent scrutiny to ensure it is being applied proportionately, and that people in crisis are not drawn further into the criminal justice system when they should be receiving care and support.
L’s* story (content warning):
“I’d never been in trouble before any of this. When I was 14, my mum was diagnosed with breast cancer. That completely turned my world upside down. I remember being called out of school and taken to the main office because there had been some news from home. It was devastating. She eventually had surgery and chemotherapy. Thankfully she recovered, but at the time it was a huge trauma for all of us. We were all farmed out to different relatives. I couldn’t see my brothers and sisters.
Around that period, there was also abuse in my life from my stepdad. I experienced physical abuse. There were cruel, sadistic incidents — for example he killed my guinea pigs and flushed it down the toilet. I remember I was sobbing and completely devastated. Things like that really stay with you.
Growing up around domestic abuse shaped so much of who I became.
My mum finally got rid of him but when she was terminally ill she let him back so he could bring the kids up. I begged her not to and told her I could do it. But she said I needed to be a kid. I’d given up college to look after her.
After she died, I was working and going to college. He told me not to cry in front of the kids and that I had to be strong. But then he talked me into giving up college because I “needed time to grieve,” but in reality, I think it was about control, keeping me dependent and at home while he wasted the inheritance.
My mental health declined badly. I was grieving, processing years of abuse. A friend helped me contact housing because things were deteriorating so much. I ended up moving into a flat near my siblings.
Around then, another friend asked if she could stay with me because she had nowhere to go. I let her move in. But then she started flirting with my boyfriend. I didn’t believe him at first when he told me — I thought he was just saying that. But I saw it myself in the pub. I warned her twice to stop. I’ve always had this thing about giving warnings before reacting — probably because when I was younger and being bullied, my mum sent me to karate for self-defence, and I was taught that you must warn someone before using force.
But that night, she did it again right in front of me. We ended up in a fight. I was thrown out of the pub. I was in a state thinking she was in the pub with my boyfriend. In the middle of everything, I felt a hand on my shoulder and reacted instinctively, thinking it was her. I lashed out. It was actually a police officer. I apologised immediately, but I was charged with assaulting a police officer. That was my first conviction. I was about 21.
The police response felt excessive — riot vans, multiple officers — for what was essentially a fight between young women outside a pub. That charge changed everything. I had wanted to become a social worker and work with children, but with a police assault charge on my record, doors closed.
After that, things escalated in other relationships. One partner was violent and manipulative. He would beat me and then tell police it was me because I already had a violent record. He used my previous conviction against me.
There were other incidents too. One night, I was out in town and got into a car with someone I knew. Police pulled us over. I hadn’t done anything, but I kicked the floor somehow, I ended up being arrested for criminal damage – for getting mud on the tyre.
It felt like once I had that first charge, it became easier for police to assume I was the problem. Even when my ex was selling drugs from my flat — which he admitted to — I was the one charged because the flat was in my name. He lied and said he didn’t live there, even though he clearly did. It felt like they believed him over me every time.
After years of this, I developed severe anxiety and agoraphobia. I barely left the house except for medical appointments or to see family. Any interaction with police felt like I was automatically seen as guilty.
Looking back, I can see how trauma responses played a role. If someone grabs you from behind while you’re already in fight-or-flight mode, you react instinctively. But instead of recognising that, I was charged.
Once you have that label – “assault of an emergency worker” it feels like it follows you forever. It shapes how you’re treated. It affects your opportunities. And it’s incredibly hard to move past.“
