By: Carla Rubio
Within the four corners of a courtroom, lawyers are more than advocates; they are performers. From the moment they enter a courthouse, they begin a carefully constructed performance that serves to establish authority and gravity. The space itself and the formality of the setting demand respect. It’s a ritual, one that legitimizes the process. Justice for the client isn’t done just any way; it’s done in a manner that commands public confidence.
This theatrical element is tied to the art of persuasion. A lawyer’s physical presence creates a persuasive impact that no amount of logical argument alone can achieve. Body language can be a powerful tool. Nonverbal cues and strategies like maintaining eye contact, using hand gestures, and adopting a confident stance can help create a positive impression on the judge, jury, and even opposing counsel. Even in an appellate court, lawyers must stand alone at a podium and try to have a conversation that resonates with the judges.
But in many cases, a lawyer’s presence shrinks to one box among many on a screen. The physical distance, or the absence of shared physical space, creates psychological distance. Virtual proceedings can feel transactional, like a meeting rather than a hearing. A video call may even reduce empathy for litigants. In fact, studies have found, for example, that detained individuals are more likely to be deported when their hearings are held over video conference rather than in person. While immigration courts differ from other tribunals, the finding suggests that virtual proceedings reduce decision-maker empathy and can change outcomes.
The International Court of Justice (ICJ) understands the importance of physical space. When the ICJ amended its Rules of Court in 2022 to permit virtual hearings, it did so with extreme caution. Paragraph 2 of Article 94 states: “[t]he Court may decide, for health, security or other compelling reasons, that the judgment shall be read at a sitting of the Court accessible to the parties and the public by video link.” The Court recognized that when nations bring their most serious disputes, like questions of territorial sovereignty, allegations of genocide, and maritime boundary disputes, the physical act of appearing at The Hague matters profoundly. Only with a compelling reason could it be moved to video, whereas in the United States the default is often an online hearing.
This contrast stems from the unique legitimacy challenge international courts face, which makes physical presence particularly crucial. Unlike domestic tribunals backed by sanctions, international courts lack enforcement mechanisms. The ICJ cannot compel a state to appear, cannot arrest officials who ignore judgments, and cannot levy fines against non-compliant nations. Compliance depends on legitimacy, the justified authority that makes states feel obligated to follow adverse rulings even when it is against their best interests.
When states send representatives to The Hague, the physical journey, the ceremonial proceedings, and the act of standing before the court all serve to create the authority that makes nations comply with judgments. Strip away the ceremony, reduce it to a video conference, and we risk undermining the very legitimacy that gives international law its power.
The same principle applies to courts in the U.S., even if the stakes are different. When the Florida Bar warned that virtual proceedings pose a “grave threat to the administration of justice,” part of that concern is about this loss of theatrical gravity. A criminal defendant whose liberty is at risk deserves to have their case heard in a setting that conveys the weight of what is being decided. A constitutional challenge that will bind future courts deserves proceedings that signal importance.
U.S. courts should learn from the ICJ’s cautious approach and adopt stricter default rules that favor in-person proceedings. First, courts should recognize the pitfalls of this technology and require in-person hearings for all high-stakes matters: criminal trials, sentencing, civil jury trials, preliminary injunctions, and constitutional challenges. Virtual proceedings should be permitted only with the consent of all parties or upon a showing of genuine hardship.
Of course, virtual hearings may be convenient. For example, online bond hearings save officers from the burden of transporting inmates to the courtroom. Yet how much is mere convenience worth? A study of criminal bail hearings found that online defendants had substantially higher bond amounts, ranging from 54% to 90% higher than their in-person counterparts.
Second, federal and state courts should issue clearer guidance distinguishing between appropriate and inappropriate uses of remote technology. Some jurisdictions have begun establishing clearer boundaries. Florida, for example, allows remote appearances in non-evidentiary hearings at the discretion of the judge. A judge may approve remote hearings up to 15 minutes in evidentiary matters, except in criminal, juvenile, and appellate proceedings. Substantive hearings where credibility determinations or significant legal questions are at stake should presumptively happen in person. There should be guidelines to determine which proceeding types benefit from physical presence.
Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, actors within the legal profession must resist normalizing virtual proceedings. The benefits are real: reduced travel time, expedited proceedings, lower costs, and easier scheduling. But convenience cannot be the only consideration. The courtroom as a stage is fundamental to how law maintains its authority in society. When we replace the stage with a screen, we risk reducing something essential to the practice of law, as well as the natural humanity that comes with in-person proceedings. U.S. courts must consciously resist the drift toward treating adjudication as just another Zoom meeting, as the ICJ has. Justice requires not just correct outcomes, but proceedings that command confidence in their fairness and gravity.
