When she arrived at the police station, Elana Scoufis moved with the speed and determination of a triage nurse in a hospital emergency department.

The solicitor pushed a trolley stacked with case files down a concrete ramp and across a courtyard toward a tiny room she would use as her office.

The Northern Circuit Court, affectionately known as Bush Court, was sitting in the remote Indigenous community of Wadeye, south-west of Darwin, for the next three days.

In that time, Ms Scoufis and her colleague Jalal Razi would handle between them 44 cases involving 37 clients accused of 66 charges.

"It's really fast-paced," Ms Scoufis told Background Briefing.

"We usually have between 20 and 60 clients, many of whom I've never met before."

Bush Court handles dozens of cases in one community over a few days before moving to the next location. ( ABC News: David Lewis )

The Rules of Professional Conduct and Practice require solicitors in the Northern Territory to clearly and succinctly present the issues in dispute to each of their clients and have their case ready to be heard as soon as possible.

To adhere to these rules at Bush Court, Ms Scoufis has to work four times harder than usual. On an ordinary day, she estimates the caseload in the Darwin Magistrates Court to be a quarter the size of that in Wadeye.

Lost in translation

Then there's the communication barrier. Wadeye has a small population of around 2,000 people but they collectively speak at least seven languages, the most common being Murrinh-patha.

Interpreters, brought in to assist both applicants and defendants, are in short supply and often decline to provide their services because of conflicts of interest.

"You miss a lot of things," Ms Scoufis admits.

"What's depressing is when you realise you haven't asked about someone's health or things that a judge should take into account.

"Being unable to have time to really take instructions fully on something like that can affect what kind of sentence they get.

"We do our best, 100 per cent, but there's just — by virtue of capacity — a limit to that."

NAAJA solicitor Elana Scoufis says the daily workload at Bush Court is greater than the Darwin Magistrates Court. ( ABC News: David Lewis )

Bush Court, which rotates through 30 communities in the Territory, is based on the principle that justice should be accessible to everyone, regardless of their postcode.

For many residents in remote Indigenous communities, it is the only place where they can exercise their civil legal rights. But in reality, the vast majority of cases are criminal matters.

In the absence of permanent courthouses, the proceedings in Wadeye take place in a room attached to the local police station, something Ms Scoufis considers inappropriate.

"It was not a sensible idea to build something so connected to the police," she said.

"There's no real division. It's one extended building, more or less."

Mandatory sentencing laws 'laughable', solicitor says

On the day Background Briefing accompanied Ms Scoufis and Mr Razi, who work for the North Australian Aboriginal Justice Agency or NAAJA, they were providing legal aid to clients charged with everything from drink-driving to assault.

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Many of these crimes attract mandatory minimum sentences, especially for repeat offenders. Despite the risk of jail time, the accused often had only a few minutes to take advice from their lawyer and decide how to proceed.

"It would be great to have more resources," said Ms Scoufis, who argues Bush Court should have more sitting days in Wadeye.

"We could do a more thorough job of taking instructions and making the client feel comfortable about the decision-making they have to do."

NAAJA's first client for the day was a man, aged in his thirties, who arrived at the police station with a broken arm.

He delayed seeing a doctor, he told Ms Scoufis through an interpreter, because he feared he would miss court and be arrested.

The man was charged with driving unlicensed. Ms Scoufis would ordinarily feel confident about his chances of avoiding a jail term, but her client has a long history of similar offences.

"His reason for driving was that his wife, who he obviously cares about and respects, was really exhausted and had been driving for a long time," she said.

"She'd just had enough and wanted him to drive, so he did."

Ms Scoufis warned her client that under the Territory's mandatory sentencing laws, he was at risk of being thrown behind bars.

She promised to do everything within her power to keep him out of prison, but cautioned that his prior offending made her job more difficult.

"It's very important that you don't do any more driving," she warned him.

"I'm sure your wife doesn't want to look after the kids on her own."

NAAJA solicitors say they handle a large volume of cases involving alleged driving offences. ( ABC News: David Lewis )

The NAAJA solicitors have seen plenty of people locked up for minor driving offences.

Ms Scoufis believes mandatory sentencing laws legislated in Darwin have unintended consequences in communities where someone with a disqualified license, for example, has no other means of transport.

"I think the whole scheme is a bit laughable," she said.

"For your second driving unlicensed charge, it works out to be a fine of around $1,600.

"Nobody can pay that."

A failure to pay a penalty can prolong the wait for a license to be reinstated, which allows more opportunities for reoffending, and results in a pattern of criminal behaviour.

It's a cycle into which Ms Scoufis's client had fallen.

"I think it's completely futile to send him to prison," she said.

"He hasn't been to prison since the late '90's, so he's stayed out of any substantial trouble."

NAAJA solicitor Jalal Razi says mandatory sentencing laws strip judges of their discretionary power. ( ABC News: David Lewis )

The Territory's mandatory sentencing laws have been criticised by the NT Coroner and the United Nations Committee Against Torture as a punitive measure that disproportionately affects Indigenous communities and contributes to prison overcrowding.

The laws take away from judges the discretionary power to decide what punishment fits the crime.

Minor property offences used to attract a mandatory jail term, but the Territory government repealed that particular law in 2001 after the suicide of a 15-year-old Aboriginal boy who was jailed for stealing $50 worth of stationery.

"Generally, mandatory sentencing comes about as part of this 'tough on crime' narrative the newspapers amp up," said Mr Razi, who was working alongside Ms Scoufis in Wadeye.

"It cuts away the discretion of judges to look at the individual circumstances of each matter and come up with a fair sentence.

"It becomes this kind of cookie-cutter, assembly line type of justice, which is bad for everyone."

The Territory Government is reviewing the laws but has so far given no indication as to whether they could be amended or repealed.

A spokesperson for Attorney-General and Minister for Justice Natasha Fyles emphasised in a statement that people who do the wrong thing should face the consequences.

Bush court rotates through 30 Indigenous communities across the Northern Territory. ( ABC News: David Lewis )

The Country Liberal Party (CLP) opposition has taken a much firmer stance, confirming its support for mandatory sentencing in an email to Background Briefing.

"The Territory currently has mandatory sentencing for violent crimes such as murder, rape, and assault on police and emergency workers," a spokesperson said.

"The CLP unconditionally supports retaining these provisions and strengthening them where appropriate."

Former judge slams 'substandard' bush justice

Hilary Hannam, a former Bush Court judge, is familiar with the tension between government and the judiciary over mandatory sentencing.

When she presided over the court, Magistrate Hannam remembers feeling powerless to help young offenders stay out of prison.

"In terms of the options available to the magistrate for sentencing, there are no proper services in any of these communities," she said.

"There's not much money spent on anything other than locking people up."

The proximity of Bush Court to the Wadeye police station has raised concerns about the separation of powers. ( ABC News: David Lewis )

Now an Australian Family Court judge, Magistrate Hannam reflects on her Bush Court days with mixed emotions. She still supports the program but she questions whether it's fulfilling its mission.

"You would have situations where there were no proper cells at any of the buildings that were used as courthouses," Magistrate Hannam said.

"I remember there was one particular court, where there hadn't been toilets that were operating for a couple of years so the police would have to ferry people back and forward — and that included the magistrate.

"At Galiwinku, lawyers were taking instructions under trees. I mean all these things almost sound romantic, but it was really substandard.

"It wasn't fair for the litigants, it wasn't fair for the lawyers, and it always worried me.

"What did it actually say about the value of conducting court and doing justice in remote communities?"