"You put the small thief in prison, but the big thief lives in a palace," Graham Greene, a British writer and journalist, once wrote.

Greene's words may have been penned decades ago, but their sting has not dulled with time. If anything, they feel more relevant than ever. Across the globe, there have been too many instances in which justice was not blind.

The phrase "equal before the law" is repeated like a sacred mantra in courtrooms and legal documents. But in practice, equality in the justice system is not as straightforward as many imagine it to be. If you are poor, a minor infraction can ruin your life. If you are rich and powerful, even a major crime might only cost you a fine you can easily afford - or less. The law may be written in neutral language, but it is enforced on a tilted field, one that always slopes in favour of money and influence.

It is said that no-one is above the law. But when laws are changed to protect wrongdoing rather than encourage accountability, then something is definitely not functioning as it should be. When those in power do their utmost to protect themselves and the ones closest to them rather than work in the best interest of society in general, then the danger that the rule of law collapses becomes real and true.

Let's start with the "small thief". The one who steals food, shoplifts a jacket, or is caught with a small quantity of drugs. These are often crimes born of desperation, addiction, or systemic neglect - the end result of poverty, poor education, and a frayed social safety net. But the justice system offers little mercy. Those at the bottom of the social ladder are policed more heavily, prosecuted more aggressively, and punished more harshly.

Many of these individuals cannot afford private lawyers. They rely on public defenders - dedicated professionals, but often so overloaded that their capacity to mount an effective defence is limited. For the poor, justice is unforgiving.

Now consider the "big thief". The executive who manipulates financial markets, the millionaire who evades taxes through offshore loopholes, the political figure who abuses public money. These individuals may commit crimes that damage entire economies, negatively affect thousands of lives, and erode public trust in government and business. But their experience with the justice system is radically different.

With deep pockets and elite legal teams, they can build sophisticated defences, exploit ambiguities in the law, and use every possible trick to get off the hook. Even when convicted, they are rarely treated like "real" criminals. White-collar offenders, when sentenced at all, frequently serve time with access to privileges most inmates could only dream of. And in many cases, they avoid punishment altogether - shielded by political connections, legal complexity, or simply the system's reluctance to hold the powerful accountable.

One might argue that the justice system is supposed to favour the accused - that it's built to protect individuals from wrongful conviction, regardless of wealth. That's true, in principle. But, as Evarist Bartolo once said, there are laws for gods and laws for animals.

There is a deeper consequence to this imbalance. When people who are not blinded by partisan politics witness the rich and powerful evading accountability for serious wrongdoing while the poor and marginalised are punished harshly for minor offences, a corrosive cynicism takes root. The legal system, which is meant to embody fairness and impartiality, begins to appear rigged - not as a safeguard of justice, but as a tool of control. Over time, this perception erodes the public's trust in legal institutions.

And the collapse of faith in justice doesn't happen in isolation. It spills over into the broader fabric of society. Democracy depends on a shared belief in the rule of law - that no one is above it, and everyone is protected by it. When that belief is shattered, democratic values become hollow.

People disengage. They stop voting, stop participating, and stop believing that change is possible through legitimate means. In such a climate, authoritarianism, apathy, and unrest thrive. The death of justice, then, is not just a legal crisis - it's a democratic one.

Fixing this isn't simple. It requires more than just prosecutions and, if guilt is established, the conviction of high-profile figures. It means increasing transparency in white-collar crime investigations and eliminating the culture of impunity that shields the select few. It means recognising that crimes committed by the powerful are not "victimless".

Until we create a system where the law really applies equally we will continue to live in a world that rewards the corrupt and criminalises the poor.

Graham Greene's words weren't just a criticism. They were a warning. And it's one we ignore at our peril.