Here the proposition is not that Trump could unilaterally, by some form of words, either in writing or said aloud, change the classification of documents.
The proposition is that by thinking a thing, with that thought having no other trace or manifestation, then a classification of a document can change.
This would mean that the legal consequences for other people with reference to that document would be different, even though there was no record of Trump’s thoughts, because Trump had thought one thing or another.
And, presumably, Trump can classify the document by thoughts alone, as well as de-classify it.
Perhaps he could even in turns classify and de-classify a document every few moments, and nobody would ever know.
It would be an extraordinary thing – even supernatural and paranormal.
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Of course, what is (probably) going on is that Trump is resorting to the only defence he thinks he has left, which accords with the evidence.
There is no actual evidence of de-classification, then his explanation needs to deal with that absence.
There is also the implicit point that if he accepts these are documents which he “de-classified” then they were not “planted” – as that defence would seem to contradict his purported “de-classification”.
It is all very odd.
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Stepping back, it would seem Trump has realised that he is in serious legal jeopardy.
If anyone else had been found with such classified documents without authority or lawful excuse then that person would no doubt have been arrested and charged, convicted and imprisoned.
The only difference here is whether the law applies to Trump as it applies to others.
Or is there a legal privilege for Trump?
This is a hard question for the rule of law: is there one law (or lack of law) for him and one for others?
Perhaps following his exercise in magical thinking, Trump would accept criminal liability if enough people think that he is guilty?
Or perhaps not: one suspects he would want to rely on real-world law and procedure, where things are properly written down and recorded.
For that is the thing about those who want to be above the law: they wish to dispense with legal formalities when it suits them, but they certainly want the protection of legal formalities when it protects them.
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I have been asked to give a lecture by the University of Birmingham, where I went to law school (and where I am now an honorary lecturer).
The lecture will be on law, blogging, and social media.
(You din’t think they would let me near substantive law?)
I hope that the lecture can be released as a podcast and as a pdf.
I am putting some thoughts together – but my knowledge is limited.
I know about my own blogging and use of social media, and about that of some of my peers.
But my perspective is that of a provider of stuff, rather than as a consumer of stuff.
And so I was wondering what the readers of this blog thought about legal blogging and legal commentary on social media.
In particular, I should be grateful for responses to the following queries about the legal blogging and legal commentary on social media of others (and please not mine – please don’t use my stuff as examples):
Does legal blogging and legal commentary on social media provide any information or insight to you that you would not otherwise have access to?
Are there particular examples of posts or threads or videos or podcast episodes which you regard as especially helpful?
Does legal blogging and legal commentary on social media really help the public understanding of law?
And if so, how?
Do you use (and do you prefer) other sources of legal information – such as journals, the trade press, and the mainstream media?
And given law had managed quite well for thousands of years before the World Wide Web and social media/blogging/podcast platforms, is legal blogging and legal commentary on social media just a waste of time?
What, if anything, does it do which is new and different from other forms of media?
Any other thoughts welcome, especially if you have links to examples.
Many thanks.
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This blog enjoys a high standard of comments, many of which are better and more interesting than the posts.
Comments are welcome, but they are pre-moderated and comments will not be published if irksome.
Day-to-day politics have returned, and there was an interesting admission from the Prime Minister:
New – Ahead meeting Biden in NY tomorrow, @trussliz admits no UK/US trade deal is on the horizon. Clearly true, but also an attempt to break narrative that if she doesn't do a deal on the NI Protocol, she'll be punished by Biden and there won't be an FTAhttps://t.co/AcYdp590GW
Of course, one reason for this admission may be tactics.
The United States can hardly use a trade deal as leverage in respect of their concerns over the Northern Irish Protocol if we say those Californian grapes are already sour.
You can see the point of such a tactic, even if you do not see any merit in it.
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Another recent deft government manoeuvre, which was not widely noticed, was the government not carrying through the nomination of the controversial Christopher Chope to the committees investigating the conduct of departed Prime Minister Boris Johnson:
Government has not moved the motions on Sir Christopher Chope joining the privileges committee and the standards committee
A further tactical switch was the dropping of the attempt to repeal the Human Rights Act, which was going to take up a lot of parliamentary time and departmental resources and still get stuck in the House of Lords.
As this blog suggested, this dropping of the bill is likely to be replaced by smaller illiberal changes to other legislation, rather than through one big bang Act of Parliament.
And today also saw indications that the government’s commitments are weakening to “privatising” Channel 4 and the awful Online Safety Bill.
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Taking these incidents together, one could form the impression that the government is becoming more pragmatic.
If so, this would be a welcome to change to the bluster of the Johnson period, where unforced errors were freely made, and as loudly as possible.
But.
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Tactics, of course, are not the same as strategy – or overall tone.
Even when there are this micro-changes to the business of government and the process of legislation, the macro politics seem unchanged.
In particular, the “cake-ism” of the government’s Brexit policy – and of its promised tax policy.
The government is also maintaining the fiction that the Northern Irish Protocol bill is “necessary”.
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The new deputy Prime Minister Thérèse Coffey (who – disclosure – I happen to have known since university) was last week roundly and rightly mocked for her apparent new departmental guidance on the Oxford comma.
(The punctuation in the title of this post is deliberate.)
But perhaps more interesting from a policy perspective was what else was in that guidance:
But tellingly message also suggests "all submissions should go to junior minister ahead of SoS" – a sign she will be so busy as deputy PM that much will be delegated
Also she "likes slides (no more than 8) to structure meetings and "a maximum of 4 officials" so everyone speaks
This is sensible stuff for any minister in charge of a medium-sized or large department.
It should be the minimum standard required – but one suspects hyper-active and unfocused minsters have been trying to do everything and ending up doing nothing.
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Tactical improvements are of little use or value if the overall strategy is misconceived.
Neither Brexit nor solving the cost-of-living crisis will be “done” by the government’s current approach.
Avoiding easy mistakes will not be enough with the hard policy problems ahead.
That is also the minimum requirement of governance.
And it is a measure of how bad politics – and policy – have been that these simple changes are conspicuous enough to be welcomed.
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This blog said that it would give the new Prime Minister a clean slate – although some under the line thought this was too generous.
And it is still very early days: the Prime Minister has been office less than two weeks, and that has included a period of national mourning.
The early signs are that there may be marginal improvements.
But the big blundering is still there.
And although we should always remember that there is no one way of governing well, we should note there are many ways of governing badly.
This should be obvious to capable politicians, Elizabeth Truss and Thérèse Coffey.
*
I wrote about the Oxford comma legal case on the day Theresa May triggered Article 50 and the FT’s readers rated their relative importance. pic.twitter.com/nVttkkw5jc
Thank you for reading – and now please help this blog continue providing free-to-read and independent commentary on constitutional matters and other law and policy topics.
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True Historians, of course, do not like periodisation.
The very notion that there can be start-dates and end-dates to periods of study are, for True Historians, anathema, heretical, and blasphemous.
Or worse.
Even dates like 1066, or 1914, or 1945 will, for a True Historian, not be anything other than something which draws us away from understanding continuities.
There is no start-date and end-date which does not mask, for a True Historian, lots of things which carried on as before, and which does not interrupt some existing trend.
But.
For rest of us mere mortals, who will never become True Historians, periodisation is a useful device – as long as not too much reliance is placed on it.
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For a good part of English history, periodisation was simple: it followed the reigns of the monarchs.
Dates likes 1485 and 1603 and 1714 were good dates to start and end a course of study or the content of a text book.
But after 1714 the dates began to slip, and the periods did not match the reigns of monarchs.
Dates like 1815 or 1865 began to be the bookends of courses and textbooks, and for the twentieth century (at least for the United Kingdom) the dates of the world wars were convenient marker dates.
But what of the post-war period?
If 1945 is seen as the start of a period of British history, when should that period end?
1990, with the end of the Cold War and the fall of Thatcher?
1997, with the coming of New Labour?
2001, with 9/11?
2010, with the going of New Labour?
2016, with the Brexit referendum?
2020, with the actual UK departure from the European Union?
Or is there a case to be made for 2022, a year where, in a single week, we had a change of Prime Minister and a change of monarch?
And a year in which Putin and Russia so obviously overreached themselves in Ukraine.
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From a constitutionalist perspective, the start-dates and end-dates are perhaps different.
For a constitutionalist, the key dates may be: 1660 (the restoration); 1688-89 (the revolution); 1707 (the union between England and Scotland); 1714 (the succession of George I); 1745-46 (with the final failure of the disputed succession); 1801 (the union of Great Britain and Ireland); 1828-32 (the collapse of the “ancien regime” with Roman Catholic emancipation and the Great Reform Act); 1867 (the extension of the vote to some working men); 1911 (the defeat of the House of Lords with the Parliament Act); 1918 (votes for women); 1922 (the Irish Free State, effectively ending the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland); and 1936 (the forced abdication).
Each one of these dates, which signal some re-configuration of our constitutional arrangements, would be a good start-date or end-date for a work of modern constitutional history.
(There are other possible dates too – but that paragraph was already long enough.)
But what more recent date would be a marker for our constitutional history?
Some would have said 1973, with our entry into the European Communities; or 2020, with our departure from the Communities’ successor, the European Union.
Others would say the various legislative changes of the first Tony Blair administration, with devolution and the Human Rights Act.
And a strong case can be made for the Good Friday Agreement.
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My own view, for what it is worth, is that – from a constitutionalist perspective – the marker date is yet to come.
The next marker date in our constitutional history will be when there is a border poll in Northern Ireland, especially if there is a vote for unification.
(Or it may be a pro-independence referendum vote in Scotland, if that is sooner.)
For that will bring to an end the constitutional history of the entity which came into its current form in 1922, with the Irish Free State.
And a good historical periodisation is always around a century-long.
(Shh, don’t tell True Historians.)
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If so, then today’s funeral provided a fascinating and highly significant piece of evidence:
Today I respectfully join leaders from Britain, Ireland & the international community at the funeral of Queen Elizabeth II as she is laid to rest. It is a sad day for her family who mourn her loss, and all those of a British identity from across our community who grieve also.
This tweet may well be one of the most important things ever tweeted in respect of our constitutional arrangements.
For the Sinn Féin First Minister (Designate) of Northern Ireland to write in such terms means that the sensibilities and concerns of the Unionist community are not only being acknowledged but respected.
And the more the Unionists are made to feel more comfortable, the more likely there will be a united Ireland.
That tweet was huge.
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As this blog has averred before, the great achievement of Elizabeth II was to take a throne which seemed precarious, and to hand it on with more security to her successor.
And so for her monument, you could look around today at the state funeral.
Of course, in a way, with the death of Elizabeth II it can be said in general terms that the twentieth century came to an end.
She was our last major link with a good part of the twentieth century: somebody born the same year as Marilyn Monroe who died in the era of TikTok:
Somebody who served in uniform in World War II, and whose first Prime Minister – Winston Churchill – was born in 1874, lived on so that her last Prime Minister was born a century later, in 1975.
When she died, Elizabeth provided the sort of continuity at which any True Historian will clap and cheer.
She ensured that the end of her reign was not to be a start-date or end-date.
And so our start-dates or end-dates, at least from a constitutionalist perspective, will not include 2022, and so we will have to be different dates instead.
One suspects Elizabeth II would be happy with that.
***
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When the Queen died and a national period of mourning was announced, I thought it would be an apt thing to devote the posts on this blog to the monarchy during that period.
This is not to say that there are not more pressing problems in our polity: there certainly are, and they are urgent.
But this blog often engages with constitutional matters – and the organising principle of our constitution is the monarchy.
There is almost no developed and distinct concept of the “State” in English law.
Instead, we have the Crown, from which the legislature (the “Crown-in Parliament”), the High Court, and the executive (the “Royal Prerogative”) all – theoretically – derive their power.
Criminal proceeding and applications for judicial review are done in the name of the Crown, and so on.
There is even an entire species of law – from the Privy Council and including Royal Charters – that is parallel to parliamentary legislation and is just as much of legal effect.
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This general nature of the Crown co-exists with certain privileges and rights.
It is not a satisfactory situation and, although a republic is unrealistic (at least in the foreseeable future) there are things that can and should be done to remove these consents and privileges.
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There are also questions to be addressed about the scope and use of the Royal Prerogative.
In both the Miller cases, for example, the contention was seriously made that the matters in hand were no-go areas for the courts, and that these decisions to be made by a Prime Minister were not justiciable.
In both cases, the Supreme Court said “no”.
But the impulse of those who hold prime ministerial power will continue to use powers that are beyond the reach of legal challenge.
The fiction is, of course, that these powers are being exercised for and on behalf of the Crown – but that fiction is unlikely to convince many as the twenty-first century continues.
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I would recommend that we have a – well – Royal Commission on the remaining and residual powers and privileges of the Crown within our polity, with Parliament then legislating to place the retained powers and privileges on a statutory basis and discarding the rest.
The monarchy of the United Kingdom has had a “re-set” from time-to-time, and this may be a good time for such an exercise.
The late Queen was acutely aware – from what happened to her own uncle and to other twentieth century monarchs – of the precariousness of her position.
And seventy years later – by employing such a approaches as “the firm” – she was able to hand the Crown safely to her heir.
Such a “re-set” could not sensibly be done while the later Queen was alive – and some would say that she and Philip did their own subtle “re-set” so as to meet the challenges of the monarchy in the modern media age.
There is no reason why we cannot now have a broader “re-set” – with a hard look at all the Crown’s powers and privileges in the round.
Every constitution – and every element of the constitution – should be regarded as a work in practice.
Next week – after the funeral – national media attention and focus will return to other political problems, including the urgent cost-of-living and energy crises.
There may not be another time for a while to discuss the sort of Crown that we want as part of our Constitutional arrangements – and what realistic and practical reforms can be made.
Yes – there will be some how will just assert that simply they want a republic – but I would prefer for as many as possible to think realistically and practically about what can be done to improve what we have got.
And if such a “reset” is not done, we will find ourselves at the next funeral and accession decrying the lack of sensible reforms to this central part of our constitution.
***
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The route to a republic currently starts at about London Bridge, follows the Thames and crosses Lambeth Bridge, before ending at Westminster Hall.
And if you tried today to follow that route, you would find it is blocked almost every inch of the way.
This is, of course, the line for people wanting to see the late Queen lying-in-state.
Not all the people in that queue are monarchists – their motives may be varied.
But the one thing the queue evidences is the deep hold the monarchy currently has on the attention and time of a significant group of the British people.
You may not like it, but it is there – and if you care for practical politics and realistic constitutional reform – it is something you are going to work with.
A non-trivial group of people are attached to the institution of the monarchy.
And because of this fact, it is not possible to see any clear pathway from here to a republic.
Even if something happens which means the throne becomes occupied by someone undesirable, history points to that occupant being ejected (as in 1688 and 1936) rather than the monarchy itself being threatened.
And if an heir to throne becomes unacceptable that too can be dealt with by regulating succession – and a good part of the constitutional law of the United Kingdom is to do with the regulation of succession.
Perhaps things could fundamentally change, and the monarchy discredits itself somehow.
Perhaps the monarchs themselves decide that they no longer want to have such a role.
Perhaps.
But, absent any such fundamental change, it is difficult to see why any politician or political party would ever want to campaign on the issue.
And, after our collective experience in or since 2016, it is highly unlikely any government would put the matter to a referendum.
So like the Jacobites who eventually came to terms with the Georges, republicans are – again – going to have reluctantly accept that the Crown is not going away.
Of course, there are big questions to be asked about the powers of the Crown.
And no sensible person can defend the hereditary principle on its own terms – though it has the happy indirect effect of keeping populists from being head of state.
As a non-militant republican I would prefer things to be different, but I suspect I would not join a long queue to campaign for it.
And if all the militant republicans did form a queue, also starting around London Bridge, it probably would not get much further than Traitor’s Gate.
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Over at his substack, the estimable political journalist Adam Bienkov sets out why he thinks it is a bad thing that normal politics have been suspended.
There is a great deal of force in what Bienkov says.
But.
I want to put forward an alternative view.
The run of day-to-day politics has certainly been paused, but politics operates on a number of levels.
And at a deeper level, what is happening at the moment is politics of a more fundamental kind.
We are reminding ourselves of the institutions of the state and the arrangements of our constitutional order – and the role of the Crown as the most important organising principle in our political system.
This is a good thing for our polity, and it should be done from time to time.
Yes: the timing could be better.
But the timing will never be perfect – there will always be some crisis or controversy.
A period of such reflection is not necessarily a conservative thing.
It may well be that the contemplation of our monarchy – about what it has been and what it may become – will lead people to consider or accept change.
Such thoughts are rare in the hustle-bustle of daily politics.
And so in this way I do not see what is currently happening as the political life of the nation being put on hold, but a continuation of politics by other means.
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The sentiment above is a general one – and it would be applicable at any time.
But there is also a particular reason why the current pause in day-to-day politics is to be welcomed.
Our current politics is characterised by the “3 Ps” – populism, polarisation, and post-truth.
This is especially the case after the downfall of Boris Johnson and the rise to power of Elizabeth Truss after a leadership campaign in which the candidates necessarily had to appeal to partisan supporters.
A break from – and a brake on – such a manic political trend is healthy.
And given the circumstances of this pause – marking the death of someone who, on any view, was a committed public servant – the contrast with certain recent leading politicians is stark.
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We have an energy crisis and a cost-of-living crisis, and we have a war in Europe and an ongoing climate emergency.
All of these need to be addressed, all of them are urgent.
But we may also be having a broader political crisis – a crisis of legitimacy and accountability.
And, if so, that also needs addressing, for that also would be urgent.
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Reminding ourselves that there are other parts of the constitution than what Johnson misused or disregarded is a good thing.
Such moments should be rare in any political system, but they should happen from time to time.
And this is not necessarily a monarchist notion – for what it is worth, I am a non-militant republican, opposed to the hereditary principle.
Normal political activity will resume soon enough.
But this short time out from day-to-day politics is good for us, and it good for our politics.
***
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The Accession Council was broadcast live on Saturday morning.
That broadcast was a boon for the public understanding of the constitution of the United Kingdom, showing the sort of things that are usually hidden from public view.
It was fascinating watching for anyone interested in the nature of our constitutional arrangements.
You can watch it here – and I will explain below why various aspects of it were important and/or interesting:
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The Accession Council is a configuration of the Privy Council.
That there is now no longer a strict statutory requirement for an Accession Council should not mislead you into thinking that the council meeting was mere ceremony and its content mumbo-jumbo.
There was actually a point to a good part of it, even if that point was constitutional rather than strictly legal(istic).
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For example, take the oath in respect of the Church of Scotland.
(Here note I am neither Scottish nor a Scots lawyer, and so please nudge me in the comments below if I put my foot wrong.)
Under this Act, it is provided among other things:
“And Lastly That after the decease of her present Majesty (whom God long preserve) [Anne] the Sovereign succeeding to her in the Royal Government of the Kingdom of Great Britain shall in all time comeing at his or her accession to the Crown Swear and Subscribe that they shall inviolably maintain and preserve the foresaid Settlement of the true Protestant Religion with the Government Worship Discipline Right and Priviledges of this Church as above established by the Laws of this Kingdom in prosecution of the Claim of Right”.
This is an Act not of the Parliament at Westminster but of the Parliament of Scotland.
Indeed, it appears to be the legislation passed just before that parliament voted for union with England:
The Act was passed by the Scottish Parliament at a time when the then Queen looked as if she was to be succeeded by distant relatives – and the Scottish Parliament was presumably anxious to ensure that its position would be protected by the new monarch.
The 1707 Act has (as far as I can tell) a unique legal and constitutional status.
The Westminster Parliament cannot repeal this Act if there is a regency in place.
“The Regent shall not have power to assent to any Bill for changing the order of succession to the Crown or for repealing or altering an Act of the fifth year of the reign of Queen Anne made in Scotland entitled “An Act for Securing the Protestant Religion and Presbyterian Church Government.””
I am not aware of any other statutory provision which prevents the Royal Assent of an otherwise passed Bill – and it is a deft device to achieve a measure of entrenchment.
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Now let us turn to seals.
It is a mark of our age that it is difficult not to think of aquatic animals when the word “seal” is used:
But if we can put out pinniped friends aside for a moment, seals were – and are – important.
Part of the business of the Accession Council was for the new king to approve the various seals still used in government business.
These seals convert documents that have no legal standing and effect into instruments that can have just as much legal standing and effect as any Act of Parliament.
Seals are an important part of the business of government.
The current seals have the name, image and chosen inscription of the late Queen:
There was no legal requirement for Charles to confirm that the current seals could continue to be used, for the Succession to the Crown Act 1707 provides:
“And be it further enacted by the Authority aforesaid That the Great Seal of Great Britain the Privy Seal Privy Signet and all other Publick Seals in being at the Time of the Demise of Her Majesty Her Heirs or Successors shall continue and be made use of as the respective Seals of the Successor until such Successor shall give Order to the contrary”.
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There was also a confirmation that Charles will surrender the (considerable) revenues of the Crown Estate in return for the Sovereign Grant.
And today (the Monday after the Saturday) there has already been a statutory instrument amending this provision of 2011:
Given the amounts involved – the annual revenue of the Royal Estate is about half a billion pounds – one can appreciate why the government would want to act quickly to ensure the legal framework was up-to-date.
It should be noted that Charles referred to the “tradition” of surrendering the revenue of the Royal Estate, as if it were a voluntary act which he just happens to wishes to continue with, rather than being a firm legal obligation.
This “tradition”dates back to George III and it is unthinkable that the surrender would ever be rescinded, but it is an element of our uncodified constitution which owes more perhaps to a “good King’s theory of the constitution” rather than the more well known “good chap’s”.
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Charles also approved legislation for a bank holiday for the State Funeral.
This approval was legally required under the Banking and Financial Dealings Act 1971:
The usual statutory bank holidays are listed in schedule 1 to that Act – and so for England and Wales they are:
The eagle-eyed among you will see that neither Christmas Day nor Good Friday are statutory bank holidays.
This is because they are bank holidays at common law, a point which is recognised by this wonderful sub-section that follows the one just quoted:
This means the King and his Privy Council has the legal power, by proclamation, to make it like Christmas everyday.
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The broadcast of a meeting of the Privy Council itself – even if this special one – is illuminating.
The business is done directly between the monarch and the ministers attending, seeking approval for various measures.
A famous such meeting took place three years ago:
Note the “Note” at the bottom.
The business of the council is conducted standing up:
The same principle commonly applies to morning meetings in tech startups. Who knew that Queen Victoria was the first Agile Scrum Master?
Orders in Council can cover many things, ranging from important constitutional acts to trivial-seeming amendments of existing royal charters.
They are, however, a system of making law parallel to the legislative process at Westminster.
Many would be surprised at what can be given legal effect outwith the Westminster Parliament.
The meetings take place wherever the monarch happens to be – and, as Torrence explains in another outstanding briefing, the Queen would engage with ministers on the measures to be approved:
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The public broadcast of the Accession Council was a decision that must have been made some time ago.
It is difficult to believe that the filming was arranged at speed after the death of the Queen.
There seems to be no inherent reason why they cannot be filmed and broadcast – and so it is presumably in the gift of the King as and when other Privy Council meetings are filmed and broadcast.
Perhaps future meetings will also now be filmed and broadcast – showing Charles engaging face-to-face with government ministers on a range of issues.
This may be good – or bad – for Charles and/or the ministers involved.
If so, they would be an interesting complement to the filming and broadcast of parliamentary proceedings.
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The business of the Accession Council included matters that went back to the Stuarts.
The content included the monarch’s promise to protect of the Church of Scotland; the monarch’s tradition of surrendering the revenues of the Crown; the practical need to carry on the Monarch’s government; and the proclamation of a public holiday.
As the historian Judy Stephenson noted, the Accession Meeting was in the round a reminder of various agreements and compromises over centuries that have shaped our current constitutional arrangements:
For me all the different proclamations demonstrated the persistence of the unique set of agreements that a union and constitutional monarchy were the best way of managing power and responsibility over the centuries. The restamping of lots of important little contracts.
The decision to film and broadcast the Accession Council was a wise and informative one.
A whole sector of the usually hidden constitution was opened to the public gaze – and it was informative, and not just for constitution geeks.
It was also a reminder of the key distinction between the Crown and those who have served the Crown.
The King on one side, and – roped-off – some familiar faces on the other:
The Accession Council meeting should now be required viewing for history and law students, among others.
And let us hope that further Privy Council meeting are now televised.
There are few events in which varied elements of our constitution, from different times, are brought together in one place and at one time.
I wish it could be possible to have such insights every day.
***
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“Most flags around the country fly at half-mast (subject to the new monarch’s wishes), except the Royal Standard, which is “never flown at half mast, even after the death of a monarch, as there is always a Sovereign on the throne”.”
The person of the monarch changes, but the concept continues.
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The abstract notion of a “king” (or “queen”) or “lord” or “chief” is from our species’ earliest endeavours at organised society.
With a face-to-face community, with a pecking order, the most dominant individual can prevail without any need for a label.
But once there are too many individuals for a leader to dominate personally – in my view, about Dunbar’s number – those with power have to use concepts which we would regard as rules and commands that have to be obeyed.
And in this way dominance becomes a matter of status.
That individual has to be obeyed, not (just) because they are personally dominant but because they also are “king” (or “queen”) or “lord” or “chief” .
The status is separate and distinct from the individual.
The Crown carries on, as it is distinct from any individual.
Some words will change because we have a male monarch instead of a female one.
Queen’s Counsel became King’s Counsel; the Queen’s Peace becomes the King’s Peace; and so on.
And when the throne goes from Charles to William, not even these labels will change.
We notice only these changes because, unusually, the Crown is not going from one man to another.
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The Crown is a concept – perhaps a super-concept – in our constitutional, political and legal arrangements.
The Crown is the theoretical ultimate basis of most public power in the United Kingdom: for Parliament, for the Courts, and for the Executive.
Because Elizabeth was on the throne for so long, it became easy to identify her personally with the Crown.
And now we have a King – and so we can perhaps get a better sense than before of the distinction between the status and the individual.
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I happen to be a non-militant republican, who would prefer the selection of the head of state not to be based on the hereditary principle.
The hereditary principle is a difficult principle to defend, and the only thing to be said for it is that it prevents the election of crude populists to be the head of state.
But that is, in one way, an issue about succession.
Succession – selection – is not the only issue about the Crown.
The powers of the Crown, and how the Crown binds the elements of the constitution together both theoretically and practically, are points wider than the question of succession and selection.
It we were to become a republic, should the office of President be otherwise identical to the Crown?
Or should the head of state in a republic have a different configuration in the constitution?
One argument for the Crown is that its value is not so much about what power it has – but what power it prevents others from having.
But would that still work with an elected head of state?
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The debate about the powers of the Crown can now be uncoupled from a discussion about the undoubted merits of the late Queen.
It is a topic which we can think about and talk about in ways different from before.
Because we now have a King.
A King.
It still feels really strange to type.
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