Author: David Allen Green

Legal words v everyday words – how can the killing of six prisoners between the presidential election and inauguration not be a ‘cruel and unusual’ punishment?

27th January 2021

Over at Prospect my column this month is on the grim topic of capital punishment and how former President Trump revived federal executions in the last seven months of his presidency – for my article click and look here.

In this post today I want to expand on the issue I touch on in the introductory paragraphs of that article: what is a ‘cruel and unusual punishment’?

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The reason this matters, of course, is the eighth amendment to the constitution of the United States, the relevant text of which provides: 

‘nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.’  

So if a punishment is cruel and unusual (and note it is ‘and’ and not ‘or’) then it is not only prohibited but also unconstitutional.

Some would contend (in my view rightly) that any use of the death sentence is, at least in modern times, a ‘cruel and unusual punishment’.

But here another part of the constitution is engaged.

The fifth amendment provides, among other things:

‘nor shall any person…be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law’.

This means that the constitution envisages that a person can be deprived of their life by process of law.

And as United States prosecutors, and supporters of the death penalty often point out, the fifth and the eighth amendments were adopted at the same time (as part of the bill of rights) and thereby should be read together.

Of course, there is a certain irony – cruel perhaps – that the fifth amendment was intended to have a generally liberal effect now has, in respect of capital punishment, an illiberal effect.

So the constitutional position is that capital punishment is permitted (fifth amendment) as long as it is not ‘cruel and unusual’ (eighth amendment).

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In my Prospect column I argue, by the modern everyday meaning of the words ‘cruel’ and ‘unusual’, that the six executions after Trump was defeated and before the new President Joseph Biden was inaugurated were indeed unusual and cruel.

This argument has three bases.

First, once Trump was defeated it was plain that there would be a new president within weeks who was pledged to end federal executions.

And so if the executions did not take place by 20th January 2021 then the prisoner would not be killed.

They would still be alive today.

Second, federal executions are not usual

Indeed, before Trump there had not been any federal executions for seventeen years and, before then, only three executions since 1966.

Click and have a look at this table.

Of course, executions take place in individual states – though twenty-two states have abolished the death penalty and in a further thirteen states there is either a formal or an informal moratorium.

But at a federal level executions were not, between 1966 and 2020, usual.

And by definition, what is not usual is unusual. 

Third, these final six executions were (especially) cruel.

The prisoner – and those charged with killing the prisoner – knew that there was now a race against time.

This deliberate putting to death of a human being had to be done within days, if it was to be done at all.

The circumstances of the six executions after the election but before inauguration indeed amounted to the application of mental torture as part of the punishment.

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But.

Although words have everyday meanings when those words are in a formal legal instrument, those words also have special legal meanings.

And the words ‘cruel’ and ‘unusual’ have been considered by the United States courts again and again.

Caselaw accumulates like barnacles on a shipwreck, so that little or nothing can now be seen of the original vessel.

The general position now is that whether a punishment is ‘cruel’ goes to the technique used at the point of death (and not the period leading to the execution), and if the punishment is still in use then it cannot be ‘unusual’ (which is fairly circular argument).

(The latest significant case in this grisly caselaw is here.)

What it is plain is that the wording of the constitutional prohibition is not autonomous – that it cannot be used in any given situation, free from the weight of caselaw.

A thing is only ‘cruel’ and/or ‘unusual’ if it accords with what these words mean as a matter of 230 years of caselaw, and not what those words mean in everyday discourse.

And this is both a merit and a flaw of placing rights in formal written instruments, such a a bill of rights.

On one hand, a person can point to the right and say with certainty that they have these fundamental protections; but on the other hand, formality can quickly become rigidity.

There is no easy solution to this problem of how one protects rights with a living, evolving legal instrument.

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None of this is to aver that the executions between the election and the inauguration were unlawful and unconstitutional – the fact that the United States supreme court did not prevent those killings indicates that the punishments were lawful and constitutional.

Nor does this post contend that the constitutional law of the United States can easily be recast so as to render such executions as unlawful and unconstitutional.

The purpose of this post is to illustrate the gap between everyday language and precise legal terminology: that, in these instances, things that are plainly cruel and usual are not ‘cruel and unusual’.

This leads to the wider point about using the law to guarantee rights and freedoms: a general legal instrument quickly attracts caselaw, and that caselaw scopes and often limits the meaning of that instrument.

And so one can end up with the vile spectacle of six human beings being deliberately slaughtered before 20th January 2021 because they would be safe from slaughter if they managed to live beyond that date, and that this horrific episode was, as a matter of law, neither cruel nor unusual.

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Why the first paragraph of the lawsuit brought by Dominion Voting Systems against Rudolph Giuliani is a splendid piece of legal drafting

26th January 2021

You would need a heart of stone not to laugh like a drain at the lawsuit brought by Dominion Voting Systems against Rudolph Giuilani.

The pleading is worth reading for its own sake, and the first paragraph – which, as this post will show, rewards re-reading – is a cracker.

But once one eventually stops laughing, what should one make of it?

Of course, the defendant Rudolph Giuilani is now regarded by many as a figure of political fun, a villain in the Trump pantomime.

But principle is – or should be – blind to the person to whom it applies.

So here is a thought experiment.

Imagine – for the sake of argument and exposition – that there was a corporation that provided voting machines and, unlike the plaintiff in this case, there was a serious and consequential issue as to the efficacy of the equipment.

And imagine that the political or media figure bringing loud attention to this issue was not the defendant in this situation but instead a credible and likeable politician or journalist.

Would you still clap and cheer if that noble figure was faced with a 107-page legal claim for $651,735,000 or some other absurdly precise amount?

Or would you re-tweet furiously about threats by corporates to whistleblowing and freedom of expression?

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So how can the court tell the good cases from the bad?

How can the court strike the right balance?

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This thread from American lawyer Mike Dunford sets out the legal challenges for Dominion Voting Systems:

And as would be the position with a similar case in England and Wales, you will see that the legal issue quickly becomes one of showing malice – and there it is called ‘actual malice’:

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At this point the non-lawyer will ask, understandably: what is malice?

And a lawyer will respond, frustratingly: it all depends.

But here it is interesting to now go back to the first paragraph of the the legal pleading of Dominion Voting System (and this is why it is worth re-reading):

“During a court hearing contesting the results of the 2020 election in Pennsylvania, Rudy Giuliani admitted that the Trump Campaign “doesn’t plead fraud” and that “this is not a fraud case.” Although he was unwilling to make false election fraud claims about Dominion and its voting machines in a court of law because he knew those allegations are false, he and his allies manufactured and disseminated the “Big Lie,” which foreseeably went viral and deceived millions of people into believing that Dominion had stolen their votes and fixed the election. Giuliani reportedly demanded $20,000 per day for that Big Lie. But he also cashed in by hosting a podcast where he exploited election falsehoods to market gold coins, supplements, cigars, and protection from “cyberthieves.” Even after the United States Capitol had been stormed by rioters who had been deceived by Giuliani and his allies, Giuliani shirked responsibility for the consequences of his words and repeated the Big Lie again.”

This is not just racy narrative – if you look carefully you will see that it is a clever attempt to show malice.

Giuliani said a thing he knew he could not say in court; he knew it would go viral; he had a financial incentive; and he was irresponsible in respect of its consequences.

Every sentence – every clause – of that well-crafted first paragraph is serving a purpose in showing that there was ‘actual malice’.

It is a lovely piece of legal drafting – enough to make one want to clap and cheer, regardless of the identity of the defendant.

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Corporations – especially those providing public services or supplying equipment for use in public services – should not have it easy when it comes to making legal threats.

Even when they are threatening pantomime villains.

Public figures, especially those in the worlds of politics and media, should have some protection when they are complaining of such corporations.

Even when those figures are pantomime villains.

The purpose of the law in these situations is to strike a balance – to provide for what both sides would need to show in court.

Here the corporation – rightly – cannot just sue because of damaging false statements, it may also need to show that there was malice.

And the lesson of the first paragraph of the pleading and of the rest of the complaint is that in certain circumstances this can be shown, at least arguably.

What comes of this case cannot be guessed at this time – and most civil claims tend to settle.

But Giuliani has a genuine legal fight on his hands here.

And you would need a heart of stone not to laugh like a drain.

*****

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Why it is possible to be neutral about Brexit in principle – and how this may even be a good thing

25th January 2021

Yesterday the question came up on Twitter as to whether it was actually possible to be neutral about Brexit.

The contention is: surely the obvious problems of the departure of the United Kingdom from the European Union are such that nobody with any knowledge of the subject could be neutral on the topic.

One could be objective (or purport to be objective) – this contention goes – but nobody could any longer be ‘neutral’.

There is some attractive force in this contention – and it is certainly true that nobody could be indifferent as to how this calamitous Brexit has come about and is proceeding.

But.

As someone who is (or purports to be) neutral on Brexit in principle it seems to fall to me to explain not only why one can be neutral on Brexit in principle but also why it may be a healthy intellectual position that should be shared more widely.

Note here the words ‘in principle’ for they are doing some heavy lifting.

What is the principle?

The principle is straightforward, and it was stated in the referendum question itself:

“Should the United Kingdom remain a member of the European Union or leave the European Union?”

The two answers to this question were:

“Remain a member of the European Union”

“Leave the European Union”

The principle is about whether the United Kingdom is a member state or not a member state of the European Union.

And so this is the ‘Brexit in principle’ that I am neutral about.

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The ultimate question of Brexit is that of formal membership of the European Union.

That is what the referendum question was about.

But this question of formal membership tells you nothing directly about whether a country is part of the Single Market: some countries participate in the Single Market without being members of the European Union.

And the question of formal membership also tells you nothing directly about whether a country is part of a customs union with the European Union.

It is perfectly conceivable for the United Kingdom to be in an association agreement with the European Union, participating in the Single Market and the customs union, and with shared institutions and mechanisms, without being a formal member.

And depending what happens with the current trade and cooperation agreement over the next five or ten years and so on, that is perhaps what the United Kingdom will end up with.

It may well be that such an association agreement will prove to be more enduring and sustainable than the forty-seven years the United Kingdom lasted as a member of the European Economic Community and the European Union.

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Against this view is a powerful argument based on convenience: if the United Kingdom wants to be part of the Single Market and a customs union then it may as well be part of the European Union, where it will also have the right to influence policies and decisions.

There is a lot to be said for this pragmatic argument.

But that is what it is: an argument from pragmatism, and not from principle.

Indeed, after forty-seven years as a member state, there is certainly a compelling argument that any Brexit was always going to be far more trouble than it was worth.

And that is partly why I have been so critical about Brexit: a deep and lingering question of, well, what is the point?

This botched Brexit in practice has been an expensive and time-consuming exercise in placing the United Kingdom in a worse trading position that it was to begin with.

And so yes, in practice, any Brexit born in the political conditions of 2016 was likely to not go well – and indeed the one we had turned out quite badly.

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But.

Being able to show how something has gone badly in practice tells you nothing directly about the principle.

And here I admit I am indifferent to all political unions, and not just the European Union: they come and go, rise and fall.

The United Kingdom itself, in its current form of Great Britain and six counties in the north of Ireland, is not much older than the European Coal and Steel Community, the supranational forerunner of the European Union (and on this point, see this post here).

And Great Britain itself is an improvised political union born in the particular circumstances of the early 1700s on this wet and windy island in the north Atlantic, and which has no absolute and eternal purchase.

Political unions come and go.

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Whether the United Kingdom should now seek to (re-)join the European Union it formally left in 2020 is now a question which, on any view, is of keen political controversy.

Some will say that in no circumstances the United Kingdom should (re-)join: it is and should always be a (supposedly) ‘sovereign’ nation.

And others will say that, as a matter of principle, the United Kingdom should be part of the European Union both because of what the European Union stands for and because of its substantial benefits.

But there will be others, especially as the hectic political years of 2016-21 recede from view, who will not approach the debate from either of these absolute positions.

They will instead want to work forwards from questions of what works and what are the benefits, rather than backwards from an absolute commitment to ‘sovereignty’ or to membership of the European Union.

And this is where neutrality – as well as objectivity – in commentary is a good thing: nothing on this blog, or my stuff elsewhere, has the preconceived notion of the United Kingdom necessarily staying outside or quickly (re-)joining the European Union.

Of course, partisans for and against the European Union can be detached and objective – both a remain and a leave commentator, if intellectually honest, will recognise the same predicaments.

Not all partisans are hyper-partisans.

But it is also possible – and I aver a good thing – for a commentator on Brexit to not be committed to having the United Kingdom forever either in the column of formal members of the European Union or on the list of countries with other relationships with the European Union.

(And indeed to also not be committed to the United Kingdom as a political union.)

The question is what works in practice and is sustainable.

There are many things not to be neutral about – the absolute importance of universal human rights and the sheer horror of populist authoritarian nationalism – and it may be that certain political configurations are better placed, in practice, in dealing with these things.

There are certainly strong pragmatic arguments for the United Kingdom to be a member of all sorts of international associations.

But on the question of whether the United Kingdom is (again) a member-state of the European Union or has some other (perhaps more sustainable) relationship is an ultimate question on which being indifferent is not necessarily a bad thing.

Indeed, given the uncertainties and challenges ahead for the United Kingdom after Brexit, neutrality on this ultimate question is perhaps better than the alternative of commentating from a preferred end-position.

And the debate about Brexit and its aftermath may even be healthier.  

*****

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The fateful Bloomberg speech of 2013 – contextualising *that* speech by David Cameron eight years later

24th January 2021

Eight years ago yesterday the then prime minister David Cameron gave a speech at Bloomberg.

The speech was to have significant consequences.

The speech can be read here and can be watched here:

And, for background, there is also this Wikipedia page.

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What should make of Cameron’s Bloomberg speech eight years later?

The speech is undeniably important in the telling of the story of Brexit.

Indeed, when historians come to write of the causes of Brexit, this speech is likely to be be emphasised as a key short-term cause.

It was the first of a sequence of events that led to the Brexit we now have: the Conservative manifesto commitment for a referendum; the 2015 general election; the return of an overall Conservative majority; the referendum bill, the (supposed) ‘re-negotiation’; the calling of the referendum; the (lacklustre) government campaign for remain; the referendum result; and so on.

In terms of a linear sequence of events, the Bloomberg speech would seem to have more reason than many others to be the prime-mover – at least in the short-term.

The first of an apparent chain reaction of political explosions, some with bigger bangs than others, that lead to the biggest bang of all: the rushed departure of the United Kingdom from the European Union.

But.

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As Voltaire once said somewhere, history is a box of tricks we play upon our ancestors.

And so what looks neat and linear in hindsight can often be misleading.

This is because although historical narratives are (necessarily) linear if not always neat, past events are complex and invariably messy.

Accordingly, to reckon the significance of a politician’s speech – or of any text or any other speech act – one needs to place that text in contexts.

Otherwise one can fall into the error of thinking, in this particular case, that had Cameron not made that speech in 2013 there would not have been the Brexit we now have, or indeed perhaps no Brexit at all.

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One context for the speech is the political situation of the Conservative party in and around 2013.

The party was in a coalition government with the Liberal Democrats, and the party itself had not had a majority in the house of commons since the early years of the premiership of John Major some twenty years before.

And in 2011 to 2013, the Conservative party looked as if it was being out-flanked by the United Kingdom Independence Party (Ukip).

So until and unless the Conservative party addressed the reasons for Ukip support – either by facing Ukip down or by engaging with its politics – there was a real prospect that the Conservatives would go yet longer without a parliamentary majority.

The Conservative chose to share the politics of Ukip: to make the departure of the United Kingdom from the European Union a real possibility.

(And the general election results of 2015 and indeed 2019 indicate that this Conservative political strategy has worked.)

Of course, had Cameron not made the Bloomberg speech in 2013, the surge in Ukip support and its political threat to the Conservatives would not have gone away.

Even with that speech, and the Conservative manifesto commitment of a referendum, Ukip performed strongly (at least in terms of votes) in the 2013 local elections, the 2014 European Parliament elections and the 2015 general election.

As such the Cameron speech was not a cause but an effect, and had a Conservative leader not done something in response to the rise of Ukip support eight years ago yesterday, there would have been something else before not much longer instead.

Some would say that a Conservative leader could have taken on the Ukip threat – like, say, the then Labour leader Neil Kinnock did with Militant in the 1980s – but that was not realistic.

The Conservative party – like the Labour party – had not made a positive case for the European Union for decades: to the extent the European Union impinged on domestic politics, it was invariably in terms of what the United Kingdom had opposed or had opted out of.

So as long as the Conservatives sought to obtain a parliamentary majority and Ukip would challenge that, then the place and timing of the offer of any referendum was incidental.

And given that the issue of membership of the the European Union would dominate the general election of 2015, it is quite plausible to see a referendum with a Leave victory happening afterwards, even if no speech had been given at all, at Bloomberg in 2013 or elsewhere.

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Another context for the 2013 Bloomberg speech and its referendum commitment was the casual approach of Cameron to constitutional matters generally and referendums in particular.

There had already been a United Kingdom-wide referendum on the electoral system in 2011 which Cameron and other opponents of that electoral reform had defeated comfortably.

Cameron and the Conservatives were also bullish about the impending Scottish referendum (that the United Kingdom government had then recently agreed would happen and which took place in 2014).

Referendums must have seemed a doddle.

And, in any case, that there would be a referendum on any future European Union treaty ‘giving powers to Brussels’ was part of the law.

This general lack of constitutional seriousness can be evidenced in other examples from around the same period: in 2014, the Conservatives put forward an especially flimsy proposal for repeal of the human rights act and in 2015, Cameron sought fundamental reform of the house of lords just because of a defeat on a tax credits proposal.

The historical caution of the Conservative party in respect of constitutional matters was non-existent by the time of the leadership of Cameron.

And so eight years ago yesterday for Cameron to make a commitment to a referendum of such potential constitutional import was not a big thing for him or most of his party.

He probably put no more serious thought into the actual implications of a referendum defeat than he would have put into an essay on the topic of referendums on a PPE degree course.

In hindsight one can now see the serious consequences of such a referendum – not least how it can create a ‘mandate’ that undermines not only effective parliamentary scrutiny but the very doctrine of parliamentary supremacy.

But in 2013 this was not given a second thought, nor indeed much of a first thought.

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A third context for the speech eight years ago yesterday is not provided by a thing, but an absence of a thing.

In the late 1980s, the 1990s and the early 2000s there was such a thing as ‘Euro-scepticism’.

(I know this because I happen to have been a Maastricht-era Euro-sceptic.)

This approach had two broad features.

First, it insisted that it was primarily about being wary of the direction of the European Economic Community (and then European Union).

In this, the guiding text was another speech by a Conservative leader, at Bruges in 1988, where Margaret Thatcher said:

“We have not successfully rolled back the frontiers of the state in Britain, only to see them re-imposed at a European level with a European super-state exercising a new dominance from Brussels.”

(Euro-sceptics, however, tended to ignore a later part of the same speech where Thatcher also said “Britain does not dream of some cosy, isolated existence on the fringes of the European Community. Our destiny is in Europe, as part of the Community.”)

The second feature of Euro-scepticism was that it was often a reaction to some new treaty advancement: Maastricht, Amsterdam, the (proposed) constitutional treaty, Lisbon.

But when this juggernaut of new treaties came to a halt with the treaty of Lisbon of 2007-9 – there have not been any such significant treaties since – Euro-scepticism lost the yin to its yan.

The development of the European Union entered into a settled stage.

And Euro-scepticism, as it had existed, served no purpose – the question became not about how the latest (supposed) treaty push towards integration should be countered but about membership itself.

There was now just a binary choice.

Any referendum would not be (and could not be) about any new treaty – as envisaged by the 2011 referendum legislation – because there were no new treaties.

The only thing left for a referendum to attach itself to was the question of membership itself.

And so a further context for the 2013 speech and the 2016 referendum is that – paradoxically – the end of substantial formal moves towards European Union integration at Lisbon meant that there was more risk that membership of the European Union was in question.

Those opposed to the European Union had now the cake of no further integration, and the supper of potential withdrawal.

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There are many other contexts – geopolitics, migration, the credit crunch and austerity, and so on.

This post is not and does not pretend to be exhaustive.

But as with another post at this blog, on counterfactuals, this post avers that Brexit was not about just one bad decision.

There are many ways things could have happened differently and the United Kingdom could still today be in a post-Brexit predicament.

(And alternatively, there are no doubt certain decisions which could have led to substantially different outcomes – such as the decision by former prime minister Theresa May to rule out membership of the single market and the decisions by opposition leaders in late-2019 to nod-along with a general election.)

But the way Brexit did happen, at least in the short-term, followed a fateful speech eight years ago yesterday – when Cameron opened a box of tricks to play upon his contemporaries.

*****

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What codification of Roe v Wade means and why President Biden is right to support it

23rd January 2021

Yesterday the twitter account of the new president of the United States tweeted about abortion rights:

Around the same time the following statement was published by the White House:

“Today marks the 48th anniversary of the U.S. Supreme Court’s landmark ruling in Roe v. Wade.  

“In the past four years, reproductive health, including the right to choose, has been under relentless and extreme attack.  We are deeply committed to making sure everyone has access to care – including reproductive health care – regardless of income, race, zip code, health insurance status, or immigration status. 

“The Biden-Harris Administration is committed to codifying Roe v. Wade and appointing judges that respect foundational precedents like Roe.  We are also committed to ensuring that we work to eliminate maternal and infant health disparities, increase access to contraception, and support families economically so that all parents can raise their families with dignity.  This commitment extends to our critical work on health outcomes around the world. 

“As the Biden-Harris Administration begins in this critical moment, now is the time to rededicate ourselves to ensuring that all individuals have access to the health care they need.”

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But what would this “codification” actually mean?

And why should it be welcomed?

The starting point is the 1973 decision of the United States supreme court in Roe v Wade.

That decision held, in effect, that access to an abortion is a fundamental right under the constitution of the United States.

And as a right within the constitution then it is not open to any individual state to prohibit access to an abortion absolutely.

The decision did not preclude regulation of such access by individual states but they could not formally – or practically – ban it altogether.

The ultimate right – subject to regulation – of access to an abortion was that of the woman, and this right could not be removed by any state legislature.

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From a liberal perspective, it does not ultimately matter what the legal basis is for the fundamental right of access to an abortion.

The basis in the United States could be a supreme court judgment, or a provision in the constitution, or a federal law, or whatever.

The important thing is that there is a right and that it is effective and can be enforced.

That said, there is considerable merit in placing the right on a firmer basis than just a supreme court decision.

What a supreme court giveth, a supreme court can taketh away.

And although conservative judges in particular believe (supposedly) in the principle of stare decisis (that is, precedent) they often find ways to distinguish and set aside precedents when those precedents are liberal.

The conservative packing by former president Donald Trump of the supreme court and the federal judicial benches generally mean that it is increasingly likely that Roe v Wade could either substantially limited or even reversed.

And this is partly because the privacy right that the supreme court articulated in 1973 as the basis of the right of access to an abortion is not actually an express provision in the constitution.

It is a right which the 1973 supreme court found to be necessarily implicit in the constitution.

But the general problem with any right judicially implied into a legal instrument by one court is that it is conceivable that another court will not make the same inference.

And although the 1973 judgment was a welcome advancement, few would say that the reasoning of the justices has been generally accepted.

So the judgment of Roe v Wade stands there precariously, awaiting an assault by conservative lawyers and judges.

And if it falls, then the constitutional right of access to an abortion falls with it.

What a supreme court giveth, a supreme court can taketh away.

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So what could be done?

Ideally, one would want a constitutional amendment.

If the right of access to an abortion was explicitly spelled-out in, say, an amendment to the constitution then the position would be placed beyond doubt.

And then no supreme court, however constituted and motivated, could do a thing about it (without breaching the constitution itself).

But this would be unlikely in practice, if not impossible.

There would not be sufficient support in congress and certainly not from a sufficient number of states for the constitution to be amended under Article 5 of the constitution.

The next best thing, however, is codification.

This means congress placing the right on a statutory basis at the federal level.

And this would be possible because, as with any express or implied right of the constitution, there is a basis for congress to legislate.

It is not a perfect solution.

It would still be possible for a supreme court to strike down such an act of congress as unconstitutional as it is possible for any other federal legislation.

But it would fortify the right: for instead of a conservative supreme court only needing to reverse the 1973 judgment it would also require striking down federal legislation that gave statutory effect to that right.

And although a right as fundamental as access to an abortion should never depend on mere majoritarianism – for even if abortion was prohibited by every state legislature there should still be a right of access of a woman to an abortion, as that is the nature of fundamental rights – it can be argued that endorsement by democratically elected politicians would also make it more difficult for judges to overturn the relevant legislation.

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Of course, it is at this stage only a proposal – former president Barack Obama also put forward codification only to not go through with it.

But given the recent packing of the federal benches with conservative judges and what seems to be (and without any serious doubt is) a long-term co-ordinated judicial strategy by conservatives of reversing Roe v Wade, it is prudent for the right of access to an abortion to be codified.

Rousing liberal judgments are wonderful gladdening things – but they are shaky as the sole basis for any fundamental right.

No fundamental right should depend only on a majority of judges at a certain moment in time.

Roe v Wade is a great judgment – at least in its effect, if not its reasoning – but the right it articulates is becoming more vulnerable than it needs to be, and so that right should now be codified.

For what a supreme court giveth, a supreme court can taketh away.

*****

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The United States had its cathartic post-2016, post-Trump ceremonial moment – but the United Kingdom cannot have a similar post-2016, post-Brexit moment

22nd January 2021

Two days ago the inauguration of a new president in the United States gave ceremonial form to the constitutional substance that the presidential term of Donald Trump was over.

What had been done in 2016 had, to a significant extent, been undone.

Of course, there will be things that could not been undone, such as the scale of the avoidable loss of life by reason of a flawed coronavirus policy.

The extensive conservative appointments to the federal judicial benches will take a political generation to counterbalance, if they are counterbalanced at all.

And Trumpism – populist authoritarian nationalism feeding off post-truth hyper-partisanship – certainly has not gone away, even if Trump is no longer in the White House.

But taking account of these exceptions, there was still a moment of closure: that a particular presidency was both formally and substantially at an end.

*

In the United Kingdom there will not be such a moment where one can say the consequences of the 2016 referendum vote will come to a similarly cathartic end.

In 2016, American voters (via the electoral college) elected Trump for a term of four years, while those in the United Kingdom voted for Brexit with no similar fixed term.

One decision was set to be revisited in four years, the other was not.

*

Even the (various) departure dates have not provided any sense of release.

The United Kingdom was to leave on on 29th March 2019, then 12th April 2019 or 22nd May 2019, then 31st October 2019, and then 31st January 2020 (on which date the United Kingdom technically left the European Union), and then there was a transition period which would end on 31st December 2020 (on which date the transition period did end) or 31st December 2021.

A couple of this spate of departure dates did turn out to be legally significant, but none of them appear to have had any substantial effect on the politics of Brexit.

Those in favour of Brexit appear to still be trying to convince themselves and others of its merits, and those opposed to Brexit are still seeking to demonstrate its folly.

(This is despite the ‘mandate’ of the 2016 referendum having now been discharged,  in that the United Kingdom has now departed the European Union.)

None of the various departure dates marked when those in favour of or against Brexit could say the matter is decisively over, in the same way the Trump presidency came to its obvious end.

Partly, of course, this is because of the ongoing pandemic: every political thing is now muted.

But even taking the pandemic into account, the politics unleashed by the 2016 referendum have certainly not come to anything like an end.

*

But Brexit will never be over in other senses.

As I averred in this Financial Times video, the trade and cooperation agreement between the European Union is expressly structured as a ‘broad….framework’ that can be supplemented by further agreements on discrete issues and is subject to five-yearly reviews on more fundamental issues.

 

Brexit is now a negotiation without end.

Instead of ever-closer union we now have ever-closer (or less close) cooperation.

There has not been a once-and-for-all settlement of the matter of the relationship between the United Kingdom and the European Union.

We have simple swapped one dynamic relationship for another.

*

Some of those opposed to Brexit are now waiting for a grand realisation – where a substantial number of people may wake up to what has happened since 2016 and come to their senses.

The notion is that such ‘loss aversion’ will have considerable political force and push the United Kingdom back towards the European Union – perhaps even to swiftly rejoining as a member.

This may happen – the lesson of 2016 is that many unlikely things can actually happen in politics.

But it is unlikely – the government and its political and media supporters are adept at evasions and misdirections, and voters are capable of blaming many things before they will blame their own votes.

Yet taking this as a possibility, it would not be enough.

This is because there are two constituencies that those who seek for the United Kingdom to (re)join the European Union need to win over.

The first is the United Kingdom electorate which needs to be won over to settled and sustained support for full membership of the European Union (without the benefits of the United Kingdom’s previous opt-outs).

The second, and perhaps far harder, will be winning over the European Union.

A belief that once the United Kingdom sorts itself out, that (re)joining the European Union would be straightforward is just a variant form of British (or English) exceptionalism.

Even the grandest, most dramatic domestic realisation of the folly of Brexit will not mean the United Kingdom joins the European Union again, unless the European Union also sees it as in its interests for the United Kingdom to (re)join.

Remorse, however sincere and lasting, will not be enough.

There is no reason or evidence to believe that the European Union would consider membership of the European Union for at least a political generation.

(And the United Kingdom itself may not even exist in its current form by then.)

So as Brexit is a negotiation without end, it will also be two political exchanges (the domestic debate, and the two-way relationship between the United Kingdom and the European Union) without any early or obvious end.

*

There will be no cathartic Biden-like ceremony to bring Brexit to a close.

This is because of the nature of the 2016 referendum (which, unlike the election of Trump, was not a decision for a fixed period); and because of the dynamic structure of the new relationship as set out in the trade and cooperation agreement; and because of the unsettled politics both internally in the United Kingdom and of its relationship with the European Union.

And so, to a significant (though not a total) extent, the United States was able to bring what it decided in 2016 to a formal and substantial end, the United Kingdom cannot similarly do so.

For the United Kingdom, 2016 is here to stay.

*****

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The inauguration of a new president: mere ceremonial form and hard constitutional substance

21st January 2021

One of the few benefits of lockdown is that you are no longer expected to go to weddings and other ‘happy’ ceremonies.

Instead of days of tiresome travel and hours of boredom, one can watch the ceremony and speeches on a laptop for an hour or so and then go and do something more useful instead.

(For more on form vs substance regarding marriage ceremonies, see my 2011 New Statesman post.)

*

Much of this impatient disdain for mere ceremonial form can and should be applied to constitutional matters.

Certain symbolic events symbolise nothing other than symbolism is important only for the sake of symbolism.

Interesting perhaps for the fogeys and other enthusiasts, but often a bore for the rest of us.

And presidential inaugurations in the United States are usually fairly meaningless occasions, other than that they happen to be around the same time as when by automatic operation of law one presidential term ends and another one begins.

But the inauguration ceremony yesterday was different.

It was riveting.

*

Just as lockdown has had a few benefits notwithstanding the immense misery, so has the presidency of Donald Trump.

And one of those few benefits is that far more people now realise how the constitutional law of the United States works (and does not work) in practice.

Certain things before Trump were taken for granted to the extent that anyone realised those things existed at all.

Take, for example, what happens between a November presidential election and the January inauguration of a new presidential term.

The rights to recounts and re-run ballots; the certification of votes by each individual state; the appointment of electors for the electoral college and their obligations; and the congressional counting of the vote and certification of the winner.

Previously each of these steps – even with the contested 2000 result and Bush v Gore – was a mere formality.

One could have an informed interest in American politics and not know much or indeed anything about these obscure procedural steps.

Now many people know exactly the process that exists between the national vote and the start of a new presidential term.

And widespread knowledge about constitutional arrangements is a good thing.

It may be a bad thing for constitutional law to be exciting –  politics should take place within an agreed framework rather than constantly being about undermining that framework – but understanding the rules of any game is important for those taking part and those watching.

*

And we watched the ceremony yesterday with anxious scrutiny.

Few people in the future will realise just how nervous many of us were in the last hours and indeed minutes of the Trump presidency.

What would he do? 

What could happen?

Is it over yet?

(And indeed Trump issued another pardon with only minutes of his term to go.)

Even watching the chief justice swear in the new president was not enough: it still was not noon Eastern Standard Time.

The final one or two minutes seemed to last an eternity, even though the new president was well in to his acceptance speech.

And then: it was twelve noon EST.

Not since Charles Perrault’s Cinderella has there been a strike of twelve that produced such a wonderful general transformation.

It was over.

*

The greatest (if flawed) writer about the constitution of the United Kingdom – at least from an English perspective – Walter Bagehot made a distinction between the efficient and the dignified elements of a constitution.

Some who only know of this famous distinction misrepresent it as meaning that the dignified elements are somehow useless elements.

But this is not what Bagehot meant – what he actually said was:

“There are indeed practical men [and women] who reject the dignified parts of Government. They say, we want only to attain results, to do business: a constitution is a collection of political means for political ends, and if you admit that any part of a constitution does no business, or that a simpler machine would do equally well what it does, you admit that this part of the constitution, however dignified or awful it may be, is nevertheless in truth useless.

“And other reasoners, who distrust this bare philosophy, have propounded subtle arguments to prove that these dignified parts of old Governments are cardinal components of the essential apparatus, great pivots of substantial utility; and so they manufactured fallacies which the plainer school have well exposed.

“But both schools are in error. The dignified parts of Government are those which bring it force—which attract its motive power. The efficient parts only employ that power.”

He continued:

“[The dignified elements] may not do anything definite that a simpler polity would not do better; but they are the preliminaries, the needful prerequisites of all work. They raise the army, though they do not win the battle.”

In other words, it is not just important that institutions work well but they are legitimate and seen to be legitimate.

And thereby the purpose of any constitutional ceremony is not just an exercise in form but part of what confers legitimacy on those who exercise the power of the state.

Of course, we could have got by without any ceremony yesterday and just watched the clock run down in silent dread.

And of course, the ceremony was not ‘efficient’ – even the chief justice got the law wrong in that Biden was not yet the new president, at least for thirteen minutes.

But as Bagehot averred, to say part of a constitution is dignified is not to say that it is useless, but that it serves another purpose.

To be sworn in at the seat of the legislature by the head of the judiciary is a powerful indication of constitutional legitimacy, especially as it was at the very place where an insurrection happened just days ago.

This will not be enough for some Trump supporters, but it could not have been done better in the circumstances.

In more than one sense, therefore, the inauguration ceremony of Joseph Biden sought to bring dignity back to the government of the Unites States – not only in his personal manner but also in Bagehot’s sense of demonstrating to all those watching that this new presidency is constitutionally legitimate.

*****

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*****

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Comments will not be published if irksome. 

Beggaring the pardons – why the presidential power to pardon needs to be regulated

20th January 2021

Yesterday, on his last full day in office, President Donald Trump is reported as having issued seventy pardons, as well as having commuted seventy-three other sentences.

This in and of itself is not unusual: on his last day of office President Bill Clinton issued about twice as many pardons – including one for his brother.

Issuing a raft of pardons on one’s final day as president is now as established a tradition as the president pardoning a turkey on Thanksgiving.

Of the many things one should be annoyed or disappointed about Trump and his presidency, the mere fact of last-day questionable pardons is certainly not something unique to him.

Yet, Trump’s (actual and threatened) uses and abuses of pardons, and of his power to commute, do warrant further consideration, as they go to the heart of the relationship between the course of justice and the powers of the executive.

In essence: at what point do pardons cease to complement the justice system – showing mercy to those duly convicted – and become something else instead that undermines the justice system itself?

*

To beg for a pardon is to plead for forgiveness.

It is just that the phrase ‘I beg your pardon’ is so familiar – it now means little more than ‘can you please repeat?’ or ‘what the Dickens have you just said or done?’ – that we overlook what the word ‘pardon’ actually means – or should mean.

And to forgive an act or omission requires certainty as to what that act or omission was – else how do you know what is being forgiven?

Accordingly a pardon should be as exact in its particulars as an indictment – almost a mirror image.

A person has been convicted of and sentenced for [x] – and so it is [x] that is being forgiven.

The conviction would – or should – still stand as a public and formal finding of criminal culpability – but the convicted person would be relieved from the burden of the sentence.

It would also be implicit that an acceptance of a pardon was an admission of criminal guilt – else how can one be forgiven for a wrong, if there was no wrong in the first place?

All this is what a pardon should be about, from first principle of it being an exercise of forgiveness.

(A commutation of a sentence raises a different issue as an exercise of mercy, and does not require any implicit admission of guilt.)

*

But this is not what a presidential pardon is now understood to mean.

A presidential pardon is now, following President Gerald Ford’s pardon of President Richard Nixon for example, something that does not need to be exact in its particulars nor something that carries any implicit admission of guilt.

There does not even need to be a prosecution in place, or even envisaged.

A presidential pardon is now understood to be a ‘get out of jail, free’ card.

*

The use of the ‘understood to be’ qualification above touches on another aspect of presidential pardons – they are rarely litigated and so have not (yet) been regulated by the courts or effectively by congress.

There is significant legal uncertainty as to the scope of pardons that depart from the classic model of exactness in respect of the punishment being forgiven.

The pardon for Nixon, for example, may be a political precedent but it is not a judicial precedent.

A pardon the scope of which Ford granted to Nixon may not survive judicial scrutiny.

(The way a pardon presumably would be litigated is when a prosecution appealed a defendant using a (purported) pardon as a bar on proceedings.)

This may explain why Trump did not announce a self-pardon nor Nixon-like pardons for his family and associates. 

(There may also be other practical considerations, such being able to invoke the fifth amendment against self-incrimination, which would be difficult if you were protected from such incrimination.)

*

But the lack of regulation and case law raises another non-trivial possibility.

There is a fascinating piece at CNN about ‘secret pardons’.

And it is correct that there is nothing on the face of the constitution that requires a pardon to be publicly announced when it is granted.

Trump has also not complied with other conventions when granting pardons, and so there is not inherent reason why he would not flout the convention that a pardon be publicly announced.

If this happened, the first we would ever know of such a pardon would be if and when it was raised by a defendant as a bar to proceedings.

By which time this presidential term of Trump will be long gone.

And what could be done? 

Even impeaching Trump again (and again) would be pointless.

*

As was once averred, power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

And so it is not surprising that it is in the two areas where an executive has, in effect, absolute power – the bestowal of honours and the granting of pardons – that there is corruption.

Those with political power will always tend to do what they can get away with, unless they are checked and balanced.

(The principle that for every power there is an equal and opposite check and balance is – or should be – the essence of constitutionalism.)

On the face of the constitution of the United States it would appear that the power to grant pardons is absolute.

Yet such an absolute power would make a nonsense of the careful separation of powers set out in the constitution generally, and of the express obligation of the president that he or she ‘shall take Care that the Laws be faithfully executed’ (Article II, section 3) in particular.

All because there has not yet been regulation of this power does not mean that a supreme court or congress may not one day set out the scope of the presidential power of pardon that accords with the constitution as a whole.

*

If the word ‘pardon’ has drifted in meaning, so has the word ‘beg’.

It does not only mean ‘to plead’ – but also in the form ‘to beggar’ it can mean broadly ‘to reduce in value’: to ‘beggar belief’ is to say a thing is not worthy of belief, and to ‘beggar thy neighbour’ is to seek to aggrandise at the expense of a competitor.

In this way, Trump’s (actual and threatened) pardons – and other presidential pardons – can be seen as beggaring pardons.

But begging your pardon for that pun, there is now a compelling case for placing the power of presidential pardons on a basis so that they remain exercises of mercy to complement the course of justice, rather than undermining justice itself.

Such a congressional act or supreme court decision would be one good way for the presidency of Donald Trump to be remembered.

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With a Brexit deal in place, Cummings gone, Trump going, constitutional law may become less exciting – but constitutional law will be no less important when it is dull

19th January 2021

To warn against ‘complacency’ is a loaded statement, for no sensible person ever says ‘let us be more complacent’.

Similarly, no sensible person will say ‘I think we should be less vigilant’.

(Both statements are illustrations of the late Simon Hoggart’s ‘law of the ridiculous reverse’ (see here and here).)

But even though such warnings can be empty statements, citizens will still tend to drop their political guards.

In the United States, Trump leaves office tomorrow and his presidential term ends by automatic operation of law, and he faces a senate trial on his impeachment.

Trump has also lost access to his preferred social media platforms.

Here in the United Kingdom, the prime minister no longer has the constant push towards extraordinary constitutional and policy behaviour from former aide Dominic Cummings and other former advisors.

And the United Kingdom is now within a sustainable trade and cooperation agreement with the European Union, meaning the legal and policy uncertainty of a ‘no deal’ Brexit was mitigated.

These happenings are such that the temptation for liberals and progressives is to dance like victorious Ewoks and to rejoice as if the thaw has come to Narnia.

And, to certain extent, some bad things have now left the political space.

*

But, two things.

First, as the tidal wave of what happened in 2016 in both the United States and United Kingdom ebbs, we are left with an amount of constitutional wreckage.

In the United States, for example, there has been a substantial reconfiguration of the judiciary in a conservative and illiberal direction, the effects of which will last at least a generation.

For the United Kingdom, it has now found itself outside the European Union – with Great Britain if not Northern Ireland outside the customs union and the single market – a mere five years or so after the general election in 2015 where every mainstream party was committed to membership.

And as this blog has previously averred (here and here), it will take at least five to ten years before any application of the United Kingdom (or what remains of it) would be considered by the European Union, and it is likely any such application will not be considered for, again, a generation.

Both of these pieces of constitutional wreckage are now part of the order of things and liberals and progressives will have to get used to their existence.

*

And second, at least in the United Kingdom, there are still four ongoing attacks on constitutionalism – that is on the notion that there are things that those with state power should not do, as those things are contrary to constitutional principles, norms and values.

The first of these attacks is by the executive on the legislature – the ever increasing use of discretionary power and secondary legislation that is neither scrutinised nor supervised by parliament.

The second is the attack by the executive and its media supporters on the judiciary holding the government to account – the constant threats (in England and Wales, if not Scotland and Northern Ireland) to those who exercise the supervisory jurisdiction of the high court.

The third – related to the second – is the attack by the executive on the rights and liberties of citizens – either by the attempts to limit substantive rights under human rights instruments or, by procedural changes or the removal of funding, to render such rights as practically unenforceable.

And the fourth is the attack on the checks and balances generally in the United Kingdom’s constitutional arrangements, from the independence of civil servants, diplomats and government lawyers, to autonomous institutions such as the BBC and universities.

An aspect of this fourth attack is the deliberate placing of certain agents of the state beyond or above the law, such as in respect of war crimes or the actions of those engaged in intelligence.

*

Few of these ongoing attacks will result in ‘big ticket’ legal cases, where the government provokes and then (one hopes) loses some showdown in court.

These attacks will be quiet but still relentless, and their overall effect will be as significant as any ‘big bang’ constitutional reform.

And it will not be enough to keep pointing out these constitutional trespasses, as until citizens care about such abuses of power, the mere exposure of those abuses is of limited political consequence.

The government will just shrug and commit constitutional trespasses anyway.

*

With the likes of Trump and Cummings and a ‘no deal Brexit’ out of the everyday political space, constitutional law is certainly going to be less exciting.

And this is to be welcomed, as constitutional law should not be exciting.

Constitutional law should be dull.

It is not a good thing for the parameters of any political system to be constantly tested as part of partisan – or hyper-partisan – political debate.

But even if constitutional law becomes more dull, it will not be any less important.

It is when constitutional law is dull that the government is more likely to get away with things.

And it may not make much political difference for public-spirited donkeys such as this blog to keep tracking constitutional and other law and policy trespasses, but it is important that it is done anyway.

Being vigilant and avoiding complacency when things become dull is more difficult than when there is loud and bombastic excitement.

*****

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Suppose the government wanted a culture war and nobody came? The law and policy of “protecting” statues and other monuments

18th January 2021

Another day, another cabinet minister in the United Kingdom seeking to provoke a culture war.

This time it is the secretary of state for housing, communities and local government who – notwithstanding his explicit cabinet-level responsibility for ‘communities’ – is soliciting political support in return for promoting a populist and divisive policy.

You may wonder what a minister in charge of such a department could find in that ministerial portfolio that would ‘play well’ and ‘own the libs’, but this minister has found one.

Statues.

In respect of law and policy, the two key paragraphs of the column are:

“Following in that tradition, I am changing the law to protect historic monuments and ensure we don’t repeat the errors of previous generations. Proper process will now be required. Any decisions to remove these heritage assets will require planning permission and councils will need to do so in accordance with their constitution, after consultation with the local community.

“Where that does not happen, I will not hesitate to use my powers as Secretary of State in relation to applications and appeals involving historic monuments where such action is necessary to reflect the Government’s planning policies. Our view will be set out in law, that such monuments are almost always best explained and contextualised, not taken and hidden away. More details will be set out in Parliament tomorrow.”

*

One would think that in the midst of a pandemic and the effects of Brexit, there would be more important things for any secretary of state to do.

And given the ongoing strains on local government and the problems with housing, there must be more important things for this cabinet minister to be doing with scarce departmental resources and limited parliamentary time.

But no.

Statues.

*

But even if for some political reason for this to be a policy priority, the proposal makes no sense.

Statues are already protected by law.

First, they are protected in respect of theft and damage by the general law of the land, as can be shown with the prosecutions of those who put the statue of a slave trader into Bristol harbour.

Nothing in the announced proposals goes any further than the direct protections afforded by the criminal law.

Yet the article by the cabinet minister was uncritically promoted on the BBC and on social media as offering protection to statues from ‘baying mobs’:

One wonders if those at the BBC and elsewhere had actually read the secretary of state’s article, for there is nothing in the piece that goes to anything that would counter a mob, baying or otherwise.

The proposals are merely about adjusting the planning regime – presumably to make the lawful removal of such statues subject to even more conditions.

*

Which brings us to the second reason for the pointlessness of this proposal.

Most statues of any note are already protected as listed buildings and so are subject to additional conditions in respect of their removal or modification.

Take for example, that statue of the Bristol slave trader.

As Professor Antonia Layard sets out in this fascinating and interesting article:

“In 1977, the statue was listed as a grade II building (No. 1202137). This is the lowest category of listing, identifying it as a building “of special interest, justifying every effort to preserve them” […]

“Once listed, s7 of the Planning (Listed Buildings and Conservation Areas) Act 1990 imposes restrictions on works, requiring authorisation to alter, extend or demolish the listed building if this would affect its character as a building of special architectural or historic interest. Alteration, extension or demolition (s8) can all happen with consent but there is no express provision (perhaps inevitably) for moving a sculpture. When deciding whether to grant consent for a change, the Secretary State (or planning inspectors acting on his behalf), the Secretary of State or anyone acting on his behalf must have special regard to the desirability of preserving listed buildings, their setting or any special architectural or historical features they possess before making a consent order (s26F P(LBCA)A 1990).”

The new proposals of the secretary of the state appear to go no further than powers that they already have in respect of listed buildings, including changing their setting.

The secretary of state will know this, or should know this – and their department will certainly know this, as it is the department responsible for considering applications for such consents.

There is an argument, as Professor Layard’s article sets out persuasively, that statues should not be under the same conservation regime as other structures, as there may be different considerations for removal of a statue of, say, a notorious figure than for a house.

But that is certainly not the argument being put forward by the secretary of state.

*

If promoting such a proposal may be seen as a waste of time by a secretary of state, it may equally seem a waste of time for a blog such as this to spend time setting out the legal and policy reasons why such a proposal is daft and unnecessary.

Don’t feed the trolls, and so on, even when the troll is a secretary of state hoodwinking the BBC and others.

But it is still important that such proposals are patiently examined on their merits and shown to be wanting – as a reminder and a register to the rest of us that these things are not normal nor appropriate.

What is a waste of time is to just meet provocation with outrage, to join in as a combatant in a culture war.

And eventually there may be a realisation that there is no longer political merit is promoting such divisive populist policies – and indeed, in early 2021, the approach here of the secretary of state seems rather old hat and 2016-ish,

Suppose the government wanted a culture war and nobody came.

*****

This law and policy blog provides a daily post commenting on and contextualising topical law and policy matters – each post is published at about 9.30am UK time.

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If you value the free-to-read and independent legal and policy commentary please do support through the Paypal box above, or become a Patreon subscriber.

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*****

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Comments are welcome, but they are pre-moderated.

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