What is the point of legal blogging and legal commentary on social media?

21st September 2022

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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Comments are welcome, but they are pre-moderated and comments will not be published if irksome.

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The “tragedy” of social media?

1st September 2022

There is a concept, of which many of you will be aware, called “the tragedy of the commons”.

It is a concept about which some people have Very Strong Opinions – and even referring it risks being swamped by “you don’t understand” responses – but it is a useful idea nonetheless.

In a way, it is an articulation of one general reason for why, as a species, we cannot have nice things.

Some people, somewhere – but definitely not you – are going to ruin things for everyone.

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Something akin – but not identical – is happening with social media platforms.

Just as this blog has recently referred to the 3 Ps – populism, polarisation, and post-truth – what is going badly in social media can be reduced to 3 As.

Abuse, Adverts, and Algorithms.

One response to the clutter, spam and trash one encounters on social media is to blame the platforms.

And the private companies that operate the platforms can and should do more to make using social media less unpleasant.

But.

The unpalatable truth about why social media platforms are often not nice places is because of the “social” part of social media, rather than the “media” part.

In other words: social media has not changed human nature, but made it more visible.

And what is happening on social media is what happens when you give large groups of people the means of instantly communicating with each other.

If this dismal observation is correct then seeking to regulate the “media” part of social media is destined to fail, because the ultimate problem is people, not platforms.

(Of course: other people, not you or me.)

And, if it is ultimately a “social” and not a “media” problem then its resolution will be in changes to social attitudes, not legal changes.

Just like people in large cities ignore each other when in close proximity, people may come to ignore each other in virtual communities.

The person shouting on the internet will be as shunned as the person shouting in the street.

Humans may perhaps adapt, once the novelty of social media wears off.

Or perhaps they will not, and social media will just get worse.

For sometimes it is people, and not regulations, that are to blame.

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The Law and Policy blog mentioned in this year’s MacTaggert lecture

24th August 2022

This blog has been mentioned today by Emily Maitlis in her MacTaggert lecture.

At 23:34.

The post she refers to is here – about how various constitutional ‘gatekeepers’ failed to prevent this government openly proposing to deliberately break international law.

The lecture is about the challenges for journalism in this age of populism.

If you would like to comment on her lecture generally – or her reference to this blog in particular – please do so below.

And thank you for following and in many cases supporting this blog – for without your following and support this blog would never have been in a position to be cited in such a prestigious lecture!

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Comments Policy

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.

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Conspiracy theories and cock-up theories

18th August 2022

I am working on a couple of long posts, and one of these – about Freeports and so-called “Charter Cities” – involves consideration of “conspiracy theories”.

So I thought it may be useful, as a separate post, to consider this term.

I do not think it is a useful term in many discussions, because it is pejorative.

You may have considered, rational  opinions – but they believe in conspiracy theories.

Few people will admit readily that they believe – or could believe – in a conspiracy theory.

And so merely calling something a conspiracy theory is unlikely to change minds.

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This is not to say conspiracies do not exist.

Conspiracies do exist.

That people can act in concert for wrongful purposes is a common feature of everyday life.

Of course, there is also the cock-up theory.

And cock-ups – that is, things that happen by chance – also exist.

In my view, conspiracies often come into existence to cover-up the cock-ups – for it is only when there has been a mistake that there will be sufficient focus and motivation for people to act in concert.

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At this point in this discussion, someone will usually refer to “Hanlon’s Razor” – the rule that one should never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.

(They will often also link to an explanation of it, on the assumption you have not heard the term before.)

And Hanlon’s Razor may be a good general rule, but concerts and conspiracies do exist – and can be hidden under a guise of stupidity.

So Hanlon’s Razor is perhaps a sound presumption, but it should never be an absolute law.

A better approach when looking at something untoward is just to see where the evidence takes you, and what best explains that evidence.

Sometimes the evidence will point to a cock-up, sometimes to a conspiracy, and sometimes to a mix of both.

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People like to see patterns, people will tend to want their prejudices confirmed, and some people even find comfort in the idea that bad things happen for a reason.

Writing about issues of law and policy – especially controversial and topical issues – means that I realise some readers will just want their views endorsed and suspicions confirmed.

A few – a minority – will say instead they want their views challenged, and a smaller minority will actually want to be challenged.

But the readers I am writing for primarily are those who are aware of an issue and want understand it better so as to form their own views, and want also to have the tools to do so.

They are the people I blog for – and, indeed, blog with.

And so, oddly, even the act of regularly writing a blog in partnership with attentive readers is a form of concert.

Though, of course, if this blog is ever successful in explaining an issue well, then that will be sometimes by chance.

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Comments are welcome, but they are pre-moderated and comments will not be published if irksome.

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Why we should look closely at legal cases in the news – even “Wagatha Christie”

2 August 2022

There are two sorts of legal blogging that I most enjoy.

One is a close reading of a document: working out how the document was put together, and reckoning the significance of what is said – and not said.

The other is a detailed examination of a legal case in the news: answering the question of “how the Hell did this end up in court?”

Both sorts of blogposts, if done well, are very satisfying to write and seem popular to read.

Other sorts of legal blogs – from expositions of black letter law to articulations of some view point – can also be interesting.

But only with the two sorts I like doing best do I get the sheer thrill of taking something topical and, by careful analysis, producing something new for people to consider.

The one problem, however, with writing about topical cases is that you often have to take them as you find them.

The subject matter of a case may be of no interest – or it may even be about something you dislike or even hate.

But with such cases it can still be worth asking that key question: “how the Hell did this end up in court?”

And by answering this question you understand a lot more about the case in the news – and about law and legal practice generally.

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Over at Prospect I have done a detailed analysis of how the Hell the “Wagatha Christie” case ended up in court.

I have no particular interest in the WAG phenomenon.

(Though I admit I enjoyed the defendant’s initial reveal post – and I assumed wrongly that she must have put her published reasoning together with the help of legal advice, but she did not.)

I also have no particular regard for the football players to whom the parties are married.

(Neither of them play or played for Aston Villa, Wolves or Nottingham Forest, which are the teams I follow.)

But I found the case fascinating – not least because this was a case that plainly should never have gone to court.

How the Hell did this end up in court?

It was a case that should have settled the moment the claimant realised the adverse evidence that was going to be put in at trial.

No technical win could be worth the impending PR disaster.

It was even a case that, given what the claimant knew even if she did not herself leak the information, should never have even been brought.

And this was notwithstanding that the claimant’s case was strong and she could have won the case, given what the defence had to prove and the the structure of libel law.

It was just a “Nooooooooooooooo” sort of case.

But the case was brought and not settled and it ended in a mess.

Cases that go to trial are often inherently interesting – they are exceptional.

By understanding what happens with cases that do end up in court, you also can gain a better understanding of why most such civil cases do not end up going to trial.

And this means you can have a better understanding of how the legal system works (or does not work) more widely.

As Ben Goldacre – whose science blogging was a model for my early legal blogging – once said: by understanding “bad science” you can get an understanding of good science.

Similarly by looking carefully at how cases get to trial you can get insights at how litigation works more generally.

Please do have a read of my Prospect piece – and come back and leave any sensible comment.

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Forgive me blowing this here trumpet:

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Comments are welcome, but they are pre-moderated and comments will not be published if irksome.

Some thoughts about the internet, law and politics

28th July 2022

From time to time there are fundamental shifts in human communication.

One was the invention of writing – where no longer would things have to rely on memory and oral transmission.

Information could be stored and it could travel distances.

Another was the invention of the printing press.

This meant that – in principle – it was now open to any person to publish and circulate information far more widely than before.

And this was why “the freedom of the press” was such an important principle – long before the advent of Fleet Street and modern newspapers.

Each of these two shifts meant that the ripples expanded of what was capable of being communicated and circulated.

Without writing a person is limited on how much information they can absorb and impart – and you are practically limited to what you remember and who you see face-to-face.

And without printing a person is limited to how much information they can personally publish – by hand copying or otherwise – and how widely that information can be distributed.

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When I was young, it was still practically impossible to circulate information without going through a gatekeeper.

If you wanted to publish or broadcast something to the world, you normally had to go through an established publisher or broadcaster.

Yes, in theory, one could self-publish a “vanity” book, or print a pamphlet, or take a boat in to the English Channel as a “pirate” radio station.

But unless you did one of these eccentric things, you pretty much had to rely on established publishers or broadcasters if you wanted to publish or broadcast your thoughts to the world.

And then came along the internet and the World Wide Web – or at least general access to the internet and the WWW.

At a stroke any person with an internet connection could publish and broadcast to the world.

The old technological boundaries dissolved.

The gatekeepers were still there – and established publishers or broadcasters are not gone (yet) – but they were no longer essential.

On either side of the gates there are now holes in the fences.

This is, I think, a revolution quite as profound as the invention of writing or the development of the press.

And I do not think we are yet fully aware of the consequences of this shift.

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For example, in my own area – law – the old certainties of legal liability were based on there being a moment where a thing was “published”.

Once a thing was “published” then there was potential exposure for liability in defamation or copyright which a person would not have a moment before.

And so publishers took the moment of publication seriously – and things were not published lightly.

Where the law of defamation most visibly broke down in pre-internet days was when you had a leaflet or a small-circulation pamphlet outside of established publishing practices – as in the McLibel or Tolstoy cases – and then there was a mismatch between the scale of the legal process and the scale of the publication.

Now, the McLibel or Tolstoy situation is the norm, and not the exception.

And it was ten years ago yesterday that the appeal was won in the once-famous Twitterjoketrial case, where communications legislation that predated social media was misused to prosecute a non-serious tweet.

(I was the appeal solicitor in that case.)

Now, new legislation needs to be premised on the existence of social media, rather than being strained to make it apply.

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The old channels of information transmission and exchange – be they newspaper titles or political parties – are having less and less purchase.

The political consequences of these declines are becoming apparent, but they are not fully worked through.

Some of the effects are unwelcome – as this blog set out this week with reference to the “3 Ps” – populism, polarisation, and post-truth.

And the sheer, unrelenting nastiness of “culture wars” shows what people can publish to the world when they no inhibitions.

Human beings – as primates – can be said to be bound by Dunbar’s Number – the number of meaningful social relationships one can have at one time.

In pre-internet days, even the greatest celebrities could control their contacts with more than a small group of people.

And now, there is the possibility of constant interactions with limitless people – and not just for celebrities.

Can we, as a species, cope?

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This fundamental shift has to be be accommodated by our constitutional and legal structures.

Otherwise, there will be constitutional and legal dislocations.

And – in the context of the “3 Ps” – populism, polarisation, and post-truth – it is difficult to see how our current constitutional and legal structures, derived primarily from the past, can easily survive.

They were not built for this – and neither, as a species, are we.

Even without the knavery and foolishness of the likes of Trump and Johnson, there are serious issues to be addressed about how we govern ourselves in this internet age.

Or even whether we can still govern ourselves effectively at all.

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Comments are welcome, but they are pre-moderated and comments will not be published if irksome.

Some thoughts about blogging and “style”

 1st July 2022

You will be somewhat bemused to know that this blog has featured in a style-guide for writing.

Yes, I know.

But it is true:

It would appear that this blog is regarded as having a distinctive style – and that the distinctive style is, in turn, regarded as being helpful to those interested in the topics covered by this blog.

So, on this Friday afternoon – as I put together some longer pieces for next week – I thought it may interest some of you for me to write something about why this blog has this distinctive (that is, peculiar) style.

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The main reason I write in one-sentence paragraphs on this blog is because it suits me – for it helps me organise and then express my thoughts.

With a one-sentence paragraph there is no hiding place for the author.

Either the one-sentence paragraph puts forward a worthwhile proposition or it does not.

With longer paragraphs – with multiple clauses and sentences – there is scope for waffle, inexactness, and evasion.

And so one-sentence paragraphs are a means of keeping an author sharp – they are a discipline.

Even if nobody read this blog – and one happy day constitutional law may again be so dull that nobody will read blogs about law and policy – I would still write in this style on this blog.

That may well be selfish, but it is true.

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And just as there is no hiding place in each one-sentence paragraph this also means there is no hiding place in a sequence of one-sentence paragraphs.

If there is a fault in the reasoning or the evidence, it will stand out.

The weakness in the chain will be evident – glaringly so.

This again helps me as a writer, but it also helps you as a reader.

If I make a mistake in my reasoning or with my evidence, you can quickly work out where I have gone astray.

You can either then dismiss the point I am seeking to convey or engage in the comments below (or on Twitter).

And so if my propositions are weak and/or my observations and illustrations banal and/or my arguments unsound, you will at least know where the fault is.

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Another advantage of short paragraphs – one-sentence or not – is that they are easier to read on the screen.

They are – for want of a better word – scrollable.

A reader may read five successive short paragraphs, but he or she may be put off from reading the same sentences in one long paragraph.

This is often not the case when reading from physical pages, but when you are reading from computer screen and other electronic devices, short crisp paragraphs are often more readable.

And this is especially helpful when there is a lot of ‘white space’ – and thanks to the generosity of my Patreon and Paypal supporters, this blog has not – yet – resorted to commercial advertising to blight the nice white space surrounding the words.

For to misquote a clever philosopher: there should be nothing outside the text.

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Another reason why I write like this is that I was brought up in tabloid-reading households.

You may not like such newspapers – and you may prefer broadsheets with their correspondingly broad passages.

But writing brisk short sentences about current affairs is a skill in and of itself, and for most of my childhood that is how I read both news and comment.

(The veteran newspaperman Neil Wallis once told me he had guessed from my blogging that I had been brought up in a tabloid-reading household, and he was right.)

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So there are advantages of blogging in this way, both for the author and for the readers.

But.

It is not the ‘right’ way.

And this is because there is no ‘right’ way.

There are instead ways of blogging that work for both writers and readers – and there are ways that do not.

Some of the gods of British blogging – such as Chris Grey on Brexit and Lawrence Freedman on strategy and war – provide highly readable, compelling blogs with detailed multi-sentence paragraphs.

As did the greatest of all British legal bloggers, the late Sir Henry Brooke – who, wonderfully, came to blogging after being a court of appeal judge.

His blog – which is thankfully still online years after his death – is a must-read for anyone interested in the law.

So there are a number of ways of blogging.

It all comes down to what suits the writer, and to what suits the readers (if any).

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But.

There are disadvantages of this blog’s approach.

Some propositions are complex and so require more than can be packed into one sentence.

You then get odd-looking long sentences that try so hard to keep everything in one sentence – but they are obviously contrived, and they are as awkward to read as they are awkward to write, and so should never have been started in the first place; and they often resort to sub-clauses just to keep to the somewhat artificial one-sentence rule.

Such sentences should be avoided.

As Orwell averred after offering his rules for good political writing:

Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous.”

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So the style of this blog is adopted mainly for the selfish reason that it helps me to think clearly and to organise and express those thoughts.

And if blogging in multi-sentence paragraphs helped me do the same, then I would blog like that instead.

One-sentence paragraphs are therefore not a model, but just a technique.

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Overall, the best guide to good writing is that it is not about the writing, but about the thinking.

If you think clearly, you will tend to write (and speak) clearly.

And if you do not think clearly, then no style-guide will help you.

For, as the techies say: garbage in, garbage out.

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Comments are welcome, but they are pre-moderated and comments will not be published if irksome.

The removal of the Johnson “Chief of Staff” story – a media lawyer’s perspective

20 June 2022

The pulling by the Times of the ‘Chief of Staff’ story about Boris and Carrie Johnson is interesting in many ways – and this post explains why it is interesting from a media lawyer’s perspective.

As a preliminary point, however, I must mention I have no private information about any of this – this post is based entirely on information in the public domain.

And this post is not about the details about the story, of which I have no knowledge – it is instead an account of how decisions are made and not made to publish and pull such stories.

(By way of background – part of my own legal practice is media defence, protecting journalists and publications from legal threats.)

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From a media lawyer’s perspective, there are two key decisions here.

The first was the decision to publish.

For a well-resourced, well-lawyered news title like the Times, things are not published casually in their print editions.

There is an internal editorial and often legal process that is followed.

The published article is often like stage five of a process, and not stage one.

And this is especially the case when the reporter in question is experienced and competent.

There will be a lot of source-checking and verification by the reporter themselves.

Sometimes corners are cut and mistakes made – and ‘online’ stories often do not have the same care.

But stories in print editions of well-resourced, well-lawyered news titles like the Times are not published by accident.

This means that it was believed that the story “stood up” before it was published – and that the serious allegation made in the story was sufficiently grounded so as to minimise or eliminate legal risk.

It also means (usually) that the targets of the serious allegation have had an opportunity to have the allegations put to them before publication – or at least should have done.

And this pre-publication stage would have been the time for any legal threats aimed at preventing publication.

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The second is the decision to pull the story.

Here I will put forward the perhaps unpopular view that there is nothing wrong with a story being pulled from later print editions (and from the internet) if it becomes obvious that the story no longer stands up.

Indeed, it is a pity that does not happen more often – but most editors are reluctant to pull something once published.

But if new information comes to light so it is plain that the story published is not correct, or if it becomes apparent that legal wrong has been committed in how the story was put together, then pulling the story can be an appropriate and responsible thing to do.

It is, however, exceptional.

The new information must be substantial, or the crystallised legal risk must be overwhelming.

As to pull a story is a serious thing to do.

Especially when that story stood up after the editing and (what is called) ‘lawyering‘ process.

And for a story to be pulled rapidly implies that the process before publication had failed.

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So when this story was pulled, I assumed that something had come to light that meant that the story no longer stood up.

This was unlikely, in the circumstances, given the seniority and reputation of the journalist involved.

But other possibilities seemed even more unlikely.

Some on Twitter speculated wildly and breathlessly about ‘super-injunctions’ and ‘D-Noticies’ – but neither made sense in these circumstances, not least because that would not explain the decision to publish, as both such an injunction or a D-Notice would usually have been served once those against whom the allegations were being made were approached for prior comment.

And the subject matter of the story also did not lend itself to ‘super-injunctions’ and ‘D-Noticies’– it was about public money (not an entirely private matter) and there was no obvious, serious issue of national security.

(‘Super-injunctions’ are also now almost impossible to obtain.)

So, ruling out a ‘super-injunction’ and a ‘D-Noticie’ left only the mundane explanation that the story no longer stood up – notwithstanding the pre-publication process and the standing of the journalist.

This sort of thing happens – and there is nothing wrong with pulling a story that no longer stands up.

But.

The journalist then stated that he did stand by the story – meaning that, as far as he was concerned, the story still stood up.

And many of the details of the story had already been published in a book – and this made it difficult to see how the story was legally problematic.

So there was not a journalistic reason for pulling the story.

And there was not a legal reason for pulling the story.

This meant that the story may have been pulled for another reason – a non-journalistic, non-legal explanation.

How curious.

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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.

The curious resignation letter of Lord Geidt – what it says, what it does not say, and what it signifies

16th June 2022

Lord Geidt is an unlikely man of steel.

Yet it appears that steel was the reason for his resignation.

And so, as a discreet but embarrassed courtier, he has chosen to exit via the ‘trade’ route.

(Photo by Chance Agrella from Freerange Stock – donation made.)

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See this outstanding and informative thread from the estimable trade expert Sam Lowe for the practical background to this matter:

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But what can we make of the resignation letter and the reply?

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Lord Geidt comes from a diplomatic background.

And diplomats, like lawyers, are wordsmiths.

(It is just that their wordsmithery is often about imprecision and ambiguity, in contrast to the lawyerly lust for precision and clarity.)

He will have chosen his words and formulations carefully.

So let us look at the operative paragraph:

An “impossible and odious position” is quite a striking thing to say.

(Though “deliberate and purposeful” seems a tautology.)

The Prime Minister’s letter sets out more about the request for advice:

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There is a lot here that does not make immediate sense.

Lord Geidt for all his many merits is not a lawyer, still less a trade lawyer.

There would be no obvious reason for “tasking” him for a view on something to do with the legality of tariffs.

The question must have come before him another way.

Some are speculating that it may be because of party donations, but this appears to be being denied (though the denial is in a curious form):

My current suspicion is that there may have been a request for a ministerial direction to do something with which an official did not feel comfortable, which then somehow got referred to Lord Geidt.

Who knows.

But connecting the [X] of a steel tariffs issue to the [Y] of an ethics adviser resigning is not easy.

And this is the case even if Lord Geidt simply used this issue as a pretext to resign.

There is something missing here.

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But.

What is not missing here, however, is that this incident shows that our current Prime Minister is at best indifferent to two rules-based regimes.

The first is the Ministerial Code – which, as this blog has previously averred, is a constitutional nonsense, as it offers no real check or balance whatsoever to any Prime Minister.

The second is the rules-based system of the World Trade Organisation.

You may recall government-supporters during Brexit clamouring for the United Kingdom to trade on ‘WTO terms’.

It often seemed they did not know what that actually meant, and it was said because it sounded good.

Well.

It seems that the government of the United Kingdom is as contemptuous of this type of international law as it is of others.

This very week we have seen the government of the United Kingdom seek to break international law with the Northern Irish Protocol Bill and make aggressive noises about compliance with the orders of the European Court of Human Rights.

The rules of the World Trade Organisation are now the third international law regime the government of the United Kingdom want to be free from this week – and it is still only Thursday lunchtime.

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At the heart of this government is a sense of lawlessness – that in area after area there is the view that rules do not and should not apply.

The resignation of Lord Geidt seems to be a double-whammy of two such areas – the Ministerial Code and WTO rules.

But it could have been compliance with the orders of the European Court of Human Rights, or compliance with the Northern Irish Protocol, or compliance with Covid regulations, and so on.

And so on.

Perhaps we will find out more about the circumstances of this particular resignation.

But we already know from previous resignations that much of what has happened is already all too clear.

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***

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Comments are welcome, but they are pre-moderated and comments will not be published if irksome.

The Prime Minister says he “takes full responsibility” – but what does this mean in constitutional terms, if anything?

25th May 2022

Today we take in the now-published Sue Gray report.

The quick-takes have already been given and a parliamentary statement has come and gone, as the rest of us who have an interest digest the details of the report.

This post is not about the report in detail, but about the current Prime Minister’s response.

It is a response that Boris Johnson often gives at times of trouble.

It is the response of saying that he ‘takes full responsibility’.

What could this phrase mean?

Note the ‘responsibility’ he purports to take is ‘full’ – and so, presumably, this is intended to mean something (or to convey that it means something) distinct from taking mere responsibility.

Oh no – this is ‘full’ responsibility.

Rhetorically, it is an impressive statement – to which some may even nod-along.

But it is hard, if not impossible, to see what it means.

For example: what actually is different as a consequence of Johnson saying he ‘takes full responsibility’?

What things change that otherwise would not change, but for the Prime Minister saying that he ‘takes full responsibility’.

What is different from the Prime Minister saying instead “I am not taking full responsibility” or “I am not taking any responsibility whatsoever?”.

There is not any real difference; nothing changes.

If the Prime Minister instead said a sequence of nonsense words, it would have the same constitutional import.

This is because, in constitutional terms, when the Prime Minister says he is taking ‘full responsibility’, he is saying nothing meaningful.

In constitutional terms, the position is exactly the same after the moment Johnson says it, as when he does not say it.

It is instead a rhetorical device – a political tactic to get him through an awkward moment, cynically giving the impression to the listener that something grave is being conceded or admitted, when nothing is being accepted at all.

For, in constitutional terms, a Prime Minister taking ‘ full responsibility’ for a serious wrong is to perform an action, rather than to say a thing.

The action the Prime Minister would perform is to resign.

And if there is not a resignation after a serious wrong then ‘ full responsibility’ has not been taken.

Indeed, by using it as a deft rhetorical trick, Johnson evades taking full responsibility.

So next time you hear the current Prime Minister assure you and others that he ‘takes full responsibility’, substitute for that phase a sequence of random words and sounds, for it will have the same constitutional meaning.

That is to say: no constitutional meaning at all.

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