Category: Constitutional Law

Laws are to be suspended and the army is to be called in – and why we should be concerned when activating the law of civil contingencies becomes a civil necessity

27th September 2021

Once upon a time it would be sensational news that the army was to be called in and that laws were to be suspended.

It would indicate, perhaps, something about either a failed state or an unforeseen emergency, or both.

As it is, the news seems almost commonplace – and that it would be more exceptional nowadays for the news to be less sensational.

The laws that are to be suspended are competition laws – which (we are told) would otherwise prevent petrol companies from coordinating with each other.

I am not an energy law specialist – though I know a little about competition law – and it would be interesting to know exactly how current competition laws would prevent coordination in the current situation.

This law-suspension exercise has the grand name of ‘activating the Downstream Oil Protocol’.

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‘Dispatch War Rocket Ajax.’

Flash Gordon screenplay, 1980

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And the official statement is here, and it includes this:

‘Known as The Downstream Oil Protocol, this step will allow Government to work constructively with fuel producers, suppliers, hauliers and retailers to ensure that disruption is minimised as far as possible.

‘The measure will make it easier for industry to share information, so that they can more easily prioritise the delivery of fuel to the parts of the country and strategic locations that are most in need.’

As competition law in this respect is about preventing what would otherwise be cartel behaviour, then it would appear that the fuel industry want to (or need to) do something between themselves that would otherwise carry potential legal risk as cartel behaviour.

Perhaps more will be come clear on this as the protocol is activated, though it seems such relaxations of competition law have been done before in other recent emergencies:

If this is what is being done, we should note that the relaxations – or suspensions -of law do not have any real parliamentary oversight or control.

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And now the army.

(Source)

But as this news report explains:

“It is understood that it would take up to three weeks to fully implement, because some of those mobilised may already be on other deployments and others could be reservists.’

And so, by the time the army arrives, it may be too late – and it certainly is not something that is intended to happen in the next few days.

This manoeuvre is known, it seems as activating ‘Operation Escalin’.

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‘Dispatch War Rocket Ajax.’

Flash Gordon screenplay, 1980

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Just as constitutional law should be dull and it is not a good sign when constitutional law is exciting, the same can be said for the law of civil contingencies.

It is not normal for laws to be suspended and for the army to be used for civil matters – and it should never become normal.

But.

The various problems facing the United Kingdom mean that what are civil contingencies are becoming civil necessities.

Brace brace.

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Are President Biden’s comments on ‘the Irish Accords’ a life line for the Human Rights Act?

22nd September 2021

Yesterday United States President Biden spoke about his concern about a possible change to what he called ‘the Irish Accords’.

From the context of the question and answer, Biden meant the Good Friday/Belfast Agreement – though the question was framed in terms of the Northern Irish Protocol of the Brexit withdrawal agreement.

The question and answer are here and you should watch and listen for yourself:

You will see in the tweet above that the estimable Sonya Sceats, the chief executive of Freedom from Torture, avers that the exchange is a life line for the Human Rights Act 1998.

Is she right?

And what is the connection between that exchange and the Human Rights Act 1998?

Here we need to see what the Good Friday/Belfast Agreement says.

In respect of the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR), the agreement says the following:

‘There will be safeguards to ensure that all sections of the community can participate and work together successfully in the operation of these institutions and that all sections of the community are protected, including […] the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR) and any Bill of Rights for Northern Ireland supplementing it, which neither the Assembly nor public bodies can infringe, together with a Human Rights Commission [and] arrangements to provide that key decisions and legislation are proofed to ensure that they do not infringe the ECHR and any Bill of Rights for Northern Ireland’

and

‘The British Government will complete incorporation into Northern Ireland law of the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR), with direct access to the courts, and remedies for breach of the Convention, including power for the courts to overrule Assembly legislation on grounds of inconsistency’.

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These passages are explicit: the ECHR is a ‘safeguard’ and the ECHR has to be enforceable in the courts of Northern Ireland.

The agreement does not expressly mention the Human Rights Act 1998 – not least because that legislation had not yet been passed at the time of the agreement.

But one of the things that the act does in respect of Northern Ireland – as well as for the rest of the United Kingdom – is to make the ECHR enforceable directly in the courts.

This is instead of requiring a party seeking to rely on the ECHR to petition the European Court of Human Rights in Strasbourg, as was the position before the act took effect.

Of course: you do not – strictly – need the Human Rights Act 1998 to be in place to fulfil the express requirements of the Good Friday/Belfast Agreement, as long as the ECHR remains enforceable locally in Northern Ireland.

But if the Act were to be repealed – which is a long-term goal of the new lord chancellor and justice secretary Dominic Raab – then there would need to be replacement legislation in place the very day the repeal took effect for ECHR rights to remain directly enforceable in the courts of Northern Ireland.

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So does this mean the Human Rights Act 1998 is safe?

I am not so sure.

I averred on this blog when Raab was appointed (and I am sorry to quote myself):

‘And one would not be surprised that one stipulation made by Raab in accepting the position as lord chancellor is that he get another crack at repealing the human rights act.

‘If so, then the act will probably be repealed – though there will no doubt be a less strikingly (and provocatively) entitled ‘European Convention on Human Rights (Interpretation and Incorporation of Articles) and Related Purposes Act’ in its stead – not least because the Good Friday Agreement provides that the convention has to be enforceable in Northern Ireland.’

Having seen the exchange with Biden, I am now wondering if my (dismal) view is correct.

A wise government of the United Kingdom will be anxious not to give the slightest indication that anything related to the Good Friday/Belfast Agreement was up for any change – and continuing local enforcement of the ECHR is an express provision of that agreement.

A wise government, concerned about its relations with the United States, would thereby not touch the repeal of the Human Rights Act 1998 with a barge pole.

It would just take one credible complaint that the Good Friday/Belfast Agreement was at risk, and there would be an international problem.

Repealing the Human Rights Act 1998 would not be worth these risks – especially as it would have to be replaced immediately with legislation having the identical effect in respect of Northern Ireland.

But we do not have a wise government – we have a silly government.

And given the long-term obsession of the new lord chancellor with repealing the Human Rights Act 1998 – and that this may even be a reason for why he accepted his political demotion – one can see the repeal (and its immediate replacement) still going ahead in symbolic form – even if not in much substance.

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But the politics of symbolism does not just have one direction.

Against Raab’s fixation with the symbolism of repealing the Human Rights Act 1998 is the transatlantic symbolism of doing anything that could remotely affect the Good Friday/Belfast Agreement.

So it may be that Sceats’ view is correct – and the Human Rights Act 1998 is safer than before.

But, on any view, repeal seems an unwise political path to take, given how much politically – and how little legally – is at stake.

**

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Three ways of looking at constitutions: institutions, functions, tensions

18th September 2021

Today’s post sets out something which has long interested me about constitutions, but I do not think I have set out in one place before.

It is about different ways one can approach thinking practically about constitutions – and why one particular approach is to be preferred.

By practically, I am making distinction with thinking theoretically or academically.

For such clever stuff other writers and texts are available.

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There seems to be three broad ways of thinking practically about constitutions.

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The Institutional Approach

The first approach is to have regard primarily to particular institutions – say the crown (which can cover various functions and other institutions); the prime minister and the cabinet and the Whitehall departments; the Westminster parliament; the various courts the devolved administrations; local government; the security agencies; the established church; and so on.

Here an account of, for example, the constitution of the United Kingdom will set out how all these institutions work together or muddle together.

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The Functional Approach

The second approach is have regard primarily not to institutions but to functions – and the usual typology here is to separate out executive, legislative and judicial functions.

In many constitutions – especially the sort you and I are most familiar with – these functions will correspond generally with various institutions.

So the legislative function corresponds with, say, the Westminster parliament or the federal congress in the United States, and vice versa, and so on.

The advantage of this functional approach over the institutional approach is that it recognises that certain institutions can perform more than one function – and that a function may be performed by more than one institution.

Central government in the United Kingdom, for example performs an executive function (obviously); but also by issuing secondary legislation and various rules, will perform a legislative function; and in determining individual cases, will perform a judicial (or quasi-judicial) function.

By concentrating on what is being done – rather than on which institution is doing it – this functional approach is often more useful than an institutional approach.

But.

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The Limitations of the Institutional and the Functional Approaches

By setting out institutions or even functions, there is the risk of having a limited understanding about how constitutions operate (or should operate) in practice.

You can end up having that naive notion that ‘all which is needed‘ for all political ills to be remedied is for there to be a written (that is, codified) constitution.

The simplistic notion that if only one set out the institutions of the state – or the functions of the state – with sufficient elegance in a single document then everything would be fine.

I have always found that approach not to be compelling – though for a long time I was not certain why this was the case.

But I think it is because neither the institutional nor the functional approach prioritise dealing with tensions and conflicts – that is, checks and balances, that prevent one group of people with public power doing whatever they want.

The institutional and functional models, for me, appear to regard tensions and conflicts as bugs not features of a constitution.

The (unspoken) notion is that, if things are going well, and a particular institution is doing what it should do, or those performing a particular function are doing as they should do, then there will be no conflicts.

Everything would be fine and neat.

Of course: when there are tensions and conflicts they should be regulated in some way, but that would and should not the the constitutional norm.

The happy idea here seems to be that if you just put in place the right written (that is, codified) constitution then there would be no or few tensions and conflicts.

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The Tensions and Conflicts Approach

I prefer a third approach which does not see tensions and conflicts as a regrettable afterthought in constitution-mongering, but as central to any worthwhile constitutional arrangement.

This approach asks the following hard-headed questions.

How are those who make rules checked in practice, and by whom and on what basis?

How are those who make decisions checked in practice, and by whom and on what basis?

How are those who determine the disputes of others, or who decide on the rights and obligations of others, checked in practice, and by whom and on what basis?

How are those who seek to use coercive force – either in various uniforms or otherwise – checked in practice, and by whom and on what basis?

How are those who seek to invade the privacy of others – for whatever reason – checked in practice, and by whom and on what basis?

And so on.

This approach cares little for the institutional trappings of those seeking to impose power on others.

This approach is unsentimental about grand-sounding institutions such as the crown or parliament or the courts – and sees instead people, stripped of their glamours and baubles, who are seeking to impose their will on others.

This approach also does not assume that there is some perfect manner where those who perform functions – executive, legislative, judicial, or otherwise – can be entrusted to just get on with their jobs – with the rest of us just deferentially nodding along.

This approach instead makes conflict and tension central, rather than peripheral, to an understanding of any constitution.

It avoids the presumption that those who perform functions – executive, legislative, judicial, or otherwise – should get their way, unless there is an exceptional reason for them not to do so.

Of course, by recognising that there are such tensions and conflicts there is, in turn, the risk of stalemates and blockages.

But a practical constitution would set out how each of these tensions and conflicts are to be managed – rather than pretending that they do not exist, or are exceptional.

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The question of a written (that is, codified) constitution

Elsewhere I have set out why – rare for a liberal – I am dubious about written (that is, codified) constitutions.

It seems plain to me – if not others – that written (that is, codified) constitutions can be illiberal devices, that will be more likely to entrench executive power than limit it.

But if there were to be a written (that is, codified) constitution in the United Kingdom, it should not start with institutions or functions but instead with checks and balances.

It should identify the foreseeable points of conflict and tension and then set out how they should be resolved and on what basis, and then work backwards from there.

Just like a well-drafted commercial contract starts from where there would be obvious disputes and works backwards to allocating rights, obligations and risks accordingly.

The problem with any worthwhile written (that is, codified) constitution for the United Kingdom – that sets out the practical ways in which those with any power can be limited – is that those with power would never allow it to be put in place.

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Why the Tensions and Conflicts Approach should be used to evaluate any constitutional reform

But even without a worthwhile written (that is, codified) constitution that starts with tensions and conflicts and works backwards, there is (I aver) merit in approaching any proposed constitutional reform or political change not by asking about institutions or functions but by asking how will abuse and misuse of the reform or change be managed?

That is to assume, as a given, that any proposed constitutional reform or political change will be abused and misused by those with power.

For it is by expecting the worst, and acting accordingly, that one can accomplish any sustainable constitutional improvement.

And it is this dismal, hard-headed, realistic approach that (I aver) should be the basis of any practical consideration of constitutional questions.

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Raab’s choice: repealing the Human Rights Act or a being a genuinely reforming Lord Chancellor ?

17th September 2021

Over at Joshua Rozenberg’s blog there is further discussion of the appointment of Dominic Raab as lord chancellor – following my (well-received) post yesterday.

Rozenberg makes two solid, good points.

The first – which I did not cover, but is obvious – is the paucity of junior ministers in the house of commons to support Raab.

Either by design or by accident, this at a stroke undermines the position of the new lord chancellor and deputy prime minister.

It may even indicate that Raab neglected to make insistence on this point before his appointment – and that for him the form and style of ‘deputy prime minister’ was a higher priority than the ‘boots on the ground’ of actual junior ministers in the commons.

A good spot by Rozenberg.

The second – which I refer to but Rozenberg spells out in more detail – is about the future of the human rights act.

Raab now has a decision – perhaps a huge decision.

Will he choose to spend his (perhaps) limited time as lord chancellor in his eternal quest to repeal the human rights act – a task which will be complicated and time-consuming and maybe ultimately futile.

Or will he choose to spend his limited ministerial time dealing with more immediate and everyday issues facing the ministry of justice – from prisons to effective criminal justice.

What will be Raab’s priority?

Does Raab want to be known as the politician who repealed the human rights act?

Or does he want to be a genuinely reforming lord chancellor, addressing a justice system in crisis and near-collapse?

For he is unlikely to have the time and resources to do both.

**

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The significance of the appointment of Dominic Raab as Lord Chancellor and Secretary of State for Justice

16th September 2021

Yesterday one politician replaced another as lord chancellor and secretary of state for justice – one of a number of ministerial changes in a reshuffle.

So what?

What, if anything, does this change signify?

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The outgoing lord chancellor was Robert Buckland, a conservative member of parliament, former solicitor general, and experienced criminal barrister and former ‘recorder’ (a part-time judge) in the crown court.

He had been in office for just over two years – and there are good, bad and ugly aspects to his term.

The good was that, in large part, the justice system was not dragged into the government’s infantile ‘culture wars’.

A fundamental political assault on judicial review fizzled down to almost nothing (see here).

To the extent to which this was down to his political interventions and tactics, all sensible people should be grateful.

The bad was that the wider justice system is in a bad state, with some parts – especially criminal justice – almost in chaos, with delays of years for basic matters.

This predicament was admitted by Buckland in his resignation letter:

You will see he expressly says that there have been ‘years of underfunding’ – and here it should be remembered that the conservatives have been in office for eleven years.

The ugly is his failure to check the explicit attempt by the government to break the law with the internal markets bill.

Others resigned: the advocate general Lord Keen resigned, as did the treasury solicitor Jonathan Jones.

It was an issue on which a lord chancellor of any integrity should have resigned too.

This is because the lord chancellor has an obligation, reflected in statute, to uphold the rule of law.

The moment the bill was published, the lord chancellor should have resigned.

There was no good reason not to do so.

But Buckland chose to stay on, in breach of his constitutional duty, and – in effect – gave cover to a government explicitly committed to breaking the law.

And his reward for this misplaced political loyalty?

He was casually sacked just to create a vacancy for a minister who had failed in another department.

Buckland will now spend the rest of his political and legal career justifying why he did not resign on the spot.

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Buckland’s replacement is Dominic Raab, another conservative member of parliament.

Raab has already served as a minister at the ministry of justice and has a legal background.

Yesterday, political sources told the political editor of the BBC that Raab was ‘a senior lawyer’, which the political editor then repeated as a fact without checking.

Raab is, in no meaningful sense, ‘a senior lawyer’.

This is not to make a political or partisan point, just a statement of fact.

He left the legal profession after a handful of years to go into politics.

There is certainly nothing wrong with that – and ceasing to be a practising solicitor can be a wise thing to do.

And Raab does have good legal credentials – prizes, a higher degree, and experience at a well-regarded city law firm and at the foreign office.

But he was only ever a junior lawyer.

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A case can be made for Raab’s appointment being a good thing.

He is a qualified lawyer – and many have complained when the lord chancellor has not been a qualified lawyer – with a good academic and professional background.

He is also deputy prime minister – which means that he will perhaps be in a stronger position in negotiations with the treasury so as to correct the historic underfunding described by his predecessor.

And he has a sincere (if haphazard) belief in rights, as shown by his 2010 book and his emphasis as foreign secretary on human rights for those under other regimes.

Sudan:

Syria:

Sri Lanka:

Belarus:

China:

And Russia:

There are many others.

Raab has tweeted about human rights dozens of times as foreign secretary.

And only, it seems, three times about Brexit – even though he was a strong Brexit campaigner and former Brexit secretary.

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So what can possibly be wrong about this appointment?

Legal background, qualified lawyer, influential within cabinet, genuine interest in human rights (at least for foreigners).

Why was a legal journalist able to (correctly) tweet this?

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Part of the answer is that – notwithstanding his interest in human rights abroad – Raab has a fixation with repealing the human rights act in the United Kingdom.

And one would not be surprised that one stipulation made by Raab in accepting the position as lord chancellor is that he get another crack at repealing the human rights act.

If so, then the act will probably be repealed – though there will no doubt be a less strikingly (and provocatively) entitled ‘European Convention on Human Rights (Interpretation and Incorporation of Articles) and Related Purposes Act’ in its stead – not least because the Good Friday Agreement provides that the convention has to be enforceable in Northern Ireland.

Raab may also be tempted to re-open the judicial review question, disregarding Buckland’s more conciliatory approach.

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The real opposition to Raab’s, however, is more political than legal – his brash and confrontational political approach tied to a sense that there is little substance.

And so on.

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But.

Every new lord chancellor and justice secretary should be given a fair chance.

For example Michael Gove was a surprisingly good lord chancellor and justice secretary – and not just because he was not Chris Grayling.

Perhaps Raab will also turn out to be a surprisingly good lord chancellor and justice secretary.

Perhaps.

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But.

The real significance of the appointment is not about personalities.

It is about the office of lord chancellor.

This office used to be occupied usually by a senior lawyer-politician, with no further political ambitions.

But since the creation of the ministry of justice under Tony Blair and Charles Falconer – which combined the old lord chancellor’s department with parts of the home office – the department has generally been under politicians on the rise.

And now it is being given to politicians on their fall.

Here, a consolation prize for being sacked as foreign secretary.

Just another spending department with just another politician in charge.

Yet: the lord chancellorship is special – or should be.

The lord chancellor has a duty to protect the rule of law in government and the independence of the judiciary.

And here there will be a tension with Raab’s appointment.

For as deputy prime minister, Raab will be answerable in parliament for the government as a whole (in the prime minister’s absence).

He will also, if he wishes, have a dominant position on any cabinet committees he choses to attend.

He will, in essence, be part of the thing that that lord chancellor is there, in part, to protect against.

No other deputy prime minister has also been lord chancellor.

This tension means potential problems ahead.

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After the creation of the ministry of justice it was perhaps only a matter of time before it became just another political department.

And to this extent, the appointment of a politician such as Raab to the office in these circumstances was also just a matter of time.

But this does not take away from some of the tensions – perhaps contradictions – set out above.

The appointment is certainly good for law and policy commentators.

There will be a lot to commentate on.

It may not turn out so well for law and policy.

**

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The sordid return of ‘the will of the people’

10th September 2021

This government is abandoning manifesto commitment after manifesto commitment.

This is notwithstanding that, in a representative parliamentary democracy, it is only by manifestos that we have anything that approximates to mandates for a majority party returned in a general election.

Such manifesto commitments are not, it seems, binding commitments on the government.

But.

Elsewhere in government, the ‘will of the people’ is being invoked – and perhaps in the mist sordid and disgusting way imaginable to any any sensible and humane person:

Because of this policy, fellow human beings will die.

There will be those who will be dead tomorrow who otherwise would not be dead but for this policy.

This policy is not in any manifesto.

The invocation of ‘it is what people want’ is nothing more compelling than speculation.

But it is enough.

Because ‘it is what people want’ then other people will die.

This is a ‘pick and choose’ approach to representative democracy.

Things that had been explicit in a manifesto on which people people had actually voted are casually discarded.

And by reason of the slogan ‘it is what people want’ lives of fellow human beings will be just as casually discarded.

The common feature is executive arrogance.

Ministers believe they can do as they wish to anyone, regardless of actual mandates.

This does not mean well for our democracy.

Brace brace.

**

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Why ‘legally ringfenced’ is a phrase used by political knaves to take you for a fool

7th September 2021

Another late-night revelation about our current government-by-essay-crisis:

The phrase ‘legally ringfenced’ is a legal and political nonsense.

It is a legal nonsense because nothing in the United Kingdom can, in any meaningful way, be ‘legally ringfenced’ .

This is because of the doctrine of parliamentary supremacy, which means a parliament can make or unmake any act of parliament.

Nothing – to use a similar dishonest phrase – can be ‘enshrined in law’.

Even if there were a provision put in a statute – with super-duper protections intended to prevent its repeal or amendment – the provision and all those super-duper protections could be repealed or amended with a simple parliamentary majority.

And it is a political nonsense for it is a trick that that has been played before and which has been exposed as trick before.

The international aid budget was, supposedly, legally ringfenced.

The fixed-term parliaments act was, supposedly, enshrined in law.

The current triple-lock on pensions likewise, and so on.

And so on.

But still politicians use this trickery – and still too many nod-along by these impressive sounding phrases.

The claims ‘legally ringfenced’ and ‘enshrined in law’ do have a rhetorical purpose, of course.

They invoke the majesty of law to charge up what would otherwise be a banal political utterance.

An utterance intended to reassure waverers or even win over somebody who would otherwise be opposed.

And in that way, it is perhaps slightly significant that politicians still feel law has sufficient respect so that political statements can be framed as grand legal announcements.

But it is trickery all the same.

Any politician who uses the phrases ‘legally ringfenced’ and ‘enshrined in law’ is a knave – and a knave taking you to be a fool.

**

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To Brexit and back again: how political ‘mandates’ have returned to meaning nothing

6th September 2021

Long ago, before 2016, ‘mandates’ were not taken that serious in the politics of the United Kingdom.

To the extent that a mandate from a general election made any constitutional difference, it meant that in practice (and by convention) the house of lords would not block anything that had been in a manifesto of the majority house of commons party.

There certainly was not any firm obligation on the government to bring each manifesto commitment to the floor of the house of commons, let alone pass any legislation.

And from time to time – for example, with the poll tax (‘community charge’) endorsed in the 1987 general election – a government will reverse a policy contained in a manifesto within the same parliament.

Because, long ago, mandates were seen as weak things in our representative, parliamentary democracy

And then.

And then came the 2016 referendum on membership of the European Union, which had a small though clear majority in favour.

This result – in a non-binding referendum – became ‘the will of the people’.

The result was a mandate that no person or institution would be allowed to gainsay.

If senior judges said that there needed an act of parliament for the Brexit notification to be made, they were howled at as ‘enemies of the people’.

Members of parliament opposed to the departure were similarly denounced.

An electoral mandate was no longer a weak thing.

The mandate was the strongest thing in politics.

A force so strong that nothing could stand in its way.

And then.

The United Kingdom departed from the European Union.

Now, the same government that insisted that ‘the will of the people’ was absolute is now seeking to renege on its manifesto commitments.

The international aid budget has been cut, and it looks like the ‘triple lock’ commitment and tax commitment are both going, perhaps this week.

The government no longer cares that much about mandates.

The government no longer cares about the will of the people as expressed through a ballot box.

Mandates are weak things again.

It has been a strange few years, politically.

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Looking at today’s select committee hearing as a practical exercise in holding the foreign secretary to account

1st September 2021

The word ‘accountability’ in a political context means that a person with political power is required to give, well, an account of what they do and do not do.

This in turn means that exercises in political theatre – such as dramatic resignations and sackings, or prime minister’s questions, and so on – are not examples of political accountability.

Indeed, they can often be a substitute for the minister explaining about what happened on their watch.

And general elections are not an exercise in practical accountability: even taking the electoral system into account, parties campaign on broad manifestoes and are not obliged to fulfil and mandate if elected.

The nearest we have in the United Kingdom parliament at Westminster to the means of practical political accountability are select committee hearings.

Earlier today there was one such select committee hearing – the foreign affairs committee session with the foreign secretary Dominic Raab.

And to a certain extent this worked as an exercise in accountability: some further information was provided as to the circumstances of the evacuation from Afghanistan.

But rather than providing a full account of what happened, the foreign secretary often seemed uninformed and unaware, and he sought to hide behind long discursive answers unrelated to the questions asked.

Of course: by showing the vacuity of the foreign secretary the session was an exercise in political transparency, if not in accountability.

But there was nothing the committee could do – at least in the session – to require the foreign secretary to give a more complete and direct account of what happened.

And the session was not long – about an hour or so.

Yet this is the best we will get – the foreign secretary is now safe again from being probed closely as to what happened and did not happen.

We will return to ‘politics as normal’.

Perhaps one day, some earnest public inquiry will piece together a fuller account of what happened with Afghanistan.

And the time there is account, the relevant politicians will have long gone from being held to that account.

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Was the ‘surveillance state’ a price worth paying?

 

30th August 2021

Over at the Foreign Affairs journal is this fascinating, well-argued article:

From a liberal perspective, there are parts of the piece that are both convincing – and disturbing.

For example, the author Thomas Hegghammer avers that not only is the west better resourced:

‘Western governments have also proved to be less scrupulous about preserving civil rights than many expected in the early years of the war on terrorism. When faced with security threats on their own soil, most Western states bent or broke their own rules and neglected to live up to their self-professed liberal ideals.’

The gist of this seems true – and what is disturbing for the liberal is that it may well have been a ‘price worth paying’.

Hegghammer amplifies this point in respect of privacy laws and the surveillance state:

‘The reason information technology empowers the state over time is that rebellion is a battle for information, and states can exploit new technology on a scale that small groups cannot. The computer allowed states to accumulate more information about their citizens, and the Internet enabled faster sharing of that information across institutions and countries. Gadgets such as the credit card terminal and the smartphone allowed authorities to peer deeper and deeper into people’s lives. I sometimes serve as an expert witness in terrorism trials and get to see what the police have collected on suspects. What I have learned is that once the surveillance state targets someone, that person no longer retains even a sliver of genuine privacy.’

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Hegghammer sets out that surveillance and the disregard for civil liberties are just one element of a general anti-terrorist strategy – alongside techniques, resources, intelligence, and the dynamics of the state-terrorist relationship.

And it is not clear whether it is an essential element.

Had Western governments and their citizens been more mindful (or to critics, precious) about their civil liberties, would it have meant that the other elements of anti-terrorism policy would not have worked so well?

And what would it have practically meant for Western governments to have been more ‘scrupulous about preserving civil rights than many expected in the early years of the war on terrorism’ rather than less?

Most liberals will accept that the state can do all sorts of things for the purpose of anti-terrorism, as long as it has a lawful basis and is subject to democratic and judicial supervision and the principle of proportionality, and it lasts no longer than necessary.

Would such requirements really have hindered the security services in their work?

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To a certain extent Hegghammer’s argument has a flavour of ‘just so’ story – there is less terrorism now than before, and so what happened between then and now must explain why there is less terrorism.

But that said: Hegghammer’s observation that the state now has access to online information and communications data that makes it difficult-to-impossible to use electronic devices, media and payments for the purposes of organised terrorism is compelling.

However: terrorism, like other forms of human cruelty, adapts.

It may well be that we have not ascertained or imagined how the next generation of terrorists will work out how to be cruel.

But in the meantime: we will still have the surveillance state – and no state voluntary surrenders its powers.

Perhaps that was – and will continue to be – the ‘price worth paying’.

The price was a high one, all the same.

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