How the next general election in the United Kingdom is now less than a year away

29 January 2024

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The next general election in the United Kingdom is now less than a year away.

The latest possible date the next general election can be held is 28 January 2025.

How is this so?

Well, let this blog explain.

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The maximum length of any parliamentary term is governed by statute.

Historically, the maximum term of a parliament has varied.

Once there was no limit. (Imagine that.)

Then there was a three year limit. (Imagine that.)

And then under the Septennial Act of 1715 the maximum length of a parliament was set at seven years. (Imagine that.)

That was then amended under the Parliament Act 1911:

The position is now governed by the Dissolution and Calling of Parliament Act 2022 (which repealed the fixed-term legislation you may recall):

The current parliament first met on 17 December 2019:

This means that under the 2022 legislation, the current parliament has to end by 17 December 2024.

Then under another Act, there will be a period of six days after that dissolution for nominations:

And then the poll has to take place nineteen days after that deadline:

That makes twenty-five days.

On the face of it that would mean a date in early-to-mid January 2025.

But.

We also have this provision:

As the period in question goes over the Christmas and new year period, this moves the maximum date to 28 January 2025.

This is the House of Commons’ own reckoning:

You are welcome, as the sort of people who read and comment on blogs, to see if you can reckon the date differently.

But even if you do reckon the date differently, it is unlikely to be later than 28 January 2025, and so the contention of this post stands: we are less than a year away from the next general election.

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Of course, parliament can now dissolved by (the Crown on the advice of) the Prime Minister before the maximum length of parliament.

Perhaps the Prime Minister will go for May, or for October/November, or some other date?

Who knows?

Perhaps not even the Prime Minister.

Perhaps they may not even still be Prime Minister at the time.

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Is there anyway the maximum period can be extended?

In theory, yes.

It is possible for a parliament to extend its own duration.

The parliament elected in 1935, for example, was extended on annual basis until the second world war had ended in Europe, and there was similar legislation in first world war:

Similar legislation could, in theory, be passed again, invoking some supposed emergency (and some of you may suspect that some government supporters would like to do so).

But even if the House of Commons was to pass such legislation, it cannot be forced through against rejection of the House of Lords as a matter of law (emphasis added):

And, in any case, there would not be enough time to force an extension through against House of Lords opposition (emphasis again added):

So this parliament could be extended, but only with the agreement of the House of Lords, and not just by the government forcing through legislation with its House of Commons majority.

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And so less than one year to go.

The end of this parliament is in sight.

 

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The coming year: how the parameters of the constitution will shape the politics of 2024

The coming constitutional excitements in the United States

On yesterday’s Supreme Court judgment on the Rwanda policy

16th November 2023

Yesterday the Supreme Court handed down its appeal judgment in the Rwanda policy case.

For an informed view on the case, it is worth taking the time to watch Lord Reed, the President of the court, giving the summary of the judgment:

A court-approved summary can also be read here – and the full judgment is here.

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I wrote a couple of quick posts on the case yesterday for the mainstream media.

At the Financial Times, I did an “instant insight” (and it certainly had one of those two qualities) which emphasised two things which were immediately evident about the case.

First, it was remarkable – and, to me, a surprise – that the current Supreme Court under Lord Reed, which is generally regarded as deferent to the executive and legislature on “policy” matters, went unanimously against the government.

In essence, and to echo John Kander and Fred Ebb’s New York, New York: if a government cannot win on a “policy” matter before a Lord Reed Supreme Court, it cannot win that case anywhere.

Second, the court – perhaps showing more political sense than the entire cabinet – deftly avoided resting the case on the European Convention of Human Rights or the Human Rights Act.

Both instruments were, of course, mentioned in passing – but the effect of the judgment would have been just the same had neither instrument applied to the facts.

The court instead had regard to a range of other legal instruments and sources of law, including what is called customary international law.

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Over at Prospect, I approached the judgment from a different perspective, and I averred that the government could have won the case had they wanted to do so – by which I meant that the government could have negotiated a treaty with Rwanda that would have addressed the concerns ultimately expressed by the Supreme Court, instead of relying on a flimsy Memorandum of Understanding.

And this was not just a commentator-with-hindsight, it was what the government had been explicitly warned about a year ago by a House of Lords committee:

Some other commentators are not with me on this point – and they say that even a substantial treaty with Rwanda, which ensured there was no risk of asylum seekers being wrongly returned to their country of origin, may not have been enough to save the policy in this appeal.

Perhaps they are right and more would have been needed, but on any view such a treaty would have been necessary, if not sufficient: a non-enforceable MoU was inherently inadequate.  It would not have been relied upon had the government been actually serious about this policy.

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I am now thinking about writing a detailed post on the case from a constitutionalist perspective; but in the meantime, let me know below what you think about the decision and what you reckon to be its significance.

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The courts have already deflated the Rwanda policy, regardless of the Supreme Court judgment next Wednesday

10th November 2023

Even if the United Kingdom government wins on the lawfulness of the policy, it has already lost in respect of procedure

Those interested in day-to-day politics in the United Kingdom are now looking to next Wednesday for the Supreme Court decision to be handed down on the lawfulness of the Rwanda policy.

The conventional wisdom is that if the current Home Secretary is still in post on Wednesday, a Supreme Court defeat for the government may be the basis for the Home Secretary to resign and campaign for the United Kingdom’s departure from the European Convention on Human Rights, or something.

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Nobody outside the court will know the result in advance and so the hand-down will be a moment of drama and excitement.

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On balance, any legal challenge to “policy” – that is an approach to general political problems – is likely to fail.

For an entire policy to be quashed it would require that each and every possible application of the policy in any concrete situation must be unlawful – that there is nothing that can be done to save a decision in a particular case.

Courts are reluctant to do this – not least because policy is usually the province of politicians, and judges will not want to trespass.

And the current Supreme Court under Lord Reed often seems cautious in dealing with “policy” challenges.

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There perhaps are reasons why this particular policy may be unlawful in the round – and if it was not arguable that the policy was itself unlawful the Supreme Court would not have heard the case – but it would not be shocking if the Supreme Court sides with the government and holds that some applications of the policy may be lawful, subject to certain conditions.

And here is the nub of the situation, which many in politics and the media seem to be overlooking: the courts have already held that there are strict and onerous conditions in particular cases.

These conditions are so strict and so onerous, it may well be that few if any asylum seekers will be relocated to Rwanda, even if the Supreme Court rules that the general policy is legal.

Followers of this blog may recall posts about this at the time of the initial High Court decision and the Court of Appeal decision:

As this blog has before averred, the government can both win and lose a legal case at the same time.

And even if the government wins on whether the policy is lawful, the procedural protections already insisted upon by the courts in the application of the Rwanda policy will present difficulties for a Home Secretary after next Wednesday.

Whoever that is.

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One year on from one thing, sixteen months on from another thing…

8th September 2023

On this anniversary of Elizabeth II’s death, we are still in the legislative session commenced with the Queen’s Speech of May 2022 – one monarch and two prime ministers (and several cabinet ministers) ago.

This, by itself, illustrates the drift of the current government. Neither Truss nor Sunak when they commenced their premierships signalled a new legislative programme. Instead they carried on with what was, in any case, primarily a gimmicky pick-and-mix miscellany of poorly conceived legislative proposals.

And so we are are still, in one sense, in the age of Johnson. And he is now not even in parliament, let alone the head of a government pushing through his last legislative package.

The knock-on effect of this is, as my Substack has previously averred, that the government is running out of time before the next election to pass legislation – especially anything fundamental or controversial. Many will think this a good thing, but it is not the sign of a government with direction or drive.

We are one year on from one thing, sixteen months on from another thing, and still perhaps a year away from that one thing, a general election, that can bring about any meaningful change.

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Constitutionalism vs constitutionalism – how liberal constitutionalists sometimes misunderstand illiberal constitutionalism

24th August 2023

One conceit of many liberal constitutionalists is that they have a monopoly on constitutionalism: that is the notion that constitutional rights and structures are fundamental to political thought and action.

An indication of this conceit is the immediate – indeed automatic – response of British liberals to certain political mishaps and transgressions: this shows the need for a written constitution.

This is said, with force and sincerity, regardless of the brute fact that written (that is, codified) constitutions can be very illiberal things indeed.

A codified constitution can entrench rather than limit executive power, and it can limit rather than entrench the ability of other organs of the state to check and balance executive power.

From a liberal perspective, the true test of a written constitution for the United Kingdom is whether it would be more liberal than our current uncodified constitutional arrangements.

There is no reason to believe it would be, especially if the government of the day – with its army of ambitious officials and clever legal advisers – has anything to do with its drafting and implementation.

Our current constitutional arrangements have obliged the executive to use legislation for the Article 50 notification and prohibited the government from using a prorogation for wrongful purposes; and our current constitutional arrangements also have led to two prime ministers losing power, notwithstanding the large majority of the incoming government in 2019.

Against these highlights, however, is the steady push of the executive to gain more and more discretionary power, especially in respect of interfering with the rights of individuals. So the current arrangements should not an excuse of complacency, for our constitution has many illiberal features too.

But the way forward to making our constitution more liberal is not to assume that illiberals do not care about constitutions; it is to realise and accept that they too care about constitutional powers, but not in the same way as liberals.

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In a more vivid form, this can be seen in the United States where the Trumpites and others frame their objections to their government in terms of their constitutional rights, especially to bear arms and free expression, and states’ rights.

Even the events of 6 January were based on an elaborate ruse of gaming the constitutional role of Vice President (as president of the senate) and exploiting that role’s responsibilities in respect of electoral college votes.

This may not be constitutionalism which is to your liberal tastes – and indeed many conservative constitutionalists were opposed to this ploy.

But it is still a form of constitutionalism – in that certain constitutional provisions were being (mis)used to legitimise and achieve certain political ends.

What Trump and his conspirators wanted to do was to keep power by (mis)using constitutional provisions.

And, of course, he would not have been the first authoritarian populist to seize and retain power through constitutional arrangements, rather than in spite of them.

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It is prudent in public matters to try to understand political opponents on their own terms, rather than to caricature them and their motives.

Liberal constitutionalists need to realise that their opponents also care about constitutional arrangements and constitutional legitimacy, but do so in a very different way and within a very different narrative.

The battle is not about constitutionalism against anti-constitutionalism.

It is between two contrasting and irreconcilable views of constitutions and what can be done with them.

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Of impeachments and indictments – how many of the criminal indictments against Trump are a function of the failure of the impeachment process

15th August 2023

 

There is an old Hebrew proverb which can be roughly translated as:

What is the difference between a wise person and a clever person?

A clever person can get themselves out of situations a wise person would not have got into.

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There are many points of similarity (as well as of contrast) between Boris Johnson and Donald Trump.

One common feature is their manoeuvrability.

They can perhaps be seen to get themselves out of situations which more prudent politicians would not have got into.

The impression conveyed is a constant short-term living-on-ones-wits, with a deft dodge here and will-to-power there, which would exhaust most other mortals.

But.

Each improvisation comes with a potential cost, for what deals well with one situation may not be helpful in another situation.

And this is the difference between tactics and strategy.

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To put this in more concrete terms: Johnson and his lawyers appear to have hit on a good defence to possible criminal liability over the Downing Street parties.

A previous blogpost sets out how useful this line – about the need to show leadership in a work situation – was in dealing with the police and any potential fines or prosecution.

But that defence came with costs.

One cost was that it provided no defence to his own birthday party: and so that was the one for which he was fined.

And another cost was that it offered no relief in respect of the House of Commons investigation: what was a good defence in one context had no traction in another.

Johnson’s attempts to “lawyer-up” for the committee fell flat, his legalistic and supposedly “devastating” submissions got him nowhere – nowhere, that is, other than outside of the House of Commons.

His tactics worked regarding the potential criminal liability, but his strategic approach to holding power was so inept that he went from being an incoming Prime Minister with a sizeable majority to not even being a member of parliament in less than a single parliamentary term.

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A similar thing can perhaps be seen now in the United States.

Trump somehow headed off not one but two impeachment exercises: he may have been impeached twice, but he was not convicted for either.

The latter impeachment was, of course, for the events of 6 January.

And so he avoided the punishment set out in the constitution for political misconduct.

But where the impeachments have failed, it appears that indictments have taken up the political slack.

It is maybe difficult to imagine that any of the current indictments against Trump – even the document retention ones – would now exist had Trump been convicted on impeachment.

(Logically, of course, the events of 6 January would have been different had the earlier impeachment ended with a conviction.)

Had Trump been convicted on impeachment – even if he had then received a Ford-Nixon type pardon – and thereby formally dismissed from office and unable to return, then it is possible that it would have seen that he had been punished enough.

An exercise of political misconduct – his role in the events of 6 January – would have then been dealt through the constitutional mechanism of impeachment – and so would have had a political solution.

Instead that political misconduct has been converted into criminal charges.

This is not to say that the criminal charges are not sound and evidenced – some of the cases look very strong and Trump’s position looks correspondingly very weak. Trump is in serious legal jeopardy.

The point is that these indictments (with the possible exception of the document retention charges) are really doing the job that should have been with the second impeachment, had Trump and his Senate allies not manoeuvred for an acquittal.

That tactical success, however, offers no defence to the criminal charges he now faces.

And instead of disgrace and permanent removal from office, he now faces criminal liability and even prison time.

The Georgia charges look especially bad for him, as there seems no pardon would be available – either from a president or the governor of the state.

In essence: it would seem that the impeachment process failed in the very circumstances such a political and constitutional remedy should have succeeded.

And, if you will pardon the pun, that is quite an indictment of the US constitution.

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A note of caution for those clapping and cheering at the latest indictment of Donald Trump

8th August 2023

 

(Picture credit.)

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The former president of the United States is facing serious legal trouble, with a serious criminal indictment which takes seriously his role in the 6 January insurrection, and – what is more – he also faces a serious judge taking her job seriously.

No matter how many times one types “serious” it is hard to overemphasise how serious this is for Trump and, by extension, for the United States generally and for the liberal constitutionalist notion that nobody, not even Donald Trump, is above the law.

But.

Taking this seriously also should also mean that those looking on should not give way to elation and celebration.

And this is because, as with all contested litigation, there is the possibility that this case can be lost as well as won.

It is too early to be clapping and cheering.

Imagine the following scenario: the prosecution throw everything they can at Trump. Each charge is evidenced and each witness comes up to proof.

Imagine that the case against Trump could not be framed better and could not be put before the court better.

Imagine a dream prosecution, one where everything goes right.

Imagine all that and then imagine, for this is litigation and all contested litigation is ultimately uncertain, that Trump is found not guilty.

This is not actually a fanciful point: the laws being relied upon by the prosecution are not commonly prosecuted and there is doubt as to the reach of those laws.

And Trump will be fighting for his political life – and whichever lawyers he manages to employ the duration of the trial will also be seeking the best possible presentation of the defense.

There is a non-trivial possibility that Trump may be found not guilty.

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What this would mean – or at least what Trump and his supporters will take it to mean – is not that Trump has escaped condemnation and conviction.

It would instead be taken to mean complete and absolute vindication of Trump both in respect of the incidents of 6 January and of his framing of the prosecution as a “witch trial”.

The consequences of such a vindication will be profound and lasting.

Of course, this possibility does not mean that the prosecution should not go ahead.

Nothing in this post should be taken to mean that the prosecution should be aborted.

The point of this post is not about prosecution practice and discretion: indeed, as far as one can tell, the prosecution is doing a good, impressive job.

The point of this post is to counter the jubilation at the indictment.

This is high-stakes litigation, in a case which may (as they say) make law.

Perhaps the prosecution wins and, after exhausting all and any appeals, Trump is held to be criminally liable for his role. If so, those opposed to Trump can then clap and cheer.

But we are not yet near that outcome, and the implications of the prosecution not succeeding need to be taken seriously too.

A great deal rides on this case, and the outcome is not certain.

Brace, brace.

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Why the Northern Irish Border Poll of 1973 was both unimportant and profoundly important