How Prince Harry’s legal case shows how the phone hacking story has returned to the start of a circle

26th April 2023

The news about the royals and hacking, well summarised and analysed by Joshua Rozenberg at his Substack, brings us back to the start of a circle.

For the phone hacking story only came about because of the royals.

The story came about because the Fleet Street press of the time – with their well-connected links with the Metropolitan police and the private investigation mini-industry, and unchecked by fearful politicians – sought access to information from the voicemails of the royal household.

Because the royal household became involved, the matter was passed to different police officers at the Metropolitan Police, who then raided and took compelling evidence from private investigators.

And in Scotland Yard that evidence was stored, and it became relevant to civil claims some years later, and then suddenly the scope and extent of tabloid phone hacking became apparent.

But without the royal household connection, the crucial evidence would not ever have been seized and stored, and without that evidence being available for later litigation, the hacking story may never have emerged.

What happened shows the practical importance of the monarchy to our politics, regardless of constitutional theory and conventional wisdom.

It seems only the monarchy has any autonomous power when the police and the media and the politicians collude.

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Such crude phone hacking now seems from another age – technologically, culturally, politically, legally.

After the current crop of cases it may well be that the phone hacking litigation comes to an end.

Prince Harry’s various cases will then perhaps be the other bookend to that provided by the original hacking of the royal household telephones.

But as the parties attend hearings at the Royal Courts of Justice in the Strand, the sophisticated surveillance and data retention by the state and technology companies continues at an unimaginable scale, again unchecked by either politicians or the media.

The phone hacking of a media generation ago seems like a garden shed affair compared with a huge urban conurbation of the exercise of “investigatory powers”.

Any abuses and misuses (or even uses) of the current technology will, in turn, probably never come to light so as to horrify.

Unless, of course, the abuses and misuses (and uses) affect the royal household.

And only then, maybe, will we ever get to hear about it.

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Why Raab’s frontal attack on the Human Rights Act failed, and why the Home Office attack on human rights law is succeeding

25th April 2023

One big error by the former Lord Chancellor Dominic Raab was how he went about dealing with human rights law.

Raab insisted on outright repeal of the Human Rights Act 1998, and nothing else.

As this blog has previously averred, the Act was the Moby Dick to his Captain Ahab.

The Act had to go.

And this approach failed, even from an illiberal perspective.

For the Human Rights Act 1998 is still there, and Raab is not.

A more effective approach from an illiberal perspective is not the full repeal of the Act, but to slowly bit-by-bit reduce its effect and restrict its scope.

Take this simple clause 1(5) from the Illegal Migration Bill:

That is all that needs to be done.

For the Human Rights Act 1998 is only a statute, and what one statute provides another can take away.

The Act does not, from an illiberal perspective, need to be repealed: it can instead be subjected to dozens of similar “notwithstanding” clauses, in new legislation and amending old legislation.

There is no point in saying: don’t tell the government this!

Those in the government already know – that is why the Home Office lawyers have put that clause in the Bill.

They do not need Raab’s cavalry charge of full repeal: they can be more effective operating on the flanks, picking off targets as they choose.

Of course, if the government goes too far there may, perhaps, be an adverse adjudication by the European Court of Human Rights on such legislation.

But that would be a cost of government business, sometime down the road, and not something to prevent putting in such clauses now.

And the pushback against such clauses will be harder than defending an entire Act from repeal.

The government can and will be more savvy in its illiberalism.

And this is far more concerning, from a liberal perspective, than Raab’s futile whale-hunt.

The Human Rights Act 1998 may now be safe from repeal, but the reach of human rights law in primary legislation is certainly not safe from attack.

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The significance of the resignation of Dominic Raab

21st April 2023

The end, when it came, was not pretty.  But then again, endings rarely are.

The resignation letter was extraordinary:

The impression was that the letter was drafted in a rush – the sort of draft one would put together to get something out of one’s system, before composing something more measured.

The letter was accompanied by a 1,100 word piece in the Telegraph which was published eighty-or-so minutes later:

As a published article, it presumably would have been commissioned, edited and lawyered before publication – and so it may have been written before the letter.

But it said much the same.

One remarkable thing was that both the letter and the published article were in the public domain before the actual report – presumably to “frame the narrative” as a political pundit would put it.

And then the report was published:

And it became obvious why Raab was so anxious to “frame the narrative”– as parts of the report were, as a lawyer would put it, “adverse”.

This did not seem to be the usual, coordinated exchange of letters with a prime minister, which one would expect with such a senior resignation.

Instead, it looked a mess.

And one can only wonder about how this mess relates to the unexpected delay from yesterday, which was when the report was expected to be published and the prime minister was expected to make a decision.

What seems plain, however, is that Raab was pressed into a resignation.

If so, there is a certain irony, as it was the threatening of unpleasant outcomes to people who did not comply with his wishes/demands which was the subject matter of some of the complaints.

It therefore appears that Rishi Sunak was more skilful in this cost-benefit power-play than Raab.

In his resignation letter, Raab twice warns of the “dangerous” outcome if he did not get to continue on his way.

But in practice, Sunak by being silent and not “clearing” Raab yesterday placed Raab in an increasingly difficult situation, where it was becoming obvious even to Raab that unless he resigned he would be sacked.

Some may complain that Sunak “dithered” – but another analysis is that this former head boy and city banker patiently out-Raabed the school-cum-office bully.

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Beginnings, like endings, are also often not pretty.  And rarely are they ideal.

But, at last, the Ministry of Justice is free from perhaps the worst Lord Chancellor of modern times.

(Yes, worse even than Christopher Grayling or Elizabeth Truss.)

Over at his substack, Joshua Rozenberg has done an outstanding post on why – in substantial policy and administrative terms – Raab was just so bad.

And on Twitter, the fine former BBC correspondent Danny Shaw has also detailed the many failings in this thread:

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The Ministry of Justice is in an awful state.

The departing minister’s obsession with prioritising symbolic legislation such as the supposed “Bill of Rights” and a “Victims” Bill – which mainly comprises the shallow sort of stuff too often connected to the word “enshrining” – was demonstrative of the lack of proper direction for the ministry.

And it is significant that it was only during the interruption of the Truss premiership, with a new (if temporary) Lord Chancellor that the barristers’ strike was resolved.

Joshua Rozenberg sums up that telling situation perfectly:

“We saw an example of Raab’s indecisiveness in the way handled the strike by criminal defence barristers last summer. Increasing delays — caused initially by government-imposed limits on the number of days that judges could sit — were rapidly becoming much worse.

“Raab seemed like a rabbit frozen in the headlights, unable to decide which way to turn. The problem was solved by Brandon Lewis, who replaced Raab for seven weeks while Liz Truss was prime minister. He simply paid the barristers some more money.

“It was not so much that Raab was ideologically opposed to making a pay offer. On his return to office, he made no attempt to undermine the pay deal reached by Lewis. It’s just that he seemed unable to take a decision.”

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Now decisions can be made.

Gesture-ridden draft legislation can be abandoned.

And the grunt-work of actually administering our courts and prisons and probation service can take place.

That grunt-work will also not be pretty, and the incoming Lord Chancellor will not get easy claps and cheers that come with attacking “lefty” lawyers and “woke” judges.

But a new start can be made, and all people of good sense should wish the new Lord Chancellor well.

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Whitehall is the new Brussels – and Westminster is as weak as ever

15th March 2023

There are many things which were not true about Brexit.

Brexit was never going to be quick and easy: indeed, we were still this year re-negotiating the exit deal.

Brexit was never going to lead to a rush of new free trade deals.

Brexit was never going to make it easier for the United Kingdom to control its borders.And Brexit was not about reclaiming sovereignty: we had sovereignty all along, and that is how we were able to make the Article 50 notification.

But the untruth about Brexit which perhaps is the most irksome from a law and policy perspective is that it was about the Westminster parliament (re)gaining power from Brussels.

For what has happened instead is that Whitehall – that is ministers and civil servants – used Brexit as a pretext for its own power-grab.

There is a version of Brexit – unrealistic, of course – where parliament is given maximum powers over new trade deals and where parliament decides on a case-by-case basis which of the retained European Union laws it keeps or replaces.

A Brexit which was used to empower Westminster and our democracy.

In some ways – and this will annoy some of you – that would not have been a bad Brexit.

But the rhetoric of “taking back control” instead cloaked an increase in discretionary and unaccountable power by the government.

The Westminster parliament seems as powerless as ever against the executive.

Whitehall has become the new Brussels.

And we may have to “take back control” all over again.

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Sovereignty, again

9th March 2023

In law and policy commentary – especially since 2016 – we go from the general to the particular, and from the particular to the general.

We swing constantly between the grandest constitutional concepts – the separation of powers, the rule of law, sovereignty – to the exact wording of particular clauses and other texts.

It really should not be this exciting, but it is.

Today we will look at sovereignty again.

And some of you will complain about who I am about to quote, but it is an example of a frame of mind which still has not gone away.

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Sovereignty is generally about the ability of states to decide things as they wish and to do things (or attempt to do things) as they want.

More exactly, it is about the autonomy, capacity and legal personality of states.

One general feature of sovereignty is therefore about the ability of states to enter into agreements with other states, or not.

Just as it is a general feature of adulthood to enter into various legal relationships, or not.

(And please note, the uses of “general[ly]” means, yes, there are exceptions, so no need to scroll down to list them in a comment.)

It is thereby an exercise of sovereignty to enter into treaties and to become a member of various international organisations.

That is what sovereign states do.

And they do it, in part, because they can.

As such, to say that a state being party to an international agreement is a negation of sovereignty is to fundamentally misunderstand what sovereignty means.

The very fact that the United Kingdom is a party to the United Nations shows that it is a sovereign state.

Indeed, one useful working definition of what is a sovereign state is whether it is (or is capable of becoming) a member of the United Nations.

And membership of an organisation will generally confer rights and impose obligations.

If a state does not want to have those rights and obligations then it can leave, either by an agreed exit process (such as the once-famous Article 50 of the Treaty on European Union) or by treaty or even by denunciation.

One of the most telling passages in the story of Brexit was in a government white paper before departure:

“The sovereignty of Parliament is a fundamental principle of the UK constitution. Whilst Parliament has remained sovereign throughout our membership of the EU, it has not always felt like that.”

Membership of the European Union has “not always felt like” we had sovereignty.

This suggested Brexit was an exercise in political therapy: so as to make us feel that we had (and have) sovereignty.

But we had sovereignty all along.

We could have left the European Economic Community and then European Union at any point – though before the treaty of Lisbon (which introduced Article 50), it would have had to have been by treaty (as happened when Greenland left) or by denunciation.

And we could have, at any time, repealed the European Communities Act 1972 without asking any one’s permission.

What Farage and others mean by “sovereignty” is isolationism.

Their ideal is for the United Kingdom not to be bound by any unwanted international obligations, or indeed by any international obligations at all.

But treaties generally require those who enter into them to limit or forego certain rights in return for some benefit.

For that is the nature of international agreements.

Yes, we can – ultimately – always walk away.

And we should be careful which obligations we accept when we enter such agreements.

But such obligations are the essence of the dealings of a sovereign state.

And that sovereignty is always there, even when it does not feel like it.

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Is it, at last, time to say “good bye” to Thoburn and the idea of “constitutional statutes”?

 9th February 2023

Oh dear old Thoburn, what shall be done with you?

Thoburn, the mainstay of thousands of constitutional law essays and hundreds of learned articles, does yesterday’s Supreme Court decision mean you are now no more?

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Thoburn is the 2002 “metric martyrs” case which introduced into the then quiet, sedate world of constitutional law the exciting concept of “constitutional statutes”.

Until then all Acts of Parliament were regarded as being equal, none of them any more entrenched – enshrined – than any other.

But in Thoburn the judge said, in effect, that there was a class of super-duper statutes known as “constitutional statutes” and these statutes had super-duper qualities not available to more mundane everyday statutes.

Incredible, if true.

And so Thoburn became the recent constitutional law case any student or informed pundit had to have an opinion about.

But yesterday’s Supreme Court decision on the Northern Irish Protocol may mean the dictum in Thoburn are no longer to be taken seriously.

What will law students and pundits do?

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To understand what happened with the Thoburn case we have to go back to the Victorian doctrine of the supremacy of parliament.

This doctrine holds that no statute passed by the Crown-in-Parliament can be gainsaid by any court.

But in two case in the early 1930s about the Acquisition of Land (Assessment of Compensation) Act 1919 and the Housing Act 1925, the courts were presented with a situation where two statutes contradicted each other.

How should the courts deal with this situation?

The clever idea the courts came up with was “implied repeal” – and so the fiction adopted was that parliament in passing the later legislation knew about the earlier legislation, and so the (presumed) intent of parliament was to repeal the earlier legislation.

But as this repeal was not explicit in the later legislation, it would have to be an implicit repeal.

And this is how the interwar courts managed to disapply a piece of primary legislation, notwithstanding the heady doctrine of the supremacy of parliament.

(Of course, if no Act of parliament can actually be gainsaid by a court, then the courts should have just refused to choose between the two contradictory statutes and return the matter to Parliament to sort out – but the fig-leaf of the “intent” of parliament meant the courts could sort out the legislative mess parliament had created.)

And the legal rule from these case was that the later statute trumps – that is, implicitly repeals – the earlier statute when the two contradict.

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But in 2002 the court was faced with another seemingly awkward situation.

It was submitted in that case that the Weights and Measures Act 1985 somehow implicitly repealed the earlier European Communities Act 1973.

On the merits of the case, the court found that this was not the position.

But in a dictum – which was not about the point on which the case turned – Lord Justice Laws (and please none of the usual jokes about nominative determinism) went on a judicial frolic and speculated about implied repeal.

Could a later Act of Parliament really implicitly repeal the European Communities Act 1973, which – in turn – was the (then) basis for the laws of the European Union having effect in the United Kingdom?

On the basis of the 1930s cases then this would have to be the position, as the later statute trumps the earlier statute.

But.

As we now know, repeal of the European Communities Act 1973 would be a very complicated and far-reaching thing.

And so Lord Justice Laws posited a new category of statutes which would be immune from any implied repeal.

If there were any contradictions with an earlier “constitutional statute” then it would be the later statute that would be repealed, not the earlier one.

His dictum was as follows (which I have broke out into one-sentence paragraphs):

We should recognise a hierarchy of Acts of Parliament: as it were “ordinary” statutes and “constitutional” statutes.

The two categories must be distinguished on a principled basis. In my opinion a constitutional statute is one which (a) conditions the legal relationship between citizen and State in some general, overarching manner, or (b) enlarges or diminishes the scope of what we would now regard as fundamental constitutional rights.

(a) and (b) are of necessity closely related: it is difficult to think of an instance of (a) that is not also an instance of (b).

The special status of constitutional statutes follows the special status of constitutional rights.

Examples are the [sic] Magna Carta, the Bill of Rights 1689, the Act of Union, the Reform Acts which distributed and enlarged the franchise, the HRA, the Scotland Act 1998 and the Government of Wales Act 1998.

The ECA clearly belongs in this family. It incorporated the whole corpus of substantive Community rights and obligations, and gave overriding domestic effect to the judicial and administrative machinery of Community law.

It may be there has never been a statute having such profound effects on so many dimensions of our daily lives.

The ECA is, by force of the common law, a constitutional statute.

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This was exhilarating, provocative stuff.

And it was utter flapdoodle.

There was no basis for positing such “constitutional statutes” – either then or now.

They were invented just to get the courts out of the potentially tricky situation which the judges’ contrived solution to the problems in the 1930s had got themselves into.

The notion of “implied repeal” was now a reversible switch – and it was to be the judges who decided (and not parliament) whether it would be the earlier or the later legislation that would be “implicitly repealed” by the simple expedient of the judge perhaps dubbing one or the other of the Acts of Parliament a “constitutional statute”.

It was all rather daft, but you will see why it was like catnip to those with an interest in constitutional law.

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Anyway, the Laws dictum was relied on by the applicants in the recent Allister litigation on the legality of the Northern Irish Protocol, which eventually reached the Supreme Court.

The Supreme Court decision in that case is fascinating and it warrants a post by itself, especially on respect of the developing jurisprudence of the court on devolution.

But the Supreme Court was unimpressed by the Thoburn point.

The court described the submission (again broken up into one-sentence paragraphs):

On the hearing of this appeal, the appellants submitted that the Acts of Union were constitutional statutes so that the rights in the trade limb of article VI of His Majesty’s subjects of Northern Ireland being on the same footing in respect of trade as His Majesty’s subjects of Great Britain, could not be subject to repeal or to subjugation, modification, or suspension absent express or specific words in a later statute.

In support of that submission, the appellants relied on a line of authorities starting with Thoburn v Sunderland City Council [2002] EWHC 195 (Admin)[2003] QB 151 for the proposition that whilst ordinary statutes may be impliedly repealed constitutional statutes may not.

At para 63 of Thoburn, Laws LJ suggested that the repeal of a constitutional statute or the abrogation of a fundamental right could only be effected by a later statute by:

“express words in the later statute, or by words so specific that the inference of an actual determination to effect the result contended for was irresistible.”

The appellants submitted that the Acts of Union are constitutional Acts and that the rights to equal footing as to trade were fundamental rights so that there was no scope for implied repeal and by analogy there was no scope for implied subjugation, modification, or suspension.

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You will see that the Thoburn point has now been expanded beyond implied repeal and that “constitutional statutes” have various other super-duper legal protections.

The court held (again broken up into one-sentence paragraphs, and with my two comments interposed):

The debate as to whether article VI created fundamental rights in relation to trade, whether the Acts of Union are statutes of a constitutional character, whether the 2018 and 2020 Acts are also statutes of a constitutional character, and as to the correct interpretative approach when considering such statutes or any fundamental rights, is academic.

“Academic.”

Even if it is engaged in this case, the interpretative presumption that Parliament does not intend to violate fundamental rights cannot override the clearly expressed will of Parliament.

“Even if”

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Allister is not about implied repeal, so strictly speaking the Laws dictum in Thoburn may be said to not be applicable.

But the notion of “constitutional statutes” is plainly not taken seriously by this unanimous Supreme Court in an important devolution case engaging what Laws would have called many “constitutional statutes” , with a panel consisting of justices from Northern Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, as well as the court’s leading public law justice, Lord Sales.

For the Supreme Court, the content of the Acts of Union have no special entrenched legal status, and they can be amended, and so on, just as any other Act of Parliament.

The question of what would happen with a direct contradiction, as in the early 1930s has been sidestepped.

But the expedient of “constitutional statutes” as suggested by Laws in Thoburn seems to have been put back in its judicial box.

Or has it?

No doubt there will now be thousands more constitutional law essays, and hundreds more learned articles, to tell us whether the dictum in Thoburn is no more.

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Due process and ministerial matters

1st February 2023

The working title of this post was something like “Boris Johnson, Nadhim Zahawi, and the creeping judicialisation of ministerial matters” – but that was perhaps too provocative and over-stated, even though it does have an element of truth to it.

One starting point here is that ministers of the crown are appointed, at least in constitutional theory, by the monarch, on the advice of the prime minister.

Another starting point is that parliament is the master of its own procedures, and what happens in parliament cannot be gainsaid by any court.

Both of these things – the hiring and firing of ministers and the affairs of parliament – are firmly in the realm of politics, rather than part of the province of law.

And those commentators and politicians who are hard against things like “judicial activism” and “unelected judges” are usually the most vigilant about judicial intrusions into the realm of politics.

There is a “political constitution” we are told, and it is not the business of judges and lawyers to get involved in what are matters of politics.

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But.

In the recent political matters of, first, Boris Johnson and the privileges committee and then second, the sacking of Nadhim Zahawi we are hearing phrases such as “natural justice” and “due process”.

The contention is that neither parliament nor the prime minister should have unfettered discretion.

There are things parliament and the prime minister cannot do, it is averred, because of the procedural rights of the politician involved.

This blog covered, you may remember, the “legal” advice commissioned by Johnson and his criminal lawyers to the effect that parliament was acting with conspicuous unfairness in its dealings with Johnson, even though it would never be a matter for any court.

This advice, we were told at the time, was “absolutely devastating” but, in fact, it absolutely missed the point.

This weekend just gone saw a similar complaint from supporters of Zahawi:

One response to these protestations is simply to scoff, especially as both Johnson and Zahawi are the sort of politicians who otherwise would criticise lawyers for “getting people off on technicalities”.

(And many such “technicalities” are procedural points, as opposed to substantive points on the merits.)

Like the proverbial “foxhole atheists”, it can be remarked that politicians who otherwise would disdain, if not despise, clever lawyerly tricks seem to have a change of heart about procedural fairness when their own rights are at issue.

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But scoffing alone would be wrong: for it is actually heartening to see due process and procedural fairness being given emphasis in political matters.

Of course, taking due process and procedural fairness seriously does not (necessarily) mean political matters being dragged into the courts.

The prerogatives and privileges of both the crown and of parliament mean that such matters are not justiciable.

And there is the danger of due process being misused.

In particular, there is the problem of prime ministers using inquiries and investigations as the means of not taking decisions which they are supposed to make themselves under our constitutional arrangements.

And there is the problem that, like with the (infamous) wait for the Sue Gray report, inquiries and investigations can be used as an excuse to avoid and evade proper parliamentary scrutiny and political accountability.

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Taking due process and procedural fairness (more) seriously is a welcome development, given the alternative of arbitrary and capricious decision-making.

Yet taking such things seriously means it should not matter whether doing so is politically convenient or not.

Fairness should always a basic value, and not a means to an end.

And so the best way politicians could show us that they do take due process and procedural fairness seriously is not when it is in their own cause, but in the cause of those far less powerful in society whose rights are undermined or disregarded.

For if politicians cared as much about the procedural rights of the less powerful as they do about their own due process rights, then that would show their protests were not just cynical, self-serving expediencies.

No doubt, however, such politicians would shrug off such uneven-handed inconsistency as, well, just a technicality.

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One-and-a-half cheers for the sacking of Nadhim Zahawi – and the calm, lethal prose of Sir Laurie Magnus

30th January 2023

In a summary, three-step form there seems nothing amiss about the sacking of Nadhim Zahawi from the cabinet: (1) he did some things wrong; (2) the things he did wrong were a breach of the Ministerial Code; and (3) he was sacked by the Prime Minister.

Those three steps are what is supposed to happen in these circumstances – and there are recent examples of one or both of the first two of these steps not actually being followed by the third.

But.

This government could not even get this quite right.

In particular: the things which were done wrong were known to the Prime Minister before the publication of the report from the Independent Adviser on Ministers’ Interests which set out the details of the wrongs and how they breached the Ministerial Code.

That said, there is a certain satisfaction from reading the report, with its methodical approach, accumulation of detail, and particularisations of breach.

(Well, apart from the “The General Principles of the Ministerial Code are very clear” – and longer-term followers will know why.)

The report by Sir Laurie Magnus is a fine piece of work, and one can only wonder what other recent ministerial transgressions would look like in such calm, lethal prose.

But it really should not be the job of an adviser, however independent or distinguished, to work out whether a Prime Minister should sack a minister.

There was nothing substantial in the report which the Prime Minister did not already know, or could have known with a due application of diligence.

This out-sourcing of ministerial discretion – which is reminiscent of the Sue Gray report – is a bad thing for accountability of ministers to parliament.

And when done by a Prime Minister is a very bad thing indeed.

So, a single-and-a-half cheer for this report and the sacking.

But not the three cheers that would have followed the Prime Minister doing his job and doing this all for himself.

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Why historical cases are not only fascinating but instructive

27th January 2023

Over at my new Substack for the last few weeks I have been posting (what I like to call) an “essay” on a significant historical case.

Such cases are (for me) fascinating as each one shows what happened when law, litigation and public policy met at certain times and places in the past – almost like postcards of intellectual history.

With historical cases, however, it is important to remember that the litigants and the courts were not dealing with the case for the benefit of historians and other later observers.

Litigation is (usually) an immensely practical affair, with those involved focused on immediate concerns – the recorded judgment is a by-product of their joint endeavours.

And almost all judgments – and the hearings that precede them – are not inevitable.

A case only goes to trial or appeal because of certain decisions by the actors – decisions which could have gone differently.

In civil cases, there could have been settlement; in public law cases, there could have been a reason why a claim would not have been made; in criminal cases, there could be an early plea of guilty.

One misleading view which can come from reading too much academic law is that decided cases are somehow the perfect state of legal practice – whereas, in reality, cases that ever get to trial and a published judgment are a rarity.

Indeed, the key question to ask about any published judgment – especially in civil cases – is: how the hell did this case end up in court?

But even though the cases exceptional they can show us things about the times and places where they were decided.

Was this area of law uncertain?  Why did both parties risk going to trial rather than settle?  Did the parties not only disagree but also have radically different world views?  Was the court having to deal with something which was new or not usually contested?  And so on.

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The first of essays was on Malone (1979) – which is for me the one case from the last fifty years which signified the most about our constitution.

That was the case where government counsel (seriously) submitted to the court that it was open to the state to interfere with the rights of a citizen, as long as there was no law to prevent it.

(This was an application to the state of the classic liberal sentiment that one can do as one wishes, as long as there is no law against it.)

The government’s eventual defat in that case, when it went to the European Court of Human Rights, led directly to the placing of the state’s intelligence and security powers onto a statutory basis.

The second essay was on the origin of Wednesbury unreasonableness – the notion from a 1948 case that a public body can make irrational decisions, as long as those decisions are not so unreasonable that no public body would make them.

The third essay was about an example from as far back as 1610, where the court in Dr Bonham’s case said that there were limits to what could be done with an Act of parliament.

Tomorrow’s essay will about perhaps the most significant case in trade union history: the Taff Vale judgment of 1901 (case report here), where there was a clash of those two contrasting world views: individualism and collectivism.

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I know that these essays, being for paid subscribers, are not free-to-read for some of my followers, but I do seek to post free-to-read topical legal commentary here almost every weekday.  These essays are less (immediately) topical, and they do help subsidise the time and effort and opportunity cost of the daily commentary.  And the essays even encourage me to write in multi-sentence paragraphs, like this.

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The Church of England seems more accountable on the floor of the House of Commons than most government ministers

26th January 2023

Now here is a curious thing.

The Church of England seems more accountable on the floor of the House of Commons than most government ministers.

This week there was an urgent question about the position of the Church of England on same-sex marriages.

And as in England, we have an established church there is a member of parliament charged with answering questions on behalf of the Church of England – from the backbenches:

In contrast to this exercise in parliamentary accountability, we have this week had the Prime Minister refer the Zadawi tax matter to the ethics adviser and the BBC mount an internal investigation into the relationship of its chair with a former Prime Minister.

This is in addition to the King’s Counsel looking at allegations against the Lord Chancellor.

There are various other inquiries and investigations, some now almost-forgotten.

And the thing is about these inquiries and investigations is that they are often exercises in political deflection and delay – deft manoeuvres so that there is no actual practical accountability of ministers, at least not immediately.

The consequence is that we are now in the extraordinary situation where the bishops of the Church of England are generally more accountable to members of parliament than the ministers of the crown.

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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, or if they risk derailing the discussion.