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.

So please do subscribe to the Substack if you can, and each week we build up a view of the haphazard and interesting way our law has developed over time, and this may in turn help us understand the present.

And any suggestions for historical cases for future essays welcome.

(Please note that the essays are also made available to Patreon and Paypal supporters – as nobody should pay “twice” for my drivel.)

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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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New Substack Essay: The 1610 case of Dr Bonham, and the question of whether parliament is really sovereign

 

22nd January 2023

The new essay at my Substack is up.

The essay is on the 1610 case of Dr Bonham, and the question of whether parliament is really sovereign:

These essays on legal history or law/lore are for paid subscribers, and they are additional to my weekday free-to-read topical commentary here on the law and policy blog.

Previous essays in this series are:

Malone (1979) – perhaps the most significant constitutional case of the last 50 years

Wednesbury (1948) – the origin of the modern principle of legal unreasonableness

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These essays are cross-posted on Patreon for my Patreon supporters.

Anyone who made a Paypal donation to this blog in 2022, as well as Patreon supporters, can be given a one-year free complimentary subscription – just leave a message marked “PRIVATE” below.

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Comments are welcome, but they are pre-moderated and comments will not be published if irksome, or if they risk derailing the discussion.

Courts and politics and the job of judicial review

13th January 2023

What is the role of the courts when they are asked to look at decisions taken by our elected representatives?

From a legal perspective, the usual distinction is between “appeal” and “review”.

This means that a court should not examine the merits of the decision, but a court can (and should) ascertain whether it was a decision lawfully open to that decision-maker to make.

And so, the legal theory goes, as long as it is a decision within the scope of decisions open to that decision-make, it cannot (and should not) be quashed by the court.

The decision will stand, even if the court – and indeed the voters – disagree with that decision.

The decision may be unpopular but it will not be unlawful.

And therefore the role of the court should only be to judicially review a decision, rather than conduct an appeal on the merits of that decision,

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In practice the distinction is not as easily applied as it is stated above.

Of course, certain decisions can be quashed because the wrong or an unfair procedure has been adopted.

And as such “procedural impropriety” is a long-standing heading of judicial review.

A decision can also be challenged because of a want of legal power: if a decision-maker does not have the legal power to make a certain decision then a court can hold that there has been illegality.

And “Illegality” too is a long-standing heading of judicial review.

Neither of these headings are controversial.

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But there is a third heading (and possibly a fourth) which is often controversial.

That is when a decision is “unreasonable”.

From a lay (that is, non-lawyer) perspective, this can seem the same as a court looking at the merits of the decision.

For many lay people calling a decision is “unreasonable” is the same as saying that it is a decision you do not like.

For lawyers (supposedly) it has a different meaning: a reasonable decision is one which is reasoned in that the decision-maker can explain how the decision was arrived at.

It also means that the decision-maker only had regard to relevant considerations and disregarded irrelevant considerations.

Here, however, we are coming close to a judge second-guessing the decision-making processes of elected politicians.

And this is even more the case where fundamental rights of individuals are being interfered with, where a judge may have to assess whether the interference has been “disproportionate”.

By “disproportionate” it is often meant that the decision was not rationally connected to the supposed purpose of the legal power and/or the decision went further than necessary to achieve the public policy goal of the decision-maker.

As you can see, this is taking the judge close to the realm of politics.

And so this is where many of the flash-points in political-judicial relations occur.

Where do you think the balance should be?

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My essay tomorrow for paying Substack subscribers will be on the fascinating story of the Wednesbury case of 1947, the “grandfather” of English cases on reasonableness.

This was the case where a judge opined that a decision can be quashed for unreasonableness only when the decision was so unreasonable that no reasonable decision-maker could have made it.

This standard has since been called “Wednesbury Unreasonableness” – which is a little unfair on Wednesbury Corporation, as the court found in 1947 that the council had acted reasonably.

To read this essay tomorrow you can subscribe here.

(The essay will also be posted on Patreon – and anyone who has made a Paypal contribution to this blog in 2022 should leave a comment marked “Private” below for a year’s complimentary subscription to my Substack.)

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New Essay at Substack: Perhaps the most significant UK constitutional case of the last fifty years

6th January 2023

Over at my new law and lore Substack, I have published an essay for paying subscribers on how the Malone case of 1979-1985 exposed the lie of our supposedly liberal constitution and changed the way we were governed.

The essay starts as follows:

Consider this simple, attractive proposition: in the United Kingdom, you are free to do as you will, unless there is a law against it.

What could be wrong with such a nice proposition: it is almost a perfect articulation of principled liberalism.

But.

This proposition can have a hidden and ugly implication.

For it also can mean that the State can do as it wishes, to you and other people, unless there is a law against it.

And the case which exposed this unpleasant truth – and helped put an end to it, so that the State was required to have a legal basis for interfering with our lives – is the 1979-85 case of Malone.

This is the story of that case, and of its effects.

You can read the rest of the essay with a paid subscription here.

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This essay is also being posted on Patreon for those who subscribe to this blog using that medium.

For those who subscribe and donate through either Patreon or PayPal, please leave a “PRIVATE” comment below confirming you want me to add your email address to the Substack system so you can have a one-year complementary subscription to the law and lore Substack.

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From ornament to instrument – how current politics are forcing constitutions to work in the UK and USA

6th January 2022

This is just a short post, prompted by the ongoing inability of the Republicans in the United States House of Representatives to elect a speaker.

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There is usually no problem in a speaker being elected: the first day of the new House of Representatives is usually a ceremony, attended by the smiling families of new congressmen and congress women.

But now we are on the third day of voting, because a group of hardline Republicans are contesting what would normally be a coronation.

Two years ago today (as I set out in last week’s Substack essay), the counting and certification of electoral college votes was also converted from being a mere ceremony to something far more politically vital.

Indeed, a plan was in place to use what was normally (again) a coronation into an opportunity for the defeated president Donald Trump to somehow retain office.

And over here, during the last days before the United Kingdom left the European Union, there was an attempt to use a prorogation of parliament so as to force through a no-deal exit.

That (purported) use of the prorogation was contested and then quashed by the Supreme Court.

But usually prorogations are dull and straightforward affairs, of little interest even to political obsessives.

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Our current volatile politics keeps converting dull and ceremonial elements of our constitutions into things that matter.

Our constitutional arrangements are being forced to work, where they previously only had to decorate.

To an extent this is a good thing: like all the functioning parts of a car occasionally being tested for a MoT test.

But it also may be a bad thing, as too much stress may mean that element of the constitution buckles and breaks.

Either way, it is certainly exciting.

But, as we know, constitutional law should not be exciting, it should be dull.

Day-to-day politics should take place within the parameters of a constitution, not constantly pressing on the edges, straining them as far as they will go.

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A look at Keir Starmer’s proposal for a “Taking Back Control” Bill

5th January 2023

Today the leader of the main opposition party in the United Kingdom gave a speech.

You can read a version of Keir Starmer’s speech on the Labour party website.

One part of it which seems possibly interesting from a legal perspective is a proposal for a “Taking Back Control” Bill.

This is what the speech said:

“So we will embrace the Take Back Control message. But we’ll turn it from a slogan to a solution. From a catchphrase into change. We will spread control out of Westminster. Devolve new powers over employment support, transport, energy, climate change, housing, culture, childcare provision and how councils run their finances.

“And we’ll give communities a new right to request powers which go beyond this.

“All this will be in a new “Take Back Control” Bill – a centrepiece of our first King’s speech. A Bill that will deliver on the demand for a new Britain. A new approach to politics and democracy. A new approach to growth and our economy.”

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This call for de-centralisation and devolution will face the two fundamental problems every such call has faced since the nineteenth century.

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The first problem for de-centralisation and devolution is the doctrine of the supremacy of the Westminster parliament.

This doctrine, which in good part was a Victorian innovation not known to earlier jurists, tells that all legislative power in our polity rests with the Crown-in-Parliament.

This means that no other body in the United Kingdom can legislate other than to the extent permitted by the Westminster parliament.

Recently this doctrine was illustrated by the Supreme Court decision on a reference by Scotland’s Lord Advocate.

In effect, the Scottish parliament is merely another statutory corporation, subject to the rule of ultra vires.

The Westminster parliament will not easily forego this legislative supremacy and – if we adhere to the doctrine of parliamentary supremacy – it may be impossible for the Westminster parliament to do so.

This means that any de-centralisation and devolution is at the Westminster parliament’s command: Westminster can grant this seeing autonomy, and Westminster can easily take it away.

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What we do have are numerous devolution and local government statutes, all defining and limiting what various authorities can and cannot do.

There is no real autonomy – even for the Scottish parliament.

No ability to do things despite what the Westminster parliament would like an authority to do.

Ambitious projects by local authorities – such as when the Victorian town of Birmingham (not even yet a city) went and bought and operated its own gas and water industries – would be impossible now.

That is real de-centralisation and devolution – doing things the centre cannot stop.

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The second problem for de-centralisation and devolution is in respect of policy and administration, rather than law.

It is the sheer dominance of HM Treasury in Whitehall and the public sector more generally.

For example, HM Treasury has a monopoly in respect of almost all fiscal and financial – that is, tax-raising and borrowing – powers.

(Even the Scottish parliament has limited autonomy to vary income tax rates and the Scottish government power to borrow money.)

And no public body has complete fiscal autonomy – and, indeed, many public bodies rely on central government for grants and financing.

It is unlikely that Whitehall will happily allow regional authorities and devolved administrations absolute power to raise taxes and borrow money.

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And now back to the word “control”.

Unless regional authorities and devolved administrations have absolute power to raise taxes and borrow money, or to make rules and mount ambitions problems, then they do not have “control”.

Instead, “control” will stay – as it always does – with Westminster and Whitehall.

Westminster and Whitehall can extend the leash, but they can pull the leash back.

That is not “control”.

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Looking more closely at Starmer’s speech, it is not clear to whom this “control” is to be actually given.

Consider the following passages (emphases added):

“…the Britain that Labour can build. A fairer, greener, more dynamic country with an economy that works for everyone, not just those at the top. And a politics which trusts communities with the power to control their destiny.

Giving communities the chance to control their economic destiny. The argument is devastatingly simple.”

“It’s not unreasonable for us to recognise the desire for communities to stand on their own feet. It’s what Take Back Control meant. The control people want is control over their lives and their community.

“We need to turbo-charge this potential, but Westminster can’t do that on its own, it can only do it with communities. That’s why Labour will give them the trust. The power. And the control.

And so on.

There is noting specific here as to who will get this supposed “control”.

Will it be existing local authorities or new regional bodies?

Will it be new legal entities smaller than existing councils?

And – most importantly if this really is about “control” – what will happen if those “communities” want to do something which Westminster and Whitehall do not want them to do?

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Starmer did list some of the topics where there could be devolution of powers: “employment support, transport, energy, climate change, housing, culture, childcare provision and how councils run their finances”.

But devolution is not granting “control”, as there will be limits to what even the most ambitious local authority will be able to do in the face of any opposition from Westminster and Whitehall.

And there is also a respectable argument – which you may or may not endorse – than on issues such as transport and housing, there needs to be far less local autonomy, not more, so for us as to escape the ongoing blight of NIMBYism.

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Starmer insisted in his speech that the “Take Back Control” will be turned from “a slogan to a solution”.

And it we missed the import of that rhetorical turn, Starmer then said it will be turned from “a catchphrase into change”.

(This is reminiscent of his predecessor Tony Blair’s wonderful statement once that “[a] day like today is not a day for soundbites, we can leave those at home, but I feel the hand of history upon our shoulder with respect to this, I really do.”)

But there is nothing in this speech which does go beyond slogans and catchphrases.

There is no substance to the supposed “controls” which are to be given “back”.

And there is nothing specific as to whom or what those “controls” are to be given.

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You may have Very Strong Opinions on de-centralisation and devolution.

You may welcome Starmer’s speech as a good and welcome signal of change.

You may oppose it as it may mean impediments to policies which may need to be directed at the national level.

But what one cannot say is that it tells us much, if anything, about how de-centralisation and devolution is to work in practice.

And it says nothing about how – at least in England – local authorities can break free from the real controls of Westminster and Whitehall.

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New post at Substack: 2021 and 2022 were the years constitutionalism was tested

31st December 2022

Over at Substack, for paying subscribers, I have posted a 2000 word essay (with even some multi-sentence paragraphs!) reviewing 2021 and 2022 from a constitutionalist perspective.

I will be doing such an essay at Substack every week on Friday for paying subscribers.

(These essays will also be cross-posted on Patreon – and I will also email copies to anyone who has made a PayPal contribution in the last year – just make a “Private” comment below asking for this.)

Normal daily, free-to-read blogging on law and policy will resume here on Monday.

Thank you for reading and supporting this blog.

I wish you a happy and constitutionally dull new year.

Law vs Lore

8th December 2022

When I decided to start a Substack I also had to decide what to call it.

I could not call it “law and policy” as that is the name of this blog.

Dear old folkloric wizard “Jack of Kent” is safely dead and buried.

And so I settled on “law and lore” as that put together two things which not only interest me but also are more closely connected than many people realise.

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Let me explain.

Many of those reading this blog will not be lawyers and so have had little need to look up the raw black-letter texts of the law – in statutes, case reports and elsewhere.

Even those of you with the unfortunate affliction of being a lawyer, will not always have read the black-letter texts of every law about which you will have a view or an understanding.

And in society generally, a great deal of the law in practice is what people believe it to be – or should be.

“You cannot do that.”

“I cannot do that.”

“That is not allowed.”

“I have my rights.”

“Technically you are not allowed to do this.”

“Technically if you do this you don’t break a law.”

And so on.

Entire areas of law are, in practice, mini belief systems where people are confident about what the law is, free from ever looking it up: data protection, health and safety, consumer rights, Magna Carta.

And on the political plane, belief is (or was) a great deal of our uncodified convention: a general sense of balance and self-restraint.

This all fascinates me.

I have often wondered what an alien looking down would work out about our laws and legal system just by watching what people do and do not do.

Would such a Martian’s account correspond to what our legal texts say about the law?

And so my view is that to understand law in practice, one has to have an understanding of lore, which I see is helpfully defined online as “a body of traditions and knowledge on a subject or held by a particular group, typically passed from person to person by word of mouth”.

This is not to say that it is consciously invented: those with strong opinions about the law usually believe that they are actually correct.

Sometimes there is a close relationship between law and lore – in, for example, mercantile law, the practices of business folk often give rise to enforceable legal obligations.

And sometimes there are stark discrepancies: for example, data protection in practice often has no relationship with data protection as set out in law.

I would like to explore this distinction between law and lore more in future posts in particular areas.

Let me know if you have any ideas for subjects of such posts.

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